Fic: How Enos Finally Caught Daisy (John/Matt)
Title: How Enos Finally Caught Daisy (Or, Possibly, The Other Way Around)
Author: tigerlady (shetiger)
Pairing: John McClane/Matt Farrell
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine, not making any money off of this.
Summary: John's not afraid to try new things. He just likes to take his time, when he can.
Notes: Written for ladyvyola for the Yuletide exchange, so you may have seen this already. Thank you to kageygirl for the inspiration and beta. Also, my apologies if this has been done before and I subconsciously channeled your story--it was a last minute rush to write this!
The bubble-packed envelope doesn't have a return address. John opens it with not a little
trepidation; the small silver rectangular thing that falls out doesn't go a long way towards
reassuring him that someone hasn't sent him a bomb. But it hasn't gone off yet, so he bends
down and picks up the scrap of paper that fluttered out with it.
Hey, man--
This is a Nano Shuffle. It plays music--all you have to do is plug in the headphones, turn it on,
and hit the play button. (You do know what a play button looks like, right? The little arrow
thing.) I've loaded it up with Creedence and a bunch of other old rock you probably think is
classic.
I know this isn't the kind of stuff you meant when you were talking about it, but it was the only
thing I could think of. I would have gotten you a regular iPod, but I figure the Shuffle is
complicated enough for you without having to navigate the selection screens. Besides, you strike
me as the kind of guy who likes being surprised. With your music, I mean.
Anyway. Just trying to say thanks for being a hero.
-Matt
*****
"Dad! You made it!"
John's not sure what bothers him more: the fact that Lucy is answering Farrell's door, or the gut-
deep disappointment that Matt isn't the one to greet him. But the warmth on his daughter's face
and in her arms washes away all of that. He keeps one arm around her shoulders as she guides
him into the tiny living room, until the press of people forces him to let go. Every nerd in the tri-
state area must be packed in the apartment. A gaggle of them are clustered around a game
console in front of the couch, shrieking and hollering as what could be scenes from a third of
John's life plays out in cartoon colors on the flat screen TV above their heads.
"Dad! Over here!" Lucy waves at him from an open doorway; the kitchen, he guesses, from the
harsh yellow light bouncing off the white wall behind her. Matt's standing right next to her. He
looks good. Clean-shaven, eyes unshadowed, standing without a hint of pain. And he's smiling,
right at John, his grin saying more than just welcome to my new home. Saying
something like, Hey man, what miracles did you pull out of your ass today?
John almost turns around. But a twenty-something girl with dark glasses and a very low-cut
blouse bumps into him from the side, and her shy smile has him moving forward before the word
'perv' can stop echoing in his brain. He passes a fat bookcase on the way, emptier than it should
be, and he tucks his package into a corner where he's sure it won't get knocked over. No sense in
breaking two limited-edition warlock doll thingies, especially since he paid for this one.
"Hey," Matt says once John finally threads his way over. He's got a Red Bull in his right hand,
but he holds out a beer with his left, and John takes it gratefully. "Thanks for coming. I know
it's not really your scene."
John shrugs. They both know it's not, so there's really no reason to confirm it. He looks to Lucy,
but she's moved on, smiling up at a guy in the corner who'd look more at home on the Knicks'
floor than in this gathering of geeks. John takes a sip of his beer, checking Matt's reaction out of
the corner of his eye, but Matt seems unaware or uncaring, still smiling at John.
"Come on," Matt says when he lowers the bottle. He wraps his left hand around John's arm, just
above the elbow, and tugs like he's got no expectation of being refused. Lucy smiles at them as
they squeeze past.
The kid has a small enclosed porch that looks out on a decent-sized back yard, although the grass
is worn bare towards the rear in exactly the shape of a dog run. It'd be a good yard for playing a
little football, even some catch, but he can't see Matt venturing out other than to mow. If that. He
probably pays some neighborhood kid to do it.
"You play?" Matt asks. John turns, wondering if his mind's been read. But Matt's standing
behind a foosball table that looks like a fraternity hand-me-down, twiddling one of the handles
back and forth with his right hand. He gestures at John's shoulder with his Red Bull. "Or is it
too much for you? It's all in the wrist, you know."
John grins. "I think I can handle a game or two," he says, and sets his beer down next to Matt's
can.
*****
He's got three messages in his inbox. The first is from something labeled System
Admin; the second is from Glauvino.
Somehow the third doesn't surprise him at all.
Hey man,
Lucy forwarded your address. Since I've survived a fire sale, I guess I can't make any smart
remarks about you and technology and the end of the world.
