Bonds of Love

by Snyder, J. M.

  “It would be fun,” Matt admitted, chewing thoughtfully. Then his face twisted in a sour grimace, as if he’d just bitten into something nasty. “He had to go and ruin it for us, you know? That could’ve been a lot of fun, and now if we ever try it, all I’m going to think about is him.”

  Vic cocked an eyebrow suggestively. “I think I might be able to get him off your mind.”

  Matt grinned, a flirty retort on the tip of his tongue, when his mind brushed over a memory that snagged his attention. “Wait. You told her?” At Vic’s frown, he asked, “About…”

  He couldn’t seem to find the words. So she knew, the cops knew—”Why the hell bother taking my statement?” Matt cried, anger flaring in him. “She already fucking knows why this happened to me. What, does she want a piece of the action, too?”

  “Matt,” Vic started.

  But Matt shrugged his lover’s hand off his arm and pushed his chair away from the dining table, putting himself out of reach. “Jesus, Vic. Why don’t you tell the whole world while you’re at it? Take all our privacy away.”

  Frustration flashed in Vic’s blue eyes, turning them stormy. His voice was hard, hurt. “Matty, that’s not fair. You told Jordan—”

  “I was hungry,” Matt muttered. “Shit, he more or less already knew. But she—”

  “I needed her help,” Vic tried to explain. He reached for Matt’s hand, caught it, and held on to keep him from pulling away. “It was the only way I could think of to get her to help me find you. I did it for you.”

  Matt glared at a spot on the wall above Vic’s head, unwilling to meet his lover’s gaze. “What happens when she writes it up in her report?” he wanted to know. “When the papers find out? When I’m fending off advances from every Tom, Dick, and Harry who wants a taste of the spotlight?”

  “I don’t think she’s like that,” Vic assured him.

  But Matt didn’t buy it. “How the hell do you know?”

  A sardonic grin tugged at the corner of Vic’s mouth but he tamped it down. “I think I’m a pretty good judge of character,” he said, giving Matt’s hand a light squeeze that almost made Matt smile back. “Seeing as how I can read minds. Our secret’s safe with her, hon.”

  With a gentle tug on Matt’s hand, he reeled Matt back to the table, his chair squealing across the tiled floor. Then he raised Matt’s fingers to his lips, but instead of kissing them, he opened his mouth and closed his teeth over one bent knuckle in a playful bite that made Matt laugh. Vic’s smile widened, and he kissed the marks his teeth left on Matt’s skin. “And the first Tom, Dick, or Harry who comes on to you better step off,” he promised, “because I’ll take them out. You’re my man. I ain’t sharing you with anyone.”

  * * * *

  At ten to three, someone knocked on the front door. Matt looked up from where he stood in the hallway, sorting dark clothes from lights for the next load of laundry, but didn’t move to answer it. His heart kick-started in his chest; his hands trembled, he felt sweaty and hot, and he wondered if maybe it wasn’t too late to refuse to comment. Had it only been a few scant hours since he lay on the floor of Kyle’s closet, bound and gagged, as Jordan fondled him? Why did it seem like it had happened a million years ago, to someone else?

  And why did he have to relive it for the cops?

  The knock came again, impatient. Matt waited; then he saw Vic’s shadow on the wall as his lover crossed the living room to answer the door, and Matt turned back to the laundry. He had so much cleaning to do, so much that needed to get done. He hoped the police wouldn’t stay too long. He had the rest of his life to get on with here.

  From the corner of his vision, he watched Vic open the door. It must’ve been the cops, because he closed it again, unlatched the chain, then opened the door wide to let their guests in. The first woman Matt remembered from the hold-up—she wore the same crisp blue uniform, her hat in her hands and her blonde hair pulled back into a smart French braid. Another woman followed behind her; this one Matt didn’t know. She was short and plump, and though she held out a badge to show Vic, she was dressed in civilian clothes, a plum blazer over jeans and a white shirt. Her brown hair was wispy and highlighted with gray, though otherwise she appeared young. Her gray eyes looked harsh, unsympathetic, and the thin line of her lips gave her a disapproving air. When she glanced at Matt, he turned away.

