Chapter 14

 

Dmitri watched the closed office door. The guys had showered and dressed, and most had left for the bus. Nate had bounded in at some point and harangued Mac into going to the local pub. Mac had agreed, probably because Nate had implied that the place served the best porter he’d ever tasted. John was the last out.

“You good?”

“Yeah, we’ll see you back.”

“Stop in for a beer?”

“Probably.”

“That his mom?”

Dmitri nodded.

John tipped his head toward the hallway. “His dad?”

Dmitri nodded again.

“Jesus.”

He laughed. “I know.”

“Well, good luck.”

“Thanks.”

As if she’d been waiting for the team to leave, Monica opened the office door a minute later. Her face might have held some strain, but he didn’t know her well enough to be sure. Then she brought her purse up and her hands were trembling. She drew out a twenty and gave it to Dmitri. “For the lamp,” she said quietly and made an equally quiet exit.

He found Thierry leaning against the desk in the middle of the room, head down. He still wore his gear, though his gloves lay on the floor, one on one side of the room, one on the other. The wreckage of a desk lamp lay under one of them.

Even though they were alone, Dmitri closed the door. Approached Thierry cautiously and took his padded shoulders in his hands. But it wasn’t close enough. Gently, warily, he cupped his face.

Thierry tipped his head back and blinked. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

“Didn’t you ask her just now?”

“Of course.”

“And?”

“And she made excuses.”

“Which were?”

“She didn’t want to hurt me. Didn’t want me to know he left. That he could have chosen to stay but didn’t do so.”

“Well?”

Thierry lifted his eyes back to Dmitri’s. Tears filled them. “She had so many chances to tell me. Every minute was a chance.”

“Oh.” He pulled Thierry’s head to his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

His lover slumped against him, rolling his head as if he wanted to burrow into Dmitri’s ribcage, or was trying to forget. Dmitri sifted his fingers through Thierry’s damp hair. It looked dull in the crappy fluorescent light of the cramped office.

“Your mother isn’t what I expected. She’s plump.”

“Many men prefer that, apparently. You were expecting Sophia Loren?”

“Well, the Québécois version, yes. She’s so small.”

“She is formidable.” He gestured at the broken lamp.

“She did that?”

“Sometimes I frustrate her.”

Dmitri chuckled. “No, that can’t be.” He eyed the lamp. “But I can see how she caught the eye of the Viking.”

Thierry groaned.

“I was afraid you were going to piss him off on the way here, and we’d die in a fiery crash on the road. Which his ancestral people would probably respect.”

“He’s no Viking. Only a man.” Thierry sat up, studied his hands. “They left?”

“Yeah, your mother had a car.”

“Good,” he said, his voice cracking. He reached for Dmitri’s hand, pressed it hard to his chest. His eyes, when he raised them to Dmitri’s, were as dark as a new moon. “I need you.”

Dmitri cupped his face and kissed him. “You have me.”

He led him out of the office and across to his locker. Steam still hung in the air from the other guys’ showers, humid with scents of soap and deodorant. Pushing on Thierry’s shoulder, he urged him to sit, then knelt to untie his skates. He pulled them off.

“This is silly.”

“Shhh.”

Together they peeled his jersey up and over his pads. Thierry sat, quiet, as Dmitri loosened the buckles. Lifting the pads from his shoulders, he set them aside and did the same for his elbow pads. They stripped the snug, synthetic shirt underneath, and then Thierry stood so Dmitri could slide his pants down and off. He eased himself back down to the bench as if he could only manage each step as it came.

It was tearing a small hole in Dmitri’s chest.

Thierry’s long legs sprawled wide on either side of him, still clad in their high knit socks and shin pads. Dmitri smoothed a hand down Thierry’s chest, over his abdomen, to the damp edge of his jock strap. The hard shape of his cup filled the front of the mesh fabric. He wanted to throw it across the room.

