by Willa Okati
Nathan grimaced. “I usually don’t. There aren’t exactly a bunch of handy drive-through joints up here.”
“No, but there’s an overlook. Ease in there off the road and we can eat.” Fitz’s amusement and affection were palpable. “So that’s why I can almost count your ribs. You forgot to pack anything, didn’t you?”
“I’m not that bad. And you did remember?”
“I’ve got you covered, if you’ll let me,” Fitz said, pushing without pushing. “June and Gibson are pretty generous.”
Nathan jerked upright. “Wait, what?”
“Just pull over, I’ll show you.”
Nathan burned at the implications, but his growling stomach wouldn’t let him lie. He could have eaten a horse without salt. The steady, quiet pressure from Fitz didn’t let up. He’d outlast the rain if Nathan let him. “Fine. But you’re explaining yourself.”
Fitz gestured acquiescence, but delivered no follow-through before Nathan pulled into the overlook—abandoned this time of year, with the fall colours come and gone, and not another vehicle on the roads as far as Nathan could see, which wasn’t far. The rain drove down in sheets that blurred the windshield.
Nathan killed the engine. “What’s this about June and Gibson? Did you take something from them?”
“Nothing they didn’t give freely.”
“Fitz, they—” Nathan’s tongue tied into a knot of righteous indignation. “They’re on fixed incomes. Both of them. They can barely afford to pay me, and I don’t charge what I should.”
“I know. And so do they.”
“What?”
“You heard me. They’re proud people, Nathan, you said so yourself. You give and they take what they have to. Did it ever occur to you to let them try and give back?” There, a glare, albeit short-lived. “They sneaked me this stuff when you weren’t looking.”
“And you took it?”
“Yes. Because, by God, the one thing I understand is pride.”
Nathan shut his mouth with an audible snap.
Quiet settled between them, drowned out by the pounding of the rain.
“Here.” Fitz sidestepped the stalemate first. He dug in his messenger bag—how capacious was the thing?—and dug out first a package wrapped in foil, then an old margarine tub with the lid taped down and around. “Cookies from June. Stew from Gibson. Still warm.”
The richness of butter and raisins, of savoury beef stock and vegetables, made Nathan’s mouth water. Fitz withheld both. “I know what you’re going to say, and stop. They wanted to give this. It’s an insult to say no and they’re nice enough—yes, even Gibson—to let you get away with not knowing better, but now you do.” He pushed the margarine tub of stew at Nathan. “Take it and next time we’re there, say thank you.”
Nathan swallowed down the hungry saliva. “Did he get this from the pot he keeps on the back of his stove?”
“Yeah. He said something about it being his grandmother’s recipe.”
“He meant that literally.” Nathan cracked the lid, not without effort—Gibson’s shaking hands had made a mess of the tape, but a thorough one—and tried a sip of the stew. “His grandmother started a pot a hundred years ago. Or her mother, I’m not sure. He just adds to it every time it gets low. It’s ancient.”
Fitz considered that, then shrugged. “Probably plenty of time to get it right.”
“Or for it to be a field day for bacteria.”
“Are you kidding? He dumped in a half-pint of something hand-labelled and highly alcoholic after he took this out. If it’s constantly on the boil, it’s fine. Or fine enough. It smells like heaven. Would you try some and share, already?”
He startled the laugh out of Nathan. When he inhaled, flavourful tastes burst against his palate.
What the hell? Nathan sipped.
Delicious. Odd, definitely, and with a mix of flavours unlikely to be found in any other kitchen on the planet, but warm, hearty, rich in texture and taste.
Fitz elbowed him gently. “See? Told you.”
“Don’t gloat,” Nathan said. He couldn’t quite hide his enjoyment—it emerged as a chuckle, and once he’d begun Fitz joined in with a lower rumble of pleased amusement. “Here. See for yourself.”
He passed the tub to Fitz for him to sip. Though he had not intended to, he stayed there, turned to the side, watching him. He remembered times like this. Sharing a meal, small or large. Stolen, pilfered, or honestly come by. College students were always hungrier than their meal cards allowed for.
Fitz chuckled. “Open book. You’re thinking about the college cafeteria, aren’t you?”
