by Jude Sierra
A month.
Blood ran in rivulets down Erik’s chin. When River reached for him to wipe it off, he jerked away.
A month ago, they’d stood in the rain and Erik had taken him apart with a kiss. A month of them in each other’s hands, testing something fragile they wouldn’t name.
Four weeks later and River could do nothing to hold Erik together.
Once they arrived at River’s apartment, he took care to lead Erik by the wrist that Johnson hadn’t pinned. Erik wiped his face carelessly. The bleeding from his nose had stopped, but it was too dark for River to see the rest of the damage. A fluttering pressure in River’s chest stole his breath.
Pax was in the living room with his perpetual stack of books and study guides. One look at River and the state of Erik’s face and he hightailed it to his room.
“Stop,” Erik said. He tried to tug his hand out of River’s. “What am I—I shouldn’t be here.”
“Bathroom,” River snapped. “Now.”
He might not have been a fighter, but River had fire. Rarely deployed, but when it was, ferocious. Erik’s uninjured eye was nearly black, his pupil blown wide. His face went slack and then hardened, but he followed.
“Sit.” River pointed to the toilet lid. Rooting through their cupboards until he found antiseptic wipes and gauze, River held up his end of a cold and unwieldy silence. He had to remind himself to gentle his hands when he cupped Erik’s chin. He was barely holding himself together. His hands shaking with the pounding of his heart, it would be so easy to hurt Erik by accident. He wiped the blood off Erik’s cheek and chin.
“Where’s this coming from?”
Erik pulled back his bottom lip to expose the jagged cut where Johnson’s fist had connected.
“Okay.” River took a breath. “I’ll be right back.”
“You know, I don’t need a mother,” Erik called after him. River smacked the wall of the hallway with an open palm rather than respond. He ran the tap in the kitchen warm, filled a cup, and stirred salt into it, listening to Erik muttering to himself in the bathroom. He pulled out frozen peas and a towel while the salt dissolved in the water.
“Swish and spit it out.” He held the cup out.
“You’re shitting me.” Erik smirked. Being dismissed rankled River more than most things. He stared until Erik looked away. Erik might’ve been a stranger when he stepped into that ring, a man and a body completely foreign to him, but right now, River knew he was the stranger in the room, a version of himself Erik had never seen.
He tilted Erik’s head back once he was done. Blood lined the sink. “Tell me where this works best.” He tried to place the peas against Erik’s eye, unsure how careful he needed to be with the orbital bones. What did it take to break those? Erik shied away.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, does it hurt?”
“Probably.” Erik laughed then, really laughed, cutting and mean. “But I’m still high. Kinda helps.”
“What?” Ice trickled down River’s spine. “On what?”
“Coke,” Erik said. He didn’t look at River; the line of his shoulders said it all. River resisted the urge to put his hand on the wall to steady himself.
“Is that like—was it like a one-time thing or…?”
“Look, I hate to blow the lid off whoever it is that you think I am—”
“Don’t be condescending,” River said. His fingers were numb, livid anger and fear flooding through him. “Don’t act like you’re doing me a kindness by lying.”
“Please,” Erik scoffed. He grabbed River’s arm, palmed his tattoos. “This—these—don’t make you a hard-ass, River. They make you art, and you know it. This world—my world—isn’t for you.”
“I’m not naive. Don’t kid yourself. What you’re doing isn’t to protect me. I’m a big boy. It’s not like I’ve never been around this. I just wasn’t expecting it.”
I didn’t see it coming. He’d known there was something but couldn’t fathom any of this—this night, this vicious man bleeding on his towel and in his sink. This stranger.
Erik stood, and the peas fell at River’s feet. His lip was still bleeding. In the small bathroom with something ugly between them, Erik towered over River for the first time.
“I told you not to come. You found out where the fight was, and you came anyway.” He leaned closer, words clipped and harsh. “This is who I am. You wanted something else—you want someone else.”
“No.” River swallowed the gravel in his throat and reached for Erik’s hand. “I don’t.”
