57. Silas
57
SILAS
I ’m surprised to see him, but I’m shocked when the usual fight or flight response doesn’t immediately kick in. Graham is outside my apartment again at dusk. I just got off work, and he’s dressed like a regular person in a henley and jeans. The sunglasses are the only things out of place. But he looks good. At least his body does. It’s hard to tell how he’s really doing without seeing his eyes.
Before I head up the steps to the door, I stop in front of him and ask, “What’s this about?”
“I just wanted to see you.”
“That’s it?”
He nods.
“You’re not here to talk?” I ask.
“Not really.”
“You’re not gonna offer me money?”
“I might.”
My resolve breaks in half. “Do you want to come up?”
“Yes.”
The butterflies in my stomach are traitorous assholes. My cock I can forgive for showing a throb of interest—it’s abnormally fascinated with Graham. But my lack of adequate rage annoys me. Another sign I’ve given up—as if I needed one.
I take a look around at the street and sidewalk. “No security?”
“I slipped out the back,” he says.
I don’t ask the obvious question—the back of what? Because it doesn’t really matter. I’ve been thinking about him constantly, and it’d be a lie to say I haven’t wanted to see him. I just didn’t expect to, and I wasn’t going to reach out. There’s something validating about him being here now for no apparent reason except maybe he wanted to see me too, like he said.
Now that I’m leaving, his existence in the world hurts a little less. Closure is the name of this game, and God knows I could use it.
He follows me inside and up the stairs, then into my apartment. There are already a handful of boxes packed, mostly winter clothes and less frequently used things from the kitchen. I don’t have all that much stuff, and I’m not moving for a few weeks still, so I’m not in a rush. I tuck a few things into a box here and there, watch some TV, take a nap.
I might be a little depressed. Maybe that’s why all the fight has left me.
“Did you find a new apartment?” Graham asks when he sees the boxes in the kitchen.
“I’m narrowing it down,” I say without elaborating.
“Will you be by yourself, or…”
“I’m not seeing anyone,” I say, figuring that’s what he’s getting at.
“I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Right.” I gesture at the couch. “Have a seat. I’m just gonna change out of this.”
I take a quick shower and put on clean clothes, not expecting him to join, nor am I disappointed when he doesn’t. The vibe is different this time.
I only have the one couch, so I join him on it, giving him a brief glance before facing forward. After a minute of sitting in silence, his hand moves, finding mine and holding it. I sigh at the touch, closing my eyes. What he said last time resurfaces. I’ll always love you the best I can.
This way isn’t so bad. It’s an improvement, anyway. I guess I don’t hate it.
Holding his hand warms my entire arm, and the heat works its way to my chest. I try to find some comfort in it but start to get choked up. I take a shaky breath and sigh it out, dreading how it’s going to feel to say what I’m about to say. “I’ve been feeling really alone.” My voice cracks like I expected it would. A tear escapes, and I sniff to keep snot from becoming an issue.
“I get that,” he says.
Ben probably would have said something like he was lonely, too, and that’s one of the things I always loved about being with Graham. He never tried to make my feelings about him or one up me somehow. That and everything I’ve missed about him sinks in all at once.
It hurts so fucking bad that I realize there was never any amount of physical pain I could inflict on him that would even come close. I used to think we loved each other equally, but it looks like I was in it way deeper than he was. Deeper than I even knew. That should probably make me feel stupid, but it only makes me sadder.
Because when the fuck will I learn?
“I hate seeing you cry,” he whispers.
It’s worse being the one who can’t stop. “I miss you.”
“Hey,” he says, giving my hand a squeeze. “I’m right here.”
“You’re not. I wish you were, but you’re not.”
“Baby, look at me.”
I don’t want to. I can’t.
“Silas.”
I feel his other hand on my cheek, hear the rustle of his movement, and freeze when he swipes a few tears off my face. He’s turning my head, and the next thing I know, his mouth is on mine. Again, it’s not like last time. It’s barely a kiss. It feels more like an alignment. Brows, noses, lips, chins…the way we fit together.
“Do you want me here?” he asks.
“Yes.” I always want him. I’ve never stopped. Every time I’ve pushed him away, I wanted him to fight back. But it’s never going to be enough. What I want from him, he can’t give me. No—not can’t. Won’t.
But I don’t want to think about that. I want to feel better, even if it’s temporary and meaningless. His kiss is soft at first, and still I’m swept away. I melt into him, allowing him to hold me close and possess my mouth. Instead of taking, I give. I give up whatever else I have to offer. He has all the important parts of me already. Why not serve up what’s left? It’s a complete and total surrender. We fought. He won.
“More,” I beg him after so many slow, respectful kisses.
His thumb sweeps my cheekbone again. “Anything.”
We re-angle our mouths, and my cock rises at the bolder lash of his tongue. He inhales me, creating a strong suction, dissolving all my will to do anything but this. Our bodies reorient, hands moving naturally to a waist, a thigh, a hip until our shoulders rest on the back of the couch, chests pressed together, my leg pulled over his hips, hard cock pressed against his steel cage.
I don’t complain. It feels good. It’s not his erection, which is bigger and warmer, but it’s hard and gives me the friction my own dick craves. I make out with him, my need fervent and bright. He feeds me his tongue and his guttural groans, squeezing and releasing my ass cheek in time with my grinds against him.
An electric pulse races down my spine, and deeper, threatening too much, too soon. I haven’t felt anything close to this in more than a year, and it’s depressing to even think about that, so I stop, determined to live in this moment and only this moment.
But that’s never been possible with him .
With Graham, every kiss feels like a promise, even if they’ve only ever been lies. He’s easy to believe, and that’s what’s always made him magical. Miraculous. It’s why the love won’t let me go.