“I am.” Nathan tried one of June’s cookies. He licked crumbs off his lips. “That’s how I met you.”
Fitz swallowed a mouthful of soup. He didn’t look at Nathan, not directly. “I remember.”
Nathan let the cookies rest on his lap and leaned his head back. The memory was a vivid one for him too. “You charmed your way into the cafeteria, and went around picking off people’s trays. They were so pissed off—or would have been, but you charmed them.”
Fitz made a small noise that might have been agreement, or a motion to go on. He’d started taking sideways looks at Nathan again. Guess he didn’t see this coming. Nor did I.
“And then,” Nathan said, “then you came up to me and took my apple.”
“I did. You told me an apple a day keeps the doctor away.” Fitz held out his hand, palm up, inviting Nathan to take it. Nathan’s palm itched and he ached to reach out and cover Fitz’s hand with his own.
He didn’t.
“Remember what happened then?” Fitz asked.
“You took a big bite,” Nathan said, slowly, slowly, pushing the words out, “and said, ‘Good. I’d rather you stayed right where you are.’”
The silence that fell in the slowing rain was of a different sort. God. The past had so much good Nathan had forgotten. Not just the sex. The sex came to mind first, but that would happen to a body starved of it for far too long. He’d almost missed the companionship more. Fitz had been good at this, once upon a time, just sitting in silence and sharing whatever they had to divide between them.
Fitz turned to one side and put his elbow on his knee, his chin in his hand, studying Nathan openly now. “I can hear your head whirring again.”
“I’m not surprised.” Nathan tucked away the cookies. His appetite had receded as abruptly as the rain. “It’s hard to reconcile you now with you then.”
“It is for me, too.”
Nathan scoffed.
“You’ve changed in some ways I didn’t expect. In other ways, you’re exactly as I remember you. But taken altogether…” Fitz looked thoughtful. “You’re the doctor I thought you’d be. The man I hoped you’d become.”
“Am I?” Nathan wasn’t sure if he was picking a fight, or if he even wanted to. If he wanted the truth, or if he didn’t want anything to do with it. “Did you dream of me?”
“Always.”
“Great. Then tell me. Describe to me how you dreamed of me.”
Fitz stilled. “Why?”
“Because I want to know. Isn’t that enough?”
“Not quite. Nathan? Tell me why you want to know.”
Careful what you ask for. You might just get it.
“Because if you dreamed of me, and you missed me, why didn’t you come back sooner?”
Fitz’s regarded him steadily. “I told you. And I’m still not sorry. It couldn’t have been helped. Not if I wanted to do it right.”
“Then why wait for now? You were in Haiti. If you wanted to be a good man, it doesn’t get much better. Why did you wait for now?”
Fitz pulled his necklace from beneath the collar of his scrubs and squeezed the rock tight. He looked past Nathan, far away. “I’d been waiting for the perfect time. But I realised there’d never be a perfect time. I had to take a chance. That was the last part of it. Do you understand?” He lifted his fist, the pendant still in his grasp. “It’s like this. I shou
ld have left it behind, but I couldn’t.”
Nathan’s voice sounded foreign to him. “Tell me why?”
“Some people wish on stars,” Fitz said after a long pause. “Stars are great for dreaming. I wished on a stone.”
And he built his house on solid rock. Nathan pressed his fingers to his eyes, rubbing against the itch and pressure. He must have worked so hard for so long.
He could hear anyone who’d known him lining up with told you sos in hand, ready to go.
But then, when he looked at Fitz with that pendant in his hand, the sensation inside his chest reminded him of scree rolling downhill after a rock slide. Jagged bits and pieces clearing the way.
The imagined crowd of ill-wishers and the very real reasons not to do this faded away. Nathan wanted him. Just wanted.
The rain had stopped, the skies were clear. Nathan popped the locks on both doors and gave Fitz a push. “Outside. Now.” He put his hand in the air to silence Fitz. “Just do it. Please.”
Fitz did.
Nathan could move quickly when he wanted, and for once in his life he had the advantage of surprise on Fitz. He’d circled the Jeep before Fitz could regroup, slammed the passenger door shut, and crowded Fitz against it.
