Page 51 of Back Outside Edge

It’s a struggle to speak, but I finally manage. "Evan, I need a minute. I just... need a minute. Then I'll be fi— all right. I promise."

He just hugs me tighter. "I think this might be more than a question we've been avoiding, baby. Let's go lay you down." Baby. There it is again. I'd hardly noticed before, in the heat of everything, but I like the sound of it on his lips. The warmth it spreads through me.

Since he's so insistent, I let him lead me down the hall, to my room. The door is open, and he guides me through it, pausing for a moment on the threshold. The arm wrapped around my shoulders tightens. "Stefan Petryk, do you have a poster of me hanging on your wall?"

It was meant to be a joke, something to make him laugh. Because if he came in here, it meant we were sleeping together. But now it feels all wrong. Like I've been stalking him or something. Too serious, too committed. Too all the things that he's avoiding. "It was funny," I answer weakly. I'm such a jackass. Now he'll know I'm a jackass.

But instead of walking away in disgust, leaving me to my own devices, the way I want him to, he laughs. As if he gets it, understands what I was going for. Because of course he does. Perfect fucking Evan.

Shoulders still shaking, he leads me the rest of the way to my bed. "Now I need to get one of you for my wall. I think it might fit in between the glued-together puzzle and rusted pipes."

Was any man ever more perfect?

Once he's got me on my bed, he goes about stripping me again, but it's not sexual this time. Even though he's still naked. Then he goes to my thermostat, turns up the heat in my room, and disappears into the en suite.

A minute later, he's back, washcloth in hand. It's a bit too late to clean me, after I smeared our come all over the place when I threw my clothes on. But he does his best, dabbing away at my body until I'm as clean as I'm going to get. The washcloth is warm, and it feels... good. Surprisingly good. Even when he cleans off my cock for me, which should be embarrassing. Shouldn't it?

Instead, I'm just warmed all over, taken care of.

What is it about Evan that makes me feel all these things I haven't felt before? That I don't have any experience with? Am not sure how to process?

When he's done wiping me down, he goes back to the bathroom for a moment, then returns without the washcloth. Our eyes meet, and he stares at me for a few seconds before circling the bed. I lose sight of him, which is almost painful for a moment, but he slides onto the mattress beside me and pulls the blankets over us. "Ok," he says, "how are you feeling? For real."

I'm not shaking anymore, so that seems like a good sign. I still might burst into tears at any moment, though. "I'm not sure." It's as honest as I can be.

"That's fair." He wraps himself around me, his head on my chest, an arm and a leg circling over me. I thought I wanted to be alone, but this is better. He's still here. Maybe I didn't fuck everything up.

When a warm weight presses against my other side, I relax a bit more. The cats are here, too. They’re always here when I need them.

Evan’s hand skims over my chest, back and forth. A soothing gesture, not a sexual one. Even though having him wrapped around me is starting to send those little sparks darting through me everywhere we touch. Already. Will I ever get used to being around Evan? "Ready to talk?"

Nope. But will I ever be? Not after I made such a fool out of myself. "If we could just... never talk again, that would be great."

Evan laughs, and it's a light huff of air onto my shoulder. It's nice. Steady. Secure. His body holds very little tension. Unlike mine, which is nothing but knotted muscles. I make an effort to try to let the tension go, to take a few breaths and relax on the exhales the way I’ve been taught, but it doesn't go far. Years of meditation training must not be enough. "You don't need to be embarrassed," he says, and his voice is kind. Kinder than it has any right to be.

Because I do. I should be embarrassed. About everything that's happened in the past few minutes. Hour? I've no idea how long it's been. How long I've been laying in bed, shaking. How long before that I was all but collapsing in on myself in the hallway. "You don't need to be nice. I totally overreacted to literally everything."

"I think there's a reason for that." His hand is still running over my chest. I try to let myself melt into it, but I can't. I can't trust it. "This might sound crazy, but have you ever heard of sub drop?"

"Sub drop?"

"I'll have to do more research, but I think it might be part of it. It's something about endorphins wearing off and leaving you more—I don't know. Depressed? Vulnerable?"

"I don't know." I'm frowning up at the ceiling. I should pay attention to his ideas. Somehow, Evan knows me better than anyone else, with the possible exception of Jacques. Even Jacques hadn't known my sexuality—except he did, didn't he? Before I did. Given that revelation, if Evan has a theory, no matter how much it doesn't feel right, it's worth thinking about. "If anyone's used to endorphin rushes and comedowns, it's me."

"That's a good point." He hasn't stopped stroking me, and I appreciate it. Even if I'm nowhere near relaxed, at least I'm somewhat comforted. "But maybe it's different? I wish I'd researched more."

"I don't feel depressed, though. And it's not like we did anything hard core or whatever." I may not have experience with much of anything about what he's unlocked in me, but I do know that. I'm not completely naive to the concept of rough sex.

"No, but I don't think that's a requirement. It's individual for everyone, what gets them in sub space. And you looked pretty blissed out." Evan curls around me more, as if trying to protect me from myself.

I give a sort of half shrug, not committing to the idea. I appreciate that he's trying to come up with an explanation other than I'm an asshole who overreacted, but that's what it is. I got carried away in the moment and then fell to pieces over his response.

After a minute or so of silence, his thumb starts tapping on my chest. Steady. Comforting. An attempt to calm me down or just what he does when he thinks? I've never noticed it before. "Another thought. Are you prone to anxiety?"

"Isn't everyone skating at our level?" As far as I'm concerned, it might as well be a prerequisite for the job. If I weren't anxious all the time, I'd never work myself so hard.

"What if it was a panic attack?"