With Everything I Have

by Cooper, R.

  Peter drove too fast on any road, if Sebastian were being honest. Frighteningly fast, so fast it was going to get him killed one day. Peter was scared of a house full of guests, but flying down dirt roads in a ton of metal excited him. Sebastian didn’t understand it. He only knew that his presence in the passenger seat was the one thing guaranteed to make Peter slow down.

  Peter gave another uncomfortable shrug for the mention of his fame and talent and Sebastian let the topic go for now. The room was quiet, as was the whole house. The servants were asleep upstairs and Peter had no family to occupy the floor with him. It was late, Sebastian realized all over again, but didn’t move. Nights like this they sometimes watched a moving picture or he would fall asleep while Peter worked. It was cold outside in any event and Sebastian had been looking forward to spending some time with Peter tonight, dinner or no dinner. He didn’t feel any urge to get up and make his excuses.

  Peter made a few more notes in his pad then got to his feet to stretch his limbs. Sebastian considered the line of his back and the firm outline of his arse then looked up.

  Peter’s eyes were steady on him, so steady that Sebastian’s chest tightened. But Peter moved before he could, dragging a hand through his hair and sending waves of soft brown in all directions. His cravat was the next to go. He pulled the knot with a slow gesture that made Sebastian’s mouth go dry. Then Peter rolled up his sleeves and bent down to pull off his shoes. A moment later he was climbing onto the bed. He ended up on his back at Sebastian’s side and for a few seconds they both stared at the bed’s canopy together.

  “No picture tonight?” Sebastian’s voice rasped but he got the words out. Peter let out a tired sigh for an answer. Sebastian glanced over then turned to fully look at him.

  Peter had scrubbed his hands but not his cheek. Sebastian studied his profile, comparing to him to the boy he had been the first time they had lain like this. He felt speared by something cold and sharp to think of how much time had passed since then. The rest of his body was hot, even without his coat. Peter had fallen onto the bed close to him, perhaps on purpose, perhaps not. Sebastian counted out the days in his head from the last time they had done this, taking his time, making himself draw the moment out as long as possible. When he could take it no more, when he had to know if this was one of those nights, he reached out to draw Peter’s hair from his face.

  He was not breathing evenly but neither was Peter. Peter, with his eyes closed and his hands tight in the bedding. Sebastian thought there were quite a few things to say, things he always meant to say on nights like this, how this wasn’t why he’d come here or how he ached when Peter was near him, but after years he had learned to bite his tongue and wait.

  It had been a month since the last time and it was difficult to keep still when Peter allowed himself to be petted, impossible when Peter turned his face toward him so that his mouth was against Sebastian’s palm. He seemed shaky, restless, for a man lying on his own bed, but Sebastian knew a cure for that. He slid down to climb over Peter’s body. Peter’s eyes instantly opened only to fall shut again when Sebastian leaned down to press their mouths together.

  Peter’s lips were stained purple and softly parted. He didn’t kiss back but made a small noise, a confused, familiar hum of a sound; the sound he made when he could not understand a concept that was simple to rest of the world. Sebastian kissed him again, gently, repeatedly, until Peter was shivering, and then he sat up and reached for the hands holding so tightly to the blankets and pulled them up high over Peter’s head.

  Peter swallowed. Sebastian kissed his Adam’s apple then down his throat, marking a spot to return to when Peter wasn’t trembling with anticipation and too tense to enjoy it. Sebastian could let go now, ease back to undress Peter if he wanted. Peter wouldn’t move. He was quiescent, with a line between his closed eyes that could have been a frown. Sebastian ran a hand down the white shirtfront and watched Peter’s eyelids flutter and his mouth fall open.

  Sebastian had dreams about that mouth though he had never felt it on him. It burned nearly as much to know that no one else had either. He was the only one allowed this.

  He put a hand to Peter’s trousers, pushing aside buttons and braces and not failing to notice Peter’s hesitant motions, how his knees came up before Peter held himself still again.

