by Roan Parrish
“Damn it!”
Rafe’s eyes are heavy-lidded with lust and nothing I do makes him move any faster than he wants to. He kisses my neck, then bites where it meets my shoulder, which always makes me tighten up, my stomach and my ass clenching.
“Rafe, come on.” I pull at him, but he kisses me before I can say anything else. Then he rolls us so I’m on top of him and sucks on his fingers, getting them slick. I start breathing heavy, and Rafe smiles that wicked half smile and raises an eyebrow. I nod and he slides his fingers inside me. My whole body clenches up on top of him, and his dick jerks against mine in his hand.
He groans and starts moving his fingers slowly inside me. I lean down, begging him with my kiss not to stop. He lets go of our erections for a moment to cup my cheek.
“So sweet,” he says against my lips, and I can smell us on his hand.
“Oh god, shut up,” I gasp, and I thrust against him. Then, “C’mon.”
“Mmm.”
Rafe fists us again, stroking in time with the movement of his fingers inside me. He starts to thrust his hips into mine, his breath coming short. He rubs that place inside me that makes my whole body spark and I cry out, clutching at his shoulders.
“You going to come for me, Colin?” Rafe’s voice is rough with arousal.
“Fuck,” I gasp.
“You’re so gorgeous when you come,” he says in my ear.
“Ungh.”
He tightens his hand on our dicks and spreads his fingers inside me, a fingertip still pressing on that spot. Pleasure races up my spine and my orgasm starts deep inside and explodes through me, every stroke of Rafe’s hand on us dragging out the pleasure. I shoot between us and he kisses me, catching my cries with his mouth. He keeps stroking even after I’m a shuddering mess, little aftershocks sparking from my balls to the tip of my dick, and I reach between us and grab his erection and then he’s coming too, groaning into my neck as his heat hits my stomach and his hips slam up into mine.
“Mmm.” Rafe kisses me softly, gently moving his fingers inside me, making me shudder against him. He kisses my cheeks, and I bury my face in his hair, going limp against him. Our come is smeared between us, but I relax into him and he wraps me in his arms.
Finally, I start to feel slimy, so I get a warm washcloth and clean us up. Rafe slides under the covers, but stays sitting up.
“Can I stay?” he asks a little tentatively, the ghost of the earlier tension rearing its head.
“Yeah, course,” I say, getting into bed. Then I add, “You can always stay,” and Rafe gives me a sleepy smile, confidence back in place. He pulls me to him and the feeling of all that skin against mine is intoxicating. I touch him the way he sometimes touches me, pretty sure he’s okay with it. I rub up and down his spine, and he hums contentedly, then rolls onto his back so I’m lying with my cheek against his shoulder, his arm around me. I slide my hand into his hair and absently untangle it as my mind wanders.
“Colin?” Rafe says softly.
“Hmm.”
“My sister invited you to Thanksgiving at her house.”
He rubs circles on my back before I notice I’ve tensed up.
“Oh, um, well, that’s nice of her. I always go to Pop’s, though. He’d be pissed if I didn’t show.”
“Yeah, I told her you probably had plans with your family. But I wanted to pass along the invitation.” Rafe kisses the top of my head, but then he shifts so he can look at me. “I’d really like it if you’d come to dinner with my family.”
His voice is soft and even, but I can hear how serious he is.
“Yeah, sorry, but Pop—”
“I know. I don’t mean on Thursday. Look, I know you’re not ready to tell your family. I get that you’re not comfortable going out with me in public. But my family already knows about us. You met Luz. I just…. It doesn’t have to happen right now. But I need to know that we exist outside these walls.”
“Rafe, I….” But I have absolutely nothing to say to that.
“Just think about it. Okay?” He kisses me and settles me back against him. He falls asleep in a few minutes, but I lie awake for a long time, my fingers in Rafe’s hair, wishing real-life shit was as easy to untangle as the knots there.
