Note: Written for the Midsummer2006 challenge for Pearl_O, who requested Dan-centric backstory or slash. Dan's watching The Magnificent Seven in the video store, which is where Steve McQueen's line of dialogue comes from. Endless thanks to china_shop and malnpudl for betas above and beyond and for holding my hand across one ocean and half a continent. Champions, both of them. ♥ ♥ ♥. NC-17.
1.
When they'd met, Dan was an archivist and Val was a consultant with a large financial management firm. There was a dinner party—Dan was required to attend by the chair of special collections, though he managed to hide in the corner for most of it. Wine flowed and manners slipped. Various department heads began shouting drunkenly about changes in the allocation of the endowment, and he was joined in his corner by the woman from the other end of the table.
"Care to go outside?" she asked, so they did.
Dan wasn't interested in politics and he didn't care to know any more after she explained the latest budgetary idiocy the university was inflicting on them.
He shrugged, leaning against the porch rail. "That's how it always seems to go," he said.
"What do you do?" she asked, so he told her a little about the university's colonial British Columbia preservation project, and how his boss had only sent him as a reminder of the year a brawl had broken out at the annual Christmas party over who ought to have their portion of the budget cut entirely.
Val coughed. "There are benefits to external funding," she said with a wink. Dan grinned down at her and swallowed the rest of his drink.
2.
They dated for a while, which Dan's colleagues found no end of weird. She was funny and outgoing and didn't seem at all the type to go for a shy historian who did his best to avoid any social interaction more stressful than a trip to the local video store. But they were good together.
He took a chance and invited her to go with him to the Westerns night of the Howard Hawks retrospective downtown, and she said yes. They saw the Red River and Rio Bravo double feature, and afterwards, when he was trying to ask her what she'd thought of it, she looked up at him and said, "I didn't love it, but I didn't mind." He stood there for a moment trying to figure out what to say, until she started laughing at him. "When I was a teenager, I liked The Outlaw Josey Wales," she said, "except for Sondra Locke, of course; but Clint Eastwood was a good looking man back then."
"It's a classic," Dan agreed, finally finding his voice. "Did you want—we could get dessert or something?"
Val smiled at him and tugged his hand toward the parking lot. "I have Haagen-Dazs in the freezer. Come on."
3.
Val had been married once, right out of college. It lasted a few years before it fell apart, she told him once when they were talking about the different places they'd lived.
She never mentioned it again. Dan never asked; he didn't know what had happened, and he didn't really care. Ten year old divorces were ancient history; besides, she never asked about his past failures with relationships, either. The past was past.
Dan's father died that winter, and at the funeral someone had put together a display of family photos: Tom Jarvis climbing an oil rig in his suit and tie; Tom Jarvis on his wedding day; Tom Jarvis as a uniformed schoolboy; Tom Jarvis sitting stiffly as his wife watched over young Danny, who was running through the yard with a wooden horse, a straw cowboy hat, and a chrome-plated cap gun.
Dan remembered when his maternal grandparents came to visit during the summer he turned ten and his Grandpa insisted they all go to the rodeo. He remembered sitting in the stands with his Grandpa while the rest of the family wandered the art fair inside. He remembered the cowboys and the broncs and how strong they all were. They were strong like his grandfather, not soft like his dad.
Afterwards, his dad had bitched about the stench of cow shit for the whole drive home. That was the last trip the family took together.
4.
Dan's mother died of heart failure in the spring, four months after his dad passed away. Val came with him to his mother's service and stood at his side while he shook hands with cousins he barely remembered and stooped to kiss little old ladies on the cheek and thank them for coming.
He'd been gone so long, he didn't recognize any of them. Now he never had to come back.
A year later, Val asked Dan how he felt about getting married.
A year after that, she asked him how he felt about retiring.
After a dozen years' work in Rare Archives, he was vested. On top of that, he even had his own investment portfolio, thanks to her, though the only numbers that made sense to him were the ones down at the bottom.
This was what Val did—playing the market was part of her job. She had her windfalls and she took her hits; she had her own money to do that with, and she was good at it. "I just made a hell of a lot of money," she told him. Dan absorbed that. "Let's go east," she said. "Let's go see if it's changed any."
Dan considered his options; at the end of the week he tendered his resignation.
5.
They traveled for a couple of months because Val wanted to. She wanted to show him Paris and Rome and Athens, so he let her. Then she took him to Washington, D.C., New York, and Toronto, but after Paris, seeing Toronto was plain confusing. One night she mentioned a second honeymoon to Hawaii and he replied, "Honey, can't we just rest for a little?"
