Page 72 of Saving Sparrow
Quentin wasn’t a master at breaking down emotions like Miguel or at putting things delicately at all. Not without trying really hard. His answer was blunt but somehow perfect coming from him.
Miguel traded me his left hand so he could reach over and cup Quentin’s cheek. Quentin nuzzled into his palm, grabbing his wrist to keep it there as he closed his eyes.
Nausea churned in my stomach, and it wasn’t caused by disgust. I was jealous. Because they’d gotten to be this way, and because God hadn’t punished them for it, not like he’d punished me.
I glanced down at the portion of Quentin’s handprint peeking out above the waistband of Miguel’s low-hanging sweats. “Wrestling,” I whispered, remembering all the bruises he’d blamed on play-fighting with Quentin.
“It wasn’t a lie,” Miguel said. “It just wasn’t the whole truth.”
My head hurt less now, some of the thoughts crowding it fading. “So, you’re… gay.”
“Yep, gay as fuck,” Quentin replied cheerfully. “I’ve personally never found the idea of pussy appealing.”
I managed not to flinch at how direct he was about it, but barely. Miguel sighed, shaking his head. There was only so much he could do to tame Quentin.
We sat in silence for a bit as I processed everything. The quietness turned awkward after a while.
“Are we, um, still friends?” Miguel asked. I couldn’t respond. I knew my answer, but the conflicting emotions got in the way of my actually saying it.
“Come on, pretty girl,” Quentin said quietly. “Don’t leave us hanging. Are you leaving?”
I knew he didn’t just mean if I were going to leave tonight. He was too tense for him to mean anything other than forever.
While I was still confused, this was the place I felt safest, the place I never wanted to leave. They were my home. I wanted to make a big speech, a declaration, but I couldn’t get my brain to cooperate. I kept it simple instead. “No,” I whispered. “I’m not leaving.”
“Fuck yeah,” Quentin said hoarsely before they both threw their arms around me.
Miguel stiffened, backing away to sniff himself. Quentin did the same. They smelled like themselves and like sweat and… maybe something else I couldn’t quite put a finger on.
“We’ll, er, take a shower,” Miguel said, then looked back at the bed. “And change the sheets.” They stood quickly, turning for the bathroom as if wanting to hurry up before I changed my mind and disappeared.
“Wait,” I called. Their expressions fell. “I’m staying,” I confirmed again, putting them at ease. “I…” I looked to the bed, images of how their bodies moved before Miguel spotted me flashing into my head. Now that I had a new perspective, a different type of curiosity crept in. I wanted toseethe thing I’d been taught to fear, the thing I’d been taught to hate myself for.
“I want to watch,” I breathed, heart in my throat. Miguel and Quentin looked at each other. Had I said something wrong? Was asking impolite of me? “You don’t have to,” I said quickly. Everything above my neck felt like it was on fire.
“No, it’s okay,” Miguel said before turning to Quentin. “If it’s cool with—”
Quentin closed the gap between them, cutting him off with a kiss. This was different from the usual pecks on the cheek and forehead, the types of kisses they often gave to me.
This kiss made me squirm, made me want to close my eyes and turn away. It made me feel warm and embarrassed.
Quentin backed Miguel over to the bed, then kicked out of his sweats before yanking Miguel’s off. They climbed onto the mattress, kneeling in the center of it, facing each other.
I crept over to the couch, tucking my legs under me and watching them over the back of it.
Miguel trailed a hand down Quentin’s muscled chest, and Quentin brushed the back of his fingers across Miguel’s cheek. They kissed, and it was just as soft as their touches. They were nothing like they had been when I arrived here.
“Don’t change for me,” I said. “Pretend I’m not here.” I decided then to accept them for who they were. Just like they’d done for me.
They touched with more intensity and kissed like they intended to leave a trail of blood. Their private parts stood higher and higher, making my cheeks heat and my stomach dip.
Quentin moved Miguel around the bed like he owned him, and I supposed he did. It was how they wanted it. At one point, Miguel cried. It was beautiful. They both were. Both beautiful and free.
I swallowed back the scriptures forcing their way to my mouth, fought to keep my eyes open when everything that had been beaten into me said I needed to close them, to look away. And when I grew sweaty, when confusing sensations made my clothes feel rough against my skin, I rebuked the shame.
The night was long. They…fuckedlike they hadn’t in years, like they were reuniting after way too much time spent apart. Whenever I thought it was over, whenever they seemed too exhausted to keep going, they’d start up again.
Quentin reminded me of the hybrid wolves I’d read about inThe World of Norvia. Gnashing his teeth and fighting with all he had to claim what belonged to him. He was large and fierce and single-minded. He took what he wanted, but there was something loving about it too. Maybe because it was obvious that it was what Miguel wanted.
