This chapter completely consumed my life for about five or six hours at once. Therefore, I do hope you enjoy this and appreciate my effort. :) It's um... been a while since I wrote something of this magnitude. Just trying to find the right way to express their emotions exhausted me.

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It was dark out now, as dark as it can get in a city of lights and the absence of stars. The subway ride home was just as terrible as the ride going. People boarding and departing in hordes - drunk, sober, with wives, husbands, children, clean, filthy. Cigar smoke drifted in on the fabric of men's overcoats to mingle with cheap perfumes and hairspray. The air was disgusting, a cesspool of waste and dirty words. A tone-deaf child in the middle of the car tried to sing a Christmas carol before his mother slapped an angry hand across his mouth.

I sat tightly beside Walter, every inch of my left side against his right, feeling safer in his presence than I would in a police station. Walter would not hesitate, never look for an excuse to run if he ever thought I was threatened. And I smiled at this thought.

He doesn't do it for me, though.

We were in the back of a car, reflecting on our exchange as I looked out the window past him at blurred streaks of advertisements and graffiti plastered on the tunnel walls. Walter had turned his head away when he thought that I was looking at him, tucking his hands in his pockets so I couldn't dare extract one from its refuge.

And I wouldn't. It was a fault that I had even thought of touching his face in public, albeit the blanketing darkness and apathetic stares from strangers. I was embarrassed now; I had embarrassed him, and he nudged against me every so often, probably trying to urge me to move away. Even if I could, there was a disgusting middle-aged couple groping each other in the aisle beside me and I wanted to stay as far away from them as possible. I focused on the reflections instead, able to perceive Walter's face clearly reflected in the glass. He caught me looking and shut his eyes to lean his head against the pane, rocking with every bump and turn of the train.

Walter and I would not speak during this ride home; there was nothing special about it, nothing that gave us a reason to exchange words. This commute was like every other ride we have taken together. Because despite the crowds and the noise and the smells, we were the same now as we were when we boarded this afternoon. We did not care about anyone whose names we did not know and who did not know ours. We did not speak about what had passed between us, the development, the slow growth of this something which I still dared not give a generalizing label. Anyone that saw us, anyone bored enough to surmise who we were to each other probably thought that we were in a lovers' spat. Or perhaps we were siblings despite the mismatched phenotypes.

God, I hate being a teacher sometimes.

I was not the woman who held onto her sweetheart for dear life, and I never would be. Walter was not the man who outwardly longed for the female form, panting hungry thoughts behind a girl's back. And we were happy in these times, in this progression from a friendship to this relationship which allowed subtle gazes and motions, or the rare, more explicit confessions we've experienced recently. And in the mornings, all would be forgiven and the progression would continue without us ever looking back for advice.

But I knew that this could not continue forever. I would test his limits soon, yet remain tactful despite the progress I had noted in him. I smiled every time I thought of the little pin he gave me and his racing heart against my chest. I wanted to start classes again just to attach it to my lapel and gloss my fingers over the little redhead during lunch.

He caught me smiling, raising his eyebrow in curiosity.

I leaned over close and whispered a warning in his ear, "You will be kissed tonight. Don't flinch."

He grunted, "I don't."

I couldn't help but chuckle at the mix of revulsion and anticipation that creased the corners of his mouth. And just when I thought that his frown and distaste that traced his features would not subside, he relaxed and gave his full attention to the passing bland scenery out the window. Tugging his hat down to shield his eyes from possible noisy strangers, he withdrew a gloved hand from his coat, allowing me to entwine my fingers in his for the rest of the ride, concealed between our thighs.

When his stop was announced through the white noise of broken speakers, Walter motioned to stand.

Looking over at him I asked, "Should I-?"

He beckoned me off with a resolute nod, following close behind as I pushed through the people.

Feet from the gap, I reached back a blind hand, half-turning to make sure that a creep didn't take it. Walter found me from among the families and lonely individuals and I pulled him up and out of the station, into frigid winter winds and the returned frozen rain.

Walter led a half-step in front of me, now the one pulling me along back to his apartment. The ice and snow crunched like broken bones beneath our feet, dry air and painful rainfall pelting our backs. We finally came to his doorstep and I nearly fell inside in the desire for warmth.

