Crash and Burn

Crash and Burn By J.M. Snyder “Chris,” Aaron sighs, and suddenly he’s gone, rolling away from me in the darkness. “I’m sorry.” “For what?” I ask. What the hell just happened? is what I want to say, but I don’t. It’s been forever since we’ve shared a bed—between my new work schedule, his swing shift at the plant, and my sister coming to visit for two weeks with her young daughters in tow, this is the first moment we’ve had alone in God knows how long. I finally get him to myself, finally get him alone—we were kissing so hard my lips are sore, my tongue tingles with the taste of his, my body still feels the ghosts of his hands over my chest and legs and arms, not yet comprehending he’s pulled away. Tentatively I reach over and run a finger down his arm. His muscles are tight and bunched beneath my touch. “Baby, what’s wrong?” “I can’t,” he says. The frustration in his voice echoes my own. I don’t get it. “What do you mean? Can’t what?” I don’t know about him, but my whole body aches right now, my crotch throbs with the memory of his knee pressing sweetly against my c**k. I’m hard and I’ve waited long enough for this moment, I don’t want it to slip away. “Aaron…” He sighs, exasperated. That sound alone tells me I’m not getting any more loving tonight. Bitterly he says, “Can’t, Chris. Do I have to spell it out for you? C-A-N-apostrophe—” “Stop it.” I pull my hand back, angry as he shrugs away. “I’m not a child. I know how to f*****g spell.” We lie there for a moment, both of us on our backs, staring into the darkness above. He’s pissed me off, but maybe there’s something I can say or do to get him back on my side of the bed. Gently, I ask, “Why not? We’ve done it before. All of a sudden you can’t—” “It’s not that.” Now there’s something beneath his words, something a little more telling than just I can’t. He sounds like a teenager who’s trying to tell his mom the reason he has to wash his bed sheets is because he had a wet dream, but he doesn’t want to come out and say it, and she isn’t picking up his hints. “Chris,” he sighs. “I’m sorry. It’s just…it’s not that I don’t want to, I do, but I can’t.” I want to hold him more than ever. “Why not?” In a tiny voice, he adds, “Please don’t make me say it out loud.” “Say what?” I blurt. I don’t mean to but that’s how I am, mouth moving faster than brain can think. I frown at a thin strip of light across the far wall, right above the mirror on the dresser, light from where our curtains don’t quite meet. Silently I plead with him in my mind. Just tell me, babe. Say you can’t get it up and I’ll kiss away the embarrassment and hug you tight and tell you it’s okay, because it is, even if I’ve been waiting days for this, it’s okay. I can wait longer if I have to. You’re worth it. Aaron pushes away from the bed and I hear him stumble in the dark, cursing under his breath. I sit up though I know he can’t see me. “It’s okay, baby. Really, I understand. It’s fine—” “It’s not fine,” Aaron cries, angry, and slams the bathroom door shut before I can say anything else. Fuck. I throw myself back against the pillows, pissed to all hell. Here I am, trying to be nice about it, trying to ignore the blood surging through my body, the lust and desire and passion, and he up and leaves. Like it’s nothing. Like I’m not so goddamn hard for him I won’t be able to sleep on my stomach tonight without poking a hole through the bed. Like he’s the only one disappointed. I should use my hand and get over it already. But I don’t. I try to forget the way he felt in my arms, the way he pressed me to the bed and sighed my name when we first came together in the dark, his sardonic eyes and that secretive smile of his—who am I kidding? I love him and I want him so badly, my body hums for him. It’s going to be a long, sleepless night. Just when I think he isn’t going to come out of the bathroom, he’ll lock himself in there for the rest of the night because he’s too damn stubborn to talk about it, I hear the light click off and the door open. Thank you, I pray, though the mood’s shot now and my balls throb with a dull ache as if someone reached between my legs and twisted them until they turned blue. Calmer now, Aaron slides between the sheets. “I’m sorry.” “It’s okay.” It is, because he’s here again. He’s next to me and, when I roll over, he’s in my arms, and of course it’s okay now, of course it’s fine. I hug him close, his arms around my waist, his head against my chest, and pull him to me. If I can’t have more tonight, I’ll take what I can get. He’s trembling and, when I kiss him, his lips taste like toothpaste. I feel his hands fist in the small of my back as he whispers, “I want to, Chris, don’t think I don’t. I just…I don’t know, I can’t.” “It happens,” I say, like I’m not disappointed, but it’s never happened to us before and I’m mad, though not at him. It isn’t his fault. “Maybe it’s just stress…” I trail off because I don’t know what it is. He was fiery and fierce earlier, kissing and stroking and all over me, and then poof! Nothing. Nothing at all. “I don’t know.” His breath tickles my n****e, and damn it the f**k, I’m getting hard again. Just by holding him. He does that to me. When he tries to pull away, I hold him tighter. “Let me hold you,” I tell him. He sighs because he knows I’m mad. “Jesus, at least give me that.” “I’m sorry,” he says again, burrowing against my neck. His skin is so soft beneath my hands and if I hug him any closer, he’ll be behind me. “It’s okay.” I kiss his forehead but they’re little kisses, I don’t want to get myself worked up for nothing. “Maybe in the morning?” Lie to me if you have to, I want to add. Give me something to look forward to, at least. We’ve been together long enough that he can practically read my mind, or maybe he feels my erection pressing against his thigh and he feels bad. I hope he feels bad, because I sure as hell do, I feel f*****g horrid, and it’s all his fault. No, I shouldn’t think s**t like that—I’m frustrated and horny, and I hate feeling like this. It isn’t his fault. “We can try again in a little while, if you want,” he offers. I love him, I do. This time when I kiss him, he leans back, pressing his lips to mine as if he wants me to ache all night long. “When you’re ready,” I say. He draws intricate patterns along my back, moves his leg against my c**k until it’s a steel rod between us, then kisses down my chest, biting playfully at my n*****s and swirling his tongue around my belly button. “Aaron,” I gasp when he rolls me over onto my back and takes me into his mouth. He’s warm and wet and I’m so close, all I need is a few hard thrusts into him before I come, fisting my hands in his hair and relieved, oh God relieved, because at least I got it out of my system. At least I got a little something from him tonight. “I love you,” I breathe as he crawls back into my arms. His mouth is sour from my juices but I smother him with kisses and tell him he’s my boy, because he is, and I love him, because I do.