Assumed Dead, page 26
“I have no plans to do that.” He reached out to lift Matt’s chin, which had dropped farther and farther as they talked. Matt didn’t look away. “I can’t see into the future. But tonight I’m with you and have no plans to leave. Please believe me.”
Matt smiled and nodded. His eyes were shining, and Peter didn’t want him to cry. He didn’t want to hurt Matt. Never. Whatever happened next.
“I’m going to go down and put the groceries away,” Peter said. “You make the bed. Then go get in the shower.”
“Are you saying I’m getting a bit ripe?” Matt smiled, brave face on.
“Like a peach. We’re both pretty grim.” There’d been only short comfort breaks on the journey, as R.J. had suggested. Almost fifty hours solid on the road left him feeling ready to claw at his itchy chin. “You make the bed and get in the shower, and I’ll come and join you in a few minutes.”
Matt smiled at that, instantly cheered up. “It’s a deal.” He jumped up and shooed Peter off the bed to give him access to start making it. Peter, meanwhile, went downstairs. He put their food away and found a care package on the kitchen table—a bag of toiletries, some disposable razors, other basics.
He checked the lock on the front door, turned off the lights downstairs, and took the bag and their two backpacks upstairs. Matt had gone into the bathroom as Peter came into the bedroom, and he heard the shower come on. He dumped the backpacks beside the bed, made, with a patchwork bedspread topping the blankets and sheets. He turned to the bathroom but then stopped and took off the cord around his neck with his wedding ring on it. He held it for a moment. The gold band’s shine was blurred and dimmed from resting against his skin.
He had to face this choice. He had to make the decision. But yes, he did have to take the time to do it. If he went back to Harrison, if Harrison wanted him, he’d break Matt’s heart. A year ago it would have been easy to destroy Matt’s crush on him. Some harsh words that both devastated and angered him would have made him see Peter in a different light. Then he’d have gotten over it, because back then it had only been a crush. Peter would have hated to do it, to cause Matt any pain, even if it was temporary. But today it was different. Matt loved him. Not a puppyish crush anymore, but love. Peter knew that, because he returned it. But…but…but he did love Harrison too. He couldn’t deny it. Seeing him was more joy than he’d felt since the day they married. Seeing the other man, Craig, seeing how Harrison looked at him, how he touched him had given Peter a surge of jealousy. How dare another man touch Peter’s husband? How could Harrison permit it?
Peter shook himself as that jealousy surged again, like bile in his throat. He flicked the cord that held the wedding ring and caught the ring in his fist, hiding it from sight. He opened his backpack and dropped the ring inside. It fell down to vanish among a jumble of spare socks, and trail rations that had come all the way from the hiking-and-camping shop in Moosonee. An inside pocket of the pack held something else he’d taken from a shop there—several tubes of lubricant.
It was always smart to be well prepared.
* * * *
“I have shower gel and stuff,” Peter said, coming into the bathroom.
“Great,” Matt said. “I’d been looking for that.” Peter had a bag with him and started unpacking it. Shower gel and shampoo he gave to Matt. The rest he arranged around the sink. Razors and shaving foam. Toothbrushes and toothpaste. They had those in their bags, but Matt wasn’t feeling like going and rummaging for them. He was ready for this shower, already stripped naked, with a towel around his waist. He felt oddly conscious about taking the towel off in front of Peter. Were they still on such terms?
“I’m going to shave,” Peter said. “You get in the shower.”
Oh well, he couldn’t get in the shower wearing a towel. Matt whipped it off, draped it on a rail, and stepped into the shower. It was inside a frosted-glass enclosure, which soon steamed up, leaving him unable to see Peter. He couldn’t hear him either over the noise of the water. Sometimes a shower made you feel strangely alone in the world. Uniquely vulnerable, all naked and slippery, while who knew what was happening right outside that frosted-up door.
He washed his hair and was wiping lather from his eyes when the door opened. Peter stood there, naked. A dark shape against the light.
“May I get in with you?” he asked, oddly formal.
“You’re very welcome.” Matt stepped back to give him room. Peter got in and gasped.
“Damn, that’s hot.”
