by Jude Sierra
Reid unabashedly snuggles into Joaquim’s arms. He must be terribly uncomfortable in the position they’re in, but Reid can’t bring himself to move and Joaquim does not complain. Reid can hear his heart, though, beating as fast as Reid’s. Only his demeanor is calmer, steadier. Reid wonders if this means Joaquim is better at handling shit or if he’s pretending.
“So, what do you want to do next?” Joaquim asks.
“You mean today?” What a strange transition to a request for stage two of their day off.
“No, I mean, you? What will help you right now? To feel comfortable, or safe, or whatever?”
Reid sits up and watches the water. To his left is another impressive aloe plant. His grandmother always used to make him break off a piece when he needed aloe for a sunburn. He doesn’t remember the plants being this big.
Now that he’s out of Joaquim’s arms, anxiety whispers at him. Reid’s not fool enough to think it’ll go away on its own.
“I wouldn’t mind swimming.”
“And you’re okay with that? I mean, you didn’t want me to see it, right?”
“Well, no, I didn’t. But I always swim with a swim shirt on anyway. Too much sun exposure makes scars heal more prominently.” Reid musters as much matter of fact information as he can. “But I knew if I wore one you’d have questions. And after last night, this seemed inevitable.”
“Would you have tried—”
“Tried what?”
“To keep it a secret if you could?”
Reid wonders what Joaquim is really asking. If Reid trusts him? If he’s only told Joaquim because he’s backed into a corner? This is important, an opportunity for Reid to get this right. Cards on the table, scared but open and willing, Reid goes for honesty.
“No. I didn’t want to anymore. Maybe if things were different between us, if I didn’t feel so…”
Joaquim doesn’t help him, but watches and waits patiently. Reid clenches his hand in the sand. Rough and heavy, the texture is a small balm, a centering.
“I really like you.” I love you. “And I want this. Do you—I—do you want this to go somewhere? Serious?”
“I’ve been there, Reid,” Joaquim says. His voice is unbelievably steady. “So, yes.” He touches Reid’s knee.
“Well.” Reid swallows. “No time like the present, then. Let’s go upstairs. We can go swimming. Wait, do you have swim trunks?”
“Reid, I always have swim trunks,” Joaquim smirks. Reid doesn’t carry swim trunks around all the time, but apparently this is a habit of Joaquim’s.
“Then let’s go,” Reid says. He stands and offers Joaquim a hand.
Upstairs, Reid fiddles with the towels and then puts Joaquim’s water glass in the dishwasher though Joaquim isn’t finished with it.
Joaquim takes his hand. “Why are you so nervous?”
“Okay. So. Come into the bedroom.” Reid turns without waiting, trusting Joaquim to follow. He’s shaking so much it’s hard to think. Without dithering more, he takes off his shirt. His back is to Joaquim, so he doesn’t see his approach. Startling at the touch of Joaquim’s lips at the nape of his neck, Reid shivers at his fingers sliding down his back, to his waist.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“I do. Just try not to make a big deal about it.” Reid cringes. What a stupid thing to say. Joaquim exhales in what might be a laugh, or perhaps frustration. Hell, it could be anything.
Man up. Fuck this.
Reid turns.
Nineteen
Joaquim looks right into Reid’s eyes. Out of his depth, ridiculously, stupidly out of his depth and terrified that he’ll do or say the wrong thing, Joaquim can do nothing else but be sure Reid knows that Joaquim is here with him. Right here, in this moment. Not running away. Reid’s eyes flick away; the weight of eye contact is perhaps too much.
Thinking it may ground Reid, Joaquim puts his hand on Reid’s shoulder. Joaquim, too, needs the connection of his skin on Reid’s. Promising himself he’ll keep an even expression on his face no matter what, he steps back a little to take him in. One tattoo on Reid’s side in particular grabs his attention. Joaquim bends to examine it more closely. The font is like handwriting, a little messy and tilted.
“I can’t believe that’s what you’re looking at first,” Reid says. Joaquim glances up; there’s a trace of a smile on Reid’s face, and he looks less worried.
“I don’t understand, though. Why would you want to suffer? How does that lead to hope? What are the words from?”
