Commitment Collection, page 13
part #1 of Commitment Series
“I came to kick your ass and get you back to work. It appears you need it.”
I’m still stranded in the moment. My chest is heavy, not like a crushing feeling, more that it's crammed into my stomach, a space too low and too small to be able to breathe. I have no desire to move, so I stare ahead, focusing on the wall where the TV once lived.
“You didn’t call.” His voice is soft.
“I broke my phone.”
He nods, takes a sip of his water, and runs his finger around the wet rim before placing it on the laminate floor. He shuffles his feet and picks at a piece of invisible fluff.
“Is this how you deal with your troubles, with violence?” His tone is gentle.
Now that arouses a response. He’s got some fucking nerve! “This isn’t a commonplace problem, Elliott. This is my parents not giving a shite about me because I don’t fit into their perfect package. It’s about me challenging everything I ever thought I knew and consequently not understanding where I belong anymore.” As those words spew out, they make more sense than any of the thinking I've done over the last few days and it's suddenly clear what my trouble has been.
He’s quiet. He studies me, his eyes scrunched in the adorable way they did at the weekend when the spring sun was blinding him. I focus in on their beauty, not on his curls falling forward with the slight angle of his downward gaze. He still doesn’t touch me and the ten centimeters between us could be a brick wall.
His voice remains cool when he whispers again. “You know smashing up your home won't fix this, right?”
I snap. I rise, glaring down at him. “You can leave if you’re going to be a sanctimonious prick. It made me feel better, alright?”
He stays seated, head tilted back, his jaw relaxed. His pale eyes meet my bloodshot ones which glint on the precipice of rage. I pace around the cramped space like a frenzied dog.
Elliott
“Come and sit down.” I pat the space on the couch next to me when he starts pacing again.
He pauses again while he considers the option. Running a hand through his hair he expels a dramatic sigh before rolling his eyes like I’m the one with the issue. At least he joins me on his crappy brown sofa. If it wasn’t so destructive, it’d be funny.
“OK, so the way I see it, you have two options.”
He raises his eyebrows, ready to explode, but he’s waiting to hear what I have to say first. I take that as a positive.
“You can either hang around here, blow your career and any vestige of self-respect you have left. Push me aside and expect your parents to forgive and forget. Frankly, I’d be skeptical about their ability to do that.” I hesitate, let my words settle in. He doesn’t blanch but resumes his intimate examination of the bare wall. “Anyway, that’s option one. Your second alternative is to clean yourself up, pull yourself together, and accept that your mom and dad will deal with this in whatever way they see fit, regardless of your downward spiral. Your application for a sympathy vote has been flat-out denied Kyle. It’s time to clean yourself up.”
“Where do you fit into that second option?” His voice is gruff.
“It depends.”
Now, finally he considers me, concern spread across his beautiful strong features.
“I’ve stayed away from relationships because I don’t have the head space to manage personal drama. I appreciate you’ve had a tough week, but if we’re together we cope with shit together. You don’t shut me out. If you can’t do that, I don’t fit into either option.” I’ve been pondering the words, but speaking them is finite. The anguish in my chest wall is overpowering as I employ every ounce of self-control to make the decision which has been rolling around my head a reality. I hold my face soft, but underneath my calm exterior my heart is pounding, pleading with him to sort himself out.
He switches his attention back to the wall.
I wait. My fate in his hands.
The few seconds he takes before he turns toward me and clears his throat feel like hours. But, his words remain unspoken. He sighs. Tries again, “I want you Elliott. I don’t see myself with anyone else ever. I didn’t intend to push you away. I just needed space to process everything.”
“You needed space to process whether I’m worth you losing your parents for.” I spit the words out before I’ve had a chance to catch myself.
He nods. “Possibly.” Nods again, “Probably. But this is all strange. I’ve not had any time to handle it myself before my family judged my decisions.”
Resentment is building in the pit of my stomach and my voice is stronger. “I know that Kyle, and I also know that my situation was different because my parents were unconcerned in my sexuality. I’m not saying I understand how you’re feeling. But, if we're going to make this work, you must allow me to try, too. You have to keep giving me those chances until I get it. I’m only in this if we’re one unit.”
Kyle
“We are one unit. I’m sorry for jerking you around. You’re worth more than that.” I reach out to draw him close.
He tears away. “Go and get in the shower; you stink. I’ll clean up in here.” He smiles, but it’s unusual. It’s not the same all-encompassing smile I’ve experienced before, this is layered with a protection.
I shower and he doesn’t follow me. He doesn’t hover with sexual innuendos nor does he react when I walk into the living room with nothing better than a towel slung around my hips.
Instead he inquires, “Have you eaten?”
“Not properly.”
He purses his lips and gnaws his cheek. “Well, go and get dressed. You’re dripping all over the floor. I can’t risk breaking a leg.” He turns again, continuing to clean the counter.
It’s his attempt at a quip, but it’s strangled by the icy air which hangs heavy between us. Goosebumps spring up on my skin and a shudder runs down my spine. I don’t speak, head back to the bedroom and remove the faded jeans which I know are his favorite.
