“Atticus is totally gonna blame us for this,” Lucas said, slowly bumping his forehead against the passenger window again, then again, just as traffic slowed to a dead stop in the center of the mile long tunnel that ran under the river.
“What is happening now?” Lucas asked, his voice taking on that razor’s edge that let August know things could go downhill very quickly.
The tunnel around them was a ribcage of concrete and light, its walls sweating condensation in thin, steady linesthat glistened under the jaundiced lamps. The water wasn’t intrusion, just heat meeting cold stone. Structural integrity intact, he noted absently. No visible stress fractures, no spalling at the joints.
The car ahead idled red brake lights into the dimness, their glow smearing across the windshield like blood. A low hum of engines pulsed through the confined air, steady and suffocating.
Sound behaved differently underground, too compressed, every raspy cough of an engine or impatient tap of a horn rebounding until the air itself seemed to vibrate. August studied the geometry of it: the slight curvature of the ceiling, the seam of expansion joints, the way sound shifted depending on which surface it struck.
Beside him, Lucas exhaled too sharply, knuckles white where they gripped his hand. The muscle in his jaw twitched once, twice. August glanced at the clock, calculating just how late they’d be before dismissing the thought to focus on what actually mattered.
His real equation was subtler, the rate of Lucas’s unraveling versus the tone of voice required to stop it. He shifted slightly toward him, voice even, deliberate. “We’re fine,” he said, as though stating a scientific fact, and watched the words settle between them. “You’re fine.”
“Who said I wasn’t?” Lucas bit back, his words snapping like a cord pulled too tightly.
“We’re okay,” August said again, softer.
Lucas wasn’t claustrophobic exactly. But after his time in that…mental health facility…he didn’t do well with the feeling of being trapped. He could handle an elevator, but if one was to get stuck between floors, there was a timer that appeared and if they weren’t rescued within that time, Lucas would start to forget just how strong he was.
That fear wasn’t rational, it was cellular. A memory imprinted in muscle and marrow, the ghost of fluorescent lights and locked doors. August could feel it radiating off him, sharp and cold as ozone before a storm.
It wasn’t just elevators, staircases with locked doors, a room that only locked from the outside. It wasn’t the size of the container, it was his ability to free himself from it that mattered and the tunnel was rarely an issue even in heavy traffic. But this wasn’t heavy traffic, it was a standstill. August gave his hand one last squeeze then pulled up their GPS app, cursing under his breath when he realized that they were showing a forty minute wait.
August checked his phone, two bars. He shot a text to the family chat, hoping it went through.
August
@freckles, @jericho Stuck in the tunnel. If we’re not there by the end of the parent-teacher conference can you wait with kids?
Jericho responded first.
We’re stuck too. Texted Sister Josephine. Dad en route as our stand-in just in case.
August
Thanks, @dad.
“Jericho and Atticus are in here somewhere too. Dads going to get the kids. Everyone is safe. Okay?”
Lucas nodded, eyes darting around like he wasn’t sure he believed him despite his nod. He needed to take his mind off this before he spiraled. There were only two things Lucas cared about enough to distract him to the degree necessary to keep him fromcoming unglued. One was their children, who were currently a massive source of stress, the other…
August glanced around at the people around him, some sat on the hoods of their cars, others sat bouncing to the beat of whatever music blasted through their speakers, enjoying the AC before an overhead speaker would demand they turn off their engines. Some appeared to be dozing, taking advantage of their unanticipated break.
He and Lucas were hardly alone, but their windows were tinted enough to ride the line of barely legal. It would easily shield their…activities. August reached over, fingers adeptly opening his husband’s belt.
Lucas’s startled gaze darted to his, hand clamping around his wrist. “What are you doing?” he asked, voice a bit strangled.
“Interpretive dance,” August teased. When Lucas glowered at him, he smiled, leaning forward to give him a barely there kiss, before saying, “I’m giving my best student a handjob in the tunnel as a reward for doingso wellin class today.”
“We can’t?” Lucas said, but it came more like a question than a definitive statement.
“I can fuck you in the school library but I can’t jerk you off in the car? You’re sending me mixed messages, Mr. Blackwell. I thought you liked my reward system.”
Lucas’s pupils blew wide at the sound of his last name on August’s tongue, the response reflexive after all this time. Still, he said, “I don’t think roleplay is going to work this time.”
“Oh, ye of little faith,” August murmured, plunging his hand past the waistband of Lucas’s underwear, working him until he hardened beneath his touch. “Seems to be working just fine, no?”
Lucas shifted, legs falling open. “I-I’m not sure I can make it happen.”
