He really hoped they didn’t.
Turning to the next stack of papers on his desk, he began to riffle through invoices that needed to be paid—chlorine deliveries, new sanitizers for the locker room showers, a repair order to replace a few warped tiles at the deep end of the pool. Matt skimmed each page before he scribbled his signature along the bottom, giving his approval for payment. His mind still lingered in the past, replaying the morning foot-job, the tender kiss they’d shared before Matt hurried to work, the feel of Vic’s bristly goatee in his hands when Matt dipped his head back to claim that kiss. He moved onto the timesheets, giving each a cursory glance before signing off on them. Unconsciously he reached out with his mind, in the hope Vic might be nearby. Every now and then his lover drove a route that brought him close to the gym, and whenever the bus passed in front of the building, Matt would feel warmth and love flood through him as Vic’s way of saying hello. After Matt’s frazzled day, the unexpected touch of his lover’s mind would brighten his mood…
The phone on the desk rang.
Maybe it’s Vic. Matt knew his lover’s telepathic capabilities outstretched his own. Maybe he’d picked up Matt’s tentative mental reach and decided to call.
The phone rang a second time, insistent. It had to be Vic; who else would Roxie patch through?
Before it could ring again, Matt answered. Clearing his throat, he ran a hand through his unruly curls and tried to keep the excitement from his voice when he said, “Matt diLorenzo here.”
“Hey, Matthew.”
The voice was male, soft and sinuous like silk smoothed across bare skin. There was something intimate about it, something that made Matt feel slightly guilty for no real reason he could discern, as if he’d been caught doing something bad. One thing was certain—it wasn’t Vic. Disappointment stabbed through Matt, so poignant it almost took his breath away. He couldn’t hide it. “Hey,” he sighed. Then he asked, “Who is this?”
Laughter filled his ear, tinkling and bright. “Don’t you recognize my voice?” his caller asked.
“No,” Matt said, a little perturbed. “If I did, I wouldn’t have asked. Who—”
“Has it been that long?” The laughter died but mirth still laced the stranger’s voice. Whoever it was, he enjoyed Matt’s ignorance. Determined not to be drawn into conversation with someone he didn’t know, Matt kept silent. The caller sighed, a lusty sound that rushed through Matt like a breath of winter air. “Seems just like yesterday to me, Matthew. I thought everyone remembered their first love.”
A name flashed through Matt’s mind, written in Roxie’s flowing script. “Jordan,” he whispered. No. It couldn’t be…could it?
But the voice on the other end of the line laughed again. “So you do remember.”
“You weren’t my first love. We weren’t even friends. Where’d you get this number?”
“I saw you in the paper,” Jordan replied.
Which meant he knew Matt worked at one of the gyms in town and called around, just like all the other reporters, until he found out where. But why would Roxie let his call go through? After the article ran, he insisted that every call be screened. So how…?
Through his silence, Jordan continued, “It was a fuzzy picture, Matthew. But if you’re working at the gym, you’re probably pretty buff. I always thought you’d grow up sexy. So.” Matt could hear the smile in Jordan’s voice. “What are you doing tonight?”
Matt resisted the urge to slam the phone down. “What?”
“Tonight.” Jordan sighed in his ear—if that was supposed to turn him on, it failed. “As in, go out with me. Just a drink between old buds, catch up on things. What do you say?”
“No?”
Everything about the moment seemed surreal to Matt—a few yards away, kids shouted playfully at each other, and splashes of water slapped the tile floor with each dive into the pool. Here, in his office, amid the normalcy of paperwork cluttering his desk, sat the phone. And on the other end of the receiver was a voice he hadn’t thought of in years, belonging to a man he would never call or speak to on his own, a man to whom he had nothing to say. Jordan was a blast from his past, as unwelcome and unsavory as the furnaces of hell.
Who was Jordan? The first guy Matt had ever had sex with, back when they were too young and stupid to know better. And Jordan was also the first guy to find out about the odd abilities that simmered in Matt’s semen. After their first tryst, Jordan was gifted with supernatural speed, running the mile in gym class in two minutes flat. The average teenage boy could maybe clock that distance in six, seven minutes, tops. They didn’t clue in at first, of course, but after the second coupling, it clicked. Jordan realized where the power came from, and he wanted more.
And more.
