Bonds of Love

by Snyder, J. M.

  The Bonds of Love

  By J.M. Snyder

  Published by JMS Books LLC at Smashwords

  This book is available in print.

  Visit jms-books.com for more information.

  Copyright 2007 J.M. Snyder

  ISBN 978-1-61152-094-1

  For more titles by J.M. Snyder at Smashwords visit https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/jmsnyder

  * * * *

  Cover Credits: Olena Pantiukh

  Used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

  Cover Design: J.M. Snyder

  All rights reserved.

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America.

  NOTE: This story was originally published by Amber Allure Press. Readers can learn more about Vic and Matt’s super-powered relationship online at vic-and-matt.com.

  * * * *

  The Bonds of Love

  By J.M. Snyder

  Chapter 1

  The gray, cinder block walls of the men’s restroom did little to deaden the pounding bass and heavy guitar riffs coming from the outdoor stage. Standing at the urinal while he waited for his last cup of beer to piss through him, Vic Braunson stared at a spot on the wall and felt the sheer weight of the day bear down.

  This morning he had looked forward to the all-day concert event, ten live bands on stage at Brown’s Island for one last summer hurrah before classes started again at the college downtown. Two radio stations sponsored the event, and the promise of a day in the sun with Matty seemed the perfect way to spend his first weekend off in months—drinking beer from frothy plastic cups, eating hot dogs and cotton candy, listening to hard rock music from a handful of local acts and one or two bands with national appeal.

  But now, after several long hours in the hot sun, the music matched the constant pounding behind his eyes and his stomach churned from too much alcohol and grilled food. A glance at his watch showed it was just quarter after ten in the evening, but to Vic, it was well past time to go home.

  With a shake, he tucked himself into his pants and zipped up as he stepped away from the urinal. Matt waited for him outside the restroom, and Vic suspected his lover would have no objection to calling it a night. He could barely stumble straight, and when Vic had propped him up against the building before heading inside to take a leak, Matt’s eyes had slipped shut with something like relief. If they were lucky, they might clock in a little snuggling time once they crawled into bed together, but for all Matt’s playful flirting earlier in the day, neither of them were up for much else tonight.

  At the sink, Vic washed his hands beneath icy water and frowned at his reflection in the mirror. His bald head gleamed, lathered with sun block, and the gold loops that lined his ears and pierced his left eyebrow winked in the bare bulb above him. A black tribal tattoo on his right temple looked almost blue in this lighting, and the glowering eyes that glared back at him were hard, uncompromising. To someone who didn’t know him, Vic looked like one mean son of a bitch, stocky at six foot even, with muscled arms and thick thighs and hands that seemed able to crush the skulls of small children or yapping dogs. His dark eyes were dangerous and deadly. The biceps that bulged from the sleeveless armholes in his torn shirt were riddled with tattoos and veins. A devilish goatee framed his thin lips, cinching the look.

  Vic stared deep into the eyes that stared back at him, still unable to believe this hulking bastard he faced off with on a daily basis was helplessly, hopelessly in love. And loved back.

  By a man as wonderful as Matt diLorenzo.

  They’d met three years ago, at the gym where Vic worked out and Matt coached the swim team. From the first moment Vic saw Matt’s olive skin and long, lithe legs, he knew he wanted him. But he wasn’t quick enough—Matt was already dating Kyle, a co-worker of Vic’s at the city bus station. But Vic was patient, and he bided his time. Things didn’t work out between Kyle and Matt—Vic hadn’t thought they would—and by the end of that summer, Vic caught up with Matt again at one of the stops on his bus route. Matt joined him for a cup of coffee at the end of his shift. After a good laugh about Kyle, they agreed to see where things might lead between them. Matt wanted to take it slow, and Vic agreed. He’d waited a couple months already; what were a few more?

  A man like Matt was worth waiting for, Vic knew. Still a few years shy of his fortieth birthday, Vic had been looking for someone like him for so long, and the sudden tumble into love left him breathless and shaky and unsure. It both thrilled and terrified him. He was all too willing to wait it out, see if it disappeared on its own or blossomed into something heady and real.

  As the weeks went by, Vic fell for every little thing about Matt, from the tight black curls that crowned his head to his toned swimmer’s body, his quick grin and deep green eyes and dusky skin that smelled summery and clean. Vic was a foot man, and Matt’s feet were large and finlike and oh-so-suckable, with long toes that curled in Vic’s palm when he strummed the soles just right. In his experience, Vic had found the old adage about big feet to be true, and Matt was no exception.

  When they finally made love, Matt’s long, thick cock filled Vic completely. Seven months after they first met, at midnight on New Year’s Day, they crossed the tenuous line between friends and lovers in one orgasmic moment that shook Vic’s world apart.

  And then he discovered the super powers.

  * * * *

  Vic stepped out of the restroom and blinked back the shadows that clung to the side of the building. The faded blue of the sky had deepened into an inky shade but the Richmond skyline outshone any stars. A hundred yards away, the James River rushed by Brown’s Island with an almost imperceptible gurgle of water over stone. Here, with the restrooms between himself and the stage, Vic could breathe in the night, let it fill his lungs, clear his head. Tentatively he reached out with his mind, testing the world around him, looking for something different, something new…

  He heard the swish of grass behind him a second before hot, sweaty hands covered his eyes.

