by AJ Rose
Holly watched me, her fajita suspended halfway to her mouth. “You know, the burrito isn’t at fault here.”
I set my fork down and folded my hands in my lap. “He got a job, Holls. So I guess that’s my answer, right? I mean, I gave him my full truth, and he gave me another chance. It just wasn’t enough. He’s decided.”
She was in the middle of chewing, so she didn’t say anything right away, but her glare was enough for me to know that when she could talk, it would be loud. I preempted her by putting my finger to my lips, reminding with a glance around the room that we were in public. She took the hint but was no less vehement.
“Bullshit! You’ve done everything right so far, but apparently you haven’t done the thing he needs to make him comfortable asking you to move with him. C’mon, think. What else is there?”
I gulped at my Coke, thinking hard. “I’ve told him everything. I’ve made it clear I’ll live out in the open with him. I’ve told off the old nemesis in front of him so he knows there’s no reason to dredge all that mess up. What else can I do?” I shrugged, the pre-entrée chips and salsa climbing my esophagus, threatening to return to my throat and burn all my words away. Mexican food was a bad idea when I was this worried.
“Braden and I separated while you were in the hospital.”
My eyes bugged out. “What? Why didn’t I know this?”
It was her turn to shrug. “You had enough to deal with. But we weren’t married yet, and he was talking about changing residency programs. There were some politics at Bellevue he was having a hard time navigating, and he wanted to leave because it was less about the medicine and more about who sucked the best dick. All the places he applied to were out of state.”
“Well, obviously he stayed, because he’s still there, so what happened?”
“I was pissed because he didn’t even consult me about it. Just sent out his résumé and letters of recommendation and was going to tell me which one he picked when he did it. I found out because he put a plane ticket for an interview on our credit card, and I looked pretty closely at the bill when the payment jumped so high. He had it in his mind that he was going and if I loved him, I’d up and move with him, because I can ‘be a librarian anywhere.’” She air quoted the last bit. “He didn’t think about the effort I put into this library, or cultivating my friendships, or being within a few hours of my parents.”
I narrowed my eyes. “That’s a dick move.”
“Right?” she said, like my words validated every argument she made. “He told me after I packed a bag and stayed in a hotel a few nights that he had been blindsided by my anger. He thought if I loved him, I’d go without question, but it never occurred to him that if he loved me, he’d make sure I was on board. He said the one thing he never worried about was how I felt about him, because we were so solid. So it didn’t occur to him we wouldn’t stay together.”
I scoffed. “If you’re trying to draw a parallel, you’re failing. Craig and I are good right now, but we’re not so solid that it’s a given for me to go with him.”
“I know,” she said. “But have you asked him? I mean, maybe he’s thinking you’ll want to go.”
I remembered the other night, after the fundraiser dinner, his dismay when he realized what was happening.
You’re finding peace, finally, and just when you do, I’m leaving you.
“No, he’s not thinking I’ll want to go.”
She slapped her palm on the table. “Don’t give up, Dane!” People at surrounding tables glared at us for daring to interrupt their chips and salsa and lunchtime margaritas.
“What am I supposed to do, Holly?” I demanded, irritated with her. “I’m not going to cling.”
“Talk to him,” she said matter-of-factly. “Tell him you’re not willing to just let him go. Tell him you’ll do what he needs you to, just not to leave you like this. When Braden came knocking on my hotel room door, I told him just because I’m not a big-time doctor doesn’t mean my life is a shadow of his. I told him if he ran every time shit got hard, then maybe he wasn’t the man I wanted to be with anymore, and to look at you, getting yourself help so you could deal with what life had thrown at you instead of running away.”
“What did he say?”
“He pointed out you ran from West Virginia to New York and dragged me with you, so why couldn’t he drag me too?”
“Oh, dude. What’d you say?” I kind of wish I’d have been a fly on the wall during that argument.