So anyway, I'm going to be in NY for a big convention next weekend. I thought maybe we could
grab a beer and hit the foosball tables? Crazy times, I know, but maybe we can take it slow since
my insurance is a little cranky over the last big adventure.
Just hit reply to email me back. If you want to.
-M
*****
The basketball player-cum-nerd's name is Everett. John finds out when Lucy has both of them
over for dinner on an early September Friday. He'd been thrown, expecting to see Matt, which is
the only reason he's knocking on the kid's door at eleven pm.
Matt blinks against the brightness of the bug light, and for a few seconds John stares, wondering
if he's got the kid all wrong. But Matt's pupils constrict just fine, and he backs up, waving John
in.
"Please tell me there isn't going to be gunfire this time," he says, peering out the door like he's
serious before he slips the chain on the lock.
John snorts. "I guess that all depends on why Lucy broke up with you."
The kid shrugs, not even having the decency to look scared. "She got bored with me," he says as
he walks towards the kitchen. He returns with two beers and a rueful smile. "It was kind of hard
to live up to the excitement of how we first met, you know?"
"Yeah, kid. I know." John takes the beer and sits down on the couch with a body-deep sigh.
Matt doesn't seem all that broken up about the break up, though, and John thinks maybe he
should be offended on Lucy's behalf. But Lucy's a big girl, as she keeps reminding him, and he's
mostly just relieved that he doesn't have to feel like he's supposed to be guarding them from each
other anymore. He likes Matt, a lot, and it was weird with Lucy complicating their friendship.
Matt slides off the edge of the couch, settling in on the rug-covered hardwood like it's the perfect
match for his bony ass. He looks over his shoulder, holding up one of the black controller things
for the game machine. "Come on," he says, and there's more dare in his smile than a video game
deserves. "Let me show you my kind of violence."
"Don't you ever get out of the house?" John asks, but he takes the controller. "Play a little ball,
live life a little?"
"Some," he says. Information screens are flashing by on the TV, matching the pace of Matt's
fingers, but he never looks away from John's face. "I just never think about it much, I guess.
Too many other things to do."
John gets the idea then. It's not really an idea, actually, as much as an image flashing his mind,
video game quick: Matt standing in the prow, eyes big as anything as he points towards the
horizon, laughing out did you see that?, just like he does as the video car John's driving
zooms between buildings.
"Look out, look out!" Matt yells, but it's too late. John's already crashed with a big, fiery
explosion.
*****
From: Matt
To: John McClane
Subject: Sailing?
Doesn't really match your image, does it?
But yeah, sure. This weekend?
-M
***
From: John McClane
To: Matt
Subject: Re: Sailing?
My image? Since when do I have an image?
I'll pick you up at 4:30 Saturday. Don't worry, we'll stop for coffee on the way.
***
From: Matt
To: John McClane
Subject: Re: Sailing
> My image? Since when do I have an image?
Dude. Don't make me laugh. My keyboard can't take any more close encounters with liquids.
In fact, I'm just going to ignore your entire email, because it's obviously a joke. 4:30. As in
a.m.? No way, man.
-M
*****
Matt's asleep by the time John guides the boat into dock. The life vest has hitched up on his
chest so blue and black nylon completely swallows his neck, as well as half of his chin. His
bangs have fallen down over his eyes, and John thinks, He should look young to me.
John kills the motor. Matt yawns, then stretches his arms over his head, pulling the vest even
further up his body. John's there before he can stop himself, helping to unbuckle buckles,
untwisting the vest so Matt can unzip the front. Matt's fingers keep brushing against his, and it's
only when Matt looks up that he realizes he's standing between Matt's legs. John backs away, but
he can still feel the softness of Matt's skin, right below the hem of his shorts.
"Getting cold?" he asks, watching the hairs prickle up on Matt's thigh.
"Yeah." Matt reaches for his windbreaker. He's still moving slow, like he's not awake yet, his
gaze fixed unblinkingly on John.
"Come on," John says, slapping him on the shoulder. "Help me tie her up, and then we'll get
dinner. You'll be warmer with some hot food in you."
"Great, because I'm starving." Matt yawns and stretches again. His hand brushes across John's
chest as he does so. John grabs his wrist and pulls, just enough to get the kid up and off the
bench. "Hey, man! A little warning next time!"
"Crab legs," John says, giving Matt a little shove between the shoulder blades. "And beer."
"I'm moving, I'm moving," he says, putting words to action at last.
He should look young to me, John thinks again, but it doesn't help this time around any
more than the first.
*****
John has the phone to his ear before he's fully awake.
"Hey, I'm sorry," Matt says, and adrenaline floods John's system, sending him for his gun before
he's got the blankets all the way off, "but I just had to... I mean, it just hit me out of the blue. I
killed two guys."
