With Everything I Have (3 page)

Kisses. Hands. His mouth. His cock. Always
with the same trembling silence, always with the same distance
afterward. Sebastian was old and wise enough now to see this for
what it was, not that the knowledge stopped him from placing slow
kisses at the edge of Peter’s mouth or reliving the memory of Peter
so filled with pleasure that he could not think or speak.

But it was never long enough. It was moments,
seconds, not nearly enough time, and then Peter shifted and opened
his eyes to focus back on the world. Sebastian made himself look
away as he eased off him and sat up. Peter immediately rolled onto
his side and then climbed from the bed, heading into his bathroom.
Sebastian waited until he heard water running before falling
forward onto the bed and cursing into the bedding.

“I was going to ask, as a passenger, do you
think it might be easier to have something in front of you? A
shield of sorts, for the wind? I wouldn’t build it like the heavy,
useless autos. I might curve the glass, if I can arrange it. It
would slow the auto considerably of course. Wind resistance.” Peter
was still catching his breath but his voice carried from the other
room. He was asking questions about his autowagons as if Sebastian
was capable of thinking about anything other than Peter at the
moment. “You have complained about the wind before.”

Sebastian sat back up and straightened
himself as best as he could. Sweat under his clothes made his skin
itch. His waistcoat was splattered with Peter’s spunk. He gave up
on saving it. “It can be a little rough,” he replied, not really
giving a damn what he was saying. Peter appeared in the doorway of
his bathroom, entirely naked, his chest and hair sparkling with
water. Sebastian swept his gaze over him then closed his eyes. He
could hear Peter moving around the room, probably putting on the
Turkish-style pajamas he preferred. Sebastian opened his eyes again
when Peter stopped at the edge of the bed.

“I didn’t realize it was rough. You should
have said.” Peter gave him a curious look, intent and probing.
Sebastian slid to his feet and reached for his coat. It was still
late and cold outside but he was no longer in the mood for Peter’s
questions; they weren’t always so innocent. “You aren’t staying,”
Peter continued, taking time between one statement and the next to
let out a sigh. It could have been relieved or it could have been
distressed, Sebastian couldn’t tell. There were no clues anywhere
else on Peter. His pajamas were forest green silk. Sebastian had
told him to wear forest green more often. For once it seemed that
Peter had listened.

Sebastian considered telling Peter a few
other things and hoping they would stick. For example, that to him
Peter was the dearest thing in the world, or that Peter was in love
with him in return, but he already knew Peter wouldn’t believe him.
Peter, even if he understood love, would want no part of it.
Sebastian knew that and never meant to succumb to the need to touch
him, yet for years he had done just that. That and only that and
never anything more.

Perhaps his mother was right. Perhaps he was
on a road with no exit and could progress no further.

