Page 48 of Beneath the Indigo Sky

Every night we spend together surprises me. Each one is unique. Neither of us has ever had a real relationship before, and while neither of us is sexually inexperienced, we’ve only ever had quick fucks to dull the need. We don’t want it to be like that when we’re together. I don’t think it ever could be, but we’ve been intentionally taking the time to experience every single thing together. We touch and taste and slide bare skin against bare skin, learning how to take the other apart and put them back together with fingers and tongues and words. Every time we’re together, we learn something new. Some new secret spot on the other’s body that’s erogenous or ticklish. A slightly different, strangled moan as a head falls back. The sound of my name whispered in a rough, gravelly voice, choked off in a way I’ve never heard it before. Stars and supernovas explode around us each time we fall into pleasure-filled oblivion together. There is still so much more to learn. So many things to try. So much time to be together.

I've learned a lot about Jayce over the past six weeks outside of our beds as well. There are times when he laughs and jokes and rambles about nothing for hours, and I imagine it's how he was in his youth, before life brought him so much loss. He's witty and quick to tease me with dirty jokes and sexual innuendos and a smile so wide that it causes small wrinkles to appear beside his eyes. He's passionate and romantic, and anytime we’re together, he’s always brushing his fingers across mine or slipping his hand onto my back. There are times when he's quiet for long periods, but it's never awkward. It’s filled with peace and gratitude, and we’re both content to enjoy all of the small things life has to offer together.

It's quiet as Jayce and I sit curled up on my small sofa, watching the flames dance in the fireplace. There is a storm raging outside my cabin, and we can hear the wind whispering even through the thick walls, but there's nowhere else I'd rather be.

Jayce is thinking right now, not about anything bad, and it's not like I can read his mind, but he feels contemplative. I don’t ask. I know he'll talk when he's ready.

“You know that gallery in Seattle that sold a couple of my pieces a few years ago?”

“Mmhm.” I'm engaged, of course, but I’m comfortable and lazy as I curl tighter into his side and mumble my response.

“They’ve been on me for a while now to get them some more pieces, but I haven’t been ready to let any of my work go. I think I'd like to now though.”

“I think that's wonderful if that's what you want.”

“It is. I have to disassemble them and drive them down to Seattle. It’s a long road trip and not nearly as fun in the truck as it is on the bikes. It’s like forty hours of driving each way, but if you’re open to it, I'd like you to come with me.”

Shock rolls through me, and I shift back to search his gaze.

“Seriously?”

His fingertips trace my jawline as he smiles. I can feel that he's worried. Maybe he thinks I’ll say no or that he's overstepped by asking.

“That seems like such a personal thing. You really want me with you?”

His laugh is warm and deep as it vibrates across my skin.

“It is really personal. That’s exactly why I want you with me.”

Oh. Oh.

I can't help the rush of pleasure and desire and warmth that rushes through me. The way he loves me and accepts me and wants me by his side, the way he’s let me into his life and his soul will never cease to amaze me.

“I'd be honored.”

Our lips meet tenderly in an unhurried kiss as we curl tighter together. His body is perfect, a striking combination of softness and strength, and being in his arms feels like home.

“The weather is supposed to be good next week, no big storms. I’d like to go before winter really hits and I have to wait for spring. Would that work for you?” he mumbles into my hair.

“I'll go anywhere with you. Anytime you ask.”

Jayce

I didn’t know life could be this way. Namid and I spend nearly all of our free time together. We spend nights in one another’s homes, where we cook and eat and laugh and fall naked into bed to explore and touch and tease. We still have coffee and pastries together every Saturday. We have dinner with Ken and talk about football, and it feels comfortable and familiar. It feels like I’ve found a family.

We’ve spent all day in my studio together, painstakingly disassembling four midsize sculptures, wrapping and labeling each piece, and Tetris-ing them into the bed of my truck. They’re not really meant to be taken apart, and I had to cut a few of the original arc-welded seams in order to make it work. If I ever do this again, I’m going to make the gallery pay for some shipping containers and a long-haul truck. This time, I don’t mind. Even though I’m emotionally ready to let go of some of the pieces that feel like grief to me, this trip is more about spending some time with Namid away from the constraints of our small town.

Namid has treated each piece like delicate, important things made of glass. There’s no way for anyone to accidentally bend or break them without the aid of power tools or welding equipment, but watching the way he cares for them because I’m the one who made them has been heartwarming.

We’re exhausted by the time we shower and crawl into bed, but the excitement about starting this new adventure tomorrow is still thrumming through our veins. Namid seems in no more hurry than I am to fall asleep as he climbs into bed, where I lie on my back, crawling up to straddle my hips. His skin is still hot from the shower, and small drops of water fall from his hair to land on my chest and cheeks as he leans forward, kissing me and rolling his hips down against my belly.

I watch him move, naked and brilliant, with his jet-black hair and indigo eyes and galaxies swirling across his skin. He is magic and passion and possibility. He is the very embodiment of the universe. He is everything.

Namid once told me that the night sky doesn’t always look black to him. He said the lights from so many stars help the sky hold on to the slightest bit of blue, almost like they’re protecting it until morning. It’s the color of my dreams and of Namid’s eyes. He may wear the stars on his skin, but his eyes are the indigo they rest upon. That blue is a color that now fills my world.

He's kissing his way down my chest and belly, his tongue flicking out across my skin as he moves, pausing from time to time to suck blood to the surface of my skin until it prickles and burns and my hands tighten in his hair and on his shoulders. I’m hard and leaking against my stomach as he sucks his way along the underside of my shaft nearly as relentlessly as he sucked bruises into my skin on his journey down my body, and I can’t help the way my hips buck and my back arches up toward him, needing even more of his hands and his breath and his mouth.

He moves lower still, suckling along my inner thigh as he presses my legs open further, his fingertips exploring places he’s never before ventured. He brushes them delicately down my other thigh, moving from my knee toward my body, pausing where my leg meets my torso, his fingers tapping lightly for a moment before tracing one single fingertip across the inner curve of my ass cheek.

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