Chapter 17 Catfish
CATFISH
What the fuck did I just do?
It’s not the usual thought I have when I come in someone’s mouth, but, fuck, this is Wren.
I fucked their mouth until I came with a ferocity that’s left my legs shaking, and me sucking in air like the room is devoid of oxygen.
Wren is kneeling in the shower, their head tipped up to capture the water in their mouth that they then rinse and spit with.
I’m not offended by their action. They swallowed my cum without complaint. But their eyes are bright, lips red, and water cascades over their naked body like they’re being baptized by it.
And it hits me.
This could never just be about the sex.
It’s not even about need.
It’s about Wren handing me something more real than anything I’ve earned.
Wren runs their hands through their hair, rinsing as they go, and I notice they had conditioner in their hair all this time. Fuck me, I was out of it when I came in.
I drop to my knees in front of them and reach for their face. “Thank you,” I say before I cup their jaw and kiss them.
It’s soft. Tender. Maybe even reverent. I want to give them back everything they just gave me.
Their hands settle on my shoulders, grounding me again. “Are you okay?” they ask.
I’m not sure Wren has any clue just how big a question that is. “I don’t know what I am,” I admit. “But I know what I want.”
Wren tilts their head. “What you need is bed.”
I trail my hand down between their tits, over their stomach, until I hover just above their clit. “Let me take care of you.”
Wren grips my wrist. “As good as that sounds, you had quite the night, and I want to check your head. It might need stitching or—”
“No.” I put my other hand over theirs and lift it from me.
“River, I—”
“I need to do this,” I say, and the words come out rougher than I mean. “Unless this is about consent and you don’t want me to.”
“It’s not about consent,” Wren says. “It’s about timing. I want to dry you off, get you into bed, check out your thick head.”
“I just need to remind myself we’re both still here. Not sure I’ll be able to sleep until I do.”
Wren searches my face, and I let them. I mean, what are they going to see there. Fear? Need?
Finally, they nod, with the ghost of a smile on their face. “Okay.”
I offer them my hand, and they take it. But when they misunderstand and move to leave the shower, I tug them back to the wall. “I want you where I was.” I shuffle between their legs and kiss the inside of their thigh, moving higher and higher until their breath catches.
Gently, I rub my thumb over their clit. “Tell me if anything feels wrong.”
“It won’t.”
I smile at their trust in me. “But if it does…”
I take my time, easing them open to me. And when I finally put my mouth on them, tongue slow and soft as it strokes their tight bud, Wren calls out my name.
I fucking love learning Wren’s body. Not chasing a goal but truly understanding what works for them.
Their hands thread into my hair, not to guide me, just to hold on to me.
Every sound they make is a revelation as I move my tongue beneath their lips.
But I’m not close enough, or deep enough. I don’t even know if I’m meant to use the word pussy here, but I want it all up in my fucking face.
I grab Wren’s leg and move it over my shoulder, fully opening them to me.
Wren splays their hands out on the wall, trying to grab onto the slick tile. I cup their ass, tugging them right onto my face and take it in turns, thrusting my tongue into them, then sucking on their clit.
I take my cues from the way Wren’s body responds.
Being gentle does nothing; being firm sets them off like a firework.
I add a finger that moves in time with my tongue. Wren’s hips join in the action, slowly letting go of their inhibitions.
“River, please,” they beg as I bury two fingers to the knuckle while biting and sucking on them like a starving man.
They come on a sharp gasped wordless cry, their thigh trembling against my shoulder. Their pussy strangling my fingers.
I stay with them. Easing them down gently. Eventually, I slide my fingers from within them. I kiss their hip, their stomach, the space just below their tits.
When I finally stand, I kiss their lips. Our bodies are slick as we hold on to each other, the water beginning to run cold.
But I don’t let them go.
Wren rests their forehead on my chest. “That wasn’t just sex, was it?”
“No,” I agree. “It wasn’t. You let me see you, and that’s everything.”
Wren’s breath hitches. “You matter to me, River. More than I know what to do with. I don’t want to lose you in the process of trying to save me. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”
I brush my lips against their temple. “Would it help you to know that this all scares the shit out of me a little too?”
