Текст книги "Because of The Brave"

Автор книги: ZA Maxfield

Соавторы: Laura Baumbach,Josh lanyon
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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 10 страниц)

Shelley focused her eyes on him. “Are you shocked by my nudipants?”

Peter blinked. “Yes.”

She gave a thin chuckle. “Robin doesn’t mind.”

Peter looked up at Robin, who shrugged.

“I can’t seem to interest him.” Shelley sighed, and Peter didn’t know whether she was joking or not.

“How could I ever be worthy of you,” Robin teased gently.

“I see where your interest lies.” Shelley squeezed Robin’s hand, then Peter’s.

“Mom—”

“My deathbed scene. I direct.” His mother took a deep breath and Peter looked up at Robin, who frowned and shrugged again as though he didn’t know what Shelley was up to. “When the hell are you planning to tell me?” Shelley looked him straight in the eye.

“I—”

“I’m your mother, Petey. I counted your toes…your eyelashes…watched you all the time.”

“Shelley,” Robin interrupted. “Breathe through your nose, please.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Shelley complied for a minute. “I haven’t just looked, Petey. I’ve seen.”

Peter gripped her hand tighter. “I don’t understand.”

“I know exactly who you are.”

She implored him to comprehend with her eyes, and he wanted to look away but couldn’t. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” She squeezed his hand painfully. It took her a minute to catch her breath. “I’m not sorry one bit….Love you.”

This caused her to cough, and Peter could see it hurt and she tried to avoid the pain. Robin lifted her carefully to sitting and rubbed her back until she was breathing normally—for her—again.

Without any warning, the dam burst and Peter was sucker punched by emotions he’d held in check for almost thirty years. His chest constricted so painfully he felt crushed, as if a colossal python wrapped around his rib cage just at the level of his heart and squeezed him until he was gasping. He tried to breathe, but huffed out a sob instead and doubled over until his forehead hit his mother’s hipbone. She grimaced in pain and he murmured his apologies over and over until he couldn’t remember what he was apologizing for. At some point he felt her hand in his hair.

“You don’t need to cry, Petey,” she said in a soft voice. “I wish you wouldn’t.”

“I want to be like Dad.” He sounded about five to his own ears and was powerless to do anything about it.

“You’re just like your dad.” She was still patting his head, raking her thin fingers softly through his hair and he thought he’d die from it. “Who says you’re not?”

Peter found he couldn’t say anything further so he stayed where he was. The soothing touch of his mother’s fingers—at once so familiar and so painfully awkward—moved over his scalp. It seemed a very long time before the fingers relaxed and slowed, and his mother’s labored breathing became even again. Her shoulders continued to heave with each rise and fall of her chest as though it was a terrible weight to lift. Her mouth hung open and she emitted a snore.

“It will be a while before she wakes up again,” Robin whispered.

“She’s not just going to…”

“I don’t think so, Peter, but no one could really say for sure.” Robin pumped hand sanitizer onto his hands and offered the bottle to Peter.

“Thanks.” It burned on some cuts he’d gotten while working on the car and he enjoyed the painful distraction in a way he didn’t think Robin would understand. He held his hands at his sides, waiting for them to dry, waiting for someone to tell him what was next. His meltdown left him mentally and physically drained.

Robin’s eyes were shadowed with fatigue. “You can rest now.”

Peter started out the door, then turned back. “Robin, what do you think she meant, I know exactly who you are…?”

“What do you think?”

When Peter got to his room he pulled off his jeans and T-shirt and walked to the open window to smoke. After a while Robin walked by under the eaves, taking a white plastic trashbag to the bins. As he came back he looked up as though he felt Peter’s eyes on him. Robin stopped where he was and then called out softly, “Can I come up?”

Peter felt a hum in his body when he answered, “Sure.”

It wasn’t long before he heard Robin’s careful footsteps on the stairs. When he knocked, Peter answered the door in his boxers. Robin came in carrying two bottles of water and a handful of cookies. Wordlessly, he followed him to the window.

