Love Revisited
Marie Brown
©2014
Cover Image Info
Chicago skyline image by Roger Wollstadt. Used under Creative Commons license. Original image modified in Photoshop. As per licensing requirements, contact me if you want a copy of the altered image.
Table of Contents
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
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Part One
An unexpected knock on the door interrupted Erik's reading. He put his book aside, looked out the window. He couldn't see anybody. He opened the door anyway.
Shane.
Shane stood there on the doorstep.
Shock rooted him to the spot, hand locked on the doorknob.
"Uh. . . hi."
Shane shifted uncomfortably, and Erik couldn't trust his voice to respond. Shane looked. . . worn out. Ragged. Hollow. Clothes he wouldn't have been caught dead in a year ago, thinner, dark circles under his eyes. . . he had definitely been through some hard times.
"I know I shouldn't be here, but I just had to say goodbye. They told me you never wanted to see me again, that I shouldn't even try looking for you, but when I found out where you were I just had to come here. I'm sorry for whatever I did, and I wish I knew what it was, but I don't remember. And I can't stay around here anymore, so I'm leaving tomorrow morning. But I had to say goodbye. I'll never bother you again, I just had to see you one more time. But I can see you don't want me around."
Erik stood immobile under the rush of words, trying to sort them out with a brain that felt slower than molasses in January. Shane turned and walked off the front porch to the driveway. Then something finally sunk in: Shane. Leaving.
"Wait!" The word came out more like a harsh croak than a real word, but it came out. "Don't go." There, that was better. Shane stopped and half-turned, dark hair falling across his eyes. He shook it back with a familiar gesture that brought a lump to Erik's throat.
"Erik?"
The hope in his eyes hurt. Erik hardened his heart against the desire to run forward and just hold him, the man he'd loved to the exclusion of all else, and reminded himself sharply of the months of suffering. Hear him out, see what he has to say, but don't let him wreck your damn life again.
"Shane. How'd you find me? And where've you been? You look like it's been. . . rough."
"Rough." Shane's mouth quirked in something that wasn't quite a smile. "Yeah, you could say that. And I found you. . . it was an accident, really. Ran into Jeff the roadie the other day, remember him? He said you were staying with your parents. Your parents. . ." He shook his head.
"Had to have somewhere to go," Erik shrugged. Suddenly he just had to know more, had to find out everything that had been going on in Shane's life for the last year. Had to know if he was clean. "Look, man. . . you hungry? I know a place we could go, sit down, talk a while. . ."
"Guess there's a bit of catching up to do," Shane nodded. "This mean you're not going to run me off your doorstep with a pitchfork?"
"Not yet, at any rate." Erik ducked back inside and grabbed keys and jacket. "I'm going out, be back later," he yelled, in the general direction of the rec room. His parents didn't treat him like a kid any more, but he saw no reason to be rude and just waltz off without saying anything.
They took his car, since Shane had none. "How'd you get here, man?"
"Rode the bus," Shane confessed. "No money anymore, no car. Totally reliant on public transportation these days, that's me."
"What a change."
"That's not all that's changed," Shane muttered.
The restaurant was only five blocks away. Erik usually walked, but Shane didn't really look up to that much effort. Had he even eaten anything in the last year? Erik studied him out of the corner of his eye as he drove. Gone was the easy self-confidence, the air of success and suppressed excitement. Shane no longer looked like he was on top of the world. Rather, he looked more like the gum stuck on the bottom of somebody's shoe: stepped on and rather scroungy, but still hanging on.
Erik pulled into a parking spot and shut his car off. The big green Plymouth coughed before it died.
"They told me I did something horrible to you," Shane said to his sneakers. "It must have been really bad, because no one would tell me what I did to drive you away. All I know is I woke up alone, and everything went downhill from there. Whatever I did, I am more sorry than I can say. Will you tell me what I did?"
Erik looked away. A robin pecked at the grassy strip in front of the restaurant. He focused on the bird, not the memory. "No. If you don't remember, if you truly don't remember, I'll chalk it up to the drugs and treat you like it never happened."
"I'm clean now."
"Good. Let's go inside."
They found a booth in the back corner, away from the few people dining in the midafternoon.
Shane stared at Erik, drinking in every little detail of his appearance. He looked good. Really, really good. His hair was a bit longer now, and he looked more mature. If only those eyes weren't so cold and controlled. . . but he'd lost the right to any warmth from this man. Somehow.
