Follow Him Home (Alternate Worlds Book 1)

by P. W. Davies

  “Done what?” Peter asked, his mouth still partly full.

  “You know what,” Robin said, lowering his voice. Peter paused chewing to hear him. “Imagined the two of them in bed together? No, I imagine not yet since you just slept with Christian, but it’s tickling at the back of your mind, if I know you. Maybe why you’re partly convinced that you can handle the presence of another lover.”

  “You’re evil.” Peter grinned, swallowing his food before saying anything else. “For the record, no, the worst thing I’ve imagined is them kissing.”

  “Not too long until you’re lying in bed imagining something else.”

  “Have I mentioned how much I hate that you know me this well? You should not be giving me that idea, okay? Mr. ‘Be Careful and Guard Your Heart’.” Peter shook his head and continued eating, finishing the remainder of his lunch. As the air surrounding them relaxed, Robin relayed the monotony of his life and shortly thereafter, the younger man headed for his apartment again. Once settled, he retrieved his laundry and prepared for the start of his shift.

  The hospital exploded into a manic circus of activity, propelling Peter into the hours which followed. Several coffees and a nap in the break room disrupted the steady flow of people, enough that one doctor asked if they’d missed the full moon. During the busier moments, Peter let himself get consumed with work, more focused on making diagnoses and filing papers than anything else that’d happened in the past twenty-four hours. It made the quieter moments ones he relished.

  A message buzzed on his phone part of the way through one of his sprints, though, forgotten the moment he needed to direct his attention elsewhere. It remained in the furthest reaches of his thoughts until he sat on the subway headed home and tiredly flipped through the collection of email alerts and Facebook posts which had littered his notifications overnight. When he reached the message, he smiled faintly at it, raising an eyebrow as he read it.

  ‘I’m sorry for not seeing you out, love,’ Christian wrote. ‘Did you mention talking when you left?’

  Even though it had been hours, Peter typed out a response. ‘Yes. Maybe our next date?’ It took until he had disembarked from the train for the message to go through. While his phone remained silent throughout his walk home, and up to his apartment, after emerging from the shower, he saw the response waiting for him.

  ‘That is promising. Tell me when you have your next day free from work.’ A few seconds later, another text chimed through. ‘Oh, and you got me into trouble. But I think you knew that.’

  Peter smirked. Still only wearing a towel, he sat on the edge of his bed and continued grinning while composing a response. ‘Tuesday. I thought it was only fair, considering you didn’t tell me about Victor.’

  ‘Is this how it’s going to be, then? Should have known you’d play teacher’s pet.’

  ‘What can I say, he made me breakfast?’

  ‘Yes, and you made quite an impression. Are you sure that doesn’t bother you?’

  Sobering, Peter laid back until his head rested on his pillows, strands of water-drenched hair dripping on the bed linens. As he stretched out his legs, he thought about his conversation with Robin, though it wasn’t Christian’s polyamory that occupied his mind. He drifted, instead, to the thought of Victor and Christian at the piano again. ‘You have another lover. I think you telling me you kill people would’ve been the deal breaker,’ he responded. After a moment of consideration, Peter added, ‘Does he always flirt with the people you bring home?’

  ‘Not always. I could ask him to behave, but he probably wouldn’t listen.’

  ‘It’s okay. I didn’t mind,’ Peter typed before hitting send. Placing aside his phone, he focused on the ceiling above, studying the cracked plaster until he saw something other than dirty white paint and wear. Inside his mind, the scene shifted in Victor’s condo from the living room to the kitchen, Victor peering at Peter from over Christian’s shoulder while the other man sat perched on the marble counter. As a wicked smile traced across Victor’s lips, Christian turned enough to cast a glance at Peter from over his shoulder.

  “Shall we give him a show?” Christian asked, with his deep, English accent.

