Page 38 of Troy
We lie still, chest to chest, our hearts beating frenetically against each other’s. Raff caresses my spine so tenderly it brings tears to my eyes. Not merely this touch, but that we, after such frenzied love-making, can lie so affectionately together, silently pouring out our love.
Lifting my head to see his face—he looks so peaceful—I see the film of moisture from his suppressed tears too.
“I love you so much, Raff. Those three little words, just eight letters, are really not enough to convey just how much I love you. I wish I knew what else I can do to make you forgive yourself for something that wasn’t your fault.”
“It will always be my fault, Troy. My father, my own flesh and blood, tried to kill you. How can that not be my fault?” Raff’s words are quiet but brutally hard, equally as painful as if he’d screamed them.
“Raff, he has been caught and so much more about him has come out. You must understand that he is a vicious threat to any and every gay man he comes across.” I take in a deep breath, then blow it out slowly before speaking again. “He will be going to prison for the rest of his life; so many other men have come forward, citing him as a blackmailer and a violent thug. We know most of the beatings the other men sustained were given by his bodyguard, the man who followed his every command. I don’t know why they left me, rather than finishing me off. I don’t think we ever will know for sure.”
“I can’t control it, Troy, all I can see is you. I can’t reach you to save you, I keep running but I never get any closer. All I see is you fading away, your life slipping from you and I never get to you in time to save you.” Raff’s chest heaves as he draws deep gulps of air into his lungs, I feel the shudder as he tries to control his emotions.
“But, sweetheart, I’m here. It didn’t happen, you’re stuck with me, lover. I’m not going anywhere.” I try to soothe him but sense the tension bubbling up inside him. I know I’ve burst the dam: his anger and grief, his fury and fire are going to break free. I need to calm him down.
Moving out from under him, I slide out of Troy’s delicious ass, the movement making us moan, but I have trouble looking him in the eye. I try to pull myself together and study the love of my life, swallowing hard.
“I can’t control it, Troy. I want to believe you, and I know it is over, but the fact is, you nearly died. And that is what I can’t change in my head. I can’t switch off the fear of what could have happened, I can’t rid myself of the thoughts of what I would do without you.”
Gazing at his beautiful face, I see the scars left from my father’s signet ring. “How can you look at me like I’m the brightest star in the night sky? How can you give yourself so freely to me, how have you never flinched or backed away from me?”
“Because, Raff, you are not your father. You knew so early on that your father was wrong, you knew that you had to escape his tyranny. Rafferty, my love. You are my shining light; you are the air that I breathe. My heart breaks to see you so torn up over something that was nothing to do with you. Something I don’t blame you for. Please, Raff, let it go. For me, for us. Let it go.”
“What does your tattoo mean?” I don’t know why I suddenly blurt this out, maybe it’s so we can both leave our past behind us.
“Before I tell you, I want to tell you what I felt when I was unconscious, what I believed happened.” Troy scrutinizes me, daring me to refuse him. I barely manage to nod. Unexpectedly, I think this could be worse than the translation of the words on his chest, but I agree.
Troy takes a long, hard look at my expression and must see some acceptance there. “Franco was with me; he came to me as I started to lose consciousness and stayed until I woke up and saw you with me. You looked so exhausted, my love.” Troy’s hand strokes softly down my cheek and the smile on his lips stuns me in its honesty and openness. “Franco kept me focused on coming back to you, he told me I needed you more than I needed him.”
Tears seep from the corners of his eyes as he relays his other love’s wishes. Inclining my head, I kiss the tears away. “I love you, baby.”
“He stayed with me, Raff, for one reason only and that was to make sure I didn’t give in, that I didn’t choose to die. He knew you and I have so much more to do together, that we had had our time together. And, Raff, I wouldn’t change that for anything, or anyone. He was right, though; I need you so much. I was eighteen when I met Franco and he was exactly what I needed then, he saved me from a very sad existence and future, then encouraged and taught me to become a better man.” Troy raises his eyes and smirks, “he made me better, for you.”