“What are you—?”
“I said please.” Nathan thought he had a spare pair of jeans with his kit. Even if he didn’t, he didn’t care. He braced Fitz where he wanted the man…and to hell with the rainwater, be damned to the mud. He dropped to his knees, the gravel of the outlook rough beneath them.
“Nathan—”
When Nathan looked up, his chin bumped the proof that, while Fitz’s mind might not have caught up yet, his body was on track. “Shh. Hush and let me do this.”
He watched Fitz swallow down a knot of indecision. It wasn’t often that he didn’t have the upper hand, or know what cards he’d been dealt. Nathan would have stopped if he hadn’t wanted this too. But he watched Fitz’s pupils dilating, felt the increase in his pulse, and filled his nose with the headiness of male arousal. He put his mouth over the thickening bulge at the juncture of Fitz’s legs and pressed his lips to the heated length. He tasted faint salt, clean cotton and a hint of soap. His soap, from the morning’s clean-up.
Fitz caught Nathan’s wrist when he would have untied the drawstring. “Why?”
“Because I want to.” No. That wasn’t good enough. Nathan tried again. “Because that’s what I would have done in the shower. Don’t tell me you don’t recall that, because I do. And if you—? Everything you say—you remember too. So let me do this, and don’t argue. I want to.”
“God, Nathan.” Fitz’s grip loosened without fully releasing. Nathan had him, almost.
He took firm hold of the drawstring’s knot and tugged. “I need to.” I need you. No less hard, aching, he moved his knees farther apart to ease the discomfort, groaning at the light friction from his own confinement.
“Nathan.” Fitz’s knees threatened to give. Good thing he had the truck to hold him up. Nathan wasn’t sure he could have done it.
“I need to finish what I started,” Nathan said. “Before I know if I can go on.” He couldn’t explain himself better than that. All he could do was ask Fitz, with the brush of his hands, to understand.
He couldn’t be sure, but he thought, maybe. Maybe…
Eyes locked on Nathan, Fitz swallowed and nodded. His hand fell away to give Nathan the room he needed, permission to take what he wanted.
His hands were steady as he undid the ties, Fitz’s scrubs loose enough around the waist but tight at the thighs. Free, they slid of their own accord down to the thickness of his quadriceps and hung naturally. The jockey shorts he had to ease down on his own. Still steady, but no finesse. Like he was twenty-two again. No waiting and no patience wasted before tonguing Fitz’s length into his mouth and swallowing to draw that sound from him. That deep groan, the hiss of breath, the ragged exhale. God, how good that sound was. He’d forgotten, but now Nathan held the weight on his tongue and committed Fitz to memory. Just in case… Just because.
More. Nathan edged forward, taking Fitz deeper. The blunt push at the back of his throat made him cough, but he swatted Fitz’s protest aside. Mind over matter. He adjusted, relaxed his throat if not his hands, holding tight to Fitz’s hips, and drew him in.
Fitz swore and bucked, backed up flush against the truck, taking the brunt of his weight on his back. He settled his grasp on Nathan’s shoulder and jaw. No choking on his watch, hmm? Nathan let him get away with that much. Each holding onto the other, they formed a closed circuit. An ouroboros on the mountain.
Against his cheek, Fitz’s fingertips tickled. Something in Nathan felt wild, free, unfettered. He hadn’t done this since college, but he didn’t have to think about it to remember how to tilt his head and push the bulk of cock sideways against his cheek, pressing his tongue to push it farther and let Fitz feel.
“God.” Fitz threw his head back. His hips shifted. Nathan knew what Fitz used to like best. Fitz wouldn’t push his luck now, but seven years ago he’d have cast his self-control aside and fucked Nathan’s mouth. Here and now, he held back. Good, Nathan thought. That meant Fitz understood they’d do this Nathan’s way or not at all.
Nathan closed his eyes and took Fitz deep again. Long, slow sucks, drawing this out for as long as he could. Not as messy as Fitz had been, cleaning up after himself with little licks.
The sun emerged fully from behind the last of the cloud cover and beat down on Nathan’s back, burning his nape and the gap where shirt and waist didn’t quite meet. He thought he felt Fitz watching that, staring at him, but not with focus.