Hotter than they’d been allowed at the base, where showers were only warm, and no more than five minutes long. This was genuinely hot. He wasn’t sure how long the hot water would last, so he’d better make the most of it. Sharing it with Peter was amazing. They hadn’t done so at their temporary house in Moosonee. Peter had been so…fragile then. And they’d both still been too used to getting in and out quick to save electricity. They didn’t have that worry here. Shockingly normal.
“Better than a sponge bath from a rain barrel, eh?” Matt said, and Peter laughed.
“Much better.” He took the bottle of shampoo and washed his hair. Matt was entranced with the frothy, floral-smelling bubbles sliding down over Peter’s shoulder and chest as he washed and rinsed. On down his stomach, taut and flat. He was in such good shape, thanks to R.J.’s training. Finally the foam caught in the hair circling the base of his cock. His already half-risen cock. Matt grinned. Clearly they were not sharing simply to save water. He reached for the shower gel and squirted a bunch of it on Peter’s chest. Before Peter could rub the gel in, Matt was in his arms, chest pressed close, feeling the slipperiness of the gel between them, smelling the scent rise from it. He rubbed against Peter, and the gel foamed. Peter laughed.
“That’s a novel washing technique you’re developed there.”
“I’m all about finding new techniques. New ways to make you feel good.” He leaned in for a slightly soapy-tasting kiss. “You shaved,” he said. Matt must have been brooding on his situation for longer than he expected before Peter joined him in the shower. “And I think you brushed your teeth.”
“I did. Both of those. I wanted to be ready for you.” Matt’s eyes widened.
“I see. Ah… Let’s get done here, eh?”
They could try it in the shower, but in Matt’s experience, shower sex was better in theory than practice. And they didn’t have the right kind of lube if they wanted to fuck, and, oh hell… “Let’s get done,” he said again, moving back to rub both hands over Peter’s chest, lathering up the gel there.
So no actual sex, but he soon had Peter stiff as the proverbial flagpole and moaning as Matt jerked him off slowly with a well-lathered hand. He didn’t take him all the way, despite his pleas. After a moment he stopped and let the shower rinse away the soap. The water was starting to cool. When they were both free of suds, he turned it off, and they stepped out.
Matt engulfed Peter in a thick towel, pulled him close so they were both cocooned in it, pressed close together. Peter rested his forehead against Matt’s and sighed out his name, breath feeling oddly cool on Matt’s skin, still hot from the shower.
Matt spoke softly. “I love you.” It made him feel vulnerable, scared, on this day, because of Harrison. But he put it out there, for Peter to take from it what he wanted. If Peter had a choice to make, he needed full information about what was at stake.
“I love you too, Matt.”
That was good, at least. Matt rubbed the towel over Peter’s short hair, which dried it off quickly. His own, thick and coarse, even if short, still dripped, slower to dry.
“I’m going to shave,” Matt said. “Why don’t you go get into bed. I’ll be with you soon.”
Peter swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down a couple of times. “Okay. I’ll…be ready for you.”
Matt wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but he let Peter go and turned to the sink. He shaved, pores open from the shower, the razor gliding sweetly and leaving him smooth and cool. He cleaned his teeth. Then he toweled himself off and rough-dried his hair. His skin tingled from the chafing of the towel. He felt…perfect. What a strange feeling. He looked at himself in the mirror. Nobody was perfect. But he looked and felt as good as he ever would. Strong, young. He had to be perfect tonight. He had to make Peter think it would be madness to leave Matt for Harrison, whatever they’d had in the past. The past was gone. Matt was Peter’s future. He had to make him see that.
He hung the towels up to dry and walked into the bedroom, turning off the light behind him. The bedroom was dim, only a bedside lamp on. Peter lay on the bed. Not in it. The covers were folded back so he lay, dark, strong, and lean, on the white sheets, on his side. He was posing. A man didn’t lie quite so carefully arranged to show off his body to best effect if he was simply planning on going to sleep. Matt joined in the games. He paused by the door, shifted his weight to one leg, posed like the model for a classical statue. Though the classical statues he’d seen were rather less well-endowed. His cock thickened and heated against his thigh. Started to rise from it. Enough posing. He walked to the bed, and Peter turned on his back as Matt got onto it beside him.
