With Everything I Have

by Cooper, R.

  Of course, there was no one around to make him uncomfortable or constrain his behavior. A country life might suit Peter. He had no real reason to stay in the city. Lord knew he complained enough when Sebastian went to his family’s holdings up north and left him on his own in London. Perhaps with less people around Peter might be more at ease. And naturally the country could always offer him more roads to explore and more cattle to terrify.

  A small herd behind a low stone fence went bolting in the opposite direction as they approached, only to absolutely panic at the jarring, echoing bang of a blown tyre. Sebastian winced and held on tighter as Peter slowed the auto and steered it toward the side of the road.

  “Damn damn damn,” Peter offered when they were stopped then dared to look offended when Sebastian instantly hopped out and heaved a huge sigh of relief. Sebastian’s stomach might never recover. “Did I frighten you?” Peter seemed lost as to how that could possibly have occurred, but he relaxed a bit when Sebastian waved away his concern as unnecessary. He trusted Peter’s driving even if he did not care for the speed. “It’s the holes in the road,” Peter explained, fretting either over the auto or Sebastian’s nerves. “They’ve yet to make a tyre that can withstand them.”

  Sebastian shook his head while Peter reached behind the seats to pull out some tools and a new tyre that he’d wedged back there. One time during a previous test drive he had lost two tyres and spent the night in his auto before walking to town. It was the reason he took a blanket with him now on his little jaunts. Sebastian pulled his dusty goggles down and grabbed the blanket from the storage area behind the two seats where Sebastian also kept the tanks of extra petrol. He took the blanket with him to a shady patch under a nearby tree. He might as well be comfortable while Peter made repairs.

  Peter took his eyes off his cherry red auto in order to watch him go. He gave Sebastian another offended stare when Sebastian groaned as he sat down with his back to the tree.

  Sebastian rubbed his backside without shame. “Those seats are seats in name only. Again I suggest better cushioning.”

  “I’d prefer something to absorb the impact on the mechanisms when the auto hits a bump,” Peter called over but gave him a thoughtful frown. “I did leave space in this one. Enough room for bench seats or padding to be added. But I wasn’t sure… I would have to ask a carriage maker. Not that carriage seats are terribly comfortable either. But it seemed a matter of your taste. If you really think so I could ask around.”

  For Peter, “asking around” was akin to a nightmare. But if there was anyone he could find common ground with, aside from a certain war hero MP he admired who was also known to avoid crowds and sit by himself at gatherings, it was artisans and craftsmen. It might be good for him to get more insight on the design of his autos. He already conferred with chemists and rubber manufacturers. This might even turn out to give him some new ideas, possibly even gain him some new friends that he would insist were mere colleagues despite their mutual respect. Peter had helped more than one mechanic and technician grow their business but shuddered away from their gratitude. He claimed it was simply business, as if business alone could explain why he was so loyal to the tradesmen he discovered, or why he had built Charles Howard that mechanized, moving chair.

  If Peter was going to set his mind to making the interior of his autos as beautiful as the outside, Sebastian and the world were in for some wonderful surprises.

  “Oh good,” Sebastian did not keep the glee from his voice, “a problem for you that isn’t about breaking your neck by speeding into a tree.” He closed his eyes in satisfaction and eased his head back.

  “I like to drive fast,” Peter answered defensively as he worked. Sebastian snorted. Peter paused, the noise of his work momentarily ceasing. Sebastian thought Peter was considering some childish response but when he continued, his tone was earnest. “I like to feel the wind so sharp that it cuts.”

  Sebastian opened his eyes. Peter was somewhere behind the auto, out of sight as he continued to frighten Sebastian. “I like seeing everything fly by and knowing I could slow if I wanted to, knowing I don’t have to. Everything is ahead of me but also behind me. I could go on forever if I wanted to, flying like that. It makes my heart pound. Makes me shake, stings my skin.” Sebastian could almost see Peter’s self-conscious shrug as he realized the drama of his own words. “And I like that people see the lines of my autos and want one. “

  “Peter, only you would get poetic about your hunks of metal.” Sebastian was mostly teasing. If his heart was also pounding, if his blood was also rushing hot and stinging to the surface of his skin, Peter did not need to know.

