Page 96 of Make the Play
“Give me thirty seconds to regain feeling in my legs and I’ll get you water.” Jason offers two thumbs up along with a self-satisfied grin that makes Emerson feel as good as the shared orgasm had.
True to his word, Jason departs just half a minute later, dropping a kiss on the top of Emerson’s head before he climbs out of bed. He heads to the bathroom, leaving the door cracked just enough that the light from the bathroom filters into the bedroom. While he listens to the sound of running water, he tries to focus, but his brain is a scattered mess of things likeyou sucked a cock,toJason smells good,toyou’re not a virgin anymore. At least he doesn’t think so. The parameters surrounding someone losing their virginity always sounded incredibly vague to Emerson, who never understood how you could lose something that was technically not real.
When the bed dips signaling Jason’s return, he turns to find Jason wearing a new pair of boxers and nothing else, unless you count his smile. In his hand is a glass of water and a damp washcloth which he brings to Emerson’s face first, wiping it over his sticky chin before passing him the water. Emerson gulps it down with a thirst he’s rarely experienced. To Emerson’s surprise and pleasure, once he’s finished Jason continues to clean him. The cloth is delightfully warm against his skin and the fact that Jason took the time to warm the water before bringing it to clean him off makes him want to hide under the pillow. Unable to look Jason in the eyes, he squeezes his shut instead. One of the stories his mom liked to tell him was about the time he’d wanted a waffle after bedtime and snuck into the kitchen, certain if his eyes were shut and he couldn’t see her that she couldn’t see him. This feels adjacent to that. Jason is still here, he knows he is from the hand settled on his thigh to the gentle way he draws the warm washcloth over Emerson’s belly. It’s just that somehow it feels safer if he can’t see him.
“Do you want your phone?”
“No,” Emerson whispers, feeling a bit ridiculous. He wishes he could explain why talking is okay, but only if he’s not looking at Jason.
In the beginning, Emerson had been sure once Jason saw him deregulated or overwhelmed, had to deal with the parts of his autism that weren’t useful or quirky, he might grow weary of them, of him. But somehow, Jason makes Emerson feel as accepted now as he does when Emerson’s able to function more like everyone else. Amazing as that is, it makes him want to hide even more. Sure it’s only Jason, and yes he’s safe, but being perceived after that kind of vulnerability makes his skin crawl, and Emerson squeezes his eyes shut. Somehow the simple act of not making any eye contact is what allows him to keep up the conversation.
“Is it okay if I keep talking?” Jason moves the washcloth lower, lifting Emerson’s cock to clean around the base and up to the tip. There is nothing remotely sexual about the touch, yet it’s as affecting as the orgasm, maybe even more so, albeit in a different way. “You can push me out of the bed if the answer is no. That’s what my brothers used to do when we were kids. Well Charlie anyway, antagonistic asshole.”
“M’not gonna push you out of the bed,” Emerson mumbles.
“Well that’s a relief. I mean you could if you needed to, but the ground is cold, and my ass might be big but that would hurt.” Jason continues to wipe Emerson clean even though he’s certain he must be done by now. “I liked what we did. A lot. Not just because of the orgasm, which was good. Did I mention it was ten out of ten?”
The hint of a smile plays at Emerson’s lips, some of his anxiety fading with every swipe of the warmth cloth against his clammy skin. “You did.”
“Good because you know that was outstanding. We definitely are very good at sex. If there were awards, I would give them to us.”
Part of Emerson wants to point out that ninety-nine percent of that is likely because Jason has more experience than him, but he doesn’t, because Jason’s other hand has started giving him some kind of one-handed deep pressure massage, making thinking difficult. Not a minute later, Jason drops the washcloth and uses both hands, digging into the tight muscles of Emerson’s shoulders.
“I didn’t know sex came with massages,” Emerson murmurs, pretty close to drooling. Jason has magic hands, that's the only explanation for all the tingles of pleasure in his body right now. Nothing has ever felt this good, ever, which is saying something since he just had another man's cock against his own.
“I aim to please,” Jason says, the sound of his delight evident in the pitch of his voice. “Only the best for you. Orgasm, clean up,anda massage. It’s the boyfriend package.”
Warmth floods Emerson’s chest, white hot and blinding, and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s rolled over so he can shove his face into the pillow.
“That was a very not subtle plea for a back massage, which I will happily oblige.”
“I wasn’t—” Emerson starts intending to correct Jason. His brain has other plans however, all coherent thoughts leaving his body when Jason’s strong hands dig into the tight muscles in his upper back. “You hunch over your desk and books too much, Emmy. I’ll need to work these muscles out for you more, maybe daily.”
“Nngghh,” Emerson grunts.
Jason straddles his thighs, swiping his hands up and down Emerson’s back alternating between massaging the muscles and soothing strokes that have Emerson boneless and melting into the mattress.
A single kiss is pressed to his spine. “Mine.”
Another kiss to his shoulder. “My Emmy.”
One to the other side. “My boyfriend.”
A trail of kisses up his spine until Jason stops, lips hovering where Jason’s hand often rests. “My beautiful, perfect Emerson.”
When the tears fall, they’re not sad or broken, just a release—a tight unfurling of the emptiness that’s sat inside of him for so long. With every tender kiss and stroke of big hands, Jason strips away more than fatigue from his muscles.
Emerson’s last thought before sleep claims him is that maybe this is what it feels like to be loved.
18JASON
“Emmy?”
Jason leans forward, pausing the massage to stare at Emerson. He’s had his eyes shut for a while in what Jason assumed was a means to regulate, but now his jaw is slack, and his left hand is curled under his chin while tiny little puffs of air come out. It occurs to him that Emerson fell asleep.
Seeing Emerson all cozy in his bed rewires Jason’s brain, a million little things clicking into place. This right here is where Emerson belongs, in his bed, in his home. Along with this realization comes a host of insecurities about whether he’s falling too fast and panic about why heisn’tpanicking over not realizing he isn’t straight until now, when he is thirty. It’s the kind of self-doubt and unease only one person can help soothe.
Jason rolls out of bed, drawing the covers over Emerson’s naked form. Not entirely satisfied, he makes a trip to the hall closet to retrieve an extra soft blanket, returning to his bedroom to drape it over Emerson’s slumbering form. He stays for a few seconds to appreciate how beautiful Emerson looks even in the dark before tiptoeing from the room to find his phone, left on the charger in the living room.