"So," Erik said, as they settled into the booth. "You said you're leaving tomorrow? Guess I know how I rate in your world, if I'm last on the priority list."
Shane's eyes widened. "Hardly. I only found out where you live a few days ago. Thing is, I would have looked you up sooner, but I was told not to bother trying, remember? And besides, I had no luck finding you on my own."
"You did try?" Erik grinned suddenly, although it died just as quick as it was born. "So like you."
"Yeah, well, what can I say." Shane shrugged uncomfortably. A waitress came and took their orders.
"You said you're clean now?"
"Yeah." Shane closed his eyes, the last year's horrors washing over him. But it was just memory, and could no longer hurt him.
"Me too. Took months in rehab."
"I did it on my own." Shane snuck a look at Erik, but couldn't tell anything of his thoughts behind that closed off expression. Oh, what the hell. Couldn't fuck things up any worse to tell the truth. "You were my inspiration. Kept telling myself I had to clean up if I ever wanted you to talk to me again."
"Well. And here you are, talking to me."
Their drinks arrived, but Erik's eyes never wavered off Shane's as the waitress set the red, semi-transparent tumblers in front of them.
"Is it worth it?"
"What?"
"Sitting here talking to me. Is that enough to make up for the hell of withdrawal and the willpower it takes to stay clean?"
"You have no idea," Shane whispered. His eyes absorbed every nuance of the man sitting opposite him. His voice got stronger as he spoke. "Every bit of the pain, every time I fight back the temptation. . . Yes. Seeing you again, no matter how awkward this is, is more than worth it."
"Awkward. Now there's a good word for this situation." Erik had a drink of his Coke, eyes slipping away. "Maybe we'd better ditch the awkwardness, act like we're two old friends with a lot of catching up to do."
Shane laughed. A very small laugh, but genuine. "Fine, then. Tell me what you've been up to."
"I would, but it's not too exciting. Been working for my dad, up till a week ago, living at home while I get some business taken care of. I even dress like a damned nerd."
Shane laughed harder at that. It felt good. He hadn't laughed in a painfully long time. "You're probably the only person in the whole world that really means it when he says working for Dad sucks."
Erik groaned. "Spare me the bad puns! Yes, of course it sucks working in a vacuum store!"
"Could suck worse. You could've had my job."
"Yeah? What were you doi
ng that was so bad?"
"Dog'n'Suds."
Erik laughed, finally. "Can't see you up to your ears in hot dogs, and kids."
"Don't forget the foam. Lots of foam."
Erik shook his head, toying with a napkin. "Root beer, huh? What a difference."
"Yeah."
Their food arrived then, and Shane felt like cussing at the interruption. He'd actually gotten Erik to act like himself again, at least for a moment.
But the food smelled good, not anything like hot dogs, and he was hungry. Something about working in a hot dog joint turned him off food most days, so he knew he didn't eat right. His grandma would probably beat his butt if she were still alive.
"So tell me more," Erik said, over his meatball sub.
"More what?"
"There has to be more to the last year than hot dogs and root beer."
Shane sighed. "Don't ask. Woke up one morning and didn't know my own life anymore. Had to make a new one. It's been rough."
"Right. Sorry." Erik gave him a small smile. "I'll try again. Hi, Shane. Nice to meet you. What brings you to Chicago?"
"This is what I know," Shane said softly. "Born and raised in Chi-town. Lived here all my life, other than a bit of time on the road."
"Such a strange concept. I've lived so many places. . . Dad used to travel a lot, like every other vacuum salesman in the world, and he'd see lots of places he liked enough to live there. And off we'd go, moving again."
"What are you, gypsies or something?"
"Close enough, until he bought a business," Erik shrugged. "Think gypsies move around a bit more, but not much. Me, now, I like to travel, but think I might like to try staying somewhere for a while."
"Really. And you picked here."
"Nah, Dad did. Before. . . you know. I just came back for the free rent."
"Glad you did," Shane gave him a sideways look. "Made finding you possible."
"Fine. I'll just go ahead and admit it. I'm glad you did."
Shane smiled. "Me too. Even if you look like you just stepped in something unpleasant."
"I what?" Erik blinked. "Oh. Sorry." He gave himself a shake, then grinned for real. "Maybe I'm the one being a dick now."
"Never."
The awkwardness lifted, at least for a while. They talked more naturally, and somehow managed to cover ground they'd never explored before.
"How is it," Erik asked, over their third refill of Coke, "that we spent a good two years with each other and I never knew you grew up with your grandparents?"