“I’m ready for you,” Peter said. “So ready.” He showed Matt the tube of lubricant in his hand.
“So you used the time wisely waiting for me.”
“Yes. I…want you, Matt, in me, fucking me. You, ah, just you. No condom this time.”
Ah. He hadn’t been sure Peter would give him permission for that. Not until he had a chance to run tests. But he trusted Matt as Matt had trusted him, back in White Lake, back in that abandoned kitchen.
“Thank you,” Matt said. And a part of him was happy, but another part was worried. Suppose this was a last hurrah. The last chance to have Matt fuck him, so he’d never have to wonder about how it would have felt to do it with no rubber with him? One last fuck before he went back to Harrison.
No. Matt couldn’t let that happen. They belonged together. He didn’t believe in fate. He was a scientist. Chance, not fate, had put them on the island together and trapped them there. But so much of life was chance. It didn’t have to be meaningless. You made your own meaning from it.
He let Peter slick lube onto his cock, making it harder, full-size, ready. Then he rose to kneel between Peter’s legs, leaned over his to kiss him on his lips. His neck, his chest, until Peter was rubbing against him, cock scraping Matt’s abs, musky, enticing scent rising from it.
“Are you ready?” Matt whispered.
“Oh yes. Yes.”
“You need me to stretch you?”
“I did it already. I’m…impatient.” He smiled. “And so very relaxed, after that shower.”
Matt had thought so. Only polite to ask. But Peter was more experienced and mature. Didn’t need the kid gloves and patient handling he gave Matt. So Matt wasted no more time. He maneuvered. Peter tipped his hips, brought his legs up. Then Matt was sliding in, finding his place, even in the dark, even without looking. No resistance beyond the first tightness. Welcomed. Embraced.
“Oh yes,” he moaned. “Oh, Peter. That’s incredible.”
“Have you ever…topped, bareback?”
“No. It’s…” Was it so different? Hard to say. Fucking with a condom was totally amazing too. Less so than this? Perhaps the difference was as much emotional as physical. The intimacy of being fused without a barrier. “It’s so good,” he concluded a bit lamely. Peter didn’t care, didn’t critique Matt’s descriptive failings. He ran his hands down Matt’s back, until he reached his ass and gripped each cheek, pulling Matt deeper, pushing up to meet him until Matt was buried deep in him.
“Do it,” Peter begged. “Take me. Make me yours.”
Was that a challenge? Matt took it as one. If this was a contest for Peter’s heart and Peter’s ass, nobody could say Matt Warner didn’t bring his best game. He pushed back against Peter’s hands pulling him in, not so far yet, some shallow teasing, testing movements, driving himself mad with desire, though restraining himself from losing control yet. This did feel different without the condom. The grip of Peter’s muscles felt tighter, stronger. He felt he had more to push against, and that was amazingly stimulating. He leaned closer so Peter’s cock grazed his stomach again. He thrust harder, and Peter bucked and writhed under him, head thrown back, gasping.
“Look at me,” Matt said. Because he wanted Peter absolutely clear on who was fucking him. Peter’s eyes opened, and his gaze locked on Matt’s. “Nothing feels as good as this,” Matt panted out. “Nothing feels as good as fucking you. Is it good? Is it…good?”
“So good, Matt. The best. You’re the best. Sweet fuck, I’m close!”
“I want to see you come. I want to watch you coming, shooting on my chest. You want that too. I know you do. Touch yourself and make it happen.”
Peter took himself in hand at once, jerking off fast, lube on his hand so his cock soon glistened. His face contorted, a grimace of pleasure. So hot, it was wonderful, perfect. It was Peter, and they were one. Nothing could break them apart. Nothing.
“Yes!” Peter cried out once as he came, his cum hitting Matt’s chest and belly, the sharp, tangy smell filling Matt’s senses. Peter, coming on him, for him, with him, as his orgasm shuddered through him. Pulse after pulse of it, thrusting into Peter that last few times as the stars exploded and his mind caught fire, blazing, burning away any thoughts except for those of Peter Lane. His lover.
His.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Peter came out of the clinic at the end of his shift to find Matt sitting on the steps outside, basking in the afternoon sun.
