Rye scrunched his eyes shut harder for a second, then he turned his head to look at Jake. Jake wasn’t smiling, but his expression still had that softness to it, that kind understanding. It helped, just like his touch. And he realized hedid. Hedidwant to have Jake hold him.
Closing his eyes again, Rye nodded slowly. He heard Jake let out a long breath, and then Rye shifted—first to set his hands on the floor, the carpet soft against his palms, and then to push himself over closer to Jake. They shuffled around a bit awkwardly until Rye managed to get settled in a new position between Jake’s legs, his knees still bent up but his back leaning against Jake’s chest. Jake rested hishands loosely on Rye’s upper arms, rubbing gently, soothingly. And Rye tilted his head slightly to the side as Jake seemed to bury his face in Rye’s hair.
“Mmm, is this okay?” Jake’s breath was warm on his neck, and it felt good. Better than Rye had expected.
He couldn’t make himself speak, but he nodded and closed his eyes. Jake’s gentleness surrounded him, and he scooted back even a little more, until his whole back was flush against Jake’s front and he was wrapped up in some sort of cocoon of warmth and safety. They stayed that way for a while, Jake holding him, and the lingering unease from whatever had been in his dreams—the pain and fear and panic—continued to fade.
“Are you okay?” Jake asked after a few more minutes, the words whispered into Rye’s hair. One of Jake’s hands slid just a little lower on Rye’s arm, stopping at his elbow. That also felt good.
But he wasn’t entirely sure how to answer Jake’s question because he still hadn’t let himself think about everything.
Why he’d been sleeping in the middle of the day.
Why he’d been having nightmares.
Why he’d woken up in a panic, sure that the blanket he’d been wrapped in had been trying to suffocate him.
He pressed himself back against Jake and shook his head. “I . . . don’t . . . know.”
Jake might have nodded. “That’s okay. Do you want to talk about it?”
Rye’s chest tightened, and he clenched his jaw and shook his head. He wasn’t ready yet. He just wanted to be here for a bit longer. To stay here in this warm, comfortable place, surrounded by all this... love.
Their morning together—before they’d made it back into the house—replayed itself in his mind, culminating in the moment he’d touched Jake’s lips with his thumb. He’d been so ready. Ready to kiss his boyfriend, ready to show Jake what he was feeling.
Then he’d pulled out his phone and seen that picture...
He tensed and immediately opened his eyes, focusing on the individual fibers in the carpet rather than the image in his head. Then he tilted his head back again until Jake met him, their cheeks touching.
And that felt much better.
He wanted to tell Jake that, but he still couldn’t really seem to make himself say much. Instead, he moved one hand to set it over Jake’s on his arm, and then he watched, letting the sight distract him. His fingers brushed over the top of Jake’s knuckles and then up to Jake’s wrist, and he played with Jake’s bracelet fora few seconds, studying the slightly rough texture of the braided material with his fingertips.
Jake hummed quietly, and Rye could feel the rumble in Jake’s chest. He blinked and closed his eyes again, glad when the darkness didn’t become scary and overwhelming. He felt Jake’s free hand slide back up his arm to his shoulder and then a little higher, the softest of touches fluttering against the bare skin of his neck.
“Mmm, can I, uh... sorry. Is this okay, Rye?”
He nodded without hesitation because the touch felt incredible, and he tilted his head a little to the side to allow Jake to do it again. And Jake did. He touched Rye’s neck again, just with the tips of his fingers, lightly and slowly. Rye’s skin tingled. He breathed in sharply and might have made some little sound, and he felt Jake’s laugh, more warmth against his neck.
Kiss me. Right there. Your lips would feel good, I think. Please.
Jake’s hand slid back down to Rye’s shoulder and then his arm, and Jake seemed to hold Rye to him a little more, but in a way that somehow feltsafe. Rye swallowed hard.
“You . . . can . . .”. . . kiss me.
He wanted to say it. But he couldn’t quite get himself to.
“Mmm.” Jake breathed deeply and slowly, and Rye almost groaned at the hot puff of air on his neck. “May I kiss you”—Jake’s hand left Rye’s arm one more time, and his fingers brushed that same spot on Rye’s neck—“right here?”
“Yes.”
There was another of those quiet hums from Jake and then a pause. And then he felt a soft warmth—different from the touch of Jake’s fingers—accompanied by the tickle of Jake’s beard against his skin. Jake’s lips lingered there for a few seconds, the kiss light and unassuming, and Rye definitely let out some little sound this time. When Jake pulled away, he didn’t go far, resting his cheek against Rye’s head as he hummed again.
“Mmm, I hope that was okay.”
“It was.” Rye’s heart had started racing at some point, though the feeling was nothing like what it had been during his panic earlier. Slowly, he shifted in Jake’s arms, turning his whole body sideways. Jake straightened out his leg and lowered it to the floor, and at the same time, Rye scooted forward until he could lift his feet up and set them on the other side of Jake’s thigh. Then he leaned into Jake and buried his head into the crook of Jake’s neck.
Thank you. This means so muchto me.
