Flash Fiction Friday! A Nanny Tale: Part 7

Hey all!

This week’s prompt was:

Something happens in your story to make what was once impossible now possible.

In this week’s installment, Chris finally feels comfortable in his own skin and very close to Logan, enough to do something he hasn’t shared with anyone in a long time; something that from the beginning seemed nearly impossible for the both of them.  You’ll have to read to the end to find out.  ;)

~Night

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Elaina M. Roberts

Winter

A Nanny Tale: Part 7

Chris and I dropped Joey off at Sabine’s house for the day.  Sabine’s husband was more than happy to watch him along with their youngest child, Mila, who is only two years younger than Joey.  The pair was engrossed in some video game while they sucked from tubes of yogurt before we left, so Chris felt better leaving his son in good hands.

It was good for Joey to be a kid again, and the change in him in the past couple of days did everyone else some good too.

Chris wanted to keep his son out of anything to do with Our Sacred Heart, especially the talk we were about to have with Sister Grace.  The smile his son gave him before we walked out the door this morning was a reminder that what Chris was about to do was the right thing.  Joey was on both our minds as we sat in Sister Grace’s office, staring holes into the wall.

I gave Chris’s hand a quick squeeze.  “You okay?”

He doesn’t look at me, but he curls his pinky around my finger.  “I want to get this over with.  The longer we have to wait here, the faster I’m losing my cool, ya know?”

“Yeah, I do.”  I pat his hand and release his fingers.  “Don’t give in to her, no matter what she says.  I mean it, Chris.  If you plan to get a lawyer over this don’t give her ammunition against you.”

“I know. I know.  But it’s so hard not to just…”

“Throttle her?”  I chuckle.  “Right there with you.”

“I know.”  He smiles at me.  It’s a nervous smile, yet sincere and I want to wave a magic wand to whisk his fears away.

“We have a plan,” I remind him.  “Stick to it and we’ll be fine.”

His cheeks deflate of air.  Chris rubs his hands along his knees and nods.  His stare is fixated on the table as Sister Grace enters the room.  She carries a cold swish of air when she passes us, along with the smell of antiseptic and trouble.  “Thank you for coming, Christopher.”

Hello to you to, Evil one.  Nice to know I exist.  Thank you for coming, I mock in my head, wanting to scrunch up my face and stick out my tongue.  Instead of pulling a Joey, I hit record on my phone and make sure the microphone is free from under my thigh on the chair.

Sister Grace sits down at her rolling chair throne and gives us a grave look with her unsympathetic, small eyes.  “I wish this visit was under happier circumstances, but I’m afraid I’ve called you here to talk about Joseph’s unpleasant performance last week.  And before we continue, may I ask why you’ve brought your nanny along to this meeting?”

“If this concerns Joey’s performance in school, Logan has a right to be aware of the situation,” Chris replies calmly.  Inside, I cheer for his ability to conjure some tactful backbone.  Me?  Had I met this woman under different conditions, I would have told her to go back to hell.

“I fail to see your logic there, Christopher, but it is your choice to bring another man into your child’s life.”  She glances up from where she opens a file folder on her desk.  She waits for Chris to unravel at the innuendo.  Her smile fizzles when she receives no such reward.  “Very well, as I’m sure you’ve heard, there was an incident last Friday where Joey used violence against three of our students.”

Chris’s jaw ticks.  He reels the anger in and crosses his ankle over his knee, ever the model of perfect parenting.  “Oh, I’m aware, Sister Grace.  What astounds me as a parent is that I was neither informed of the incident the day it happened by you, nor was I able to get all sides of the story from the other students and their parents.  That’s pretty standard in these situations, and according to your school handbook, that is in fact protocol.”

“Sometimes protocol does not cover every situation, Christopher.”  Sister Grace tilts her head with a sickening smile.

