The metallic jingle of the handcuffs was the only sound in the small, humid clearing. It was a sound of finality, of a trap sprung. Austin’s heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. He watched, frozen, as Officer Watson’s gaze, hard and unyielding, shifted from him to Levi.
“And you,” Watson said, his voice dropping an octave, losing its calm edge and taking on a sharp, authoritative clip. “Pull your pants up. You know, sex in the park is called public lewdness. It’s a crime.”
The smirk vanished from Levi’s face, replaced by a look of sheer, unadulterated panic. His eyes, wide and white-rimmed, darted from the officer’s stern face to Austin and back again, like a cornered animal searching for an escape that wasn’t there. He fumbled with his cutoffs, his fingers clumsy as he yanked the denim and his underwear up over his hips, the motion frantic and desperate.
Officer Watson slowly, deliberately, returned the handcuffs to his belt. The soft click as they settled into place seemed to suck all the air out of the small clearing. He looked at Levi, his expression unreadable. “What’s your name, son?”
“Levi. Levi Adams,” he stammered, his voice thin.
“Levi,” Watson repeated, his tone softening slightly, though his eyes remained fixed on Austin. “This was not a good choice. I’ll be watching you. Now, go home.” Watson reached into his pocket. “Take this.” He handed Levi a card and pulled out a notebook. Where do you live?”
A shaky voice from Levi gave an address that surprised Officer Jeff Watson. From memory, he knew that Levi’s home was in an expensive part of town, but he also know that having money did not equate with a healthy childhood.
“I’ll be checking in with you. Go on. Get out of here. Go home.”
Levi didn’t need to be told twice. He shot a final, terrified glance at Austin, then grabbed his backpack and his bike, scrambling through the bushes and disappearing into the park without a backward look.
And then there were two. The silence that fell was heavier, more suffocating than before. Austin stood there, his work boots sinking slightly into the soft earth, his jeans still unzipped. The rage that had fueled him was gone, extinguished, leaving behind a cold, hollow ash of shame. He couldn’t meet the officer’s eyes.
“I’m not taking you in, Austin,” Watson said, his voice low and rough, like gravel. “Not this time. But I can’t just stand by and watch this anymore. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen you heading for trouble. But now I think you’re spiraling, son. And I’m done standing on the sidelines.”
He gestured with his head. “Let’s go.”
Austin’s legs felt like lead. He mechanically zipped his pants, his hands shaking. He followed Watson out of the clearing, back through the thicket of trees, the branches snagging at his clothes like ghostly fingers. They emerged onto the paved paths of the park, the city lights twinkling innocently in the distance. They walked in silence, the sound of their footsteps the only conversation between them. Austin felt like a prisoner being led to his own execution.
They didn’t head toward the main street. Instead, Watson guided him back toward the neon glow of Millie’s. As they got closer, Austin saw him. Bruce was still there, sitting at the same table, a half-empty cup of coffee in front of him. He was staring into the cup, his shoulders slumped, a picture of dejection. When he looked up and saw them approaching, his face tightened with a mixture of relief and apprehension.
Watson stopped at the edge of the patio. “I understand this man is a friend of yours,” he said to Austin, his voice flat. “I want him to take you back to your place. I’m going to contact a friend of mine, and the two of us will meet the two of you there.”
Austin didn’t answer. He just stared at the ground, a wave of defeat washing over him, so complete it was almost a relief. He was done fighting. Done running. The complacency settled over him like a shroud.
Watson gave a short, sharp nod to Bruce, then turned and walked away toward a solitary police cruiser that stood in the street.
Bruce stood up as they approached the table. “You live close?” he asked, his voice gentle.
Austin just nodded, the motion barely perceptible.