I like the city on holidays even though I don’t care about Thanksgiving. Fewer people around and everyone’s less rude, like they remember we’re all someone’s family. A few older ladies at the bus stop actually nod to me when I walk by on my way to Pop’s.
The Eagles are playing this afternoon, but I’m going over in time for the early game, which is Detroit and Chicago. I grab more beer on my way, but when I get to Pop’s, it’s clear I didn’t need to bother. The whole refrigerator is a tetris of cases, cans, and bottles.
After he invited me for dinner, Rafe explained that his family doesn’t really celebrate Thanksgiving. For them, it’s just mandatory family time, and they cook a huge traditional Mexican meal at Gabriela’s, since her place is the biggest. When I told him it sounded nice, he said I could still come.
But we both knew I wouldn’t.
After sitting on Pop’s couch for a few hours drinking beer, I’m starting to have second thoughts. I’m starving and there’s no food. The Bears are playing like shit. And Brian keeps throwing drained beer cans at the TV in anger, so the entire living room reeks.
When I crack open my fifth beer, I realize I’m pretty drunk. My decreased tolerance is a reminder that I haven’t been drinking much lately because I’ve been spending so much time with Rafe.
It’s like sliding into a warm and comfortable hole, though. My arms and legs feel heavy, like doing anything but sitting on this couch would be impossible, and my head’s fuzzy.
And apparently my fuzzy head only wants to think about Rafe. Like, why, exactly, did I come here, to this sad place, when I could be with Rafe, eating delicious food and seeing him interact with his family? But then Brian grins at me and holds out a couple stale crackers he found in the kitchen, and I know I have to be here.
Halfway through the Eagles game, Daniel calls. While Sam chats with him, I find myself wondering where he is for Thanksgiving. Maybe I do wish I were with Rafe instead of being here, but at least I have somewhere to be. I don’t like to think of Daniel alone in Whereverthefuck, Michigan. Sam holds the phone out to me, but I shake my head.
I drunk text Rafe, I wish I were with u.
He texts back almost immediately: You can still come if you want. Lots of food.
My stomach growls. U wdnt like me now, I write. Rafe’s made it really clear he doesn’t want to be around me when I drink.
I always like you, Rafe texts, and I can’t help but smile. Then a minute later, he writes, Be safe. I can drive you home, if you need.
I walked, I send. Then, Thanks.
Liza shows up an hour later with half a turkey—really, you never know with Liza; she said she had it because of something to do with work, but she’s a florist, so I have no idea. I barely taste it, though. I keep looking around at all of them—Pop, Brian, Sam, Liza—and asking myself what the worst-case scenario is. Like, what exactly might I lose that’s worth not being able to make Rafe happy by agreeing to go to dinner with his family. Or take him out to dinner. Fuck, the guy was practically begging me to go on a date with him and I said no. I’m the worst… whatever on the planet.
Brian and Pop are drunk too; Sam and Liza are tipsy. When I’m coming out of the bathroom, Pop and I nearly collide in the kitchen. He pats me on the back, practically knocking himself off balance in the process.
“You’re a good kid, Colin,” he says. “Good son. I’m goin’ta bed.” He squeezes my arm as he shambles past me.
“Yeah, me too,” I say.
I play the moment over and over as I stagger home, and all I can think as I fall into bed alone is that’s why. That’s why I can’t be with Rafe outside these walls. And even if I did, there’s no guarantee that things would work out. Knowing me, shit probably won’t work out. So, what if I gamb
led it all on Rafe—my family, my job—and then I fucked it up like usual.
Maybe Pop’s an asshole sometimes, but he raised me, Daniel, Brian, and Sam after Mom died, kept food on the table, gave us jobs. I know he loves me. I think he does, anyway. But if he found out… he’d never say anything like that to me again. He’d never look at me like that, with warmth, appreciation. Love me? I don’t know. But respect me? Be proud of me? No.
And, god help me, I don’t think I can live with that.
