As if thinking of his lover conjured him into being, Matt heard the soft shuffle of a footstep behind him and, two seconds later, a shadow blocked out the sun above. Vic must’ve bullied his way along the food table to return to Matt’s side so quickly. Gotta love that man.
Before Matt could turn around, a tender hand found his shoulder, then trailed down his back to rub into the waistband of his jeans. He savored the touch, leaning into the strength of the arm behind him, his eyes closing in trust. The hand slid lower, teasing into his briefs. The intimate moment seemed surreal, out here amid Kyle’s friends, almost sinful at its audacity. With a faint grin, Matt sat back on his heels and said softly, “I was just thinking about you.”
Jordan’s low voice cut through his reverie like a jagged knife. “Were you?”
Matt whirled as he stood. Losing his balance, he stumbled back against the bar; his elbow hit a row of glasses that tinkled in agitation, then something fell to the ground with a clatter. A small hand-towel followed, brushed aside in Matt’s surprise. One foot kicked out, impulsive, and whatever lay hidden beneath the towel now skidded under the bar, out of sight. A step back put some much needed distance between them, but in his haste to get away, Matt tripped and hit the ground sprawling. His hand knocked over his glass as he fell; rum splashed across the white concrete like liquid amber, soaking the seat of Matt’s jeans. “Shit,” he gasped, breathless. He thought of that hand on his body, the touch so tender, so loving, and fought the urge to retch.
A faint smile played around the corners of Jordan’s mouth. When he spoke, his voice was like honeyed poison, sickening sweet. “No hello for an old lover?”
Crab-like, Matt scrambled back. “We were never lovers. We weren’t even friends.”
Jordan laughed, a sharp sound like breaking glass that shattered the late afternoon quiet and set Matt’s mind on edge. He felt foggy, unsure, unable to find his footing on unfamiliar land. He wished he hadn’t had quite so many drinks. What had he been thinking? Breaking away from the crowd, where he was easy prey. Coming here in the first place, even. Letting Jordan catch him alone.
“So,” Jordan said, eyes sparkling as he stared at Matt, still on the ground, “miss me?”
Matt opened his mouth to answer and was surprised to hear his lover’s voice reply, “He has nothing to say to you.”
Matt’s mouth clamped shut. Leaning back, he saw his lover behind him, reaching to the sky above—the back of Matt’s head brushed Vic’s leg and his bulk rose up from there like a tall oak tree, his chest filling Matt’s world, his head among the clouds above. In one hand, he held two plates laden with food; in the other, the bandages had charred around a coruscating ball of flame that enveloped his palm. Though the bar shielded his hand from the rest of the guests, Vic raised it just enough to draw Jordan’s attention to the fireball. In a low, dangerous voice, Vic begged, “Give me a reason.”
Jordan’s eyes widened at the bold display of Vic’s powers. Suddenly he didn’t sound quite so cocky. “I’ll tell Kyle,” he threatened. “If you lay one finger on me, I’ll tell everyone here about you. About both of you.”
“Not if I get you first,” Vic growled. “Think you’re faster than me? Want to find out?”
Apparently not. With a last glance at Matt, still on the ground at Vic’s feet, Jordan scowled and turned away. His hip caught the edge of the bar as he left, jostling it; a handful of glasses clinked together but didn’t fall, and Matt moved his hand before the caster on the bottom of the bar could run over his fingers. For a second he thought Vic would lunge after Jordan anyway, grab the scruff of his neck with the hand on fire, singe the bastard out of spite.
But the moment passed. Jordan strode away, fast, as if fearing the same thing. As Matt stood, he saw Jordan cast a hurried glance over at them before he rounded the pool. Almost running now, he hurried to the table of food and pushed among the other guests still fixing their plates.
With a shaky sigh, Matt ran a hand through his dark curls, then took one of the plates from Vic. “God,” he sighed. He could feel his lover’s thoughts swirling with anger.
“Eat fast,” Vic told him. “We’re leaving.”
This time, Matt didn’t argue.
* * * *
In the passenger seat of Vic’s car, Matt stared out the window, forehead pressed against the glass, and tried to forget the insidious press of fingers along his spine. But Jordan’s touch was seared into his memory; Matt shuddered as his mind remembered the intimate way that hand had curved down into his jeans. He wasn’t sure what disgusted him more, that it had been Jordan or that he thought it had been Vic.
