by CE Ricci
I fight the pain coursing through my head as his body makes me feel so good, like he promised. It’s confusing, how I can like something I don’t want. It makes me sick. So sick I want to puke all over his fancy bed.
I want to be anywhere but here.
And I can’t help but wonder what I ever did to deserve this.
When all I ever did was obey his every demand like a good boy should.
But suddenly, something shifts, my reality morphing into a new scene entirely.
I don’t feel his thrusts, the pain is gone, and I’m not a twelve year old cuffed to the bed anymore.
No, I’m an adult.
I’m me, the twenty-one year old college student. I look down to see my arms, covered in tattoos.
And a sense of relief washes over me.
That is, until I focus to see…
Now I’m the one...doing the things he did to me.
“Please, please stop,” the voice pleads as I drive my hips forward, fucking him hard and fast. The request is soft coming from his lips, like music to my ears as I ignore him. He says it again, and the tone of voice is familiar somehow.
But I can’t place my finger on why.
“Ciaráin, no. Please,” he says again as I swivel my hips and hit him deeper than I was before. His ass is so tight, it feels phenomenal clenching around my cock.
I could cum at any second if he would just stop his bitching.
My fingers slide into his hair, gripping the brown strands tightly in my fist before pressing his face down in the mattress to shut him the fuck up.
He screams into the mattress as I fuck him, taking what I damn well please from him, from his body. My free hand glides across the smooth muscles of his shoulders and back in a soft caress. I love the way it feels against my skin.
It’s electric.
My fingers slide down to his side and over his ribs, and it’s there I notice a tattoo.
Two lines in a script font.
A quote I know to be from John Muir.
Into the forest I go, to lose my mind and find my soul.
It’s a quote I’ve seen before, also as a tattoo, in fact.
In this exact same place…
He cries into the mattress again, but it’s muffled, so I can’t make out his words. Pulling his head back, I lean over him and whisper tauntingly in his ear. “What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”
“Rain!” he cries out, a plea ripping from his throat in a guttural sob. “Rain, stop. Please stop. You’re hurting me! I don’t want this!”
My nickname off his lips startles me, causing a hitch in my movement, just for a second, before I continue with my onslaught on his body.
But a word, one single word, snags in my brain.
Rain.
He called me Rain.
There are only two people in the world who call me that name.
Both of them have brown hair. A deep, smoky voice that slides over my skin like perfectly aged whiskey.
But only one of them has that tattoo.
“Rain,” his voice comes out choked, thick with emotion. Barely more than a whisper this time. “Please.”
Horror washes over me, recognition of his voice finally settling in.
I loosen my grip on his hair and cup the side of his face, slowly turning it to confirm my worst fucking suspicion.
And the second those eyes, the color of an alpine lake, meet mine, my whole world shatters.
River.
My eyes snap open as my body jackknifes in the bed. Cold sweat chills me to the bone and my throat aches, in need of water to ease my vocal chords.
Fuck.
Years, fucking years of living with these nightmares and it never gets any easier. I can never seem to fight them off. But they don’t usually wake me from a dead sleep like this.
For some reason, it felt more real tonight. Like I was actually living it.
Again.
But…River being there, that was unexpected. And far more torturous than reliving the horrible things that happened to me.
I allow my erratic heart to calm, taking deep, soothing breaths as I stare at the ceiling, letting the darkness of night bring me to peace. Usually it only takes me twenty minutes or so to get to the point where I can go back to bed until morning, but there is no way in hell I’ll be able to lull myself back into sleep tonight.
With a grunt, I roll off the bed and pad quietly to my door. I might as well take a shower, cool off, and maybe watch a movie before River wakes up at the crack of fucking dawn like usual.
I don’t know how the guy can be awake and chipper so early in the day. I’m still grouchy as fuck when I wake up after ten.
I’d say he has some sort of sunshine or rainbows shoved up his ass, but I know for a fact—
My thoughts come screeching to a halt when I turn the lock, drag open the door to my room and trip over something lying directly next to the door.
What the hell?
“Shit,” I curse, catching my weight against the wall right as River scrambles up into a sitting position, startled and clearly groggy as hell if the way his head is snapping in a million directions is any indication.
Wait…River?
“Rain? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” he asks in quick succession, alarm and gravel present in his voice, as he scrubs a hand over his face.
“Why are you on the floor?” I demand rather than answer his question.
He’s most definitely still half asleep, since he sways getting to his feet, picking up his blanket and pillow and starts dragging it to his room like a little kid.
“To be close by. If you need me. ‘Cause of the nightmares.”
My. Heart. Fucking. Stops.
Has he...?
No.
He’s halfway through his doorway when I grab his wrist to stop him. The knot lodged in my throat is massive as I attempt to swallow, to breathe, to fucking do something other than stare into his sleepy eyes.
“That isn’t the first night you’ve slept there, is it?” The words are barely audible. Hell, I wouldn’t even know if I actually spoke them aloud or just thought them in my head if it weren’t for the flash of guilt I see across his face.
The look in his eyes, the apprehension, tells me he’s planning to lie to me.
Again.
