“He was a big man I seen,” the woman called Esther said, speaking around a handful of stubborn teeth. At her words, the chicken turned tasteless in Matt’s mouth. “Bald head, real brute. Damn tattoo on his face. Looked like some kind of druggie, you ask me.”
The reporter cut in. “But you say he battled the blaze to rescue the children trapped inside this house?”
When Esther nodded, a fist clenched around Matt’s heart. Vic. He turned the volume up louder, but the news report ended abruptly—Vic hadn’t lingered after the rescue, so the cameras had nothing to show but the burned remains of the house and two grubby-faced children who stared solemnly from the television screen, scared silent. Neighbors who watched the blaze described a city bus passing the scene, then stopping less than a block away. One man ran off the bus, barreled down the street, and burst through the burning front door like a damn superhero. That was the word everyone used, superhero. When he brought out the kids, the frantic mother attested that despite the heat of the fire, the man had been cool to the touch, and a white film coated his exposed skin. “Like the discharge from a fire extinguisher?” the reporter prompted.
But the mother shook her head. “Like ice.”
Though no one got the man’s name, Matt knew without a doubt it had been his lover. Rushing in to save people he knew were inside, coated in ice for protection, disregarding all laws of science to do the impossible, the unthinkable…who the hell else could it be?
Matt’s appetite had disappeared; his rumbling stomach now churned in nervous anticipation, and the smell of the chicken was anathema to him. He dumped the take-out container in the trash without bothering to finish the leg he’d started. One thought rolled through his head like the pealing of a solemn bell. Vic. My God.
Wiping the grease from his fingers onto his T-shirt, Matt snatched the cordless phone off its cradle in the hall and dialed Vic’s cell phone. He had to hang up twice because he fumbled over the numbers. At last, the phone began to ring in his ear. “Come on,” he muttered, listening to the rings.
Three, four, then an audible click and his lover’s gruff voice filled him. “This is Vic. Leave a message.” Beeep.
“Vic,” Matt sighed, then, “Damn it! Pick up the phone.” He slammed the receiver down, hit redial, listened to the rings and Vic’s message again. And again. And again.
Fuck.
Matt’s hand shook as he raised it to his temple. Pressing his palm against his forehead, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. In his mind, he pictured himself as a fisherman, dressed in flannels and hunter orange, bulky thigh-high boots, a hat with lures pinned all over it, the whole nine yards. He stood in midstream, a fly rod in one hand. As the image solidified behind his closed eyelids, he yanked back on the rod, then jerked it forward to cast his line. Gossamer fishing line spun out from the reel in a glorious arc, racing into the air before gravity pulled the lead sinker into the water.
The bobber ducked into the water, then resurfaced. The line went slack. Nothing.
Fuck, Matt muttered, reeling in the line for another try. The connection he shared with Vic had a limited range of about two city blocks or so, give or take. The fishing analogy was Matt’s way of concentrating, focusing his energy into one thin cord that he cast out into the world around him, seeking his lover’s mind amid the murky waters that swirled between them. Sometimes, when Vic was nearby, Matt felt a tug on the fishing line and reeled his lover in.
Lord, what a catch.
But other times he could waste hours just casting about, until he was mentally and physically exhausted, and still Vic remained too far out, a distant promise hidden beyond the breakers, just beyond his reach.
Shaking the fishing image away, Matt reached for the phone again. Vic always had his cell with him, he wore it in a holster on his hip. Why wasn’t he answering it now? When Matt wanted to hear his voice, needed to know he was fine…”Damn it!” Matt slammed the receiver down, then picked it up and slammed it again, for good measure.
He hated these powers. They made Vic feel invincible and he wasn’t. Rushing into a burning house, for Christ’s sake? Covered in ice maybe, yeah, but ice melted. Fire burned the skin before a person could even feel it, and smoke scorched the lungs. And bullets drop you dead, he added with a shake of his head. Vic was always putting himself into danger because of Matt. Getting shot at, getting hurt. One day he’d go too far. One day he’d get himself killed, and what then? What the fuck then?
Then Matt would live the rest of his days knowing he had destroyed the only man he’d ever truly loved.