  When Matt snickered in his ear, Vic could smell the alcohol on his lover’s breath. “Guess who?”

  Covering Matt’s hands with his own, Vic teased, “My drunk boyfriend.”

  “I’m not drunk,” Matt protested. He leaned against Vic’s back as if trying to bend him over. Something hard and uncompromising poked at Vic’s denim-clad ass; maybe they would get lucky tonight. When one of Matt’s legs came up around his waist, Vic caught the knee and hoped the cover of darkness was enough to keep anyone from seeing this. Matt was officially all over him. “Gimme a piggy-back ride,” Matt demanded.

  “Let go of my eyes.” Matt’s hands slipped down, covering Vic’s mouth, then under his chin to clasp around his neck. “Matt,” he gasped as his lover’s grip tightened around his throat. “I can’t breathe.”

  Matt’s hands disappeared. “S
orry,” he murmured, lips pressed against the nape of Vic’s neck. With a lusty sigh, he draped himself across Vic’s back, arms encircling Vic’s waist to hold him tight. Those lips puckered into a quick kiss, then moved to a tender spot behind Vic’s left ear to kiss again, and then on his jaw, another kiss.

  Vic turned his head and Matt’s next kiss landed on his mouth. As his lover’s tongue flicked out to taste his lips, Vic felt a hand fumble with the buckle of his belt. “Matt,” he warned, catching that hand before it could go any farther. “It’s getting late.”

  Strong fingers closed around his. In what faint light there was, Vic saw Matt’s half-hooded eyes and the slow smile that spread across his lips. “I want you,” he whispered, his words as flammable as his breath. They ignited Vic’s blood like kerosene, fanning to life the flames of desire and lust that banked within him whenever his lover was near. Kissing Vic’s chin, Matt nipped at his goatee and sang softly, off-key, “I want to feel you from the inside.”

  With detached amusement, Vic asked, “Is that your best pick-up line?”

  But his arm came around Matt’s waist to hug him close, and his lover could be singing gospel hymns, for all Vic cared—the sound of Matt’s voice was enough to turn him on. The exhaustion he’d felt in the restroom dropped away, and even the headache that had cropped up after his last cup of beer began to disperse.

  Rubbing against him, Matt cajoled, “I need you, baby.”

  Vic laughed. “Are you always this horny when you get drunk?”

  “I’m not drunk,” Matt said again, but he stumbled when Vic took a step back. Hands clutched at Vic’s waist, fisting in his shirt. “No fair. It’s dark and I can’t see shit. Where are you going?”

  “Home.” Vic took another step in the darkness and Matt fell after him. “You ready to go?”

  “Don’t move so fast.”

  The pout was evident in Matt’s voice; Vic didn’t have to see it to hear it. He felt it in his brain, through the mental connection he shared with his lover. Lately their conversations had become a mixture of speech and thought, and Matt’s presence was always foremost in Vic’s mind.

  But tonight, with all the beer the two of them had drunk, Matt was nothing but a numb buzz inside Vic’s head, brighter than the thoughts of strangers that Vic managed to ignore but not the normal consciousness of the man he loved. As much as he liked this aroused man who fawned over him when inebriated, he didn’t care for the fact that alcohol dulled the soul living in constant contact with his own.

  Another step and Matt tripped over his own feet. With reflexes that still managed to surprise him, Vic caught him under the arms before he could hit the ground. “Come on, Matty,” Vic murmured, lifting him as if the grown man weighed nothing more than a young child. Bending down, Vic shouldered his lover onto his back, hands laced together to form a seat beneath Matt’s buttocks.

  Matt wrapped his arms around Vic’s chest and hugged him tight. With his head on Vic’s shoulder, Matt sighed. His breath tickled Vic’s neck and ear. “Love you,” he whispered.

  “I can tell,” Vic muttered. Matt’s erection now poked into the small of his back like a knot of wood. When he stood, a burst of energy whirled through him with a heat like the sun, coalescing from the center of his being to invigorate his arms until Matt’s weight seemed nonexistent. The super strength was just one more thing he’d learned to live with when Matt came into his life. Releasing his hands, he rubbed down Matt’s thighs and caught his lover’s knees in the crooks of his elbows. Then Vic headed for the parking lot and left Brown’s Island, with its day-long party, the bands and the booze and the crowds, behind.

  * * * *

  The super strength came from Matt. From loving him.

  So did the telepathy, and any other extraordinary power Vic exhibited on a day to day basis.

  The whole thing still managed to catch Vic unaware, especially when a new power manifested beyond his control. Whenever they made love, something in Matt’s semen gave Vic exaggerated superhuman abilities. Like a sexual Russian roulette, Vic was never quite sure what the morning after would bring. The power du jour seemed to depend on their position during sex. Missionary style with Vic on top, and his mind opened to the world in telepathic ways. When Matt was on top, Vic grew stronger than any living man, able to bench press over a thousand pounds as if the weights were feathers. He lifted a city bus once, just the back of it, to test out the strength. The memory still terrified him.