“Which part, the feeling more than you are comfortable with, or the ‘you dying trying to save me’ bit?” There’s a wry twinkle in Wren’s eyes as they ask the question.
“The feelings bit. The dying to keep you safe part is easy.”
Wren shakes their head and steps out of the shower, before angrily snapping a towel off the rail.
They wrap it around their body, their hair wet and dripping.
“I don’t want that. I can’t describe it, River, but I don’t want to be protected in that weird paternalistic way.
Contrary to recent events, I can look after myself.
I don’t want you killed or hurt trying to do something.
I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t spoken to Calista and Vex, because now I’m in this world.
I should just go to the airport tomorrow and get on a plane.
To Europe, so I can lose myself in the train system and never need a visa. ”
I turn off the water, step out of the shower, and grab my own towel, tying it around my waist. Wren reminds me of a spooked mustang.
“You’re freaking out, Wren.”
They narrow their eyes at me. “I’m not. It’s the truth. Intellectually, I always knew this life would lead to me having to move, constantly. I—”
“We’re fine.” Wren’s words make me wonder if they’re living here with one foot already out the door. “I’m safe. You’re safe. And you’ll stop this nonsense about running off to Europe where I can’t follow.”
Because while this thing between us is new, it’s powerful. At least, for me it is. I feel like Blaze is standing on my chest. And Wren’s fears are so powerful that, right now, I think they’d bolt without telling where they’re going just to protect me.
“That’s not what this is about. I—”
“It is,” I say, taking their shoulders. “I almost got hurt.”
Wren reaches their hand to my head. “You did get hurt.”
I shrug. “Barely a scratch. I almost got hurt, and it freaked you out. And then I came in here, terrified I’d find you dead.
And when you weren’t, I felt nothing but fucking relief when I saw you under the water.
Then, you told me to strip, and you welcomed me into your shower and sucked my cock, while I watched water run over your chest. And it put me back in my own body, Wren.
So, yeah. You’re freaking out. And we aren’t going to do that.
Because there’s no problem you and me can’t solve. ”
Wren’s face softens, so I pull them to me and kiss their forehead.
“Stop being logical, River,” they mutter against my chest.
The last of the fractured energy I brought in with me dissipates from the room.
“You wouldn’t really run off to Europe and leave me behind, would you?”
“If you get hurt for me again, I might. Now, kneel down so I can check your head.”
The answer does little to reassure me, but I do as Wren says and let them look their fill as they part my hair to look at the cut.
“Do I need brain surgery, Dr. Wren?”
Wren kisses near the injury. “You’ll be fine. I don’t think it needs stitching, but without shaving your head, I can’t really stick a Band-Aid on it.”
“Is it bleeding?”
Wren shakes their head. “No. And it looks clean enough given how long you spent under the water.”
I stand, and their hands drop away from my skull. “Then I’ll sleep on my front.”
Wren reaches for my towel, tugging it away from my hips.
“I’m gonna need a few more minutes if you’re wanting me again.”
They pat my chest with the towel. “Just drying you off before I tuck you in bed.”
“What if I want to put you to bed?”
“Dude. Remember our conversation the day when I passed out in the clubhouse. How you agreed to something like a fifty-fifty split in taking care of each other as a rolling average, and not every day. And that I should repay the favor to you some other day. Well, this is the day. Good boys who do brave things get put to bed.”
That makes me chuckle. “Can’t remember the last time I was called a good boy. Maybe when I was still in school.”
Wren walks around me, drying my arms and then back as they go. When they dip between the cheeks of my ass, I catch their eye in the mirror. “Watch what you start.”
What they did with their finger in the shower was such a turn-on. Just thinking about it is enough to stir my cock.
But the sensation of being cared for is…special. All of it.
“What do the numbers represent?” I ask, stroking my fingers across the ink on their wrist.
“The coordinates of the home me and my mom lived in.”
I lift their wrist to my lips and kiss it. “What happened to your mom? If it’s not too difficult to explain.”
“Mom was a nurse. She worked long shifts, sometimes doubles, to keep food on the table. And despite that, it felt like she was always there for me. She packed my lunches, like your mom did. Would quiz me on math while she cooked. And she was with me every step of the way when I was questioning my identity.”
