by Jude Sierra
Erik wanted it all, but for now, he’d take River’s boundaries and his wants and his fears, and he’d keep them.
River pulled at Erik’s shirt until it was tossed away. He ran his hands along Erik’s collarbones, over his chest and stomach. He fumbled with the button on Erik’s jeans, and Erik had to swat him away to rid him of his shirt. It turned into a mess of movements. River pulled Erik down and kissed him hard. They kept reaching for each other, clumsy attempts to touch where their position on the couch wouldn’t allow. River’s frustrated groan echoed between their lips, and he pressed his hips up, grinding against Erik in slow, stuttering rolls.
“Hold on,” Erik said. He squeezed River’s waist, trying to get him to sit up. “C’mere, just—”
They tumbled off the couch, a tangle of uncoordinated arms and legs. River’s back hit the floor, and Erik caught himself on his hands and knees before he smashed into him.
“Ow,” River hissed, complaint overrun by laughter. He squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in breath after breath, heaving, shaking laughter.
Erik still wondered if he could bottle that sound. His lips formed a playful grimace. “Sorry, babe. You okay?”
“Your plate is definitely broken now,” River said. He shifted his leg off the plate beneath him, cracked down the center.
River pulled him in before they stopped laughing. Erik kissed him between breaths. He curled his arm under River’s lower back and hauled River up with him.
“We’re a mess,” Erik whispered. His hand slipped on the plate and came away sticky with frosting and syrup and melted ice cream. They stumbled to their feet. River steadied Erik when he almost tripped, hands on his shoulders. Erik busied himself with River’s belt.
“I like our mess,” River said. He pulled Erik’s hand to his mouth, lips and tongue traveling the tips of his fingers, teeth sinking into his palm, licking the last remnants of sweetness from his skin. Erik framed River’s jaw and tugged him into another kiss.
“I don’t think I’ve ever told you,” Erik said. He backed River into the side of the bed. “But I love your laugh. It’s one of the first things I noticed. Your laugh, your smile.”
River grinned and shoved at Erik’s jeans until they fell. “First thing I noticed was how fashion forward you were,” he teased. “Denim jacket with jeans? Bitchin’.”
Erik shoved River down on the bed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this open with someone, the last time he’d swallowed genuine, messy laughter between kisses, or called someone an asshole so fondly, or loved someone so fully.
…
Erik changed his relationship status on Facebook the morning after River had come over for dinner. He did it while River slept soundly in bed beside him and later that day noticed that River had changed his, too.
Two weeks after that, River invited Erik to dinner with Valeria and Steve.
Wolfbite013: What should I wear?
Watermarked: clothes
Wolfbite013: okay seriously
Watermarked: We’re going to a pub. Nothing fancy. Jeans. Shirt.
Erik heaved a sigh. He did not want to do this. Okay, he did. He did want to do this because Steve was River’s best friend and Valeria was his sister, and Erik needed them to like him.
“Oh, yeah, hi, Steve. Nice to fucking see you. Talk to River like that again, and you’ll spit teeth,” Erik mumbled to himself, pacing back and forth between the couch and his bed. “Hi, Val. Heard a lot about you. You sound like a royal fucking bitch.”
He groaned and glanced at his phone.
Watermarked: See you in 20
Wolfbite013: I’m suddenly super sick
Watermarked: ERIK
Wolfbite013: kidding. Chill. Omw
Erik slipped his combat boots on, grabbed the nicest jacket he had—a long, black pea coat Desiree had let him borrow, and eventually let him keep—and locked the door behind him. He walked to the pub, Deschutes Brewery, and enjoyed the snap of cold wind on his face. He used the few minutes he had to arrange his thoughts.
These were River’s people. His sister. His best friend. They’d been there when Erik hadn’t, knew River like Erik didn’t. He could only imagine what they thought of him already. A cage fighter. A deadbeat. The reason River had bruises on his hips and hickeys above his collar. Well, hopefully they didn’t know about the bruises, though nothing could be done about the hickeys.
An orange sign was lit over the door of the pub, and below it, standing along the brick wall outside, was River, his revoltingly beautiful sister, and Steve.
