Let Them Fall

Part 1/2

He froze at the entrance to Beau's house. Inside, it was dim, lit only by a buzzing electric lamp set in one corner. A filthy mattress lay pushed against the wall, a cheap wooden chair sat alone. Ethan's things lay in a pile on the floor. His wallet (cards a mess all around), his phone, his clothes. He stared down at himself, and tried to think why his body was bare. When thick arms closed around him, and hands slid rough down his belly, he jerked so violently that he broke himself from slumber.

"Fuuuck," he breathed, staring wide eyed at the dark ceiling. Beside him, Beau shifted once with a murmur, and fell still.　

Ethan scrubbed his hands over his face and pushed his fingers through his hair, palms pressing flat to his skull. Nights like these were easier at home where he had no one to answer to, only Chester and a pair of roommates who were as like to be out at all hours than in. He stared across the pillow.

Beau faced him, his expression smooth, eyes shut. Hair a bit wild. Both arms thrust beneath his pillow lent the small of his back an inviting dip. Ethan watched him for a long minute, and then pushed the blankets away.

Careful not to wake Beau, Ethan rolled out of bed and crept silently from the room. His things were in the den, where he'd dropped them the night before. He'd come straight from work, tired but unreasonably excited to spend an evening in with Beau. Dinner had been waiting by the time he arrived, and Ethan picked through the collection of DVDs for something to watch. Then, bed. Simple, but he was glad for that. His life had been one tangled knot of complication for too long.

Shivering in shorts and a t-shirt, Ethan rifled quickly through his bag. He found a sweatshirt, pulled it on, and then his tobacco pouch, his papers, a lighter. He snatched up his novel, too, and stepped quietly outside.

Ethan had not thought to check the time, but guessed by the thin gray light that it could be no later than five. His breath crystallized before him, vague puffs of white as he huddled on the step. He put together a cigarette, a bit sloppy with fingers numb from the cold, but it would do. He lit up and smoked for a bit, staring hazily at some point in the distance.

The dream had not been so bad. Already, he was forgetting. There had been others, though, worse ones, where he could feel Pierce over him and pushing, and in those dreams Ethan woke hard and aching and red in the face. Those dreams left him feeling like something was wrong, seriously wrong with him. As if deep down he was twisted, and Pierce had recognized that, and that was why he'd chosen Ethan out of all the others.

He grabbed his book and flipped through its pages. Opened it at random and passed his gaze over the text. The words meant nothing.　

He thought of his trip, how amazing it had been riding himself to exhaustion day after day, week after week. Checking into the cheapest motels he could find or crashing on a strangers' couch and sleeping like the dead. Waking, climbing back onto his bike, and riding. He'd spent the entire time on an euphoric, endorphins induced high. He remembered thinking to himself, time and again, how strong he was. How shit had gone down but it was over, and he'd come out on top. Bad guys? Zero. Ethan Banks? One fucking million.

Then he'd come back, still riding that high, and Beau's acceptance gave it one final boost. He recalled that day on the piers with a smile, riding the trolley to Beau’s car where they’d fumbled together in the front seats. Beau had been so happy to see him, so relieved, that the memory still gave Ethan pause.

He’d found a place to live, then, found a job; friends, too, kind of. If Sam Cobb and a couple people from the bar counted. Things settled down.　

The dreams started. Not just dreams. Every so often he'd seize up like something bad was about to happen. He could be nuking leftovers or watching TV, and then a tickle would crawl up his spine and his heart rate would spike, blood would roar in his ears. The episodes passed, often without incident, but always left him exhausted, and anxious. Jumpy.　

It had happened once with Beau, which had embarrassed Ethan to no end. They'd been looking for the buffalo in Golden Gate Park, following trails in the paddock's general direction. Walking in companionable silence. The day had been clear and blue, thin tufts of cloud stretched high in the sky, and a healthy breeze to ruffle their hair. They'd been alone but for a solitary cyclist riding by.

