Wood: A True Lover's Story

“Drink a little more,” Trent said in that tender, velvety tone. A voice that Wood was sure he’d continue to hear in his dreams.

Wood let the cool liquid run down his blistering throat, and when he tried to speak, to say thank you, it came out as a painful groan. If he could just get rid of the physical pain, he’d slowly figure out how to deal with the other. He needed to rest because he felt as if he’d been awake for longer than one day. Wood closed his eyes and let his head sink into the pillow. After a couple of seconds, Trent’s forehead gently pressed against his, his hot breath caressing his lips.

“Go ahead and sleep, Wood. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Trent

Trent managed to snag an hour nap beside Wood before he startled awake at the sound of his alarm blaring in his bedroom. He got up as quickly as his back would allow, put on his slides, and trudged across the hall—stepping around large pieces of broken lamp—to turn off the irritating beeping. Once he hit Cancel, Trent sat gingerly on his mattress and rubbed at the sore muscles in his hip. He believed his camping on the floor days were long gone.

Feeling as if he was still on duty and unsure if Wood was really all right, he texted Summer to remind her he wasn’t coming in today. Trent got the broom and dustpan out of the utility closet and cleaned up the results of his outburst. I really have to stop breaking other people’s shit. Now he’d need to replace Wood’s bedside lamp. When he was sure he’d gotten all of the glass and parts disposed of, he decided to check on his roommate one more time. Trent eased the door open and peeked inside, not wanting to disturb Wood if he was finally resting. But he was concerned when he saw the deep frown lines creasing Wood’s forehead and the way his head kept jerking to the side as if someone was slapping him.

Damnit. Trent rushed into his room and dug around in Miles’s crate for something to chase those fucking nightmares away. He’d memorized every record backwards and forwards, and he knew the ones he used to make himself feel better, but music touched everyone differently. He needed to make sure to choose the right one. Talk to me, Miles. Who’s he need right now? Trent anxiously fingered through the albums when he suddenly stopped at a fading black cover with yellow lettering. Trent slowly eased the old record from its sheath and placed it on his turntable. With practiced precision, he slid over the tonearm and hovered the needle above the outermost groove. He gently touched it down; the initial sound of crackles and pops from the groove noise never failed to stimulate him, to prepare him for the flawlessness of what was to come. It was a quality of sound that he just couldn’t get from a CD or a MP3 file. As soon as “Pain In My Heart” by Otis Redding began to play, Trent closed his eyes. It was such a slow but powerful rhythm, and the painful lyrics went directly to his core. He hoped Wood could feel it too.

Trent let the record play on a low volume, just loud enough for Wood to hear it across the hall. He got a bowl of cool water and another thick wash rag from the linen closet and settled next to Wood as he continued to fight in his sleep. “What are you dreaming about, huh?” Trent dipped the cloth in the water and wrung it out enough so he didn’t make Wood wet. He folded it in half, then gently placed it in the center of Wood’s clammy forehead. The heat was turned down and the blankets were only pulled up to his waist, but he was still sweating. Trent slowly wiped away the perspiration, running the moist towel down Wood’s cheek while he fingered his soft hair away from his face.

Wood moaned as Trent dragged the cool compress down his throat, then repeatedly stroked over his Adam’s apple, becoming swept up in the intimacy. He swallowed roughly when he thought of leaning closer and licking that thick lump of cartilage he’d become fascinated with when he watched as Wood drank whole bottles of water in seconds. By the third song, Trent had got lost in his job as the music lulled him into a state of peace he hadn’t felt in a long time. He concentrated on his task, meticulous in the way he caressed the bright roses decorating Wood’s thick pecs. He dipped the rag once more, unable to resist using it to slick down the sexy gray-and-black hair on his stomach, leading to his groin.