  Sebastian glanced up as he pushed aside all that crisp white to press a kiss to Peter’s stomach, a warning before he pulled the rest of Peter’s clothes away. He banished all the little shivers of suppressed motion with his mouth, his hands warm on Peter’s skin, his ears attuned to Peter’s every harsh breath, and then when Peter moaned with flustered impatience and brought his legs back up on either side of Sebastian, Sebastian reached for the oils Peter kept near his bed.

  It was a little thing, and everything, how Peter opened his eyes to watch him do that, how the small frown stayed on Peter’s face until Sebastian entered him, and then Peter eased his head back and let a sigh escape, even with the rest of his body so still.

  His hands remained crossed above his head, his fingers stretching for a pillow to hold onto. He stopped when Sebastian shook his head, and choked out a rough sound when Sebastian pulled their bodies close together and put his hands back over his wrists to hold him down. Their faces were nearly level like this. Sebastian could taste each salty hint of sweat, feel every indrawn breath when he pushed in, and Peter knew he could.

  It was the one moment where they understood each other perfectly. “Look at me,” Sebastian told him, hardly knowing his own voice. Peter’s eyes were anything but steady now though he was still trying to hold on; his hands were wrapped around Sebastian’s, tight, so tight that Sebastian knew he wasn’t drunk enough. He’d feel the memory of those hands in the morning. Peter would be bruised.

  He took a hand away, slid it down between them, aware that he was fully dressed, that not enough skin was touching for this to matter. It didn’t stop him from stroking Peter’s cock, his arm shaking with the strain of holding himself up. Peter wouldn’t ask, not with words, but Sebastian would give it to him. Every moment of fear and uncertainty was his to take away with Peter’s thighs around him and Peter’s soft cries growing louder beneath him. Peter saw everything with those clear, liquid eyes. They were fixed on Sebastian, the pupils dark and blown, but it wasn’t enough.

  “Look at me,” Sebastian instructed him again, ordered, and brought Peter’s legs up over his shoulders to push in deep, relishing the breathless shock that crossed Peter’s face, the hoarse gasp that left him.

  “Sebastian.” Peter’s gaze stayed with his, startled.

  “Just like that.” Sebastian’s hands were slipping, control fading too fast, but Peter was breathing raggedly, shaking hard through every inch of his body. “Look at me just like that,” Sebastian panted, scarcely able to speak. Peter’s fingers were grasping loosely at him, an uneven counterpoint to the slight hitch of his hips, desperate little movements upward to let Sebastian drive in deeper. Uncertain, Peter was always uncertain, but so eager.

  His lips moved, almost shaping Sebastian’s name when Sebastian began to stroke his cock again. Sebastian bent in to kiss him, savoring the shocked murmur as Peter reached his climax with their mouths joined. Sebastian followed him moments later, spilling inside him with a pleased grunt and a soft, dragging kiss at Peter’s jaw. He took his hand from Peter’s wrists and looked them over for damage before he went back to studying Peter’s face. He smoothed the hair from Peter’s eyes and used his thumb to wipe at the grease by Peter’s ear.

  The first time, the very first time they had done this, or something close to it, they had been mere boys. Sebastian had been too different to have many friends at their school and Peter had been too nervous to make any. They’d often shared a bed because they’d discovered early that a bedmate eased Peter’s tension and occasional nightmares, but that night had been special. Peter had built a crude set of steam-powered wings in an attempt to fly and had gotten a sprain for his troubl
e, only keeping his neck because a tree branch had caught him. Sebastian had thought himself very daring, his lingering fear at the sight of Peter tumbling to the ground leading him to kiss Peter when neither of them could sleep. He hadn’t expected Peter to distance himself so quickly afterward, or how long it would take before Peter climbed back into bed with him and allowed more.

  Kisses. Hands. His mouth. His cock. Always with the same trembling silence, always with the same distance afterward. Sebastian was old and wise enough now to see this for what it was, not that the knowledge stopped him from placing slow kisses at the edge of Peter’s mouth or reliving the memory of Peter so filled with pleasure that he could not think or speak.