Ethan had glanced down at the paved trail and been instantly reminded of the alley where Pierce had found him. The stretch of cement. The distant whirr of the bike's spokes made him think of his own, and then he remembered the hard grit of brick at his cheek. A rough hand clapping over his mouth, and bitter powder coating his tongue. The next thing he'd known, he was sitting with his head pushed down between his knees, and his face was wet.

Of course, Beau had been concerned, but Ethan brushed it off. "I'm fine," he'd said. "Really." The grim set to Beau's mouth told Ethan he was not quite believed, but the day had continued and turned to night and then another day, and things really did seem fine after that, most of the time.

Pierce's trial was nearing its end. All the papers expected a conviction. When he had the time, Ethan went in to watch. He sat in the last rows of the courthouse and stared at the back of Pierce's head. He went always alone, and never told anyone, not even Beau. He could not say why.

Taking one last drag, Ethan stabbed his cigarette out on the step and dropped it into the coffee can Beau left out for him. He gathered his things and headed back inside.　

He'd just shut the door and locked it when a voice said, "There you are."

Ethan stowed his book and kit away. "Yeah," he said. "Sorry. Needed a smoke."

Still fuzzy with sleep, Beau watched him. "Early," he said.

"So go back to bed."

"Hm," Beau said, and developed a slight squint. "You coming?"

Ethan left the heavy sweatshirt he'd worn outside on the couch. Under the covers again, Beau touched him and said, "God, you're freezing."

Ethan pulled his feet away. "Sorry--"

"No, come here." They huddled together and Beau rubbed his hands over Ethan's back. Ethan shivered and pushed his face into Beau's neck, the scratch of stubble pleasant across his nose and forehead. He hummed a pleased sigh, and Beau's hands slipped past the waistband of his shorts. Warm fingers kneaded his ass, and Ethan lifted his face for a kiss.

Ethan did not know about Beau, but he'd engaged in two separate encounters during his time away. One at a bar in northern Arizona which had not progressed beyond the point of fevered, drunken make out in a bathroom stall, and the other a brief tryst with a member of Heavy Pedal, the traveling bike circus. They'd used their hands, and Ethan recalled beer breath washing hot over his face. After, they’d each passed out and in the morning went their separate ways. It had been okay, a nice enough distraction, but nothing could ever compare to Beau Baker.

He pressed his palm to Beau's groin, the bulge there hot and growing stiff. He rolled on top and sank his teeth into one shoulder. Beau jerked beneath him in surprise, gave a short hiss of either pleasure or pain, and rolled them again.

Unbidden, thoughts of Pierce trickled through. Ethan tried to live in the moment, recognizing dark hair as Beau, the patch of curls over a chest--Beau. Sun browned skin, the broad curve of shoulder, the rough, coaxing mouth. It was Beau, all of it, but then Ethan remembered his cheek pressed to soiled fabric and his wrists bound, another’s hands squeezing his ass, and he felt that fear again that something was wrong inside him.

"Wait," he said, "Wait--" and pulled away.

Beau stared at him, now flat on his back, bewildered. "Ethan?"

Ethan said nothing, digging in the bedside drawer for a foil packet, and tearing it open. He rolled the rubber over Beau's cock, and leaned in.

Ethan sucked him, easy at first then harder. He took Beau so deep that it stopped feeling good for him and he wanted to gag. He pushed himself, and moisture filled his eyes and above him Beau uttered a broken moan. Only then did Ethan pull away. Beau's hand found his hair and held on, not pushing or guiding, just feeling, and Ethan did it again, thinking how Pierce had said he’d take him away. Keep him. He did it again, harder, and again until Beau's body went tight and he came.

Ethan crawled up the mattress and curled on his side to catch his breath, facing away as Beau disposed of the condom. He swiped the back of his hand quickly across his eyes, thinking what an utter freak he was. Beau pressed close behind him and slipped an arm around.

"Mm," he said, "That was--thank you," and put his lips to the back of Ethan's neck. Ethan lay still while Beau kissed him, hand rubbing circles over chest and stomach. Beau’s palm stilled low on Ethan's belly, just above his groin, and he said, "You're tense..."