There’s such a wistful tone to the way Wren speaks. “Sounds like a good person.”
Wren continues to dry me. “She was. But then, she kept getting fatigued and tired. She went to the doctor, and he said it was likely something viral. The next time, he said the same. The third time, he gave her antibiotics just to make her go away, and Mom begged him to run more tests. She told him she was a medical professional. But he dismissed her. Reminded her she was just a nurse, not a doctor. Then, it became recurrent chest pain. She went to urgent care twice in the month before she died. Even saw a doctor she knew there her final visit. Both times she was brushed off, told she was having anxiety attacks or panic attacks.” Wren looks up at me.
“Apparently, that’s a common misdiagnosis in women.
The doctor told her to try yoga and meditation even as she pleaded with him to check her heart. ”
I cup their cheek when they dry my arm. “What did they miss?”
Wren sighs. “Symptoms of an aortic dissection. She had all the warning signs. It’s rare, but fatal.
Mom collapsed in the kitchen while making us meatballs.
Still can’t look at meatballs or eat them without feeling sick.
The smell is so attached to the memory. I called 911.
But by the time the paramedics arrived, it was too late.
The tear had ruptured, and she died in the ambulance. ”
I tug Wren to me, holding them tight. “I’m so very sorry.”
Wren stays for a moment, then steps away and points to their next tattoo.
“It says I Remain because I’m the only one of the two of us left.
But it’s also a reminder that while Mom is gone, I need to live my life.
The hourglass shows time can get ripped away from us when we least expect it, and there’s no way to get it back. It’s too precious to waste.”
“And the origami boat?”
Wren sighs and then touches it. “I watched Tale of the Nine Tailed, a K-drama. There’s a scene where the hero’s love gets taken to the afterlife on a mystical ferry.
And in that moment, the hero is willing to give everything he has to get her back, even all his powers.
But the boat is the point of no return. That person is never coming back.
So, this represents Mom’s final journey into something I can’t follow her too, yet. ”
I feel powerless and lacking right now. Because, while there are many things I can fix, this isn’t one of them. “I don’t know your mom, but I think she would like the tribute.”
“Pale pink and blue were her favorite colors, which is why I used them on the boat. We used to laugh at the irony of those choices being so utterly gendered while I’m a rainbow.”
I rub my thumb over their lips, wishing I could take away the sadness that dances lightly across their features.
“Let’s go,” Wren says, shaking away the mood, but I tug them back.
“You aren’t dry yet.”
“My hair will take a hot minute. But let me get you settled.”
Wren is fastidious as they do what they said they would. I’m in bed, leaning back against soft pillows within a minute. They disappear down the stairs, which makes me all kinds of nervous, but they return quickly with a glass of whiskey. “To help settle the nerves.”
And I sip it as I watch them in the bathroom. Wren doesn’t hide themself from me as they comb through the long lengths of their hair. Wren’s body is a fucking marvel. Lithe but strong. Muscular yet appealing.
I wonder if those times in my life where my gaze has drifted were more than random moments.
Like, getting beaten up for looking at a guy in school.
If I dissect that for a second, it wasn’t just a timing thing.
Tanner Brooks was growing into the capable lean muscle of a track star.
He had such defined and yet slender arms connected to strong shoulders.
None of the beef of the football players.
At the time, I thought it was envy. But in hindsight, it was more.
Same with Neo in The Matrix. Narrow hips and a strong upper body. Quietly powerful.
I found some links on the internet, about being non-binary and queer, to help me understand Wren better. Maybe I need to look at some of them through my own lens. Maybe “my type” has always been broader than the definition I gave it.
But Wren is so much more than what they look like.
They carefully scrunch their hair in the towel. Then, they dry it using an adaptor on the hairdryer that looks like some kind of weird sieve. I get a great view of their ass as they bend forward.
Maybe this is the future I’ve been waiting for.
A home.
Someone special to love me like I love them.
I even love this fucking house.
Maybe I should speak to Atom about buying it from him.
Yeah, I could build a fucking life with Wren in it.
But first, we need to find and kill the person who’d ruin it for us.