We Still Live

by Sara Dobie Bauer

  “Compared to the men I usually take to bed.”

  John kissed his collarbone. Words like a warm breeze caressed his skin. “I’m not them.”

  John was nothing like all those secretive one-night stands. He wasn’t even like imposing Simon—Simon, who Isaac had loved and who liked to play rough because that was what big, strong men did. John was John, an emotionally busted creative writing teacher whose hands felt as breakable as bird wings and who probably bruised at the lightest touch. John was his coworker, his friend.

  No matter how much Isaac had previously thought he wanted this, warring emotions of guilt and anxiety, worship and need, blurred his brain. He shook his head. “Shit, we shouldn’t—”

  John lurched up into his arms, mouth on Isaac’s. He was a persistent kisser, licking and nibbling while filling the bedroom with delicious, breathy moans. He broke away just long enough to pull Isaac’s shirt over his head. “I want you to fuck me,” he whispered.

  “Jesus, your voice…” Isaac melted on top of John, but only after pulling his black sweater the rest of the way off his slight frame. With John’s legs wrapped around him, it was impossible for Isaac to miss how much John wanted. Isaac rolled his hips in response and watched in awe as John’s mouth dropped open, head thrown back. The center of his chest already glistened with sweat. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”

  By the time John reached for the lube in his bedside table, they were both halfway out of their pants, rutting like teenagers. As John dug around for condoms, Isaac removed his own jeans before tugging on John’s—and tugging John halfway down the bed in the process. John laughed, a high-pitched musical sound, so foreign to Isaac in sexual situations. Sex had always felt like a task to be accomplished, something to finish. And yet, here was John, laughing as Isaac wrestled to get his feet out of his skinny jeans.

  Once successful at his task, Isaac crawled up the bed, rubbing every inch of his naked skin against John’s but not before sucking his hip bones and pressing his nose against the center of John’s chest. He balanced on one elbow while his other hand cupped John’s jaw, thumb running across his pink bottom lip.

  John held up the bottle of lube. “Do you want to? Or do you want to watch me?”

  Isaac snatched the bottle. “Are you kidding?” He added a couple of drops to his fingers before moving slowly to reach between John’s parted legs, but John halted his progress, hands digging into Isaac’s shoulders.

  “Be gentle at first?”

  The slight trepidation in those big, green eyes made Isaac want to hide. He whispered, “I’m sorry I was rough earlier.”

  “Rough is fine. You just have to work up to it.” He wrapped his arms around Isaac’s neck. “Although you can pull my hair anytime.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  John nodded and licked along the seam of Isaac’s lips until Isaac sucked his eager tongue into his mouth.

  When Isaac pressed his first finger all the way inside, he suspected there was no way they would ever be able to have sex. “You’re so tight.”

  Eyes squeezed shut, John muttered, “But very accommodating. Just go slow.”

  Later, three fingers in, Isaac further suspected he would never last long enough to actually fuck the writhing, pleading man beneath him. John chewed his lips so much, Isaac worried they might bleed. If Isaac’s hand lingered too long, caressing the lean muscle of John’s chest, John would grab Isaac’s hand and put it back in his hair until Isaac did as bid: grabbed a fistful and pulled.

  John suddenly clutched to his biceps. “Please. Please, please, please.” Hazy eyes blinked up at Isaac; he would have given John anything he asked for in that moment.

  Despite John’s begging, Isaac had to lean back to put on the condom. Before pushing into John’s wanting body, Isaac had the fleeting thought: This is a terrible idea. And not because of the nonfraternization policy or Simon or John’s floundering mental health. It was terrible because Isaac was already half gone on the man below him, lured in by his charisma like everyone else in town. More than that, he wanted to shield and protect. Isaac had never been good at either of those things, but he was good at fucking.

  He pressed into John’s body slowly until John winced and said, “Stop, just for a second.” Isaac waited and leaned down to press kisses all over John’s face. Then, a moment later: “Okay.”

  Isaac tilted his hips forward. John’s heels dug into the backs of his thighs as they both moaned.

