Bonds of Love

by Snyder, J. M.

  His chin on Vic’s shoulder, Matt demanded, “Kiss me first, you big lug.”

  With a playful growl of frustration, Vic planted a quick peck on his lover’s cheek. Matt laughed. “Is that the best you’ve got?”

  Vic tried again, touching his lips to Matt’s for a chaste kiss. But as he pulled away, Matt touched his jaw and turned Vic’s face to his. “Not so fast,” he murmured, covering Vic’s mouth with his own.

  For a long moment they kissed, lips pressed together in a velvety crush. Their heartbeats seemed to slow, and the world around them stretched out minute by minute until the seconds trickled by. The crowd sounded far away, like distant surf—the only immediate sounds were Matt’s breath against Vic’s cheek and the faint rumble of the car’s idling engine.

  Then Matt’s lips parted, and his tongue trailed over Vic’s lower lip. Vic sighed—with that, Matt licked into him, tasting him, claiming him. The beer on his lover’s breath took Vic’s own away. Slowly, oh God so slowly, Matt traced the inside of Vic’s mouth with his tongue, remembering every curve, every tooth, every soft crevice as their kiss deepened. One hand gripped the back of Vic’s neck, pulling him closer, and their lips mashed together, their tongues speaking a language that fanned the flames of lust inside both their bodies until the very core of their beings burned like stars in the night. This maddening kiss, so slow, so tender, so right, heated Vic with a passion that glowed white-hot within him; Matt’s hand at his waist, kneading Vic’s own budding erection, only fueled the fire. Vic opened one eye to ensure that he wasn’t giving off sparks or radiating some obscene laser show at Matt’s touch.

  The car around them was dark, the only light coming from the concert venue beyond the windows. But they were still in public, and Vic wanted nothing more than to fall into bed beside Matt. Though every nerve in his body screamed in protest, he caught the hand in his lap and laced his fingers through his lover’s. With reluctance, he pulled away, ending their kiss. Matt glanced up at him with dulled eyes and damp, too red lips that looked swollen and tempting. “Like that,” Matt murmured, squeezing Vic’s hand in his. “Kiss me like that next time I ask.”

  “Just you wait ‘til we get home,” Vic promised. With a laugh, he put the car into gear and began to navigate the narrow parking lot to the exit. “Unless you fall asleep on me.”

  With his head still on Vic’s shoulder, Matt curled up in the passenger seat and hugged Vic’s arm in both of his. “Oh, no,” Matt assured him. “I’m up.”

  * * * *

  They were about ten minutes from the small West End apartment they shared when the well-lit neon sign for 7-11 caught Matt’s attention. With wide eyes, he grinned up at Vic. “Slurpees,” he announced.

  Something in the way he drew out the word suggested he wanted one. Vic shook his head, bemused. “Matt—”

  ::Please?::

  Vic gave Matt a sharp glance—his lover’s smile didn’t falter, his lips didn’t part, his mouth didn’t move, but the word echoed through Vic’s mind again, ::Pretty please?::

  So their mental connection was back, which meant that somewhere between Brown’s Island and this end of town, Matt had sobered up. But he was still wrapped around Vic’s arm, pressed so close against him that each time Vic switched gears, his elbow nudged Matt’s stomach. When Vic rested his hand on Matt’s thigh, his lover clamped his legs together, catching Vic’s fingers between them. ::I thought you were out of it,:: Vic thought, projecting the words into Matt’s head.

  Rich laughter resonated within him. ::Oh, I’m still buzzing,:: Matt assured him. The stop light ahead changed red, catching them a block from the convenience store. ::How about that Slurpee?::

  Before Vic could reply, an image filled his mind—Matt, nude in their bedroom, a large Slurpee cup in one hand, lips blue from the cold slush and whatever flavor he had chosen. Vic on his hands and knees beside the bed, his buttocks presented to Matt like twin pale pillows. He heard the slurp of a straw, then cool fingers touched his ass, spreading his cheeks to let an icy tongue lick between them, oh sweet Jesus so numbing, so frigid. It sounded like a wonderful end to a day spent in the hot sun. Not only did he think it but felt it as well—Matt’s freezing lips on him, the cold tongue warming against his skin; not just in his mind but on his body, and his jeans chafed the sudden half-mast erection that swelled at his groin.

