When Van got home that night Hadas had left a message with Zoe that she was spending the night in the barn with Daffodil and Zelpha. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Neither one of the animals would be going on the trip, so Hadas was soaking up as much of their company as she could.
It sucked for him, though. The nights neither one of them had been in the tower they’d been sleeping as close as they could and it settled him. Physical proof that whatever happened next, they were together.
Except for their last night here in town.
If he and Jaime hadn’t been over, Van could have gone to him. Sudhir was playing cards with Eduardo, Melina, and Keith to make everything seem normal. Pace and Zoe were already asleep, or pretending to be, doing their best to stay calm.
Clark, on the other hand, seemed completely rattled.
It was probably Van’s fault. He should have slept in his own bed. He should have said no to breakfast. He knew what Clark wanted and didn’t want, and Van had crossed the line. He’d known as soon as he walked into Melina’s kitchen but he’d sat down at the table anyway and asked Clark to get even more involved.
What had it gotten them? Nothing worth Clark’s body language and expression going stiff, his words clipped. He’d looked at the map, really looked, and thought about it, but he’d obviously not wanted to be there.
But when Van got hit by a wave of grief hearing again that the horror he’d lived through might have just been strategy, Clark had started for the door, then stopped. He’d come over instead and offered Van comfort.
It was hard for everyone, but the man was trying.
Van went to bed, but couldn’t fall asleep. If Hadas had been okay with him following her to the barn, she would have told Zoe. So, no Hadas. If he were in Doberman, would he go to the club? Submit to a stranger? No. Not after Irene.
After a couple of hours he gave up and pulled his boots on. Crunched through the thin layer of snow. He knocked on the door to the garage. Van knew he looked tired, maybe a little desperate. He’d probably still be tired and desperate when he went back home after Clark laughed in his face. When they’d decided to be friends, it had been about not doing this.
Or at least not doing it again unless everyone knew what was really happening. Total honesty. Clark could decide.
Clark opened the door. He looked rigid, still, and distant, but waited for Van to talk.
“I know this isn’t what you meant,” Van said, “about helping. But I can’t sleep and I need it to be quiet in my head for a little while. I need to submit. If I can.”
Clark took a while before answering. “Like you wanted when you blew me, except on purpose this time.”
“It doesn’t have to be sex.” There were other options. He could explain if Clark would listen. “It just needs to be somebody I trust. If you’re willing.”
A few different emotions crossed Clark’s face, and Van couldn’t have named any of them. Finally Clark said, “I need shoes.”
Van waited while Clark went back in for his jacket and boots. The only time Van touched him on their way to the bank was to help once when he stumbled. Neither of them said a word until they were in the room and the candle was burning.
“Was this your room?” Clark asked. “You and Irene?”
“No.” It had been Deb’s. She’d been the first to die. Dammit, Van was here to avoid those memories.
“Where was yours?”
“Across the hall. It’s empty.” Van sat down. It took another few heartbeats before his shoulders got with the program and started to drop. His eyes did too. He blinked to clear his mind and stay present. Clark hadn’t said yes yet.
“I don’t know how to do this without sex,” Clark said quietly.
Van looked up. Clark didn’t meet his eyes. Van wasn’t in the habit of looking for deeper meaning in everything anybody said, but the way Clark’s words sat in the space between them matched the expression on his face.
Lost.
Maybe Van was finally seeing Clark more clearly than he had since the guy rolled into town. Or everything he’d seen, including this, was a piece of the picture, like the stained glass window at Melina’s. Different shapes and colors making a whole.
“It’s okay,” Van said. “We can figure it out.”
Clark finally took his jacket off, let it fall to the floor, and eased down onto the bed next to him. Van could feel it when he finally looked over. “I don’t have a fucking clue how to give you what you want.”
He clearly knew how to give directions in bed. He’d done it twice now, with no embarrassment, no hesitation. This was different, and they both knew it, but it didn’t have to be complicated.
“Just tell me what to do,” Van said, “and mean it.”
Clark seemed to turn it over in his mind, one eyebrow arching up just barely, such a small change that Van wondered if Clark even felt it.
When he spoke, his voice had also changed. Deeper. Desire in it now. “What are you going to say if I tell you to do something and you don’t want to?”
