Page 59 of Rhymes with Metaphor
Joel took a reaching breath.“Hydrogen.”
“What?”said Reg.
“Helium.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Lithium.”Joel made another sound, and resumed speaking, getting progressively faster, “Beryllium.Boron.Carbon.Nitrogen—”
“What are you on about?”
“Oxygen,” Joel blurted out.“Reg, I’m...”Joel started trembling.
“Go on.”
“Fluorine,” said Joel.He stopped to swallow, but his mouth was dry.“Neon...fuck...sodium...magnesium...aluminum...siliconphosphorus—”
Words spilled out of him in bursts, coming quick and quicker, breathlessly, until at last, he gasped, “Calcium.”And he pressed his head into the hollow of Reg’s shoulder.
A moment later, it became very wet between them.Reg clasped him tight.
“It’s all right,” Reg murmured, with the comfort of knowing that this time, there was no doubt.Joel throbbed between them, his breathing slowing and evening out.
Joel shifted uncomfortably in Reg’s arms, “I need to—”
“You don’t need to do anything,” said Reg.
“But—”
“I don’t mind.Just relax.”Reg stroked Joel’s soft hair and slowly felt the tension ease from Joel’s body.Joel relaxed into him, and in a few minutes, he’d fallen asleep in Reg’s arms.And sending Joel off to sleep like that felt even more satisfying than making him come.
“What have I done to deserve you?”Reg murmured.
The bedroom smelled of the neighbours’ barbeque, honeysuckle, and sex.Awakened by the sensation of Joel sleeping in his arms, he felt words coming to him.
Shit.
He couldn’t let Joel go without disturbing his peaceful sleep.On his bedside table was a handful of sketching implements, including a stick of charcoal he could just reach if he moved carefully.He recited the words in whispers so he wouldn’t lose them, but new ones tumbled over the old.By the time he caught hold of the charcoal, they’d knotted together, and he couldn’t untangle them.
His bedspread and the pillow cases were blood red, the headboard dark wood.The bedroom wall was varnished wood.The only surface pale enough to contrast with charcoal were Joel’s dove-grey scrubs.Gently, Reg wrote the words across Joel’s back, starting with the easiest place to reach, along the back of Joel’s shoulder, then working down, top to bottom, making the words as small as he could because he could feel how much more was to come.
Joel stirred once, and Reg froze, because he didn’t want to break the spell and stop the words.But Joel only murmured something and settled against Reg’s body, so Reg continued.By the time he reached the bottom hem, the words were fuzzy, frayed strands of ideas.
Reg eased back down in the bed.He would have to hope Joel didn’t roll over or move too much and smudge everything, but he was willing to risk it so he didn’t disturb Joel’s sleep.
––––––––
It was late morningwhen Reg woke, judging by the light coming through the window.Joel was gone, and he felt a sudden dread, recalling mornings when Flip would have his bags packed before Reg woke.As Reg got out of bed, something clattered to the hardwood floor and rolled against his foot.He picked up the stick of charcoal and remembered why it was there.He ran downstairs and found Joel outside the bathroom, holding a bundle of clothes.
“Where’s the washing machine?”said Joel.
“I’m sorry.That was me—I wrote all over your top last night.It was all I had to hand, and I didn’t want to wake you to look for a pen and paper.”
Joel looked confused, then checked his scrub top.
“Give it to me,” said Reg.“I’ll buy you a new one.”
Joel passed it to him.In the light of day, most of what he’d written was illegible.He could only make out the odd word.He sighed.