Using my grip on his wrist, I pull him into my chest, blanket, pillow, and all, and cup his face. “Don’t fucking lie to me, Abhainn. We’re past the bullshit. How long have you been sleeping outside my room?”
The way he searches my eyes in the dim glow of moonlight, with clarity and focus, lets me know he’s fully awake now. And by the looks of it, in full anxiety mode. I can even feel his hands twitching to whatever song is running through that beautiful brain of his.
“Every night,” he whispers, biting his bottom lip. My thumb brushes against it, tugging it free from his teeth. I’m about to speak again when he quickly adds, “Only for a couple hours. During the bad parts.”
I swear to God, if holding onto his face wasn’t anchoring me in place, I might fucking float away. Or disintegrate into finely ground dust, right here on the spot.
I’ve never been this mortified in my life, yet so eternally…moved.
Every. Fucking. Night.
He’s been sleeping on the ground, outside my room every night.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, his voice cracking. “It’s just that, after the first night…I didn’t want… fuck, Rain. I won’t do it again.”
The vulnerability written on his features is shredding me from the inside out and I can’t stand the way he’s looking at me right now, like at any moment I’m going to flip the switch back to the asshole I was to him not even two weeks ago and then I realize…
He thinks I’m angry with him when all I want to do is…hold him.
Fucking forever.
And I make the decision to do just that, for as long as I can.
“You’re right, you’re never going to do it again,” I tell h
im softly, smoothing the worry lines marring his face. Grabbing the blanket and pillow from him, I carry them to the bed, which he clearly slept in for a few hours before ending up in the hall. “You’re not going to spend another night on the damn ground attempting to get to me, to comfort me. Because I know that’s what you were trying to do.” Sliding in between the sheets, I keep my eyes on his.
“I know. I’m—”
“Stop apologizing and get in the bed,” I growl, my temper rising. Lifting the sheet, I indicate to the vacant spot beside me.
“But—”
“I swear to God, River, I need you to listen right now.” My tone is sharp, but I hear the plea in my voice, hoping he does too. “If I need to spend every single night in this bed with you to make sure you don’t end up on the floor, I fucking will. The thought of you—goddamn, it guts me,” I say, my voice breaking. “If the nightmares come—and make no mistake, they will—I’ll be right next to you. Not keeping you at arm’s length, letting you freeze on the floor.”
River crosses the room to the bed before slipping in beside me, laying on his side to face me. “You don’t have to—”
“I know that. Just like you didn’t have to. But you did, even after everything.” A sigh escapes me, and I wrap my arm around his waist, pulling him so our bodies are flush. “That shit? The fighting and the bickering and the fucking games? It’s all over. If there’s one thing you can believe, it’s that.” I rub my nose against his once, twice, before resting my forehead against his and close my eyes.
My stomach is in knots and my heart still aches for how many times he’s shown me that, for some ungodly reason, he cares about me. No matter the messed up shit I’ve done or said. When I don’t let him in, when I push him away, he still fights for a way to gain even a glimpse past the mask.
It’s about time I let him have it.
“Every night, for the rest of the time we’re here, this is how it’s going to be. Maybe because it makes sense or because I feel guilty, I don’t know. Whatever it is, the most important reason is I’m a selfish bastard, and when I want something, I take it.” My throat works at the knot residing in it before I let out a shaky exhale. “And what I want? More than anything? Is to finally have something to hold onto to make it through the night.”
River stays silent, rolling to his back and I take the opportunity to tangle our legs together and burrow into the warmth of his skin, his presence.
Him.
It’s easy to be together like this in the dark. As if we’re in another world, another time. Where this thing happening between us is real. Tangible. Even if we both know, when dawn breaks, it will end. We both would rather relish in the dream, even if it can only take place in the dead of night.
After what seems like years, he finally asks the question I’m sure has been burning on his tongue.
“Are you going to tell me what they’re about?”
No.
“Not tonight, Riv. Tonight, just distract me. Tell me about the songs. They’ve been changing more frequently since we’ve been here.” I nuzzle into River’s neck before wrapping my arm around his stomach.
“You’ve noticed that?”
I’ve noticed so much more than that, Abhainn.
“Yeah. I guess being stuck here doing nothing would make you want to change it up a little more often.”
“You’re not wrong,” River chuckles softly, his minty breath wafting over my head. “Ever since…that morning in the shower, it’s been changing more frequently.”
I swear my heart stops at his mention of the shower.
“What did it change to then?”
A real, honest to God laugh leaves his throat this time. “You really want to know?”
My jaw ticks and I nod, my face rubbing against the smooth skin of his pecs.
“‘The Enemy’ by I Prevail.”
I can’t help but fucking laugh at that, no matter the guilt eating at me for what I did to him in that shower. Because I know the song and of course it makes all the sense for him to pick it.
“And outside by the shed?”
“‘Tapping Out’ by Issues.”
“The night when we agreed to…this?”
I feel the grin on his mouth against my hair before he presses a kiss to my temple. “You Me At Six’s ‘Loverboy,’” he laughs. “I thought I was funny as fuck and so damn clever.”