  In the dark car Vic gasped, the sensation all too real. Suddenly a Slurpee didn’t just sound like a good idea—nothing else would do. He wanted cold lips on his, cold hands, a cold tongue. He wanted to warm Matt up again, with every inch of his body if he could. When the light changed, he crossed two lanes of the road without looking in his rear-view mirror for oncoming traffic, trusting the unnerving instincts that had awakened in him when he met Matt. With his foot on the gas, he zoomed into the 7-11 parking lot, pulling into the last spot that remained in front of the store. As he unbuckled his seat belt, he asked, “What flavor do you want?”

  Matt laughed. “I’m coming, too.” He crawled across the driver’s seat and misjudged the distance—he was still a little drunk, all right. When he fell out of the car, head first, Vic caught him beneath the arms before he could hit the ground. “What would I do without you?” Matt wanted to know as Vic helped him stand.

  “Knock yourself senseless,” Vic teased. “And do kinky stuff with a Slurpee in the bedroom by yourself.”

  Matt held onto Vic’s arm like a child, unwilling to let go. “It’s only kinky the first time. Picture this.”

  Another image overrode his thoughts…Matt kneeling before Vic, one cool hand wrapped around Vic’s throbbing shaft. Slurpee-cold lips kissed the tip of his dick, then parted to take him into an icy mouth. As the frosty feelings thrilled through him, Vic stumbled in mid-step. Even his super strength couldn’t hold back the dribble of pre-cum that creamed the front of his briefs. “Matt!” Vic cried, angry at the weakness that flooded him. This man was his Kryptonite, no question. “Don’t do that.”

  Strong arms encircled Vic’s waist as Matt leaned against his back and snickered. “I know, I know,” he conceded. “When we get home. What flavor do you think I should get?”

  Vic tried to step out of Matt’s hug and couldn’t. Leading the way to the store’s front door, he muttered, “I don’t care.” Silently he added, ::Something cold. If it feels half as good as you think it does—::

  His lover’s reply danced over his thoughts. ::It will,:: Matt promised.

  * * * *

  At the Slurpee machine, Matt filled a clear plastic cup with a rainbow of flavors. Vic leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, and swept the store with a menacing glare that kept anyone from meeting his gaze. The cashier glanced at them, nervous. She looked like she would’ve blended in with the college-aged girls on Brown’s Island, with her blonde ponytail and the tight T-shirt she wore beneath her work smock. Despite the store’s full parking lot, there didn’t seem to be many customers inside—an older woman stacked numerous cans of cat food in her arms, a man Vic took to be her husband picked over candy, a couple of young men lingered in front of the beer case with the freezer door propped open as they debated what to buy.

  As Matt fussed with his Slurpee, Vic pushed away from the counter and wandered over to the potato chips. He grabbed a bag at random, opened it, and began to snack. “Some time tonight,” he called back to Matt. If his lover was right about the Slurpee, Vic couldn’t wait to get home. Here he was with the munchies already and they hadn’t even had sex yet. He felt like a disapproving father when he scolded, “Matty, come on.”

  “In a minute,” his lover muttered.

  Vic didn’t think it mattered much what flavors they used. But let Matt have his fun—Vic would have his soon enough. Rummaging through the chips, Vic picked out the largest ones and popped them in his mouth, well aware of his grumbling stomach after not eating anything substantial all day. It was almost painful, the way his abdomen cramped, and it seemed no amount of chips would fill it. Then the bell above the
front door tinkled, a prissy sound announcing another customer. And Vic realized the cramps weren’t hunger at all.

  He’d felt it before, many times, a wary sense of premonition caused by his powers that still caught him by surprise. Vic turned to see three guys enter the convenience store—they wore baseball caps tugged down low over their faces, and thick hoodie sweatshirts that might have been fashionable on the shore but looked out of place in downtown Richmond in the middle of August. They looked young, all three of them—two scrawny white boys and one big black brother. A myriad of thoughts filled Vic’s mind, none of them his own—the other customers registering the guys, labeling them, and trying their best to look unafraid. The lady with the cat food stepped up to the register, ready to leave. Her husband followed suit. Even the men at the beer case seemed uneasy.