“I’m not who you thought I was. But you knew that already, right?” Erik pressed closer, pushed the words like barbs into River’s skin. “You knew. You still came. And now, surprise, you don’t like what you found.” Erik nudged him aside.
“Don’t tell me how I feel. Don’t pretend you know shit about what I think. This isn’t about me, and you know it.”
Erik rounded on him, opened his mouth, and then shut it before turning away. A different kind of panic lanced through River’s bones. A familiar one, a song spun through years and years of his life, the automatic fear his mother had sewn into him: that one day when she left, she wouldn’t come back. River never could do uncertain goodbyes.
“Just, please, stay. Let me—”
“I gotta go.” Erik stumbled over the shoes in the entryway. When he slammed the door, it cracked through the dead silence he left behind.
Chapter Twenty-One
Erik stared at the ceiling and thought about wanting. What it meant. The truth of it. How wanting could turn into a tangible place if he let it. How it made him feel haunted, even now.
River’s voice cut through his thoughts. Just, please, stay.
Erik hadn’t, because he couldn’t. The way River had looked at him, the uncertainty and shock. He’d never wanted River to look at him like that—like he was exactly what he was. A fuck-up. The remnants of a bloody fight. But River had seen him, and Erik hadn’t stayed, and now what was left? He thought of River’s body under his hands, the curve of his smile, and his light, hazy voice when they were tangled in bed. He lifted his hand and looked at the Imugi inked into his skin.
“You missed, asshole,” Erik whispered to himself. “Couldn’t catch a star if it hit you in the face.”
They hadn’t spoken in a week. Not a text. Not a call. When Erik’s phone rang, he scrambled to grab it. Disappointment hung heavy when River’s name wasn’t on the screen.
Erik sighed and answered. “Hi, Ma.”
Sue O’Malley sang on the other end, “Hey, honey. How’s it going up there?”
“Good.” The lie was easy and practiced. “Just working. Enjoying the city. How’s home?”
“Hot,” she said, and laughed. “Too hot for February. Your Dad and I had rooftop reservations for next week and had to change them to indoor. But it’s fine, I’m just glad he remembered this year.”
Erik frowned, trying to put the pieces together. His parents’ anniversary wasn’t until June. Had he missed a birthday?
“I hope you’re doing something fun for Valentine’s Day! You got someone special yet?”
His throat went dry. He opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. Yeah, Mom, I met someone. He’s wonderful. Too good for me. You’d love him. I’m ending it before I mess it up worse. “No,” Erik said, and cleared his throat. “No, it’s just me this year.”
“Oh, baby,” Sue cooed.
His name is River. Erik closed his eyes and chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I gotta go, okay? I’ll call you soon.”
“Please do, honey. I miss hearing your voice. I love you.”
Erik swallowed. “Yeah, love you, too.”
He hung up the phone and slid off the bed.
It wasn’t fair. None of it. He never should’ve let it go this far, let himself get in this deep. He shouldn’t have slept next to River, or dated him, or laughed with him. Erik should’ve stuck with what he did best—quick, easy, meaningless. But he’d held onto River, and
it was going to hurt like a bitch to let him go.
He turned off the lights, grabbed his phone, put on his shoes, and glanced at himself in the mirror. His eye was still busted from the fight, but otherwise, countless sleepless nights were what darkened the thin skin under his eyes. Nights he’d spent dwelling and fixating and remembering.
Don’t pretend you know shit about what I think. This isn’t about me, and you know it.
Erik shrugged on a coat and opened the door, only to stop abruptly before he crashed into River. He blinked, taken aback, and his eyes unwillingly softened.
River jolted. His arm dropped, fingers still curled into a fist as if he’d been about to knock. His lips parted and closed, words suddenly lost to them. Days had gone by without seeing each other, and Erik still wasn’t immune to the comfortable quiet River brought with him. Every thought he’d had, every decision he’d made, every doubt he’d lost sleep over, went silent as soon as he laid eyes on River.
The kitchen downstairs clattered and howled. River’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and his fingertips twitched toward Erik. The silence between them felt cavernous, like one false move might send them stumbling into another explosive fight.
