"What was that?"

Beau looked exhausted. On the curb in front of his house, he was watching me with white knuckles around the bottom of his helmet and eyes that drooped with sleep. His motorcycle was parked on the driveway, cold and alone.

"Can we just not talk about it right now?" I asked, exasperated.

"No, we can-fucking-not," Beau replied, crossing his arms deftly over his chest. "Are you kidding me? I just pulled up to you and your teammate beating the shit out of each other! His nose looked fucking broken!"

I reached up to wipe a swipe of blood from my lip. "I can explain—"

"You fucking better," Beau hissed. I had never seen him like this, acting like he had crawled from Hell. It didn't suit him. His teeth were like clenched fangs, his hair a fiery mess from his helmet, his eyes burning with unadulterated rage. My chest tightened.

"Calm down," I snipped.

Beau's eyes danced with anger, hot as burning coals, as bags weighed them open and wide. "I just drove a man—who I watched punch the shit out of some random ass friend of his—back to my house. Forgive me for not being calm."

"Tom was being an ass," I hurried.

"Is that really what you're worried about right now? So, what if he was being a little bit of a dick? You punched him! I don't punch the assholes who—"

"He knocked Jason over on the ice, banged him up really bad, and Tom didn't even apologize. He was so... you know what, I don't need this shit from you right now. I don't need to explain myself, you're being fucking dramatic." I took a step back, away from the heat of his breath and into the cold hands of the night.

"What the Hell, Luke?" he shouted, lurching forward to keep up with me. There was a silver cross around his neck today, swinging wildly with his movement and catching the moonlight like a tiny star. I stumbled back, away from him. "I'm the one being dramatic? It's hockey, people get hurt. You punched your teammate—as Captain—over hurting someone on the ice!"

"Get the fuck out of my face," I snapped back. My heart was beating nearly out of my chest. A warm core of exhaustion took place between my ribs, squeezing my breaths to be shorter, harder. "Why should you care what I do with my friends? My teammates? You're—"

"I'm what," Beau hissed. "A quick fuck? Is that it?"

I narrowed my eyes. My hands were shaking and I felt dizzy, so dizzy. "What... what makes you think you're anything else? Especially when you talk to me like this, telling me to talk when you never tell me shit."

Beau's eyes burned brighter, hotter. "At least I'm not punching random people in a fucking parking lot." He tipped his chin up. "This makes me wonder if you're any better than the other boys I slept with, with their big egos and pathetic-ass anger issues."

This time, I took a step forward. "You're such a fucking hypocrite! Why are you—!"

"Are you gonna' punch me now, too?" Beau gripped his necklace with his free hand. A thin, wet film laid light over his eyes. "Huh? Well?"

I gasped a breath, my chest squeezing, my eyesight blurring. Vertigo took over and everything was sent spiraling around me, meshing into a nebulous smear. Suddenly, I couldn't make out anything besides the racing of my heart, the shrinking of my ribs. My helmet, previously in my hand, hit the pavement and rolled somewhere. I vaguely heard Beau's voice buzzing somewhere, vaguely felt myself being lowered to sit on the curb.

"...breathe, Luke. Come on, with me..."

Another breath. It rattled in, but I couldn't quite push it out. It wheezed like a broken train past my lips, slowly, too slowly. I thought I might pass out.

"Luke?"

I felt weak. I wished I had the strength I had when I punched Thomas. Maybe if I saw him, that adrenaline would come back and my breath wouldn't feel so thick. But when I looked up, it wasn't his face I saw. It was Beau's, soft and creased in worry, and the static from his lips turned into noisy breaths and nervous words.

"..with me, Luke. Please..."

His eyes didn't anger me, even after the nasty things he'd said. The first breath I tried was hard, and slow. The second one was easier. I followed the sound of Beau's, in then out. In and out, again and again, until I could see and hear and feel where my feet rested on the road and where my hands gripped the lip of the curb.

Beau finally asked, with the care of a saint: "are you with me?"

After a moment, I nodded.

"Good," he said. "Can you stand? Why don't we get you inside and cleaned up, I can make some hot cocoa."

