Conquer the Flames (Langs Down) (35 page)

Anna says that’s a good sign, that my reactions are beginning to normalize where sex is concerned. I don’t know if it’s really where sex is concerned, but it certainly is where you’re concerned. I can think of your hands on me and I can get aroused, not just my brain but my body too. I still can’t get much past hands in my head, unless it’s kissing. Anna gave me a list of things to try to imagine starting with kissing, which is easy because that’s remembering, not imagining, and working through hand jobs and blow jobs all the way to penetrative sex. We talked about that already, and that hasn’t changed, but I’m still working on the rest.

I think about you lying on the couch with your shirt off and how good you look and how much I want to touch you. I can practically feel the hair on your chest under my palms. That’s how clear my memories are. And then I think about you kissing me and the way it’s never just my mouth, but my cheeks and my jaw and behind my ear, and what your beard does to me, and I want to make you feel the same way. I want to kiss you and keep kissing you and maybe even kiss my way down your chest.

That’s all safe, you see. He never did anything like that to me or made me do it to him. I think that’s why I can think about a hand job too. He didn’t touch me that way (he didn’t care if I got off, thank God. I don’t think I could have stood that humiliation on top of everything else) and he didn’t make me touch him that way either. Yes, it’s sex, but it’s not tainted by being raped.

There, I said it. I called it what it was. Anna makes me practice saying it. I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse, but at least it makes it not a secret anymore, not something hidden or shameful. I didn’t ask for what happened to me, and it’s not my fault that I wasn’t strong enough at sixteen to fight off a full-grown man.

Anyway, that’s not what I wanted to write about. I wanted to tell you about my dreams and the visualizations Anna has me doing. I won’t say I exactly look forward to the visualizations because she insists I not always stay with what’s comfortable but that I keep considering different options, so the visualization times don’t always end well. I get to the point where I try to imagine giving you a blow job and I freeze up. When I dream, though, there’s no pressure to go beyond what’s comfortable, and I dream, Thorne. God, how I dream! I can see your face and the way it looks when I touch you, and that just gets better the more I touch you. And then when I wake up, I keep my eyes closed and imagine it’s your hand touching me, making me feel good, and it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I can only guess how much better it will be when you’re really here.

I’m counting the days until it’s time for the next supply run and your next batch of letters. Maybe you’ll have a better idea then of when you’ll be home and I can count the days until you’re here again.

I love you.

Ian

Twenty-Six

T
HORNE
stopped his ute when he reached the entrance to the valley. It had only been three months since he’d first laid eyes on the little piece of heaven on earth tucked into the sere tablelands, but it had already become home, a home he had sorely missed over the past five weeks. The valley was greener than when he’d first arrived, the lower temperatures and increased rain allowing it to recover from the worst of the summer heat. The paddocks weren’t as dry either, although they hadn’t greened up the way the valley had.

He was late for lunch and early for dinner, so he didn’t expect a lot of people to be around when he arrived, but he hoped Ian would be there. They’d talked briefly the night before when Thorne called him from Walker’s flat, but it had been a stilted conversation with Walker in the next room and so much they needed to say to each other without an audience.

Thorne only hoped the awkwardness of the conversation wouldn’t carry over once they were together again. He’d bared so much of himself to Ian in his letters, and Ian had done the same in return, so much spoken and yet unspoken. They weren’t coming back together as the same men they’d been when they parted, and while Thorne thought they were both stronger for it, they would have to find their balance again.

Sitting here at the entrance of the valley wouldn’t make that any easier, so with a fortifying breath, Thorne put the ute back in gear and headed toward the station.

He parked in front of Ian’s house and tossed his bag onto the veranda. He could wait to unpack until after he’d seen Ian and made sure he was still welcome either on Ian’s couch or in his bed. He thought he would be, but he didn’t want to assume.

He’d headed back up the road toward the canteen, hoping to find someone who could give him an idea where to find Ian, when he saw Ian walking down the road toward him.

“Hi,” Ian said shyly when he neared where Thorne stood.

“Hi,” Thorne replied. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Ian said. His hands twitched at his sides like he didn’t quite know what to do with them. Thorne wanted to reach out and twine his fingers through Ian’s to settle them, but he’d promised to let Ian take the lead and make the first move, and he wouldn’t break that promise less than a minute after he got home. “How was the drive?”

“Long,” Thorne said, “but not bad. How have things been here on the station?” It wasn’t what he wanted to ask, but they seemed stuck in a loop of small talk. Thorne felt his heart shrivel a little as he tried to figure out how to get past it.

“We got some rain,” Ian said. “We needed it. Caine had started talking about needing to bring in hay to supplement the grass in the paddocks, but I think we’ll be okay without it now.”

Before Thorne could think of what to say next, Neil walked up behind Ian and bopped him on the back of the head. “Just kiss him, drongo. You’ve been moping around for five weeks, missing him. Whatever you’re talking about, it can wait until later.”

Ian ducked his head and glared at Neil, but the smile tugging at his lips spoiled it. Thorne held out his hand in offer, not quite ready to take the final step of initiating the kiss without some sign from Ian but more than happy to give Ian a sign of his welcome. That seemed to be all the invitation Ian needed, because he closed the distance between them and leaned up to kiss Thorne. Thorne bent eagerly to meet him and sighed into the kiss when their lips met. They still had to talk, they still had to work everything out, but he was home and in Ian’s arms and kissing him again and nothing else mattered right now, not even Neil standing nearby.

“Get a room,” someone shouted.

“Get a life,” Neil shot back before Thorne could react. He lifted his head but kept Ian tucked tightly against him and watched as Neil strode down the road toward whoever had shouted at them.