“It’s late,” Sebastian said at last, and
buttoned up his coat after sliding it on. Peter and his puzzled,
thoughtful frown followed him to the door.

~~~

He didn’t expect to hear from Peter for at
least a week. If thinking about Peter coming undone beneath him was
enough to have Sebastian shaking, it had to greatly unsettle Peter.
But only a few days later Sebastian was woken in the early hours of
morning by the jangling bell of the telephone in the hall of his
bachelor flat. He’d just stumbled out of someone else’s bed and
into his own a short time ago but there was only one person who
would ring him up this early and he could not sleep through the
call.

Peter began with an anxious, “Sebastian?” and
then let out a breathy sound of relief before launching into
conversation. Sebastian had to wonder who Peter had been expecting
to answer and if Peter had ever accidentally spoken to a few of
Sebastian’s overnight visitors. It wasn’t something Sebastian had
considered before, but now that he had it put an icy knot in the
pit of his stomach. He was only a man; he couldn’t wait for Peter
to turn to him for physical release every few months. Furthermore,
he had the right to bed whomever he pleased. If Peter wanted
fidelity from him, he had had years to ask for it. Yet knowing that
meant almost nothing. Peter might want a thousand things he would
never ask for and if he was hurt he would not say.

If Peter was upset now there was no sign in
his voice, only a quiet happiness at having Sebastian’s attention
and excitement about some idea of his. Sebastian knew what that
meant; Peter had something he wanted to show him, usually something
for him. His combination of anticipation and nerves made him as
happy as a schoolboy and in no time at all Sebastian found himself
agreeing to come over for breakfast.

He used the front door to the townhouse this
time, smiling at Smythe. Smythe didn’t smile in return but always
seemed faintly relieved when Sebastian visited. The changes in his
expression were subtle, a lifting of his brows, an easing of the
lines around his mouth, but Sebastian could remember Smythe’s
demeanor when Peter’s father had been alive and could tell dutiful
obedience from careful pleasure.

Smythe was an ancient, nearly too old to be
doing his job, but no one, least of all Peter, had ever hinted at
replacing him. Sebastian had never spoken much with Smythe, not as
a man to another man since he would never force a friendship on a
servant, but he knew without asking that Smythe was the one who
made sure Peter ate when Sebastian wasn’t around. He was also the
one who replaced Peter’s clothes when they frayed and who ensured
the house was decorated at Christmastime and that Peter remembered
to go visit the country manor and take care of his tenants.

Sebastian was also certain, this time
directly from Peter’s mouth, that it had been Smythe and Bess the
cook who had shielded young Peter from as much of his father’s rage
as they could, and who had held him close at night when his father
had been gone from the house.

Peter had relayed those facts almost calmly,
as if such things occurred in houses every day. Sebastian supposed
they did. It didn’t make them right.

He didn’t speak a word of his thoughts to
Smythe, only nodding when he was directed outside onto the grounds.
There had once been a neighbouring house. Peter had bought it,
razed most of it, and converted the rest into the building where he
worked on his autowagons. Sebastian followed a well-worn path to
the outbuilding and walked in without announcing himself.

The first thing that greeted him was red. Not
any other shade of the colour, just red, brilliant ruby red
demanding his attention, like a blush, like blood, like a
well-kissed mouth or a flushed cock. There was an auto in front of
him that he’d never seen before, less boxy than the older models,
with long, sleek, curved, lines, open to the air and elements, and
red. So very red. Everything that wasn’t red was gleaming silver
metal. It looked simultaneously garish and beautiful. Sebastian
would have immediately sat in it if it had possessed an interior
worth mentioning.

The auto was propped up on blocks. Peter was
underneath it. Sebastian tore his eyes from arousing red of Peter’s
autowagon and sighed dramatically to get Peter’s attention. “I’ve
ridden in carriages with more care put into their interior. You
have no taste for luxury.”

Peter did not emerge from underneath his
creation but he did make the humming noise that meant he was
thinking. “Luxury would weigh it down, make it slower.”

“And yet make for a more enjoyable driving
experience,” Sebastian countered. There were chairs scattered
around but he didn’t sit. He didn’t fancy grease on his clothes.
“Smythe suggested we have our breakfast in the house.”

Smythe hadn’t in fact, but Sebastian had a
feeling Peter had been working all night, and a suggestion from
Smythe was practically an order as far as Peter was concerned.
Everything Peter knew of tenderness and feeling, which wasn’t much,
he had learned from Smythe and the other house servants. His
affection for them was returned. Peter had servants better paid
than any others in London, who ran his house for him as they saw
fit. Which was admittedly better than Peter could have. They were
loyal to Peter unto death, and for whatever reason, they extended
some of that loyalty to Sebastian. They had to know about his
