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Mathias turned his face into the spray from the shower head and groaned. The pressure was high and the temperature sizzling, and he could feel his skin flushing under the pelting drops. Then he ducked his head, let the water slick down his long hair until it clung to his neck and back, and blinked against the thin rivulets running down his face.
He let out a long, shuddering breath. He had needed this, in more ways than one.
The water circling the drain at his feet was muddied with dust and grit. It was worse than he'd realized - it seemed like he'd brought half the dirt on the Rez in here with him. No wonder he'd gotten a few strange looks back at the station. He had thought he'd dusted off his uniform pretty well, but the grime was on his face and neck and arms and in his hair and ears and liberally distributed over the rest of his body.
Oh well. A little dirt never hurt anyone.
His bruises on the other hand… Mathias looked down and swiped a thumb over the dark shadow blooming on his inner right thigh. That has been a near miss - the blow had been aimed for his groin, but he'd edged away just in time. There were grazes and scuff marks on both of his arms to the elbow, where his sleeves had been rolled up. A knot was rising on the back of his head, and a cut on his neck had begun to bleed sluggishly again. More bruises dotted his chest, stomach, and legs. All his knuckles were raw and swollen.
It had been a good fight. Short, frantic, exhilarating. He couldn't even remember exactly how it had started - one moment he'd been talking to Longmire about a case that involved both the county and the Rez, and the next moment Henry had taken a swing at him. Unprovoked. Well, perhaps not completely unprovoked. Mathias had made some sort of cutting remark to Longmire, the substance of which he no longer recalled. He had merely intended to harass rather than incite actual violence - needling Longmire was one of his favorite pastimes - but he must have hit a particularly sore spot. Longmire had just given him an unimpressed stare and kept on talking, but Henry had taken two strides forward and knocked Mathias on his ass before he even knew what was happening.
That was fine, because Mathias had taken Henry down with him.
Their tussle in the dust couldn't have lasted more than twenty seconds, because Longmire and Deputy Moretti were soon dragging them apart. But by the time they were separated, Henry was sporting a bloodied lip and favoring his left leg, and Mathias had plenty of souvenirs of his own.
It was probably sad that this was one the best things that had happened to him all week. The light of rage in Henry's eyes had been magnificent. His crimson snarl had been glorious. His wild hair and dirt-smudged faced had been stunning. Mathias treasured up the images and sensations, the thrill and the pain and the beauty, and grinned. Oh yes. It had been worth a few minor wounds to have drawn out a bit of Henry's inner fire.
Mathias looked back at the bruise on his inner thigh. He pressed two fingers into it, hissed softly as it throbbed. Then he closed his eyes and thought back over his conversation with Longmire. He tried to remember what specific part of it had infuriated Henry, but the water was warm and his body was aching in a way that was mostly uncomfortable, but a little bit… not. So he put the conversation aside for future examination and focused on the only thing that really mattered: Henry.
Henry Standing Bear mattered. Oh sure, Mathias had spent the better part of his life trying to convince himself otherwise. Ever since Mathias was a scrawny thirteen-year-old, Henry had been a constant source of confusion and frustration. Henry had been eighteen back then, a real grown-up, and much more interested in spending time with his white best friend than with an underweight child. Mathias had resented him. Or had he idolized him? He had never been sure. The one thing he couldn't do was ignore him, no matter how hard he tried. When all the boys his age were talking about girls, he was thinking about Henry.
If Henry had ever given him a single thought in return, there had certainly been no indication of it. Henry liked women. He liked to boast about his prowess with them. And sure, maybe his taste left something to be desired, but there was no doubt that the ladies flocked to him. Mathias didn't begrudge him that. If his love life was somewhat less successful than Henry's, it wasn't for lack of female interest. It was Mathias's interests that couldn't quite conform to social expectations. He let people think he was too driven, too dedicated to his work to leave much room in his life for romance, and it was true. He had a lot of responsibility riding on his back, and a very thin line to walk. He really didn't need any distractions.
But on rare occasions, he didn't much mind being distracted by Henry.
As he lathered up his hair, trails of shampoo ran down his arms and made his cuts sting in protest. He focused on that small prick of pain, recalled the scrape of loose stones and twigs across his exposed skin while another body writhed and struggled against his own, and sighed. Thirty-one years since the start of that conflicted boyhood crush, and if anything, he was deeper in it than ever.
He reached for the bar of soap, knowing he had to hurry if he wanted to finish his shower before the water went cold. But as he slid his hands over his body, washing away the remaining dirt, all his little aches and twinges reminded him of why he was here, who had done this to him, who was frustrating the life out of him and making him want… making him want.
His cock had been full and flushed almost from the moment he'd stepped into the shower, and he couldn't ignore it any longer. He slicked up his hand with soap and gripped himself. With swift, sure movements he gave into his need, working himself up until his breaths turned to gasps and his pulse raced. With his free hand he explored all the places where Henry had marked him, coaxing out that sweet, subtle pain.
He thought of Henry in the dirt, scrabbling and striking out, not at random, no, never at random. His blows were precise even when he'd lost his height advantage and had to fight with eyes full of dust and a mouth full of blood. His red-stained teeth… Fuck, Mathias wanted to lick them. He wanted to worry Henry's split lip with his tongue. He wanted to engage in a different kind of struggle, generate a different kind of heat, glory in a different kind of passion. He wanted Henry to throw him to the ground because he wanted him, to writhe against his body because he needed him, to strike him only because Mathias begged for it. He wanted the pain, yes, but he wanted the pleasure, too. And then he wanted… and then...
He gritted his teeth and cried out. He flung his head back, face lifted toward the steady spray once more as he rode out his orgasm. Then he slumped back against the tiled wall, panting and shaking uncontrollably.
...And then he wanted Henry to be there to pick up the pieces. Because Henry could be gentle too, Mathias knew that. He'd seen it. He wanted all of it. He wanted all of Henry.
Well, fantasies had their place.
The water went cold as he stood there, feeling heartbeat slow and his energy level sink. He'd had a long day. He'd been in a fight. Tomorrow was another long day, and there would probably be more fights. His exultant mood was gone. The day no longer seemed touched with so much significance. He'd crossed a line, gotten himself knocked down for it, rolled around on the ground with a man who probably didn't see anything in it but an outlet for his anger, and that was all. It was only his imagination and tenacious desire that turned it into something more.
Mathias shut off the water and stepped out of the shower. He grabbed a towel, threw it around his shoulders, and stared at the steamy mirror across the tiny bathroom. His reflection revealed an impressive purple contusion along his left cheekbone. He raised his hand to feel the tender skin, and cracked a small smile. He'd have that one for a few days, at least.
Good.