Page 65 of The Corruption of Hollis Brown

Hollis didn’t know he could sound like that. He was suddenly desperately thankful that they were home alone.

Walt closed their grip, pressed harder, held his hand, and the euphoria was terrible and grand.

Like Holst’s Jupiter.

What?

Like original sin, like the bite of an apple, like staring into first sunrise before you learn to look away, like touching the hem of an angel, like milk hot from skin, like licking honey from the fingertips of God.

Walt.

Hollis slid their hands apart and clasped his wrist firm and grounding. They jackknifed, tangled in the sheets. Walt tried to tug away, almost like a reflex, but all that did was make them scrape together, flop sweat slicking, vulgar, luxuriant.

This is us, you said.

Hollis felt crazy; Walt was sobbing.

It has never been this long, Hollis, please.

How long has it been?

And he meant something else entirely.

Walt tried to hide from him deep inside, but Hollis pulled him back out, merciless. He was delirious; he didn’t let go. The blood pounded in their head steady as the march of time.

This was easier for him, Hollis realized. Easier for him to bear this than it was for Walt, somehow, and he didn’t know why.

TELL ME HOW YOU FEEL.

Like stealing from a rectory, Walt was babbling, lost. Holy sepulchre, sweet and terrible and sweet and sweet and sweet—

Hollis released him, separated until they weren’t skin to skin anymore.

Sweet like milk. Like honey from the hand of God.

Their face was wet.

Hollis pulled up the sheet and wiped Walt’s tears.

Strap

We can’t do that in public, not even accidentally.

I know. I’m not stupid.

I’m serious, Hollis, we gotta be vigilant. I . . . I can’t handle it.

Really? Why?

Stop mocking me. You know why.

Hollis stared at Walt in the mirror.

Paused half shaven, razor against their cheek. He dragged the blade across the side of their jaw, then tilted his chin up and swiped to the tip without breaking his gaze.

And suddenly, Walt felt heavy with it, like lava flowing down his spine to pool at the bottom of his stomach. He was watching, riveted, clinging to the side of the sink with their other hand.

Hollis turned their face to the side and scraped it clean, clicking the razor against the basin out of habit before turning the water on, and gave their face to Walt. So he could see what he felt, look at him raw.