Stray Fears - Gregory Ashe Page 0,90

one step above vinegar. He drank some too, leaning against the wall, smiling.

“You have a nice smile,” I said, the fumes from the wine burning my eyes, and I had to blink to clear them. “You’re beautiful, but I really, really like your smile.”

“God,” he whispered. “Are you even real?”

“Come over here,” I said, setting down the wine and spreading my legs. “Find out.”

He eased his weight onto my lap. He smelled like cheap wine and weed, but underneath, I could smell anise and the slow burn of his own fragrance, and it hooked me in the gut like a hot wire.

“I’m being careful,” he whispered. “Because I know your legs are still healing.”

I swallowed and played my fingers up his ribs.

He kissed me once, too rapidly, and then he froze. Then he kissed me again.

The microwave dinged; the smell of sweet and sour chicken seeped into the room. Pulling back, Elien ran his tongue over his lips. He tried to laugh, and the sound caught in his throat.

I kissed him again, slower, and when he tried to pull back, I cradled his head and held him.

“Don’t let me run away,” he whispered when I broke the kiss.

“Yeah?”

“My therapist says I have trouble forming emotional attachments.” He squeezed his eyes shut and laughed. “That doesn’t make any sense because I’m attached to you. I don’t know how I could be more attached to anyone. I think about you all the time. I want to be near you. I want to listen to your stupid whale songs and have dinner with your parents and wake up late on Sundays when you’re making pancakes.”

“Pancakes have a lot of carbs,” I said.

He was crying a little now. “I don’t care.”

“And whale songs aren’t stupid.”

“Please don’t let me run away. I’m scared I’ll lose it all again.”

“Let’s start with your shoes,” I said.

Laughter filtered in from the windows, voices moved along the sidewalk, and Elien nodded. I ran my hand down his leg and popped off the sneakers.

“Ok?” I asked.

“Not freaking out yet.”

I kissed him again. My thumb strummed his ribs. “What about this?”

His breath hitched, and he nodded, so I peeled him out of the shirt. I ran my hand over his chest, the slight swell of his belly, back up to his nipples, up higher to his collarbone where the bite marks were still healing. He shivered.

“Ok?” I asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Let’s take a break, then.”

So we kissed, and after a while, he found my hand and pressed it against his chest, and I ran it back and forth.

“I don’t know why this is so scary,” Elien whispered when he pulled away. “We’ve done this before.”

“You know why.” My fingers played with the button on his waistband. “Well?”

He nodded and stood. I moved quickly so he wouldn’t have time to reconsider, undoing the button and zipper, lowering his jeans and underwear at the same time. I pulled him down onto the bed next to me, kissing again, my hands exploring him. We’d been together, yes. But this was different, and we both knew it.

“Still thinking about going somewhere?” I asked.

Jaw tight, he shook his head. He was hard when I slid my hand down his body. Moaning, he bucked into my touch.

“Are you going to run away?” I asked.

He shook his head again.

I wrapped my fingers around his dick, the grip tight and possessive, and ran my thumb over the head.

“Tell me where you’re going,” I said.

He gave another jerk of his head.

“Tell me,” I said.

“Nowhere.”

“That’s right,” I said, kissing him again.

After I stripped, Elien moved slowly with me, examining me with his hands and his mouth, hesitating at every injury. Finally I was sick of it, and I grabbed his hair and yanked his head up.

“Fuck me,” I said.

For the first time in weeks, I got to see a real Elien Martel smirk.

The sex didn’t last long; both of us were too keyed up, too desperate, too eager. At the end, Elien went wild, and when he’d finished, he kept whispering, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” until, laughing, I pulled him down next to me and kissed him.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Let me figure out if I’m still alive, and then I’ll tell you.”

He poked me in the ribs, and then he squirmed around until he was under my arm, his head on my chest.

“I love you,” he murmured.

“To my face,” I said.

The tension turned his muscles to wire, but he lifted his head and looked at