  The women disappeared into the living room. Vic asked them if they’d like drinks, which they declined. Then Matt heard the creak of hardwood flooring beneath bare feet, and felt a firm hand touch his elbow. “Matty?” Vic murmured, his voice low between them. “If you’re ready…”

  “Yeah.” He shoved the rest of the laundry into the washer and turned it on, then followed Vic into the living room. ::Might as well get this over with.::

  Vic sent a silent reply. ::I’m right beside you.::

  The women sat on the couch; as Matt approached, they stood and shook his hand, first the officer, then her partner. “Mr. diLorenzo,” Officer Jones said, her genuine smile startling Matt into smiling back. “I’m so sorry for the ordeal you’ve just been through, but I’m glad to see you’re home again. I’m Kendra Jones. We met the other weekend, if you recall?”

  Matt nodded and glanced at her partner. Officer Jones introduced them. “This is Catherine Reynolds. She’s an officer assigned to our Sexual Assault Outreach Program. We call it SOAP for short. I thought you might be interested in what services they have to offer—”

  “I’m fine,” Matt said, his smile souring. “It wasn’t really assault.”

  Officer Jones pursed her lips, but before she could reply, Ms. Reynolds answered for her. There was no smile on her face, and the sobering stare she turned Matt’s way dried up any protest he might have made. “The definition of sexual assault, Mr. diLorenzo, is any sexual contact against your will or without your consent. This can be an inappropriate touch, or a kiss, or something much, much worse. Officer Jones is here for your side of the story. But me? I’m here for you.”

  Matt crossed his arms around his waist, hugging himself. “I don’t need you,” he told her. He felt Vic’s hand on his back and strength flooded him at his lover’s touch. “It’s over with already. I’m fine.”

  Without taking her gaze off him, Ms. Reynolds asked softly, “So you’re fine with the fact that Mr. Dubrowski’s testimony states you were a willing participant in his little sexual frenzy?”

  Matt’s insides froze. Jordan didn’t…surely they wouldn’t believe…

  Ms. Reynolds continued, her voice damnable and soft. “He claims you came onto him, Mr. diLorenzo. He said you wanted him to tie you up so you could get off on hearing him and his boyfriend have sex in the next room. That it was really all your idea from the start. He said you had no objection to the bondage play, the oral sex, the anal stimulation, and the…what I believe are called facials and water sports, if I have my terms correct.”

  The hand on his back clenched into a fist; Matt didn’t have to turn to feel Vic’s rage threatening to boil over. For several long moments Matt tried to find his voice, tried to speak, tried to negate the charges, but the words wouldn’t come. His mind whirled out in anger, his whole body ached like a rotten tooth, his hands shook so hard he had to hold onto himself tight to keep from shaking apart. All eyes in the room were on him, and the walls seemed to be closing in, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t speak…”No.”

  Officer Jones leaned forward, an exaggerated gesture. “Excuse me?”

  Matt shook his head and said it again, louder. “No. I didn’t—I’d never…” He let out a lusty sigh and lowered his head into his hand, his finger and thumb pinching the bridge of his nose until bright spots flared behind his closed eyes. Vic rubbed his spine, warming him, giving him the strength he needed to say it again, with conviction this time. “No. He’s lying. He kept me there against my will.”

  “Can you talk about it?” Ms. Reynolds asked. “Tell us what happened, and why?”

  Officer Jones g
lanced past Matt at Vic; something unspoken passed between them. The sarcasm was thick in her voice when she said, “Oh, we know why. Mr. Dubrowski claims there’s something supernatural in your semen, Mr. diLorenzo. Claims it gives your sexual partners super powers.”

  The world seemed to crash to a halt around him. He heard his own loud breath, and felt the heat of Vic’s hand through the thin fabric of his shirt. ::Didn’t I tell you it’d come to this?:: he asked his lover, speaking through the connection they shared. ::Didn’t I say—::

  But then Officer Jones smirked, and Matt felt his heart expand at that tiny gesture. “My response to him was, ‘Yeah, right.’ If he’s hoping for an insanity plea, he’s going to have to do a hell of a lot better than that. So why don’t you tell us the truth, Mr. diLorenzo?”

