Page 30 of Pages of My Heart
Time slows for a beat and then Thomas comes at him fast, almost knocking him off his feet as their lips meet in a devouring kiss.
But soon Thomas is burying his face into the crook of Charlie’s neck and simply holding him tight.
Charlie clings on for dear life too, and they both struggle to keep their emotions in check.
But it’s the sheer definition of futility.
Thomas breaks first, shuddering breaths and gasps for air as he sobs.
His tears dampen Charlie’s neck and roll down under his shirt collar, and it hits Charlie deep in his gut, where a mass of unease has sat for the last three years.
He wants to be strong for Thomas, but everything overwhelms him at once and he finally allows himself to cry too.
As his shoulders shake and his chest heaves, he feels the mass in his gut begin to loosen and break into smaller fragments, then dissolve altogether.
A sense of joy and freedom rises in its place, like a bird released from its caged prison.
Thomas belongs to him, and he to Thomas.
Wholly and completely. Standing in the kitchen of their home.
“Am I dreaming?” Thomas mumbles into his neck.
“No, sweetheart. It’s real.”
“I get to fall asleep next to you every night?”
“Yeah, you do.” Charlie strokes up and down Thomas’s back. “And we get to wake up together every morning.”
“And take baths together.”
“And eat meals together.”
They separate, laughing softly as they take turns using the handkerchief Thomas produces from his pocket, blowing their noses and smiling almost shyly as they wipe the tears from their faces.
“It almost seems too easy,” Thomas muses.
Charlie runs his fingers through Thomas’s bright hair. “You were right. They don’t know. We’ll always need to be careful outside of this house, but inside, when the doors are locked and the curtains are drawn, we can be ourselves. We can be free.”
Thomas cradles Charlie’s face with one hand, rubbing his thumb softly across his cheek. “Darling, I want to take you to bed.”
“I want that too. But let’s eat a little and take our time. We don’t need to fit everything into one weekend every few months anymore. We get to have this every day now.”
Thomas closes his eyes and smiles, one last silent tear slipping through his fine orange lashes as he nods in agreement.
They warm his ma’s casserole and eat at their new table, the elation soaking into their skin and settling warm and solid around their hearts. Charlie is content and peaceful in a way he never thought he would, nor could, be.
It makes eating a bit awkward, but they hold each other’s hands on top of the table for the whole meal, just because they can.
Later in the evening, when fresh linens have been spread and their bodies are clean, Thomas’s wish is realized, and he takes Charlie to bed.
With five church-white candles casting their skin in fluttering hues of tangerine and gold, Charlie sits atop Thomas, rolling his hips with grace.
He loves this position, even though he can count on one hand the number of times they’ve had the opportunity to indulge in it.
The way Thomas looks up at him with such wonder and desire, as if he’s worshipping a god, fills Charlie with a heightened sense of power.
It’s intoxicating and divinely addictive.
When Charlie’s skin glistens with sweat and he’s close to release, he kisses Thomas and moans breathlessly, “Take me.”
Thomas lets out a desperate sounding whimper, then rolls them to take his position on top.
Charlie willingly relinquishes all control.
He hooks his legs around Thomas’s waist and welcomes the force and speed of his thrusts.
Pressure builds inside of him, a rising, spiraling race toward euphoria.
Thomas threads their fingers together on the pillow above Charlie’s head and lavishes him with kisses—upon his lips and down his neck and back again.
Charlie’s cock, trapped between them, receives all the friction it needs from their sensual rocking.
“Inside me,” he begs. “I need a part of you.”
Thomas cries out, stilling deep inside him, beautiful shudders rippling through his body.
Charlie’s climax follows like a chain reaction, the pulses so strong that for a moment there are no thoughts, just pure physical pleasure.
He’s floating, his skin tingling and his limbs loose.
When he opens his eyes, Thomas is sitting back on his knees, still inside of him and lazily rocking in and out.
Charlie loves to have the remains of their lovemaking inside him now—loves to be marked by this evidence of Thomas’s lust for him.
