I scoffed. “Thankme? I’m the one who just got a handjob; I should be thankingyou.” I paused. “You still sure you don’t want me to touch you, too?”
He shook his head. “I’m good. There’s too much…braining…wrapped up in doing anything to me. But this…this was good.” He ghosted his lips over my temple. “Things feel a little more normal now, like maybe I’d been holding myself back and stressing over that without realizing it was one of my stressors. So yeah, thank you.”
I yawned, then slapped an embarrassed hand over my mouth. “Sorry. You don’t bore me, I swear.”
He just smiled and kissed me again. “You want a nap?”
At the wordnap, I yawned again. “Well, I was going to say ‘no’, but…”
He scooted a little deeper into the couch and tightened the arm behind my neck into something resembling a hug, then released me. “Better put your pants back on before a stray claw makes you regret everything. You know if you doze off, Curie is going to want to sleep on top of you.”
I dropped a hand to cover my dick and winced. “Yeah, good call.” I reached for my pants, then reluctantly sat up to pull them on. “Ew, still sticky,” I commented absently, looking down at my groin. Not that that stopped me; there was no way I was standing up and walking all the way to the bathroom to clean up. I’d just wash my pants tomorrow if they ended up crusty. With a sigh, I settled back down on the couch and cuddled into Hen’s bulk. “Don’t let me sleep too long or I’ll be up all night.”
“I know, baby.” He kissed my ear and then raised his voice slightly. “Alexa, set an alarm for one hour.”
“Alarm for one hour set,” said the little speaker that lived on his end table.
“Mmm.” I grabbed his free hand and wrapped that arm around my waist. “Cuddles. Love you.”
His breathing hitched just a tiny bit, and then he gave me a squeeze. “Love you too.”
And then I was asleep. I had my love with me and he was safe; I could rest.
Epilogue
Henry - Week 42 - Saturday
It didn’t happen immediately. It didn’t even happen soon-ish. It took a lot of working with my therapist and a lot of venting to my group. But eventually, I felt like I’d come to terms with my diagnosis. It wasn’t like I loved it - who loves chronic illness? - but I’d accepted that it was reality and that I had to go on from here.
Jamison had been my rock through all of it, holding me when I cried. He’d held me together entirely at times, it’d felt like. Some days I nearly shook apart until he took me in his arms, and then it was like peace could finally descend.
My HIV-positive group had talked me through a lot of meltdowns and a lot of nerves. Jamison and I still hadn’t had anal sex since before my positive test - I hadn’t been sure if I’d ever feel ready for that - but we managed to have an enjoyable sex life nonetheless, and he assured me he didn’t feel like he was missing anything.
Still, I was determined. Tonight, I was going to conquer my phobia come hell or high water. “Hey, Jamie?” I said as I stood at the kitchen table mixing the salad we were going to have to accompany our dinner of baked chicken.
He looked over his shoulder at me, pausing his hands that had been manipulating chicken breasts in a casserole dish. “Hm?”
I took a deep breath and let it out. I could do this. It wouldn’t ruin anything. “Can I…can we make love tonight?”
He smiled a little. “Hon, we make love most nights. Of course we can.”
I shook my head. “No, I mean…like, all the way.” I grimaced. “God, that makes me sound like a virgin from the fifties.” Gritting my teeth, I tried again. “I want to be inside you again.”
Jamison sucked in a sharp breath and dropped the chicken into its dish. “Are you sure?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I’m nervous as hell, but I think I’m ready.”
“You know we don’t have to do this.” He moved to the sink and began washing his hands to get chicken juice off them. “I’m perfectly happy with our sex life how it’s been.”
“I know.” Ok, this salad wasn’t going to get any more tossed than it already was. I forced my nervous hands to put down the salad tongs. “But I…I miss the closeness of full-on sex. And I’ve been talking about it at group and with Gay, and…” I waved a hand vaguely. “I think I can handle it now. No, Iwantto handle it now.”
He turned away from the sink and studied me for a few seconds, looking contemplative. He was probably weighing my words, trying to discern if I was saying them for myself or for him. “I’m still on PREP,” he finally said. "And my tests since we got your diagnosis have all been non-reactive."
It took me a few seconds to follow his silent logic, and then I flinched. “Condoms,” I blurted. “We’d need to use condoms still.”
He didn’t seem surprised by that. “I figured. But between the PREP and the condoms, you feel safe enough?”
I could only shrug at that. “I don’t know if I’ll ever feel safe, but yeah, I think I feel safeenough.”