They started walking, the silence between them thick with unspoken words. As they walked past the rows of apartment buildings, Austin’s mind drifted, snagging on memories from a lifetime ago. High school. He saw Bruce in the crowded hallways, always surrounded by friends, laughing. He saw him on the baseball field, graceful and confident, his uniform fitting perfectly. He saw him on the stage during band concerts, his focus absolute, the music flowing from him. Austin had watched from the shadows, from the back of the classrooms, a lonely, invisible boy. He’d had such a crush on him, a hopeless, aching crush. He used to daydream that Bruce would see him, really see him, and maybe, just maybe, they’d become friends. He’d imagined Bruce asking him to hang out, to sit at his lunch table. It was a stupid, childish fantasy, but it had kept him warm on the coldest nights.
“You know,” Bruce began, his voice pulling Austin back to the present as they reached the entrance to his apartment complex, “back in school, I always wanted to connect with you, but I didn’t know how. And then, when all the bad stuff happened, I didn’t know what to say. I wish now that I’d said something. I’m sorry that I didn’t.”
Austin stopped walking, the sudden halt jerking Bruce to a stop beside him. He looked at Bruce, really looked at him, and saw the genuine regret in his eyes. “No,” Austin said, his voice raspy. “You don’t need to apologize. You were never mean or nasty to me. That’s more than I can say for most people.”
“I’m worried about you now,” Bruce admitted, his gaze searching. “When I saw you a few months back, I started thinking about things. And then today… I don’t understand why that cop went after you. He wanted to know why I was calling after you, and when I told him, he just… took off after you.”
Austin felt his lips begin to quiver, the fragile composure he’d clung to starting to crack. He took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’ll tell you when we’re inside.”
The two of them went upstairs. The silence of the apartment was a welcome buffer. Austin gestured toward the couch. “Have a seat.”
Bruce sat, perched on the edge of the cushion. Instead of taking the chair, Austin sank to the floor in front of him, cross-legged, like a child about to confess. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, gathering the scraps of his courage. “Here’s how I remember it.”
He was about to start when a sharp, decisive knock echoed through the room. Austin’s eyes flew open. His heart leaped into his throat.
He stood and opened the door. Officer Watson stood there, his face still a grim mask. Beside him was a man in his late thirties, with a kind face and a calm, observant demeanor. He was dressed casually in a sweater and slacks.
Watson stepped inside. “Austin, this is Dennis Wyatt. Dennis, this is Austin.” He paused, then added, “Dennis is a therapist.”
What he didn’t say, but what hung in the air unspoken, was that Dennis was a therapist who specialized in people with sexual trauma.
Austin looked from the officer to the therapist, then back to Bruce, who had stood up. “I was just about to… to tell Bruce what happened. Back in high school.”
Dennis’s voice was soft and non-threatening. “Would it be alright if I heard the story as well? It might help me understand how I can best help you.”
Austin gave a short, bitter laugh. “Sure. You’d probably want me to tell it to you anyway.”
Officer Watson shifted his weight. “I can step outside if it will make you more comfortable.”
Austin looked at the officer, at the memory of his kindness all those years ago. “No,” he said, his voice firm. “Stay. You were part of the story.”
At this, Dennis raised a curious eyebrow, but said nothing.
Austin sat back down on the floor in front of Bruce, who had resumed his seat on the couch. He took another deep breath. “I’m sure you knew that my mom had lots of different boyfriends, I mean, people talk. She drank a lot, and sometimes the boyfriends would move in with us. She was pretty casual about sex, and I know that I saw her doing it with her boyfriends on more than one occasion. None of it ever involved me. Not until later, anyway. About 10th or 11th grade, Mark moved in. There seemed to be less fighting with that one, but they would both drink and I could hear them having sex; they weren’t quiet about it. But they never did it in front of me.” He paused, his gaze distant. “It was about this time that I started to think a lot about you, Bruce. Sometimes I would fantasize that if I told you what was happening, you would have me come stay with you. But I knew that couldn’t really happen.” He looked down at his hands. “I started watching porn on the internet, and I started to realize that I wanted someone to love me. I would pretend that it was you and me in the videos. It seems stupid now, but when I saw you at the hotel, some of those thoughts came back to me.”
