«They're just so different. I mean, they have nothing in common. Mike is a cynical ass and he uses drugs. Not to mention his unfortunate career. Casper is…»
He stopped when Sebastian laughed at him and told him he sounded like a fool. «You're developing this control thing, Peter. You want everybody to do what you want them to do. You're shocked when adult men make choices that are different than the choices you would make for them.»
Peter turned around from the sink, suds dripping off his hands. «I am not a control freak. How can you say that?»
Sebastian piled plates in the dishwasher. Peter caught himself removing them for a quick rinse, then putting them back in the dishwasher in their proper place. They would not get cleaned shoved all in there together with sour cream dried on the glaze, and they needed these plates for dinner. It wasn't like they were Felix and Oscar, the Odd Couple, for crying out loud. He just needed the plates cleaned right… Sebastian watched him, his arms crossed over his chest, but he didn't say anything else.
«Do you think it's just because of the hotel? Maybe I'm getting, I don't know, worse as I get older, more finicky. Am I such a control freak I'm running you off?»
He tried to keep his voice light, but Sebastian pulled him away from the sink and into his arms. «Try not to think so much, Peter.» Sebastian's neck smelled like fresh air, sunshine, Glacier Bay, and blueberries and Peter nuzzled into him, had to keep himself from wrapping his legs around Sebastian and clinging to him like a black bear cub stuck up a tree. And then Sebastian's mouth was on his, and suddenly it was easy to do what he had been told to do, and not think so much.
«Come upstairs, Peter. We have a little time before the cops show up and drag me off in cuffs.» «Sebastian, don't even say that. Oh, God. I don't think I can take much more.»
«Stop fussing. Just come on with me.» Sebastian pulled him by the hand up the stairs, but Peter couldn't concentrate, that picture was looming so hugely in his mind, of Sebastian under arrest, hands cuffed behind his back, and it was all his fault. All his fault. He needed a good cry, a long vacation away from here, something.
«What you need is me, and us, back the way we're supposed to be,» Sebastian said, and it wasn't the first time Peter had suspected that Sebastian could read his mind.
In the bedroom Sebastian went about closing the curtains, then he lit the small sandalwood candle Peter kept next to their bed. He turned and looked at Peter over his shoulder. «Get undressed.»
In the dusky room his eyes were dark and hooded, and Peter felt a shiver go through him, anticipation and the tone in Sebastian's voice, a simmering undercurrent of anger. It must have been there all along. Peter unbuttoned his shirt, hung it in the closet, slid his cords and underwear and socks off and Sebastian stood there next to the bed, watching him, his arms crossed over his chest. He jerked his chin, and Peter climbed on the bed, sat up on his knees, and waited.
Sebastian got the lube out of the bedside drawer, walked around the bed and pushed Peer over to his hands and knees. He dribbled a bit of lube across his fingers, slid them down the smooth skin of his ass until he pressed gently into his anus. He put that hand on Peter's lower back, holding him still, and reached for the waistband of his jeans with the other.
Sebastian didn't get undressed; he just pushed his jeans and boxers down enough so his dark and angry cock sprang out, then he pulled Peter by the hips to the edge of the bed.
Peter turned around and stared at him over his shoulder. Twin flames from the candlelight were burning in his dark eyes, candlelight and something more. «Sebastian. I'm sorry.»
He didn't speak, just shoved forward until the head of his cock was lodged against Peter's ass. They stared at each other for a moment longer, then Peter turned back around and braced his hands and shoved his ass back, let Sebastian come inside him.
Sebastian had him around the hips, then around the waist, then his hands reached up and stroked Peter's nipples, gave them a little pinch. He leaned forward, thrusting deep, took a little bite from his neck, and Peter could feel Sebastian's hair sliding across his skin.
Then he stood back up, pulled Peter back until they were seated together, started rocking hard and thrusting in some fury or passion, love, or jealousy. «Don't you ever let another man put his hands on you, Peter. Ever. Do you understand me?»
«Yes, Sebastian. I understand.» He could hardly get the words out, the heat was rolling off Sebastian like a wildfire and he was burning up, possessed, and then Peter's anger, the resentment, the months of waiting alone, gone, ash and smoke.
Peter couldn't speak, the waves of sensation were closing his throat, sweeping down across his belly and into his balls, and Sebastian slammed into him over and over. His hands were like a vise on Peter's hips, and Peter knew Sebastian was close to coming, the sweat from his face dripping down Peter's back. «Say it, Peter.»
«You're the only one.» Sebastian was bucking against his ass, dark groans with each wild thrust like they were torn from his throat. «You're the only one.» Then Sebastian was coming, his body quivering and taut as an arrow, and when he was done he lay his head down on Peter's back and cried. * * * * *
The state cop had a spoiled, petulant mouth under a sandy red mustache and a soft chin that shook just a bit when he spoke. Peter regarded him with the gravest foreboding.
Susan was sitting with him in Peter's dining room, and he was reading copies of the witness statements. Peter noticed that he was licking the tip of a red pencil before making notes on the statements. That was disgusting. Could you get lead poisoning from a red pencil? The cop looked up at him, his expression peeved. «Would you mind?»
«Would I mind what?» Peter spread the damask runner across the buffet, then put the stack of bread plates warm from the dishwasher on the gold cloth. «I'm trying to work here.»
«So am I,» Peter said. «I'm serving dinner for the hotel's guests in half an hour in this room.»
«This whole place is a crime scene. Don't push me. I could close you down, and I will, don't mistake me.»
Peter looked into the weak eyes of a bully. «You're welcome to join us for dinner, Officer, but I will be serving in this room before the hour is up. I will be moving in and out. Feel free to find another room or another hotel altogether for your law enforcement work.»
The cop, whose name tag said Mulligan, sat back in one of Peter's good chairs, tilted it onto its legs. «Pretty fancy-looking place for an island this size. You got a lot of gays coming out here to experience the real Alaska, have a wild adventure or something? Frolic in Glacier Bay?» The sneer in his voice was faint. «This is one of those gay hotels?»
«I'm not aware that the hotel has any sexual feelings of that nature,» Peter said. «But I don't discriminate. If the hotel turns out to be gay, I'll probably still keep it.»
Mulligan looked irritated and confused, and Peter suspected this was his default expression. He looked pointedly away from Peter to Susan. «So, I think we can reasonably assume it had to be somebody staying at the hotel.»
«No, not at all,» Susan said. She had already made this point in Peter's hearing several times, but her voice was patient as she said it again. «Anyone could have walked here from town in fifteen minutes.» «But why would they?»
Susan blinked. «Excuse me? I guess they would come here in order to murder Jacob.» «You're on a first name basis with the victim?» «I met him, yes.»
«So he was staying here. Was it some gay love affair gone wrong, or one of these sex triangles, or…»
«No,» Susan said. «We have no reason to believe sex or his sexual orientation had anything to do with his murder. He was a person with a full and complete life, Officer Mulligan, and something in that life may or may not have triggered this horrible violence