With hands that shook more than a little, he worked loose the garter clips, letting the backs of his fingers soothe Thierry’s thighs. When they’d come undone, he slipped the socks and pads off. Then he curled his fingers under the jock’s waistband. Thierry lifted his hips so Dmitri could slide it off. He flung it over his shoulder.

Thierry laughed softly.

Dmitri pulled him down for a long kiss, then applied a bit of pressure to his shoulder. “Relax.”

Thierry settled back on his hands and watched with wide eyes.

Dmitri licked around each nipple, drawing a sigh from the man. He licked the contours of his chest, tasting his sweat and the sharp scent of arousal. Following a very helpful line of hair down the middle of his body, Dmitri swirled his tongue into the hair at Thierry’s crotch. It was sparser than his own, plastered to his skin with damp. He nuzzled it, scraped his teeth across it, then put his teeth away. This wasn’t for him. Gently, he lifted Thierry’s cock. Thierry hadn’t really let him handle it yet, had always shifted away to pleasure Dmitri instead. But now it lay against his thumb, heavy with need. Easing back the foreskin, he kissed the head. The man’s scent was strong here. It slipped long, clutching fingers into his hair and pulled hard. He looked at the glistening head of Thierry’s cock with something like drunken hunger and took it in his mouth.

Thierry gasped.

Okay, so it was a little bit for his own pleasure.

With slow strokes, he lapped the salty sweat from Thierry’s dick, following the pulsing ridge of the vein along its underside. He silently cursed that he didn’t know what his lover liked, wanted more than anything to give him exactly what he wanted. Had to content himself with a promise that this was only the start, the real start for this, for what he could do for his lover. He would just have to pay attention. Slowly, pushing past his out-of-practice gag reflex, he swallowed him to the root.

Thierry’s belly bumped the top of Dmitri’s head as he sat forward. “Aah! ’Mitri.”

With a hand curled around one hard buttock, he sucked, dragging his mouth from base to tip and back, feeling, tasting, listening, until Thierry was gripping his neck, pulling him closer.

“Please.”

Thierry’s sac had drawn up tight under his cock. Dmitri cupped it, pressing his fingers into the firm ridge behind it. Thierry groaned and slid his hips forward. Dmitri took all of him, sucking, pulling, stroking. Thierry’s knees hugged Dmitri’s ribs, then splayed wide in his attempt to get closer, deeper, to thrust. Dmitri hooked his elbows over them, holding them tight to his body. His lover’s dick surged against the roof of his mouth, and then, finally, he tasted him. Thierry shot again and again, writhing on the bench and gasping French words that Dmitri didn’t have the presence of mind to note for later. He was too busy savoring the man’s release, his loss of control, his sweetly bitter semen. It tasted like almonds in brown sugar.

When Thierry stilled, Dmitri drew back and looked up at him. Thierry was staring at the fluorescents overhead, his chest heaving. He gripped Dmitri’s hair and when he looked down his eyes said it before he did.

“Thank you.”

Dmitri stood and laid a kiss on his forehead. “Give me a moment.”

He undressed quickly, then led Thierry into the shower. The younger man hissed as the water sprayed cold at first. It soon warmed, though, and Dmitri spent several minutes washing his lover’s strong, weary body. Thierry’s hands slipped over his body as well, linking behind Dmitri’s back, forcing him in for an occasional kiss. Those kisses soon became more than occasional and not remotely coerced, until they clutched at each other, soap forgotten somewhere on the tile below. Thierry’s hands gripped his ass hard. Was he asking? Dmitri let his fingers slide down the man’s crack. When he found Thierry’s hole and pressed, the man in his arms grunted. Dmitri pushed inside him a knuckle’s worth, and Thierry let out a moan that sounded nearly pained. Definitely desperate. He grabbed Dmitri’s hair, nipped his ear.

“Take me home. To our bed.”

Dmitri pulled back. Thierry’s eyes were clear now, though shaded with more desire than Dmitri had ever seen in them. “Our bed.”

“Please?”

Magic word indeed. Well, he had one of his own. “Please don’t change your mind.”

