Bonds of Love

by Snyder, J. M.

  With one hand massaging Matt’s balls and pubic mound, Vic focused on his lover’s flared cockhead. He licked at it, trailing his tongue around the spongy tip, concentrating on the sensitive slit that, when tickled, made Matt arch away from the bed and fist his hands into the sheets. “Vic,” he sobbed, aching for more.

  Vic kissed the tip of his dick once, twice, and on the third kiss, opened wide to take him in. His tongue led the way down Matt’s shaft, saliva trickling along his length. He bobbed up, sucked his lover’s quivering tip, then went down again, taking Matt deep into his throat as his hand rubbed circles into his scrotum, working him toward release.

  When Vic went down a second time, Matt’s hands caught his ears and tugged gently. Vic glanced up at his lover as Matt’s voice whispered into his mind. ::Bend over, beautiful.::

  Vic hesitated. He wanted to, God he wanted this man on him, in him, loving him, but he didn’t want Matt to think it was for the powers. Through their connection, Matt knew this fear—it shone bright in the forefront of Vic’s mind. Matt knew Vic wanted him, and only him, powers be damned. Still, Vic sent a tentative thought to his lover. ::If you’re sure…::

  Matt replied aloud, his whispered voice the only sound between them. “Vic, I need you.”

  For a long, indecisive moment, Vic continued to ply Matt’s balls in his hand. Then he took one more dip down Matt’s hard cock, taking it into his mouth, wetting it well. When he sat up, thin lines of spittle connected him to the tip, but he wiped them away with the back of his hand across his mouth, like a greedy mortal who had gorged too much on the food of the gods. Crawling onto Matt again, he set one knee on either side of his lover’s narrow hips and leaned down to claim a tender kiss. “Guide me,” he whispered.

  Matt’s hands found his buttocks, spread them wide, and lowered Vic onto his stiff, damp dick. The burn of entry disappeared as Matt eased inside, deep into him where Vic knew he belonged. Slowly he sank down to sit comfortably against his lover’s crotch, savoring each inch Matt gained in him. When he was completely inside, Vic relaxed and lay down on his lover, his body molding to Matt’s. He gasped as Matt moved within him, but his lover’s mouth covered his own, quieting him. Together they found a steady rhythm, something fast and rough, that banged the headboard of their bed against the wall despite the late hour. Vic buried his hands in the crop of curls on the top of Matt’s head, clenching them between his fingers as his lover fucked him. On the out stroke he raised his hips up off the bed, and when Matt thrust into him, Vic sat down hard, forcing his lover deep into the core of his being, where Vic felt him throb as they neared release. Now Vic was the one muttering, “Yes, God yes, Matty, yes, yes, YES.”

  Every pore was open to Matt, every thought shared between them, and when he came in a hot rush that slicked Matt’s stomach, he felt his lover explode in the center of his being, his seed racing through Vic, claiming him.

  As they lay together, the sweat on their bodies cooling in the night air, Vic hugged Matt tight. Already he felt the familiar sizzling sensations that filled his body after sex—he’d come to think of it as Matt’s powers settling in, taking hold, changing him into whatever his lover needed him to be.

  Matt pulled the blankets up around them, cocooning them into a warm place heated by their own bodies. Vic thought maybe he could get used to this kind of make-up sex, particularly when he wasn’t the one to blame. The raw emotion that had raged through them both sent shivers down his spine to curl his toes. And here he’d complained he wasn’t up to it tonight, whatever Matt had planned. Plans change, Vic reminded himself, burrowing his nose into Matt’s clean-scented curls as his lover pressed his face against Vic’s chest. I’m always in the mood for this.

  But if that asshole ever called Matt again, Vic would hunt him down and kick the living shit out of him. He would, he swore silently. Where the fuck did he get off questioning Vic’s love for this man in his arms? This man who was Vic’s breath, Vic’s soul, Vic’s reason to live?

  Hearing those thoughts tumble through Vic’s mind, Matt settled closer into him with a contented sigh.

