Date: Mon, 18 Aug 2008 21:56:38 -0300
From: Duncan Ryder <duncanryder@hotmail.com>
Subject: Everybody's Wounded Part II Chapter 2

How the Light Gets In

Chapter 2



At 6:15 Matt was in the cafeteria, antsy and bleary eyed after a restless
night in Scott's narrow bed.  Even in the darkness, Josh's photograph had
haunted him.  He couldn't let it go.  Several times he'd actually turned
the light back on so he could stare at it, searching the laughing face for
something he couldn't quite remember.  Finally, he'd reached out in the
darkness and turned the damn thing face down.

The only other people in the caf were the gymnasts, sitting together
quietly around a table by the far wall.  He was alone in line; the staff
was still back in the kitchens prepping.  He was waiting in a daze for
someone to bring scrambled eggs to the steam table when he felt two hands
slip inside the back pockets of his jeans, and then a body press tight
against his back.

"Well, I'll be damned," came a light, playful voice in his ear -- followed
by the quick, hot flick of a tongue.  "If it isn't the ski queen himself."

Matt forced himself to stay calm, taking a deep breath and stepping forward
to create a few inches of space between his ass and whoever was pressing
against it.  The guy respected the space -- but kept his hands in Matt's
back pockets, squeezing his ass gently with his fingertips.  Matt reached
down, took both offending wrists lightly in his hands and removed them,
turning around with the friendly, open smile he'd perfected long ago as the
perfect disguise.

The face he found himself smiling down into was blonde and pretty, with
wide blue eyes and a promising, pouty mouth.


What Matt thought was: Oh, fuck, get me out of here.

But what he said, in the half-bored, half-friendly drawl that came back to
him so easily it scared him, was: "Well if it isn't Stevie boy.  And just
what evil wind blew you in?"

Stevie Harris, his small, slight form accentuated by impossibly tight black
jeans and a close fitting white shirt artfully untucked, giggled, tossed
his mass of white blonde curls, and broke into a wide, impossibly innocent
smile.

And impossible was the word.  Because, as Matt had learned the hard way,
Stevie was about as far from innocent as it was humanly possible to be.  Of
all the dangerous boys Matt had played with in his lost days, Stevie was
the sweetest, the most generous, the most seductive -- and the most
dangerous of all.  Because, though he looked like a mere slip of a boy,
Stevie was tough, and determined, and wiser than all of them.  No matter
how hard and wild he played, Stevie always seemed to be able to walk away.

Matt, like so many others, had not been so lucky.  He'd had to be dragged
away, kicking and screaming, and even now, even now...

Stevie gave Matt his most guileless smile.  "Well, sweetie," he said.  "You
spoke so highly of the place, I thought I'd give it a try.  But I never
thought I'd run into you here.  I thought you were done."

 Matt shrugged.  "I just came back to finish off a few things."

Stevie looked serious for a moment.  "Yeah, I heard you had a little
trouble.  Then you were just gone --"

"Nah, I'm good," said Matt, with a shrug.  "Just got fed up with Banff, is
all.  Got an offer to teach at Whistler, so I headed out there for a while.
Good times there."

Stevie said nothing for a few seconds, and Matt could see his clever little
mind turning over.  Then he giggled again.

"Whistler," he said, arching one carefully shaped brow.  "I might have
known.  Where else would our ski queen go?"  He glanced around, then
stepped close, running a hand up the inside of Matt's thigh and then
cupping him through his jeans.

Matt knew better than to react.  Stevie could do camp to levels even Rufus
only dreamed of.  Twisting his mouth into an indulgent smile, he let
Stevie's hand lay, until he saw one of the kitchen guys emerge.  Then, with
a quick upward tilt of his head, he winked and stepped backwards.

Matt smiled at the guy behind the counter who was putting a huge tray of
scrambled eggs on the steam table.  Loading his plate, he said to Stevie.
"You're here awfully early.  Never thought of you as a morning type."

Once more the giggle and the head toss.  "Early?  Late, you mean.  I
haven't been to bed yet -- and..." again the dramatically arched brows,
"I'm staaaaarving, darling."

"There's someone else here you know," said Stevie, reaching past Matt to
grab a couple of muffins.  "Kieran."

Kieran.  The name sounded vaguely familiar, but Matt couldn't put a face to
it.

"Come on," said Stevie, nudging him with a shoulder.  "You haaaaave to
remember Kieran."  He leaned over and whispered in Matt's ear. "You sucked
him off in the ski lift.  Twice."

Matt closed his eyes for a second.  Focused on not reacting, on breathing
steadily.  Maybe that information should have helped -- but it didn't.
Matt had sucked off a fair number of guys when they had one of the enclosed
chairlifts to themselves.  It was one of the reasons he was such a popular
ski instructor among a certain...crowd.  His special skills were a secret
all over the resort.