The next week, everything seems off. Work is normal, I guess, but nothing feels satisfying the way it used to. Every time I hear Pop or Sam tell someone we don’t do specialty repairs, every time I’m stuck changing a flat tire or explaining to some know-it-all who looked up engine trouble on the Internet what’s actually wrong with his car, I’m wishing for… more.
That’s what I want, lately. Just more. I want work to be more interesting, more of a challenge. I want to be able to do more for the kids at YA, give them more of what Daniel never had. I’ve thought about Anders a lot too. Wondered what he decided to do about telling his parents—if he’s decided yet at all.
And fuck me, I want more of Rafe. More of everything to do with Rafe. When I’m with him, things feel… good.
But I don’t think Rafe feels the same way. When he got to my place earlier, I asked him if everything was okay and he said it was, but it seems like there’s something he’s not telling me.
Ever since he asked me to come to dinner with his family, things have been strained. I think he’s getting frustrated with me. Impatient. He wants something that I’m not giving to him.
We’re on the couch and I’m leaning into him, enjoying his smell and the feeling of his arms around me. I’m making stupid comments about the movie—some eighties action thing—and he doesn’t respond but he keeps touching me. Small touches like you might reach a hand out to your bedside table to check that something you put down is still there.
Then he lets out a sigh and my stomach goes hollow and tight. It feels like he’s trying to work up to saying something, and that is never good.
“Rafe,” I say when I can’t take it anymore, “just tell me whatever the hell is wrong. You’re freaking me out.”
He looks a little sheepish. “Have you given any thought to what I said?”
“What you said when?”
“About having dinner with my family?”
“Oh.” I knew it.
“Look, it was great seeing everyone at Gabri’s last week. They’re crazy and intense and they drive me nuts sometimes, but it’s home. Something was missing for me, though, because you weren’t there. My mom would describe some cat video her coworker showed her and I’d want to tell you that it reminded me of Shelby. Or Camille would use text speak and I’d want to laugh at you because you never know what the kids are talking about at YA when they use it. I just… wanted you there.”
On the surface it sounds perfect: exchanging knowing glances over the dinner table or laughing gently at private jokes. That’s what you’re supposed to do, right? But it leaves out the part where I’m cringing just thinking about being introduced to Rafe’s family. About what it would mean. About us. About me.
He stops me from saying anything with a thumb to my mouth. “I know you couldn’t—that you already had plans. Family obligations. I respect that. And it’s not the point. It’s that I don’t know if you’ll ever be there. I don’t know if I’ll ever get to go out to dinner with you or… go on vacation with you or….”
He’s obviously sincere, but it’s kind of hard not to bristle at what’s basically a list of all the ways that I’m failing to live up to Rafe’s standards.
“I didn’t expect to feel this way,” he says, his voice more vulnerable than I’ve heard it. “I didn’t know that I wanted those things. Or, I didn’t think about it. Didn’t let myself think about them because I didn’t think—anyway. I know it hasn’t been that long. I’m not saying I need those things right now. But I want them. In the future. And”—his voice gets softer—“and you don’t think much about the future.”
“I—” I’m caught between relief that Rafe isn’t ending things and the sudden choking anxiety that his words bring. I guess it’s true that I don’t think about the future much. I’ve never had anything to look forward to, so there didn’t seem much point. Lately, though….
“I… um. We can go to dinner at your family’s. I—that sounds good, okay?” That’s what he wants, right? And it wouldn’t be in public where anyone could see. I can give him that if it means things will stop being so awkward.
He nods, but he doesn’t look happy. “Okay. I’d like that.”
He’s clearly waiting for something more, but I don’t know how to make promises about the future. Not when, for the first time, the present finally feels almost… okay.
“I don’t—I don’t know what you want me to say,” I mumble.
Rafe shakes his head. “I don’t know either.”
“I… I don’t want to tell them,” I choke out. Because that’s what he really means, isn’t it? Even if he says it’s not the point. I think about what I told Anders when he came to the shop. About how his personal shit is no one’s business and how it’s not worth making your life miserable just to tell people about it.
“I’m not asking you to do that,” Rafe says sternly. “I’ve never asked for that. It’s your family and your decision.”
