Surviving the Merge

by C P Harris

  Next-to-last stop on the tour was the art room. I choked up seeing the pure joy on Sam’s face when Max informed her that if she wanted, the art studio could be hers. My heart did that thing where it melted.

  Damon sent a text that he and Ash were stuck in traffic, but the kids were expected to show up soon, so we continued to the studio without him.

  “Would you like to do the honors?” Max asked with a sideways grin as we stood outside the room.

  I accepted the scissors he held, and after cutting the red ribbon, I removed my shoes and instructed him and Sam to do the same before stepping into the room.

  Simple but efficient summed up the transformation of the room. Freshly painted white walls, the floors an eggshell hue, sheer floor to ceiling curtains in maroon decorated the windows, and the crystal chandelier provided a nice touch of opulence. I stepped over to the solid oak barre, and, unable to help myself, I positioned my body into First Arabesque: one hand anchored while raising my opposing leg and arm away from my body. My restricting denim jeans protested the movement.

  Smiling at myself in the mirror, I buzzed with happiness. Sam and Max were silent, waiting for me to say something. “I won’t let you down,” I said, lowering my foot to First Position.

  “I know you won’t,” he said.

  I squinted at the picture frames hanging on the wall across the room. “What’s that? I asked, walking over. “Where did you get this from?” My voice was all breath.

  “It wasn’t hard. You’re a pretty famous guy, you know.”

  Rows of published articles on my professional achievements, an interview that I did for Le Danseur magazine, and photos of me performing on stage. The last two framed photographs were candid shots. One of me wearing an intense expression as I ran the dancers at the theater through a routine. Really focused on making sure they perfected every step.

  The last one caused a flare of gooseflesh to ride my arms. “Damon,” I whispered, reverently touching the black-and-white photo of me. Taken—unbeknownst to me—during my first week back in Chadwick. I could picture that night clearly. Particularly heartbroken and lonely, I’d gone outside to my studio Blake built and danced under the stars for hours. My skin dewy with sweat and my cheeks wet with tears. My hair hung loose over one shoulder, and I gazed up into the night sky, lost, searching for answers. I looked so young and vulnerable. Breathtaking, even while being heartbreaking.

  Having this part of me on display for all to see left me defenseless. But I supposed if I wanted these kids to bleed for me, I’d have to bleed in return.

  Damon must have tracked me down sooner than I’d thought. Blake would never observe my pain from afar. But Damon wouldn’t come within touching distance of it. It had to be him.

  Voices came from the hall. A group of at least two dozen kids were waiting outside the door. Max gestured for them to take off their shoes and come in.

  “Justin, these are the kids that want to join your class,” Max said smiling proudly and the brood.

  “Yeah, we wanna audition!” came from a little firecracker in the back. The crowd moved aside to let her through. Little-Debbie from the greenhouse. Pigtails firmly in place.

  Coming down to one knee, I said, “Debbie, right?”

  “You remember me?” she asked, clasping her hands together, too excited to keep still.

  Chuckling, I informed her that I did. “You’re pretty unforgettable.”

  She blushed.

  “You don’t have to audition, any and everyone can join if they’d like,” I said.

  “But... but you don’t even know if we can dance,” Debbie said, palms up.

  “Well, I’m here to teach you. And I bet you can do anything you put your mind to, right?”

  They all said, “Right!” in unison.

  “When do we start?” said the tall slim kid in the back, the one that Max had informed me was in the process of transitioning and who hardly ever spoke. Pete.

  “Can we also dance hip-hop?” asked an adorably sullen girl with her cherubic arms crossed over her chest.

  “I tell you what. If you can teach us some moves, we can mix it into the routine. Would that be okay?” I asked.

  She perked up and shook her head emphatically, “Yes.”

  “As for a start date, as soon as we get you guys some shoes and proper attire.” I looked questioningly at a smiling Max. He went over to one of the mirrored walls and slid one side open, revealing a large walk-in closet lined with leotards, tutus, ballet slippers, and pointe shoes. The kids rushed in to get their pick.