“I’d prefer for you to address me as Mr. Wyzak, Sister Grace.”  Chris sits up straight.  The only hint he’s pissed is the way his hands seek to grip the edge of his chair, otherwise his performance is as flawless as a Chinese acrobat from Cirque de Soleil.  “And as the head of this institution, I fail to see where your black and white protocol couldn’t help you help my son.  If my child is sick, you call me.  If my child is in trouble, you call me.  If my child is injured in any way, you call me.  If my child is verbally threatened and then attacked for trying to avoid being harmed, you put a stop to that and then call me because I am his parent and I have every right to know.”

Sister Grace scoffs.  “Threatened?  Oh, I think not, Mr. Wyzak.  Your child is the threat here.  This isn’t the first time he’s preached his tolerance for homosexuality to the student body, and as you know, I overlook your lifestyle because your grandfather was a fine patron of this school and his church, but after Joseph laid hands on another child to put his point across, I don’t think I can overlook you or your family any longer.  In fact, I know I can’t.”

“But you can overlook my child being attacked because he deserves what he gets, right?”  Chris’s nostrils flare.  “Your doctrine states two men who partake in the sacred union of marriage are unholy.  I have done no so such thing, not that it’s any of your business.  Therefore, your prejudice against my child, who is innocent in all of this because he told another child to stop calling his father a faggot, is the only unholy thing here.  I took pictures of Joey’s injuries.  I will also be filing a complaint with the church, where there are people who will willingly speak to me on behalf of my grandfather’s patronage.  You know?—the people who oversee this entire establishment and its funding. 

Chris sucks in air, his face beet red.  “Because I have it on good authority that you stood by as three boys twice my son’s size pushed him to the ground, kicked him, and then proceeded to pull him down from a six foot fence when he tried to escape.  And then they hit him some more.  All because he told them to stop saying hateful things; words the church would deem inappropriate and scornful from any person’s mouth, especially a child’s.  He was not preaching homosexual tolerance.  He was sticking up for his family against a gang of bullies. A situation you allowed to continue because of your personal beliefs, not the church’s or this school.”

Sister Grace sneered as she sat back in her chair.  Her icy eyes darkened and she closed the thick folder with a whack.  “That’s it, Christopher.  I have no choice but to relieve your child of his position as a student at Our Sacred Heart.  I will no longer tolerate these incidents.  And I cannot in good conscience, however close your grandfather was to my heart, maintain relations with your immoral family as part of our program here.  I will have a staff member gather Joseph’s things and you can retrieve them from his teacher before you leave.  After that, do not step foot on these premises or I will have no choice but to call the authorities.”

I take Chris’s hand and pull him to his feet as I stand. I know he’s about to say something that he will regret, something she can use against us later.  Sister Grace’s eyes widen and her chest rises to action, full of hot air.  She expected an enraged comeback, not us holding hands.  It’s like water to the Wicked Witch.  She’s either melting or about to have a coronary.

“Thank you for your time, Sister Grace.  Our lawyer will be in touch,” I manage, when really I want to bang her head into a wall.  But then, I’d be no better than her, and I want to walk out of here guilt free and proud with Chris on my arm, because we deserve to be human.  Our little family unit deserves better than this place has to offer.

“Lawyer?”  She gapes.  “For what?  Your child has been expelled indefinitely from this school and he will not be returning as long as I run this place.  Neither will the two of you.”

I smile and open her office door.  “Goodbye, Sister Grace.”  Before I leave, I hold up my phone for her to watch me press the stop button.  “And thank you for everything.”

***

We had lunch at this summer beachfront restaurant Chris apparently loves.  It’s a red shack on stilts, surrounded by a rickety patio with chairs, but the fish and chips are amazing and the beer is cheap.  Better than the menu is Chris’s easygoing smile.  And the way he wears his dark shades atop his toothy grin and let the breeze ruffle his short hair. 

His laugh as it carries over the water. The sound deep and soft around me before it trickles off to be swallowed by miles and miles of lake.  His chilled out posture as he lounges untroubled in his chair with his feet resting on the banister.

I pull my phone out of my back pocket and snap a picture of him before he can gripe.  What I get is one good shot and several of him playfully reaching for me as beer sloshes onto the table.

“Stop it,” he begs on a laugh.

