Free Talker by Amy Lane Page B

was completely in the
    dark; Brian could tell by his voice. Well, maybe a little light was
    going on in his brain. That would be nice, after al this trouble,
    wouldn’t it?
    “I’m going to pull away and kiss the corner of his mouth, where
    his tattoo meets his skin, and I’m going to keep on kissing. I’m
    going to kiss the line down his chin, and down his neck, down his
    shoulder, down his chest, down to the crease of his thigh, and if it
    wasn’t so fucking awkward, I’d kiss al the way back up the other
    side—as it is, I’m just going to lay him down and roll him over and
    do it everywhere. I’m going to take that line, where he’s marked the
    places of himself he doesn’t want anyone to see, and I’m going to
    erase it completely. You know why?”
    “I’m clueless.” And now he just sounded exhausted. O h G od.
    C ’mon, Tate, let me see you. Let me hold you. Let me bear you up
    when you can’t take the weight anymore.
    “Because there is no part of my dream boy I don’t want to see.
    I’ve seen him broken… I’ve seen him strong. I’ve seen him go
    looking for love time and time again, and always come back with
    such… such optimism. Such heart. E ven this.…” Brian tried to keep
    the irritation out of his voice. F ailed. “E ven this bullshit—it’s still optimism. It’s giving. My dream boy—he gives everything. He
    listens to music and it touches him, and he tries to share that with
    the world. He watches shows and they move him, and he loves
    that, and he wants the rest of us to feel that way too. He goes to the
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    soup kitchen with me because he’s a good guy—and people love
    him when he’s there, because giving… talking… it’s just so natural
    to him, they can tel that… he’s just goodness. They want to be
    closer to him, just to feel it come off his skin.
    “But he’s my dream boy. Mine. And I want to be the only one
    close enough to him to feel it up close and personal. So when I’m
    done kissing that line away, I’m going to wrap my arms up under
    his and pul him close, kiss the back of his neck, kiss his spine, kiss
    down the length of his back… right up to the place he doesn’t want
    anybody to touch, and I’m going to kiss that too. I’ll lick him down
    there, I’l suck anything he wants in my mouth, I’l fucking worship
    him. I keep him safe. I promised. So he’s going to be safe. He’s
    going to be so safe in my hands and my mouth… he’s going to
    come, any way he wants to, and I’m going to make him, any way he
    wants me to, and when I’m done, and he’s done, and we’re
    sweating and panting, I’m going to kiss him again. I’m going to tell
    him that I lo—”
    “Don’t say it.” Tate’s voice grew firm, grew angry, and Brian
    had had enough. He opened the door to the suddenly
    claustrophobic blue-walled stall and spoke to the seam of Tate’s
    door, trying with al his wil to make out Tate’s features. He was
    huddled back behind the toilet, his arms wrapped around his body.
    E ven through the seam of the wall, Brian could tell he was
    shaking.
    “I love y—”
    “Don’t say it!” Tate yelled, and Brian yelled back at him.
    “You don’t want me to say it, you come out here and stop me,
    dammit!”
    And he’d done it. He’d made Tate mad enough to throw back
    the bolt on the door.
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    “Don’t say—”
    O h yeah—Tate was surprised, that was for sure. “Jesus,
    Brian, what the hel happened to your hair?”
    “I cut it,” Brian told him shortly. Tate’s arms dropped to his
    sides, and he stared at Brian with absolute puzzlement. His
    guyliner was smeared all over his face, and Brian lifted his hands
    and used his thumbs to wipe it away. Tears replaced the mess, so
    Brian wiped his hands on his pants and wiped those away too.
    “Why?” Tate asked, his voice choked.
    “Because I love you, Talker. I’ve been trying to tel you forever.
    I love you exactly the way you wanted me