56 Lucas at the Threshold

August 16th

I woke slowly, a smile stretching across my face. My skin still buzzed with last night's tension, and I kept replaying the look on Armand's face as I'd left him in the living room. It had been nearly strong enough to shatter my willpower.

Don't rush. We didn't even know what this was yet, and if I rushed, I might scare him off before we had a chance to figure things out. But he's leaving. He's leaving and there's nothing you can do about it.

I needed to talk to someone about this, and not just anyone. I reached for my phone, tapping against the sides for a long moment before dialing.

"Lucas, I'm so glad you called."

I knew I hadn't woken her up. Like me, my mother rose with the sun. "Hi, Mom. How ... how are things at the ranch?"

"Well, we're finalizing the details for Grandpa Milkshake's memorial, and it's a lot of paperwork." She sighed. "But we can talk about that later. Are you okay? Everything good?"

"Yeah, I ..." I sat up in bed, hugging my knees. "I wanted to apologize for being an asshole the other day. I know you've always wanted the best for me, and it's not your fault I was an idiot about Darren. I shouldn't have lashed out at you."

"Oh baby, it's okay." There was some shuffling on the other end, which was presumably her moving to a quieter spot. "You've been in pain, and I just wish there was something I could do to help."

I exhaled—I hadn't realized until this exact moment how much I'd hated fighting with her. Especially when all I wanted was to sit down and tell her all about Armand. "I finally met Mothman. In person."

Mom gasped. "Ooh, tell me about it! Is he young? Is he cute? Is he single? He's single, right?"

I coughed a laugh. God, I'd missed gossiping with her. "Um. Yes to all three. I mean, it didn't go as expected, but ..." My eyes flickered to my bedroom door, my voice dropping a bit, as if there was any chance Armand would be conscious in his room at seven in the morning. "We've been texting a lot, and even before he met me he's been so sweet—and I know it's kinda soon after Darren, and maybe I'm actually a terrible judge of character after all, but ..." I fiddled with the edge of my duvet. "I really like him, Mom. We went to dinner, and the whole time I was with him, I never felt ..." I couldn't find the right word.

But Mom did. She always did. "Disrespected?"

It cut, but it was true. "Yeah. I felt ... safe. Which, I should be suspicious about, right? Technically we just met and apparently now I have a track record—"

"Honey, honey." Strangely, she didn't sound patronizing or pitying. She sounded ... pleased? Proud? "I'm not going to say not to be careful with your heart, I'd be a bad mom, but ... at the same time, there's strength in putting yourself back out there, trusting people again. You've been hurt, and I'm sure one day you'll be hurt again, but for now your only job is to be happy. And if your cute awkward roommate who I am so relieved is not a serial killer makes you happy, then I'm over the moon."

I felt light enough to float away. Too jittery to stay in bed, I took the phone with me out to the living room, which had more space available for nervous pacing. "Yeah, I'm like, a little terrified, not gonna lie."

"That's how you know something's important." Mom let out an evil snicker. "I can't wait to meet him."

"Okay, well, we've had one date,so I'm gonna go ahead and say that's not super high on the priorities list right now because I'd very much like to not scare him away yet. Besides, he's flying out tomorrow, so I don't know—" I moved to open the living room drapes, when a flash of color caught my eye.

A bright pink Post-it note was stuck to the side of my fish tank.

My pulse jumped.

There, swimming in the tank I had definitely left empty, were two female betta fish, happily chasing each other around the rock castle.

The Post-it note read, in Armand's messy but beautiful handwriting: Hi, we're Timon and Pumbaa!

A warm and fluttery feeling settled in my chest. "Hey, Mom, let me call you back," I said a bit shakily as my face stretched into a grin that hurt my cheeks. "Something just came up."

"Fine, but don't leave me hanging, okay? I love you, and the horses love you, and that boy is gonna love you—"

"Okay, goodbye, Mother."

She was still laughing as I ended the call. I glanced back at Timon and Pumbaa, teetering dangerously between twirling around the living room and bursting into tears. I plucked the Post-it from the tank, walked to the kitchen, and grabbed a pen.

Then I paused.

I don't need to write him a note.

I set the pen on the counter and instead walked down the hall, coming to a rest outside Armand's door. I took a breath that felt too big for my chest, and knocked.

"Grmmff?" Another rumble and a shuffling noise later, and the door pulled open and Armand blinked blearily at me. "Lucas?"

I lost my breath. I'd almost thought that last night had been a beautiful dream and that my body was only imagining the lingering heat of his touch, the softness of his mouth—that Armand had already gone or had never been here in the first place. But here he was, as achingly handsome as I remembered, wide brown shoulders slumped with sleepiness. His chest was bare, he only wore a pair of tight black boxer briefs, and I thought for sure I would pass out.

In a blink, in an instant, something snapped, and I surged forward, cupped his scruffy face in my hands, and kissed him.

My mouth swallowed his yelp of surprise and the broken moan that followed, my legs threatening to liquefy even as his warm hands found the small of my back and clutched at me.

I pulled back gently, as I had last night, but it was only to catch my breath and stare into Armand's infinite dark gaze, which had lingered closed for an extra second, his lips chasing after mine.

"Thanks for the fish," I managed.

Armand stared down at me with hooded eyes that shone with heat and confusion. "The wha?" he croaked.

