27. Ethan
TWENTY-SEVEN
Ethan
The house is dim when we emerge from the cellar, and I’m glad. I don’t think I could handle full daylight right now.
My grip on Levi’s hand feels weak and I’m scared of losing it, like I might just float away, but his fingers are locked on mine like that’s not an option.
He leads me out of the pantry and down the hallway to the entryway, stopping at the table where both our phones are plugged in.
My heart gives a heavy, sluggish thump. I don’t want to deal with anything.
I don’t want to talk to anyone. I feel strange.
One handed, not letting go of me, Levi disconnects his phone from the charger. He pulls up his contacts and hits Patrick’s name, bringing the phone to his ear.
Oh fuck. Patrick. He’s probably looking for me. I didn’t take my phone.
“He’s here,” Levi says. He listens for a second then replies, “Yeah, he’s okay. Are you? Are you sure? Where are you? Okay, come back then. Do you need anything? Okay. Sounds good. Bye.”
Levi ends the call and sets his phone down. Then he squeezes my hand and starts walking again, so I do too. We go upstairs and into the bedroom.
Levi lets go of my hand and starts taking off my suitcoat. He drapes it carefully over the back of a chair. I start unbuttoning my vest, but my hands are shaky, so I let Levi take over. He pulls it off me and drapes it over the chair, then he comes back to work on my shirt.
As he unbuttons it, deep, awful tremors start rippling through my body. I’ve been undressed so many times, and it’s like the memory of every single time is echoing inside me. Levi pauses with his fingers at my sternum.
“Keep going?” he whispers. When I don’t reply, he takes my hand. “Squeeze once for yes, twice for no.”
I squeeze once. He squeezes back, then he starts working again, slow and careful.
He pulls off my shirt and lays it aside, then he crouches to work on my shoes. That’s when I realize that I’ve done this with him before, in reverse, when I first undressed him to draw him. He’s giving it back to me now, inverted. Where he needed my expectations, I need his lack of them.
When he rises, he puts his hands on my sides, pausing again, waiting.
He says quietly, “I’m sorry I grabbed at you. That night.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Well, I did. I grabbed at you. I’m sorry.”
There’s enough light that I can see the tears that spill down Levi’s cheeks. My hands finally move. They tug at him and pull him against me.
“I’m sorry too,” I tell him as his arms wrap around me.
“And I know why it triggered you so much, what I did. Later that night. At the park. I know.”
My mind whites out for a second. I can’t hold all of this at once. I just can’t.
Levi says, “Let’s just get in bed. Okay?”
I squeeze him once for yes, and he works between our bodies, unbuckling my belt and unzipping my pants, something that no one has done for a long, long time. And certainly never like this.
Paul said that he loved me, but his love hurt. It ripped my soul apart.
Levi’s love is stitching my soul back together.
But that’s painful too, in a different way, and it makes tears spill from my eyes. Levi starts kissing me—my chest, my throat, my face—but it’s just to give, not to take.
I told him the truth. He knows the worst. And yet, he stayed. I didn’t think he would. I think, maybe, that’s why I told him. I couldn’t have him with me, not knowing. And I didn’t believe that, knowing, he would stay with me.
But he did.
He strips off his own clothes more quickly then pulls back the covers. We get in bed, and I grab him from behind. I pull him into me and curl around him. His arms wrap over mine, holding me to him. He sighs and settles, like he really does feel safe.
And, for once, so do I.
* * *
I sleep all night. I don’t even know the last time I slept all night. I’m groggy when I wake up with daylight flooding the room. The only thing I’m very aware of is Levi’s body against mine and my hard dick caught between us, pressing against his ass.
As I nuzzle his hair, breathing in his scent, his fingers start stroking my arms. He murmurs and presses back against me.
I slide my hand down to his cock. He mumbles something as I wrap my hand around the hard length of it.
I stroke him until he starts pushing harder against me, wanting me inside him, then I roll away from him and open the drawer of the bedside table.
While I’m groping around for the lube, Levi lifts himself up on his elbow, twisting around to look at me. He doesn’t ask me anything, and I’m glad. I’m not ready to talk. I just want to be with him. He sees that and settles again.
I get lube on my fingers and settle too. I massage his hole until he’s whining, then I start opening him. I take my time with it, enjoying the way he responds.
Usually, our sex is intense, even harsh, but I don’t want that right now. I want this. I don’t even care if I come. I probably won’t. Maybe he won’t either. I just want to be inside him.
When he’s ready, I lube my dick, then I settle behind him again. He makes a small sound of pleasure when I push against his hole, stretching him with my cock.