“Here.” He handed Peter a cookie and a water. He pulled the receiver of a baby monitor out of his deep pocket and placed it on the sill next to the ashtray.

“You don’t have any other people besides my mom?”

Robin shook his head and bit into a cookie. “I came to Hopewald with your mother. I’m just here for her.”

Peter bit into his cookie. “How did you find each other?”

“Originally? My sister was assigned to her care by a service she works for. One day she was supposed to work and her son broke his arm. Your mother was getting chemo then and she was very ill. She needed someone to take her home from the hospital and stay with her while the worst of it passed. I just went there for an hour, as an emergency measure. We hit it off.”

“She adopted you.” Peter was aware that his voice still held a faint trace of the bitterness he’d felt when they first met.

“That’s right,” Robin replied honestly.

Peter leaned his head against the window frame. “I wish….”

Robin put an arm around his shoulders. “Did you not hear her say she loves you?”

“Yes.”

“We both need to rest now.”

“What if—”

“We’ll be listening,” Robin picked up the baby monitor. “You want another cookie?”

“No thanks.” Peter brought his water to the nightstand. He realized Robin was being pretty magnanimous in the face of his rejection the night before. “Thank you.”

Robin pulled him into bed. “You’re welcome.” He pulled Peter in close. “I’m so tired. Don’t be touching my manly bits; I need my sleep.”

Peter snorted against Robin’s dark skin and closed his eyes. He noticed the rhythmic bellows sound of his mother’s oxygen machine over the baby monitor, and soon enough Robin’s breathing was deep and even, almost as though he were keeping time. Peter took longer to fall asleep, but once he did it was a fathomless, deep, and dreamless sleep that felt like sinking to the bottom of the sea.

Peter heard his mother call him, Petey. He pulled the sheet and blanket from his body, letting his feet hit the floor before he realized he was at Aunt Lyndee’s house sharing his bed with his mother’s CNA.

A hand reached out for his. “What is it?” Robin asked.

“I heard my mother calling me. Didn’t you hear it? She said, ‘Petey’.”

“I didn’t hear anything.” Robin got out of the bed and padded to the door while Peter pulled on his jeans, “But it’s warmer sleeping with you and maybe I sleep deeper.”

They entered Shelley’s room to find her sleeping, if not comfortably, as peacefully as she could.

“It was so real; I heard it.”

“I’m sure you thought you did. Maybe it was a dream.”

Peter shook his head. “I don’t know. I haven’t been sleeping well. All I need now is auditory hallucinations on top of everything.”

“This is going to be hard, yeah? Still thinking about bolting?”

Peter eyed his mom. “I’m here.”

“I have faith in you. Shelley does too.”

“She looks more peaceful, what do you think.” They leaned forward together and peered at her.

“I can usually tell from the area between her brows.” Robin showed him what he meant without touching her. “When she’s in pain she frowns, and her brows come together in a knot right there.”

Peter pressed his head into Robin’s shoulder. “You’ve really made a study.”

“I told you; I love her. My mother and I weren’t close. There were thirteen children and I was dead last.”

“What?”

“I know, don’t look at me like that.” Robin pressed his lips together and looked away. “I was raised mostly by my sisters. By the time I was five my mother had passed away.”

“When you said you weren’t able to do this for your mother I just thought you meant—”

“I probably wouldn’t have been able to do it anyway. It’s hard to lose your mother. I was only five, but it felt like the world came to an end.” Robin pressed his lips to Peter’s forehead. “It still does.”

Peter closed his eyes. “What were you like at five?”

“I wanted to play football for Village United.”

“I wanted to pitch for the Twins.” Peter clasped Robin’s hand.

Robin adjusted Shelley’s covers again, minutely twitching them over her inert form. “I think she’s fine. Come back with me and get some rest. We’ll hear if she needs us.”

“In a minute,” Peter told him, and watched him walk out the door.