  But it was never long enough. It was moments, seconds, not nearly enough time, and then Peter shifted and opened his eyes to focus back on the world. Sebastian made himself look away as he eased off him and sat up. Peter immediately rolled onto his side and then climbed from the bed, heading into his bathroom. Sebastian waited until he heard water running before falling forward onto the bed and cursing into the bedding.

  “I was going to ask, as a passenger, do you think it might be easier to have something in front of you? A shield of sorts, for the wind? I wouldn’t build it like the heavy, useless autos. I might curve the glass, if I can arrange it. It would slow the auto considerably of course. Wind resistance.” Peter was still catching his breath but his voice carried from the other room. He was asking questions about his autowagons as if Sebastian was capable of thinking about anything other than Peter at the moment. “You have complained about the wind before.”

  Sebastian sat back up and straightened himself as best as he could. Sweat under his clothes made his skin itch. His waistcoat was splattered with Peter’s spunk. He gave up on saving it. “It can be a little rough,” he replied, not really giving a damn what he was saying. Peter appeared in the doorway of his bathroom, entirely naked, his chest and hair sparkling with water. Sebastian swept his gaze over him then closed his eyes. He could hear Peter moving around the room, probably putting on the Turkish-style pajamas he preferred. Sebastian opened his eyes again when Peter stopped at the edge of the bed.

  “I didn’t realize it was rough. You should have said.” Peter gave him a curious look, intent and probing. Sebastian slid to his feet and reached for his coat. It was still late and cold outside but he was no longer in the mood for Peter’s questions; they weren’t always so innocent. “You aren’t staying,” Peter continued, taking time between one statement and the next to let out a sigh. It could have been relieved or it could have been distressed, Sebastian couldn’t tell. There were no clues anywhere else on Peter. His pajamas were forest green silk. Sebastian had told him to wear forest green more often. For once it seemed that Peter had listened.

  Sebastian considered telling Peter a few other things and hoping they would stick. For example, that to him Peter was the dearest thing in the world, or that Peter was in love with him in return, but he already knew Peter wouldn’t believe him. Peter, even if he understood love, would want no part of it. Sebastian knew that and never meant to succumb to the need to touch him, yet for years he had done just that. That and only that and never anything more.

  Perhaps his mother was right. Perhaps he was on a road with no exit and could progress no further.

