Lazy Valentines (Lazy Days)

had delved into some pretty deep discussions about Scott's anxiety disorder and panic attacks, both in person and on the phone while Devon was away. He couldn't say he completely understood what Scott went through, but he did understand the importance of the anti-anxiety medication Scott always had on hand. Scott said it wasn't a cure to the attacks, just a quick fix when things were spinning—sometimes literally—out of control. But when that happened it was an essential, not a luxury.
    When they finally had everything they needed, Scott locked and relocked the door behind them, turning right at the end of the walkway and heading for his car. Devon stopped him with a hand around his waist. "Not today. My plan, my ride."
    The look on Scott's face would have been comical had something actually been funny, but Devon knew it wasn't a laughing matter when Scott started wringing his hands together. "You want me to… ride… on that… on your bike? Are you torturing me for Valentine's Day? Because I certainly didn't know that was part of the ritual I've been missing all these years."
    Devon could sense anxiety quickening Scott's words and tugging a little at his left eyebrow, but as bad as he felt about that, he was still determined to get Scott on his bike. He circled his arms around Scott's waist and pressed a lingering kiss to the side of his neck.
    "You can do this. I know you can and you said before you wanted to try. I thought today was as good a day as any and I even got you something special so you could give it a shot." Scott wiggled and sighed but Devon hung on. "Relax, babe. I'm not gonna force you and if you really think you can't, we'll take the car. But I'll just ask one more time, okay? Give it a try… for me?"
    "You're not… not playing fair, Dev. Do I make you… um… do I make you…" Devon waited him out. "Fuck. I can't think of… I got nothing."
    Pressing his nose to Scott's neck, Devon sucked up a very faint mark behind his ear. He growled out his reply. "Because I'm very compliant to anything you ask me to do, right? Because I'll do anything you want?"
    Scott squeaked and tried to pull away. "You're impossible but I'll keep that in mind for later. Right now you're just… really annoying."
    Devon backstepped them so they stood in front of his bike at the curb. "Close your eyes."
    "Dev… I don't know that I can…"
    After a quick press of his finger to Scott's lips, Devon reached into the saddlebags and slipped a butter-soft leather jacket over his shoulders, drawing a small sniffing sound from him. "Okay, open them."
    "Smells like leath… oh, it's so soft." Scott's baby blues opened wide then narrowed before he even blinked. "You bought me a leather jacket? But you know I never go anywhere without my trench coat."
    "That's why I bought it big enough to go over your coat. I keep telling you rockstars can come equipped with brains as well as awesome talent and stunning good looks."
    Scott snorted softly. "Not sure how that's possible when that damn music you play makes people's ears bleed."
    Devon forced his face into a dark scowl, his best attempt at feigning being offended. He knew Scott's opinion of his music but as long as Scott loved him, it didn't matter in the least that his taste sucked. "I've never seen any evidence of that. Now just try on the damn jacket so I can give you your other surprise."
    "Ah, Dev." Scott turned to face him, twisting to slide one arm then the other into the supple sleeves. "Damn, that feels nice and the smell… like a brand new car."
    Devon covered his smugness with his fingers. Scott was like putty in his hands… well, sometimes… or usually the other way around. "Now, the p ièce de résistance. "
    "You're French now, too? Just a man of many facets, aren't you, Mr. Devastation."
    The comment rang a faint alarm bell in Devon's mind. Devon had left town only three days after he and Scott had gotten back together, but even though it had only been a few days there was something different about Scott that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Scott's silent but aggressive insistence of getting  Devon off before he even removed his boots had been surprising and out of character. Not that Devon had minded all that much—or at all—but generally Scott wasn't the one to be the initiator or pursuer. Yet today he'd practically thrown himself at Devon on the step in public—not to mention fondling him.
    Of course they hadn't had a lot of public time since they'd