I suck in a breath at the surge of pleasure, but I go slow, easing in a little at a time. I wrap my arms around him, hooking one hand over his shoulder to hold him. I scissor his legs with mine, turning him partway onto his front, and I push all the way inside him.
I gasp against him at the joining, and he shudders under me, moaning and clenching on my cock. I draw back and thrust into him. He cries out. I bury my face against the back of his neck and thrust again.
I don’t mean to start fucking him, but his sounds of pleasure are too much and I want him too much and it feels too goddamn good.
“Fuck,” he murmurs. “Yes. Fuck, oh my God, yes.”
I’m driving him into the mattress now. I’m getting rough, but it doesn’t feel ugly. It just feels like need and closeness and pleasure.
“You’re gonna make me come,” Levi gasps. “Fuck, Ethan, that’s gonna—fuck—oh my God—hnnn!”
His cries become wordless as he starts coming. I don’t think I’m that close, but the way he seizes on my cock and bucks against me makes it rush through me unexpectedly. I bury myself deep, straining into him as my cock kicks, filling him with my cum.
We lie still for a while, both breathing hard and floating in the haze. Then, when I pull free, Levi rolls over to see me.
I comb his messy hair. “I love you,” I tell him quietly.
He smiles. It’s a small smile, tender and fragile. Sweet. “I love you too.”
I want to smile back, but it doesn’t happen. Levi doesn’t seem to mind.
He’s so calm. I know he’s still wild. I know there are still dark parts of him. But he’s this too, calm and loving and gentle.
Dark thoughts try to crowd in, thoughts about myself. I think Levi sees them because his hand finds mine and squeezes it.
He says, “I’m hungry. Can we shower and eat?”
I nod and help him up.
Our shower is quiet. I touch him a lot. He touches me too, but he’s more cautious. I wish he didn’t have to be, but he’s right that I’m not ready for more. This is the first time in my life that I’ve wanted more, and suddenly recognizing it as something broken makes me feel really shitty.
I don’t realize that I’m somehow communicating that fact until we’re drying off and Levi says, “It’s okay, Ethan.”
I swallow around a sudden constriction in my throat. Fuck, I feel raw. I feel like my soul has been laid bare, like every sore and every scar and every dark, dirty pocket has been seen.
But then, it has.
He saw my paintings.
I confess, “No one has ever seen those.”
Levi knows what I mean. His eyes drop for a second then lift again. “Are you angry that I looked?”
“No.”
If anyone but Levi had looked, I would be angry. But with him, everything is different.
He says, “You’re an incredible artist.”
“But they’re ugly.”
“They’re dark. They’re pain.”
I look away. I don’t want to talk about them. I don’t want to think about who I am, what I am, when I create them.
“Let’s make breakfast,” Levi says and leads me out of the bathroom.
We dress and go down to the kitchen.
Patrick prepped a lot of ingredients, so it’s easy to get some omelets going. We both eat toast while they’re cooking. I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning, and I have a bad feeling that Levi hasn’t either.
When I go to throw away the bread bag under the sink, I freeze, staring at the empty whiskey bottle beside the trashcan.
I look over at Levi, who’s munching toast as he watches the omelets.
“Was Patrick okay yesterday?” I ask.
Levi does a double take as he sees what I’m looking at. “Oh. He had me pour that out.”
My heart skips. “Had he drunk any of it?”
“No. It was sealed.”
I sag in relief, but it’s brief and incomplete because he still bought it. He got close. Because of me.
God, I don’t want Patrick to relapse, especially not because of me.
“You called him last night?” I ask, not trusting my memory.
“I did. He seemed okay.”
“I’m just gonna text him.” But then I realize I have no idea where my phone is. “Ah, fuck.”
“Your phone’s in the entryway. If that’s what you’re trying to figure out.”
I huff, slightly embarrassed but also thinking how nice it is to interact with him like this, openly, like I don’t have to hide anything. “Thanks.”
I go out to the entryway and grab my phone. My heart sinks at the notifications. I open the messaging app and see that they’re almost all from Ruby. I scroll past those to Patrick and bring up our thread.
As I’m walking back to the kitchen, I type, Are you okay, then I delete it and type, Have you talked to your sponsor. I delete that too.
Then I type, I’m sorry. I send it.
I’m back in the kitchen now. Bubbles appear and disappear for long enough that I walk over to Levi just so I can touch him. I’m staring at my phone, but from the corner of my eye, I see Levi glance at me. He leans into my touch on his back.
Levi asks, “Is he okay?”
“He’s taking forever to reply.”
“He’s not answering?”
“He’s typing.”
Levi says quietly, “It’s hard for you guys to talk to each other.”