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Ethan – Now
“FUCK,” ETHAN GASPED,sucking in breaths of warm, stale air, sweat dripping down his forehead while a chill spread from his neck down his spine.
“Eth, you okay?” a sleep-muffled voice sounded next to him.
Avery. He was with Avery. In the motel room. A sweat-drenched sheet wrapped around him. Noises were coming in from the slightly ajar window. Cars, faint voices, a dog barking somewhere.Shit.It had felt so real. More real than anything he’d dreamt in years. Brushing at his damp forehead, he felt Avery’s smooth fingers trailing along his back soothingly.
“Yeah,” Ethan mumbled, still shaken by the image of Matty lying in an open coffin. Dead. His boyish features lifeless and dull. His blond hair lying against the white silk lining of the coffin like a halo. Chills overtook his body as Ethan tried to repress the disturbing image of his best friend—his Matty—lying dead in a black cherry coffin in a cold funeral parlor somewhere.It’s not real. It was just a bad dream. It’s not real.“Yeah,” he repeated. “I’m okay.”
“Let me get you some water,” Avery breathed against his left shoulder blade before he rose from the messy bed.
“Thanks,” Ethan murmured, his gaze lingering on Avery’s lean figure as he moved towards the bathroom. He was a work of art. Every curve and every lean muscle. Every birthmark and protruding vein. He was beautiful and with every second that Ethan’s eyes rested on his lover, the eeriness of the dream seemed to evaporate more and more, disappearing into the dark corners of the dingy motel room.
“Here,” Avery held out a glass of water, his index finger and thumb smeared with black charcoal as usual. It had become a daily ritual on the road. Every afternoon they’d pull over at some secluded spot and Avery would draw in his sketchbook, while Ethan dozed under a tree to the repetitive, scratchy sound of Avery’s charcoal meeting the rough surface of the paper.Scratch. Scratch. Sratch.It had become one of his favorite sounds by now. Along with Avery’s melodic chuckles. Or his sex-induced moans just seconds before he came with Ethan’s name on his lips.
“Tell me something nice…” Ethan murmured, drinking in the familiar scent of Avery’s forehead.
“Like what?” Even though the room lay in darkness, Ethan could hear the smile in Avery’s voice.
“Like… Tell me about your drawings. About the Comanches.”
“The Comanches? Okay...” Avery nodded. “What do you want to know?” He took the empty glass from Ethan’s clammy hand and placed it on the nightstand. Slowly laying back against the headboard, he pulled Ethan along with him, wrapping his arms firmly around his chest, the calmingthump, thump, thumpof his heart persuading Ethan’s pulse to slow.
“Anything,” Ethan replied quietly, his back resting comfortably against Avery’s chest. “Everything.”
“Everything?” Avery chuckled against the top of his head.
“Yeah,” Ethan grinned.
“Okay,” Avery sighed, his strong arms squeezing Ethan even tighter against him. “So, basically, the Comanches lived in the Big Bend region how they would have still lived today if it weren’t for the colonists and the pioneers. They farmed, hunted, moved around, and fought against other tribes like the Mescalero Apaches and the Chisos—”
“I’ve heard about the Apaches,” Ethan interrupted.
“Yeah, most people have, although there are well over five hundred Indigenous American tribes recognized today. Back in the 1700’s and 1800’s the Comanches even made advances into Mexico along the Great Comanche Trail where they fought against the Apaches and the Spanish.” Avery paused briefly, pressing a soft kiss against Ethan’s left shoulder. “Do you really want to know this?” he whispered, his warm breath leaving goosebumps all over Ethan’s neck.
“Yeah,” Ethan nodded. “I wanna know what it is you love, Avery. What it is you draw in that book of yours.”
“Okay… So, it wasn’t easy for the Spanish to fight off the Comanches. They were skilled horsemen. I mean, we of course all know what happened later, but for at least 10,000 years Native American tribes like the Comanches inhabited the Big Bend region. They documented their life in this amazing rock-art tradition which was passed on from one generation to another. Their Gods. The animals they hunted, the enemies they fought. It’s all there. Life and death. Mostly in black and red. Earth tones, too. They used minerals and animal fats to draw with. Sometimes, they would carve, too. Just imagine, the time and effort that went into telling their story. Even thousands of years later, they reach out through the stones from the past, telling us about their life. Whispering to us through the stone walls. They whisper to us what ancient tribes have always whispered. The same tales of birth, life, and death. Blood and tears. Love. They whisper what we continue to ignore in our modern pursuit and greed after more and more.”
Avery paused, pressing another soft kiss against Ethan’s left shoulder blade, his lips continuing to hover against his skin. Ethan had started to doze off to the soothing sound of Avery’s deep voice, sleep pulling at him, while he struggled to hear every single word spilling from Avery’s lips. As if every word held a truth about his own life. His own path. Maybe it did. Maybe if he listened closely enough, he’d see his own future mapped out in front of him.
“What do they whisper? Tell me, Avery,” Ethan exhaled deeply, once again closing his eyes, shutting out the darkness surrounding him.
Avery swallowed audibly before he continued, a slight tremor to his voice.
“I was here once. Long before you were ever born. I inhabited these great plains before you. They were never mine to keep but for a brief moment in time, I borrowed them. I explored these caves, their darkness reminding me that life is fleeting. Here I was born. I lived off the land. I loved. I fought. I bled. I never took more than I needed. Just enough to survive. Just enough to feed my family. These are the animals that gave their lives so that I could feed my children. These are the rivers where I stilled my thirst and washed away the sweat and the dust. These are the stars under which I slept. This is my story to you. This is my testimony that I was here. To you, it is only my handprint on a stone wall but to me it was my life…”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Matty – Then
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SWEETHEART,”Austin’s voice vibrated against Matty’s goosebumps covered thigh as he made a trail of butterfly-light kisses towards Matty’s left hip.
“Mm, how many times are you gonna wish me a happy birthday?” Matty whispered, squirming beneath Austin’s warm breath. He’d always been ticklish and when Austin added his tongue, he couldn’t hold back the giggle.
“Until it’s no longer your birthday, Matty,” Austin mumbled, his deep voice muffled by Matty’s skin. Slowly, almost painfully unhurriedly, Austin licked towards Matty’s straining balls while the fingers of his left hand trailed cautiously along Matty’s crease.
Sucking in a deep breath, Matty’s hips involuntarily lifted from the mattress. It had been like this from the very beginning. From the first kiss. Every time Austin touched him, it was like Matty’s body was set on fire. Like a million fire ants marching along his overly stimulated skin. It was a sensation unlike any other. Prickling. Tickling. Like rolling naked in a forest bed covered in pine needles, he imagined.