Peter sat at his mother’s bedside and clasped her hand in both of his. “I know you wanted to direct this scene. But there’s some things I have to say, and if I don’t say them now, I don’t know when I will…”

When Peter woke he heard Robin whispering something to his aunt Lyndee. He tried to remember where he was and realized he was still sitting at his mother’s bedside, holding her hand. Something teased at him, something not quite right, and he realized a second later that despite the machine his mother was no longer breathing.

At first he squeezed his eyes shut and then his whole body went cold. He looked up at Robin, who reached out to caress his shoulder with a gentle hand, and the truth broke over him that his mother was gone.

Robin met his eyes. He looked crushed. “I’m so sorry Peter.”

Without thinking Peter rose to his feet and pushed into Robin’s arms, allowing the taller man to enfold him in a comforting embrace. He wrapped his arms around Robin’s neck, saying nothing. He soaked up Robin’s compassion and the warmth of his body, leaning into his solid presence and felt nothing at all.

“Petey,” Lyndee broke into the silence. “It’s going to be all right, hon.”

Peter broke from Robin’s embrace long enough to include Lyndee in it. She was crying openly and he didn’t know what to say to her either. He was numb. He looked at his aunt with eyes he knew were blank.

“What happens now?”

Lyndee pulled a tissue from her pocket and wiped her eyes. “I’ll make a call and the funeral home will pick up her… Someone will come and take her.”

Peter tried to digest this information.

“I’ll wait here with her,” Robin told him. “You can go rest if you need to.”

Peter stepped closer to his mother. “I think…” He put his hand through some of her short silver hair so it would lie flat across the top of her head. “I’ll stay here.”

Lyndee looked at him with eyes that were older, he thought, than the ones with which she’d looked at him the night before. “I’ll be back when they come.”

“Why do you suppose it is” Peter asked Robin, “that I didn’t touch my mom for maybe twenty years, and now I can’t seem to stop?”

Robin took Peter’s hand in his and tugged him to the wall, where he sat on the floor and pulled Peter in to sit between his outstretched legs. “I don’t know.”

Peter pulled his knees up almost to his chin and wrapped his arms around them. He didn’t realize he was cold until Robin’s warmth surrounded him again. Robin’s head came down until his chin rested on Peter’s shoulder, and Peter pressed his face into Robin’s cheek.

“Okay?” Robin asked.

Peter nodded. “I’m supposed to feel something. Am I supposed to feel something?”

Robin shrugged.

Peter whispered. “What do you feel?”

“I feel…” Robin frowned. “I feel like I need a beer and I hate myself for it…”

Peter snorted.

It was probably a factor of the shock Peter was in that when Finley’s Funeral Home came to pick up his mother in the form of Lars Finley, Sr. and Lars Finley, Jr. with whom he’d gone to high school, he stayed in Robin’s arms and watched them. Lars Finley the younger was the biggest SOB he’d ever met. One of the boys who’d tormented him as a kid. Peter never knew if it was because Lars had been jealous of his athletic ability or because of he was half Asian or whether the little fucker was just plain crazy, but on more than one occasion they’d come to blows.

He had to hand it to the Finley’s though; they were professionals and treated his mother with the exacting care he knew she deserved. They placed a blanket over her inert form for the sake of propriety, carefully wrapping it around her so that she was never exposed, then slid something they called a clamshell, a two piece sort of stretcher, underneath her from both sides, fitting the pieces together like a puzzle. They covered her with a beautiful hand made quilt and buckled her in.

Robin rose and helped Peter to his feet and they followed her down the stairs and out into the yard.

Peter shook Lars the elder’s hand. “Thank you. You were very…”

Lars tilted his head as if he was studying something. “Of course,” he murmured. “We love your mother around here. She’ll be missed.”

“Thank you.”

Peter saw they were heading for an unfamiliar vehicle. “Dodge Caravan?

The old man shrugged. “Not as romantic as a hearse.”

Lars the younger was ready to leave. “Come on Dad!” he barked.

