Follow Him Home (Alternate Worlds Book 1)

by P. W. Davies

  Peter laughed. “No, not really,” he said. “Visited San Francisco once, but that was with a friend of mine and we took a plane. Haven’t been anywhere else.” When Victor directed his focus back to cooking, Peter allowed himself a more unapologetic survey of Victor, his gaze breaking only when Christian handed him his wine. When his would-be boyfriend slid onto the stool next to him, Peter beamed at the kiss Christian offered his cheek and sipped from the glass. Looking at Victor again, he watched their chef toss shrimp in the frying pan. “I’ll admit, I didn’t really consider salaries when I started interning. Taking a closer look now that I’m almost finished with my residency.”

  “Peter is the guardian angel of the emergency room,” Christian interjected.

  “The guardian angel?” Victor chuckled. “Is that because he was the most attractive doctor there?”

  Christian shrugged, taking a drink of his wine. “My criteria might have been shallow from my initial look at him. Couldn’t help but to get a little attached, though, considering he helped save my life.”

  Victor glanced at Christian this time, and Peter suppressed the urge to laugh at the glare one lover directed at the other. While he remained quiet, opting to smile instead, the not-so-refined Englishman chuckled, setting down his glass and leaning forward to rest his elbows on the counter. “I warned Peter he’d gotten me into trouble,” he said.

  “Did you tell him you’d never so much as mentioned your first altercation, let alone using my surname after a motorcycle accident?” Victor turned off the burner. “For the record, I don’t like that you do that.”

  “Use your surname?”

  “Avoid me so you don’t have to explain your newest injury.”

  Christian sighed. Casting a quick glance at Peter, he relaxed when the doctor shrugged as well and pointed a hand at Victor. “Oh, great,” Christian said. “He’s going to take your side of these arguments.”

  “Good. I’ve been outnumbered for far too long,” Victor responded. When he turned away, Peter felt his cheeks flush, his gaze straying immediately back to Christian who regarded him with warmth. Not for the first time, the striking contradiction of both the devil Christian was and the vulnerable partner he hinted at being struck Peter in the recesses of his heart. Reaching for one of the other man’s hands, Peter smiled when Christian offered it to him. Their fingers met and touched in glancing caresses before both took hold of their wine glasses again.

  Victor directed them both to the table once dinner had been finished. As he presented each man their plates, he let the meal speak for itself, pouring himself a glass of wine once he had finished and sitting with both his drink and his food. Each of them settled into quiet consumption, though Peter couldn’t help the small sounds of delight he produced while eating. After one, Victor raised an eyebrow and smirked, his gaze set on Peter with his words directed at Christian. “He has to be remarkable in bed,” he said.

  Humming first, Christian lifted his glass to finish his wine before responding. “Responsive,” he replied, “And vocal, though not obnoxiously so. He has these divots in his hips you could cut your tongue on.”

  Heat rose from Peter’s cheeks up to his ears. “Do you always do this?” he asked. “Compare notes about the people you’re sleeping with?”

  “Only when they’re worth noting,” Victor said, his smirk broadening by only the slimmest of margins. Cutting into his steak, he ate the perfectly carved square and swallowed it down. “Now, tell us more about you, so we have more information when you’re the topic of discussion.”

  Peter laughed. “I don’t know what all to say,” he said. “Other than the fact that I was orphaned, there isn’t too much else that’s impressive about me.”

  Whatever it was about that confession that resonated with Victor, his eyes focused on Peter with a flicker of sympathy, not overstated and, much to Peter’s relief, far removed from pity. Victor emptied his glass and walked to where the bottle of wine had been left, bringing it over to pour everyone a second round. One confession gave way to a host of other questions. What had inspired Peter to become a doctor? How many months did he have left in his residency? Peter avoided answering what he intended to do next, saying, “Continue helping people,” without any further explanation. Victor accepted it with a nod. And while Christian loaded the dishwasher, Victor led Peter over to the piano and sat on the bench.