A single tear escaped and traced a path down his cheek. He wiped it away angrily. “About this time, Mark’s brother moved in with us. His name was Mike. He was nice to me at first. Until the night he caught me looking at the porn. We were alone in the house, and he said things that made me think that he cared about me. He kissed me, and I kissed him back.” Austin’s voice dropped. I closed my eyes and pretended he was you.” More tears fell.
Mike asked me how far I wanted to go, and I told him I wanted everything. But as things went on, I changed my mind. It felt wrong. I knew it wasn’t you, and I got scared. He got upset and left my room.”
Austin’s took a deep breath; his voice became gravelly. “About an hour later he came back in. He’d been drinking. I could smell it on him. He pushed me down onto my bed and told me that no one had ever refused him. He pushed my face into the pillow as he… as he raped me.” The words were torn from him, each one a shard of glass. “When he was done, he told me that he was going to have me every night. And that I was going to love it, want it, and even beg him for it. Then he got close to my face and said if I told anyone, he would kill that person and he would still own me.”
Austin looked up, his vision blurry, and saw tears running down Bruce’s cheek. He felt a strange pang, a need to comfort the man comforting him. “It’s OK, Bruce. It’s over and done with.”
“No, it’s not,” Dennis spoke up, his voice calm but firm, cutting through the fog of Austin’s memory. “It’s in the past, but it’s not over. From the behaviors that have been described to me, Austin, you’re still dealing with it, and many of those behaviors are not healthy choices. And I think you know that.”
“I know, but they’re the best I can do. I haven’t given up,” said Austin, a spark of his old defiance returning. “I promised Bruce the entire story.”
Dennis nodded, giving him the space.
Austin continued, his gaze fixed on the worn carpet. “Mike only had a couple of opportunities to visit my room before the night that my mother and Mark had their big fight. I was in the living room. Mike wasn’t there. When they came in, they were arguing about something stupid. I can’t even remember what it was. I had finished my dinner about ten minutes before, and I hadn’t put my dishes away. Mark started screaming at me about leaving a mess. My mother screamed at him to shut up. He slapped her, hard. The sound was like a firecracker in the small room. She picked up the knife from my plate and stabbed him.”
He paused, the scene playing out in his mind’s eye in vivid, sickening detail. “The whole thing became slow motion to me. She pulled the knife back out. He said, ‘What the fuck.’ She stabbed him again. There was no blood at first. He said, ‘Baby,’ and fell to his knees. Then some red showed up on his shirt, and he fell to the side. My mother started screaming, ‘No, no, no,’ over and over again. I called 911. I don’t remember what I said, but I grabbed the table cloth and tried to cover the holes in his chest. My mother was still screaming, ‘Don’t die; I love you.’ People came and pushed me out of the way. Officer Watson pulled me outside; he said I was going to be alright. He asked me what happened. I told him.”
Austin turned his head, his eyes finding the officer’s. “Didn’t I.”
Jeff Watson’s face was a mask of remembered pain. “You did. You told me just the way you told me now. Calm. Clear. You were a brave kid.” The officer’s jaw tightened, his voice dropping to a tormented whisper. “Then Mike showed up and told us he was your uncle. And I let you go with him. I let that monster take you home. Damn me, I let you go with him.”
“I’ve never blamed you for that,” said Austin, his voice filled with a conviction that surprised even himself. “I wouldn’t have told you. Hell, I didn’t even tell you when you checked on me later, but you did recognize something.”
“Austin, you were a bunch of bruises,” Jeff said, his voice thick with self-recrimination. “I should have taken you home with me instead of letting that bastard have you.”
“Jeff,” said the therapist gently, “don’t judge your actions in hindsight. You did what you thought was right with the information you had.”
The officer nodded, but the guilt still shadowed his eyes.
Austin pushed himself up from the floor and walked over to the officer. He hesitated for a moment, then wrapped his arms around the large, stiff man, burying his face in the rough fabric of his uniform. “You saved me the day you came to check on me,” Austin’s voice was muffled. “I’m starting to think that you’re saving me a second time. I’m messed up. I keep… I keep screwing guys to keep myself from going crazy, but I’m just digging a bigger hole.”
