Chapter Text
Screaming at the Wind (#145 Storm)
The wind blew down the valley, cold from the bare rock above the tree line. It rattled the windows and solar panels and the trees groaned and twisted in protest. Ian had climbed a tree during one of these storms long ago, like John Muir, and clung to the top like a mad thing for hours.
Charlie sat up and listened to the wind. For the first time in days there was a spark to his eyes. There was also a wildness that Ian feared. Charlie got up, put on his shoes, and went out into the storm.
Ian followed Charlie outside. He did not follow Charlie up onto the roof.
Charlie turned to face the gusting, icy wind coming down the valley. Charlie spread his arms wide.
“Come down!” Ian shouted. He wasn’t sure if Charlie wasn’t listening or just couldn’t hear. Quite possibly it was both.
He watched Charlie take a great breath, then another. Charlie opened his mouth and began to scream. The wind tore the scream from his lungs and whipped it away. Charlie screamed again and again, each scream a scream of rage, of grief. A scream against the random forces of the universe that let a man with shaking hands execute a perfect kill.
Charlie screamed against the storm and the storm screamed back, screaming of sun and rock and water and butterflies flapping their wings somewhere.
“Come down.” Ian shouted up again, but it was no use. It was just Charlie and the wind and something primal let loose after days or maybe a lifetime. Ian had no place here. A pinecone blew up the roof to Charlie’s feet. Charlie picked it up and threw it back. Charlie would fight the storm to the end and Ian was willing to give even odds.
And Spring Slips In (#147 Thaw)
Ian dragged Charlie inside. His smiling lips were blue and his skin burned red from the wind. His teeth chattered and his chest heaved drawing in great breaths. He plopped Charlie on the couch.
“Take those off.” He pointed to Charlie’s damp cotton clothes that were wicking away his body heat even inside.
Charlie began to strip. Ian quickly rushed to the closet and pulled out the blanket that covered his bed in winter. It was stuffed with down and lined on both sides with rabbit fur, the result of a mild winter and wet spring that caused the rabbit population of the valley to go berserk a few years before.
Charlie was down to his shorts and his teeth were chattering. Ian quickly wrapped the furs around Charlie, kicking aside the damp clothes.
“Were you trying to get yourself killed out there?” Ian groused as he built up the fire in the fireplace and lit it, thankful that at this time of year everything was still dry and would burn fast and hot.
Charlie chuckled, Ian looked over his shoulder. The chuckle had sounded honest, happy. “No Ian, I don’t think I was.” Charlie’s voice was raw but strong.
“Feeling better then?”
Charlie smiled. It was an odd smile and seemed to flicker between emotions. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
Ian sighed and filled the old brass kettle that could hang over the fire on a swinging arm. He hadn’t known what to expect when he answered Charlie’s text. Charlie had called, Charlie needed him and he had come, no thought, no questions asked. “Let’s see about getting something hot in you.” Charlie chuckled again but Ian wasn’t sure why. Charlie held out his bare toes to the growing fire.
“It’s okay. I think I’m starting to thaw out already.”
Some Days It Becomes Real (#5 Fantasy)
Charlie had moved close to the fire, still wrapped in the furs, the fire making his skin glow. Ian tried to keep his distance, tried to behave until Charlie turned and looked at him and held out his hand.
Ian took it and was drawn close. “You have me nearly naked, wrapped in furs, in front of a roaring fire.” Ian swallowed hard. “I’m not as unobservant as people think. And you haven’t exactly been subtle.”
Before Ian could answer Charlie lips met his. They were still and warm. Ian took a breath and Charlie’s lips began to move slowly and softly, kissing him. Ian began to kiss back. Charlie drew away. He shimmied out of his still damp shorts and lay out on the blanket, the fire light making his skin glow. He looked at Ian, eyes dark.
