Something Blue

Chapter 17

The moon hung on a wall of fog. Dark clouds siphoned all the light, even blocking the stars from peeking out. The night leaked in from the window, casting gloom into every corner. Pierce's tiny desktop lamp was the only thing that kept his dorm dimly illumined.

"Where's Blake?" Elliot asked. He was snuggling a pillow, comfortably lounging on Pierce's bed.

"Pensacola," Pierce replied, drying his hair with a towel. His dorm was practically freezing, but he chose to stand in nothing but his underwear. "Catching crawfish. He left early for the holidays. His mom owns a bait shop. Apparently it's a busy time for the seafood industry."

Elliot processed the information. "Crawfish?"

"He told me yesterday. I didn't ask questions," Pierce said. His knees were bruised from the tile flooring in the shower. Elliot had made a big fuss about it, but his worries were mollified by a few kisses.

"Are you going home for Christmas?" Elliot wondered.

Pierce nodded. "Yeah. You?"

He tucked the pillow under his arm. "Yeah. My flight leaves Monday at noon."

"You need a ride to the airport?"

Elliot didn't have the energy to shake his head, so he kept his ear pressed against the cotton casing as he simply replied, "Quinnie said she'd drive me." He yawned. Pierce's baggy shirt was swallowing his small frame, exposing his entire shoulder and collarbone.

A smile whisked its way onto Pierce's lips. "Tired?"

The hockey player loomed over the bed, hovering over Elliot with erotic intentions.

"Stay away from me," Elliot warned, humorous. "Five is my limit." The art studio, the shower, twice on the bed, then back to the shower - Elliot needed sleep.

Pierce stooped, climbing on top of him. "Our record is seven," he noted.

Elliot accepted the weight of his hefty body, fitting to him as if he were a full-body pillow. The thin mattress squeaked from their movements.

"That was when we were young and horny."

"It was only two years ago," Pierce argued. "And I've improved my stamina. I think we could do better."

Elliot huffed. "You're insane."

Their legs tangled together beneath the sheets. Pierce propped his chin on Elliot's chest, using one hand to brush his faded blue hair. Elliot thumbed Pierce's dry cheek, thinking unscented lotion would be best for his skin type. He made a mental note to get him some for Christmas.

Comfort seemed to come from every direction, effectively commanding Pierce's intuition. Elliot's touch settled over him like a transcending haze - a reinvention of the Earth's stratosphere - 50% trust and 50% vulnerability. It encompassed both boys, shielding them inside a dome of private intimacy.

Elliot's multi-colored eyes were reflection pools, staring back at Pierce with the likeness of his past mistakes. He wanted to dive in and swim far enough to reach his forgiveness, but even in their comfort, he felt the hurtful history of his bed infiltrate their peace. The sheets irritated his skin like an unavoidable itch. The threads and stitches rustled together, as if they were gossiping about his previous sexual excursions. He was being metaphorically suffocated by fabric and memories - terrified the tender moment would pass.

But Elliot wasn't thinking of their former dispute, rather, he was preoccupied with the stretch marks on Pierce's back. He counted each line with a smoothing fingertip, rerunning his touch over and over until Pierce's breathing turned tranquil.

They were two sides of the same page - written separate, but perpetually connected. Although Pierce knew that to be true, he still had questions about Elliot's story.

"Did you date him?" Pierce wondered. He had been withholding the query all night.

"Who?"

"Beck."

Elliot hesitated. "No," he spoke. "But I wanted to. In high school."

Before Elliot met Pierce, he had deemed Beck the perfect guy. He didn't think anyone could compare, and he was right - Pierce didn't compare to Beck, he contrasted him completely. Elliot supposed he had to meet Beck in order to realize he needed something different, otherwise, he'd still be looking for a kind-eyed, shy boy from Wisconsin instead of a hockey-obsessed, bold-mouthed boy from Minnesota.

Pierce rolled off Elliot and readjusted his position, lying on his side with one hand under his head. All his attention fixed on Elliot's face as he assumed, "But he wanted Ronan?"

Elliot swallowed, tasting the bitter memory. He stared at the ceiling as he murmured, "Yeah." He no longer had feelings for the blond boy from high school. Beck was nothing more than a face in a yearbook, and yet, talking about him still stung his heart.

"And if they weren't together," Pierce began. "Would you still want to be with him?"

There was no fiery jealousy in Pierce's words. His attitude was as cool as an ice rink - open for Elliot to skate loops around his heart.

"I don't know," Elliot said, quieter than he had expected.

A hand reached for Elliot's face and caressed the dip below his cheekbone. He blinked at the contact, allowing Pierce to thumb the lobe of his ear. The motion was tenuous and enticing, as if he was using the physical touch to underline his next words.

"I want to be with you," Pierce whispered. "I know that." He didn't expect an answer.

Elliot responded with his lips, plodding and careful.

Pierce held him close, dwindling the kiss as they dozed.