by Jude Sierra
River read, clear as day, the moment it began, a trembling that started deep inside of Erik, something he couldn’t control. Something that, after a brief struggle, he acquiesced to and gave to River on a deep sigh.
“I’ve got you,” River said, and gasped, and rolled his hips as slow as he could, dragging them both into it for as long as they’d last. “I’ve got you.”
Erik bit River’s collarbone, harder than he’d done before, throwing River right up against the leading edge of pleasure. His hand hit the window, skidding off the condensation. Erik’s palm slid down his back.
“Look at me.” River’s breath caught. He winced when Erik’s fingernails bit into his hips. Their eyes met—heated and too honest, stripped clean and completely raw. River saw vulnerability and love, and something else in Erik’s eyes. Trust, maybe. Acceptance. He grabbed Erik’s jaw and kissed him hard.
…
“What’s your stance on wet-wipes in the car?” Erik said at length. River lifted his head with a snort, still shivering in the aftermath of his orgasm.
“Contextualize, please.”
“You’ve got condoms and lube. How far does your preparedness go?”
River tweaked Erik’s nipple and slid off his lap with a wince. “I have the condoms so I can forgo using cold-ass wet wipes.” River cracked the door open. Fresh air, damper than the humidity they’d made, was refreshing nonetheless. Erik used River’s discarded shirt to wipe the sweat from his face.
“Hey,” River said, snatching it back. He turned it inside out and slid it on.
“Wait.” Erik’s hand gripped his fingers, hard.
“Careful.” River pulled them away and flexed them.
“River,” Erik said, “what happens now?” The dome light cast fingers into the stillness of the woods beyond the car. Still, there was nothing so alive as them, in their fear and failures and blind potential.
“Now we go home and eat. We’ll listen to my shitty music in the car and marathon some dumb-ass special about Bigfoot when we get there. We’ll be so loud Pax won’t speak to me for a week. We’ll cuddle and make more food then do it all again. And eventually, I guess we’ll learn how to talk about the shit we’ve been hiding.”
Erik had laughed more, somehow, in these last few hours than River had heard before. It was a kind of magic, something rusty and surprised. It made River hungry, though he couldn’t quite name for what.
More, he supposed. More.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Erik watched sunlight play on River’s shoulders as morning filled the bedroom.
Their clothes were scattered on the floor. Erik’s boots were next to the dresser, his cell phone on the nightstand, jeans somewhere close to the edge of the bed. The night before echoed under his skin, sore spots left from River’s teeth, crescent moons from River’s fingernails. He reached over to touch the nape of River’s neck.
They’d left Little Si and driven straight to River’s apartment. When they stumbled through the door, Erik hadn’t been wearing a shirt. His jeans were still unbuttoned, and River’s arms were around his neck. Pax snorted at them from the couch, where he’d been buried in textbooks, and hollered a sarcastic, “Don’t break anything!”
River hadn’t been wrong about how they spent the night. The darkness of his bedroom became a still, merciless space. Erik held River down. He’d pushed until River was squirming and gasping, back arched off the bed and fingernails deep in Erik’s back. Erik had touched him until River was a shaking, whimpering mess. Until he’d sobbed over Erik’s name and threaded his fingers through Erik’s hair and allowed it—the senselessness and lack of control.
River had ordered pizza through an app on his phone. They took a shower together, where River spat water at Erik, and he pinned River against the warm wall, tickling him until they were too caught up in laughing to do much else.
Erik followed the outline of a bite mark on River’s shoulder with his index finger. He remembered sinking his teeth in, and the hot, deep press of River inside him. He remembered being stripped clean of his reservations, being wanted and loved.
The rise and fall of River’s chest steadied. He rolled over and blinked at Erik, softened by morning and sleep.
“Hey, babe.” He turned and slung his arm over Erik’s waist.
“Ow, watch it,” he hissed. River lifted his arm away from the tiny black stitches on his side. “Here…” He slid closer and guided River’s arm around his ribs instead. “That’s better.”