John drops back down against his pillow, covering his face with his hand as he blows a sigh
away from the receiver. He moves his fingers enough so that he can see his alarm clock: 2 a..m.,
which means the kid hasn't been to bed yet.
"It's a little late for an existential crisis, don't you think?" He tries not to growl, but he's been
asleep since eleven and his voice has been old a lot longer than he has. Matt's breathing is loud
in his ear, too fast, so John sighs and tries again. "You had no choice. I know it's never easy, but
you have to remember the big picture."
"No, I know," Matt says. "And I'd totally do it again, because hey, my guilty conscience is such a
minor price to pay when it comes to you and Lucy being alive. But..."
Matt's breathing is harsh again. John curls his fingers into the receiver, but it's not a gun and he
can't just shoot the problem.
"But what?" he asks, softly as he can. "You can tell me."
"But I didn't even remember," Matt says in a rush. "All I could see for a week when I closed my
eyes was myself, shooting that guy. But I didn't even remember that I shoved the one dude down
the elevator shaft. Not until I was playing Grand Theft Auto just now. How sick is that? And
not in the good way, either. I mean sick as in a twisted, let's-lock-him-up-and-throw-away-the-
key way, and that's so not good."
"Matt. Matthew. Listen to me." John waits until Matt sucks in a breath. "You're a smart guy,
right? Smartest guy I know. So tell me what you know about the brain. What's it do when
something really bad happens to somebody?"
Matt swallows. "Yeah, but that's totally not the same. And it's bad, because I was so relieved.
When I did it, you know? Because I totally saved your life, and I was so pumped--"
"Which is exactly what you needed to be." John scrubs his hand over his face again, but it
doesn't make him any smarter. "You did good, Matt. Don't punish yourself for doing what you
had to do."
"Okay," Matt says, but John's pretty sure he's not convinced. "Okay. Listen, I'm sorry about
this."
"It's not a problem," John says. "Call me anytime, okay?"
"Thanks. Good night." Matt hangs up, leaving John holding a whining receiver and a lot of guilt
of his own.
Thirty minutes later, he drags himself out of bed and over to his desk. It doesn't take too long to
dig through his paperwork and come up with the right name and phone number, and neither does
starting up the computer. He stares at the email screen for a lot longer. In the end, he just types
in the information and two short sentences.
Talk to her. She can help.
*****
From: Matt
To: John McClane
Subject: Thanks
So I'm kind of embarrassed about the whole panicking in the middle of the night thing, but hey, I
guess you've seen me at my worst, right? I just wanted to say I'm sorry, and thanks for listening,
and for the name, too.
She's good, huh?
-M
***
From: John McClane
To: Matt
Subject: Re: Thanks
If you're asking if I've gone to her, the answer is yes. It's required by my job.
And don't worry about it. I meant it when I said you can call me anytime, okay?
Although it'd be nice if you could manage to do it while I'm awake. Some of us don't run on
100% caffeine.
***
From: Matt
To: John McClane
Subject: Caffeine
Elixir of the gods, man. The technology industry would be nowhere without it.
You doing anything this weekend?
-M
*****
John balances the pizza box on his left hand, waiter-style, and sets the box of Red Bull on top,
giving it the evil eye before he raises his hand to knock. Matt opens the door and snatches both
boxes away so fast that John grabs for them out of reflex.
"Dude. And people say I'm wired."
John laughs and shakes his head. "Sorry, kid. Too many years of needing to act fast and think
later."
"Yeah, I kind of got that." Matt smiles at him before he carries the boxes to the coffee table.
John closes the door and takes off his jacket, tossing it over the back of the couch. "So, you ever
punched anyone by accident? With the whole reflexes thing."
John raises an eyebrow as Matt saunters back around the couch. "By accident? No. I maybe
slipped and wound up with my fist in some asshole's face a couple times, but no, not by
accident."
"Right," Matt says. He looks jittery now, making John rethink the wisdom of bringing the Red
Bull. He can't stand the stuff, personally, but Matt can't seem to live without it. But Matt's hand
shakes as he brushes the hair away from his eyes. It's still shaking as he reaches forward and lays
it on the back of John's neck.
John stops breathing.
Matt's lips taste sweet, like the sugary syrup he drinks, and his kiss is even sweeter. It knocks
John sideways so hard he has to hang onto Matt's shoulders with both hands.
"Oh, thank God," Matt murmurs, right before he kisses John again. Open-mouthed, and this time
there's no fighting gravity. Somehow they wind up half on the couch, Matt sprawled on top of
him. "Please don't stop," he says when John tries to say something, so John just grabs a handful
of Matt's ass and shoves his foot hard against the floor, scooting them farther onto the cushions.