“Hi,” Peter said. Matt opened his eyes and smiled up at him.
“Isn’t this glorious?” Matt said. “All those years on the island, I thought I’d never feel hot sun on my face again. Sit down for a few minutes.”
“We need to get over and grab our ration from central stores,” Peter said. Most food was kept centrally. It was all shared equitably, and nobody could complain, because everybody got as much as they needed. With no money, there was no black market, though people traded and swapped things, like kids with their sack lunches at school. Rich Brooks had been assigned a job working in the stores, which meant having to see him often, but Matt seemed to have made peace with the guy, putting the incident back in their island food store behind him. Peter harbored some lingering resentment but followed Matt’s lead. No sense in holding grudges.
“Taken care of,” Matt said. “I collected it, then thought I’d come over and meet you off your shift.”
A cat lay on one of the steps beside Matt, enjoying the sun as much as him. Cats were valued around here, so much so that parties had even been sent out to catch those left to their own devices after their owners died. They protected the food stores, especially the grain, from vermin. Dogs were rarer. Once they went feral there was no coming back, so they couldn’t be collected up and brought back like the cats. But some had come in with parties of survivors and had never been feral. A puppy-breeding program was in full swing, because they could use more guard dogs for the patrols. Dogs went nuts if they got so much as a whiff of a zombie.
Peter sat down on the steps and stroked the cat. It purred. He glanced at Matt, eyes closed again, soaking in the sun. He looked as if he’d purr too if he were a cat. He seemed happier, after a week of being tense and worried. His relief had been palpable when Peter was given a shift at the clinic that didn’t overlap with Harrison’s.
In fact Peter had barely seen Harrison for the whole week. They’d agreed, after their initial talk, that both needed some space to think about what happened next. They had to get over the shock before they could make considered decisions.
Peter and Matt had spent a lot of time in bed together. Making the most of the privacy of their house. He kept thinking of it as their “house.” Not yet “home.” It was a house. Like the one they’d shared in Moosonee for a couple of nights. It was someone else’s home. All sign of that someone else had been stripped out. He hadn’t found a single family photograph or any personal papers anywhere in the place. The only clues left to the type of people the former residents had been were the books on the shelves and the paintings on the walls.
Bren had shown him one house that had been turned into storage for everything personal. All labeled and boxed up. It put people off, she’d said, finding the possessions of probably dead former residents, so they’d gone and taken everything like that out. Photographs, papers, clothes, jewelry. Nurseries and children’s rooms were especially distressing even to people who hadn’t lost children, and were fully stripped out, right down the the wallpaper.
Peter had looked into a room in that storage house full of children’s toys, stored away neatly, ahead of the day when they’d be used again, for children born here. Children Peter would deliver, as he had delivered Hope. There were several pregnant women in the town. Either fallen pregnant accidentally, or choosing, as Vicky had, to look to the future and bring new life to the world. To start rebuilding. Several babies born before their mothers got the vaccine had received the vaccine already and been fine, so Vicky had consented to Hope getting it too, and she was fully protected.
Matt glanced at his watch and rose. “Come on,” he said, offering a hand to Peter. “Time to go.”
Peter took the hand and let Matt pull him to his feet. Matt didn’t let go of the hand as they walked down the steps and out of the clinic’s grounds. He waved good-bye to the guards on the gate, calling them by name—quicker at learning people’s names than Peter had ever been. They walked off hand in hand down the road. Matt apparently loved holding hands. Anywhere they walked, they did so hand in hand if at all possible. Nobody objected verbally, and he had seen some other same-sex couples doing the same. Bren had told them to report any homophobic or racist remarks to her and she’d “have a word with” the perpetrator. There was no room for such nonsense in Vaccine City, she said. They were too few in number to start dividing up again already. If she had her way, they never would again. They’d be one humanity always from now on. But given the groups she’d warned them about, though he sympathized with the ideals of the leaders of Vaccine City—he’d heard Jay call them “hippies with gun”—he doubted it would last forever. But for now, he walked in the sunshine with Matt. And thought about how little he’d ever been able to do this with Harrison when the world was supposedly civilized.
