Everybody's Wounded, Part II
How the Light Gets In
Chapter 6
After barely a week in the place -- a week during which he'd spent most of his time escaping the noise of his floor mates -- it took Matt less than an hour to pack up the stuff in his residence room. It wasn't surprising, really. He hadn't brought that much stuff with him from Ottawa: his lap top, speakers, clothes, books -- and at Bran's insistence his old hockey equipment, though he hadn't been on the ice for years. All of it -- along with Bran's stuff and Bran himself -- had fit nicely into the second hand Golf he'd bought himself with his savings.
He was squatting on the floor in front of his bottom drawer, tossing the last of his clothes into a spare backpack when he heard the quick rap on his door.
"It's open," he called out.
He heard the door close, and assuming it was Bran, didn't bother to look up.
"I'm just about finished here," he said, tucking in a tidy pile of boxers. "If you can lend me a backpack, I won't even need to scrounge any more boxes. You can start taking that pile there down to my car."
He didn't react immediately to the touch of a hand on his shoulder -- not until it slipped over his collar bone and down the front of his t-shirt, warm against the thin, clinging fabric. He twisted his head to look down at familiar fingers brushing his nipple to erection, a familiar wrist with a physical delicacy betraying its power.
With his thumb and forefinger, he easily circled the slender bones.
"Jesus, Stevie," he said, allowing himself to stare a few seconds at the fine bones, the pale skin, before pulling it away from him.
From behind him came the wicked little sound of Stevie giggling. Then Matt felt him press forward, so that his legs were pressed against Matt's back.
"And why would I be taking your stuff down to your car, sweetie?" Stevie asked, sliding his other hand over Matt's shoulder.
Matt shivered as he felt the soft, suggestive strokes. Then he grabbed that wrist too. "Just quit, ok?"
He got to his feet and took a few steps away from temptation.
"Looks like you're moving out, Mattie," Stevie said, still behind him.
"Yeah."
"Someone special -- or you just don't like the company here anymore?"
Matt braced himself before turning to meet Stevie head on.
As always, Stevie's slender prettiness, the apparent innocence that he knew was a façade for every kind of indulgence, gave his heart a little tug. Well, not so much his heart as something a little further south.
"This just isn't gonna work for me, babe," he said, slipping carefully back into his brazen ski queen mode. "I need something quieter. I found an apartment to share."
Stevie nodded and sighed, and for a moment the mask dropped. "That might be best, Matt," he said. "This is your chance to get this right."
Matt took another step back, watching warily as Stevie not so much walked as glided towards him, not stopping until he was standing barely a foot away.
"I'll miss ya, Mattie," he said softly. "I thought maybe you and me--"
Matt trembled and swallowed hard as he felt Stevie's hand, quick and playful, snake up the inside of his thigh to the front of his jeans. He knew it didn't mean anything -- at least, nothing more than Stevie ever meant. Still, a groan escaped his lips -- soft, but undeniably desperate. He couldn't help it.
Stevie's eyes widened. "Jesus, Mattie," he said. "How long has it been?"
Matt closed his eyes, clenched his jaw. "Long," he admitted, the syllable stretching out in agony.
Stevie laughed softly, wickedly.
Matt opened his eyes to see Stevie's merry blue ones watching him. The smile that curved Stevie's lips was thoughtful and almost unbearably sweet in that deceptively innocent face. While Matt allowed himself get just a little lost in those blue eyes, Stevie slowly, slowly raised his hands from the front of his straining jeans to the centre of Matt's chest.
To Matt, the touch of those delicate fingers was as soft and deadly as a flame. He found himself holding his breath helplessly, the way a mouse is helpless as the snake is about to strike. There was no strength, no force, in the fine-boned fingers that were barely touching his chest. There didn't have to be. Stevie pushed gently, and Matt found himself pressed back against the wall.
Stevie's tongue did a quick little flick from between his lips and Matt's cock did a quick little flick from between his legs.
"Poor sweet baby," Stevie said, tracing his fingers down, slowly and delicately down, pausing at his navel, and then down, down, to pause again at the top button of his jeans.
Matt thought he would die. "No," he whispered, swallowing hard against the sheer pleasure of it.
Stevie dropped to his knees, his fingers just there, but still little more than a suggestion, an invitation.
Matt trembled against the slight touch. This was not what he wanted, he told himself. Not what he wanted at all. But it had been so very long since he'd felt any hand but his own. And Stevie knew him. God, did Stevie know him. It just felt so good.
"No," he whispered again.
He dropped a hand to Stevie's shoulder, flexing against his collarbone. He meant to push him away, but somehow he couldn't. He couldn't. Not knowing how warm Stevie's skin would be through the tight, thin cotton of his shirt. How warm and how pale. How it would smell so sweet. How it would feel so soft, stretched over bone and muscle.