"Timon and Pumbaa." I managed to focus on what I wanted to say, even with Armand's fingers ghosting respectfully at the waistband of my sleep pants. "That was really sweet, you didn't need to do that."

"Erm," he responded eloquently, his already flushed face going redder. "I ..."

My answering grin was instinctual. "You always know just what to say." I let my fingers trail across the smooth skin of his collarbone. "And yes," I teased, biting my lip and shivering as Armand's eyes dropped back down to my mouth, "now I'm taking the piss."

Maybe this was fast. Maybe we only had one day left and I might never see him again. And maybe this was new and frightening and so far outside my experience, but something bold and unfamiliar had bloomed beneath my rib cage, and I didn't realize I'd guided Armand backward into his bedroom until the light had dimmed and my head had filled with his intoxicating scent.

Somehow I managed to detach my gaze from Armand's in order to process the extent of the mess that was his room. The suitcase that he'd likely never seen fit to unpack. The piles of shirts and pants spilling out of it onto the ground. No wonder he'd injured himself on an inkwell—I could barely see the floor.

But the bit I could see ...

"You cleaned?" I gaped at the mound of baking soda on the still slightly bloody and inky carpet near the foot of the bed.

Armand hummed some vague acknowledgment, his hands having found my arms and holding on to me like it was for dear life. "'S not perfect, and I know you're probably ... ugh, worried about the deposit, but—"

"That was extremely hot of you," I interrupted, my heart flipping over at how easily Armand allowed me to sit him on the edge of the mattress. At how he almost instantly lay backward, pulling me closer until I was nearly straddling him. At how he waited, holding me gently, for me to decide what to do next.

"Is this—" I swallowed, the butterflies in my stomach mingling with a sudden burst of nerves. "Is this okay?"

God, the way he was staring up at me with parted lips, his hair curtained on the pillow, eyes dark and wide and fixed on my face as if—

As if I was something to be admired.

"This is bloody perfect," he murmured, stroking my arms. "We can do whatever you want. If anything."

"It's just—" I wet my lips. "Darren always wanted to be in charge, to decide what we did and when, and I ... I've never ..." Damn it, I was trembling. I didn't even know how to finish the sentence.

But Armand was sitting up, strong arms curling around me and easing me onto his lap. He brushed a strand of hair out of my face. "Tell me what you'd like," he said softly. His fingers hovered against my jaw.

What I'd like?

I inclined my head, slow enough that Armand could shove me away if he wanted, and lowered my lips to his neck.

His breath caught, warm against my cheek. He arched against me, baring more of his skin for me to access. As my lips inched downward, his hands traveled under my shirt, short fingernails pressing lightly into the skin of my back.

We were barely touching, and I at least was still fully clothed, but every inch of my body had sparked alive under his attention.

Emboldened by the thrill of his smell, his touch, the way he murmured semi-distinguishable words against the exposed lines of my skin, I nudged Armand down onto the mattress. I curled my fingers around his and urged them to the hem of my shirt, nodding to Armand as he silently asked permission before pulling it up and over my head.

It was more exposed than I'd ever allowed myself to be with anyone other than Darren, and for a strangled heartbeat of a moment, I froze.

"Lucas?" Armand's eyebrows furrowed in concern, his whole face open and genuine and attentive. There wasn't even a hint of expectation or pressure in the way his hands paused on my hips, his palms burning hot. "We ... we could stop—"

The top of my head had been floating away, but I became instantly grounded, present in the moment. My chest clenched with a wave of such overwhelming affection I struggled to breathe. I didn't want to stop. I didn't want him to leave. I didn't want to waste any more of my life trying to please someone who'd never really wanted me.

And I wanted Armand. So badly it hurt.

I kissed him again, deeper this time, my self-control fracturing as he moaned. I rolled my hands down the unfairly defined muscles of his chest, the lined abs, the dusting of hair at the waistband of his briefs.

"I know we agreed not to do this," I said, startled at how low and rough my voice was already, "but you should know I don't think of you as a one-night stand." I paused only to take in his ragged breaths, hips trembling with the effort to not rock against my hands. "This means something to me." I pressed my lips to his, and he met me eagerly, our bare chests flush together.

"Me too," he whined into my mouth, as I freed him of his underwear and he did the same to me.

I took a breathless moment to admire the length of Armand's body, now entirely bare. My mouth went dry at the firmness of his muscles, the veins in his elegant hands, the all-encompassing heat of him. He grew hotter under my gaze, his skin like a live wire at every point we were touching.

"Do—" His voice was ragged, and he cleared his throat. "Do you want to—"

"Yes," I breathed. My fingers kneaded into the chiseled lines that cut down his hip, biting my lip at the whine he gave even as he reached for the bedside table.

When at last we both went boneless, sweaty and spent and utterly lightheaded, he fell sideways onto the mattress, pulling my back against his chest, cradling me like a weighted blanket. His lips lazily found the crest of my ear as we breathed each other in, my entire being relaxing into something safe and warm.

Through the blissful exhaustion, I shivered with pride. Armand had come completely undone because of me. I'd taken control rather than lying back and letting him call the shots. I hadn't had to struggle to find release past the constant reminder that I was just a means to an end, a dirty little secret.

I didn't have to worry that I wasn't good enough.

My eyes fluttered closed and I cozied back against Armand.

Mom was right. It was time I let myself trust again.