Windmilling, Ch.6
As soon as Kevin sees you at his door, he pulls you into his arms, pressing his lips to your temple. "I was so worried." He murmurs. The scent of soap clings to him, and you press your face against his shirt. "Are you okay? Is Joe okay?"
"We're both fine." You let him tug you into the apartment and down onto the couch beside him. "I left him at the hospital today. I needed to see you. I'm sorry; I didn't even think about whether or not you could have plans or work to do or anything."
"No, no. It's okay, Nick. Really. I didn't sleep a wink last night. All I could think about was the fact that you fell asleep, and I could hear you breathing, and I was scared if I hung up, something might happen to you."
You resist the urge to laugh at his anxiety. "He just pushed me down. He's not a mass murderer or wife-beater or something." Your fingers curl into his shirt, and you lean into him. "It was sweet of you to worry though. I have a bump on my head, but otherwise, I'm okay."
He tips your head down and kisses your hair. "What's happening with Joe? How was he this morning?"
"More or less normal. Wouldn't eat breakfast or talk more than to answer questions. His doctor plans to change his medication. I'm picking him up later tonight. I... I get so tired, Kevin. it all just hurts so much sometimes."
"I know." His arms tighten, and his fingers scratch lightly at your scalp. Your shoulders relax. "I wish it wasn't so hard for you."
"Me too." You swallow hard; your throat stings. "You know that old windmill in the park? The Dutch one, not the ones they've been building back toward the fields." He murmurs a confirmation. You nuzzle absently at his neck. "I used to spend my Fridays sitting under it because for some reason, I just felt at home there. And at some point, it became more clear to me why I liked it so much. And it's sounds so stupid, but... I'm like a windmill."
"What do you mean?"
"Windmills turn all the time, you know? They're always going and everything, but they never move because they're buildings; they're stationary. Do you get what I mean?"
His nod is slow, processing. "You mean, you feel like you're going nowhere. Right?"
"Yeah." You speak quietly, pressing up against him. "For so long, I thought all they needed to do was get Joe on the right medication, get him the right doctor and therapist, and we'd be trucking along again, following our dreams. But now it just feels like... like I'm turning and going and moving but not getting anywhere, because Joe is stuck, so I'm stuck. And I think maybe I'd be okay with being stuck if Joe was still my lover and best friend and brother, but he's not. He's not even a person really. He's like a puppy that I need to walk and feed and give a warm place to sleep. And he's there so I'm not alone, but I'm lonely and I'm unhappy, and I just want to be happy again. How do I find the happiness again, Kevin?"
He pets your hair, and the calm the sensation elicits is foreign, strange, edged with worry. "I wish I knew." He offers finally. "I wish I could just take all the bad out of your life. If I could make Joe better, I would in a heartbeat, because it would make you happy."
You begin to cry, soft hiccups of sobs and blubbering words of apology before your fingers settle against his jaw and your mouth presses against his, and he allows it, pulling you in against him, parting his lips when your tongue prods into your mouth, and the most comforting part is the way you can rest your hands against his face, slide into his lap and press your bodies together.
His voice drops into a low growl when your hand dips into his pants, and you whisper ragged words of need against his ear so that he presses you gently onto your stomach, pulling your pants down over your hips. Your fingers grip onto the cushions as he prepares you with fingers slick with saliva. His mouth presses against your back where your shirt has ridden up, and you beg for him in a voice you don't recognize. "Patience, patience." He breathes, hitching your hips up when you can take three fingers comfortably. He pushes into you, and the slow burn reminds you how long it's been. You give a soft cry of pain, and he palms the knobs of your spine comfortingly, pressing down on your back to rock forward into you.
"Kevin." It squirms out of you, unfamiliar and desperate, laced with discomfort that fades with each slow thrust, each slide of his cock against your spot until you're gasping and pressing back, arching up.
It's hard and fast, and his fingers around your hip are bruising, and the chafe of his jeans against the back of your thighs is slightly more than uncomfortable, but you don't care, and he doesn't even touch you before you're coming on his couch with a ragged scream. He waits until you've sagged down against the couch before he pulls out and lifts you into his arms, and you've never realized, really, how strong he is until now. His bedroom is a soft blue; the color reminds you of the western sky at dawn, and his bed sheets are black to accent it. He undresses you slowly, tosses your clothes to the side, and crawls naked onto the bed when you’re settled against the pillows.
Your hand settles on his chest, curls into the soft curls there, and you cup his cheek, drawing him in to kiss you when he lays beside you, his fingers wrapped around you cock to jerk you slowly, thumb rubbing slow circles against the tip, until you’re mewling quietly and rolling onto your side so he can press up against your back and push into you again. You hold onto the sheets, listen to his ragged breathing, your mouth brushing kisses against his jaw as you rock together until he dips his head down to press your lips together again.
“I could be in love with you.” He whispers, eyes sparking with the soft whimper you give in response. “It would be so easy.”
“Yes. Yes.” You shudder, coming again, your teeth closing lightly on the skin of his throat as you do, so that you feel the baritone groan that slides out of him when he reaches his peak a moment later. You shake your head when he asks if you want him to pull out, and you rest back against him as he litters kisses across your shoulder. “Kevin?”
“Mmm?”
“What now?” The words are soft, full of fear, and the world feels like it has slowed down, like the rush of desperation has ticked back to normal time. Your chest aches.
He presses his lips to your ear. “Whatever you want.”
“I don’t know what I want.”
“Then we don’t have to decide now.”
“Didn’t this kind of decide for us?”
“Not necessarily.”
“Why did we do this?”
“You’re lonely.”
“Not right now.”
