"Patrocles, I know what I'm doing."
"Pet." Pet snapped back. He moved to kick and ended up batting at his own belly. Too much wire and shit around for him to be comfortable lashing outwards and didn't that just make him feel like a stud.
"Sorry." As if that hangdog look was going to get the kid anywhere.
"Forget it. Fine. One blow torch. Whatever." "Will you? That would be so great! Today?"
It had to be well over a hundred degrees and the colt had the energy to bounce? Yeah and that tickly thought about when did you get so old and grumpy just made him jump for joy, too.
"Oh, if we run in to town we could get some food too -- I'll cook -- and then I can get started."
Swear to Gods Matthias had trotted half way down the line before he realized Pet wasn't following. He came back.
"No way am I 'running' anywhere, least of all in this heat. You can go. Abigail's will let you charge whatever to my account." They were drifting back towards the sanctuary of the warehouse. Pet rifled through his shirt pockets for his lighter, took a long draw. The taste of it might distract from the thumping in his head some. Kid was still watching him.
"Well -- get, then. If you're going."
Fucking colt, looking him up and down like that. Bandaged arm or no, he was looking for another kicking.
"You know, if you quit the cancer sticks you might not get in such a lather about trotting a couple of miles."
Oh, that stung. Except Matthias was right. "Kid, I haven't been sound since I got here. The smokes have nothing to do with it."
Pet turned and headed for the cool darkness of the sliding doors. Sounded a lot like Matthias muttered something about Pet giving up as he went though.
Kid was probably right about that too.
*** Matthias kept it up for a solid week; working on his sculpture during the cooler parts of the day and cooking and cleaning and fixing and fussing the rest of the time. Damn colt never stopped. Mostly Pet just tried to ignore it and stick to his normal routine. Nothing like a pair of faintly reproachful eyes watching you though to make a body hyper-aware of the number of times a day you reach for a beer or a smoke.
At least the sculpture project kept Matthias outside and out of the way most of the time Pet was trying to code, so the endless fidgeting wasn't going to destroy his business, just his sanity. The way the colt was running up his accounts with groceries and supplies for this and that, that was a good thing. Pet sighed and stretched as he shut down the machine.
It wasn't all bad, he reminded himself. There were whole moments, kind of like this one, when it almost felt good. The smells from the kitchen announced dinner and made the place feel more like a home than the run down warehouse ever had before. The herd kitchens had always had peppers roasting in the ovens as they cooled, just like that.
Okay so there was a jug of ice water pointedly sitting on the counter, but Matthias also passed him a beer as he stepped into the kitchen. He could live with that.
"Spanish omelet," was the reply to his questioning look.
Yeah. There were good moments. Matthias set down a loaded plate in front of him.
"Thanks." The way the colt looked at him was like Pet had never said that before. Of course, that might be true. Something that might once have been a conscience pointed out to Pet that the good stuff was looking pretty unevenly distributed.
"Matthias?" The colt paused with a mouthful of omelet halfway to his mouth.
"How come you're still here?"
Damn kid took his mouthful and chewed it thoroughly.
He was going to start saying all sorts of crap if he didn't get an answer.
Bloody kid.
"I mean -- all this cooking and running around and shit."
Matthias interrupted him. "You offered me a place to stay. A little housework seems like the least I can do." "No, sitting around on your ass drinking my beer would be the least you could do."
The colt shrugged and dropped his eyes, picking up another forkful of dinner. This time Pet managed to keep his mouth shut and they ate in silence for a while.
"I'm still here, because here is where I want to be."
Pet snorted. "Bullshit."
Matthias reached across the counter and took Pet's bottle, draining the last of his beer. The colt was smiling as he put the bottle back down. "Not really." "Right. You wanted to waste a bunch of time in a shitty little podunk town, building something or other out of junk and playing housekeeper for a pissy drunk who damn near broke your arm. Great plan you've got there, kid."
