That Guy

Rating: NC-17
Words: 18,250
Disclaimer: Characters and the initial scenario come from Die Hard 4.0

        Over the next few days, IceFloe reviews failed to materialize and the download stats fluctuated enough that Matt declared, biting his lip and fidgeting like a smoker announcing his intention to quit cold turkey, that he wasn't going to touch his computer, nor did he want John to check for him, for another week.
        This meant he needed other distractions. A visit to the doctor brought him home with a brace instead of a cast around his knee and shin, and orders not to neglect his crutches, so physical pursuits, or those too far afield, were still out. So, for a start, John and Matt visited the local video rental store, which was within crutch-swinging distance. It also still stocked VHS, which was important because John didn't have a DVD player. Much to Matt's shock and horror.
        "You realize this means you can't watch anything newer than, like... 2000?"
        "They still make videos."
        "No, they don't. They totally don't."
        "I haven't noticed it, yet."
        "Oh, my god," Matt groaned. "I'm living with an Amish escapee."
        Matt liked a certain variety of serious, make-you-think movies of the kind John couldn't stomach--"When I wanna get preached at, I'll go back to Church"--so they avoided those. Matt also watched movies based on comic books and video games. The best examples, though, according to him, were newer and only on DVD.
        John stuck to comedy and sports flicks most of the time. He'd watch a good buddy action movie now and again, but sometimes they struck a little too close to home. On Matt's suggestion, they rented Lethal Weapon, which neither of them had seen in years.
        John didn't have much sympathy for Mel Gibson's character--Too much crazy, not enough business. Matt declared that he was "nowhere near as cool" as John, and there it stayed.
        They had a stand-off over their next choice. Matt had spotted the original Superman and John picked up Casablanca.
        "Black and white?" Matt said, aghast. "Are you kidding me?"
        "You're not telling me you've never seen a Bogart movie," said John.
        "Proud of it. That is so far before my time--"
        "It's before my time, too, kid. He died when I was three."
        Matt opened his eyes wide and spread his arms. "See?"
        "Practically everything he was in is good. This one's a classic--and don't say 'what was bad then'--"
        "What sucked then sucks now," Matt said, folded his arms--half-assedly, given he needed to balance his elbows on the crutches while doing it--and stuck his chin out.
        "Hey, you're supposed to be the genius," John said with a shrug, "but if you can't swallow a movie with superior writing, acting and direction without a sugar-coating of snazzy effects--"
        "Being technologically primeval doesn't mean it's a masterpiece of storytelling."
        "No, but this one happens to be. Hey, but if you wanna admit that generation X, Y, Alfa Romeo, or whichever one we're on, can't appreciate a good story 'cause they've been so brainwashed by the modern media--"
        "The contemporary media," said Matt, looking half amused, half annoyed, and one hundred percent hooked. "You're so on. But only if we get Superman 1 and Batman 1."
        "What will I be proving?"
        "That the old guard can recognize a good story even if it's wearing spandex and a cape. Besides," Matt gave him a challenging smirk, "you're the one who likes DC so much."
        So they brought home the superheroes double-bill and Casablanca with a Maltese Falcon chaser. They agreed on Superman ("I guess it was old enough for you," Matt said. "Maybe it doesn't count.") but John couldn't get into Tim Burton's Gotham. The Gotham he policed was gritty and macabre enough, thanks.
        Matt loved Casablanca.
        "I can't believe they ever had writers like this in Hollywood! The dialogue is intelligent... It's witty!"
        The Maltese Falcon sold him.
        "Now I see where all the snappy one-liners come from," Matt said, smirking.
        "What, mine? So I'm like Sam Spade?"
        "He is pretty damn cool."
        "But I'm cooler, right?"
        "Hmm... Jury's still out."
        After that, they went through racks of old black and whites and early color. Plenty more Bogart, as Matt had taken a shine to him and John wholeheartedly approved. Others, too. Dark comedies like Ladykillers. Hitchcock. Great stuff that John hadn't seen in years, but the thrill was showing it to Matt, who ate it up and continued to be awestruck that anyone before his time, without the benefit of CGI and modern cameras, could have put together such brilliant stuff. He acted like an archaeologist discovering ancient ruins, suddenly awakening to the genius of the past. It was hilarious--John tried not to let that show, or to gloat that he'd been right. It was also satisfying just in that he got to share these memories of his own past--he'd been Matt's age and younger when he saw a lot of the movies the first time--and having Matt appreciate them.
        Over breakfast--which was often Matt's last meal before he turned in to sleep--Matt would bring up some plot point or a line he'd particularly enjoyed, and John felt the bond between them growing. Maybe it was juvenile to bond over movies--on some level, yes, alright; but it was a base of shared experience that had nothing to do with fear-adrenaline and hails of bullets. And laughing together, enjoying the same things, was the most fun John had had in a decade. It had been a long while since he'd had a friend--someone with whom he could argue about Sam Spade vs. Sherlock Holmes, or fall into a 1 a.m. discussion about what they would've done differently if they were in The Great Escape.
        And the late night movies, the two of them sinking into the couch, close enough to share warmth, comfortable in each other's groggy presence, lit grey-blue by the flickering screen--that felt good, too. It was a special type of familiarity and comfort John hadn't known since his family was whole, twenty years ago.
        The comfort got inside him; the peace filled up a gap he had forgotten about. John had gotten used to living alone, to a lack of any real companionship. He had had friends when Holly left, on and off the force, who would have stepped in and been a part of his life, but John had pushed them all away with years of cynicism and drink and letting everyone's good will roll straight off his back. Then he'd accustomed himself to the absence. The real misery that'd brought him within a stone's throw of alcoholism had faded and left him calm; he'd gotten the best of his need and come out stronger. He did his job, he paid his child support, he tried to be a good father when his kids let him, all without feeling the kind of howling loneliness that drove him into a bottle. Old age bringing maturity, he figured. Life wasn't all roses, but it could be a lot worse, and he'd settled into being okay with that, and assumed the need was gone.
        So it was a bit of a surprise to find his usual resignation layering itself with something softer. He found Matt dozing off against his side in the small hours and instead of shoving him away and growling at him to go sleep in his room, John slipped an arm around his shoulders, let his own eyes close, and contentment worked gently in on him.

        The second month since the Fire Sale sneaked by. Power in the tri-state area was finally something close to normal. The streets were cleared. Most of the people and businesses that had left filtered back. The City started making noise after dark, which John found more restful than the eerie silences that had descended in the unlit streets before.
        The burden on the police slackened a bit. Enough that the other detectives started noticing changes in John--being observant was in the job description. John had begun to leave closer to quitting time, instead of hanging around the station long into the night; he even freaked out Lemansky, a younger detective who had occupied the desk next to John's for five years, by smiling at him first thing in the morning. It hadn't been much of one, and it hadn't been deliberate, but Lem noticed.
        "You win the lottery or somethin', man?" Lemansky asked, eyeing John like he had dynamite strapped around his waist.
        "No. Why?"
        "Get laid?"
        "Yeah," said John. "Your mother was in town. What's your problem?"
        "Nothin'... Just wonderin' if you were replaced by a pod person or somethin'."
        "Pod person?" John raised his eyebrows. "I'm telling Scalvino your case files need rechecking. Who knows how many criminals went free 'cause you were blaming fuckin' pod people."
        Lemansky grinned and flipped him off. "Okay, whatever, McClane. If the alien spores're makin' you happy, I guess it's cool."
        "Get the hell outta here," John growled. He returned to his desk with his second cup of coffee, to continue paperwork still left over from the Fire Sale. The stuff had spawned while it waited.
        It wasn't till his drive home that evening, when John found himself looking forward to arriving at the apartment, that Lemansky's words came back to him.
        "Happy, huh?" he said aloud. It wasn't like he hadn't been since he and Holly separated, but, sure, it had been rarer lately. Well, so what if he was happy? It was one of his unalienable rights, as in, Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of. Maybe it was a little... pathetic, yes, let's not bullshit ourselves, that all it took was some company, but, shit. If no one was getting hurt and everything was legal, John didn't fuck with it, at work or at home.

        He should have seen it coming.
        John knocked off on the stroke of five one evening, for the first time he could remember. When he pushed open the front door, he could tell the place was empty.
        He couldn't immediately place what made it so clear--he had come home to no music or movement before when Matt had been up all night and was still sleeping it off; this was different. John shut the door and went straight to Matt's room.
        The desktop was empty. His computer was gone.
        That was what had been missing--the ambient hum the computer usually generated. In its place: silence. Matt's crutches were missing, too. The futon was made up. There were still clothes in one of the boxes, but the empty desk, with the space around it free of empty soda cans and bottles, spoke a lot louder.
        John went back into the living room and sat down on the sofa. He hadn't seen Matt that morning; he'd been asleep when John left. What had prompted him to move out so quickly, without saying anything? If he'd found a new place, John could have helped him move. Not that there was a lot to move, but he wouldn't have had to leave any clothes behind. Maybe his parents had come to their senses and asked him to move in with them. That would be a good thing. John would call later and find out.
        For the moment, he just sat. He crossed things off mental lists. No need to swing by the video store later. No soda the next time he went to the market. Only one steak.
        "Shit," John muttered. He heaved himself off the couch and went to the kitchen. There were two raw chicken breasts and a bunch of vegetables in the fridge. He considered ignoring them in favor of something microwavable, then felt childish about wasting fresh food for laziness' sake. He didn't like cooking, but he could do it. He pulled out the ingredients and a beer. The beer was finished before the water began to boil, so he opened a second.
        A quarter of an hour later, he had his meal set on the dinner table: soggy vegetables and chicken that was burnt everywhere it wasn't underdone. "That takes talent," he congratulated himself.
        He went back for a third beer before he sat down.

        "What do you have against bottle openers?"

        John stood, knocking over his chair, and hurled the bottle into the wall. It exploded, spraying glass, beer and suds over the carpet. He kicked over the chair next to his, turned and swept his plate off the table to shatter on the floor.
        His momentum deserted him there.
        "Fuck," he said. "I'm too old for this."
        Wrestling with fighter jets and shooting himself was still in-bounds, but this he was too old for: for counting on something he shouldn't have; for getting attached to someone half his age; for feeling like all the lights had gone out again, when that someone was the next to leave him behind.
        John sank into the remaining upright chair and rested his head in his hands. In a minute, he told himself, he would clean up the mess. Then he would make dinner again, as if he wasn't an asshole.
        In a minute.

