Patient Z (26 page)

Mitch went into full-on nursemaid mode briefly, fussing around as Cal undressed and slipped into the bed in only his underwear. As Cal lay watching, Mitch bolted the door, turned off the lights, and undressed by the light of an electric lantern. When he got to his shorts, he hesitated, and Cal spoke softly.

“Take them off.”

Mitch did, quickly, and slipped into the bed as Cal made room for him. The cots creaked and wobbled a bit until Mitch and Cal moved into the middle and settled into each other’s arms.

“You’re ice-cold,” Mitch said. “I shouldn’t have let you walk around without the blanket, not after you got a drenching.” He rubbed Cal’s back roughly, chafing the skin, warming him up.

“You don’t
let
me do anything, or not let me do something,” Cal said.

Mitch nodded. “Sorry. I don’t mean to try to take charge. It’s old habits. Cop habits. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Just keep the orders for when we’re on missions or in battles. The rest of the time…”

“So, you are staying? I mean, if you’re going to be going on missions—”

“I can’t promise too much.” He couldn’t see Mitch’s face well in the dim light from the lantern, which Mitch was turned away from. “I want to stay. I want to be with you. But you said it yourself. Old habits. I can’t say I won’t get restless again.”

“We’ll figure something out if that happens. And I promise you we will not stay here forever. We may stay longer than some people want us to, but I don’t want to spend the rest of my life here.”

He pressed closer, and Cal didn’t pull away. He slid his arms around Mitch’s waist, loving the feel of warm skin pressed against him. He closed his eyes when Mitch leaned in and kissed him. So good. How could he have given this up by choice? He opened his mouth and let Mitch’s tongue probe his, slick and hot. By the time they came up for air from the kiss, both of them were getting hard.

“Touch me,” Cal whispered, his lips still close to Mitch’s, grazing them as he spoke. Mitch took the invitation at once and slid a hand down Cal’s chest and belly, inside his shorts. He curled his fingers around Cal’s cock, stroked it. Cal had no barrier to his hands. Mitch was naked. He pushed against Cal, rubbing his cock against the fabric of Cal’s shorts and groaning at what must be delicious friction on sensitive skin.

“Do you have the lube and condoms handy?” Cal asked. Mitch looked at him wide-eyed and nodded. “Wanna get them, then?”

Mitch turned over so fast he nearly tipped the cot over. Cal grabbed him around the waist, laughing. “Easy, tiger. Don’t make me have to take you to the infirmary bare-ass naked.”

Mitch laughed too, while rummaging in a box by the bed. In a moment he turned onto his back, lube in one hand, condoms in the other.

“You need the condoms?” Mitch asked. “Only, hadn’t we stopped using them?”

“They’re for me,” Cal said. When he saw Mitch understood, he went on. “If that’s okay? You said you were versatile.”

“Um, yes, that’s okay. But I trust you too. You said the doctor tested you. So if you want to bareback…”

“There’s still the zombie virus.” Cal shook his head when Mitch started to speak. “I know, you don’t believe I had it. Maybe I didn’t, but I’m not taking a chance.” He took the box of condoms from Mitch, who slid a hand around his face and into his hair to pull him close for a kiss. He moved back and smiled, so close to Cal his eyes were almost crossing trying to look at him. He stroked Cal’s hair, brushing it off his face.

“You’re a good man, Cal. Whatever you did before. Whatever you think of yourself. I’m judging you on what I’ve seen of you. And what I’ve seen tells me you’re a good man.”

“And an even better lover. Lube, please.” Mitch handed it over, grinning. He turned onto his side so Cal could get at his ass and tensed up when Cal slipped a lubed finger into him. “You okay?” Cal asked, leaning over his shoulder, speaking quietly, close to his ear.

“Yes,” Mitch gasped. “Just been a while.”

“How long’s a while?” Cal asked. Was he pushing Mitch into something he didn’t want to do? It had to be at least two years—Mitch said he’d had no other lover apart from Cal since the apocalypse.

“About three years. Ah, Dex didn’t like to top much.”

“Did that suit you?”
Keep him talking. Relax him.

“I…I guess. I prefer to top.”

“If you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to.”

Mitch twisted around to look at him, and Cal dipped his head to kiss him. “You want to. Is it what you prefer?”

This was when, back in the old days, he’d have given the answer he figured the man most wanted to hear. But this was Mitch, and this wasn’t that type of relationship.