"Never came up, I guess," Shane shrugged. "Just like I didn't know you like dogs better than cats."
"Guess nothing about this situation is really normal, now is it?"
"What is normal, anyway?" Shane grimaced. "We're not. Isn't normal supposed to be a man, a woman, two point five kids, a white picket fence, and a cat on the lawn?"
"Yeah." Erik laughed. "Point taken. Guess I forget what normal people are like. I'm a musician, after all."
"Juilliard, wasn't it?" Erik nodded. "Isn't that in New York?"
"Just a short subway ride from the Stonewall, yep."
"Stonewall. Now there was something not normal. Were you there?"
"Nah, got to the school two years after it happened. But I knew people that were there. And now it's the ten year anniversary."
"Who would've thought a bunch of drag queens and rentboys could change the world?"
"Not me, that's for damn sure. Glad they did, though. Makes it a bit more comfortable being a longhair musician these days. Nobody's tried to beat me up since. . . hell, before I met you."
"What did you study while you were there?"
"Violin."
Shane's eyes threatened to pop out of his head. "No shit?"
"No shit. Started playing when I was just a kid. Played in more orchestras than I can count, in a different school every year or two, doing the classical thing."
"No wonder you're so damn good."
"If you think I'm good with a guitar, you should hear me on violin."
"I'd like that," Shane smiled. "You should play for me sometime."
"What, so I can amaze you with the worthless talent in my hands?"
"Not worthless," Shane protested immediately. "How can you say that? You were a rock star!"
"And look at me now. I've been repairing damn vacuum cleaners for a living."
They looked at each other for a long, intense moment. Then they were interrupted.
"Hey, guys?"
The waitress stepped up to their table, looking sheepish.
"Yeah?"
"Um, look, I hate to say it, but, um. . ."
"You want us to leave." Shane finished for her.
"It's almost dinner time," she shrugged uncomfortably. "And my boss wants the table free."
"Fine. No problem."
They got up and Erik paid the bill, then they walked outside. The sun smacked at them from its position above the horizon, blinding their eyes, but the spring air carried a bit of chill.
They got back in the big green Plymouth, all the awkwardness coming back with a vengeance.
"Where you staying, man? I can give you a ride. No need to take the damn bus."
"Thanks. Shithole of a place, off Cicero."
"Can't imagine you in a shithole place." Erik shook his head in disbelief. "Thought you had more class."
"Sure, when I have money," Shane shrugged. "No money, can't afford class."
"There you go again, talking crazy about being broke. We've got a song hit number four on the charts last week, how the hell can you be broke?"
"Ah, in case you didn't notice, I'm not with the band any more."
"That doesn't mean any—oh, hell." Erik smacked the steering wheel. "Kirby screwed you, too."
"What? How?"
"Our wonderful agent had a nice little escrow fund set up, with all my royalties tied up in it, and the interest paid directly to him. I had to get a lawyer. That's why I was living at home and working for Dad. She's still working out the details, but she got the interest freed up just last week and going into my account now, not Kirby's. I never thought to have her look into all you guys' affairs."
"Well, son of a bitch. Think I need that lawyer's number." Shane shook his head. "You mean I've been struggling all this time when I didn't have to?"
"Think of it as a character building exercise," Erik suggested.
"Character, schmaracter. I've got plenty of character."
"So you do," Erik nodded. "So you do."
He fished his wallet out of his pocket and fumbled it open with one hand. At a red light, he pulled out a plain business card. "Here."
He tossed the card onto the big bench seat. Shane picked it up, looked at the name. Betsy Dunraven. "Thanks."
"You're welcome." Erik snorted. "For all the good it'll do you, when you leave."
"I'm sure I can make a long distance call from anywhere," Shane said, with a bit of an edge to his voice. "Did you have to bring that up?"
"It's not going away. First damn thing you said to me in over a year, after all."
"Sorry."
"Don't be. Not like I let you know where I was at, after all."
"Wish I knew why."
"I told you," Erik said, giving him a seriously closed off and controlled look. "I'm not going to talk about that. Better not to know. It's all over and done long ago. We're both different now."
"Clean."
"Yeah."
They rode in silence for a while. Then Shane spoke up.
"Can we go back to the part where we were acting like old friends again?"
Erik swore and hit his horn when someone cut him off. "Sorry. That wasn't aimed at you. Yeah. Better when we're playing nice with each other."
"Glad you think so. 'Cause that's the motel right there."