  “I knew you would feel good,” John said. He kissed Isaac’s forehead and ran his hands through Isaac’s hair while Isaac felt the much-hated, long-despised burn of salt behind his eyes. Instead of crying over John’s unexpected tenderness, he pulled his hips back and thrust forward. John yelled, “Oh, fuck,” but Isaac didn’t stop. He kept going rough and fast until John’s hands lifted above him to keep them both from ramming into the headboard.

  John’s voice trembled with the rhythm of Isaac’s thrusts. “Fuck, there’s going to be nothing left of me.”

  Isaac pulled out and easily flipped John onto his stomach. He thrust back into him. Both John’s hands clenched to the sheets below him. His spine arched as he pressed onto all fours, continuing to welcome Isaac’s body into his by way of sibilant consonants and weak whispers of Isaac’s name. John eventually melted onto his elbows, but Isaac held his hips in the air, fingers pressing into flesh and bone. He thought about John’s pale skin, how it would probably bruise, but was beyond the point of caring. He never wanted to hurt John, but the way John begged for “harder” and “more” only spurred Isaac on.

  John finished first, face twisted to the side so Isaac could just make out the wrinkled profile of his face, mouth in the shape of an O. Isaac kept going, never wanting to stop. If only his whole world could be this beautiful creature beneath him, the one who now allowed Isaac to pull out again and flip him onto his back.

  Isaac lifted John’s knees over his shoulders and continued the amazing fuck he never wanted to end. John trembled and twitched and begged “please” some more, although this time, he begged for relief from Isaac’s need to stretch things out—his need to pound the heartbreak out of John and into the ether where it could swallow some cruel killer or murdering thief instead of this Hambden hero.

  As if hearing his thoughts, John took hold of Isaac’s face. “It’s okay. Come for me?”

  Isaac pressed his forehead against John’s collarbone, finishing with a groan that sounded like a sob.

  Chapter Seven

  IN THE MORNING, Isaac knew straightaway he wasn’t in his own bed. His sheets weren’t this soft. His bed sagged in the middle, and he never had this much legroom. Plus, there wasn’t usually a warm body curled against his side, breathing softly. Eyes popped open, he found a sleeping—and bare-shouldered—John next to him, knees curled against his hip. Isaac didn’t move.

  Based on the dim light coming through the gauzy curtains of John’s bedroom, it couldn’t be much past seven. Last night, they’d…

  He squeezed his eyes shut as images flashed like photos through his mind. They’d had sex. And someone had shot up Barcelona. And Simon had texted.

  How had he forgotten that detail? Simon hadn’t given up. He was still looking for him, and yet, here Isaac was having the best sex of his life.

  Was it the panic of waking next to John that made him slide out of bed or the knowledge that Simon might show up in Lothos? He couldn’t find out about John. John couldn’t become a target, not again.

  Isaac had thought it the night before, and he thought it again. A terrible idea.

  On the bed, the man Isaac wanted to protect shifted, moaned, but didn’t wake. Isaac scooped up his clothes and tiptoed into the hall. He dressed quickly, quietly, and left the house without making a sound.

  Back in his own apartment, he turned the shower to scald and scraped his skin clean. He brushed his teeth twice and hurried to campus, where he had an early composition class.

  On the third floor of Ellis Hall, Isaac tried
not to be the worst teacher in the history of the department. He tried to lecture. He tried to listen; he really did, but his mind would not engage. His mind was stuck somewhere in the vicinity of midnight the night before, then two, three thirty.

  John bit his bottom lip when close to orgasm. Sweat tended to pool between his pecs, and he wasn’t hairless everywhere. His surprisingly deep voice cracked when he begged, and a passion for hair pulling was no longer theoretical but a proven fact. Isaac should not have known all those things. He also should not have been thinking about them in the middle of a discussion on thesis statements.

  And Barcelona. Kids wanted to talk about Barcelona. The media wasn’t reporting the full death toll yet, but it was over two hundred. No terrorist group had stepped forward, but everything had been organized, orchestrated, choreographed. The world felt cloaked in darkness.

