Top Shelf: A Seacroft Novel Page 22

  “How many hours before the sun comes up?” he said as he clenched around Martin, making him shudder. He wanted to brand Martin inside his body. It would be a long slow process, but Seb could take it.

  “I don’t think we’ll last that long.” Martin shifted, sliding just a little lower to improve his leverage, and pressed up into Seb. The movement found another fraction of an inch he didn’t know was there. Tiny stars burst under his eyelids as he let out a soft whine.

  “Again,” he said, and like before, Martin seemed only happy to follow instructions. Seb blew out a laugh.

  “Something funny?” Martin said as he thrust up again, harder. This side of him, not bossy, not dominant, but confident, sure of himself, was something Seb wanted so much more of.

  “Not in the slightest.” He sighed and gave himself to the rhythm that Martin set.

  It was good. So good. But the angle wasn’t enough to make him come, and his thighs shook. Martin kissed him before running a hand up his spine and pushing him forward, until Seb was face down on the bed, his ass propped up against his thighs. Martin followed, covering him with his body, knees spread wide as he thrust in hard.

  Seb shouted, turning his head to bury his face in the mattress. Martin had promised him a pillow if he screamed, but the mattress would do. He shifted his hips to give himself enough space to grasp his cock and tugged in time with Martin’s hard strokes inside his body.

  Martin drove them on now, his breath hot on Seb’s spine, grunting with each thrust, as Seb let out a line of curses and encouragement. Martin’s hands were under his torso, lifting, pulling, until Seb was on his knees, hands planted on the mattress, and Martin kept going. Seb continued to jerk himself off and felt the warm weight of Martin wrapped around him. It still wasn’t enough.

  Martin’s clever fingers found one of his piercings and twisted, driving the sensation from Seb’s chest to his gut and lower to the small of his back where the orgasm built.

  “Again,” he said. Martin’s mouth was on his skin, his dick in Seb’s ass, while his fingers continued to draw little electric shocks at his nipples, and . . .

  His orgasm was like the snap of a rubber band. Seb’s mind went blank as his body locked down. Arched under Martin’s weight, his hand grew slick with his come. Martin’s strangled shout against his back was Seb’s only warning before Martin tensed and shuddered. They rocked together, and Seb’s arms gave out. Martin tumbled down with him, body still wrapped around his torso as his hips spasmed.

  “Wow,” Seb groaned.

  “Yeah.” Martin’s laugh was hoarse. He slipped out of Seb with a grunt, and Seb took the opportunity to spread himself out, boneless on the mattress. There was a wet spot under his belly, which would be really gross in a minute, but until then, he was going to bask as his body sparked and tingled from his scalp to the tips of his toes.

  Martin was in the bathroom, tidying up. Seb slipped off the bed, taking the soiled sheet with him. As he entered the bathroom, he tossed it in a corner and wrapped himself around Martin. He looked at them in the mirror. Martin pressed his cheek against Seb’s and linked their hands together over his chest.

  “The most interesting weekend I’ve had in a long time,” he said, staring at Seb’s reflection.

  “I hope what we just did was more than interesting.” Seb bit at his shoulder. Martin danced away but didn’t get very far before he pulled Seb to him, wrapping them together for a short brush of lips that left them both nuzzling at each other.

  “I’m an academic. Interesting is the highest compliment we know.”

  “Better than fascinating? I think fascinating is farther up the food chain.”

  Martin hummed and kissed him again.

  “Fascinating is reserved for truly exceptional experiences.”

  Seb pouted. “That wasn’t truly exceptional?”

  “It was good. Better than good. But life changing? Paradigm shifting?” He made a skeptical noise.

  Seb bit at his lip. “I love a challenge.”

  * * *

  When Martin woke up, it was still dark. He was warm, curled under a soft comforter and wrapped around Seb, his cheek resting on the curve of Seb’s spine.

  He was hard too, and wasn’t that something? As everything fell apart at Mount Garner, his libido had been the first thing to go. Not that anyone had been there to notice, but months passed where he hadn’t felt even the smallest flicker of arousal. As if that entire part of him had been erased, to the point where he didn’t even miss it.