        Ten minutes, maybe more, passed before the sound of a key in the front door lock brought John's head up. He turned around in his seat.
        Matt was in the doorway, balancing a large box emblazoned with an Apple logo between his stomach and the doorframe. He maneuvered himself in and looked up at John with a Christmas-morning grin on his face. It faded as his gaze took in the overturned chairs, the food and fragments of porcelain on the floor, the dark splash on the wall with shards of glass stuck to it. "What happened?" he breathed. "Did... what...? Are you okay?"
        John stared at him dumbly. Matt looked around, searching for more information, worry growing on his face.
        "What are you doing back?" John managed to ask.
        The confusion in Matt's face deepened. "I was only gone like an hour. I went to get this." He lifted the box a little as if presenting a hall pass to a suspicious high school teacher.
        "Your computer was gone."
        "Just the monitors and some of the peripherals. I traded them in." As he spoke, Matt managed to slide the box down the front of himself without falling off his crutches, and closed the door. "I haven't exactly been raking in the cash, so I downgraded to one, kinda crap monitor but got a much better box. I'll use the old one as a firewall. I couldn't afford a whole new computer, otherwise, and this one is really worth it..." He trailed off, shaking his head as he straightened his back. "But what's that got to do with--"
        "I thought you left," John said, a hoarse edge to his voice that even he could hear.
        Matt's brow furrowed. He looked again from the broken bottle to the plate and chairs, then back to John. "Is that why...?"
        John let out a deep breath and looked away. "Shit," he said.
        Matt took a few steps towards him, then stopped again, by the sofa. "You were pissed?" he asked. "Because you thought I left without saying anything?"
        John looked back at the kid. Matt's face was contrite, and maybe a little afraid. John felt like he'd had the wind knocked out of him. This really had gone too far. He should've seen the signs, but he'd been too close to it. Now it was going to be worse when Matt left, because John had seen him again, and had to tell him, "No," he said softly. "I wasn't angry."
        "Then, what?" Matt came closer, until he was standing directly over John. "I mean... sooner or later, I gotta go, right? Once I'm solvent. I can't just impose on you forever."
        "You can stay as long as you want," John said, "but--"
        "But I shouldn't, right?" said Matt. His face tightened all over. He pressed his lips together the way he did when he was holding something back.
        "Maybe not," said John.
        "You're an adult. You've got your own life. You don't need to be babysitting a hacker kid. I must be in your way."
        "No," John said. He'd never found it hard to meet a man's eyes before, but now it took effort. "You're not."
        Matt's jaw worked and his frown narrowed his eyes. "John," he said, "can you just tell me what you actually wanna say? Not what you think you ought to as a good citizen, or a responsible adult, or whatever. Just be honest with me."
        He was right; John was looking for the responsible thing to say. And that was probably that Matt should get his shit together and move on as soon as he was able. But John couldn't bring himself to say it, when he could see Matt steeling himself for another rejection, waiting for John to cast him aside just as his parents had. John met Matt's gaze and held it. "Don't go," he said.
        Matt blinked. His brow relaxed for a second, then the tense, guarded expression returned. "You mean, like, today."
        "I mean ever," John said. He sighed and leaned back in the chair. The truth was better told all at once, like pulling out a knife. "That's what I want to say: Don't leave. That," he jerked his chin in the direction of the mess behind him, "was me thinking how lousy it was gonna be without you around."
        Matt's gaze was intense, like he was trying to see inside John's head. His jaw relaxed a bit, but the anxiety didn't leave his face. "There's a 'but,'" he said. "Go on."
        "Shit, Matt, you're a smart kid. You realize it isn't as simple as that, right? You don't need this kinda complication in your life. You're just starting out."
        "It's not as complicated as you think. I... I wanna stay with you. You want me to. That's simple enough."
        "You know what I'm talking about," John gritted.
        Matt swallowed. "Yeah, I do. I do, but I still say it's simple. Fuck, John, where does it say you've gotta save the country and come home to an empty apartment? Where's it say you've gotta eat alone?"
        "Matt--"
        "No, wait," Matt said urgently. "You said you did what you had to, during the Fire Sale and all those other times, because you were there and there was no one else to do it. It wasn't your idea of a good time, but that's what happened, and so you rolled with it.
        "John, you're not... I didn't expect you." Matt gave a small, nervous laugh. "You're not exactly the girl my mother hoped I'd bring home... but I'm not the son she hoped she'd have, either. And here we are. And this... this happened. Any given moment, you're the person I wanna see walking through the door. You make me feel like I'm worth something, like it's worth some hard work to improve myself. 'Cause you're around, I look forward to something besides new software releases. I'm... happy when I'm with you. I feel like I'm home. It's been a long time."
        Matt trailed off and just stared at John with the big cat-eyes that he ought to need a permit for--there oughta be a law.
        Yeah. It has been a long time. A long time since anyone had given so much of a damn about John. Longer since he had reciprocated. He was supposed to be putting Matt's well-being before his own, saying the right thing instead of what he wanted, but John couldn't muster the acting ability to lie to Matt's face like that.
        "That's what makes me that guy, huh?" John said.
        "Yeah." Matt ventured a tiny smile, so breakable John wanted to hug him, but held back. He couldn't trust all his impulses, lately. "Just 'cause it happened by accident," Matt said, "doesn't make it wrong."
        "That's a good attitude."
        "It's yours."
        "So that's why you sound so reasonable."
        "You gonna listen?" Matt asked.
        "What you're telling me," said John, "is that you're big enough and tough enough to deal with the consequences of both of us being stupid at once?"
        Matt nodded. "That's a lotta raw power, that much stupidity, but I'm ready."
        "Alright," said John, "if you promise to look out for yourself."
        "Are you afraid for me, John?"
        Underneath the calm of many years' training to be cool under fire, John realized that was exactly what those few extra heartbeats per minute and the tightness around his lungs meant. He nodded.
        "Why?" Matt asked.
        "'Cause I'm twice your age, we've got one too many Y chromosomes between us, and I'm not so good with complications."
        "Well, then we'll do it your way: charge straight in and demolish anyone who gets in our way."
        John raised an eyebrow but smiled in spite of himself. "I dunno, kid, that never worked for me in a relationship, before."
        "You never had a relationship with me, before."
        "Yeah, 'cause you were learning to read at the time."
        Matt set his crutches aside and closed the small gap between them so his knees touched John's. He rested his hands on John's shoulders and leaned down to touch his forehead to John's. It completed a circuit; something electric ran through John from one point of contact to the next. As he met Matt's eyes--huge, warm and earnest--John knew he couldn't give this up himself; it was a lot harder to go out into the cold once you knew how it felt by the hearth. He'd have to do as Matt suggested and just let the opposition come, deal with it when it did.
        "It'll work, John," Matt said. "Know why?"
        "Nah, kid, fill me in."
        "'Cause you're worried about me. I can't think of a better guarantee that I'll be fine."
        John closed his eyes. He felt the five points where Matt's touch was warm against his skin. "God, Matt," he said, "I hope you're right."

        The IceFloe reviews were in the next day when Matt asked John to check for him. They were all rave reviews but for one, lauding the program's innovative--revolutionary--design and the "light-speed Darwinism" of its adaptability in dealing with hack threats. ("'Light-speed Darwinism.' I love that. Oh, read it again!") The one naysayer wrote wondering just who this "former Intel employee" behind IceFloe was, who had no history in the industry they could dig up. Intel had issued a statement, however, just a few hours after that review, acknowledging that Bertie McLeod was indeed a former employee, operating under a pseudonym to honor a confidentiality agreement with the company.
        "My supervisor there was a total doll," Matt said. "She said she'd back me up when I started on this." He caught John looking at him. "It wasn't like that!" he said hurriedly. "She was old enough to be my--Oh, Jesus."
        The distress in Matt's face was too cute; he flushed when John ruffled his hair. "Fine! Fine!" Matt said. "Maybe you should be worried, 'cause she was kind of a MILF, and now I've got a thing for a... a FILF, I guess..."
        "A what?"
        "Oh, fuck. I'm not telling you if you don't know," said Matt, making his eyes huge, but unable to keep from laughing. "You'll hurt me. And I'm already crippled."
        John tried to keep looking grim; he didn't want to tip his hand, yet, that even if he was really angry, he couldn't've stayed that way with Matt laughing that helpless, honest laugh of his, looking up at John with eyes that sparkled. John was in danger, he knew, of getting deep fast; it was best to wait on letting your partner know that--his earliest relationships, long before Holly, had taught him that.
        Matt reached past him and pulled up his server statistics page. "Ooh," he said.
        "Sounds good."
        "It is. I'm rich! Ish. Er than I have been since my apartment blew up, anyway. Thirty-five hundred dollars!"
        "That's a start, all right."
        "It should really start to climb, with these reviews. I can start paying rent."
        John shrugged. "Leave the rent. I'd rather have a live-in cook."
        "You lie like a rug, McClane. You'd rather eat hacker cuisine than get half your rent back?"
        "You saw what was in my kitchen before you got here. That was single detective cuisine."
        Matt wrinkled his nose. "Gyeah. Okay, live-in cook it is, then." He grinned. "What if I start making more than you?"
        "I'm used to that," said John. "I work for the City." He looked up at the ceiling, considering. "When that happens, you can buy shit for the apartment. Could start with a DVD player, I guess."
        "Oh, yeah!" Matt said.
        "That's when you start making more. For now you might think about saving a bit."
        "Baah," said Matt. "Killjoy."
        "Oh," said John, "and no dolls."
        Matt gave him the sad cat-eyes.
        John winced. "Outside your room, anyway." Damn. He knows.

        It was funny what changed and what didn't. Matt was about as physical with John as he had been before--the odd hand on John's shoulder, leaning against him side by side on the couch in the evening. John scaled it back somewhat because he knew what it meant, now. It wasn't a decision; he just found himself second-guessing some of the touches he hadn't before.
        Along with this new awkwardness, though, there was also a new easiness and a new excitement born of the understanding between them. Matt seemed to agree there was time to work out the details, and the acknowledgement that there was something more going on than a roommate arrangement was enough.
        John told himself it was for the kid they were taking it easy, letting things take their natural course (or whatever this was), but if he was honest, John knew he needed to ease into the situation, himself. Hell, he had been married to Holly, then separated, then together, then separated, for ten years before the divorce was finalized. During those ten years, John had been with Holly or her palpable absence wrapped around the ring-finger of his left hand. Up until the final signature, he'd held out for a reconciliation; there hadn't been anyone else.
        Since the divorce, he'd had a several month relationship with a fellow detective which had gone south (and so had she, to the Baltimore PD). A while after that, he'd almost started something with the owner of a restaurant he used to frequent by the station. He'd been worn out on people by that point, though, and broke it off. For years afterwards, he'd found it easier to commune with a bottle than with anything that answered back. Maybe it wasn't strange that he needed to get back in training before tackling the kid... situation.

