Enemy Mine

Usually I could expect voices to call out to me, especially if the team from my old high school were at practice, but today I kept my head down, trying to talk myself into not quitting my job immediately to keep the cash flowing, intent only on getting home without having to make any conversation. The up-coming one with my parents and their subsequent I-told-you-so's were preying on my mind enough.

I frowned as I skirted the bleachers, making plans. The college fund was taken care of, thanks to the parents, with a slight possibility of a football scholarship but there still remained other things, like location and major. Did I really want to move away from home to a new city? My mind rejected the notion instantly but before I could get any further along that line of thought, I found myself distracted by the sound of voices coming from the other side of the concrete.

A few words were all that were necessary to tell me that a session in bullying and intimidation was being conducted somewhere beyond my line of vision and I sighed in irritation even as my feet carried me around the rows of seats towards the voices. Really, did I need this today, on top of everything else? Save someone from getting their ass whooped?

And then I heard it. Peter's voice, still calm, still unhurried.

"Look, you've had your fun. Why don't you all just leave from here and we won't mention this to anyone..."

"Oh yeah? You gonna make me, foster-boy?" an unseen voice jeered, to a chorus of mocking laughter.

What the hell?

"Come on, guys, let's not do this-" Peter said again.

For maybe all of a nanosecond, I stood rooted to the ground and then I was racing, following the natural curve of the structure, aware only of the fury building inside.

They weren't very far away and I was running so fast, I almost ran smack into them, skidding to a stop at the very last second. There were three of them, all bigger and at the very least Peter's age but I worked out religiously at the gym, had played football in high school and was presently hopping mad. Not to mention the element of surprise worked in my favor.

They'd only started to turn around when I grabbed the one furthest from the wall by the shirt and shoved him as hard as I could away from the rest of us. Unable to keep his balance, he landed on his ass several feet away where he stayed, probably while his brain tried to catch up with events. There were yells of surprise from the other two but I was already moving. Swinging my arm, I smashed my fist into the face of the bigger of the two, putting all my power into it. His head jerked backwards and I saw him moan, his hands flying to cover his nose as he staggered backwards.

Naturally all this had left an opening for the third guy and he got a punch in but the angle was wrong and it caught me in the side instead of the middle of my stomach. Not to say it didn't hurt but I was still mad so I didn't let it slow me in the least. I saw Peter jump in, but I had already got the last guy by the front of his shirt and whatever Peter had been about to do, he backed off. With his other friends down and the changed odds, I knew the guy wouldn't try anything stupid.

With my hands still fisted in his shirt, I brought my face really close to his and snarled, "If I ever see you or your friends around this guy again, I'll come after you with a knife, you got that?"

He started to talk really fast, stammering about jokes and a bit of fun but I shoved him away so I wouldn't give in to temptation and beat him to a pulp anyway. Jesus, my hand hurt. As did my side.

I stood there, dragging in great gulps of air and aware of our company departing swiftly. We were alone.

"My hero," Peter said mildly, sounding part amused. There didn't appear to be a scratch on him anywhere, none that I could see anyway.

"Get your books."

He took one look at my face and without another word, started to gather them from where they lay all across the ground. They'd evidently caught him on the way to or from the library. I took off for home in long rapid strides, setting a hard pace despite the aches and he followed me in silence.

Home was silent and empty, mom having gone to attend a meeting of one of those committees she was on. Robin was still at school. As soon as we were inside the door, I strode straight up to my room, unable to bring myself to even look at him.

I lay in bed on top of the covers, staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the pain, the churning thoughts, and most of all, the overwhelming anger that was still pulsing with life in my veins, making me shake.

When Peter walked in, I still didn't look at him. "Get out," I told him through my teeth.

"I brought something, for your hand."

"Get out."

He walked over and sat down on the bed beside me, reaching to put something on the end table then bending forward slightly to look at my face, the side of one leg resting lightly against my waist.

"Hey," he said very quietly, maybe because he'd noticed the shaking.

I sat up a little. "Get out," I shouted, practically in his face.

I could tell he was startled but he only put a hand against my chest and gently but firmly pushed me back until I was prone again, holding me down with the lightest of pressure. Seeing he was only an inch taller than me and with our bodies a similar build, it was easily done. My strength at football didn't translate to overall muscle and besides, I was trembling too much for physical differences, if any existed, to matter.

"Hey," he said again, very gently, drawing out the word, not a question but a verbal caress.

I wasn't fighting off the hand holding me in place but I didn't stop yelling either. "You...you..." I stopped, unable to think, barely able to speak, capable only of feeling. "Why are you so goddamn CALM all the time? What the HELL is wrong with you?"

He just looked at me, watching as I dragged air into lungs so tight it felt like I might die if the pressure didn't ease soon, trying to understand.

"I heard you talking to them. Talking!"

"I was hoping I wouldn't have to fight them, I thought if I could maybe..."

"Fight? FIGHT? You wouldn't even have run!" My throat was starting to hurt from all the abuse it was undergoing.

He looked at me then, astonished. And that smile began to come back into his voice.

"You think I'm a victim?"

At the words, all that strong emotion began to drain out of me and I had the horrible feeling I was going to cry.

Please God, no.

I laid one arm across my eyes, hiding. "You're a victim for me," I whispered, hating how my voice broke.

He leaned further forward and pried my hand away, forcing me to look at him.

"Andy," he said softly, real laughter in his tone. "I'm not going to sit here and let you compare yourself to some street punks, ok?"

There it was, that half-smile that drove me mad each time. As if he knew something I didn't.