When I return, I see he’s found a carton of frozen fish in a lemon and black pepper coating and some chips. They lay on the floor to the side of the open freezer door, his head craned into the drawers, I assume looking for something green.
“I’m sorry, I don’t have much veg. Just the fruit for my smoothies when I go to the gym.”
The hum of the oven warming up fills the space.
“It’s OK. One night off won’t kill me.” He curls up the edges of his stiff mouth.
Walking up behind him, I wrap my arms around his waist as he busies himself plopping the food on baking trays. He tenses. I ignore it, inhale his smell and wait for him to relax. He pulls away as I kiss his neck.
“I’m busy, Kyle. Let me get this going; I’m starving.”
“Here, I’ll do it.” I reach for the tray at the same time he moves toward the oven. We clash, and the fish lands on the floor surrounded by the last of the chips.
“Fuck, Kyle. Just go sit down would you. And take this.” He thrusts a hot mug at me filled with coffee.
I plant myself back on the sofa. I don’t look at him but keep my ears sharpened, noting every movement. He’s huffing, cursing under his breath as he clears up the chaos, explores the freezer for replacement food, and then hisses. “We’ll have to eat this. You don’t have anything else.”
The faucet runs, the oven door bangs, and the tray slides in.
Then he stops. This is the moment he should come and sit with me. But he doesn’t. I imagine him remaining with his back to the counter, hands resting on either side of him glaring at me. I can feel that glare burning into the back of my neck, rendering it useless. I want to turn around, but I don’t want to see the obvious hurt in his eyes.
Elliott
I should be satisfied. He’s washed and is in the process of pulling himself together. He’s made his declaration. He chooses me.
But he’s not committed to it.
I’ve made it clear we have to be in everything together moving forward, but he hasn’t agreed, only answered that he wants me. And I know I'm being persnickety. I've only been here a few hours and already so much has changed. But, details make the difference in relationships. They are the insignificant parts of the daily grind which mean you can get along with that one individual over and above any alternative.
And so I’m not certain how I feel about him right now. I’ve switched up from caring about this guy with all my reserves to feeling as though I’m made of stone. I’m not furious. I’m nothing. I don’t feel. I want to, but I don’t.
Cold to my core.
I want to thaw myself in the oven with the food, but if only it were that simple.
We sit and chomp down on our meal when it’s ready, resting unsteady plates on our uneven laps. It’s like eating cardboard and the conversation is as dry.
There’s a staccato rhythm to our communications tonight. It's disjointed like jazz music, It flows for a while, but then it jars without any warning. We have no idea of what the next chord will be. I focus on the symphony, initiate a discussion to reignite the arrangement.
“So...” My mind is vacant. I don’t know what to say next.
Kyle stops chewing, studies my face for a clue as to what’s going on. “Is there something you need to add? If so, we may as well get it out there.”
Now it’s my turn to flounder when challenged with confronting my concerns. “I’m not sure...” I start. “I want to fall right back in where we were, but it’s not that straightforward. I guess you hurt me.”
“I’m sorry.” His fork clatters onto his plate as he reaches out to hold my hand across the divide between us.
“I suppose it’s not so much the damage because you were dealing with emotions, but that you didn’t want me to be part of that process. And that rather than let me be there for you, you allowed yourself to spiral toward depression.”
Kyle scrunches his brow. “What do you mean? What’s the difference?”
I think about that, what is the difference? What has he done that flipped my emotions toward him within seconds of walking through his front door? “I don’t know. I’m a strong person naturally and I thought you were too. I guess I’m a little surprised at how you behaved. It’s alien to me.”
“Hmm...” He fiddles with the fork that remains untouched on the side of his plate.
My eyes have curved to one side while I struggle and pinpoint my emotions and transpose that into words. “Look at it like this. I’m tough and I can support you and I want to do that. I want to help you, Kyle. So, when you push me to one side in favor of ruining your opportunities, I feel rejected. I wasn’t OK with you not calling, but I’m even less OK with self-destruction. If you need something in the future, let me offer you my strength. I guess that’s what I want to be certain of.” And that’s it. Just like that, I worked out what was bugging me.
"I think this is the issue with me always having thought I was straight," he replies. I thought he'd just sit and listen, but we're actually starting to have a conversation.
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"I've always been the male, and the male provides. And so I'm not used to having someone to lean on. We can be strong for each other."
He could have a point. "Maybe."
"Yeah, either that, or Madeline was more of an awful wife than even I thought." He smiles. It's only a wry smile, but I smile back nevertheless.
Kyle
I squeeze his hand, pull it toward my face and nuzzle my lips into his skin, holding it there and breathing him in.
“I’m so sorry I hurt you. It’s not an excuse, but I’d had a dreadful shock and I wasn’t seeing life straight.”
He sighs, connects his dull eyes with mine and asks, “But, is this your natural way of reacting? To pull back and allow the catastrophe to happen around you without resisting?”
And there it is. That’s what he needs me to do. To fight for him. This gorgeous, confident, arrogant man, needs to know I want him. He’s insecure. There’s too much at stake right now to get into that, but I make a mental note to climb inside his head once he’s more settled. In order for us to get to that point, I must show him rather than tell him how I care. This is a man of action. That’s what counts for him.
