There was a long conversation about who would sleep in the bed. Guy proposed that he sleep on the couch in favor of my recent injuries. I said that I was fine—that my back was feeling better and that it didn’t matter if we were both on the bed. Several tense moments of silence passed thereafter, until we finally agreed to sleep in the same bed.
Now almost ready for bed—he in his briefs, I in my boxers—we spread out along the bed and prepared to tuck ourselves in. He was just about to pull the covers over us before I rolled over and he took notice of my back.
“Jason,” he said, pressing a hand to where I’d brutally been rammed against the kitchen counter.
“I told you,” I said, adjusting my place beneath his touch. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine. You’re all swollen.”
I’d never paused to consider my injury. I’d been popping pain pills so much that I’d automatically assumed that my back was feeling better and thought nothing more of it. But now, feeling the slight pressure of Guy’s hand atop my swollen back, the dull pain slithered into my brain.
“I can do something for this,” Guy said. “That is, if you’d be willing. And you’d let me.”
“What’s that?”
Guy shifted the blankets across his waist and pushed himself up with one elbow. “You know how I drew the heat out of your body when we were in the car,” he asked, gently running his hand along the upper portion of my back.
“Yeah.”
“I can do the same for your back.”
“But my back’s not burned. I don’t see how that would help.”
“The muscle is enflamed though. And what do they tell you to do to take swelling down?”
“Put a cold compress on it,” I said, without much in the way of thought. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to clear my head. “Is this going to hurt?”
“No. If anything, it’ll make you feel better.”
“If you say so,” I said, spreading my arms out over my head.
Edging the blanket up over my hips, Guy straddled me and braced his knees along my thighs. “You might feel cold,” he said. “Tell me when you want me to stop.”
Nodding, I closed my eyes and waited for him to begin.
His touch was like fire.
It was unlike anything I’d ever felt. A pinprick upon my flesh, a never-ending pressure within my spine, a supernova inside my body who in its rage consumed everything within its path—the urge to scream was so great that I nearly cried out at the top of my lungs, but Guy’s lips at the curve of my shoulders brought calm to the wildfire brewing within my mind, as if his body were the temple through which the fires could not burn.
“Shh,” he whispered, lips close to my ear. “It’s all right. I told you it might hurt.”
“No you… didn’t,” I gasped.Biting my lip, I stuck through the pain and kept my silence.
There was no need to speak.
I trusted him.
He knew what he was doing.
The radiating sensation of pain dissipated and was replaced by luxury. Spiraling outward, seeping into the fabric of my person, weaving through my muscles to sew an undeniable euphoria of space—from the tips of Guy’s fingers came an unbridled passion that brought peace upon my damaged body through its undeniable chill.
The sharp bursts of breath that passed into my lungs threatened to make me pass out.
Breathe, a voice said. Breathe.
I wasn’t sure if it was Guy’s voice. So lost to utopia, I could barely make sense of where I was. My head was filled with pleasure, my lungs the tang of air. My body shivered as from the base of my neck to the curve of the collarbone ran a chill that subdued any action and quelled every thought.
My eyes, already closed but occasionally opening to view the threshold of the physical world, rolled up into my head as something in my lower back gave way.
I moaned.
Guy’s lips touched my neck.
Unlike his hand, I felt breathtaking chill upon his lips.
In a moment, it was over.
When Guy’s hand came free of my back, I lay there only long enough to recover from the overwhelming numbing sensation before pushing myself upright and planting myself on him.
“God,” I gasped, pressing my lips to his face, my hand running through the thin sheen of blonde hair on his chest. “I can’t believe what you just did.”
“You need to rest,” Guy said, turning his head the other way.
I moaned. “I’m so turned on.”
“All the reason to lie down and go to sleep. Screwing around isn’t going to help your back again.”
“Come on.”
Guy shook his head and pressed his hand to my face. “Lay down,” he said.
I looked him straight in the eyes, the desire to fight him overcome by the urge to do as he said. It felt no different than breathing—watching him, waiting for a further response. Only when he took hold of my shoulder and eased me onto the bed did I cave to his requests.
Once firmly settled on the bed, he turned the lamp off and drew up alongside me.
His hand fell across my ribcage.
“There,” he whispered, pressing his lips to the back of my neck.
My eyes fluttered shut.
It wasn’t long after that I nodded off.