“Fuck, babe,” River whispered. Sincerity thickened his voice. He lifted his hand and cradled Erik’s cheek, thumb brushing the bruise beneath his eye. “You’re a mess.”
Erik’s reservations splintered, his chest aching and heart pounding until his resistance turned into a sad, wilted bluff. He had no intention of letting River go. His index finger curled through one of River’s belt loops and tugged until River stepped into the apartment. The door closed. Shadows stretched from the corners, watching, waiting.
“I’m sorry,” Erik said. He pressed their foreheads together and sighed when River’s arms curled over his shoulders. “I’m really sorry, River.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry, too.” River stroked the nape of his neck. “Are you okay?”
No, he wasn’t okay. He was volatile, desperate for affection he didn’t understand, and hungry to be more than what he was. He wasn’t okay because everything he’d ever loved had suffered for it, and now, Erik loved River.
It’d happened too fast, a combustion that made him question practicality. He’d known this man for five weeks. Five fucking weeks. And here he was, ruled by him.
“People like me ruin things,” Erik whispered. He slid his hand under the back of River’s shirt, palm gliding up his spine. “I’m awfully fucking good at it, and I don’t want to ruin this. Or you.”
“Me?” He jerked back and stared at Erik, eyes narrowed. “That’s what you’re worried about? Ruining me? First of all, my ruination isn’t yours to determine. Don’t give yourself that much credit.”
Chills scaled Erik’s back. His chest tightened, and he held his breath, waiting.
River chewed on his bottom lip. “Second,” he said, “things have been trying to ruin me for a long time, Erik. They were there before you, they’ll be there…” He stopped before he could say after you, and Erik’s throat cinched. “Just… Get that out of your head, okay? You couldn’t ruin me if you tried.”
“I would never try,” Erik mumbled. He steered his gaze to the floor and let his palm rest on River’s waist. “I told you I was all messed up by you at the club. Remember that?”
River framed Erik’s neck with his hands, thumbs resting over the curve of his jaw.
“I wasn’t lying. I’m…” Erik huffed and shook his head. “I’m the ruined one,” he whispered. “You ruin me, and I can’t get enough of it—of you and this”—he gripped River’s hip harder—“and what you do to me, and—”
River pulled Erik in and kissed him hard and deep. Erik closed his eyes. A wounded sound escaped, a whimper that chased the stroke of River’s tongue. He tugged until they were chest to chest. River pawed Erik’s coat off, hands skirting over Erik’s shoulders, down his chest, resting on his torso where bruises hid beneath his shirt.
“They get worse before they get better,” Erik said softly.
“Everything usually does.” River shrugged off his jacket. Erik watched inch after inch of skin appear as he tossed his shirt aside. “Let me see.”
These bruises were different, raised and ugly, the kind that stayed sore for weeks. He swallowed hard and removed his shirt, exposing the lakes of violet and navy. Broken capillaries crept down his side, the shadow of his bottom rib dented his skin, more pronounced than the rest.
River studied him. His lashes fluttered; a failed attempt to conceal a wince. He tilted his head, taking in the aftermath of a fight Erik had never wanted him to witness. The lights weren’t on. River wasn’t even seeing the worst of it. His fingers settled on the bruise, and Erik flinched.
River pressed harder. His fingertips dug into Erik’s rib.
“Stop,” Erik gasped out. He grabbed River’s wrist, but it was no use. River kept pushing. Erik choked on a yelp and stumbled back, bringing River with him. “River, what the fuck, stop—”
“Say it,” River said. He met Erik’s eye and pushed on the bruise. “Tell me you don’t want it to hurt.”
Realization chewed at Erik, causing his heart to stutter and his breath to come short. He closed his eyes and gripped River’s wrist a little harder, trying and failing to find the courage to tell him everything, everything. That it was impossible—that they were impossible. That this would keep ruining him, that River sparked something in Erik that he didn’t understand. A willingness to become more, to move on, to evolve into a person he never thought he was capable of being. To stay.
“Shakespeare,” Erik whispered.