“Sorry,” River murmured. He pressed his lips to the bridge of Erik’s nose then tilted his head to accommodate a clumsy kiss. “Shit, what time is it?”
“I don’t know,” Erik confessed.
River tried to inch toward the edge of the bed, but Erik curled closer. “My phone’s over there.” River’s fingertips trailed his spine. “I gotta get up.”
Erik huffed against River’s neck. “We could not go to work.”
“Have to.”
“Debatable.”
River’s chuckle was warm and fond. “Not quite. I can’t cancel on one of my regulars.”
“If I tell Desiree that I got fucked into submission, she’ll be happy for me. So will your client.”
River barked a laugh. “Unfortunately, I don’t think that’ll work. I…”
“Spit it out, babe,” Erik said once the silence went on a beat too long.
“My mom needs money. A lot. And even though I keep telling myself I shouldn’t give it to her, I can’t bring myself to say no.”
“Is that what the extra hours have been about?” Erik propped himself up and examined River’s face.
“Yeah,” he said, a softness in his voice shaped like shame.
Erik huffed a small laugh. “I thought you were just avoiding me when things were shitty.”
“Well.” River traced the edge of Erik’s ear. “Maybe a little of that, too.”
River was quiet for a long while. Erik tried waiting him out, but it soon became clear he wasn’t going to say more. “Do you wanna talk about this now or later?”
River swallowed and smiled. “Later. It’s just—it’s a lot. And I’m hungry.”
He laughed because River wanted him to, and patted his thigh. “Come on then, get up.”
They ate cold, leftover pizza in the kitchen while the coffee brewed. Erik arched a brow at Pax, whose eyes were glued to his bare chest, littered with marks from River’s mouth, and gave a polite, “Morning.”
Pax rolled his eyes and stalked back into his room. Erik smirked.
Before Erik left, River pulled him into the shower. They kissed with slick lips. Erik held River against the wall and mouthed at his throat, pressing praises against his ear. It was slow and breathy, a stretch of tempered movements that Erik was greedy for. It was a morning made of things Erik had found with River and River alone. Physicality that startled him, the depth of it still unknown. Comfort that Erik couldn’t shake, and the tilting, surreal knowing that he was in love, and that somehow, River loved him back.
“Come over for dinner tomorrow,” Erik said softly.
River nodded. He leaned against the doorframe and smiled. “You cooking?”
“Course not. I’ll get something Not-Pizza and Not-Thai, though. If you’re up for it, maybe we can talk about your mom. Well, you talk. I’ll listen.”
“Fair enough.” He swayed forward and caught Erik’s lips in a quick kiss. “See you tomorrow.”
Erik was wearing the black sweater River had stolen from him weeks ago. He curled the sleeves into his palms and smirked before descending the stairs to the street. It still carried River’s scent.
Happiness, he thought. It’s been a while.
…
“Wow,” Desiree sang. She pinched Erik’s chin and pushed until he extended his neck, showcasing a wide, violet bruise. “Was this make up sex or breakup sex?”
Erik stifled a laugh. “We’re fine,” he said, and pawed her hand away. “He’s coming over for dinner tom
orrow night.”
Heels clicked on Gem’s polished wood floor. “Hallelujah,” Jadis snapped. “Now maybe you’ll stop bitching.” A long gold chain hung over a high-collared crimson dress and dangled on their smooth chest. “How’s your battle wound?”
“Getting better.” Erik shrugged. He glanced from Jadis’s pointed boots to their dark-red mouth. “Where are you off to?”
“Meeting some friends,” Jadis said. Their coy smile was enough to make Erik roll his eyes. “Good money, good time. I’m not complaining.”
“Be careful, Jadis,” Desiree said. She glanced at Erik and sighed. “You know these friends, right?”
They shrugged, ignoring Desiree’s question, and reached over to prod Erik in the chest. “Offer’s still on the table for you and pretty boy. Anytime. Any day.”
Erik shook his head and swatted Jadis’s hand away.
“Boo. You’re never any fun.” Their brittle eyes sparked, grin playful and bright. “You good, though? Healing up? River’s okay?”