  “He seems intent on looking for one,” Victor said in response. As Peter gravitated toward them, the pair forgot about him, focused on each other, crystal blue eyes meeting chestnut ones with Christian being the first to reach for the other man. Clad in a three-piece suit, with the jacket removed, Victor looked like the second sort of man who usually got Peter’s motor running; the professional with a deep-seated hunger hidden just below the surface. Christian took hold of his tie and used it to pull Victor closer. As Victor positioned himself between Christian’s legs, Peter drifted closer still.

  Their lips met, caressing in an embrace both soft and dirty at the same time. They made a show of their tongues touching, their eyes shut and mouths enclosing only to break away into another decadent display. Victor reached for the ends of Christian’s button-down shirt, pulling it free from the waistband of his pants to claim greedy purchase on Christian’s skin. Christian, in turn, released his hold on Victor, but only to undo the buttons of his own shirt.

  Peter caught his breath, his groin stirring. Whether the other men knew the effect they had on Peter or not, they continued, Victor crushing up against Christian while the latter freed his arms from his sleeves. The scars on his bare chest stood out as angry white marks, his shoulder still bearing the bandage he wore over the fresher wounds. Victor kissed down Christian’s neck, headed for his shoulder and stopping short of the evidence of his wounds. “You’ve been bad,” he cautioned in a husky whisper. “You tried to keep this from me, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” Christian said, almost panting the word. Peter could barely see it from his perspective, but Christian was already hard, his shaft straining in his pants and presenting a prominent bulge. His hands settled on Victor’s vest, teasing at the buttons as if to start disrobing the other man.

  Victor immediately released a hand, however, and grabbed hold of Christian’s wrist, stopping him. Christian breathed shakily, freezing into place while Victor took hold of his backside and pulled him closer to the edge of the counter. Lowering his hands to brace himself, Christian arched his back and shut his eyes, as if something about all of this was a game they played. The musician and the dancer. Settling into his role, Victor removed his tie and lifted the silk up to Christian’s eyes. Tightly, he secured it as a blindfold, removing one of Christian’s senses.

  Shooting a cunning grin at Peter first, Victor focused back on the exhibition, ignoring once more that Peter was watching.

  He unbuttoned his vest and tossed it aside. Rolling up his sleeves, he settled his hands on Christian’s thighs afterward and pressed his thumbs near the prominent bulge in Christian’s pants. “You’re not allowed to say a word,” he muttered, lifting his fingers to unbutton the fly. “You can’t scream and you can’t come until I tell you to. Am I clear?”

  “Yes,” Christian said, his breaths turning as quick and shallow as Peter’s had been. He tensed with each thing Victor did to him, from the unzipping of his jeans to the palming of his length which took place while Victor watched, fixated on every whine and whimper Christian tried to suppress. When Christian moaned, the action nearly involuntarily, Victor stopped, his hand settled over the rigid length.

  “Please,” Christian breathed. “I apologize. I won’t do it again.”

  “You’d better not. Or I’ll walk over to Peter and do this to him instead.” His gaze flicked quickly to the voyeur, licking his lips while he tugged on Christian’s pants, the action demanding the other man lift and allow himself to be more fully disrobed. Once he had been stripped bare, he sat in the same position he’d been in before forced to help unclothe from the waist down. “Much better,” Victor said, drinking in the sight. His palms ran along the now-bare thighs in front of him. “What do you want, Christian?”

  Lowering, Victor bent enough to lick along th
e erect shaft. Peter’s own cock twitched at the sight, aching to be touched while Peter continued to deny himself. Instead, he watched as Christian’s body jerked, his mouth flying open while he strangled back another moan. Victor smirked while continuing, one hand working loose the buttons of his shirt while the other wrapped around the base of Christian’s length. His lips pursed around the head, but Victor refused to take him in, deciding to continue teasing Christian. With every twitch and shudder, Christian remained silent, but when Victor blew on the moist tip of his cock, he jerked to the point of losing his leverage. His palms slipped and cock strained near the point of orgasm. Victor chuckled, the sound low and sultry.

  When he removed his shirt, Peter remembered breakfast, and lingered on the sight.