My skin heats at the sound of his laughter, true and genuine. It’s the most deliciously addictive sound I think I’ve ever heard. It might be better than the way he says my name when he’s taking my cock deep in his ass.
“What about the day on the ski lift?”
This time, he hesitates. “Why? Why do you care?”
Acknowledging in order to get this piece of him I need to give up something in return, I give him the unabashed truth. “Because they’re a window into your mind. To know what you’re thinking but not saying. And as much as I don’t want to, I need to know. Your thoughts. Your feelings. Not of just the world, but of me. Of this side of who I am.”
He lets out a sigh and wraps his arm around me tighter. “If you want to know those things, all you have to do is ask,” he argues, still avoiding.
Tou-fucking-ché.
Not wanting to push any further and risk pissing either of us off, I let it slide, choosing to focus on his fingers playing with my hair and the steady rise and fall of his chest. The warmth of his body and the beat of his heart have almost completely lulled me back into sleep when he speaks.
“It was the same one that’s in my head right now,” he whispers. “It’s called ‘Right Here’ by Ashes Remain.”
I don’t know it, and even if I did, the haze of unconsciousness is too heavy to attempt an analysis. But still, the corner of my mouth lifts.
That wasn’t so hard, now was it?
Kissing his chest, I murmur, “Thank you, Abhainn.”
“Is that Gaelic?”
I nod.
“What does it mean? You called me it earlier too.” He lets out a soft chuckle. “It probably means asshole or something, right?”
Shaking my head, I release a long breath, allowing sleep to continue dragging me under. “It’s your name, Riv. Just your name.”
Then a dreamless, blissful slumber takes me once again.
Rain has gone back to his mopey, shut off self once again and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why. It’s like ever since that night he tripped over me in the hall and decided we would be sharing a bed for the remainder of our time at the cabin flipped a switch in him again. And every time I try to go flip it back off, he’s standing there, holding it in place and refusing to budge an inch.
I’ll admit, Rain’s brooding nature is a massive part of his allure, seeing as the strong silent type always seem to carry the most sex appeal. But Jesus Christ, I’m at my wits end here. If he keeps withdrawing from me, I’m gonna fucking snap.
This morning at breakfast I asked him if he wanted to do anything special tonight for New Year’s Eve, even stream the ball dropping in Times Square from one of our phones since this is his first time experiencing the holiday not on the East Coast and making stir fry, but he only shrugged, telling me whatever is fine.
Sigh.
I get that he’s guarded, that he isn’t happy all the time. But he’s given me glimpses of who he is, what he’s like when he’s being himself, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t craving more. Ciaráin Grady opening up and letting go is a beautiful sight to behold.
But the problem is it makes it difficult to keep emotions out of this arrangement of just sex.
Who am I kidding? Difficult is the understatement of the millennia. Try fucking impossible for a more accurate description.
Because the trouble is, I know I’m already falling.
Right here, right now. No safety net in sight.
Sitting on the couch with yet another paperback to read, The Catcher in the Rye this time, my mind spins in circles, trying to come up with somethin
g, anything to get him out of this funk he’s found himself. Because I want him to enjoy tonight with me.
It’s New Year’s after all.
I know drawing and painting makes him happy, or at least less of an asshole. Sometimes. But I can’t do either of those.
I could always cook stir fry like I said, seeing as we have all the ingredients, and find a movie for us to watch. Low-key and simple, which is something I know he’d like. The only issue is that option leaves him stewing in his room all day still, like he has been again a lot more recently.
We could go for a hike to the lake, even though we’ve easily done that a dozen times between the two of us. Or maybe take the ATV into town and grab a few beers at one of the local microbreweries?
Tapping the spine of my book to my knee, I continue to weed through the ideas as they come to me, but nothing seems quite right.
Think, River. Think.
My eyes float around the cabin, grasping at straws for some sort of idea.
And when my eyes land on huge basket of blankets in the corner, I have a fucking brilliant one. One that I can’t believe I didn’t think of sooner.
Scrambling from my spot on the couch, I walk over and grab the basket, hauling it to the center of the living room in front of the fireplace to set to work.
I used to come out to the cabin at least twice a year with Taylor and his family, if not more. In fact, I can only think of one year, the year his dad won his last Superbowl, when we didn’t get to come out to the cabin more than twice.
Most of the time T would only bring me with, but sometimes Drew, Elliott, and our friend Asher would tag along. But the times the other guys would come, even as kids, we would get into so much shit.
Like the one time we were eleven, Coach and Taylor’s stepmom went down into Vail on a “date night”, leaving the five of us boys at the cabin for a maximum of four hours.
But in a four hour period, we managed to build the most bomb ass blanket fort. It was multilevel—not sure how the fuck we managed that one, but I think we stacked some very unstable furniture—and took up the entire living room. And this cabin isn’t small, so that tells you something right there.
When T’s parents came back those few hours later, needless to say they were less than pleased at the state of their cabin. Well, Taylor’s dad thought it was hilarious, but his stepmom threw the biggest bitch fit I’ve ever seen, especially seeing her precious Taylor, as she’d call him, hanging out in the upper level of the fort.