Talker

quiet and alien and far away, that terrible sea-squall of
    pain, crashed out on them both. Brian found himself sobbing in
    Tate’s lap, seeking comfort like he never had in his life, not even
    when he was a child and his parents had died, leaving him bruised
    and frightened in the back of the car.
    Talker was there for him. Tate’s arms came around his
    shoulders, and there they were, curled up in a little bal on the
    cheap kitchen chair, crying together for what they had both lost and
    both found, al in the circle of each other’s arms.
    Tate’s hands came to frame Brian’s face, and Brian wasn’t
    sure what Tate was going to say then, because there was an utterly
    stil heartbeat, a held-breath time-stop between them, as they
    stared at each other in nakedness and absolution, and then the
    moment exploded in a kiss.
    They left the plates on the table (a thing that didn’t happen
    often—there were rats as big as possums living in the Dumpster
    behind their apartment) and kissed, staggered, stumbled, and
    kissed some more. They ended up in Brian’s bed, because his was
    closer (and cleaner, but neither of them thought about that), and
    Tate’s hands were under Brian’s shirt and then the waistband of his
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    80
    shorts and Tate’s shorts were kicked to the floor, and their mouths
    were meshed and frantic and then.…
    Tate made a wonderful, terrible sound, and it echoed in
    Brian’s mouth.
    They were totally naked, and Brian was touching him,
    completely, covering Tate with Brian’s massier body, enfolding him
    in bulky shoulders, using al of his skin to simply, humanly, kindly
    touch the man he loved.
    Brian thought his heart was going to burst through his chest.
    G imme gimme gimme gimme gotta have it gotta have it need it
    need it need you need you need you need you need you need
    you….
    “O h, G od, Tate, I need you!”
    Tate tried to kiss down his jaw then, tried to be the “dream
    boy” of the bathroom fantasy, but even that wasn’t the dream boy
    Brian wanted. He trapped Tate with an arm under his armpit and
    kept him up even, face to face.
    “Don’t leave me,” he murmured, grinding up against Tate. Tate
    swung a leg over his hip and they meshed together, grinding, as
    much of their skin touching as they could possibly manage.
    “Don’t leave me,” Brian repeated, kissing Tate’s chin, his jaw,
    the corner of his mouth, his neck. “Don’t leave me, Tate… G od, I
    love you… don’t leave me.…”
    Tate was puzzled, Brian knew, but he couldn’t help it. That
    fear… that terrible fear. Al those nights of checking his room,
    fearing the worst, of seeing Tate tighten within himself, the Talker
    inside him silenced by pain.…
    “I’m here.…”
    “Stay.…”
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    81

    They kissed some more and ground against each other,
    almost painfully, but it felt so good. No woman’s flesh had ever felt
    as good wrapped around Brian’s cock as Tate’s bare skin and
    pubic hair felt, chafing, pressing, rubbing.…
    Brian had come earlier that night, and Tate… Tate had
    probably not come, even in the privacy of his room, for many
    months. He was hard… hard, pulsing and even Brian could feel the
    ache in him, the need.
    Brian’s hand was inexpert, but he reached it down between
    them and grasped Tate firmly. He felt… much like Brian’s cock felt
    in his own hand, except for some roughness on one side, and there
    was always… always.…
    “Aaaaaaaahh.…” Tate’s head fell back, and he grasped
    Brian’s shoulders so hard he threatened to leave bruises. Brian
    didn’t mind.
    “G ood?” he asked, stroking again. The skin was so damned
    soft, and the heat and the hardness shot desire right up Brian’s
    spine. Tate made that sound again and finished with a, “Please
    please please… oh G od more….”
    The sound of Tate’s pleading was almost enough to make
    Brian come, but he had something he had to do first. He really
    wanted to taste it, to take it into his mouth and suck on it, but Tate was too raw, too close right now, and he was clutching Brian’s
    shoulders like he didn’t want to let him go. Brian had to settle for
    stroking it, and every time Tate spurted pre-come on his hand,
    Brian shivered. He started rubbing the head with his thumb, and he
    loved that little keening sound Tate made when he did that, so he
    kept it up, and then he felt Tate’s cock throb in his hand and he
    made one himself. It didn’t take long after