I nodded again, let Beau carefully help me to my feet and lead me through the front door. He dropped me on the couch, gave me a warm and dampened washcloth, and excused himself to grab my backpack and the motorcycle helmets from outside and then to the kitchen to warm up some milk. All while I sat on the couch, breathing evenly, my eyes drooping with sleep as I stared at the chrome cross next to the television. The Christ pinned to it stared back with sad eyes, watching me wipe blood from my lips, stagnant blood forever dripping from his palms.

"Here," Beau said quietly, passing me a mug of hot chocolate. He sat next to me and dropped his head on my shoulder. Soft hair tickled my neck when I rested my cheek on his temple.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, as if the words were foreign to say.

I swallowed. "It's okay—"

"No, let me finish. Because it isn't," Beau cut in. I couldn't see his face, only feel the light movement of his breath against my neck. "I shouldn't have lashed out. At the very least, I should have let you finish. It's not really an excuse, but I've had a long day. I took it out on you. And, I mean, what you said about me not talking to you was true. I was being unfair, so... I'm sorry."

"What happened?"

A hesitation. "I shouldn't make it about me—"

"Just talk to me, Beau," I mumbled, letting my eyes slide shut. "You always cut these weird threads before you finish unspooling them. The only time you talk to me is when you're drunk, and even then I can't remember half the night. It drives me insane that I can't get into your head, you know? So just... talk to me. Please."

Beau was silent for a while. He made no move to drink his hot cocoa even as the steam started to disappear, maybe because he would have to move his head away from the place between my temple and my shoulder. Not that I wanted him to.

"Do you remember what you told me during Carrie's party?" he asked, his voice as soft as a moth's wings.

I shook my head against his. "No."

"You told me that you had never been with someone like me before," Beau said. "You called me an Icarus. Falling while the rest of the world moved on around me. Never bothering to let everybody know I was burning and crashing and drowning."

"Did I? That doesn't sound like me," I murmured. "Why would I..?"

"You're a poetic drunk, I guess," Beau chuckled, but it wavered. "But... you, uh, said it because of my parents."

I froze.

"Sorry, that's kind of a weird transition," he continued, embarrassed. "Uh, what do you..?"

"Remember?" I finished, feeling him nod hesitantly against my neck. "I remember you saying that they put you into some... some boarding school, in the woods, because you were... uh..."

Beau hummed at my uncertainty. "Gay?"

"...Yeah."

"Well, ever since my parents found out, they've been trying new things to fix it," he muttered. "They called today, asking me to come home and try some other doctor they found to help me. I told them no. We fought, it's why I'm... a little high strung."

I think I knew the answer before I asked my question. "Doctor for..?"

"Sexuality conversion," Beau whispered, and the silence it drew from me was heavy. "They kept... keep trying new things, you know? Surely something has to work, right? Doctors, priests, essential oils and chakra bullshit. They realized it wasn't helping, so sent me to that... school, last year. Sort of in the middle of the woods like I said, no WIFI or anything. Obviously, it did jack shit. Once I got expelled, they carted me here to live my aunt while I finished school because their friends and church were giving them Hell for it."

I hesitated. A million questions crept up, but I started with the most blaring one. "Why were you expelled?"

Beau played with the mug in his hands, but his thought wasn't drawn out. "I was caught having... having sex with my roommate. He blamed me for coercing and corrupting him, so I got the paddle and the boot and he got to graduate."

Something vile bubbled in my chest at that. "That's..."

"It's whatever. In the past, now," he grumbled. "I don't like to talk about it, to be honest. I'm just ready to get away from my parents and their shit homophobia for good now."

I winced. "Cut them out? Forever?"

"They're not my parents anymore," he chuckled humorlessly. "They've basically disowned me already."

I dared to ask: "What do you mean?"

Beau's hands clenched around the body of the mug. "I'd rather not talk about it. But don't worry about my heart, Luke. I promise it won't break it, cutting them off. Honestly, it'll probably save it the stress, add a few years to my life."