"God, Walter. It's fucking cold out! Jesus. I'm sorry I ever suggested we leave," I said, threading my fingers though my hair to fling down any snow that had stuck.

He shrugged, kicking off his shoes. "It's okay. I didn't mind."

I laughed. "Well, maybe you just have a higher tolerance." But I knew that it was not only the weather that he hadn't minded, and I smiled at the notion.

The lights were still off and the room was eerily illuminated by only the streetlamps and Christmas lights that donned the buildings around this place. It was silent, for the businessmen would have to return the next day to Wall Street and this weather was certainly a turnoff for many. I wondered for a moment as I looked at Walter if this was the first time he had spent this night with someone. I had an image of his mother in my head and couldn't dare imagine that she ever gave him a gift. A small pang of guilt shuttered through my heart since I knew I could have been the first to give him something. And yet I also knew that he would not be comfortable with a gift exchange, thus my internal self shrugged it off, thoughts wandering elsewhere.

We stood just within the doorway as Walter peeled off his coat and hung it with his hat on a rack. Reluctantly, I took off my things as well and he hung up my coat beside his. As I rubbed my hands together in warming friction, Walter turned back and slapped his now gloveless hands around mine and held tight.

His eyes were searching for something, finding permission in my speechlessness to lean forward and kiss my forehead with faltering lips. He did not immediately pull away; warm breath melted the chilled mark that quickly faded through the rest of my flesh.

"Walter?" I whispered, unsure.

I wanted to look at him, but he bent his head down as was typical post-physical contact. After another moment, he said my name.

"What is it?" I asked, searching for any evidence of emotion around his eyes and cheeks.

A smirk, finally able to match my gaze, and planted another soft hesitant kiss on my slightly parted mouth. "Are you warm yet?" he asked.

My heart was pounding in my ears and my fingers twitched in his tight grip. "No…."

His eyes flared and he looked away again. He reminded me of the boys in school who were unsure how to respond to a girl on the playground that just handed him a daisy as a token of peace and friendship.

A half-step forward to close the distance between our bodies and I returned the kiss to his cheek, trailing my lips to his own. His hands fell to place reluctant fingertips on my waist which allowed me to wrap one of my own hands around the base of his neck, fingertips curling into his hair, my other hand clutching the fabric of his rough vest. I kissed him like the first time I ever did so as a test, lingering for a moment before another attempt, awakening his senses after a night of persuasion.

He believed me now; I felt it in his tightening digits through the cloth of my shirt and I deeply desired to feel his fingers along bare skin. I felt it in the hot breath we exchanged between chapped lips, through the mixed sensations I received from my hands, fabric and flesh, holding tighter to a man who really could recover from a pit of bad experiences and uncertainty.

Growing more passionate by the moment, we broke for air in brief pauses in which we reconsidered our current state before returning to express these previously-unknown desires. Walter and I stood in contrast to those whose passions were only fueled by a base animal desire. Unspoken 'thank you's drove our movements and fueled our breaths, transmitted from fingertips to bodies like sparks of electricity from an outlet to an unsuspecting child.

A step back every few seconds, we sought a place to support our bodies, finally finding a bit of wall beside our hanging winter garments. Those were not even the thickest layer we had worn this night. A physical defense against frigid elements was nothing in comparison to the barriers that we were stripping now - the manifestation of the past couple months' talking and eating weakened day by day until it came to this point.

The cracked and peeling wallpaper itched my spine as I pulled Walter in tighter, restricting my own movement in case - In case of what? I would not stop.

As my fingers trailed down the front of his faded vest, I asked, "May I?"

A nod. He was the boy who modestly allowed his teachers to display his work on the walls outside the classroom, never once responding to the well-deserved praise.

The vest fell to the side. More gauche kisses, my fingers delicate on the buttons of his dress shirt. "Again?" I sighed.

Another nod with half-lidded downcast eyes. He was the boy that stood before the class, presenting something in which he secretly held pride but did not want to be teased as the nerd or teacher's pet.

Slipping off the shirt to reveal a form I had only seen once before last night, I dared not say his name. We could not awaken from this. We could not be lifted from numb senses to the outside world as blood pumped in our ears and organs, fingers trembling in mute excitement.

My fingers traced down his biceps, his hands light on my back and I pushed down his arms to his sides. I slid a few fingers up under the hem of his undershirt at his hips and asked once more, softly, "Again?"

