Chapter 7 #2
Toby couldn’t hold back a shudder at the image Jake’s words brought, even for the second it flashed across his mind.
He was angry, probably just as angry and determined as Jake, and not at all afraid of the man across the table from him.
But he couldn’t stop his body’s reaction to the shouting and anger and the memories (both what he had had to watch, and what he had been sent in to clean up afterward) seared into his brain.
In this moment, with this conversation, Toby could not stop that reaction. Damn them for that too.
Even though it was the wrong thing to say, even though Toby knew he was winning Jake’s argument for him—he wasn’t stupid—he couldn’t stop the words. “I wouldn’t do that to you,” he rasped.
Jake would have been justified in letting go of his hand, but he didn’t.
He just squeezed harder. “Toby, this is exactly what I’m talking about.
Why would I ever do something to you that I wouldn’t be willing to take myself?
Why should things be good for me and fucking awful for you?
We’re goddamn equals. You believe that? You have to, Toby. ”
Toby had to back up. He felt shaken and uncertain, and he hated that feeling because he knew it wasn’t what Jake wanted.
It wasn’t what he wanted either, but it was exactly what he was reduced to when he wasn’t watching himself, when something triggered him—reminded him what kind of stupid freak he was—into the same old destructive thoughts.
What he couldn’t shake when he tried to let this go, when he tried to be satisfied with the joy that Jake gave him every day, was the fear that it could be taken from them.
Two weeks ago—sick and petrified with fear while huddled in Roger’s closet, listening to hunters so close that a single badly timed cough would give him away—Toby had been thrown right back to camp.
He recalled that constant terror that the guards and the hunters would take the last clean thing he had to offer, knowing that if they did, Jake would have no reason to come back for him.
He didn’t believe that now. He knew Jake would always come back for him, no matter what they did.
But if the ASC ever captured them, or if they just found Toby, there might not be time for saving, no time for rescue.
And Toby would never be able to give that to Jake.
Jake would never get the chance to prove to him that being fucked—when done by someone who loved you—didn’t have to rip you apart.
Toby would have lost Jake’s promise forever, and Toby really, really did not want to let those bastards win. Not anymore.
When a monster was too big, too vicious, or too immortal to stake and burn, you had to face it down and pull its teeth until it wasn’t a threat.
So that was what he was doing: facing it down until he didn’t have to be afraid anymore.
He just had to put that into words that Jake could understand.
But he couldn’t do that if he was shaking with that damn old fear.
“Ridiculous,” he rasped. “My poker face is much better than yours.”
And just like that Jake grinned, relief all over his face. “You kick my ass at lots of things.” He leaned over the table and kissed him, deep and slow, their hands locked together. “Definitely cuter.”
“Yeah right,” Toby snorted. He wanted this.
He wanted Jake in every way, both because he wanted to give Jake that, and for himself, for reasons that were personal and private and sensitive as his own skin where the old scars met unmarked flesh.
A huge piece of Toby just wanted to let go and try another time, maybe push some night in bed when Jake was already distracted and maybe thinking about it already (though Toby had tried that and it hadn’t worked well), but he didn’t want to give in either.
They had taught him to give up, and anything they had taught, he didn’t want to believe any more.
When Jake leaned back in his chair, smiling fondly, Toby ducked his head, closed his eyes, and tried one more time, tried to say it in a way that would convince Jake of what Toby knew in his bones was true, of what he desperately needed.
“I still want it,” he said softly. It has to be you.
“Toby, I’d have one hell of a good time, too, but right now—”
“Please, Jake.” Toby pressed his hand. “You say it doesn’t hurt, you say you’ve t-tried it, and I believe you, you know I believe you.
” He also wanted to kill everyone who had done that to Jake, but figured that at this point that was equal parts jealousy and ingrained fear.
“But I—I don’t think—I can’t—this isn’t something that I can wrap my head around just because you explain it.
Or I can wrap my head around it, but that’s not what matters right now.
It’s not my head, it’s my—my gut that needs to get it, and I don’t think that’s going to happen unless you help me.
Unless you just do it and it’s what you say.
P-please, Jake. I w-w-want this. Or at least not having it makes me .