Peter frowned and watched as they carefully lifted the gurney into the back of the minivan and drove off. He didn’t think anything of it at all until he realized that he’d been holding Robin’s hand the entire time.

Buzzy’s wasn’t even starting to get busy by the time Peter finally made it there with Robin. The late afternoon sun slanted over the roof of the building as Peter parked the Road Runner. He still felt numb.

It dawned on him that nothing really held him to this town. His parents were gone; his aunt wasn’t going to hold it against him if he didn’t visit much, if ever. He could invite her to visit him, and she would, if she could find a way to leave her business.

Peter looked at Hadleyville with very different eyes. Robin had been his shadow for most of the day, silent and cool. He’d said very little. Peter hadn’t talked much either, for that matter. He’d welcomed the quiet strength of the man he knew felt as bad, or worse, than he did.

Robin had lost his best friend, and his home and his job. They’d each had a chance to rest, separately, having no good excuse to return to Peter’s bedroom together in the middle of the day.

When they entered the bar, the familiar dark space felt like a welcome relief. Peter ordered three fingers of bourbon and a beer, and Robin said he’d have the

same. They shot their bourbon at the bar and headed for a pool table. Robin fished in his pocket for change and set them up.

It took Peter a minute to realize that Robin was talking to him.

“I said you break, soldier man, and prepare to lose.”

Robin’s eyes said his heart wasn’t in it. Peter did as he was instructed anyway. Everything was going to seem strange to him for some time. Robin’s quiet, caring presence was reassuring. If Peter wanted to know what to do next, he only had to ask. He gave Robin a shy smile, feeling new at everything.

They played until it got dark and the regulars began to crowd the bar. He’d had several more beers over that time and two more shots. He was far from reeling drunk, but he was altered. He felt wrapped in a thick fog instead of the ice-cold shock he’d been drenched in since that morning.

A group of men and two women came into the bar. One of them was Lars Finley Jr. Peter looked up and smiled, remembering how he and his father had taken Shelley’s body and the caring way they’d allowed her some dignity in death.

Lars looked away and said something to one of the women that made her laugh. Peter turned back to the pool table and made his shot. But he scratched on the next because something in his blood hummed with adrenaline as the undercurrent of laughter in the corner of the bar where Lars stood turned mocking.

Robin frowned at him. “Concentrate, soldier man, or you’re going to owe me a month’s pay.”

Peter shook off his mood, and watched as Robin neatly cleared the table. As he went to rack them up again, Peter distinctly heard Lars’s voice behind him say, “Our turn to play boys, why don’t you just take that money to the jukebox and dance for a while.”

Peter looked behind him and saw another free table. “There’s a table over there.”

“But we like this one,” Lars taunted. “Don’t we.”

Others agreed, but only hesitantly. Peter’s gut didn’t read a mob, just one determined asshole.

“Okay,” Robin put down the cue ball. “You may take it with my compliments.” He made his way to the other table with his pool cue and waited for Peter to join him. Peter shot Lars a glance that should have told him he was getting off easy, but the man either missed the signs or chose to ignore them. When they’d put in their money and started racking up the second pool table, Lars and his girlfriend drifted over to the new one, looking for trouble.

“Say Petey,” Lars drawled. “My girl Susie would like to play a round with you.” To Robin he said, “You don’t mind do you? She’s doesn’t play too well but she thinks she can beat little Petey there.”

Robin’s eyebrows rose. “You’re joking.”

“He’s not,” Peter said. All his senses had gone on high alert when Lars had followed them to the second table. “And suddenly I feel like maybe I should be….”

“Going somewhere?” another man came up from behind him.

“Don’t do this,” Robin commanded but no one paid attention to him.

They were all focused on Peter, who felt small and young again, briefly, until he heard Robin tell him, “Do what you gotta do, soldier man. I’m here if you need me.”