"Fuck, that's hot." Matt grinds down against him, hard cock nudging into his, and John can't
think. He's a man of action, though, and his fingers know where to start. He gets Matt's T-shirt
pushed up, far enough that Matt takes over and pulls it over his head. Matt's not as skinny as
John thought, solid muscle filling out his small frame. He wants to take his time, to look and
touch, but Matt's coaxing him up, tugging off his T-shirt as well.
Matt slows down once he gets it off. John closes his eyes, not wanting to see whatever is in
Matt's eyes as he looks at the wreck of his body. He doesn't think he can handle admiration, but
revulsion would be even worse. He saw that one too many times in Holly's eyes.
Matt kisses him again. "Is this okay?" he whispers, and John has to look. Matt bites at his lip,
tugging at a strip of chapped skin. "I didn't mean you have to or I'd fall apart or something. You
don't have to, like, sacrifice your body for my cause. If you don't want to--"
John laughs. He has to, but he pulls Matt down for another kiss before the kid can dare to look
hurt. "I want to," he growls in Matt's ear, as seductively as he can. "Don't worry about that."
"Oh, good. Good, good, because, oh, God." Matt finally quits babbling once John makes it past
his zipper and gets his jeans and boxer-briefs shoved down far enough to get down to business.
John curls his fingers, letting Matt's cock rest in his hand as he runs his thumb up and down,
gently. Matt's eyes are almost closed, but John can see a sliver of that gaze, watching him.
Watching his face, not his hand. Waiting for whatever John wants to do to him.
"You got something special in mind?" John asks. He rests his head against Matt's shoulder,
turning just enough that he can see himself start to stroke up and down. "Some particular
scenario you had in mind when you started this seduction?"
Matt shakes his head. "N-no." John can hear him swallow. And then his hand, no longer
shaking, is next to John's. His motions are tentative, though, and he nearly overshoots the mark
when he finally makes his move. John stills, letting Matt get a good grip on his own hand. "Just,
maybe..."
"Go on," John whispers, and Matt starts to move them. It's the hottest fucking thing he's seen in
a very long time, Matt showing him how to jack him off. Matt's grip tightens, so John tightens
his, until they're squeezing Matt's cock in long, slow drags. He's just slick enough, and John can
smell him. Hot, musky sex, and John bites Matt's shoulder to keep himself from diving down
and rubbing his face in that smell.
"Oh, God, oh, God," Matt says, and then he's coming, spurting all over both of them. Matt's hand
drops away, so John takes over, easing Matt down until his cock starts to soften in John's hand.
"There you go," John says, but he's pretty sure he's the one who needs the words. He lets go of
Matt so he can unbutton his jeans, easing the metal and rough denim away from his cock. It's not
going to take much, not with Matt's come slicking his hand.
"Whoa, man. Wait." Matt grabs his wrist before he can take care of business. He slides off of
John and onto the floor, so quickly John hears his knees thud against the hardwood. And then he
leans forward and--
"Christ, kid," he swears, and part of him is aware of how wrong that is, how wrong this is, but
Matt's mouth is hot and wet and as smart when it's silent as it is when it's talking. He stops
himself from grasping at Matt's hair, remembering in time that his hand is full of come. He's got
nothing to hold onto as Matt bobs up and down, nothing to hold himself back with, and all the
want of the past few months roars up and out through his dick.
Matt looks up at him and smiles around his cock. Just a simple smile. Nothing more loaded than
that, and if John hadn't already come, that smile would do the job nicely.
Matt presses a kiss to the soft edges of John's gut, then clambers back onto the couch. They're
both a mess, and John finally snags one of their shirts and wipes his hands dry.
"So what brought this on?" John asks as Matt collapses next to him.
Matt shrugs. "Just been doing a lot of thinking lately. I met with the doctor you told me about--"
"Whoa, whoa, wait. You talked about me with my shrink?"
"Relax, man." Matt rolls his eyes, and John can practically hear the words get with the
program. "I'm not stupid. Once that stuff gets on record, it's out there. Anybody can get to
it."
"Right," John says, although he's pretty sure that's not the reassurance he was looking for. "Of
course."
Matt squirms against him, working his underwear and jeans completely off. John follows his
lead. It's nice, laying there together, completely naked. Warm. Maybe a little comforting.
"Yeah, so anyway. I've been doing a lot of thinking lately." Matt laughs. "And I figured out that
it's stupid to let a little fear get in the way of what you really want. You know?"