A month later, she bought them a house on Wilby Island.
Val wasn't an Islander, but her great-uncle was. When she was a little girl, she and her brother were packed up and delivered to Wilby each summer, where they terrorized their great-aunt and begged their great-uncle to take them out to sea. Most of the time, they explored the river and shore and tried to bribe the ferry captain with handfuls of diligently hoarded candies to take them across to the mainland. Luckily, he never did.
It wasn't terrible, moving to Wilby. Dan understood wanting to recapture a lost childhood, especially now that Val had the means to. So she explored the island and met people, and then came home and told him about it. He showed her the work he'd done on the house: turning the study into a library, landscaping the yard down to where it bled into the forest that led up from the Watch; and together they nodded and smiled and sometimes sprawled out on the couch in the living room and watched television until it was time to cook dinner.
Time passed. Dan got bored, running out of libraries to build and media to organize. Val decided to write a book about finance in the 21st century, and took over the library as her office. One day, when Dan went out to return some movies to the video store and get some new ones, he discovered the owner was looking to sell. A month later, he was in the video business.
6.
Dan didn’t know the Watch was anything more than a daytime picnic spot until one evening the next summer. Val had flown out to Kitchener to visit her brother and his family, which she did more often than Dan thought was strictly necessary, especially lately, but Dan was content to stay in Wilby and sit behind his counter at the store.
People came and went, and it was only because a mother with two young, very loud children had just left that he heard it at all.
There were two customers left in the store. One guy, someone who worked at one of the cafés in the heart of town, chose a couple of comedies from the new release wall, and crossed the store to talk to a guy perusing the action-adventure rack. The second guy looked up with a smile. They talked movies for a few minutes and the first guy said, "So, will you be at the Watch later?"
Dan kept his eyes on the movie he was watching, but the silence before the second guy replied, "Tomorrow night," was palpable.
"I just didn't want you to think you were the only sucker in town." Steve McQueen stood facing Yul Brynner, hat in hand and blue eyes shining, and then the three annoying kids were whining at Charles Bronson and Dan couldn’t hear anything more about the Watch.
7.
The woods were dark and thick with fog later that night. Dan left the lights on in the house, so he'd be able to find his way back—he was just going for an evening walk, after all. Not that he needed to defend himself. Val was in Ontario and wasn't due to call until morning.
He walked on. Down in the shelter of the trees toward the rocks, someone had a lantern and a two-four. A group of half a dozen or so men were gathered, drinking and telling stories, and at first Dan thought that was all there was to it. He stood in the shadows, watching and feeling like an idiot that what had struck him as maybe, possibly queer was really just guys hanging out in some inexplicable "islander" way they had here.
He turned and made his way stealthily upslope through the trees. He hadn't been invited; he didn't know what they would do if they discovered him. The story one of them was telling followed him: it was a tale of a little boat dodging a big whale, and Dan wouldn't have minded staying to listen…but it wasn't his place to intrude. The fisherman's story faded into the sound of the surf behind him, and then Dan heard low voices just ahead and to the left—two voices, two men. He wasn't alone in the woods at all.
Dan stopped, panic rising, and concealed himself against a tree. In the faint light from the lighthouse, Dan could make out dim shapes against the fork of a split-trunked tree and God, he could hear them. One of them moaned, and then there was a obscenely wet noise followed by a grunt and warm laughter.
"Want me to fuck you?" one of them said.
"Yeah. God, yeah," the other replied, and there was the sound of paper tearing and a muttered, "Fuck, that's cold," as fabric shifted. The man in front braced one booted foot in the low crook of the tree as the guy behind him rolled the condom down. They kissed over the front guy's shoulder, and the guy in back pushed in. Then they were fucking.
Dan couldn't believe he was seeing it. They were a stone's throw away and had no idea he was there…and that meant he was stuck there until they finished. He had no idea what'd he'd do if they discovered him.
It didn't last long; he figured they must've been freezing their asses off, literally, as their breath went ragged and one of them groaned. The one behind flung the condom to the ground and kicked some pine needles over it; the other righted his clothing and patted down his pockets. A moment later he lit two cigarettes and handed one over.
"Wanna grab a beer?" he said.
"Sounds good," the other answered, and together they took the path down toward the water.
Dan stayed behind his tree for a minute, barely breathing. He clasped a hand over the front of his pants and pressed; he was so hard that the thought of the walk back up to the house made him cringe. His palm slid up and down without conscious intent. He needed to come.