Too soon, too little, but Nathan knew—remembered—the signs. He drew Fitz deep in one last hard suck, then pulled off to lash the fat, plum head with his tongue. With only the tip balanced on his lips, he looked up. At Fitz. Into the dark, wide circles of iris.
Fitz jack-knifed forward, a sound Nathan hadn’t heard before ripping its way out of him. He caught Fitz’s weight and let Fitz dig into his shoulders to stop him falling as he came, thick gouts Nathan let paint his lips and cheek and tongue.
Himself, he didn’t touch. He ached for it—desperate—but not now. He pushed Fitz’s hand aside when he would have tried to pull Nathan up and finish him off. I need that edge.
Fitz fought him, only briefly, before he sank back against the side of the vehicle and stared up at the sky. Careful of himself, Nathan stood. He pressed close to Fitz but no more than that. Not even kissing him, but only breathing the air that escaped Fitz’s lips.
Fitz’s tongue touched Nathan’s lips when he licked his own. He started to speak, then shook his head. Nathan could feel him regrouping, boiling it down to one question. Just one. “Are we good?”
He’d meant more than the moment. Nathan eased Fitz’s scrubs back up and tied the string. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t.” He licked the roof of his mouth, tasting Fitz instead of kissing him. “We should get back to work.”
Chapter Five
He might not have thought to—or wanted to—warn Fitz before they’d passed through this day together, but now Nathan laid his hand on Fitz’s shoulder without thinking. Fitz drew to an instant stop. On the surface, that was expectable. Shut-in patients had unique needs. A quick sit-rep was necessary.
But he let his hand linger, and Fitz’s skin was warm, firm, smooth beneath the cotton of his scrubs. His glance up was easy and fond.
Looking into the past. A mirror seven years hence.
Fitz’s eyebrows drew together. “Everything okay?”
“What?” Nathan had to shake his head. “No. Fine. This is Luz. Diabetic. Five years old. Her mother can’t drive and her father’s working up north.”
“Five-year-old diabetic,” Fitz mused. “Doesn’t like needles?”
“I brought earplugs.” Nathan touched his pocket. “She hated Ilse. I’m surprised we don’t already hear her screaming.”
“Yeah?” Fitz cocked his head. �
�Good thing I’m not Ilse.”
“You don’t think you can charm Luz too.”
“I wouldn’t say ‘charm’.” Fitz grinned. “But yeah. Watch me.”
* * * *
Ten minutes later, Fitz looked as though he wished he’d taken Nathan up on his offer of earplugs, but also as though he’d let both tympanic membranes rupture before he called surrender.
Well, no one could say he hadn’t been warned.
On the other hand…he wasn’t going anywhere. Now.
That wasn’t nothing.
If he tried, Nathan could almost understand why Fitz had ducked out. He could—if he half-closed his eyes—see the gap between the man Fitz could have become, and the man he was.
If he put aside all sense of self, and of old hurts stunned by cauterisation, he could almost accept Fitz’s reasons. That he’d done what he believed to be the right thing by leaving Nathan. Fitz had sacrificed their relationship in the short term in the hopes of long-term benefits. It was like giving necessary medicine to a child who hated needles. She didn’t understand now, but someday, it was to be hoped, she might.
Nathan shook his head. Think about that later. In the meantime, he laid a light hand on the mother’s shoulder. “I know it’s hard to watch this. Don’t worry. We’ll work some more on teaching you how as soon as we’re done. I promise. She’ll come around.”
“So little,” Luz’s mother said. She cried like her daughter, with great messy tears, even if hers were silent. “So little. How can I not hurt her?”
“That’s the point. We’re going to teach you how not to. Here, start with this. Sit down beside her. Let her on your lap. It’ll be okay.” Nathan guided her. Luz, little? Yes. Her mother? Also yes. She couldn’t be nineteen. Poor kid, both of them.
He could feel Fitz watching him through the whole of it. “Everything all right?” he asked, helping Luz scramble to the safety she recognised. Whew. Now he could prepare the insulin, such a minute dose…