  When ten rolled around, Isaac rested his hands on the podium as students filed out, chatting amongst themselves. He looked up when one lingered, but it wasn’t a student; it was John.

  AT DONKEY, THEY sat on opposite sides of the purple couch, and John stared at the coffee cup in his hands. He cleared his throat and glanced around. “Was I really that awful? Because I’ve sure as fuck never had complaints before.”

  Isaac tsked and shook his head. “Jesus, John, you’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever slept with. I couldn’t focus in class at all.”

  John kept his voice low, but the anger was palpable. “Then, why did you leave?”

  “I panicked.”

  “Grow up. It happened. We happened. Christ, you wanted it to happen. You think I don’t notice the way you’ve been looking at me?”

  Isaac gazed out toward the big glass windows that led to the street because every time he looked at John, he wanted to kiss him. Back in the classroom, he’d been ruffled, his eyes puffy like he hadn’t gotten enough sleep. Isaac knew he hadn’t. Even his lips were a different shade—darker, broadcasting to the world: “Isaac Twain sucked my lips last night.”

  John shifted an inch closer. “Can we talk about this like adults?”

  Isaac forced himself to make eye contact. “It was amazing, and we shouldn’t have done it.”

  “I’m aware,” John said quietly. “It’s my fault really. I was upset.”

  Masking his disappointment, Isaac forced himself to study John’s expression. “Is that the only reason you did it?”

  He frowned, eyes wrinkled at the edges. “What? No. I like you, Isaac. I always have.”

  “I like you, too, but for the sake of our jobs, we can’t do this.” He didn’t bring up Simon. If he could break things off using another excuse, damn it, he would.

  John was silent for a while, taking a few careful sips of hot coffee. He eventually ran his hand over his thigh like maybe his palms were sweating. “Why do you have angry sex?”

  Isaac leaned forward. “Christ, did I hurt you?”

  He had the gall to roll his eyes, but it might have been a defense mechanism. “You would have known if you’d been hurting me, okay? You just don’t seem angry in life, so I don’t know why it shows up in bed.”

  “No one’s ever told me that before.” No one had said it directly, but Isaac should have guessed. He was dominant in bed with other men because it was the only place in life where he felt in control.

  “Maybe no one’s told you because you disappear in the morning?”

  “Ouch.” He spent a few seconds picking at a perfectly fine fingernail. “I’m sorry I left.” He reached out and touched one of John’s tangled curls. “Looks like the knot goblin came back.”

  “Lucky your hair’s so short, or he would have come for you too.”

  “So this thing between us is out of our systems now. We can just move on like nothing happened.”

  John tapped the mug in his hand. “There are plenty of tall, buff, blond guys in the sea. Or choose your metaphor. Let’s just not be awkward, okay?”

  Isaac held out his hand. “Friends?”

  “Friends.” John took it, and touching him was the worst idea Isaac had had in months.

  They did their best to look like they weren’t rushing, but after they downed their coffees, they might as well have been chased up Union Street. As soon as they banged through the door of Isaac’s stairwell, they were on each other, coffee-flavored tongues mingling as they stumbled up steps. Isaac actually tripped and fell right on his hip. He winced, while John tried to hide his laugh.

  “Oh, God, are you okay?”

  Isaac stood and picked him up, wrapping John’s legs around his waist. He pinned his thin wrists above his head and sucked the side of his neck. “I’d like to tie you up sometime.”

  John hit his head against the wall. “Never happening. I feel helpless enough with you around.”

  “When’s your next class?”

  John pulled him closer with his legs. “We have time.”

  “I can work with that,” Isaac said.

  John draped his arms around his shoulders and allowed himself to be carried into the crappy apartment, brighter because he was there.

  LACKING IN SUPPLIES, Isaac enjoyed the full experience of tasting a morning John Conlon, his skin scent a mix of herbal body wash and witch hazel. On Isaac’s tongue, John was sweet and salty all at once. Having never had an addictive personality before, Isaac worried now. He worried he would need the taste of John every day.