Beside him, his lover drove in a stony silence, but Vic’s consciousness hovered on the edges of Matt’s mind, ready to rush in as soon as Matt allowed him. It was that touch that made Matt keep him out, though; he didn’t want to admit, even to himself, that maybe, just maybe, he enjoyed it.
I thought it was Vic, he told himself, over and over again as his lover circled his thoughts, waiting for a chance to swoop down among them. With an involuntary shudder, Matt hugged his arms around his waist and hoped he wasn’t going to be sick.
Relief coursed through him as they pulled to a stop in front of their apartment building. Matt was already halfway up the steps to their building when he felt a strong hand catch his elbow. He almost melted at the touch. “Vic.”
As they stepped into the hallway, Vic pressed his lips to a tender spot behind Matt’s ear. “Love you, Matty.”
“I’m being stupid,” Matt admitted, leading the way up the stairs to their apartment. “I know I am. It’s just—I thought…”
He had no words for the emotions roiling through him, so he just gave up. And gave in.
The moment he relaxed his mind, Vic rushed in. Like a tsunami he flooded Matt’s thoughts, diluting them, washing away everything that connected to Jordan. Matt almost stumbled beneath the incoming tide of love and devotion, wave after wave; he wanted to drown in Vic’s feelings for him and never resurface, drink down his lover’s emotions, become baptized in Vic alone.
As he staggered beneath that crush of love, Vic’s arm encircled Matt’s waist, supporting him. He had a vague memory of how many glasses of rum he’d had, one after the other, which now roiled through his stomach, nauseating, like seasickness. At the door to their apartment, Matt leaned against his lover, one hand over his face, and prayed he wouldn’t throw up. Or rather, not here.
Inside, Matt let Vic guide him wherever he wanted to go—as long as that strong arm stayed around his waist, he’d follow his lover to the end of time and back. The rum was hitting him, hard; it pounded in his skull, in his throat, in his groin. He almost tripped over his own feet stumbling after Vic, who led him to the bedroom and deposited him on the bed. Matt swayed when Vic released him, but managed to stay upright long enough for his lover to retrieve a warm, wet washcloth from the bathroom. As Vic rubbed the soft cloth gently over Matt’s face, he murmured, “Work with me here, Matty. Gimme just a few more minutes and you can fall out, what do you say?”
“I’m sleepy,” Matt announced.
::And drunk,:: Vic added, wiping Matt’s pout off his face with the washcloth.
With sure moves, Vic helped Matt undress. T-shirt, jeans, briefs—as each piece of clothing disappeared, the washcloth chased after it, leaving in its wake a warm, damp imprint like one large kiss that covered Matt’s whole body. His sneakers were removed, his socks pulled off, and the washcloth rubbed over the soles of his feet before diving between each toe. Vic’s touch was tender, loving; Matt lay back against the bed, the covers cool against his naked skin, and savored his lover’s attention to his feet. When he was finished with one foot, Vic kissed the top of Matt’s big toe before moving onto the next. The soft caresses, the sough of cloth over skin, the firm hands that cradled his foot and ankle…Vic’s ministrations shot through Matt’s legs like electricity to jump-start his dick.
All too soon, it was over. Vic released Matt’s foot and sto
od. Keeping his eyes closed, Matt waited for his lover to reposition him, maybe ease back the covers of the bed, guide him between the sheets, tuck him in. As the air cooled Matt’s skin, he heard Vic undress—the heavy work boots were kicked aside, the belt buckle on his jeans hit the floor. Footsteps padded out of the bedroom; the light in the bathroom clicked on, water ran in the sink, Matt heard the washcloth being wrung out. He resisted the urge to crawl into the covers himself. Instead, he waited for Vic to join him…
The washcloth closed over the head of his dick, hot and wet. Beads of water trickled down the length of Matt’s shaft, which went from semi-interested to fully aroused in the time it took Vic’s fingers to encircle his tip. With a gasp, Matt arched up off the bed, hands digging into the sheets as he rose into Vic’s hand.