“I slapped him. I’m not luggage. I said that I came with you because you asked me to and I wanted to. Because you gave me the choice. Craig isn’t giving you a choice here, Dane, and that’s just as wrong as assuming you would automatically go.”
“Not quite.” I shook my head. “But you’re right about one thing: I haven’t convinced him he should ask me. I just don’t know how.”
She reached across the table and covered my hand, her face sympathetic. “Maybe a couple months of space will make him see how much he misses you and he’ll ask you then.”
“Maybe,” I mumbled, then picked up my fork to resume pulverizing my burrito.
“Have you even looked into jobs out there yourself?”
“There are a couple physical therapy practices I could contact, but I’m not putting those feelers out unless I can be serious.”
“I’d think you’d be able to go anywhere, given your education. You’re the most knowledgeable PT there is. Probably the only one who’s performed many surgeries. You should be able to name your salary and terms and have them falling all over themselves to hire you.”
“One can dream.”
“Hey,” she said with a hint of censure. “If he gets his dream, why can’t you get yours?”
The sound of packing tape ripping off the roll greeted me as I knocked on Craig’s door after our shared cab dropped Holly near the library. There was a curse, a thump of something hitting the floor, and then the door opened.
“I thought you could use a hand,” I said, stepping into the loft and kissing him.
“Really?” he asked, beaming at me. “I mean, it’s a suck-ass job, so if you just want to hang out and talk to me, that’s cool, too. Company is as nice as help.” We descended the couple of steps into the living room, and I could see he’d started with the bookshelf, stacks of boxes beside it labeled “living room” and half the books scattered around the floor.
“I can help.” Even if I hate that you’re going, I’m still going to put on my big-boy britches and do right by you. “Are you culling too or…?” It was clear he wasn’t just taking books from the shelf and putting them in boxes. There was a madness here he was trying to tame. The thought made me snort with inappropriate laughter.
“Some. I’m also trying to alphabetize them. I realize now I should have done that on the shelves and then put them in the boxes, because I keep having to open earlier boxes to get it right.”
I nodded and sat cross-legged on the floor beside the windows, surveying the damage. There were a lot of books. Between the two of us, we’d read plenty of fiction, and I’d only taken my reference texts when I’d moved out.
“You could just put all the As in a box, and all the Bs, and go from there. Then when you get to California, alphabetize as you unpack.”
“Hmm, there’s an idea,” he said. He looked supremely kissable with his hair mussed, a permanent marker tucked behind his ear and old clothes molding to his body like a second skin.
We worked in silence for a while, moving from the books to the DVDs. He offered some of them to me, knowing I’d enjoyed them more than he had, and he considered them mine. I just shook my head.
“If I haven’t replaced them in the last couple of years, I didn’t miss them that much.”
His head jerked up and he studied me hard. “You never replaced me in those two years.”
“Ah, that was the opposite problem. You’re irreplaceable. I missed you too much.” I couldn’t meet his gaze, concentrating instead on the bac
k cover of Inception. That one, I had bought again.
“And now?” he asked tentatively.
I finally looked at him. “You’re not gone yet, but yeah. I already do.”
“Me too,” he said softly.
I didn’t fill the silence, but I did finally meet his eyes. I wanted the air between us to be too heavy for him. I wanted him to think going alone was painful and he should consider other options. But I also wouldn’t press him. He was well aware, since I’d come back into his life, we were going at his pace, not mine.
And I was aware I had to earn it. What hadn’t I done yet to earn this?
I didn’t know.
Slowly, as we boxed up the books and moved on to his collection of art glass, which he’d shipped to his parents to hold from places all over Europe, the mood eased and we were back to bantering and even some reminiscing. It was pleasant, if I didn’t think too much about how these moments of our lives were disappearing into boxes. When they were covered up, would they disappear forever? Would he take them with him, then just never take them out again, so they’d end up in the back of a closet or up in an attic, only to be covered in years of dust? Was that where our relationship was headed?
