by E M Lindsey
“You should have let him,” Lorenzo scolded. “I would have.”
“I know. It was why I didn’t call you. He said he saw you and Wilder—things are good, right?”
Lorenzo’s mouth curved into its own soft smile, and he shrugged. “They’re not bad.” But even as he said it, it felt like a lie. “It’s complicated.”
Raphael pushed up on his elbow and turned his head to frown at him. “Explain.”
Dragging his fingers around his mouth, he let his head fall back on the cushion, then pushed Raphael’s head back down and resumed his massage. “He’s staying with me at the Manor because they’re doing work on his apartment from that fire.”
“Yes, I remember the fire,” Raphael said.
“I hung out with him at the Market, and it… felt good. It felt,” he trailed off, because there weren’t really words for what it was. Domestic, but that wasn’t enough. Content, but the word was so shallow compared to the burning he felt inside that threatened to consume him. “I want to wake up with him in my bed every day.”
“Does he feel the same?”
Lorenzo groaned. “I don’t know. I want to say yes. God, I don’t know what I’ll do if he doesn’t. But we haven’t talked about it.”
Raphael laughed and muttered something in German. When Lorenzo poked him, he laughed again and sighed out, “You’re such a mess.”
Lorenzo bowed his head and had no defense, because Raphael was right. He desperately wanted to tell him about Wilder’s reaction to being touched, because the burden of it felt heavy, but it wasn’t his place. Not without Wilder giving him permission. “We both have a lot of baggage.”
“That,” Raphael said primly, “is very obvious.”
“I’m just worried it’s too much.”
“Too much means nothing if he’s worth it. If you’re worth it,” Raphael said. His voice began to drift, and Lorenzo felt him get heavier.
“You need sleep.”
“Mm.” Raphael nuzzled and curled his hand around Lorenzo’s thigh. “You can go.”
He was like a cat—occupying his lap being soft and adorable, and it was impossible to move. “Will this help you sleep?”
“Ja, but I’ve survived worse.” Raphael gave his leg a pat, but made no move to relinquish his grasp, and Lorenzo didn’t mind. He had hours to kill, and if this helped his friend, he’d gladly spend all afternoon on that sofa.
It wasn’t entirely selfless either. Devoting his time and attention to Raphael meant he wasn’t thinking about Wilder. It meant he wasn’t sending his brain into a tailspin wondering if every time they had sex, it would end in disaster. It meant he wasn’t second guessing whether or not Wilder would think he was worth it after all.
After the third text from Wilder saying he was going to be even later, Lorenzo bustled Raphael into the car and they drove down the hill to pick up dinner from a Chinese restaurant that had a menu Raphael could eat from. After his long sleep, Raphael was moving around better, and his color was returning to his cheeks, which made Lorenzo feel like he’d done some good. They grabbed the food, then Raphael pointed them to a little pull-out off a dirt road, and they decided to picnic in the car and eat out of their take-out boxes.
“Jayden will be happy,” Raphael said, leaning back in his seat. They had the top of his car open, and the seats reclined. Everything smelled a little bit like his shumai, which was sitting in the Styrofoam container only half eaten, and the breeze across their face was rapidly cooling with the setting sun.
“How so?”
“I think I can go back to work tomorrow.”
At that, Lorenzo scowled and turned his head to look at his friend. “Don’t let him force you back to work if you’re not ready.”
Raphael laughed, rolling his eyes. “That man has never been able to force anyone to do anything. No, I’m ready. And he hates answering phones. I don’t want to think about what my schedule looks like right now.”
Lorenzo snorted and shook his head. “Well, if you’re sure…”
“I like working. I know it’s not some big, grand career you see in California or maybe New York. That life seems so miserable. I didn’t want any part of it.”
Lorenzo watched his friend’s profile for a long, quiet moment. “What did you want to do? Like, when you were a kid?”
“I wanted to go to space.” Raphael lifted his hand and traced his finger across the sky in a pattern over the stars. “My mother was very practical. When I was born, they didn’t know a lot about CP. They told her I would never walk, that I would never talk. She saw these pamphlets with these children who couldn’t dress or feed themselves. For so long, she thought it would have been better if I died.”