“No way.” I put the phone out of his reach.  “I need a new background for my phone.”

He sighs my name because he has no idea where to begin with that one.  I’m caught up in his tranquil mix of windblown hair, sand and surf, and feel comfortable enough to tease him.  “Logan…”

“What?”  I pout.  “I have to show the other nannies my hot new boyfriend when we get together for book club.  They’ll start to think you’re imaginary.”

His brows hitch up.  He puts his beer down seriously and swivels in his chair.  “Book club?”

Laughter bubbles past my lips.  “We’ve been going at this for how long and you still don’t know when I’m joking?  Seriously, Chris, you believe I go to book club?  Think about it. ”

“So you don’t secretly go to book club?” The corner of his mouth twitches.

I lean in until our noses are nearly touching, a sparkle in my eyes that is reflected in his.  “The only thing I secretly do is climb into bed with you at night.”

He licks his lips.  Looks over my shoulder to make sure we’re alone. His irises darken and a rasp lowers his voice as he says, “That’s not exactly a secret anymore.  You don’t have anything juicier to get off your chest?”

Oh yes.  The thing I could tell you…

“The other ones you’ll have to pry out of me by force.  I’m not one to just kiss and tell.”  I touch my nose to his. Close my eyes and sneak a kiss from his lips.

“Those must be some dirty secrets you have.  What would it cost me to find out?” he whispers against my mouth.  I’d give him anything for free.  Anything at all.

My hands slither over his knees and dip under the bottom of his shorts.  “What are you offering?”

His Adam ’s apple bobs up and down.  He slides his rough cheek across mine as he dips his head to graze my neck with his lips.  “Hopefully something you want.”

“Chris, you’re giving me exactly what I want right this very second.  You’re giving me the real you.”  I open my lips across his cheek, intending to take our affection a little further.

Unfortunately a bang followed by a child’s high pitched cry captures our attention, sucking the sweet moment into oblivion and really pissing me off.  A young family exits the restaurant with a large stroller that nearly rolls over Chris’s toes.  They apologize profusely, smile and wave, and then take their small circus down the ramp.  We watch as they shove countless bags into the back of their station wagon, and wrangle their three kids into their car seats.

There’s a minute where I struggle to recapture my boyfriend’s focus, as if he’s silently reliving those first few years with Joey.  The way a parent looks at their teenager and wonders where the time went, wonders why they aren’t tiny and fragrant any more, all swaddled up and asleep in their arms.   I wait for Chris to retreat into himself now that our moment is gone, to snatch onto those years where I wasn’t a blip on his radar and run towards the life he used to have.

As fast as the trance swept him away, he snaps back quickly.  The edges of his blue eyes crinkle and he gives me this strange smile.

“You know what, Logan?  I do feel like me right now.”  He spins my chair to angle us side by side, facing the beach.  “I’ve been afraid of this life for a long time and I don’t know why.  I mean, I do, but now that I’m here all of that seems pointless to be scared of.  Being aware is good.  That’s normal.  Hiding myself?  That’s not okay and I feel like I have a lot of apologizing to do for all the years I kept my family from being a part of this.”  He spreads his arms to encompass the soul of the world.

“Part of what?”

“Is there a word for it?”  He grins at me.

I shrug.  “Not sure, but I think I get what you mean. Glad to have you with us, Chris, even if it took a shitty beer and a haggard old nun to get there.”  I hand him his beer and I clink my bottle against his.  “Congratulations.”

He gives me a peck at the corner of my mouth that tastes of oranges and the end of this lakeside summer.

***

After lunch, Chris and I drive back into North Holland to visit a potential school for Joey.  At the birthday party last week, Chris opened up to the Tetterings about Joey’s situation and Demarcus was quick to recommend a liberal arts academy his niece goes to.  A private school about five minutes from the house, Blue Ridge Academy is a far cry from Sister Grace’s fortress of intolerance.

Set back from the main road, Blue Ridge is situated on acres of meticulously kept lawn space.  Colorful flowers add a punch of color around the main building.  The blue and white school flag waves proudly in the air.  And all around us, children sit on the lawn in small groups with their teachers for what looks to be story time or reading hour—whatever they call it these days.