  One image flashed in Vic’s head, undeniable—a gun, crammed down the front of the black guy’s jeans, the safety off. At least one of his friends had a knife, folded in the fist balled in his pocket. Crossing to stand behind his lover, Vic lowered his voice so no one else would overhear. “Come on, Matty. Time to go.”

  His lover started, “I’m—”

  Vic quieted him with a hand on his back. “Now.”

  Matt glanced around the store, confusion on his face. Opening the mental connection they shared, Vic pointed out the gun and knife. “Shit,” Matt whispered. As he reached for the Slurpee lids, his hand hit a stack of the cups and they clattered to the tiled floor.

  The noise set the gunman into action. “You fuckers on the ground!” he hollered, waving the pistol in the air. The cashier screamed and dropped behind the counter, out of sight. Cat food cans went rolling, and the freezer door slammed shut as the customers hurried to obey. The cat food lady sobbed. Matt sank to his knees and tried to gather up the offending cups.

  “On the floor,” the gunman barked. He turned full circle, gun leveled, looking for a reason to shoot. When he saw Vic, the gun swung to a stop between them. “You, asshole. Didn’t you hear me?”

  Vic stared at the barrel, unperturbed. A strange feeling of calm descended over him and he stepped in front of Matt to block his lover from the gun’s aim. “I heard you.”

  His low voice infuriated the gunman. “Then get the fuck on the floor!” When Vic didn’t move, the guy shook his head in disbelief. “Motherfucker.”

  “Get on the floor, man!” one of guy’s friends pleaded, the one with the knife. “We ain’t gonna kill you, dude. Just get down and no one gets hurt.”

  Somehow, Vic didn’t believe that. “Change of plans,” he said, popping another chip in his mouth. He took a moment to chew it—in the silence of the store, broken only by quiet sobs and Matt fiddling with the cups, the sound that the chip made as he ground it between his teeth seemed unnaturally loud to his own ears. Choosing his words, Vic announced, “Give me the gun. And you, the knife.”

  The kid gaped, surprised Vic knew of his weapon. ::I know,:: Vic added mentally.

  The kid’s jaw dropped. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Hand them over,” Vic replied, ignoring the question. “And no one gets hurt. How’s that sound?”

  For a breathless second, he almost hoped it had worked. The kid with the knife had it out now, but he held it by the blade, ready to drop it and run. The third friend stayed by the door, waiting for the signal to bolt. But this was the gunman’s show, and he wasn’t ready to call it quits just yet. “What’re you gonna do?”

  Vic took a step to close the distance between them.

  “You stay right there!” the gunman warned, his voice ratcheting up a notch. “You hear me?”

  As if he didn’t, Vic moved closer. If he could just reach the guy, he knew he could bring him down—the strength that flooded his system ran like adrenaline through his veins, energizing him. If he could just get close enough to tackle him…

  The gun went off. Vic saw a lick of flame, smelled the acrid odor of gunpowder and smoke, and heard the deafening rapport a second before something small and hard and metal punched him in the center of his chest. The energy in his body flared to life—the gun shots rang out, two, three, each accompanied by another hard knock that rattled him down through his core. The energy swirled through him, in him, around him, dazzling like bright light. Far away he heard Matt cry out for him, the sound of his name like anguish in his lover’s voice.

  Then the light washed over him like the tide, and everything disappeared.

  * * * *

  Chapter 3

  As the energy receded, leaving shattered pain in its wake, Vic didn’t know what hurt more—his head or his chest. A steady throb behind his left eye promised a splitting migraine later; for now, the pain pooled at the back of his head, where he must’ve hit the floor as he fell. His chest was on fire—each heartbeat felt like a punch, as if there were someone inside him trying to get out. A desolate keening filled his ears, a sound that mimicked the pain that riddled his body. At first he thought it was an alarm of sorts, the wail of an ambulance perhaps, or some other siren. Then he realized it was a human voice, one he knew all too well.

  Matt.

