His Name is Love

They met that night, but hours become days when you’re pressed against a willing body.

He doesn’t see his face, just glimpses of it in the laser lights, but he catches his name; Elijah, like the Bible, he says, and he laughs bitterly like there’s a story to it.

Cole learned not to ask the difficult questions a long time ago.

“My place or yours,” Elijah says with his lips to Cole’s ear, and Cole can barely hear him over the thump thump thump in his head, in the walls, under his feet until he feels like he could vibrate out of his skin.

Cole doesn’t reply and Elijah laughs low.

“Mine,” Cole mumbles against his cheek, and it's easier than it should be.

--

The night air doesn’t sober him like it should but Elijah grabs his hand and he feels almost grounded by the warm weight of his palm in Elijah's.

He counts to fifty before he lets go, and wishes he hadn't almost immediately.

Elijah just steps closer until their hands touch with every stride.

When he shivers, Elijah puts his arm around him.

When he wraps his arms around himself, Elijah pulls him closer.

They walk to the station and it doesn’t feel real until Elijah pays for their passes, until he’s walking away and leaning against a pillar in front of the tracks.

Cole feels cold without Elijah’s arm around him, but that’s not something he can say out loud.

His cigarette burns out in the time it takes for Cole to walk over, his head too heavy for his shoulders. He leans against the wall next to Elijah, and Elijah smiles a little, like he can’t help it. Like he doesn’t want to.

Cole presses his forehead against the wall, pressing indents hardhard into his skin, and his stomach turns. He’s felt worse. He’s felt better.

He regrets that last vodka.

He regrets letting go of Elijah’s hand.

He chokes down on bile and the words he can’t say.

Elijah hangs back with his hands in his pockets and his eyes far away, but he reaches for Cole when he stands up straight again, grabs his wrist in a gloved hand.

Their eyes never meet, and Cole smells like vomit and Elijah tastes like brandy and cola and there are indents in his back now instead of his forehead, but he doesn’t care. He never wants to move again, not when Elijah’s leg pushes in between his own, and he kisses him breathless.

It’s nice and Elijah promises things with his hands on Cole’s thighs and his breath in his ear, things like home and fuck and don’t stop.

It’s too nice to ever last.

--

Elijah fucks Cole like he wants to be loved.

Cole has never felt so fragile in his life.

--

“What are you doing?” Cole asks.

Elijah says, “Thinking,” and Cole closes his eyes, tracing his thumb over the freckles on Elijah’s fingers like constellations.

Cole doesn’t ask what about. He doesn’t care to know.

Elijah laces their fingers together and touches dry lips to Cole’s shoulder. He’s boneless and broken with Elijah’s head pillowed on his chest.

“Do it with me,” Elijah finally asks and Cole whispers, “Always.”

--

Cole wakes up alone.