Godsdamn colt. It'd been shaping up to be an okay evening and now there he was again, itching to kick something, or just run till he burst a blood vessel.
"You don't get it, do you?" He couldn't place the tone of the kid's voice. Didn't dare to meet his eye somehow. Pet turned and buried his head in the fridge looking for another drink.
"Fuck no. Not a clue," he muttered.
If he clattered the bottles enough maybe the colt would get a clue and leave it be. When he turned back, straightening up, he found himself right up close and personal with Matthias. If the colt had been a hand taller they'd have been face to face, maybe six inches apart. Kid was looking up at him with this look, for all the world like the youngster got some joke or something. Dark chocolate eyes and his forelock in a mess and sunburn through the tan on his cheekbones.
"I didn't end up here by accident." Kid only had to whisper they were that close, and damned if he was going to step back and sit in the ice box just to get a little space. "Had everything planned out, Patrocles, how I was going to get away, where I was going to go, how things were going to be between us. 'Course that part isn't anything like what I had planned out just yet, but I'm right where I want to be, Pet."
He was going to ask. Going to say something, do something. Only the kid's hand was really warm, brushing fingers up his bare arm.
"I don't..." was about all he managed before Matthias’ hand came to rest on his shoulder, one finger tracing his jaw line.
"See, I had it all planned out that I'd come up here and start a revolution."
Somehow Pet couldn't quite look away and the stroking and the low even voice were almost hypnotic. That and he really didn't have the first clue what he should be trying to say. "Took me weeks to figure out how to get here without getting picked up on the way. Kept thinking I should wait till I had my brands, but in the end... didn't want his marks on me. Don't. And I got here, and this is where I want to be. The part about going back, guns blazing, and overthrowing the government as a double act seems kinda dumb."
"Well -- you got that part right at least." Somewhere in the past three minutes all the bitterness had evaporated out of his voice. Hardly sounded like himself. "The being dumb."
Matthias smiled a little.
Then the colt stepped away. A neat side-step had him clattering dishes in the sink.
Pet blinked, and ran a hand over his face, before popping the bottle cap and taking a draught.
Not a fucking clue. ***
Pet had weathered enough storms in the past year to know that trying to work through them was a false economy. One good power surge and bang there goes a whole hard drive of work and worse.
He'd switched off when the winds came up and settled in to drink hard and concentrate on not listening for the sound of tearing metal.
Pet hated storms. Didn't look much like Matthias got along with them any better. The storm sounded like to take the roof of the place and the damned kid was fretting about his precious sculpture!
Of course it'd be much more satisfying to see the colt twitching and starting if he didn't have to be bloody twitched at the whole time.
Pacing the warehouse like that was going to do jack shit to help anything and twittering on about 'hope I fixed this' and 'do you think it'll damage that' was just...
Truth was the storm was driving them both batshit crazy between the noise and the enforced close proximity. "For fucks sake, kid, would you stand still f
or five minutes!" Pet growled. "You're building this thing and you don't know if it'll hold. The hell you think I know about the structural stability of half-assed junksculptures?"
The colt snapped to a halt and his expression was almost exaggeratedly apologetic. "Sorry."
"Don't be, just shut up."
Great idea, Pet. Bully the kid into an uncomfortable silence just as the rain's hitting harder than ever on the tin roof. He caught himself before he could do anything stupid like apologizing.
Pet sighed.
"Okay, kid, talk to me. Just not about that fucking statue, okay?"
"Sure - I guess worrying's not going to fix anything." Matthias shrugged with a wry smile. "What'd you want to know? Or can I ask a question?"
"Whatever," he replied absently.
A particularly strong gust hit the building and they both jumped, Pet taking a couple of quick paces back and swatting at his belly with his tail and then steadfastly refusing to check if the colt had noticed. "You ever wish you'd got your brands?"
"Wish I'd had the guts to leave without them."
"Yeah?"
"Oh fuck yeah." It wasn't right that thinking about his Dios left that thick bitter tone in his voice but it wasn't like he had any control over it. "You find me the paperwork that's worth someone's life."