“Okay, so then….”
“All I mean is, there’s a huge part of you that’s a secret to all the people you care about. And that means you can’t think about what the future will be like. You’re suspended in the present. Getting through each day without anyone finding out about you. Running hard enough that you feel okay. Drinking enough that you forget about the world long enough to fall asleep and wake up to a new day. Only it’s the same thing then, too.”
My life in his words makes me want to puke. Because he’s right: that’s how I feel most of the time. But… not when I’m with him.
“And I understand that. Truly.” He brushes his thumb over my lips. “It’s how I got clean. You need to focus only on the present moment so you can get through it. But… that’s not where I am anymore. I’ve already gotten through enough days. It’s all I did for so long. And now… I try to work toward things instead. Build things. With social justice work, with YA. It’s what I need to do. And it’s… it’s what I want for us.”
I pull away from him as anger shoots through me. Now he tells me these things? I feel like I just spent months building an entire car out of scraps and Rafe is now telling me that he wants me to build a truck instead.
It’s taken me a long fucking time to admit to myself that I want him. That I want him in my life, in my house, in my bed. And he’s saying, what? That those things don’t matter because I haven’t thought about going on vacation with him? What the fuck? I want to hit him.
“So, what? What do you want me to do? What do you want me to be working toward?”
“I don’t know, babe,” he says, his voice infuriatingly calm. “Only you can answer that.”
“What the hell, Rafe! Are you a fortune cookie or something? I—you—we—what the fuck do you want from me?” I’m yelling and he’s still, watching me impassively. “I’ve already—fuck!—I’ve already let you do everything to me. What else can I do?”
He’s up like a shot, fury I’ve never seen blazing in his expression. “Stop right there. I haven’t done anything that you didn’t want. I would never!” He looks offended. Outraged. Like he cares more about seeming beyond reproach than about what I’m actually saying.
It’s like the anxiety and anger and uncertainty that have been hanging over us boil over, and I’m utterly furious with him. The kind of furious that usually ends with me punching the shit out of someone.
“Oh yeah, I know,” I spit out. “Saint Rafe would never do anything wrong. You just want to make the world a better place.”
Rafe’s expression is ice, h
is fists clenched.
“I have done things wrong. Things I can’t ever take back. Things I wake up with every day and go to sleep with every night. Don’t you dare judge me for what I do to try and live with them.”
“And you feel so fucking guilty that you’d do anything to atone for it,” I snarl at him. “All your projects and your soup kitchens! You work so hard to make the world a better place for everyone else but you don’t even care about living in it. And now you’re too scared to ever break the rules, even when it would help Anders.”
Fuck, where did that come from? Rafe’s mouth falls open and still I don’t stop. I’m all twisted up inside and I just want to hurt him.
“You don’t think you deserve to just be happy and you want me to—I don’t know—be your next cause. Well, I’m not one of your fucking projects, okay? So, don’t treat this”—I gesture between us—“whatever it is—like we’re going to have committee meetings or whatever the hell you guys spend your time doing.”
I’m shaky with the same poison I felt every time I hurt Daniel. I’d try to hold back the tide, but then I’d see a glimmer of something vulnerable—hope or faith that this time I’d do the right thing. And in that instant of knowing for a fact how truly misplaced that hope was, how it made me responsible for him when I didn’t want to be, I’d strike the killing blow and the poison would flow through me. I’d hate myself for hurting him, but more, I’d hate him for letting me do it. For making me into a monster who hurts everyone I come in contact with.
I want Rafe to take a swing at me so I’ll stop. Or so I can hit him back. But he just stands there glowering and vibrating with a punch he doesn’t throw.
I can’t stop. I never can.
“But, hell, maybe that’s why you’re here in the first place, huh? Right? You took one look at me and thought, ‘Hey, there’s my cause of the month. I guess I should hook up with him and fuck him happy!’”
Rafe’s face is completely shut down but his eyes burn with something I hardly recognize and I’m careening right toward it.