  Feeling need again was a relief, though, as he pressed his erection against the crease of Seb’s ass. Seb sighed in his sleep, and then his hips rocked back, trapping Martin between their bodies. Martin kissed his bare shoulder, rewarded with a fuzzy sigh as Seb rolled against him again.

  “I’m going to hurt in the morning,” Seb said. Martin lifted his head to kiss Seb’s cheek. He let his hand slide down over Seb’s bare chest, then lower, following the thin thread of hair to the waistband of his briefs.

  “I wouldn’t want that.” Martin found Seb’s cock, half hard and growing, and stroked it.

  “Very considerate of you.” Seb rolled so they could kiss fully, long and slow, both of them still partly wrapped in soft sleepy warmth. Martin ground against Seb’s hip, and Seb made happy noises in the back of his throat. He laughed as Martin rolled on top of him. Martin could get used to this, provided Seb’s bed above the bookstore was big and comfortable enough for the two of them. Although, anything would be better than Brian’s couch, especially if Seb was there.

  Martin followed the path his hand took before, only this time with his mouth. Seb tunneled his fingers through Martin’s hair as he pulled Seb’s waistband down to free his straining cock.

  Under the blankets and licking at the head of Seb’s erection, he was only dimly aware of the sound of a phone vibrating. He was in a warm dreamy place where everything was dark and smelled like Seb, and phones had no place there. Seb’s hips rocked under his hands, like he was rolling toward the side of the bed, and then they settled into place again. Martin took Seb into his mouth, loving the taste of him as much as he loved his own body wanting this.

  “Hello?” Seb’s voice was rough, and Martin pinched at the inside of Seb’s thigh in annoyance. Clearly, they were involved in something more important than a phone call. He was rewarded by a soft smack on the back of his head. Laughing, he hollowed his cheeks in response and then let his tongue swirl around Seb’s slit.

  Seb’s hips rocked again, pushing more of his length into Martin’s mouth, and Martin murmured a happy groan. He sucked down as far as he could go, but then Seb’s hips stilled. “Mrs. Green? Slow down. What’s wrong?”

  Martin’s growing arousal paused at the mention of his employer. Why was Mrs. Green calling Seb? What time was it?

  “Okay.” The tension in Seb’s voice was apparent now. Martin rolled off him and came up from under the covers. As soon as he was free, Seb pulled himself up to sitting.

  “What’s wrong?” Martin whispered, but Seb didn’t reply. Martin flipped on the light on the table next to his side of the bed. The warm glow flooded the space around them, but the expression on Seb’s face made his heart stop.

  Seb was already rolling out of bed as Martin watched, snagging clothes from the floor. He pulled them on, the phone pressed between his ear and shoulder the whole time. “Okay. It’s okay. We’re awake. We’re coming.”

  Martin grabbed his phone and checked the time. A little after two thirty. “What’s wrong?” he said again.

  Seb hung up, stuffing belongings into his suitcase. “Get dressed. We have to go home.”

  “Seb?”

  “Get dressed. We’re leaving in three minutes. You can ride naked if you want, but we’re going.”

  Martin was out of bed in a second. He found the borrowed suit on the floor. “Would you just tell me what’s wrong?”

  In the shadowed part of the room the little bedside lamp couldn’t reach, Seb’s eyes
were dark.

  “There’s a fire. We have to go.”

  21

  The drive back to Seacroft was silent. Tense. Even though the highways were empty at that time of night and Seb drove well beyond the speed limit the whole way, it took forever. He hardly spoke. There was a fire. No one was hurt. That was all he knew. Martin watched the mile markers ghost by.

  As they drove into town, it was still dark. It was fall, and the sun wouldn’t be up until after seven. Martin didn’t know what he expected. An orange glow on the horizon to light their way?

  The first change was the smell. Seb had the window down, probably to keep himself awake after hours of driving, but as they got closer, the air changed. Martin should have thought of campfires, or Brian cooking chicken skewers in the backyard, but instead his stomach turned. It wasn’t any of those things.

