Bad Things (52 page)
Authors: Varian Krylov
“
Can you be naked for me? Always?” Xavier asked.
Terrifying euphoria cascading down on him, rising over him. Like drowning.
He’d asked himself this question, over and over. For weeks. He’d asked so much of Xavier. He couldn’t demand so much from him, if he wasn’t ready to push himself just as hard.
“
Yes.”
God, fuck yes.
“
That means you have to be naked to yourself.”
“
I know.”
His voice low, serious, Xavier said, “Take off your clothes.”
Then this was it. Because he would never be so cruel, would never have arranged for him to come here, this time, asked him for that, unless he meant they could be together. But God, Carson wanted to hear it. Wanted to be held and whispered to, kissed and comforted after a month of suffering. But the way his heart was thumping, adrenaline coursing into his body, this was perfectly, deliciously, cruelly Xavier. Them.
He stripped.
“But you have to be naked, too, Xavi.”
The way Xavier smiled, a little surprised, like he’d been caught cheating in a game, made Carson smile, too. But his smile slowly eroded under the weight of Xavier’s gaze as he undressed. Xavier had never, never looked at him like that. So vulnerable.
When they were both standing there, naked to each other, Xavier quietly asked, “What tattoo do you want?”
It would be the tree. So different from all the other designs in Xavier’s book. So distinct from Xavier’s own tattoos. The only one he’d reworked, again and again, evolving it to its dark but hopeful perfection.
“The one you want to give me.”
“
Where do you want it?”
“
I want you to put it where you want to see it when you look at me.”
Carson’s breath caught, his heart started thumping fast as Xavier came close. For a second, he thought Xavier was about to embrace him. Instead, he reached both hands around behind Carson, making no contact at all, until his fingertips all touched down in one small, dense cluster at the small of Carson’s back, a few inches to the left of his spine. Then Xavier drew his fingertips upward, tracing the erratic undulations of a twisted trunk rising from a seed stranded in the barren hollow of a low, flat stone, fingertips spreading open as his hands slid up, and Carson felt the lengthening growth of thriving branches that would bear healthy fruit, encroaching on his shoulders, the nape of his neck.
“What will it mean?” Xavier whispered against his ear.
“
Growing up, I was stranded. Starved. To grow, to thrive, to become myself, I have to stretch and reach and dig for fertile soil. Feed myself. And…you…you nourish me, Xavi.”
“
You want to live with that? Every day?”
“
Yes.”
“
Even though what I’ll give you will be more than ink under your skin?”
“
Yes.”
“
It’s going to be big.”
“
Good.”
“
It’s going to hurt.”
“
I know.”
Xavier tried to give him a taunting grin, but maybe he was too scared, too happy, and it bent into an irrepressible smile, his dark gaze so full of dangerous, vulnerable love, Carson could hardly make himself move when Xavier gestured and said,
“Lie down for me,
cariño
.”
THE END
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Varian Krylov
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Growing up near Los Angeles, I spent much of my time frolicking in the Pacific Ocean and penning angst-twisted poetry. Now I’m living in sunny Spain writing pathos-riddled fiction.
I’ve always loved the music and substance of words, always loved writing in well-worn notebooks by hand, tapping at the keys of the computer, and, of course, conjuring up stories.
And from my earliest memories, I’ve always been fascinated—maybe obsessed?—with sex and sexuality.
In my writing, I poke at social issues, but more than anything, I dig into the psyches of my characters. Sex is the medium, the expression, and the tool of discovery for their insecurities, the needs that drive them, the comfort they can’t live without, the joy and relish of life that makes each of them intense, strange, and alluring.
Like most writers, I love hearing what you think of the stories I’ve written. All honest feedback is truly appreciated.