  Idly, the fingers of one hand caressed the keys, even the playful warm-up sounding accidentally melodious. “Have you ever played?” he asked Peter, setting down his wine glass to free his other hand. It settled on its own set of keys.

  “No,” Peter said, still sipping from his drink. “My mother played, though.”

  “What did she play?”

  “A lot of things. Some music from where she was born. A few songs she’d learned while serving as a volunteer nurse. Her favorite composer was Debussy.”

  “Interesting choice.” Victor shifted his fingers to align them elsewhere. “Clare de Lune?”

  “I think that was the name of one she liked, yes.”

  “You’ll find yourself listening to Classical more if you come around here. For now, I’ll let the ignorance slide.” Victor flashed him a wink before sobering and focusing on the piano keys. Peter watched, fascinated, not knowing what to expect. When Victor began to play, however, Peter froze with his glass at his lips, lowering it without drinking from it further. His heart swelled and his stomach tied in knots.

  From memory, Victor began to play Debussy.

  The first melancholy notes resonated, played with reverent tenderness as Victor settled into the piece. While he didn’t lose the rhythm along the way, the longer he played, and the more technical it became, the more he immersed within the music, until Peter both heard and felt the transition which took place. In his mind, Peter reckoned, Victor had filtered everything away, removing the sound of water running in the background, the subtle shifting noises Peter made – perhaps even the beating of his own heart – until the only thing that echoed in his ears was the melody. Even watching that much, Peter couldn’t focus on anything else once Victor reached the middle portion of the song.

  Instantly, he had been transported to his family home, returned to his living room, if just for a moment.

  While Marjorie Dawes had never played so well, and with so much hidden passion, she still carried the same gentle adoration for what her fingers had birthed, as immersed inside each bittersweet chord as Victor became. When the memory passed, Peter found himself regarding Victor, seeing something deep being presented like he’d been granted passage into the other man’s soul. The room echoed with the final notes he played. When the strings inside the piano stilled, Peter wondered if it was possible for a song to make a person’s heart ache.

  “That was amazing,” he muttered, knowing the description fell short and yet, lacking better words to explain the experience.

  “Not exactly the quality you’d hear at the Kimmel Center, but I blame the room’s acoustics,” Victor said, the quip wry, and unapologetically so. Peter chuckled, feeling the smile on his face reach up to his eyes while he finished off his drink. Victor focused on the keys again, but not without allowing his smile to turn suggestive for another moment. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

  Peter hummed. Walking over to set his glass down on one of the end tables, he settled onto the couch and shifted to face the piano. Victor sat straighter and allowed his fingers to glide over the keys again while Peter willed himself to pry. “How long have you been playing?”

  “For a while, off and on. I used to listen to others play and slip into the music room after school whenever band class wasn’t using it. A teacher caught me trying to teach myself and gave me lessons. The rest as they say…” Without finishing the euphemism, Victor allowed his fingers to supply the remainder of his response. He flicked another glance at Peter, a slightly more devilish look in his eyes, before lapsing into another song, this one more up-tempo. Peter caught himself listening and glan
ced at Christian as the other man retreated from the kitchen and sat beside Peter. The two exchanged a smile and Peter lifted his arm, allowing Christian to relax against him. As they sank into a more comfortable position, they didn’t bother moving. Peter couldn’t remember a time when he’d been happier.

  While his mind wandered – once, in fact, to the assurance he’d offer Robin when he spoke to his friend next – he remained mostly engaged with the impromptu concert. Victor stopped playing after a few additional songs, including one request presented by Christian, and after he had finished, Victor plucked his forgotten glass from atop the piano and lowered the cover over the keys. “Enough for one night,” he said. “I have work early in the morning.”

  “Thank you for that,” Peter said, shifting more upright, but remaining seated with Christian. “Between dinner and the music, I feel spoiled.”

  “Told you he’d be impressed,” Christian said, his words directed toward Victor. “And you were worried.”

