Sailing Deep by Noah Harris Page B

Blake pointed out that he didn’t have any clothes or personal items here. Dylan reluctantly conceded, and Lucy laughed, happily accepting.
                  They parted ways when they reached the castle. There were a lot of shifters shuffling back to the castle from the surrounding forests. They came in groups, couples, and alone. Some looked refreshed, and some looked exhausted. When they reached the compound, they said brief goodbyes before Marcus and Lucy headed toward their rooms. They had plenty of clothing and would no doubt get their things from their lockers later. Blake steered Dylan toward the locker room. He might have other clothes to wear, but Dylan didn’t.
                  They got their things and headed for the stairs. Because Blake insisted on holding hands, Dylan insisted on carrying their things so he wouldn’t have anything putting pressure on his wound. He took them from Blake with a disgruntled look, and Blake merely smiled and thanked him, pressing a quick kiss to his temple. Blake directed them toward the grand main staircase. Now that Dylan knew what was going on, Blake preferred the main stairs. They got more casual exposure that way, without having to go out of their way to show Dylan’s face.
                  Once in their room, Dylan wasted no time pulling on his boxers and sweat pants. While he did that, Blake went straight to his computer and ran the program he had created to search for surveillance devices within the parameters of his room. Then, feeling a little disappointed that Dylan’s ass was no longer in view, Blake went to his wardrobe and pulled out a clean pair of boxers and jeans. By the time he pulled them on and turned around, Dylan already had his shirt on, too.
                  “What?” Dylan asked eyebrow raised.
                  “Hm?”
                  “You’re looking at me funny.”
                  “I’m mourning the loss of your naked body.”
                  Dylan sighed, deflating and sagging before standing up straight and turning away from him. “Sit.” He said, pointing at the couch.
                  “Yessir,” Blake said, giving him a mock salute before sauntering over to the couch and draping himself across it. He sat at an angle, stretching his legs onto the coffee table, resting his left arm on the arm of the couch, and laying his right arm across the back. He was careful not to get blood on the couch.
                  “Where do you keep your medical supplies?” Dylan asked, hands on his hips as he glanced around the room.
                  Blake shrugged. “There might be some under the sink in the bathroom.”
                  Dylan gave him a flat look. “You don’t actually know?”
                  Blake tilted his head to the side, giving him an innocent and amused grin. “It’s not like I make a habit of hurting myself. I’m just your average computer geek.” As if on cue, his computer dinged, signaling that the room was clean. He’d never found anything in his room before, but it never hurt to be careful.
                  Dylan sighed and went to the bathroom he shared with his neighbor. There was some rummaging before Dylan came back. He situated himself on the couch next to him and eyed his arm, setting the medical kit on the coffee table.
                  Blake waited patiently as Dylan cleaned and bandaged his wound. He winced and complained whenever it stung; Dylan called him a baby and told him to shut it. Blake kept whining, of course, because Dylan looked like he was having fun teasing him. All in all, he was surprisingly gentle and went about bandaging his wound with careful precision.
                  “There,” He said when he was finished.
                  Blake held up his arm, eyeing the bandaged wrapped around his forearm,