  Sticky and sprawled together under cheap sheets, John stretched out across Isaac’s chest and hummed. Isaac kissed his forehead and brushed his hair with his fingers.

  “Can’t believe we just messed around in a twin-sized bed.”

  John leaned up on his elbow. “I can’t believe you didn’t accidentally break my face against the bedframe last night.”

  “Sorry.” He bumped his fingers down the nubs of John’s spine. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I never had sex with a man your size before.”

  John’s forehead wrinkled.

  Isaac reached up to rub the wrinkles away. “I don’t think delicate is the right word, but…”

  “Oh.” John smiled. “You mean a pretty little twink.”

  He groaned. “I always think that phrase has negative connotations.”

  John sucked Isaac’s thumb into his mouth and let it go with a pop. “Nah. I know I sort of look like a girl. Made me super popular with the closeted jocks in college.” He winked.

  “What?” Isaac lifted his head and folded his pillow so he could better see John’s face.

  “You really want story time right now?”

  “I’m sorry we didn’t get to have it this morning,” Isaac said.

  “After that last blow job, I forgive you.”

  Isaac squeezed his side, and John twitched.

  “No tickling.”

  He pulled John back down to rest on top of him and closed his eyes. “Tell me about these closeted jocks. I want a visual.”

  “I lived with five other guys at Wisconsin. Our house was known as the V, the place where people could swipe their V-cards.”

  “V-cards?”

  “Lose their virginity.”

  Isaac cussed.

  John’s hand ran up and down Isaac’s chest. “We’d have all these parties, huge keggers and shit. Of course, the gay guys would always go right for me, but I remember there was this football player. I had such a crush on him. Big, built dude. But he was straight, supposedly. One night, he followed me into the bathroom, and we just started kissing.”

  “I think I’m getting hard again.”

  John’s laughter was a breeze across his nipple. “He asked me to go down on him, so I did. We never talked about it after. We’d see each other on campus, and he’d just walk right by.”

  Isaac would have been a nervous wreck, just waiting for a forced shove from the metaphorical closet. “How did he know you wouldn’t say anything?”

  “What was there to say? It wasn’t my job to out him. And he was nice to me. Not everybody was.”

&nb
sp; Something in that tone… Isaac lifted his head. “What do you mean?”

  “I think some guys in college hated that they were attracted to me. Sometimes, I’d get in fights. Other times, the sex might hurt a little.”

  Isaac lifted his head higher.

  “Stop looking at me like that. I wasn’t assaulted.”

  “Are you sure? I know men don’t often come forward.”

  Patented John eye roll. “Please. The weirdest thing about the rough guys? They were the ones who wanted to cuddle after. They’d count my ribs or taste my skin like I was something precious when, in reality, they were just saying goodbye.”

  “You are such a writer.”

  He laughed and rested his chin in the center of Isaac’s chest. “I only had one repeat offender at Wisconsin: Ben. He was openly gay too. We were off and on for three years. Maybe more friends than lovers, but we did have a really good time.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “You said you were with a guy in school?”

  “Patrick,” Isaac said. “Probably the worst sex of my life.”

  “First time usually is.”

  He absentmindedly curled pieces of John’s hair around his fingers. “We didn’t know what we were doing. We had zero business having intercourse, and we never talked about it afterward. The strangest part? Nothing changed. This earth-shattering thing had happened to me, and Patrick never acknowledged it. It was my ruination, I guess, because that experience solidified my attraction toward men but didn’t allow me the freedom of admitting it.”

  “You can admit it now.”

  He shook his head. “No, I can’t. No one can find out about us.”

  “Oh. Right. Fuck.” John hid his face near Isaac’s armpit. “I’ve never had a covert love affair before.”

  Isaac almost said, “I have” but shivered instead.

  Isaac escaped soon after for his second shower of the day, turning the water to full heat. He almost shouted at the pain but gritted his teeth and scrubbed. He slipped a little when John stepped in behind him and screamed, “Jesus Christ, your skin’s going to melt off.” John turned on the cold water until the shower rinsed their sweat-soaked bodies at a normal temperature.