Vic massaged his dick, his fingers working the washcloth up and down Matt’s length. At the base, he stopped long enough to knead Matt’s balls—the washcloth felt like silk over them, so soft, so warm and wet. Matt sank back to the bed and thrust into Vic’s hand, eyes shut against the pleasure that spiked through him. The hand on his cock grew ardent, insistent; the massage turned serious as it worked him harder, faster, bringing him closer to release. Vic’s fingers danced along his shaft, over his nuts, and as a terry-cloth covered thumb slipped between his buttocks to rim his anus, Matt felt a velvety tongue taste the tip of his dick. Matt raised his hips and more of him slipped between Vic’s lips. As the washcloth rubbed maddening patterns against his sac and one wet finger eased into his ass, Matt bucked into Vic’s mouth. Then he came in a heady rush that Vic drank down before letting him slip free.
Now Vic eased him beneath the covers. Now he tucked Matt in. Sliding between the sheets beside him, Vic wrapped his arms around Matt’s waist and hugged him back against him. Matt felt an erection poke at the small of his back and turned, but when he reached for it, Vic murmured, “Tomorrow.” He added, ::Tonight’s about you.::
Matt cuddled closer to his lover, one hand around Vic’s stiff dick as if to remind himself to deal with it in the morning. As he drifted to sleep, it was no longer Jordan’s hand that played over his shoulders and down his back. It was only Vic’s touch he felt.
No other.
* * * *
Chapter 18
Matt woke wishing he were dead.
Well, maybe it wasn’t that bad…but his brain seemed to have pooled behind his left eye, which throbbed in its socket to the beat of his heart, and his stomach churned around the remnants of whatever he’d eaten the night before. He just knew if he opened his mouth, he’d vomit, and if he tried to get out of bed, his head would split in two, right down the center, like an overripe melon left out in the sun. Whoever had the bright idea to go get wasted at Kyle’s party should be dragged out into the street and shot.
Oh, wait. That was him.
Somewhere below the raw, twisting mess in his gut, his bladder threatened to burst. With a groan that sounded like it came straight from the grave, Matt rolled out of his sleeping lover’s embrace and felt the pain in his head roll with him, across his forehead, to puddle behind his other eye. He was almost afraid his brain would leak out if he tried to open his eyes—it felt like the damn thing was trying to escape.
Gingerly, with no sudden moves, Matt swung one leg, then the other, over the side of the bed. His feet landed in discarded clothing that jangled when he kicked it. Like a mummy in a horror movie, rising slowly from its tomb, Matt pushed himself into a sitting position.
Pain like fireworks flared behind his eyes.
He clutched his head in both hands as an unconscious sob escaped him. God. That was the last time he ever touched a mixed drink again. Rum was notorious for its vile hangovers, and who knew what all they put in Coke?
Easing to the edge of the bed, Matt tried to stand. He swayed a moment, sure he’d managed it, but then his legs collapsed under him and he fell to the bed, hard. Behind him, Vic groaned in his sleep, and the blankets sighed as his hands rubbed over Matt’s side of the bed. When his lover found the spot beside him empty, a groggy voice yawned in Matt’s mind. ::Matty?::
::Bathroom,:: Matt replied. His legs wobbled as he pushed away from the bed a second time. The pulse pounding in his head quickened, his stomach roiled, and when he took a step, his foot caught in the clothing on the floor and he stumbled. Opening his eyes, the world around him took a sickening dip.
The rustle of bed sheets behind him sounded a world away. His lover’s voice softened as the mental connection between them allowed Vic to feel what Matt did. ::No offense, but you feel like shit.::
With a startled laugh that sounded like more bark than bite, Matt muttered out loud, “No, really?”
He took another shuffling step and, as the darkened bedroom swooned around him, as the pain in his head bludgeoned his brain, as his stomach rose into his chest and pushed its contents into the back of his throat, he changed his mind about the wishing he were dead bit. It really was that bad.
* * * *
In the bathroom, Matt sat backwards on the toilet, head buried in the sweaty darkness made by his arms crossed on the back of the commode, legs spread wide around the toilet bowl as he emptied his bladder. He didn’t have the strength to stand and wait while relieving himself. As it was, he didn’t know how he’d get up again without falling, and the journey back to the bed yawned ahead of him like a canyon disappearing into the distance. Somehow this had to be all Kyle’s fault. And Jordan’s, too. Don’t forget Jordan.
