With Everything I Have (2 page)

The glimpse of buried feeling in Peter’s
expression gave Sebastian pain in the region of his heart. “I’m not
much of a driver,” he excused himself, too quiet even to his own
ears. The argument was an old one but that did not stop Peter from
going still. He shot Sebastian a glance that was too dark and too
brief for Sebastian to interpret. Peter’s shoulders remained stiff
and tense. Then he turned back to his work, taking up a sketch
pad.

“You are a fine driver.” Peter’s tone was
equally hard to follow. It could have been the wine or the late
hour, but Sebastian had often been in here late and occasionally
very drunk indeed, so he didn’t think so. Peter was being unusually
enigmatic. Something was bothering him.

“If the situation calls for it,” Sebastian
answered at last, “though I have no objections to your driving, you
know that.” He leaned back onto his elbows again when Peter sighed
and seemed to relax. Sebastian let Peter stare at his sketches for
a while, then leaned up enough to shrug off his coat and adjust his
cuffs. Peter instantly looked over, not as at ease as he
seemed.

“What’s bothering you?” Sebastian pressed him
as lightly as he knew how. “Besides everything that usually bothers
you, that is.” The list included pollution from the factories,
traffic noise, and the way people talked about the weather when
they didn’t know what else to say.

“Nothing.” Peter was a terrible liar and
Sebastian let him know it by snorting. Peter held onto his pencil
with a resolute air, then exhaled carefully. “You’re here late.” He
was not asking a question, but Sebastian waited, knowing that if
forced to use words, Peter expressed himself in fits and starts
like a rusty machine that didn’t see much use. Peter hummed and
made some kind notation with a satisfied flick of his wrist. “There
was nothing at the party to hold your attention.”

It was another casual observation, or so
Sebastian thought, until his lack of response made Peter glance up
and the tip of Peter’s pencil snapped against the paper. Peter
exclaimed, “Buggering fuck!” and tossed the pencil aside before
grabbing another one. He stared hard at his pad of paper.

Now that was interesting. Sebastian lolled
his head to the side while he waited for his heart to slow its
excited drumming. He was beginning to comprehend the situation and
was not ashamed of the cautious warmth unfurling in his chest. “You
are referring to Prudence Dawson,” he filled in, keeping Peter’s
casual tone.

Prudence Dawson was a nice girl who didn’t
seem to mind Sebastian’s taste in waistcoats—as his mother would
have described Sebastian’s more flamboyant traits. Sebastian could
see why his mother kept throwing Prudence in his direction.
Sebastian was getting older, nearly a quarter of a century now, and
his romantic life was the talk of the city, but not in the way a
mother might hope. She’d want grandchildren too if Sebastian could
convince himself to give ladies a try. He didn’t think he would. He
didn’t believe his mother truly thought he would either. Soon she
might even give in the inevitable and shove willing young men in in
front of him if Prudence failed to capture his interest. Anything
to save Sebastian from the path he was currently on, which his
mother thought a dead end. Until tonight, a part of Sebastian had
been starting to believe that too. Then Peter had inquired ever so
indirectly about dear little Prudence who just wanted the freedom
to be with her beloved Mary.

“I said no such name,” Peter remarked,
scratching out a notation he must not have needed. He reached for
the bottle with his other hand and drained it. He licked dark red
stains from his lips when he was finished.

Sebastian sighed with more longing than he
meant to. His family had a history of scandal but he might be the
first to continually flout convention as he was. Sodomy was now
legal after one too many famous names dragged through the gutter
press and courtrooms but that didn’t mean the well-heeled and
well-connected expected it to be tossed in their faces. Yet here he
was, the owner of three Aucourtes and possessor to a key to Peter
Aucourte’s home. If Sebastian did not know himself he would have
assumed a lavender-tinted marriage between them as well.

If only.

“No, you didn’t,” he agreed at last, because
Peter hadn’t said the name. Sebastian was probably spinning
daydreams again. He toed off his shoes with a bit of effort and
settled against the headboard of Peter’s bed. “But the talk of your
autos was serious enough. You should make more. Charge more. People
want things more when they have to pay dearly for them, and I
believe we both know most of your fans now are boys you remember
from school. I know I do.” He had a brief memory of their
tormentors but shook it off and grinned at the thought of how they
would kiss Peter’s boots now for a chance to own one of his autos.
“Bleed them dry,” he advised ruthlessly. “Make them beg.”