“A Florence + the Machine song. I’ll make you listen to it sometimes. I’ll explain the story too, one day.”
Joaquim’s curiosity burns, conflated with confusion. He feels utterly lost. He traces the tattoo and then looks at Reid’s other side. He bites his lip, breaking his own promise, but perhaps that’s better than the gasp he holds in. Across Reid’s ribs, on the front of his torso, are ladders of scars, some almost invisible, some thicker and scar-white. Wrapping around his ribcage and under his arms is a spiderweb of more scars. They’re thicker and, unlike the others, which are perfect straight lines, these are haphazard, a mess. They are overlapping, and they tell a different story. Reid’s hidden histories are written on his skin; his body holds many secrets.
Joaquim can’t begin to know them; Reid will have to hand them to Joaquim, trust him with the gifts of vulnerability and intimacy and trust. But these tattoos, and scars, and the recent cuts tell a story anyone could see.
“I’d like that,” Joaquim says. He swallows and doesn’t try to say anything else. Anything else would be inane, superfluous, or dumb. Reid twitches and then pulls away.
“Let’s go, then.” Reid pulls open a dresser drawer. All of the clothes within are neatly folded and stacked. He changes into swim trunks and a swim shirt before Joaquim has gotten his bearings. Reid turns and raises an eyebrow at him, a silent hurry-up. The topic is closed, clearly. Joaquim respects that. If he had stories to tell that looked anything like Reid’s, he would need a lot of time and care to share them.
“Are you sure you don’t mind scandalizing the old ladies?” Joaquim teases Reid, who has taken his hand as they cross a parking lot toward the coral path that leads to the pool.
“I relish the opportunity,” Reid says. He’s in an improbably good mood; his smile is in no way fabricated; his movements are light and unrestricted. Joaquim would rather dwell in this strangely infectious happiness than worry. Reid shared something huge with him today, and is still here: a beautiful, bright boy despite everything else. Joaquim hasn’t a clue what that everything else is, but he knows that this moment is both precious and very, very important.
So he doesn’t worry. He risks a kiss to Reid’s cheek and lets Reid take them to the pool.
The pool deck is empty except for one older lady, who has a cooler at her feet, a drink at hand, and what appears to be Rummikub on the table. Her bathing suit is the sort of monstrosity only retirees seem to favor, covered in blue and pink flowers that manage to clash. Oddly enough, she’s wearing pink slippers.
“Reid, dear,” she calls out.
“Hi, Mrs. Smith.” Reid tugs Joaquim behind him toward her. “How are you doing?”
“Excellent,” she says briskly. “Elise and Kathy decided it was too hot to come down today. What can you say to that? It’s the Keys. Of course it’s hot. Does your young man play?”
Reid goes a delightful red at this, and Joaquim has to hide a smile. He also doesn’t let Reid let go of his hand, because this is gold and very endearing.
“I’m not sure.”
“I do, actually,” Joaquim says, eliciting a wide-eyed look from Reid and a small cry of delight from Mrs. Smith. “Hi, I’m Joaquim.” He extends his hand, which she takes easily.
“You can call me Betty. And, as I’ve said, so can you, Reid.”
Joaquim sits at the tabl
e; she begins to set up the game, taking out three tile holders without asking either of them if they want to play.
“I’m sorry, it’s just that you’ve been Mrs. Smith to me for so long—”
“I’ve known Reid since he was little. Maybe five or six the first time he came to visit Monica. His hair was much lighter then.”
“It’s lighter now,” Reid points out.
“Not the same thing, dear.” Betty is only half paying attention to him; mostly she’s focused on getting the game started.
“I don’t really know how to play,” Reid tells Joaquim. “They keep asking me to play, but I don’t remember how, and then things get so competitive they stop explaining things.”
“I’ll help you,” Joaquim says, ridiculously charmed that Reid is a pet amongst all these older ladies. Is this something Reid does in his free time? In the shade of the umbrella, Reid’s taken off his sunglasses, so Joaquim can look right into his eyes.
“All right, all right, enough flirting, save it for later,” Betty says, causing Joaquim to laugh and Reid to choke.