He had especially liked to do the fragile ones, the wide-eyed high school
and college kids hovering in the closet doorways, and the sad, middle aged
guys trapped in closets and marriages who'd never made it out at all.  Matt
had loved the way it scared them -- scared and thrilled them half to death.

It thrilled him, too -- not so much the sexual act, but the fact of having
them trapped, dangling from a cable climbing a mountain, helpless as he
took them tenderly in his hand, in his mouth, and then tucked them away
afterwards.  He'd loved that feeling of ... of...  what?  Power?
Superiority? Gloating?

He didn't know what to call that feeling, still didn't really understand
why he'd craved it.  Every time he'd done it, lured another nervous guy
past the point of no return, he'd rejoiced at the thrill of it -- then
hated himself a little more.  His therapist had told him he had to let it
go, and God knows he was trying.

Stevie was looking at him curiously.  "You really don't remember, do you?"

Matt shrugged, smiled a tight little half smile that projected vaguely
amused boredom.  Remember them?  Why would he want to remember them?  "I'm
sure it will come back to me," he said.

And inside, he felt sick.

By this time, a few other people had started to arrive for breakfast and
Matt used the opportunity to take another few steps away, helping himself
to a muffin.  Other kids were starting to wander in, and finally, to his
enormous relief, he saw his brother's familiar bulk in the doorway.  What
Bran lacked in height he made up in muscle; he was the captain of the St
G's rugby team and built like a fucking tank.

Matt watched while Bran made his way to Laura, who was perched at the
gymnasts' table, and stopped to kiss the top of her head.  Then Matt saw
her nod towards him.  He locked eyes with his brother across the room and
beckoned him over with a tilt of his head.

Stevie noticed the gesture.  His eyes narrowed as he watched Brandon cross
the room.

"Ooooh, muscle," he said.  "I like.  How long have you had him -- and when
will you be done with him?"

Matt just smiled and shook his head.

"Hey," said Bran, nudging Matt with his shoulder.

Matt smiled his relief.  "Hey yourself."

Stevie pressed closer, running a hand up Brandon's arm with a dramatic
sigh.  "Soooo.  You going to introduce me, Matt?"

Bran kinda froze and looked at Matt uncertainly.

Matt sighed heavily.  "Sure," he said.  "Stevie, this is Brandon.  My
brother Brandon.  My very straight brother Brandon."

Stevie removed his hand from Bran's bicep, and started to laugh.  "You
prick," he said to Matt cheerfully.  Then he offered Bran his hand.  "Your
brother did that on purpose," he said with a frank smile, dropping the pose
and the drama like an old coat.  "He always did like to take people by
surprise."

Although he'd expected it, still Matt marveled.  Everything was an act for
Stevie.  So easy to pick up and put down.  Even the hard stuff.  That's
what made him so seductive.  So seductive and so very dangerous.

Bran solemnly shook Stevie's hand, looking thoughtfully from him to Matt.
"And you two know each other -- ?"

"From out west," Matt said with a shrug.  He tried to sound cool, but he
felt Bran's eyes burning into him.

"I see."  Bran turned to Stevie.  "It was nice meeting you," he said.  "If
you don't mind, I need my brother for a few minutes."

Matt saw Stevie's brows rise slightly.  "Sure," he said.  Then he turned to
Matt.  "Kieran and I are having a party tonight, just a few guys over, you
know?  Why don't you come by?  Be fun."

Matt glanced at Bran, who met his eyes calmly and steadily.  "Maybe," he
said coolly.

"Let me give you my cell number," said Stevie.

Eventually he wandered off with his tray of muffins.  As soon as he'd
cleared the line, Matt turned to his brother, his vision blurring with
unshed tears.  He didn't give Bran a chance to speak.

"You gotta help me get out of here," he said, his voice breaking.  "I
thought I'd put it all behind me, but the shit's followed me."

He felt the weight of Bran's arm across his shoulders.

"It's ok, man," he said.  "We'll find you someplace.  And in the meantime,
I'll stick close."

***

On the corner of the breakfast bar, Josh kept a retired laptop which he
used mostly for recipes and banking.  Now, as he scrambled eggs for the two
of them, he watched Scott use it to check his email.

"Yes!" Scott said, smacking the granite countertop with the palm of his
hand.  "Finally."

Josh couldn't help grinning at the boyish gesture.  "What?"

"Luc.  He's finally made contact."

"Good," said Josh, keeping his smile fixed as he turned his attention back
to the eggs.