"You weren't joking when you called it a shithole."
"Nope. Room 113, right over that way."
The Plymouth died quietly in the parking spot right in fr
ont of the room, before the key turned off.
"You coming in?"
"Might as well. Sounds like the car thinks I should."
Shane laughed. "Smart car."
They went into the small motel room together. The radio, the one built into the TV, played inside. How appropriate, Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here." Two lost souls, swimming in a fish bowl. Shane gave it a look, then shrugged. Must've left it on. He hadn't exactly been thinking clearly when he'd left this room, on his way to catch the bus from Shitsville and head out towards Oak Park.
"Feels weird being in a motel room without the rest of the band."
"I've been in one long enough it seems almost normal now."
"You ever hear from them?"
"Hell no." Shane flopped into one of the miserably uncomfortable gold fake velvet chairs. "Guess a lifetime of friendship wasn't good enough to carry through the shit that happened."
"Lifetime? How long did you know them?"
"Met Josh and Mikey in kindergarten. But Kev, now, we were neighbors. Knew each other before we knew how to talk. Shared a sandbox when we were in diapers."
"Damn," Erik shook his head, settling into the other chair. "Only people I've known that long are my parents."
"Sad."
"Kind of," Erik shot one of his patented unreadable looks at Shane. "Maybe one of these days, I might enjoy knowing someone for that long."
"Maybe. You might get tired of people after that long."
"Huh. I'll probably never know."
"What's the longest you've ever been in one place?"
"Two and a half years. Did four years at Juilliard, but that doesn't count, because I had to move back with my folks for the summers, and had a different dorm room every year."
"No shit."
"No shit. Told you, gypsies might move more than I have, but not much."
"At least you can remember it all," Shane muttered.
"How bad is it?" Erik cocked his head, actual curiosity showing in his eyes.
"Bad," Shane confessed. "I can't remember much of anything past Kansas City. Lots of lights, and shows, and bits and pieces of parties. The tour bus. And you. But. . . only the good parts, I guess, because I sure as hell don't remember what ended it all."
"Kansas City. Wild night. Too much partying. That's where the downhill slide started." Erik's eyes went unreadable again. "I have holes in my memory, too. Got enough professional musician in me to remember each and every show, though."
"Good for you. Wish I could say the same. Sucks, I spent my whole life wanting to be a rock star, then I finally make it big and can't remember most of it."
"Well. Guess it's not all it's cut out to be, eh? I mean, the stage shows rocked, but the partying can really fuck up a person."
"You got that right."
"So, moving on," Erik said, leaning back and crossing his legs, looking around the sad little room. "Both of us had some fucked up times. But that's all done and gone." His eye fell on a guitar case, leaned up against the wall next to a familiar green duffel. "Guitar? Thought you were all about the keyboards. When did you start playing guitar?"
"Oh, ten, fifteen years ago, maybe more," Shane smiled. "Grandpa taught me when I was old enough to hold the damn thing right."
"So much about you I never knew," Erik shook his head. He got up, went to the guitar, let it out of its case. A notebook fluttered underneath the instrument and Erik glanced at it, then gave it another, longer, look.
Shane felt his face turn red, but refused to squirm with discomfort, although he really wanted to. He knew exactly what Erik was reading.
Erik picked up the notebook and the guitar, sat back in the chair, reading and letting his fingers coax quiet notes out of the instrument.
"This is good stuff," he said. "Bit darker than your usual, but good."
Shane pretended a nonchalance he didn't feel. Good stuff, his ass. That was pure pain written down in that notebook, the pain of someone who'd lost everything that mattered in life and didn't even know why. "Thanks. Never stopped writing."
"Good for you." Erik glanced at him. "Still think you need me for the real magic. But you're doing good on your own."
"Not really."
What could have been a very intense moment was dodged neatly with a chord. Erik didn't say anything, just started humming along with the music he teased from the guitar.
"You do have all the magic," Shane said.
"Share a little of it with me," Erik looked up and smiled at him, a surprisingly open expression, and started playing louder. "From the top."
They sang together, the words of the poem Shane had written just a few days ago. The guitar made the words soar into pure beauty. Brand new melody, getting composed on the spot, and Shane still felt comfortable singing along, because he knew Erik's style so well.
And the magic swirled up and engulfed them both, just like it used to.
"Well," Erik said, after a long, long moment of staring at Shane after the guitar strings stilled. "Still got what it takes."
"Yeah," Shane said, on a long sigh.
