Page 43 of Stroke Rate

River pushed Chris’ hair off his face. “You were so good for me, baby,” he said, looking down with so much fondness Chris felt the three words threatening to leave his lips. God, I love him. The three words he had never said to anyone in a romantic way, but fuck he wanted to say them to River.

“We should go home,” Chris said as he pecked River’s lips, tucking them both back into their pants, as he laced their fingers together and led River to the back exit.

“What did Bran say to you tonight?” River asked as they lay in bed, bodies still warm from the shower.

“Hmm,” Chris hummed into River’s chest.

“Tonight, at the club. Bran whispered something to you.”

“Oh, that.” Chris could feel his face get hot as his lips curved up as he remembered. “He said he was proud of me. That I looked happy. That whatever you were doing to me was working, and to make sure I didn’t fuck this up.” He laughed a shy laugh and hummed as River petted his head.

“That, um. That’s really sweet, baby. The guys seemed great. I love that you have them.”

“Me too,” he said, pulling River closer, throwing a leg over his hip. “I’ve never had that before. I’ve never had a group of guys, but yeah, they are pretty great. We, uh, we will need to go to The Barn again and hang out.”

“Or we could have them over.”

“Have them over?”

“Yeah, I mean, it could be fun. You could cook dinner, we could all play in the pool. Fun Chris. We could have fun; I don’t think you’ve had enough of it.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he whispered as River let out a loud yawn.

“I’m tired,” River whispered. “Socializing exhausts me.”

“Go to sleep then. I’m not far behind.”

Chapter thirty-five

Chris

Shadows veiled the room, and River let out a low moan next to him, little whimpers falling from his lips followed by a tender whisper of “Coop,” as River curled up like a roly-poly, reminding Chris of ‌little Flynn during his childhood nightmares.

“Shhh baby. It’s okay,” Chris breathed as he rubbed River's back and snuggled close, only to have River climb on top of him. His large body, hot and damp with sweat, entombed Chris beneath it, and all Chris could do was hold him and rock their bodies as best he could. “You’re okay, Riv. Shhh shhh. I’m right here. You’re okay, baby.” River’s body gradually relaxed as Chris’ soothing coos and gentle rocking motion seemed to settle him, the endless stream of tears finally ceasing.

Memories of comforting someone through a bad dream felt as though they were from a different lifetime to Chris. Not since Flynn, not since the terrors of their childhood, when Chris would hold his tiny body just like this. Flynn on his chest, blankets around both of them, Chris would soothe and rub and rock Flynn until his small body would go loose, his breathing would even, and drool would fall from his mouth.

More often though, Chris would have been comforting Harrison and Flynn like this on nights when Laura was in a stupor, or when Laura and Emmett were fighting. Those nights happened too often, when all three brothers, terrified of the noises outside the bedroom door, would curl up in his bed, finding comfort in being close. Sleeping side by side felt safest on those nights. Laura, loud, drunk and falling about the house, knocking things over, crawling like a giant toddler up the stairs. Banging on Chris’ locked door, asking to sleep with them. Pleading that she wouldn’t sleep with their father anymore–banging, banging, so much banging–which led to Laura screaming through the gap in the door. “Let me in, goddamn it. You fucking little shits.” She would slur until eventually she passed out. He never let her in; Chris always stood guard as their constant protector and third parent. Some mornings Chris would find her still asleep in front of his door, having to shuffle his brothers around her prostrate form. He made a game of it, telling them to be so quiet and careful as not to wake the sleeping dragon.

Chris rubbed at his face, groaning, pushing away the traumatic memories only to find River looking at him. Or rather, looking through him. His open eyes were wide and blinking, but his body was motionless, his breath heavy and uneven, with faint mewling sounds slipping from his chest.

“Hey you,” Chris whispered. No response; was he still asleep? He looked…stuck, as tears streamed out of his eyes. Chris ran his lips over River's face, kissing the tears that leaked down his pink, warm cheeks. “Shhh, you’re okay,” he murmured, pushing the damp hair off River's forehead. Rocking, rocking, rocking until River finally went limp, his whimpers ceased, and his breaths were an even puff on Chris’ neck.

“What was that dream about?” he whispered, petting River’s head and neck, over his shoulders down his back, pulling them chest to chest, anchoring them together as their limbs tangled. Chris needed to be closer and wished he could crawl inside River, holding his heart in his hands, to keep it safe. This poor darling man, who had become so much to him in such a short time, had lost so much. Chris just wanted to hold him, and care for him, and be good for him.

The sky was lightening from black to a soft purple; it was almost time to get in the pool. But Chris didn’t want to leave River, nor did he want to wake him up. River clearly needed his rest, and Chris would be damned if he would leave him alone after what seemed to be a horrible dream. So he stayed, held River close and placed a soft stamp of his lips on River’s mouth before falling back asleep.

River

Blink. “Find my face,” but he couldn't; he couldn't see Coop’s face anymore. He could hear his voice, his tender voice, but he couldn't find his face. Who’s face? River was confused, as he felt soft touches on his back and a gentle rocking to his body.

Blink. “Shhh baby, you’re okay.”

Blink. “Can’t you see me?” River was screaming, stuck in the in-between.

Blink. “I can’t find you. Where are you? Cooper, Coop, I can’t find you, I can’t see you. Coop, Coop, Coop.”

Blink. “Shh, come back, it’s okay. I’m right here.” More rocking, a hand in his hair, a hand on his lower back.