Peter’s laugh was rewarding. Sebastian helped
himself to Peter’s pillows, piling them behind his back. He let the
bay rum scent wash over him as he went on. “You’ve been building
machines since we were in school. I can’t help being proud that
your work is finally being recognized.”

There were a few imitators, a smattering of
competitors, but none came close to the quality that Peter put into
each creation. Each new model was improved upon the last. His work
was revolutionary… if only the roads could keep up. Most autowagons
were barely faster than a carriage, driven by trained chauffeurs
for slow drives around the park. Peter’s autos were meant for
speed, and a road with holes in it, especially a twisting, narrow
country road, was dangerous.

Peter drove too fast on any road, if
Sebastian were being honest. Frighteningly fast, so fast it was
going to get him killed one day. Peter was scared of a house full
of guests, but flying down dirt roads in a ton of metal excited
him. Sebastian didn’t understand it. He only knew that his presence
in the passenger seat was the one thing guaranteed to make Peter
slow down.

Peter gave another uncomfortable shrug for
the mention of his fame and talent and Sebastian let the topic go
for now. The room was quiet, as was the whole house. The servants
were asleep upstairs and Peter had no family to occupy the floor
with him. It was late, Sebastian realized all over again, but
didn’t move. Nights like this they sometimes watched a moving
picture or he would fall asleep while Peter worked. It was cold
outside in any event and Sebastian had been looking forward to
spending some time with Peter tonight, dinner or no dinner. He
didn’t feel any urge to get up and make his excuses.

Peter made a few more notes in his pad then
got to his feet to stretch his limbs. Sebastian considered the line
of his back and the firm outline of his arse then looked up.

Peter’s eyes were steady on him, so steady
that Sebastian’s chest tightened. But Peter moved before he could,
dragging a hand through his hair and sending waves of soft brown in
all directions. His cravat was the next to go. He pulled the knot
with a slow gesture that made Sebastian’s mouth go dry. Then Peter
rolled up his sleeves and bent down to pull off his shoes. A moment
later he was climbing onto the bed. He ended up on his back at
Sebastian’s side and for a few seconds they both stared at the
bed’s canopy together.

“No picture tonight?” Sebastian’s voice
rasped but he got the words out. Peter let out a tired sigh for an
answer. Sebastian glanced over then turned to fully look at
him.

Peter had scrubbed his hands but not his
cheek. Sebastian studied his profile, comparing to him to the boy
he had been the first time they had lain like this. He felt speared
by something cold and sharp to think of how much time had passed
since then. The rest of his body was hot, even without his coat.
Peter had fallen onto the bed close to him, perhaps on purpose,
perhaps not. Sebastian counted out the days in his head from the
last time they had done this, taking his time, making himself draw
the moment out as long as possible. When he could take it no more,
when he had to know if this was one of those nights, he reached out
to draw Peter’s hair from his face.

He was not breathing evenly but neither was
Peter. Peter, with his eyes closed and his hands tight in the
bedding. Sebastian thought there were quite a few things to say,
things he always meant to say on nights like this, how this wasn’t
why he’d come here or how he ached when Peter was near him, but
after years he had learned to bite his tongue and wait.

It had been a month since the last time and
it was difficult to keep still when Peter allowed himself to be
petted, impossible when Peter turned his face toward him so that
his mouth was against Sebastian’s palm. He seemed shaky, restless,
for a man lying on his own bed, but Sebastian knew a cure for that.
He slid down to climb over Peter’s body. Peter’s eyes instantly
opened only to fall shut again when Sebastian leaned down to press
their mouths together.

Peter’s lips were stained purple and softly
parted. He didn’t kiss back but made a small noise, a confused,
familiar hum of a sound; the sound he made when he could not
understand a concept that was simple to rest of the world.
Sebastian kissed him again, gently, repeatedly, until Peter was
shivering, and then he sat up and reached for the hands holding so
tightly to the blankets and pulled them up high over Peter’s
head.

Peter swallowed. Sebastian kissed his Adam’s
apple then down his throat, marking a spot to return to when Peter
wasn’t trembling with anticipation and too tense to enjoy it.
Sebastian could let go now, ease back to undress Peter if he
wanted. Peter wouldn’t move. He was quiescent, with a line between
his closed eyes that could have been a frown. Sebastian ran a hand
down the white shirtfront and watched Peter’s eyelids flutter and
his mouth fall open.