River slid his hands away from the bruise. His lips trailed Erik’s cheek, burning a path to his mouth. It was a slow, wet kiss, broken once when the backs of Erik’s knees bumped the bed frame, and a second time when River leaned back to look at him.
Hands fumbled with buttons and zippers. Erik committed the sounds River made to memory: the quiet whines and shaken gasps pulled from him by Erik’s mouth on his chest, his stomach, his hips and thighs. He traced River’s bones with his fingertips, light, sweeping movements. His lips trailed the ink on the inside of River’s elbow, tasted the flexed tendon in his throat. Erik kissed him everywhere.
It was dark outside the window, a sky soaked in washes of gray. River took his time. He touched Erik reverently, a slow, gentle connection that had Erik shaking apart. After the tremors subsided, Erik opened his eyes to glance at the sky through the window, the place where a storm had been days prior, and tried to catch his breath.
“Where’d you go?” River, poised above him on his hands and knees, kissed the black dragon on his neck.
“I’m right here.” Erik looked up at him, at River’s fine-boned features and warm eyes, at his kiss-bitten lips and honeyed skin. “You’re really beautiful.”
Far out on the horizon, dark clouds rolled in. Erik ignored them.
…
“How are your legs this long?” River leaned back against Erik’s chest, seated comfortably between his thighs in the bathtub. “You’re not that much taller than me, but in here you’re like a scarecrow.”
“A scarecrow who has at least four inches on you,” Erik said. He nosed at River’s neck. Steam curled from the water.
Quiet draped around them, the peaceful kind that manifested in times of comfort. It went on like that, River’s fingers dancing on Erik’s knee and Erik’s hands low on River’s belly until River’s breathing halted.
“It doesn’t always have to hurt,” River said.
Erik opened his mouth against River’s shoulder and kissed him there. “I know.”
“You’re not…” River paused, his thoughts loud in the stillness. “You’re not ruined, and I’m not art. We’re more than that, both of us.”
River was wrong. Erik was most certainly ruined. “You’re art,” he mumbled, and kissed River’s neck. “Everything about you.”
River snorted. He shook his head, heartbeat fast against Erik�
�s lips.
“The way you move,” Erik whispered. He let one of his legs sink below the water and snaked his hand under River’s thigh. “Your body.” His other hand drifted between River’s legs, fingers curling around his cock. “Your voice, the way you breathe, the way you walk.”
River ground his ass back against him. His eyes slipped shut. He rested his head against Erik’s shoulder, breath quivering.
“Your mouth, your hands, the sounds you make.” Erik lifted River’s thigh until his leg was over the edge of the bathtub. He bit back a moan when River’s hips jumped, rocking back against him and forward into his hands. “Say my name,” he rasped.
River’s grip slipped on the edge of the bathtub. He said Erik’s name again and again, gasped and whimpered. His voice echoed in the small space, and after his body tensed, chest heaving, knuckles white, he sank farther into the hot water, cheek resting on Erik’s collarbone.
“You got water everywhere,” Erik said, playful and soft.
River scoffed, still trying to catch his breath, and flicked water at him.
The floor was, in fact, wet. River’s laughter was bright and genuine, and when he turned around to straddle Erik’s waist, more water sloshed over the sides of the bathtub. Erik didn’t care. River didn’t seem to mind, either.
Erik closed his eyes. His back arched into the slide of River’s palm below his belly button. River kissed him once. Erik chased his lips when he pulled back.
“Say my name,” River whispered, and snatched Erik’s bottom lip between his teeth.
River’s name fit in his mouth like a prayer and a curse and a spell.
He believed, and he feared, and he fell under it.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Not that River would admit it, but the days after making up with Erik left him sore. In body, definitely—Erik had enthusiastically encouraged River to test his limits. And he had. River had been in relationships before, but never one that could come back from a fight like that. River couldn’t stand the end of things. Ever since Brigid, River had made it a policy to leave before he could be left. Of course, that was often precipitated by things going to shit after an unsuccessful attempt to triage unsalvageable wounds.