His Woods (MxM)

11 Jack Chills Out

 I turn off the running water and put my near glass of wine on the stand beside the tub. The sounds of the night wafting in the bathroom window are overtaken by the melody of the record player coming to life in the living room. John Denver fills the house with his earthy country magic.

Smiling, I climb into the tub and the warm water engulfs my tired bones and sore muscles. The splash of heat against my taint and balls gives me goosebumps. Combining the heavenly radiance of the water and the sweet buzz the wine is giving my mind, I feel my face flush as I let out a deep sigh. Reaching behind me, I yank the elastic band until it gives way and man bun unleashes a wave of my hair into the bath water.

I sink underwater to wash the stress of the day away and I reemerge to the bittersweet lyrics of missing home.

Sing it J.D.

Before I know it, my eyes are fighting to stay open.

I see Tyson stepping out of the car in the drive. A clear look of hatred on his face. Then a flash as he is working hard in the morning sun, sweat-soaked, his shirt sticking to his chest. Wiping his brow with the bottom of his shirt and seeing the two defined lines of his lower abdomen disappearing into his shorts. Then he is smiling at me over his wine glass. "Goodnight, Grizzly."

The fabrication my mind creates makes my eyes snap open. The house is quiet. The record is quiet. Even the night symphony that was coming in through the window when I started my bath has called it quits. The silence is almost haunting after such mesmerizing sounds that filled this space earlier. This sends a chill through me.

Judging by the pruned condition of my skin, I was out for some time. I climb out of the chilly water and dry off. Sliding on some warm cotton shorts, I head downstairs to put my wine glass in the sink and get some water.

When I embark on the journey, I find all of the lights still on. Tyson is shirtless and asleep on the couch. An empty wine glass sitting on the coffee table. A copy of The Sun Also Rises clutched to his naked chest. Like Indiana Jones removing the golden idol and replacing it with the sandbag, I sneak the book from his grasp and slide the corner of an afghan into the empty place. My mind is very aware of my hand sliding along his unclothed skin, but I ignore it and spread the rest of the green and white blanket over Tyson's bare legs. Ignoring the thought of the back of my fingers briefly touching his lightly hair-dusted thighs that are unprotected by his Bermuda shorts, I don't let my mind explore why it seems he is not wearing underwear. Instead, my mind moves to the green of the afghan his mother, Jen, crocheted for me. It's the same color as his olive eyes.

I turned to cut off the lights. Pausing before I turned the switch, I took in the picture in front of me. The boy I once knew, the one who loyally stood by my side, is now an adult. We are as good as strangers now, though. He is grown and trying to find his way and I am in no better a place. I fear there is not enough connection between us anymore for him to forgive me for abandoning him. Then again, will I ever forgive myself? The boy I once knew is gone, but I hope I can make make a new relationship with this man.

"See you in the morning, Ty-Guy." And with that, I turn the switch letting the darkness fill the room.