Faith and Fidelity (30 page)

By the time they took the few steps that separated them, Matt's tongue was delving deeply into James's mouth. The swell of lust and hormones obliterated everything in his mind, every thought, every fear. Every sweep of James's lips, every movement of his strong confident hands moving with rough precision over his body sent Matt's brain into overdrive. They pushed together, moving slowly, a steady grind.

James didn't relinquish Matt's mouth but managed to get them both lowered onto the bed. It wasn't graceful, but it got them where they wanted to be. Finally. The (still) strange feeling of having another man's body (not Evan's, but he wasn't going to think about that) pressed intimately against his shocked Matt into a moment of stillness, but it was quickly obliterated by a slow roll of James's hips against his own. Matt felt his brain flicker into a hazy paradise while his body ignited.

Perfect.

They took a few minutes... hours... eternities... to grind lazily against one another, each shift of hips heightening the moment. The anticipation. Their eyes locked. Feeling singed, Matt managed to keep his eyes open for about one... two... three... rolls of James's pelvis before succumbing to the need to block out the ceiling of the hotel room.

James took the opportunity to move his mouth from Matt's jaw, a little nip... to his shoulder, a stronger bite. Matt moaned his approval. Excellent choices.

With another little... devastating... roll of his hips, James began to get more ambitious with his mouth. Sternum. Clavicle. Nipple— yeah, so good— stomach.

Unbidden, unwelcome, Evan reappeared in his mind's eye; for every move James made down Matt's body, Matt felt an echo of the other man. He tried to banish the image, but it was impossible. He felt himself growing more and more distracted. He felt James stop moving, felt him lean close to Matt's face.

“Go on... pretend I'm him. It's okay.”

His eyes flew open at the unexpected words and met James's. He searched for... something. He searched for how James was feeling. Matt faltered, overwhelmed by his unselfish gesture. Frantically his mind raced— it wasn't fair to James, he wouldn't do it— but unbidden, the ever-present thought of Evan crept into his mind's eye.

The feel of him, the taste... he missed it so much, and the very real possibility that it would never happen again pushed him over the edge.

“Let me,” he murmured against James's cheek. “Let me... ” his voice trailed off and he hoped that James would understand what he meant without forcing the words.

James nodded— thank God— without him having to say anything else. He pressed a tender kiss, chaste, against Matt's jaw and the simple act made Matt shudder. Moving carefully, James lifted up, allowing Matt to roll onto his side.

It felt strange to be able to move with common purpose without words. It made the roiling of Matt's stomach settle down, made him move his eyes from the garish bedspread where they'd ended up, moved his eyes up James's beautiful body and finally to his face. And his smile.

“It's okay.”

“I know.”

“This can be good for both of us.”

“I know.” Matt chuckled weakly. “Come here.”

Scooting down, Matt put his arms out, drawing James's body closer. Drawing James's lower body closer. He didn't avert his eyes, didn't get shy. Licked his lips, felt the tiny shudder roll through James's body—
he must be watching
, Matt thought, and that felt... hot— pressed his mouth to the tip of James's cock, and this time James's shudder was matched by one of his own.
God. So good.

A sense memory burned behind his eyes, somewhere between taste and scent; Matt's body churned with desire. Evan. He was remembering Evan. It gave him pause. It gave him a tight fist in his heart. The stroking hand in his hair was a surprise, but then again, James had done nothing but prove himself to be a veritable saint over the past few hours. Maybe he could make them both feel good. A memory relived, some shared pleasure...

After a moment's hesitation, he closed his eyes, drawing James's body closer, resuming the gentle movements of his mouth. He felt James's body tense so he ran his free hand up and down his flank, soothing him until he felt him relax.

Once the rhythm returned, Matt let his thoughts wander, back to his apartment, back to that first time. So hungry, so awkward... Matt moaned in the back of his throat, which set off a chain reaction in James. He struggled faintly for a moment, then quickly moved to lie down beside Matt, facing the opposite direction. A shot of raw lust dropped Matt's stomach three stories.

Easier to pretend, he thought wildly, easier to think about Evan. God.

