Anterograde

by Kallysten

  “Is that something that has happened?” Calden asked very quietly. The back of his fingers brushed against Eli’s wrist before following his arm back to his shoulder. “An audience, I mean.”

  “Not that I know of, but would you tell me if she was standing there and critiquing my technique?”

  Just as he said the last word, Calden’s fingers found his scar. They always did, sooner or later. Eli had quickly learned it was useless to try to hide it. As scornful as Calden could be of sentimentality, as difficult as it still was for him to say the words, he was as single-minded when it came to knowing every little bit of Eli as he was with a three-organ transplant.

  “She could be standing there,” Calden murmured, shifting closer to Eli and pulling the covers down to expose his shoulder completely, “and singing Amazing Grace at the top of her lungs, and I might not notice right now.”

  That was easy to believe when his entire focus had turned to the pale, raised skin under his fingertips. He traced every millimeter of it, his fingers circling all the way around Eli’s arm. Eli allowed him that bit of exploration without protest, but after a few more seconds, Calden froze and sought his gaze.

  “Is this… okay?” he asked diffidently.

  “I don’t mind.”

  He meant it. He used to mind, until Calden had explained his fascination with the scar, describing it as the proof that he was capable of doing good work on people he cared about while he’d always tried so hard to distance himself from his patients. Seen in that light, it didn’t seem quite so ugly anymore.

  “Although,” he added, teasing, “I am a little disappointed.”

  Calden pulled his hand off Eli as though burned.

  “Disappointed,” Eli continued, “that you consistently reach for the part of me that can’t really feel much at all when there are other bits that would respond to your touch in much more interesting ways.”

  In the near darkness, Eli could see Calden’s expression relax a little.

  “Well, you’re hardly touching any of my… bits.”

  It was the invitation Eli had been waiting for. His hand, which had fallen from Calden’s face to allow him to look at Eli’s shoulder better, returned, then slid to the back of his neck to pull gently until his mouth met Eli’s. At the same time, Eli erased the distance between them, throwing a leg over Calden’s so that their bodies were flush against each other, their hardening pricks trapped together between them.

  Every first kiss so far had been different, and this one was no exception. Calden responded at once, pressing back against Eli and parting his lips when Eli’s tongue requested entrance, but he was unusually subdued, following Eli’s lead rather than taking the initiative, almost passive when Eli arched against him so that their cocks slid against each other. And while Eli didn’t mind being at the wheel—he didn’t mind at all, actually—he thought he knew what was going on here.

  Pulling back, Eli pressed his forehead to Calden’s.

  “You,” he said with a long-suffering sigh, “are exhausted. And too stubborn to admit it when it’s taking all you have just to remain awake.”

  Calden’s slow blink was an answer in itself, even when he gave a weak protest. “I am not. What I am is aroused and very eager for you to do something about it.”

  Eli shook his head. “Calden,” he started, but lost his voice when Calden’s hand suddenly wrapped around his cock. His hips jerked forward of their own accord, pushing his length through the ring formed by Calden’s fingers. The tip of his cock, slick with precome, painted a wet line against Calden’s abdomen.

  “Neither of us is going to sleep any time soon like this,” Calden said very low, nuzzling Eli’s neck. “And I’d very much like to have you inside me.”

  Whatever reservations Eli had vanished when Calden squeezed his prick gently, sending tendrils of want to wrap around his balls.

  “So what you’re saying is, you want me to do all the work, huh?”

  Calden arched an eyebrow at him. “Well, as you pointed out, I am exhausted. But if that’s too much of a hardship…”

  Another squeeze of his fingers and Eli had to pull away before the point became moot.

  “Demanding bastard,” he muttered, but his shaky voice rather ruined the effect.

  He tried to get a grip on himself while retrieving the lube from the night table. Turning back to Calden, he had to ask, “Are you sure? We could just—”

  “Quite sure,” Calden cut in. His next words, however, hesitated slightly, catching in his throat. “How do you want me?”