“Jesus, that’s…who thinks that about their kid?”
“A lot of parents, I imagine,” Raphael said, a sort of dark resignation in his tone. “Even now, a lot of people don’t understand it. They don’t think if you can’t be like everyone else, that you can be happy—even if you need constant care. She grew more confident as I got older, and she stopped trying to hold me back. Mostly. I told her I wanted to go to space, and she told me they would never let me.”
“Did you try to prove her wrong?”
Raphael’s sigh was very soft, carrying over the quiet breeze. “No. I was trapped in a cycle of endless doctors and surgeries to help loosen my tendons. I fell behind in school because I was constantly out, and I barely passed. University was a pipe-dream.”
“So, how’d you get here?”
Raphael laughed softly, and he set his box of vegetables back into the bag at his feet. “I met someone who wanted to travel. So, we did that for a while. Then I met someone else, and he talked me into moving here before it ended.”
“You dumped him?” Lorenzo asked.
Raphael laughed. “Ah. No. The other way around. He wasn’t thrilled when he realized he couldn’t love me able-bodied. It was a lot like my dreams of NASA, you know? A happy ending with someone who loves me in the body I have.”
Lorenzo’s brows dipped into a scowl. “That’s bullshit.”
“It’s reality. For now,” Raphael said. “But reality changes shape every second of every day. Like space, for example. I’m too old now for NASA now, but there’s a child being born sometime soon—just like me—who will be in a rocket. They’ll go there,” he brushed his hand across the sky, “and he’ll touch the stars.”
“It should be you,” Lorenzo declared.
Raphael shook his head. “I found joy in this simple life. I don’t want anything as grand as space. Not anymore. I just want this.” He dropped his hand on top of Lorenzo’s. “I want to feel love and be loved. I want good friends and bad Chinese food that would never be served in China.”
Lorenzo laughed so hard he snorted. “Fair.”
“I want to meet the love of my life someday—but even if I don’t, I still want this life. With my little job, and my little house, and my beat-up old car.”
Lorenzo drank in the words, letting them wrap around him, settle under his skin, because it was everything he’d needed to hear. It was such a damn small something that meant everything, but he didn’t know how to put it into words to make sense.
“I don’t miss home,” he said instead.
Raphael turned his head and squeezed Lorenzo’s hand a little tighter. “I didn’t think you did.”
“I thought I would. I feel like I’m supposed to. It’s nothing like this.” Lorenzo closed his eyes and felt a sigh lodged in his chest, burning behind his ribs.
“You came here looking for something different. Are you glad you found it?”
“I don’t know.” It was the most honest answer he could give in that moment, but for the first time in a long time, he didn’t hate the unknown. It was strangely comforting, the more he thought about it, but it made sense. There were no expectations here, other than to exist, other than to be kind and be good—and good here didn’t mean philanthropic events bleeding him and his bank account dry.
<
br /> Cherry Creek was simple, and maybe that’s what he’d been looking for his entire life.
Lorenzo dropped Raphael off, seeing him inside and promising to visit the salon in the morning. He still didn’t have a text from Wilder, so he jumped half a foot when he ascended the stairs and found him sitting on the floor with his eyes closed, head lolled to the side.
“Shit,” he said, but when Wilder didn’t stir, he realized it was because he didn’t have his hearing aids on. Lorenzo bit his lip, then crouched down next to him and touched his shoulder. Wilder shifted, then his eyes flew open, and he stared at Lorenzo, a little wild and unseeing.
“How long was I out?”
Lorenzo stood up and offered a hand to him, steadying him on his feet before he took space to sign. ‘I don’t know. I just got home. Why didn’t you text?’
Wilder dragged both hands down his face. ‘My phone died. My dad’s in the hospital.’
Lorenzo’s eyes widened, and he fumbled for his keys, getting them both inside before easing Wilder down to the sofa cushion. ‘What happened?’
‘Heart attack,’ he spelled. He was gaunt, his fingers trembling a little, and his mouth was drawn in a tight line. ‘He’s not conscious.’
‘You need to go. Right?’ Lorenzo pressed. ‘You need to be there.’