“I like to do either, but I prefer to top. Guess that means we’re going to have to take turns.” Mitch nodded his agreement, and Cal sighed with relief. He supposed that was what they called negotiating consent. With Mitch’s brave new politically correct world of respecting everyone’s sexual boundaries, there’d be a lot of that. It seemed awfully time-consuming. In the past he’d be inside Mitch fucking him silly by now.

The thought made him groan and shove his shorts down to grab his cock and pump it a couple of times. He’d torn open the condom before he got his hand all lubey, so he could get it out of the packet and on without too much trouble. Mitch, who’d been writhing against him as Cal prepared him, made an inarticulate protest when Cal withdrew his fingers. He seemed to have gotten over his initial discomfort.

“Hurry,” he pleaded. “I’m ready.” He turned onto his front, his legs parted. Cal tossed the sheets and blankets aside, wanting to see him. He positioned himself, supported on his hands, and pushed in, a quick thrust, burying himself deep.

Mitch cried out, but he didn’t order Cal to get off him. Cal gave him a second, not moving, while Mitch panted and then took in a slow breath.

“Okay?” Cal asked.

“Okay,” Mitch said, voice shaky. “Damn, you’re big.”

Cal grinned. “If that’s flattery, I have no objection to it.” He was slightly over average at seven and a bit inches, but if that was the biggest Mitch had ever had, then he must indeed have led a sheltered life.

He started slow, just rocking at first to let Mitch get used to the movement. He waited until Mitch hoarsely whispered, “More.” With that encouragement he began some slow thrusts, shallow, small movements of his hips. A few minutes of that and the word came again. “More.” So much more than assent in it, but also pleading. Need.

He increased his thrusts, and then it was hard to set the careful pace he’d had a moment ago. The heat was building in him. The desire was climbing and taking control. He couldn’t resist it. He wouldn’t have stopped for a thousand bucks.

He bent down to kiss Mitch’s wide shoulders and back. His stubble rasped the smooth skin, and Mitch groaned.

“Sorry, I should have shaved,” Cal said.

“No, it’s good. It’s all good.” Mitch was grinding his hips, humping the bed, panting. “Ah, Cal, that’s so fucking
good
.”

The words turned Cal on even more. Mitch so rarely cursed, except when he was fighting, adrenaline rushing. It indicated a loss of control from this oh-so-carefully controlled man, and it thrilled Cal that he could induce it.

“More,” Mitch said again, strain in his voice. Cal gave him everything, fast, hard thrusts. Not rough—he hadn’t asked for that. Smooth movements. Cal had been called graceful. Was there any grace in this primitive act? Perhaps. Was there beauty in it? He’d never thought so. Sex was a frantic, messy, faintly ridiculous business. And a business. To him that was what it had been so often—a transaction. Even after his old “career” had ended, it had been the same. An exchange for relief, mutual pleasure. The men he’d met after the end of the world, but before Mitch, he’d barely even cared what they looked like. Relatively clean and not a zombie had been the standard. There were no longer plenty more fish in the sea. You took what you could get and gave something in return. A transaction.

Not with Mitch. Not even this taking-turns-to-top thing. That made them partners. And with Mitch all the messy and ridiculous aspects of sex seemed to melt away. The way their bodies fit together was beautiful. He relished the contrasts between them, the olive tone of his skin against Mitch’s golden tan. Mitch’s short crop and Cal’s longer hair. Mitch’s smooth skin, with its sparse hairs, and the dark, dense hair on Cal’s legs, belly, and chest. But the similarities too thrilled him. Both were strong, though Mitch was bulky where Cal was lean and rangy. Cal loved the feel of a man as strong as himself against his body, a man he could match his strength with and neither win nor lose, but join with. Be equal with.

Mitch twisted around and reached up to Cal, who bent his head down to kiss him. Mitch’s kiss was frantic, hungry. “Cal,” he moaned, breaking away, but still close, speaking into Cal’s mouth. “I love you.”

His words were there, in Cal’s mouth. Almost as if Cal were saying them himself. Or they both were. So easy now, surely, to say them back. He’d said them before, to other men. Men he did not love. It was so easy to say when it wasn’t true.

He had to say something.
Me too
was ludicrous.
I know
would sound like he’d let Bren’s Han Solo remark go to his head.

Just fucking say it. You feel it. You know you do.

It scared him so much. But should it? He wasn’t Mitch’s slave. He’d loved him when he walked away from him. It had hurt to leave, but he’d been able to make the choice to do so. His love did not control him. Had he been wrong all along? Love did not have to make him powerless.

