I considered that. “I mean, you and I both know I’m not always happy. I’m certainly not happy about your diagnosis. But I’m happy I get to be here with you, and that’s pretty much always the case when I’m with you. As far as support…eh. On the one hand, I’m glad to be able to provide support when you need it. On the other hand, I still think you’re overestimating how much work supporting youis. Most of it comes naturally just because I love you, and when you love someone, their needs and desiresbecome your own pretty naturally.” He looked like he was going to argue with that, so before he could, I delivered another kiss, immediately deepening it this time. I could feel his cock stirring under my thigh and gave a little internal cheer; if he’d had an erection since he found out about the HIV, he certainly hadn’t shared it with me. So the fact that he was stiffening for me? Yeah, I was damn proud of that.
Didn’t mean I should push him, though, I reminded myself silently. Outwardly, I ignored his growing hard-on and focused on just kissing him silly. Eventually, though, my own erection became insistent to the point of pain and I squirmed in his lap, trying to get a little more room in my pants.
“You ok?” he asked, drawing back an inch.
I squirmed again, finally wiggling my dick into a fold of my jeans that let it breathe a little. “Fine. Just, you know…” I waved downward. “Stuff.”
His eyes flashed with amusement. “Stuff,” he repeated teasingly, eyeing my bulge. But then he sobered in an instant, and I could almost see him sinking back into his worries and fears. “I don’t know if I…”
“Hey.” I gestured using our still-joined hands. “None of that. We don’t have to do a single thing you’re not a hundred percent comfortable with. You tell me where there’s a line and I will respect it.”
He sighed. “I’m not sure where the linesare, though. Until we get there and my brain goes, ‘Hell nope’ all of a sudden.”
“And it went ‘nope’ to…what just now?” I asked gently. “Touching dicks? Because we absolutely do not have to do that. Though you will have to excuse me for a second so I can rearrange things down there so I don’t cut off blood flow, because there’s nothing I can do about getting turned on while kissing you. But,” I added before he could speak, “that’s neither your fault nor your responsibility. Blue balls aren’t deadly, nomatter what that one guy told me when I was fifteen.” There, hopefully that would lighten the mood.
“Fuck that guy,” he said loyally, and I nodded firmly. “I know you wouldn’t pressure me or anything,” he went on after a second, “but I feel bad…” He waved his free hand. “I mean, a few weeks ago we were fucking like bunnies and now…” The waving motion turned into a gesture at his dick, which was no longer poking me in the thigh. “Just thinking about this stuff kills my buzz.”
I considered that. “Have you…” I ventured slowly, eyes on his face. “Have you masturbated since the diagnosis? Have you even gotten consciously hard since then?”
Swallowing, he shook his head. “No to the first. Not so much because I can’t be turned on as because it just never occurs to me over all the other shit going on in my head. I’ve gotten hard a few times, mostly thinking about you…us. But it didn’t last; it’s like I forget and things function as normal, and then I remember and…” He made an expressive drooping-finger gesture.
Ouch. I wrinkled my nose in sympathy. “Should you maybe talk to your therapist about this?”
His eyes widened and he shook his head vehemently. “I refuse to talk to my female therapist about my inability to jerk off.”
“Eh, I bet you’re far from the first. She specializes in LGBT+ issues, right? And she’s had other poz patients, if I remember what her office told me when I was first researching. I guaran-damn-tee you are not the only person who’s under so much stress that their dick won’t cooperate.”
“Yeah,” he acknowledged, “but what’s she going to do about it, give me wanking advice? She’s a girl!”
That gave me a highly amusing mental image of Hen’s very buttoned-up therapist whipping out a dildo to show him some techniques, and I stifled a laugh. “I was thinking more along the lines of techniques to keep your stress from intruding when youdon’t want it to. But sure, maybe she’s got wanking advice, too. We don’t know what’s in her pants, to be fair.”
He sighed heavily and closed his eyes for a long moment. “This isn’t where I thought things were going to go when you kissed me.”
“I can believe that.” I kissed his forehead quickly. “Want to go back to making out?” I offered with a leer, and then cleared my expression so he didn’t feel like I had expectations. “No pressure for anything else. Or we can do something else entirely un-sex-related. Movie? Play with the cats with that ribbon toy?”
He extracted his hand from my grip for the first time since we’d started kissing, and I hid a wince. I guessed that was my answer. But then, surprising me, he stroked it over my hair. “I like kissing you. It’s…would it be insulting if I say it’s soothing? Yeah,” he answered himself glumly, “that’s probably insulting.”
“Is not,” I disagreed firmly. “It’s a compliment. I can soothe the savage beast that is your brain.” And with that, I kissed him again, teasing my lips over his until he groaned into my mouth. Yes, that was more like it.
Eventually, we scooted down so we were lying facing each other along the length of the couch, Hen’s hand around my back to keep me from rolling off because it really wasn’tquitewide enough for two grown men.
“Mmm,” he mumbled into my lips a few minutes later, “I miss this.”
“You can have this any time you want, sweetie,” I replied, though it came out more like “Mm kuh ha thuh aaa teh yu wah, swuh.” He seemed to get the point, though, because I felt him smile against my mouth before he pulled back just enough to say, “Always.”
I frowned at the separation and yanked his head back to mine. “Talk later, kiss now.” Within seconds, we were going at it again and I could feel that we were both hard. I wasn’t going to sayanything about it and derail us again, but then I felt his hand drift from my chest toward my beltline and I froze. “Hen?”
He pulled back enough to meet my eyes and swallowed. “I don’t…I can’t…nothing with me,” he stumbled to explain. “But I can for you?” He paused, thought about that. “No, Iwantto for you.”
He wanted to jerk me off and didn’t want any reciprocation? Every selfish guy’s dream. But still…”Are you sure, hon?” I asked, searching his eyes.
Instead of him replying, I felt him flick open the button on my jeans. A warm, callused hand dragged down my abdomen and plunged into my waistband. I let out a surprisedeepand he grinned at me. “I’m sure. I want…wait.” The hand retreated, and I stifled the urge to whimper. I closed my eyes for a long second, gathering my willpower, then opened them and found Hen studying his hand intently.
“Uh…Hen?” I ventured. “What are you doing?”
He turned his hand over and studied the backside. “Just, you know, checking that I don’t have any cuts or anything.”
Oh, this darling man. I palmed his cheek. “Even if you did, I don’t have any open wounds on my dick, so we’d be ok. But…would you feel better if I wore a condom?” I offered when it occurred to me after a second. It was a vast amount of overkill, but I was willing to overkill if it made him comfortable.