Hot tears of frustration filled his eyes. Matt wiped them away with the back of his hand. The strangled voice that escaped his throat didn’t sound anything like his normally cheerful self. “Vic,” he sighed. He sent the words mentally as he spoke them out loud. “Answer the goddamn phone, will you? Or call me, for once. Tell me you’re okay. Tell me…”
He trailed off, his plea unanswered. No lover’s mind comforted Matt’s whirling thoughts.
Carrying the phone into the living room, Matt sank into Vic’s recliner. Panic raced through his chest like a mouse, frenzied and unable to escape. He tried to tamp it down, but it kept wiggling out from under his grip to start up again, squeaking out half-asked questions for which Matt had no answers—what if and where is and why doesn’t…
Vic’s scent rose from the worn leather chair, enveloping Matt. On its own, his thumb found the redial button and pushed it. With the receiver in his lap, Matt heard the far away ring of a phone, tinny with distance. When Vic’s voicemail answered, Matt hung up and hit redial again.
And again.
And again.
* * * *
At quarter after midnight, a familiar presence opened in Matt’s mind. Faint at first, it drew stronger as Vic approached. When Vic realized Matt could sense him, his mind touched Matt’s own. ::Hey, lover.::
Matt answered by closing his thoughts off from Vic, turning away almost, as relief and anger warred through him like a coin tossed head over tails in the air between them. At the moment, he wasn’t sure which emotion would prevail. Thank God Vic was all right, but Matt had spent the last several hours worrying, and that fear wasn’t ready to disperse yet. Instead it rankled into rage, simmering just beneath the surface of Matt’s mind.
Vic touched on that rage and sighed. ::Matt, listen—::
::You could’ve called,:: Matt threw back at him. His anger began to bubble through his tough facade. ::I’ve been worried sick. Don’t you answer your fucking phone?::
An image flashed in Matt’s mind—Vic’s cell phone in the passenger seat of his car, the case cracked and broken, the service light extinguished. Because he already had access to his lover’s thoughts and memories, Matt didn’t need to be told what had happened. He just knew; between the extreme heat of the fire and the sub-arctic temperatures Vic exuded, the phone didn’t stand a chance.
But Matt wasn’t ready to give in just yet. ::Ever heard of a pay phone? I’ve been calling you—::
::I couldn’t get through.::
It was true. Vic couldn’t lie to Matt, not when his every thought lay bare before Matt’s own. His lover stood aside as Matt riffled through his memories as if going through a friend’s CD collection. He picked up one and frowned at it—Vic ducking off the bus at an empty stop to use a nearby phone real quick. Dialing home, getting a busy signal, trying again before he had to get back to work. Another memory showed Vic grabbing a bite to eat for dinner and stopping at the phone outside the McDonald’s on Broad Street. Still busy. He tried once more at the garage after clocking out, then said the hell with it and raced home because he was worried. ::See?::
Matt shoved the memories aside. Because he couldn’t think of anything else to say that wasn’t conceding the fight, he snapped, ::Where are you?::
::Almost home.:: Vic projected an image of the front of their apartment building, and downstairs Matt heard the crunch of tires as his lover pulled into his usual spot. Thoug
h he knew the answer already, Vic asked, ::Are you still mad?::
Matt snorted in reply. Did Vic even have to ask? ::This is far from over, mister.::
Vic’s weary sighed filled Matt. ::At least let me get inside.::
::You have two minutes,:: Matt warned. ::Or I’m locking the bedroom door and your icy ass can sleep on the couch.:: A few seconds later, he pressed, ::Well? Have you even gotten out of the car yet?::
Vic groaned in response.
* * * *
As it was, Matt didn’t wait for Vic to close the door to their apartment before he started. “What possibly possessed you to pull a stunt like that?” he asked as he surged to his feet. Vic shrugged out of his work shirt and began kicking off his boots, letting Matt’s tirade wash over him like the incoming tide. “You aren’t a fireman, Vic. You aren’t qualified to do that shit. These guys train for years and here you go rushing in like it’s 9/11 all over again. What the hell—”
“There were kids inside.” Vic’s voice was low, forcing Matt to stop ranting long enough to listen to what his lover had to say. “Little kids, Matty. Before the fire truck even arrived. I couldn’t hear them screaming in my head and just act like nothing was going on.”