Yeah. Stupid. John shakes his head. "Smartest guy I know," he murmurs, before he
wraps his arm around Matt's shoulders and pulls him close.
Author: tigerlady (shetiger)
Pairing: John McClane/Matt Farrell
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine, not making any money off of this.
Summary: John's not afraid to try new things. He just likes to take his time, when he can.
Notes: Written for ladyvyola for the Yuletide exchange, so you may have seen this already. Thank you to kageygirl for the inspiration and beta. Also, my apologies if this has been done before and I subconsciously channeled your story--it was a last minute rush to write this!
The bubble-packed envelope doesn't have a return address. John opens it with not a little
trepidation; the small silver rectangular thing that falls out doesn't go a long way towards
reassuring him that someone hasn't sent him a bomb. But it hasn't gone off yet, so he bends
down and picks up the scrap of paper that fluttered out with it.
Hey, man--
This is a Nano Shuffle. It plays music--all you have to do is plug in the headphones, turn it on,
and hit the play button. (You do know what a play button looks like, right? The little arrow
thing.) I've loaded it up with Creedence and a bunch of other old rock you probably think is
classic.
I know this isn't the kind of stuff you meant when you were talking about it, but it was the only
thing I could think of. I would have gotten you a regular iPod, but I figure the Shuffle is
complicated enough for you without having to navigate the selection screens. Besides, you strike
me as the kind of guy who likes being surprised. With your music, I mean.
Anyway. Just trying to say thanks for being a hero.
-Matt
*****
"Dad! You made it!"
John's not sure what bothers him more: the fact that Lucy is answering Farrell's door, or the gut-
deep disappointment that Matt isn't the one to greet him. But the warmth on his daughter's face
and in her arms washes away all of that. He keeps one arm around her shoulders as she guides
him into the tiny living room, until the press of people forces him to let go. Every nerd in the tri-
state area must be packed in the apartment. A gaggle of them are clustered around a game
console in front of the couch, shrieking and hollering as what could be scenes from a third of
John's life plays out in cartoon colors on the flat screen TV above their heads.
"Dad! Over here!" Lucy waves at him from an open doorway; the kitchen, he guesses, from the
harsh yellow light bouncing off the white wall behind her. Matt's standing right next to her. He
looks good. Clean-shaven, eyes unshadowed, standing without a hint of pain. And he's smiling,
right at John, his grin saying more than just welcome to my new home. Saying
something like, Hey man, what miracles did you pull out of your ass today?
John almost turns around. But a twenty-something girl with dark glasses and a very low-cut
blouse bumps into him from the side, and her shy smile has him moving forward before the word
'perv' can stop echoing in his brain. He passes a fat bookcase on the way, emptier than it should
be, and he tucks his package into a corner where he's sure it won't get knocked over. No sense in
breaking two limited-edition warlock doll thingies, especially since he paid for this one.
"Hey," Matt says once John finally threads his way over. He's got a Red Bull in his right hand,
but he holds out a beer with his left, and John takes it gratefully. "Thanks for coming. I know
it's not really your scene."
John shrugs. They both know it's not, so there's really no reason to confirm it. He looks to Lucy,
but she's moved on, smiling up at a guy in the corner who'd look more at home on the Knicks'
floor than in this gathering of geeks. John takes a sip of his beer, checking Matt's reaction out of
the corner of his eye, but Matt seems unaware or uncaring, still smiling at John.
"Come on," Matt says when he lowers the bottle. He wraps his left hand around John's arm, just
above the elbow, and tugs like he's got no expectation of being refused. Lucy smiles at them as
they squeeze past.
The kid has a small enclosed porch that looks out on a decent-sized back yard, although the grass
is worn bare towards the rear in exactly the shape of a dog run. It'd be a good yard for playing a
little football, even some catch, but he can't see Matt venturing out other than to mow. If that. He
probably pays some neighborhood kid to do it.
"You play?" Matt asks. John turns, wondering if his mind's been read. But Matt's standing
behind a foosball table that looks like a fraternity hand-me-down, twiddling one of the handles
back and forth with his right hand. He gestures at John's shoulder with his Red Bull. "Or is it
too much for you? It's all in the wrist, you know."
John grins. "I think I can handle a game or two," he says, and sets his beer down next to Matt's
can.
*****
He's got three messages in his inbox. The first is from something labeled System
Admin; the second is from Glauvino.
Somehow the third doesn't surprise him at all.
Hey man,
Lucy forwarded your address. Since I've survived a fire sale, I guess I can't make any smart
remarks about you and technology and the end of the world.
So anyway, I'm going to be in NY for a big convention next weekend. I thought maybe we could
grab a beer and hit the foosball tables? Crazy times, I know, but maybe we can take it slow since
my insurance is a little cranky over the last big adventure.
