Текст книги "Snowball in Hell"

Автор книги: Josh lanyon

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Chapter Nine

When he heard Nathan's voice on the phone Matt felt a warm rush. He'd been wanting to hear Nathan's voice, missing him, wanting to know that he was okay, wanting to tell him about the problems in the Arlen case. His men had made some serious mistakes in the investigation; Jonesy had let him down. Matt's career might be on the line. He wanted to talk to someone he could trust; he wanted to talk to Nathan.

But in the very next instant that warm rush gave way to chilled alarm. Didn't Nathan understand? Was he that lost to common sense? They hadn't been starting something; those two days at Little Fawn Lodge was all there could be between them, thinking anything else was crazy. Dangerous. They were neither of them the kind of men who wanted to go that route. They had careers, families, responsibilities; they weren't the kind of guys who gave into that kind of thing. Where was the future in it? There wasn't any future in it.

It wasn't logical thinking, it was just Matt's instinctive response to the pleasure he felt at hearing Nathan's voice– because he felt too much pleasure, he knew that much. So he said crisply, «What did you need, Doyle?»

There was too long a pause, and then Nathan said deliberately, «I'm trying to tell you. I found the Jarvis girl.»

Matt's face flamed. He'd been so busy panicking that he hadn't heard a word Nathan had said, and he could hear in Nathan's voice that he knew it.

He didn't know how to back away from his mistake, so he just said, «Where?»

And Nathan told him where, crisply and concisely. «I wouldn't take too long getting here. She thinks she's being tracked by whoever killed the Arlen kid. She's liable to pull another flit.»

«We're on our way,» Matt said. And then, awkwardly, «Will you be there?»

He wasn't even sure why he'd asked it, but Nathan said, «No. She's got a couple of brawny gamekeepers here to keep her safe, and I've got a story to file.»

«Right,» said Matt. «Thanks for the tip.» He should have hung up, but for some reason he couldn't. He wanted to correct the mistake he'd made when he'd first picked up the phone. He'd realized how stupid he was to think that he and Nathan couldn't be friends, couldn't work together as much as the press and police could work together. As long as they both understood that it couldn't go any further than that, he wanted to be friends with Nathan. In fact there was only one thing he wanted more. So he said tentatively, «See you around.»

And Nathan said shortly, «I'm not leaving town,» and hung up.

Several hours later, sometime after midnight, Matt followed Nathan and his newest swain-a big bruiser in a khaki uniform-down the steps of the Biltmore hotel, watched them run across the street and disappear into the jungle of Pershing Square. Matt followed silently, cursing himself-and Nathan-every step of the way.

Who was the unhealthy, neurotic one here? Himself or Nathan? Nathan was at least-assumingly-getting what he wanted out of this. What the hell was Matt getting? Other than ill with jealousy and anger and something too close to despair.

He was the one who'd told Nathan that any kind of relationship between them was impossible. That the risk was too great. The incredible thing to him now was that he had expected-believed-that Nathan would understand that the risk to himself was too great as well. That he would belatedly exercise wisdom. That he would make the same sacrifice that Matt was having to make.

Why not admit it? He had believed that what they had shared was so special that Nathan wouldn't cheapen himself by settling for something else, something less.

But here Nathan was, not even waiting one goddamned night before he was back in the jungle with the other animals.

None of which explained what the hell Matt was doing down here again. And if he hadn't seen Nathan, hadn't tracked him like radar illuminating a target, would he have been trying to find someone of his own to spend a few hours with?

He didn't know.

He was afraid to consider it too closely.

He crept through the grass and brush until he heard them, the harsh panting, crackle of dead leaves and twigs, and he pushed aside the branches and found them-found Nathan down on the ground fighting for his life while his erstwhile lover tried to brain him with a short and solid tree branch.

As Matt watched, the man kicked Nathan, and Nathan cried out and stopped fighting, lying there stunned. The man bent over him. Matt took his gun out, stepped through the branches, and hit the big man hard with the butt of his revolver across the back of his head. The man slumped over Nathan's supine body. Matt dragged him off.

He knelt beside Nathan, dragging his boxers up, pushing his flaccid dick inside, possessive and angry about that soft warmth, Nathan unaroused but asking for it-he had asked for it and he had got it-and Matt wanted to kill the other guy, and he wanted to kill Nathan.

«Come on, get up,» he told Nathan, locking hands on him, drawing him up, and Nathan staggered to his feet, peered at him, and then looked ready to fall again when he saw who his rescuer was.

