Surfing's the Source

“I don’t wanna’ walk away,” Malcolm says at last, voice edged with a raspiness that betrays what he’s trying to hide.  He isn’t sure that Remiel fully grasps the gravity of the statement.  It is a choice for him–to go on pretending that he is someone he is not, to fit himself into a mold that everyone he knows and loves has laid out for him and to make a life from what scraps of happiness he can manage–or to take that step into forbidden territory and allow himself the chance to have something real at the cost of everything, everyone, else.  It is a terrible decision to have to make, one from which there is no going back.  Once he steps through this door, Remi really will be all that he has.    

He forces himself to breathe; one of his hands sliding over to pull Remi’s away from his face and grasp his fingers firmly in his own.  “I’m sorry, I know I’ve been pullin’ you in different directions and shuttin’ down when we try talkin’ about it, but…me sayin’ I’m not gay, I wasn’t bein’ completely honest…” Mal shakes his head, trailing off, “Remi, I’m scared,” He whispers, and there is such raw honesty in the confession that his expression breaks along with it.  “I’m not as brave as you were…I don’t know how to do this, and I’m sorry I keep messin’ up every time I try…but I know what I want.  I want you.”  There are tears spilling down his cheeks and Malcolm is fairly certain it’s the first time he’s let anybody see him cry since his father told him to buck up and stop weeping like a pussy after the accident, “I just want you.”

Remiel’s need to be ‘good’ is no more apparent than now as his own selfish longing evaporates with the feeling of Malcolm’s hand pulling his. His shifts back over to look at his friend. His next movements, while still a bit clumsy, are more purposeful as he tugs the blanket up around Malcolm’s shoulders. “I want you too,” he murmurs back, “and just this chance. . .to prove to you that I’m worth the faith you’ve put in me.” His hand moves up and he wipes at Mal’s tears, ignoring his own for the moment. This whole situation has gone horribly wrong but he already feels like half the lead weights tied around his heart have been snipped. The back his throat burns with his tears but his chest doesn’t ache as much as it was only a moment ago.

“We should have just gone to sleep,” he chokes out with a bitter laugh, “Oh Malcolm. . .I did  imagine a much grander gesture on my part to woo you. Seems kind of stupid now,” he inches closer, hoping to guide Malcolm into some semblance of laying down. “it’s going to be alright, we’ll. . .we’ll figure it out and I know it’s scary and I’m so sorry I asked you for this. I know. . . I know what you could lose and I can’t promise I’m worth that but I will always be your family. We’ll go slow. It’s. . . it’s enough for me to know. We don’t have to call it anything or make it be something until you’re ready. I know I really keep screwing things up and I’m just, I’m the worst at communicating but I can learn to do better. I want to do better for you.” 

Remiel’s back to combing his fingers through Malcolm’s hair, trying to offer comfort and it occurs to him to say the one thing he had always wanted to hear when he was younger. “It’s okay Malcolm. . . you don’t have to be strong today. It’s just us right now and we’ll figure it out and I will never think less of you because you are brave and you are strong but you don’t have to be as strong right now as you were yesterday. Just let me know if there’s something you need. . . I can call out of work? We can hide under the covers all night if you like.”

Finally, Remi says something that makes him snap.  “–I’m not some fuckin’ charity case, Remi!  And I’m sure as Hell not some lowlife John you’re gonna’ service for a favor or an easy payday!”  He’s incensed, and it’s showing clearly in his eyes when he looks back over at his friend.  “Christ, is that–Is that what you think this is?  You think I’d be cool with just usin’ you like that ‘cause you’re paintin’ on a fake persona and actin’ like you’re content to be some dirty little secret?”  A hand drags down his face, catching over his mouth as he chokes down a bitter huff that lacks any trace of humor, “You’re my best friend, you asshole, how dare you treat me like a fuckin’ customer…I don’t want ‘Angeles’, and I don’t want your stupid deal, I want you…”

“Why can’t you just. . .” 

Remiel curls his hands near his head before letting them fall back onto Malcolm’s bed with a muted ‘flop’. “Why can’t you just let me suck your dick and make both of us happy? You think I let people kiss me or touch me or go around bareback. . .” Remiel breathes out a groan that sounds more like a growl. He shifts and puts his feet on the ground. He could run. He could run away and hide from Malcolm and maybe in a few days they could pretend neither of them had just said what they’ve said. 

“I’m trying. . .I was trying to make it so you could walk away and we wouldn’t have to stop being friends. You want me but. . . but what does that mean? What happens when you don’t anymore? If I don’t have you,” he swallows, “who do I have? You can say best friend and throw it away because you’ll always have love in your life. You’ll always have a family and you’ll always be desired and I know you only see what you don’t have but. . .” he hesitates. Remiel pushes himself to be selfless and to be generous even to the point of his own unhappiness -his desire to be good is such that he feels compelled to constantly do better. 

“Measure your life in what you do have. I’m so. . . you think I didn’t try to be what my parents wanted? To be straight. To be pious. To be the perfect son. I would kill for what you have. . . I almost died trying to get it and you just, you’re sitting there judging me because maybe I am desperate for a human connection and I don’t know why I’m so stuck on you but I want you. I want you so bad and I want to make you happy but you make it so hard to know what you want.” Remiel hunches over, covering his eyes with his fists, trying to push his tears back into his eyes, “what I want is to love you and to be allowed to. You’ve spent months telling me that’s not possible so what changed Malcolm?Is it because I have a future or is this some experiment? Do you want exclusivity until you find something better? 

