by E M Lindsey
Antoine frowned. “He seems plenty forward to me.”
Ronan chuckled darkly. “Mm, well that’s…unusual. I mean with Chance, the guy dicked him around for years and then just left him, and Fitz rolled over and took it like he somehow deserved to be treated like shit.”
Antoine blinked, startled by that. He hadn’t realized Fitz was recently involved with anyone and no one had mentioned the name Chance before now. And god, it was damn hard to imagine Fitz letting anyone walk all over him. “Is that guy still around, or…”
“He fucked off to New York last summer. I mean, Fitz tells everyone he doesn’t care, and I don’t think he was really in love with the guy, but…” Ronan trailed off with a sigh, shrugging.
Antoine wanted to know more, to know everything. He wanted the guy’s name and number and his picture so he could go beat the shit out of him for making Fitz feel bad, and that was unexpected.
“I don’t mean to gossip,” Ronan said after a beat.
Antoine shrugged. “It’s all the same to me. Though I’m glad that guy took off if he thinks that’s an acceptable way to treat someone.”
“Not your style?” Ronan asked with a very small grin.
Antoine laughed. “No. Not my style. I mean, I suck at dating—so hard. Like, epic fails. But stringing someone along until I leave…” He stopped himself, because wasn’t that what he was doing? Yes, the agreement was mutual, but it sounded like what Fitz had with this other guy was too. God, was he that much of a selfish ass?
“You okay?” Ronan asked.
Antoine swallowed thickly, then pasted on a smile and nodded. “Yep. Just need more caffeine.”
Ronan nodded, then pushed himself up to stand, grabbing his crutches and slipping his arms into the cuffs. “I should go check on Dmitri. I…thanks for being cool about the whole thing. You know, with him.”
“People keep saying that like he’s not just a kid who made a mistake,” Antoine told him with a frown. “Shit happens. It wasn’t on purpose.”
Ronan’s face did something complicated, then his mouth opened, but no sound came out. He cleared his throat twice, then tipped his head at Antoine and headed out the door. It was strange, but then again, he’d been prepared for strange, and he was glad the people in this town didn’t tend to disappoint.
Antoine was outside, waiting for Fitz to get back from collecting the rest of the firewood, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when warm breath hit the back of his ear. “Want to help me start the fire?”
Biting his lip, he started to turn, but Fitz slung an arm around his waist and kept him there, his back pressed firmly against Fitz’s broad chest. “Um,” his eyes closed in embarrassment. “I don’t uh…don’t know how.”
“Never started a campfire?” Fitz asked, and Antoine could hear the grin in his voice.
“Well, it was hard to have the opportunity when you were being dragged thousands of miles every three months, Smokey.” He knew he was being sharp and defensive. He knew unkindness was how he protected himself, but he hated that his barbs cut other people. He just didn’t know how to stop.
“Relax, Hollywood. I put a bunch of kindling in a pile over there by the stack of wood.” Fitz pointed, and Antoine saw what he was talking about. Dry pine needles, small sticks, and what looked like old newspaper. “I’m happy to teach you.”
Antoine let himself relax. “Sorry, I…”
“No,” Fitz said, and pressed a kiss to the back of his neck before stepping away. “You don’t need to apologize. I forget not everyone grew up like this.”
Antoine wanted to defend Fitz, because he wasn’t the one being unfair, but then he reminded himself it was only temporary anyway. This wasn’t meant to last. There was no need to worry about feelings. He was a little colder with Fitz now several feet away, and he wrapped one arm around his middle as he walked around the firepit and knelt down next to the pile of kindling.
“I’m going to stack the wood, then you can stuff the holes with whatever will fit. Ronan had all this stuff under a tarp so it should catch pretty easily.”
Antoine didn’t know what that meant, or why it was important, but he didn’t want to ask, either. He just nodded, then waited for Fitz to create what looked like a Lincoln Log stack of wood in the center of the pit. He added a few more logs around—nothing like Antoine had ever seen in the movies, but he kind of liked it that way.