Ethan closed his eyes, and exhaled, slowly. "I'm good," he said.

Beau's lips found his jaw, his ear, his temple, and paused. "Ethan?" Fingers brushed the dampness around his eyes, and Ethan shifted away.

"I said, I'm good--"

"Ethan, Jesus." Beau caught his arm and pulled him back. "What's the matter with you?"　

Something in Beau's tone embarrassed him. Ethan said, "God, fuck off! I said I'm fine!"

A thick silence filled the room after that, and Ethan could feel the blood rising hot to his face. Beau stared at him in bewilderment, and for the second time that morning Ethan left the bed. He gathered his clothes from the night before and carried them into the den, where he dressed.

Struggling into his pants, he heard footsteps move up the hall. Sensed Beau behind him, watching. Ethan did up his fly and jammed both feet into his sneakers.　

"Ethan--"

"I have to go."

"Right."

The irritation rang clear in Beau's voice. Ethan did not look at him, only snatched his bag from the couch. “I’ll call you,” he said, “Tonight,” and made his escape.

He rode his bike the long way home. He locked it to the rail outside and let himself in, catching one of his roommates pulling on a coat. They exchanged brief greetings, and Ethan went straight for his room. Chester jumped from the ratty sofa to follow.

Ethan kicked off his shoes and crawled under the covers, glad to be in his own bed. Chester hopped up and gave his fingers a nip, and settled beside him. Ethan lay quiet for a while, listening to the morning traffic pick up outside, listening to the city awaken. He began to regret his behavior at Beau's. He wondered if Beau were beginning to change his mind about things, if he wouldn't rather be with someone else.

Ethan wondered what he had been doing, taking Beau so deep like that. He wasn't into that stuff, getting punished with dick. Some guys were. He wondered too what Beau would think of it. Chester nipped at his fingers again and Ethan snapped, "Hey," and buried his hands under the blankets. Chester tucked his paws beneath his body and began his motorboat purr, staring with narrowed yellow eyes.

Ethan woke sometime later to the insistent buzz of his cell, which danced over his bedside table. He checked the display and flipped it open.　

"Yeah," he said.

"Hey--you busy?"　

Ethan could hear the jumbled mutter of other voices, the occasional car horn and groan of a passing Muni bus. He pushed his hand through his hair and glanced at Chester, sleeping soundly beside him. "Not really."

"You hungry? I'm starving." Sam sounded slightly out of breath. Ethan imagined him to be on the east side of campus. Busier there: more people, more traffic, more noise.

"Um." Ethan took a few moments to think, and decided he was presently indifferent about food. "I could watch you eat. What time is it?"

"Almost eleven. I got out of class early, and Beau asked me to come in later. Come on out, huh?"

"Yeah, fine. I'll meet you--where?"

"I was thinking Com Chay?"

Instantly, Ethan felt a little better, and a lot more hungry. "Okay--" He threw the blankets aside, careful of the cat. "I'll leave in five."

Ethan changed quickly into a fresh set of clothing. He gave his teeth a token brush, grabbed his bag, and headed out. Fifteen minutes later he was turning up Ocean Avenue, passing the shitty used bookstore he knew he'd visit after lunch, the weird church that sold green in the back, and any number of Chinese hair salons. Ethan locked his bike up at the rack outside Com Chay, and went in.

It was a definite hole-in-the-wall but served the best pho Ethan had ever tasted. He ordered a large bowl and found Sam tucked away in a back corner.

"Howdy."

Sam made room on the table for him, stuffing a few books into his bag. "Hey. What'd you get?"

"Food. You?"

"A roll. Jackass."　

Their food was ready in no time, and they got down to business, eating in silence until the edge of hunger eased. Ethan stared at the spine of Sam's textbook and thought over that morning, trying to make sense of himself.

"Hey," he began, and fell quiet. He was not sure how to broach the subject, or if it were even appropriate to do so. Sam was hotheaded at the best of times, and the matter was intensely personal.

