12. Chapter 12 - Theron #4
Theron’s thumb swept across him once, barely a touch, and Matt’s hips lifted into it with a desperate little motion he could not stop. Theron’s mouth curved.
“You feel everything,” he said softly. “I like that.”
Matt forced words out. “You’re—” He swallowed. “You’re being very thorough.”
“I told you.” Theron’s hand moved again, slow strokes that built a rhythm without urgency. “I’m going to take my time.”
Matt’s head pressed back into the sand. His hands found Theron’s hips, gripping the jut of bone, holding on as Theron worked him with that same unbearable patience.
Pleasure built in waves, each motion sending heat through him, but Theron kept the pace steady, never rushing toward the edge, only staying present and learning him.
“I want to hear you,” Theron said. His voice was low, intimate, as though they were the only two people in the world. “I want to know what sounds you make when you let go.”
Matt’s breath stuttered. “Theron.”
“Say my name again.”
“Theron.”
Theron’s hand tightened, and the rhythm shifted, faster now, each stroke sending Matt closer to the edge. Matt’s hands gripped tighter, his hips rising to meet each motion, the sand cool beneath him and Theron’s body warm above him.
“Come for me,” Theron said. “I’ve got you. Let go.”
Matt did.
Theron watched him break apart beneath him, watched pleasure roll through his body and leave him breathless against the sand. He worked him through it, steady and gentle, until the shudders faded and Matt collapsed back, chest heaving, eyes open to the cave’s shadowed ceiling.
Theron’s hand left him gently. Then his palm settled over Matt’s heart again, feeling it race beneath his touch. Matt’s hand came up and caught Theron’s wrist. Held it there.
“That,” Matt said, his voice raw and wrecked, “was not what I expected.”
Theron’s laugh came warm and surprised, his forehead dropping to rest against Matt’s shoulder. “Is that good or bad?”
Matt’s own laugh followed, breathless and real. “Good.” His thumb traced the inside of Theron’s wrist again. “Really good.”
Theron turned his head, pressed a kiss to Matt’s skin, and stayed there, a warm weight against his chest.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Then Matt’s hand moved. Not the hand holding Theron’s wrist, but the other one. His fingers traced upward from Theron’s forearm, following lines of sinew and bone until they reached the scars.
Theron went still.
The scars were old. Whitened with years, layered over one another in patterns that told a story Matt could not know.
Some were thin, precise lines, the kind a blade made.
Others were ragged and uneven where flesh had healed badly.
The largest ran from the inside of Theron’s elbow nearly to his wrist, a pale river through darker skin.
Matt’s thumb followed it from end to end. Light. Reverent.
“Matt.” Theron’s voice came low, almost a warning. But he did not pull away.
“I know,” Matt said. His fingers continued their mapping. “You don’t have to tell me how you got them.”
Theron’s jaw tightened. His hand, still spread over Matt’s heart, fingers pressing in like he needed the anchor.
“But I want to know them,” Matt finished. He lifted his gaze from Theron’s arm to his face. “Is that okay?”
The question hung between them.
Theron’s expression flickered through something raw and quickly shuttered. Surprise, maybe, or the reflex of someone who had never been asked that before. “No one’s ever—” Theron stopped. Started again. “No one’s ever touched them like this.”
“I know.” Matt’s voice was soft, steady. “I’m asking anyway.”
Theron held his gaze for a long moment. Then, something in his shoulders loosened. A fraction of an inch. Barely visible, but enough.
“Yeah,” Theron said after a moment. “It’s okay.”
Matt’s fingers resumed their careful path. He traced the largest scar again, then moved to the smaller ones, the ladder of parallel lines near Theron’s elbow, the star-shaped mark on the meat of his forearm, the thin white line that curled around his wrist like a bracelet.
Beneath Theron’s skin stirred something older and angrier than thought or feeling, something with its own pulse.
His wolf.
For years it had existed in a state somewhere between fury and starvation, driven half-mad by the mountain’s corruption and the endless restraint required to keep it contained. Theron had grown so accustomed to holding it back that the constant pressure had become indistinguishable from silence.
But now, for the first time in longer than he could remember, the rage eased. The wolf no longer felt like something clawing at the inside of his ribs trying to escape. It felt aware. Present.
Watching Matt with the same impossible certainty Theron himself was beginning to fear.
Him, the wolf seemed to say, with the kind of certainty instinct rarely questioned.
Him.
Theron’s eyes opened fully. Matt was watching him with that steady, patient gaze, his hand still resting over the scars, his body still pressed warm along Theron’s side.
“You feel it too,” Matt said. Not a question.
Theron nodded. His voice came rough. “Yeah.”
Matt’s smile widened, soft and knowing. “Good.” He leaned in, pressed a kiss to Theron’s shoulder, then settled back against his chest. “That’s good.”
They lay in silence for a while. The cave breathed. Matt’s hand never stopped moving, tracing the scars with absent tenderness, learning them by heart.
After a long minute, Matt spoke again.
“Can I return the favor?”
Theron’s brow furrowed. “What?”
Matt’s hand slid from his arm to his chest, then lower, palm resting over the hard plane of Theron’s stomach. “You took care of me. Let me take care of you.”
Understanding dawned. With it came warmth, and beneath that, something careful and held back. Theron caught Matt’s wrist gently, pausing the motion without stopping him. “Not here.”
Matt stilled. “Why?”
“Because I want it to be somewhere safe. Somewhere monsters aren’t waiting outside.” His voice dropped. “Somewhere I can be with you without counting the minutes.”
Matt searched his face. Whatever he found there softened something in his expression.
“You want to wait.”
“I want it to mean something.” Theron’s voice was barely above a whisper. “It already does. But I want the whole thing. Not a stolen moment in a cave while we’re running for our lives.”
Matt’s hand relaxed beneath Theron’s grip. His thumb brushed across Theron’s knuckles. “Okay.”
Theron blinked. “Okay?”
“Yeah.” Matt’s smile returned, warm and genuine.
“I get it. I don’t like it, because I wanted to make you feel good the way you made me feel good.
But I get it.” He lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss to Theron’s fingers.
“When we’re somewhere safe. When monsters aren’t trying to kill us. I’m holding you to that.”
Theron’s chest tightened. The laugh that escaped him was surprised and real, huffed against Matt’s hair. “Deal.”
Matt settled deeper against him, his body molding to Theron’s side like he belonged there.
His hand found Theron’s chest again, palm flat over his heart, feeling it beat steady and strong beneath his touch.
“We’re going to make it out of here,” Matt said.
“And when we do, I’m going to find the softest bed I can and take you apart slow. ”
Theron’s arm tightened around him. His voice came rough. “I’d like that.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Matt pressed a kiss to Theron’s throat. “Then it’s a date. Part three.”
Theron laughed again, quieter now but no less genuine.
The wolf settled beneath his ribs, alert but no longer restless, as though it too had begun to understand that survival might not be the only future left to them.
For the first time in longer than Theron could remember, the mountain no longer felt like the boundary of his existence.