Ollie found Shay’s wrist and guided it to the zip on his hoodie. Shay made a sound low in his throat but didn’t protest as Ollie wrapped his fingers around it and forced him to draw it down.
The hoodie hung open. Ollie shrugged it away, leaving him with just a Bob Dylan T-shirt between the mess of his own torso and Shay’s beautiful skin.Take it off.
No.
Yes.
Ollie raised his head, grasped the hem of his T-shirt, and slipped it over his head. It fell away like a ghost, leaving him bare to the weight of Shay’s wide-eyed gaze and the cool stillness of the kitchen. A dozen cutting things he could’ve said danced through his mind, but he didn’t say them. He didn’t say anything. Couldn’t while Shay was looking at him like that.
He’s not horrified.Or maybe he was, and it didn’t matter. Perhaps he felt sorry for Ollie, and that didn’t matter either. Ollie reclaimed Shay’s hand and placed it on the very thickest scars, the ones that had obscured his protruding ribs when he’d lost weight after the accident. “This is me, Shay,” he whispered. “Now let it go… please.”
He stepped back so Shay’s hand slipped from him, taking with it the only kind of heat Ollie would ever need, and walked away.
* * *
Ollie didn’tknow where he was going until he found himself cloaked in the darkness of his bedroom, and he didn’t know if Shay would follow him. But he did. Of course he fucking did. He followed him all the way to the window and stood behind him, so close that Ollie was sure he could hear Shay’s heart beating.
Shay pressed his forehead between Ollie’s shoulder blades. “I’m sorry I made you do that.”
“Why?”
“I-I don’t know? Because it wasn’t what I meant about hiding?”
“I know it wasn’t what you meant.”
“So why did you do it?”
Slowly, Ollie turned around. Every part of him tingled, and he kissed Shay once, twice, three times. “Because of this. I knew it was real, but I had to be sure.”
“You were worried I wouldn’t want to kiss you after I saw you naked?”
“You haven’t seen me naked.”
Yet.Ridiculously, the word seemed to hang over them like a speech bubble. Shay raised his hands. Dropped them. Raised them again. “Can I touch you?”
Ollie shivered. “If you want.”
“Of course I want to. I’ve done nothing but want you since we met.”
“Why?”
“Shutup.” Shay slid his arms around Ollie’s waist, forcing them impossibly closer. “I care so much about you, okay? Even though you’re a fucked up arsehole sometimes. It doesn’t matter, Ollie. None of it does, for me, for you. Can’t we just have this?”
He kissed Ollie, and their bodies moulded together, smooth and rough, dead flesh reborn as the spark between them flared into something Ollie couldn’t control. Over and over, their lips met, hands roaming and starting new fires until Ollie didn’t know where he ended and Shay began. Where the desolate moonscape of his ruined skin became the smooth planes that belonged to Shay.
Didn’t know and didn’t care. He would’ve kissed Shay forever if Shay hadn’t swayed on his feet.
Perspective crept back in. Ollie braced himself for the reality of standing bare-chested in front of Shay to kick him in the nuts. But it didn’t happen. Shay was tired, both from touring and the blood-sugar crisis that still wasn’t over. However Ollie felt about the events of the last ten minutes, Shay needed to rest.
Shay neededhim.
“Come on.” He kissed Shay one more time, then reluctantly detached himself from Shay’s grip. “Get into bed. I’ll go get your stuff.”
Shay nodded and sat down abruptly, as though the wind had been knocked out of him. He winced, but waved Ollie away. “I’m fine.”
Ollie hurried to the living room to fetch Shay’s bag. Back in the bedroom, a quick finger prick revealed that Shay’s blood sugar was still too low.
“It’ll be like this for a while,” Shay said in a tone that would’ve been cross if he hadn’t been so tired. “Up and down, adjustments every ten fucking minutes. It sucks, but it’s not always this bad, in case you’re wondering if I’m a permanent basket case.”