Thierry clenched his muscle around Dmitri’s finger. “I won’t.”

 

* * *

 

Thierry changed his mind a hundred times on the way home.

He wanted Dmitri, badly. Wanted to feel his body pressing into his own, feel the full lengths of them sliding and scraping, skin to skin.

But he wanted to run too. Wanted, ten different times during the fifteen-mile drive, to fling open the door and jump out, to shift, to escape.

But what did he want to escape? A man he wanted? A man who wanted him? There was no doubt Dmitri desired him, per the evidence in the shower. Hell, the evidence of the past few weeks. It had piled up until it was pressing hard into his thigh under the hot water.

So much want.

He didn’t open the door, and he didn’t jump. It would have been difficult anyway because Dmitri’s hand was clamped firmly over his. Still, when they reached the cabin and he climbed out of the truck, he must have given himself away.

“Don’t,” Dmitri said.

Thierry looked at him. Warning flashed from his wolf’s moonlit eyes, but just behind that, a softness. If he ran, he would hurt this man, and he didn’t want to. He wanted to make his life better, make the man himself happier than he’d ever been. He wanted to see that softness every time he looked at him. He held out his hand.

Dmitri took it, gave it a light squeeze. Led him to the front door.

Inside, he continued to pull Thierry, away from the kitchen, down the hall, into the dark cave of the bedroom. Moonlight filtered through the curtains, illuminating a silver strip across the duvet. He began to strip.

Dmitri met him, solid and warm, as soon as they were naked. Thierry sighed into him, soul-hungry for the reassurance it seemed he could only get from this man. Dmitri held him tight, held him up.

“I want you so much, mon loup.”

Dmitri bent away, threw back the duvet. “Lie down.”

The sheets felt smooth against his back, cool in this room that lay farthest from the wood stove. He shivered, a little frisson of delight, and then Dmitri climbed in next to him. He settled on an elbow and looked down at Thierry. “I’m safe,” he said.

Thierry gave him a small grin. “I doubt that.”

Dmitri tapped his cheek. “I mean I’ve been tested. But I do have a history. A distant history at this point, but a history.”

Thierry slipped his fingertips into the hair on Dmitri’s chest. “I haven’t been with anyone since the dreams began. I got tested this summer. I’m clean.”

“Darn, I was hoping for dirty.”

Thierry grinned again. “You want dirty, eh?”

Dmitri made a lazy shrug.

Thierry wanted to give him that but knew that he couldn’t. Not tonight. “Dirty is fun. But dirty is an act. I need to be with you. As myself.”

Dmitri’s expression melted into something more real. “Christ, Thierry. I want that, too.”

They kissed, gently, letting their bodies get acquainted as if for the first time. Dmitri’s hands felt warm, capable. Solid and confident. He kept his body slightly above Thierry’s, and he felt the shelter of it in his bones. He wanted to feel that weight on him, pressing him into the mattress, though, so he pulled Dmitri on top of him. The man came to him, bore his torso on his elbows but let his hips settle against Thierry’s.

Thierry wrapped his legs around his lover’s, let his hands explore. The scrape of Dmitri’s beard shocked him out of his haze a few times, but it was a delicious shock, like a dollop of vanilla ice cream in a mug of dark, rich coffee. As slowly as they moved, his cock soon ached between them. Dmitri’s pressed into his belly, long past hard, and the thought of the man’s restraint sent an unexpected tingle down Thierry’s spine. He clenched his ass, felt his balls and cock rise on the flex of his internal muscle. God, he had never needed so much.

“Fuck me, please.”

Dmitri had been nuzzling his neck. He growled at Thierry’s words, pushing his hips hard against him. Thierry heard him inhale and then felt the warm brush of his breath at his ear. “En français.”

Thierry moaned. “Baisez-moi.”

“S’il te plaît.”

“S’il te plaît.”

