Two Heartbeats on One Page

Chapter 8

Jordan didn't remember getting back to his apartment, but Darcey was in his bed with his shirt on the floor somewhere and oh, did his skin look amazing against the soft red sheets. Darcey's skin was golden, every muscle etched perfectly under his skin, and so soft. He was like a Greek sculpture. Like an Olympian. Jordan wanted to lick every inch of that hot skin, taste the salt of his sweat, feel his fingers digging into his back –

Darcey grabbed Jordan's forearms, gently, like he was afraid he might break him. But Darcey was so gentle, so soft-spoken and shy, Jordan wasn't sure he'd have it in him to, even though he certainly could. Jordan dropped his head to Darcey's throat, nipping gently, experimentally, at his neck, his jaw. Darcey swallowed and his breath caught underneath Jordan's mouth, hands tightening on Jordan's arms. So Jordan bit again, a little harder, quick nips and bites with hot, open-mouthed kisses in between. Darcey groaned softly and his chest shuddered. When Jordan shifted his knee to make their position more comfortable, Darcey shuddered again and he pressed hard and tight against Jordan's thigh. A deep, rough, whole body shiver coursed down his back and he groaned, arms wobbling slightly on either side of Darcey's shoulders.

Darcey's hands slid from Jordan's arms to his hips, hesitating, then gently nudged up the bottom of his shirt. Darcey's shyness was so endearing. He was so sweet. The roughness of his callused fingers against the sensitive skin of Jordan's stomach sent a wave of shivering heat coursing straight down between his legs.

Then Darcey's thumb hooked in the fabric of Jordan's binder, just shy of the Velcro, and Jordan remembered: shit, he had no idea Jordan was trans. Darcey was expecting an entirely different body than the one he was about to deliver.

Oh no, oh no no no, this was bad.

Darcey noticed Jordan's sudden hesitation and moved his hands away from Jordan's stomach and back to his arms, hands barely hovering above his skin.

"You okay?" he asked.

Jordan hesitated, then looked up to meet Darcey's eyes. Darcey put his hands, palms down, on the bed. "We can stop," he said. "Or we can stay where we are and just... not go further."

But Jordan was frozen in fear, like a squirrel caught in the headlights of a Mac truck. Oh god, say something you idiot –

"Jordan." Darcey's voice was calm, soft. "You've got to talk to me. I can't read your mind."

"I, uh," Jordan started stupidly. His voice caught and squeaked. "I..." and suddenly his mouth came out for him in the stupidest, most inaccurate and offensive way possible. "I used to be a woman."

The silence hung heavy on the air for seconds that passed like hours until Darcey said slowly, "What?"

"I mean." Jordan leaned back on his knees and covered his face so he could have a moment to gather himself. He dropped his hands and squared his shoulders, looking back up as he said, "I'm trans. I'm transgender. I've been on testosterone for three years but haven't had any of the surgeries I need yet. I'm close to having enough money for my first one, but for now, I bind. So... there are breasts under here." He gestured vaguely toward his chest. He swallowed hard. He had nothing to be ashamed of, he reminded himself. There was nothing wrong with him. This was his apartment, and if things went wrong, he didn't have to walk home this time. He was home. And while he was in his home he was going to demand the respect he deserved.

Darcey shifted, eyes darting over Jordan's face. He opened his mouth to answer, but Jordan kept talking. "I have a vagina and if you even think about touching it your ass will be out on the pavement so fast you won't have time to find your shirt." Jordan was talking fast now, much too fast, scared even though he shouldn't be, he had to be, because fear was what kept him safe. "Chest is okay as long as you aren't rough. Anything else is fair game unless I tell you to stop. If you don't like it, you can get out."