Page 116 of We Are Just Us

Rory opened his eyes. His gaze drifted down to his own body, the mess across his chest, stomach, Kieran’s hand still wet with it, and he let out a breathless laugh. “Jesus Christ. Look at me.”

“I’m looking.”

“I’m a disaster.”

“You’re beautiful.”

Kieran leaned down and kissed him, slow and deep and thorough. When he pulled back, Rory’s hands came down from the headboard to frame his face.

“You’re incredible,” Rory said quietly.

Color rose in Kieran’s face. He didn’t have a response that wouldn’t sound like deflection, so he kissed Rory’s forehead and stood.

He grabbed a towel from the bathroom and cleaned Rory off with careful movements. Rory watched him the whole time, his expression relaxed. When Kieran was done, he tossed the towel onto the foot of the bed and lay down beside Rory, fully clothed and aching but satisfied in a way that had nothing to do with his own body.

Rory reached for the front of Kieran’s jeans, pressing against the obvious bulge.

Kieran sucked in a breath but caught Rory’s wrist gently. “This was for you. I wanted to do this for you.”

Rory studied his face, his expression shifting in a way Kieran couldn’t read. Then he let his hand fall back. “You’re something else, Kieran Doyle.”

Kieran didn’t know how to answer, so he didn’t. They stayed there as the evening bled into the room, watching the sky outside turn from dusk to dark.

After a while, Rory spoke. His voice was different now. Quieter. Considered.

“I want to ask you something. And I’ve been thinking about how to say it, so just let me get it out.”

Kieran turned his head to look at him.

“Have you been tested recently? For STDs?”

“Maybe a year ago,” Kieran said. “Haven’t been with anyone since then. Everything came back clean.”

Rory nodded slowly. “I got tested a couple years ago. Clean as well. And I haven’t been with anyone else.” He paused. “I want us both to go again. Together. Because I don’t want to use condoms with you anymore.”

Kieran was quiet.

“I want to feel you,” Rory continued. “Just you. And if you’re not comfortable with that, I understand. But I trust you. And I want that closeness.”

Kieran swallowed. His throat was tight. “That’s not a big ask,” he finally said. “That’s the right ask. It means you’re thinking about this like it has a future.”

Rory’s expression softened. “It is real.”

“Then we’ll go. Next week. Both of us.” Kieran reached over and laced his fingers through Rory’s.

Rory squeezed back. “Okay.”

THIRTY-FIVE

The Planned Parenthood was tucked between Backyard Bird and Fountain of Juice. For anyone else, it was a clinic. For Kieran, it was a replica of every sterile, fluorescent-lit waiting room of his adolescence.

“It’s a couple tests,” Rory said, his voice casual.

Kieran stared at the building, his hands tight on his knees. “I know what this involves.”

“Then why the death grip on your seat?”

Kieran forced a laugh, but it came out sharp. “I’m fine. It’s...the smell. It takes me back to my mom’s treatment days. It’s a sensory thing.”