Just hit reply to email me back. If you want to.
-M
*****
The basketball player-cum-nerd's name is Everett. John finds out when Lucy has both of them
over for dinner on an early September Friday. He'd been thrown, expecting to see Matt, which is
the only reason he's knocking on the kid's door at eleven pm.
Matt blinks against the brightness of the bug light, and for a few seconds John stares, wondering
if he's got the kid all wrong. But Matt's pupils constrict just fine, and he backs up, waving John
in.
"Please tell me there isn't going to be gunfire this time," he says, peering out the door like he's
serious before he slips the chain on the lock.
John snorts. "I guess that all depends on why Lucy broke up with you."
The kid shrugs, not even having the decency to look scared. "She got bored with me," he says as
he walks towards the kitchen. He returns with two beers and a rueful smile. "It was kind of hard
to live up to the excitement of how we first met, you know?"
"Yeah, kid. I know." John takes the beer and sits down on the couch with a body-deep sigh.
Matt doesn't seem all that broken up about the break up, though, and John thinks maybe he
should be offended on Lucy's behalf. But Lucy's a big girl, as she keeps reminding him, and he's
mostly just relieved that he doesn't have to feel like he's supposed to be guarding them from each
other anymore. He likes Matt, a lot, and it was weird with Lucy complicating their friendship.
Matt slides off the edge of the couch, settling in on the rug-covered hardwood like it's the perfect
match for his bony ass. He looks over his shoulder, holding up one of the black controller things
for the game machine. "Come on," he says, and there's more dare in his smile than a video game
deserves. "Let me show you my kind of violence."
"Don't you ever get out of the house?" John asks, but he takes the controller. "Play a little ball,
live life a little?"
"Some," he says. Information screens are flashing by on the TV, matching the pace of Matt's
fingers, but he never looks away from John's face. "I just never think about it much, I guess.
Too many other things to do."
John gets the idea then. It's not really an idea, actually, as much as an image flashing his mind,
video game quick: Matt standing in the prow, eyes big as anything as he points towards the
horizon, laughing out did you see that?, just like he does as the video car John's driving
zooms between buildings.
"Look out, look out!" Matt yells, but it's too late. John's already crashed with a big, fiery
explosion.
*****
From: Matt
To: John McClane
Subject: Sailing?
Doesn't really match your image, does it?
But yeah, sure. This weekend?
-M
***
From: John McClane
To: Matt
Subject: Re: Sailing?
My image? Since when do I have an image?
I'll pick you up at 4:30 Saturday. Don't worry, we'll stop for coffee on the way.
***
From: Matt
To: John McClane
Subject: Re: Sailing
> My image? Since when do I have an image?
Dude. Don't make me laugh. My keyboard can't take any more close encounters with liquids.
In fact, I'm just going to ignore your entire email, because it's obviously a joke. 4:30. As in
a.m.? No way, man.
-M
*****
Matt's asleep by the time John guides the boat into dock. The life vest has hitched up on his
chest so blue and black nylon completely swallows his neck, as well as half of his chin. His
bangs have fallen down over his eyes, and John thinks, He should look young to me.
John kills the motor. Matt yawns, then stretches his arms over his head, pulling the vest even
further up his body. John's there before he can stop himself, helping to unbuckle buckles,
untwisting the vest so Matt can unzip the front. Matt's fingers keep brushing against his, and it's
only when Matt looks up that he realizes he's standing between Matt's legs. John backs away, but
he can still feel the softness of Matt's skin, right below the hem of his shorts.
"Getting cold?" he asks, watching the hairs prickle up on Matt's thigh.
"Yeah." Matt reaches for his windbreaker. He's still moving slow, like he's not awake yet, his
gaze fixed unblinkingly on John.
"Come on," John says, slapping him on the shoulder. "Help me tie her up, and then we'll get
dinner. You'll be warmer with some hot food in you."
"Great, because I'm starving." Matt yawns and stretches again. His hand brushes across John's
chest as he does so. John grabs his wrist and pulls, just enough to get the kid up and off the
bench. "Hey, man! A little warning next time!"
"Crab legs," John says, giving Matt a little shove between the shoulder blades. "And beer."
"I'm moving, I'm moving," he says, putting words to action at last.
He should look young to me, John thinks again, but it doesn't help this time around any
more than the first.
*****
John has the phone to his ear before he's fully awake.
"Hey, I'm sorry," Matt says, and adrenaline floods John's system, sending him for his gun before
he's got the blankets all the way off, "but I just had to... I mean, it just hit me out of the blue. I
killed two guys."