Jordan joined the school’s track team, winning every damn race. But soon he started acting like the powers were his own, not a gift from Matt—he even told Matt once he should feel lucky Jordan let him hang around, like he was some damn groupie or something. Soon Matt had had enough. Even if he was sticking it to Jordan to “boost” the powers before a race, he sure felt as if he were the one getting fucked. He called it quits, right before finals.
But Jordan forced Matt to give him what he wanted anyway. He threatened to tell the whole school Matt was a faggot—he’d tell their parents Matt raped him, time and again. He cajoled, rubbing against Matt’s crotch, trying to get him interested. He hit him, first with his fists and then with his belt, whipped him until Matt consented. Because of Jordan, Matt had kept his distance from other men for years. Because of him, Matt almost hadn’t given Vic a chance.
Was Matt the only one who remembered this?
“Matthew,” Jordan said, in that same needy little-boy voice Matt recognized from his past. “I just want to see you again—”
“No,” Matt repeated, stronger now. “Hell no. Do me a favor, Jordan, will you? Hang up and don’t fucking bother me again.”
“But—”
Matt laughed, a high, scary sound that bordered on madness, but this call was the breaking point to an already hellacious day. “I’m with someone now,” he told Jordan. “Happily ever after and all that. I’m not interested in you. I never was.”
For a moment, silence spanned the distance between them. Matt cleared his throat, ready to say his goodbyes and hang up, then call Roxie and ream her out about letting Jordan through, when his former classmate spoke. His words were soft, almost a whisper, as if he wanted to keep this between just the two of them. “It’s the guy from the store, right?” he asked. An image of the 7-11’s surveillance camera photos snapped in Matt’s mind, Vic on his back on the floor, the gun leveled at his chest. “How’s that work, Matthew? Different powers for different people, or what? You fuck him long enough, he becomes invincible?”
Into the phone, Matt hissed, “Shut up. Just shut up, Jordan.”
“Shit,” Jordan drawled, a streak of nastiness in his voice, “I’d stay with you too just to have that power. I’d even fake the happily ever after bit, if fucking you made me Superman. Don’t tell me you believe him when he says he loves you. You’re smarter than that.”
A red haze dropped before Matt’s eyes, an anger that clouded his mind and forced him to slam the phone down to disconnect the call. “Fuck you,” he spat at the receiver. Then he swept a hand across his desk, knocking papers, pens, the phone, everything to the floor. The phone hit the ground with a metallic clunk! Seconds later, a steady beeping sound rose from the receiver, distant, discordant.
The start of a livid migraine tugged at Matt’s temples. He squeezed his eyes shut, surprised they burned. Where the hell did Jordan get off questioning his relationship with Vic? That man loved him, and it wasn’t for the powers or the sex, or whatever else Jordan might have insinuated. Vic loved him, he said it often enough. Him.
And fuck Jordan for even thinking otherwise.
* * * *
Chapter 11
At the end of another long day, Vic came home to a silence
that worried him. Nearing the apartment, he reached out for Matt’s mind, only to find a solid wall blocking him out. Like a cheating lover with a guilty conscience, Vic thought back over the work day, searching for something he might have done that could have pissed Matt off. Nothing came to mind. Well, okay, at lunch he’d lifted the rear bumper of a small automobile so a little girl could retrieve her ball. But as far as he knew, that wouldn’t make the news. Sure, he’d impressed a group of young children, but there hadn’t been any adults around, and in all honesty, who’d believe a bunch of kids?
Trudging upstairs to their apartment, Vic tried again to connect with Matt. ::Hey sexy,:: his usual opener, was met with stony silence. So he tried a low, menacing growl, ::Matty.::
The reply was a terse, ::Get in here.::
“I’m not up for this tonight,” Vic muttered into the empty hall. He approached their door with dragging steps, like a condemned man. Was this still about the house fire? He thought they’d worked that out.
Inside the apartment, the only light was a faint glow that spilled out into the hall from the bedroom. By the door, Vic kicked off his work boots, then padded toward the light. At the doorway, he peeked into the room, cautious. With Matt not opening to him, he had no way of seeing the bedroom before he entered, and he had no idea what awaited him.