The night was still. He could hear the low hum of the beer party in the distance, along with the ever-present sound of the waves on the rocks. The fog was growing thicker, wetter; it enveloped him and made him feel safe enough to tug his belt free, open his pants, and give his dick to the wonderfully cool, damp air. Biting his lips, he slid a thumb over the leaking head of his erection and began stroking himself hard.
Then he heard a twig snap.
Dan's eyes flew open; before him was the dim shape of a guy about his own age, someone he thought he might've seen around the island, but no one he'd ever spoken to.
"Give you a hand with that?" the guy said, stepping into Dan's space. Dan couldn't find breath to answer. A choked sound came out of his throat, which the guy apparently took as a yes, since he took Dan's dick in one hand and reached down to cup his balls with the other. He squeezed just right and Dan's head fell back against the tree trunk. More half-muffled words came, but Dan didn't catch their meaning. Then a moment later, the guy dropped to his knees and closed his mouth around Dan's dick.
It occurred to Dan that he was getting blown by someone who was really, entirely, without a doubt not the woman he was married to. It occurred to him that this wasn't something he'd planned on, and he vaguely wondered how often people committed adultery by accident. And then the guy did something in the back of his throat at the same time that he did something else with his hands, and Dan stopped thinking. A minute later he was coming and the guy was spitting onto the pine needles at their feet…and Dan had to figure out what the hell to do next.
The guy pulled his dick out. Dan tucked himself away because his skin was wet and the air was colder now that he wasn't bursting with heat anymore.
The guy didn't move away. In fact, he wrapped one arm around Dan's shoulders and pulled one of Dan's hands down to wrap around his cock. Their fingers were entwined; Dan could feel the guy was uncut.
Surreal didn't begin to cover it. He had his hand on someone's dick: a total stranger's erection. He was feeling the slip of foreskin against his thumb and forefinger. He didn’t mean to start rubbing it, but it felt so different and he was curious.
He was curious.
"Jesus," Dan whispered, and the guy shuddered, murmuring, "Like that. Yeah that," against Dan's neck. Dan kept stroking, and then twisted his wrist as if he were doing himself, and then the guy was thrusting up three, four times, and coming in Dan's hand.
"Jesus," Dan said again. The guy's arm was still around Dan's neck and shivers were moving through him. His breath was warm against Dan's cheek and smelled of cigarettes. Dan wondered if the guy was going to kiss him.
He didn't. Instead, he stepped back and pulled a cloth from his coat pocket. He wiped off his dick and his hand, and then he passed it to Dan with a muttered, "Here."
Dan said, "Thanks," and wiped the guy's come off his hand. It was on his coat, too, but that would have to wait until he got home.
Dan didn't know what to do next. He didn't know if there was an etiquette: should he introduce himself, should he thank the stranger for the blowjob, should he offer a belated hello?
But then someone in the group by the water bellowed out, "Duck, get your ass down here!" loud enough to be heard all across the Watch.
"Damn it," said the guy, and Dan thought he heard him say, "Sorry," just before he rushed away.
8.
Back at the house, Dan discovered the cloth was a faded red bandana. He laid it on the bathroom counter and scrubbed at the front of his coat with a wet washcloth. Then he sat down on the closed toilet seat and looked at the bandana. It was wet with come: Duck's come, whoever Duck was—and what the hell kind of name was "Duck" anyway? Dan picked up the cloth and inhaled. He smelled musk and cigarette smoke and something like the scent of Duck's neck.
It smelled good. Really good.
Dan wondered if Duck had any idea who he was, or if he was just an anonymous body with a willing cock and a guidable hand. Dan had only barely seen Duck's face in the darkness. He remembered stubble and a lined forehead and the feel of hair standing up against his hand. More clearly than that, he remembered the wet heat of Duck's mouth on him and the firmness of his hand holding Dan steady.
It occurred to him that this might be happening down on the other side of the woods from his house every night.
Every single night.
He didn't know what the hell he was going to do.
He washed Duck's bandana with shaking hands, and when it was dry he put it in his coat pocket to give to him later. Val would never find it there.
9.
Val came back from her brother's with a new chapter on gambling against market fluctuations and a long distance consulting job. She was excited, so Dan was happy for her. He was happier still when she took off her expensive outfit and put on jeans and a flannel shirt. She looked more like she had on their honeymoon: like the woman who had guided a jeep as near an active volcano as she could get, and then hopped out to get closer on foot.
Maybe a return trip to the Pacific wasn't a bad idea.
She caught him staring over her mug of tea. He grinned and said, "Missed you."
Val smiled back at him, looking pleased, so he leaned across the table and kissed her lips. Then he kissed her again, harder, and she answered, "I guess you did."