Ian sucked in air. He’d had this fantasy, late at night, in cold crappy motels. His hand had snaked below the sheets thinking of this; picturing Charlie writhing in pleasure, hard in his hand, calling out his name again and again as they moved together. He’d spilled across the wall of tiny shower stalls thinking of Charlie bathed in firelight, hot and tight around his cock. He knew this fantasy painfully well. The white bandage still on Charlie’s arm was the only thing that let him know this was real.
Charlie ran his hand across his own chest, teasing at his own nipples then trailing his fingers low on his belly. Ian was finding it hard to breathe and small tremors laced through his body.
“I’m not sure what I want,” Charlie said, beginning to touch himself. “In the grander scheme of thing. But tonight I want this, I want this one fantasy to be real. Please don’t say no.”
Hot, Cold, Damp, Dry (#172 Skin)
Ian straddled Charlie’s prone form and let himself explore. The soft skin on Charlie’s cheeks was hot where it faced the fire and cool where it faced the dark. Ian let his lips slide against first one side, then the other.
The skin of Charlie’s lips was firm, hot, but dry from the icy wind.
Ian tasted the skin of Charlie’s throat with long licks. Charlie moaned and rolled his hips under him. Ian rubbed his thumb across Charlie’s small, tight nipple; silky contrast to the thick chest hair surrounding it.
“Ian.” Charlie breathed his name. Ian smiled into the hollow of Charlie’s throat and let his tongue dance around there. “Want to feel you.” Charlie whispered, his voice still raw from screaming.
Ian peeled off his clothes and lay next to Charlie pressing their bodies together. The smooth, hot skin of Charlie’s cock slid against Ian’s belly.
Ian closed his eyes and tried to regain control. Charlie brushed his fingers along Ian’s face. Even after a week at the cabin they smelled faintly of chalk. Ian sucked those fingers into his mouth, letting his tongue run along academic calluses.
Charlie groaned and threw a leg across Ian’s hip pulling them tight. Ian’s cock slid against the reasonably smooth skin of Charlie’s inner thigh.
“I’m too close, Ian.” Charlie said, a pained wine to his voice.
“Me too.” Ian slid up so his cock aligned with Charlie’s. They both gasped as hot skin met hot skin. Charlie wrapped a hand around the base of their cocks. Ian reached down and laced their fingers together, his other hand weaving into Charlie’s hair.
Ian began to thrust, quick and graceless as a teenaged boy, into their hands. Charlie followed, keeping pace. Ian’s cum hit their skin first.
Charlie came groaning Ian’s name.
Opening Up to Time Wasted (#38 Discovery)
Later they made it to a bed. Ian lit a single candle to illuminate his lover. Each movement between them became slow, considered, calculated. Ian licked his way down Charlie spine savoring the salt sweat. Charlie took his time leaving small nips down Ian’s throat and collarbone, making little hums of approval as Ian gasped and moaned.
Ian lay Charlie on his back and, kneeling between his legs, watched in awe as Charlie opened under his hands. It didn’t take long to find which careful caress made Charlie’s body twist out of control. And which firm strokes drew cries of uninhibited pleasure from his throat.
Charlie’s hips bucked as Ian slid a finger in.
“I’ve wanted to do this so long, Charlie.”
Charlie flashed a smile in the candle light. “You should have said something.”
“I’m a coward.” Ian twisted his finger, slipped in another and found the right spot.
“God, Ian.” Charlie began ridding up and down Ian’s fingers, obviously no stranger to the act. Ian cursed himself for not doing this years ago, for wasting all that time wondering what Charlie was like as a lover instead of taking a step and discovering for himself.
Ian slipped a third finger in. Charlie’s back arched with surprising flexibility.
“Ian, please, God I’m ready.”
Ian kissed Charlie; kissed Charlie and slid in. Charlie was tighter, hotter and more perfect than he imagined. He pressed his forehead to Charlie’s chest not wanting to move, trying to freeze time. He felt Charlie’s hand stoke his head, softly, reassuringly.