        It was common for John, when he woke at night to use the bathroom, to find Matt awake in his room, typing about a million words a minute, or occasionally clicking away at a computer game, which embarrassed him when John caught him in the act. Typically, John went straight back to bed with nothing more than a grunted acknowledgement; he only stopped to banter if he was having trouble sleeping.
        One night, John woke around five a.m. On his first pass, he was bleary-eyed and didn't notice much besides the fact that Matt was at his desk, but on the way back, after a close encounter with some very cold water, John felt more clear-headed, so he paused in the doorway.
        What at first looked like a picture of a starry sky on the computer screen was, on more considered inspection, a view of the U.S. from space at night, shining with all the unrestrained electricity use that made Con Edison so happy.
        "That's two and a half months ago," said Matt, looking up at John. He tapped a key. In the next view that came up, the outlines of the country were hardly distinguishable from the black of the ocean. But for a few, solitary lights scattered here and there, the country was dark; only the lit borders of Canada and Mexico hinted at the US's location. Matt didn't say anything. His eyes narrowed slightly, then he tapped another key. The next image showed the western and central states looking as they had before, but the eastern corridor dark. "One month ago," said Matt. Another tap. Now the east coast was lit up, but...
        "That's last night," said Matt. He tapped once and the original, pre-Fire Sale image returned, then back to the current one. Back and forth again. "See?" There was a lot less light on last night's map.
        "We're still not back to normal, no," said John.
        "Not by a long shot," said Matt. "I mean, look--" He turned the clickwheel on his mouse and the image zoomed in on the New York area. He switched back and forth between the two images again. "Here we are in the Emerald City, and even that isn't glowing as bright as usual, but on the map, y'know, from space, it isn't that big a difference. But check out upstate, and western New York. There're other towns without the kind of resources New York City has that are still just going dark at night--some of them every night. I can't decide whether to be glad I don't live in bumblefuck or feel like a shithead for it."
        "You are the kind of guy who worries what they're having for dinner tonight in Zaire instead of saying grace, aren't you?" said John. He stepped into the room and leaned on the back of Matt's chair.
        "Not quite," Matt said, frowning up at him sideways.
        John leaned over him to use the mouse. His torso pressed against Matt's shoulder, and the kid's hair brushed the bare skin of his throat. It gave him pause for a second, then Matt leaned his head back against John's chest, and John figured it was all right. He clicked a couple things before he got what he wanted; he shifted focus on the maps until they were centered on New Jersey. There was a pretty major difference between the two times. John gestured at the screen. "Say it," he said. "No shame in it. You'll feel better."
        Matt sighed and bumped his head once against John's collarbone. "I'm glad I'm not in Camden."
        "I was looking more for, 'thank you for saving me from the Hell that is Jersey,' but that'll do. Feel better?"
        "A little," Matt said grudgingly. "But I've got friends there who're just as miserable as I would be without power."
        I don't think anyone'd be quite as miserable as you, John thought, but that's why you're here and they're not. Aloud, he said, "Eh, you tell 'em from me, Jersey's a lot easier on the eyes in the dark."
        Matt clicked his tongue and shook his head; his hair slid back and forth over John's chest and the base of his throat. The soft, silky slide of it against bare skin was distracting enough that trying not to think about it lost him the first part of Matt's next comment. He tuned back in around, "--Jersey ever do to you?"
        "It gave us Newark," John said, not missing a beat.
        "New York City gave itself Newark."
        "Meh." John couldn't think of anything else to do with the computer, so, somewhat reluctant to relinquish contact, he pulled back and resumed leaning on the back of the chair. "That doesn't excuse the rest of the state."
        Matt turned sideways in his seat to meet John's eyes. "Seriously, is it part of the public school curriculum this side of the border? How New Jersey Ruined Everything?"
        "Not a bad idea," said John. "I wouldn't know, though. I went to a Catholic school."
        "Ohhhh," said Matt, his bushy eyebrows rising. "That explains a lot. Not about Jersey, specifically, but, wow."
        "What's that supposed to mean?"
        "Man, where do I start? Organized religion, enforced conformity of thought, action and even dress, women forced into unnatural sexual repression taking their frustration out on kids--"
        "Please don't talk about nuns and sex," John interrupted.
        Matt gave him a pained look. "Oh, god, don't tell me you're still a true believer."
        "Nah, but the nuns at my school were really old and they must've picked 'em according to whose face cracked the mirror the fastest. I don't wanna think of them and sex--I'll never get an erection again."
        Matt laughed and averted his eyes. "Wouldn't want that." His gaze slid back up to meet John's and a sly expression curved his mouth. John backed up a step. It was a dangerous fucking look.
        "What?" said John.
        "You must've had a uniform, right?"
        "Yeah...?"
        "Lemme guess. Dark blue sweater and blazer kinda thing?"
        John glanced at the ceiling, casting back. "Yeah, something like that."
        "Mm," said Matt, smiling wider. "I'm imagining it right now."
        John turned on his heel. "I'm going to bed."
        "Aw, wait!" Matt's chair scraped the floor as John stepped into the hallway. There were a couple heavy hops.
        John stopped. "You're not supposed to walk without the crutches."
        Matt caught up and leaned against the wall, holding his left leg bent. "Don't make me, then." The light was low where they stood in the hallway, but John could make out his smirk. "Engage in a little nostalgia with me."
        "Nostalgia, my ass. Who wants to go back to high school?"
        "You, too, huh?" said Matt. "And here I thought I couldn't like you any more than I already did." He turned his head to the side and leaned it against the wall. It was weird, noticing those little things about Matt--the fact that John liked it when he cocked his head to one side and gave that cute, lopsided smile, or the self-satisfied little smirk he was wearing now; or his hair--John had never figured on paying so much attention to a man's, but Matt's always caught his eye--when he tossed his head to throw it out of his eyes, when he brushed it behind one ear (it never stayed), or a dozen other things it did, like right now, how some was bunched up above where his head touched the wall, and on the other side it was falling half over his eye. It meant something when you started not just noticing all the little traits and habits someone had, but getting stupid over them. That is, it was one thing to notice how Matt always hung fire with his lips parted after he'd made a statement he felt strongly about, as if there were volumes he still wanted to say, and couldn't decide whether now was the time; and it was another to want to hug him when he did. That stupid phase of getting to... like someone, where little details about them, that shouldn't be worth commenting on, became so endearing you felt like you ought to do something about it. Even as he kept telling himself how fucking adolescent it was to indulge this tendency--he wasn't doing it deliberately, but he could have quashed it harder--a small part of him was, stealthily, enjoying it.
        Matt tossed the hair out of his eyes and resumed his owlish sideways contemplation of John. "Yeah," he said slowly, "I'm picturing it, but it's not coming out right. It's just a smaller version of you in that blazer--" he laughed-- "and it's really not working for you."
        John groaned. "I wasn't born bald and fifty."
        "It's hard to imagine you any other way," said Matt. "What'd you look like in high school? What hairstyle did you wear?"
        John thought back and repressed a shudder. "I don't remember," he lied.
        "Oh!" said Matt, straightening up. "Do you have a yearbook?"
        "Probably somewhere in those boxes," John said.
        "Oh, man! Let's look for it! I wanna see teenage John McClane! I bet you were badass, even back then."
        "You wanna go through 'em, be my guest. I've got work in a couple hours. Even you should be getting to bed."
        "Aw, but I wanna see... What're you hiding, McClane?" Matt stepped closer and glared in mock suspicion up into John's face. He poked one finger into John's chest. Not quite hard enough to make it the challenge it usually was when men did it; not quite lightly enough to make it into the kind of flirtation it sometimes became when women did. "What dirty secrets do you have from the seventies...? Oh, my god. Not... It was a mullet, wasn't it?"
        "Awright, enough," John said. He caught Matt's wrist and hooked an arm around his neck. He was going for a headlock, with a view to hair mussing to the point of death by irritation, and the possible extortion of an admission that New Jersey was the asshole of God's creation, but he stopped with his arm just barely resting on Matt's shoulders.
        It was like when you were a kid and first realized that you wanted to touch girls, really wanted to, but all your previous experience of how to touch was horseplay--like when you first laid hands on the girl you were dying to touch and realized that old way of touching was wrong here.
        It was wrong now, too--the second he felt that electric current through his hands, straight up his spine, John knew. So he stayed as he was, holding Matt as if he were made of glass.
        Matt's mind must have been working along similar lines, because he'd gone quiet, and the teasing laughter had gone out of his face. He was watching John with a sort of expectation and anxiety that John recognized.
        "Sorry," John muttered.
        The corner of Matt's mouth flickered. "For what?"
        "Uh..."
        "Hm," said Matt, smiling briefly. His gaze flicked down, then up again. He waggled the fingers of his captive right hand and John loosened his grip. Matt slid it down to lace their fingers together. His other hand slipped over John's shoulder. "I'm only using you 'cause my leg's tired," he said.
        "That's okay, then," said John. He inclined his head till their foreheads met. Matt's eyes closed. His breathing was uneven. John found the pressure in his chest was his heart beating like he was about forty years younger than he was, wondering whether now was the right time--but it was, and he knew it.
        His lips hit a bit off-center at first; he got Matt's upper lip, with the faint moustache, which was a little disconcerting, but not enough to put him off. He slid his arm back from around Matt's shoulders and cupped his cheek in his hand, tilting his mouth up, and then he hit it right, and he was noticing how ample Matt's lips were, and that he wasn't very good at kissing in a way that said he hadn't done it often, and John wasn't sure what he thought about kissing a kid in his twenties who hadn't done so much kissing himself, but he knew how he felt about it, which was no fucking time like the present, and his hand was in the sleek fall of Matt's hair and Matt was showing him he was eager to learn this trick, too, and Matt's fingers in beween John's tightened.
        Matt's eyes fluttered open when John pulled back. "Hm... Hmn. Um. Answers that question," he muttered.
        They were still as close, hands still clasped, John's hand now cradling the back of Matt's head. "What question?"
        "'Can John McClane kiss as well as he kills helicopters?' Answer: Oh, yeah."
        John smiled. He bumped his forehead against Matt's. "Alright, now I'm going to bed." Not that he wanted to... but now, he really had to.
        "Wha~t?" Matt pouted. "After that?"
        John knew the feeling. He really did. Yeah, that one. He stepped back. "Don't stay up torturing yourself with satellite pictures, alright?"
        Matt looked away.
        "If it's really bad," John said, "you wanna sleep with me?"
        Matt froze, and his eyes rounded, just as John realized what he'd said.
        "Ah, heh... yeah," said Matt, and even in the low light, John could swear the color of his face changed. "Yeah, see--totally not what you meant, but my mind just went somewhere else entirely."
        "Yeah," John agreed, beause his mind was camped out there, too, now, so that it was a really good thing they weren't standing so close anymore.
        "Yep," said Matt, nodding. "Yeah, I'll go to bed. Fuck the maps. Good night, John."
        "'Night, kid," said John, who knew Matt was telling the truth. John knew what he was going to be thinking about for the next couple hours until his alarm went off, and it had shit to do with maps.

