18. LUCAS
LUCAS
Even after stopping to rent a truck, we were among the first people into the Ikea that morning, which thankfully meant we didn’t have to fight for a space in the elevator that took us up to the showroom.
I stood against the back wall of the elevator car with Max sitting in front of me and watched the numbers on the display slowly change.
I felt like it was a countdown to being alone again.
Max, oblivious to my dark thoughts, cheerfully brandished his notebook and pen as the doors opened. “Let’s do this shit!”
Trying for a smile, I gave him a push to get him over the gap between the elevator and the floor outside it, then released him to his own power.
He set his notebook on his lap and started pushing his way into the maze that was Ikea.
He didn’t even look at the model living rooms and model apartments we were walking past, but I couldn’t help but slow down and take them in.
Would Max’s space in Evelyn’s house eventually look like one of these?
I knew he was starting with only a bed and a desk, but as he was able to save up more money, I was sure he’d build up his furniture and decorations.
His room was big enough for an armchair or maybe even a loveseat, plus some bookshelves.
Before I could stop myself, I was daydreaming about furnishing the place with him, the two of us happily debating every picture frame, throw pillow, and seating option.
We’d disagree, of course—Max preferred darker colors and more understated looks than I did—but each time we’d eventually agree, he’d reward me with kisses.
Everyone in Ikea would look on, jealous that I had this wonderful man and they didn’t.
I paused in front of a model room that contained a set of glass-fronted low bookshelves. They’d be perfect for Max; he could reach them even in his chair and they’d keep dust off his things. “What about these?” I called to Max, who had gone on ahead of me, oblivious to my stopping.
He stopped rolling and backtracked to where I was standing. “What ‘these’?”
I gestured to the shelves. “These.”
Giving me a confused look, he frowned. “We’re not buying shelving today, remember? Bed and desk, Lucas. Bed and desk.”
“Right, I know,” I admitted, “but I spotted these and I just thought they’d be perfect for you, so I thought maybe…” I stopped. He was looking at me with narrowed eyes. “What?”
“I’m not letting you buy me anything else, Luc. We’ve gone over this.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Nothing. Else.” he enunciated deliberately. “Let’s go.” And he spun away from me and started moving again.
Wow. Ok. I suppose that was me told. I bit my lip and followed him deeper into the store, wracking my brain for a way to convince him to let me help him more.
His stupid pride was the sticking point.
Ok, I admitted to myself, it wasn’t stupid.
It was completely normal for an adult to want to be able to support themselves and not rely on what felt like charity.
But his pride felt stupid to me, because I knew I could make his life so much better and easier if he’d just accept what I was trying to give him.
Wasn’t that a metaphor for our whole relationship, I realized with a sigh: if only Max would accept the love I was subtly trying to give him. But he didn’t know, and I wasn’t going to tell him, because like with the furniture, the odds were that he’d insist that he didn’t need me.
Max finally drew to a halt in front of an expansive display of beds. “Finally! My arms were getting tired!” he announced, drawing his chair up in front of a spare metal bedframe that held a thin mattress. “Let’s test this baby out.”
I moved to steady his chair—why, I didn’t know, because he hadn’t needed that help from me in ages—but he was out of the chair and onto the bed before I could get to him. “How does it feel?” I asked in what I was pretty sure was a voice that didn’t reveal how unsettled I was feeling.
He gave an experimental bounce, planting his prosthetic foot on the floor to push off.
He didn’t always wear it, since it wasn’t strictly necessary while he was in the chair, but apparently he’d decided today that he didn’t want the stares that came with a folded-up pant leg.
“Kinda pokey,” he said, reaching under his butt to give the mattress a shove. “But the frame is good.”
I eyed the bedframe. It was literally just a few pieces of tubular metal screwed together; it looked like it was going to bend under his weight at any moment. “Kinda...basic, isn’t it?”
He frowned at me. “I’m not looking for fancy, Luc, you know that. And this is the cheapest one here.”
“Yeah,” I said, “but you’re not looking for something that’ll collapse under you if you flop down too hard, either. And don’t worry about the money, for fuck’s sake.”
His frown deepened, but he transferred back to his chair and moved to another bed without arguing further.
This bed was wood, with sharp corners and drawers built in underneath.