How could he?
When the last tinkle of water in the toilet died away, Matt flushed and wished he hadn’t. A sudden whoosh! of sound filled the tiny bathroom, echoing off the tiled walls and running over Matt’s already tortured head like a semi. He moaned, sick, and wondered if he had the dexterity to slide off the toilet to the floor before he threw up. Never again.
From the bedroom, he heard the rustle of bed sheets as Vic stirred. Awake now, his lover’s gentle presence covered Matt’s mind like a balm, deadening the pain. ::Matty?:: Vic asked. ::You coming back?::
Matt groaned in reply.
The faint squeak of springs told him Vic had gotten out of bed. He heard footsteps, bare feet on a carpeted floor, nothing but the soft thud of Vic’s heels as he walked. Then strong arms eased under his, lifting him off the toilet, and he leaned against Vic’s nude body, head burrowing into Vic’s neck as a no-nonsense hand cleaned him up. Matt was too hung over to even be ashamed of himself, but one thought rolled through his mind like the pain that battered behind his eyes. ::No more, never again.::
With a grunt, Vic grumbled, “I’ll remind you of that next time.”
Matt lay against him as Vic washed both their hands in the sink. The towel felt rough and unused against Matt’s skin when Vic patted his hands dry. Then his lover bent down and caught Matt behind the knees; in one fluid motion, Vic stood, and Matt found himself swept off his feet and cradled, like a child, in Vic’s arms. Clasping his hands around Vic’s shoulders, Matt hid his face against Vic’s neck and let his lover carry him back to bed.
* * * *
When he woke again, he felt much better. At least the pain had receded a bit—his head no longer felt like an over-inflated balloon, ready to pop, and the storm that had raged through his stomach earlier was now calm. Matt lay alone in the bed, huddled among warm blankets, his arms clutching something soft tightly to his chest. He opened one eye.
The pain stayed at bay.
He opened the other eye and stared into the darkness of his bedroom. The curtains were drawn tight against the day; the only light came from the digital alarm clock on Vic’s bedside table, its display giving off a dull red glow. 2:23, it read, and as Matt watched, the last digit flickered to a 4. An unblinking dot in front of the first number indicated P.M.
With a yawn, Matt stretched across the length of the bed. On his own bedside table sat a bottle of Excedrin and a half-filled glass of water. So that explained why he felt a little better. He didn’t remember taking any p
ills but, then again, he didn’t remember much—the last thing he recalled that he knew for certain really happened was the cooler exploding at Kyle’s party. Most everything else after that was a blur. The food, the drinks, the drive home…did they have sex last night? Matt’s hand eased beneath the sheets to trail down his belly as he tried to remember. A hot wash cloth, Vic’s hot mouth…
Jordan.
The name slipped through Matt’s mind like a knife through warm butter. He sat up to shake it away and noticed the teddy bear he’d been holding onto when it rolled from his arm. For a full minute he stared at the bear—it was a variegated blue, its fuzzy fur mixed with white, with black beads for eyes and a satiny blue ribbon around its neck. No silken heart held in its hands, thank God, but still. Matt picked it up, a smirk on his face somewhere between annoyed and amused. Didn’t he tell Vic no damn stuffed animals?
But then an image came to mind—Vic stopping at a gas station after work, or a convenience store on his lunch break. At some time in the recent past he’d stood at a counter, an imposing figure, with his shaved head, thick arms, angry tattoos. The cashier wouldn’t have dared meet his fierce gaze; hell, she probably tried not to touch his hand when taking his money, and prayed nothing set him off before he got out of line. Then what, he saw the bear sitting on the counter? Picked it up, bought it on a whim? Matt grinned to imagine what must’ve gone through the cashier’s mind when Vic asked her to ring the bear up, too.
Had he been saving it for Christmas, maybe? Or to give to Matt at some point as a joke? Matt pictured Vic slipping from bed to retrieve the bear from its hiding place, then guiding it into Matt’s arms while he slept. Did he clutch at it? Had Vic stood there and watched him cuddle the bear to his chest?
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