Dmitri rose and smiled down at him. “It does. Please me, that is.” He reached for the nightstand, drawing a bottle from its drawer. Caging Thierry’s head between his elbows, Dmitri kissed him. Somewhere above his head, the lube snapped open.

“I want you just like this. That okay?”

“Face to face?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

The lube snapped shut. Dmitri sat up. Thierry watched him slick his fingers down his cock. Its crown gleamed in the moonlight. He spread his legs, and Dmitri’s wet fingers slid down to his hole, causing him to wriggle away then push back. His wolf’s other hand roved lightly over Thierry’s skin, raising shudders that wracked him. Thierry groaned at them, and at the sight of the man so solid above him, so sure and gentle. Nate liked to tease Dmitri about his conquests, but at this moment Thierry couldn’t imagine this man looking at anyone else the same way. Just the thought made his chest ache.

Dmitri tipped forward onto one hand. Instinctively, Thierry opened his legs wider, knees high, and then Dmitri was pushing into him. He held his breath, every nerve in his anus fired by the friction of his lover’s cock sliding home—home—and then Dmitri’s hips met his.

He opened his eyes on a gasp, as if he’d been underwater and only just then allowed to surface. “Dmitri. God, Dmitri.” He was going to lose his mind, right here.

“Shh. Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.”

Dmitri pulled back to look at him. “Should I—”

“No!” He clutched at his back. “I’m only… overwhelmed.” He kissed Dmitri hard. “You’re perfect. So perfect.”

“Sweetheart.” Dmitri kissed him back, gentling him with soft strokes of lips and tongue. “Je t’adore,” he murmured.

The words wrapped up Thierry’s heart in a strong fist and squeezed. When it let go, words rushed out of him. “Je t’adore, mon loup. Je te chéris. Je te veux, maintenant, demain, toujours, içi, en moi.”

Dmitri kissed him, began to move. “Maybe you’ll tell me later what you just said?”

“Je t’aime,” Thierry said.

Dmitri’s sure rhythm stuttered… but didn’t stop. A look of pure happiness spread over his face. “Won’t need a dictionary for that.” He brushed his lips over Thierry’s. “Je t’aime.”

They moved together, pulling, meeting again until the moonlight and Dmitri’s scent and the panting of their breath gave Thierry the sense that they were running, long, powerful strides through the forest, surging to catch one another, leaping, rolling, tumbling. The image was so vivid that his orgasm surprised him, jolting him out of the forest and back into the dark, humid bedroom. Above him, Dmitri thrust, lips pulled back to bare his teeth. He grunted and thrust again, and again, and then his cock was ticking inside Thierry’s body, his breath hissing through his teeth. Thierry held him up, marveling at the feel of him, at the way he strove with his whole body to push into Thierry as deeply as possible. Thierry gripped his ass until he was spent and then wrapped him up tight.

Dmitri melted into him, groaning. “I really do,” he panted. “And not just because you let me fuck you.”

“You really do what?”

Dmitri pulled up to look at him, and the shyness in his gaze shot him through with warmth. “Love you. I love you, Marrou.”

“And I love you,” he said, adding sternly, “Sernov.”

His lover grinned. “Thierry.”

“Dmitri.”

He brushed Thierry’s damp hair off his forehead and frowned down at him. “Who are you?”

Not the man he’d been a year before, or a month ago, or even last week. He didn’t recognize himself, and yet he did, as though he had switched places with the man in his dream and could finally see himself for who he was.

“I’m your muse, of course.” He caught Dmitri’s hand and kissed his fingertips. “Your obnoxious pup.” He bit one gently. “Your left wing, your willing dinner guest, your wood cutter.”

Dmitri chuckled.

“Your cabin renovator.” He kissed his wolf. “Your bed warmer.”

Kiss.

“Your biggest fan.”

“Mm.”

“Seems you’re stuck with me. I’m simply yours.”

Dmitri’s chest swelled under his hands. “How do you say, ‘I’m the luckiest fucker alive’?”

“Just like that,” Thierry said and rolled his lover onto his back.