        "Champagne?" John asked.
        "You're looking at an employed alias," said Matt.
        "So McLeod got a job?"
        "Three, actually. Dell wants him to vamp up their packaged firewall to ship with next year's models, and two banks hired Bertie as a consultant to make sure their data's secure. The first one's quick, but the consulting jobs will last at least a few months."
        "Where're the companies?"
        "One of the banks's here in the City. The other's in London. Dell's in Texas."
        "London?" John frowned.
        "Yeah. I'm that hot. Oh--but don't worry. I might have to go visit once or twice, but I can do all the real work from here."
        "Oh," said John. "Good."
        Matt beamed and handed him the bottle. "Will you do the honors?"
        "You got it."
        Matt had to duck the flying cork.
        "Nice reflexes. I might be a little outta practice."
        "A little," Matt agreed, pulling himself upright. "Oh, I got glasses," he added, pointing farther down the table as John looked towards the kitchen.
        "Fancy," said John. There were only two flutes, so he didn't say anything about Matt spending what little money he had on things he didn't need. That and the whole twelve-step thing. It wasn't necessarily parental, he told himself, to look out for the kid. Step two or three out of twelve could be mentor/role model. That was an improvement, right?
        "Well, y'know," said Matt, "your career only recovers from national disasters and the FBI's shitlist once."
        "Let's hope so," said John, handing Matt a glass.
        Matt lifted it, clinked it against John's. "Here's lookin' at you, kid."
        "You're learning," said John. "Not sure you get to call me 'kid,' but you're learning."
        John tried to refill Matt's glass when he'd finished, but Matt covered it with his hand. "I'm good with one," he said. "I don't usually drink. Not on principle, or anything, just, well, you know how much caffeine it takes to keep me on my feet, and alcohol's like the anti-caffeine. More than one glass and I'd probably pass out standing up."
        John had to admit the logic of that. "You could've bought some of that crazy souped-up coffee you drink, instead of champagne, then."
        Matt smiled. "It just didn't seem as festive. I guess I was feeling traditional. Don't get excited--It doesn't happen often."
        John snorted. He set down his glass and shrugged off Matt's suggestion that he have more himself.
        "I did get something else," said Matt. "It's tradition to treat yourself when you get a new job, right?"
        "Great," said John. "Your room's covered in dolls, isn't it?"
        "No..." Matt grinned. "But thanks for reminding me. I can afford to replace that Spawn model you broke, now."
        "It would've blown up whether I broke its arm off or not."
        "True," Matt admitted.
        "So what'd you get? Or will I regret asking?"
        "Know how I was saying before this place needed a DVD player?"
        "You're not quite ready to replace me as the breadwinner of the outfit," said John.
        "I know, I know," said Matt.
        "Do you?" John asked.
        "Oh, well, not specifically. But I'm guessing the City's a little nicer to you than that after, what, thirty years?"
        "Yeah," John agreed, averting his eyes. It was embarrassing what the City thought was a fair wage to a senior detective with just over thirty years' experience, so if Matt hadn't checked, it was just as well.
        "Anyhow, when I got my new box, it had a DVD drive, it's just that the monitor was too shitty to bother watching movies on. So I got a celebratory monitor that'd make IMAXes cross their legs."
        "I think you'd better stick to math and leave the metaphors to the pros," John said.
        "Like who, you?" Matt gave him a look. "I can't leave dangerous toys like those in your hands."
        Without the option of giving Matt a swat in the back of the head, John wasn't sure how to respond, so he just followed Matt to his room.
        Matt paused on the threshhold, then threw open the door.
        "Voilą!"
        The world went dark.
        For a beat, they both stood silent. It was ink-black; not so much as a flashlight beam came in through the windows.
        For that moment, the silence was so complete, John realized Matt wasn't breathing. He reached out to grab the kid's shoulder.
        "I didn't do it," Matt said, at the same time John said, "Hey, breathe."
        "What the hell happened?" Matt asked in the kind of hushed voice you use when the baby's asleep. "Where are the back-up generators? Where's our generator?"
        "I forgot to refill it," said John. "We hadn't needed it in a while."
        The darkness continued and they stayed where they were. Each of them knew the layout of the apartment well enough to move in the dark, but it seemed to John they were both keeping still until the next move was clear.
        The silence didn't last. As though the city had, like them, frozen briefly in surprise, now it shook itself, and car horns, screams, and the familiar, reassuring wail of a police siren came floating up.
        "I'd better--" John began. He was intterupted by the crackle of the police radio in his room, followed by a staticky voice calling his name. "--Yeah," he finished, and went to answer it. It took some fumbling in the dark to get the proper buttons pressed.
        Dispatch sounded harried. "Detective McClane, report to station immediately. Recommend coming on foot. Over."
        "Fantastic," John muttered.
        The radio spat in a distinctly testy manner. "Copy?"
        "Yeah, yeah, I copy. Be there ASAP. McClane out." John slung on his holster and swung out of his room.
        Matt was still standing in the doorway of his own--John could just barely make him out now that faint light from some better-prepared apartment was trickling in through the window.
        "I gotta go, Matt," said John.
        "Okay," Matt said quietly. Outside, someone screamed--or cursed; it was hard to tell.
        "You wanna come and wait at the station?"
        "No," Matt said. His silhouette turned to face John. "Unless you think..."
        "It's probably nothing but bad luck," John said. Matt was right to refuse--the station would be frantic and he'd just be in the way--but John kinda wished he'd accepted anyhow. John had to go now, but he didn't want to leave Matt alone. "If the power's gone down again, for whatever reason, we need to get every cop out on damage control, that's probably all."
        Matt's head dipped in a nod. "Go on. Go do the hero thing."
        "Less hero, more glorified traffic cop, I think," said John. He laid a hand on Matt's shoulder. "You know where the gas is, right?"
        "I put it there, remember?"
        "Yeah, right. And the flashlights--" Matt put his hand over John's. Matt's skin was icy, and that hand felt so small that John nearly decided the precinct could go fuck itself. But then Matt pushed John's hand off his shoulder and said, "I'll hold the fort."
        "All right," John said. He backed up for a couple steps, watching Matt--not that he could make out anything beyond his posture, slumped over his crutches with a certain extra tension to his spine. "Throw the bolt after me," John said as he turned and went to grab his jacket. "Don't open the door for anyone but me."
        "What am I, six?" said Matt. The question didn't sound as indignant or sarcastic as it should have.
        "Shit," John muttered. "Get the generator on. Don't wait up."

        The station was lit like a bad French movie and swarming like a blue beehive when John arrived. Lem found him as he entered the detectives' shared office and pressed a paper cup of coffee into his hand. "They blew up the back-up power stations in Manhattan and Queens. The other two blew themselves out under the strain. Hospitals are okay for the night on their own power, but traffic lights're out, so--"
        "Hey, whoa," said John, gesturing with the coffee cup. "They, who?"
        "Fuck if I know. The Deep Sixers and the National Front for Anarchy both called to claim responsibility, but I think they're full of it."
        "And you said the stations themselves were blown up?"
        "Pretty bad. Two dead. Not much more'n a shell of the facilities left."
        John ran a hand over his face and up over his scalp. "Jesus Christ, not again. We know how?"
        "Pretty conventional bombs. Home-brew."
        "So it's not the Fire Sale, part two."
        "Nah. Hey, drink up, McClane. You're gonna need it."
        "Matt was right," John muttered.
        "Whassat?"
        "Nothin'."