  “We got some donations in,” Max said.

  After helping the kids pick the appropriate items, I stood off to the side and watched as some interacted with Sam as she told them about the art class she’d be teaching. Many of them hooted and hollered, “Can I come?” And by the way Pete eyed Sam, I’d say he had a crush.

  Damon and Ash slipped in. My lips pulled up at the sides; my eyes flicked over to the picture and back to Damon meaningfully. He winked; his dimples coming out to play. The boys drifted to him, questioning him about his muscles, asking if he was the Hulk. He flexed for some of the younger ones who shouted “cool” and “awesome” or some variation of that.

  I intended to speak to Ash, but I followed his field of sight to catch his gray eyes studying Max, and Max had his hands full with a few rambunctious kids screaming, “Mr. Max! Mr. Max!” They vied for his attention.

  My chest filled with hope. This is what I’m supposed to be doing. This is where I’m supposed to be.

  Sam headed back to the city early, and Ash got called in to the hospital, so Damon gave him a ride.

  Damon wasn’t happy that I’d chosen to stay at the center with Max, but he’d live.

  “So, you and Ash?” I asked, helping him clean the woodshop while Pluto watched from the hall. The last time Max allowed him inside, he caught a splinter in his front paw.

  Max nearly dropped the table saw on his foot. “There is no me and Ash. I don’t even know the guy. We said maybe five words to each other.”

  “‘Thou protesteth too much,’” I mumbled. Ash matched me in height but was built for war, much like Damon. My age, but the backdrop of his dark skin against his premature gray hair lent a wise presence to his composition. Ash wasn’t created to go unnoticed.

  “He annoyingly called me ‘Mr. Max,’ and when I said, ‘just Max’ is fine, he then called me ‘Just Max,’ literally.” He snorted. “Plus, his best friend is your psycho husband—no offense. I don’t need him chasing me off from you and the best friend.”

  “Ashton knows how to handle Damon. He wouldn’t allow him to come between you guys. And you didn’t seem to have a problem with wanting something with me. I’m more complicated than a Rubik's Cube.”

  We’d left the building, Max locked up, and we headed to our cars. “Have you seen yourself, Justin? You’re like a Boy Scout with wings.”

  “I am not,” I said indignantly. “Why do you need a Boy Scout anyway? Ash is a standup guy. He’s loyal, and his faith in those he loves is unwavering. Once he considers you one of his, you’re his for life.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not on the market to be one of his. That’s what attracted me to you. If I’m being honest with myself, I knew you and I wouldn’t go far,” he said, stopping at his truck. “What about you and Blake? When do I get to meet him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I don’t understand. How can you be upset with one and not the other?” He let Pluto into the truck cab, then slid into the driver's seat and shut the door.

  “It takes practice,” I said, looking up at him through the opened window.

  “How do you expect to go on this way? Yesterday, you mentioned that they were making progress. Said you were happy for them.”

  I tapped my right foot impatiently; my problems were the last thing I wanted to talk about.

  “Aren’t you a part of them?” he asked.

  “You don’t get it. All this time, I thoug
ht he saved me, Max. But he was the one that caused me to need saving in the first place. If he hadn’t...”

  “I know, Justin. I know,” Max said sympathetically when I couldn’t continue. “Tell me this. What do you think your life would be like had the rape never happened? Do you think things would have changed between you and Damon?”

  “I don’t know the answer to that,” I told him, shaking my head. “What I do know is, I wouldn’t have had to—”

  “Survive,” Max interjected, starting his engine.

  My arched brows conveyed my confusion. He threw one arm over the wheel.

  “It sounds to me like you’ve got yourself all wrong, Justin. If you want your life to change, then you need to change the narrative. Stop looking at yourself as a victim and start viewing yourself as a survivor. There’s a big difference. What you went through doesn’t make you who you are. What you survived does. How you survived. I don’t think you know that. I think you believe what happened to you makes you weak. But look how far you’ve come. Change the narrative, Justin. And fight to save your relationship.”