  Ms. Reynolds smiled for the first time; suddenly Matt thought her quite pretty. “You probably don’t know exactly why Mr. Dubrowski singled you out for this,” she told him. “A lot of times there is no real reason for sexual assault, but victims tend to blame themselves—what they wore, what they said. I want you to know that it isn’t your fault. You didn’t ask for this, you don’t deserve it. And you’re not the one on trial here, Mr. diLorenzo. We’re on your side.”

  Matt found himself able to breathe again; he took a deep breath to steady himself and clear his mind. With a glance over his shoulder at Vic, he said, “I’ll tell you what I can. Where do you want me to begin?”

  * * * *

  Chapter 30

  After an hour or so, the police left, their questions answered. Officer Jones warned Vic he might be brought up on charges at some point—”Removing a witness from the scene,” she said in an off-hand manner suggesting she thought he shouldn’t lose sleep over it, “leaving the scene of a crime, tampering with evidence, stuff like that. But if this gets a jury trial, and I’m sure it will, at some point, we’ll just call in experts to testify you did the right thing, moving Matt to a safe place before contacting the authorities.”

  When she said the word experts, Ms. Reynolds flashed Matt a warm smile. “You have my card,” she told him. “I know you’re in good hands here, Mr. diLorenzo, but if you need to talk things out or want to get involved with a group or something, just give me a call.”

  As Vic closed the door behind them, he asked, “Didn’t I tell you she’d play it cool?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Matt said, but he felt better just telling someone else. Though he still felt hollow inside, now it seemed as if he were more emptied than scooped out, not so much an invasive act but one of his own choosing. With all the shit he’d been through now dumped onto the police’s lap, he felt as if he could begin to fill himself up again. With life, with love…with Vic. Grapping a handful of his lover’s shirt, Matt pulled him close, until he could wrap his arms around Vic’s thick waist. “Come here, you.”

  Vic’s arms enfolded him, and Matt rested his chin on Vic’s shoulder as he held on tight. The thought of the coming evening scared him—taking off his clothes, lying beside another—and it bothered him that he should feel so hesitant around the man he loved. But Vic’s strength filled him every time they touched, and he knew he would move on. Maybe not tonight, and maybe not tomorrow, but someday soon. Picking up on that thought, Vic kissed Matt’s neck just below his ear, and his breath tickled Matt’s skin when he whispered, “It’ll take time. I know.”

  Matt knew he couldn’t ask for anything more than that.

  * * * *

  Dinner was a quiet affair, baked chicken and boiled white rice, bland but comforting. Afterwards Vic sent Matt into the living room while he cleaned up. He drifted to the end of the couch, sat down, and stared at the blank television for a full minute before he thought maybe he should turn it on. The world around him still seemed muted, dull, lifeless almost, as if a part of him had died and they were all in mourning. He couldn’t begin to think what Vic might be feeling—his lover kept a firm grip on his own emotions, projecting nothing but love and understanding whenever Matt peeked inside his head, but what if something in Vic was now disgusted with Matt? Didn’t want to touch what Jordan had defiled or, worse, didn’t think he’d be able to arouse Matt after all that sexual perversion? What if this hesitation continued into the rest of their lives, eventually tearing them apart? It would be all Matt’s fault—

  ::Don’t ever think that, Matty.:: Silently his lover’s voice admonished him, and when Vic entered the living room, cups of coffee in both hands, his stern face dared Matt to contradict him. “I still love you,” he said as he handed Matt a cup. The coffee was strong and laced with brandy. “I’ll always love you, you know that, so don’t even get yourself all worked up about something that will never happen.”

  Sipping the drink, Matt murmured, “I was just thinking—”

  “Well don’t,” Vic cautioned. “Not about that.”

  Vic sank to the cushion beside Matt, set his cup on the coffee table, took Matt’s mug and placed it behind him on the end table. Then he leaned Matt back against the arm of the couch, his eyes smoldering with a desire that made Matt’s stomach flutter. Staring into him, those eyes held him captive and blurred his thoughts, obscured his mind, until all he could think or see was Vic. Gentle hands eased him back; Matt turned toward Vic and scooted down, his legs stretching out over his lover’s lap as Vic leaned towards him. He expected a rough kiss, more words of love, something to negate the emotions warring inside him.