John drops back down against his pillow, covering his face with his hand as he blows a sigh
away from the receiver. He moves his fingers enough so that he can see his alarm clock: 2 a..m.,
which means the kid hasn't been to bed yet.
"It's a little late for an existential crisis, don't you think?" He tries not to growl, but he's been
asleep since eleven and his voice has been old a lot longer than he has. Matt's breathing is loud
in his ear, too fast, so John sighs and tries again. "You had no choice. I know it's never easy, but
you have to remember the big picture."
"No, I know," Matt says. "And I'd totally do it again, because hey, my guilty conscience is such a
minor price to pay when it comes to you and Lucy being alive. But..."
Matt's breathing is harsh again. John curls his fingers into the receiver, but it's not a gun and he
can't just shoot the problem.
"But what?" he asks, softly as he can. "You can tell me."
"But I didn't even remember," Matt says in a rush. "All I could see for a week when I closed my
eyes was myself, shooting that guy. But I didn't even remember that I shoved the one dude down
the elevator shaft. Not until I was playing Grand Theft Auto just now. How sick is that? And
not in the good way, either. I mean sick as in a twisted, let's-lock-him-up-and-throw-away-the-
key way, and that's so not good."
"Matt. Matthew. Listen to me." John waits until Matt sucks in a breath. "You're a smart guy,
right? Smartest guy I know. So tell me what you know about the brain. What's it do when
something really bad happens to somebody?"
Matt swallows. "Yeah, but that's totally not the same. And it's bad, because I was so relieved.
When I did it, you know? Because I totally saved your life, and I was so pumped--"
"Which is exactly what you needed to be." John scrubs his hand over his face again, but it
doesn't make him any smarter. "You did good, Matt. Don't punish yourself for doing what you
had to do."
"Okay," Matt says, but John's pretty sure he's not convinced. "Okay. Listen, I'm sorry about
this."
"It's not a problem," John says. "Call me anytime, okay?"
"Thanks. Good night." Matt hangs up, leaving John holding a whining receiver and a lot of guilt
of his own.
Thirty minutes later, he drags himself out of bed and over to his desk. It doesn't take too long to
dig through his paperwork and come up with the right name and phone number, and neither does
starting up the computer. He stares at the email screen for a lot longer. In the end, he just types
in the information and two short sentences.
Talk to her. She can help.
*****
From: Matt
To: John McClane
Subject: Thanks
So I'm kind of embarrassed about the whole panicking in the middle of the night thing, but hey, I
guess you've seen me at my worst, right? I just wanted to say I'm sorry, and thanks for listening,
and for the name, too.
She's good, huh?
-M
***
From: John McClane
To: Matt
Subject: Re: Thanks
If you're asking if I've gone to her, the answer is yes. It's required by my job.
And don't worry about it. I meant it when I said you can call me anytime, okay?
Although it'd be nice if you could manage to do it while I'm awake. Some of us don't run on
100% caffeine.
***
From: Matt
To: John McClane
Subject: Caffeine
Elixir of the gods, man. The technology industry would be nowhere without it.
You doing anything this weekend?
-M
*****
John balances the pizza box on his left hand, waiter-style, and sets the box of Red Bull on top,
giving it the evil eye before he raises his hand to knock. Matt opens the door and snatches both
boxes away so fast that John grabs for them out of reflex.
"Dude. And people say I'm wired."
John laughs and shakes his head. "Sorry, kid. Too many years of needing to act fast and think
later."
"Yeah, I kind of got that." Matt smiles at him before he carries the boxes to the coffee table.
John closes the door and takes off his jacket, tossing it over the back of the couch. "So, you ever
punched anyone by accident? With the whole reflexes thing."
John raises an eyebrow as Matt saunters back around the couch. "By accident? No. I maybe
slipped and wound up with my fist in some asshole's face a couple times, but no, not by
accident."
"Right," Matt says. He looks jittery now, making John rethink the wisdom of bringing the Red
Bull. He can't stand the stuff, personally, but Matt can't seem to live without it. But Matt's hand
shakes as he brushes the hair away from his eyes. It's still shaking as he reaches forward and lays
it on the back of John's neck.
John stops breathing.
Matt's lips taste sweet, like the sugary syrup he drinks, and his kiss is even sweeter. It knocks
John sideways so hard he has to hang onto Matt's shoulders with both hands.
"Oh, thank God," Matt murmurs, right before he kisses John again. Open-mouthed, and this time
there's no fighting gravity. Somehow they wind up half on the couch, Matt sprawled on top of
him. "Please don't stop," he says when John tries to say something, so John just grabs a handful
of Matt's ass and shoves his foot hard against the floor, scooting them farther onto the cushions.
