Page 92 of All That History
His hand felt heavy on my shoulder.Grounding.
“That’s enough.To start with, I mean.Wanting to is enough.”
#
We ended up in theliving room.Flynn knew the house; had run through it almost as much as I had, when we were little kids.He had a familiarity with the foundations of my life that was simultaneously reassuring and terrifying.
He scooped my hand out of my lap, lacing his fingers with mine.
“You don’t have to live with me,” he said, softly.“You can accept the new job, and move, and live on your own or with different roommates.”
I squeezed his hand.“Honestly, that’s not the part which I’m freaking out over.”
Flynn laughed.“I’m not sure if I should be flattered by that, or insulted.”
“I take it all back,” I teased, “the thought of living with you is pants-wettingly scary.”
“Better.”
“You’re welcome.”I lifted his hand to my mouth, to kiss it.
“So which part is the freaking-out part, then?”
I thought for a moment.More to find the words than the sentiment.“I think, after a while, the shorthand everyone uses gets too easy to take for granted.Like, here everyone knows I’m my parents’ son; everyone knows I work at the thrift; most people knew me from when I was a little kid.”
He grunted.“Everyone in everyone else’s business.”It didn’t sound like a happy concept to him.
“Right, and that can be a pain in the ass, sometimes,” I conceded, “but it can also make life so much easier.Because you know everyone’s speaking the same language already.They all have the same...”
“Frame of reference?”
I nudged him with my shoulder.“See, you know what I’m talking about.”
“That’s partly why I left,” Flynn admitted.“There was something stifling, suffocating even, about it.The pressure of everyone around you.”
It wasn’t like I couldn’t see his point.“Yeah, I get that.I think it’s like those deep ocean fish, maybe.Somehow they evolved to deal with the pressure around them, and if you tried to take them out of it, their bodies couldn’t stand the change.”
Flynn grimaced.“Why do those things always have so many teeth?”
I gnashed mine at him, playfully.Chuckled at his feigned horror.“Don’t ask me, all I bring to the table are excuses and deadpan humor, remember.”
“Oh, that’s not true.”He leaned into me.“You’ve got a nice dick and a hot ass, too.”
It didn’t seem so forward, not really, to reach up and tug down on his zipper.Relishing the soft, metallic purr, as I bared his chest.Flynn wasn’t wearing anything under the hoodie.
So little encouragement required, to have him straddle my lap.
I pushed the hoodie back, the soft knitted fabric easing off his shoulders.His skin smooth beneath my fingertips, until I found the rough burr of a scar.
“You don’t remember?”He was watching my face with amusement.
I shook my head.
Flynn laughed.“We were playing jousting, in the street.On our bikes, with broomsticks for lances.”
The sudden recollection, of pedaling as fast as I could while the outstretched pole wavered and wobbled.How loud Flynn’s cry had been, as I sent him toppling back off his bike.If I’d been able to hold the broomstick level, I’d not even have hit him.
“That game was your idea,” I reminded him.