When Fitz motioned for him to get to work, Antoine meticulously filled all of the gaps as best he could with what Fitz had left him. He stepped back to survey his work, then looked across the pit at Fitz who gave him a slow wink.
“Gorgeous.”
“It’s a wood pile,” Antoine grumbled.
Fitz’s expression told Antoine he hadn’t been talking about their handiwork, but he didn’t say it aloud. Instead, he grabbed the long candle lighter, then bent over and started to catch the newspaper until the flames grew large and began to crackle as they licked at the dry wood.
“And now you’ve helped start your first campfire,” Fitz said, sliding up toward Antoine.
“And now you’ve yet again patronized me for something I should be able to do by now,” he retorted.
Fitz let out a soft growl, then turned and caught Antoine’s chin between his fingers, holding a grasp just shy of painful. “Do you say shit like that so I’ll shut you up?”
“Not when your nephew and his friend are in the area,” Antoine said, but his voice was breathless and soft at Fitz’s touch.
“They’re in the ranger’s cabin playing Xbox,” Fitz told him. His voice was pitched low, and as the sun was almost behind the horizon, he was lit up mostly with the orange glow of fire that had finally taken to the thick pieces of wood. “They won’t see shit.”
Antoine swallowed. “If you say so.”
Fitz’s grin was predatory. “I say so.”
He let out a soft yelp when Fitz took him by the shoulder and backed him up. His feet slid a little on slick dirt, but Fitz’s hands were strong, steady, almost vicious as his fingers dug into his shirt. His breath came out in a single, hard rush when his back hit a tree, and then Fitz’s knee was between his thighs, hitching upward, making Antoine rise onto his toes.
“Is this what you want?” Fitz asked, right up against his mouth.
Antoine swallowed thickly.
“Is this why you try so hard to piss me off? You want it rough? A little mean?”
I just don’t want to love you, Antoine silently answered. His eyes fluttered shut and his tongue wet his bottom lip. “I don’t know what I want.”
Fitz let out a breath, and his touch gentled, though he didn’t lower his thigh. He put one hand at Antoine’s waist to keep him steady, and the other he moved to cup his cheek. “I want to enjoy you. I want to make it good for you. If you like it rough, you don’t have to antagonize me for it.”
“I don’t mean to,” Antoine said, but it felt like a lie, and Fitz knew it.
“We can do this however you want.” Fitz’s face was dark, the glow of the fire behind him lighting up around his hair like a halo. It was still trapped in the bun, so Antoine reached behind him and pulled the tie out. It fell in soft waves along his shoulders, thick, a little frizzy, and he ran his fingers through it. Fitz’s moan shuddered through him, and he dropped his forehead to Antoine’s shoulder. “I want to kiss you.”
At that, Antoine couldn’t help his laugh. “I’m definitely not stopping you.”
Fitz didn’t look up right away, though. Instead, he turned his head and opened his mouth against Antoine’s neck. He mouthed there, hot, wet breath along Antoine’s skin, then Fitz grazed him with teeth before biting down hard enough to hurt, hard enough to make him cry out.
Clapping his hand over his mouth to muffle his groan, Antoine’s head fell back against the sharp bark. It bit into his scalp, but he needed the pain to keep him grounded, to keep him from getting lost in the juxtaposition of soft and harsh from Fitz’s mouth and hands.
Fitz kis
sed upward, taking Antoine’s earlobe between his teeth, tugging, making him whimper into his palm again. His arm was pushed out of the way, then Fitz used a firm grip to turn Antoine’s head…and then he kissed him. It was hot, a little desperate, too much tongue, but Antoine didn’t care. He opened himself to it—his mouth, his body, his heart. He let his emotions rise, even as that terrified him. Fitz’s body was a long line of heat pressed against his, a sharp contrast to the rapidly cooling night air.
“I want you.” The words fell from his lips like he couldn’t stop them if he tried.
“Soon,” Fitz said, a promise spoken against his ear in a rough, wrecked tone. “We’ll eat dinner, make some s’mores, let the boys talk shit.”
“And then?” Antoine pushed.