His declaration shocks me to my core, not only that he accepts Franco kept him alive but that he sent him back to me, for me. So, what do I do about it? I acknowledge it, I trust I’m not to blame for my father’s actions. I believe Troy loves me for me. There was a reason we connected so intensely and so immediately, and it was because we need each other as much as want each other. Our commitment goes so much deeper than physical attraction. It is a deep, core need.
A huge sigh of relief leaves my body, and maybe this has been building up unknowingly inside as I worried and panicked myself into either leaving or being left. I can’t believe how honest Troy has been; not merely now, but since I met him. Even when he took fright and rushed off to work the morning after we kissed: he came back and admitted he was wrong. I haven’t done that. Ever. Period.
“So, do you want to know what it means?” Troy’s voice breaks through my trance, and I have no idea what he is talking about. His chuckle when I look at him blankly brings me around.
“Wha…”
“The tattoo, do you want to know what it says?” Troy smiles at me, his chocolate brown eyes sparkling with mischief.
“No,” I shake my head, “I don’t need to know, baby.”
Troy pulls himself upright and climbs off the bed. Holding his hand out to me, he smiles mischievously. “I’m going to shower, I’ve got dried cum on my stomach and thighs. Some of it’s yours, some of it mine.” He takes off as soon as he finishes speaking.
I laugh uproariously, and jump up to meet him, suddenly feeling lighter than I have in a long time. The shower is on as I walk through the door, Troy standing beneath the hot spray. I stare at the beauty of him: his long, firm, toned legs leading up to the most perfect ass I’ve ever seen, round and high and so damn firm. My eyes fix on the still red scars from the belt buckle, mine are a faint silver now but more raised than Troy’s; he was lucky enough. Ha! How can any of what happened to him be lucky?
Moving closer to him, I continue my appraisal: his chest is defined without being over-muscled. I totally see how alluring he was at eighteen, he must have been the object of so many men’s desires. But it was Franco who captured his heart. I think, as my eyes continue their perusal, we have crossed a bridge and we will be able to talk about his life with Franco, without it filling me with insecurity at best and pure jealousy at worst. Troy’s head is back as the scalding water cascades over his chest, running in rivers down his tanned skin, and the stress and strain he was under—and holding onto—washes away from him.
Reaching out, I brush my fingers down the length of his torso, leading down to the scars on his hips and buttocks, tracing softly over each reminder of the brutality he survived.
Troy rights his head and looks at me, “They don’t hurt and they don’t matter, Rafferty. Let’s just move on . He really doesn’t deserve any of our thoughts or words.” Lifting my hand from his hip, he tangles his fingers with mine and, lifting them up to his mouth, kisses each knuckle.
Standing chest to chest under the pounding water, our hands map each other’s skin as our mouths taste and tease. After what feels like hours, Troy steps back and reaches for the body wash, squirting the rich, scented liquid into his hand before rubbing both hands together and scrubbing my arms, up to my shoulders then down my chest and stomach. Taking care to wash every part of me before letting me do the same for him, Troy’s body shivers and ripples as my large hands glide over every contour. This is not about arousal or sex; this is reconnecting with each other. It’s about us—only the two of us—it’s love and it’s passion.
“It says: my love, my life, my forever. They were some of the last words he spoke to me and they were what I meant to him, not me to him.” Troy speaks quietly then his eyes meet mine. “You are that to me.”
I have no reply but I have actions; picking Troy up in my arms, I carry him back to our bed. It’s here that I show him exactly what he is to me.
After lying together quietly, hardly speaking yet not being silent, I hear Troy’s stomach rumble. “Come on, baby, let’s eat.”
Troy opens his heavy eyelids and smiles so sweetly at me my heart skips a beat. “Can’t we stay here?” His voice is thick with sleep.
“No, Troy, come on, we need to eat.” I kiss his eyelids before sliding out of bed, bringing his arms with me. “We don’t have to be up for long, but we need to eat.”
I watch with an affectionate smile as Troy grumbles but follows me out of bed.