"Please, no."
Stevie paused a second, and looked up. For an instant, there actually seemed to be a question in the laughing eyes, a question and maybe even a little sympathy. Kneeling there, he shuffled a bit, and Matt felt those fingers slip away from the button of his jeans and trail outwards to his hips, and then around, and down a little, until they were pressing gently into his ass.
"I'll make it so good, baby," Stevie whispered from below.
Matt groaned again, and Stevie giggled.
"Don't, Stevie," he managed. "Please?"
And Stevie stopped giggling.
"Aw, baby, you're still a mess, aren't you," he said, and to Matt's surprise, he actually sounded genuinely concerned. "It's ok. Really. Let Stevie take care of you, just for now. We'll just consider it a little... therapy for that very pretty cock of yours."
He bowed his head and rubbed his cheek against him, and Matt thought he would die of the touch.
"No," said Matt, wanting it so desperately, but wanting to not want it even more.
"Yes, baby. Just relax and let Stevie take care of you."
Matt closed his eyes as Stevie's fingers slid back around to reach once more for the top button of his jeans. He felt those tempting fingers push the button through, then pause for a second to work a little mouth magic against the soft denim.
It was too much. It had been too long. Stevie didn't even have time to reach for the second button when Matt collapsed back against the wall with a harsh groan.
"Just let it go, Mattie," Stevie whispered against him when he realized what was happening. "It'll all be ok. I promise."
"No!" Matt cried out, helpless against the release that was so intense it was almost painful. Even to himself, his voice sounded loud, harsh, almost angry. "Fuck, Stevie. No!"
And that's when the door opened, his brother rushed in, and Stevie was flung away from him and thrown to the floor, and it all just got really, really weird.
Impressions.
Bran, a fireplug of fury.
Stevie, small and helpless on the floor, looking not at Bran but at Matt, his expression a little bit nervous, but mostly amused.
Scott, face calm, mouth twitching, standing just behind Bran with a restraining hand on Bran's shoulder.
And Matt standing there helpless, still in the final seconds of orgasm, throbbing with pleasure and shame, and with his legs shaking so hard he literally couldn't move from the wall or he would fall down.
He closed his eyes and wondered if you could die of embarrassment.
"Leave it, Bran." It was Scott's voice.
Fighting desperately to keep his breathing even, Matt wondered just how many seconds he had before the front of his jeans soaked through. Cautiously, he opened his eyes, looked down. They were dark jeans, thank God. He looked up again, and for a second found himself staring into Scott's eyes. To his surprise, he found understanding there, and something calming and comforting.
And Bran, thank God, wasn't looking Matt at all. He was standing just inside the door, still restrained by Scott's hand on his shoulder, looking down at Stevie in disgust.
Matt looked down at Stevie too, and their eyes locked. Silently, acutely aware of the wetness soaking his boxers, trickling down the inside of his thighs, Matt pleaded for mercy. Not something Stevie was famous for -- especially when his own pride was at stake.
For a few heartbeats, Stevie said nothing, just studied Matt, who finally managed to make his legs move. He stepped forward, offered Stevie his hand, pulled him to his feet.
It was Bran who spoke first. "Listen to me, asshole," he said to Stevie. "Just what part of `no' don't you understand?"
Stevie's hand was still in Matt's, his eyes still on Matt's face.
Please, Matt pleaded silently.
Stevie's mouth twisted into its deadliest little smirk. He pulled his hand from Matt's and gave a toss of those pale blonde curls. Matt braced himself.
Stevie turned to the two rugby players whose sheer bulk seemed to fill the tiny room. He looked archly from one to the other, then turned back to Matt, his blue eyes laughing.
"The part that means `yes,'" he said, and smiled.
Despite himself, Matt found himself smiling back. He couldn't stop it, not even when Stevie came up to him, and stood on tiptoe to kiss his mouth.
"Bye, sweetie," he said, winking. "Catch ya next time."
For a good few minutes after Stevie sashayed from the room in his most outrageous mincing glide, no one said anything. Matt spotted a long hoodie in a pile on his bed, picked it up, and turned away, slipping into it as casually as he could.
"Jesus, Matt," said Bran finally. "What was he doing here?"
"Oh, for God's sake, Bran," he said, feeling more secure as his head emerged from the oversized sweater and he pulled the long bottom down over his fly. "Lighten up. I can handle Stevie. Besides it's not like would have been that big a deal. We were just fooling around."
Bran's mouth twisted. "You weren't just fooling around. You were trying to stop him. I heard you."
"Yeah, well, I've got about six inches and sixty pounds on the little twerp. I expect I wouldn't have had much trouble stopping him when it came down to it."