“Then I’m glad we did it.” His hand runs slowly along your side. “Do you regret it?”
“Not yet.”
“Good.”
"We're both fine." You let him tug you into the apartment and down onto the couch beside him. "I left him at the hospital today. I needed to see you. I'm sorry; I didn't even think about whether or not you could have plans or work to do or anything."
"No, no. It's okay, Nick. Really. I didn't sleep a wink last night. All I could think about was the fact that you fell asleep, and I could hear you breathing, and I was scared if I hung up, something might happen to you."
You resist the urge to laugh at his anxiety. "He just pushed me down. He's not a mass murderer or wife-beater or something." Your fingers curl into his shirt, and you lean into him. "It was sweet of you to worry though. I have a bump on my head, but otherwise, I'm okay."
He tips your head down and kisses your hair. "What's happening with Joe? How was he this morning?"
"More or less normal. Wouldn't eat breakfast or talk more than to answer questions. His doctor plans to change his medication. I'm picking him up later tonight. I... I get so tired, Kevin. it all just hurts so much sometimes."
"I know." His arms tighten, and his fingers scratch lightly at your scalp. Your shoulders relax. "I wish it wasn't so hard for you."
"Me too." You swallow hard; your throat stings. "You know that old windmill in the park? The Dutch one, not the ones they've been building back toward the fields." He murmurs a confirmation. You nuzzle absently at his neck. "I used to spend my Fridays sitting under it because for some reason, I just felt at home there. And at some point, it became more clear to me why I liked it so much. And it's sounds so stupid, but... I'm like a windmill."
"What do you mean?"
"Windmills turn all the time, you know? They're always going and everything, but they never move because they're buildings; they're stationary. Do you get what I mean?"
His nod is slow, processing. "You mean, you feel like you're going nowhere. Right?"
"Yeah." You speak quietly, pressing up against him. "For so long, I thought all they needed to do was get Joe on the right medication, get him the right doctor and therapist, and we'd be trucking along again, following our dreams. But now it just feels like... like I'm turning and going and moving but not getting anywhere, because Joe is stuck, so I'm stuck. And I think maybe I'd be okay with being stuck if Joe was still my lover and best friend and brother, but he's not. He's not even a person really. He's like a puppy that I need to walk and feed and give a warm place to sleep. And he's there so I'm not alone, but I'm lonely and I'm unhappy, and I just want to be happy again. How do I find the happiness again, Kevin?"
He pets your hair, and the calm the sensation elicits is foreign, strange, edged with worry. "I wish I knew." He offers finally. "I wish I could just take all the bad out of your life. If I could make Joe better, I would in a heartbeat, because it would make you happy."
You begin to cry, soft hiccups of sobs and blubbering words of apology before your fingers settle against his jaw and your mouth presses against his, and he allows it, pulling you in against him, parting his lips when your tongue prods into your mouth, and the most comforting part is the way you can rest your hands against his face, slide into his lap and press your bodies together.
His voice drops into a low growl when your hand dips into his pants, and you whisper ragged words of need against his ear so that he presses you gently onto your stomach, pulling your pants down over your hips. Your fingers grip onto the cushions as he prepares you with fingers slick with saliva. His mouth presses against your back where your shirt has ridden up, and you beg for him in a voice you don't recognize. "Patience, patience." He breathes, hitching your hips up when you can take three fingers comfortably. He pushes into you, and the slow burn reminds you how long it's been. You give a soft cry of pain, and he palms the knobs of your spine comfortingly, pressing down on your back to rock forward into you.
"Kevin." It squirms out of you, unfamiliar and desperate, laced with discomfort that fades with each slow thrust, each slide of his cock against your spot until you're gasping and pressing back, arching up.
It's hard and fast, and his fingers around your hip are bruising, and the chafe of his jeans against the back of your thighs is slightly more than uncomfortable, but you don't care, and he doesn't even touch you before you're coming on his couch with a ragged scream. He waits until you've sagged down against the couch before he pulls out and lifts you into his arms, and you've never realized, really, how strong he is until now. His bedroom is a soft blue; the color reminds you of the western sky at dawn, and his bed sheets are black to accent it. He undresses you slowly, tosses your clothes to the side, and crawls naked onto the bed when you’re settled against the pillows.
Your hand settles on his chest, curls into the soft curls there, and you cup his cheek, drawing him in to kiss you when he lays beside you, his fingers wrapped around you cock to jerk you slowly, thumb rubbing slow circles against the tip, until you’re mewling quietly and rolling onto your side so he can press up against your back and push into you again. You hold onto the sheets, listen to his ragged breathing, your mouth brushing kisses against his jaw as you rock together until he dips his head down to press your lips together again.
“I could be in love with you.” He whispers, eyes sparking with the soft whimper you give in response. “It would be so easy.”
“Yes. Yes.” You shudder, coming again, your teeth closing lightly on the skin of his throat as you do, so that you feel the baritone groan that slides out of him when he reaches his peak a moment later. You shake your head when he asks if you want him to pull out, and you rest back against him as he litters kisses across your shoulder. “Kevin?”
“Mmm?”
“What now?” The words are soft, full of fear, and the world feels like it has slowed down, like the rush of desperation has ticked back to normal time. Your chest aches.
He presses his lips to your ear. “Whatever you want.”
“I don’t know what I want.”
“Then we don’t have to decide now.”
“Didn’t this kind of decide for us?”
“Not necessarily.”
“Why did we do this?”
“You’re lonely.”
“Not right now.”
“Then I’m glad we did it.” His hand runs slowly along your side. “Do you regret it?”
“Not yet.”
“Good.”