He could have told me no and I would have accepted it, but instead, he’s giving me what I want, even though he has to pay the price for it. It’s a sweet, selfless, beautiful gift. It makes me want to burst into tears, but there’s no way I’m going to do that. He’ll misinterpret it and this will be over.
He raises his hands one at a time and lets his shirt fall away. He arches over me, powerful, huge, so jacked that my mouth waters to taste every inch of him.
Soon.
Just not now.
It will be too much. He’s already giving me everything he possibly can right now.
I soak him in, every angle and plane, every single detail, before I raise my eyes to his. I slowly run my hands up and over the backs of his arms. I can feel where the skin changes, before his elbows, but especially above them. I don’t know if the burns healed on their own, or if he had skin grafts there. Some skin is smooth. Other parts raised. I wouldn’t say it’s twisted or gnarled. He doesn’t feel like a tree. It’s different skin, but it’s still skin, and it’s his.
“Can I touch your shoulders?”
He trembles visibly above me, eyes wide and terrified. I want to stop doing this. I want to take it back.
“You can say no. It’s okay.”
He dips his head in a tight nod, hiding most of his face from me. “You can touch me wherever you want.”
“What if it hurts?”
“It won’t.”
I think he means,it won’t physically.I skim my palms over his tense muscles, coiled like a dangerous animal beneath the silk of his skin. I can feel him inhale and hold it, like he’s holding himself back, or holding something in. My fingers pause, but whatever his reaction, it’s not discomfort.
I wrap my legs around him, curling my arms over his back, holding and protecting as much as I can of him. I wantto be his shield like he was mine. Protect him. This is the cost he pays every single day for my life. I’ve wondered before how I can ever thank him, but now I know what a trite concept that is. There aren’t enough words for what I owe him. I couldn’t repay him if I had a thousand lifetimes.
“Take yourself out,” I breathe, unable to do it for him. I don’t want to let him go. “I need to feel you inside of me.”
I’m still afraid he’ll want to stop, that he’ll withdraw, snatch his shirt, and ask me politely to leave. I’m scared he’ll bury deep inside himself, into that place in his mind that is so unkind. I can’t protect him from it. I can’t stop him from going there. I worry he’ll tense up, that he’ll tell me again what a terrible idea this all is. That any trust we’ve built will evaporate.
I raise my eyes to his face, letting him see all my emotion, all the yearning, the savage, brutal love, the gratitude and pain, the truth that I would exchange places with him in an instant, if I could. He’s suffered so much more than enough.
“Please?”
He stares back at me, hiding everything, shadows covering his face. I’ve never met anyone whose heart was so clearly near the surface, just waiting to be held and loved and kept safe.
Isn’t that what ultimately matters the most? Safety?
I wrap my arms around his back, guiding his face down to my shoulder. His naked chest presses against my sweater. I should have taken it off already. I imagined him peeling it away with reverence, or tearing it straight off my body.
“If you want we can slow down. I’m sorry if I came here and gave the impression that this is just about sex for me. It’snot. It’s aboutyou. I want you to know that you can justbewith me.” I stroke my hands down his back, splaying my fingers wide to touch his scars. He keeps his head nestled against my shoulder. “It’s just you. Just like these are just scars. Just skin. Not ugly. Not dirty. Not showing the world what you think you are on the inside.” He tenses. I know I’ve gone too far. Pushed too hard. Said things that cut far deeper than any of the burns. I’m pressing against the worst kind of wounds, the self-inflicted ones.
I lift my hand and stroke his hair before I press a kiss to his temple. “I want us to fit inallways. Not just this way. Not just skin to skin. Soul to soul means that you know that I’ll always be here. That I’ll be your protector, and that I’ll come to you when I need shelter. That I’ll be your encouragement, I’ll offer joy, laughter, smiles. I want a good life, and I want that with you. As a lover. As a friend. As someone you know you can trust. That’s what I’d like to try to build.”
Of all the things I just said, maybe that’s the part that pushes him too far. That shoves him closer to the brink, closer to snapping. Closer to running.
He jerks away from me, snapping his body clean off me as soon as he finds his balance. He wrenches his shirt together, fingers fumbling with the buttons, face a wreck of emotion that he can’t begin to shield.
“You need to leave,” he snaps, his chin pointed at the floor. He looks down, focusing on buttoning his shirt.
My heart flips over, wrenching at his words, but shuddering with tenderness when I notice he’s done it wrong.
“Here.” I’m half freaking dressed, but I stand up and walk to him. He’s only a few steps away, shoulders heaving, panicshining bright in his eyes. It’s not just his hands that are shaking. It’s his whole body, shivering like he was just drenched in a violent rainstorm. “Let me help you.”
I carefully undo the buttons he’s done, line them up, start at the bottom, and work to the top.
“Please,” he hisses. “Just leave. Fawnie. Just go.”
