Page 15 of Pippin & Nacho

“They aren’t shots to change me into something grotesque. Tattoos are art, and tattoo artists aren’t doctors. The designs on my skin remind me of when we took the bus to Washington, D.C., for the day. We went to the Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden. All the pretty designs and modern art were relaxing. I loved it there.”

“That was a fun day.”

“These artists create something beautiful on my skin that isn’t ugly. They take all that’s bad in me and turn me into something beautiful.”

“Jesus…” he whispered. “You’re always beautiful. Inside and out. But this is why you need someone, Sam. Those negative thoughts aren’t… good for you.”

A tear slid down my face. Only his tracing my skin and me playing with a dark curl kept me from slipping back into a panic.

“What if something happens to you again? What if I have to take you to the hospital, and if I don’t, you die?” he asked.

“Then you let me die. I’m not going back. Ever.”

His body stiffened against mine, and he quit tracing my tattoo. “That’s not going to fucking happen, Sam.”

“Some things are worse than death.”

“Fuck…”

I needed the morning and the sunshine. I always felt better during the day. The day destroyed the darkness. Right now, all I needed was for Nate to hold me for a while. We needed to stop talking about nightmares, doctors, and my lack of self-worth.

After everything I’d been through, I shouldn’t want him. According to those horrible people, loving another man was evil and dark. But they were the monsters, not Nate. Never Nate. Loving him didn’t scare me. Despite all of my fears, loving him was easy. But that would never happen.

Fantasies of kissing him, sucking him… love and lust soon took away my night horrors, and my body unclenched.

“Can we talk about this later?” I asked.

“Sure.”

But we wouldn’t, not until I was hurting again.

We fell back into my bed, tangled around each other as he fell back asleep. I hated ruining his sleep so much. He was always tired.

“We’re going to be okay as long as we’re together,” he whispered sleepily.

I finally smiled. Maybe I could do something fun for Nate soon to pay him back for being so good to me.

I yawned as I shuffled into the hot shower. I should’ve slept in after our late night. Sam usually struggled to go back to sleep after one of his more terrifying nightmares, so he’d get up, putter around the apartment, and then he would meditate. Sometimes I slept in, but this morning, I couldn’t, missing his warmth in bed.

The meditation for Sam had been Alpha’s idea after looking up ways to help him with focusing. Alpha researched ways to help since I’d been clueless. My reading wasn’t the best either, so it was hard for me to make sense of any research I did on my own. So, I did my best and offered Sam my patience and friendship. Living on the streets before we met Alpha didn’t leave us with too many resources to find help.

Thoughts about Sam needing a professional slipped into my mind again, but I shoved them right out. I was too tired and just wanted a moment to relax. Living with Sam wasn’t hard, for the most part. I loved being around him. He was fun and sweet, especially when he felt good. But no doubt, he had his rough days, which, in turn, could be rough on me, but I never showed it, or I tried not to. I didn’t want Sam to feel guilty, which he inevitably would.

After lathering my hands with soap, I ran it over my dick, which instantly got hard, as my mind flooded with images of Sam, naked in bed, hovering over me as he pounded into my ass. Unfortunately, the closest thing I ever got to having sex was with my hand and my fantasies.

Neither of us had ever had sex before. I was stupidly saving myself for him, while Sam never seemed interested in anyone, either. He’d never talked about wanting another guy or how hot some guy at the bar was. I often wondered if he was asexual, but I’d never brought it up. Did the conversion therapy do that to him? I definitely wasn’t asexual, but I suppose since we never talked about sex at all, Sam could’ve assumed the same thing about me.

Was it sad to masturbate the next morning after spending my evenings in bed holding and consoling a suffering Sam? Probably. But I needed to do something to ease my urges.

I silenced my mind to seek out some sort of inadequate relief. It was better than nothing, but sometimes, nothing was better than reminders of what I could never have.

My soapy hand slid smoothly over my dick, giving it slow and methodical strokes as the hot water spilled over me. I should be making this fast because we’d run out of hot water soon. This apartment was shit with small water heaters.

Sam had my ass in the air, kissing my cheeks before he ran his wet, warm tongue over my hole. I tried to imagine what it would feel like to have him do that to me. It probably felt perfect. The very idea had my cock throbbing.

I stroked faster while using my other soapy fingers to rub over my hole. My body grew warm on the inside, flushing my face and ears. The pressure around my groin grew intense. I shut my eyes and leaned against the cracked shower tiles before my balls shot out their load all over the tub and my fist. My body stilled and then shuddered, my hand stroking faster, pulling out every last drop and keeping that lingering climax going for as long as possible, but it was over as quickly as it started.

Before I could catch my breath, the water grew colder, so I quickly soaped up my body and rinsed it off. By the time I finished, the water was freezing. I dried off, wrapped the towel around my waist while shivering, and stepped out of the bathroom to find Sam watching me from our beat-up couch in the living room. But he wasn’t looking at my face, but staring down at the towel. Did he hear me in there? I thought I’d been careful not to make too much noise.

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