«Christ, pull yourself together,» Matt hissed, and then tried to soften it. «Nathan, come on. We've got to get out of here.» He was trying with all his might not to let his anger through because Nathan had been hurt enough for one night. And as angry as he was with Nathan, he was also frightened for him.

Nathan hadn't said a word. Not one word. He reached out to steady himself on a banana tree, and then looked down at the man who had tried to kill him.

Matt collected his coat and hat. He put an arm around Nathan and Nathan reeled against him, and dropped his head in the curve of Matt's neck and shoulder. Matt pressed his cheek to the softness of Nathan's hair. He gave Nathan a moment; he thought he might be crying, but then he realized, no. Nathan was just breathing deeply, exhaustedly as though

he'd run and run to get to this moment, and now there was nowhere else to run.

«Can you walk?» Matt murmured. He had to walk. Matt couldn't carry him, but he asked anyway.

Nathan nodded. He pulled away from Matt and reached for his coat, and almost overbalanced. Matt grabbed him, helping him shrug into the coat, putting his hat on him.

The man on the ground moved, groaned, and Nathan's foot lashed out. He kicked him with the strength and accuracy of a mule and then almost fell over again.

Matt put an arm around him and led him through the trees, keeping to the deepest shadows, Nathan stumbling along like he was drunk or blind.

When they reached the plaza, Nathan suddenly straightened up, pulling away from Matt.

«It's better if we don't walk across the square together.» His voice was flat.

And that was true. Matt said, «I parked on Seventh Street. Wait for me at the intersection.»

He didn't know if Nathan heard him or not. Nathan walked out of the bushes across the pavement and he stood straight and moved briskly, swiftly, with no sign of what had just happened.

Matt watched him go, gilded in moonlight, crossing the square, and suddenly he couldn't bear it. Couldn't bear for Nathan to have to make this particular journey on his own.

He started after him and caught him up quickly, walking beside him, within arm's distance but not touching, and

bitterly damning to hell anyone who watched them and dared to think anything.

They crossed Olive Street and walked north. There was no traffic, no one at all.

And then they were on Seventh Street. Matt took Nathan's arm, ignoring the initial resistance, and guided him along till they came to Matt's car. He put Nathan inside, and he was gentle now, careful with him. He slammed the door and went round to his own side, sliding inside. He rested his hands on the steering wheel.

«Are you-how bad is it?»

«I'll live,» Nathan said dully.

«He could have killed you. You know that. He could just as easily have bashed your brains out.»

Nathan stared out his window, not answering.

Matt started the car engine. He didn't even think about it, he drove straight to his own house, taking Nathan home. He parked in the back, turned off the lights, and came around to Nathan's side. Nathan got out slowly, as though he hurt, and Matt put a supporting arm around him. Nathan tried to shrug him off, but Matt wouldn't let go, so instead Nathan walked stiffly, rejecting help without saying a word, making Matt feel silly for that protective arm wrapped around straight shoulders and a ramrod spine.

Up the tidy walk, past the flower beds that Rachel had planted, beneath the trellised car port with roses heavy with perfume even in December. Matt unlocked the side door, and put Nathan inside before stepping in himself and turning on the light.

Nathan winced at the light, putting a protective hand up.

«You better let me take a look at you,» Matt said. «You might have a couple of cracked ribs. He could have ruptured your spleen or your kidneys.» He was getting angry again thinking of it. Nathan could have died there tonight. Died an ugly, pointless death in the underbrush of Pershing Square– and for what?

Nathan lowered his hand, frowning. He said slowly, «You must have followed me. I don't guess you went there for sex.»

«I followed you,» Matt agreed.

Nathan peered at Matt as though he was viewing him from the distance, as though he was having trouble making him out.

«Can I take a shower?» he asked, abruptly.

Unspeaking, Matt got him towels, showed him the shower. He poured himself a drink while he listened to the water raining down from the bathroom and the resounding silence from within.

Gradually the red glare faded from his brain, his heart slowed back into a normal rhythm. He felt depressed, anxious. Nathan was taking a long time in the shower, probably dreading facing Matt as much as Matt dreaded facing Nathan.

The door opened and Nathan came out, his hair wet, combed back. He had redressed in his mud-stained clothes.

And for the life of him Matt couldn't think of a word to say. He was suddenly, abjectly grateful that Nathan was alive, in

one piece. The intensity of his feelings overwhelmed him for a moment.

But his silence seemed to confirm something for Nathan whose face grew stiffer and more closed. «I appreciate what you did tonight, but I'm fine. I should be going.»

«Drink this,» Matt said, and pushed a whisky into his hand.