. . I don’t want to be scared of this anymore. ”
“Toby, you know—”
“Hear me out,” Toby snapped, for one second in control and confident.
That receded, and he had to drop his eyes.
“This is a big thing, a thing I can share with you, something I can give you, something you can give me, and I want it to be you, Jake.” Or the nightmares would continue, the fear that some hunter, smiling like Crusher over a fresh body, would be his first while Jake was bleeding and tied up in another room or dead.
Those nights, Toby woke up choking on a scream because it was still possible.
And Jake knew him, knew him so well that it was scary sometimes and other times it was the greatest gift that Toby ever received. Jake knew what he was thinking of, and his expression darkened. “Toby, you know you’re never going back. I will never let you go back.”
“You can’t control everything, Jake.” Toby tried to keep his voice even, tried to keep eye contact. “I’m sick of being terrified of this.”
They stopped then, the silence stretching between them over the remains of their breakfast.
Jake broke first, lifting one hand to brush it through his hair. “Okay, Toby.”
Toby’s eyes narrowed. “Okay what?”
“You’ve convinced me. Kind of.” Jake abruptly looked a little panicked.
“We are not fucking this Thursday, it’s not going to happen, but .
. . the next time we have the time to take it slow, and do it right, and nothing is going on, yeah, we’ll start.
And then if that goes okay, maybe we’ll start thinking about going all the way, okay?
But not Thursday, and that’s my best offer. ”
Winning even this much of a concession out of Jake made Toby feel equal parts sick relief, dread, and triumph. “Thank you,” he said, trying to put all the relief into his voice and none of the sudden trepidation.
Unexpectedly, Jake grinned. “Tiger, just wait until I find your sweet spot. Now that you can thank me for.”
They did not fuck that Thursday. The following case was messy, involving way too many nosy locals, a flesh-eating plant, and a runaway haunted clown car.
When it was all over but the shouting (and a heck of a lot of paperwork for some unlucky bastard), Toby and Jake headed back to their motel several towns over.
As soon as they shut their room door behind them, Toby pulled Jake close.
He wasn’t thinking about that conversation when Jake had said yes.
He only wanted to taste Jake’s mouth, to feel his rapid breath against his lips, to feel his heartbeat under Toby’s fingers.
But Jake met him with matching urgency, and they dragged each other to the bed, kicking off shoes and jeans, tugging off shirts.
When they were down to nothing but underwear and warm skin, Jake pulled back.
“Toby,” he panted. He caught himself, took a careful breath and met Toby’s eyes. “Do you still want to go there?”
Toby blinked at him, confused. The last place he could remember saying he wanted to go was a Jefferson City taco place they had read about, but he had trouble believing Jake wanted to stop and drive there right this minute. “Where . . . ?”
Then Jake slid his hand lower until he was curving his fingers along the muscle of Toby’s ass, and Toby remembered.
The adrenaline rush that hit Toby then had nothing to do with the familiar heat of Jake’s body against his.
It was his turn to take a shaky breath. Then he pushed a smile onto his face (not too wide, Jake would know if he was faking, but he probably wouldn’t mind if Toby was trying instead) and nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I do.”
“Right.” Jake pressed his forehead to Toby’s for a moment. “I got prep stuff last time we stopped for supplies, let me get that. Back in two seconds, Toby.” And then he was up and off the bed, and the suddenly empty space felt very cold against Toby’s bare chest.
Toby lay back, staring at the ceiling, breath coming fast, lips and body tingling.
He heard Jake unzip the duffle. He wouldn’t look to see what Jake was getting.
He didn’t know exactly what kind of prep Jake had been talking about, and he hadn’t wanted to ask.
No matter what Jake said, Toby was still expecting the moment when Jake admitted what was necessary, what Toby knew had to be necessary.
Or Jake would just do it because he didn’t want to hurt him, and at a certain point it would hurt more to know what was coming before it happened.
Maybe Jake would bring soft restraints, so Toby wouldn’t be able to hurt either of them accidentally.
Maybe some kind of drug so he wouldn’t be able to feel it.
That could be what Jake meant and what reals usually got before sex.
Toby hoped it had been what Jake had gotten, the times he’d . . . experienced this.