Sam eyed him over his sandwich, a thick French roll stuffed with beef strips and jalapenos, sliced carrot, drizzled with sweet sauce. "Yeah...?"

Ethan caught a bunch of noodles with his chopsticks and stuffed them into his mouth for time. "Well--" he said, between bites. "Um--"

Sam made a show of checking the time.

"Okay, okay." Ethan pushed his bowl away. "I was wondering if you ever like, think about what happened. You know, before?"

Sam stared at him. He said, "Before what?"

Ethan dropped his gaze to his hands, folded them over the tabletop. "I mean, you know," he said again. "Like--that stuff that happened to you." He squinted across the table, willing Sam to go easy on him just once.

Slowly, Sam placed what was left of his roll back into the basket. "You mean with Jax? Or--"

"Yes," Ethan said, relieved. "That. With Jax."

Sam looked quickly over Ethan's shoulder, but they were alone in their far corner. Still, he dropped his tone. "Well, yeah. Of course I do."

"Right," said Ethan, frowning at his clasped hands. "So--right." He suddenly regretted coming to see Sam, dredging up painful history. He did not even know what he meant by it, and felt acutely lost. "Sorry," he said, but Sam spoke over him, not hearing the apology.

"Why?" he asked. "Are you having--you know, problems?”

Ethan grasped the back of his neck tightly with one hand, and offered Sam a brief grimace in reply.

Sam sat back in his chair. His gaze approached sympathy, which made Ethan nervous. "Look," he said. "Didn't you go to counseling for this?”

Ethan shrugged.

Irritation put an edge to Sam's words. "What does that mean? You don’t know?”

"No," Ethan said. "I mean, yes, but I stopped going."

Sam stared at him. "Why?"

“I just thought--I mean, I got back from the trip and I went a few times, but I just thought, you know, I didn’t need it.”

“Why did you think that?”

“Um--” Ethan thought. “Things were looking up. It just seemed like, if I was going to have any problems they would have happened already.”

“Right.”

“Yeah, so. Yeah.” Again, Ethan shrugged. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Look, it’s probably nothing--”

“Sure, it’s nothing.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Okay, it’s come up and, what? You’re surprised?” He took one last bite from his roll and wrapped the rest in paper from the basket. “You’re probably having, oh, anxiety attacks maybe? Flashbacks? Weird dreams? Yeah, okay. Ethan, look. Things are going good for you, right? I mean, comparatively.” He paused, and when Ethan said nothing, bugged his eyes out. He rapped his knuckles over the table, hard. “Well?”

“Oh, uh--yeah.” Ethan wanted a cigarette. “Yeah, pretty good, I guess.”

“Right, so, maybe you’re feeling, I don’t know, ‘safe,’” he formed quotation marks with his fingers, “or whatever. Comparatively. So your brain is in this, like,” again, quotation marks, “‘safe’ place, too, so it’s thinking, ‘Hey, maybe it’s okay to deal with this shit now, huh, Ethan?’”

Sam lifted the remains of his sandwich. “Are you done? I have to get to work.”

They left the deli, and found their way to a bus stop. Sam said, “You can’t fight it. All this crap is locked up in your brain, and it needs to get out. Like an infection, or pus or something. It’s sucks, right? Took me two years before I could even think about what happened. Until then it was just this--” Sam waved his hand over his face, palm flat and fingers spread. “--seriously, this hole. I knew Paul and the others fucked me over, and bad, but I focused on everything else, the other crap, my own fuck ups. I was angry for a long time. It got me clean and out of the life, yeah, and I went to school and didn’t look back, but still it just--it was a hole. It was bad.”

With soup and noodles still hot in his belly, Ethan’s mouth felt suddenly dry. “It’s not like I got raped,” he said, and wondered instantly where that had come from.

Sam stared at him. “Hey, fuck you, okay? I know what happened. They scraped the samples off your body right in front of me. There’s other stuff I’m pretty sure you left out, but hey, that’s your story to tell, or, you know, not.

“Look, there’s my bus. I have to go. Deal with your shit, Ethan. Okay? You’ll be doing yourself a favor.”