Steve flicked his gaze from Erik’s boots to his face and arched a brow. Brave, Erik thought. “Nice to see you again,” Steve said through forced sincerity.
Erik wanted to punch him square in the mouth. “I’m not fresh out of the cage this time,” Erik said, knowing very well that he was posturing. He stuck out his hand for Steve to shake and gripped too hard. “I can actually introduce myself properly.”
“Easy, killer,” Steve said, shaking out his hand. “We’re all friends here.”
“Yeah, easy,” Val snapped.
“Chill out, Val, they’re big boys,” River said. He glanced at Erik, mouth quirked in a nervous smile.
Erik turned his gaze on Valeria, who straightened immediately. She was coiled like a viper, ready to strike. Erik had seen that look on people before; he knew it well because he wore it often. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind that Valeria would kick his ass if she thought River was in an ounce of trouble, but if she was anything like him, he also knew that her bravado was all theatrics.
“Valeria,” Erik said. Val’s eyes narrowed. “What a pleasure.”
River’s sigh was long and tired. “Are we done?” He grabbed Erik’s hand and tugged.
A laugh snuck up on Erik. It came out of him smothered and true, joined by a smile he couldn’t force down. Even Valeria couldn’t quite stifle her own chuckle. Steve held the door and gestured inside with a wave of his hand.
“Be nice,” River whispered, eyeing Erik carefully.
One side of Erik’s mouth lifted into a half smile. He winked. “C’mon,” he rasped, “I’m always nice.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
For all the mountains River moved to orchestrate a simple dinner, he felt he deserved to be cut a little slack. Instead, Val was poised to attack, Steve was obviously forcing himself into civility, and Erik was one step from aggressive and two into sarcastic. River knew Erik’s vulnerability now, how much easier it was to preemptively give people a bad impression rather than feel it without defenses. Unfortunately, that didn’t translate to Val or Steve.
“This is you being nice?” River asked. Erik’s eyes were steady, dark pools in the night. One tug and Erik’s lips were on his forehead, his sigh warm, defenses down.
“I’ll do my best,” Erik whispered. Val watched them from the door, her frown was considering.
“You, too,” River said to her quietly when Erik passed through the door. “Please.”
“Look,” River had explained to her days prior, “you want to protect me. First, I don’t need protection. Second, if you really want to do the caring for River thing, giving the person I love a chance is what I need.”
“River, he’s a cage fighter—”
“You want me to be happy? He makes me happy. And you’re being a judgy asshole.”
Steve’s laugh and Val’s exhaled breath, despite the purposeful pause and flashing eyes preceding it, had spelled tolerance and a lessening of suspicion. River couldn’t tell her—perhaps because he couldn’t articulate—how Erik made him happy even when they were being petty, when they fought, when River wasn’t sure they’d ever get the right words out.
Erik woke him up with small kisses. He met River’s eyes when he was at his worst. He touched River with care, even when he was rough. When they pushed each other to their limits, River knew Erik would never hurt him more than he wanted to be hurt, and River would never hurt Erik more than Erik wanted, either. A few we
eks had passed since they’d laid their pasts bare, giving each other care of ghosts and vulnerabilities and flaws. Sometimes Erik was still closed-off and snappish when River asked about his past, but River was learning to lean into silences and wait for Erik to come to him. When River fell apart over his mother’s last phone call, Erik listened. And after River called her, offering half the money she’d asked for, and telling her that this was the last time he’d bail her out, Erik didn’t once pressure him to admit whether that was entirely the truth or not. Instead, he held River and offered encouragement rather than lecturing him. Maybe this was something he could do—set boundaries for his own well-being within the love he had for his mother. Erik, too. Even Val and Steve.
The work they put into themselves brought them back to each other every time. Every day, River remembered that Erik made him happy. That slowly, he was learning to trust Erik with his scars, with the weight of his fears and insecurities. That being in love with Erik was bigger than anything else, bigger than he’d experienced, than he’d dreamed of. River knew how to walk away before his heart was broken. His mother and Brigid had pounded that lesson into him.