“Do you have feelings for any of these guys?” Bruce asked, his voice quiet from the couch.
Austin pulled away from Watson and looked down at the floor, then up at Bruce. The connection was still there, a fragile, pulsing thread. “Only lust. I haven’t wanted to be with anyone, the way people are with one another, you know, like dating and marriage, since… since I used to wish that we could be together.”
The two men looked at one another, the air between them crackling with a decade of unspoken history. Austin felt the same pull he’d felt in the park, but this time it wasn’t terrifying. It felt like coming home.
“I’m sensing a connection between you two,” Dennis observed softly. “Maybe it’s just a shared past; maybe it’s more. But I think Austin and I need to have some serious sessions alone before you attempt to discover what it is.”
Bruce nodded, his eyes never leaving Austin’s. He stood up, his own eyes filled with tears, his jaw tightened with emotion. “Will you call me when he gives you the OK?”
“Yeah,” Austin shook his head, a small, watery smile on his face. “Of course I will.”
Bruce crossed the small space and wrapped his arms around Austin, pulling him into a hug that was warm and strong and full of promise. “You are a strong man, Austin. You’ll come through this, and I’ll be waiting. I promise.”
“And I promise, well, you know,” Austin whispered into his shoulder.
Bruce knew, and he smiled through his tears. “I trust you.”
“I’ll give you a ride home,” said Jeff to Bruce, and with one last, reassuring look at Austin, they left him and his therapist to begin Austin’s new journey.
Three months later.
The phone call that Bruce had been waiting for, hoping for, finally arrived on that warm Fall day. The sound of Austin’s voice, clearer and steadier than he’d ever heard it, sent a jolt of pure happiness through him.
“Dennis says I’ve got enough of a handle on things that I can start to move forward with healthy relationships.”
The two men began slowly. They went on outings, meeting someplace neutral. a coffee shop, a museum, a park, going together, and then returning home alone. They talked for hours, not about the past, but about the present. About books they’d read, movies they’d seen, what kind of music they liked. They got to know one another as the men they were now, not as the ghosts they had been. During that first six weeks, they only had one minor spat. Bruce wanted to pay for their meal at a restaurant, and Austin, still fiercely protective of his independence, wanted to go Dutch. In the car on the way home, Austin had apologized.
“I started to feel that you wanted to control things, and I realize now that you were just wanting to make things special.”
The apology was accepted, and as Bruce pulled up in front of Austin’s building, they kissed for the first time. It was a gentle, tentative kiss, full of discovery and a fragile, burgeoning hope. Both confessed that there was more there than a simple friendship based on a shared past.
They made plans for next Friday to meet at Austin’s apartment. Each would prepare part of the meal, and Bruce would spend the night.
The dinner went perfectly. Austin made chicken picatta and roasted cauliflower. Bruce brought a chocolate mousse, his first attempt, which both agreed was perfectly executed. Together, they washed and dried the dishes, their hands bumping, their laughter easy and comfortable. Then they moved to the couch, and the space between them felt charged, warm. Bruce reached out, his fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair from Austin’s forehead. The touch was electric, a spark that ignited a slow, deep flame. He leaned in, and their lips met in a kiss that was worlds away from the desperate, violent encounters of Austin’s past. It was soft, searching, a question answered without words. Bruce’s hand cupped the back of Austin’s neck, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin there, a gesture of pure, unadulterated care.
The kiss deepened, but it never lost its tenderness. It was a conversation, a sharing of breath and warmth. When they finally parted, their foreheads rested together, their eyes closed. “Come to the bedroom,” Austin whispered, his voice husky with emotion. “Please.”
Bruce nodded, his heart a steady, reassuring drum in his chest. In the soft lamplight of the bedroom, they undressed each other slowly, deliberately. There was no rush, no frantic need. Bruce’s fingers worked the buttons of Austin’s shirt, his knuckles brushing against his chest with each one. He pushed the fabric from Austin’s shoulders, his gaze full of reverence, not lust. He was looking at Austin, truly seeing him, and the look in his eyes was one of profound love. Austin, in turn, slid his hands under the hem of Bruce’s sweater, feeling the warmth of his skin, the solid, reassuring plane of his stomach and chest. He lifted it over Bruce’s head, his fingers combing briefly in his hair.
