Page 86 of Running Feral

My hands grab at him everywhere I can reach—every inch of his flesh is solid but soft, and I can’t stop touching him, like I need a reminder of the reality of his presence.

I don’t care about the conversation we just had right now. I don’t care that we’re supposed to be going downstairs in a minute. I just need him. More of him.

I need to remind myself how real this all is.

“I know you wanted to wait,” I say as I break off the kiss, already breathless from his proximity and the feel of those big, warm hands everywhere they’re touching me. “But I want you. I like what we’ve been doing, but I still want you to fuck me. I think I need it. I’m not trying to push you. I get that it’s weird, after seeing… what you saw.”

I can’t help the way I instinctively turn away as I bring up the thing we both don’t want to talk about. Everything on the security tape that I know he must have watched after seeing me destroying his home at Eamon’s direction. Shame does its best to pulse to the surface, no matter how hard I fight it.

It’s not my fault. Everything that happened isn’t my fault. He keeps saying it and I keep saying it and sometimes I even kind of mean it, but it doesn’t make it any easier tofeelthe words on the inside.

The repulsion that I imagine Gunnar must have felt when he actually saw me with Eamon, instead of just hearing about it, is a constant weight on my mind. I know he says he wasn’t repulsedby me, but still. It’s all tangled up in a knot that’s so tight I think it’ll never be undone, and we’ll keep circling around this issue for the rest of our lives.

I want him inside me. There’s no explanation for how I know, but I’m confident that the feeling of it will make another shackle of memory fall away and I’ll be lighter afterward. But I can’t use him like my own personal sex toy or force him to push through his own discomfort, either.

Gunnar doesn’t sigh, exactly. He huffs, his lips in a tight line as he looks me up and down. He keeps holding me close, more of our skin pressed together than not, and the air around us already feels hot with anticipation.

“I’m scared,” he says, in a soft voice.

It’s the last thing I expected.

When I frown at him, he pulls me closer for a quick kiss. Like a reassurance before he continues.

“I’m scared to hurt you. I know that’s selfish, and I should be focused on what you need, but it’s true. I think about you getting scared, and then about how shitty I would feel, and then about how much worse it would be the next time, and the whole thing spirals into an endless catastrophic train of thought in my head. Which is completely unlike me. I’m always rational, for fuck’s sake.” He smiles at me. There’s tension around his eyes but it’s a real smile, because it’s honestly a relief that we’re finally talking about how fucked up we both feel. “I think you bring out the most irrational side of me, Tobias.”

Words fail me. He brings out all the irrationality in me, too. He makes me feel crazy enough that I ran to him again and again, even when all my protective instincts told me it was too dangerous.

Instead of speaking, I nuzzle into his neck, enjoying the soft scrape of his beard against my cheek and dragging my teeth along any open skin I can find.

“I know what you mean,” I finally say. “I’m terrified I’m going to fuck this up.”

When I finally pull away and look him in the eye again, lust has overtaken the nervousness in his eyes, and I feel like we’re thinking the same thing.

“Let’s do it anyway.”

Gunnar nods slowly, his eyes transfixed on my mouth for some reason. My lips sting a little, like they might be puffy already from the beard burn.

Before I kiss him again, I stand up. First, I run into the bedroom to grab condoms and lube, then I pull off my clothes as quickly as I can before any residual nerves can set in. Gunnar does the same, but more slowly. He unfastens the top few buttons on his shirt, then reaches behind his head to pull it off and cast it aside. He’s just as deliberate with his pants, unzipping them and shucking them, boxers included, while holding eye contact with me the entire time.

As soon as we’re both naked, I climb back onto his lap. He gathers me into him, making me feel small and contained. It’s an alien sensation, but one I have more and more when we’re together.

We kiss for a long time. Lazily, like we’re going to do it forever. Neither of us bother to bring up the places we’re supposed to be. This feels more important.

Our erections graze against each other, and I’m already simmering with an embarrassing amount of eagerness. I’m nervous as well, but the nerves flitter around me, never quite finding a solid place to settle. While the arousal and intensity that I see mirrored in Gunnar’s eyes feels rooted; right down through the couch and into the earth below. It’s immoveable.

Gunnar starts with slow movements. He wraps his hand around both our cocks, stroking us steadily until I’m whining and begging for more. Then he lets go, reaching for my hole andstroking me there, too. Not pushing in, but exploring me with tender passes of the pads of his fingers.

I shudder, because his touch is lighting up nerve endings I didn’t even know I had.

“Are you okay?”

With my forehead pressed against his, I nod.

“I’m here. Nowhere else. I’m okay.”

I don’t know if I’m reassuring him, myself, or both of us, but I mean it.

There’s some fumbling and rustling as he grabs around for the lube, but once his fingers are wet, they find their place again. Still, he doesn’t push in. He just strokes me, and the teasing feels impossible. Like I’m going to explode.

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