Page 26 of Stroke Rate

“You hoped? Really?” Chris let the question hang like a noose between them, and River could see the question for what it was—Chris was baiting him.

River uttered, "Okay, I was scared," and his own admission startled him. He was so surprised that he spoke the truth—a truth that scared him because of what it meant. What other truth would he share just because Chris simply asked? Fighting against his inner struggle, River felt an overwhelming urge to let down his guard, allow the walls to crumble, and give the boy everything.

Chris pressed his forehead to River’s and stated, “I was scared too. I still am.” River nodded in agreement as Chris continued, “I can't handle you ghosting me and going silent again. Okay? We can figure the rest out later,” Chris said with a determination that could have passed for confidence, but the pout on his face betrayed him. River could see the underlying nerves in his eyes as they danced all over River’s face, searching for something. Something he must have found in River’s eyes, because as they locked on one another, he watched as Chris’ pout transformed into a serene smile. All the tension leaving his brow as a quiet calm settled between them—like having this moment of spoken truth had settled the lingering apprehension in both of them.

“Okay,” River whispered back so close to Chris’ mouth, all he would have to do was lean in a fraction and take his lips, but Chris pulled back first.

Letting go of River's neck and standing, Chris said, "Okay, why don’t you go check out the living room and I'll put all this away, then I'll show you the pool, it's right through there," he pointed through a doorway down the hall and winked as he walked to the sink.

The built-in shelves that lined the walls of the living room were breathtaking. Beautiful knobby live-edge wood, with a bright glossy finish—whoever had designed the space had captured the wilderness of Colorado perfectly. Every detail was rustic yet homey, making River’s heart squeeze with the thought of ever having to leave—of having to go back to his dreary, lifeless house, filled with so many memories that he constantly felt he was choking on them.

Little treasures and curiosities lined the impressive shelves—the kind a little boy would have collected after a long day outside. Rocks and cicada skins covered the glistening surfaces of one. A rattlesnake shed, long and whole, sat on another. River ran a finger over it, admiring every bump and ridge of the reptile scales Chris had collected. Sticks and fragments of gray, papery wasp nests littered another shelf; but the one that captured River’s attention the most was the shelf covered in eggshells. Small woven bowls and cups held various small eggshells, some white and brown speckled, half broken with spots of old yolk in them, a couple of bright blue robin's eggs, and a few beautiful light blue ones covered with olive-green dots. He ran his fingers across them, so fragile, terrified they would shatter if he applied too much pressure.

"Those are Stellars Jay eggs. Aren’t they beautiful?" River jumped, not realizing Chris was behind him. "They are my favorites, really hard to find. I got lucky and found those on a hike down in Castle Rock." Chris stood so close to River’s back, he could feel the heat emanating from Chris. A tentative hand wrapped around River’s waist, stroking his belly. Just the lightest touch, which sent shivers across River’s whole body. Chris pulled him closer, locking both arms around River’s middle—hugging him and kissing between his shoulder blades. The knot that River had felt in his stomach, the awful homesick feeling that had plagued him over the last month, seemed to loosen with the touch. River let his head fall back. He felt Chris adjust, trying to get higher, trying to get closer to kiss River’s cheek—but he was too short. So River turned in his arms, so they were now nose to nose, lifting his hands to frame the portrait of Chris’ sweet face.

Chris looked different here, in his own house surrounded by his little knick-knacks and treasures. He looked younger, raw, and more vulnerable. River wanted to freeze the moment and have a permanent picture of it burned into his brain. With the mid-day sun playing over Chris’s face, making his blue eyes glitter like the surface of a mountain lake, River couldn’t believe how lucky he had been to have the chance to hold him again and maybe, if he was lucky, to keep him.

“You’re so pretty, Chris.” River kissed his nose. Chris pushed against River’s chest, as a soft pink spread across his cheeks, snuggling his forehead into River's armpit. River felt, but didn’t hear, a warm rumble leave Chris' chest. They stood and held each other, letting their bodies become reacquainted with one another. River felt as if his soul was settling—like his very being could breathe again as Chris held him.

“I’m so sorry,” River whispered into Chris' hair, breathing in oranges and patchouli—a slight hint of chlorine hitting his nose at the very end.

Chris’ warm breath coasted over River’s throat as he lifted his face. “I missed you. I know it’s dumb, I know it’s fast, but fuck Riv, I missed you.”

“Me too,” River said, making Chris look up at him. With glossy eyes and an upward curl to his lips, he had the look of a proud little imp, his smile faint and his gaze sincere. River leaned down and kissed his dimple again because he loved it so much.