  I stumbled out of the taxi and made my way up the driveway. I’d left my car at the bar I drove to after Max pulled off. He’d given me a lot to think about, and I hadn’t wanted to think. I stopped with one foot on the porch steps when the curtains twitched, and I struggled to suppress my laugh.

  “You’re getting predictable in your old age, Damon,” I said, heaving through the front door. I was immediately accosted.

  “Is that so?” he asked in a toneless voice.

  “Yes. Where is your car? How come I never see it in the drive?”

  “That would defeat the point, now wouldn’t it?”

  “You are too precious,” I said, pinching his cheeks. He smacked my hand away for my trouble.

  “And you’re drunk.”

  “Wrong.” Squinting and lowering my eyes, I said, “I’m intoxicated.” Going for seductive, but Damon had to grab my elbow to keep me from tipping over.

  We stood in the entryway staring at each other. Something passed between us. I knew what he wanted and would ultimately have in a moment. But after my talk with Max, my emotions were scattered, and I needed something from him first.

  “Damon… What do you like about me?”

  A spark of fear lit his eyes. “How drunk are you?”

  “I’m fine.” Sort of. “When we were friends, before we were lovers, you’d watch me dance, we’d debate politics, play basketball, watch movies…”

  “Yeah, okay,” he said, agitated.

  “You must have liked me.” I tried my best not to slur. “But why?” A touch of insecurity caused my stomach to flutter. “Was it... just my looks?”

  Damon ran his hands down his face and turned his back to me. And it hurt. I wasn’t asking for much, and at that point, I was starting to suspect I was well within my right to expect more from him. A small measure. I’d mentally accepted my defeat when he spoke up.

  “You were… good. You are good, Just.” He kept his back to me, so he missed my smile.

  “You mean good like a good person?” I sounded childlike.

  He sighed and raised his head to the ceiling. “Yes. You’re simple and good.”

  That was the nicest thing he’d ever said to me. And I meant that in the most unaccusing way. Actions were supposed to mean everything, but in that moment, I realized that sometimes words were equally as important. “Look at me, Damon.”

  He shook his head but turned anyway. Regarding me with suspicion.

  “You think I want Max,” I stated.

  “No.”

  “Then why are you behaving this way?” I pointed toward the window he’d been lurking through.

  He threw his hands in the air like the answer should’ve been obvious. “Because I don’t want to share you! Your goodness is mine.” He frowned when I smiled.

  “Do you want to know what I like about you?” I asked. “Why I like you?”

  “No,” he said adamantly. “Yes.”

  My eyes brimmed with moisture. The alcohol dropped all barriers to my heart. “Because you are the strongest part of you. And I’m barely above water without that strength. Because in the end, you always put me first. In the end, you would lay down your life for mine. You love me fiercely.” My tears flowed, and he trembled. “And in the end, that’s all that matters.”

  That was enough talking for him. He walked toward me, searching my gaze and telling me with his and a deep breath that he’d been affected. That my words touched him. He reached a shaky hand up to let down my hair, stroking it gently, and when that became too much for him, he stripped me down where I stood without warning or permission.

  His hot mouth engulfed me as his knees settled onto the floor. He sucked me like a fiend, tugging at my balls. I dropped my head to my chest, panting so hard my spittle painted my chest. The alchohol fueled fog clouding my mind lifted completely when the finger fucking began.

  “Fuuuck….” I ripped from somewhere deep within me. My legs contemplated giving out. I began to sink, but the bend to my knees served to open me up more. I remained in a semi-squat position, thighs burning and shaking, with his fingers pistoning in and out my ass. My grip on his damp curls tightened. The garbled, slurping, lustful sounds coming from him intensified. Damn, he can suck a cock.

  His tongue expertly stroked my underside and swirled around my crown on the upstroke. Releasing me with a pop, Damon quickly took both my testicles into his mouth, and without warning, I ejaculated into the air.