On the bed, Matt sat propped up against the pillows, legs hidden beneath the heavy covers, arms crossed before his chest. From the way his thin muscles bulged, Vic knew Matt’s hands were clenched into fists. A look of pure turmoil consumed his lover’s face, anger and disbelief and anguish marring his handsome features. His black curls stood up from his temples as if he’d run his hands through them one too many times. When he saw Vic in the doorway, sad pain flashed in his deep green eyes. It was all Vic could do not to rush in there, gather him in his arms, and nurse that sadness away.
Instead, he entered the bedroom with slow, measured steps. “Matty?” he asked, tentative. “Are you all right?”
Matt didn’t answer. Stepping over to the dresser, Vic began to empty his pockets of coins, keys, wallet, beeper, whatever had drifted into them during the day. He deposited it all on the dresser, his gaze never leaving Matt. Just when he was about to ask again, Matt choked out the words, “Do you love me?”
Vic’s reply was automatic. “Of course I do. You know I do.”
“Why?”
Where was this coming from? He pressed his mind against Matt’s but his lover was still closed tight within himself. “What’s this all about?” Vic wanted to know. “Why what? Why do I love you?”
Raising one hand to wipe at his mouth, Matt nodded. His eyes looked like twin round stones set in his face, darkened by tears that threatened to fall. Vic had no idea what might have caused his lover to question his fidelity but, God, once he found out, he’d make sure it never happened again. With deliberate movements, he unbuttoned his work shirt and thought through what to say. “Well,” he said, slowly, “and don’t take this the wrong way, but when we first met, I didn’t know you at all but, God, I wanted to. I thought you were hot, standing there dripping wet from the pool, wearing those tight-ass Speedos. I liked your hair, the color of it, the thickness, the curls. I liked your feet—you know I have a thing for feet.”
Matt nodded, eyes wide, prompting Vic to continue. He let his work shirt fall to the floor and began unbuckling his pants. “I liked…I don’t know, I liked everything I saw about you. I thought you were the finest guy I’d ever seen. I still do.”
Unhurried, with the lack of embarrassment found in seasoned lovers, Vic stepped out of his pants, leaving them in a pile on the floor. He shucked off his undershirt, baring a broad chest riddled with tattoos, and stepped out of his socks, one at a time. Dressed in only a pair of thin boxer shorts, he stood before Matt, waiting to be invited to the bed. Every inch of him screamed to know where this distrust was coming from, but he’d wait it out. He’d answer Matt’s questions, if that was what his lover wanted. But there were a few of his own he wanted answered, as well, before this whole thing was over.
“What about now?” Matt asked. His voice sounded calmer, reassured. “Why do you love me now?”
Vic took a moment to study his lover. The hair, the body, the feet hidden from sight—those things only enhanced the man he knew now, the man inside the pretty package. “I love the way you smell,” Vic said softly. “It reminds me of summertime and childhood and innocence. I love the way you smile, especially when you’re horny.”
That brought a quick snicker from Matt, so Vic continued, “I love your laugh, and the way your voice changes when you say my name. I love holding you as we sleep. I love dreaming with you. I love hearing you here—” He pointed at his temple, a subtle reminder that he was locked out of Matt’s mind. Then he touched his chest, the spot above his heart, where years ago he’d had a tiny double Mars symbol tattooed. “I love feeling you here. I love everything about you, Matty. It’s like asking why I like the sunlight, or rainstorms, or kittens. Because I do. I was born to love you. There’s nothing else I can do.”
One of the tears that wavered in his lover’s eyes spilled down his cheek when he blinked. Matt cleared his throat, but his voice was still choked with emotion when he spoke. “Come here,” he whispered, patting the bed beside him.
Vic didn’t need to be told twice. Crossing the room, he sank to the bed and took Matt’s hand in his. With a tender touch, he brushed the tear from Matt’s face. “Look at me,” he murmured. Matt pressed his face to Vic’s palm; his eyelashes clumped together like black spokes radiating from his damp eyes. “What’s this all about, huh? Where’s it coming from?”
“Vic.” His name, whispered in Matt’s usually strong voice, broke Vic’s heart. Leaning closer, he touched his lips to Matt’s mouth in the gentlest of kisses. He felt Matt tremble beneath him, struggling to keep pent up emotions he didn’t want released. Vic kissed him again, taking Matt’s lower lip between both his own and tugging. The next kiss, Matt met with an open mouth, eager for more. As Vic licked into him, the dam that kept their thoughts apart burst and a swirl of Matt’s thoughts flooded Vic’s mind. Every moment of the day, every drop that had added to the weight bearing down on him, every word spoken, every touch felt…
And the phone call. It shone with an oily sheen in Matt’s mind, slithering over his other thoughts, poisoning his feelings. In an instant, Vic knew what Matt knew—each word spoken in a voice Matt had never wanted to hear again, the emotions that boiled in him at the insinuations made, the doubt that had crept in sometime this evening to spoil the love they shared.