I wrack my brains.
By now, it’s 10pm. What can I do at this time of night to demonstrate how I feel?
“Come with me.” I stand, put the crappy food on the floor, and catch his hand until he does the same. Leading the way out of my apartment, we head toward the exit to the communal trash, but instead of stepping down the concrete steps we step up to the roof.
“It’s not exactly the star scape from our woodland trip, but it is beautiful.” I sigh. His shoulders relax down from his ears as the tranquility of being pulled out of chores, routines, and arguments takes hold. Suspended below the milky moon which lessens the inky blackness of the sky but above the twinkle of the world beneath us, we're at peace. Just the two of us. No distractions, just unity. Cars honk horns and pedestrian crossings bleep, but it’s all lost. Being separated from reality allows time to stand still and for us to take stock of all that is important in that moment.
I slip my arm around his waist and he relents, leaning in closer until our sides are sealed. The warmth from his body radiates into mine, and I sense us fusing back together. Our heads meet, his a few centimeters lower than mine so the twists of his hair tickles my cheek.
There is no need for speeches. We are happy reestablishing the interrupted connection, warming back through, our understanding of the other deeper following our hiccup. I turn, and as I kiss his forehead, the worry lines which had been crumpling his flawless features dissolve. He raises his chin as the hurt in his eyes drifts away and his eyelids flutter before closing. I kiss them, kiss the tip of his nose resting at his mouth.
I brush my lips over his with the slightest of tender movements.
“Oh, Kyle, don’t ever do that to me again.” The breath from his words touches my mouth.
“I promise,” I say as I bury mine against his again and they split open so the tips of our tongues can make contact.
Elliott
That one remark, ‘I promise,’ has me eating out of his hand again. The ice has evaporated and I’m all his. As his lips part to allow our tongues to skim against the other, the latent heat rekindles. It’s like the wash of the moon has bathed me, soothed away my hurt.
I open my mouth wider, pushing a tentative tongue deeper inside. He tastes of liquor mixed with toothpaste and without warning I understand his pain on a different level. I can taste his fear.
My tongue probes, harder, with more courage than craving. To prove I’m his and to allow him to feed on my spirit and accept it as his own. His gentle response is mild, greeting me, but allowing me to move around his mouth and scrutinize every unchartered crevice.
And then boom, our passion ignites once again. We’re all hands roaming, indiscriminate pulling and tugging. Rapid air sucking in through nostrils so as not to break physical contact for even the slightest moment.
My head spins as my reservations evaporate into the night sky. I am home. And I let go. Relaxing into the minute, I end up naked from the waist down with Kyle sinking to his knees.
“Let me make it up to you.”
He has the capacity to be so dominant and yet the strength of his restraint in kneeling before me, stroking my fullness with his sensitive tongue is intoxicating. I am his choice. I understand. I even start to believe.
I push into his throat, “You have quite some making up to do there, Kyle.”
His eyes open and as he looks up, his teeth brush my rigidity as he smiles, opens the back of his throat and grabs my butt so that my length is all encased. He gags, swallows, sends blood rushing from my dick to my head and circling back round. The ache under my balls pushes more power behind my shaft and I immerse it further, crying out his name.
“Kyle.”
The word expels more enthusiasm from him, his action speeds up, taking me down before rapidly coming back to my slit, sucking out all my precum then diving down in one slick move which has me craning my hips forward and my head back. I push, fucking his mouth, watching his head bob with the power of my thrusts.
His hand wraps around the root of my shaft, jerking the base of my length while his mouth sucks and teases around my swollen head. He ripples his tongue round my sensitive underside before swallowing down to his hand and back up. His other hand reaches between my legs, his fingers splaying out and caressing the entrance to my hole, slipping forward to stroke up to my balls. Every nerve is screaming to come, I’m scrunching my eyes, panting, only just holding on.
He releases me, his mouth sucking on my buttock. I twist, then turn around, resting my chest on the half wall so I can see the glinting town below.
His kissing tightens, his tongue pushes against the mass of flesh he’s sucking. His sharp teeth dig into my body with force and it’s hot. He’s branding me and I love it. I love being his. I want a great big gasping bruise marking me as his.
When he releases me, his tongue flicks to my butt. Grabbing my cheeks, he splits me. I bend further over and he groans as he digs into me. I relax and moan, jutting my ass out, spreading my knees which are locked in my pants wider.
His tongue delves deeper, flicking around the edge of my rosebud, before diving back inside my fleshy pink hole. His hand reaches around, coating it with the precum oozing from me. He slides his hand vigorously up and down my shaft while hungrily eating my behind.
The moment dissolves into a flickering trail of fire which catches light before sending lightning force shock waves through my body, splintering my vision until it fades to black and I’m left standing against that wall, shaking.
Elliott
It’s race day. I’m in my room round the back of the pits, getting my head straight. All the team briefings are done, I’ve eaten my lunch, had my short massage, and now it’s just me and my brain. I’m buried in my headphones listening to movie soundtracks. The beat helps me get in the zone without the distraction of lyrics. I can’t afford to think about anything other than winning, so I cut my distractions down to zero.