“Joey would love that,” Chris comments. “I haven’t been inside yet and it already feels right.  Like one of those puppy farms where all the little buggers run around, all happy and shit.”

“Uh… When have you been to a puppy farm and how far away is it from here?”

He elbows me in the side.  “Shut up.  This is nice, that’s what I meant.”

“I still want to see the puppy farm,” I grumble, but understand his meaning just by the tone of his voice.

I had to agree with him.  There is peaceful air to the place.  Even the main building looks more like an old bed and breakfast than it does a school with wide, shaded porches and bright blue shutters.  The children lounge on their tummies to enjoy a good read with their classmates.  The lady near the front door hands out bottled water and orange slices.  All of it feels good, a place Joey would thrive instead of shut down.

All the place was missing was a spontaneous rainbow arching over the roof and a catchy theme song to reach ultimate perfection status.

“Hate to break it to you, Chris, but you can’t take a tour from the car.  This isn’t like a child safari.”  I wink at him.  “Being late for our appointment probably won’t help us out either.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.  Let’s do this.”  Chris fusses with his hair in the visor mirror.  Then he adjusts the sleeves of his button down shirt until they rest just below his elbows.  “I look like the kind of dad whose kid could go here?”

“You look like the kind of dad that cares enough to change out of his sweatpants.”  I pat his knee.  “Don’t freak out on me.  You look like a walking, talking ad for the Gap.  Chill.”

“The Gap?  Is that good?”

I blink at him.  Laughing in his face would kill the mood.  “Yes.  That’s a good thing.”

“Oh, alright, I think I’m ready.”

I roll my eyes, getting out of the car, because his nerves are justifiable but comedic at times.  “So we should go over our approach before we go in,” I say as we stroll up the sidewalk to the main building.  “Are we out now, or am I still a nanny for public appearances?”

Before he can lose his mind, I hold up my hands to him.  “I’m not mad in the least, Chris, if we’re still keeping this on the down low with people we don’t know.  I just want to have your back when we’re in there.  I know what we are now.  That’s all that matters to me.”

He puts his hands on his hips and swishes his bunched up lips from side to side.  He lets go of a deep breath and reaches for my hand.  “I’m in the business of teaching my kid to be himself.  To do that, I have to be a role model and walk the talk.  Since Joey is okay with us and we’re okay with us, then that means we’re together.  We tell them that.”

I put my hand in his.  Confidence pours through me from his fingers into my palm.  Every time I think I have Chris’ next move pegged, he shocks me by going the other direction.  I should have known he wasn’t as average as I perceived him to be in the beginning.  His spontaneity and passion are just small things about Chris that keep me coming back.

I love how one moment I’m leading and the next he takes the reins.  For instance, right now, he’s made me a part of his future by taking me with him to hunt down good schools for his child.  That’s big—really big, actually.  This means we’re committed.  That he expects me to stick around for a long time—not that I have any intention to run, but I guess I never realized how many things Chris had to change to fit me into his life.

Now he expects me to do the same, to settle down.  To be a part of Joey’s child rearing, and not as a nanny anymore, but as a man who adores him and will teach him and discipline him as if he were my own.  His schooling is just as important, and a sudden fierceness grabs me by the balls and refuses to let go.  This school has to be good enough for Joey.  If it isn’t, we’re moving on to the next one because no one is going to put Joey Baby in a corner again.

“You’re hurting my hand.”  Chris wiggles his fingers in my grasp.  “You okay?”

“Sorry.”  I let go.  “Guess I’m as nervous as you are.”

“Nothing to be nervous about,” the orange slice lady greets us.  Thankfully she wipes her hands off before she offers us a handshake.  “I’m Mel Vargas, the principal here.  If I had to take a guess, I’d say one of you is Mr. Wyzak.”

“Yes.  That’s me.”  Chris shakes her hand.  “Uh, this is my… This is my partner, Logan Davis.  Thank you for having us.”