Fitz’s hand snaked between them and he laid a flat, warm palm over Antoine’s bulge. “And then, this is mine.”
He took a step back, so abrupt, Antoine’s knees almost buckled. He managed to stay upright, but only just, and he watched the long line of Fitz’s back as he strode toward the ranger’s cabin to bring everyone out. It was going to be a long dinner, and an even longer afterward, but he was pretty sure it would be worth it.
“So, is this the part where we sing campfire songs and talk about our feelings?” Owen’s voice cut through the silence which had settled on them after setting marshmallows alight on long sticks.
Antoine had been pleased to admit that while he was a campfire virgin, he knew how to make a damn s’more. He even shouldered Fitz’s relentless mockery at his preference for a completely charred marshmallow with a small grin. He was still picking sticky strings of white sugar from his fingertips when Owen spoke, interrupting their quiet thoughts.
“This is the part where you two can do whatever the hell you want as long as it involves going to your cabin and staying there until the sun comes up,” Fitz told him, his grin just visible from the fire light.
Owen’s glare was more obvious than Fitz’s smile. “Seriously? We have to go to bed?”
“Seriously, you have to go sit behind four walls and do whatever it was you brought to entertain yourself. But no taking out the kayak, and no screwing around in the woods,” Fitz told him.
“You’re not my fucking dad, as much as you want to think you are.” Owen stood up and brushed his jeans off, storming in the direction of the cabin.
The silence was back, heavier this time, and Dmitri was staring down at his feet. “Um. He doesn’t, like, mean that, you know.”
Fitz laughed softly. “I know, kiddo. But if he’s being a dick to you, I’m sure you can crash on the station couch.”
Dmitri shook his head and wore a soft smile as he looked up at both Antoine and Fitz. “He’s not mad at me.”
Fitz let out a bone-deep sigh and shook his head. “Well, he’s mad at someone. You can take off, though. Antoine and I can handle clean-up.”
Antoine would have bristled about being volunteered for anything, only he saw the strained look in Dmitri’s face, and the sad resignation on Fitz’s. He nodded his agreement, then pushed to his feet as Dmitri made his way down the dark hill.
“Is Owen going to listen to you?” he asked once the boys were out of earshot.
Fitz laughed as he began to collect the plates and shove them into a tote bag. “Probably not, but at least I tried. There’s not a lot of trouble he can get into up here. Ronan patrols one last time before he heads home, so he’ll catch them if they try anything stupid. I just…I don’t want him to get into real trouble. I want him to make better choices.”
“I get that,” Antoine said. His own parents had said that to both him and Marcel during their teenage years. They traveled so often, they didn’t have the opportunity to get into much, but they pushed their boundaries when they could. “He seems like a good kid.”
“He was. He is. I just worry. Sometimes small towns…” Fitz closed his eyes, then opened them and tilted his head back to look at the vast array of stars. “It’s not always quaint and sweet, you know?”
“I do,” Antoine said. “Just like the city isn’t always cold and full of apathetic snobs.”
At that, Fitz actually winced. “Sorry. I didn’t…”
“Please don’t,” Antoine interrupted him. He threw the marshmallow sticks into the fire, watching them crackle and watching the leftover sugar start to crisp and smoke. After a beat, he took a step closer, and then another, and realized Fitz was meeting him inch for inch. When they were in touching distance, Antoine curled his hands into fists and resisted the urge to throw himself into Fitz’s arms. “We both made shitty snap judgements.”
Fitz hummed, then grabbed Antoine’s wrist and pulled him to the bench. It was cold and uncomfortable, but sitting with his side pressed to the larger man felt good. “Do you still think this is some little podunk town not worth saving?”
“I never thought it wasn’t worth saving,” Antoine said quietly. “But I’m still kind of salty that it’s tried to murder me. Repeatedly. I like it here, though. A lot.” He took a deep breath in, letting it out through his nose. “Do you still think I’m some Hollywood snob?”