  Victor continued stripping, either ignorant of the evaluation being offered or silently soaking it in. His shirt flew where his vest had landed and shortly, his shoes and pants joined the forming pile. As Victor stood exposed before Peter, the latter couldn’t help himself any longer. While he had begun the fantasy wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans, he worked himself out of them, until he joined the other men in their nakedness. Settling into one of the dining room chairs, he reclined until he sank into the back. In that moment, he became lost to the imagery.

  Christian lowered from the counter at Victor’s prompting. Being forcefully turned to face the dark marble, he braced himself against it with his elbows, his fingers fanned out against the hard surface while Victor penetrated him with his fingers first. While Peter began to stroke himself, Victor worked to loosen Christian, the forsaken moans and whimpers held back only when Christian bit his bottom lip. Victor shoved his fingers in more forcefully and Christian’s back arched. As he panted, the other man continued to work him into a frenzy until he withdrew and lathered his own long, hard shaft with lubricant. At first, he only teased at Christian’s opening with his head.

  When he entered the other man, however, he took him like Christian had practically begged him to be rough.

  Christian held on, enduring the forceful taking and seeming lost in ecstasy. As Victor established a quick, unapologetic rhythm with him, Christian panted again, his fingers clenching in fists that barely managed to keep him secured into place. He gritted his teeth. As Victor clutched onto his uninjured shoulder, he produced a wheezing sound, as if being asked to withhold his cries any longer would be an exercise in futility. Victor strained to hold back his own completion. As he neared it, however, he finally breathed as much of an instruction as he seemed capable of in the moment.

  “Yes, now. Do it now,” he said.

  The wail Christian produced almost sounded pained. It lilted into a loud moan, which rolled into another and another as come pulsed out from the tip of his cock. Victor gripped onto him and held on while his leg muscles twitched and in that moment, blinding colors exploded from behind Peter’s eyes. Whatever he had been doing to himself, regardless of how emphatic, the imagined scent of sex in the air became more than he could handle. Thin strands pulsed from his cock, until the knot in his stomach found a way to loosen again.

  When Peter opened his eyes, he found himself in his room again, staring at the aged and cracked ceiling. Blinking a few times, he discovered his hand and belly messy, the towel removed and resting underneath him, leaving his body exposed otherwise. As another spasm assaulted him, he grunted and clenched his eyes shut, but blinked again when that surge passed. Lifting his back enough to free the towel out from beneath himself, Peter used it to clean up the evidence of his climax.

  A shaky breath passed through his lips. While the aftershocks subsided, he peered at his discarded phone, which rested on the bed beside him. Lifting it up, he saw the text and loaded the screen to read the message in its entirety.

  ‘Victor says to come for dinner,’ Christian wrote. ‘Tuesday evening. You’re free to bring a bottle of wine, but don’t feel obligated otherwise.’

  ‘I’ll see you, then,’ Peter responded before discarding his phone again. Still buzzed, he focused on one of the cracks above him, a lazy smile drifting across his lips. “I’m sorry, Mom and Dad,” he muttered. “You probably didn’t imagine this when you told me to meet someone interesting.” Rolling onto his stomach, he gathered the blankets over his body and immersed himself within their cocoon.

  At least he still had some control, he tried to assure himself. While sleep took him under, he lied again, saying he had enough of a commitment to continue forward, and enough self-restraint not to throw away his life. If he had to, he could walk away at any moment.

  The problem was, would he want to?

  Nine

  As he strolled from the subway exit, headed west on Walnut Street, he whistled the last song that had been playing on his iPhone. A spring in his step, the anticipation which had been building for two days reached a head when he woke up that evening and realized Tuesday had arrived. He showered, shaved, and pulled out the nicest button-down shirt he owned, covering himself with a leather jacket and a pair of jeans fresh from the laundry. The income of a resident, senior or otherwise, prevented the bottle in his hands from being anything top-rack, but silently he hoped neither Christian, nor Victor, would mind.

  Somehow, he doubted they would.