Erik set the guitar aside. "Think that's enough of that. Best not to stir up too many regrets."
"Yeah," Shane repeated. He knew he was staring, so he made an effort to look at something else. Didn't work too well, though. His eyes wanted to keep staring right at Erik.
"What? Did I grow an extra head, or something?"
"No." Shane closed his eyes for a moment with the onslaught of that memory. He'd heard those words before, the night they'd written "Seeker." The first night he and Erik had actually gotten along well. When he opened his eyes again, he pointed them firmly at the guitar. There. Better. "Sorry. I'm easily distracted these days."
"That might not be a bad thing," Erik replied. "As long as only the right things distract you."
Shane smiled. "Not much right in my life anymore. Up until today."
"I know the feeling. But you're putting yourself back together."
"Yeah. Getting there. Definitely getting there."
"Good."
An awkward silence fell, broken by the sound of the radio. The Who's latest came on and they fell into talking about music, which segued into makeup.
"What do you think of all the Brits and their makeup? Think we could pull off the glam rock look, with all the glitter and sequins and good hair?"
"Yeah, you probably could," Erik laughed."I couldn't, no way. Ever seen a shrimpy dude in sequins?"
"You're not that shrimpy," Shane protested immediately. "Just 'cause neither of us is in the over six feet crowd doesn't make us short. More like medium."
"Whatever you say. Five-six isn't exactly tall and elegant. But you've got the height and the bone structure for the glam look. Bet you'd be prettier than David Bowie."
"Bet that'd give my grandma a heart attack if she was still around." Shane grinned. "I can hear her now, praying over me and saying it's not too late to ship me off to Catholic school. 'Pretty' was not an adjective applied to men in her world."
"I can see that," Erik nodded. "Sounds like something my dad would say. He can't even handle dirty hippies, as he calls 'em. Bet a glam rocker would put him in the hospital."
"Not that good an idea, after all," Shane shook his head, still smiling. "But damn entertaining."
"Yeah."
They lapsed into silence again, this time not as awkward. The look in Erik's eyes came close to outright friendliness.
But then things changed again.
One of their own songs came on the radio, and Shane recognized it with a flinch. "Bedroom Eyes." That memory came perfectly clear. What a beautiful night. The words to the song were words they'd said to each other as they were making love, back before the night in Kansas City when the word "drugs" had shifted from meaning a bit of pot or some acid, to heroin and cocaine. Oh, the joys of the rock star lifestyle.
"What's wrong? You look uncomfortable." Erik's unreadable mask dropped back into place. Again.
"Just thinki
ng about this song. And the way we wrote it."
"What, in bed?"
"Yeah."
Erik gave him a long look. Shane wondered if he was remembering that night as well.
"Well, there's no getting around it. You and I did have something pretty good going on back then."
"Yeah."
"Too bad it got shot all to hell. But should be easy enough to move forward, with you out of the picture. Where did you say you were going, again?"
"I didn't. I don't know where I'm going." Shane hoped Erik couldn't tell how much emotional distress he felt at the moment. Oh, how those words hurt! Like a shot through the heart. Or maybe a stake, nailing him to the chair while his hope died slowly, with a plaintive wail. "Going to see how far the money I've got will take me on a Greyhound."
"Why are you leaving again?"
"I have to get away from all this," Shane waved towards the window, meaning the whole of Chicagoland. "It's getting really bad. Everywhere I go, there's just too many memories. And more than that, Frankie's been after me. Wants to set me up with some freebies, get me hooked again. Wants his best damn customer back. And I know I'm not strong enough to keep saying no. One of these days, he's going to catch me on a day when I'm feeling down, and I'm going to cave. Then all that hard work will be for nothing, you know?"
Erik nodded, eyes shadowed. "I know. The dark days are hard."
"So I have to get away. New scenery, new life. But saying goodbye to the old life is tough."
"Don't I know it. I've done so too many times." Erik looked away, ran a hand through his hair. Then he stood up. "Well. Been good talking with you again. I'd better get going, it's late."
Shane's heart tried to stop and fall right out of his chest. It settled somewhere around his shoes. He stood and walked with Erik the few steps to the door, unable to say anything. He hoped Erik couldn't tell that those words had hit him so hard he'd started shaking. Damn. What was he, a girl?
"And since this is the last time I'll see you, ever," Erik said abruptly, "Give me a damn hug."
Shane laughed, a tiny little strangled laugh, as he put his arms around the man he still loved.