  With Herculean effort, Vic sat up and gasped. Gunpowder and smoke filled his lungs, but the world around him was a blinding shade of white. He shook his head to clear his vision and managed to draw in one shuddery breath before strong arms wrapped around his shoulders to catch him in a vise-like hug. “Oh, God,” Matt sobbed into his neck. His normally steady voice hiccupped with fear. “Oh, God, Vic. I thought, God. He shot you! I thought, I thought—”

  “I’m fine,” Vic assured him. Then he remembered the gun, the guy wielding it, the kid with the knife, and he tried to get to his feet, but Matt held him down. “Matty, I’m fine. Really. But the gun—”

  “He shot you,” Matt replied, as if Vic might have somehow missed this fact. Relaxing his death grip, Matt rocked back and ran his hands over Vic’s chest. His eyes were wild, a combination of alcohol and fear, and the connection between their minds buzzed with incoherent thoughts, a whirlwind of shock and relief. Matt’s hands trembled as they danced over Vic’s chest. “Right here,” he mumbled, his fingers picking at a tiny round hole shot through Vic’s shirt. “And here. And here.”

  As he found each bullet hole, Matt’s eyes widened in disbelief. His fingers poked through the holes to brush across Vic’s hairless chest. “You should be bleeding,” Matt whispered. He tugged at Vic’s shirt, popping a few of the buttons in his haste to assess the damage. “Vic, he was right in front of you. Point-blank range. You should be dead.”

  “But I’m not.” Catching his lover’s wrists in his hands, Vic pressed Matt’s palm to his lips. With tentative fingers Matt touched his face, then pulled free of Vic’s grip to run his hands over Vic’s smooth, bald scalp. Vic let his eyes slip shut as Matt explored his face with his hands as if to assure himself Vic was still there. Around them, the rest of the world began to come into focus, drifting towards Vic in waves of harsh, loud noise. So they weren’t alone, but at the moment Matt was all that existed for him. Over the blur in their minds, Vic asked Matt, ::Where’s the guy with the gun?::

  ::Gone.::

  “Where?” Vic wanted to know.

  Matt shrugged. “Don’t know,” he admitted. “Don’t care. The bastard shot you and ran off like a coward. God, I thought you were…I mean, Vic—”

  “I’m fine.”

  As if he didn’t quite believe that, Matt rubbed his hands over Vic’s skull until his fingers found the folds of his lover’s ears. His thumbs trailed over the numerous hoop earrings that lined Vic’s lobes as if counting to make sure each one was in its proper place. Then he cupped his hands around Vic’s face and forced him to meet his gaze. Matt’s green eyes flashed, fear still hidden in their depths. Touching his forehead to Vic’s, Matt whispered, “I thought you were dead.”

  “I’m not,” Vic assured him.

  At that, Matt pressed his lips to Vic’s in a hungry, relieved kiss.

  When Matt f
inally helped him to his feet, Vic found the previously half-empty store now bustling with people, most of them in blue police uniforms. Reporters and onlookers outside shoved against the front windows and glass doors, jostling for position as they tried to assess the damage inside. The guy with the knife sat in one corner of the store, hood pulled up to cover his face, hands cuffed behind his back—so they didn’t all get away. He stared at the legs of the policeman who guarded him and didn’t bother to look around at the confusion his friend had caused. When Vic probed his mind, the guy winced and ducked down farther into himself.

  Unsteady on his feet, Vic reached out for the counter and found Matt there instead, holding onto him. “God,” his lover sighed as he leaned against Vic’s side.

  With detachment, Vic watched his own arm come up around Matt’s shoulders, an almost negligent gesture designed to keep him close. One thought ran through his mind, panicky when he noticed the reporters and their cameras outside. ::No comment,:: Vic thought, over and over again.

  Matt gave him a tight squeeze and nodded. “I know,” he murmured. “I know.”

  A tentative hand touched Vic’s shoulder. “Sir?”

  He turned to find a young female cop behind him, pen and paper in hand. Her blonde hair was pulled into a crisp bun at the base of her neck, and the dark, smudged eyeliner she wore made her eyes look weary. As Vic focused on her, she gave him a tired smile. “I just need to get a statement from you. Name?”

  “Vic,” Matt answered.

  The cop’s gaze flickered over to him, then snapped back to Vic. “Braunson, isn’t it? Aren’t you the one who rescued those kids off the interstate overpass last year?”

  Vic’s eyes hardened with distrust. “I wouldn’t say rescued—”

  “I heard something about a car wreck downtown,” the cop continued. “A while back? You drive a bus for the city, right?”

  Vic wasn’t sure he liked where this was going. By the way Matt’s hands fisted in Vic’s shirt, it seemed his lover was just as wary. “I work for the Transit Authority,” he said slowly. “Why?”