Nathan hesitated, then he drank. He seemed to avoid looking at Matt-looking everywhere but at Matt. He drained his glass, spotted Rachel's photograph on the piano, and picked it up, studying it.

«This is her? Rachel?»

Matt nodded. He felt protective of Rachel's picture, prepared for Nathan to say something cruel about her although Nathan had never shown any sign of cruelty. He looked up from Rachel's smile and said, «She looks like she laughed a lot.»

Matt's eyes stung. He said, «Yeah. We laughed a lot.» He took the photo from Nathan,-careful not to look like he didn't trust Nathan with it-studying it. Rachel's photographed face-more glamorous than she'd ever looked in real life– smiled back at him, her eyes shining with love and trust. He looked at Nathan, who was watching him.

He tried to imagine what Rachel would make of this, what she would make of Nathan. Rachel was kind and intuitive; he thought she would have been frightened for Nathan too-and frightened for Matt.

Nathan put his whisky glass down, walking around Matt's living room, as though he were too restless to sit-or

expected to be invited to leave shortly. He didn't look at Matt. Matt could have not been there at all.

Matt watched him, telling himself to tread softly, but the words came out harshly anyway. «You know you could be arrested. You keep on the way you're going you will be.»

Nathan had paused at the window staring through yellow frilled curtains at the garden fenced in white pickets. He nodded, not seeming to notice Matt's aggressive stance.

«If you're not killed first.»

At the frustration in Matt's voice, he looked over.

«I know.»

«Then why? Why are you taking such a chance? You're not stupid. Why are you risking … everything?»

Nathan's face changed. Came back to life. «Because I'm not like you! I can't live my life like a goddamn priest. I need … something even if I can't have someone.» He began to cry. It was painful to watch, painful to hear, Nathan fighting it every step of the way, and sobs tearing out of his chest anyway.

«Don't,» Matt said. He pulled Nathan into his arms, roughly, overcoming his resistance, holding him fiercely. He could feel sobs wracking the thin, hard body, and he kissed his neck, his ear, his hair, any part of him he could find-a tear-streaked cheek, the corner of a wet eye, his trembling mouth. «Don't, Nathan. I love you. Don't cry.»

He was shocked to hear his own words, but hearing them he knew them for the truth. He loved Nathan. It didn't make sense, but it was true. From the first moment he'd laid eyes on him.

All the fight went out of Nathan. He went still, then he shook his head, wiped his face on Matt's shoulder, tried to pull away. «No. Don't.» He made another attempt to mop his face on his arm. «Don't.» He sounded a little calmer.

«It's the truth. I do love you. I can't … bear this. That's God's truth.»

«I can't bear it either,» Nathan said tiredly. «Let's forget it.»

He put Nathan into his bed and lay down with him, wrapping his arms around him and pressing his face against the back of Nathan's head, feeling the softness of his hair against his face. It smelled sweet, like summer, like grass, like Nathan.

Nathan lay unmoving, waiting for something-for Matt to fall asleep perhaps-but then he began to relax … muscle by muscle, nerve by nerve, losing the battle-whatever battle this was-sliding without a word into a deep exhausted sleep.

Matt held him, cradled him, and tried to think what the hell they were going to do.

He woke to the feeling of Nathan's taut ass pressing back against his groin. His cock stirred and filled, and he opened his eyes. The room was hushed and hazy with the dawn's early light, Nathan's skin was smooth and brown, the nape of his neck looked vulnerable and boyish, the glint of silver chain against his skin, and the pale hair. Nathan pushed back against him, and Matt's dick slid along the crevice between his firm buttocks. «You can't want this … after last night.»

«I need it. Need it more than ever now-and I always need it.» He added, not in apology exactly, but helplessly, «It makes me feel connected. It makes me feel … alive.»

«And it doesn't matter who or how?»

Nathan's head turned, he heaved himself, facing Matt. «It matters. Of course it does. I want it to be with someone I love. With you, Mathew. But if I can't have that, I still have to have it.» He met Matt's eyes. «It's a sickness, I know. I wish I could be strong like you and just not need it, but I do.» He turned back on his side and pushed himself against Matt's rigid cock, humping back in delicate invitation, weak and wanton. «Please, Mathew,» he whispered. «Please.»

…someone I love. With you, Mathew…

Matt said, «I-haven't done this before.»

And Nathan froze, stopped those tiny urgent movements that were making Matt crazy, rolled over and sat up.

In other circumstances Matt might have laughed at his wide-eyed expression. «No? But I thought…»

«Not this.»

«But you want to?»

Matt didn't have to think-he'd already had too much time to think.