  It was the bookstore.

  There was no orange glow. There was the flicker of red lights spinning on the top of fire trucks forming a perimeter around the bookstore as it smoked and steamed. The smell was overwhelming here, making Martin’s eyes water as they got out of the car. Puddles covered the street, even though the sky was clear, and Martin needed a moment to realize they were from the firehoses, not rain.

  Dog Ears Book Shop was a ruin. The black-and-white sign that might have been a cow or a dog was scorched. The lettering faded into the blackened wood, so only the “D” on the front and the “P” on the end were visible. The front windows were empty sockets gaping at the sidewalk. It was too dark to see very far inside, but the counter where the cash register had stood was gone, and the shelves that ran to the ceiling closest to the door were charred pillars.

  Upstairs, the street light outside showed the marks like giant claws on the brick where the flames and smoke stretched out from the broken windows of Seb’s apartment, looking for more to consume.

  “Seb.” Martin could barely tear his eyes away. He felt too many things at once: the queasy twist of fear at what the rest of the bookstore looked like, the sadness for what this meant for both of them, the exhaustion of stress, and too many wordless hours on the road.

  Seb’s face was blank. His hands were jammed into his coat pockets, and he barely blinked as he stared up at his home. Martin linked an arm through his, but Seb didn’t respond, either to pull him closer or push him away. He simply stared, his face turning strange shadows in the revolving lights on the street.

  “Dr. Lindsey?” Martin barely recognized Mrs. Green as she came toward them. Her normally immaculate hair and face were covered in gray soot.

  “What happened?” He took a step away from Seb, but couldn’t make himself go farther.

  Mrs. Green’s eyes were wide. “I called you as soon as I saw what had happened. I was so worried Sebastian was upstairs!”

  “We were away.”

  “It was a relief to hear that. But the store. The apartment.” She glanced around them, but they were alone, the firefighters still working on the building. “Dr. Lindsey, I think it was my fault.” Her voice was thin and ragged.

  “What?”

  A tear tracked a trail over her dirty face. “Seb, I am so sorry. Your home. Your work, I didn’t—”

  Martin put an arm around Seb’s shoulders, but it was like hugging a statue. “Why don’t you tell us what happened?”

  “I . . . ” She pulled her coat tighter against her chest. “I went in this evening—yesterday evening, rather—to do the weekly bookkeeping. I normally do it on Sundays, but I have a number of obligations today. I was only there for a few hours, but it was cool inside, and bookkeeping can be tedious. I made a pot of coffee. Dr. Lindsey.” She gripped his arm. “The coffee maker has been a bit temperamental for years and it’s possible I may have forgotten to turn it off before I went home. Do you think this—” She gestured at the blackened building behind her, and her voice cracked. “Do you think that’s what caused this?”

  Martin didn’t know, and he didn’t want to speculate. Mrs. Green seemed convinced, though, and she burst into tears right there on the street. Martin had to let go of Seb to console her. The whole time, Seb still stared dispassionately at what was left of his home. He really might have been a statue, except for the way his throat worked up and down, like he was also swallowing tears—or maybe a scream. Martin wished he would let it out.

  After that, Mrs. Green seemed to decide Martin had some kind of authority and made him stand with her as the fire department asked questions and gave out information. They didn’t comment on her coffee maker theory, but no one talked about arson or anything suspicious either.

  Eventually, most of the fire trucks pulled away, and Martin convinced Mrs. Green to go home and get some rest. The sky turned gray and then pink, like the sun was finally ready to greet the day without knowing what had happened over the course of one night.

  The daylight didn’t make anything better. It illuminated the inside of the store, and everything was black and ash or sodden and gray. About halfway back was a hole in the ceiling, and only black was visible in the space that should have been the apartment.

  Seb still didn’t say anything.

  People started to appear, residents out for a quick run before their day started. Business owners came and gaped at the sight.

  Somewhere along the way, Brian arrived. “I heard about it when I got to work. How long have you been here?”

