Page 30 of After His Eulogy
“No.”
“Reed.”
“I’m not mad. Griffin. You thought I was dead. There was no rule you broke. There was no thing for you to be…“
“I know. I am still telling you.”
I look at him. He needs me to receive this and not absolve it. The two are different. I have been confusing them all my life and I am not going to do it tonight.
“Okay,” I say.
“Okay.”
He pulls me down. He kisses me. The kiss is harder this time, like he is putting the conversation away. He gets his hand on me again. I am hard against his palm. He strokes me twice, slow. I have to put my forehead against his shoulder for a second.
“Okay,” he says. “Okay. Slow. I know.”
“Yeah.”
“Take your time.”
“Yeah.”
I get the lube. I get my hand wet. I put my hand between his legs. He’s making a sound — the one he used to make, the one I’d been telling myself I’d remembered wrong. It’s exactly the way I remembered. He makes it when my finger is in him. His hand grips my shoulder. His eyes close. His mouth opens against theside of my neck. I have to stop for a second and breathe because the sound is too much.
“Don’t stop.”
“I’m not. I just…“
“Don’t stop, Reed.”
“Okay.”
I keep going. I add a second finger. He arches in a way I remember and had been telling myself I’d remembered wrong. His back coming up off the bed in a small specific curve, his head pressing back into the pillow, his hand finding mine on his hip and gripping it. He doesn’t let go.
“More,” he says.
“Are you…“
“More. Reed. I have been thinking about this for a week.”
“Okay.”
I add the third. I take my time. I take my time because I always have, and because I know, I know from before, my body knows, that he likes it. He likes the slow. He likes when I make him wait. His breathing is going faster. His hips push down into my hand without him deciding. He is not quiet about it. He is making the sounds.
“Now,” he says.
“Yes?”
“Now. Reed. Now.”
I get the condom on with hands that aren’t quite steady, get more lube, move up over him, and stop — because I want to look at him. He is on his back, his chest moving fast, his hair messy, his mouth open. One hand is on my hip; the other is fisted in the sheet. He is the version of him I have not seen in two years. He is here. He is letting me see him.
“Reed.”
“Yeah.”
“I am asking you to do this. So we both know I am asking.”
