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Travis isn't sure how this is meant to feel.
It feels… good. He thinks. Like when he eats something he likes or sits out in the sunshine and thinks about how nice it is to be warm. There's a kind of warmth buzzing under his skin, not unlike sunshine, but it's more of an energy, and it clings to every place that Sal's hand touches him like anticipation. Like anxiety.
It's good, so good to feel Sal touching him, but it's also bad.
He doesn't want this to be bad.
Sal's shirt is on the floor. Well, shirts. A tee and a long-sleeve. It's a stupid band shirt that Travis doesn't want to admit he likes and a stripey undershirt because it's been a little cold out.
The tips of Sal fingertips are cold too, against his neck, against his knee… His palms are warmer. So warm.
Travis is so warm. Every place that Sal touches him bursts into sunlight. Every place that Sal touches him leaves maggots crawling under his skin.
He swallows hard, eyes focused hard on the white lettering of Sal's dark shirt and on the ugly green carpet beneath it. This is supposed to be good. This is supposed to feel good.
Sal's hand slides under his shirt and it feels good. Sal's hand moves up up up, dragging across his skin like fiery icecubes, and it feels good. His stomach churns and saliva pools in his mouth like he's going to vomit.
"Trav? You okay?"
There isn't a good way to say no, because it's not true. He's okay. He wants more. He wants more. He wants to bolt out of the room and run and run and run and run and
"Yeah, I'm fine," he says. His voice is so quiet, so hoarse, it almost sounds like he's choking. It doesn't sound like him.
"Travis, do you want to stop?"
Sal's hands pull away and that's worse somehow.
"No," Travis blurts. He's pretty sure he means it. "It just- I'm-"
"It's okay to be nervous, baby. I'm nervous too."
He shakes his head. This is more than nervous. His chest is starting to hurt. "I'm scared." And he sounds it too.
"Scared?" Sal's eyes go wide, blinking behind the prosthetic they have yet to remove. "What kind of scared?"
It's hard to explain. "You know when you're doing something you know you're not supposed to? And you're waiting for someone to hit you?"
A brief pause follows before Sal's eyes grow shiny, blinking rapidly around his sudden tears. "Travis… I don't wait for someone to hit me." A lump grows in Travis throat, only made worse by Sal's hands cupping his face.
Sal holds him like he's precious. Sal holds him like he's worth something.
"I'm sorry," he whispers.
"You're okay."
Travis shakes his head. No, he isn't. He fucking isn't. 'Okay' would mean this felt good. 'Okay' would mean one of them on their back and neither of them feeling terrified. 'Okay', his mind supplies, would mean being with a girl so his father didn't beat the shit out of him.
He's safe from his father now. He's safe. Being with a girl wouldn't be okay for him, because it would be a lie. It would hurt him, it would hurt the girl, it would hurt the beautiful boy in front of him.
"I love you," he says. He can't quite look at Sal, but he feels Sal looking at him. "I want to feel you. I want to be with you like that."
"I know."
Sal leans forward, but Travis doesn't kiss him yet. The prosthetic is a part of him - a beautiful, important part of him - but Travis needs to feel the warmth of his mouth. Needs to feel the dips and ridges of his lips and know for certain that he's real.
He still feels sick. He isn't okay.
"I love you." He says it again, again, again, as he removes Sal's prosthetic. He says it again, again, again, as he touches the valleys and plains of Sal's face. He says it again, again, again, as he presses his lips to Sal's, presses his hands into Sal's, presses himself closer and closer and closer into Sal.
His stomach hurts. He wants this. Why can't he have this.
Sal is on his back, staring dazedly up at Travis, his pigtails messy, hair fanned around his head. "I love you too," he gasps between breaths.
All they've done is kiss, but the sight of Sal like this: happy, panting, debauched, ruined- It makes him shake. He did that. He made Sal this way.
He feels contagious. He isn't okay. Father will be here soon and they'll set him right and he'll live with that pain forever. He has to live with this pain forever.
"I want this." He wants this. He wants Sal. "I want you, please."