        It was past five in the morning when John got home, smelling more strongly of gunpowder and ash than he had when he left. There was no light showing from under the front door, which struck him as odd. He let himself in and flipped the light switch. Nothing. Outside, the night was moonless , and the neighbors weren't bothering with generators this late, so the apartment was almost pitch black. It was strange Matt hadn't turned on the generator, considering...
        John closed and locked the door quietly behind him, then paused and held his breath, listening. He heard nothing at all, so he moved towards Matt's room. The door was open, as usual, he could see by the faint grey light in the hallway; within, it was entirely dark. Now, when he listened, he heard steady breathing. So the generator wasn't on because Matt had decided to make an early night of it. Weird, definitely, but if it didn't involve bullets and explosives, not weird enough to make much of a blip on tonight's insanity radar.
        "Matt?" John said softly.
        There was a rustle of sheets from within. "Hey, John."
        "Hey. Sorry to wake you."
        "I wasn't asleep. Are you okay?"
        There was an edge to the question, so John stretched the truth a little. "I'm fine. What're you doing with the lights off? Why didn't you fill the generator?"
        A noncommittal noise issued from the darkness. John made his way towards it. When his toes bumped the futon, he knelt and stretched out his hands. He found Matt's shoulder and from there the tight curve of his back; Matt was curled up almost double on his side. John almost asked the obvious question; instead he let out the kind of sigh you start breathing every time you sit down after age thirty, and did so on the edge of the futon near Matt's knees. "Whaddya want first, good news or bad news?"
        There was another incoherent mumble.
        "Well, you were right about us being vulnerable to conventional attack, now," said John. "I'll skip to the end and tell ya, the City's not gonna have regular power again for a while. Two people died when they blew up two of our local stations. If it helps, they were boring bombs."
        "Jesus," Matt said. "Was that the good news?"
        "You didn't choose."
        "My mistake. Okay, what's the rest?"
        "The idiots who blew them up were a local city gang--mostly young kids." John paused, then specified, "In their twenties."
        "Ah."
        "So there's no high-tech, national conspiracy, or anything."
        "Not yet."
        John gave something between a grunt and a sigh. "Not yet. Just some punks looking to cash in on an easy-to-exploit weakness in the system. And yeah, I see how this could happen again--"
        "What's more surprising is that it didn't happen before."
        "I think some of these guys just got back to town. They were on vacation while we rebuilt, causing trouble somewhere else."
        "Nice," said Matt. "What was the point, if they were just gonna fuck it up again? And what the fuck was the security like if they were just punks?"
        "Yeah, they're gonna need to address that. There's a detachment of the New York Guard on watch at the other two power stations, now. They're gonna need something more permanent, but that's for the higher-ups to decide."
        "Yeah, they've been doing such a great job of it so far."
        John grunted.
        There was a rustle, and Matt shifted behind him. His voice came out muffled. "If you thought the heatstroke and dehydration deaths were bad this summer, wait'll you see winter with no central heating."
        "The West Virginia hub's supposed to be back up by then."
        "I showed you the pictures of their progress, right? We're about a month from the kind of temperatures that start killing the homeless--and that's when they can catch a ride in a heated bus or train now and then. We're gonna go into winter with spotty power, and..."
        "Hey, hey," said John. "Kid, listen. New York's seen shitty winters before. We've had black-outs and brown-outs with snow up to our ears before, too."
        "Was that back when you had to walk three miles to school through it every day, uphill both ways?"
        "Heh. Yeah, around then. New Yorkers are tough. Shit, New Jersey people must be even tougher, to live in that shithole and not just choose to end it all. We'll manage it somehow. We're not beaten yet. Hell, look on the bright side. The black-out of '77 only lasted a day, and we had arson all over the place. We haven't had a single case of it this time."
        "We had all the looting, though. Vandalism, and just about everything else, in spades."
        "You're a tough crowd."
        "Mmph. That's why I didn't fill the generator. Figured we might need to save gas. Prices'll be sky-high in the morning."
        "Yeah, no shit." John sighed. "Too bad I didn't stock up when it was way the hell down at five-fifty."
        "No kidding."
        "I should fill the generator anyway. The food'll go."
        "I guess," Matt said faintly.
        John didn't get up. He waited, and they were both quiet for a while.
        At last, there was a rustle, and some shifting, and Matt was sitting beside him, leaning warm against his side. John put an arm around him and Matt rested his head on John's shoulder.
        "John," Matt said, "you smell like you've been turned on a spit over a charcoal fire for an hour."
        "Like I said: conventional explosives."
        "But that was before you got there, right?"
        "What was left still had some more smoking to do."
        "John." Matt's voice dropped lower. "Are you really okay?"
        "Yeah," said John. "...Eh, I got shot a little."
        "A little?" Matt's hands fumbled for John's arm in the darkness. "Where? Show me! I need a--"
        "There's no light, kid," John said. He took Matt's hands gently as they strayed too close to the wound. "It just grazed me. The paramedics patched me up already. Just, if you get the urge to punch me in the right side, resist it for a couple weeks, alright?"
        Matt's arms went slack and John let his hands slide away. The futon shifted as Matt lay down again. "Okay," he said. "Y'know, I think I am gonna sleep after all, so... G'night."
        John only hesitated for a moment. His inner parent--still only on step five of twelve--and that part of him that thought of Matt in an entirely less paternal fashion were in complete agreement that John wasn't leaving the room. They differed after that point, but...
        John climbed over Matt's huddled form, lifted the covers, and slid down between him and the wall. Matt started as he did, but when John put an arm around his side, Matt nestled back against him and rested his arm over John's. His body was stiff, the tension palpable all through Matt's back and in the fingers poised over John's as though ready to strike keys. John settled his chin atop Matt's head and gave the kid a gentle squeeze.
        John was starting to doze off when Matt said, "I was... I wasn't... just saving gas."
        John waited.
        "I... meant to go fill the generator, I just... I couldn't get up the will to do anything once I'd turned it on. I didn't feel like I could program 'Hello World' in this fucking dark, while you were out there..."
        He trailed off. John knew there was more, and he wouldn't have been sure what to respond if there weren't, so he waited.
        "I thought," said Matt finally, voice so low it was hard to hear from just behind him, "if you didn't come back, I... I just couldn't get up the energy to do anything if you weren't gonna come back. I kept telling myself I needed to get up, and... and even if you didn't, I'd still need to work on IceFloe. I'd still need to do what I could to patch up our computer systems, and to support myself, but... If I was gonna do it alone, I just... I just kept not moving. I kept telling myself I'd go find the flashlights and the gas in a minute, but it got harder every second I didn't. Eventually, I just decided to wait for sunrise. If you weren't back by then, I'd figure out what I was gonna do when it was light. Then... Then I'd be able to move.
        "John..."
        "Yeah, Matt."
        "I don't think that was true, either."
        "Sure it was."
        "Uh-uh. I'm not like you. I'm not good at the lone wolf thing. I spent a long time on my own, but I didn't get better at it; I got worse. Maybe I can handle the system going down again if you're here. Without you, I really don't think I can. And even if they bring it all back... even if I'm sitting right on top of the power station with my own dedicated server, it isn't gonna do a thing for me if you're gone."
        John snorted. "Might be the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me."
        Matt squirmed slightly. His voice came out thick. "I'm not joking."
        Neither was John, which made him uneasy. "I know," he said. He remembered how bleak the world looked when he came home and thought Matt had left. It was tricky, the whole getting to need someone bit. Tricky having someone pull it on him, too. Depending on John McClane was a raw deal--Holly, Lucy and Jack had told him that enough times, and he really couldn't argue the point. And yet, he didn't feel any urge to talk Matt out of it. Maybe, too, he knew it was too late for that. "Sorry, kid," he said. "You know I'm gonna keep on being there when the bullets fly and shit blows up. That's the job. And my shitty luck."
        "Yeah," Matt said softly. "I know."
        "But lemme tell ya, I'm always comin' back."
        "You got shot today."
        "I've been shot a lotta times. Even shot myself--you saw me. Doesn't make much difference; I ain't that easy to kill."
        "I know that, too," Matt said. "It helps. It really does. You're the toughest guy I've ever met. But you did shoot yourself, and you do have kind of a kamikaze streak to you that really... it really fuckin' scares me."
        "Hey," said John. "I'm comin' back. No matter where I go, I'm coming back to you." It was easier to say when Matt couldn't see his face. "You can count on that."
        Matt's fingers flexed against John's arm. "To me, huh?"
        "That's right. Got a problem with that?"
        "Nuh-uh." Matt rolled over and John pulled him closer. Matt felt gingerly down from John's shoulder along his side. "It's this side, right?"
        "Yeah. It's further down than that; you're all right."
        Matt sighed and slid his arm around John's back. He buried his face in John's shirt. His breath when he spoke dampened the fabric. "Is it okay for me to hang so much on that guarantee?"
        John breathed deep and let out a gusty breath. "Shit, I don't know. It's all right by me. I don't know what it means to anyone else."
        "Fuck 'em, anyhow," Matt said after a pause. His arm tightened around John. "Keep your promise, McClane."
        "Yeah, Farrell."
        "Please."
        John kissed the top of his head. "Stayin' alive's what I'm good at."
        "Thank god," Matt said. "I'd've been really pissed if you'd gotten yourself killed before I met you."
        John chuckled. "Me, too." The edge of Matt's ear faded into view in pale grey. "Well, look at that," said John, as the ear became a little lighter and betrayed its connection to a pale but visible jaw.
        "What?" asked Matt.
        "Anything you want; the sun's up."
        Matt shifted, and his nose came into view, then a reflective flash of dark eyes. "Oh, yeah..."
        "Well?" said John.
        "Well, what?"
        "You made it. Now what're you gonna do?"
        Matt looked at him for a moment. It was still too dark to make out his expression. He slid up until they were face to face. He hesitated a moment, and then he pressed his lips to John's. It was hardly more than that, and there was more sound to it than anything useful, the kind of kiss you give your aunt when you're five, so it had no business making John's pulse surge the way it did.
        "John," Matt whispered against his lips. It was electric. Matt's hand clutched at John's shoulder and it wasn't clear which of them had moved, but Matt's erection grazed John's stomach.
        It was more instinct than conscious decision to roll Matt onto his back, and then to kiss him, deep and slow. The noise Matt made against John's mouth, the way his body arched up under John's, told him he'd gotten it right.
        John stroked down Matt's side; his hand came to rest lightly over Matt's hip.
        "John..."
        "You're all right," John whispered. He kissed Matt's neck and felt the vibration of a barely audible moan. "You're gonna be just fine, genius."
        "I--" Matt whimpered, his hips bucking involuntarily under John's hand. Need was raw in his voice, the need for reassurance, comfort, and something more basic. The body could be fooled easier than the mind, into feeling that momentary intimacy meant security, into confusing sex with trust. Even if the feeling didn't last, even if tomorrow Matt was unsure of John's promise again, for now, John wanted--needed--to give him that reassurance.
        John rose to his knees, propping himself over Matt with one arm. With his other hand, he undid the fastening of Matt's jeans.
        Matt helped him push them down past his hips with his underwear. He closed his eyes when John's hand ran down over his stomach. When John took hold of him, he let out a short gasp, then bit his lip. His hands fisted in the front of John's shirt.
        John watched Matt as he stroked him, slow and steady. The light was strengthening by the second; it illuminated the crease between Matt's eyebrows, which were furrowed almost as if he were in pain, the line of his throat as he pushed his head back into the pillow, the pearly gleam of four teeth sunk deep into his full bottom lip.
        John brushed his lips over Matt's. "Let go," he said softly.
        "Mmn?"
        "You don't need to do that."
        Matt's eyes opened a slit. "But--"
        "There you go," said John, and grazed the head of Matt's cock with the nail of his thumb--little trick he'd perfected when he was Matt's age.
        "Aa~hhah!"
        "That's it."
        "Ah... John, that wasn't--Hnnahh...!"
        "Come on," said John. He kissed Matt's jaw. "Come." He kissed Matt's forehead and Matt made a strangled sound. John could feel Matt's climax rising, strange and exhilarating how he could feel it, almost as if it were his own. Matt arched up against him, throwing his head back and breathing a ragged, "John--!"
        It was almost like coming himself, feeling the tension in Matt's body reach its snapping point, then rush out of him.
        John kissed Matt deeply as he came down. Matt collapsed bonelessly beneath him. John wiped the traces away quickly on the sheet, rolled onto his side and gathered Matt's unresisting body into his arms.
        "Mmmmyyygod, John," Matt mumbled. "Whu-what'd you do that for?"
        "Seemed like the thing to do."
        Matt gave a weak laugh. "You and your wacky impulses. Can I...?"
        John caught Matt's hand as he reached down between the two of them. "No. It's okay."
        "But you're--"
        "It's not about me." John interrupted gently. He was so hard it hurt, but he meant it. He wasn't sure it had been right to go even this far, but he was damn sure not bringing his own needs into the equation with Matt in his current state of mind. No matter what the downstairs office thought of it, John's priority had been to comfort Matt. That, and John already felt...
        He felt a bit shaky, as he pulled Matt's hands up between them and pressed them to his chest. He kissed Matt's forehead and put his arms around the kid. "Get some sleep, Matthew."
        Matt pressed close, his body warm and loose. "John," he said.
        "Yeah?"
        "Um..."
        John waited, but there was no sequel except for even breathing against his chest.
        "Lookit you puttin' the baby to sleep at your age," John muttered. He pulled the blanket up and tucked it securely around Matt's shoulders.
        As the day lightened outside, John lay awake with all sorts of explicit thoughts running in the back of his mind like a picture show Giuliani would've shut down. But at the forefront was a sense of satisfaction and even pride that Matt trusted him enough to let John comfort him this way, and that it'd worked.