His final nod of permission and I slid my palms against his flesh, over a hard abdomen, up his sides, indicating that he should raise his arms. He let me pull the shirt up and off, and he flung it down from his wrist, his eyes never meeting mine in the fear that this might all be real. Perhaps it was a dream; it was so ethereal, so unexpected.

He was the boy at the center of the gymnasium, told to perform a handstand and walk in a circle. He flips into perfect form, astounding his instructor and drawing cold jealousy from those around him. He is proud, flawless.

Calloused fingers from years of handing needle and thread traced my jaw line, parting my already relaxed lips further. Walter replaced his fingers with his lips and gave another kiss, welcoming and accepting what we had become to each other. Friend, ally, confidante, one in whom pleasure was found, one in whom peace was found, a refuge, a retreat, an assistant to survival in this world. The word that I could not yet formulate was lover. That is not what this was, as much as my heart beat for him now.

His thumb and forefingers discovered the buttons of my own blouse. I guided his hand down them all and he returned to my stomach, splaying his fingers softly under my ribcage, eyes not quite understanding what he was seeing or feeling. This was new to him, new for me; rough freckled skin contrasted my paler, softer form nicely.

He clawed his other hand into the wall beside me as we continued to kiss and I clutched his waist above his pants line, tugging him as tight as I could to pin me back.

I could feel him growing tighter against me, his breathing labored and hot, sending a jolt up my spine and through my limbs. A kiss to my neck and I strained, digging my nails into his hips. I suppressed the intense desire to exhale his name into the apartment air, but this was forbidden, for the walls might be able to tell a later dweller who was heard this night.

He took another moment to breathe but as I tried to capture his mouth again, he gritted his teeth, his fingers curling into my stomach, flexing and stretching with every inhale. With closed eyes, he pressed his forehead to mine, curling backwards away from me.

"Can't," he managed to utter, removing the hand from my stomach and withdrew from me completely, taking a step back. He struggled to look at me squarely. I didn't move and as my breathing slowed he told me that the last woman he saw in a partially-dressed form was his mother, just before she yelled at him. Before she screamed that she 'should have had that abortion.'

"Bad memory. Shouldn't have come up now," He swallowed. "I'm sorry," he sighed. His gaze fluttered up and down, to my body and back to the floor.

"Don't be," I reassured him, reaching out to caress his face. He leaned into my palm so slightly that it was really nothing more than a twitch. My heart was still pounding through my chest, my fingers weak as he took them down.

"Will you – stay here tonight?" he asked.

"Of course. As long as you need me to stay, Walter."

His weak nod and the pain behind his empty gaze which was just filled moments before with blinding passion nearly broke my heart. I pried myself away and stepped around him, his body turning to follow.

As I stepped onto the tile of the small kitchen area, re-buttoning my front, he muttered my name.

I turned as he pulled the undershirt back down and approached. I leaned back against the sink as the sudden desire to shed a few tears cast wrinkles along my brow and cheeks.

So this is what it feels like.

I sighed and relaxed as he stood before me, resolute that I would not leave.

"Again. I – I want to try again."

"We don't have to tonight."

Perhaps he took this as my saying that I no longer wanted to, which was completely false, but I wanted to give him the option of thinking it over before a second attempt.

"Maybe next week," he said.

I laughed. "Maybe next week."

He was the boy who sat at his desk with a blank piece of paper and a new pencil, thinking of who to invite to his birthday party. He writes one name, crumples the paper, and tries again.

…..

We sat at the edge of his broken mattress on the floor, facing the blank shadowed wall feet away in the darkness. There was evidence that the wallpaper once displayed an intricate pattern, now faded and peeling. A single sheet lay atop the box spring with Walter's makeshift comforter, an afghan, strewn at the foot.

For the next few hours leading into midnight, we talked of various things in an effort to bury what had occurred prior. As a teacher, I was curious about his school life and learned that he had excelled in gymnastics and boxing – which explained his body – and in literature and religion.

"You might appreciate Lewis, then. Narnia?"

"I did for a time. Required reading."

"Any favorites during school?"

A light shrug. "Catcher in the Rye."

"How did you ever get your hands on that? It's censored now and I probably couldn't teach it even if I moved up to a high school around here."

"Hurm. Browse through what I have some time," he said, nodding back to a pile of paperbacks I just now noticed in the corner.