There was a long moment of silence underneath the beat of the rain and the wind. And then there was a warm hand resting on his withers, just where the herd marks should have been.
"That's not quite what I meant. I meant more if you'd had a choice -- I mean, doesn't it cause problems and stuff?"
"Oh yeah, 'cos I do so much traveling." Pet snorted. "Oh," was the only reply. He didn't move away though. "Yes, there's been a couple of times it's been a bitch, not being able to prove my bloodlines. Not like I'm planning a world cruise or applying for a residency permit near any major herds though, so -- don't think about it much."
"I guess that makes sense. I don't know though. I know I don't want herd marks from Taymore, but still -kinda weird to think I'm never going to walk the herd and get them, never going to be a legal adult, you know?"
"You really think a few pretty scars makes you an adult?"
The colt raised an eyebrow. "That's not what I said. Anyway -- Hesta taught me a whole bunch about heraldry -- I reckon I could design my own if I wanted to."
Pet tried not to picture sleek black skin contrasted against the rich chestnut of Matthias’ shoulder and white scars on his tanned arm. Pet sidled, turning to face the colt fully and breaking the contact between them.
"That where you got this artistic streak of yours from? She was your dam, right?"
"Yeah." There was another uncomfortable lapse in the conversation. Both of them thinking on Taymore, Matthias’ sire. Fucking great change of subject, Pet scolded himself.
He'd taken perhaps three steps towards the kitchen and another beer when the kid piped up again. "You know? Your tail's a mess."
Pet swished angrily at the criticism, refusing to turn around to reply.
"Yeah, well -- notable lack of grooming parlors round these parts."
He carried on towards the kitchen. Kid had the survival instincts of a paper bag, because he followed.
"Let me brush it out, then."
Pet nearly choked on his drink. Kid didn't even have the manners to make it a question.
"See, that way I won't feel quite so weird asking you to help me out," Matthias continued. "Because mine's driving me nuts."
Pet rolled his eyes.
"You want to ask a favor, just fucking ask. Don't pussyfoot around pretending like you're not."
"Okay. Sorry. Would you put a brush through my tail for me, please? How's that?"
Pet was drawing breath to tell the kid to take a running jump when the first peal of thunder crashed over them; the din of his near hind leg hitting the metal wall sounded almost as loud.
"Go get your brushes then." *** Eventually the thunder moved on. The rain slowed and stopped. Pet still couldn't sleep. Matthias -- well the colt had drifted right off while Pet had still been untangling three weeks' worth of knots. Slept like a log, the kid did.
Pacing the overheated tin box of a shack he called home was doing nothing to calm Pet's nerves. Something had him keyed up and he was damned if he knew what. Realizing that he was on his last packet of cigarettes didn't help any. Damned lazy colt kept 'forgetting' to get them in. Same way he kept 'forgetting' whisky and that Pet much preferred his beer with the alcohol left in it.
Motherfucking meddling son of a self-righteous bastard kid.
Fuck it.
Time for a run -- maybe swing by Keggers and pick up some smokes, have a coffee. The way the grey was fading up, they'd be open by the time he got there.
He left the door open -- the better to get some air in -- and hit the driveway with a buck and a kick. ***
Oh, fuck this.
This wasn't enjoying the freedom of running. No shit. This was lumbering on because he was too damn stubborn to admit to himself (let alone any young studs who, dear gods please, couldn't see him) that he might be a fat, stupid, bad tempered asshole who'd done a damned good job of pissing his life up against the wall in something less than year.
That wasn't a happy thought.
Pet ducked his head and forced himself onwards. He was acutely aware of the arguments presented by his aching cannon bones and burning lungs that yes, actually, he really was. He really had.
A spurt of anger carried him over the crest of the hill.
Whether it was for the mental image of Matthias cantering around happily in the dustbowl, or the residual self image that kept telling him how good this ought to feel he wasn't sure and damned well didn't care.