“Aw, shit,” Peter said when Lars threw the first punch. He sidestepped it neatly and shoved a couple of others back, brandishing his pool cue like a weapon. At that point Peter didn’t think most of the crowd wanted it any more than he did. He grabbed Robin by the arm and they headed for the door, throwing the cue and an apologetic look at Tim who stood behind the bar. Peter saw Tim frown and pick up the phone when Lars started to follow them out the door.

They made a dash for his mom’s car but a beer bottle smashed against the driver’s side fender and broke into a million pieces. Both Peter and Robin froze in shock as it showered his mother’s pride and joy with foamy jets of beer.

Robin was the first to whirl around, his face a mask of rage. “Oh no! You did not just defile my Shelley’s car, asshole!”

Peter threw a hand out to keep Robin from advancing. “I’ve got this babe.”

Robin seethed. “Did you see what that bastard did? It’s like he came on it. It looks like—”

“I’ve got it, Robin,” Peter told him, feeling better than he had since he’d come home. He was probably smiling and he could tell that Lars was confused.

Lars stood under the security light by Buzzy’s front door with his arms folded, grinning back. “What’re you going to do about it Hsu?”

“I’m going to kick your fucking ass,” Peter advanced until he was chest to chest with him. He waited for Lars to throw another punch. Why was it taking such a long damned time? “Then I’m going to run you over with my mom’s car a couple of times before I wash it so I don’t have to wash it twice. And if there’s even one fucking scratch on it? You’ll wish you and she could trade places as much as I do right now.”

“You wish, you fucking pussy!” Lars jeered.

“The mouth on that girl,” Robin muttered.

“You have the coolest accent,” Peter gushed. He heard sirens in the distance “You!” He pointed at Lars, “Are damned lucky Tim called the police.”

“Like you’re any kind of threat to me, you half-chink faggot.”

Robin sighed. “He went there.”

“He did.” Peter shrugged.

The police were pulling into the parking lot when Lars shouted, “Your mom married a chink and you’re a fucking faggot, it’s a good thing she died so she didn’t have to see what’s become of her baby, the boy named—”

In that split second Robin jumped back out of the way and Peter pulled his fist back.

“How do you DO!” he shouted, and clocked Lars with such force it knocked both him and his girlfriend back off their feet.

The skin split on Peter’s knuckles when it made its satisfying contact with Lars’s teeth, some of which seemed to push in toward his throat, and blood spattered everywhere except, Peter was gratified to note, onto his mother’s car.

As his father’s best friend, Chuck Strachlan handed him into the back of the patrol car Peter called out, “Don’t let the beer dry on Mom’s car.”

Robin waved. “I’ll clean it up.”

Lars remained unconscious while Robin grudgingly performed minor first aid on him. Peter was forced to sit cuffed until the police sorted the whole mess out. Susie wept silently, subdued by the way Chuck barked at her to remain seated where she’d fallen on the ground.

Few, if any, people blamed Peter for his outburst. Most were fully prepared to state that Lars was begging for it. In an unprecedented act of charity Chuck came over and uncuffed him, hauling his ass back out of the patrol car. He shoved Peter up against the rear fender and stood back, folding his arms as though he were preparing to deliver a lecture.

“I’m surprised at you, son.”

Peter looked at the ground. “What for?”

“You honestly have to ask?”

Peter frowned up at him. “I’m sure you’ve seen a homosexual before, Chuck.”

Chuck’s eyes twinkled. “It so happens that is not what I want to talk to you about.”

Peter began to breathe again. “What?”

“Did I or did I not teach you to wait until the other guy throws the first punch?” Chuck glared at him.

Peter broke into a small smile. “Prick was all talk.”

“Your aunt Lyndee’s on her way with the truck.” When Peter would have argued, he held up his hands. “You are not driving anywhere tonight. I’ll see to your mom’s car. I’ll be happy to clean her up, if only so I can drive her.”

Peter swallowed hard, realizing that the car now belonged to him. “My mom…she—”

“I know son.” Chuck pulled him into a rough hug. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” Peter allowed himself to accept the comfort of Chuck’s embrace.

“You go home, and don’t let me catch you fighting again.”