  Victor shot Christian a warning look, suggesting he had been anything but. Without exchanging another word with Christian, Victor looked toward Peter and bowed. “My pleasure,” Victor said. “Hopefully we can do this again another time.”

  “I’d like that,” Peter said, and before he could think twice about it, he added, “Maybe if you ever have an extra ticket to the Kimmel Center, you might let me accompany you.”

  The way Victor’s eyebrow quirked served once more to ask a question, without bothering to structure it into the form of words. He glanced at Christian, and whatever he saw in Christian’s eyes, prompted him to look at Peter again. His smile faded and at first, Peter feared he’d been too presumptuous, or said too much without knowing Victor well. The longer Victor evaluated him, though, the more he recognized the question behind the look. Victor was gauging just how seriously Peter meant the request.

  Emboldened, and not sure yet what exactly made him want to do it, Peter held his gaze steady, relaxing only when Victor nodded and shifted his attention back to Christian. As if summoned by a dare, Victor strode closer to the two men, staring deliberately at Peter until the point when he bent and glanced at his lover. Peter tensed, a tingle racing through him at the heat in look Victor and Christian exchanged. Their eyes drifted shut and as their noses touched, with only a scant amount of space separating them from Peter, they began to kiss.

  It wasn’t as decadent of a kiss as Peter had seen in his fantasies. Both men held nothing back in the way of heat, though, Victor settling a hand on Christian’s cheek while their lips continued the tender caress. As Victor pulled back, he regarded Christian with an exasperated form of affection, then glanced up at Peter again with another evaluating look. While Peter saw the gesture as genuine, the way Victor studied him didn’t need any further interpretation. He was being tested again, and had Victor intrigued as much as both he and Christian had Peter mystified.

  It wasn’t until Victor had completely vanished from sight that Peter released a breath laden with tension. Christian chuckled, turning so he could make eye contact with Peter. “He’s good at that, isn’t he?” he asked, shifting so that he straddled Peter’s waist.

  With a laugh, Peter let his hands settle on Christian’s waist. “There’s only so much taunting a guy can take,” he said. “He’s talented.”

  “In more ways than one.” Bending until his forehead touched Peter, Christian framed the other man’s face in his palms, his thumbs touching near Peter’s lips. As he nuzzled the other man, Christian lowered his voice to a sultry whisper. “You are gorgeous when you’re hot and bothered. I see you tense and all I want to do is work it out of you. Fuck you until you’re exhausted.”

  Peter, in turn, slid his hands until he cupped Christian’s backside. “I think you prefer having the fucking done to you. If memory serves.”

  Christian chuckled. One hand lifted so that his index finger could trace around the edges of Peter’s lips. “Fuck me, then, like you’re watching Victor kiss me.”

  “Can I fuck you like I’m watching what I do to you instead?”

  “Romantic,” Christian whispered. His lips teased first at Peter’s before engulfing them fully, sending a pulse racing the entire length of Peter’s spine. As Peter drew him closer, Christian ground up against him, the tenor of the kiss racing to a fever pitch. It escalated to the point of dire need before Peter could dare think of pulling back. By that point it was too late.

  Christian stood and used his hold on Peter to tug the other man by the shirt into the guest room. Kicking the door shut behind him, he leaped at Peter the moment the lock clicked shut, reaching greedily for the buttons of Peter’s shirt while Peter worked Christian’s over his head. As clothing furiously landed on the floor and both men fumbled for the lubricant and condoms, they worked themselves into a frenzy. Bent over, on all fours with his back presented to Peter, Christian invited the other man to screw him with as much need as had been hinted.

  Neither exchanged a word. Not even after descending into a litany of groans and expletives, Peter climaxing before tossing Christian onto his back and finishing him off with his mouth. The taste of Christian still lingered on his tongue, as he stripped the used rubber and crawled back to his lover. Christian pulled him into another kiss, curling into his arms while both settled on their sides.

  “You’re impossible to resist,” Christian said, in a soft whisper.

