Page 36 of Saving Little Clark

His hands came up to frame my face, to stroke over my stubble. "Brody," he choked out. "God, I want that too. I want it so much, I don't even know how to put it into words."

I shushed him gently. "You don't have to," I murmured, nuzzling into his touch like a cat seeking affection. "I know, baby boy. I know."

I wanted to scoop Clark up and carry him to the bed and show him with lips, hands and worshipful whispers just how cherished and adored he was. Instead, I pulled him into my arms and held him tight, rocked him gently as he shuddered and gasped and clung to me like a drowning man to a lifeline.

He seemed like he was on the verge of bursting into tears. I knew what this was, knew the catharsis that came with finally being accepted, after a lifetime of hiding and shame and secret longing. Knew the relief and the terror and the overwhelming, almost unbearable vulnerability of baring your soul to another person, of offering up the deepest, most tender parts of yourself and praying that they wouldn't be crushed in careless hands.

"Sorry," he mumbled, his voice still rough and raspy. "Guess I had a lot more bottled up than I realized."

"Hey," I said gently, tipping his chin up until he met my gaze. "No apologies. Not for this, not for anything that's real and honest."

He bit his lip, his eyes searching mine like he was looking for the catch, the hidden caveat.

"Okay," he whispered finally, a tremulous smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Good boy," I murmured, the praise slipping out instinctively. And from the way Clark shivered, I knew it was the right thing to say.

"Hey," I said softly. "How about we go grab some ice cream, huh?”

Clark perked up at that. As we walked hand in hand down the street, he chattered and giggled and swung our arms between us like an excited kid. When we reached the adorable little ice cream shop on the corner, we started sampling some of the flavors they had to offer.

I watched his face light up with each new taste and texture. The rich, velvety chocolate made him close his eyesand hum with pleasure. The tart, tangy lemon sorbet had him puckering up and sticking out his tongue.

But it was the birthday cake flavor that really did him in.

"Oh my God," he moaned, licking his lips with a dreamy sigh. "You have to try this. It's like a party in my mouth, but without all the awkward small talk and terrible dancing."

I laughed. "Is that so?" I teased, reaching out to snag a bite from his colorful scoop.

"Wow," I said, grinning at him around the mouthful. "I think I might need to get a scoop of my own, just to fully appreciate the experience."

"Or," he said, stretching out the word in a playful sing-song, "you could just share mine. You know, in the spirit of togetherness and all that jazz."

"Oh, is that what we're calling it now? And here I thought you just wanted an excuse to steal more of my salted caramel."

Clark gasped, pressing a hand to his chest in mock-outrage. "Excuse you, I would never. I am a paragon of virtue and self-restraint, I'll have you know."

There was a smear of rainbow sprinkles on his nose. But before I could reach out to wipe it away, he was already diving back into his ice cream with gusto, humming happily to himself.

I leaned in close, my thumb swiping gently over the sticky-sweet mess on his nose. "You've got a little something there, baby boy," I murmured, my voice low and tender.

Before I could pull away and grab a napkin, Clark was surging forward, his lips meeting mine in a kiss that tasted like sugar and sunshine.

I melted into it, my arms coming up to wrap around his waist and pull him close. I heard a soft, wistful sigh from somewhere behind the counter.

"Now that's what I call a picture-perfect moment," a voice said, warm and motherly. "Young love. Isn’t it grand?"

Clark pulled back with a startled laugh, his cheeks flushing prettily as he hid his face in the crook of my neck. We grabbed our cones and found a cozy corner booth to snuggle up in.

"So," I said. "Tell me something I don't know about you yet."

"Well," he said slowly. "When I was a kid, I dreamt of joining the circus. I wanted to be one of those guys who gets shot out of a cannon, you know?"

I smiled at the image of a tiny, tousle-haired Clark dreaming of life under the big top. "That's adorable. Little daredevil Clark.”

"Okay, your turn.”

I took a deep breath, my heart kicking up a notch as I gathered my courage.

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