Daron's Guitar Chronicles: Vol 4

299 STRIPPED

STRIPPED

What should I have done? Should I have whipped around and slapped him? Stepped away and laughed? Shrugged him off with a growl? He had one hand snaked into my front pocket and the other on my other shoulder and I did none of those things. None of those things even entered my mind.

What I did was stick my hand in after his and push it slightly to the left... so that his fingertips bumped my cock through the cloth.

That was it. I didn't make any big speech about giving in or changing my mind. He didn't make any big confession or gloat. We just went back to the hotel, silent as thieves.

We went to my room and started stripping each other's shirts off, then separated by unspoken agreement to each finish stripping ourselves. The hotel was fancy and had "turn down" service, meaning the lights were already turned down and the bed had been one corner of it turned down, too. Ziggy tossed the chocolate mint on the pillow onto the side table and then pulled me down after him.

What can I say? Touching him was like going home again. Heartbreakingly familiar territory. I wasn't rough, but I was somewhat quick, as if it were dangerous to linger. I used a condom. Then I put one on him and invited him to reciprocate.

He did. I didn't even mind that he went for a long time. I didn't even mind when he bit me on the shoulder. When he did, I thought it was over, and he pulled away quickly.

Too quickly. He was full of tension, full of fight. I sat up, rubbing the spot where he'd bit me hard. "Zig. Are you all right?"

"I will be," he said, his voice hoarse. His chest heaved like he was trying not to cry. Or hyperventilating.

"Are you mad at me?" I shifted on the bed, trying to get a look at his face.

He shook his head hard. "That's not it." He was hunched over, his lap hidden by a corner of the sheet.

"Zig–"

"Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck." His voice went up in pitch on each one and then he looked at me. "I'm having a panic attack."

"Shit. What do I do?"

He pressed his hand against his chest, trying to get his breathing to slow enough to answer. When he could talk, he said, "I don't know."

"Lie down," I said. When he didn't do it immediately, I said, "It helps me to be lying down when I'm having one."

He lay down then, on his side, facing away from me. I settled myself behind him and put my arm over his chest. I put my hand on top of his where it felt like he was trying to keep his heart from busting out like an Alien.

"Breathe," I said.

"How...?"

"Shh, don't talk. Just breathe as slowly as you can, okay?"

"Fuck."

We lay there quietly for a while, until I could feel his heart starting to slow down. I murmured something encouraging, just kind of blathering, encouraging him to let it go, and kind of keeping myself calm at the same time. The last thing we needed was me to have a panic attack, too.

I had one, that time, one time when he snuck into my room in Allston. That felt like a really long time ago. I decided against bringing it up.

He let out a breath that felt more normal then.

"Better?" I asked.

He sounded really pathetic when he said, "If I say yes, will you keep holding onto me anyway?"