Van blinked before his eyes could gather tears of relief. The word he’d used with Irene, he’d had Jaime show him how to write, and he’d buried the paper with his only-a-month-old collar in the dirt above her grave. He didn’t have another one ready. He hadn’t realized, or maybe hadn’t wanted to believe, he’d ever need one.
He said the first thing that came to mind. “Cilantro.”
Clark’s lips twitched. “Really?”
“I don’t like it.” Which Jaime gave him hell about all the time.
Clark rolled his eyes before leaning back on his hands, going serious again. “Okay. Get down on the floor and take my boots off.”
A shiver ran through Van’s back and thighs. His mind started to race like it sometimes did when he was worn out, trying to get away from submitting even when he needed and wanted it.
“Van.” Clark’s voice was even lower now, unyielding, fencing him in.
Holding him.
Van knelt. By the time he had Clark’s boots worked off and set aside, the racing was winding down and a low warm hum was setting in. Clark set a hand on his head and gently pushed it down until Van’s cheek was resting on Clark’s thigh. Van sighed into it.
“I’m going to ask you some questions,” Clark said. “You’re going to answer me truthfully, right?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to hurt you?”
He shuddered. “No.” He couldn’t separate it from memories of real violence now. Another thing he’d lost.
Clark’s hand stroked his braid, soothing him. “Okay. I’m going to take your hair down.”
Van didn’t stop him. Clark pulled the tie off the end, worked the braid out, and dug his fingers into Van’s hair. He combed through it, stroking at Van’s scalp, until Van thought he might never get up off the floor again.
“Do you want me to restrain you?” Clark asked, low and intimate, and like the thought did something for him.
Van said maybe into the fabric of Clark’s jeans. The same battered pair he’d seen on the man that first day, when he’d thought it was possible Clark could do this for him, that they might fit each other. Clark didn’t want it the way Irene had. But he was doing it because Van needed him to. It wasn’t like the first time, when Van had only thought of himself, wanting to know if he could. This time, he knew he was ready. This time, Clark was letting down his own guard too.
“What if I tell you exactly what I want you to do to me?” When Van didn’t respond, couldn’t, Clark raised the hem of his shirt enough for a patch of skin to show. “If that’s okay, kiss me right here.”
Van shifted to press his lips to the warm spot right above Clark’s hip. He tried to put everything into it. How much he wanted to take care of Clark, please him. Clark’s sharp inhale sent the right kind of chill down Van’s spine, so he kissed there again despite not being told to. With an open mouth this time, tasting him.
“Good,” Clark breathed, still stroking Van’s hair. “Very good. Undress me.”
Van managed to get himself from the floor onto the bed. He unbuttoned Clark’s flannel and stripped it off, then pulled the t-shirt beneath up and off. Van didn’t make eye contact, but everything about Clark’s movements and breath told Van he was watching. Van unbuttoned his pants. Underwear again, blue this time, though faded. Clark pushed his hips up so Van could get everything off, even his socks. Van wished he had a way to heat the room better.
“Now strip.” Clark scooted up the bed until his head was on the pillow. He took his dick in his hand, hardening and flushed already, and started stroking.
Van had never had so much trouble with buttons and zippers in his life as he did with Clark staring at him while playing with himself. Obviously enjoying the show despite the cold of the room. When Van was naked, Clark let go of his dick and beckoned.
“Come here.” His voice was rough now, his breathing a little unsteady. He put a fingertip to his neck just below his ear. “Kiss me right here.”
Van started there. When Clark moved his finger lower, down the line of his throat, Van followed, catching Clark’s fingertip between his lips until it moved away before settling to suck at his skin. Clark led him to a new spot below his collarbone, murmuring praise and breathy little sighs until Van’s whole world narrowed to only Clark’s voice and their bodies. It wasn’t cold in the room anymore. There was only Clark beneath him, Clark’s hands buried in Van’s hair, and his soft words.
Clark led Van to his nipple and thrust his dick against Van’s chest, over and over, as Van sucked. Van tried not to rock against the damn bed, feeling Clark’s hardness and the hint of wet between them. He didn’t have permission to do anything for himself, which made it worse. And better. When Clark traced his finger down to a spot above his hip, Van’s mouth followed.
“Bite,” Clark said raggedly. “Not too hard.”
Van pressed his teeth into Clark’s skin.