My hand moves beneath his shirt, up his chest, over his pounding heart. “More,” I ask him again.
“Here?”
I’m comfortable on the couch, but it could be better. Untangling myself from his body, but hanging onto him by the wrist, I stand. He walks with me the handful of feet into the bedroom where I turn to him and take off his shirt. When it clears his head and arms, his hair falls carelessly around his forehead. His eyes glitter like jewels, and his lips are red and swollen. “Beautiful,” I whisper.
He shakes his head, caressing my face with both hands. “You are.”
I must still be crying because he’s still swiping at my cheeks, and they keep going from warm to cool. My gaze falls to the thin strip of leather around his neck to the key dangling from it.
Mine , I think, touching it. He takes the makeshift necklace off, handing it over to me.
I palm it before opening his jeans. He finds my mouth, kissing me again with a hungry growl. Once his fly is open, he strips me of my shirt, and I push down my sweatpants. I’m bare underneath, and he touches me, dragging his fingertips up the underside of my erect cock, picking up a drop of precum from the tip. He sucks it into his mouth, closing his eyes as he savors my taste.
That will never not be the hottest thing to watch, but I have more important things to do.
Kneeling, I pull his jeans down his legs, and he kicks them off along with his shoes. I take his caged cock in my hand and locate the small padlock. He hisses when I release him from the cage. The cock ring doesn’t come off easy, his balls are already engorged, but using some of my own saliva as lube, I work the whole apparatus off .
“Not really sure how this part works,” he says, his hand moving through my hair.
Staring at his limp dick, I think I know what he means. “How long have you had it on?”
“A long time.”
I have a lot of questions—namely—does it turn him on to constantly live in chastity like it did when he and I were together? Or does he do it for some other reason now? Has it evolved beyond a kink, or has the kink itself changed? Mostly, I just want to suck his dick now that I can finally see it—the sad, wilted thing that it is.
“Sit,” I tell him.
I hold him by the hips, guiding him as he lowers himself to the mattress. I settle between his thighs, touching every inch of skin on his legs as I duck my chin to suck him between my lips.
“Oh, God,” he groans the instant my tongue finds his flesh. His hand shoots out to brace on my shoulder as his hips buck slightly. “Oh fucking God…”
Even flaccid, Graham is a mouthful. In the past, two seconds of this would have him hard as a pole, but not today. He might be acting like he’s moments away from blowing his load, but after several minutes, I’ve accomplished nothing. I’m not sure what to think, and he doesn’t offer any guidance.
“Make room,” I say, nodding up at him. “Turn over.”
“No, don’t stop. Please.”
“I’m not. Just trying something different. Let me.”
He nods with total trust—like the last time I asked him to present his ass to me I didn’t violate him with my fist.
On the bed, he rolls onto his stomach before starting to push onto his hands and knees. I put a hand on his lower back, wanting him to stay flat so I can lie down, too. Once I’m comfortable between his legs, I press my lips to his hole before giving it a long lick. He hisses out a breath. The taste and scent and sounds of him send me back in time .
Reaching beneath him, I pull his cock down to allow my mouth access to everything. His swollen balls are first. I press my thumb firmly to the space between his sac and his hole while I suck his balls into my mouth.
“ Mmph…Silas .”
I want him hard. I want him inside me. I want him to want me again. If I can’t have him in my life, then I can have him in my body. I go back to mouthing his cock. Kissing and licking and sucking the thin flesh between my teeth. Everything I do makes him writhe and moan. When I make my way back to his hole, he reaches between his legs to tug at his cock as I suck and spit and sink my tongue inside him again and again.
“That feels so good. So fucking good.”
Good enough? I rub his smooth cheeks and resume fucking his hole with my mouth. I’m enjoying it more than I’ve enjoyed anything in a long time. Sex has always been more with Graham. Our connection—our chemistry makes it feel like more than a physical act. More than getting off. It’s an event. A feast. A rave I never want to end.
When I notice he’s rutting into the bed, I take his cock back to find it hard and hot. “I need this,” I tell him.
“Take it,” he says. “It’s yours.”
“Do you um… do you want a condom?”
“No,” he says. “No, I trust you.”
I nod, knowing it’s okay and grateful anyway. He turns over, and I kiss my way up his body, licking a long stream of precum from the length of his rigid, engorged cock. As I kiss his neck, I grab the lube and press it into his hand, another automatic exchange we’ve performed maybe hundreds of times.
The handoff is as smooth as it ever was, our bodies still amazingly in tune. Kissing his mouth, I listen to the slick sound of him coating his cock. The emptiness inside me has me near frantic. I kiss him harder, deeper, almost angrily, impatient for him to fill me up. I need you. I need you. Nothing is okay without you .
His aim is sure, and I sink back as his hips punch up.
“Fuck!” we both shout.
His neck bends off the bed as we join with a thud. Our eyes meet, and it’s like a lust bomb explodes between us. Our mouths crash together as I work my ass up and down his thrusting cock. In a millisecond, we have our rhythm back—as automatic as breathing, but not nearly as mundane.
This is finely tuned sex. Something we learned together as lovers as the fastest, most efficient way to get each other off. It was the kind of sex we’d have when he got home from DC. The same way we fucked before one of us—usually me—had to go to work and couldn’t be late.
He seems to realize this at the same time I do. He holds my face still and slows his hip roll. “Shh…there’s time.”
But there isn’t. Not that I don’t want to draw this out and have it last all night, but we’re nothing now. This might feel like everything, but it’s a bullshit fantasy. Today is a mood. A vibe. A lucky break in the storm of what became of us. Still, I let him pull out and put me on my back. As he moves on top of me, he brushes a kiss to my temple and whispers in my ear. “I’m yours. I’ve got you.”
I start crying again.