It takes more than one game, and Joaquim learning not to show his amusement when Reid makes mistakes (although he does file away how hot Reid’s intense competitive looks are for a later date and time), before the three of them manage to play a true, winner-take-all game. It is a rather hot day, and Joaquim finds himself envying Betty’s cooler. She offers them drinks, and he discovers that her cooler is full of beer she’s been pouring into an insulated tumbler.
“No thanks,” Reid says politely; the face she makes in response is less than impressed, but also fond.
“I wasn’t offering it to you, dear. I know you’re not old enough.”
Joaquim accepts a beer and shoots Reid an apologetic look. Reid’s expression is sly, lined with mischief and mystery, and Joaquim wonders what he’s up to.
Reid wins their last game in a stunning turn of events and celebrates by taking off with a holler and cannonballing into the pool. Betty laughs over the noise.
“For all the worry he’s brought Monica,” she tells Joaquim quietly, “I’ve always told her that there’s a happy boy in there.” Her eyes linger on Joaquim. He sits back to sip his beer, content to stay with her and watch Reid fool around in the water. He’s floating on his back, starfished and smiling with his eyes closed. “He seems happier than he was. Thank you.”
“Who, me?” Joaquim gestures toward himself with his beer. “How do you—”
“Oh, I just have a feeling. Besides, only nice boys play Rummikub with an old lady on a hot day when there are better things to do,” she says with a knowing smirk.
Joaquim has to look away, because the suggestiveness in the statement is too embarrassing from a woman who could be his grandmother.
“I had fun,” he insists, because he did.
“Thank you.” She packs the game away neatly, with a practiced economy of movement that tells of repetitive action and years of habit. He wonders how long she’s lived here. How far back do the longstanding daily games of Rummikub go? “Now go have fun. Make him smile more.”
They play around in the pool. They race each other, and shockingly, Reid wins. Then they take turns seeing who can hold his breath longest. Joaquim comes out of that one a clear winner. When he comes up for air, Reid splashes him the moment after he takes a breath; Joaquim tackles him into the water on a whoop of laughter.
“You’re such a little kid,” he says when Reid wriggles away. Reid wipes his face off and pushes his hair back.
“Takes one to know one,” he teases and ducks under the water. Joaquim only has a second to prepare before Reid pushes forward, grabs his ankles, and tugs him under too.
By the time Reid calls a cease-fire, the pool deck is empty. Betty must have gone off in search of air conditioning, which is probably good since they’ve not only gotten louder, rowdier, and more immature; fingers have also begun to wander.
“Oops,” Reid says, all innocent wide blue eyes, when he grabs Joaquim’s ass while “wrestling.”
“Oops, my ass,” Joaquim says, and then laughs at his own turn of phrase. Reid swims closer; they’re both breathing hard, but when Reid pushes up against him and grabs his ass again, very deliberately, the hitch in his breath is entirely different. Reid’s smirk is confident, his hands on Joaquim’s body unhesitating.
“Do they put special chemicals in this pool?” Joaquim wonders. Reid bites Joaquim’s neck, and plasters his body against Joaquim’s.
“I think you bring it out in me,” Reid says. Joaquim smiles: he hopes so. Not because he’s possessive or jealous, but because the time he spends with Reid can never be replicated. No matter where their lives take them, Joaquim never wants another moment to taste like this one: Reid’s sweet mouth wet and open against his, his own heart pounding hard as Reid kisses him into acquiescence.
“Wanna go—” Joaquim mumbles, sun- and water-drunk, dazed and ridiculously turned on.
“Absolutely.” Reid doesn’t hesitate to hop out of the pool. He gives Joaquim a hand out and then tosses him a towel. Joaquim thinks of the picture they make: two men attempting to hide obvious arousal with towels while walking across a condo complex occupied by mostly retired folks so that they can fuck—loudly, he hopes, and multiple times.
As if by mutual agreement, they don’t talk on the way home. Instead they speed walk—as well as you can in sandals on coral—all the way home. Before the door has closed, Reid’s on Joaquim, tearing the towel from around his waist, clawing at his wet swim trunks.