“Yeah, we’re good. I’m good,” Erik said. “Stitches come out in a few days. I still owe you for that.”
“Give it to me whenever.” Jadis grabbed their coat, an ankle-length trench, and shrugged it on. “You’re not fighting on Friday, are you?”
That was the real question, wasn’t it? Desiree popped her lips and busied herself behind the bar, fixing bottles, re-stocking glasses, wiping down tins. Erik knew what his answer was, but he didn’t want the smug reaction he knew he was about to get for saying it.
“I’m cutting down to once a month,” Erik said through a sigh.
Jadis’s grin sharpened.
“If Desiree will teach me how to actually bartend,” he added.
“Oh,” Desiree howled. “Oh, look who it is comin’ to Erik O’Malley’s rescue again. Teach me how to bartend,” she said, deepening her voice to impersonate Erik. “I’m a shitty bartender, but I have a pretty face so people keep comin’ back for my shitty drinks.”
“Oh, come on,” Erik said, embarrassed.
Jadis laughed. “It’s not a lie.”
“It’s not, but that’s why I need you to teach me.” He leaned against the bar and stared at the ceiling, trying to fight back the smile twitching on his face. “Will you, Desiree? Please?”
“Oh, Des, c’mon. He said please,” Jadis purred. “Not that I don’t enjoy watching him beg—hey, ow!” They jumped back when Erik pinched their shoulder.
“Fine.” Desiree gestured to the bar with her chin. “Come back here, and I’ll show you some stuff before we open.”
Jadis walked backward, lifting their hand. “Good luck, O’Malley. Bye, Des.”
“Bye, Jadis,” Erik said. “Don’t get yourself killed.”
“Or arrested,” Desiree added.
Jadis winked. A moment later they were gone, out the back door and into the night like a phantom.
Desiree taught Erik how to make a few different drinks. She slapped his hand when he poured too much, laughed and rectified, made playful jabs and gentle assessments. He let her guide him, asked questions, and didn’t whine when he was corrected. The Wednesday night crowd wasn’t a big one, but it gave him a chance to practice. Desiree constantly reminded him to garnish, and Erik begrudgingly thanked her. Surprisingly enough, he did well.
As they were wiping down tables after last call, Desiree looked at him and said, “This is for you, right? You getting out of the cage? Changing your life? This is you, not him. It has to be.”
It was strange how quickly he answered. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s for me.”
Stranger still was how truly he meant it.
…
The next day, Erik tidied his apartment and watered the plant on the windowsill. He made his bed and draped the couch in a throw blanket, did the dishes and dusted his bookshelf. His studio still wasn’t much, but it looked better when it was put together.
River arrived at seven. His brows twitched quizzically as soon as Erik opened the door, and he peeked inside, nose lifted in the air. “Garlic?”
“Fettuccini,” Erik said. He watched River’s surprise build. “Don’t get excited. I just put it on plates.”
“Still excited,” River said. He kissed Erik and walked inside, slinging his coat over the couch as he went. “Pasta? Garlic bread?” River mock-gasped. “Did you get wine, too?”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Erik said through a laugh. “There’s beer in the fridge.”
River opened the fridge. Bottles clanked together, held at their necks between his fingers. “What’s in the pink box?”
“Whatever chocolate thing they had on the menu,” Erik said.
“Italian food,” River mused. “Dessert… What’re you trying to get out of me?” River pressed the question against Erik’s neck, grin light and true.
“A threesome with Jadis,” Erik said. River buried his face in Erik’s shoulder, smothering loud, sharp laughter. Erik laughed, too, gentle and teasing. “I’ll let them know it’s a no.”
River kissed him again, still chuckling, and grabbed his plate. They ate on the couch and sat facing each other, legs tangled and movements slow. It was comfortably quiet. They stole glances and shared smiles, but there was something unspoken brewing. It scaled Erik’s spine, whispering ridiculous things. He changed his mind. He’s going to run. But then River finished eating, set his plate on the floor, and trailed his fingers along the side of Erik’s foot, a carelessly intimate touch.
