I didn’t mind.
“I think the diminishing of guilt is important too,” I said.
Matt considered. “Yeah, yeah. It has gone down.” He smiled sheepishly. “But it’s not gone.”
I wagged a finger at him. “Don’t be sheepish. That’s a kind of guilt too. Just accept—accept your actions, your feelings—”
“Your cock up my ass.”
I laughed. “Yeah. That too.”
“Gladly!” He turned and put his hands up against the wall. I stepped forward and pressed my crotch against his ass, grinding sensuously, and hugging him. It was wonderfully thrilling, but I stepped back.
“Aw!” he said. I smacked his ass, and then caressed it.
Then he turned back toward me and we hugged. It was something that Matt liked to do a lot now, just as much as actual sex. It was with a slight surprise that it struck me that we were both really very happy.
Chapter 9: Rescue Party
That must have been what “queered the deal”—that awareness of happiness. For one thing, we were too much into each other to notice when the storm ended. We were brought to this realization by the sound of an airplane engine, not one going over, but one landing. That was an unmistakable sound.
At that moment, I was lying on top of Matt, fucking him with a languorous relish. When I heard the plane, and felt him tense up under me, I stopped.
His reaction, a moment later was, “Don’t stop, I’m close.”
So, I resumed. I was close too, and somehow the idea of fucking while doom approached turned us both on. We came quickly.
“Shower!” Matt cried, getting up and pulling me toward it.
When we were under the spray, Matt kissed me, and said, “You’ll have to hide.”
“Hide? Why?”
His face reddened.
“I never told you, but I’m actually part of a group of—well, criminals. This is our secondary base. That’s why we’re stocked up.”
I looked at him. “You radioed them?”
He looked guilty, then shrugged. “Not what you think. I did radio them—and yes, it does work—to keep them away. I made up a story.”
“Sounds like you made up several,” I said, in accusing tones.
Matt looked sheepish. “But, Jens. I don’t want you hurt. You’ll have to hide. Okay?” He kissed me and held me for a second. I shut off the water and we both began drying off.
Back in the barracks room we dressed. By this point there came a banging on the front door. We looked at each other.
“How do you know it’s them?” I said.
“Who else?”
I hesitated, and then swallowed. “I wasn’t totally honest with you either. I’m an agent sent north to investigate your little group.”
“Oh.”
“Sorry!” I was scared momentarily that Matt would pull away, but instead he gripped my arm.
“Well, one of us will have to hide.”
I considered, and nodded.
“Let’s find out who it is.”
But as we approached the front door, the banging was resumed and a voice called through the door.
“Open up! This is the R.C.M.P.!”
“The Mounties!” I gasped, turning to Matt. “You hide!”
Matt nodded, and then he pulled me into a hug, and gave me a fierce kiss. When I unbolted and opened the door, I was still flush from the kiss.
“Oh!” said a heavily muffled figure. “Jens!”
I nodded, and then recognized the man. He was holding a pistol and was in uniform.
“Emil!” I said. “Come in, come in!”
There were four of them. They entered a bit cautiously.
“You alone?” Emil said.
I avoided answering just then by busying myself with closing and bolting the door. But I peered out before I did that. It was sunny and there was a broad-bladed shovel stuck in the newly-dug path to the door. On either side was a drift that rose up higher than the door. I almost laughed, thinking that Matt and I had lost track of the storm and the snow.
“Thanks for digging me out,” I said. My friend introduced me to the others and I said, “Why don’t you gentlemen come to the kitchen and have some coffee?”
I saw Emil exchange a glance with one of the other officers, but they agreed and, having removed their exterior clothing, they accompanied me, slightly stiff, to the kitchen. All the while my mind was ticking over, so that by the time they were seated at the big table, I had my story figured out.
“Saw your plane—or a plane, at least,” Emil said. “You come in that?” Then he frowned. “Did you get your pilot licence after all?”
I shook my head. “No. But I did come here in that. Did you examine it?”
They shook their heads. “Naw. It’s covered in snow, mostly.”
“Well, if you look, you’ll see bullet holes in the side—severed the fuel line. I had to ditch here.”
One of the other officers looked around.
“It seems well-stocked. What’s that about?”
I shrugged. “I think—we think—that it’s the group’s hide-out, or one of them. I just stumbled on it. I was running out of fuel, barely made it.”
There was a silence.
“We?”
“Oh, me and one of the others from the mine station. Name of Matt.” I turned my head. “He’s around here somewhere. Wait. I’ll get him.” I stood up and then faced Emil. “We barely escaped with our lives. I’m sorry I couldn’t report. The radio’s out—or, at least we can’t get it working.”
I left them there and went in search of Matt. I found him in one of the storage rooms, and explained my story in a whisper. When I’d finished, he hugged and kissed me.
“I’m sorry about this,” he said.
I kissed him back. “Sorry about what? You didn’t do anything—to me, anyway.”
He nodded. “But listen, I only joined them so I could come north. I had to get away, and they approached me, asked if I would be willing to do time in a remote station up north.”