They went to bed, even though it was lunchtime. It had been years since they'd done anything like that; they were only physical together every few weeks, usually after they'd seen something sexy on cable. Touching her breast, Dan wondered if he should tell her what had happened. He bent to taste her and wondered what it would be like if her clitoris were a cock. He licked in perfunctory rhythm, feeling her orgasm build. He wondered if he should have sucked Duck off.
Her soft moans resolved into words. "In me," she said, "Dan, I need you in—"
He moved up her body and pressed himself inside, rocking slowly, the way she usually seemed to prefer it. Her legs fastened around his hips, surprising him. Maybe she'd missed him, too.
They kissed, moving together a little harder. Her face was smooth; her body was soft in his hands. She was moaning softly with pleasure, but he wasn't there yet, he wasn't—
He shut his eyes tight and remembered Duck's hand on his balls, his fingers sliding back and up. He remembered Duck's stubble against his neck and the way he'd thrust against him. Val's body clamped around him as she worked her muscles, trying to help him to finish. He pressed his face into her hair, trying to imagine a rougher texture, and when she turned her head and kissed his neck, right in the place Duck's face had rubbed pink, Dan finally came.
Afterwards, she rose in silence to take a shower. He lay there a few minutes; then he went downstairs and made lunch.
10.
They never did talk about it. She told him about the consulting contract; he suggested Christmas in Hawaii. She countered with a return visit to the west coast and he said that sounded fine.
"Do you want to plan it?" she asked, and then laughed at his scowl.
He grinned lopsidedly and said, "Isn't that what travel agents are for?"
She smiled, picked up her fork, and asked how things were with the store.
11.
The next time Val was away, to Toronto this time, Dan went down to the Watch again. It was damned cold out there, and instead of a lantern, someone had built a fire in the bottom half of an old oil drum. A handful of men sat around it on logs, and someone was telling a story about the ocean, just like before. Dan thought about it for a minute, but decided it was too cold to be shy, so he let himself be seen and made himself walk up. They got quiet, and for a minute there wasn't any sound other than the waves hitting the rocks and the wind rustling the trees above them.
He recognized some of them from the shop. They nodded to him; he nodded back. "Room for one more?" he asked.
Someone shrugged and someone else said, "Scoot in," and a minute later Dan was taking a swig of some spicy liquid fire and listening to a story about divers stripping a wreck.
The night wore on and Dan got the impression of the woods gaining more men. Some came up to the fire in couples, some were holding hands, others teased openly. Dan was introduced to the guys he didn't know. A few eyebrows went up, but Dan had lived in Wilby long enough to know he wasn't the only married man there.
After a while, Vic, the guy he'd been sitting next to for the last couple of hours, laid a hand on his thigh and said in his ear, "Come take a walk, then?" Vic's beard tickled Dan's face in a way he was surprised to discover he liked. It was probably the alcohol, but he didn't hesitate to follow Vic up the hill.
Vic stopped when they got to a little circle of pines. They made a kind of natural shelter and were well-spaced to lean against. The fog wasn't as dense and the moon was out, so Dan could see Vic's weather-beaten face and the want in his eyes.
"You've been down here before," Vic said, and it was only part question.
"Once," Dan answered.
"I guess you figured we don't talk about it. Everyone knows, I guess, but if it's kept under the rug—"
"You don't have to worry. My wife—"
"Best not to talk about that either," Vic said, placing his hand on Dan's chest and drawing the zipper of his coat down. The cold air rushed in with Vic's hands, but the hands felt good roaming over his sweater.
It was new. Duck hadn't touched him like this.
"What do you like?" Vic asked. Dan didn’t know what to say. Part of him wanted to say 'everything', but he knew that would be a damn fool thing to say. But then Vic was pressing close against him and kissing him. Vic's beard scratched his face and tickled his nose, and his mouth tasted of the same drink they'd all been passing among them. No cigarettes, though.
Dan's back was against a tree and he was holding Vic against him with one hand wrapped around his neck and the other at the small of his back. Dan was kissing him hungrily, and Vic was kissing back just as hard.
It was exactly what Dan wanted. When he realized that, he made a decision to forget about Val and forget about how he'd been carrying Duck's faded bandana around with him for all this time. His erection was straining against his pants, and he could feel Vic's cock doing the same.
"I want to blow you," Dan said, feeling brave. He felt braver still when Vic kissed him and said "please" in a voice that made Dan feel like anything he did would suit Vic just fine. Dan turned them so Vic's back was to the tree and sank to his knees, fumbling to open Vic's pants. Then Dan opened his mouth and tasted a cock for the first time. It filled his mouth just the way he'd hoped it would, but it was smoother, silkier against his tongue than he expected. He liked it.