“He won’t have a job come morning,” Ian murmured against Thorne’s shoulder, “but I’d rather take this inside if it’s all the same to you.”

“I’ll go anywhere in the world with you,” Thorne replied. “Inside is easy.”

He slipped his arm around Ian’s waist as they walked back toward Ian’s house.

“Neil already told me to take the rest of the day off when you got here,” Ian said as they neared the veranda, “so I’m yours for the afternoon.”

“Not just the afternoon, I hope,” Thorne said.

“Not just the afternoon,” Ian confirmed with a blush that turned his face nearly the color of his hair, “but tomorrow you have to share my time with the station again. I do have a job, you know, and so do you.”

“I know,” Thorne said, giving Ian a squeeze, “and I appreciate Neil giving us the afternoon off.”

They reached the veranda and Thorne’s bag.

“Why didn’t you take it inside?” Ian asked. “It’s just two more steps.”

“Because I wanted to find you first,” Thorne said, “and because I didn’t want to assume.”

“I appreciate that,” Ian said, “but in this case, please assume. I know we’ve got a lot to talk about and I know I have a long way to go—and maybe I’ll never get all the way there, although Anna says I’m making good progress—but I missed you while you were gone, a constant ache like a missing limb. I’m sure we’ll argue and fight and have missteps and everything else, but there’s only one place I want you to sleep at night, and that’s in our bed, next to me. If you have to spend a night in one of the drovers’ huts, I’ll live with that because I’m sure there will be nights I’m stuck out there too, but I don’t ever want you to doubt your welcome.”

Thorne grabbed his bag as they crossed the veranda and then promptly dropped it again when they made it inside because he couldn’t let a declaration like that go without kissing Ian as thoroughly as he knew how.

Ian returned the kiss eagerly, drawing Thorne deeper into the house without pulling back. For a moment, Thorne thought Ian was leading them toward the bedroom and was going to slow things down, but then he detoured toward the couch. Thorne had no problem following him there, especially not after Ian’s later letters. Thorne didn’t want to rush into anything, but he’d follow Ian’s lead wherever that took them.

He’d lost track of how many times he’d jerked off thinking about Ian’s letters and about Ian lying in bed dreaming of him. He’d like nothing more than to make those dreams a reality right now, but that would be up to Ian.

I
AN
broke the kiss, his body tingling with need. He’d been so afraid the passion from his dreams wouldn’t carry over to reality when Thorne returned. He needn’t have worried. Thorne still tasted of peppermint, far more delicious in reality than it had been in his dreams. His beard still rasped against Ian’s lips, an extra layer of stimulation, as if he needed more. His chest was still solid and strong beneath Ian’s hands, and best of all, Ian’s body reacted to it, filling him with desire and need.

He tugged at the hem of Thorne’s shirt, eager now to get his hands on his lover’s body again. Thorne moved easily with him, allowing Ian to strip him to the waist. A wave of shyness hit him for a moment, but he focused on Thorne’s face and on the need and desire he saw that echoed his own. Thorne wanted this as badly as Ian did, whatever “this” turned out to be.

He ran his hands up Thorne’s chest from his waist to his shoulders, relishing the feel of thick, dark hair beneath his palms and the occasional patch of rough skin from a scar. Thorne arched into the caress, making Ian smile. He took his time, reacquainting himself with Thorne’s body, finding all his sensitive spots and lavishing attention on them, and when that was no longer enough, he nudged Thorne to lie back against the arm of the couch as they had done so many times already. When Ian moved to continue their lovemaking—for he was ready for this to be more than just making out—he didn’t roll off to the side as he had always done before. Instead he straddled Thorne as he had done that fateful night that had resulted in so many changes. He hissed when the position brought their erections together through their clothes, but he didn’t panic this time. Thorne wouldn’t hurt him. The bulge in his trousers was no threat to him, just another way he could make Thorne feel good. He rocked against Thorne hesitantly, gratified beyond words when Thorne’s gaze went dark with need and he spread his legs and encouraged Ian to settle between them.

He rocked again with a little more determination as he lowered his head to taste the skin of Thorne’s collarbone.

“F-fuck,” Thorne gasped. “Who are you and what have you done with my Ian?”

Ian grinned up at him. “I told you what I’d been dreaming about, or did you not believe me?”

“I believed you, but I didn’t expect you to be quite so….”

“Eager?” Ian suggested, rubbing against Thorne again. “Well, I am. Is that going to be a problem?”

“Jesus, fuck, no problem,” Thorne cursed. “
No
problem. Just, God, don’t stop.”

Ian grinned and kept rocking and licking and loving the way Thorne squirmed and writhed and bucked beneath him. He felt like he was flying on the huge rush of adrenaline from having this magnificent man spread out for his enjoyment. He rutted against the vee of Thorne’s legs, the friction far more potent than the touch of his own hand had been. He panted hard, little puffs of breath against Thorne’s chest as he struggled for control. He didn’t want this to be over yet. He wanted the sense of freedom to continue. He didn’t have to think like this; he could turn off his mind and let his body take over.

Beneath him Thorne stiffened suddenly and then went lax, and Ian flushed hot, realizing what must have happened. He buried his face against Thorne’s neck and let himself go, giving in to the flood of sensation.

Only then did Thorne put his arms around his shoulders, lightly enough he could get away if he wanted to… but he didn’t want to. No, he never wanted to move from where they were right at that moment. Besides, he was quite sure his legs wouldn’t support his weight, so they were stuck there.

He breathed in the scent of Thorne’s skin, overlaid with the scent of sex between them, and thought he’d never smelled anything so wonderful in his life. It was a smell he’d always been keen to wash away before, but now, with Thorne warm and pliant beneath him, it represented safety, not shame or fear or pain.