  Peter huffed at him, or perhaps his work was strenuous and he was out of breath. “That’s not poetry. Poetry is those lines about love that you are always reading. And do not call my autos hunks of metal. They are more than that.” The sounds of Peter and his tools were oddly reassuring. They meant Peter took pleasure in the simple act of rebuilding and repair, and that Peter was not solely devoted to risking death every time he drove his car alone. Sebastian felt his nerves start to settle and closed his eyes again. He could not imagine living in a state of such excitement all the time, though that was how Peter must feel at the thought of facing a room full of people. Being behind the wheel merely put the fear under his control, or seemed to.

  “Come here and sit with me,” Sebastian called out when he was reasonably sure from the sounds of it that Peter was almost done. There were a few more slamming sounds, the auto set back on the ground again probably, the old tyre being tossed into the auto to be repaired later, Peter putting away his tools, and then he heard Peter’s footsteps in the grass. Sebastian cracked one eye.

  Peter flopped onto the blanket only to immediately sit up to take off his long driving coat and goggles. Then he flopped down again, parallel with Sebastian’s legs. Sebastian opened both eyes. Peter was on his back, frowning up at the sky. The birds in the tree above them were still in a flutter about the noise the auto had made.

  “Do you remember what Mr. Darwin had to say about birds?” Peter mused and licked dust from his lips. “Autos aren’t poetry, Bash.”

  Peter hadn’t called Sebastian that name since they’d been fourteen or fifteen. He also usually kept to one subject at a time.

  Sebastian angled his head in Peter’s direction. “Birds?” he pried cautiously then added, “Then what is poetry?”

  “How birds fly. They offer very little resistance to the wind. Look at how their bodies curve, how they tilt their wings, the slope of their feathers. If I could get a frame like that and use a lighter metal, there is no telling how fast I could go. Poetry is usually about love.” It was like having two conversations at once.

  Sebastian tried to make sense of them both. His heart continued to race. “If there was a lighter frame, what would protect you in case of a crash?” The other topic was just as alarming. “Have you been reading love poetry?”

  “Fast enough to get away from everything. It scares you, going that fast. When I go that fast.” Peter was eerily calm. “It doesn’t scare me at all. I’ve been trying to reconcile that.”

  Sebastian waited, suspecting Peter had more to say, and after a few minutes, Peter hummed and went on. “If I drove like that you wouldn’t like it, would you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “But you wouldn’t tell me to stop. I like that feeling. I can’t think of anything else that feels like that.”

  “I don’t understand.” Sebastian pulled his goggles from around his neck and threw them to the side.

  Peter’s tone was almost dreamy. “It’s like I’m barely hanging on. I’m exhilarated and short of breath. Sick and hot, my whole body thrumming with—” Peter stopped to fiddle with his driving gloves. A moment later he tugged them off and shoved them away in the general area of his coat. He licked more dust from his mouth. “Your mother said—”

  “What?” Sebastian croaked. He swallowed and tried again. It still came out rough. “My mother? What did my
mother say? When did you talk to her?”

  “The last time she had me over.” Peter dismissed that question as unimportant, as though Sebastian’s mother often had him over for tea without either of them ever mentioning it to Sebastian. “She said you weren’t happy and lately I have been thinking about that.”

  “Not hap…” Sebastian trailed off and put a hand to his chest. “She shouldn’t have spoken to you.” It was easier to focus on his irritation with his mother than on the horrifying thought of Peter worrying about the state of Sebastian’s heart. “It’s nothing, Peter, please. Never mind what she said.” He wasn’t begging. Sebastian did not beg. Whatever else people expected from him, they would never see that.

  Peter rolled over onto his side and wrapped a hand around Sebastian’s ankle. He met Sebastian’s startled stare with clear eyes. “If you aren’t happy you should do something about it,” Peter announced with cool logic. “You deserve to be happy, Sebastian. I want you to be. I want to know that you are. If you say you must have someone to share your life, and your mother also thinks it, then I must think it too. ” A small line appeared between his eyes and he dropped his head. “However…”

  Sebastian put his hands down and imitated Peter for a moment, squeezing handfuls of the blanket as hard as he could. That ‘however’ might actually be killing him. “Peter?” he whispered. Peter looked back into his eyes.

