fraught
moment of peace, and all he was left with were the good ones.
Talker’s Redemption | Amy Lane
54
“WHAT?” Brian had just woken up, the morning after their last
session with Dr. Sutherland. It had been an exhausting night—
they’d had to work and everything, and they had literally plodded up
the stairs, took turns in the shower, said “hi” to Sunshine the rat,
and fallen into bed.
But this was morning, and the light was shining through the
window like an ice pick, and Tate had woken up to find that Brian
was right where he had been for the last six months, snoring just
loud enough to be totally embarrassed if he knew.
Talker hadn’t told him yet. It was like a secret thing that only he
knew. (Well, Tate and Virginia, since she’d been the only other one
Brian had ever had sleepovers with. Since Virginia had also helped
Brian to bust out of the closet, Tate would do her the favor of
pretending she never existed.)
There were other secret things that Tate knew. He knew there
were five freckles on Brian’s left cheek that were slightly darker than
the others, and four on his right. He knew that Brian was really
proud of the four studs in his ears and the one in his nose because
he thought he was pretty boring and average and the studs did
something to alleviate that. Tate knew that Brian was sort of a snob
about people—he didn’t like people who were too loud or who made
noise just to get attention, or who said mean things to make people
laugh. He knew that Brian hated pirating music because he thought
of musicians as artists like his Aunt Lyndie, and he hated to cheat
them.
Talker knew Brian forgave him for doing that exact thing
because Brian knew that music kept him on this earth when nothing
in the world, not even Brian’s touch, would do the job.
Talker’s Redemption | Amy Lane
55
“What what?” Talker smiled. Something about the way Brian
looked at him made him forget his scars and his tattoos and his
crooked teeth.
“What are you thinking? Whatever it was, you were thinking it
so loud it woke me up.”
Talker leaned forward and bumped noses with him, making
him smile again. “I was thinking that we’re wearing too many
clothes,” he lied.
Brian shivered. They had heat, but heat was expensive, and
the central heat and air was… inconsistent at best. They kept the rat
in their room, with the sunlamp, and a small space heater, and they
slept in sweats and sweatshirts, under a double-thick sleeping bag
that Brian had found for cheap at a thrift store in June.
“That’s a crock of crap,” he said, rolling his eyes, and Talker felt
compelled to come clean.
“I was wondering if you missed it.”
“Missed what?”
“That thing we don’t do.”
Brian frowned at him. “The… the….” He blushed terribly,
disconcerted as he always was by sex on a platter.
“The butt-sex?” Talker asked ingenuously, and Brian wrinkled
his nose and rolled sideways, so they could be face to face. Talker
liked it when they did that—it felt like little kids at a sleepover,
except Brian would sneak his hand under Talker’s sweatshirt and
rub his chest, and as far as he knew, little kids never did that.
“Well go out and say it like that!” Brian kidded gently. And, sigh,
there went that hand. It was a little cold, but still worth it as it
outlined Talker’s stringy muscles and played desultorily with his
nipples and generally made him feel touched, which he needed so
badly sometimes, it was like his skin was screaming.
Talker’s Redemption | Amy Lane
56
“I will, thank you. Do you miss it?”
Brian pursed his lips (they were sort of pillowy when he did
that) in honest thought. “I did it with girls sometimes, and it was
okay,” he said, and Talker’s mouth fell open so wide he almost
drooled on the pillow when he was awake.
“You what?”
Brian wrinkled his forehead and tried to explain. “Girls are
different in real life
moment of peace, and all he was left with were the good ones.
Talker’s Redemption | Amy Lane
54
“WHAT?” Brian had just woken up, the morning after their last
session with Dr. Sutherland. It had been an exhausting night—
they’d had to work and everything, and they had literally plodded up
the stairs, took turns in the shower, said “hi” to Sunshine the rat,
and fallen into bed.
But this was morning, and the light was shining through the
window like an ice pick, and Tate had woken up to find that Brian
was right where he had been for the last six months, snoring just
loud enough to be totally embarrassed if he knew.
Talker hadn’t told him yet. It was like a secret thing that only he
knew. (Well, Tate and Virginia, since she’d been the only other one
Brian had ever had sleepovers with. Since Virginia had also helped
Brian to bust out of the closet, Tate would do her the favor of
pretending she never existed.)
There were other secret things that Tate knew. He knew there
were five freckles on Brian’s left cheek that were slightly darker than
the others, and four on his right. He knew that Brian was really
proud of the four studs in his ears and the one in his nose because
he thought he was pretty boring and average and the studs did
something to alleviate that. Tate knew that Brian was sort of a snob
about people—he didn’t like people who were too loud or who made
noise just to get attention, or who said mean things to make people
laugh. He knew that Brian hated pirating music because he thought
of musicians as artists like his Aunt Lyndie, and he hated to cheat
them.
Talker knew Brian forgave him for doing that exact thing
because Brian knew that music kept him on this earth when nothing
in the world, not even Brian’s touch, would do the job.
Talker’s Redemption | Amy Lane
55
“What what?” Talker smiled. Something about the way Brian
looked at him made him forget his scars and his tattoos and his
crooked teeth.
“What are you thinking? Whatever it was, you were thinking it
so loud it woke me up.”
Talker leaned forward and bumped noses with him, making
him smile again. “I was thinking that we’re wearing too many
clothes,” he lied.
Brian shivered. They had heat, but heat was expensive, and
the central heat and air was… inconsistent at best. They kept the rat
in their room, with the sunlamp, and a small space heater, and they
slept in sweats and sweatshirts, under a double-thick sleeping bag
that Brian had found for cheap at a thrift store in June.
“That’s a crock of crap,” he said, rolling his eyes, and Talker felt
compelled to come clean.
“I was wondering if you missed it.”
“Missed what?”
“That thing we don’t do.”
Brian frowned at him. “The… the….” He blushed terribly,
disconcerted as he always was by sex on a platter.
“The butt-sex?” Talker asked ingenuously, and Brian wrinkled
his nose and rolled sideways, so they could be face to face. Talker
liked it when they did that—it felt like little kids at a sleepover,
except Brian would sneak his hand under Talker’s sweatshirt and
rub his chest, and as far as he knew, little kids never did that.
“Well go out and say it like that!” Brian kidded gently. And, sigh,
there went that hand. It was a little cold, but still worth it as it
outlined Talker’s stringy muscles and played desultorily with his
nipples and generally made him feel touched, which he needed so
badly sometimes, it was like his skin was screaming.
Talker’s Redemption | Amy Lane
56
“I will, thank you. Do you miss it?”
Brian pursed his lips (they were sort of pillowy when he did
that) in honest thought. “I did it with girls sometimes, and it was
okay,” he said, and Talker’s mouth fell open so wide he almost
drooled on the pillow when he was awake.
“You what?”
Brian wrinkled his forehead and tried to explain. “Girls are
different in real life
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