        It was well into daylight by the time Matt emerged from his room and shuffled quickly down the hall to the bathroom. There was a startled curse, and then a string of less startled ones as he encountered the consequences of the water heater's night off. He emerged five minutes later, damp hair stuck to his face and neck, long-sleeved t-shirt clinging to his skin, and wearing something close to a pout.
        "There's coffee in the kitchen," John said, raising his mug from his seat on the sofa. He'd had the pleasure of a freezing shower only two hours earlier.
        Matt shuffled into the kitchen. "If the electricity's on--"
        "Just the generator."
        "Then why's the shower--?"
        "It's only been on since I got up."
        "Hmmngh." The melodic sound of pouring coffee and the sifting of sugar was followed by meditative slurping.
        A moment later, Matt appeared behind the arm of the couch opposite John holding his mug two-handed in front of him like a shield. He looked at John over it with the big cat eyes.
        John managed to keep the grin that wanted to come out down to a smile. "What?" he asked.
        "I feel awkward."
        John laughed.
        Matt scowled into his cup and his cheeks darkened. "Shut up, I--"
        "Siddown," John said, slapping the cushion next to him. "Matt," he said kindly, when Matt glared but didn't move, "c'mon. You'll be fine."
        Matt kept glowering, but sidled over and sat beside him, just far enough away that they didn't touch. He worked away sulkily at his coffee while John tried to make what was left of his last.
        Finally, Matt lowered his cup. "I wanna talk to someone."
        "Huh?" said John. Jesus. I've fucked the kid up, and now he needs counseling.
        "What do we have to do to get at the people in charge of New York power station security?"
        John's eyebrows rose. "That--?"
        "Yeah. I've got some ideas. Clearly they don't have two to rub together. Whoever's handling the power distribution scheme for this area, too."
        "You think they'll listen? The FBI didn't give you much of a send-off."
        "Then we can pretend the ideas are yours. I'm sick of sitting here waiting for someone else to fix the country or break it down again. I'm on the network problem; now there's gotta be something we can do about the rest."
        "It's not just computers, viruses and hackers were talkin' about, anymore, kid. There's bureaucrats and politics, and... a lotta stupid people with power in the way."
        "They're all systems," Matt said. He looked at John sideways through his bangs. "If you help me, I can crack them. Shit, we've done the impossible already. If you're with me, we can do this, too. I've gotta try, right? You taught me that."
        "Matt," John said, and the kid finally turned to face him, "are you okay?"
        "Why? How? ...What?"
        "What happened last night."
        Matt flushed. "Y-yeah. About that..."
        "You deeply traumatized, or anything like that?"
        Matt's face went even darker. "No," he said. "Nothing like."
        "Good," said John. He brushed Matt's hair out of his face and kissed him.
        "What was that for?" Matt asked breathlessly, when they parted.
        John took the mug from Matt's hands and set it aside, pulled Matt closer and slung an arm around his shoulders. "Couldn't help myself, the way you were talking."
        Matt squirmed and made an embarrassed noise. "What the hell's that mean?"
        John shrugged. "Guess I like it when you talk big." He liked who Matt was becoming; he liked that strength grew from his weaknesses. He wasn't going to say he was proud, because it sounded like taking credit, and he couldn't--this was all Matt. John couldn't get truly attached to someone he didn't respect; Matt just kept showing him new aspects of himself that commanded that respect.
        "Coming from you, that... That's pretty flattering," Matt said.
        John shrugged again.
        "John..."
        "Hm."
        "Sorry. About last night. I... I'm not gonna freak out every damn time we have a blackout. I shouldn't've been so--"
        "It's okay."
        "Mmm... This from the guy who kept telling me to get my hacker ass to a gym."
        "You aren't equipped for heavy lifting, that's for sure," John said.
        "You still wanted to kiss me, after I broke down like a three year-old?"
        John started to answer, then paused to marshal his thoughts. After a moment, he said, "I told you I used to be afraid of flying, didn't I?"
        "Yeah," said Matt wryly. "Right before you took the helicopter up. That was awesome."
        "It wasn't just a little. Sometimes I'd throw up the night before I flew, just from thinking about it."
        "Whoa. ...Gross."
        John snorted. "Yeah. It was lousy. I don't hold anyone's fears against them, kid. Everyone's got 'em. Yours happen to make a lot of sense."
        "Yours don't show," Matt said
        "Maybe not much, anymore," John said, "but that's not the point. The point isn't to act tough. A lotta people who talk the talk aren't worth a damn when the chips are down. You are. I've seen you. You did it again just now. You've been doing it since I met you--fighting what you fear, not just hiding from it."
        Matt locked eyes with him. His brow furrowed. "I needed a little coaching."
        "Maybe a little. Batman wasn't born in tights, y'know."
        "You and your damn DC comics," Matt said, but his eyes creased with the smile he was trying to hold back.
        "Look, kid," said John, "you're tough enough for me. When you're weak, I'll help you through it. Drag you, if I have to."
        "That sounds... like you," Matt said, nodding, smiling hesitantly. "So you really don't--"
        "I don't," John said firmly.
        Matt watched him earnestly for another moment before looking away. He swallowed. "Thank you, John."
        "Enh."
        Matt's lips quirked. "Wanna settle another question for me?"
        "Shoot."
        "What kinda shitty manners is it to let someone... jerk you off... and fall asleep without at least doing the same for them?"
        "Ah." John looked at the ceiling. "Well, not so good, normally. But... You wanna laugh?"
        Matt frowned. "About this? I doubt it."
        John smiled briefly. "I wasn't ready for anything else."
        Matt's eyebrows unbalanced. "You?"
        "Yeah."
        Matt blinked several times, cocked his head to the side. "Why'd you do that, then? I mean, it was a bit of a... a jump forward."
        "You needed sleep. Seemed like the best way to get you there."
        "What."
        John shrugged. "Worked, didn't it? Look at you this morning--" he glanced at his watch. "Today."
        "John!" Matt said, agnoized. "You...! What does that make me sound like? That's so..." He glared at his hands folded in his lap. "That's really embarrassing. You didn't have to... Oh, god."
        "Hey," said John, "you act like it wasn't any fun for me."
        Matt looked up at him through a screen of hair. "...Was it?"
        The image sprang to mind of Matt arching his back under John, his hair spread out around his face on the pillow. "Li'l bit."
        "Yeah, right," Matt said thickly.
        "I ain't lyin'."
        "Bullshit," said Matt. "I don't see why it would be."
        "You want me to explain, or will you take my word for it?" He could lay it all out--how it was a challenge to look at Matt now without wanting to touch him; how the sounds he'd made would get John hard if he dwelt on them; how good it felt to have been granted that intimacy; how badly he'd wanted to take it further, still wanted to--but that was probably more honesty than either of them could take just yet. There were some things you didn't say aloud until you were at least chest-deep in a relationship.
        Matt looked conflicted. "Can you give me a preview without freaking me out?"
        John searched the ceiling again. "When you want somebody," he said, "it's a good feeling to know you can turn them on, too. How's that?"
        Matt's lids fluttered and he gnawed his lower lip a bit. "You... want me, then."
        "Looks that way, kid."
        Matt tossed his hair out of his eyes and looked back at John. The flush to his cheeks didn't look to be going anywhere. "And you could actually wonder whether I wanted you."
        John had to shift in his seat to hide his reaction to those words and that look. "Yeah," he said. "It occurred to me to wonder." Whether a kid in his twenties, young and vital, and really good looking even if he wasn't the action-hero type, could look at a grizzled cop in his fifties and find anything to get excited about.
        "You didn't need to." Matt's eyes were completely earnest. The way he looked at John told him volumes--things he never could have believed from words alone.
        John shook his head. "Farrell, you gotta run out and save the state right now, or can it wait a couple hours?"
        "It's Saturday. Emergency or not, the politicians are probably at home asleep, or screwing interns, or whatever it is they do. Why?"
        "I wanna kiss you again," said John, "and I'm just about outta reasons not to."
        "Oh," said Matt. His eyes flicked to John's mouth, then away again. "Yeah, I think I could deal with that."