“Not a problem.” Her round cheeks lift with sincere happiness.  “It’s a pleasure to have you both with us today.  Let me hand snack duty over to one of the aides and I’ll be happy to show you around.”

While she meets with one of the helpers, I turn to Chris.  His stare holds mine.  Our hands find their way back to each other.  I guess after Sister Grace, it’s hard to hide the relief from our faces.  That Mrs. Vargas didn’t flinch or stutter in our presence spoke volumes of the attitude here at Blue Ridge.

“We’re all set.”  She tucks her apron into one of the patio chairs.  “Let’s start inside.  It’s getting hot out here.”

She opens the front door, one that reminds me of the door at home, and walks inside.  “Hey, George,” she addresses a twenty something man in a security uniform at the front desk.  “I saw those teenagers hanging around the parking lot again.”

“On it,” he says and grabs his hat.  “They keep hopping the fence and leaving those cigarette butts behind the bushes.  I told them if I saw them again I was calling their folks.”

“Good idea, George.  I don’t even want to think about what would happen if the kids got ahold of one of those nasty things.”  Mel fans her face and grins up at us.  “Teenagers,” she groans, rolling her eyes.  “They all have to grow up sometime.”

“That’s a scary thought,” Chris jokes.  “I’m just now learning how to handle my son being nine.”

Mel cackles.  “Now that’s a rough age.  My son was so dramatic back then I had a hard time keeping a straight face.  Rule number one: don’t laugh at them or you’ll lose your edge.  Laugh at them when they’re teenagers and you’re looking at a possible nuclear explosion.”

“I’ll remember that.” Chris tugs me along.

For a curvy, little lady, Mrs. Vargas must have a smidge of long distance runner in her because she walks like she’s on fire.  I attribute her speed to the fact she has to keep up with the kids, but it’s still pretty mesmerizing to watch her cushy loafers race over the tile like we’re in a power walking competition. I drag in air when we stop at the back of the main building only to hear her call it the Big House.

“The kids have always called it that, easier on the little ones because it does, in fact, look like a big house.  The rest of the school is connected by enclosed hallways that lead to smaller buildings for each grade.  And yes, they used to be houses.  This entire place was an assisted living facility about twenty years ago, but we got a grant to buy it and renovate it.”

“I feel like I’m in someone’s house,” I say without thinking.  I trace the molding in the doorway and then stick my head into one of the classrooms that used to be a bedroom.

Little hands cut out of brightly colored tissue paper are stuck to the windows.  Students’ names scribbled across them in amateur handwriting.  Ten small desks are arranged in a semi-circle around the teacher’s desk and the scent of vanilla permeates my nose in a comforting way.  It’s a room where young minds are eager to learn, eager to return every day to see their teacher who obviously cares for them.  They’re eager to get messy with finger paints and learn their numbers by bending pipe cleaners and gluing them to a board in the corner.

This is the way I fantasized school being, only better and without processed mashed potatoes and the scent of sawdust.  Chris is thinking the same thing, because without hesitation he strokes the back of my arm and kneads my shoulder with his strong hand.

“The Big House is for first through third grade.  Fourth through seventh each has their own buildings out back.  Our kindergarten and young fives program is located down the street at our sister school, the Little Red Barn, and our new high school facility is a few streets down the beach at the Blue Opus Academy for Fine Arts.”  Mel continues down the hall, waving her hand for us to follow.  “I’m sure you had time to research our program here?”

“A little bit.” Chris takes my hand again.  His palms are sweaty like he’s being interviewed, because he is.

She smiles over her shoulder.  “No worries if you’re not up to speed.”  She stops in front of a room with large windows facing the hallway.  “Our program was designed for children who like to be challenge; those who are on fast track above the public school system and need to be put on a higher path. 
For instance,” she lifts her hand to the room, “our school boasts a fully recognized orchestra program that is affiliated with many of the top colleges in the state.  We have regular, acclaimed guests from the industry come in on a weekly basis to help the children hone their craft, and at the end of the year our orchestra participates in a national competition, which is the highlight of their year.  For those children looking to make music a career in the future, the program helps them get noticed and eventually leads to college offers and paid studies abroad.”

