Chapter 19 #2
He’s gentle as he peels himself away. He turns me, bracketing my head and spine as he helps me up onto the desk.
I wrap my legs around him in an instant, drinking in the glorious sight of his naked chest. I can’t tell him he’s beautiful.
He won’t like that. I think it’s best not to say anything at all and shamelessly drink my fill.
I want to memorize every detail. I hope that every single thought is reflected on my face.
His abs are ridiculously chiseled, strong and defined.
The cut through his skin in boxy slices.
His pecs are what I once heard a friend from college refer to as ‘caked up’.
I thought that term should be saved for asses, but I guess it means about the same.
Huge. Rounded out in parts and squared out at the bottom.
They flow into shoulders that are also insanely built, heavy with muscle.
I take a chance and glide my hands over his pecs and up. The gold cross swings between us while he sucks in air, arms shaking as he holds himself up with his knuckles smashed into the desk’s surface.
I don’t hesitate as I peel his shirt away, pushing it back over his shoulders and down his arms. I run my palms over the raised veins, the striated muscle, the way his biceps give way to smooth, corded forearms. I touch every inch of him, knowing that I’m going to feel his scars on the backs of his arms if I go there, but I don’t want to stop.
I’m not afraid. If I show any hesitancy in wanting this, I know that I’m going to lose him.
Not for good, but for tonight.
The only reason I would slow down, or stop is if he asked me to. I know he’s not comfortable with this. I don’t know if it’s the scars or if he was like this before. However, he’s letting me touch him.
He could have told me no and I would have accepted it, but instead, he’s giving me what I want, even though he has to pay the price for it.
It’s a sweet, selfless, beautiful gift. It makes me want to burst into tears, but there’s no way I’m going to do that.
He’ll misinterpret it and this will be over.
He raises his hands one at a time and lets his shirt fall away. He arches over me, powerful, huge, so jacked that my mouth waters to taste every inch of him.
Soon.
Just not now.
It will be too much. He’s already giving me everything he possibly can right now.
I soak him in, every angle and plane, every single detail, before I raise my eyes to his.
I slowly run my hands up and over the backs of his arms. I can feel where the skin changes, before his elbows, but especially above them.
I don’t know if the burns healed on their own, or if he had skin grafts there.
Some skin is smooth. Other parts raised.
I wouldn’t say it’s twisted or gnarled. He doesn’t feel like a tree.
It’s different skin, but it’s still skin, and it’s his.
“Can I touch your shoulders?”
He trembles visibly above me, eyes wide and terrified. I want to stop doing this. I want to take it back.
“You can say no. It’s okay.”
He dips his head in a tight nod, hiding most of his face from me. “You can touch me wherever you want.”
“What if it hurts?”
“It won’t.”
I think he means, it won’t physically. I skim my palms over his tense muscles, coiled like a dangerous animal beneath the silk of his skin. I can feel him inhale and hold it, like he’s holding himself back, or holding something in. My fingers pause, but whatever his reaction, it’s not discomfort.
I wrap my legs around him, curling my arms over his back, holding and protecting as much as I can of him.
I want to be his shield like he was mine.
Protect him. This is the cost he pays every single day for my life.
I’ve wondered before how I can ever thank him, but now I know what a trite concept that is.
There aren’t enough words for what I owe him.
I couldn’t repay him if I had a thousand lifetimes.
“Take yourself out,” I breathe, unable to do it for him. I don’t want to let him go. “I need to feel you inside of me.”
I’m still afraid he’ll want to stop, that he’ll withdraw, snatch his shirt, and ask me politely to leave.
I’m scared he’ll bury deep inside himself, into that place in his mind that is so unkind.
I can’t protect him from it. I can’t stop him from going there.
I worry he’ll tense up, that he’ll tell me again what a terrible idea this all is.
That any trust we’ve built will evaporate.
I raise my eyes to his face, letting him see all my emotion, all the yearning, the savage, brutal love, the gratitude and pain, the truth that I would exchange places with him in an instant, if I could. He’s suffered so much more than enough.
“Please?”
He stares back at me, hiding everything, shadows covering his face. I’ve never met anyone whose heart was so clearly near the surface, just waiting to be held and loved and kept safe.
