Shattered

Winter Storms

One week had passed. Energies and emotions settled and they both found themselves beginning to finally relax. Smiles were shared, kisses exchanged. Neither ventured passed passionate kissing, an unspoken agreement to start over what they had begun at the beach house.

They were cautious, but not overly so. They did not walk on eggs shells, nor did they move away from affection when it was offered.

Mayson, for the most part, found himself unsure of what to do. With himself, with Jonathan. He attempted to not allow the uncertainty show, but the mask was beginning to wane as Mayson became exhausted at the front. Jonathan's words of them never speaking of that day kept him from speaking up, not wanting to quake the foundation they were rebuilding.

There was a distance between them now. Mayson felt it with every heartbeat, and with each increasing second, he felt it metastasize. He wondered if Jonathan could feel it too, or if this distance he felt was one-sided at best. Was this perceived space the conjuring of a guilt-ridden heart?

Mayson's soul was leaden. Heavy with the self-inflicted confession of his inner workings. A part of him had to notice, right? The days when they first got here, when the events at the beach house were crystal clear and invading every part of his memory. When the feel of Lucius' hands was non-stop, his taunting just as in stock.

Did he notice himself using Jonathan as a means to escape? Did he notice Jonathan's reactions?

In truth, no. He had noticed nothing beyond the bliss of orgasmic relief as he let go. And he felt the more retched for it. Mayson really didn't know what to do. He looked over to Jonathan who was piecing together a jigsaw puzzle as soft music played gently in the background. He smiled a sad smile before turning his eyes back to the book that lay open in his lap. He'd ceased reading long ago, his thoughts too wild in their rampaging to concentrate on the pages.

Neither man had spoken in several hours, each absorbed into their own tasks. While on any normal day Mayson would not have found this odd, or given it the slightest of second thoughts, on this day a cloud had settled over and snuffed out the sun.

Mayson set down the book, having given up his attempts at concentration, and wandered over to the window to peer outside. Storm clouds had indeed gathered overhead, heavy and ominous, darkening the sky. The wind picked up as the leaves were whipped into the air, colliding in a dance of the elements.

"I'm gonna grab some more firewood before the storm. We're, uh, we're almost out." Mayson looked at the small pile of wood by the hearth as he spoke. Jonathan glanced over before looking back to Mayson.

"Do you want some help bringing it inside?"

Mayson shrugged, not looking at him. "Sure, Jonny. Sure, if you wanna help."

Jonathan took a deep breath before standing up and following Mayson outside. Jonathan watched for a moment as Mayson leaned against the large firewood stack, his head heavy in his hands. Jonathan wasn't fool enough to wonder what's wrong with him. He wondered, and not for the first time if making Mayson promise not to speak of the week before was a mistake. And one he didn't know how to rectify.

He closed his eyes and sighed before stepping up beside Mayson, a light hand pressing the ghost of a touch to the younger man's back. Mayson jumped, startled, before lazily smiling.

"Alright?"

"Yeah, uh, small headache. Nothing to worry over." Mayson looked down at the wood stack and picked up several logs before walking back to the house.

Jonathan watched him go. "If you're going to lie to me, Mayson, you should learn to lie better." The wind picked up. "And you shouldn't force him to lie, fucking asshat."