"Travis…" Throat shaking around a swallow, Sal rises on his elbows. Little drops of water fall on to his chest, his neck, and it takes longer than it should for Travis to realize it's from his own eyes. "It's possible to want something and be hurt by it at the same time. We can wait."
"I don't want to wait-!"
"Honey…" Sal's hand is on his chest, cold fingertips right over his heart. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes against the care and concern shining in Sal's. "Honey, we're waiting. I don't want to do this if it hurts you. I can't hurt you."
Travis feels his mouth bend into a hard, ugly line. His eyes sting and his face burns. Damn it damn it damn it damn it damn it
"Shh..." And then he's in Sal's arms, face tucked into the space between his neck and his shoulder. "I know it's frustrating. We have all the time in the world, though, baby, you know that? We can take our time. We have to take our time, sometimes. We have to wait until we get better."
It takes time to heal. How many times has Sal said that? How many more times will Sal have to?
Tears roll down his face, continuing to drip wetly onto Sal's chest. "I love you," he says hopelessly. "I want to make love with you. It's not fair."
Sal kisses his forehead. "I know. I want you that way too." He sighs, thumb suddenly cool and gentle against Travis' cheek. "I love you that way too. Which means I have to put your health first. Our health."
Travis understands. At least, he thinks he does. It's like if he was with a girl - it would be dishonest. They'd both get hurt. Here, even if it's honest, Sal can't feel good if he knows there's a part of Travis that doesn't. He's too kind.
Sal's too fucking good for him. For the world, probably.
"I love you," he says again. He doesn't know what else to say. He's run out of words. He just wants to feel good and make Sal feel good.
It's not fair. It's not fair that there are people out there making love right now and he's here, terrified, feeling like he's something sick. Wishing he was different. Wishing, even if he doesn't want to, that Sal were different.
"I love you," he says again.
Sal presses a kiss to his mouth. His lips are so rough. His teeth are flat and smooth. When he pulls back, his eyes are full of love.
"Do you want to cuddle?" Sal asks him. "Or, um… Go in the bathroom to deal with some frustration?"
Deal with some… Is he serious?
Travis snorts, all of the tension suddenly falling away. "I am so fucking flaccid, Fisher, it's not even funny."
His laughter is joined by Sal's own, a sound way more beautiful than his own mean chuckle. "Okay, I figured. I just wanted to be sure. I love you and I want you to feel good, even if I can't give you that yet."
Yet. When Sal says yet, it's a hopeful word.
Travis holds that hope in his fist. He won't let go of it. He won't let go of Sal.
"If we cuddle, can we kiss?"
Sal answers that with the familiar press of his smile. "Of course. Oh-!" And then he's wiggling an arm between them, digging his hands into the pocket of his jeans.
"Uh- Need some help, angel?"
Sal bites his tongue, his teeth showing through the hole in his cheek. He doesn't reply until he's already fished out his prize.
It's a condom. "Found it. Sorry, the pockets in these jeans are kinda small."
"Oh." Travis blinks at it. It's weird to see it, knowing they aren't going to use it. Disappointing. Embarrassing, if the sudden heat of his face means anything.
"And you know what I'll do with this?"
"...What will you do with it?" Probably make a balloon or something. Fucking dork.
"I'm going to put it riiiight over here." He crawls out from under Travis, kneeling his way over to his bedside table. He slides the condom into his first drawer, turning back to Travis with a toothy smile. "It'll be there when we're ready for it."
Oh. Travis' face grows warm. He can't help but smile back. "Thanks, Sal."
"Always, lover mine." He crawls back over quickly, presses his lips to Travis' again and again and again. "Until then… We're going to be okay."
It might be the leftover high from making out or a product of those beautiful, earnest eyes, but somehow, Travis believes him. It sucks - it fucking sucks - but Sal is here, warm and real and honest.
Yet hangs heavy, a word of promise and potential. They haven't made it there yet, but the days in-between are just as important. For as long as Sal is here, holding him so tightly, looking at him so lovingly, those days are just as good.
Laying on his side, arms and legs tangled up with Sal's, Travis feels good. Travis is good.
Travis is going to be okay.