  But Vic stared as if trying to memorize his features. His gaze roved over Matt’s face, content just to study him, counting every hair in his eyebrows, every eyelash, every freckle. Beneath that look, Matt laughed, once; Vic’s mouth toyed with a smile but his concentration never wavered. By the time one curved finger brushed along Matt’s cheek, he was dying for the touch, aching, and he leaned into it, his eyes slipping shut, with something like relief.

  Then warm lips closed over his in a sweet, innocent kiss. Matt’s mouth parted, wanting more, but no tongue filled him yet—nothing but soft lips like the petals of roses brushing over his lips, first the top one, then each corner of his mouth, catching his bottom lip between Vic’s. With the slightest tug, his pouting lip was caught in Vic’s mouth and suckled. He sighed, melting beneath Vic’s kisses, his hand straying to his lover’s waist, seeking more…

  A firm hand stopped his, pulled it between them, held it to Vic’s chest. Matt’s fingers tried to move toward the nipples that stood beneath Vic’s shirt but his lover held his hand, wouldn’t let it go, wouldn’t move away for this moment, this kiss. Matt let out a little frustrated moan, and thought he felt his lover smile against his lips. Without words, Vic murmured between them, ::Just this.::

  Beneath Vic’s kisses, Matt felt like a teenager on a first date. Finally those tender lips parted, finally an ardent tongue licked into him. Vic tasted Matt the way a connoisseur sips aged, fragrant wine, or a candy lover savors the first, succulent bite of rich, dark chocolate. As if relearning the man beneath him, the fleshy curve of the inside of his cheek, the smooth feel of a tongue along the backside of his teeth, the ridges in the roof of his mouth and the way Matt’s tongue felt pressed alongside Vic’s own, Vic kissed Matt in a way he hadn’t been kissed in a long time—slowly, oh, God so slowly, as if nothing else mattered in the world, nothing else demanded their attention, nothing else compared to this moment, this man, this kiss. Worlds rose and tumbled in that kiss. Stars were born and fell, dying, to the earth, wishes made as they shot into the night sky. Even the sun seemed to stop in its tracks, breathless, waiting for the strength to move again.

  There was nothing heated in the kiss, nothing immediate—through his lips and tongue alone, their tender massaging motion, their amorous study of Matt’s own mouth, Vic managed to pour into his lover everything mere words could not express. The sensation went deeper than thought, deeper than love, to something more primal, more lasting, than anything Matt had ever hoped could exist. The promise in Vic’s lips was that every inch of Matt’s body would be tended to in t
ime with equal reverence, nothing omitted, nothing unloved. That passionate kiss, lingering, lasting, began to fill in the spaces where his soul had been.

  Hours later, it seemed, Vic’s hand released Matt’s and drifted over a trembling stomach to Matt’s waist. With slow, measured movements, Vic undid the last few buttons on the large shirt Matt wore—when the first pale sliver of skin was exposed, Vic’s fingers curved around the waistband of Matt’s jeans, his large fingers causing the skin to flutter beneath his touch.

  “Please,” Matt sighed as Vic thumbed open the button on his fly. He fisted his hands in Vic’s shirt, hungry for more of his lover, and more, and more. Vic moved like a man in a dream, one from which Matt never hoped to wake.

  A knock on the front door interrupted them.

  “Fuck,” Matt muttered.

  Vic kissed the word from his lips, then kissed him again, and again, a flurry of little pecks that promised this wasn’t over. “Hold my place,” he murmured as he stood.

  Matt clung to him for a moment, then let him go. He was surprised to find himself aroused, despite his earlier fears, and whoever it was disturbing them better have a damn good excuse or he’d…

  Disbelief and anger filled his mind when Vic opened the door and saw who stood in their hallway. ::It’s Kyle.::

  Sitting up, Matt called out, “What? Kyle?”

  His ex-boyfriend peeked around the open door and gave Vic a quick grin before turning Matt’s way. “Hey there, kid. How you doing?”

  As he eased into the room, Vic growled, “I ain’t let you in yet.”