“Someone else would’ve saved them,” Matt argued. He felt heartless and cruel saying it, but the words came out before he could bite them back. “Why’s it always have to be you?”
“Who else do you know who could do it?” Vic wanted to know.
Matt brandished the cordless phone in one hand as he tried to make his point. Why couldn’t Vic see how using the powers affected them? Affected him? “Do you know what it feels like to hear this shit on TV?” he asked. “Can you even imagine it? Sitting here eating dinner and all of a sudden there’s a news story on about…I don’t know, a hostage situation at the gym, maybe. Or a shooting at the Y, or a fatal traffic accident on the road I take coming home from work. The reporter has no information, but you know I’m involved somehow, and you can’t get in touch with me to find out what’s going on.” Matt paused to let that sink in. At the troubled look Vic gave him, he knew his words had hit home. “I die inside when I don’t know if you’re all right. You’re not indestructible, you know? These fucked up powers could disappear at any time and then what will you do?”
“Matt,” Vic started. Then he shook his head and sighed. He looked so worn out, so exhausted, and the acrid smell of smoke still clinging to him wafted towards Matt in waves that made him ill. With his work shirt off, the white undershirt he wore looked dingy and gray against the faded tattoos that covered his arms. Though Matt didn’t want to admit it, Vic looked older than he should have, world-weary and run down.
It took everything Matt had to not cross the distance between them and take the man in his arms, wrap himself around that stolid bulk, and bury his head against Vic’s neck. “I love you,” Matt admitted. “I don’t want to lose you, hear me? I have so precious little of you as it is. If something happens to you because of these powers—hell, because of me—I don’t know…I can’t imagine—”
“Matt.” Vic’s low voice was intimate between them, canceling out the distance that kept their bodies apart. Matt took an involuntary step closer, his hand reaching for Vic’s. When their fingers clasped, Vic tugged Matt to him. Strong arms encircled his waist and his body melded against Vic’s, his defenses so easily conquered, his arguments gone up in smoke. Nuzzling Matt’s neck, Vic murmured, “You’re with me all the time, Matty. Whenever I use these powers, I feel you in me.”
Matt made a sound of disbelief but Vic kissed his jaw as if to silence him. “I do. You were with me this afternoon, wrapped around me. Your heart beat through me with every breath I took. You spread through me, burning brighter than any flame. Your love protected me from the fire.”
The phone fell to the floor, discarded, as Matt fisted his hands in Vic’s thin undershirt. The cloying smell of smoke burned the back of his throat and stung fresh tears that threatened to fall. “I could’ve lost you.”
“You didn’t,” Vic pointed out. “You won’t. I have no powers without you. Haven’t you realized that by now? I can only do heroic things because of you.”
When Matt tried to protest, Vic kissed him quiet.
* * * *
Chapter 9
By the following morning, the most Vic could do was raise a few solitary ice cubes in his coffee to cool it off. The power, as usual, had run its course and petered out.
In a better mood after a night spent sleeping in Vic’s embrace, Matt teased his lover as they sat at the kitchen table. “No heroics for you today,” he said, angling his chair so he could prop one foot in Vic’s lap. Hidden beneath Vic’s flannel robe, his lover’s dick twitched with sudden interest, but the early morning scowl on Vic’s face only deepened. Matt curled his toes into Vic’s pillowy crotch and grinned. “Unless you’re up for a quick recharge?”
Vic grunted into his coffee mug, his gaze never leaving the newspaper spread on the table before him. But one hand slipped under the table to stroke the top of Matt’s foot, and Matt’s heel ground gently into Vic’s groin. With his long toes, Matt eased between the folds of fabric until he brushed against smooth skin. As his foot fondled Vic’s stiffening cock, Matt watched his lover’s face closely. Those hard eyes softened, and Vic’s thin lips parted in a faint gasp. Then his lower lip sucked in, caught between his teeth, and a slight, guttural moan escaped his throat. The hand on Matt’s foot tightened as if keeping him in place. When Matt managed to tuck Vic’s cock between his toes as he rubbed up the thick length, Vic gasped; his hand caught Matt’s ankle and held on tight. ::There,:: he sighed, the word filling Matt’s mind like a rising wind. ::Right there.::
Gripping his chair for balance, Matt concentrated on the ministrations his foot performed unseen under the table. It turned him on to know he could weaken a man like Vic, and when his lover’s mind opened to his, allowing Matt to feel the slough of skin on skin as Vic felt it, Matt’s own erection perked to life. “Maybe we’ll just do it this way from now on,” he murmured.