  Eli’s self-control threatened to slip again.

  “Hands and knees,” he demanded, more roughly than he meant to, and pulled the covers off Calden, revealing his hardened cock.

  A shudder traversed Calden’s body as he rolled over and pushed himself to his knees before resting his head on his folded arms. Before he even uncapped the lube, Eli couldn’t resist running a gentle hand over the lovely ass just waiting for him. Calden pushed back against his hand with a quiet, whiny sound.

  “Impatient?” Eli asked, finally slicking his fingers. “Of course you’re impatient. When are you not?”

  Any other night, Eli would have dragged things out just to hear more of those pretty little moans, but it was already long past Calden’s bedtime.

  And that wasn’t an excuse, not at all.

  As he teased Calden open, stretched him, and slicked him, each slide of his fingers accompanied by more encouraging noises from Calden, Eli made a point not to touch his prostate, so that when he finally knelt behind Calden, pushed in, and took his first tentative thrust, the brush of his cock against the small nub sent a shudder through Calden. He gasped Eli’s name as his body jerked, though it was hard to tell if he was trying to press back to get more of the contact or pull away because it was too much. Eli held him in place, his hands tight on Calden’s hips.

  “I usually like to take my time,” he said, timing each word with a thrust, “but tonight I think hard and fast will work fine. Objections?”

  Calden’s answering moan did not sound like an objection at all.

  True to his words, Eli established a fast pace, and before long Calden extended a hand to brace himself against the headboard as Eli thrust into him with fast, deliberate motions. Every time Eli pressed into his body again, a quiet “Eli” passed Calden’s lips; every time Eli pulled back, Calden’s body tried to follow, as though to keep him in.

  Eli’s teeth were biting down into his bottom lip, a desperate effort to hold on to his control, but he could feel it start to slip away already. Sliding his hands higher on Calden’s torso, he pulled him up until Calden was kneeling up, too, his back arched, his head lolling back to rest onto Eli’s shoulder.

  “God, look at you,” Eli gasped, one hand splayed over Calden’s chest and the other wrapped around his cock, moving to the same rhythm as the quick, shallow upward thrusts of his cock. “So fucking gorgeous.”

  Calden keened. Eli knew that noise, how close Calden was, and how to push him over to the other side.

  “I love you.” He pressed the words to Calden’s shoulder like kisses. “I love you, Calden Hayes.”

  One last thrust, one last pull of his hand, and Calden was shuddering against him, around him, warm wetness filling Eli’s hand, and Eli, as always, was all too happy to follow where Calden led.

  For a while, they remained as they were, panting together, their bodies molded as though they were one. As Eli’s heartbeat returned to its normal pace, he kissed the nape of Calden’s neck before easing him down to the bed. Calden curled up onto his side, his eyes already closed. Asleep, Eli thought, or at the very least well on his way. He wanted nothing more than to join him, but he managed to stand, picking up Calden’s discarded towel on his way to the bathroom. He cleaned up before bringing a wet washcloth back to the bedroom and running it gently over Calden’s cock, belly, and ass. Calden never so much as twitched. But when Eli turned off the light and slipped into bed, curling up be
hind him, a murmur escaped Calden.

  “Love you too, Eli Wright.”

  (next chronological chapter)

  June 7th to June 20th

  Calden wakes up. Or does he? His head feels heavy, too heavy to lift, just like his eyelids. He’s not aware of much more than the hand curled up around his own, holding it as carefully as if it were a frightened bird. He doesn’t know whose hand it is, but he knows whom he’d like it to belong to. He drifts back to sleep with Eli’s name on his lips.

  *

  Calden wakes to the sound of Eli’s voice. It drifts through his sleepy mind: meaningless, soothing sounds, their rhythm as regular as a heartbeat—and that beeping sound in the background.

  Little by little the sounds become syllables, then words, then sentences. A book, Calden understands at last. Eli is reading a book aloud. Some kind of mystery, maybe.

