Page 95 of Wristlocked
All the boundaries that separate us fall away, until it’s not Gia’s mouth, or my skin, or Lyot’s hands. It’sus,and it’sinside,and it’severything.I’m falling to pieces between them, a cursing, ravaged mess. Gia is chanting our names as Lyot leans in, covering my back with the crush of his body. There’s a tongue in my mouth and fingernails in my hair, and my balls are drawn up so tight I’ve forgotten how tobreathe.
“Now, my monsters,” Lyot gasps. “Come together, all over my cock.”
Gia shatters, pulsing around me with a scream, and I crumble like an earthquake, tipping into the abyss. Lyot buries himself in the wreckage, our cocks throbbing through the aftershocks in brutal tandem.
And I can’t feel my fucking legs at all.
Epilogue
Lyot – One year later
It starts with Gia, because of course it does.
Merde. That’s what you say in cirque because “break a leg” is a little too real. We send her off with kisses, one each, and then one all together that makes the crew smile around us. This is Basel. This is Young Stage—the top international circus competition for artists under twenty-five. Bigotry has no place here, and the only judgment comes from the panel with their scorecards in the front row.
Gia takes her place at center stage, and the spotlight comes up with the first swell of music to reveal her standing with her arm upraised, her straps dangling barely out of reach. Her opening moves are a dance, stretching, extending, and straining, until, on the first break, she jumps, catching the straps in a lock with a deft twist of her wrist.
It’s an insane move, and the audience draws a collective breath. It took her months of practice to make it solid enough to be safe, and it would never fly in Cirque, or any other pro touring gig, because she doesn’t use the cinch. But she’s always been fearless, and the move—and the risk—is uniquely hers.
The rest of her solo sequence is an artful struggle, a young woman’s quest for self-expression and the tools for its mastery within herself. Of course it’s beautiful and fierce and flawless, but it captures the conflict and longing as she bends and contorts, winding herself higher and higher in the straps.
A sharp whistle sounds from the unseen audience, and I recognize it as Jamie, clean and joyful in his seat next to Jo and the Laurents. Afterward, there will be time to celebrate with our families, no matter the outcome of the competition. Butnowbelongs to us.
This is our act, our art, telling our story with music, tension, and the exquisite collision of our bodies in the freedom of the air.
We’ve watched this part a hundred times, Gale and me. We stand in the shadows of the wings, side by side. It’s almost time for Gale to make his own entrance, the bound dragon, his straps already coiled around his arms. And then I’ll follow, the dark angel, the way our story unfolds. But this breathless moment, watching her burn alone, this we always share.
Tonight it’s a thousand times more raw, more real, because we’re actuallyhere, together.
“I am so fucking in love with that woman,” I whisper.
“Me too. Almost hurts, doesn’t it?”
“Fucking sadist.” It’s a term of endearment now because he belongs to us, demons and all. They give me shit sometimes about all the time I wasted hating him. But if I fought what we were meant to be the longest, maybe I saved it too.
“Always,” he replies, cocky as ever. “But you love me.”
I turn my head in time to catch the familiar smirk and know him well enough to hear the question it hides.
“Yes,” I say, because it’s the truth.
“I know, pretty boy.” His eyes shine as the lights shift and he steps forward to meet his cue. “I love you too.”
Epilogue
Gia – Three years later
“Are you awake?”
I know the answer. I can see the glow of his phone in the twilit bedroom before he shoves it under the covers, but I don’t comment. He’s probably watching videos of us from before the injury to torture himself again.
“Lyot should be back soon,” I say when he doesn’t answer. “He went to the gym. You know how antsy he gets when he doesn’t work out for a couple of days.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I want to swallow them back.
“If you came in here looking for your own workout, you’re shit out of luck. The fucking drugs make my dick soft. I don’t know how Jamie dealt with it for all those years.”
“That’s okay. We’ve basically done nothing but have sex since we got home.” I crawl into the bed beside him, careful not to jostle his bandaged arm.
I flew back to Vegas with Gale a month ago when his shoulder got bad enough that he couldn’t hide it anymore, and the Cirque show we’ve been traveling with for the last year and a half put him on medical leave. Lyot stayed behind tofinish out the Budapest run and help break in the understudies before joining us for Gale’s surgery.
