Breaking Through Limits (Larry Stylinson)

Chapter 17

One of us ought to be dead right now... Tomlinson's words haunted him. There had been something so lost in his expression —so broken. Was it because of what Burns had admitted to doing to Sabine? And why was Tomlinson taking so long in the shower?

Harry had been avoiding him so long that it seemed wrong to burst in and violate the other Needler's privacy. But as the sound of running water went on and on he began to get nervous. What was Tomlinson doing in there? Was he all right? I'll just go in and talk to him, Harry told himself. I need to apologize again anyway —need to reestablish communication. We're supposed to be getting in a Needle together tomorrow. At the moment he couldn't muster any of the excitement or dread he'd been feeling at the idea of being in an enclosed space with his partner. He just knew he wanted to talk to Tomlinson again, to tell him how sorry he was for acting the fool for the last week. I want him, he thought, running a hand over his short hair. I don't know if I want to do... everything. But I do want him, want to be with him the way we were before. It was the first time he'd admitted his true desires to himself instead of just making excuses or trying to tell himself that he only wanted to be close to the other man for the sake of their neural net connection. Now he knew that he would have wanted Tomlinson's hands on his body, the pleasure of his touch even if they didn't have to fly a Needle together.

I want him. But will he still want me? There was only one way to find out. Taking a deep breath, Harry got up and pushed open the fresher cubical door.

"Tomlinson?" he asked, his voice still hoarse from the abuse he'd taken earlier. "Tomlinson, are you all right?" The air was filled with steam and it was hard to see. Coughing a little in the thick humidity, Harry walked forward and pushed open the shower curtain.

Tomlinson was standing naked in the shower but he didn't look up when Harry opened the curtain. He was staring  fixedly at something lying in the palm of his right hand. Something long and flat and silver that glinted dully in the pale artificial light. Taking a step further, Harry saw that it was an old-fashioned straight razor but he didn't think that Tomlinson was shaving with it.

"Hey," he said nervously. "That thing looks sharp. Why don't you put it down and come to bed?"

"This is how Sabine did it," Tomlinson said, more to himself than Harry. His deep voice was soft and introspective, filled with pain and shame and self-loathing.

"How he did what?" Harry wanted to keep the conversation going. He wanted to keep Tomlinson talking while he decided if it was safe to try to grab the deadly sharp razor out of his hand. Could he manage it without both of them getting cut to ribbons?

"What do you think?" Tomlinson looked up at him briefly and then back down to the razor lying in his palm. "He brought this from home, I think it was his grandfather's. He never really used it though. Not until he..." he trailed off, shaking his head.

"Tomlinson... Louis, please. Put it down. Come to bed." Keeping his eyes trained on his partner, Harry began strippin out of his uniform. He had an idea he was about to get wet for a second time that night.

"He felt the way you do. We both did at first. That it was wrong, disgusting and unnatural to be so close, to have to touch so intimately in order to fly a Needle. But that changed. Over time it changed," Tomlinson murmured.