Chapter 30. Ethan
Our room door closes.
Liam stands by the window, pulling the curtain aside to look at the parking lot below, and in the yellow spill of the streetlamp, his profile is sharp and beautiful.
"Come here," I say.
He doesn't move immediately. His fingers grip the curtain, knuckles pale. His leg bounces once, twice, then he drops the curtain and crosses the room, stopping in front of me with his chin tipped up and his blue eyes too wide.
"I can't breathe right," he says. "My chest is doing the thing."
I take his hands. They're cold, his fingers restless even in my grip, tapping rhythms against my palms. I press them flat against my chest, one over the other, holding them there until his fingers stop moving and he can feel the steady beat underneath.
"Match me," I say. "In through your nose. Four counts again."
He breathes in. Shaky, shallow.
"Again. Slower. Feel my ribs move."
He tries again. Better this time, deeper, his eyes locked on mine like I'm a fixed point in a spinning room. I count for him. One, two, three, four. Hold. Release.
Again.
And again.
Until he looks a little better.
"Good," I murmur. "There you go."
"I'm going to lose tomorrow," he says, and he looks just like he did when he first came to Aspire, scared and small. "I'm going to walk out there and some guy twice my size is going to…"
I kiss him.
Not to shut him up, though it does that too. I kiss him because interrupting his self-loathing is the best thing I can do. My lips on his, soft at first, then deeper, my hand sliding from his wrists to the back of his neck, where the small tattoos mark his skin.
He makes a sound in his throat, soft and needy, and I let it in. I kiss him again, open-mouthed, tongue sliding slowly against his because I like the way it makes his whole body shiver. I can feel him start to melt, the panic in his chest dissolving.
"Bed," I say between kisses.
He stares at me, blinking fast, then crawls onto the white comforter, turning at the last second to see if I'm following.
I am.
I push him gently until he ends up sprawled there, vulnerable, waiting.
"Strip," I tell him.
My voice isn't gentle. I want to see him. All of him.
He hesitates only a second, then peels off his T-shirt, and his chest makes me want to devour him. He shimmies out of his sweatpants. I think he means to leave his briefs on, but I hook two fingers into the waistband and pull them down myself, slowly, making him lift his hips to help me.
I flip him onto his stomach.
I grab the small bottle of lube I'd packed from the nightstand and squeeze some into my palm. It's cold and makes him flinch, so I rub my hands together first, then start working over his shoulders, down his spine.
He makes a little sound, and I kneel beside him, using both hands now, kneading the knot between his shoulder blades.
"Fuck, this feels good," he says.
I smile.
I work lower, down to the dimples above his hips, then massage the tension out of his lower back and ass. He tenses at first, but I don't stop, just keep my touch slow until he relaxes beneath my hands.
I slide a finger between his cheeks, slick with lube, and he lifts his head, eyes wide.
"Hey!" he says, but then he giggles.
"Shh, it's okay," I say. "Tell me if you want to stop."
He shakes his head, face pressed into the pillow.
"Don't stop," he says, voice muffled.
So I don't.
I push in, just the tip at first, and he gasps, his whole body clenching. I wait until he relaxes, then move my finger slowly, gently, making him twitch, making his toes curl.
Then I add a second finger.
He grunts and moans, and I have to stop myself from coming right then.
I lean over him, mouth at his ear.
"You're doing so good," I whisper. "You want more?"
He nods frantically, and I keep going, slow and patient and careful. He's breathing hard now, hips rocking back to meet my hand, and then I reach around and stroke him at the same time.
His body reacts instantly.
He bucks against my hand, a broken little sound escaping him.
Liam's face is buried in the pillow, but I can see the flush climbing up his ears and the back of his neck, the way his shoulder blades shudder with every breath. He's so fucking beautiful like this: raw, undone, nothing to hide.
I keep going because I know what he wants. I press deeper with my fingers and he bites down on the pillow, a strangled sound leaking out anyway. His hips start moving on their own, desperate, needy, and when my grip tightens around him, he whines, high and helpless.
"Fuck," he gasps. "Ethan, I… fuck…"
I don't stop.
I want to see him lose it.
I keep working him while my other hand moves faster, and it's barely another couple of strokes before he comes, shuddering so hard I have to steady him with my arm. His legs kick out, his body arching off the bed before he collapses again, breathing raggedly into the pillow.
I withdraw my hand carefully and reach for one of the towels we'd left on the nightstand, cleaning myself off before curling around him from behind.
My face presses into the back of his neck.
I kiss the soft skin there until he stops shaking.
We stay like that for a little while.
Eventually, he rolls over to face me.
"You're good at that," he says, voice hoarse.
I laugh into his shoulder. "Only because I like you."
He snorts. "You don't even like people."
"Exactly."
"Now it's my turn."
Liam's eyes glint, animal-bright, and he straddles my thighs, hands already working at my belt. He gets my khakis open in seconds, shoving them and my underwear down with frantic, greedy focus.
I'm already hard, sticky with pre, and the look he gives me is hungry.
He leans down and licks a slow stripe up the underside, tongue hot, and I have to grip the headboard to keep from bucking up into him and ruining the moment.
He laughs, lips wet, and wraps one hand around the base, the other braced against my hip like he's holding me still.
