Wildflowers by Fleet Suki Page A

this room.
    Why are you sad? he signs.
    “I’m sorry,” I say. I try to smile. “I think I’m happy.”
    It’s true, but it’s painful too. So painful it shocks me. Perhaps all true happiness is bittersweet. Or perhaps I’m just scared this isn’t real. That after everything I’ve put him through, I don’t deserve it.
    Sam takes my hand and tugs gently until I follow him. He leads me up the stairs and across the landing to our room. The door clicks softly shut behind us.
    The room is neat and clean and so very warm, the covers pulled back invitingly on the large wooden bed. Sam pushes me against the door, indicates that I stay there.
    Watch me undress , he signs.
    He’s become bold these past few weeks. Everything he does, he does to please me, and it scares me how much I want to please him too.
    Shyly he pulls his T-shirt off over his head. Stretching his arms up and arching his back, he flings the T-shirt in my direction, watching for my smile. I pick it up off the carpet, bring it to my face, and closing my eyes, I inhale his warm scent.
    Sam has never been certain of his own beauty, but he knows I like shy, he knows I like playful.
    One day perhaps he’ll believe that he turns me on more than anyone I’ll ever meet.
    He turns around and pushes his trousers down and steps out of them. He never wears underwear. I drink in the defined ridges of his spine, the firm roundness of buttocks. Turning his head, he looks at me coyly from over his shoulder, and I pounce on him, pinning him to the bed facedown and feeling him laugh in silent delight beneath me.
    Playing is what he loves best too.
    All that newly visible skin around his face and neck…. I just can’t stop touching it, looking at it, falling in love with the difference it has made. I can see his ears; I’ve never been able to see his ears before. I whisper wordlessly into them. My fingers no longer tangle in his hair; they fall through it again and again. I press my mouth against the silky softness, smell coconut, and suck the strands into my mouth as Sam lifts his hips and ruts against the bed.
    Struggling out of my shirt and trousers, I keep as much contact with him as possible. We roll, stretching out, a tangle of limbs, skin on skin, heaven.
    My mouth is on his skin—there’s not an inch of him I leave unexplored. He tastes like secrets. His warm body melts trustingly against mine.
    He shoves a tube of lubricant roughly into my palm, making me laugh at how insistent he can be.
    “Fuck me,” he mouths, spreading his legs.
    I let the tip of my cock rub against his hole and feel his whole body shake. Anticipation drives him crazy. He holds his buttocks apart and bites the bedsheets. I close my eyes and think about the rain hammering against the window, about the moon and the stars, but it doesn’t work. I just want to press inside him. I just want to come.
    “Calm down, it’s okay,” I whisper, my palm flat on his back as though he is the only one losing it, and Sam glowers at me through slitted eyes.
    I stretch him gently with my fingers and he squirms restlessly, lifting his hips and dragging his cock against the sheets. I couldn’t be any more turned on.
    I flip him over and, leaning down, I press my lips against his as the heat of him envelops me. He pulls me down on top of him and I feel so connected, so much a part of him, that I never want anything else.
    For a moment neither of us breathe. Neither of us move.
    Sam turns his head so we can see each other and mouths suddenly, “This.”
    I nod. Yes. This.
    “You are my field, my sky, my flowers,” he carries on silently. “Being with you is everything. I don’t need more.”
    I pull him close—he’s right. I’ve been holding on to something, too afraid to let it go.
    Sam is not going to die in a field. Our journey is not going to end there.
    We are the field of wildflowers, we are the sky, we are the sea, we are this moment, and this moment is ours. And it always will be.
    If we