I nodded. “That’s okay. But you came with me here, okay? Just let me do the talking for the most part.”
Matt nodded and he accompanied me into the kitchen, after taking a swig of vodka—from a bottle he’d found in the storage room.
“Fortitude,” he said.
I introduced Matt to the cops, and said he had been one of the miners who had hitched a ride with me. I don’t know if they believed the story, but they didn’t challenge me openly. However, Emil did take me aside a little later.
“Look, Jens, one of the names we were given was Matt Alden. That’s him, right?”
We looked at each other in tense silence for a minute. Then I spoke.
“Look, Emil. Yeah, you’re right. But here’s the deal: Matt wanted out. He came to me and asked me to get him out of there; he’d changed his mind. And,” I sighed, “he’s just one of their hired dupes. I think they wanted him just to cook. He’s a good cook, alright? And from what he told me, he wasn’t involved in any of the nasty business. I think you should give him a pass.”
I thought of what Matt had told me, about protecting me and keeping his people away from our location. Yes, I decided. I could say that he had changed his mind.
Emil looked at me, and slowly shook his head. “Well, maybe. But he’ll probably have to be questioned when we get the rest of the group dealt with.”
I nodded. Emil continued to look at me, and I had the sense he had some idea there was some personal involvement. But he was a friend, and he decided to trust me and not question me further at the moment.
Back in the kitchen I gave my report, while Matt cooked. The cops talked about what their tactics would be at the mine site, but I didn’t really listen. I was focusing on Matt’s back, and his ears, which I’m sure must be listening to all of this.
Finally, Emil assured me, after I’d told him Matt and I were okay to stay where we were for the time being, that they would send someone to take us south,
and fix the radio too.
“But first we have to take care of that little cabal,” he said grimly.
At this point Matt served a meal. He had outdone himself, and his food was received with appreciation by the men. And, after they had eaten and were having coffees, the air did seem to improve a lot.
I was relieved when they told me they needed to leave right away. And when they left, I returned to Matt, who was cleaning up in the kitchen, and we both sagged with relief.
Matt made hot chocolate and we sat together at the table, in a companionable and reassuringly familiar situation, but still, I could feel there was something of a constraint between us—a silence that we both felt.
When we had finished, and were lingering over coffee, I looked up and saw Matt gazing at me in that way he had, an appreciatively way. I was startled to see that there were tears in his eyes. I felt a strange, powerful sense of sadness, and when I forced a smile, I felt it to be a sad smile.
Was this the end?
Then Matt slowly reached a hand out and took gentle hold of mine, and I felt somewhat better—for the moment at least, for I knew the bond was still there.
“What about we go to the lounge?”
I nodded and we went, hand-in-hand, to the lounge, where Matt put on Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue.”
“Lovely!” I murmured.
Matt came and sat next to me and put his arm around my shoulder. I laid my head on his shoulder, and sighed.
“So,” he said.
“So,” I echoed.
Neither of us said anything for a while, only listening to the music. When the piece had ended, however, and silence filled the room, I sat up.
“So,” I said again. “I think, the ball is in your court.”
Matt turned and looked at me, his expression concerned, troubled. Then he did the most wonderful thing he had done up to that point. He reached out and with gentle care, lifted a lock of my hair that had fallen over my forehead and laid it back. Then his hand lingered, just touching my hair, and I felt something inside me melt with awe.
I was convinced, beyond all sanity and expectation that Matt cared for me. I felt a lump in my throat and couldn’t speak.
“Why me?” he said.
I swallowed and said, “Well—” But then I paused, unable to continue.
He looked away, and said quietly. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“What you did. You showed me—how to accept being me.”
“Oh. You’re welcome.” But now I felt a rock land in my stomach. I didn’t exactly want a heart-felt thank you from this man.
Matt looked at me again. “That didn’t sound too happy,” he said, giving me a frowning sort of smile.
I shrugged. I was holding back tears.
“It—” I began. “It wasn’t what I had hoped you were going to say.”
He looked at me. “And what—” But then he stopped and shaking his head, looked away. Then he removed his arm and stood up. I didn’t look at him, didn’t watch him leave a moment later. I felt filled with lead, and remained where I was, long time. I started to smell cooking, and sighed, smiling sadly.
“When in doubt, cook a meal,” I murmured. I imagined another well-spiced meal from Matt, but just the thought made the lump in my throat more intense. I couldn’t face such a meal, not in the present circumstance.
For a while I became enraged, taking it out on myself, blaming myself for even contemplating anything with Matt. “He’s straight, man!” I hissed at myself. “Get it through your head, you stupid faggot!”
I fought back tears, and finally sank into a kind of all-encompassing numbness. Then, sometime later, I came to myself, shook my head violently, and got to my feet. Standing there, momentarily I didn’t know what to do. Then it hit me, the standard palliative solution: a shower!
I went back to the barracks room, undressed, put a towel around my waist, and went to the showers.
When I approached, however, I heard the sound of the spray, and I hesitated. I started to turn around, but then stopped.
“No!” I murmured. And, turning back, went in and, putting my towel next to Matt’s, stepped into the shower room proper.