It was cold comfort that the sweat drops mostly hid the tears he couldn't stop.
*** It took just over two hours and most of a bottle of whisky for Pet to admit to himself that he was avoiding going back to the warehouse, and another hour and half of the second bottle to admit why and to make a decision. He lobbed the remaining liquor out into the lake and started back, toward home.
Three hours was apparently just long enough for every muscle in his body to have tightened up, but his limping hitch-step pace wasn't the only reason it was a long slow walk. By the time he reached the top of the single carriage road, where the roof was reflecting back the bright morning sun and making him blink, it was only every third step or so that he wanted to turn right around and vanish for good.
Nothing like a stubborn streak to keep a body moving forward.
Matthias met him half way down the driveway, all bouncing energy and barely concealed concern. Pet counted his blessings that the colt didn't seem to know what to say once the first round of questions had been ignored.
He waited until they were in the shadows. Matthias was circling around him, fingers twisting and tail whisking. He finally met the kid's eyes.
"This is my home, Matthias. My home, my herd, my challenge."
He never thought he'd hear those words come out of his mouth, but there they were, formal and hollow, and he could only pray that the kid would figure out what they really meant.
The silence stretched out like his nerves and neither of them moved.
The scrape of Matthias' hoof, his near hind sliding back a creeping half pace on the tarmac, broke all that. Broke the moment, broke the mood, broke the last bit of hope in Pet's mind and desperation coiled his muscles, pushed him to the sticking point, heaved him to his hind legs, striking out with hooves and arms and blind angry wordless noise. He didn't want to see that look in the kid's eyes, didn't want to hear the sound of hooves on flesh, didn't want any of this, in fact, and somewhere in the screams there were tears.
The first impact of Matthias' fist against his cheekbone washed through him with a cold wave of relief, and he hardly felt the teeth, the hooves, the blood and bruises rushing to his skin. He stumbled under the weight of that muscled chestnut body flung against his own, his swollen hock fin
ally giving way, crashing him against the metal wall. Matthias' arms wrestling his still, burning scratches appearing down his chest, and his head rang from the impact. Instinct kicked in and he panicked, twisting and bucking, ignoring the pain of tearing tendons and abused muscles.
Slight or not, Matthias pinned him. Held him, locked him still with body and will, and when the colt's teeth finally released his bleeding ear, Matthias' voice was low and sure.
"Mine. My home. My herd. Mine, Patrocles." The world seemed very big in the seconds after those words. Big. Light. Distant. His lungs stubbornly burnt their way through gasping breaths, but it took everything he had left not to laugh and whoop and scream. There were drugs that maybe made you feel half as good as this. Along his right hand side the corrugated metal was warming, losing the first shock of the cold. Along his left, Matthias' body prickled sweat and heat. Solid. Hot. Right. Holding him down, holding him up, salt rolling stinging into cuts and the blood running down his neck tickled. Matthias' thumb pressed firm and sharp, fitting into the crook of vein at his wrist like it was made for it. Complete.
Pet rolled his head back, shoulder screaming. Wordlessly he threw his thanks to the sun-bleached sky. "Yours," he panted, with a triumph in his tone. "Yours." The pressure along his body lessened, but Matthias' grip on his wrists tightened. His arms were pulled up and back, muscles protesting. It took Pet a long moment lost somewhere between glory and pain to realize what was needed.
The ice-stab-burn of his hock kept the movement from being elegant. He wasn't so much kneeling when those biting fingers turned into caresses as he was floored, front and back. "Yours, Matthias. Your herd to choose, your home to protect." The words were thick in his mouth, copper blood taste. His cheek was swelling already. Fucking hurt. Clean pain, though, holding him in his skin, in the now. Matthias' fingers touched along his cheekbone and it was an effort not lean into the touch. If he really concentrated there was maybe half a square fucking foot of his skin that didn't pound and ache and hurt somehow. Been a year since he'd felt this good.
Myths Page 3