Sebastian had dreams about that mouth though
he had never felt it on him. It burned nearly as much to know that
no one else had either. He was the only one allowed this.

He put a hand to Peter’s trousers, pushing
aside buttons and braces and not failing to notice Peter’s hesitant
motions, how his knees came up before Peter held himself still
again.

Sebastian glanced up as he pushed aside all
that crisp white to press a kiss to Peter’s stomach, a warning
before he pulled the rest of Peter’s clothes away. He banished all
the little shivers of suppressed motion with his mouth, his hands
warm on Peter’s skin, his ears attuned to Peter’s every harsh
breath, and then when Peter moaned with flustered impatience and
brought his legs back up on either side of Sebastian, Sebastian
reached for the oils Peter kept near his bed.

It was a little thing, and everything, how
Peter opened his eyes to watch him do that, how the small frown
stayed on Peter’s face until Sebastian entered him, and then Peter
eased his head back and let a sigh escape, even with the rest of
his body so still.

His hands remained crossed above his head,
his fingers stretching for a pillow to hold onto. He stopped when
Sebastian shook his head, and choked out a rough sound when
Sebastian pulled their bodies close together and put his hands back
over his wrists to hold him down. Their faces were nearly level
like this. Sebastian could taste each salty hint of sweat, feel
every indrawn breath when he pushed in, and Peter knew he
could.

It was the one moment where they understood
each other perfectly. “Look at me,” Sebastian told him, hardly
knowing his own voice. Peter’s eyes were anything but steady now
though he was still trying to hold on; his hands were wrapped
around Sebastian’s, tight, so tight that Sebastian knew he wasn’t
drunk enough. He’d feel the memory of those hands in the morning.
Peter would be bruised.

He took a hand away, slid it down between
them, aware that he was fully dressed, that not enough skin was
touching for this to matter. It didn’t stop him from stroking
Peter’s cock, his arm shaking with the strain of holding himself
up. Peter wouldn’t ask, not with words, but Sebastian would give it
to him. Every moment of fear and uncertainty was his to take away
with Peter’s thighs around him and Peter’s soft cries growing
louder beneath him. Peter saw everything with those clear, liquid
eyes. They were fixed on Sebastian, the pupils dark and blown, but
it wasn’t enough.

“Look at me,” Sebastian instructed him again,
ordered, and brought Peter’s legs up over his shoulders to push in
deep, relishing the breathless shock that crossed Peter’s face, the
hoarse gasp that left him.

“Sebastian.” Peter’s gaze stayed with his,
startled.

“Just like that.” Sebastian’s hands were
slipping, control fading too fast, but Peter was breathing
raggedly, shaking hard through every inch of his body. “Look at me
just like that,” Sebastian panted, scarcely able to speak. Peter’s
fingers were grasping loosely at him, an uneven counterpoint to the
slight hitch of his hips, desperate little movements upward to let
Sebastian drive in deeper. Uncertain, Peter was always uncertain,
but so eager.

His lips moved, almost shaping Sebastian’s
name when Sebastian began to stroke his cock again. Sebastian bent
in to kiss him, savoring the shocked murmur as Peter reached his
climax with their mouths joined. Sebastian followed him moments
later, spilling inside him with a pleased grunt and a soft,
dragging kiss at Peter’s jaw. He took his hand from Peter’s wrists
and looked them over for damage before he went back to studying
Peter’s face. He smoothed the hair from Peter’s eyes and used his
thumb to wipe at the grease by Peter’s ear.

The first time, the very first time they had
done this, or something close to it, they had been mere boys.
Sebastian had been too different to have many friends at their
school and Peter had been too nervous to make any. They’d often
shared a bed because they’d discovered early that a bedmate eased
Peter’s tension and occasional nightmares, but that night had been
special. Peter had built a crude set of steam-powered wings in an
attempt to fly and had gotten a sprain for his trouble, only
keeping his neck because a tree branch had caught him. Sebastian
had thought himself very daring, his lingering fear at the sight of
Peter tumbling to the ground leading him to kiss Peter when neither
of them could sleep. He hadn’t expected Peter to distance himself
so quickly afterward, or how long it would take before Peter
climbed back into bed with him and allowed more.