Page 107 of Seeing Grayscale

He hums, giving my cockhead a gentle suck. I swallow hard as the overly sensitive, swollen skin sends a bolt of angry pleasure through me. “Just one more, sweetheart. I need one more.”

My answer is a throaty moan as he swallows me down again.

FORTY-FOUR

Idipthewashcloth under the running tap before bringing it to Gray’s back.

He leans forward, holding his knees, and sighs contently. It took some effort to convince him to leave the guest room and come upstairs so I could bathe him, but he eventually caved. Honestly, it was admirable how he attempted to rally and take care of me, but I wasn’t having it.

This isn’t transactional—it’s never been that for me, and as much as I would’ve liked to come, we have things that need to be discussed before I’ll let that happen.

Besides…when was the last time—if ever—that someone pampered him?

Truly cherished him?

While I rub slow circles over his shoulder blades, I take the time to admire the work of art on his left arm. I’ve seen the tattoos covering most of the skin there, but it’s never dawned on me to look deeper into their meaning. A hodgepodge of black and white imagery telling a tale of darkness. I think the lighthouse resting over the top of his bicep, peaking at the point of his shoulder, symbolizes the need to be found.

The crushing waves, scarecrow, and busted ship tell me the barriers keeping him far away from that sense of belonging. And down along his forearm, clocks with the minute and hour hands revealing a certain time lead me to assume it’s a time of death—perhaps his parents, possibly his life. I want to ask all about them, but he whispers me out of my lazy ministrations.

“I thought that I’d be broken.”

I set the cloth aside so I can slide to the other end of the tub. He rests his chin on his bicep, tilting his head to face me. “What do you mean?” I ask.

A tiny shrug. “The guys who raped me. I thought that they’d break me. That I wouldn’t be able to…” he shrugs again, “maybe I haven’t processed it.”

My jaw tics, knowing that the monsters who did this to him are out there, potentially hurting others, and my hands are tied from doing anything about it. With Xavier’s threats hovering over my head and the constant issues arising at work, I walk on eggshells whenever I leave my house. Factor in the demands of my dad, my mom’s drinking getting worse, and the overall stagnance I’ve found myself in, I feel broken.

But my problems are mine. Gray needs something from me.

“I’m no expert or professional, but trauma affects everyone differently. There’s no right way to process it or…deal with the aftermath.”

That thumb of his finds its way into his mouth. Instead of tearing at the nailbed, he simply nibbles on the tip. “Tell me something good,” he rasps. “A favorite secret.”

Subject change, I see.

After a few moments to debate what to tell him, I settle on saying, “When I got my pilot’s license, I flew over Idaho and into Montana. I didn’t tell anyone where I went or what I was doing—not even Alex. I landed the plane out in a field, which is completely illegal, might I add, but it was the first time in my life that I considered running. I had the means. I was in another part of the country, and the sky was blue and clear—it was both the scariest and most exhilarating feeling I’d ever had.”

He smiles, slowly dragging his eyes up to mine. “Why didn’t you keep going?”

“I would’ve run out of fuel,” I chuckle. “But more importantly, I knew my dad needed me. So I boarded the plane and flew home.”

“You really love him, don’t you?”

“It’s a biological need to love and be loved by your parents.”

“That’s a boring answer.”

“It’s true!” I squawk. “I do love him. He…he’s been there for me when I had no one else. Sure, he has high expectations, wants, and needs that feel too unreachable, but I try. And…I hope to one day change his mind.”

“About who you are?”

I shake my head. “Who Iwantto be. Hiding my sexuality from my family comes at a cost, but it isn’t like I’ve gone without. Sure, it feels like betraying who I am, and I do feel like a horrible man for approaching it so clinically, but that's only one part of what makes me…me. Does that make sense?”

“Perfect sense.”

“My dreams go far beyond that. I just want to make him proud. Make him see that I can be useful to him in different ways.”

The tub's water level is nearing the top, so I lean forward to turn off the tap. When I recline back again, Gray takes my hand. Slowly, he brings it to his lips and kisses my knuckles. The feather-light brush of his skin over mine sends the butterflies in my stomach back into flight. My thoughts veer off course, returning to earlier when I made him come three times—when I learned his taste and his sweet sounds.

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