He met Scott's eyes over Brandon's head and felt himself blushing. "Oh, for God's sake. It was no big deal, ok? Trust me on that. Gay guys have a lot more casual sex than straight guys." He forced a laugh, which even to him sounded tight and bitter. "It's one of the few perks. Right, Scott?"
But to his surprise Scott just shook his head. "I wouldn't know," he said.
Once again the silence stretched uncomfortably. Bran rescued it by pointing at a couple of boxes. "I'll start by taking those down," he said, and headed out with them.
Which left Matt uncomfortably alone with Scott.
He had to ask.
There was just something so... boy next door, too good to be true about this boy who had walked off with Joshua. He had to push it. He had to know.
"Tell me the truth," he demanded. "You were just protecting Bran's delicate sensibilities, weren't you?"
Scott looked puzzled, and Matt smiled. "Oh, come on. You've been to Rainbow."
Scott nodded.
"So you can't tell me a hot guy like you hasn't has his share of casual sex. And then some."
Scott didn't look away. "Not really," he said slowly. "I probably could have. And there was this one time time when I let a guy I was dancing get a little... carried way..."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," said Matt with a grin. "And then you slipped out into the men's... Is it still the one in the basement of Stuart building?"
To Matt's amusement, Scott's face flamed. "I have no idea," he said.
Matt laughed. "Well, if it wasn't the cruisin' john, where did dancing boy take you? Come on, tell. I've been away a couple of years. If the action's moved--"
"We didn't go anywhere," said Scott, and suddenly the flush of embarrassment was gone, and calm gray eyes met his. "I had just been dumped by my boyfriend. I knew Josh, and he dragged me to Rainbow every now and then because he thought I needed to unwind a bit. We'd have a few beers, well, I'd have a few beers. Josh would have some wine."
"You do know that sex with Josh doesn't count as casual sex," Matt pointed out.
Scott looked at him curiously. "Josh and I were friends then. This guy asked me to dance, and, I don't know, he kissed me, and, well, for the rest of the song we were one of those couples on the dance floor..."
"And?"
"And... nothing. That's it. I got out of there."
"Oh for fuck sake," said Matt in exasperation. "That's your idea of casual sex? That doesn't count,"
"It does for me," Scott said. "I don't do that."
And Matt had no idea what to say.
By dinner time, they had all Matt's stuff in Luc's condo, and the three of them were sitting in the kitchen, debating what to do about it.
"Let's order in," said Bran. "You can pay."
"Sure," said Matt. "What do you guys want?"
"Chinese," they announced in unison.
"Fong's," said Bran. "They deliver."
"And Bran just happens to know the menu by heart," Scott added.
They figured out what they wanted, when Matt suddenly turned to Scott. "What about Josh? Is he gonna be home in time to join us?"
Matt saw Scott glance Brandon, and that was it. He'd had enough. He slammed his fist down on the countertop, and the other two jumped.
"That's it," he said. "I'm sick of this, the fucking elephant in the room. If this is going to have a hope in hell of working, for me and for your friend Luc, then we all have to stop tiptoeing around this thing."
Bran shifted uncomfortable. Scott just watched him calmly.
"Look," said Matt. "I had a little minor sex with Josh a couple of years ago. We all know that. A long time ago." He looked at Scott. "Before you even met him. Ok?"
Scott nodded.
"It didn't mean anything then," said Matt, hardening himself as he said the words. "It doesn't mean anything now. We all gotta be ok with that. I'm ok with it."
He looked again at Scott. "You ok with it?"
Scott shrugged. "Yes," he said. "I'm ok with it."
Matt looked at his brother. "Brandon?"
But Bran wouldn't look at him. Finally, it was Scott who dealt with it.
"It's ok, Bran," he said. "Really. Josh and I have talked about it. We're fine. Matt's right. It doesn't mean anything."
The very certainty with which Scott said the words made Matt hurt more than he would have thought possible, because he knew it came from Joshua. He forced himself to ignore it, to focus instead on his anger.
"Fine," he said. "Now call him and see if he'll be home in time for Chinese."
Scott phoned.
When it turned out he wouldn't be back, Matt was partly relieved and partly disappointed. On the one hand, he knew he wasn't ready to see Joshua again. On the other, however, he suspected that the anger might just have been enough to carry him through it.
Luc spent the long, grey afternoon at the piano, sorting through sheet music. It was something he had to do. From time to time, he grazed the piano keys with the fingers of his right hand.
His mother hovered nervously, but he ignored her.
By the time his father got home, he had a pile of music that he intended to take back with him to Nova Scotia. His father looked at it thoughtfully, then came and sat beside him on the piano bench.
"You are certain?" he asked.
"Oui, Papa," said Luc. "From this point forward, it is about possibility. I need to know. I cannot limit myself before I start."