For the first time since having met Walter, we had a prolonged conversation about books and what I was thinking of giving my students, receiving Walter's critiques on nearly all mentioned. I was impressed and suggested that perhaps he should visit one day during a class.

"Hmph. You probably do fine by yourself."

"Even so… just think about it."

I stretched and relaxed back on the mattress, with hands folded on my stomach. A coil poked up into my back, another in the base of my skull, rejecting my body, urging me to get off now.

I listened to his breathing as he sat with arms flung over knees. He peered back and down at me once, most likely curious as to what dared provoke me to lay out before him. After another moment, he turned back and hung his head between his knees.

I curled up and placed a light hand to his back between his shoulder blades. Firm muscles tensed at the contact, relaxing only when he sat up and looked at me.

The same searching, curious, and pained eyes met me that I have now seen so many times. Confusion and wonder laced his expression, even as he closed the distance once more between us with a convincing and full kiss.

He was quick to have reconsidered and I welcomed that change in the knowledge that this time, he would not hesitate. In a swift flurry of shedding garments and repositioning, Walter dominated over me, head hung low as I shimmied out the rest of my clothing, leaving bra and underwear for him to frown upon. A hot flush painted his cheeks as he bent on all fours above me and I knew that in the light, his skin tone would probably match that of his hair.

He continued to never meet my eyes as we moved, as I kissed him everywhere I could, even as I grimaced in pain from the hard spirals in my back. This was easily ignored and in the thick prevailing darkness, now that the neighbors had shut off their lights and decorations, shadows bathed our partially nude forms.

Walter's fumbling fingers yanked out his belt and tugged his pants to below his hips. I couldn't look, even as I felt him atop me, as I wound my arms around his back and curled a leg half over his ass. Awkward and moist kisses broken by sharp intakes of breath occupied us as I ground up against his body. I probably would not last much longer, and try as he might to stop himself in the middle of this sordid act, Walter could not hold out, either.

I did not demand that he touch my undergarments. Unsnapping and slipping was my duty before I thrust down a blind hand to free his erection and guide him to me.

A brief curiosity passed through my mind. Did any girl in school ever ask him to dance? Was there ever once a girl or another woman who dared speak to the withdrawn figure in the back of a crowd? I knew that he never would have dared to touch a female before because they were all the same. Women were all filthy whores who cheated on their husbands with the pool boys when they had the house to themselves for seven hours of the day. They slathered on lotions to give their skin an oily texture and plastered on makeup to hide the impurities. I was one of the few that didn't bother making herself beautiful for men.

Despite the cold outdoors and the draft that snuck through the space in the windowpanes, we were sweating and my back revolted against the metal that scraped through the outer layer of the mattress and the thin sheet. Walter smelled of a rich musk, his body slick against mine in his first initial press and I curled up my other leg. He concentrated on an area of my neck, eyes glazed over and hands firm to either side of my head. We picked up a pulse as he thrust and I pushed back, creating a battle between our bodies with tensed muscles and increasing spasms.

My mind turned blank from the heightened sensations and I was hypnotized by our increasing rhythm, gasping for air until I shuttered in my own release and he a few moments later. Lingering for a moment, I lowered my legs and my hands to Walter's forearms and he withdrew. We stayed in this position, waiting for our breath and heartbeat to slow to a suitable level that I could say his name in a sharp exhale.

His eyes flashed up, mouth parted, aware of what we had just done and he cast his head to the side. If he was about to say something, he bit back the words that might have fallen from swollen lips. He crawled back, balancing on his haunches before he stood and padded off to the bathroom just feet away.

I lay with legs folded up, waiting for my senses to return, for the pounding blood to leave my ears, for my breasts to stop heaving with every breath. I waited, left to wonder how and why this happened. I heard the shower turn on which gave me time to wrap up the sheet we had just dirtied and redress myself.

All I wanted now was to sleep, to achieve my hope of his warm body at my side, silent and content. I held no fear of any terse words he may utter or sharp eyes to pierce the darkness. It was not his current absence that bothered me, as I stood to pour myself a glass of water. It was the blank stare that I would receive upon his return into the room, what he would not say, what he would not reveal even after the smell of sex had dissipated into the walls.

I sat back down on the bed against the wall, huddled up tight within myself, and waited.