Clark groaned deep in his chest. He was flushed, his hair wild from rolling his head on the pillow, but when he propped himself on one elbow there was no way for Van to misinterpret his stare.
It was the same one from in front of the garage the first day. It was the one from the creek. Clark wanted him, and he was planning how to get exactly what he wanted.
“Come back up here. Now.”
Van moved. He ended up between Clark’s legs, told exactly where to put his dick, where to put his hands, where to put his mouth. Clark pushed into his fist, wrapping one arm around Van’s neck to pull him closer as they kissed. He was so beautiful. Eyes closed, the pulse in his throat rapid and strong. Van had to pull back to watch his face. So fucking beautiful. So fucking strong, to fall so hard and get back up and keep going.
“Don’t you dare stop,” Clark gasped into his neck. “And don’t come until I do.”
Van didn’t say I’m yours. They didn’t have that and never would. He couldn’t help saying Clark’s name though. Again and again as Clark shouted and came all over Van’s belly and chest, then grabbed Van’s dick and finished him in short, sharp strokes. Clark pulled Van tight against him and rubbed his back as he shuddered through it. Van ran his closed lips back and forth through Clark’s hair. A habit Irene had sweetly teased him about.
He missed her. So much.
Clark held him for a long while, until Van thought for sure Clark would pull away, get up. They were messy and sticky but Clark just kept stroking Van’s hair, whispering to him about how good he’d felt, how strong he was, how sexy. Van didn’t care about that last part, but the first two made the warmth of the orgasm sink even more deeply into his bones. Clark got the blankets around them somehow. Kept him warm. Didn’t leave.
“Kiss me,” he said, and Van kissed him, gave Clark everything he had left, every bit of tenderness and care. Clark kissed him back, cradling Van’s face in his hand, their bodies close, until Van was half hard again, but without any sense of urgency to it. His head rested on Clark’s shoulder. His breath slowed.
Once he was steady Van asked if he could get up. Clark murmured a yes, so Van did his best to clean them up, pulled his shirt back on, then got back into bed where it was warm. Clark got out and started pulling his clothes back on. It cut, but Van should have known better than to hope he might stay the night.
He didn’t make it to the door before coming back to perch on the edge of the bed. “Don’t go,” Clark said quietly. “You’ve already lost so much.”
The words tore at him. Again Clark had started for the exit, only to double back and offer something, connection or care. Part of Van wanted to respond, to say fuck it and stay. At some point, if they were right, the Dollars would move on for a few years. Everybody in the circuit could be more careful until then, expect losses.
Accept deaths.
Van couldn’t tell Clark what he wanted to hear, even though he wanted to slide to the floor again and drop his head in the man’s lap. Van had eventually accepted Irene was dead. He’d never accept that someone had killed her. If she’d fallen or gotten snakebit or sick, that would have just been how things worked out sometimes, but her dying at someone else’s hands had left a mark. People in bed for the night all over the circuit could meet her same end if he didn’t step up.
Clark was one of them. He’d looked at the map. He’d come here when Van needed him, and he’d stayed after. Van would feel better knowing he was here in town in case something happened to the team. Griego might not think anyone should come after them, but Blockingjay wouldn’t agree, and Clark could tell them where to start looking.
Van didn’t mind being food for the animals. It was only fair since they’d fed him all these years. But he also wouldn’t mind being laid to rest by Irene if somebody could bring him back. He just hoped he took a piece out of the Dollars first.
Van reached for Clark’s hand. He knew he probably shouldn’t. Clark let him take it and lace their fingers together. “I can’t let them hurt people.”
Clark swallowed. Stood up. Van let his hand trail away, breaking the contact.
“I know,” was all Clark said.
Then he was gone, leaving the room silent and still.
The defense team house at least had people in it, but if Van was going to sleep in an empty bed, it might as well be this one. He got settled under the covers. Heard a coyote in the distance. Tried to relax but couldn’t clear his mind. It wasn’t the sex, it was lying in the quarry listening to Clark talk about what he missed from before the war. Comics. Van knew what those were.
Something that had been nagging at him since that day finally clicked into place. A couple of boxes he remembered in the jumbled guest room at Dr. Day’s. He’d go check his memory in the morning before they left.
With something positive to focus on, Van finally fell into a dreamless sleep.