"Besides, with you? I'm just letting you flex your muscles." His smile grew as I gaped at him. "A little."

Well!

That certainly stopped the tears.

After a few speechless seconds, I huffed and he laughed. I probably should-would-have said something smart and put him in his place but I was exhausted from all that emotion and now that everything inside me was better, the aches and pains in my body were making their presence felt with a vengeance.

Because I believed him. Believed he wasn't my victim or anybody else's. In spite of him sounding like...like...he was in control of...of...something. Oh, who knew what, who cared. I was tired.

The shaking finally stopped.

More as confirmation than as a real test, I reached out for his right forearm and applying just enough pressure, started to twist it backwards. I felt the muscles in his arm flex under my fingers as he exerted enough force in return to keep his arm where it was, letting me feel the strength in him.

Ok, definitely no victim.

"I'm a product of the foster care system, that great school of hard knocks. You think I haven't learnt how to take care of myself along the way?" he asked, watching my face.

Picking up the 'something' he'd got me - which turned out to be a bag of frozen peas - he placed it over the back of my hand, frowning at the state my knuckles were in. "As you would have found out if you'd let me handle the guy that punched you," he added more firmly, as he switched his attention to my other injury.

I let him carefully pull one end of my shirt up and look that side over for damages.

"Bruise tomorrow," he announced after a few seconds, letting the shirt fall.

I grunted in reply and we watched each-other for a while as the ice surrounding the bag slowly melted against my skin and drops of water started dotting the sheet under my hand.

"So why wouldn't you fight them?" I asked.

"Didn't want trouble for Tom."

"Oh. OH." My brow furrowed as I began to consider the bigger picture.

"Yes, oh." He grinned at me. Then "Don't worry, if it comes to that, I'll handle Tom."

The room grew silent again.

"Frozen peas?" I said finally, just to say something even though the silence had been comfortable, sitting up a little to put the bag back down on the table. "I save your butt and this is the most you can come up with?"

I lay down again. Both his knees were now pressed against my side, one arm stretched out behind him, taking his weight as he leaned on it watching me. His other hand had been lying across his thigh but at my words it drifted to the side of my face, in the barest of touches.

Smiling, he leaned more fully into me, until his face was close to mine and the fabric of his shirt brushed against mine. "Thank you," he said.

Why was I holding my breath, I wondered in some corner of my mind. Why did this feel like...waiting?

I felt his thumb brush slowly against my bottom lip and a thousand sensations exploded across every inch of skin all down the length of my body. My cock responded to that single touch as if all the nerve endings there had gone into sensory overload. Even while my mind struggled for thought amid the rush of feeling, he slowly turned to look directly at my crotch where my hard-on strained against its confines. As if he knew..!

I froze. Oh God...!

He didn't give me any time to do more than panic. He bent, taking my lips in a gentle kiss, a slow tantalizing brush of lips against lips while his eyes stared into mine. My hands came up to grab his arms, whether for support or a plea not to stop, I didn't know. He took his time, not deepening it, not rushing, just that bare minimum contact that went on and on and on until I gasped his name, my mouth falling open under his, back arching helpless in the grip of a need I'd never felt before.

When the kiss finally deepened, I actually felt the muscles in my body go lax. It was so deep, so perfect, all Peter. His fingers were in my hair, making kneading movements as if loving the texture of the blond strands. When he finally pulled away, I could only lie there, burning with need. Waiting.

He climbed into bed next to me but did nothing besides curl on his side, so he could pull me closer with an arm around my waist and still watch me.

We lay in silence as I ran my gaze over that thick soft black hair, those curious dark eyes...the soft lips...the lean muscles...

I watched him for what was our first time in such close quarters yet realizing that I had watched him like this for a long time...years...maybe ever since the first day. At home, at the gym, in the pool in summer, at breakfast, at the study table in dim light...I knew that face and body almost as well as I knew mine. Why had I not seen that until now?

I was distracted from my thoughts when he leaned in to kiss me again.

"Well, this is going to take some getting used to," he teased, breaking the kiss. "You not fighting me anymore."

"Why didn't you say something?" I asked, hearing the complaint in my voice.

He sighed. "It was your journey to make, Andy."

"Though," he added, smiling down at me, "I have to say you're taking it better than I'd have thought."

I was. For two years, I'd waged a war I wasn't even aware of, not with Peter but myself, and it felt good to finally stop.

We kissed for a long time, until my lips felt swollen and raw, until my body was twisting restlessly against his, until the possibility of embarrassing myself became a real threat and then I drew back.

I stared at the ceiling and tried to string two sensible thoughts together, head spinning like I had stepped off the craziest roller coaster ride of my life.

This was sort of a lot to absorb. Right up till five minutes ago, he'd been my biggest enemy. Now suddenly I was gay and had intimate knowledge of how his tongue felt down my throat.

How incredibly awkward and embarrassing. How wrong. How natural.

...Wait.

I jack-knifed up in bed. "You were jerking off to Sarah Michelle Gellar!" I accused.

"Ryan Phillippe, blondie," he corrected on a yawn. "And are you stupid? Do you really not see the incest theme?"

I blushed and lay back down again. Oh my god. Gay and incest. This was all really...too much. I covered my face.

He turned towards me, trying to peer over my hands. "Andy?"

"Don't say anything else!" I demanded. "Not a word!"

I rolled over, trying to disappear into the pillow and felt him lean in, his hard length a brand against my hip, breath hot against my ear.

"Andy?" he whispered.

Of course he wasn't going to listen to a word I said. "What?' I said, peeved.

"Do you believe in love at first sight?"

And I could tell he was smiling.