The Past 💛 Atlas
My hand is resting on Ash’s chest as we lie together in comfortable silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts. The quiet is soothing and I’m grateful he doesn’t feel the need to fill it with conversation, that we can just be here together.
Slowly, I begin tracing my fingers lightly across his collarbone, then up his arm stretched over his head, and back again. He closes his eyes and smiles contentedly, so I continue, brushing my fingertips back across his chest and down his abdomen.
His skin is so soft and pale, it reminds me of the flowering dogwoods that would bloom in spring at the park near the house where I grew up. I read about them in school once and became fascinated by them. I would sit in the grass underneath them and run my fingers along the white petal-like blossoms, examining the tiny flowers at their center.
I make a mental note to tell Ash about them sometime. I bet he’d love them, want to study them and draw them.
The velvety texture of his skin is contrasted by a coarse trail of jet-black hair. I follow the trail down, stopping as my hand grazes past two small scars low on his belly, just inside his hips. “What are these from?” I ask.
He glances down briefly and then rests his head back, “They’re from a hysterectomy.”
“Oh. So, you can’t—?”
“Mm-mm, you can’t get me pregnant or anything.”
“Good to know. So, if you want kids one day, you’d just have to adopt?”
“Not necessarily. I had my eggs frozen, just in case. So, I could have a biological child, I’d just need a surrogate.”
“Really? Do you think you’ll do it? Have kids?”
“Oh, god, I don’t know. I had them stored for ten years, so I have plenty of time to decide. It’s not really something I’m worried about right now.”
“Makes sense,” I whisper as my hand resumes its journey, brushing my fingertips up and down one thigh and then the other before making my way back up again, all the way up to his face, turning it gently toward me. When he opens his eyes again, before I can stop myself, I say, “Ash, you’re perfect, you know that?”
His eyebrows stitch together in a pained expression, “Atlas…”
I know. I know it’s not fair. I can’t say things like that if we’re “just friends”. He doesn’t have to tell me. It’s written all over his face. But look at us, we’ve already crossed so many lines tonight that the walls I’d built up are crumbling around me, and I’m not ready to put them back. Not yet. Not tonight. So, even if I shouldn’t, I have to ask, “Will you stay? Will you sleep here tonight?”
Putting his arms around me, he smiles, “Yeah, of course I’ll stay.”
“Thank you,” I exhale, relieved. "Can I get you anything? Do you want some water?"
“Yes, actually, that would be amazing.”
“Okay, I’ll go get some.”
“Thanks. And, um, can I use your bathroom?”
“Yeah, it’s just out the door to your left.”
In the kitchen, I drink down a large glass of water in one breath, practically gasping by the time I finish it. As I refill it, along with a second glass for Ash, I turn my head slightly to smell myself… just in case. Thankfully, I don’t stink yet, but I’ve accumulated enough layers of sweat throughout the night that I’m certain I’ll be ripe by morning.
I glance at the bathroom door, debating, wondering if it’s a step too far, too intimate, but decide to ask him anyway.
When the door opens, I walk over to meet him on his way out. I hand him the glass of water and he drinks it nearly as quickly as I did. “Thank you,” he says, breathless.
“Are you tired?” I ask.
“Not really, why?”
“Do you want to take a shower with me?”
“That shower?” he points to the door he just came out of, “Is there even enough room for two people?”
“Not really,” I shake my head with a smile, knowing it’s ridiculous, but still hoping he says yes.
He considers for a moment, searching my face as if he’s waiting for me to tell him I’m joking. When I don’t, he replies with a shrug, “Fuck it, sure.”
Some find it strange, but I enjoy showering with people. It’s intimate in its own way. I mean, aside from the obvious, like being naked in a small space not really meant for two people, placing hands on an arm or waist or back as we maneuver around each other. That has its own pleasures too, of course, but I like getting a glimpse into people’s routines, their daily habits. All those little things that no one else notices, or pays attention to, or has the privilege of witnessing. Like the way Ash never puts his face under the water. He tips his head back to rinse it, gets right up to the hairline, but no farther, ensuring gravity prevents the water from running down over his face.
When I ask him why, he says, “I don’t like it. It makes me feel like I’m drowning.” And then I understand. I remember the story he told me about nearly drowning in the ocean, how he was caught in the undertow when he was a child, how he would have died if it wasn’t for his mother.
We laugh as we awkwardly squeeze past each other, trading places so I can rinse my hair. As I stand under the water and close my eyes, I feel him place his hands gently on my abdomen, slowly tracing the lines of the muscle just below the surface with his fingertips. “Jesus, look at you,” he says, “maybe I should take up rock climbing.”
I let out a small laugh, “It’s fun. I could teach you.”
“Nah, I don’t think it’s for me. It’s a shame you ever have to put clothes on, though.”
“Not tonight, I don’t.” I shut off the water quickly and then turn back to him, “I won’t if you won’t.”
“Deal.” He answers a little too quickly, and then adds, “Not that I have anything to wear anyway.”
“I would’ve given you something if you wanted. Too late now, though.”
He laughs as I hop out to grab a couple of towels.
After drying off, I walk over to the sink and grab a fresh toothbrush from the cabinet below. It’s brand new and still in the package. I hold it up to show it to him and then set it on the counter, “If you want,” I say before grabbing my own toothbrush and running it under the water.
He picks it up and raises his eyebrows a me, “You do this often enough that you keep these on hand, huh?”