Ian moved, trying for the control that usually came so simply. Charlie rolled his hips and moved with him. The fell into sync as if they’d been doing it for a lifetime.
“God, Charlie.” In the candlelight Charlie let go and Ian discovered perfection.
When it’s Only Yourself (#152 Forgiveness)
Charlie touched his finger to the melted wax of the candle, almost gone.
“He had no family we could find. Not here, not in Russia, but I don’t think the Russian authorities looked very hard,” Charlie said softly.
“Those kinds of people often don’t. They’re alone and so do what they do.”
“I wish there was someone I could apologize to.”
Ian pulled Charlie close and his finger away from the flame.
“You did what you had to do.”
“I’m an atheist. I don’t believe in anything beyond this. No redos, no paradise, just this one try. I destroyed something unique that had never happened before and will never happen again.”
Ian sighed against the back of Charlie’s neck. “Unique isn’t the same as valuable. He wasted his one shot. You haven’t.”
“Haven’t I? People keep telling me I’m wasting my genius. I should be solving the great mysteries of the universe.”
“You’re saving those unique lives you value so much.”
Charlie was quiet. Ian had never wrestled with guilt after a fire fight, never sought forgiveness from someone or something but then half the reason the Army trained him in sharp shooting was a psych test that told them Ian wouldn’t be prone to such worries.
“What are you feeling more guilty about, taking a life or saving your own?” Charlie shifted in Ian’s arms and reached for the candle again. Ian stilled his hand. “And if you hadn’t taken the shot, if David had been killed, think of the state you’d be in then, not to mention Don, Colby. The only person tearing you up is you. The only person you can apologize to is you and the only person who can forgive you is you.”
Charlie sighed. “I’m not there yet.”
More Words Carefully Chosen (#181 Demands)
Ian went through messages, nearly all of them demanding Charlie’s immediate return. Don was sending a dozen a day. Ian could track Don’s stress levels by how colorful his language was.
The FBI’s demands were a little more politely worded but if Ian happened to know the whereabouts of Doctor Eppes to please get in touch since they can’t close out the shooting until they’ve talked to him once more.
There was a quite amusing message from a Doctor Finch who identified herself as Charlie’s boss and trauma and tenure aside skipping town mid-semester is not really acceptable behavior and if nothing else call because Charlie is the only one who knows how to get the dregs drawer out of the staffroom coffee machine and things are starting to get a little ugly.
There was a message from Larry full of honest worry, offering to get Charlie a room at the monastery if he’d only come home.
Sinclair sent words to pass on. Words of thanks, friendship, worry, but also a thinly veiled threat towards Ian warning him against taking advantage of Charlie while in a vulnerable state. Ian decided he needed to have a talk with Sinclair, who was too perceptive by half.
There was a quick message from Granger reminding Ian to take Charlie’s stitches out. That one only asked to bring Charlie back when he was ready.
Ian replied to Granger first.
Stitches came out clean. Scaring should be minimal. Good work.
Ian considered again what to tell Don.
‘He’s doing much better since we started fucking like bunnies.’
Ian could suddenly picture Don at his front door with a shotgun.
He’s doing better. I think he turned a corner last night and is starting to come back to himself. We need another week, maybe two. Ian.
Ian pressed Charlie against a tree, broad and strong, and kissed him. Charlie had become restless so it became part of their daily routine; cooking, heating water, chopping wood, then long hikes around the deep wooded valley. There were no set paths here, only game trails Ian had stalked along, skirting icy streams and ancient stones that had tumbled down the valley.
Charlie walked the valley more silently than Ian would have guessed. A mind designed to spot missing figures and build mathematical connections quickly learned to spot hidden tracks and count the valley birds by their calls. Ian loved watching Charlie creep around, nose to the ground, following the bounding path of a rabbit as it was chased by a coyote the night before. He loved it so much, sometimes he had to stop Charlie, push him against a tree and kiss him, or throw him into a patch of soft grass and ravish him, their cries of passion echoing off the valley walls.