  With great, great effort, Calden opens his eyes, and there is Eli, sitting by his… bed? Hospital bed? Why is Calden in the hospital?

  His eyes close again before he can ask the question aloud, before Eli notices they even opened.

  *

  Calden wakes up, but his eyes refuse to open. As he struggles to blink, he becomes aware of the mask fastened over his mouth and nose and the oxygen it brings him.

  Hospital, he finally realizes, and it explains the quiet beeping and buzzing that fills the room, and the slight discomfort in his arm; IV drip, he sees when his vision clears at last.

  His other arm is held down, and for a second he thinks—fears—he’s restrained and bound to the bed, the way he was long ago after an unfortunate dosage miscalculation.

  But no. It’s not restraints that hold him down, but the gentle weight of Eli’s head, laid against his arm as he sleeps, hunched forward in a hospital chair.

  Calden wants to say his name, wake him up, ask him…

  But already sleep is claiming him again.

  *

  Calden wakes up. His head is pounding. He doesn’t drink often, because he doesn’t like the way alcohol dulls his mind, but when he indulges too much, this is what the aftermath feels like.

  And he must have indulged quite a lot, actually, because he doesn’t even remember drinking at all.

  Groaning lightly, he tries to sit up, but his body feels weak, too much so to do what he wants. Which is about the point when he realizes he’s not in his own bed. And there’s an oxygen mask over his face. And an IV attached to his arm. And two concerned people standing on either side of his hospital bed.

  Lana looks rumpled, though in that way of hers that only she can manage. To an outsider’s eye, she looks perfectly respectable in her uniform shirt and pants. But her shirt sleeves are rolled up and her hair, usually drawn back in a tight ponytail, falls freely over her shoulders. She’s been wearing those clothes at least twenty-four hours, maybe more. The dark circles under her eyes hint that she’s been awake far longer than that. Calden hasn’t seen her so frazzled in years. He doesn’t like it.

  Opposite her, Eli looks even more tired, with facial hair darkening his cheeks. Eyes wide, he takes Calden’s hand and squeezes it lightly.

  “Hey. Calden? You awake?”

  Calden would like to speak, but his throat is parched and no sound comes out. He gives a slow, deliberate blink, and Eli’s face breaks into a smile.

  “Oh, good. That’s good. Welcome back.”

  “I’ll get Caroline,” Lana says, but Calden barely notices.

  “Are you in pain?” Eli asks next, his hand a little tighter around Calden’s.

  Calden thinks about that one before answering. His head hurts, yes, but is it worth mentioning? It’s just a headache. Before he can try to shake his head, Eli amends his question.

  “Your head,” he says. “Does your head still hurt?”

  Well, since he’s asking… Calden gives another slow, deliberate blink. But right as his eyes open, they insist on closing again.

  “Calden? Look at me. Stay with me. Calden.”

  Not going anywhere, he wants to say. Not ever again.

  But words are beyond him, and darkness wraps around him once more.

  *

  Calden wakes up in a dimly lit room he identifies at once. Hospital room.

  He frowns at the ceiling, trying to figure out what he did to end up in the hospital as a patient when a voice intrudes on his thoughts.

  “Calden?”

  He turns his head on the pillow toward Eli, who is pushing himself out of a chair with a quiet groan. Calden tries to say his name, but what comes out is a rather frightening croaking sound.

  “Here,” Eli says, picking up a glass from a nearby table. “Drink a bit. It should soothe your throat.”

  He slides a hand to the back of Calden’s head and helps him up a little as he brings the glass to his lips. Calden takes a sip. The first mouthful hurts like he’s swallowing crushed glass, but the second one is much, much better.

  When Eli pulls the glass away and lets Calden’s head rest back down on the pillow, Calden tries to speak again.

  “Eli.”

  Eli smiles at him. “Hey. How are you feeling?”

  Calden tries to shrug, but his body barely moves, as though caught in molasses. “Groggy,” he mutters. “What happened?”