  Continuing until he entered the heart of Rittenhouse, he walked north until he reached the entrance of the building where Victor lived. The doorman had not retired for the night and allowed Peter in, directing him to the front desk when Peter explained his purpose for being there. The aged security guard buzzed Victor’s condo, and the deep voice of the other man instructed to allow Peter up.

  “You’re good,” the security guard said to Peter, pointing at the bank of elevators before settling in again.

  Peter nodded, walking for the elevator and pressing the up arrow once stopping within reach. The rumbling sound of the car descending preceded the chime of the doors parting to give him berth. Stepping inside, Peter hesitated for a moment, trying to remember the correct floor and settling on the button he remembered Christian pressing. “It’ll be my luck I’ll have to call someone to rescue me,” he said as the elevator made its ascent. When it stopped, however, a familiar hallway opened before him.

  Smiling, Peter disembarked, and strode to the door he remembered belonging to Victor.

  Combing back the longer locks of his hair, Peter took a deep breath, using it as a chance to gather his nerves. His hand lifted, balling into a fist, and after the count of three, Peter knocked. Stepping back, he focused on the space in front of him, his pulse racing when the sound of footfalls closing in on the door became louder. They ceased only seconds before the door swung open.

  When his eyes met Christian’s, he couldn’t help the smile which crossed his lips. The shorter man had dressed up as well, the only difference being the vest and slacks he wore instead of jeans. Missing a tie, the absence of the accessory only made Peter think more of it secured over his eyes. As such, a blush rose to his cheeks, one that made Christian chuckle in response.

  “Well, then,” he said. “I’m pleased to see you, too.” Without pausing to allow Peter inside, first, he gathered the other man close, hitching up on his toes and giving Peter enough prompting for him to lower. As they kissed, the union of their lips communicated something far deeper than anything Peter had ever felt before, reaching down into his core and engulfing him with the sentiment. By the time Christian pulled away, he had forgotten anything he intended to say.

  Christian touched the side of his face and kissed his cheek. “Come inside,” he said, drifting from Peter’s space. As he strode into the condo, Peter regained his bearings, focusing on walking inside instead of allowing himself to get swept up by the unfamiliar sensation. His head felt dizzy and full of whimsy, such that the door closing behind him took him by surprise. Christian’s fingers glided across his arm when the other man walked past. As he headed in the direction of the kitchen, he directed Peter’s attention to the rest of the house.

  Victor’s back turne
d to him, he presided over whatever he had cooking on the stove. The aroma which filled the air made Peter think of the restaurants his co-workers would drag him to whenever celebrating something extravagant. He swore he smelled butter and rosemary, and what had to be steak, but might have been other things as well. As Victor flipped a generous portion of meat, it confirmed one suspicion. Peter determined to let the evening reveal the rest.

  “Fortunately, I bought a red,” Peter said, walking side-by-side with Christian toward the collection of bar stools. Christian took the bagged bottle and brought it into the kitchen while Peter removed his jacket, draping it across the back of the stool before hitching up onto it.

  Breathing a chuckle, Victor shifted his focus from one frying pan to another. In this one, it looked like garlic had started to brown. “I figured you might not be the kind to refuse steak,” he said. “Christian mentioned that you have more rural origins.”

  “Yes, Lancaster.” Folding his hands on the counter, he glanced at Christian as he presented the bottle, silently asking if Peter would like a glass. Peter nodded, then resumed watching Victor. The other man wore a dress shirt and pants, but otherwise, lacked the other components of the three-piece suit Peter had imagined. Peter wondered if Victor had stripped them off after work. “I know Christian’s from England. Where are you from?”

  “Further west.” Victor bent to open the oven door and quickly transferred the pan with the steak inside. Once it was shut, he reached for a colander and poured a healthy portion of peeled shrimp inside the garlic-butter sauce. “Las Vegas, to be exact. I moved out here for school.”

  “Which school did you go to?”

  “Columbia. I lived in New York until a law office in Philly offered me the best starting salary. To be honest, I didn’t mind the change of pace.” He directed a quick look over his shoulder at Peter. “Have you ever been to the West Coast?”