Malin enjoys making out. It’s almost comical because he’s absolutely shocked that he likes it each and every time. While I’m angry at all the ways he’d been abused in his childhood, I’m touched that he trusts me to be the one he experiences thosesame things with, but that they can be welcome now. They can feel good. There’s no coercing or threats of burning in hell.
This happens because he wants it to, and for no other reason.
As soon as we walk into my house, Malin pulls my shirt off me. He strips his off himself and replaces it with the one I was wearing. I watch, both amused and with my stomach fluttering, as he buries his face in it.
This has been the very first thing that we do the moment we step inside for days now. He says it brings him peace.
Today, as I watch him close his eyes and inhale the scent of me from my shirt, I wonder exactly what those words mean. I’m sure I’m missing something.
This is something that I’ve taken at face value, as in the way everyone says someone brings them peace. It’s a way of saying that a specific person is home. I can’t imagine it being interpreted any other way.
But the more he says it, the more I watch his behavior, the more I’m convinced that there’s more to his words than what I think they mean.
When Malin finally lets my shirt hang on him and meets my eyes, I reach for his wrist and pull him to my chest. He comes willingly, his mouth immediately on mine. I smile against his lips and allow him to control our kiss.
As a person who hasn’t been under the control of another person for fourteen years, I always try to let Malin take the lead. Or I ask him outright if something is okay. I try very fucking hard to read everything his face and body tell me so I can ask when his wordsmay say one thing, but something about him contradicts what he says.
It doesn’t happen often, and usually, I receive an answer like, “Ryan hates when someone else touches me.”
While I’ve never needed him to tell me what his life had been like as Ryan Johnston’s victim, these periodic assertions paint a very clear picture of what he’s been through and why he still struggles.
He rests his head against my chin and sighs.
“Malin?”
“Mhm?”
“When you tell me I bring you peace, what does that mean?” I ask.
“You drown out his voice.”
I don’t know what to do with that information. I want to ask more questions, but I don’t know how to follow that up. So I don’t.
“What do you want to do tonight?” I ask instead.
“Can we go to bed?”
“Do you want to eat first?”
“No.” He looks up, meeting my eyes. “I want… Kissing is different with you. I, uh… want to know if something else is too.”
A trickle of arousal skates down my spine. “O-okay?”
“If you want to.”
“Yes. I want to.”
He stares into my eyes for a minute before nodding. Malin turns and leads the way toward my bedroom. As he always does when our physical contact falls away, he brings the collar of my shirt he’s wearing up to cover his nose.
At first, I was flattered, thinking he just loves the way I smell. Then I thought, maybe the rest of my house smells bad. Now, I’m not so sure what to think. Like his words, I feel like some of his actions mean something different from what one would expect them to mean.
In the bedroom, I’m almost startled when Malin begins stripping out of his clothes except for my shirt. He watches me expectantly, but I note one very clear observation: he’s not hard. Not even a little.
I don’t undress. Instead, I take his hands and bring him to the bed. We sit on the edge. “I don’t need to do anything physical with you. You understand that, right?”
“Yes. I know it’s not actually cleansing me of sin.”
I wince at his words. “That’s not what I meant.” Gently, I tug my shirt down so I can see his face. “Tell me what you want to do.”