  Eli’s smile fades to a thin line. “You had encephalitis. You were in a coma for five days. Gave us quite a fright.”

  When Calden frowns, he adds, “But you’re going to be fine now. Just a few days of rest and you’ll be ready to go home.”

  Speaking is hard, so Calden just nods.

  “Let me get your doctor,” Eli says. “I’ll be right back.”

  Calden closes his eyes to wait for him to come back.

  *

  Calden wakes to the sound of his name. Eli is there, next to his bed—but no, that’s not his bed. Where is…

  Hospital. Eli is there, with Doctor Bonneville standing at his side. Why does Calden need a neurologist?

  “There you are,” Eli says with a faint smile. He turns to Bonneville as she leans over Calden, a pen light in her hand.

  “How are you feeling, Calden? Any pain? Discomfort?”

  He blinks repeatedly when she shines the light in his eyes.

  “No pain. Why am I here?”

  Bonneville explains. Next to her, Eli is frowning, worry inscribed on every line of his face.

  *

  Calden wakes up, and the two voices that intruded on his sleep fade immediately.

  He blinks several times, taking in the hospital room, the IV attached to his arm, Eli and Lana standing by the door, where they were talking quietly. They approach together, and before Calden can ask one of the dozen questions on the tip of his tongue, Eli asks in a gentle tone, “Calden, do you know why you’re here?”

  Calden licks his lips. They feel dry; how long has he been here?

  He shakes his head. “I… I’m not sure.”

  Eli and Lana exchange consternated glances.

  “Try to remember,” Lana says. “Think. You know the answer. It’ll come back to you.”

  Frowning at her, Calden thinks hard, sifting through his memories, but can only make an educated guess.

  “Did I overdose?” he asks, his voice blank, his eyes remaining on her rather than risk seeing Eli’s disappointment.

  Lana looks pained. “Are you using again?”

  “No he’s not,” Eli says strongly before Calden can reply that he doesn’t remember getting high, but that’s hardly proof of anything. “His tox screen was negative. Calden, are you sure you don’t know? I told you why you’re in the hospital just a few hours ago. Try to remember, please.”

  Calden shakes his head again. He really has no idea.

  *

  Calden wakes up in the hospital. Eli is there. He looks a lot worse than Calden feels. Before they can do more than exchange a few words, Bonneville walks in. With an irksome compassionate smile, she tells Calden he’s been in the hospital for two weeks. Tells him he had enceph
alitis, but that’s all cleared up now. Tells him he’s been having some memory issues and she’d like to run some tests.

  Three hours later, Calden has had a CAT scan and an MRI. He still remembers the three words Bonneville gave him when she started the tests. He remembers every moment of his life until the headache that was apparently the first encephalitis symptom—and nothing since, until he woke up.

  Eli, who has been nearby during all these tests, is looking more and more worried.

  “I’m afraid we’re looking at an anterograde amnesia diagnosis,” Bonneville says when they’re back in his room. “It means—”

  “I know what it means,” Calden cuts in. “Is it permanent?”

  She winces. “We can’t be completely sure yet, but with every day that passes without you remembering recent events, it’s more and more likely that it’ll be permanent. I’m sorry to say the prognosis is not good at this point. Studies of people with your condition show no improvement of memory functions. There can be some muscle memory achieved through the repetition of tasks, but—”

  “The woman next door has Munchausen syndrome,” Calden says, lying down and closing his eyes. He’s heard enough about his own case.

  Silence falls on the room until she says in a tight voice, “Calden, that’s not something—”

  “When the nurse took me to the MRI, I got a peek inside her room. There was a bouquet of calla lilies on her bedside table and she had one in her hands. When we came back from the MRI, there was a stem on the floor, no flower, and she was vomiting rather spectacularly. The nurse said her symptoms are baffling everyone. It’s because she’s making herself sick. Those flowers are poisonous; she obviously ate one.”