“Oh.” Chris looks at me for help.  “Joey doesn’t play an instrument.”

“Not all children here do, Mr. Wyzak.”  She pats his arm.  “Some children are just gifted and don’t fit into a category.  Here at Blue Ridge, our purpose isn’t to define a child by a program, it’s to nurture their talents and help them feel accepted.  Because we both know being a child in today’s world is almost harder than being an adult.  And being a child with a passion for higher education in a school that doesn’t help them get that is stressful and most of them time causes them to feel as though they’re different, a black sheep that has to nowhere to fit in.  It’s ironic this school used to be a home, because that’s exactly what it is to children that have no place left to turn.”

That was the moment every bit of stress exited Chris’s body, as if he’d been waiting to hear those exact words from Mel’s mouth for Joey’s entire life.  His child could be a child again.  His son could have a home away from home, a place no one would tell him he was different from any other boy his age.  It was a sign that Chris coming out to the world was okay and his son wasn’t being punished for it.

“You mentioned Joey loves to read on the phone,” Mel says.  “Does he happen to love writing too?”

Chris twines his fingers with mine, craves to be closer to me so that I might literally feel the joy he’s experiencing.  “I…don’t know.  Maybe?”

“I’ll ask him in the interview.  We have a wonderful creative writing program.  Most of those students read books like we drink water.” She ushers us through the double doors to the fourth grade wing. 

Chris turns his head to the side to wipe away tears the moment Mel turns her back.

***

It’s been a long day.  Sister Grace, Blue Ridge and checking up on Grumpy have taken their toll.  Joey is twisted up in his sheets, purring into his pillow and out like a light from a day of playing his heart out.  He’ll sleep easy tonight because we haven’t told him about Blue Ridge yet, or the interview he has with Mel on Thursday.  Joey stresses about everything from the soap in the bathroom being out its tray to the stocks section in the paper—even though he has no idea what any of it means. 

We decided to tell him Wednesday morning over breakfast and bribe him with a trip to the mall, so he can pick out a pair of sneakers that don’t adhere to a dress code. Hopefully he’ll be too involved choosing lime green shoelaces over blue ones to notice how scared he is to go to a new school.  And pass the interview process.  Or worry about tuition or how his hair needs another trim.

We want him to be himself when he goes to meet with Mel.  We want him to be a kid, a right he deserves like any other boy his age.

Chris and I back out of Joey’s room and close the door to stare at each other.

I’m not sure what to do.  I know what I want to do.  I want to be closer to Chris, share in this euphoria even if it’s one of those moments that doesn’t happen often in real life.  Because life isn’t perfect, it’s never been this perfect for me or for him.  Guys like us don’t get this lucky.  Ever.

But right now, everything is good.  We’re good.  He’s most certainly good as he puts his hands on my shoulders and traces the slope down my arm with his thumbs.  My entire body channels him, every hair rising to greet his tough palms and calloused fingertips.  I search his eyes, wondering what this means, what he wants of me.  How far can we go from here to express ourselves the way we want without him shying away and calling it a night?

“Want to watch a movie?” he asks as though his throat is made of sandpaper.

I know now that our code has changed.  It’s in his eyes, in the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips.  In his fingers as they draw me closer to him under the dim light above.  No one told me hallways could be so sexy.  The wood floor under my feet is slick, cold and stiff against my toes.  An air vent kicking on around my ankles, sending licks of freezing flames up my calves and straight to my spine.  Another one of those damn plugins that smells of Hawaiian Breeze or Tropical Voodoo or whatever the hell it’s called, tickling my nose like love potion no. 9.

But what makes the hallway sinful is Chris.  Chris in his daily uniform of sweatpants and a college t-shirt.  Chris with his dirty blond hair that catches the light like spun gold.  Chris with his weathered blue eyes that have stories to tell and I’m the only one who can understand them.

