34. Sloan
Sloan
Knowing Bohdan again is easy, but knowing his body again might be easier.
Maybe it’s because we grew together and I think my body would know his anywhere—even if we were tumbling through the dark, somewhere out there in the universe.
The curves of my waist have swelled and shrunk and swelled again under his hands, and he’s held and loved them all the same.
He went from a boy that already looked like a man to something even more otherworldly as the planes of his chest broadened, the valleys of muscle spanning his back dug in and deepened, and the topography of veins over his hands drew sharper lines.
I know it’s wrong, but who could blame me?
It’s like coming home and finally getting into your own bed after the longest trip away. Fresh sheets and sunlight and a morning breeze.
There’s this part of my brain—the tiny logical part that never gets to rule over the obsessive parts—and it’s telling me I’m forging pathways I shouldn’t be forging right now, because this isn’t a fact, it can’t be, he left—it’s just a reassurance and this is going to do more harm than good.
But he whispers, a rough groan where his mouth traces my ear, and I can’t hear anything else, “Lie to me again.”
My nails dig into his shoulders, his palm grips my waist, trailing down my thigh where his fingers tense, hiking my leg up just as he pulls his head back in time with the roll of his hips.
Hair falling forward, waves askew from my hands raking through them, muscles taut and tense, and his full lips parted with another groan.
He’s so beautiful, so lovely, so wonderful, and I think that tiny part of my brain tries telling me horrible things, too, but it’s so far away when he’s all over me and inside me like this.
“Zlatí?ko. Lie to me.” He says it again when my hips rise to meet his.
I can’t really think of anything at all. I’m not sure what lie I’m supposed to tell, because I can really only think of one thing.
I love you, I love you, I love you.
A moan tumbles from my mouth instead, and I think there’s some truth in it.
He’s the only person who’s ever made me feel so many things, and certainly the only person who’s ever made me feel like this—that I’ll explode from the pressure, from all the ways he makes my body tighten around him.
“Fuck,” Bohdan groans, hand tensing against my thigh when his pace picks up. The muscles in his neck strain when he tips his head back. But when his eyes find mine, they darken impossibly, and his words are rough. “Sloan—fuck—krásná.”
It’s a word I’m intimately familiar with.
One of his favourites when it came to me, actually.
Beautiful.
And when we were together, it was one of the loudest.
It’s loud right now—so loud, in fact, that it’s the only thing I hear.
Three times over in my brain. In his voice, the loveliest sound in the world.
I don’t even hear my own moans grow louder, my breathing getting sharper when Bohdan angles my hips, hands bruising me now.
But I do hear his voice when he speaks again. “You’re so close, I can feel—fuck, fuck, fuck—come for me, please, Sloan.”
He didn’t even have to ask.
Not when he looks like this, sweat-slicked muscles tense, golden-brown hair tumbling over his forehead, dark eyes and teeth biting down on full lips.
Not when he feels like this inside me, either.
And not when he’s him and I’m me.
I do come—louder than I should when it’s not just our suite—but I don’t think I’d be able to be quiet if I tried.
He buries his face in my neck, saying my name a bit like a mantra or a prayer. Over and over and over again when the muscles in his back tighten under my hands, and he follows me into the dark or wherever it is we are.
Bohdan stills, teeth grazing my skin, followed by a soft press of his lips, before he rolls his shoulders and pulls back, off me and out of me, to prop himself up beside me on the pillow.
It’s a terribly empty feeling, being without him again after all this time.
“Hey,” he says quietly.
I brush a wave off his forehead, making sure I run my fingers along the scar—his eyes shutter closed—and I wish, not for the first time, I had some sort of magic healing touch. I don’t, so I smile gently instead. “Hi.”
“You okay?” He grabs my hand, pressing his mouth across the tips of my fingers.
I’m not sure how to answer that because I am—as okay as I’ve been since the night he got hurt, but that’s not right and it’s not really okay because it’s this sense of comfort and security based in reassurances and obsessions and compulsions, not facts.
But I don’t have to answer, because something that sounds distinctly like a hand smacking against the door comes from just outside the room.
“Sloan?” Tia calls, voice muffled. “Are you in there? Are you okay?”
Bohdan shifts, the lines of his face softening with a slow grin that reminds me of who he was when we first met.