  * * * *

  Chapter 12

  At breakfast, Matt kept up a steady stream of chatter, both verbal and mental, that Vic tuned out. He was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a morning person, particularly when he’d been up late the night before. Not that he was complaining—he’d make love to Matty any time the man wanted, day or night, no matter how exhausted he was from work. But he’d be damned if he would crack a smile before noon.

  Matt knew him well enough by now to not be offended by Vic’s morning silence. He found it amusing, and Vic let him laugh. He preferred this bright, bubbly man, so sure of himself, so confident about the place he occupied in Vic’s every thought, to the moody, sad little boy Matt had been reduced to yesterday. Even if Vic couldn’t quite follow his conversation this early in the morning…

  “What do you think, hon?” Skirting the dining room table, Matt flopped into the chair next to Vic’s. He wore a pair of swim trunks and nothing else. His hair curled in damp waves around his temples, and the light smell of summery aftershave wafted from him to tease Vic’s genitals. God, he loved that scent. With a deep breath he took it in, eyes slipping shut as he savored the fragrance.

  A hard toe poked his ankle beneath the table. “Earth to Vic,” Matt teased. “Am I putting you to sleep?”

  Vic opened his eyes wide in exaggeration. “I’m here. Think what?”

  Leaning across the table, Matt planted a kiss on the tip of Vic’s nose. “I think you’re cute.”

  “What?” Vic asked, confused. At his lover’s sly grin, he growled, “Don’t mess with me this early, Matty.”

  Beneath the table, Matt’s hand found Vic’s knee. Brushing aside the hem of his bathrobe, Matt’s fingers tickled up Vic’s inner thigh but stopped short of his crotch. Instead he pressed his palm flat against Vic’s thigh and let his fingers rub over smooth skin that trembled at his touch. With his head in his other hand, Matt gazed at Vic like a schoolboy with a bad crush on his teacher. Vic glanced at those batting eyelashes, then turned back to the newspaper that lay open and unread before him. The words swam before his eyes, indecipherable, as the hand on his thigh drifted higher. In a dreamy voice, Matt said, “What do you think…”

  His voice trailed off and Vic snapped, “Think what?”

  With a breathy giggle, Matt joked, “I think you’re cute.”

  An unnerving sense of déjà vu washed over Vic. As Matt leaned forward to kiss his nose again, Vic sent one silent thought his lover’s way. ::Didn’t we just go through this?::

  Matt laughed and grabbed a playful hold on Vic’s thigh. ::You’re so easy to tease.::

  Vic growled, a menacing rumble that started deep in the back of his throat and made Matt laugh harder. In his head, an image flashed between them—Vic as a snarling grizzly bear, angry and fierce. He watched, amused, as Matt imagined a small boy, himself, trundling up to the bear with his arms flung wide. When he caught Vic in a tight hug, the grizzly shrank into itself, wild arms and thick legs pulling into the torso as the whole body grew smaller, and smaller.

  The boy now cradled an oversized teddy bear to his chest; a stitched on smile replaced the growling snout, and the dagger-tipped claws were nothing more than blunt stumps of stuffed fabric. “My teddy bear,” Matt sighed. Then, with a wicked gleam in his eye, he squeezed Vic’s thigh and admitted, “When I was younger? I had this stuffed bear named Mr. Chuckles.”

  Vic raised one eyebrow, interested, as Matt hurried on, “Don’t ask. It was one of these bears with his arms sewn together, holding a stupid satin heart, you know? And God, I’ve never said this to anyone, Vic, ever, and if you let it slip—”

  “Who am I going to tell?” Vic wanted to know. The first glimmer of a smile tugged at his mouth. He thought he knew where this was headed. When Matt hesitated, Vic prompted, “Mr. Chuckles?”

  Lowering his voice until it was nothing but a heated whisper be
tween them, Matt admitted, “I used to get off on him.”

  Vic’s smile broke free and Matt blushed, his whole face reddening. “Don’t laugh! It’s no different from your drawer full of fuck toys. All I did was…you know, in the space where his arms met, beneath the heart. I just sort of…”

  At Vic’s chuckle, Matt covered his face with both hands. “Now you’re laughing at me.”