“No sir,” Peter said dutifully.

Robin came up to stand on his left. Having rendered as much aid as he could to the obnoxious Lars, he’d gladly handed him over when the ambulance arrived.

“Lyndee’s coming to get us,” Peter told him.

“I thought they were going to throw the book at you for a minute.”

“Love the way you talk.” That accent continued to weave its spell. “I tot they were going to trow de book…”

A wide smile cracked Robin’s face. “You’re the one with the accent, soldier boy.”

Lyndee pulled up a few minutes later, saying nothing but opening the passenger door with a glance that told them everything they needed to know. “Got that little Lars fuck, did you? ’Bout time.”

“Do you think,” Peter began, at the same time Robin spoke.

“There’s something I need at—”

Peter took control of the situation. “You need to drop us off at Mom’s place, Lyndee, that way we’ll be within walking distance to go get the car in the morning.” He was pleased he’d thought of such a great excuse.

“That’s odd, I was just going to suggest the very same thing.” Lyndee turned left at the stop sign that would bring her to her sister’s home. “I’m sure you’ll want to go over paperwork for the next few days as you sort things out.”

“That’s a very good idea, Aunt Lyndee, I’m glad you thought of it.” Peter tried to keep from smiling. The alcohol, and now the fade from his adrenaline rush were conspiring against him behaving normally.

Lyndee pursed her lips and her eyes said she wasn’t fooled one single bit.

“Have a nice time,” she said tartly as they got out. “With the paperwork.”

Instead of running to the back door of his mother’s house as he had the last time he’d been there, Peter stood in the yard after Lyndee’s tail lights winked away into the darkness down the street. He felt Robin’s eyes on him first, then his hands, as he stared at the front door. The porch light was unlit and it looked cold and empty. Exactly as his mother had when the light had finally gone out of her eyes.

”I have a key,” Robin offered.

“So do I.” Peter didn’t move.

Robin remained silent.

“It’s harder than I thought.” Peter shook off Robin’s hands and dug in his pocket. Without saying anything further he walked up the porch steps and opened the door.

“It’s never going to be the same.” Robin followed him and they both hesitated. “But it’s all right, you know. She’d say it was all right.”

“I know.” He sagged back against Robin. “I just miss her. It’s not like I saw her much, but we talked all the time, and—”

“I miss her too.”

Robin took Peter’s keys and opened the door. The house was dark and cool inside. Peter thought he could light every light and turn on the heater, even build a fire in the fireplace and it would still feel cold to him. Peter turned on a light.

“Maybe this wasn’t a good—”

“I want to feel something.” Peter put his hands on Robin’s shoulders, pulling him close. “You can make me feel warm again.”

Robin put his arms around Peter, cradling him in an embrace meant more to comfort than arouse. “Come with me.”

Robin pulled him toward the living room, tugging his hand until they came to the light colored leather couch. Peter didn’t let go of Robin’s hand, instead, he went toward him, pushing him down until Robin was lying down and Peter was stretched out on the long, strong length of him.

He couldn’t keep himself from running his hands over Robin’s shoulders and his arms. “Little adrenaline thing here.” He gave Robin’s lips a lick. “I just—”

“Same here.” Robin cupped Peter’s ass.

“It feels wrong though, and I—”

“Shh.” Robin nudged Peter’s face with his chin. “Make me happy, sunshine, I’ve had a crappy day.”

Peter rose to his knees and pulled his shirt off over his head. “Okay.” He pulled up Robin’s shirt and laid a flat tongue against his nipple, swiping the area and raising the flesh there. He felt it pucker in his mouth and savored the man’s hissed response, pulling at Robin’s jeans until the button was open and the zipper was halfway down. “Suggestions will be welcome.”

Robin grabbed his hips and pulled him down, grinding against his ass. “How about you just ride me and make me forget about everything else.”

“Get up and strip,” Peter murmured, moving to the coffee table so he could untie his shoes. “Let’s forget our names.” He felt Robin’s hand on his head for a minute before pulled off his jeans. He flexed his stiff fingers when they stumbled over the laces.