He stood beside my perch on the floor, carefully wrapping another plate in bubble wrap, seemingly oblivious to my proximity to him. I only had to lean over, and I could mouth his dick through his track pants, pull him to the floor, and make him beg for me. Maybe that wasn’t playing fair, but these moments were limited, were they not?
“I need more bubble wrap,” he murmured, walking away. I finished stuffing newspaper in the box I’d been packing and turned to tape it up, trying to ignore the semi pushing against the zipper of my jeans. Setting up another box, I began filling it carefully with the mementos of his life. The story of his Frenchman flitted through my head, and I understood how Craig had felt, at least in part. I didn’t have the betrayal of a friend to add to it, but the pain was sharp anyway. I remembered the details he’d shared, and realized that all those years ago he had been me. He’d been sharing a life with someone who skipped out from under him. He’d made sacrifices to stay in France, to be what someone else needed, and it hadn’t worked out. Then, I’d come along and had done the skipping, albeit for reasons outside my control.
In that moment, I knew what he needed from me. He needed safety. He needed promise. He needed commitment. I’d given him truth and safety that I wasn’t going to turn my back on him again. I’d shown him how my vulnerabilities limited me, but that they wouldn’t harm us anymore. I’d slayed all our past demons. I just hadn’t made any future promises.
In encouraging him to take hold of his dreams and fly, I hadn’t made it clear I’d fly with him, so even though he was reluctant to leave me behind, he would. He had an opportunity he couldn’t deny, and he wouldn’t let another man hold him back. Not again. I just hadn’t proven I could fly, too.
When he returned and grabbed the next piece—one I’d always joked looked more like a dildo than a piece of art, with its phallic shape capped at one end by a smooth, rounded bulb and shaft spiraled by a helix-like swirl of dark purple—I knelt up and wrapped my arms around his waist, my chin resting at the top of his waistband. I looked up into his face earnestly.
“Let’s take a break.”
“Dude, we’re right in the middle of this. Let’s finish this section of the living room and go out for dinner.”
I lowered my face and shook my head, basically nuzzling his crotch. His breath caught, and I felt his cock plump. “It’s hard for me to help you. I need to lie back, take a load off.”
He chuckled above me. “You’re not subtle.”
“Wasn’t trying to be,” I answered, mouthing the length of him beneath the cotton and nylon of his pants. “Let’s take a break. We can always come back to it later.”
“Dane, I don’t want to live with a mess if I can help it. Let’s finish up this section and call it good for the day. Then we can fall into bed and spend all night there.” He said one thing, but his hand on the top of my head clenched and unclenched in my hair, evidence of his interest, even if he wasn’t willing to be convinced.
“We can do that anyway.”
“Seriously, fifteen more minutes of work, and we’re done.” He gently disentangled from me and grabbed another sheet of bubble wrap, not to be dissuaded, so I swiped the dildo art from his hand. He glared at me, half-amused, half-annoyed, and picked up the next piece that looked like glass coral. I palmed the dildo thing to warm it up and disappeared down the hall to where I knew he kept a stash of lube in the guest bathroom.
Returning moments later, I dropped my jeans to my ankles, threw off my shirt, turned to brace myself on the couch, and shoved the art into my freshly lubed and stretched hole with an obscene moan.
“Dane!” Craig protested laughingly. “That’s not a sex toy!”
“Who says?” I asked a little breathless as the spiral helix rippled deliciously against my rim. “It’s not painful and it’ll wash off. And right now,” I grunted, angling it forward. “It’s rubbing my prostate. This is fabulous art, Craig. I love this art.”
Peering over my shoulder, I gave him a show, kicking my jeans the rest of the way off and begging with my eyes and my body and my moans for him to take over. The coral thing in his hands was forgotten, and the tent in front of his track pants grew quickly. I put a little hip wiggle in it and dropped my head. The glass was too smooth to provide the friction I liked in my ass, and even if it was bumping against my prostate, it had no texture to heighten the feeling. I couldn’t get off like this unless I changed tactics or Craig took the reins.