  Vic tugged Matt’s wrist until he lowered his hand and looked up at him, wounded. “I’m not laughing,” Vic assured him with a grin. “I think you’re cute.”

  The thought of Matt masturbating with a stuffed animal sent a surprising shiver of delight coursing through Vic. His blood rushed to invigorate his dick and pound in his balls. He pictured Matt lying on his side in bed, a tiny teddy bear pressed against his crotch, hips bucking as he thrust against the soft, synthetic fur. Picking up on that thought, Matt warned, “If you ever buy me a damn bear…”

  “I won’t,” Vic promised.

  Matt ran a shaky hand through his curls, disheveling them. “I can’t believe I told you that. No bears, I mean it. And, God, none with hearts.”

  “No bears.” Vic tugged on Matt’s wrist to reel him in for a quick kiss. Against his lover’s mouth, Vic amended, “Not unless you let me watch.”

  * * * *

  Matt left for work a little after eight, kissing the top of Vic’s bald head on his way out. “Two more days and you’re all mine,” he said, his breath tickling Vic’s shaved skin. Friday was Vic’s last double shift; next week he’d be home in time for dinner. He couldn’t wait to get his evenings back. Rubbing the smudge of his lips from Vic’s skin, Matt told him, “Think up something fun to do this weekend. The less clothing involved, the better.”

  Before he could stop himself, Vic thought of the scribbled letter that had been left on his windshield at the start of the week. Like a hawk, Matt swooped down on the image, snatching the piece of paper up off the ground of Vic’s memory. ::What’s this?:: he asked silently, smoothing out the note.

  Into his coffee mug, Vic muttered, “Kyle. We ain’t going.”

  Matt’s laughter came out quick and bright. “A cookout will be fun.”

  Not would, not could. Will, as in Matt already planned to go. Vic threw a dark thought at his lover. ::I already have to put up with that shit at work—::

  ::Then avoid him for a few days,:: Matt shot back. His arms eased around Vic’s neck as he kissed one pierced ear. “He thinks he’s such a matchmaker,” he murmured, his breath curling into the collar of Vic’s bathrobe and doing naughty things below his waist. “Let him see what a great job he did with us.”

  “He didn’t…” Vic started, but gave up with a sigh that trailed off into a growl. It was useless—Matt wanted to go to the damn cookout so they’d go. As Matt headed for the door, Vic sent one thought trailing after him. ::Do you know how spoiled you are?::

  ::You’re too good to me,:: his lover thought with a laugh.

  When the door shut behind him, a gentle quiet descended over the kitchen—the hum of the refrigerator was the loudest thing in the room. Vic frowned over the newspaper as he sipped his tepid coffee, glancing at the headlines but not bothering to read any further. At times like this, the bustling city just outside his window seemed a million miles away. He could hear the beating of his heart in his chest, feel the blood rush through his veins; if not for those signs, and the lingering throb at his crotch Matt had left behind, Vic would be hard pressed to prove he were alive at this moment. He felt sluggish, an insect trapped in amber, unable to break free from the early dawn’s silence that hemmed him in.

  With a shake of his head, he tried to jolt himself awake. He was definitely not a morning person.

  Maybe he should go back to bed, sleep another hour or two, wake up a bit more before he had to shower and leave for work. Much as he loved Matt, he didn’t enjoy dragging his ass out of bed at the crack of dawn to spend just a half hour or so with his lover, his mind too sleep-drenched to function properly. Sure, Matt enjoyed teasing him about it, but Vic would’ve preferred to stay in bed until he had to get a move on. At least Matt was right—there were only two more days, then Vic wouldn’t be trundling home so late at night. He’d get to spend most of the evening with his lover, and perhaps Matt would let him sleep in.

  Thinking of the bed and its disheveled sheets made Vic’s bones weary. But when he scooted back his chair to stand, a burst of energy swirled through him, exciting his arms and legs. The chair flew back, pushed by more force than Vic had intended; skidding to the kitchen, it caught in the doorway with a loud crack. The back of the chair twisted one way, the seat and legs another. Vic heard the splinter of wood behind him and groaned. Shit.