  “Was thinking the same thing about you.” The strain of his heart whispered something he didn’t dare place into words, even if holding a vulnerable criminal placed him in a strangely romantic mood. In that moment, the furthest thing from his mind was how upset his parents would be if they knew half the things he was thinking, let alone what he was doing. When he dozed off beside Christian, he felt strangely at home.

  The next morning, Victor had already left when Peter slipped away to return to his apartment. He showered and took another nap on his couch, then walked the flight of stairs up to his loft bed. While slipping into his scrubs, he heard what sounded like a knock at his door, though by the time he threw his shirt on and tied his pants, whoever they were had already left. Underneath his door, however, they had slid a plain white envelope.

  Peter’s heart raced as he picked it up and only relaxed when he opened the simple, handwritten note to reveal a ticket to the Kimmel Center. It advertised a Saturday night concert, and as he read the message, Peter felt his heart swell.

  Let me know if you can escape work. If not, I can make other arrangements. Or, present a compelling case on your behalf, one of the two.

  Below the note, the sender signed his name with meticulous care.

  Victor Mason

  Ten

  “Allow me to be jealous for a moment before you get any further into this story.”

  Robin spun around in his chair, holding his glasses and bringing them to his mouth so he could breathe warm air on them. Reaching for the end of his shirt, he used it to clean the lenses. “You’ve been having sex with a hitman who likes to bottom and his boyfriend is taking you out to the Kimmel Center?” he asked. Once the glasses had been secured back into place, he regarded Peter with a playful amount of disdain. “I think I’ve been trying to find men at all the wrong places.”

  “Yeah, come and keep me company during one of my shifts,” Peter said. He perched on the corner of Robin’s desk, idly picking up a kitschy relic his friend had brought back with him from his last trip back to Ireland. As Peter turned it around in his hand, he brushed off a piece of dirt on the corner of the shamrock-shaped paperweight. “I thought you were on board with me erring on the side of caution?”

  When Peter glanced up at him, eyebrow perked, Robin smiled and adjusted his glasses one final time. “I’ve determined that it’s probably better if I cheer you on so you keep talking to me about it. I take it you haven’t had anyone to talk to at the hospital.”

  “Just Chloe. And she’s Team Get Laid.” Slowly, Peter set the paperweight back down. His hands settled on his lap. “
I admit, I’m nervous. Gina at work says we can switch shifts, so it’s not the time off that has me worried it’s –”

  “You’re intimidated,” Robin noted, finishing the sentence when Peter trailed off. A slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I told you to be sure you could handle them being in a relationship. I honestly didn’t think your method of coping would be to date them both.”

  “Neither did I, to be honest.”

  “Well, alright. You’ve told me about Loverboy. Now, tell me about the lawyer.”

  Peter drew a deep breath inward and held onto it for several beats. Exhaling it, he summoned a mental picture of Victor, trying to settle on which points to relay about him first. “He’s dangerous in his own sort of way,” he began. “Handsome. Clever. Sophisticated. Like that internist I tried to date in my first year of residency. Only Victor is classy. He plays the piano like a hopeless romantic, but somehow manages to keep that in check. He’s probably one of the up-and-comers in his firm, but then he comes home and cooks and looks after Christian. They’re both in love with each other and I doubt either of them know it.”

  Robin sighed. Reclining in his chair, he shook his head and pointed at the bookshelf in the corner of his study. “One of these days, I’ll get you to start writing poetry again like you used to in college. Or start a journal like I do, because this is going to be a story for your grandchildren.” Rising to his feet, Robin walked behind Peter and settled both hands on his friend’s shoulders. “’They both love each other and I doubt either of them knows it.’ Once again, I’m going to note it: You say that like it doesn’t bother you.”

  “No, actually, there’s something about it that –”

  Peter trailed off again. Robin strode so that he faced Peter again, but didn’t lower back into his seat. It only took a moment for him to recognize the look in the other man’s eyes. Peter chuckled, hearing the self-conscious undertones to his laughter as an echo. “This is getting serious, isn’t it?” he asked.