His father looked at him for a long time. "Tu as raison," he said finally. "I'm proud of you." He leaned over and kissed Luc's cheek. "Je t'aime, mon fils," he said, and smiled.
Luc looked calmly into the pale blue eyes that were the mirror of his own, and smiled back.
Dark comes early to Nova Scotia in January, and Josh and Scott made the hour-long trip to Halifax just before dark. It was one of Josh's favourite drives. In spring and summer, there were trees and rock and wild roses, and the occasional cluster of sea-sprayed wooden houses. From time to time, the road would kiss the ocean, and then there would be spectacular glimpses of rock and water. Even now, in the late January afternoon, with sunset pressing, he loved it.
Josh stole a quick glance at the man beside him. He wanted this weekend badly, and had been secretive and playful about their destination. He was determined to create a real space for the two of them before the difficulties that were bound to arrive along with Luc on the Sunday afternoon flight from Montreal.
"Where are we going?" Scott asked for the umpteenth time. His large left hand rested on Josh's thigh, where Josh was acutely aware of its strength and heat.
"It's still a surprise," he said with a grin.
"Come on, tell me." Scott flexed his fingers, then dug in playfully, hard, but not quite hard enough.
Josh inhaled sharply, and dropped his hand from the steering wheel for a second to rest his palm against the back of Scott's hand. "Let me surprise you, ok?"
Scott's grip loosened but the contact remained, and Josh felt the fingers beneath his turn suddenly gentle, caressing.
"You never stop surprising me," Scott said.
Josh exhaled.
They reached the city around five in what passed for rush hour, and stopped to pick up wine and cheese and some lovely meals he'd arranged at a small restaurant.
"Will you tell me now?" Scott asked when they climbed back into the car.
"Patience," said Josh, grinning.
"Not my strong suit," said Scott, reaching once more for Josh's thigh. This time Josh batted the distracting hand away.
"No kidding," he said.
A few minutes later, they pulled into the driveway of a lovely three-story wooden house, neatly painted grey and white, across from the Public Gardens.
"Where are we?" Scott asked.
"B & B."
"It doesn't look open," said Scott doubtfully.
"It isn't," said Josh cheerfully. "It belongs to the brother of someone I work with. It's normally closed for the winter, but they had family staying here over the holidays and let me have it for the weekend. We have it all to ourselves."
"Ah," said Scott. "So I have not only the whole weekend, but also the whole house in which to fuck you senseless..."
He suddenly leaned over and pressed his mouth against Josh's crotch, gnawing gently. Josh gasped, and buried his fingers into the softness of Scott's hair, pressing him down.
"Promises," he whispered from just north of ecstasy. "Promises, promises."
They didn't make to their room. They hardly made it past their luggage in the narrow front hall. As soon as the heavy wooden door closed behind them, Scott grabbed Josh and pushed him up against it, grabbing his wrists in one hand, and pinning them up over his head. With the other hand he opened belts and buttons and zippers. His mouth was hot and hungry against Josh's jaw, his neck. His thigh came up between Josh's legs, pressing, pressing. He didn't stop until Josh was literally whimpering.
Only then did he withdraw his leg and step back, so suddenly that Josh felt his legs give way. He started to slide down the door to the floor. Scott's hand around his wrists tightened.
"No, you don't," Scott whispered against his ear, following his words with a quick flick of his tongue that made Josh cry out helplessly.
Josh felt himself being turned around, strong arms wrapping around his waist, and then Scott walking him towards the steep staircase. Scott tried to get him to take the first step, but he couldn't. His legs just wouldn't lift, and he stumbled.
Scott bit the back of his neck gently. "Ok," he said, laughing softly. "This will just have to do for a start."
And then Scott was kissing him, licking the back of his neck, biting gently, and Josh thought that he could die of it, he would die of it, that he wanted to die of it. He was vaguely aware that the length of his body was being carefully laid on the narrow staircase, that his open trousers were being pushed down, that he was being carefully angled to protect his screaming hardness from the gleaming wood. And suddenly Scott was pushing naked and wet against him, and all Josh could think of was taking him in, taking him in...
He felt cool, wet fingers gentle against him, and was aware of the sudden thought -- Jesus, he knew he'd do something like this, he prepared for it. Then cool, wet fingers were inside him and warm, dry fingers were wrapped around him, and he couldn't think of anything at all.
"Senseless," Scott whispered, as he entered him.
Josh didn't last more than a few seconds. Neither did Scott. Afterwards, Scott turned him on his side and held him carefully as they slid down the staircase to the floor below.
And there they were, both of them, bare assed and still wearing their coats and scarves, laughing and giddy.
"Senseless," Scott whispered into Josh's mouth, every time Josh tried to speak.
Until Josh couldn't seem to form any words at all.
I hope you enjoyed the new Chapter
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