“You climaxed so hard,” Thomas says, smiling in wonder. “And I didn’t even touch you.”
“I can’t explain it, but it felt different. Inside of me, it felt . . . different,” he struggles to explain, unable to find the right words. “Maybe it’s cause I’m so happy. I never thought . . .” He trails off, too overcome to finish.
Thomas presses soft lips to his, giving him the out he needs. “Let me clean you up.”
Thomas pulls out of his body and leaves for the bathroom, returning a few moments later with a washcloth. Thomas cleans him with a tenderness that is almost too much to bear, and then they settle under the blankets, face to face.
Drawing Thomas closer, he asks, “Did it feel different for you?”
“Yeah. I felt safe. And relaxed. I always thought I felt relaxed on our weekends at my house—”
“You mean your old house?” Charlie interrupts, pinching Thomas’s ass.
“Ow! Yes, my old house. But this . . . this is completely different. This is our bed and our room, and there’s no chance anyone can catch us because no one else has a key.” Thomas kisses him on the nose and then the forehead. “I love you.”
“Love you too. More and more each day.” He presses a kiss to Thomas’s neck and nibbles once, twice, at his jaw. “I want it to always be like this, just the two of us.”
Thomas rolls onto his back and looks up at the ceiling, laying still and quiet for a while.
When he speaks again, his voice is hoarse with emotion.
“Do you have any idea how much I wish we could be married, like a normal couple?” He turns his face to Charlie, eyes wet.
“How much I wish I could stand up in front of God and our families and declare my love for you?”
Charlie would do anything to take Thomas’s anguish away, but as much as they have gained this weekend, there are certain things he knows they can never have, like a wedding or children.
A proper family. Despite all of Thomas’s assurances, Charlie’s greatest fear is still that Thomas will leave him one day to begin a family.
He’s seen the yearning on his face when he plays with his nieces and nephews.
Thomas deserves to be a father, and Charlie can never give him that.
But he doesn’t say any of what’s on his mind, not wanting to ruin this otherwise perfect night.
“The way I see it, now that we’re livin’ together under this roof, you are my husband. We may not be able to have a ceremony or rings or any of that, but we can do all the rest. Declare our intentions to each other. Everything that really matters.”
Thomas blinks, then the smallest of smiles curls at his lips. “Can we actually do that?”
“Anything for you, sweetheart. You know that.”
Without another word, Thomas gets up to blow out the candles and then burrows back in under the blankets, where they can sleep in each other’s arms, skin against skin, from this day forward.
After a few more kisses, they settle down for sleep.
Charlie figures Thomas has nothing more to say on the matter, and after all the heavy lifting and excitement of the day, he finds himself soon drifting off to sleep. And then—
“What about tattoos?”
“Hmm?”
“You know . . . instead of rings. We could get tattoos.”
Charlie hums again, nuzzling sleepily against the soft hair on Thomas’s chest. He fucking hates needles, so he’s not itching to let some asshole poke him with one a couple hundred times.
But all that seems a lot to explain right now, especially when he’s so warm and comfortable and relaxed.
He settles on repeating what he said before, knowing Thomas won’t hold him to it in the morning—or even remember.
He forces his lazy lips to move, mumbling into Thomas’s warm skin. “Anything for you, sweetheart. ’Member?”
Thomas
They spend the next week thinking long and hard about their tattoos.
If it were up to Thomas, they would’ve rushed down to a back alley parlor the very next day, but Charlie reminds him that whatever they choose needs to be meaningful to each other, while seemingly incidental to anyone who should accidentally see them.
Deciding on placement is easy—over their hearts to signify their love while also being hidden under clothes most of the time.
But they cannot have the same tattoo nor use names or even initials.
Charlie briefly considers “Red” but quickly rules it out since he uses the nickname in front of family and friends.
In the end, Thomas decides upon “Forever yours,” inked in blue for Charlie’s eyes, while Charlie chooses a red heart with “Eternal” woven through it.
They separately visit two different parlors on two different days, both as a precaution and to make the reveal more special.