“You want your art back, come and get it,” I challenged in a rasp fit for a phone sex job.
That broke his paralysis, and he set the spiny thing down none too carefully. Thankfully, it was mostly bubble wrapped, or I’d have felt guilty pushing him to the point where something got broken.
He reached me and drew his penis from his pants, slapping the head against my ass cheek and taking over with the glass statue. Given how protective of it he’d been a moment before, I was surprised he kept it inside me. He did stop the thrusting, spinning it instead so the raised bump of the colorful spiral drilled into me, continuously stretching my rim in an endless whirl. I groaned and dropped my forehead to my arm, taking myself in hand and giving a slow stroke from root to tip. Sensation pushed to the forefront, and I leaned more forward, thrusting my ass at Craig.
He played with the edge of my hole where the glass disappeared into me, fingering the sensitized flesh and heightening the sensation of being stretched. After a few minutes, when I could take it no more, greedily rocking back against his hand, he withdrew the statue and tossed it onto the couch.
“Your ass is so hot,” he murmured.
“My ass is empty,” I groused. “Put something in it. Please, Craig.”
He complied, again surprising me with his choice. I’d expected fingers, but he’d shoved his cock in to the hilt, both of us groaning with pleasure. Since learning I was just as much a fan of bottoming as he was, we’d spent a lot of time exploring the many different things we could do with one another that involved ass play. It turned out he still liked a dick up his ass more than I did, but in this moment, neither of us cared. The only thing I cared about was being filled, being close to him, being with him in whatever way I could for however long I could.
Suddenly, doggy style wasn’t doing it for me. I collapsed on the cushions, and he had no choice but to follow if he wanted to stay inside me. Spread shamelessly against the back of the couch, I used my new leverage to push onto him, his chest flush to my back as he mouthed my neck. His hands closed over mine on the cushions and we both gripped, his breath huffing in my ear as he split me to my core, piercing my heart with the very essence of him.
I whimpered when he withdrew, but he didn’t leave me bereft of him too long. His pants were kicked unceremoniously away at the same time he whipped his shirt off and fell to the
couch, pulling me into his lap where he held his prick at my entrance and encouraged me to sit.
“Ride me, Dane. I want to see your face when you come.”
Impaled on him, I rode for all I was worth, throwing my head back and letting loose the most debauched and eager moans that had ever emerged from my throat. I couldn’t control it, wasn’t sure I wanted to, and Craig was going just as crazy beneath me, bucking up and sweating, his grunts primal and unleashed with little thought to censoring himself. He suckled at my skin, too, leaving marks on my chest, between my pecs, down my stomach as far as he could reach, and back up to my collarbone. I didn’t even care if he left evidence on my neck. I wanted evidence. I wanted his brand burned into my skin because his soul was seared into mine. We belonged together, and I wanted to remind him of that in as many ways as I could.
“Dane,” he whispered, looking up at me, his eyes aware of the intensity of the moment.
“You gonna come?” I demanded, not letting him answer, taking his mouth in a biting kiss, which he returned with just as much fervor. “You gonna shoot in my ass?”
“Uh-huh,” he agreed enthusiastically. “Lift up to your knees a little.”
I did so, and he wrapped his hands around my waist and jackhammered up into my body faster than I could ride him. We both groaned in pleasure, and I closed my eyes, the freezing fire beginning to spread through my pelvis, concentrating in my balls only to detonate spectacularly. I spurted across his rigid abdomen, clamping involuntarily on his dick as I howled his name. He pistoned upward in a frenzy and then buried himself, marking me inside in a rush of warmth.
I collapsed forward, awareness dawning as my muscles went limp with repletion. With my forehead against his temple, I panted, trying not to breathe right in his face.
“Don’t freak out—”I petted his chest to make it clear I was in no way upset “—but you forgot the condom.”