A hesitant smile crept to my lips. "You'll need your heart in good shape to keep up with me."

He laughed, airy and only a little sad. "You're funny."

"I'm sorry, for saying those... things, Beau," I said. "I'm so tired, but I should have watched my mouth." My mug bumped his. "I'm not the only one hurting. I should have known that."

"Thank you. And... I'm sorry too," he returned. "But now it's your turn. What's going on with you?"

"Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack, Lulu. I told you, I should have let you explain. So, explain."

I snorted quietly, let my laughter trail. "Tom. He's been... nasty."

"Nasty?" Beau repeated.

"We used to be friends as kids, but now... remember that day I was sad in the locker room?"

"When I blew you?"

I hummed lowly. "Real classy. But... yeah. Well, that day, he had kicked me out of his car for not putting him to play first and made me walk to the rink with my shit."

Beau gasped quietly. "You're fucking joking."

"I wish. Then today, he really hurt Jason and when we asked him to help, he was just texting some chick and didn't move a fucking muscle. I got Jase bandaged and called my brother's fiancé to come take a look, since she's a nurse, but he still had to go to urgent care. I guess that plus the extra stress of school and other stuff, and I just... snapped."

I light tremble crept up my back, and my eyes stung vaguely. Beau's hand reached to grab mine, twining our fingers together on my lap.

"Sorry," I said. "I shouldn't be stressing you out with my petty bullshit—"

"I'm not just here for sex, you know," Beau cut me off. "If you want to talk, I'm a good listener when I'm not picking fights, I promise."

I nodded slightly, holding up my pinkie finger. "Thanks. You can always talk to me, too."

I felt his smile against my shoulder as he twined his little finger in mine.

"That was embarrassing," I whispered suddenly.

"What was?" Beau asked. "And don't you dare say what happened out on the driveway."

My face warmed. "For what happened with Thomas, then."

"I mean, from what I gathered with my astute detective skills, he deserved it," Beau chuckled. His hand still curled around mine squeezed. "I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions. It's a bad habit. But... please try not to do that again. Punch people, I mean."

The thought struck me that we weren't dating, that maybe he technically didn't have the right and shouldn't have cared that I was punching my friends. That maybe he shouldn't have been here for more than sex.

The words that left me were: "I'll do my best."

We drank our hot cocoa and the conversation shifted to lighter things. I think Beau could tell that I wasn't ready to talk yet, that I needed time. And so I asked about his upcoming show, and he asked about my midterms, and we laughed over stupid celebrity gossip he pulled from his phone. Every now and then, he would just lean in and press a kiss to my temple, or my cheek. Once, he snuck too close to my lips, and I turned to make up for his mistake chastely. He went back for another after that, then another.

"You taste like blood," I heard Beau mumble.

"You taste like chocolate," I returned. He laughed, grabbed my mug from my hands, and slid them onto the coffee table.

Then we were kissing horizontally on the sofa, Beau pressed on top of me, my legs bracketing his hips. He jutted down into me, and the slightest gasp left both of us.

"Is this okay?" he asked. "Are you sure? You were just—"

I dragged him down harshly by his hair and shoved his tongue into my mouth. "I'm sure."

"What do you want to do?" he asked in a careful breath.

I swallowed. My tongue was too thick for my mouth. "Didn't I tell you I took my time getting ready this afternoon?"

Beau blushed pink, his pupils dilating so slightly that I wouldn't have been able to see it if I wasn't three inches from his face. From here, I could also see the smattering of tiny blackheads and freckles on his nose, the little scar touching the left side of his hairline.

"I... don't think that's a good idea," he muttered.

My nerves kicked in, and I was suddenly thinking again. Insecurity crept up my chest, rooting itself between my lungs. "What? Why?"

Beau looked away, up at Jesus hanging limply on the wall and staring longingly at us. He let out a shuddering breath. "It's... I mean, it's not the easiest thing to do the first time. It's not that I don't want you that way, because I do. Really. I just think you're emotionally drained, and I don't want to make this... you worse."

I shook my head. "I trust you. Just... as long as you know what you're doing."