He'd known Scott would hear from Luc at some point, but he was still a
little...  unprepared for it.  They hadn't talked much about the fucked up
Quebecois boy from downstairs over the last month.  Not since Luc had
returned to Montreal with his parents.  Scott had seemed reluctant to
discuss it, and Josh, always almost obsessively respectful of the privacy
of others, had been careful not to ask.

And he wasn't going to ask now.  As much as he wanted to understand what
had happened between them, he would wait until Scott was ready to tell him.

He chopped up some chives and flicked the small green bits into the pan
with the eggs and cheese and mushrooms.  Two slices of whole grain bread
popped up, and 15 seconds later, two more.

 "C'mere," said Scott.

Josh glanced over again, but Scott's eyes were scanning the computer
screen.  Josh studied him thoughtfully for a few seconds.

"Give me a minute," he said finally.  "These are just done."

He loaded up the plates with eggs and toast, and brought them past the
breakfast bar to the table.  Then he took the few steps back to Scott, who
reached a hand up blindly behind him and wrapped it around Josh's wrist.

"C'mere," he said again, tugging gently until Josh was standing behind him,
pressed against Scott's back.  Scott leaned back and for a few seconds
rested his head against Josh's chest.

Josh smiled at the sudden warmth, the pleasure of the connection.  The tiny
things, he thought.  It's the tiny things.

Scott released his wrist and started playing with the touch pad.  Josh
settled onto the empty stool beside him, careful to focus on Scott rather
than on the screen.  Scott was staring at it worriedly.

"There's a problem about him coming back," he said finally.

"What?  Is the wrist not healing properly?"

"It's not that. At least, I don't think so.  Listen."  He started to
read. "`The cast is to come off next week.  There have been x-rays and CAT
scans, and the consensus is that it is healing well.'"

"That sounds good," said Josh.

"Yes, but listen to the rest of it.  `They want me to stay here.  My
parents and the psychiatrist.  They don't think I should be living alone.
My mother has managed to transfer me into McGill for the semester.'"

"That's not unreasonable," said Josh slowly.

Scott kept reading.  "`But I don't want to be here, Scott.  I want to come
back.  I think I need to come back.  I understand why they're worried, but
-- they're wrong.  I will be fine.  I promise.  So... and here is the
thing, mon ami.'"

Josh couldn't help it. He looked at the screen, read the words for himself.
And hated himself a little for realizing that he was breathing more easily
because Scott was editing out nothing.

 "`I need to ask you to help me,'" Scott read.  "`And I know it will be
difficult, but I don't see any other way.  I need someone to live with me,
at least for a while.  Would you do that?  Can you help me?  I know this is
a lot to ask.  It isn't really fair to you or to Josh, but I promise I
won't interfere in any way.  I know what you two have already done for me,
and I am grateful.  Truly.  But I need very much to come back, and I don't
know what else to do.'"

Scott fell silent.  Josh waited, watching Scott's right hand tap in
agitation against the countertop.  Finally, Josh reached out and laid his
hand over it, relaxing as Scott turned his hand palm up, lacing his fingers
through Josh's own.

Finally, even Josh's ability to wait reached its limit.  "What are you
thinking?" he asked.

Scott shook his head and smiled ruefully.  "I want to help him," he said
with his typical frankness, "but I don't think my living with him is a good
solution.  I don't think it would be good for Luc."  He paused for a few
seconds.  "And I just don't want to do it.  I want to be here with you.
It's just --"

"What?"

"If he wants to come back, if he feels he needs to come back, then I have
to help him do that."

"But if it's not a good solution for you to live with him --"

"I was thinking of Matt.  He needs a different place to live.  This might
be the perfect solution for both of them."

Josh's first reaction, to his own surprise, was a swift sudden stab of
panic.  For most of the last three years, he'd pretty much managed to
forget the handsome blonde he'd allowed to lead him home a few times during
that weird, awful, liberating period after Graham left.  He didn't think he
had any feelings for Matt -- or for any of the boys he'd been with in that
thankfully brief period of craziness.  But somehow the idea of him living
down stairs, of running into him on the elevator, bothered Josh.

And he wondered what the fragile Quebec boy would make of the sexually
aggressive blonde.

"You really think that's a good idea?" he asked.

"Why not?" said Scott.  "I mean, he needs a place to live... and Luc needs
someone there.  And Bran said Matt's got a car here, so he doesn't have to
worry about buses.  I think it could work very well for both of them."

Josh wondered exactly how to word this.  Matt was, after all, the older
brother of Scott's closest friend.  Finally, he just said it.  "Matt's a
bit of a player, Scott."

