JAWS (Complete)

Chapter 10

“Galliard.” Reiner shakes him again, reluctantly lifting his head and leaning back. Maybe the cold air on Galliard’s chest will roust him? “C’mon, it’s morning, wake up.”

Galliard scrunches up his face, like a little boy who doesn’t want to get up from his nap, then opens his eyes to look directly into Reiner’s. There’s a brief second of confusion, then sudden, startled realization, and Reiner isn’t surprised in the slightest when Galliard pushes back out of his arms and sits up.

“What the…” Galliard stares down at him, and for just the slightest fraction of a second, Reiner thinks he’s going to lay back down and snuggle up against him. There’s a moment of indecision, of conflicting wants, and Reiner holds perfectly still, not trying to sway Galliard with anything other than his eyes.

It almost happens; the muscles in Galliard’s arms tremble minutely, and there’s the faintest quaver of his lower lip. But then his eyes widen, and he blurts out one word before leaping off the bed and dashing out of the room.

“Sarge!”

Damn, they forgot about the dog! Reiner groans and hauls himself out of bed, wincing at the very satisfying pangs the motion sets off in his ass, and follows Galliard. He only pauses long enough to grab his bathrobes off their hooks on the back of the bedroom door—one is his heavy winter one and the other is a silky, summertime affair, but they’ll have to do.

He finds Galliard in the living room, crouched next to the dog’s nest, almost hidden in the early morning shadows. Sarge has his head lifted, and Reiner can hear his tail thumping on the floor; the dog seems none the worse for the wear, and as Reiner watches, he licks Galliard’s palm.

“Shit, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, shit fuck shit, I can’t believe I…” Galliard’s voice suddenly cuts out, and he drops his head down, his hands cupping Sarge’s face on either side, and presses his forehead against the dog’s.
Reiner feels like he’s stumbled upon something very private, something painfully intimate, and he steps quietly into the kitchen. He shrugs into his summer robe, draping the heavier one over his arm, and waits until he hears Galliard clear his throat in the other room to enter again.

Galliard is sitting back on his heels, his hands fisted on both knees, with Sarge looking cheerful and perky beside him. “I need some cheese and his aspirin.” His voice is quiet and full of humility, very unlike how he usually sounds, and Reiner nods before dropping the robe of the couch and going back into the kitchen to fetch some cheese. When he returns, Galliard is wearing the robe—it’s delightfully oversized on him, the sleeves falling down over his hands, and Reiner is disappointed he won’t have more time to admire him in it—and takes the cheese chunk and bottle of aspirin without a word.

Sarge greedily devours his treat and then looks back and forth between the two of them, wagging his tail but making no move to get up. Galliard sighs and runs his hand through his hair, making a valiant effort to push it back and failing miserably. “What time is it?”

“A little after six.”

“Shit.” Galliard springs to his feet, wild-eyed and frantic. “My shift starts at seven-thirty, fuck!” He glances down at Sarge, and Reiner can just imagine the mental gyrations going on in his head as he tries to figure out the timing on everything.

“Where do you work?”

“The one near the university.” Galliard groans, his hand moving to rake through his hair again. “But I have to take him home first, and the subways are always fucking packed this time of day, and…”