  Pitter-patter sounds filled the foyer as my cum pelted down on the side of his face, the trimmed hair on my groin, and the hardwood floor. After he ensured that every drop from my sack had been extracted, Damon sat back on his haunches, beholding me with a predator’s glare. He pulled his cock through his pants and a small bottle from his pocket while eyeing me with his mouth ajar. He made quick work of slicking himself up.

  “Damon, I need a minute,” I breathed, slowly backing away on shaky legs. The orgasm and vodka were a bad combination.

  “Too bad because I don’t have one to give.” He got up in one fluid motion to make chase, and I turned and raced for the stairs. Catching me before I could ascend, he forced me down to my knees and tried to pry my legs open. I grunted and fought to climb.

  “Damon, wait.” With one hand extended behind me, pushing him away, I made it up two steps before an arm went around my neck. Damon positioned one of my knees one step above the other, effectively opening me up to him. My chest and dick pressed against the carpeted step.

  “Don’t deny me,” he said.

  My pucker bloomed for him, and my breath left me on a whooshing sound as Damon’s huge cock entered me from tip to fucking root. “Nnngh, shit... ” I willed my body to adjust.

  “Resisting only makes me want it more, makes me harder and heavier. Is that why you do it?” he asked, quietly.

  I lied in the form of a head shake as I focused on making my body relax and accept him. So full, I wondered how he’d be able to move.

  “Hold onto something,” he demanded.

  He gave me less than a second to grip one of the balustrades before he commenced to pillage and plunder me.

  “Ugh, god, yessssssss,” I purred.

  “I know what you need,” he whispered before biting down on the meaty flesh of my earlobe.

  Damon covered my mouth with his palm, squeezing my nostrils between thumb and forefinger. I hitched my leg higher to open myself up even more to him, ramming back on his cock with all my strength while fighting for air. I reached an arm back and pulled at his hair, wild with horniness and a need to rip him to shreds and be shredded in turn. After a time, he reached under me, and his hand over my mouth muffled my screams when he inserted two fingers into my hole alongside his fat dick. Too much, but too much was never not okay.

  Unclenching my nose to allow some air into my lungs, he grunted into my ear, “Jesus, Just. Your hole feels hotter than heat.” He traced my ear wi
th his tongue. “Fuck, your ass-cunt is going to be inside out when I’m through with it.”

  I trembled in his arms when he changed the rhythm to short quick jabs while scissoring his fingers. Damon raised his palm from my mouth, but kept his hold on my nose, and I sucked in air uncontrollably. “Fuck, yes... more.”

  Laughing menacingly, he pulled out and helped me up, unkindly, before taking me upstairs.

  I woke up the following morning disoriented and cocooned in Damon’s arms. Startled by the sensation of my cheek being nuzzled. The burn from his stubble tore the remaining remnants of sleep from my muddled mind. “Damon?” I rasped.

  “It’s me,” he confirmed, and I relaxed.

  “You’re nuzzling me and cuddling,” I pointed out, pulling back when I realized he was partially dressed. “What time is it? And where are you going?”

  “To Kisla. I have an appointment with Julie.” He stood, buttoning his shirt and grabbing a tie. “I love the bed, by the way. One of the screws needs to be tightened.”

  Looking over the edge of the mattress at the clawed foot, I tried to hide my sudden shyness at seeing the loose bolt, remembering what could have caused it.

  Touching my reddened cheek, Damon said, “It fascinates me that you still manage to get embarrassed whenever you’re reminded of yourself. Looking at you, one would think you were sexually reserved. Maybe even virginal.” His smirk turned impish. “How wrong they would be.”

  My embarrassment deepened at the same time that my cock leaked. Damon stepped away, eyes alight. Saying without saying, “Point made.”

  How does he always seem to know?

  “I can smell you. Even the smallest amount of you. That’s how I know,” he said, having read my mind. “Before I forget,” he stopped at the bedroom door, “I forbid you from going out with Max ever again.” As an afterthought, he added, “Please.”