Vic didn't last all that long, which Dan took as a good sign. Vic's come tasted a little like Duck's bandana had smelled, and it turned Dan on even more. He didn't want Vic to know he'd never done it before, so he spat on the ground like Duck had, climbed to his feet while Vic was still feeling the aftershocks, and kissed him. That was another good thing, it seemed: it got Vic on his knees, anyway, and Vic's mouth moving up and down on Dan's erection. When he went deep, Dan could feel Vic's beard against his balls; it made Dan's cock jump. Vic pulled off with a chuckle and scraped his beard directly over Dan's skin before swallowing him down a second time. Scrabbling at tree bark, Dan came.
Later, when they returned to the fire, a few more men had come and gone. Duck passed over the bottle, taking a sip from his thermos. When their eyes met, Dan looked into the low-burning fire and hoped it hid his blush.
12.
Years before, Dan had gone through a phase of reading Val's women's magazines. He thought they might help him understand her. They didn't; she wasn't much like the women they were writing about…and yet the fact that she read them had to mean something. He remembered seeing several articles about how to tell if your partner was cheating, and now he found himself recalling details: more sex, unexpected gifts, unexplained expenses, travel.
Val came back from the latest trip to Toronto with an extra suitcase full of clothes for him and a look in her eye that said she wouldn't mind if he took her to bed right then.
At least that's what he hoped it meant. She responded to his kiss and helped him pull off their clothes, and Dan watched carefully, wondering. When he knelt between her legs, he rubbed his face against her neatly trimmed pubic hair, loving the rasp of stubble against his skin. He licked faster, until she was tugging him up and into her body. It felt good, better than it usually did.
But it didn’t feel like it had with Vic or Duck.
13.
That evening she told him everything she'd done in the city. Dan nodded and smiled through most of it, but then realized that in her happy chatter, she'd accounted for every moment: the meetings with her colleagues, the evening with her old roommate, the shopping, the theater, the restaurants, the taxis. Every moment.
The truth: she'd simply missed him.
Dan had missed her, too, but maybe not so simply.
A while later, he said he was going up to the store to check on things. He had two part-time kids, Jason and Michelle, splitting the evening shifts, and he surprised them every so often to keep them on their toes.
Dan watched Jason close and then drove home. When he got to the house, he saw the light in the upstairs bathroom was on. Knowing Val, she was in the bath with a book and her beauty products and would be there for another hour, or until he went in and got her. He went around the side of the house and found the path through the trees.
14.
No one was at the log circle. There was no fire in the barrel and no sign anyone had been there. It was cold, the fog was blowing around like it couldn't decide whether to roll in or not, and the moon was high and gibbous. The whole place looked like a good place for a bad horror movie; Dan sat down anyway.
Fifteen minutes later he was chilled to the bone and had no more idea what to do than before. Then he heard someone clear their throat and Duck was there.
Duck ground out the butt of his cigarette and sat down. Dan nodded, and then frowned; he wondered whether in a place like this, nodding meant something more than just hello. He looked down at his hands. He'd jerked Duck off with that hand. "Oh!" he said, remembering. He fished in his coat pocket and pulled out a folded square of cloth. He'd been carrying it around with him for weeks now, clutching it like a rabbit's foot or a worry stone.
He held it out and Duck took it, tucking it into his own coat pocket. "Thanks," Duck murmured. For a moment he looked as if he were going to say something else, but he didn't.
After a minute, Dan took a deep breath and stood up. "I should—"
"There's no harm in talking, is there?"
"What do you mean?"
"She wouldn't begrudge you having friends, would she?"
"Of course not!" Dan said.
"Then stay a while."
Dan sat. Together they listened to the waves crash until Dan finally said, "How did you know she's back?"
"Came in on the same ferry. She was telling Tamara McIntyre all about her shopping trip."
Dan snorted.
Duck said, "Trip to Vancouver sounds nice."
"Yeah." Dan kneaded his hands. "I mean, I hope so. Warmer, anyhow."
Duck nodded, but didn't say anything.
"So," Dan said hesitantly, "what happens down here once the snow starts?"
Duck laughed. "Not much. It's too cold to be out here in the wind and wet, but some of the guys have get-togethers every couple of weeks. Vic'll invite you."
Dan frowned. "Is it like—" He gestured around them, but his eyes flicked back up toward the woods.
Duck chuckled. "Depends. When you were a kid, did you go to parties where you played spin the bottle in the basement?"
"I hated those parties."