No one’s ever changed their mind for him before and he’s struggling to comprehend the fact that perhaps Malcolm has. “Or do. . . are you actually choosing me a. . .above everyone else? Tell me what you mean. . .what you want. Please.” 

A white blank page and a swelling rage, rage

You did not think when you sent me to the brink, to the brink

Theo sighed leaning his elbows on the counter, “just an hour left.” He muttered looking up at the clock. Turning to focus on the tower of dog treats he had just created he placed the last delicately balanced treat of the tower. Hearing the door go he looked up to see a guy wander in,  standing up straight he nodded his head in the guys directions. “Hello.” He said in his best, I’m at work voice.

A chill shoots through him as Remi pushes him onto his back, and for once it’s got nothing to do with the temperature under the heated blanket.  There’s the weight of his best friend’s hips on his own, the slide of thin cotton over bare skin, and Malcolm realizes all at once that any hopes he might have had of denying his attraction are quite fled.  It’s been more than six months since he’s seen any action that didn’t begin and end with his own right hand, and Lord Almighty, but his body is in some kind of a rush to remind him of it.  His brows knit together when he feels the sudden absence of lips on his, and when his eyes meet Remi’s there is an unspoken question written in the look.  “What are you–?” He starts to ask, his tongue about ten steps ahead of his brain at the moment.  The words halt in his mouth when it catches up.  “–oh.”  Oh.  His pulse hammers in his ears, a sudden wave of nervousness washing over him.  While Mal isn’t the slightest bit convinced that what his friend is suggesting would have any bearing on his chronic pain problems, for other reasons it is a notion that he finds himself strongly considering.  “You’re proposin’ we tack on a ‘with benefits’ clause to our friendship?  Is that…Remi, is that what you want?”

“You can’t give me what I want,” Remiel answers, it’s not unkind but it is the truth, before he nips at the soft skin where Malcolm’s neck and shoulder meet. He spots kisses along Malcolm’s collar bone as if he were planting flowers there. “It would only be after days you went to treatment. It’s got nothing to do with how I feel about you or how you feel about me, homosexuality, or what we are. It’s not meant to help you figure out your sexuality or make you want me. Think of it as a business deal that’s completely compartmentalized from our friendship. You have to follow my instructions. You can ask for favors and I’ll say yes or I’ll say no and you won’t argue with my decision. You won’t tell anyone what I’m doing for you, especially because I’m not charging you. You tell someone and you'll have to compensate me. That’s the number one rule. I don’t expect you to reciprocate, if you decide you want to, you may, once again ask me and I may say yes or no.” 

Remiel shifts and meets Malcolm’s gaze again. There’s something sad and hungry in his tired eyes and playful smirk. “You can even call me Angeles and say ‘no homo’ beforehand if that makes it more comfortable for you. You need to find things that make you feel good and I think I can help you. It doesn’t have to be forever, just until you find someone you want to share yourself with. You don’t have to say yes either. You can say know and we can forget I offered. I won’t make the mistake again and we’ll forget about this. . .indiscretion, if that’s what this is to you.” Although the pressure against his hips tells him it might be more than a lonely mistake that Malcolm made. “Or it can just be you letting someone else take care of you without it being anything besides that.” 

“You gonna’ be alright gettin’ to work?” He asks groggily as Remiel scoots closer, “Your car’s still sittin’ on a dead battery, isn’t it?  Take my truck.”  Gentle fingers are threading through his hair; the dim light peering through the blinds just enough for Mal to make out the azure shadows in the depths of Remi’s eyes–and he’s struck again by the poignant thought; ‘just friends’ don’t look at each other like that.  He slips a hand from beneath the blanket to catch Remi’s, stilling as he whispers, “Remi, what are we doin’?  Are we–” Malcolm closes his eyes, brow furrowing in frustration as he searches for the right words; but sometimes there are none to be found.  Sometimes, actions speak louder, anyway.  He shifts, leaning in to press his lips to Remiel’s for the second time, and all at once it becomes exceedingly clear.  This is totally happening.

“Technically the battery is sitting in the car until i can pay for a new one. Tonight’s tips should cover it. Then I just have to recycle the old one and. . .thank you Mal. . .” his voice quiets. He is grateful for the offer, not that he minds walking or taking the bus but the quiet ride home, alone in a car often gives him a few minutes to collect himself and dissociate from the ‘Angeles’ personality. It gives him the time to feel human again. He doesn’t have time to formulate any sort of response to Malcolm’s question before his lips are caught by a much deeper kiss than the first one. Remi is surprised, the first one was a fluke -but this one is concrete and determined. His eyes close and he leans into it, a pleased sigh escaping as his lips part to deepen the kiss. Hints of the raspberry flavored coffee Mal drank earlier remain. He’s not entirely displeased by this, he imagines it’s much better tasting than the green sludge Malcolm usually downs in the morning. 

Remiel shifts both of them, fingers lacing with Mal’s as he leans over him. He curls their arms up around Malcom’s head and settles into the kiss. He definitely regrets taking off his pants, despite the near excessive heat in the bed, his trunks are the only barrier between him and the person he’s been in love with for the past few months. He’s had a sexual dry spell that’s lasted almost as long. He has his knee slotted between Malcolm’s before he pulls away; forcing himself to stop. Remi presses their foreheads together, breathing out through his nose. “Malcolm. . .I. . .we. . .I can help you with your pain. . . if. . .if you wanted me to. I offered you something once and you weren’t interested then. Maybe if you’ve changed your mind on what you’re open to. There would be rules. . . we can make a deal. Would you like that?”