Worship (On My Knees Duet 1)

“You trust me?”

He nods, and I lead him down the porch and over the grass and leaves and to a rowboat I left waiting on the sand shore of the little pond. Inside, there’s a blanket and a basket.

“Your hoodie’s on the bench.” I flash him a grin as I grip the oars. He sits on the slab of wood across the boat and pulls my sweatshirt into his lap. Nothing special, just a dark gray zip-up hoodie that I wear around—mostly to a co-op where I rent some art space. Still, I get a little rush when he slips it on.

He puts the hood over his head and gives me a small smile. Fucking hell, I’m crazy for those little smiles of his.

I row a few times, and we’re near the pond’s middle. I lower an anchor down into the inky water. Then I roll the blanket out and stretch out in the boat’s floor, holding one arm out so that he’ll lie beside me. After a second, he does. He lies on his back and then moves closer. My arm squeezes his shoulder, and he wraps an arm across my chest. For a minute, he’s so still and heavy. Then I feel him breathing deeply. I wrap him up in a hug…press my mouth against his the hoodie over his head. “You good, brother?”

I can feel him swallow. He feels like he can’t breathe. I can tell because of how he’s sort of gasping. Finally he whispers, “Too good.”

I shift so I’m sort of on my side—so I can rub my face against his forehead, kiss his cheek. I can feel it in him again—the nameless dark and heavy. His eyes are closed, his angel’s face somber and still.

“No such thing as too good, buddy.” I’ve got both my arms around him, holding his big body to mine. I kiss his forehead, rub my lips against the damp hair peeking out from underneath the hoodie. “Let’s be good enough till next time,” I add in strangled rasp.

There’s two heavy breaths, one after another. Then his head bows more against my shoulder…and I feel it—what he isn’t saying.

There can be no next time.

He doesn’t move or speak for so long…but I know he’s not asleep. His body is too taut, all that heavy muscle still but not relaxed. I hold him against me, and my hand finds its way into his hood. My fingers sift slowly through his hair. It feels good and soft. It feels good to him; his ribcage expands.

That’s right. Breathe, Skywalker.

He does it for me—grabs a deep breath.

“Skywalker,” I murmur. “ Anybody ever call you that?”

I can’t tell if he nods or shakes his head.

“Star Wars is my favorite,” I say.

“Empire Strikes Back?” His low voice is so damn soft, it’s barely a whisper.

“A New Hope.”

“Blasphemy.” He shifts so he’s more on his back, my arm still around his shoulders.

“Kidding.” I laugh. “But I only like Empire just a little better. Probably because Hope starts sorta slow.”

“Not slow,” he murmurs. “Perfect. Just not as perfect as Empire Strikes Back.”

“A real Warsie.”

“Good and evil, baby.” I cut my gaze down at him, and find he’s smirking with his head against my chest.

“I noticed your yacht’s name…when we docked.”

I watch a smile twist his lips.

“You collect that shit?”

“Did you read that, too?” He shifts more onto his side, angled toward me. I move so we’re facing.

“Nope. But I’m right, aren’t I?”

He smiles slyly. His hand finds mine, fingertip tracing along my thumb. “Maybe.” It’s husky. His eyes look sleepy. The hood of my sweatshirt frames his Hollywood face.

“God, you’re beautiful, guy.” I can’t help leaning in, brushing my lips over his. He opens for me, and we kiss slowly, my palm on his rough cheek as he moves in closer, wrapping his arm around my shoulder.

He pulls back first, breathing deeply as he bows his head, his forehead touching my jaw. Then he moves his mouth right by my ear and whispers, “I’ve got a light saber.”

“What?” He grins as my jaw drops. “You have a real light saber?”

His whole face is animated, eyebrows arched, both dimples out.

“No fucking way. Which one?”

“Luke’s.” His eyes twinkle. “From Return of the Jedi. That scene on the skiff barge—when they’re up against Jabba and R2-D2 spits it out?”

“Oh holy shit, you lucky fuck, you.”

He laughs, and I tug the hood. “You’re fucking pulling my leg.”

He shakes his head. “It’s in my closet.”

“In your closet. What the shit?” I throw my head back. “You can’t even get a goddamn case for it?”

He laughs. “I need to auction it again. That’s sort of why I got it. To do something charitable.”

“Nah, I don’t think so. I think the whole point of this is save it till your buddy Vance comes out to visit.”