"Yeah, me too." Duck grinned and Dan found himself smiling back. He moved closer just as Duck did, and for a split second he wondered how this had happened to him. Then Duck's lips brushed against his own and pressed harder, seeking more.
A wave crashed and he thought of Val in the bath. He had to go home; he couldn't do it like this. He wrenched himself away.
"I can't. Not—" he stopped, floundering. "She's right there."
"Okay," Duck said, sitting back.
Dan stood up. "I have to go."
"Okay," Duck said again, and Dan fled.
15.
December passed in a blink. Vancouver was nice as far as seeing what they'd done with his collection since he'd left, Christmas in Kitchener was annoying, and New Year's in Manhattan was a complete waste of time. He still had no idea why Val had dragged him along, although knowing her it probably had to do with book research and a tax write-off.
At the end of January snow was thick on the ground and Val was shuttling between Toronto and Ottawa for reasons Dan had lost track of. He couldn’t remember which trips were for consulting and which were for the book, and he was beginning to wonder how long it would be before she brought up moving back to a real city. Dan liked Wilby fine—it was as good a place as any, but he didn't know why they stayed. He used to think it was Val's hideaway from the rest of the world, but lately it seemed like when she got stressed out, she headed to Kitchener instead.
Vic threw a party on a weekend when Vic knew Val was going to be gone and Michelle would be around to cover the store. Dan rolled his eyes, but Vic braced his hands on the counter and stared Dan down until he gave in and said yes.
He went, and it wasn't even bad. If anything, it reminded him of parties in college twenty years before, but then he supposed the principle of a bunch of guys getting drunk together was the same at any age.
Only there weren't any girls here.
He met a couple more guys than he had before. He shook hands nervously, but found it impossible to relax. Drinking together in a house with a bar, a fridge full of beer, and a table full of snacks made it civil. There weren't the same sort of campfire stories, either. Here, they talked hockey and curling and how the layoff situation at the cannery was shaping up.
Still, time passed and the others loosened up. Duck showed up and appropriated an armchair with a good view of the TV and in reach of a bowl of chips. Hockey was on. Half a dozen of them watched, while Dan ignored the flirtatious laughter from the kitchen and the two guys making out in the hall.
Except for the lack of girls, it wasn't so different from college at all.
He was tossing his fourth empty into the recycle bin when Vic found him again. "Let me at least show you the basement," Vic said. He was drunk and Dan knew it. "You haven't even seen the house yet," Vic persisted, taking hold of Dan's hand. Dan glanced nervously over his shoulder at the cluster of men in the kitchen, but no one seemed to be paying any attention. A moment later, Dan relented and followed Vic downstairs.
The basement was three-quarters finished and divided between storage and a workshop. There was a worn-out couch and a battered coffee table. Two guys were in the corner, one blowing the other without a care for anyone else in the room.
Vic nuzzled Dan's neck and turned him for a kiss. Dan gave it. He felt flattered in a way. It was nice to feel wanted; it was just incredibly weird to be doing this indoors, with lights on. It made his stomach flutter, like Val might come down the basement stairs any moment.
Still, Vic had a great mouth and Dan was further from sober than he cared to admit. He let himself be guided to the sofa, and couldn't bring himself to argue when Vic sank to his knees. His eyes fell shut, and for a minute he could pretend it was all just a dream.
When he opened his eyes, it was to the sight of Duck descending the last basement stair, his arms around some guy's waist, his hand palming the front of his pants. Duck saw Dan and Dan saw Duck, and Dan's hand tightened in Vic's hair for just a moment, and then he shut his eyes and came.
When he opened his eyes, Vic was kissing him. Looking up, he saw Duck bending his guy over the workbench, running his fingers over the curve of his ass. Duck was saying, "Are you sure that's what you want?" Then he was reaching into a pocket and pulling out lube and a condom.
Vic kissed him again and then turned his head to watch Duck open the other guy's ass. "Matt," he called, "you've got the most fuckable ass I've seen all night."
Duck laughed and twisted his fingers, making Matt yell out, "Jesus-fuck, Duck!"
Everyone laughed at that, and some of the tension Dan felt began to dissolve. Vic leaned in to kiss Dan again. "Come down to the floor," he told Dan, motioning for him to sit on the tattered rug with his back against the couch. When Dan did, Vic kicked off his pants and settled between Dan's legs facing Duck and Matt. The guys in the corner had sunk to the gritty floor out of sight, but Dan could still hear them.
Dan watched Duck's fingers move in and out of Matt's ass and jerked Vic's cock in time. He cupped Vic's balls in his left hand and stroked behind them with his middle finger. He'd been researching.
He'd been wanting.