“Your hand okay?”

Peter smiled. “It’s better than Lars’s mouth.”

Robin reached out for the hand in question and brought it in for a kiss. “That was damned cool.”

“I thought so. I figured Aunt Lyndee would be bailing us out of jail tonight.”

Robin shucked off own shoes, then his clothing until he stood, naked and patiently waiting.

“Geez.” Peter barely breathed. “You are one hot fucking man, you know that?” Peter finished undressing and stood before him. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Come here. You’re going to make me nervous standing there staring.”

“Gonna get supplies.” Peter headed to the bathroom to find the condoms and lube. When he came back Robin was sitting on the couch flipping through the news channels.

“Boring you already, am I?” He straddled Robin’s lap and simply sat.

“Never.” Robin grinned up at him. “Just didn’t know what to do with my hands.”

“I’m glad you didn’t get started without me.” Peter placed a condom in one hand and the bottle of lube in the other. He stretched across Robin’s thighs and presented his ass, as though he were getting spanked. “But I think I can help with that.”

Robin ran his hands over and down Peter’s back, gently stroking and cupping the skin of his buttocks. “You’re shaking.”

“After effect of the fight.” Peter rocked and strained against him a little. “I hear getting fucked hard is a universal cure.”

Robin’s muscles bunched beneath Peter as he was lifted and deposited back on the couch in a sitting position. While Peter watched, he slipped the condom on and stroked himself to fullness.

“Far be it from me to refuse you palliative care.” Robin pulled Peter’s legs apart and positioned himself between them, his dick nudging at Peter’s puckered asshole waiting to slide in. “You need a cure? I’m your man.”

Before Robin could go any further, Peter gripped his shoulders with both hands, holding him back. “Yeah. You are my man.”

Robin held still. “What does that mean?”

“Sorry. Stupid. Go.”

“No, what did you mean by that?”

“I…” Peter chose his words carefully. “I just wanted you to know that it’s more than just an aftermath thing. Just…I like being with you. I want that.”

“Me too,” Robin leaned in for a kiss and pushed against him with his dick. “It’s more than this, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Peter let out his breath as Robin’s cock slid into his ass. He held Robin’s hips in a firm grip until he was comfortable with the invasion. He tested their bond by squeezing his muscles together and watched Robin’s face. “Not that there’s anything wrong with—”

Robin closed his eyes. “You’re going to kill me; can I fuck you now?”

“Go slow, baby,” Peter held Robin’s hips as they pulled back and whipped forward again. He groaned and smiled, catching his breath.

“Good?” Robin murmured against Peter’s lips. “Okay?”

Peter all but melted in his hands. “Yes,” he hissed as they found a rhythm together. “Yes.”

Peter’s ass perched on the edge of the couch and Robin knelt facing it, pumping in and out. If he cupped his balls, Peter could see Robin’s thick dark cock slipping in and out of him from where he was half-sitting, half-lying against the leather cushions, and it was about the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

Even as he watched, he burned up inside from the brush and touch of Robin’s cock against his prostate. “C’mere.” He drew Robin to him for a kiss.

One led to two, then more, and he wanted to be joined everywhere with the man, wanted him skin to skin. Robin must have felt it too, because without breaking the kiss he pulled Peter off the couch straddle to him on the floor. Robin surged into him, lifting them both with the force of his thrusts. In this position Peter locked his ankles behind Robin and let himself be crushed, feeling the slip and slide of his cock against Robin’s lightly furred belly.

“You good?” Robin whispered into the skin of his cheek.

Peter nodded, able only to draw in air through his mouth. He grunted with each thrust. Robin slipped his hands beneath Peter’s arms and reached up to clutch his shoulders from the back. As Robin pulled him down and thrust up into him Peter let his head fall back and soared. He was flying. He let go of Robin’s neck, let go of everything, and he knew Robin would hold onto him and keep him safe.