  The chair lay in the doorway, the top half in the kitchen, the bottom in the dining room. The seat was splintered, the legs snapped, the back broken. Which meant their once five piece dining set was now down to two chairs. When he leaned back against the table, he heard the wood creak beneath his weight and moved quickly.

  It was going to be one of those days, Vic just knew it.

  * * * *

  The energy continued to course through him, roiling his blood, tingling his fingers and toes. He felt anxious, unable to focus on any one thing. He lay in bed, his mind a whirl, but after ten minutes of tossing and turning, he abandoned the thought of going back to sleep. When he sat up, the sheets that had twined around his legs ripped in two. Vic balled them up in embarrassment—he felt as if everything had shrunk around him overnight, and everywhere he turned, he broke something else. As he shoved the bed sheets into the bathroom waste basket, he grumbled beneath his breath, “Thanks, Matt.”

  No, that was unfair. It wasn’t solely Matt’s fault—Vic had been just as eager last night, if not more so. How hard would it have been for him to flip over, let Matt enter him from behind? Missionary style always brought with it surplus strength, Vic knew that. If he’d been thinking with the right head, he might have any number of other possible super powers warring in him at the moment. Two seconds to reposition himself last night and he wouldn’t have this problem.

  True…he’d have another. At least he knew this one; the strength would dilute throughout the day, faster if Vic utilized it. What he needed was to release this excess energy somehow, corral the strength that threatened to rend him in half and destroy his apartment in the process. Maybe bench-press a few cars, move a couple buildings…

  Work out at the gym.

  Of course. He hadn’t been there in a while, what with working double shifts, but the gym was always the perfect place to let off a little steam. It was still early; he could get in a good three hours’ workout before he had to clock in for his first shift. Dressing quickly, careful not to tear apart his shorts and T-shirt in the process, Vic stuffed his work clothes into his bag and trailed behind Matt out the door.

  * * * *

  The moment Vic entered the gym, his lover sensed his presence. Like an overeager puppy, Matt’s thoughts bounded into Vic’s mind, excited. ::What are you doing here?::

  ::Working out,:: Vic replied as he headed for his locker to deposit his gym bag and street clothes. ::I’ve got a bit too much strength this morning, for some strange reason.::

  He sensed Matt’s slow grin in his mind. ::Imagine that. Stop by my office, we’ll try for something different. No one’s here yet.::

  ::I don’t need gills,:: Vic reminded him. ::I’ll swing by before I leave, promise.::

  ::You better.::

  In the weight room, Vic stopped at the rack of disc-shaped iron plates that hung on the wall. The heaviest plate was a mere hundred pounds, but since Vic had started dating Matt, he’d coerced the gym into stocking more of the weights. Vic had the room to himself, his only company a bored attendant flipping the pages of her magazine behind the desk. All ten of the hundred-pound plates were on the wall, ready for his use.

  Taking one of the plates down, Vic balanced it out from his waist, one arm curved around its cool metal edge. The
n he stacked the next weight on top of it, and the next, and the next. He looked like a waiter holding a stack of trays at his side. It wasn’t until he had five of the hundred-pound plates in hand that the attendant noticed him. “Sir, wait!” she cried out, a sliver of fear in her voice. “You can’t be in here without a spotter. It isn’t safe.”

  Over his shoulder, Vic gave her a withering look. Her face cleared. “Oh! Mr. Braunson, I apologize. I didn’t know it was you.” As Vic turned from the wall to pick out a bench press, the attendant added, “I’d offer to help but…”

  She laughed, a bright, annoying sound in the empty weight room. Despite her admitted lack of strength, she stepped around the counter anyway, as if coming to Vic’s assistance. What she wanted was a free show—they always did. The girls would stand back and sigh over the way his muscles rippled beneath the weights; guys would marvel at his strength, then dare each other to try and lift the barbells he hefted so easily. Vic could’ve worked without an audience, but as long as she didn’t laugh again, she wouldn’t bother him too much.

  He began securing the weights to the barbell, one at a time, alternating sides. His plan was to start out strong and fast, work off as much of the strength as he could in what little time he had. Once he attached the five weights here, he’d return to the wall for the remaining five plates. One thousand pounds ought to do it—