Welcome to Boxer & Rice

We land on a riverbank, stumbling in the water onto the sand. Trunks' mouth on me is hard. I put my hand on his head and pull him closer, as close as we can get. In a few minutes his cell phone will ring, or mine will. In a few minutes they'll come searching for us and we have no way of telling what will happen, who will stand with us and who will hate us. We have no illusions. Friends will certainly become enemies after this. We take what we can before the storm hits.

The waves against my body are cold, but the icy shock only drives me harder. We're not nearly close enough yet. I spread my legs and let him fall in between, trapping him in place. I arch myself towards him and he responds, grinding into me. One arm slips under my back to hold me up against him. The river sets a manic rhythm for us, the sound of water hitting stone driving us on. It's this mania that grips us each time that's gotten us in trouble, revealed before we were ready, but this time it's harder, frantic. He lays me back down on the sand and undoes my jeans, peeling the wet denim off my hips and down my legs. It's hard to bring them off, they're tight when dry and being wet turns them into a second skin. Finally they come off and he tosses them aside, I hope not in the river because in a few minutes--

His cell phone rings. We pause as if caught, staring at each other as it rings again. Then he reaches down and yanks it from his belt, throwing it in the river. I hear it splash and then it's gone, but that was our first warning. We have to move quickly. This will be the last time before angry words from people I once considered friends, family even.

He doesn't wait to work off my shirt. He pushes the soaked cloth up, revealing my chest. Funny. I'm the one half naked and he's serving me. I wonder if I'll have time to return the favor. His mouth comes down on my skin, his tongue and lips moving quickly to one hard nipple and hurriedly licking, sucking as he swirls his tongue in tight circles. His hand mirrors his movements on my other side.

For my own part, I run my hands through his hair. He always loves it when I do that. He's the only one among us with loose hair and I think it must feel different than my own spiky hair. I twirl it around my fingers and hold his head down on me, forcing him to stay in one spot.

This rushing has one advantage; Trunks is amazing. His tongue is a butterfly as it flicks wildly back and forth. Does he practice at night when I'm asleep? I suspect so. No one can keep it up as long as he does without practice. And his fingers keep pace, pinching and pulling when he gently nips and tugs with his teeth.

My cell phone this time. I let go with one hand to grab my phone and fling it into the water. They want to talk to us so bad, they can come out here. Trunks always says we're not at their beck and call. Now I get what he means. Let them come after us for all I care. Let them say what they want. Let them kick us out of our homes and disown us. I don't need them. All I need is right here.

He leans up and kisses me again, nuzzling my cheek, then trails quick kisses down my throat and chest. If this were a normal day, he'd take his time and slowly work his way down to my stomach, taking pleasure in teasing me. Today he slips quickly down my waist to the hem of my boxers. He frowns and considered them, soaked and firmly stuck in place, but there's no time now. Without a word he works through the cloth, his mouth easily finding my rock hard head and playing with it.

The boxers are black silk, a present from him. I'm surprised no one's noticed for so long that my entire wardrobe comes from him now, expensive shirts, tailored pants. Those jeans he flung aside like nothing were like two hundred dollars. They make me feel self-conscious, especially when people stare and wonder how this wide-eyed kid could afford the designer labels, but when he's with me, then I don't care about clothes anymore. I don't see the stares anymore.

Mmm, he's really working now, but he's got this thing he does with the back of his throat and I want to feel that. I want to hold him or get my boxers down. As I move, he grabs my wrists and holds them in the sand so I can't move, and works harder. I'm shivering, but it has nothing to do with the river. In cold ecstasy, I stare at the clouds racing across the sky, white and gray, filling up the horizon and coming closer. I smile. A storm's coming. Big one, too.

The river's swelling with rain, coursing over the lower half of me and most of Trunks. I don't know how he keeps going. He works like he's afraid hell itself might come between us and force us apart. He must know something I don't. Probably, he's so much smarter than I am. He's like his father, and I'm like my father, but somehow we make it work.

There's no time. I won't be able to do this for him in return, not until this is over. Strange, I never considered it actually being over. They'll arrive soon, I'm sure of it, and I don't want to deal with them, but it won't last forever and even though I don't know what'll happen, I know Trunks will be with me. And I'll do this with him tonight, when this is all over.

His hands dig into my back and pull me harder into his mouth. Through the cloth and the cold, I come for him, and he smiles around me, as if making me happy was the only goal of his life.

They're coming now. I can feel them outpacing the storm, angry and scared and violent. But Trunks is already sitting up and looking towards the sky, defiant and brash, ready to face all of them head on. And I feel no fear. Not with him. Together, we can do anything, have done everything. No matter what happens now, I have him, and he knows he has me. And the only ones feeling desperate are the people coming towards us, just dark spots in a grey sky.