He means it when he tells Jason he loves him, means it every time he says it those first awkward times on the phone, those rambling messages about the things he's learned about Malaysia, in case Jason is too busy to see the purple heron or the proboscis monkeys, and to warn him about reticulated pythons and pit vipers. He always forces himself to stop and take a breath and finally say goodbye and, every time, I love you.

But Jason never calls.

Kevin knows rationally that Jason's busy saving souls and saving the world, but he can't help thinking that even God took time to talk to Noah and Abraham and Moses, and he didn't have near the cell reception Jason does. Kevin would take a burning bush at this point; take anything that said I love you too.

He knows having Scotty here is a mistake, likely of epic proportions. He really does have the right motives and the best intentions, but the reptile in the base of his brain keeps reminding him that a warm body held close feels just as good as an 'I love you' a million miles away. Better even, since a body would stay, would take care of all the things Kevin's been fantasizing about, missing, since Jason went away.

He tries not to think about it. He immerses himself in work and anything else he can find, hoping for another family crisis to distract him. It's his family, so it's not all that unlikely a thing to hope for, but he needs it to come soon before the image in his head when he jerks off loses blue eyes and stubble for chocolate brown and clean shaven, before the image in his head becomes the man in his bed.

He wonders if what he feels for Jason can really be love if he can want someone else, care for someone else. His touchstones for love have all fallen apart in the last year, so what he thought meant love didn't mean anything he thought it did. The only love he knows that he can trust is family, and his family is by turns suffocating and insane, so Jason's distance can't be love.

Kevin really hates temptation.

Temptation stretched out on an inflatable mattress, glasses on and a book in front of him. Scotty's familiar and comforting in a way that leaves Kevin feeling almost as bad as he feels good. Kevin knows him, knows all the secret spaces and places. Scotty is here and he's familiar and Kevin knows him by heart.

He just doesn't love him with all of it.

"Goodnight."

Scotty looks up from his book and smiles. "You sure? We could pop in a movie? Make popcorn."

Sit together on the couch, too close, and let temptation pour down his throat like fine wine or expensive bourbon. Turn his head, move his hand and meet it, drown in it, give in to it. It would be easy, and Kevin's so very tired of it being hard.

"Not tonight." He surprises himself, blinking in the wake of his words. Scotty smiles, and Kevin can see the disappointment, feels it keenly. "I'll see you tomorrow. Rain check."

"Sure." Scotty's eyes are back to normal, offering nothing more than friendship. Maybe Kevin's seeing things, projecting his own wants, desires onto Scotty. He thinks about asking, but that makes it real. That opens a door that, for tonight, Kevin's closing as firmly as the one to his bedroom.

He thinks about cheating, since that's what he does. He's really only done it once - twice if you count sleeping with Scotty while dating Chad - or technically more while he was with Hank, but he's only really cheated on two men, and as far as averages go, he's still ahead of the game. But he cheats in his head all the time, times like this where the day won't end and it's easy to imagine Scotty or the guy in accounting or the new guy they just pulled in from England. Easy to imagine and fantasize and want, and maybe it's not cheating, but it's not quite faithful either.

His father cheated, and Tommy's cheated, and maybe it really is what the Walker men do. Maybe it's a gene inside them that means they can't be happy with what they've got, they always need something more. Sometimes Kevin wishes he was more like his mother - infinite patience and acceptance, capable of being happy and just being.

The phone rings and he doesn't bother to look at the screen. It's likely his mother or his sisters or his brothers, and maybe it's the family crisis he was hoping for.

"Kevin Walker."

"Hey, Kevin."

"Jason." His heart bottoms out in his chest and he has to sit down, making his way to his desk and leaning against it. "My God, Jason."

There are reasons that would be excuses if they weren't things like torrential rain, flooding and an outbreak of malaria. Instead they're a day in the life of a minister in some tiny province of Malaysia. Who just so happens to be his boyfriend.

"You have malaria?"

"No, Kevin, I don't have malaria."

"I mean, because I expected to have my boyfriends screened for STDs and the like, but I've never once thought I ought to have them checked for malaria."

"Well, I don't have malaria." There's laughter in Jason's voice, and Kevin closes his eyes and wraps himself up in it. Everything with Jason was like this, full of laughter and amusement. He refused to let things get him down, just went with the punches and looked at the bright side. Kevin remembers watching Monty Python's The Life of Brian with him, and whistling along at the end. "So you don't have to worry about checking on it."

"Because you're my boyfriend."

Jason's voice softens, and Kevin can see him so clearly. "I am, aren't I? I mean, you don't just call up a guy and remind him to stay away from reticulated pythons if you're not serious about him, do you?"

"I warn everyone to stay away from reticulated pythons and pit vipers, but…but I don't tell them to do it because I love them."

"I love you too, Kevin."

He nods, though he knows Jason can't see him. Nods because the words are stuck in his chest, in his throat, lodged there beneath his heart where it's swollen and hot, pulsing with everything he wants and wants to say. When he finally manages to speak, it's nothing at all what he intended to say. "Come home."

"You miss me?"

"Yes." He thought confessions like this would be hard, to bare his soul to admit everything. Of course, Jason's a trained professional, so maybe that plays into how easy it is. "I miss you and I want you and I'm lonely. And I know I'm supposed to be the better man here and care about sick and dying and undereducated children, but I'm selfish and entitled and I want you here. I want you with me."

"I'll be home in a month."

"I can't…It's hard, Jason."

"I know."

Kevin wishes he believed that part, that Jason did know, but he doesn't think it's true, because Jason just accepts things, takes them at face value, believes them as given. Jason has purpose over there and all Kevin has is temptation.

Kevin takes a breath, closes his eyes. "I met someone."

There's silence on the other end of the line, but not the kind that means that the connection is lost. It's the silence of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, the silence of thinking things that can't be undone. "Oh."

"Not met someone. He's…he's just a friend. An old friend. He…he needed a place to crash, so he's been staying at my place. Nothing's happened. Nothing. I swear, but…I'm not like you. I can't just…"

"You think this is easy, Kevin? You think I didn't turn around at the airport and get as far as hailing a taxi to come home before I made myself get on the plane? You think you're the only one having a hard time?"

"No." Kevin's breath catches at the words. "You didn't want to go?"

"Of course I didn't want to go, Kevin." Jason's voice sounds so close, so sharp and pained. Kevin wants to take it all back and keep the secret, or at least say it different. "I love you. I wanted to be with you. But this is my job and my calling. I can't give that up, even for you."

"Nothing's happened."

"Can you promise me nothing will?"

Kevin closes his eyes and breathes for a second, counting his rushing heartbeats. "Will you believe me if I do?"

"That depends, Walker." Jason's voice is normal again, full of laughter, all the sharp edges rounded with it. "Will you mean it?"

"I meant it when I said I love you."

"I believed that."

"Nothing will."

"All right." Kevin can see Jason's smile, hear it in his words. "In that case, I love you too."

Temptation, it seems, has nothing on anticipation.

The next month drags and flies by in equal measure. Kevin tells Scotty that Jason's coming home, and he moves to another inflatable mattress somewhere else. They promise to be friends, but Kevin's not sure he believes it. He hopes they will, for a lot of reasons, not the least of which is that Scotty does give him something he doesn't have on his own, something that's uniquely theirs when they're around each other.

Everything else is easy to resist, pushed aside in the wake of fantasies and daydreams. He's even checked to make sure his vaccinations are up to date, and plans to present a clean bill of health to Jason about two seconds before he drags him off to the bedroom. Homecoming parties can wait.

Kevin can't. He's waited long enough.