Vic’s cheeks were slack, his eyes closed now, and his nod didn’t agree with Matt’s words so much as with his actions. Vic was still in the throes of waking up, and the sensation of Matt’s foot on his bare cock stymied all thought. With a laugh, Matt suggested, “If we just jerk each other off all the time, we won’t have to worry about you getting those damn powers anymore.” Vic’s length stood up beneath his foot, and Matt tickled it with his toes. “And I won’t have to worry about you getting hurt.”
“Matty,” Vic growled. The hand on Matt’s ankle tightened in lust and frustration. “Don’t…”
The rest was lost in a hiss of pleasure when Matt’s big toe tapped the tip of Vic’s dick. A barrage of images flooded Matt’s mind, the two of them locked together, every single time Matt had ever made love to Vic. Their couplings played out like a movie in his mind, one loving moment after the next. The sheer depth of emotion that rolled through him took his breath away. ::Don’t be like that,:: Vic admonished, the words spoken silently between them. ::Don’t even joke about it. You know I need you.::
Matt knew. A big, beefy guy like Vic, riddled with piercings and tattoos, looked like a dominant lover, but despite appearances, he preferred submission in sex. He got off on the fullness, the pressure, the bump against his prostate with each thrust, and hot cum shooting through his bowels.
Shortly after he had moved into Vic’s apartment, Matt had opened the bottom drawer of the dresser in the bedroom closet to find a stash of multi-colored dildos, each bigger than the last. There were realistic veined cocks, thick anal plugs, a set of massive butt beads that made Matt’s sphincter clench to look at them, any number of vibrators and rubber dildos and anal toys. Carrying one of the larger pieces into the living room, he brandished it at Vic and laughed. “What the hell?”
From where he sat on the couch watching TV, Vic had shrugged, unembarrassed. “A man gets lonely,” he explained. “What do you wan
t me to say, Matty? I like it up the ass? You know that.”
“I almost feel inadequate,” Matt teased. To be honest? There was no almost about it. The sheer size of the sex toys made his balls shrivel in shame.
But Vic rolled his eyes. “Put it back. Or throw it away even, I don’t care.” Reaching for him, Vic wrapped his arms around Matt’s waist and pulled his lover into his lap. He nosed aside the open collar of Matt’s shirt to kiss the skin underneath. Into the hollow of his throat, Vic murmured, “All the toys in the world don’t beat the real thing, Matty. I ain’t had to use those since I found you.”
Matt liked how unabashedly Vic approached sex. He liked it rough, hard and fast and rhythmic, animalistic almost. He liked being ridden into the bed, or the couch, or the floor. He liked Matt on him, in him, completing him. Vic loved being filled by him, with him. He never articulated his feelings, but they were forefront in his mind at all times; once the two of them had formed the mental connection that tied them together, heart and soul, Matt discovered all this and more.
He knew the most sensitive part on Vic’s body was the tight skin between his buttocks; Matt knew Vic liked to be licked there, and kissed, and nipped. He knew Vic thought a good blowjob involved a slick finger up his ass. He knew Vic liked to have his balls suckled, so Matt tried to remember to pay attention to them. And he knew Vic had a fetish for big feet; he loved foot-jobs and Matt’s toes rimming his ass or laced between his fingers. If nothing else, at least the powers gave Matt the ammunition he needed to love Vic more, the way the man longed to be loved.
Most people went through life unable to admit what they really wanted from a lover. Matt knew Vic’s deepest desires, he felt the depth of Vic’s love without having to be told, and he was determined to make even Vic’s wildest dreams come true.
Bonds of Love Page 7