  “However,” Peter worried his bottom lip, “I am afraid I could lose you if you do.” His voice was low, hoarse with the fear he was admitting to. “Is that selfish?”

  Sebastian shook his head. It wasn’t the answer Peter might have wanted but it was all Sebastian had for the moment. It seemed the time to howl a curse at the sky, or pull Peter to him, or drop his head to his chest and give up.

  Peter took the need to choose from him by sliding his hand further up inside the leg of Sebastian’s trousers, up beyond his stocking to the garter holding it in place and Sebastian’s bare skin. Peter’s lips parted, as if he was as shocked as Sebastian was. Sebastian couldn’t even think to answer him, not with Peter touching him. With Peter touching him he could not think at all.

  It had not been a month. It had not even been weeks, it had been days since they had last done this, and even then, Peter had never touched him first.

  Peter withdrew his hand almost immediately but stayed where he was, staring up at Sebastian with eyes that entreated Sebastian to understand. They were by the side of the road, Sebastian recalled distractedly, wondering just which of his words Peter decided to listen to and which he ignored and why. Surely there had been a lecture about discretion at some point, and yet here they were, not far from the sensuous, dangerous, beautiful auto Peter had built for him. It was just conceivable that Peter thought he was being subtle, if Peter ever thought it about it. It was also conceivable that Peter had no idea what that auto and that colour might signify, or what it might mean that he had thought of Sebastian as he had built it.

  Peter abruptly jerked his hand back and lowered his head. “I’m sorry.” He blushed with shame or embarrassment. Sebastian realized he must have gotten lost in his wild thoughts and Peter had taken it for rejection.

  It could not be allowed, not even if Peter was building the courage to let Sebastian go and wished to someday try for intimacy with someone else. Sebastian put a finger to the reddened swell of Peter’s lower lip. He’d meant it to silence Peter’s apologies but the rose-petal softness compelled him to drag his fingertip further. Peter exhaled and lifted his gaze up. Sebastian tried to imagine what Peter would do if Sebastian slipped his finger into his mouth. It was almost too much to contemplate, though Peter’s pupils went wide and dark and the colour stayed in his cheeks. He did not duck his head away. That was another revelation. If Peter had considered using his mouth on Sebastian and hadn’t for reasons that would only make sense to Peter, Sebastian did not think he was ready to know.

  He took his hand from Peter’s mouth and buried it in the wind-blown tangles of Peter’s hair. Ever so slowly, Peter slid onto his back, giving Sebastian a puzzled, impatient look from a new angle. His throat was exposed and after a moment he darted out his tongue, this time tasting where Sebastian’s finger had been. Sebastian put his other hand to the ground and shifted his position. Peter’s hand came up, most likely in surprise, but Sebastian caught it before Peter could take it away. He pulled it close and held against his shoulder as he kissed Peter’s upside-down mouth.

  Peter made a sound that more confused than upset but when Sebastian finally released his wrist he curled his hand weakly against Sebastian’s collar. “Yes,” Sebastian purred against Peter’s mouth, not precisely sure what he was saying but growing hard at Peter’s compliance. “Yes, Peter, like this, this time.” If Peter was letting him go Sebastian wanted this first. “This time you touch me.”

  Peter’s moan was quiet, like the almost imperceptible press of his fingertips into Sebastian’s collar and then their slow exploratory glide up and over Sebastian’s skin. Sebastian held himself still, with Peter’s mouth beneath his as Peter touched him. Peter found the shell of Sebastian’s ear, the edge of his jaw. He gasped when he reached the line of his hair. Sebastian had an urge to laugh but couldn’t find the breath for it. Sebastian licked that red bottom lip instead and burned at the quickening of Peter’s breathing. He did it again.

  Peter grabbed Sebastian’s coat at the shoulder and held tight. Sebastian was so dizzy he could have reached out for anything solid to hold onto and still felt lost. He nearly fell as he got to his knees to come in closer yet barely noticed. The second he was within reach he nuzzled Peter’s throat and pulled at Peter’s clothes until he found a discreet spot to leave a bruise.