Then his mouth is on me, warm and wet, taking me deep.
I can't fucking breathe.
I watch his head move, black hair falling into his eyes, flush high on his cheeks, and it's obscene how good he is at this. He's not shy about the noises either. He hums around me, and the vibration goes straight down my spine.
Every time he pulls off to catch his breath, he looks up at me with those blue eyes, daring me to say something, to break first.
I don't.
I grab a fistful of his hair, just enough to guide him, and he moans around me like that's what he wanted all along. He picks up the pace, messy and eager, and I know I won't last.
Not with him.
Not like this.
He pulls off at the last second, using both hands now, mouth open and panting, and I come hard across his tongue and lips. He lets it sit there for a second, eyes never leaving mine, before licking his lips and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Then he collapses beside me, both of us breathing like we just ran a marathon.
For a minute, neither of us says anything.
Eventually, Liam rolls over and presses his face into my chest, arms around my waist. I hold him, stroking his hair, feeling the thump of his heart against my ribs.
"Still nervous about tomorrow?" I ask.
We both laugh.
I'm still catching my breath when Liam slides off the bed and pads barefoot into the bathroom. I hear the ancient faucet cough itself on, a metallic clatter as he fiddles with the knobs.
Steam starts to snake out through the open door.
He comes back with a huge grin.
"You know the bath here is, like, the size of a cereal bowl, right?" I ask, propping myself up on one elbow.
"I'm small. We'll fit."
I snort.
I follow him.
The tub is filling fast, water clouded slightly with whatever ancient minerals are in the pipes. Liam gets the little shampoo bottles and squeezes them into the water, and soon enough bubbles start covering the surface.
Liam steps in, hissing at the heat, then sits and hugs his knees.
I climb in behind him, legs bracketing his body, and the water sloshes over the rim.
There's barely enough room to breathe, but he settles back against me anyway, boneless and warm.
For a minute, we just soak, the only sounds the drip of the faucet and our breathing.
He leans his head back onto my shoulder, hair wet and heavy.
"Is this what people do? Like, normal couples?"
"Probably not in a bathtub designed for hobbits."
He laughs.
I start washing his hair, and he closes his eyes, humming.
I rinse him off, careful not to get soap in his eyes, and he makes a noise like a cat, content and sleepy. We sit like that until the water cools.
He leans into me, arms wrapped around my thighs, and I rest my chin on the crown of his head. I could stay here forever. Cramped and pruney and stupidly happy.
Eventually, he says, "I don't want to go back."
I know he doesn't mean just the room. I run my thumb along the sharp edge of his jaw, stubble catching against my skin.
"We don't have to think about it yet," I tell him. "We've got tonight."
He nods. When we finally get out, the air in the room hits cold and sharp. We dry off with the scratchy towels, but Liam doesn't bother putting on clothes. He crawls into bed naked, burrows under the covers, and waits for me to join him.
I do.
He curls against my chest, a tangle of limbs and damp hair and warm skin, and I hold him tight.
I'm half asleep when the voices start.
Muffled, coming through the wall to our left.
Room 206.
At first, it's just tones, not words, the cadence of an argument. I recognize the lower register as Reed's.
The higher one is Tyler's.
Liam lifts his head from my chest. His eyes are open, alert, the sleepiness gone.
"Are they…"
"Shh."
We listen.
The argument escalates. There's anger; I can hear it.
Then silence.
Liam's eyes meet mine in the half-dark. His mouth is slightly open.
Neither of us speaks.
Then comes the sound.
A rhythmic thud against the shared wall.
The headboard hitting drywall.
The thudding is accompanied by the faintest creak of springs and, beneath that, other sounds.
Liam claps a hand over his mouth.
His eyes are enormous.
"Oh my God," he whispers through his fingers.
"Don't," I say, and I feel a little nauseous.
"They're…"
"I'm aware."
"The arguing just turned into…"
"I know what it turned into."
Liam presses his face into my chest and shakes with silent laughter, his whole body vibrating against mine.
I hold him and stare at the ceiling and think about Tyler's fury during sparring. Reed's gaze tracking Tyler's movements.
The thudding continues.
Picks up tempo.
Liam bites the edge of the blanket to muffle a noise that's half laugh, half groan of secondhand mortification.
"Should we…" he starts.
"We should absolutely not."
"But tomorrow, can I…"
"You cannot say a word. To anyone."
"Not even Jack?"
"Especially not Jack."
The sounds from 206 reach a crescendo, and then the headboard hits the wall one final time.
I feel so mortified I don't know what to do.
My face is burning with secondhand embarrassment.
Liam settles against me, his laughter fading into occasional aftershocks, his body warm and loose.
"Are you alright? I mean… it's your little brother and the guy you hate most in the world."
"I don't know," I say, still feeling slightly sick. "I mean, if he's happy. But fuck, man."
"I know."
I shrug it off.
"Fuck it. Let's not think about it." I pull him closer, trying very hard to erase the horrifying image of my brother and Reed from my head. "I'm glad we're here."
"In a Holiday Inn with one missing L, listening to your brother have sex through the wall?"
I laugh, loud, and then immediately realize they can probably hear us too.
"Brat."
He tilts his head up, a huge, goofy smile on his lips.
"But yeah," I say. "Even that. All of it."