The Ease of It

Matt Richardson

Content warning: physical intimacy (consensual), brief mention of possible past abuse

The first time he was caressed, nothing more than gentle fingers against his cheek, he cried. Twenty-three years and it had never happened, even though he had longed for it. Those simple touches, thoughtless touches, because-you-were-there touches—he wanted them more than anything. But he had never considered what it would truly be like.

‘Are you alright?' his partner asked, jolting back, tearing his hand away.

'I’m fine,' he said, and tried to ignore how choked the words were. 'Why?'

At that, gentle fingers returned to brush beneath his eye. 'You’re crying.'

He was. He hadn’t realised. A soft noise rose from the back of his throat. 'I’m sorry,' he whispered.

'Why are you apologising?' Again, there was that tenderness, not just in his touch, but in his voice as well.

'I don’t know.'

His partner said nothing; he didn’t need to. He pulled him in, arms wrapping around his waist until they were pressed together completely. Sobs wracked both their bodies but spilled from only one. Between each breath were whispered comforts and heavy sighs.

'You’re okay,' his partner said, rubbing small circles into his back. 'You’re going to be okay.'

When he settled, eyes sore and face numb, his head was buried in the crook of his partner’s neck. They sat together on the bed. There were fingers in his hair and a worn shirt bunched in his hands. He was tired, but there were words sitting below the lump in his throat, words his partner deserved to hear.

All he could whisper was, 'sorry.'

The response was a kiss against his temple, almost enough to spill tears again, and a murmur of, 'Can you tell me what happened? Did I do something you didn’t like?'

Could he explain, when he didn’t properly understand it himself? The words sat there, waiting. He swallowed and pulled back to peer into the face of the man he could come to love, and tried to explain things as best he could.

It was his past, it always was. The touches that had been rejected for one reason or another, the touches that had hurt, the touches he had begged for and been disappointed by. The touches that had made him feel disgusted with himself. The countless little grazes and the ugly words that had accompanied them.

Never in his life had he been held like this. He had held others; it was expected of him, demanded of him. He had touched and loved and shown that love as best he could. He had not been shown the same in return. It had been normal, in his mind. That was what he deserved, that was how a relationship should be. He would take what he could get, even when that was nothing at all.

No one kissed his forehead or held his hand in public. No one held his face in their hands or hugged him from behind. No one wiped away his tears. All these things he dreamed of but never had. And yet, there was his partner, touching him like it was nothing. Like it was easy.

Like he deserved it.

'Oh, my love,' his partner said as his confession fizzled into terrible silence. 'You deserve it, you deserve it all.'

Did he?

'I…' he whispered, not knowing what the rest of the sentence was ever meant to be.

His partner simply hummed and pulled on his hand. The bed met him, warm and comforting. He curled up, let the blankets cradle him, and felt the weight of his partner against the mattress. He resisted the urge to apologise again, the words strangling him in their desperation to escape.

A tissue brushed against his cheeks. Even when he was a sobbing, pathetic mess, his partner was still there to clean him up. How could he ever compare?

He reached out, limbs moving beyond his control, and cupped his partner’s face the way he always did.

A smile beamed down at him. 'It’s alright,' his partner said. 'I understand.' He wasn’t sure if it was the truth, but it felt like maybe it could be.

Hands rested on his hips, moving up to stroke his neck, his face, the back of his head. All of it was careful and slow, relaxing enough that he could fall asleep if he wished to. But he didn’t. He wanted to see his partner, see the love in his eyes and the way they darted to each part of him. It took his breath away.

Overwhelmed, laughter bubbled up from his throat and if he cried again, neither of them noticed. He muffled his chuckles into his partner’s shoulder. He held on tight, as tight as he could, determined to stay for as long as he was wanted. In the back of his mind, he wished for forever.