He let himself go, threw himself into that abyss where he forgot about everything but how it felt to make love to someone with his heart and his mouth and his soul. The close walls of the Holiday Inn disappeared and he was back on the lumpy couch with Evan, caressing his body tenderly, listening to his muffled moans. He was touching Evan, teasing him with his mouth, moving on instinct and an ambitious need to please... Oh, but it was difficult to stay in that memory because Matt's body was being scalded by James's skilled tongue, hands restlessly searching the skin of his thighs...

Somewhere on the precipice of the memory— Evan, arched against the cushions, Evan in the shower, Evan in the basement tasting like nervous energy and love— and the here and now— palms pressing down tightly on the inside of his legs, aggressive mouth bobbing up and down, Matt's entire body arched, clenched, soared, and splintered. A second later, he felt a soft bite on his thigh, and James pulled out of his mouth, violently shuddering his own end against Matt's chest. Matt heard a name called out amid the moans and stroked James's back as he came.

He understood.

With the rest of his brain slowly returning to his skull, Matt tugged at James's arm, flopping over Matt's hip.

“Come here.”

“Bossy,” came the murmur.

Matt laughed. James turned around and dropped next to him, their shoulders touching, each quietly regaining his breath and deep in thought. The phone rang, shrilly interrupting their silence reverie. James started a bit; he obviously wasn't expecting a call.

“Go ahead,” Matt said. “It might be important.”

James nodded— obviously he was a cop who never went off duty, something that Matt understood and respected. He rolled over to snag the receiver.

“Hello?”

Matt tucked his hands behind his head, watching James's face go from concern to absolute bliss to pure pain in about ten seconds. It didn't take a brain surgeon to figure out who was on the other end of the line.

“Hey, man,” James finally spit out. “Everything okay? Is the place still standing?”

He listened to the conversation at the other end, averting his eyes from Matt's side of the bed. “Yeah? Okay, not a problem. I'll be back on Sunday morning... my flight leaves New York at nine thirty.”

There was a long silence on James's part. Matt could hear the chatter coming through the line. James still hadn't looked up so Matt scooted over until he was directly under his downcast eyes.

“You okay?” he mouthed.

James nodded, but the look he gave Matt wasn't all that convincing. After a second, Matt put his head in James's lap. That got a slight smile.

“Uh yeah. Yeah. That's fine.”

James took his free hand and stroked Matt's shoulder. It seemed to calm him down, so Matt remained still.

After a few more moments of stroking and the chatter on the other end of the phone, James said, “Yeah. I'll see you then. Right. You too.”

Sitting up, Matt grabbed the receiver and put it back in the cradle, then returned to sit hip-to-hip next to James, whose eyes were focused on the ugly floral pattern of the bedspread. He realized they hadn't even managed to pull it down.

“Everything all right?”

“Fine,” James mumbled.

“Well gee, I know I don't have a detective's shield anymore but I'm going to go ahead and call bullshit.”

James gave him a glare but it didn't last long. He broke into laughter, shaking his head. “You... you remind me of... ”

“Your roommate?”

James snickered. “You make it sound like a sitcom. Or college.”

“Did you lust after your roommate in college?”

“For about eight minutes.” He winked.

“Ho, ho!” Matt laughed. “Big man on campus.”

“Quarterback,” James sniffed.

Matt fell back on the bed. “So basically I scored really well tonight— if I was eighteen.”

James dropped down next to him, rolling to his side to face Matt. “Hey, I think you scored pretty damn well— for an old guy.”

“Fuck you. And don't think I missed the fact you changed the subject.”

James infused his words with fake awe. “God you're good.”

“Asshole.”

“A lesser man would take advantage of that line.”

Matt laughed. “Uh, still not backing down. I took my Geritol this morning and I remember I asked you a question.”

James sighed heavily, put-upon. “Okay, okay. It was my roommate. I came to New York to avoid his wedding preparations. Now he's called to tell me they're having a little prenuptial ritual— some nonsense— at the loft the night I get back. He wanted to make sure I'd be back in time.” Weary, James scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hands. “So now I get to fly three thousand miles home to make a party I'd rather cut my arm off than attend.”

Matt lay quietly, trying to think of something smart and supportive to say. In the end, he went with, “That fucking sucks.”