With Erik, walking away wasn’t a possibility. It wasn’t survivable.
Deschutes Brewery was an informal pub, loud and casual, a place to relax into liquor and conversation. At least, that’s what River had hoped. Until no one spoke for an entire minute. Then another. And another. Erik’s fingers dug bruises into River’s thigh below the table. River touched the top of his hand, traced the Imugi’s tail, trying to transmit I’m here and You’re not alone with the pad of his finger and a single look.
“So.” Erik cleared his throat. “What’s everyone drinking? I’ll grab them.”
“You’re a bartender, right?” Val said matter-of-factly. “I mean, when you’re not otherwise occupied.”
“You can say it. Fighting,” Erik corrected, mouth curved into a dangerous grin.
“Erik.” River could be as sharp as any of them, sharpness more effective perhaps for its unexpectedness. “Val. Chill out, both of you.”
Finally, finally Val smiled. It wasn’t her real smile—this was Val for pictures, Val at work, Val with her armor in place. But it was better than nothing. She gestured to Erik with her open palm as if she hadn’t meant any harm. “I just meant, maybe he could give us some suggestions.”
“Is this a test?” Erik asked. His eyes didn’t leave Val’s, but he’d laced some signature bite into the question. “Because if it’s some sort of metaphor, I’ll tell you I dropped out of high school. If it’s a liquor quiz—”
“Let’s go with that,” Steve interrupted. He’d been darting glances between them. If River placed bets on who would unwind first, it would have been Steve.
“Beer, not IPA.” Erik pointed at him, earning a nod and a smile.
“You’re classless with no preferences.” Erik smiled around the words he directed at River, something private but present.
“Asshole.” River laughed over the word and slipped his fingers between Erik’s.
“Whiskey tonight, I know,” Erik whispered. He looked at Val. “How about I surprise you?”
She raised an eyebrow, accepting a challenge while extending one. River sighed. As soon as Erik left the table, he kicked her under it.
“Could you stop? You’re making him self-conscious, which I realize makes him edgy, but you’re coming off like a jerk, and that considerably undermines whatever moral high ground you think you’re on.”
Val bit her lip and shrugged. “Yeah, okay.”
“I know you guys worry about me. But you need to try to trust me.” River forced himself not to squirm as a blush heated his cheeks. “I really love this guy. And he loves me. So I’m gonna need you to get with the program and start liking him, like, as soon as possible. Right now. Yesterday, preferably.”
“Riv, I gotta say, it warms my heart when you start bossing Val around.” Steve’s voice was a laugh and a peace offering at once.
“Beer, whiskey, whiskey.” Erik put his drink next to River’s. “And a wet martini, shaken, with a twist, for Val.”
River hid a smile behind his hand. Steve’s laugh rang and with it, River’s gratefulness.
Val’s eyes brightened. “Okay, you got me. How’d you do that?”
Erik sat next to River and closed the space between them.
“Yeah, last we heard you suck at bartending,” Steve supplied
“Oh, I do. I definitely do,” Erik said over a laugh. “I’m much better at my other job, but…” He paused to shrug. “I also like having all my teeth, so I’m working on my bartending skills.”
Thankfully, the joke didn’t fall flat. Laughter punched from Steve. Even Val chuckled, stifled but still there. River shifted closer, content with Erik’s arm around his shoulder, Erik’s fingertips light on his collarbone.
“You’re working on your pours, right? Desiree’s training you?” River reached out to touch Erik’s knuckles, one finger looped around his thumb.
“To the best of her abilities,” Erik said, lips curved into an easy smile. “Working with me requires a little more than your usual amount of patience, I think.”
Erik’s first breath was deep, the second River took with him, leaning into his chest.