"You've gotten so strong," Erik murmured into his ear. "Stronger than me, rebuilding your life all on your own, with no one to lean on. I admire that. I wish you weren't going, but I accept your reasons, and I wish you the best of luck. I know you'll make it."
Shane tried to say something, anything, but nothing would come out. Too many emotions roiled around inside him. He focused on the feel of the man in his arms, letting the closeness soothe his wounded soul for as long as it lasted.
"You're shaking like a leaf in the wind," Erik said, a hint of surprise in his voice. "Does a silly little hug mean that much to you?"
"Erik," Shane whispered into his hair, "you really have no idea." He forced a laugh. "You said I'm strong? Ha! I don't feel strong at all. I feel. . ."
"Feel what?" Erik prompted.
"Like there's no tomorrow."
"Huh." Erik drew a deep, quivering breath, held it for a moment, then let it go. With it went his common sense and the last of his self-control. Shane. "If a hug makes you tremble, what will this do?"
Then he kissed Shane, the man he'd loved.
Their lips melted into each other, so neither could tell where one ended and the other began. It felt good. It felt right.
"Erik," Shane murmured into the silence after the kiss, "Erik. Don't go."
"You hurt me," Erik said, face buried in Shane's shoulder, "so badly. I wanted to die."
Another kiss, this one far hotter than the last. Erik thought maybe he heard skin sizzling.
"So did I. But we didn't. Stay with me. I still love you."
"Even after what happened?"
"I have no fucking clue what happened, remember? But I've loved you since I first saw you."
"Love at first sight is horseshit," Erik retorted, but it was feeble. He kissed Shane again, so he wouldn't have to say anything more until he had more courage. "If I stay, you stay."
"What?"
Erik laughed at himself. He reached up and stroked Shane's dark hair, like he'd wanted to all along. It felt just like he remembered it. "Sorry. That didn't make much sense, did it? I meant, if I stay, you can't leave in the morning. Stay with me. At least until we figure out what it means to be in love even after all that's happened."
"Anything," Shane promised. "I'll do anything it takes, if I can have you in my life again. Only. . ."
"What?"
"Don't look at me like that. I just want your help. If Frankie comes after me again. Give me a reason to stay clean?"
"How's this for a reason?" Erik slid his hands under that ratty Pink Floyd T-shirt and held Shane so close they nearly merged, kissing him with all the passion set free inside him. "I will only love you if you stay clean. You go on the drugs again, I'm gone."
Shane shivered in his arms. "More than good enough. I will stay clean for you. I'll do anything for you."
"Will you make me forget how horribly empty life is without you?"
Shane laughed. "Might not be the best idea. If you forget how lonely it is on your own, what incentive will you have to be with me?"
"Give me one. Now."
Shane smiled at the demand, then steered Erik away from that dangerous door and towards the bed. "Gladly, love."
They fell together on the bed, lips locked in another passionate kiss.
"It may be dark outside, but I feel the sun rising on a new life," Erik murmured, kissing the sensitive spot on Shane's neck, down by his shoulder. "Love me. Make this fire burn away all the pain and fill the aching emptiness."
"Your poet's soul is showing," Shane panted, around a bone-deep quiver. Much better than the distressed shakes of a few minutes ago.
"First time in a year and more. You've been writing, but my muse has been on strike."
"No he hasn't. I've been holding him hostage until I could find you again."
"Should've known it was all your fault, you asshole," Erik said, as he stripped his shirt off. But he laughed while he said it. "It's always your fault."
"Yes, it is, isn't it?" Shane laughed with him, peeling out of some clothing items of his own. Who needed drugs? Looking at the light playing with Erik's strawberry blond hair had him higher than a kite. "I'll take the blame, if that means you're here to assign it."
"Always." Erik abruptly became serious. "I thought I could do it again, just walk away and let you live your own life, but I just can't. Maybe if I hadn't touched you. . . but I did. And I just can't leave again unless you give me a damn good reason. And you'd damn well better not do that."
"I won't," Shane promised with all his heart. "Are you kidding? Now I know what life is like without you, there's no way I want to go back to that kind of hell." He reached out and touched Erik's face gently, hardly able to believe he could, after the hours of awkward dodging around their still-real feelings. "I love you."
Erik responded with a kiss. The magic between them engulfed them both and carried them away to a place where there was never any pain, only love.
Make up sex is great, Shane thought groggily, much later, with Erik dozing in his arms. But I never want to have it again. Never, never, never.