Ian tried to hold every minute of it in his mind. Ian knew soon enough Charlie would return to his world of modernity, so he tried to savor this Charlie creeping through the long grass, creeping towards some peace of mind. Charlie, the child of nature, willing to make love under the high noon sun. He knew most would never recognize this Charlie, grass in his hair, a look in his eye that was wild, half mad, and full of passion that there was no need to hide.
A jay peered at them from the branches. Ian hoisted Charlie high against the tree, pressing their bodies together, tight. A breeze cooled their sun-heated skin. Ian’s name slipped from Charlie’s lips and Ian too felt himself begin to creep towards some sort of peace of mind.
“I was thinking this morning.” Charlie said as he set a log to split.
“About?”
“Applying n-dimensional knot theory to organizational dynamics.”
“Oh,” Ian said quietly. It was the first Charlie had spoken of math in weeks. He hadn’t so much as scribbled an equation in the steam on the bathroom mirror. Charlie split the log cleanly. Ian had been surprised at how quickly Charlie’s arms and chest had bulked out and how nimbly he had danced across rushing streams. There was a fighter’s body hidden under the academic.
“One of my doctoral students is using theories of non-Euclidean geometry to attempt to streamline the Internet.”
“I wish her luck.”
“It’s time for me to go home, isn’t it?” Ian’s stomach twisted at the thought, but he knew his desire to keep Charlie in this isolated little valley was just selfish lust. “I mean I should find out if I still have a job. If my students are still speaking to me I’ll need to have office hours every day between now and finals to catch them up.”
“You really want to lock yourself back in the ivory tower?”
Charlie was silent as he reduced a dry log to kindling. “Millie once told me I was raised in the church and preached to the converted. Reason is my faith, Ian. I lost it to emotion, I forgot how to...think. But I’m thinking again now. My mind is beginning to feel like my own again.”
“Just as you were.” Ian bent to gather the wood. Charlie reached out his hand.
“No. I have faith in other things now.”
“Things like..?”
“Things like screaming at the wind.” Charlie laced his fingers into Ian’s hair, drew his head down and kissed him. Ian kissed back and Charlie drew away. “And things like this.”
Living with What You Are (#2 Starting Over)
Charlie sat outside his house. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come in?” Ian asked.
“Yeah. Got to face the music myself.” Charlie turned to Ian. “Thank you, Ian.”
“Anytime.”
Charlie fidgeted a little. He knew this part would be hard. “I’ll be on summer break in not too long.”
Ian smiled. “I’ll check my schedule.”
Charlie gave Ian a long deep kiss that he hoped would hold him ‘till then before hopping out of the truck without looking back.
Charlie stood at his door, took a deep breath and quietly stepped over his threshold.
“Donnie?” His dad called out from the other room.
“Hi Dad.” Charlie called out.
Within a moment Charlie was wrapped in his father’s arms. The smell of Alan’s aftershave was almost overpowering after weeks of smelling nothing but wind, rain and trees.
“Are you okay? Let me look at you.”
Charlie stood patiently as his father looked him over. “I’m fine, Dad, really. I just needed some space.”
“You should call your brother.”
“In a minute. How are you?”
“Me? I’m fine. God, Charlie, I’ve been so worried.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I just couldn’t stay here. I needed room to deal with things.”
Alan stepped back and looked Charlie over again. “Where have you been?”
Charlie smiled softly. “Someplace safe.”
“Your arm..?”
Charlie pushed up his sleeve. “Hardly noticeable.” Charlie looked around, the place was tidy. “Amita?”
“She’s staying with friends. You just have to call her...”
Charlie shook his head. “No.”
“She didn’t mean...”
“Yes she did, Dad, and she was right, I’m not the man she fell in love with and I never will be again but I think I’ve learned to live with the man I’ve become and will be and I think that’s where I needed to start.”