  “It’s late,” Sebastian said at last, and buttoned up his coat after sliding it on. Peter and his puzzled, thoughtful frown followed him to the door.

  ~~~

  He didn’t expect to hear from Peter for at least a week. If thinking about Peter coming undone beneath him was enough to have Sebastian shaking, it had to greatly unsettle Peter. But only a few days later Sebastian was woken in the early hours of morning by the jangling bell of the telephone in the hall of his bachelor flat. He’d just stumbled out of someone else’s bed and into his own a short time ago but there was only one person who would ring him up this early and he could not sleep through the call.

  Peter began with an anxious, “Sebastian?” and then let out a breathy sound of relief before launching into conversation. Sebastian had to wonder who Peter had been expecting to answer and if Peter had ever accidentally spoken to a few of Sebastian’s overnight visitors. It wasn’t something Sebastian had considered before, but now that he had it put an icy knot in the pit of his stomach. He was only a man; he couldn’t wait for Peter to turn to him for physical release every few months. Furthermore, he had the right to bed whomever he pleased. If Peter wanted fidelity from him, he had had years to ask for it. Yet knowing that meant almost nothing. Peter might want a thousand things he would never ask for and if he was hurt he would not say.

  If Peter was upset now there was no sign in his voice, only a quiet happiness at having Sebastian’s attention and excitement about some idea of his. Sebastian knew what that meant; Peter had something he wanted to show him, usually something for him. His combination of anticipation and nerves made him as happy as a schoolboy and in no time at all Sebastian found himself agreeing to come over for breakfast.

  He used the front door to the townhouse this time, smiling at Smythe. Smythe didn’t smile in return but always seemed faintly relieved when Sebastian visited. The changes in his expression were subtle, a lifting of his brows, an easing of the lines around his mouth, but Sebastian could remember Smythe’s demeanor when Peter’s father had been alive and could tell dutiful obedience from careful pleasure.

  Smythe was an ancient, nearly too old to be doing his job, but no one, least of all Peter, had ever hinted at replacing him. Sebastian had never spoken much with Smythe, not as a man to another man since he would never force a friendship on a servant, but he knew without asking that Smythe was the one who made sure Peter ate when Sebastian wasn’t around. He was also the one who replaced Peter’s clothes when they frayed and who ensured the house was decorated at Christmastime and that Peter remembered to go visit the country manor and take care of his tenants.

  Sebastian was also certain, this time directly from Peter’s mouth, that it had been Smythe and Bess the cook who had shielded young Peter from as much of his father’s rage as they could, and who had held him close at night when his father had been gone from the house.

  Peter had relayed those facts almost calmly, as if such things occurred in houses every day. Sebastian supposed they did. It didn’t make them right.

  He didn’t speak a word of his thoughts to Smythe, only nodding when he was directed outside onto the grounds. There had once been a neighbouring house. Peter had bought it, razed most of it, and converted the rest into the building where he worked on his autowagons. Sebastian followed a well-worn path to the outbuilding and walked in without announcing himself.

  The first thing that greeted him was red. Not any other shade of the colour, just red, brilliant ruby red demanding his attention, like a blush, like blood, like a well-kissed mouth or a flushed cock. There was an auto in front of him that he’d never seen before, less boxy than the older models, with long, sleek, curved, lines, open to the air and elements, and red. So very red. Everything that wasn’t red was gleaming silver metal. It looked simultaneously garish and beautiful. Sebastian would have immediately sat in it if it had possessed an interior worth mentioning.

  The auto was propped up on blocks. Peter was underneath it. Sebastian tore his eyes from arousing red of Peter’s autowagon and sighed dramatically to get Peter’s attention. “I’ve ridden in carriages with more care put into their interior. You have no taste for luxury.”

  Peter did not emerge from underneath his creation but he did make the humming noise that meant he was thinking. “Luxury would weigh it down, make it slower.”

  “And yet make for a more enjoyable driving experience,” Sebastian countered. There were chairs scattered around but he didn’t sit. He didn’t fancy grease on his clothes. “Smythe suggested we have our breakfast in the house.”

  Smythe hadn’t in fact, but Sebastian had a feeling Peter had been working all night, and a suggestion from Smythe w
as practically an order as far as Peter was concerned. Everything Peter knew of tenderness and feeling, which wasn’t much, he had learned from Smythe and the other house servants. His affection for them was returned. Peter had servants better paid than any others in London, who ran his house for him as they saw fit. Which was admittedly better than Peter could have. They were loyal to Peter unto death, and for whatever reason, they extended some of that loyalty to Sebastian. They had to know about his proclivities as well as his regard for Peter. The whole of the city did so of course Peter’s servants would know too, but not once had Sebastian ever heard even a faint giggle from a chambermaid when his back was turned. If Sebastian claimed that Smythe had suggested Peter stop and eat, Smythe would merely raise an eyebrow and lead the way to the table.

  “I’m almost done.” Peter reached out at his side for a spanner of some kind and continued working. “I didn’t disturb you this morning, did I?” The spanner slipped from his fingers and clanged to the ground. Peter grabbed it and started again. His trousers were stretched by his position, his braces not keeping his shirt from riding up. Sebastian removed his hat and set it carefully on top of a rubber wheel leaned against a wall.

  “No,” Sebastian lied. “I was only worried you were my mother.” His mother never rose before nine, which Peter would remember if Sebastian gave him time to think about it. “She has been after me to come over for tea. I think she will have a guest waiting.”

  It was intensely satisfying to hear another clang and Peter’s quiet, vulgar swearing. Someday Sebastian was going to ask where Peter had picked up some of his cant but not today. “Some perfectly nice, respectable girl who won’t mind our brown children or the fact that I prefer men. Though it’s just possible that Mother has given up on girls and will finally start surprising me with perfectly nice, respectable boys,” he went on, not lying at all anymore.