Their kiss deepened as Vic remembered their psychic connection worked both ways. So he gathered in him everything he felt when he looked at this man, thought of him, touched him. All the love he felt, all the passion, everything inside his heart, he poured into Matt. He imagined his love soothing, like melted gold, filling the cracks and crevices of Matt’s bruised ego, repairing the damage caused by a few careless words. He felt warm hands on his shoulders, pulling him down; those same hands smoothed down his chest, around his waist, to clench behind his back and hold him tight. “Love you,” he murmured into Matt’s mouth. “Only you. Don’t let anyone tell you different.”
“I’m sorry,” Matt whispered. “I shouldn’t have listened. I’m so sorry—”
Vic silenced him with a kiss that pressed him to the pillows and took both their breaths away.
* * * *
Sometime later, as their kisses grew urgent, Matt’s hands eased into Vic’s boxers, cupping his large buttocks, lifting and gripping the flesh, opening him. One exploratory finger tickled along the cleft between his cheeks, seeking entry. Between them, twin erections pulsed with the heat of their desire. Matt kissed him, his hands kneading Vic’s ass. “Please,” his lover gasped, breaking away long enough to draw in a shuddery breath. “Vic, can we please…”
Vic’s tongue darted out, licking the words away. Straddling Matt, he pinned his lover to the bed and trailed
hot kisses down the curve of his jaw, under his chin, along his throat. Matt moved beneath him, thrusting against him, eager for more. As Vic made his way over the shelf of his lover’s collarbone, Matt’s hands slid down the back of Vic’s thighs, pushing his boxers away. The fabric cut across his lap, restraining the hard cock hidden at his crotch. His balls throbbed with a sweet pressure.
Kissing down the muscled valley of Matt’s chest, Vic stopped once, twice, to tease his lover’s nipples erect. His lips closed over the hard nuggets, one at a time, suckling and nipping until they stood up swollen in his mouth. Matt thrust against him again, kicking the sheets down in his haste, but Vic took his time loving every inch of the man beneath him. His mind was an open book that Matt read as Vic traced the planes of his body. Each sensation passed between them, so that it wasn’t just one man loving another but two men together, loving and being loved at the same time. Vic felt each of his own kisses, as well, as if Matt were strung so tight, every touch reverberated through him to echo off Vic.
Down the flat stomach, over taut muscles, along the ticklish band of Matt’s lower abdomen. Vic swirled his tongue into his lover’s navel, eliciting bright giggles that made him smile. Lower, along the trail of fine hair that trickled into a pool of curls at Matt’s crotch, lower, pulling the bed sheets aside. Matt’s thick shaft swung up to meet him, the red tip bumping against his goatee. Vic rubbed his chin along Matt’s length, tickling him with the fine hairs of his slight beard. “Yes,” Matt sighed, bucking into his face. “Yes, yes.”
Vic’s hand closed around the base of Matt’s cock, his lover’s furry balls cradled in his large palm. Kneading, squeezing slightly, Vic found a steady rhythm that his lover matched. Leaning closer, Vic nosed through musky curls to wrap his tongue around the root of Matt’s dick. The heated flesh tasted like ambrosia in his mouth, the familiar scent exciting him. With a few quick motions, Vic managed to slide out of his boxers and release his own aching cock—already weeping, it poked at Matt’s leg. When Vic repositioned himself to take Matt’s hard dick into his mouth, he felt his lover’s long toes glide up his own shaft, rubbing at him, prodding his shaved nuts. The sensation of Matt’s foot on his genitals was almost enough to trigger an orgasm, but Vic held it in. He wanted this, yes, he wanted more of this, but until Matt realized it wasn’t the powers he was after, Vic wouldn’t beg to be fucked. He’d pleasure his lover, bring him to the edge of release and send him pin-wheeling into the sated abyss beyond—tonight was about Matt, and erasing whatever bullshit that fucker Jordan had fed him.
Bonds of Love Page 9