His lips pressed into my cheek. "Are you positive? I don't want you to think you have to."

My heart softened at the passive look on his face, all smooth lines and sad, reflective eyes. Like he was speaking from personal experience. But maybe I didn't have the right to ask questions right now, so I didn't. "I'm sure."

And so Beau dipped his head down and licked past my teeth, then took my hand and led me back upstairs into his bedroom. He looked over his shoulder halfway up and stifled a laugh into his fist as we made eye contact. A grin spread like fire across my face, and I reached up to pinch just under his ass cheek. Beau squeaked, racing up the stairs in a flurry of curses and sinewy limbs, and I chased him with humored threats of pinches pouring past my lips.

We collapsed in an overlapping pattern of naked skin on his bed, light and dark playing in the moonlight. Beau rolled to the other side of the bed, leaned over so only the joint of his hips kept his thighs on the mattress and his feet kicked in the air, and grabbed a bottle of lube from the bottom drawer of his nightstand. His skin shone smooth and pale save for the thin smattering of blond hair down his legs, the beauty marks and acne scars down his back. He was quick to haul himself back up and on top of me, smothering me with his mouth.

"Condoms?" I asked, nervous. I realized I was procrastinating.

"Only if you want," Beau replied, kissing up my throat, wetting it with the inside of his lips. "I don't mind either way, since we've already... you know. Without them. But do you want them?"

Hesitantly, I nodded, and almost regretted it when Beau peeled away from me to grab them without reluctance.

"If you want to stop, we stop," he said, tossing the packet next to me. "I'm happy to let you top tonight, if you'd like."

I shook my head. "No. This is... I want this. I swear."

For fairness's sake, I told myself. It wasn't because the way he looked at me turned my nerves into lightning.

As he reached to lift my legs around his waist and poured the clear gel across his fingers, Beau looked at me. He looked at me like I was Prometheus, like I had sculpted the world between the palms of my hands and they were still caked with wet clay. But he was wrong. My hands could never make something like him. He is what I didn't know could be beautiful, like a dull and unsuspecting moth peeling open its wings to reveal long, beautiful patterns. Staring down at me now, his smile was so pure, only crooked enough to prove that he really was human.

Beau's fingers started slow, curling deep and careful inside of me. It hurt, certainly, but the pain was dulled when he tucked a pillow under my lower back and used his other hand to jerk me off in long, languished motions. His voice, speaking soft little praises, helped most. The pleasure helped to offset the ache, if only a little, but after a few minutes Beau seemed to slip out of the moment. The cross around his neck bumped his chest, his eyes clouded, and despite the trembling in my limbs I reached up to unclasp the chain.

Beau's movement stopped. "What are you doing?"

I pulled the necklace from him and threw it off the bed with what little strength I could pull from my rubber arms. "I'm not letting that get in your way tonight."

Heat bubbled behind his eyes, molten and pinning me down as Beau dipped his head down to kiss me. Soon, his motions turned from tentative to plundering. His fingers were long and precise as they twisted and writhed and crooked, prying me open desperately. God, he was everything tonight, every hard, divine plane of his abdomen and chest under my hands, every flit of his thick eyelashes against my cheeks, every pull of his muscular arms leading down to his wrists and fingers where he had me speared open.

I smothered my mouth in my palm, trying to keep my moaning quiet. But Beau leaned down to bite the thin skin over the back of my hand, urging me to pull it away.

"Stop it," he said. "Let me make you scream, Luke."

My hand lifted to wrap around his back, and I groaned into the open air of the night. "Beau, please... fuck, I think... you..."

His fingers fell away, leaving an empty feeling of discomfort. "Are you sure you want this?" Beau asked. "It'll hurt more than me stretching you."

My fingers dug into the stressed muscles of his back. "If you stop now, I'll fucking punch you."

He grinned. "Already breaking your promises, babe?"

I laughed, ignoring the shiver of pleasure that word elicited, but the sound turned into a groan as Beau pressed against me, pushing slowly. "Fuck."

"Do you want to—?"

