Page 112 of String Boys
Seth seemed to love it so much, and he was so trusting, opening up his body like that.
And Jesus, Kelly owed him.
Kelly had told Seth’s dad about Italy on the third day of their stay—and Seth was right.
It was Bridgford all over again, without the actual fighting.
“Italy?”
“Dad, drop it.”
“But, Seth—”
“I’ve got to decide on my own.”
“But… you know. Italy.”
“Please, Dad. This might not be the last time I get to do this—”
“But it might! That’s why it’s called opportunity!”
“But I have opportunities right here.” He’d glared at Kelly and then looked helplessly at Linda, who’d shrugged, clearly on the fence about it.
And Kelly’d winced at every exchange, because Seth had been right—this was his decision. Adulthood—Seth had it.
But they’d woken up that morning, naked, laughing, hands warm on each other’s skin, and Kelly thought about how Seth hadn’t complained, not once, hadn’t blamed Kelly for sticking his little pug nose in where it didn’t belong, and Kelly’d thought, “Hey, I should give it up for this guy, ’cause he’s really awesome.”
And then his brain had exploded into that fetid room of his nightmares, and he’d rolled off the bed and barely managed to fumble into his clothes, a bewildered Seth scrambling after him.
But Seth was wrapping him tight in his sweatshirt now, murmuring soft things in his ear, and there was nothing scary about him, nothing at all, just comfort, just kindness, and Kelly wanted so badly to be everything for him that he burst into tears.
Seth just held him tighter, the two of them on the beach, the frigid tide surging around their ankles, until Kelly could hear his own teeth chattering.
They were both wearing sleep shorts still, because they’d had them on the night before, before they’d slid out of them to make love.
“You’re cold.” Seth rubbed his arms underneath the sweatshirt. “C’mon. Let’s go back to the house. We can go shopping.”
The hell?“Sh-sh-sh-o-p-p-ing?” Seth had to guide him, he was so damned cold.
“Yeah. Carmel, remember? We were gonna go look in the art galleries? And then we decided to do that other thing, which was fine, but it’s not the only thing. I thought you wanted to see art.”
Kelly cried harder. By the time they got to the house, up the stairs, and into the shower, Seth had to hold him up because he could barely breathe.
The warm water worked its way through his muscles, and then Seth—all that surprising strength, that purpose that seemed to come from nowhere—manhandled him tenderly until he was wearing sweats again, wrapped in a blanket, a cup of hot chocolate folded in his hands as Seth stood next to his bed and practiced.
Kelly couldn’t remember him saying anything about the music, but it was like that time he’d come home from school because he’d heard Kelly’s need from a hundred miles away. He’d just sung Kelly to sleep, because that’s what Kelly needed.
This was the same. Kelly was warm, the heat of the mug seeping through his hands, the softness of the comforter relaxing his body, and Seth’s music—ah. Ah, God. Seth’s beautiful music…. He liked pop music as much as anybody, but the spin the violin could put on it wrapped around Kelly’s soul like the comforter around his shoulders.
After about twenty minutes, Seth set the instrument down in its case, and the bow with it, and sat on the edge of the bed, his hand on Kelly’s thigh.
He didn’t say anything, just waited patiently, with pale green eyes that could have been looking for life on Mars or looking for the sense in Kelly’s heart.
“I….” Kelly closed his eyes. “Why would you want to stay with me when you’re in Italy and a thousand hot Italian boys are throwing themselves at you? I can let you go…. I just…. I don’t want you to walk away from me in your heart.”
Seth’s hand tightened on his thigh. “Sex is good,” he said simply. “But only because it’s you. We don’t have to do that one thing unless you want to. I’m fine the other way around.” He bit one side of his lip, and his eyes grew wicked and danced. “I’mgreatthe other way around. I’m… when I miss you, it’s not because I miss you in bed.” He let out a breath. “Although I do get horny for you, I won’t lie. I just….” He closed his eyes and gripped Kelly’s thigh a little harder. “This. Touching. Talking. The things we don’t say in text. The things that are too small on the telephone but that we’d say if we had each other around all the time. The way your eyes look when you say something, so I know if you’re being funny or sarcastic or not.”
“You don’t know?” Kelly asked, surprised.