The mattress on this one was thicker, and the label said it was made of foam rather than inner springs.
He tried to bounce again, but couldn’t get any momentum going with the foam.
“Hm. I wonder how this works out with sex,” he mused.
Immediately, I had a mental image of the two of us going at it on this bed, me on top of him, fucking him as we sank into the mattress.
Before I could catch my runaway thoughts, I was standing there half-hard.
Hoping to disguise my chub, I dropped onto the bed next to him, bracing myself on my toes to bring my knees a little higher than usual.
“Couldn’t tell you,” I finally mustered croakily. “I’ve always had spring mattresses.”
“Yeah, me too.” He laid back on the bed, stacked his hands behind his head, and rolled from side to side. “But it’s distinctly possible that we’ve both been missing out. This feels good on my back.”
“Yeah?” I copied his movement, lying beside him on my back.
He was right. The foam felt like it was cradling me, depressing more at my hips and shoulders and offering more support on my lower back and legs.
“Huh.” Finally, my cock had gone down. I sat up again and patted the bed. “What do you think of the frame?”
He pushed up and scooted to the edge of the bed to look side-to-side at the frame. “It’s decent. Not sure I need the drawers; I don’t have that much stuff to store.”
“But,” I pointed out, “you’ll probably accumulate more stuff as time goes on, and you don’t have a dresser to store stuff in.”
He shrugged. “I guess. Let’s look at some others.” He transferred back to his chair and rolled to the next bed, which had a complicated-looking slat headboard that supported a floating nightstand. “Oh, I like this design.” He patted the nightstand. “Gives me room for my legs underneath it.”
It looked like the nightstand could be raised and lowered to different slats, which seemed really convenient. I gave the whole bed a once-over. “This one has drawers, too.”
He glanced down. “Huh, so it does. I guess that’s a thing.”
I checked the tags for the bed and mattress.
This mattress was memory foam too, but it was two inches thicker than the last one.
Thicker seemed better to me. The bed was...
more expensive than I would have guessed for Ikea.
I said nothing to Max about that, though; if this was the one he decided he wanted, I was definitely not going to tell him no because it cost a little more than I had planned for.
I watched as he moved onto the mattress and again did that experimental bounce. “Ooh, this one is nice and cushy. On the other one, when I pressed down I could feel the slats underneath, but this one I can’t.” He patted the bed beside him. “Come try it.”
I did as ordered, sitting tentatively next to him and trying to keep my cock under control despite being so close to him on a damn bed. “It’s nice,” I agreed. “Is this the one you want, then?”
He shrugged. “Let’s look at the other options before we decide on anything.”
I nodded my agreement, and I stuck with him as he spent the next half-hour trying bed after bed.
By the time he circled back to the bed with the slat headboard, I was just about ready to scream.
I knew I’d told him to not just jump on the first, cheapest option, but I hadn’t expected him to give the whole thing such deep thought, either.
“So, is this it?” I asked, trying to hide my pleasure at the notion.
He tipped his head to the side, considering. “Yeah,” he said slowly, “I think so. Foam-bed sex notwithstanding.”
This would be his bed. And now suddenly, instead of picturing us having sex on it, I was picturing Max having sex with some other guy on it.
My whole body tightened with rage at the image.
He was mine, dammit! But he wasn’t, not really, I reminded myself, trying to force myself to relax.
He was his own man, and he was free to have sex with whoever he wanted to have sex with.
Even if that meant it wasn’t me getting to share the bed with him.
The thought burned, though. It was bad enough knowing that I was losing Max; it was so much worse to think about someone else having him instead.
Someone else would get to watch him walk on crutches freely for the first time, too.
And switch to a cane. And, eventually, need nothing at all to help him move around.
He’d be able to use both legs to brace himself during sex with his new man—or men—the way he couldn’t right now with me.
“Lucas?” he asked, startling me out of my disturbing thoughts. “You ok?”
I shook myself. “Oh, uh, yeah. Fine. Was just...thinking.”
He gave me a concerned look, furrowing his brow. “Want to talk about it?”
“No,” I said sharply. When his eyebrows shot up, I tried to do some damage control. “It was nothing much. Just random thoughts.” About how much I love you and how much you’re about to hurt me by leaving, I didn’t add.