        Matt came home from the doctor with his leg brace-free, wearing an I Love NY t-shirt.
        "What is that, a joke, Jersey boy?"
        Matt stepped in close, leaned up and kissed the underside of John's chin. "It's so insulting, and yet I love it when you give me nicknames." He moved away to hang up his jacket and John sat down to hide an erection that took him back to junior high.
        "I got you one, too," said Matt. He returned and set a plastic bag on the dinner table beside John. "It's time for some civic pride. If we're gonna stick with this city while the lights are out, and when the trash isn't collected, through the looting and all that other shit, there's nothing like a little flag-waving to make stupidity feel like virtue, am I right?"
        "You're a sarcastic little bastard. Why'd you really buy 'em?"
        "Not telling. What, doesn't it look good on me?" Matt turned to the left and right, arms held out. It fit him better than most of his clothes, which tended towards the baggy, and John's eyes followed the curve of Matt's back down to the waistband of his jeans, the lean line of his chest and stomach stretching down to where his jeans sagged low in the front...
        John gave himself a mental shake and shrugged.
        "I'm a hundred percent," said Matt.
        "Hm?"
        "My leg is now up to New York transportation standards. I can get off the gimp list. I'm ready for whatever kind of acrobatics may be required." To demonstrate, Matt threw that newly-fit leg over John's and straddled his lap.
        John's eyebrows rose. It paid being a cop with thirty-odd years of practice at sang-froid, because Matt's thigh was about an inch from what John had so recently tried to camouflage, but you couldn't have told it from his even, wry tone. "Y'don't say. I hope you're not planning to install a trapeze or anything in here, 'cause we don't have space."
        Matt scooted a little closer and threaded his arms around John's neck. "I wasn't thinking so much a trapeze... And I wasn't so much thinking the living room."
        John put his hands on Matt's knees--to stop his legs going where it would be problematic, y'know. He slid his hands up over Matt's thighs and the kid's eyes slitted like a cat getting his head stroked. "Yeah?" said John. "So what were you thinking, hack boy?"
        Matt's smile widened. "Can't you figure it out, Detective?"
        John's thumbs stroked idle circles over denim. He looked off, pursing his eyebrows, then back. "Nah, genius, when I'm off the clock, it shoots my deductive powers all to hell. You're gonna have to spell it out for me."
        "How's this, then?" Matt leaned down and pressed his lips to John's. It was still a bit fumbling, but John went with it, met him halfway. There was something about the way the kid felt his way around a kiss, trying to figure out the formula the way he did with everything, that made it hard for John to keep his hands still, and harder to ignore certain other developments below the belt.
        Matt pulled back and opened his eyes. They sparkled eagerly. He licked his lips, and John's... situation... got considerably more... difficult. Matt tossed his hair out of his eyes. "Any leads?"
        John slid his hands up to Matt's waist. "I got a couple theories," he said with a grin, "but I'm not ready to make any arrests. You got anything else for me?"
        "Let me think," said Matt. He rocked back and forth on John's lap, lips pushed out as he looked thoughtfully at the ceiling.
        It was hard. Difficult, too, to maintain composure. But mainly, it was hard.
        "Oh," said Matt, clasping John's face in both hands, "there was this..."
        He turned his face to the side to meet John's mouth with his own. His lips were already hot and moist from the first kiss. It started out like a nuzzle with Matt, like he was just trying to get real close, or like if he felt it out before diving in, he'd get some real important information. Then it was sort of like a nudge; Matt pushed his chin forward, and he didn't quite get that you were supposed to lead with the tongue when you wanted to take a kiss further--or he was too shy to do so--but John gave him that; he parted his lips, and Matt's tongue darted in and out like he was testing something hot. Then he dipped in briefly again like he was making sure. Then Matt was really kissing him. Deep and hungry, like there was something hidden there he was desperate to find. His hands either side of John's face were so tender and careful you'd think he was afraid of breaking him, but the rest of Matt was urgent, his hips sliding forward to get closer, his back arching until his chest just barely brushed John's.
        John surged out of his chair, lifting Matt bodily, and lay him across the table. John was draped over him, left hand splayed over Matt's chest, his right arm looped under Matt's knee, puling his leg up, John's hips pressed against Matt's ass, John kissing him hard, hand traveling over Matt's body, before he even registered moving.
        Matt's arms tightened around his neck and he bucked his hips up to rub against John, rose into John's touch as far as he could. When John broke the kiss, Matt followed him, reaching for John's mouth with his own, and John had to oblige him, kissing Matt hard again until he moaned and John pulled back, panting.
        "Kid," John breathed, "you really are getting the hang of that."
        Matt tried to kiss him again, found he couldn't reach with John's hand on his chest holding him down, so rolled his hips against John instead. "I thought I would, eventually," he said, eyes glinting behind lids lowered to half-mast. "It's all formulas, Detective."
        "You shouldn't kiss me like that, genius boy."
        "Mm. I like it when you call me that..."
        "You really shouldn't," John said. He was having trouble keeping his fingers still on Matt's chest. His thumb was just beside a rising bump under the thin t-shirt; he gave up and brushed it, and Matt shuddered under him, his grip around John's neck tightening.
        "Why not?" Matt asked.
        "It gives me ideas, kid."
        "Mmhm? I think it's supposed to."
        "No, Matt, I mean..." John had strayed too close and Matt kissed him again. It took real effort to push him back.
        The sloe-eyed look Matt gave him must've been what they meant when they said a 'smoldering look'--John'd never quite gotten that before. "Hm? What do you mean, John?"
        "Shit, Matt, the things I wanna do to you..."
        Matt shivered again and John closed his eyes for a second and swallowed a groan. It was crazy how badly he wanted Matt. He hadn't felt so desperate to touch, taste... and be inside someone since he was Matt's age, himself. The fever of it, the looming threat of loss of control, scared him.
        "That's okay," Matt said.
        John shook his head. "Nah, kid, it's not. I--"
        "Don't get Victorian on me, John." Matt smirked. "You're not gonna get me dirty, or whatever it is you're worried about. Well, any more than literally, I mean."
        "That's not it," said John. "I..." He glanced down at his arm hooking Matt's knee and realized it was the injured one. "Shit," he said. He lowered Matt's leg carefully to the table. "Is it okay?"
        "It's fine," said Matt, smiling. "Really. I know I'm not an action hero like you, but I'm not--"
        "It's not that, either." John stroked Matt's hair back from his face. "I'm the adult, here--"
        "Even the law says I've been an adult for a while, now, John."
        "I'm twice your age, Matt. I'm supposed to be the responsible one."
        "You are responsible. Enough for a whole pack of adults."
        "Not if I start putting what I want ahead of what's good for you. So..." John straightened his back, but Matt held tight around his neck and came up with him. Finding himself between Matt's legs with Matt perched on the edge of the table didn't help matters at all. Matt deliberately rubbing up against those same matters helped even less.
        Matt kissed him again. Geniuses were dangerous--John was learning that. From zero to this in less than a month... What else might he learn--Yeah, still not helping.
        Matt broke the kiss, but stayed close enough that his breath heated John's lips as he spoke. "You want me," he whispered, "right?"
        As if you couldn't tell, John thought. But if Matt meant more than just the obvious--well, the answer was still the same. "Yeah. Yes."
        "I want you to," Matt replied. He touched their foreheads together. "I need you to. It's not bad for me."
        "I'm bad for everybody."
        "McClane," Matt said, "are you gonna make me get mushy and say you're the best thing that ever happened to me? 'Cause that'd just be embarrassing for both of us."
        John chuckled. "You're right about that."
        "John," said Matt, "I love the way you take care of me, but you've gotta let me return the favor at least a little bit." His right hand slid down over John's chest to his waistband.
        "Matt--"
        Matt gave him the eyes.
        You're so screwed, McClane, John thought.
        Matt pulled John's shirt up, and his cool fingertips brushed John's abs. He undid John's fly and his hand slipped inside.
        John groaned deep and put an arm out to balance himself. Matt slipped his free arm under John's and held him, steadying him. His slender fingers slid gently along the length of John's shaft, freeing it from the uncomfortable confines of his pants. Matt's thumb circled the head, grazed lightly over the slit, before his hand moved down again, encircled his cock fully and slid slowly back up.
        "Matt," John breathed.
        "I got you," said Matt. He kissed John's neck and held him tighter about the chest as his hand worked him. "I got you."
        He did, too. More than he knew.
        John planted both hands on the table and gave himself up to Matt's attentions. There were some things, apparently, that he didn't need any practice to nail--maybe no man did--because it was all John could do to hold himself still, not thrust up into Matt's warm grip, or... or anything else. Matt was nuzzling his neck, kissing his jaw, whispering words of encouragement into his ear. Returning the favor, huh? No one had taken care of John this way in years but him, and somehow, the way this kid went about it, direct and honest, well, there was something sweet about it, too. It was strange to call it innocence, when Matt's head was crammed full of more ugly facts about the world than you could fit in an encyclopedia of shit, and he wasn't so young as John kept thinking of him, but there was a kind of purity in the way he presented this--that there was something John needed and Matt wanted really badly to give it to him. That got John.
        John turned his head and caught Matt's mouth for another of those genius-powered kisses and came away breathing hard.
        He took hold of Matt's wrist, stopping its motion.
        Matt kissed his ear. "You wanna move this somewhere more comfortable?"
        "Yeah." John's voice came out like gravel.
        "Whoa!" Matt flailed as John hoisted him into the air. He nearly tipped them both backwards as he reached for the bag on the table. He snagged it, then hugged John tightly about the shoulders. "Carry on, Detective."
        John didn't stop to ask. "Watch your head," he said, ducking through the door to his room. He tumbled them both onto the bed.
        "Here," said Matt, pressing the bag into his chest. "Use this."
        John looked down at it, bewildered.
        "Not the shirt," Matt said.
        John reached inside and pulled out a plastic tube.
        Matt's cheeks flushed. "Well... well..."
        "You sure about this, kid?" John asked.
        "Tell me you weren't thinking it."
        "That'd be a lie, but..."
        It looked like it was an effort for Matt to meet John's eyes as he whispered, "I want you, John McClane. Sleep with me."
        John set the bag aside and kissed him. He ran his hands up under Matt's shirt, over smooth skin, and Matt started when he found his nipples, moaned quietly into John's mouth.
        "Mind if I relieve you of your civic pride?" John asked.
        "Mn-nh."
        Matt raised his arms and John pulled the shirt over his head. Matt's hair fell about his face, fluffy with static.
        "Too damn cute," John said, brushing the soft waves of it back with both hands. He kissed Matt again. "Where do you get off being this cute at your age?"
        "I am not," Matt protested, as John pushed him down into the pillows, but when their eyes met, he looked pleased. "You're the only one who'd think so."
        "I doubt that," said John. He kissed the side of Matt's wide, full mouth, kissed the pulse speeding up just under his jaw. "Never hold up in court." He moved lower, took Matt's nipple in his mouth. Matt made a muffled sound in his throat and grabbed John's shoulders. John rolled the tender flesh between his lips and tongue and Matt's fingers pressed deeper into his shoulders. When John began to tease the other nipple with his thumb and forefinger, Matt whimpered. His hips pushed up against John.
        John lifted his head, replaced his tongue with his other hand. Matt was milk white under his shirt, with distinct lines at his wrists, where his sleeves had been most of the summer, despite the lack of air conditioning. His torso was narrow, and not filled out at all--not bony, but lean enough that he'd need watching if he got sick. Still, there was definition to him, done with a light brush; his stomach was tight, though smooth, unridged; there was the faint, well-shaped swell of pectoral muscle, though fuck knew where it came from. Youth. His arms showed the only hint of real development--John's mouth quirked--tugging those computer towers around. Matt's nipples had gone pink from John's attentions. His flushed face was framed in the dark, silky hair spread on the pillow.
        "You're really easy on the eyes, kid, you know that?"
        Matt's eyes opened, two slits of liquid brown. "You don't have to say that." He caught his breath sharply as John tweaked his nipple, pushed back into the pillow with his eyes screwed shut and his mouth open. "Ah--ah--Hn..."
        John followed, leaning over him. "It's hard not to," he said, "with it staring me in the face like this." He kissed Matt's bottom lip, his throat. "No one else sees the whole picture, 'cause you hide in all those layers all the time." He ran one hand down Matt's side, loving the way Matt rose into his touch, kept moving to keep as much contact with John as he could. "But that's all right with me." John stroked Matt's thigh, slid his hand down between Matt's legs. Matt gasped. "If no one gets to see just how good you are... If no one gets to know how cute you can be... If I get to keep you all to myself..." Matt clung to John's shoulders as John cupped him through his jeans, stifling a whimper. "I can live with that," John breathed. "Shit, can I live with that."
        "Mmn--! Yeah," Matt said. "Me, too." He took a deep breath. "Ah--John. Let's... If you keep that up, I'm--"
        John stilled his hand and looked into Matt's eyes. "Matt, you know there are other ways--"
        "But I want to do this."
        "If you want to stop, at any point--"
        "John--"
        "Any point. Just say so. I won't be mad."
        Matt smiled. "Okay. I got it." He gave John what started as a quick kiss, then turned longer and sent John's hands fumbling for Matt's zipper. He eased Matt's jeans and boxers down, mindful of the erection that, once freed, stood up flushed and rock hard against his belly. John glanced up to meet Matt's eyes; the kid flushed and looked away. He raised his knees to let John pull his jeans the rest of the way off.
        Matt bit his lip, still looking pointedly away. "Feel like 'm s'pposed to say, 'y'like what you see?' Or somethin' to prove I'm all macho and unfazed," he mumbled.
        "I like what I see," said John. "I'm not saying that just to get you naked."
        "I'm already--Oh, right. See whatcha did there. Yep." Matt angled a look at John through a lock of hair fallen over his right eye. "So, you gonna join me? In the general lack of clothing department, I mean."
        "Oh," said John. "Yeah." He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. He considered for a split-second, then decided struggling out of his jeans on the bed could really kill the mood, and stood to slide them down. When he glanced back, Matt was watching him with bright eyes, pupils dilated, breathing through just barely parted lips.
        That look went straight through him. More than words, more even than Matt lying naked in his bed, that look made John certain that Matt wanted him. Not as a parental substitute, not because he happened to be there when Matt was vulnerable. Matthew Farrel wanted John McClane, himself. John had rarely found himself on the receiving end of a stare so rapt, Matt's liquid brown eyes wide and intent, like he was trying to drink John in through them. That was fine by John. He wanted to plunge in, let Matthew Farrell close over his head, and drown.
        John grabbed the tube from the bag and lifted the edge of the covers. "Get inside," he said.
        "Hm--muh?" said Matt. "Oh, right." Matt scooted up against the pillows and slid between the sheets. He lifted the covers higher and looked up at John, his smile hesitant, shy, his eyebrows raised in invitation.
        John climbed in beside him, pulled the sheets over them both.
        Matt pressed into John's side. "That's better," he said, nerves making his light tone vibrate. "I was getting cold."
        "Thought you might be." John stroked down Matt's side, turned him onto his back. Matt let out a shaky sigh. When John leaned down to kiss him, his mouth was hungry and his hands searched for somewhere to be, fluttering over John's chest, trying his shoulders before deciding against them; eventually he clasped John's face. His thumbs stroked John's temples as they kissed.
        When John pulled away for air, Matt said, "John."
        "Yeah, Matt?"
        "I don't... actually know what I'm supposed to... uh... do."
        "That's okay," said John. "I do. I'll take care of you." He thumbed Matt's nipple and Matt's eyes fluttered, a small moan escaping him. "Matt, are you completely new to this?"
        Matt's brow wrinkled and his lower lip jutted slightly. "I... made out a couple--a few times in hi--before." The pout became more pronounced. "Y'don't have to rub it--Hmmnh--Oh. But you can rub that, if you want."
        John continued his gentle massaging of Matt's inner thigh, nudging his legs further apart as he did. He rolled over to kneel between them. Matt bent his knees when John touched them. He swallowed when John unscrewed the cap of the tube and set it on the nightstand. John squeezed out a good amount of lube and rubbed it between his palms to warm it.
        "Don't worry," said John. "We're gonna go slow. And we stop whenever you want."
        "Right," said Matt. He watched John's fingers as he slicked them up, wide-eyed, breathing unevenly. "You... new to this? I mean this kind of--Uh."
        "No," said John. "I know what I'm doing."
        "Oh," said Matt. "Um. Then... I mean, with--?"
        "With a woman," John said. "In this case, it works almost the same."
        "Huh," said Matt, looking down. "Okay."
        "Hey," said John. "Anyone else was a long time ago. You're the only one I want."
        Matt's eyes came back up, rounding. "I wasn't--Well, maybe I was a little... jealous... It's dumb, but..."
        "It's not so dumb." John kissed Matt's neck, tongued the spot where his pulse beat fast and wild, then closed his lips over it and sucked. Matt inhaled in a hiss, then he flinched as John's slicked fingers traced a wet path back from his balls.
        "John--" he started to say.
        John whispered against the wet skin at his throat, "I'm gonna go slow. Ready?"
        Matt took a breath. "Yeah."
        John spread the gel around Matt's entrance, first. The tight ring of muscle twitched involuntarily back from his touch, tightening further. He kept circling it, idly stroking, and went back to sucking at Matt's neck like he was drinking down that frantic pulse. Separating his lips for a moment, he said, "Hold onto me."
        Matt put his hands on John's shoulders. His fingers were tense, but only the pads of them pressed into John's skin.
        John pressed one finger just inside. Only the pressure of Matt's grip changed. "Breathe," John reminded him gently, and Matt obeyed.
        "Go on," Matt prompted, voice shaky. "I'm fine."
        Muscle squeezed, pulsing against John's finger as he eased it in further. He twisted his finger to spread the lube, the elastic wall of muscle pushing back as his finger moved along it, and Matt's muffled "Mmf" and the jolt John's cock sent through his stomach were simultaneous.
        John pulled his finger slowly out, gathered more lube from his other palm, coating two fingers. Matt bit his lip as he pushed in and John paused, waited for him to relax a little before going further. Another humming moan from Matt, whose eyes were closed tight, his brow furrowed. When John turned his fingers, Matt's chest heaved and his fingers flexed on John's shoulders.
        John wished he could see better, see Matt's narrow chest with his nipples flushed and erect, see the curve of his thighs running into the compact swell of his ass, actually watch his fingers going in--the thought alone made his cock jump, made his own body tighten--but he also liked the feel of this: the two of them together under the covers, like they were huddled against the cold, like he was keeping Matt safe, sheltered between him and the pillows, Matt clinging to him like he knew that, his face sweet and sexy at once. John kissed his forehead as he leaned against his hand, pushing in.
        Matt's eyes flew open wide with a startled cry. "Wh-what was that?" he quavered.
        John pulled his fingers out and pushed back in at the same angle and Matt made another sharp noise. "Is... is that even... safe?"
        John smiled. "Yeah," he said. He brushed the spot again and Matt clamped his lips together over a long moan, turning his head away. "You're safe," John reassured him. "I'll take care of you. Trust me."
        "There's no one I trust more," Matt said, opening his eyes to meet John's, just for a second. John kissed him and introduced a third finger. Matt moaned throatily into the kiss and his body quivered against John's.
        "John," he whispered, and John nearly lost it at his tone. Instead he pushed in deeper, spreading, stretching, and when he brushed over that spot again, Matt whimpered and breathed, "John, I'm ready."
        "All right," John said thickly. He pulled his fingers out, spread more lube than strictly necessary over his cock. "Remember--"
        "I remember," said Matt. "And I trust you."
        "Your knee--" John said as he drew up Matt's legs.
        "It's fine," said Matt, though there was a nervous glitter to his eyes. "I'll tell you. Trust me, too."
        John paused for a second, then nodded. "I do," he said. He looped his left arm under Matt's right knee and leaned up slowly, till it was hovering over Matt's chest. With his other hand, he guided himself to Matt's entrance, the weeping tip of his cock resting against the hot, slick pucker. John's eyes narrowed and he inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring. Then it wasn't even a conscious decision; he hooked Matt's other leg and leaned in to bring it level with the first, and just the head of his cock pushed inside.
        Matt's eyes closed and his mouth opened, though no sound emerged.
        Slowly, slowly, John pushed further. Despite the preparation, Matt was unbelievably tight. The pressure, the heat was overwhelming.
        Matt's face was drawn in lines of concentration or pain. His eyes opened when John paused. "No," he gasped, seemed to realize he hadn't been breathing, and inhaled deeply. "Don't stop. Ah, god," he said, throwing his head back as John moved again. "You're... even bigger than you looked... and that was bad enough..."
        "Matt," John said.
        "Don't even think about stopping," Matt said. He tugged at John's shoulders. "I can't... kiss you till you get closer."
        John closed the distance. Then there they were, John buried to the hilt, Matt bent almost double, and though they froze for a moment, their eyes locked together, there was nothing stationary about their bodies. The muscles in Matt's legs draped over John's arms jumped and strained; the muscles inside clenched at John as if desperate not to let him pull away, and John's pulse beat so hard his body seemed to vibrate with it.
        Matt's eyelids lowered partway. He tried to toss his hair out of his eyes, but it clung to the sweat on his forehead. A wide, slow smile curved his lips.
        "I've got you inside me," he said.
        The look he gave John was so triumphantly sensual, John nearly came. He kissed Matt urgently, seating himself even deeper as he did, and Matt moaned loudly into his mouth, kissing back for all he was worth.
        "Yeah," John agreed, speaking so close their lips brushed. "You do."
        "Feels... good," Matt sighed.
        He hissed slightly as John withdrew, taking a hitching breath as he pushed in again. His eyes fell closed, and he breathed in short, shallow gasps as John rocked into him in a slow, steady rhythm.
        Each thrust seemed to take John deeper inside, and Matt clung to him more tightly, small, soft sounds escaping his lips.
        Matt, Matthew Farrell, crazy little hacker kid, who couldn't deal with CCR and thought so hard he forgot to eat, who could barely take care of himself, but wanted to take care of John, anyhow, was all soft skin and sweet breaths, quivering muscles and hot, slick depths; John couldn't touch him in enough places at once, couldn't get deep enough inside, but he kept trying, pushing as hard as Matt seemed able to take, and Matt rode it with him, reaching for the same place.
        Matt's lips moved, but John couldn't make out the words. He leaned closer. "Matthew?"
        Matt's eyes opened to meet John's. "Keep me," he whispered. "Please keep me."
        "You're not goin' anywhere," John said, "unless you want to. Anyone else tries to take you from me is in for a hell of a fight."
        Matt smiled. "John," he murmured. "John... Ohhh, god, John--!" His mouth opened wide. "You... you... there--!"
        His muscles tightened around John through the next few thrusts, until it was difficult to move, his fingers pressing so hard into John's back they would leave bruises, his legs squeezing John's sides. Then he let out a small gasp and his face opened, every line disappearing from it; he looked like he'd just figured out something he'd been working on forever; and his cock pulsed between them, spreading liquid heat over their skin.
        Only a few more thrusts, and John followed him over, unable to hold on any longer. He came deep inside Matt, mouth locked over his.