I wrinkle my nose, smiling. It is a bit like being back in college—all the times we’d sneak away from a party because we couldn’t wait to be alone, and our friends would inevitably come looking for us.
“I’m fine,” I answer, and Bohdan starts to trace my freckles with his thumb.
“Sloany?” Talon shouts this time, before trying to open the door. “Why the fuck is this door locked?”
An exasperated groan. Jay. “Because it’s her room, man.”
“So?” I can’t see them, but I imagine Talon throwing his hands up in the air before he tries the door handle again. “We really need to talk to you. It’s an emergency.”
“It’s not really,” Tia yells back.
“No, I really think it is. Sloany!” Talon smacks the door again.
Bohdan exhales, a muscle in his jaw twitching, and he presses his thumb to my cheek, cupping the side of my face before his eyes cut to the door. “This ship better be fucking burning down, Talon.”
Silence.
I feel a bit like laughing, and I bite down on my lip. Bohdan smiles, the left side of his mouth kicking up.
“Oh. You’re not . . . alone, then?” Talon asks, and the door handle gives a resigned, half-hearted shake.
“I think the sound of Bohdan’s voice answers that for you.” Jay sounds like he’s rolling his eyes.
Another smack on the door, but it’s lighter this time. Tia. “Sloan? Are you sure you’re okay in there?”
The muscle in Bohdan’s jaw feathers again, his hand tightens against my cheek before he pushes to stand.
I sit up, gathering the blankets around me, and watch Bohdan rake a hand through already dishevelled hair, all the muscles in his back contracting, and the ones running along his legs and quads popping when he tugs his shorts back on and hands me his shirt.
“We were alone, until you three decided to come along and ruin it.” He waits until I’m safely covered up before he starts towards the door. He pulls it open, just a crack, positioning his body between me, here in this bed, and them on the other side. “And she’s fine.”
More silence.
I see the top of Talon’s expertly styled curls popping over Bohdan’s head like he’s trying to peek inside the room, but Bohdan shifts and closes the door more. “I don’t smell any smoke, Talon. What’s so fucking urgent?”
“Sloan—this seems ill-advised.” Tia tries to duck around Bohdan.
“This seems like it’s starting to get a bit inappropriate. You guys can just meet us at the bar,” Jay starts to interject.
But Talon talks over him. “Inappropriate? Oh yeah, like these two have ever cared about propriety. Making us watch for years while they hung off each other, and subjecting us to whatever torment is going on this week? I think we deserve to know what’s going on.
To see the fruits of our labour, so to speak. ”
“Just let them in.” I roll my eyes.
Bohdan glances back over his shoulder, eyes tracing where his shirt drapes over my chest and the sheets swirl over my legs, like he’s checking to make sure I’m covered up, comfortable enough.
I give him another nod, and it’s stupid really, because I am comfortable, content, happy, and quiet for the first time in years.
He yanks back the door, throwing it open much harder than necessary. Turning his back to them, he comes back to the bed, one hand resting on my shoulder in this funny protective way like he’s somehow still responsible for me.
It’s comical, the way they tumble in through the now-open doorway, like they were all children with ears pressed there trying to hear what was on the other side.
Tia, all shining silver sequins and hair curling around her face.
Talon, in some sort of matching blue striped linen shirt-and-short combo, and Jay, in an outfit that really does sort of belong back in the ’70s.
“Oh. Shit.” Talon catches himself on the doorway at the last minute when he spots me, eyes flashing and immediately finding the ceiling. “Bad time?”
Jay cringes, rubbing a hand across the bridge of his nose. “Told you this was inappropriate.”
“Sloan?” Tia asks, taking a small, cautious step into the room, her heels sinking into the plush carpet.
“Yes?” I widen my eyes, tugging at the sheet before Bohdan drops onto the bed beside me, one arm wrapping around so he can bring me flush to his chest.
“Oh.” Tia blinks, mouth forming a small circle.
Talon finally glances away from the ceiling, a grin cracking across his face. He raises a fist in the air. “So this is on, then?”
Bohdan’s hand tenses against my shoulder, fingers splayed out protectively across my skin. He’s not going to answer.
It seems like a complicated, loaded question. And in theory, it is.
But the answer is simple.