“You missed me?” The words out of Chris' mouth almost sounded smug, and it made River huff a laugh.

“Yeah, you little beast. I missed you.” Then it was Chris’ turn to take River’s face in his hands, pulling him so close their noses touched.

“Can I kiss you, Riv?” Chris smiled his actual smile, all teeth and dimples.

At that, River had to smile back. The way Chris said Riv was a balm to his heart. It had been so long since someone had said his name in that way. Sure, Brooke said it sometimes, but she always said it in that ‘okay, old man’ sort of way. But Chris said “Riv” in a familiar way, with such fondness it made River’s chest ache. It reminded him of the way Coop used to say his name. Ducking his head, River tried to hide the way the word made him feel—tender and a little raw. River melted as Chris pulled him impossibly close and slotted their mouths together.

Then Chris was kissing him, and River’s tongue moved with the muscle memory of their last kiss, remembering the shape of Chris’ mouth as he licked the outline of his lips. Chris ‌opened for River, his mouth soft and welcoming, his tongue massaging River’s in a sensual dance. River used his lips and hands to reacquaint himself with Chris' body, running palms over the smooth planes of his abs, tracing the prominent V that led River to Chris' groin. Taking Chris’ hips in his grip, River squeezed, feeling a deep moan vibrate from Chris’ throat before he was snaking his hands up the back of Chris’ shirt to caress his broad shoulders and traps, finally gripping the nape of his neck, and scuffing Chris as if he were a puppy. He pulled back to look up at River, his eyes tender and searching, but the tilt of his chin was almost challenging, asking River for something. Maybe asking if River still wanted him, and fuck, he wanted him so much. River couldn’t handle that curious, playful look on Chris' face; it made a primal need bubble inside him. He wanted more. He wanted to do more, take more—so he pushed on Chris' shoulders and watched as he folded to his knees like a house of cards.

River’s fists clenched and unclenched as he looked down at Chris, not sure what to do next, but what he did know was that his soul left the corporeal world and drifted into the afterlife with sight of Chris on his knees. He was just…Chris was beautiful. With his blue doe eyes looking up at River, the slight tilt of his stubborn mouth, and that cute fucking dimple that appeared at the most inopportune times. Like right at that very moment, as River battled his brain trying to figure out what the hell to do next, that dimple pulled in and‌ vanished, and River could swear it was winking at him. Taunting him. Challenging him to do more. But all of this was so new to him—being in control—so foreign but so right with this boy at his feet. River’s brain throbbed with the memory of Chris melting into the caress of his hair, the way he keened at the praise River bestowed upon him, reminding River that Chris needed to be cared for and liked to be given reassurance. So River stroked his hand over Chris’ cheek and carded his fingers through the unruly hair at his temple, and as he did, River watched the stubborn set of Chris’ chin transform into pliancy with his gentle touch.

“You look good on your knees for me, baby,” River said and heard a small whimper squeak out of Chris. River realized Chris hadn’t touched him yet, his hands plastered to his thighs, and River didn’t like that; he wanted Chris’ hands all over him all the time. Placing two fingers under Chris' chin, he lifted Chris’ face to meet his eyes. “You can touch me, Chris. Please touch me.”

Chris easily obeyed, as if he had been waiting for permission. He ran his hands up the back of River’s calves, squeezing. Then he slowly moved his hands up to River’s thighs, kneading the tight muscle, taking River’s ass in his hands as he pulled his groin into his face. River watched as Chris buried his face in the crease of his thigh, felt Chris’ hot breath through the fabric of his pants, his own mouth salivating as Chris mouthed at River’s erection, leaving a wet trail in his wake.

River listened to Chris moan and pant as he ran his lips up and down his hard length, before placing an open-mouthed kiss to River’s tip, still covered in his clothing. Chris paused, looking up at River through his light eyelashes, asking a question without saying a word.

“Be a good boy and take me out,” River commanded and watched as Chris shivered from head to toe, with a pretty pink blush staining his cheeks. Chris seemed to move in slow motion, or maybe it was the moment. Stuck in a parallel universe—where time dripped like honey—allowing both of them to savor this.

Being together again.

Chapter twenty-three

Chris

It felt as if Chris had entered a new body he didn't recognize as his own. His movements, which had always been so rigid and planned during sex, were now fluid and uninhibited. This new submissive stranger that had possessed his body trickled out of him, slow and pulsating with urges he had never felt.

The urge to be used.

The urge to kneel.

The urge to be owned.