        It was John who spoke more, afterwards, "Hang on, this is gonna hurt a bit... Wait, here, I'll take care of that... Here, let me..." Once he'd done what he could for their mutual comfort--neither of them seemed to have the energy for a shower--they ended up on their sides, facing one another, John with his arm around Matt. "Matt--" John began to say.
        Matt smiled at him, wide and sleepy and beautiful. Then his forehead hit John's chest, and he was asleep.
        John hugged him close, tucked the blankets around his shoulders.
        I'll keep you, he thought. Long as you let me.
        Before he had time to think of much else, he was out.

        Around midnight, John woke to what sounded like the death rattle of a man who'd taken a couple bullets to each of the most sensitive regions of his anatomy. Matt was on his stomach, clamping a pillow over his head with both hands.
        "Nnnnngggghhod," his muffled voice emerged. "Ngggonnadie."
        "Jesus," John said. He touched Matt's back gingerly. "Matt, hey. Are you all right?"
        One side of the pillow rose slightly. "Of course I'm not all right. I haven't had that much exercise since the Fire Sale! My blood sugar must be in the negatives--and don't tell me that isn't possible, 'cause--"
        "Oh," said John. He rolled out of bed, grabbing his pants from the floor as he went. "Be right back."

        When Matt was most of the way through the food and juice John'd brought him, he looked at John sideways. "I... can't train this away. Low blood sugar doesn't really toughen up."
        John snorted. "It's all right. I'll take you with it."
        Matt smiled down at his plate. "Good," he said. "That's a relief. Shit, McClane, I didn't realize I needed to carbo-load before having sex with you."
        "I'm not sure what to say to that."
        "It's a good thing... As long as I know. Seriously, Gatorade under the bed, next time."
        "So," John said. "Otherwise, you were more or less okay with... things?"
        Matt gave him another sidelong look, the right corner of his mouth rising in a crooked smile. Then he looked back at his plate. "Whatever I say, it's going to be embarrassing."
        "Right," said John, somewhat disappointed. What were you expecting, McClane, a performance review?
        Matt cleared his throat. "I've done a lot of, uh... research on the subject, y'know, over the years, and... Heh, well. I was pretty prepared for the real thing to be a huge disappointment."
        "Was it?"
        Matt grinned, biting his lip, and shook his head so that his hair swished from side to side. "Nuh-uh."
        John raised an eyebrow, grinning back. "What, that's all I get?"
        Matt looked up at him and laughed, flushing. "What, what, what, you want adjectives? You want testimonials like in the magazines? Dear Penthouse, I just got fucked senseless by the sexiest man ever to wear blues, and I thought I might die it felt so fucking good, and I probably sounded like an idiot, but I couldn't help myself, and just as soon as I recover, I wanna do it again, and then again for good measure, and then just about as often as I can convince him to cooperate, and I'm getting my shower now, thanks, love, Matt." Matt set his plate on the night stand and slid out of bed, froze as he remembered he was naked, and pulled the topsheet off the bed. "I know you've seen it already," he said, flushing deeper, "and I don't care." He threw the sheet around himself like a cape and hurried past John, out the bedroom door.
        "Hey," he said, ducking back in. "Uh... what about you?"
        "I'm not gonna take much convincing," John said. "Whenever you're ready, I like the sound of your plan."
        Matt grinned and ducked out again. A moment later, his voice came from further down the hall, "Ow! Damnit, McClane, why d'ya gotta be hung like a horse? Geez..."

        Matt was looking out the window when John came back from the shower. He was wearing a set of John's old pajamas that were far too big for him; the pants pooled on the floor, kept above his narrow hips only by the drawstring, the sleeves covered his hands, and the collar gaped, exposing the clean lines of his collarbone and most of his left shoulder.
        John came up behind him, slid his arms around Matt's waist. When Matt leaned back against him, John settled his chin on that bare expanse of shoulder. "How's Beirut lookin' tonight?"
        Matt sighed. He crossed his arms over his stomach and covered John's arms with his. "Looks like shit. We've got a lot of work ahead of us."
        "Yeah," John agreed. And he thought it, but he didn't say it.

--Utopian Trunks
March 24, 2008

Sequel: His Space
Leave an LJ Comment

East of Sanity