Wilder’s hesitation played out on his face, and he shifted on the cushion before shrugging. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. My sister spent all day FaceTiming me, trying to get me to drop everything and get a flight out.’
‘Why don’t you?’ Lorenzo ached for him, wrenched by a sudden helplessness, because regardless of how much progress he had made with himself, this wasn’t something he could fix.
Wilder’s look was hopeless, lost, and instead of answering him, he grabbed Lorenzo by the waist and buried his face in his chest. Lorenzo’s arms came around him, holding him tight like they belonged there always. Wilder’s body shook a little, not like he was crying, but maybe a little bit like he wanted to.
“Take me to bed,” Wilder murmured against the fabric of his shirt.
Lorenzo didn’t hesitate. He led the way to the bedroom, leaving all the lights off save for the dimmed lamp perched at the edge of the dresser. He stood Wilder at the foot of the bed, then methodically stripped him of his clothes. Laying everything in a neat pile, he took Wilder by the hand and tugged him across the hall to the bathroom and started the shower, letting it warm before he peeled out of his t-shirt and jeans.
‘Let me take care of you,’ he said. He couldn’t fix what was wrong, but he could do this. His heart sped up a little when Wilder nodded—not smiling with his mouth, but there was a sort of ease in his eyes that hadn’t been there when Lorenzo first got home.
He swung the shower door wide, then stepped over the low hump, taking Wilder by the hand, and he stood him under the spray as he grabbed the washcloth he’d left hanging on a hook. His soap was from home, a luxury indulgence that felt suddenly right for the first time as he lathered it and smoothed the cloth over Wilder’s outstretched arms.
If anyone deserved to be bathed in decadence, it was the man there with him. He watched as Wilder’s head bowed, the way his hair curled slightly under the rivulets of water as it cascaded from the back of his head, running in rivers down his face. He was pliant under Lorenzo’s ministrations, moving only when manipulated, his breathing even with the occasional hitch as his emotions overtook him.
Lorenzo wanted to rage at the unfairness of it—at how he’d been given this gift, and how his life was still fine while Wilder was being forced to suffer more. He didn’t want to lose his parents—he wasn’t ready for that. But if anyone deserved to shoulder pain and loss, it was him.
He couldn’t change it, but he could help ease the moment. He dragged his soapy fingers through Wilder’s hair, then tipped his head back and rinsed him with gentle strokes. When he was clean, he added conditioner, then backed him into the wall and cupped his face.
They had been in there only a handful of minutes, but it felt like an eternity since words had been spoken between them. Wilder’s eyes fluttered open when his back hit the cool tiles, and he looked at Lorenzo like he was seeing him for the first time.
“I need you to kiss me,” he said aloud as his fingers dug into Lorenzo’s elbows like he was trying to pin him in place. “Please.”
Lorenzo wouldn’t make him beg. He hated that he even had to ask. He stepped forward, his chest warmed from the steam pressing against Wilder before he lowered his head and captured his mouth. He felt Wilder part his lips, felt his breath come out in a shudder. He opened his mouth wide, his tongue brushing against Wilder’s—letting that one kiss show him just how hard he was falling, just how much he needed him.
Wilder moaned, his cock going hard, and Lorenzo hesitated. He wanted to make him feel good, wanted to make him feel possessed and treasured and adored, but they hadn’t talked yet, and he was unsure where the boundary lines were. Wilder seemed to sense his reluctance, because he pulled out of the kiss and locked gazes with Lorenzo before taking him by the wrist, then putting his hand to where he was thick and throbbing between his legs.
“I want to feel you. I need it.” It wasn’t quite a plea, but it was close enough, and Lorenzo closed his hand around his shaft and gave it a firm, easy stroke. “God. Like that,” Wilder breathed out.
Lorenzo stroked, feeling the heavy weight of Wilder’s cock against his palm, feeling the sticky wetness as he ran a thumb over his slit. He was suddenly desperate to taste him, to fall to his knees and open himself in every single way he was allowed. “Let me suck you,” he said.
Wilder’s eyes opened again. “Say that again.”
