I rub my thumb over their lips, wishing I could take away the sadness that dances lightly across their features.
“Let’s go,” Wren says, shaking away the mood, but I tug them back.
“You aren’t dry yet.”
“My hair will take a hot minute. But let me get you settled.”
Wren is fastidious as they do what they said they would. I’m in bed, leaning back against soft pillows within a minute. They disappear down the stairs, which makes me all kinds of nervous, but they return quickly with a glass of whiskey. “To help settle the nerves.”
And I sip it as I watch them in the bathroom. Wren doesn’t hide themself from me as they comb through the long lengths of their hair. Wren’s body is a fucking marvel. Lithe but strong. Muscular yet appealing.
I wonder if those times in my life where my gaze has drifted were more than random moments. Like, getting beaten up for looking at a guy in school. If I dissect that for a second, it wasn’t just a timing thing. Tanner Brooks was growing into the capable lean muscle of a track star. He had such defined and yet slender arms connected to strong shoulders. None of the beef of the football players.
At the time, I thought it was envy. But in hindsight, it was more.
Same with Neo inThe Matrix. Narrow hips and a strong upper body. Quietly powerful.
I found some links on the internet, about being non-binary and queer, to help me understand Wren better. Maybe I need to look at some of them through my own lens. Maybe “my type” has always been broader than the definition I gave it.
But Wren is so much more than what they look like.
They carefully scrunch their hair in the towel. Then, they dry it using an adaptor on the hairdryer that looks like some kind of weird sieve. I get a great view of their ass as they bend forward.
Maybe this is the future I’ve been waiting for.
A home.
Someone special to love me like I love them.
I even love this fucking house.
Maybe I should speak to Atom about buying it from him.
Yeah, I could build a fucking life with Wren in it.
But first, we need to find and kill the person who’d ruin it for us.
18
WREN
Ican’t sleep.
Even though I’ve somehow curled up behind Catfish. The big spoon to his, well, bigger one. My arm is over his waist.
My hand is trapped beneath his, pressed up against his rock-solid abs.
With my nose pressed up against his shoulders, I can smell the musky and reassuring warmth of him.
Trusting your body with anyone is a risk. Add in less understood and accepted things like queerness and transness, and there’s a different layer of threat due to societal violence against us.
But I trust Catfish with my body wholeheartedly. The way we had sex earlier is enough to blow anyone’s mind. I came, which is a miracle of its own. But there’s something intuitive and unbiker-like in the way Catfish handled me.
I fully expect there to be a learning curve regarding triggers. And I may have to address my own. Sexually, I’ve always existed as a switch. Someone who could both dominate and be subservient. I don’t think I’ve picked the people I’ve been with based on which of those I want to be at any given time.
In any relationship, things evolve as you gain comfort with expressing your needs to the other person. But given what just happened in the shower, I’m confident that it’s something River and I can navigate.
A small bubble of worry floats to the surface. That I shouldn’t be here. That I should go so this man doesn’t get hurt for me again. But I tamp it down and try to cling to the sliver of happiness I’ve found.