Isn’t that what ultimately matters the most? Safety?
I wrap my arms around his back, guiding his face down to my shoulder. His naked chest presses against my sweater. I should have taken it off already. I imagined him peeling it away with reverence, or tearing it straight off my body.
“If you want we can slow down. I’m sorry if I came here and gave the impression that this is just about sex for me.
It’s not. It’s about you. I want you to know that you can just be with me.
” I stroke my hands down his back, splaying my fingers wide to touch his scars.
He keeps his head nestled against my shoulder.
“It’s just you. Just like these are just scars.
Just skin. Not ugly. Not dirty. Not showing the world what you think you are on the inside.
” He tenses. I know I’ve gone too far. Pushed too hard.
Said things that cut far deeper than any of the burns.
I’m pressing against the worst kind of wounds, the self-inflicted ones.
I lift my hand and stroke his hair before I press a kiss to his temple.
“I want us to fit in all ways. Not just this way. Not just skin to skin. Soul to soul means that you know that I’ll always be here.
That I’ll be your protector, and that I’ll come to you when I need shelter.
That I’ll be your encouragement, I’ll offer joy, laughter, smiles.
I want a good life, and I want that with you.
As a lover. As a friend. As someone you know you can trust. That’s what I’d like to try to build. ”
Of all the things I just said, maybe that’s the part that pushes him too far. That shoves him closer to the brink, closer to snapping. Closer to running.
He jerks away from me, snapping his body clean off me as soon as he finds his balance. He wrenches his shirt together, fingers fumbling with the buttons, face a wreck of emotion that he can’t begin to shield.
“You need to leave,” he snaps, his chin pointed at the floor. He looks down, focusing on buttoning his shirt.
My heart flips over, wrenching at his words, but shuddering with tenderness when I notice he’s done it wrong.
“Here.” I’m half freaking dressed, but I stand up and walk to him. He’s only a few steps away, shoulders heaving, panic shining bright in his eyes. It’s not just his hands that are shaking. It’s his whole body, shivering like he was just drenched in a violent rainstorm. “Let me help you.”
I carefully undo the buttons he’s done, line them up, start at the bottom, and work to the top.
“Please,” he hisses. “Just leave. Fawnie. Just go.”
“Finn.” I raise my eyes to his. “I have a damn butt plug in. Can I have a minute to deal with it?”
“Fuck.” He wraps his arms around himself like he’s trying to protect himself. From me… I did this.
I pick my leggings off the floor and scramble into them. I can make it home with the stupid plug in. I drove all the way here, after all. It’s not going to kill me. Leaving him here like this might, though.
It might kill him too, by the looks of it.
Why did I rush him? I promised myself at the symphony, that I wouldn’t do that.
I wouldn’t assume I knew what was best for him.
I wouldn’t push and push and try to fix him.
He’s not a glass fucking dish that got dropped.
He’s a human being. It’s a little bit more complicated than some glue and good intentions.
“The plug doesn’t matter,” I tell him, edging closer until I can set my hand on his.
“I’ll go. It’s okay. I’m sorry that I said too much.
That’s on me, not you. I don’t want you to do this.
” I stroke his knuckles with my finger. “Please don’t.
I know that has to hurt. I can see why you’d want to ground yourself, but you can breathe through this.
Processing trauma and feeling too much all at once…
that sucks. You’re not ready and I- I went too fast. I don’t want to leave you like this.
Alone. Not if you’re scared, or if what you really need by telling me to go is to ask me to stay, but to shut the hell up and listen. ”
His fingers slowly relax underneath mine. I suck in my first real breath since Shadow panicked and pulled away.
“I don’t want to be like this,” he snaps, anger palpable. “I don’t want to go to therapy or listen to all that bullshit, or go outside and touch fucking grass. That’s dumb. It doesn’t work. Don’t you think I’ve tried it?”
“I do think so.”
“Nothing’s gonna fix me. I’m not going to be some pretty shiny object that you can show off and be proud of.
I’m not going to be normal. I’ve never been normal.
I can’t give you what you want or what you need.
I can’t even come close. And you know what?
I fucking hate myself for it because I want to. ”