"Fuck, that's hot." Matt grinds down against him, hard cock nudging into his, and John can't
think. He's a man of action, though, and his fingers know where to start. He gets Matt's T-shirt
pushed up, far enough that Matt takes over and pulls it over his head. Matt's not as skinny as
John thought, solid muscle filling out his small frame. He wants to take his time, to look and
touch, but Matt's coaxing him up, tugging off his T-shirt as well.
Matt slows down once he gets it off. John closes his eyes, not wanting to see whatever is in
Matt's eyes as he looks at the wreck of his body. He doesn't think he can handle admiration, but
revulsion would be even worse. He saw that one too many times in Holly's eyes.
Matt kisses him again. "Is this okay?" he whispers, and John has to look. Matt bites at his lip,
tugging at a strip of chapped skin. "I didn't mean you have to or I'd fall apart or something. You
don't have to, like, sacrifice your body for my cause. If you don't want to--"
John laughs. He has to, but he pulls Matt down for another kiss before the kid can dare to look
hurt. "I want to," he growls in Matt's ear, as seductively as he can. "Don't worry about that."
"Oh, good. Good, good, because, oh, God." Matt finally quits babbling once John makes it past
his zipper and gets his jeans and boxer-briefs shoved down far enough to get down to business.
John curls his fingers, letting Matt's cock rest in his hand as he runs his thumb up and down,
gently. Matt's eyes are almost closed, but John can see a sliver of that gaze, watching him.
Watching his face, not his hand. Waiting for whatever John wants to do to him.
"You got something special in mind?" John asks. He rests his head against Matt's shoulder,
turning just enough that he can see himself start to stroke up and down. "Some particular
scenario you had in mind when you started this seduction?"
Matt shakes his head. "N-no." John can hear him swallow. And then his hand, no longer
shaking, is next to John's. His motions are tentative, though, and he nearly overshoots the mark
when he finally makes his move. John stills, letting Matt get a good grip on his own hand. "Just,
maybe..."
"Go on," John whispers, and Matt starts to move them. It's the hottest fucking thing he's seen in
a very long time, Matt showing him how to jack him off. Matt's grip tightens, so John tightens
his, until they're squeezing Matt's cock in long, slow drags. He's just slick enough, and John can
smell him. Hot, musky sex, and John bites Matt's shoulder to keep himself from diving down
and rubbing his face in that smell.
"Oh, God, oh, God," Matt says, and then he's coming, spurting all over both of them. Matt's hand
drops away, so John takes over, easing Matt down until his cock starts to soften in John's hand.
"There you go," John says, but he's pretty sure he's the one who needs the words. He lets go of
Matt so he can unbutton his jeans, easing the metal and rough denim away from his cock. It's not
going to take much, not with Matt's come slicking his hand.
"Whoa, man. Wait." Matt grabs his wrist before he can take care of business. He slides off of
John and onto the floor, so quickly John hears his knees thud against the hardwood. And then he
leans forward and--
"Christ, kid," he swears, and part of him is aware of how wrong that is, how wrong this is, but
Matt's mouth is hot and wet and as smart when it's silent as it is when it's talking. He stops
himself from grasping at Matt's hair, remembering in time that his hand is full of come. He's got
nothing to hold onto as Matt bobs up and down, nothing to hold himself back with, and all the
want of the past few months roars up and out through his dick.
Matt looks up at him and smiles around his cock. Just a simple smile. Nothing more loaded than
that, and if John hadn't already come, that smile would do the job nicely.
Matt presses a kiss to the soft edges of John's gut, then clambers back onto the couch. They're
both a mess, and John finally snags one of their shirts and wipes his hands dry.
"So what brought this on?" John asks as Matt collapses next to him.
Matt shrugs. "Just been doing a lot of thinking lately. I met with the doctor you told me about--"
"Whoa, whoa, wait. You talked about me with my shrink?"
"Relax, man." Matt rolls his eyes, and John can practically hear the words get with the
program. "I'm not stupid. Once that stuff gets on record, it's out there. Anybody can get to
it."
"Right," John says, although he's pretty sure that's not the reassurance he was looking for. "Of
course."
Matt squirms against him, working his underwear and jeans completely off. John follows his
lead. It's nice, laying there together, completely naked. Warm. Maybe a little comforting.
"Yeah, so anyway. I've been doing a lot of thinking lately." Matt laughs. "And I figured out that
it's stupid to let a little fear get in the way of what you really want. You know?"
Yeah. Stupid. John shakes his head. "Smartest guy I know," he murmurs, before he
wraps his arm around Matt's shoulders and pulls him close.