Scott met his eyes, his grey gaze calm and thoughtful.  "Matt was a
player," he agreed.  "But I don't think he is, now. I mean -- I know that's
how you remember him, but that was over two years ago.  Bran says he's
different now.  That's he's left all that behind.  He's had a rough
time..."

Josh suddenly wanted contact, reassurance.  He reached up and wrapped a
hand on the back of Scott's neck and squeezed.

"I don't know," he said slowly.  "I don't know a lot about where Luc's head
is right now, but I doubt that being hit on by his roommate is going to be
good for him."

"So we make sure Matt won't hit on him," said Scott.

Josh laughed.  "And just how are we going to manage that?"

"We'll ask him," he said simply.  "Besides, you and I are here to keep an
eye on Luc.  And Bran's here to keep an eye on Matt.  Unless --"

"What?" Josh asked.

"Unless it will bother you."

"Unless what will what bother me?"

"Having Matt live downstairs."

"Why should it bother me?"

Scott just studied him with those calm grey eyes.  "I don't know. That's
why I'm asking."

Josh sighed heavily.  "You want to know exactly what there was between me
and Matt?"  he asked.

Scott looked away.  "You don't have to tell me any more than you already
have."

"If he's going to live downstairs, then I think maybe I do.  Otherwise,
you're going to wonder."

Scott looked at him with troubled eyes and said nothing.

"I told you that after Graham left, I had a short period of being a little
wild.  Kind of, well, slutty, actually.  A couple of days a week I'd go to
Rainbow, and let some random guy pick me up.  Hand jobs mostly.  The
occasional blow job."

Josh took in Scott's flinch, but refused to react to it.  He had done this.
He wouldn't do it again, and he wasn't proud of it, but he'd gotten past
the shame.  He saw it more as a right of passage: something he'd done and
come to understand.  He'd put it behind him now.

"There were maybe six or seven guys altogether," he said quietly.  "Matt
was one of them.  I don't think any of the others are still here."  He
grimaced.  "I'm not sure I'd even know them again anyway."

Scott nodded.

"Actually, Matt was the last.  And the only one I went with more than once.
After him, I... I rather lost my taste for it.  Or came to my senses,
maybe.  Anyway..."  He put a hand on Scott's arm.  "I gave him three blow
jobs."

Scott dropped his head, but Josh reached across the table and touched his
jaw.

"Look at me, ok?  I want you to know this.  That is absolutely all there
was between Matt and me.  Three blow jobs.  Well, I gave him three blow
jobs.  He gave me two.  Because the last time... the last time, I didn't
let him.  It just...it just made me feel too... cheap, I guess.  And sad.
And empty."

Josh managed to keep his voice calm, but he felt that familiar tightness in
his throat, and he was the one who looked away.  Scott's large hand closed
around his wrist, and then he felt a kiss in his palm.

"Josh?"

He still couldn't look up, even when he heard Scott slide off the stool.

"Josh," he said again, more quietly.

Josh felt both his hands taken in that strong grasp, tugging him to his
feet.  Then he was led back across the living room and into the bedroom,
where Scott eased him gently back onto the unmade bed.  He then lowered
himself so that his large, powerful body pressed Josh into the mattress.

"I don't want you ever, ever, ever to feel like that," he said, leaning in
with soft, sure kisses.  "Never."

Josh closed his eyes, giving himself up to Scott's mouth, to his kisses
that were warm and sweet and sure, to his murmured words of comfort and of
care.  He'd worked all this stuff through, he knew.  He'd reconciled the
need, put aside the shame.  But somehow Scott offered him more than that.
Somehow, mingled words and kisses reached beyond understanding, beyond
forgiveness even.  Somehow, with Scott's mouth loving his, Josh felt truly
absolved.

There was no haste to their loving, and despite their quickened breath and
trembling hands, no urgency.  They undressed each other slowly, sharing the
joy and wonder of the mystery that was between them.  This was love soft
and sure and sweet.  And when Scott's mouth took him in, Josh laughed with
joy and delight.  He knew exactly what he'd exchanged with Matt and those
other guys, and it had nothing to do with this.  Nothing at all.

Some time later, Josh scraped two plates of scrambled eggs into the garbage
and started cooking again.

***

Scott's message arrived at 8:43am, just as Luc was preparing for yet
another trip to the hospital.

"Finally!" it said.  "I'm so glad to hear from you.  Great news on the
hand.  About not being alone in the condo -- DO NOT WORRY.  If you need a
roommate, I will make sure you have a roommate.  I'll call you tonight and
we'll talk about it.  If you need to be here, then we'll make it work.
Make sure your cell's on at 9."

Luc stared at the screen, and allowed himself to hope.


***

So...do let me know what you make of the sequel...
And if you would like to be added to the update list, just drop me a line at
duncanryder@hotmail.com.