Thomas has his tattoo completed on a Thursday, and he sees off a very visibly nervous Charlie the next day.
They both keep them covered until Saturday when they’ve agreed to take their vows.
Now, as they stand facing each other in their sitting room dressed in their Sunday best, they dissolve into nervous laughter.
“Is this just silly?” Thomas asks.
“No, it’s just . . . hell, I dunno.” Charlie shoves his hands deep into his trouser pockets. “It’s just weird to be togged to the bricks like this when it’s just the two of us. What have ya turned me into, Red? You always got me doing something romantic these days.”
“This was your idea!” he laughs. “But we don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. We can just show each other the tattoos instead.”
Charlie steps closer, his smile dropping as he takes Thomas’s hands. “No, I want to.”
Thomas searches Charlie’s eyes, looking for the truth and finding it, clear as a crystal blue lagoon. “Then I’ll go first,” he says.
He takes a deep breath as the importance of what they are doing comes into sharp focus.
There’s no need to be scared, he reminds himself.
It’s just Charlie. Charlie, who knows what his thoughts are before he even speaks them half the time, who knows how to touch him so his body burns with want, who sees the best in him when he cannot see it in himself.
Still, his hands shake in Charlie’s warm grip.
“My darling Charlie,” he begins. “I’ll never forget the day I met you.
I was so scared and unsure stepping into that club, but you made me feel alive for the first time in my life.
We’ve come a long way in the last three years, and grown up a lot, too.
Together. We found each other, but in doing so, I think we found ourselves.
Our true selves. Moving into this house, making a home with you .
. . it’s already brought me such happiness . . .”
Thomas pauses as his voice grows unsteady. Charlie gives his hands a gentle squeeze, and with a shaky breath he soldiers on.
“I vow to you, from this day forward, to love you, and to cherish you, each and every day. I will remain loyal and steadfast by your side through sickness and in health. Charlie, I take you as my husband, my family . . . and the symbol of that commitment is forever etched over my heart.”
Thomas lifts Charlie’s right hand and places it over his tattoo, over his heart. Charlie’s eyes are glassy and full of softness. Thomas wants to gather him up and never let go.
“I love you, Charlie Miller.”
Charlie takes Thomas’s other hand and presses a kiss to his palm before he begins.
“Thomas . . . my life was filled with fear and hate and violence growing up. I never thought I could be happy . . . especially when I realized what I am. You saved me from a life of suffering and replaced it with a life full of love. So much damn love, Red.”
Charlie stops, swiping at the tears that trail down his cheeks. Thomas blinks away his own tears, trying to stay strong so Charlie can say what he needs to.
“Sweetheart, I vow to you, from this day forward, to love and to cherish you for all of our days. I will always protect you and look after you. Thomas, I take you as my husband, my family. The symbol of my commitment is inked into my flesh.” He mimics Thomas, lifting his right hand and pressing it over his heart.
“You’re under my skin and part of my very soul. ”
Thomas cannot wait a second longer. He kisses Charlie passionately, sliding the jacket from his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor.
He struggles to remove his own jacket but finally manages and gets his hands back on Charlie, frantically unbuttoning Charlie’s shirt to reveal his tattoo.
Stepping back, he takes it in, eyes darting between Charlie’s flushed face and his inked chest. He’s unbearably overwhelmed, his heart thundering and his skin electrified, like he’s been hit by a bolt of lightning.
Charlie then moves with deliberate purpose, unbuttoning Thomas’s shirt and sliding it down over his shoulders, unhurried and calm. He doesn’t say anything, but Thomas sees the emotion clear across his face and hears it in the deep, shuttering breath he draws in.
With both their chests now bared and the permanence of ink upon their skin, Thomas feels something shift between them.
“Charlie, you’re mine now. Forever and always.”
“Sweetheart, I was always yours.”
They each trace the letters of the other’s tattoo, then lay the gentlest of kisses over them. Clothes are shed and further promises and declarations are murmured against feverish skin. Then they sink to the hardwood, and Thomas takes Charlie right there on their sitting room floor.