  Peter groaned for the pressure of lips and tongue. He let go of Sebastian’s coat and flailed his arm to the ground, to the blanket, before sliding his hand back against Sebastian’s neck and holding to that instead. He kicked his feet apart and shuddered when Sebastian ducked in to mark him someplace new. Peter brought his other hand up between them and left it pressed to Sebastian’s chest, his fingers flexing anxiously.

  “Go on.” Sebastian was scarcely whispering. Any louder and he worried Peter would be scared into stopping. But Peter did not seem frightened.

  “What?” Peter demanded, clutching at him. “I don’t know what to do next.”

  “Touch me.” Sebastian didn’t adjust his tone or make it nice. Peter’s hand closed around his waistcoat, his grip strong. He yanked on it, his desires evident. Sebastian slid away enough to settle over Peter’s body, Peter’s legs on either side of him. They were once again eye to eye. Sebastian did not know what he looked like. He imagined he was filthy with road dust, disheveled, but Peter splayed a hand over his cheek and jaw and rubbed his palm against his beard. He shivered, although he had felt Sebastian’s beard in far more intimate places. His eyes were nearly round as he watched his fingers play along Sebastian’s mouth.

  Then Peter released a long breath and closed his eyes. He eased his legs open, not seeming to care that they were both still dressed. They might as well have been boys again, fully clothed as Sebastian ground against Peter under the covers of their shared bed. Peter’s hand remained in Sebastian’s waistcoat, his strength enough to pull Sebastian down against him until Sebastian could feel the full length of Peter’s cock against his hip and Peter could feel his. Sebastian choked, surprised, and Peter threw his head back.

  Sebastian kissed the skin displayed for him, sucking a bruise over a small mole that had tormented him as a boy. Peter cried out at the force of it and pressed both of his hands into Sebastian’s shoulders. Holding Sebastian in place, Sebastian realized. The sun and Peter had him burning up but Peter stroked the back of his neck in absent, soothing gestures that made no sense when Peter was the frightened one. Sebastian thrust against him, cursing the layers of fabric, and gave Peter a nipping bite for beginning this where he could not properly finish it. When that made Peter cry out his name, Sebastian gave him anothe
r bruising kiss over the same spot.

  Peter gasped, electrified and aroused, and clutched at Sebastian’s back, digging his fingers in to cause pain and so much pleasure. He held onto Sebastian, so Sebastian forgave him, urging Peter’s thighs farther apart and rocking against him. He slid his way up for a kiss and moaned, distracted by Peter’s eyelashes and how Peter looked at him after he kissed them.

  “It is so much worse than I thought,” Peter murmured, but parted his lips and exhaled. “Please kiss me, Bash.” His fingers curled into Sebastian’s skin. He was not quite urging Sebastian down but he wanted to. Eyes wide open, he wanted to.

  Sebastian could not think. Peter was clinging to him, his fingers searching and greedy. Their bodies were close together, Peter’s hips hitching carefully up to drive him mad. Peter could not know what he was doing but it was all the sweeter for his innocence and eagerness. Sebastian groaned and kissed him, need making him rough, but Peter showed no hesitation. He whispered something nonsensical, something about birds and flight, and pulled Sebastian to the ground with him.

  ~~~

  The ride through the country afterward had been at an almost sedate pace. Sebastian had considered offering to pleasure Peter before every drive, but he knew better than to interfere when Peter was trying to reclaim the appearance of calm. It had been an eventful day and Peter was probably still reeling. Sebastian thought they both were. Peter was quiet again, except for the occasional hum and glance in Sebastian’s direction. Sebastian himself was tired from his exertions yet buzzing in his skin whenever he remembered Peter’s hands on him.

  Peter had not only touched him. Peter had clung to him and asked for what he wanted. That alone was significant. If Peter had done that, facing possible rejection, he had thought about it first. It meant something but Sebastian was damned if he knew what it was.

  They’d sat in comfortable, only slightly strained silence, through a late lunch at a village pub, and driven back into the city well after dark. Sebastian would have excused himself but Smythe and then Bess herself had insisted he stay for supper. Peter had disappeared to wash off the grime, and dried spunk, from a day’s driving in an open auto, and after eating had insisted that Sebastian do the same. Sebastian was more confused than ever.