“No shit.”

“But you'll go back. And smile. And never say a word about how you really feel.”

“Yeah.”

“That sucks even harder, my friend.”

“Yeah.”

From deep under the cover of restless sleep, Evan began to climb into consciousness. His hearing picked up a gaggle of young voices— the kids were back— and some adult ones blending in to the dull roar that always accompanied his children during their waking hours. Helena was undoubtedly still here. He smelled something delicious, meaning his partner had invited someone who could cook. For a moment, Evan curled up under the heavy quilt and enjoyed it all. Family, friends, a moment of rare humor, anticipation of sitting down with all the people he loved, enjoying a good meal.

The doorbell interrupted his dreamy reverie and a male voice called out a greeting. For a heart-stopping moment, Evan thought,
Matt's here. He's back
. But reality, as it was wont to do, crashed down too quickly for him to savor the possibility. Matt wasn't back. He wouldn't be. Because Evan had sent him away, broken his heart.

A cold chill spread through his body like a shock. He burrowed under the covers. It had been so long since he'd ventured up here, into their bed. Sleeping— or rather, restlessly tossing and turning, pretending to sleep— on the sofa had worked for a while, but now even that place was haunted. Sherri lurked up here in the shadows, Matt waited for him downstairs. And in the shower.

If the actual experience of being with Matt in the shower had altered the shape and scope of Evan's brain, the memories of it threatened to burst a blood vessel. The sound of running water made him hard as stone, which certainly keep his mornings interesting. But it wasn't just the sex (and the sex was always on his mind), it was the intimacy, the touching, the very sight of Matt's warm and welcoming face he missed so much. Some mornings he doubled over from the sheer pain of it, hiding in the bathroom. Ashamed and quite suddenly aroused, Evan clenched the covers in his fists. In the days since he'd forced Matt out the door, Evan had gone from startlingly numb to a depth of pain he hadn't felt since...

Since...

Since Sherri's death.

Now the memory of Matt (his kindness, his smile, his hands, his mouth) sat side by side with Sherri's ghost (her eyes, her love, her faith), and both of them sat in judgment of Evan, every second of every day. He'd abandoned Sherri and let her die alone. He'd let panic and shame push Matt away.

He was alone.

The kids and his job were all that he was left with. As much as his children fed his soul and gave him a reason to get up in the morning, he knew it wasn't enough. Sometimes it was easy to ignore the emptiness, the man who needed more. The man who needed comfort, companionship. Passion. Love. Images flashed through his mind. Every one the internal movie of Matt and their time together. No matter what he did, no matter what thoughts he conjured up to fight it, Evan couldn't banish Matt from his mind.

His body burned.

He tightened his hands on the comforter, trying to quell the feelings of lust thrumming through his veins. It had been so long, so very long, since he'd given into it. Since he'd relieved the ache with his hand and a fantasy in his mind's eye instead of willing it away, being a martyr to the pain. But this time his control felt a little too thin, and the urge too sharp.

Eyes tightly shut, he eased one hand under the covers, trying to disassociate himself with each tiny incremental move. Too soon his hand grazed against the straining bulge between his legs. Evan blew out a breath he'd been holding far too long; little pinpricks of light flickered behind his eyes. Before he could change his mind, he squeezed his cock and just... arched... off the bed.

Biting his lip to mask the hungry sound fighting to escape his throat, he tightened his fingers slowly, letting the rush of pleasure flood his skin. It was easy to keep his hand moving once he began, once he gave himself permission to just feel for once.

The fantasy was always the same— no, not a fantasy. It was a minute-by-minute remembrance of every caress, every kiss, every... push... of his hips Matt had gifted him with. The first awkward night in Matt's apartment, when he felt like he was going to fly apart from the sheer joy of being touched and held. Kissing on the couch, bodies pressed together... then the shower.

His hand moved faster, tightening; his legs fell open and something at the base of his spine crackled with fiery heat. He could hear Matt gasping “Fuck me” and now his hand was moving at a painful pace, and then he shivered with agonizing and perfect completion, shuddering through the aftershocks, slowly coming down to rest on the bed.