“Yes,” Fitz answered, too quick, too honest. Before Antoine had the chance to be hurt, though, Fitz spun toward him and cradled his face between both large hands. “But I’ve changed my mind on how I feel about Hollywood snobs. Well…some Hollywood snobs.”
“Some?” Antoine asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Fitz leaned in his head in close enough their noses brushed together. “One, at the very least. Maybe two. But the other one took off a year ago with his boyfriend.”
Antoine dragged his lower lip between his teeth, but it didn’t stay there long. Not when Fitz lowered his mouth to it, tracing it with the tip of his tongue until Antoine let go and parted his lips. Fitz took the opportunity to kiss him, slower than usual. His mouth was hot, the taste of him sweet and rich like chocolate, and he knew he could get lost in this forever if he let himself.
“Do you want to go in?” Fitz asked after he pulled away.
Antoine did. And he didn’t. He wanted to push toward that inevitable conclusion, their bodies together, inside each other. He wanted to take that step there was no coming back from, even if the destination meant the end of them. But he didn’t want to race there.
He was afraid of these moments—these soft, careful, quiet moments—but he wanted them all the same. Shifting closer, he let Fitz wrap his arms around him, and they both turned their faces up to the sky.
“Marcel can’t see stars. I used to feel guilty for enjoying the things he couldn’t see.” Antoine licked his lips. “He punched me in the face when I told him that once. We were fifteen and there was a meteor shower.”
Fitz laughed. “I think I’d like this guy.”
“I think so too.” His eyes focused on the empty spaces between the flickering lights, and he knew what he’d wish for if one of them fell. But none did. The sky remained steady, an infinitesimal movement with the turn of the earth he couldn’t see or feel. “We should go in soon.”
Fitz’s entire body heaved with his sigh, and he nodded, but he made no move to get up. “Yes. We should.”
Antoine was unaware of how long they sat there, but he knew he would remember that moment for the rest of his life.
Chapter Seventeen
Before the fire, before even arriving at the cabins, Fitz had let himself fantasize about what it would be like to have Antoine there. He pictured the desperation, being unable to keep their hands to themselves, letting go in ways he’d been holding back since realizing how much he wanted the other man.
He pictured holding Antoine by the waist until his skin bruised. He pictured laying him down and methodically stripping him, laying his mouth to every inch of him until he was sobbing and begging and ready. He didn’t care how it happened—didn’t care who fucked whom. He just wanted it.
Desperate, and wanton, and needy.
He hadn’t expected romance. He hadn’t expected la
zy, soft kisses under the stars by the light of a dying fire. He hadn’t expected the way Antoine stood up, then straddled him and cradled his face and then looked into his eyes for an aching, endless moment before kissing him.
He hadn’t wanted that. Not when he would have to let Antoine go at the end.
And yet, he hadn’t been able to make himself say no, either. He’d held on just as tight, had kissed with just as much tenderness and care, had worked hard to pull those soft, easy gasps from Antoine’s plush lips.
“Let’s go inside,” he murmured, and Antoine nodded. He didn’t speak, didn’t break the spell between them. Fitz took only a moment to douse the flames and stir the ashes, too-well practiced at extinguishing every coal as quick as he could. He thought maybe time would have dampened what Antoine was feeling, but as soon as Fitz’s hands were free, Antoine threaded their fingers together.
It was his right hand, and he couldn’t feel more than the pressure of it, but he liked that Antoine either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He gave a gentle squeeze, then drew Antoine’s hand to his mouth and kissed his knuckles as they made their way down the dark path.
There was a single light on inside from the bathroom, dimmed by the door halfway closed. Fitz didn’t want to remedy this, even though he was near desperate to see every inch of Antoine spread out beneath him. He liked this too, though. He liked navigating through the twilight darkness, feeling the way Antoine’s body arched under his hands, hearing the way his breath hitched, tasting the sweetness on his tongue as he plunged his own inside Antoine’s waiting mouth. He was so fucking responsive, so fucking needy, and Fitz wanted to strip him down to his soul.
He wanted to consume him, keep him, draw promises from him—even if they would be broken by morning.
“I want you,” he said, his mouth at Antoine’s collarbone.