I shake my head to reassure him, “No, they’re Dawn’s. She’s super weird about brushing her teeth all the time. She’s almost always carrying one around. There’s like ten of them down there, she won’t care if you take one.”
“Thank you,” he says sincerely as he opens the package and discards it in the trash. He squeezes toothpaste along the bristles, but then stops and looks up at me.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing. You’re just… you’re really nice.” I can’t quite read the expression on his face when he says this, it’s almost as if the sentiment makes him sad.
In a pitiful attempt to lighten the mood, I tell him, “Well, if it makes you feel any better, it’s purely selfish.”
He gives me a small smile, “Oh yeah? My breath is that bad?”
“No, I just want you to be comfortable. Because the more comfortable you are, the longer you’ll stay.” Instinctually, I lean over and kiss his forehead. I don’t know why, it just felt natural to do so, like I’d done it a hundred times before. As soon as my lips graze his skin, I know that I have. I see it. Many times, in many different places I don’t recognize. On a couch or in a bed or even standing on a beach. It feels so real that it takes me aback. I pull away and he looks up at me with that same look in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, knowing now what’s making him sad. I’m not acting like a friend; I’m acting like a boyfriend. And we both know I can’t give him that. Though, I’m starting to have trouble remembering why. Seems like it’s taking more effort not to. “We should get some sleep,” I say, suddenly feeling exhausted.
“Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute,” he replies, and then turns away to brush his teeth.
I put fresh glasses of water by the bed, turn off the lamp, and lie down, turning to face the wall because I don’t know what I’ll do if I’m facing him when he comes to bed. I don’t trust myself, and I feel like I’ve done enough damage already. He’s probably upset with me, and I wouldn’t blame him if he changed his mind and decided to leave.
I prepare myself for the worst when he finally comes in, but he surprises me by getting into bed, scooting over to me, and pressing his entire body against the length of mine. He wraps his arm around me and squeezes me tight, kissing the back of my shoulder. I don’t know why he’s chosen to be so sweet to me, but I’m grateful for it. I close my eyes and allow myself to relax into him as I drift off to sleep.
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The Past 💛 Atlas
I don’t know how long we’re wrapped in each other’s arms before we’re forced apart as an overzealous dancer bumps into us, causing us to stumble sideways.
I barely regain my balance before Ash grabs my hand and pulls me away, leading me through the maze of people. They’re nothing but a blur as we wind our way off the dance floor where there’s finally some open space to breathe. I think he’s going to stop once we get there, but he continues forward. The only thing ahead of us now is a hallway with the bathrooms on the right and stairs on the left. Just as I’m about to ask him where he’s taking us, he stops short and slides into a dark corner.
As he backs himself against the wall, pulling me into him, I finally understand. “Is this okay?” He asks.
I lean in so fast that I practically breathe the answer into his mouth, “Yeah,” and before I know it, we’re making out again. But this time is far more intense, our kisses deeper, our breathing ragged, our hands grabbing fistfuls of hair and clothing and clawing at skin as though our desire for each other has grown into some kind of wild animal. Finally free from its cage, there’s no going back now.
I pin him against the wall and press my thigh between his legs, and he makes a sound that I feel more than hear with his mouth on my neck. And then I feel his hand move down the front of my jeans. I’m grateful for how loud the club is when he finds what he’s looking for and an uncontrolled moan escapes my lips. He grips me and breathes into my ear, “Atlas.”
Fuck, there is nothing sexier than the way he says my name.
I can barely think, let alone speak. All I can manage is, “Hm?” and even that comes out as more of a whimper than a question.
“Let’s go somewhere.”
I put my hand up on the wall behind him to steady myself and somehow find it in me to ask, “Where?”
“Anywhere. My place, yours, I really don’t care, but if we stay here, we’re bound to get kicked out.” He moves his hand slowly over the bulge in my jeans and kisses my ear softly. The wet sound of his lips is amplified and sends a shiver down my spine. “Do you wanna leave with me?”
More than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.
I nod as I clear my throat and try to will my brain to start functioning again. “I, um, my apartment. It’s three blocks away.” Or maybe it’s six. I don’t know. All I know is, Dawn better not be home tonight.
“Perfect.” He kisses me and moves both hands to my waist, “Let me check in with Lex real quick and then we can go.” I step back to make room for him to squeeze by. He looks up at me with a smirk, biting his lip, and winks at me before saying, “I’ll be right back,” and walking away.
It’s been a while since he’s winked at me, but for the first time I don’t blush. I assume my blood is otherwise occupied and not available to flush my face. Speaking of which, I need to take a moment, so I lean against the wall and pull out my phone. I start typing out a text to Dawn asking if she’ll be home tonight, but then delete it before sending, realizing I’ll have to explain why I’m asking, and I’m not prepared to do that. So, I slide the phone back in my pocket and hope for the best.
I take a few deep breaths and wipe the sweat from my face, suddenly realizing how dehydrated I feel. As soon as I’m able, I walk over to the water station set up in the back of the club.
The relief of the cool liquid as it hits the back of my throat is instant, and I drink three full cups before Ash finds me. I hand him one as soon as he walks up.
“Thank you,” he says gratefully, and drinks it down quick. As he refills the cup he says, “Lex is good. They’re all staying at Blair’s tonight.”
I suddenly remember the promise I made to her when we first arrived, and I almost feel a little guilty. “Did you tell her we’re leaving together?”
“Yeah.”
“Was she okay with that?”
He shrugs, “Not really her decision, is it?”
“I suppose not. You wanna go?”
“Definitely.”
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