Mitch’s lips were pressed against his again. Electric jolts were pulsing through Cal’s body, and he was close to coming. His cock felt like a bar of flame. He had to say it now, because his fear would rush back after he climaxed. He’d never be able to say it in cold blood. He pulled out of the kiss, far enough to look into Mitch’s eyes. But climax broke over him, and the world went blurred and misty. His voice vanished in a wordless, animal cry. As the tension poured out of him, he fell down on top of Mitch, trembling, sweating.

By the time he came back to his senses after floating in a pink cloud of postorgasmic bliss, he found himself on his side, snuggled against Mitch, who lay on his back, looking like a man who wished he smoked, because he really needed a cigarette at that moment. Cal raised his head from the pillow and rested his chin on Mitch’s shoulder, making Mitch turn to him and smile.

“Hello, sleepyhead,” Mitch said.

“Sleepyhead?”

“You’ve been out for about twenty minutes,” Mitch said. Cal shook his head, hardly believing it. He reached down to find the condom gone. Mitch had obviously gotten rid of it.

“Nothing wrong with a nap,” Cal said. “I had a busy day yesterday. Um, sorry, I was a bit preoccupied at the end.” Would that serve as his excuse for not saying those words back? “You did come, right?”

Mitch laughed and rolled his eyes. “No, I popped out for coffee and a doughnut. Of course I came. In fact I’ve been waiting for you to wake up so I could get up and change the sheets.”

Cal pulled a face and sat up. “Should have woken me. How about we change the bed and then take a shower?”

“Good plan.” He sat up, but Cal caught his arm before he could get out of bed.

“Mitch, I’m sorry I didn’t say it back.”

“It’s okay,” Mitch said. “They’re only words. What you did yesterday, that said it loud and clear.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The alarm woke Mitch and Cal from an afternoon snooze five days later. They’d been working all morning on the continuing repairs to the section destroyed in Ethan’s first attack, and a postlunch nap had seemed like a good idea. But they never had the chance to be peaceful and happy for long. The alarm had Mitch scrambling up and looking for his boots before he was even properly awake. He reached the door, Cal a few steps behind him.

“Bren wants you on deck,” Blanca called, running past as Mitch opened the door. “Helipad.”

“Thanks. Cal, head for the armory. Bring me my weapons.”

“Right.” Cal took off after Blanca, and Mitch headed the other way, onto the deck, shading his eyes from the dazzle of the afternoon sunshine. Though almost December, it was a bright and clear day. He ran for the helipad and climbed the steep steps to it two at a time.

“Over here,” Bren shouted, standing at the rail with Tanya, the two of them looking south with binoculars.

“What is it?” Mitch asked. It couldn’t be an attack, surely—he glanced at his watch—at a quarter after two in the afternoon. Bren pointed when Mitch reached her.

“One boat. Coming up fast.”

“One?” Mitch took the binos when she handed them to him and found the boat. It was a cabin cruiser. Hard to tell the size at this distance.

“There’s a bit of a swell,” Tanya said as she loaded her sniper rifle. “But I’ll have a decent chance of hitting someone on its deck at six hundred yards. Say the word if you want me to fire on them.”

“It’s slowing,” Mitch said. “In fact, I think it’s stopping. Maybe a thousand yards out.”

Bren smiled thinly. “They know about Tanya. It’s got to be Ethan.”

Debbie burst onto the helipad deck. “Radio,” she panted. “Mitch, Bren, we need you two in the radio room.”

“Someone calling from the boat?” Bren asked.

“Not just someone,” Debbie said. “Ethan.”

Mitch ran, Bren hard on his heels. They reached the tiny radio room, its shortwave radio operated by a woman, Vera, whose husband had been a ham radio enthusiast before the apocalypse. Mitch grabbed the mic before Bren could. She shouldn’t have to speak to him.

“Kennedy here. Who is this?”

“Hey, Mitch. How’s it going? Still taking it up the ass?” Yes, definitely Ethan.

“State your business before we bring out the rocket launcher.” It was an empty threat. They couldn’t hit his boat that far away.

“I want to come aboard and talk,” Ethan said. “Just me. No tricks.”

“You’re kidding me,” Mitch said. “You honestly think I’d let you back on here?” Bren was listening, arms folded, pacing, wearing a deep scowl, but she chose to let Mitch handle it, however frustrated she looked.