Jem shouted wordlessly and poured down his throat, clenching around River’s still-moving fingers, still hitching into every stroke.
Gradually, River slowed his pace, easing off until the tension left Jem’s body. Then he pulled back and slithered up the mattress to kiss him, chase the last taste of pleasure from his lips. Jem lay pliant and glowing beneath him, loose-limbed and lazy, blinking with heavy-lidded eyes.
“Same,” River offered.
Jem wrinkled his nose adorably in a laugh. “Smug,” he accused.
River pressed his forehead against Jem’s shoulder and slung an arm across his waist, snuggling in. “Can you blame me?”
“You were supposed to fuck me,” he complained, except he sounded extremely self-satisfied.
“I got distracted.” He walked his fingers over Jem’s abdomen until a slight irregularity in the skin drew his curiosity. “What’s this?” He hadn’t seen it earlier; maybe he should’ve turned the lights on. Stupid lack of night vision.
“Long story. You can guess later.” Jem threaded their fingers together and brought River’s hand up to his face. “You have one too. Here. This a long story too?” He rubbed his thumb over one of River’s knuckles.
“Just a dumb one. Ten-year-olds shouldn’t use pruning shears, even for the glory of God. Especially then.”
Jem nudged over onto his side. “Tell me about it?”
Okay, but—“Maybe let me clean up first,” River said ruefully.
When he’d washed his hands properly, spent exactly long enough wiping lube and come from Jem’s stomach and ass with a warm washcloth, and pressed a kiss to the mysterious scar, he lay down next to Jem again. “You know a little about my sordid childhood.”
“I read what’s on Wikipedia.”
River took that as the correction it was. “My mom was still pregnant with me when my dad died. I didn’t know her when he was around, obviously, but I know it was hard. She needed a support system. Michael Chutney gave her one.” He paused. “Sorry,ReverendChutney.”
“He sounds like a douchebag.”
Their fingers interlaced again. River didn’t talk about this part of his life often—found it difficult and awkward—but Jem was soft and half-asleep and warm. It made it easier. “It wasn’t all bad, all the time. It got stricter and weirder as I grew up, though. We weren’t allowed to have toys. We barely had furniture. No art on the walls. Spent all our energy making money to support the church.”
Jem’s brow furrowed. He pulled River’s hand closer to his chest. “Even the kids?”
“Reverend Douchebag had a landscaping company. Plenty of opportunities for unpaid labor.” River got the scar pruning someone’s white rosebushes. He remembered because he bled all over one of the buds. “Lucky I didn’t lose the finger.” It made him shiver to think about it even now. He might not have been able to make it out of Arizona without it.
Jem kissed it but didn’t offer platitudes, for which River was grateful.
“Anyway,” he said after a tense moment, “fortunately, it turns out hemophilia does not run in my family, so.” He disentangled them enough to wiggle his fingers in Jem’s face. “No permanent harm done.”
Jem let that pass too and even offered a change of subject, though that could have been because his eyelids were getting heavy. “I got the full genetic workup done once. Turns out I’m not secretly a werewolf, which, bummer.”
River blinked at him, smiled. “Why’d you have the test?”
“Hmm. Sperm donation.” His eyes closed the rest of the way. “Gotta have—” Yawn. “—have healthy swimmers. Offspring. Things.”
Okay, River hadquestionsabout that, except…. “You’re going to fall asleep,” he realized with delight.
Jem smiled softly, eyes still closed. “Shh.”
“I can’t believe you’re such a cliché.” River curled onto his side to watch it happen. “That reaction at the party was not a fluke. You pass out after orgasms.” He was impressed Jem had managed this much of a conversation, really.
“I plead the Fifth.” He mumbled this half into the pillow, snuggling into it with obvious intent.
God, he was so fucking cute. River leaned forward to kiss his nose and watched him fall asleep.
River’s bedroom had never looked so good. Never felt or smelled so good. The whole house just felt right with Jem in it.
River could write a hundred songs about the things he wanted to give Jem, but right now he was thinking of all the things Jem had given him in just a few short weeks. Countless smiles and abundant laughter and companionship and joy. A reignited enjoyment of life and music. The first home-cooked meal River had eaten in weeks if not months. Permission—encouragement—to do weird, dumb things because they madehim happy, and not to worry what other people thought. A convenient social buffer at a party. A shift in perspective.