They stood before each other, bare and unashamed. Bruce took Austin’s hand, lacing their fingers together, and led him to the bed. They lay down, facing each other, the simple act of their bodies pressed together feeling more intimate than anything Austin had ever known. Bruce’s hand traced the line of Austin’s arm, down to his hip, his touch a feather-light promise. He leaned in and kissed the scar on Austin’s shoulder, then the one on his ribs. Each kiss was a benediction, a silent acknowledgment of the pain and a declaration of healing.
“I want to be with you,” Bruce murmured against his skin. “All of you.”
Austin closed his eyes, a wave of emotion so powerful it almost brought him to his knees. “Then have me,” he breathed.
Bruce moved over him, settling between his legs, his weight a comforting pressure, not a crushing one. He took his time, his hands and his mouth exploring every inch of Austin’s body, not to claim it, but to worship it. He kissed the hollow of his throat, the dip of his collarbone. He took one of Austin’s nipples in his mouth, his tongue swirling in a slow, lazy circle that drew a soft, involuntary gasp from Austin’s lips. It was a pleasure that was gentle, building slowly, a warm tide rising rather than a storm breaking.
He worked his way down, his lips pressing against the soft skin of Austin’s stomach, his hands stroking his thighs, coaxing them apart. When he finally took Austin into his mouth, the sensation was so overwhelming in its tenderness that Austin’s back arched off the bed. It wasn’t the raw, aggressive act he was used to; it was an act of giving. Bruce’s mouth was warm and wet, his movements slow and deliberate. He wasn’t just seeking Austin’s release; he was savoring him, his tongue tracing every vein, his lips creating a friction that was both exquisite and loving. Austin’s hands found Bruce’s hair, his fingers tangling in the soft strands, not to guide him, but simply to hold on, to anchor himself in this moment of pure, unselfish affection.
When the pleasure crested, it wasn’t a violent explosion but a gentle, rolling wave that washed over him, leaving him breathless and trembling. Bruce stayed with him through it, swallowing his release and then moving back up to kiss him, letting Austin taste himself on his lips, a final, intimate sharing.
They lay together for a long time, their heartbeats slowing to a shared rhythm. Then Austin stirred, rolling to face him. “My turn,” he whispered, his voice full of a new determination. “I want to give that back to you.”
He kissed Bruce, pouring all of the love and gratitude he felt into it. He mimicked Bruce’s actions, his own hands and mouth learning the landscape of Bruce’s body. He mapped the muscles of his chest, the line of his jaw, the sensitive skin behind his ears. He took his time, wanting to make Bruce feel as cherished, as seen, as he had just made him feel. When he took Bruce in his hand, his grip was firm but gentle, his strokes slow and even. He watched Bruce’s face, his eyes half-closed in bliss, and felt a power he had never known before: the power to bring someone pleasure not through force, but through love.
He moved down the bed, mirroring Bruce’s earlier moves, and took him into his mouth. He was nervous, but he pushed the anxiety aside, focusing only on Bruce’s responses, on the soft groans that escaped his lips, on the way his hips began to move in a slow, easy rhythm. It was a clumsy, fumbling act at first, but it was honest, and it was full of heart. He felt a surge of pride as Bruce’s breathing grew ragged, as his body tightened. He brought him to the edge with a patient, loving devotion, and when Bruce found his release, Austin held him through it, his hands stroking his trembling thighs.
Later, as they lay in the quiet dark, Austin turned to him, his body pliant and sated. “I want you inside me,” he said, his voice a bare whisper. “I want to feel all of you.”
Bruce’s arms tightened around him. He found the small bottle of lube Austin had set on the nightstand, his movements careful and deliberate. He prepared Austin with a patience that was almost reverent, one finger, then two, his touch designed to relax and open, to give pleasure, not to take. He watched Austin’s face the entire time, his gaze full of love and concern. “Is this okay?” he’d ask softly, and Austin would nod, his eyes shining with tears.
