And that was all it took. Rye squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his face into his pillow as a series of strong, hot pulses crashed through him, over him, around him. A warmth spilled out over his fist and onto his stomach, and he shuddered at the final throb of his shaft in his hand.
Then he lay there, his hand still wrapped around himself, his whole body trembling as he came back down from wherever he’d just gone. And he breathed into his pillow, slow, ragged breaths that shook just like he did. A brief, fleeting prickle of shame dampened the heat still pulsing through him, but he quickly pushed it away.
And when he thought he could maybe trust his legs enough to carry him, he slipped his hand out of his pants, climbed off the bed to get a fresh set of clothes,and then snuck down the brightly lit hallway to the bathroom to clean himself up and get changed.
Ryewasupearlythe next morning, even before Jake. He made coffee—something he still could only barely tolerate on a good day—and poured it into a tall glass filled with ice, then added large amounts of milk and chocolate syrup. He’d downed the entire glass before Jake came padding out from his room, holding onto the wall to steady himself as he limped along. His hair was a mess, sticking up every which way, and he rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he stopped at the end of the hallway.
“Good morning,” Rye greeted, although as soon as he said the words, he realized his voice sounded full of a fake optimism. Forced. Or something. And he frowned and looked back down at his now-empty glass. “I-I can... make you some coffee too.”
“Hmm? Oh, um, yeah. Sure. Thanks. I, uh... It’s only six. You’re up early. Is everything okay? Are you okay?”
Yes.Rye frowned again.And no.Whywashe up so early?
He’d slept... really well. Like, really well. After he’d changed and gone back to bed last night, he’d fallen right to sleep, probably with some ridiculous smile on his face. And he’d slept for most of the night. He hadn’t had nightmares that he could remember or felt uncomfortable in his bed. He didn’t feel uncomfortable now, either.
So why, when he’d woken up maybe almost an hour ago, had he not just gone right back to sleep?
He lifted his eyes as Jake pushed away from the wall and padded over the rest of the way into the kitchen, concern in his expression. And something in Rye flickered. Desire. Or want. Or need.
He flinched back a step and then scrunched his eyes closed as hot shame crept up into his cheeks.
“Rye?”
Jake was still a few feet away, and he seemed to have stopped, which Rye both appreciated and suddenly felt quite angry about. And that made no sense to him.
His hands balled up into fists as he fought with himself for a minute. Hell, he didn’t even know what he was fighting about. He just had this... this feeling that he should... what? Run? Retreat? Cower? He wasn’t even sure.
And he hated that.
“Sorry,” he forced out, unwilling to let his voice be taken from him in that moment. “Sorry, IthoughtI was okay. I just need—” He stopped and shook his head, unsure of what it was he actually needed. But he fought it again. He could just tell Jake that. Hewouldjust tell Jake that. He opened his mouth, and a stifling pain shot through him, up his back and into his head, splitting his skull. But he fought against that too. “I thought I was feeling okay,” he said, “but now I’m not, and I don’t really know why. Can you...” What would help him? Curse words screamed in his head, but he let his own defiance shut them down. “Can you just come closer? But slowly? And...”Speak, dammit.“And hold my hand? I want that right now.”
“Of course,” Jake said, his gentle words washing over Rye and soothing some of the intensity of whatever these other emotions were.
Rye forced his eyes open, and something in that also helped. Maybe the bright light of the room or the reminder of where he was. He wasn’t sure. Then he lowered his hand to his side. He’d been gripping his upper arm, pinching himself hard, like he used to when he’d get really scared. And he hadn’t even realized it.
Channeling a little bit of that anger still smoldering inside him into what surely felt like another act of defiance, he stepped back up to the counter and then reached out with his hand as Jake approached. He couldn’t look yet; he kept his eyes trained on the counter. But when Jake’s hand closed lightly around his, he nearly shuddered with relief and only barely managed to keep himself upright.
“This is okay?” Jake’s soft voice flowed over him, warm and caring and exactly what he needed.
With a tight nod, Rye took a small step closer to Jake and then another. Jake’s hand squeezed his.
“Talk to me. Please,” Rye said, his voice trembling as he forced out each word.
“Yeah. Okay, I can do that.” Jake moved closer and set his other hand on the counter. “So, I was hoping today to get to show you something down on the beach. The tide is supposed to be all the way out at around ten, and if we walk just a little farther down, past where we usually turn around, there are these rocky tide pools that are really, really neat...”
Jake kept going on, describing some of the marine life they might see, though Rye wasn’t really taking in any of the details, and slowly—much, much too slowly—the dread and anger and whatever else finally began to fade. By the time Jake stopped to take a longer breath, Rye had managed to shuffle a little closer, and he closed his eyes and then leaned into Jake’s chest.
Solid. Warm. Safe.Home.
He shuddered and looped his free arm around Jake’s waist. “Hold me,” he begged, needing more of that feeling. He hated that he felt this—this almost desperate need—but he didn’t fight it this time, and all those other feelings stayed away. Even the shame.
He should maybe still feel ashamed to need so much from Jake. But when Jake did as he asked, letting go of Rye’s hand and wrapping Rye up in his arms and whispering a quiet “I love you” into Rye’s ear, he was able to keep the shame away too.
Rye breathed another sigh and rested his head on Jake’s chest. “Thank you.”
“Better now?”
“Yeah, very much.”