proclivities as well as his regard for Peter. The whole of the city
did so of course Peter’s servants would know too, but not once had
Sebastian ever heard even a faint giggle from a chambermaid when
his back was turned. If Sebastian claimed that Smythe had suggested
Peter stop and eat, Smythe would merely raise an eyebrow and lead
the way to the table.

“I’m almost done.” Peter reached out at his
side for a spanner of some kind and continued working. “I didn’t
disturb you this morning, did I?” The spanner slipped from his
fingers and clanged to the ground. Peter grabbed it and started
again. His trousers were stretched by his position, his braces not
keeping his shirt from riding up. Sebastian removed his hat and set
it carefully on top of a rubber wheel leaned against a wall.

“No,” Sebastian lied. “I was only worried you
were my mother.” His mother never rose before nine, which Peter
would remember if Sebastian gave him time to think about it. “She
has been after me to come over for tea. I think she will have a
guest waiting.”

It was intensely satisfying to hear another
clang and Peter’s quiet, vulgar swearing. Someday Sebastian was
going to ask where Peter had picked up some of his cant but not
today. “Some perfectly nice, respectable girl who won’t mind our
brown children or the fact that I prefer men. Though it’s just
possible that Mother has given up on girls and will finally start
surprising me with perfectly nice, respectable boys,” he went on,
not lying at all anymore.

Peter was back to working. After a moment
Sebastian sighed and turned away. “There’s no use trying to
convince her to stop, since I’ve no one.”

“You want someone?” Peter’s response was
slow. Sebastian walked over to the bonnet and considered the gears
Peter was manually turning.

“Is that a new idea for you?” Sebastian
frowned at Peter, at the auto he didn’t understand, “Anyone wanting
someone or me wanting someone?”

Peter considered this statement, or Sebastian
assumed he did from his momentary silence. “I don’t understand,”
Peter said at last, “I thought the point of unions, aside from
satisfying physical passions, was children.”

“Physical passions,” Sebastian repeated the
phrase with a kind of sad fascination. He had a feeling that was
how Peter classified him, perhaps putting him into the category of
friend but occasionally taking him out for “physical passions”.
That was so much safer than admitting what he really was. “You’re
an idiot, Peter,” Sebastian remarked on behalf of his bitter
thoughts, doubtless confusing Peter even more. Peter made his
familiar lost sound and Sebastian went on before Peter could ask
him to explain.

“There are marriages that lack physical
passions but which remain strong,” he lectured, growing just a bit
heated as he sought to make Peter understand. “There are marriages
in which there is no feeling of any kind outside of friendship, and
then there are marriages of many passions, not all of them
physical. All of them require more than just—”

“Fucking?” Peter filled in from under the
auto. Sebastian rounded on him, not that Peter could see it.

“Sexual congress,” he amended, delicate when
he had no need to be. “History and respect and friendship are
required as well. I would like that, Peter.” He had to force air in
and out of his lungs. “I would like that very much. I deserve that
as much as anyone else. Not just ardor that might cool. Not just
being in love, but love itself.”

“If it is a good thing of course you deserve
it.” Peter was quiet again for a long time. “But I fail to see a
difference.”

“Because you don’t understand love.”
Sebastian felt like he was beating his head against a wall. He took
a moment to compose himself. He was calmer when he spoke again but
not by much. “For a lifelong journey with another person, even you
must admit that it’s not an entirely bad notion, friendship and
fondness. Passion.”

His mouth was dry from panic. His heartbeat
roared in his ears. This wasn’t where he had meant the conversation
to go. Peter was staying out of sight under his auto, staying among
the things that made sense to him. The things that gave him
comfort, because Sebastian was confusing him again, possibly
frightening him.

Sebastian fought the need to apologise for
demanding things from Peter that Peter could not give. He lost.
“Peter…”

“For a normal person,” Peter commented, not
making any sense until Sebastian recalled his last words.

“It’s not an entirely bad notion, for a
normal person?” Sebastian questioned, blinking in surprise at the
unexpected response. “What is a normal person?” It was his turn for
a puzzled frown. “You mean a man and a woman?” He hadn’t thought
Peter had ever noticed gossip or conventional attitudes, but he
supposed some of Peter’s father’s disgust and disdain for Peter
could have been based on more than Peter’s childhood hobbies and
perceived failings. Perhaps Peter had shown an early interest in
boys as well as engines. Sebastian was once again grateful the old
man had died. The bastard had suffered an apoplectic fit over a
card game, followed by a brain fever and rapid decline. Peter
hadn’t shed a tear. Sebastian didn’t think anyone had.

Peter interrupted Sebastian vengeful
thoughts. “Someone who isn’t broken,” he declared, his tone level
but his body very still. “A person capable of… those emotions.”
Peter didn’t name them. That wasn’t surprising, or at least, not as
surprising as Peter speaking so directly about himself.