Vic dug in his discarded pants pocket until he found lube, which he squeezed out into Dan's hand. "Oh my fucking God, yes," Vic moaned when Dan spread out the slickness and swirled his palm over the head.
Matt was cursing a blue streak; Duck added a third finger and Dan watched, fascinated, as Duck's hand twisted clockwise, then counterclockwise. Then Duck added more lube and continued the finger-fucking. Vic had his feet braced so he could thrust into Dan's hand; his eyes were fixed on what Duck was doing to Matt's ass.
Then Duck rolled a condom down and pushed in deep. Dan pressed a wet finger gently against Vic's ass, and Vic inhaled sharply and rocked himself downward as Dan kept stripping his cock, keeping time with Duck.
"Jesus Christ," Vic panted. He worked himself harder between Dan's hands and came a moment later, collapsing back in Dan's arms. A minute later, Dan nipped him on the ear to get him to move. He got a groggy protest, so he shoved Vic over onto his side, where he curled up in a sleepy bundle.
When Dan returned from washing up, Duck and Matt were gone. Dan stood in the doorway for a moment: Vic had pulled a cushion down from the couch and seemed to be out for the count. With a crooked smile, Dan turned his back and went home.
16.
Everything seemed all right as long as he didn't think about it. Winter passed. It warmed up enough that people started going out to the Watch again. Dan didn't go when Val was home. That one time with Duck, when practically all they'd done was exchange a few awkward words, had been too much temptation…and if he started considering what difference it made whether she was in town or not, then he'd have to face up to what he was doing—and he wasn't up for that.
He had a wife. He loved her, he'd made a life with her, they'd spent years together, and he planned to spend the rest of his years with her. The guys at the Watch were just…an aberration, a distraction. It wasn't as if he were anyone's boyfriend.
17.
It was May before Dan let anyone fuck him in the ass. Val was in Kitchener again; the nieces were having a recital or something. Matt found him in the woods and said, "Can I?" He blew Dan first and opened him up so slow and sweet that Dan forgot the feeling of tree bark under his fingernails and the worry over it being his first time: he just let it happen, and afterwards he was more freaked out by how much he'd loved it than by having done it at all.
He wondered for a minute what would happen if he ever dared to ask Val to touch him like that.
But if he did, she'd know everything. She wouldn't even have to ask…
He loved her. He loved her for who she was, and he'd never once wished her to be any different, but now, in the most secret and guilty place in his heart, he realized he wished more than anything she were a man.
18.
The sting was in mid-June, and it caught everyone by surprise. When the cops started arresting people for lewd and lascivious conduct, Vic protested that no one had enforced that down on the Watch since the early 1970s. Stan Lastman shot back with, "Yeah, well I guess that's due for a change then," and that was that.
19.
Val didn't get back from Toronto until the end of the week. By that point, Dan had been arraigned, pleaded no contest, paid his fine, and driven himself half-crazy trying to figure out what he was going to tell her.
If he was going to tell her.
When she returned, he kissed her cheek and brought her bags in. She made tea and they exchanged small talk about the flight. Then she poured two mugs and sat down at the kitchen table.
"A woman on the ferry said there was some trouble down at the Watch while I was gone," she said. "She said I should ask you about it."
Dan stared down into his mug. It was steaming, still far too hot to drink. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and lifted his eyes to hers.
She asked softly, "What's going on, Dan?"
Dan shifted in the chair and tried to find words. He had hoped he'd have more time, or at least have some kind of brainwave about what to tell her. She folded her hands together, waiting.
"I love you," he said. "I don't want you to be upset." It sounded pathetic to his own ears, but he didn't know how else to say it.
"What happened?" Her voice was full of worry now.
He couldn't sit anymore. He got up and paced across the kitchen twice before saying, "Last Tuesday night…" He trailed off. Her eyes were following him, big and dark.
"Tuesday night?" she prompted.
He clenched the edge of the counter with both hands and said softly, "Some guys…got arrested down at the Watch."
She was frozen in place; her fingers were white-knuckling the mug and she was probably burning her hands.
"And I was one of them," he mumbled.
She didn't say anything right off. She took a deep breath and Dan could practically see her counting to ten before she spoke. "For doing what?"
"Um…" He couldn't say it. He crossed to the sink and stared out the window at the manicured yard leading out to the edge of the woods. Down-slope was the Watch.
"Dan," she said, with an edge to it.
"The charges were for…" He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat and mumbled, "For lewd and lascivious conduct."
"They were what?" Her voice was sharp with disbelief. The chair screeched against the floor as she stood up. The look on her face was more than he could bear.