When Bruce finally entered him, it was a slow, gentle press, a gradual filling that was overwhelming in its intimacy. There was no pain, only a profound sense of connection, of becoming one. Bruce moved inside him with a slow, deep rhythm, his forehead pressed against Austin’s, their breath mingling. Each thrust was a declaration, a promise. You are safe. You are loved. You are mine. It was a lovemaking that healed, that sealed the broken parts of Austin’s soul with a warmth and tenderness he had never dared to imagine.
In the morning, the pale autumn light filtering through the window painted the room in soft shades of gold and gray. Austin woke first, watching Bruce sleep. He felt a peace so deep it was almost startling. He shifted, pressing himself back against Bruce, who stirred, his arm instinctively wrapping around Austin’s waist.
“Good morning,” Bruce murmured, his voice thick with sleep.
“Morning,” Austin whispered, turning in his arms to face him. He looked into Bruce’s eyes, clear and open in the morning light. “I want you to make love to me again,” he said. “But this time… I want to be inside you.”
Bruce’s breath hitched, a slow, beautiful smile spreading across his face. He leaned in and kissed him, a deep, affirmative kiss. “Yes,” he breathed against his lips. “Anything for you.”
This time, the roles were reversed, but the love, the care, the gentleness remained the same. Austin prepared Bruce with the same patient reverence he had been shown, his hands trembling slightly with the enormity of the trust being given to him. When he entered Bruce, the feeling was one of coming home. It was a sacred space he was being invited into, and he moved with a worshipful awe, his strokes slow and deep, his body and his heart pouring out all the love he had held back for so long. They found their release together, a quiet, shuddering climax that left them clinging to each other, their bodies slick with sweat, their hearts beating as one.
Afterward, as they lay tangled in the sheets, their breathing slowly returning to normal, Austin traced a finger over Bruce’s chest. “I’ve never had a man in my apartment until you,” he confessed, his voice barely a whisper. “You’re the first.”
Bruce’s heart swelled, a lump forming in his throat. He understood what that meant in the scheme of how Austin had tried to deal with what had happened to him in his efforts to gain control of a life out of control. This had been Austin’s sanctuary.He kissed Austin’s forehead, his lips lingering. “I’m the first,” he whispered back, his voice thick with emotion.
“I’ll never bring anyone else here. Only you. I want you to stay,” Austin said, his voice barely audible.
Bruce held him tighter. “I don’t want to leave,” he said, his voice full of emotion. “But I think that we should continue with sleepovers for another month or so before deciding to move in together. Let’s not rush this. I want it all to be perfect for you, because when it is, it’s also perfect for me.”
Austin nodded, understanding. “You’re right, of course, but it is how I feel.” Then he took a deep breath and sprang the news on him. “I’ve been awarded a grant. For victims of sexual abuse. To go to the university for four years. I had to write a paper. It covers tuition, books, an apartment, and a stipend for food and clothing. Dennis helped me get it.” He paused and looked directly into Bruce’s eyes, his own shining with a vulnerability that was both new and beautiful. “And even though the apartment is a studio, the grant stipulates that I’m allowed to have a partner or spouse live with me.” He took another breath, the courage it took evident in the slight tremor of his lip. “I’m hoping that you will want to still be with me. You know, I used to dream that we’d get married. I just want you to know that if you ever ask me, I’d say yes.”
Bruce stared at him, his mind struggling to process the magnitude of what Austin was offering. It wasn’t just an invitation to share a home; it was an invitation to share a future. A future Austin was building, brick by painful brick, out of the wreckage of his past. A future he wanted to build with him.
A slow smile spread across Bruce’s face, a smile so full of love and wonder it seemed to light up the entire room. “I cannot imagine not being with you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I feel completed in a way that I cannot describe but that makes me happier than I ever thought possible.” He leaned in and kissed Austin, a kiss that was a seal, a vow, a beginning. “Yes, Austin. A thousand times, yes.”
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