"No." Fairness. "Keep going. Please."

With a tight breath, Beau continued to slide in, giving minute thrusts to move deeper and deeper. It hurt, being split open like a thick book, mercilessly snapping and creasing the spine to get to the softly inked pages within. Tears dripped down my temples, and I bit the inside of my cheeks hard enough to bleed. I'm sure Beau could taste iron for the second time tonight as he kissed me deeply.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly into the thin space between us.

I nodded rigidly, letting my nails rake down his back, clumping skin under my nails and arching Beau's body into me. "Are you almost in?"

Beau chuckled, but it sounded strained. "No."

I grimaced. "You're funny."

He shook his head. "No, I'm not. But, I am maybe halfway, generously."

"Fuck you and your dick," I groaned, and Beau tipped his head back and laughed. "It's not a joke."

"You're not small either, Lulu," he muttered, still moving deeper, deeper. "How's it feel?"

"Like I'm dying. Is this how—shit—how it felt for you?"

"The first few times, yeah. With other boys. But Luke... God, you made me feel like I was living."

My cheeks flared with heat, the inside my stomach felt like it was getting pushed around, and my lungs felt like they were getting squeezed out of me for the second time that night. But, despite the discomfort, I felt no panic: only the peace of Beau's strength hovering closely over me, the small drops of sweat rolling off his body and hitting mine.

And then his hips hit my ass, and we both let out a long breath.

"Fuck," he said.

My voice was lower than I expected it to be. "Fuck's right."

Beau smiled, adjusting his hips and sitting up from his elbows to his hands. The space over me felt colder. "Are you okay?"

My hands reached to brush the hair plastered on his forehead back. "Never better. Just... slow. Please."

Beau started again, a long pull out and a deep thrust in. It ached, deep and steady. But that ache gradually turned pleasurable, turned from terrible pain to a searing burn for more.

My lips were no longer listening to my mind, and the rolling sounds Beau fucked out of me were beyond shame. My hands were gripping his shoulders, dragging him down in a plea for more, and Beau obliged.

His next thrust was jerkier, faster, and it punched a gasp from my lungs. Then again, Beau thrust in, pulled out quickly. Then again, and again, and Beau dropped onto his elbows and started cursing into my ear about how good I felt, how hot I looked sprawled across his sheets. And then, a push against something sensitive unraveled a long moan from my lips, then another and another.

My vision faded to a pearly blur as I was dragged up the bed, and one of my hands flew behind me to hold one of the columns of the wooden frame to make sure I wouldn't bang the top of my head into it. The pleasure was all-consuming, omnipotent, delicious and silky and raw as it popped behind my eyelids like luxurious caviar.

And Beau, Beau looked perfect. His hair was matted against his forehead, stuck there with sweat, and his eyes were pulled into a squint as he stared down at me. Those thin yet strong arms bracketed me between them, and when I followed the smooth shape of his body down between us, the image of him thrusting firmly into me sent my head spinning and my heart throbbing.

Déjà vu gripped me, took me back to that first night in the car when I knew Beau's body but not his name. When I knew his beauty but never his strength, his pain, his person. When I rocked into him that night, it had pulled my mind apart into a ribbon of fear; but now, as he pressed deeply into me, he was somehow pulling me together like a stitch. I wondered for a split second if he had felt like this that night before all coherent thought was ripped from me.

All I could notice was that it was perfect. The moment, the fullness of it, physically and spiritually. Maybe I should have been made nervous by its grandiosity—after all, it was only done in the spirit of fairness—but I was too far gone to care.

And then, without warning, I came. It hit me like a semi, and the high lasted forever, and Beau fucked me through it, long and smooth. He finished, too, and when he did, I felt his hips stutter against my ass and a hot gasp lick against my neck.

And then it ended. Beau collapsed on top of me with a grunt and I promptly fell asleep under his weight, sated and aching.

[a/n] last chapter post for a while! sorry for the abrupt ending.

i'm travelling the next couple of weeks, so this'll be it for a while. hope it's sufficient ;)

love y'all! xx