Words failed him. His throat had closed like a vise and he couldn't keep the tears from welling up. After a minute, he forced a couple of hard, choking breaths and blotted his eyes on his sleeve. He couldn't—but he had to—
He told her everything: her trips, the Watch, the party—every other word was an apology, but it was no good. She yelled and slapped him and cried. She called him a lying sack of shit and a godforsaken son of a bitch.
Finally, she calmed down and Dan dared to hope, but then she stopped pacing the breakfast area and leveled a cold stare at him. "What on earth made you think this was okay?"
"I didn't!" he protested, because it wasn't like that. "Val, I swear I never meant for it to be like this. I love—"
"Uh-uh." She shook her head and stood her ground. "Get out. Pack a bag and get the hell out."
"Val, please—"
"Now."
There was nothing to do then but go upstairs and pack a bag. He grabbed a couple of shirts, some underwear, and a couple of pairs of socks. He packed his shaving kit, comb, and toothbrush. The motel would have shampoo. He couldn't think what else he needed. His wallet. His keys.
Maybe it would be better in the morning. Maybe somehow she'd find a way to forgive him.
Downstairs, he began, "God, I'm sorry. I don't know what I can say to—"
"We had a life together, Dan, and now I see what it meant to you." She wiped her tears and folded her arms over her chest. "I hope you rot in hell," she said.
"Val…" He stared at her. She didn't move. After a minute, he got his jacket and keys, picked up the duffel, and walked out the door.
Ten minutes later, he was standing at the registration desk at the Wildwood Motel. Mrs. Woodson asked how long he planned to stay and raised her eyebrows when Dan said he didn't know.
Dan took the room key with a shaky hand, moved his car, and only just reached the bathroom before he threw up.
20.
Val's lawyer handled nearly everything. The house was emptied of what Val wanted, and since she didn't want anything that had anything to do with him, he didn't fight it. He couldn't.
He tried to hate her…except he couldn't blame her for hating him. She was right: he was a lying sack of shit and all this was his own fault. All he'd had to do was walk away, or say no, or even if he'd been honest from the start. If he'd somehow found a way to tell her after the first time, there was a chance that it could have been waved away as a surreal moment in the dark, a curiosity that got out of hand. It might have been forgivable.
But he hadn't. He'd thrown their whole life away for nothing. A few orgasms with some guys he barely even knew. And even as he despised himself for it, he wanted more.
He thought about going back to Vancouver, but he couldn't see any point in it.
After a few days, he thought about seeking out Vic or Duck; but then the Sentinel broke the news that the names were going to be printed and he didn't want to see anyone. Especially them.
He'd never felt unwelcome in Wilby before.
He closed the video store; he didn't know what he was going to do, but he was pretty sure staying in Wilby was out of the question. He donated the rest of the stuff in the house to charity, and what they didn't want, he put on the curb.
He wandered around the island, avoiding contact with people. He didn't have anywhere to go.
He'd signed all the papers. The divorce would go through when the waiting period expired and the court finalized it. Val would still get all his assets if he died.
21.
After Dan didn't die, Duck offered him the spare room. So did Vic. Mrs. Woodson sent Jennie to offer him half-rates at the motel. He thanked them, but didn’t accept.
Instead, Dan got himself a furnished studio closer to the heart of town. He didn't reopen the video store, though people asked him about it every week. He didn't try to contact Val, and wasn't surprised he didn't hear from her either.
Duck came over, shyly at first but then with growing persistence.
Mostly when Duck came over, it was to get him to go outside. Together they hiked the island: Duck showed him the places he'd played as a boy, showed him the trees he'd climbed and the part of the river he'd learned to swim in. Duck showed Dan the corner of the old school playground where he used to get drunk and smoke pot, and he showed Dan the curve of road where he'd wrecked his car driving drunk in the fog and nearly killed himself.
Vic had more parties, and they all had Dover Beach now that the Watch was off-limits, but when Dan went, he only touched Duck. He never touched anyone else but Duck.
After a few months, Duck asked Dan when he was going to reopen the video store. They were in Dan's kitchen cleaning up dinner when Duck said, "It'll be too cold to go out soon, and people need…things to keep themselves occupied."
Dan searched Duck's face, and Duck held his gaze until they both started snickering.
"They do? You're sure about that?" Dan said after a long moment. His ears were pink.
Duck cracked a grin, but his eyes were showing something deeper. He traced his fingers down Dan's arm and said, "Yeah, I'm pretty sure."
Dan pressed him back against the counter and took a long, contented kiss. Pulling away, he looked into Duck's eyes and said, "Then I will."