Bohdan and I have always been on—by whatever juvenile definition Talon’s using now, and by every single sense of the word you’d never be able to explain to someone who’s never been in love the way we have.
“What do you want, Talon?” I ask flatly. “I’d like to get dressed.”
“Would you really?” Jay deadpans, shaking his head and glancing up at the ceiling.
Talon knocks his shoulder with his fist. “Maybe they want to go for round two—”
“Maybe you should get the fuck out,” Bohdan interjects, and I can practically hear his jaw grinding.
A smug grin inches across Talon’s face, and he swipes a hand through his hair, sending the curls askew before he starts walking backward. “Sure thing. But don’t take too long. I needn’t want to remind you that this is my retirement river cruise—”
“Not a river cruise,” Jay mutters before he glances backdown at us, face fighting the fracture of a smile and the corners of his eyes crinkling.
“—my retirement river cruise,” Talon continues, cutting Jay a look. “And it’s disco night. A mandatory event.”
“Got it.” I raise my eyebrows at him, pointing towards the still-open door. “I want to get changed.”
Talon points a finger towards Bohdan. “You’re welcome, buddy. See you at the disco.”
He turns, jumping to smack his hand against the top of the doorframe, and disappears into the suite.
“Sorry, Bohdan.” Jay’s eyes find Bohdan’s arm, wrapped around me, and he grins before following Talon.
Tia lingers—arms crossed, eyes narrowed and assessing, full lips pursed. Her fingers drum against the golden skin of her bicep. She looks like she’s chewing on the inside of her cheek, but her eyes find mine, and the worry in her features smooths into nothing. “We’ll talk at the disco?”
“Sure.” I nod. “As much as one can talk at a disco.”
She smiles fondly. “Remember your earplugs.” She turns to follow her brother and Jay, but she turns back right before she closes the door. “I’m watching you, Novotnak.”
The door closes with a tiny, resounding click, and it’s just us in here again.
“Hey, again,” he whispers, mouth pressed up against my ear.
“Hi.” I lean back against him, letting my eyes close.
“You okay?” He strokes his thumb across my shoulder, sweeping it down over the jut of my collarbone.
I do feel okay. Soothed and quiet even, and the tiny logical part of my brain that rarely gets to win screams, trying to tell me how wrong this is. It’s not real, and it’s fake, and it’s going to hurt me more in the long run.
But my heart so desperately wants this one thing now that I’ve had him again, even though I think it might be colossally bad for both of us.
“Earlier you said you’d give me everything I wanted in exchange for the next few days with me.
I know we keep changing the rules but what if . . . what if it’s like this? Us?”
As soon as I say it, I know it won’t be enough. I could die and be reincarnated a thousand times over and live every single life with him, and that still wouldn’t be enough.
But I ask anyway, because once upon a time, there was a version of Bohdan who would never say no to me.
His thumb stills against my shoulder. “That doesn’t seem . . . well advised.”
I pull back, turning to face him. Lines of his jaw sharp, muscles in his shoulders and neck tense, and eyes looking like he might actually say no to me for the first time.
“It’ll be like exposure therapy,” I joke, even though it’s sort of the exact opposite of how that’s supposed to work.
It doesn’t land. Bohdan’s jaw ticks, and his nostrils flare.
“Please,” I whisper before he can change his mind and sacrifice these two days of us on the altar of what he thinks is best for me.
His eyes shutter, and when they open, I know I’ve won. He shakes his head, pressing his forehead against mine. “You say stop—”
“We stop.”
“And at the end of the week—”
“You give me the Polaroid. I’ll give you the ring. And you’ll tell me everything I want to know.”
Something flashes behind his eyes, a storm readying lightning to strike and burn whatever this is down, but I press my lips to his and don’t let it catch.
Our lips move, his against mine, slotting in like the missing piece of a puzzle you found tucked away somewhere in your childhood home—a bit like we did all those years ago, sitting up in his bed in that old college room of his when we collided in the best ways before the worst came years later.
There might be something poetic about it—us, back together on a ship floating somewhere in the ocean.
I wonder about all the nautical disasters that came before us, and whether any two ships on a crash course for each other have ever actually gone down.
I think that maybe, when someone finds the wreckage of this one, they’ll be able to see it painted there across the hull.
The Sloan Joseph and the Bohdan Novotnak—they couldn’t stop, even when they should have.