Cards on the Table, стр. 31
«Then let's keep it right where it is.» Sebastian reached over Peter's shoulder, turned off the water, but he kept his other arm around Peter's shoulders, holding their bodies tightly together. He pushed open the glass door of the shower and grabbed the fluffy towel from the rack. «Hey, that's warm! Did you put in heated towel racks?»
«Yes, I did. Do you like them? I wanted to spoil you a little bit. I put them in at Christmas.» The towels were hugely expensive, Egyptian cotton in a lovely deep rose color, and nothing had ever felt softer or warmer to Peter than that towel in Sebastian's hands, scrubbing gently at his hair and his back, around his neck and down his chest. Sebastian rubbed it against his own cheeks, gave his hair a quick shake, slid it across his back.
«What's with this hair?» Peter put his fingers in Sebastian's shaggy black hair, watched as the layers fell perfectly back down to his shoulders and into his eyes. «Don't even try and tell me you cut this yourself with the dog scissors.»
Sebastian laughed. «I was taking some of the yearlings into Fairbanks and I got a haircut while I was there.» He leaned down, kissed Peter next to his mouth. «Maybe I wanted to come see you. I wanted to look hot, thought I'd impress you a bit.» «I'm impressed!» «Good.» Sebastian kissed him some more. «Why were you taking the dogs to Fairbanks? Were they sick?»
«No, I sold them. I was meeting a buyer, I guy I knew from the Yukon Quest who was building up his stable. Are you gonna stop talking now?»
Peter didn't have a chance to reply, because Sebastian kissed him again, on the lips this time, kissed him like he meant business and no more fooling around. The temperature went up a few degrees, Sebastian's hands digging into his shoulders, tongue moving urgently into his mouth, his cock rising sure as the sun against Peter's belly. «I lied. I want you awake for this part.» * * * * *
Sebastian was physically strong the way very few men were anymore – strong like men who chopped their own wood, wrestled sled dogs across a thousand miles of frozen Yukon wilderness, hunted and packed a moose, butchered it for meat. His hands were rough, hard with callus, and Peter felt his knuckles. «No broken bones this year, Sebastian?»
Sebastian closed his hands into fists, opened them again. «I don't think so, but they feel a little stiffer than they used to, Peter.» He reached down and wrapped his fingers around Peter's cock, lying hard and dark against his belly. «Some things are stiffer in the morning, some things aren't.»
«Maybe there's something going around. I've noticed that, too. But you seem to be having your usual effect on me, Sebastian.»
Sebastian was a man of few words, thought action was always preferable to chatter. He bent his head over Peter's cock, wet, warm lips on the head, then Sebastian's mouth was sinking on him, sucking him in, the cut ends of his hair sliding across Peter's stomach. A slow tongue, a slow suck, hard hands, and then Peter could smell it, the familiar spicy warm scent of Sebastian making love, the way he smelled in warm, dark places. It felt like a hook and jerk in his belly, Sebastian throwing a line in the water and catching him, loving him, controlling him, and Peter gave in to him, of course, like he always did, loving the helplessness, because it was Sebastian. «Now, Peter. Give it to me now.»
And he did, coming on great crashing waves of yearning and pleasure, jerking and bucking against Sebastian's mouth, of course he did what Sebastian told him to do. He always had. * * * * * «Roll over.»
«I can't, Sebastian. I'm too tired.» His eyes were closed, and he was floating in a dreamy, cool cloud, his muscles as limp as vanilla pudding. He didn't want to move. Arms thrown above his head, legs splayed out, he was warm and tired and safe and satisfied.
Sebastian fell on him, nuzzled in his neck with a growl. «Fine. I'll take care of it. Just lay still.»
And so Peter lay still, happiness bubbling up in his throat like laughter, while Sebastian crawled across him, kissed his long throat, kissed his mouth, tongue sliding between his lips, and Sebastian raised his hips up a little, thrust against him like they were fucking, cocks dancing with each other, Oh God, Peter, please… Then he was coming, groans as dark and rich as the moonlight on his black hair, and Peter reached a lazy hand up to his ass, to hold
him in place so he wouldn't roll over and move away. Sebastian collapsed against him, head on his shoulder. «Jesus, Peter. Sometimes I think…» «You think what?»
«I think you've got my soul in your kitchen somewhere, a little jar in the spice cabinet, next to the candied ginger. I can only go so far away from you, only for so long, before I have to come back and let you fill me up again.»
«Why do you need to leave in the first place, Sebastian? You keep coming back, but for how long this time? Sometimes I wonder what I'm doing to drive you away. It's like you're just waiting for me to cut you loose.» «Yeah, right. Like you're waiting for hell to freeze over.»
Chapter Four
Peter woke with a snatch of remembered music fading from his mind. What had he heard? It was early, and the heft of the body by his side told him immediately that it was Sebastian's forearm draped across his belly. He scooted back until their bodies were spooned together, and Sebastian's warmth, the smell of him sleeping, began to lull him back to sleep.
Then the sound of a door opening, a high-pitched shout, cut off in mid yell, the thump of a body hitting the floor and footsteps pounding down the stairs. Peter was up and into a pair of boxers in seconds. Sebastian was awake, too, pulling off the down quilt. «Peter, where's my shotgun?» «The top of the closet.» «Slow down! Will you just slow down? Wait, let me get the gun first.»
«Somebody could be hurt, Sebastian!» Peter jerked open his door and ran down the hall to the guest wing. The small table that held the telephone was overturned. Mike was lying still on the carpet, but Peter could tell he was still alive. He was holding both hands up to his head, and as Peter knelt next to him, he groaned and rolled over. «Mike, what happened? Lie still. I'll call an ambulance.»
Jesse and Phillip came tumbling out of their bedroom in flannel pajama bottoms decorated with… Peter stared. What the hell? It looked like erect cocks with balls attached, flying around on fluffy white Cupid's wings. O-kay! Jesse's were purple, and Phillip's bright red.
They stared down at Mike and Peter, on their knees in the hall. Peter could hear the yip and scrabble of puppies confined to a cardboard box coming from the room behind them.
«Peter, somebody was in Jacob's room. I heard something, like someone going through the drawers…» Mike gasped, went silent, and Phillip and Jesse froze, their backs pressed against the wall. Peter could hear Sebastian's quiet tread in the hall behind him, then the unmistakable sounds of a shotgun shell being pumped into a chamber.
«Sebastian, he's hurt. I need to call an ambulance.» The rapidly swelling lump and abrasion on Mike's forehead looked like a concussion in the making. Peter could picture his liability insurance skyrocketing by the minute.
«Is anyone still in the house? I mean, anyone who isn't supposed to be?» Sebastian's voice was deeper than normal in the quiet of the hall.
«Like who?» Phillip asked, gazing frankly over every inch of Sebastian, who had not wasted time on boxers. His pubic hair still showed the unmistakable signs of dried semen.
«Like the bad guy,» he explained, patiently. «Do I hear those puppies in your room?» «Uh…»
«Mike heard someone in Jacob's room,» Peter reported. «He came out to investigate, and he got hit on the head. Where did the man go, Mike?» «Down the stairs.»
Sebastian turned and ran down the staircase, the shotgun up and ready for action. Mike sat up, and Phillip and Jesse turned around and watched Sebastian. Phillip nudged Jesse with an elbow. «Athabascan, baby!» His whisper wasn't quiet enough, and he turned around and glanced at Peter. «Sorry, Peter, it's just that, you know…»