  Martin shivered. When had he gotten so cold? “A few hours.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  Brian drove them home. Brian’s home. Martin’s home, sort of. The whole time they drove, all Martin could think was that Seb didn’t have a home. Not anymore.

  “Do you want breakfast?” Brian said as they walked inside.

  “Maybe?” The last thing they’d eaten was finger sandwiches at the party the day before.

  “Is toast okay? We’re out of eggs.”

  “Seb?” Martin checked over his shoulder. “Is toast—”

  Seb was in the living room, standing next to the couch, still unfolded like Martin had been there all weekend. Seb took off his coat and let it drop to the floor. He pulled things from his pockets. Wallet, keys, phone. The screen flashed an incoming call as he set it on the coffee table. Oliver, it said. They were probably waking up—Oliver, his parents—only to find Seb and Martin both gone without so much as a note.

  Seb dropped to the mattress like a puppet whose strings were cut. Martin was half afraid that Seb might be crying, and then half afraid when he realized he wasn’t.

  “Maybe we’ll skip breakfast,” he said.

  “Are you sure? I can—”

  Martin put a hand on his brother’s arm. “We’ll be fine.”

  Brian left them to go back to work. Finally being alone was a relief. He followed Seb’s example, losing his coat and emptying his pockets. He toed off his shoes. He should have suggested Seb do the same, but the hard line of Seb’s spine appeared taught enough to break. So instead, Martin lay down on the mattress and stared at the ceiling. A spider was making a web inside one of the pot lights.

  Seb still hadn’t moved. His body held too much tension for him to be asleep, but he clearly didn’t want to talk.

  Martin rolled, pillowing his arm under his head. He slid forward until his knees were tucked under Seb’s, and his chest was pressed to Seb’s back. He waited for Seb to push him away, but like on the street, he gave no response. When Martin slid his hand under Seb’s soft T-shirt, his heart thumped steadily, like nothing was wrong.

  Martin kissed the nape of Seb’s neck and was rewarded with a shiver: the only sign of real life Seb gave him in hours.

  It was enough.

  They stayed like that until Martin fell asleep.

  * * *

  When he woke up, it was cold again, but different than on the street. Not cold that came from standing outside for hours in the dark. Just uncomfortable, like someone had stolen all the covers. Or like the body warming him wasn’t there anymore.

  A soft
voice came from the kitchen.

  Martin rolled, and the smell of smoke filled his nostrils, wafting off his clothes, his hair, everywhere. He stared at the ceiling. The spider was still there.

  Seb was hunched over the kitchen table. His phone was pressed to his ear, and he held a pencil in his other hand, doodling on the back of an envelope.

  “Okay,” he said, to whoever was on the phone. “Yeah. No. Yes.” Single syllables. He glanced up when Martin passed through the doorway but didn’t return Martin’s smile. “Yeah. I understand, Kenny.”

  Martin waited, but the conversation kept going, and eventually he wandered away.

  The shower was good. He let the hot water roll over the back of his neck and down his spine. His suitcase was still in the rental car downtown, including his shampoo, so he borrowed the cheap stuff Brian liked. He soaped his hair twice, until the manufactured masculine smell covered the smoke.

  He kept clean clothes in a dresser Jess must not have wanted in the old guest room. Thinking of Jess made him picture Brian, looking defeated on the front porch. Had that only been two days ago?

  Clean and dressed, Martin checked the kitchen, but it was empty. Seb’s phone was still on the kitchen table, showing another call coming in from Oliver. Martin hesitated. He should answer it, let Oliver at least know what had happened.

  The screen went dark, and concern over Seb got the better of him. He made his way back down the hall to the den, where Seb was on the pullout again. His shoes were off, but the rest of him was in the same place as before.

  “Seb?”

  “I’m kinda tired.” His voice was flat. The words formed little shards of ice in Martin’s chest. He knew those words. He’d used them so many times.

  “Oh. Okay.” He lay down on the mattress again, their bodies making little squiggles against each other. This time, Seb squeezed his hand when he pulled them together. Martin listened and waited. In minutes, he felt the tension ease. Seb’s body sagged, and his breathing evened out as he fell asleep.