  The telepathy was there from the first time they made love—Vic woke to find his mind invaded with a million other thoughts, none of them his. The strength had come next. Since then, those two powers had been ever-present. And though Matt had no powers of his own, despite the fact that he transferred them to his sexual partners, a telepathic connection had opened between them, like a psychic telephone line. Even when Vic managed to tune out the rest of the world, Matt was always there.

  Other positions brought with them other powers, bright just after sex but diminishing as the day wore on, until they disappeared altogether. Spooned together with Matt behind him gave Vic invisibility. Sitting on Matt’s lap as they fucked made Vic cry out in a range of sound that set neighborhood dogs barking. And once, standing in the shower, Vic grasped the towel rack as Matt thrust into him from behind…the next morning he found he could fly.

  For Christmas one year Matt bought Vic an illustrated copy of the Kama Sutra for Gay Men, mostly for laughs. But over time, Vic penciled in which positions gave him what powers, until the contents page read like a comic book line-up of superhero abilities. The book sat on his bedside table, pencil stuck between the pages to mark the last position tried. As Vic carried Matt to their car, he thought back to the previous evening when his lover had picked a position at random. It’d been something convoluted and almost impossible to duplicate, though God knew they’d had fun trying. Matt lying on his back, Vic above him on his stomach, between Matt’s legs, his ass within easy reach. As Matt eased into him, Vic took one of Matt’s feet in both hands and nibbled his lover’s toes—he loved Matt’s feet, and nuzzled them as Matt slowly, so slowly penetrated him.

  They moved together carefully, Vic’s legs cradling Matt’s upper body as he licked and fawned over Matt’s feet. The sex seemed an almost secondary act; the love was in the intimate touch of their bodies, the kisses focused only on one erogenous area, the unseen hands that caressed and kneaded Vic’s large buttocks. By the time Matt came, Vic had already climaxed twice, and before going to bed, he dog-eared that page in the book because damn, he loved that position.

  But he had nothing to write beside it on the table of contents.

  This morning, nothing had seemed different to him. No flames leapt from his fingertips, no icy blasts chilled his coffee mug. No X-ray vision, no super speed, no powers at all, it seemed. As the day wore on and nothing happened, he began to wonder if maybe, maybe, they’d finally found a position that negated Matt’s gift. If so, Vic wouldn’t mind. He didn’t need the powers, didn’t want them really—he hated waking to find that in the night, his body had discovered a new trick, one he sometimes couldn’t easily hide from the rest of the world. Like the time various bones in his arms and legs spontaneously disappeared; Vic had to call in sick that day, couldn’t drive a city bus when his wrist might turn limp and useless at any moment. That position was crossed off the table of contents, definitely. If they had found a way to make love without transferring the powers, Vic would be ecstatic. And he’d enjoyed the position, particularly when he could suckle his lover’s toes during the deed.

  Yes, if that was the only way they could make love from now on, Vic was all for it.

  Still, he wanted to be sure before he said anything, so he kept his thoughts to himself. It was easy to do; Matt was too drunk to pry into his mind and see what Vic might be hiding. If tomorrow came without any new powers, then Vic would voice his theory. When Matt was sober enough to appreciate it.

  Please let me be right, Vic prayed, weaving thro
ugh the crowds to the parking lot. I want this man and I’ll take the powers if I have to but I don’t need them. Just him.

  Just him.

  * * * *

  Chapter 2

  When they reached the car, Vic backed up to the open passenger side door and eased Matt off his back to the waiting seat below. The hands clutching him relaxed, then disappeared. With a yawn, Matt stretched across both front seats of Vic’s battered Toyota Corolla, legs dangling out the open door. “Matt,” Vic sighed. When his lover didn’t move, he raised Matt’s legs one at a time, propping them up on the passenger seat so he could shut the door.

  He didn’t expect Matt to sit up as he skirted the back of the car, heading for the driver’s side, and he wasn’t disappointed. Unlocking his door, he found Matt’s head in the driver’s seat, smiling up at him. His feet now rested on the closed door on the other side of the car. “Hey there, big boy,” Matt drawled. “Wanna ride?”

  Vic shook his head, exasperated. “Sit up, silly.” Matt just gave him a drunken grin. Easing one leg between the seat and steering wheel, Vic warned, “I’m going to sit on you.”

  In response, Matt opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, wiggling it as if eager to lick Vic’s ass. “Drop trou first.”

  With a shake of his head, Vic grasped Matt’s shoulders and managed to shoulder him into the passenger side seat. Sliding behind the wheel, Vic got as far as starting the engine before Matt’s arms were on his waist, his face leaning against Vic’s warm, bare bicep. Cuddling into him, Matt murmured, “Where to, Papa Smurf?”

  “Home.” Where Vic could give into the desire and love roiling through him at Matt’s antics and take this man into him. Matt was never this touchy-feely in public; Vic would have to remember to let him drink more often. Every superhero has a weakness. He tried to extract himself from Matt’s tight embrace. His is alcohol, and mine is him. “Matt, let me drive. Sit back—”