He was standing, magnificent to look at, but with a dejected air, right under the spray of one nozzle, facing the wall. But the water had made his skin shiny, and his ass still sang a siren song to me. As if in a dream, I picked up a cake of soap and walked slowly up to him.
Then, reaching out, I gingerly pressed the soap against Matt’s right ass cheek.
He started. Indeed, he jumped—and yelped. And, turning, stared at me. I held up the soap, still feeling disconsolate. We looked at each other for a second, then he nodded and turned back into the spray, presenting his back and his ass.
Oh, well! I thought. Maybe one for the road?
I began to soap, and with the action, the sensation of my hand running over those twin magnificent curves, I began to feel better as sexual pleasure began to fill me again. I even began to get hard. I began to slide the knife-edge of my hand between Matt’s cheeks, and he pushed back slightly.
A rush came to me then, and a desperate desire to be inside him again—even if only for the last time.
Last time? I thought. What was I saying? I shook my head violently. Then I stepped up behind Matt and pressed my hard cock against his ass meaningfully, while putting my arms around his waist and grabbing hold of his enormous cock.
He pushed back.
“Matt!” I said, my voice loud to be heard over the shower.
“What, Jens?”
I hesitated, then pushed on.
“You and me,” I said.
“Uh-huh?” The tone was doubtful, guarded.
“I’d like—us—to continue.”
“Uh-huh?” The tone this time was different. It sounded a bit frightened, and very vulnerable. It was all I needed. Relief, or at least mostly relief, flooded me now.
“Yes!” I said firmly. Then, “What say you?”
“I—I don’t know,” came the response, and that froze my blood.
“What! What don’t you know?” My voice was sharp, I admit, but I was terrified, and I had to know.
“Well,” he said. “Did you really come up here as a detective?”
Oh! “Ah, yeah.”
“So?”
“So, what?”
“So—you gonna arrest me?”
My mind reeled at this. I struggled to make sense, to discover where Matt was coming from. Finally, I came to the only place I was sure of. I leaned against him, hugged him, and said, “No. Never.” And then I was sobbing. “Never will I hurt you, Matt. Never!”
I felt Matt turn around in my arms, and then he was hugging me. He held my head against his shoulder.
“I know,” he said barely loud enough to be heard over the spray. “I know that—now.”
I began to feel embarrassed. And foolish. And I still didn’t know.
“W-hat about y-you?” I managed to get out.
There was a pause, a long pause, a pausing in which it seemed the entire world held its breath, except for the spray that kept falling on us, enfolding us in its comforting warmth.
“Oh, baby!” he murmured, and, still holding my head to him, began to turn slowly from side to side, rocking me gently as it were in his arms.
After a while, he stopped and, holding me by the shoulders, looked into my eyes in that appraising way, surveying my face and head. Reaching out with a hand, he gently ran a finger along the side of my face, and finally laid it carefully on top of my head, stroking my hair.
“So beautiful!” he murmured, his voice with an awed tone. Then he looked me in the eyes and grinned. “If you’re not going to arrest me, maybe we—you and me—we could head south again. Ever been to Florida?”
I shook my head.
“It’s beautiful. And you won’t believe the sunshine!” His gaze returned to my hair. “But it doesn’t really matter.” He laughed. “I got my own golde
n sun with me—right?”
“Always!” I said. “If you want.”
“Oh, I want,” he said, and leaning forward touched his forehead against mine, and we stood like that for a while.
Then he said, in an amused voice. “But, hey!”
“What?”
“If you’re not gonna arrest me, what you gonna do to me?”
I felt myself getting hard at the tone of the question. I ran my hands down the curve of his torso, to the swell of his ass-cheeks, and cupped these in both hands.
“Well,” I said. “I could fuck you.”
“Could?” His tone was slightly outraged.
I laughed. “Okay. I’m going to fuck you. That better?”
Matt said nothing, but, turning his head slightly, kissed me on the lips, and then began to turn around in my arms.
“That’s okay then,” he said.
And I did. And, truth be told—I still do. We have travelled considerably, but wherever we go, somehow the sense of connection of just the two of us, has continued unchanged. Somehow, even when we’re lying on the beach in South Florida, it’s still just him and me—Matt and Jens, snowed in.
THE END
ABOUT GORDON PHILLIPS
I have lived all my life at the intersection of the head and heart, of art and science, and while this has resulted in a life path that is something of a meander, it has also made my life both quite enjoyable and very interesting.
Academically, I have trained in several sciences and done research in them, publishing a number of scientific papers. I have also worked in various office jobs in the computer engineering field, where I found that cubicle life did not suit my temperament at all. In between these occupations I have also written articles and stories for several local and international community (LGBTQI) periodicals, co-authored a biography of a 19th century historical figure, and published several novella-length stories in the erotic romance genres.
While all things interest me, from the physical functioning of our world and engineering control systems of all sorts, to the neurons that direct action in the brain, what particularly fascinates me is the manner in which our actions are directed by the mysterious functioning of the human heart.
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