Chapter Twenty-Two #3
He tilted Hilary’s face up, leaned in, and kissed him.
It wasn’t like in the shower. Soft and careful, this time he welcomed the thoughts, letting them take hold of the moment and wrap it up, perfectly attentive, placed deliberately to be remembered forever.
He wouldn’t take any chances. This, and every moment with Hilary, could not be forgotten.
Everything else, maybe, but not this. Please, not this.
“What’s with that face? Are stalkers no good after all?”
Trenton had to force the words through the thickness in his throat. “If something happened. If I went crazy again, or if I broke even more, would you still come after me? Would you try to fix me?”
“I can’t fix you, Trenton. I can only be here. Is that enough?”
Hilary had always looked at him. Since the first, the man hadn’t gotten distracted. Had never tried to be elsewhere when they were together or made any hints that he wanted change. Being there, as he said, and always helping him to see what they had in each other. “Yes.”
“Then show me.”
It was permission, Trenton thought. Or maybe something more than that, like preemptive forgiveness. A free pass to fuck up.
“Can I touch you?”
“Yes.”
“Where can I—”
“Everywhere, I think. But maybe not the back end. I was weird about it last time.”
Trenton flushed. He hadn’t meant—he hadn’t even gotten that far ahead in his own mind.
He’d meant more along the lines of Hilary’s chest, or something.
It was all so new. He’d never touched Hilary without a shirt.
Even the thought of kissing him again was having his heart hammer fit to burst. He was sure Hilary could hear it.
It was getting hard to think again. His face felt stuffed up, and he thought maybe he was breathing weird.
Hilary nudged up against him. “Slow. As slow as you want.”
That seemed quite the assumption. Who said he wanted slow? But Hilary’s next kiss was glacial, the barest pressure of lingering there, suspended in time.
Trenton groaned, the sound surprising himself, and Hilary too, who laughed a little. “I’m the one who’s been waiting. How dare you show impatience.”
It wasn’t impatience. Not quite. As much as he wanted to hurry, he also wanted to dawdle, to hang back until it killed him, just breathing in the wonder of him. “Hilary.”
Hilary bumped up against his hips. “Push me. I want to feel you.”
Trenton’s blood roared louder, and his hands trembled, but when he pressed Hilary down against the mattress and kissed him, hands clenched in his and letting his weight fall, the satisfaction went deep.
It wasn’t trapping Hilary, not quite, but having him there, beneath him, feeling the lines of him and all the filled-in places—there was nothing like it.
He could have stayed like that, never doing anything more, and still felt entirely fulfilled.
“You feel so good.” The words were kisses.
He would never pull his mouth away. “I’ve never felt anything as good as you. ”
“You’ve never tried with anyone else.”
“I’ve never wanted anyone else.” He pushed down some more, their fingers interlaced, like marrying their hands together. “Show me how to make you want it.”
“You think I don’t?”
“I said to show me.”
Hilary pushed up with his hips, and the man was hardening, hot beneath the cotton of his pants. “Don’t hate it.” And Hilary sounded desperate. “Please don’t.”
“I could never.”
But maybe Hilary couldn’t hear that. Or maybe he was really asking something else—something that required a different answer.
Trenton wasn’t sure. But he thought he knew what to do.
He slid one of his arms beneath Hilary’s head, wrapping him up close.
“Always giving. Always worrying.” He pushed his thigh between those legs and angled himself to press there, to give him that friction.
“How long have you wanted this? Show me. Make me see.”
Hilary tried to turn, to hide himself. It was strange in a man who always moved so comfortably.
Trenton pressed him down again, squeezing the one hand he still held.
“You’ll hide even when it’s me?” Each syllable he pressed there came with the grazing pressure of a kiss. “Didn’t you bring me here to be yours?”
Hilary made a sound of frustration and pushed at his shoulder.
“You don’t—!” But he didn’t finish, biting down on the words.
And Trenton felt it there, at the surface again, that thing between them.
What Hilary was hiding. He wanted to demand it.
To take his beloved by the face and threaten not to let him go until it was out.
Instead, he pressed against him again with his leg, and began to move, a steady kind of pressure.
Hilary pushed at him again. “No.”
“Why?”
Hilary wouldn’t say. He was clenching his teeth. Fighting it. And hating the fighting.
“Why? When you love me. When you said I could. I’m here, right in front of you—"
“But you’re not! You’re not here!” Hilary shoved at him, meaning it this time. Actually trying to move him.
Trenton let go, and Hilary had to catch himself on his knee in his hurry to get away. The man paused there for a second, gulping air, and then he was up and out of the room.