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That give-and-take that Geoff kept pushing was a raw nerve that alternated between retreat and wanting to be stroked. Maybe Sam's deeper embrace of submission had helped open up something similar but different in Chris, allowing him to step across that line now. Was it part of what had drawn him to Geoff for so long? Or was it a bunch of things, and that was just one vital component?
Chris closed his eyes, shuddering hard as Geoff reached climax, his body shoving Chris against the bench, breath hot on his neck, his fingers digging into Chris's chest through the T-shirt he was wearing. They hadn't even taken off their clothes, just pushed what was necessary out of the way.
It was possible to call this simple lust. Animal reaction, no thought involved, the result of the sexual floodgate they'd opened last night. But that idea only left him hollow. Chris's back rounded as he dropped his head even lower, his fingers clinging to the bench as Geoff's release flooded him, as his pelvis smacked Chris's ass and Geoff's thighs worked against him. As he slowed, his breath deep, erratic, Chris had to keep his hands clamped on the bench so he didn't betray his need or confusion by grabbing on to Geoff's forearm across his chest, refusing to let him draw back.
Another part of him wanted to turn and put him on the ground, pin him there with his weight until he could make sense of this, why things that had felt right a breath ago suddenly felt wrong. But he didn't. For one thing, they had sawdust all of the floor. Since Geoff's cock was slick with lube, he'd end up having that stuff stuck all over him and be eminently pissed about it.
The thought twisted his lips, making Chris want to chuckle in a way that wasn't humorous. It was more like tearing paper away and finding an empty box instead of the gift he'd always wanted.
"Chris." Geoff had withdrawn, put his clothes back together. Now he slipped his hands under Chris's shirt, fingers threading through the coarse hair. "Hey, man, talk to me. Where did you go? Did I hurt you?"
In ways he couldn't describe. Or maybe he'd hurt himself and Geoff had just opened the door. But Chris shook his head and reached down awkwardly to get his jeans back up. Geoff was so close behind him his ass bumped him, and Geoff closed his hands on his hips to steady him.
"I'm good." Chris sidled away and managed to hop clear of the bench to finish the job, zip and button his jeans. "I've got it."
"Okay." Geoff's voice was neutral. Chris could feel him watching him closely.
"Uh, I'm going to go in and grab a beer. You want one?"
"Yeah. Sure."
Escaping into the house, Chris took a deep breath once he was in the kitchen. He held the refrigerator door open, the cool air wafting over him, and stared mindlessly at what was there. The door to the garage opened, closed, Geoff's footsteps stopping at the kitchen door.
"I get that you're the still-waters-run-deep kind of guy," Geoff said slowly. "Most things about you I can figure out. But you have me stumped here, Chris. You're going to have to tell me, because you're making me feel like a dick, and I can't fix it if you don't tell me where I'm going wrong."
"You're not doing anything wrong."
"Oh. So you jerking up your pants and walking away from me with all this shit vibrating off you, as if I treated you like a whore, meant I was stellar?"
Geoff's tone was the jagged edge of a rusty blade. Chris couldn't turn around, but when Geoff laid a hand on his arm, Chris yanked away. "Don't fucking touch me again unless I say it's okay first."
He didn't know where the venom came from, the rage, but it was definitely there, filling his chest and making it hard to breathe. He slammed the fridge door hard enough to rock the kitchen walls, and then he left the house, going out into the backyard.
He wasn't sure of his destination until he arrived in front of the fairy garden. He stared at it. The raccoons had visited in the night, knocking tiny figurines askew and leaving muddy footprints tracked all over everything. Some of the plants had been uprooted.
Normally he would have laughed. The creatures were adept at causing mayhem, and he'd anticipated a certain level of mischief from them. But right now, he couldn't find that lightheartedness. He dropped to his knees in front of the berm and clenched his fists, suppressing the incomprehensible desire to tear all of it apart, before what was inside him tore him apart first.
He didn't. He stayed there for a while, just breathing, not thinking. Eventually, he started to move, albeit stiffly. He dug out the fairies that had been squashed in the raccoon tracks or tumbled into the channel. He turned the water on so he could wash them off with gentle fingers. Harry was singing in the aviary, calling Hermione to him. Ron squawked. Circumstances had brought the three birds together, two of them permanently handicapped by their injuries and one who'd healed but who refused to leave the other two. Their survival stories had bound them to one another. Just like their individual paths had brought him, Geoff and Sam together. Chris rubbed a thumb over a fairy's delicate face. It was the one that reminded him of Sam.
"I'm not like you, you know," he said. "I feel things in straight lines. I live each day as it is. I'm not a big thinker."
"Yeah, I know. You feel things way deeper than most people do."
Chris turned. Geoff sat on the nearby bench. Chris had placed it there yesterday so when Sam got back, she could sit on it and look at her fairy garden while reading. "The raccoons messed it up."
"You'll put it back together."
Geoff looked older, serious. There was a haze over his eyes, a dimness to their light that Chris didn't like. "Maybe it's too fucked up."
Geoff made a poor attempt at a smile. "You've told me nothing is ever too fucked up to fix. Unless . . ."
"Unless God knows it works better broken."
"Yeah. That's what you always say."
Chris set the fairy down. There was something in Geoff's voice that made him want to draw closer, though he stayed still. Geoff looked down at his hands, spread them out.
"You know, I . . . ah . . . I never thought too much about what I am. Just always felt this way, knew I was built this way. It didn't worry me what other people thought because, you know, you've been my best friend. You went with me to those play parties or clubs, but we never really talked about how you felt about any of it, because it didn't feel like the right time. But you were there on the sidelines; you knew what I was. So what I am never felt bad or twisted. Until a few moments ago."