“Fuck, fuck get this off now,” he says, mouth already busy at Joaquim’s chest. God, it’s amazing.
“If you need motor coordination from me,” Joaquim gasps against Reid’s wet hair, “you have to stop that.”
Reid stops, but only for as long as it takes to wiggle Joaquim’s trunks off.
“Reciprocity,” he says, hands at Reid’s waist. His fingers are already at the hem of his swim shirt when he notices Reid’s gone still. “What? What’s—?”
“If—” Reid’s face is naked and uncertain. “When you see me, will you still want me like this? Because I can’t do pity—”
“Reid,” Joaquim says. “Shut up.” He pulls Reid’s shirt up without hesitating, and then pushes roughly in to kiss him. Joaquim has the dizzying sense of being caught between desires. How he handles this is vitally important to Reid’s trusting him in the future, but he also wants Reid so badly nothing else seems to matter. Nothing would make him want Reid less. Under his fingers is the thrum of Reid’s pulse, fast and hard. Reid is gasping into his mouth when it hits Joaquim, so very clearly, that he loves this boy. Pulling away, Joaquim rubs his thumb over Reid’s lips and looks into his eyes. Reid’s smile is tentative, but the resounding truth of Joaquim’s feelings for him are anything but.
“Okay?” Reid asks.
“So okay, you have no idea,” Joaquim says. “You know what would be better?”
“Hmm?” Reid’s distracted, with his lips on Joaquim’s neck and then on his shoulder. He runs his fingers over Joaquim, trailing delicious fire into his skin and muscles. Joaquim gasps and almost loses his train of thought.
“Taking your pants off, and you fucking me.”
“Why don’t you work on one, and I’ll work on the other,” Reid says, breathless and amused, squeezing Joaquim’s ass, the touch a tease and nothing more, but somehow enough, electric and bright.
Together they get Reid naked; he almost knees Joaquim in the process. The floor is a wet mess from their bathing suits and a tripping hazard, too, from the towels. They somehow make it to the bedroom without injuring themselves. Reid pushes Joaquim unceremoniously onto the bed, climbs onto him, and kisses him until he can hardly breathe. His skin, his cock, his heart all throb with love, with longing, with urgent wanting.
“Please tell me you’re going to fuck me soon,” he says
when Reid shows no inclination to do more than tease him half to death. He’s stationed himself at Joaquim’s hipbones, having made his way torturously down from his neck, leaving bite marks and kisses along the way.
“How do you want it?” Reid asks, propped between Joaquim’s legs. Reid sits up straighter and runs his palm up Joaquim’s thigh and then down, encouraging him to spread his legs farther apart, which Joaquim does without hesitation.
“You mean, how do I want you?” Joaquim asks, gasping as Reid’s touches become bolder, more intimate.
“That too,” Reid says, and Joaquim gets his meaning.
“I want to see your face,” he says. Joaquim loves being fucked, yes, but he loves being fucked in particular ways. He likes being able to see his partner, to anticipate and to reciprocate. He prefers lovers who are gentle and, though Joaquim has never been shy with sex, he’s always found that hard to articulate in words.
Once Reid has the lube and is touching him with one slippery finger, Joaquim reaches out and draws his own fingers down Reid’s arm, slowly and carefully. Reid’s eyes meet his and the direct understanding, the frank assessment of needs they each have and want to meet, makes it hard for Joaquim to breathe.
Reid kisses Joaquim very gently, drawing it out, and slips his finger in at the same time. When Reid inhales, Joaquim exhales, closes his eyes, and opens his body. It is much easier to do with a lover who has read you right. Joaquim has always thought of sex as a litmus test in relationships. It’s not the end-all or be-all, but a lover who isn’t patient enough to take the time, when that’s what he likes, isn’t worth his time. Reid’s not only patient, he also seems to love it. He teases Joaquim with a finger and with his lips. He pulls back and eases Joaquim’s legs as far apart as they’ll go, until Joaquim himself takes them in hand and pulls them back and away. He’s deliciously exposed, and is so rewarded when Reid uses the index finger of his free hand to lightly touch his rim after carefully sliding a second finger into him.