“Thank you for this,” River whispered.
Erik balanced the lip of his beer bottle against his mouth. He took a long sip. “You wanna talk?”
River let out a long breath. “No,” he said through a pained smile. “But we should.”
Erik put his bottle on the floor. He grabbed River’s ankles and pulled until he slid down the couch, back on the cushions and legs around Erik’s hips. Erik crawled over him, nose to nose, chest to chest.
River let out a shaky breath. “Not fair.”
“Completely fair.”
“You’re distracting. We won’t talk about anything like this.” River tilted his head, eyes lidded as if he anticipated a kiss.
“Talk,” Erik said. He pressed his forehead to River’s and closed his eyes. “And I’ll listen.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Erik was heavy. When he went boneless and trusted River to carry his weight, he was really heavy. River loved it when Erik held him down, used his strength and body to make River helpless to him. He ran a cupped hand over Erik’s shoulder and turned his head, denying an instinct to kiss Erik until they forgot this mess. Touch was a language they spoke well—maybe too well—and now, he knew, the true test was if he could trust Erik to carry his weight in other ways.
I love you so goddamn much.
River had carried those words under his skin all day. It was written into every exhausted, bruised, beautifully overused part of his body. He hadn’t lied when he told Erik he’d never loved anyone like this. It was an impossibility. There was no one like Erik, but more, there was no one River wanted and trusted so deeply to take him apart and then put him back together. There was something inexplicable between them that had been there from the start.
Yes, he’d start a war over Erik.
“Move over.” River pushed at Erik’s shoulders, laughing into the brush of Erik’s lips.
Erik smirked. He settled on the other side of the couch, propping a cushion behind his back, drawing his knees up and looping his arms around them. “I’m listening.”
“Look—I’ve never tried to talk about this with someone who didn’t already know. Even with Brigid. I mean, she knew, but everything with her was about her.”
“How long were you with her?” Erik asked, head cocked and brows drawn.
“A year.” River’s shoulders tensed, defense skittering into his stomach. He pulled at the frayed patches of his jeans. “Most people would think I’m fucked-up for staying that long.”
“I
’m not most people,” Erik said. “Besides, you were what, nineteen? No one knows what they’re doing when they’re nineteen.” He let his legs extend and scratched the cushion between them, inviting River to come closer.
Slowly, River did. He eased into Erik’s space, until his knees were over Erik’s thighs, hands restless between them. They looked at each other, a little afraid, a little curious. Erik’s palm came to rest on his cheek, a subtle, fleeting touch. River turned until his mouth met Erik’s wrist, and closed his eyes.
“Maybe I should start with my mom. Maybe it’ll make more sense that way.” He opened his eyes. The room was fading into the gloaming dusk. “Maybe it’ll never make sense.” Erik put his hand on River’s knee. He’d carried this, his mother’s poison, for years. She was his own Svara. “She’s been an alcoholic since I was a kid. Have you ever… Do you know the stuff they say, about how in dysfunctional families, ones with substance abuse, how everyone takes on a particular role?”
Erik shook his head.
“It’s like… Some people become the Gatekeeper, the Scapegoat. The Caretaker.”
“Which were you?”
“The Caretaker.” River pressed his fingers against his stinging eyes. He wasn’t going to cry, but something very big was rising through him. “Steve and Val used to remind me all the time that the caretaker is also the enabler.” River spent years of his life convincing himself that he wasn’t enabling, but forgiving.
“But weren’t you a kid? You couldn’t be responsible for that.”
“My mom was a pathological liar. I mean, I don’t know if anyone would officially call it that. But she’d be fall-down drunk and swear to the grave she hadn’t been drinking. We’d find stashes of empty bottles, and she would still say she hadn’t been drinking. Once, Val read online that you can take a mixed drink and heat it and light it on fire if there was alcohol in it. Or something. She was so fucking determined that proof would change something.”
“Has it ever?” Erik asked. “Does a confession ever make something hurt less?”