I want him.  I’ve never wanted someone like this in my entire life.  I’m scared to make a move because if I screw up, I could push him away.  Tension so thick, my lungs malfunction with the desire to suck all the oxygen out of the house just to survive.  I fist my hands at my sides, needing control over myself when all I want to do is touch him everywhere.

He chose me.  Me!  I’m the one he wants to be a family with.  I’m the one who gets to love his kid alongside him.  I’m the one he now runs to when he can’t handle it.  I’m the one he yells at and apologizes to.  I’m the one that takes it because I know how to give it back.  I’m the one he looks at from across the room, a look he makes me feel down to my toes.  I’m the one he touches ever so gently like he can’t believe I’m real.

I’m his.

“Logan?”

“Okay.”  I lift my hand to take his. 

He leads me into his room, our room, and this time the atmosphere is foreign.  It’s still the same room, still home, still smells like him but something has changed.  He stops me at the foot of the bed and looks me over before meeting my eyes.  He’s nervous as all hell and so am I because I feel as though he’s going to tell me something good or something bad.  Something that changes us.

I’ve already dealt with so many changes.  If it’s bad, I can’t deal with it right now.  I can’t deal with losing my fifteen minutes of perfection.  I’m not ready to leave yet.

My worries seem slight compared to his, which only scares me more.  His hand trembles in mine as he darts a glance at his side of the bed.  On his nightstand is a small box of condoms and his plan for the evening hits me like a freight train.  I don’t move or blink as he shuts the door and locks it.  I can’t think when he takes my hand again and urges me to sit next to him on the bed.

He wants me too, the little voice in my head screams through a megaphone.     

Chris turns the television on low and sets the remote on the floor before he moves to face me.  “I’ve only done this twice before and not since Joey was little, so I have no idea how this works in a relationship.  And I know this isn’t romantic and it’s not how I pictured it with you, but… I really need you right now, Logan.”

He sits back to pull off his shirt like it’s a sacrifice to me.  His hands go to his knees, unsure of where to touch me and his vulnerability is naked in its rawest form. 

For him to admit to me his deepest desire and his fears in a roundabout way...Shit. It’s almost feral, the feeling that tornados through my chest.

I remove my shirt to even the playing field, so we’re equals and he doesn’t have to be afraid anymore.  My hand finds home around the back of his neck.  His soft hair toys with my palm as I claim his mouth, before he can work himself into a corner with other things he doesn’t want to admit.  Unlike our previous kisses, this one tastes endless and neither of us have anywhere to be.  My tongue spears into his mouth.  I rise up on my knees, tugging him along and then drive him onto his back in the center of the mattress.

His hands love the feel of my hips, my shoulders, my chest because he traces each spot like he’s writing words on my skin he can’t speak out loud.  The tension pours out of us in soft moans, urgent gasps for air, in his fingers as they clench the bedding in tight fists because I press my weight on top of him and he’s crazy for it.  His heels lock around the back of my knees.  His hips drive up into me, back arching and muscles flexing; a slithering eruption of longing below me. 

He longs for me; I taste it in the sweetness of his tongue and hear it in the way he whispers my name in two breathy syllables against the corner of my mouth.

He fuels me.  Our bare chests catch and pull our skin as we begin to move.  Hands and feet scrabble to find the perfect spot where we click.  And we do; we click as I inhale against his lips, my hands almost ripping the tie of his sweatpants to take them off.  We click as our eyes meet and he doesn’t shy away from my stare, instead begging me to continue, begging me to touch him; to release him.

He unravels me.  The tie comes free of its stubborn knot as does my mind when it veers off the beaten path and into the unknown with him.  His pants slip down his hips and my fingers hook around the waistband of his briefs, another garment lost to the growing pile of fabric on the floor.  Naked before me, Chris is not just sexy; he’s beautiful because I know he’s mine.  And with his eyes, he tells me I belong to him too.

I dive in because there is no going back.  I’m deep in the fire, lost to the flames and no amount of water will put me out.  But right now the burn is worth it.  If I get hurt in the end, I will wear my scars like battle wounds because I know they were worth every bit of heartache it took to get them.

To be continued…