‘Let me suck you,’ Lorenzo signed, then rubbed a flat palm over his chest. ‘Please.’
Wilder’s pupils dilated, and he laid both hands on Lorenzo’s shoulders, pushing down by way of answer. Lorenzo’s knees hit the tile hard—enough to hurt, but the pain kept him grounded as he gained his balance with hands on Wilder’s hips. He was the perfect height there to take it, to open up and let Wilder thrust hot and heavy along his tongue.
He tasted of come and soap residue—musky and clean—and Lorenzo groaned as the head of Wilder’s dick brushed the back of his throat with his first thrust. Wilder let out a stuttered moan, sounding almost like he was in agony, but when Lorenzo looked up, he saw him with his head back and eyes closed, cheeks flushed with pleasure. His lips were parted, and his hands moved from where they grappled at the tile to curl into Lorenzo’s wet locks.
“Open wider,” he ordered, and Lorenzo opened until his jaw ached.
Wilder ran his thumb around where Lorenzo’s lips stretched to the point of ache, and then he thrust again. One hand moved from Lorenzo’s hair to his cheek, and Wilder’s eyes were wide and almost frantic, disbelieving as he thrust again. And then again.
Lorenzo choked, but his grip on Wilder’s hips didn’t let him pull away. He took it all, took everything Wilder had to give—desperation and pain and desire and need. He swallowed it all down, more than just willing. He was grateful. He felt appreciated and desired as himself, exactly as he was.
With his second moan, Wilder’s hips stuttered, and they sped up faster than Lorenzo was prepared for. Before he could protest, before he could ease the motions, Wilder gave a short cry, and then he was coming. Hot ropes spilled along Lorenzo’s tongue, and he closed his mouth, sucking him dry until Wilder gasped and touched his face.
The cock slipped past his lips, dragging down his chin before Lorenzo leaned back, and he braced himself on Wilder’s thighs, staring up at him through the faint mist from the showerhead. He looked exhausted, his eyes closed, his head bowed forward. It was enough to send Lorenzo climbing to his feet and easing his lover under the spray to rinse his hair free of the conditioner.
“What about you?” Wilder murmured. His hand reached for Lorenzo’s hard dick, but Lorenzo grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away.
When Wilder lo
oked up, he shook his head and tapped the thumb of his open palm on his chest. ‘I’m fine.’
Wilder’s brows furrowed, but he didn’t fight him as Lorenzo turned the water off, then stepped out to wrap himself in a towel. He used the second to dry Wilder’s body with long swipes, then wrapped him up in the soft cloth before using a smaller one to dry his hair. He didn’t bother with pajamas, instead bustling him back into the bedroom and pulling back the covers.
“I need to charge my phone,” Wilder argued. “Need to find my batteries for my hearing aids.”
‘Let me,’ Lorenzo insisted, then got Wilder between the sheets before he set off to do as his lover asked. Wilder’s phone was in the pocket of his jeans, and Lorenzo plugged it in before digging around in his travel case to find his pack of batteries. He had no idea how to replace them, so he left them beside the hearing aids on the nightstand, then killed the light and climbed into the bed.
It was earlier than he’d normally turn in, but Wilder’s soft, warm body pressed against his was enough to get him halfway to sleep before his body was fully relaxed. He turned onto his side slightly, then Wilder did the same and spooned against Lorenzo’s chest, letting out a bone-deep sigh as he was held in a tight grasp.
“Wake me if my phone goes off. Please.”
Lorenzo wanted to tell him no, to rest, that it would be waiting for him in the morning, but he knew better than that. This wasn’t something Wilder could afford to ignore. So, he nodded against the back of his head, then laid kisses to Wilder’s neck, to his shoulders, to the center of his spine until his body settled, and his breathing evened, and Lorenzo was pretty sure he was asleep.
Chapter Sixteen
Wilder woke, disoriented and confused—the feeling like he’d slept too much and too little all at the same time. The room was still dark, the sky without even a hint of morning light, and Wilder rolled away from the arm tucked around his waist to find his phone. It was settled on the nightstand next to his hearing aid batteries, and he felt a wash of unexpected affection for Lorenzo’s easy care taking.