Page 82 of Steady Stroke
Lincoln released a ragged breath. “Between the beer and the anxiety, I ended up in so much pain that I think I barfed on him a little. I know I hit the floor with it.”
“I wish you’d barfed in his lap.”
“Yeah. I’m glad I haven’t seen him since, or I’d have probably punched him in the junk.”
Emmett tried to laugh but it came out more like a grunt. “Me first.”
“I felt like such a loser after it happened, you know? I mean, if my head hadn’t been screaming in pain, I could have stopped him. But it hurt so fucking much that I couldn’t defend myself.”
“Stop blaming yourself, Linc. Things happen in the heat of the moment, sure, but if this Tom jerk had enough sense to reach for the lube, he could have reached for the condom, too. He chose not to use it, and if you hadn’t been in pain, sure, maybe you’d have noticed sooner. But him continuing to fuck you after you told him to stop? That’s on him. That’s assault, period.”
Lincoln shivered again, and Emmett pulled him closer. Wrapped his arms tight around his boyfriend, while Lincoln sagged against his chest, his face pressed into Emmett’s neck. They sat like that for a while, the mood to make love gone, and that was okay. Lincoln had carried the weight of Tom’s assault for weeks, letting the anger and shame eat away at him a little at a time. Now that the events were in the light, their weight shifted onto Emmett’s capable shoulders, maybe Lincoln could start to heal.
“Goddammit.” Lincoln pulled away, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “Not now.”
Emmett retrieved a pill from the bathroom without being asked. Lincoln downed it with a sip of water. “Let’s go lay down for a while okay? It’s been a stressful day.”
“Yeah.” Lincoln’s face hinted that lying down was the last thing he wanted to do, but if they could ward off the migraine before it really got going, the rest of the day would be way more pleasant.
He got Lincoln out of his dressy clothes and into bed wearing only his briefs, then fetched an ice pack and towel to cover his eyes. Once Lincoln was settled and comfortable, he shed his own slacks and button-up shirt and slid into bed. He curled up facing Lincoln, his left hand resting over Lincoln’s heart.
“Thanks for this,” Lincoln whispered.
“You don’t have to thank me for supporting you.”
“Yeah, I do.” His eyes were covered, but emotion stilled roughened his voice. “Dom tried to get me to talk about it last weekend, but I couldn’t. Not with him.”
“Why not?”
“He went through something kind of similar but really different, and I just . . . the first time you talk something out? It’s like, I don’t know, lancing an infection. You gotta get the bad shit out, but you don’t want certain people to be there for it.”
The metaphor was kind of gross, but it also made sense. “I’m so glad you could talk to me, Linc. I mean it.”
“I feel like we could tell each other anything, no matter how awful. Is that weird, when we’ve only known each other a few weeks?”
“No.” Emmett kissed his bare shoulder, one final confession on the tip of his tongue. “It means we have a unique connection. Something to fight for.”
“Yeah.”
“Rest, okay? We can talk more later.”
“Okay.”
Emmett stayed in bed, not really tired, and listened to thesound of Lincoln breathing. The way it evened out as he relaxed, as sleep slowly stole him away. The cadence of it allowed Emmett’s eyes to droop and eventually close, and he drifted.
His hand stole out, seeking warmth that had been there before, and found only the cool sheets. Lincoln forced his sandy eyelids apart, struggling to escape from the odd dreamscape that had been a beer with his migraine pill. Colors and shapes without form or emotion. He hated those kinds of naps, because he always woke out of sorts.
And today he was unexpectedly alone in bed. The mostly shut curtains didn’t show any stray light, so it was after sunset. He’d slept for hours, and while he was fuzzy and off-kilter, the pain had disappeared.
Thank fuck for small favors.
He also had one hell of a hard-on. Sitting up didn’t send him keeling over with dizziness, so he tried standing. Still good to go. The faint sound of the television drifted from the living room as he crossed the hall to take a piss. Never an easy task with a woody.
Lincoln had spectacularly blown the moment this afternoon with his idiotic little freeze-up, mere minutes after Emmett asked Lincoln to fuck him. He’d been enjoying the more aggressive side of Emmett all the way up until the second his mind wandered. Until Tom showed up in his memories. Emmett had been the right person to tell all that shit to. He listened and he called it for what it was, and he didn’t give Lincoln platitudes.
Emmett was like his personal Mary Poppins: practically perfect in every way.
Nobody’s perfect, dude.