He nodded, and surprised relief flooded Nathan's face. «Yeah? Sure?»

«I'm sure already,» Matt growled.

Nathan grinned. «I was afraid-« He bit off the rest of it. «Do you have some kind of lotion? Or oil?»

«Petroleum jelly in the bathroom. Lie still,» Matt said. He rose, went into the bathroom, and found the jar. Carrying it back into the bedroom, he swallowed hard at the sight of Nathan lying on his belly, brown and relaxed in the sheets.

Matt sat down on the bed, opened the nightstand drawer and looked at the little wooden box containing his condoms.

Nathan turned his head on his arms and watched him. «It feels good,» he said. «You'll see.»

Matt nodded.

«You're not betraying anyone. It won't … take anything away from her.»

Matt smiled faintly. «I know. Now you're thinking too much about it.» He unscrewed the lid of the petroleum jelly, handing it to Nathan's reaching hand, watching-unable not to watch-as Nathan scooped a glob of glistening jelly and reached behind himself. Nathan closed his eyes as though even this was somehow pleasurable, and Matt reached for the box of condoms.

«How do you want me?» Nathan asked, and Matt caught his breath on an unsteady laugh.

«Let's do this,» Nathan said after a moment, and he sat up, getting on his hands and knees while Matt readied himself. Nathan waited for him, his body relaxed and beautiful as he watched Matt slip the condom on.

He got behind Nathan, the bed dipping beneath his knees, and his cock was huge as he positioned himself. He took himself in hand, and guided himself at the rosebud center of Nathan's ass, prepared for resistance and pain-his own and Nathan's. And there was a moment of resistance, and Nathan breathed, «Yes, please…. Matt….»

Matt pushed, felt that ring of muscle give, and then he was enveloped in dark heat-a black velvet kiss.

Nathan moaned. «Oh, Jesus, Mathew.» He sounded broken. Matt held very still, and Nathan gasped, «Don't stop. Please….»

Matt thrust once. Felt Nathan's body clench around him– and he began to understand why, once experienced, it might be hard to forget this, why it might even be worth the risk. Was it as sweet on the receiving end? He couldn't tell, Nathan was breathing unevenly, pushing back against him, making that little keening sound.

«Is this what you want?» he asked.

Nathan whispered, «I want you to fuck me, Mathew. I need you to.»

And Matt let go, beginning to move inside Nathan, slowly, then faster, lancing in and out, swift and slick, Nathan rocking back against him, begging him for more, urging him to fuck him harder, to take him, to make him feel it in his belly, his chest-naked, shocking, broken phrases that excited Matt more, allowing him to shake off his inhibitions, his fears. He thrust hard, and he enjoyed the roughness of it, the sweet slap of skin on skin, knees brushing knees, thighs against thighs.

He remembered the first time he'd watched Nathan, and he reached beneath his taut abdomen, finding Nathan's rigid cock-Nathan whimpered in a kind of relief-and Matt worked him while he pounded frantically against him.

Nathan came first, biting off a cry as hot sticky wetness filled Matt's hand-for a moment it was like he was bringing himself off, he felt Nathan's release as keenly as though it

were rippling through his own body-and then exquisite relief was surging through his own body….

He felt tears fill his eyes. He closed his lashes against them, but maybe Nathan heard something in his breathing. He said, troubled, «Are you sorry, Mathew? Do you regret it?»

Matt moved his head negatively against the muscled warmth of Nathan's back.

Nathan kept trying to reassure him. «It doesn't have to mean anything. Not to you. You can forget it, if you'd rather.»

Matt listened to Nathan's heartbeat, fast and light like a deer flashing through sunshine and shadow. «Listen, Nathan…»

Nathan was silent, but Matt could feel the immediate tension down his spine.

«I loved Rachel with all my heart. You're right, nothing changes that. But-I never wanted her the way I want you.»

Nathan slid out from under him, rolled over. His face was different, grave but sort of lit from within in a way that gave Matt a funny pain in his chest.

«Though I don't know what the hell we're going to do,» he admitted.

Nathan slipped an arm around him, lowered his head to Matt's chest. «Maybe the Japs will solve it for us. Maybe they'll drop a bomb on us.»

Matt raised his head. Nathan's eyes were closed.

«Don't,» he said.

«No? Sorry.»

«It should make a difference, Nathan.»

Nathan opened his eyes. «It makes all the difference in the world. I mean that.» His smile was self-mocking. «It's a long time since I've had anything to lose. I guess I'm scared.»

Matt bent his head and found Nathan's mouth. He tasted sweet and sleepy. «Me too,» he said. «But I don't regret it.»