“What’s it like…?” Val asked. “The fighting, I mean.” The question was slow, calculated but genuine. She tilted her head and rested the rim of her martini glass against her mouth. “You don’t have to answer that,” she blurted, shaking her head. “I’m just—I’ve never met—”
“It’s lawless,” Erik said. River felt him go rigid, but he laced their fingers, and the tension drained. River had given him permission, maybe. Or something close. A way to be himself, to be accepted for what he was, as someone River loved and trusted and wanted, always. “But it’s also freeing. Some people use it as an outlet, some people do it to get by because it pays well. It’s like therapy for me, if that makes sense, and”—he paused, waited for River to shift against him—“I’m good at it.”
Steve pushed air through his teeth. “Probably not first date conversation, huh?”
“Oh, it totally was.” River snorted out a laugh. “We definitely talked about the fights on our first date.”
“That wasn’t a date,” Erik said under his breath.
Heat rushed into River’s cheeks, and he almost choked on his whiskey.
“As interesting as I’m sure my unconventional job is,” Erik teased, “tell me about yourselves.”
“River hasn’t?” Unlike the rest of them, Steve was always refreshingly unmasked. Sandwiched between Val and Steve’s versions of love and care, River had always appreciated it.
“He has. But I’d like to hear it from you,” Erik said, and cleared his throat. River turned his face into Erik’s shoulder. It was fleeting, the space between breaths, pulled away before discomfort could settle into affection with an audience. Erik’s cologne lingered, his nerves a subtle vibration between them.
The night went on. They laughed, drank, and shared a table full of appetizers. As time passed, nervousness waned and friendliness came easily. Val told stories about River—good ones, the kind that didn’t hurt to tell—and Erik managed to tell some of his own. River stayed close, tucked against Erik’s chest, and wondered if a night like this could be the start of something.
At one point, Val tossed her head back and laughed, nose wrinkled, hand covering her mouth. Steve was in the middle of a story, something about high school, and Erik’s palm rested carefully on the nape of River’s neck.
Yes, River thought, lips quirked at the edges. This is the start of something good. Something he’d needed for a very long time—love and family and friendship in one place.
…
Spread across River’s bed, hands curled around the edges of the mattress, Erik was the art he’d accused River of being. River dug his thumbs into fight-tightened muscles, easing away tension. He pressed love through touch into him. Kissed the jut o
f a shoulder blade and traced the curves of the Svara with his tongue.
“Is this what I get for sitting through dinner with your family or—”
“Shut up, or I’ll take back your reward.”
“Is that what this is? I thought it was self-indulgence.” Erik laughed into the sheet, the tail end melting into an anticipatory groan when River used his knees to spread Erik’s legs.
“What, my happiness isn’t reward enough?” River sucked a kiss to his sacrum. He sipped on Erik’s shaking exhales, into the tightening and releasing clench of his muscles as he pressed him into the mattress.
“I don’t know,” Erik teased. “The hardship of making friends and all—”
“Erik”—River palmed his ass, closed his eyes against Erik’s skin, inhaled the sweet smell of him—“seriously. Shut up.”
…
“God, you’re beautiful,” River whispered. After one tortured orgasm had been wrung so, so slowly out of Erik, he turned him over, wiping his mouth and swaying into Erik’s pleasure-sweetened palms. “I can’t wait to do that again.”
“Keep it up, and you might be forgiven soon.” Erik laughed when River cocked an eyebrow. He lay on him, greedy and needing. Wanting Erik cracked River open, made his vulnerability achingly sharp and present.
“Thank you,” he whispered into Erik’s neck, lips a barely present kiss, a charade, a steeling moment to gather himself.
“Babe.” Erik guided him up. His eyes were their rarest green. “You don’t have to thank me. I was just kidding—”
“I know. But still. You should know how thankful I am. You should know I see you. I see how hard this is. I know I told you my family has a hard time trusting me and my choices, and I know that puts you in a shitty position. Tonight meant a lot to me.”
“Hey. Well.” Erik shifted. His hands were at River’s waist and his eyes on the ceiling. “I’m not very good at any of this.” He put his hand over River’s mouth. Tightened his hold when River bit him. “But we’re worth it. You’re worth it.”
River bit him again, harder, and smiled at Erik’s hiss. Bit his lip and his collarbone and ground his forehead into Erik’s chest to hide a smile that said too much, that overwhelmed the moment.