a/n: originally, this was supposed to be a much longer fic spanning asher's childhood and adolescence before moving on to his adulthood, but i'm honestly not sure if i'll ever finish it and really want to share it, so here it is as-is.
pretty much all you need to know is that this is set in an au where asher leaves the community when he's an adult. he travels and somehow finds jonas, and settles down to live with jonas in his new community. when asher was eleven he had a dream about wanting to kiss jonas and his parents took him to dr. yoshiko (jonas' dad's friend from the book) because male/male stirrings dreams were unheard of, but she said he was medically sound, so they just gave him the pills and didn't worry about it.
this doesn't acknowledge any canon set after the giver and is based solely on the book.
i.
Jonas said the new Community didn't actually belong to him. He said a lot of complicated things about how it was run, actually, but Asher couldn't focus on any of them. He was overwhelmed by all the things he was feeling and the sounds, the smells, the things he could see. None of it was familiar and Asher wanted to lie down. Thankfully eventually Jonas seemed to pick up on Asher's exhaustion because he said,
"Hey," and then, "Sorry, I wasn't thinking. You can — "
"I accept your apology," Asher said, without even thinking about it. Then, realizing what he'd done: "I apologize for interrupting."
An odd expression crossed Jonas' face. It was almost strained. "You don't have to — " he started, but then seemed to change his mind. He brought his hand up over his mouth and pulled it down. He looked tired.
"Come with me," he said, after a little while. "I'll help you get set up where you can rest for a while. Okay?"
Asher nodded. They walked out of the Community center and down an unpaved road a little ways before coming to some houses. Jonas brought Asher to one of them and unlocked the front door. Asher startled at the sight of his key, and of the lock, and Jonas gave him a little smile. It seemed almost sad.
"We lock our doors here," he said, pushing it inward. "I — it's been so long since I left. I forgot how much you'd have to get used to."
"I apol- " Asher began, but then stopped himself, confused; Jonas had told him not to apologize, but his ignorance was causing Jonas discomfort, or it was inconveniencing him, and Asher should apologize for that, shouldn't he, because Jonas was the leader, and he had so many more important things to worry about than one man he barely knew anymore —
"Ash," Jonas said. His voice was very soft, and very close. For no reason it made Asher remember that day in the hospital, so long ago now, and Dr. Yoshiko's calm, clinical voice: There is nothing physically wrong with your son. But if you like, we can keep him overnight and administer corrections.
"What," Asher said.
"You spaced out on me, buddy," Jonas said. He was smiling gently. He was too close. They were almost touching. The rules —
Asher stepped back without thinking about it, and Jonas looked surprised, but then another one of those wry, inward looks crossed his face. He huffed softly.
"Too close, huh," he said, and Asher's face grew warm. He shrugged, trying to play it off, but as he walked with Jonas into the house he was very, very aware of every fraction of his own body, and every fraction of Jonas'.
Jonas showed him to a small room in the hallway. There were already more rooms and more - everything - in this house than Asher had ever seen, and he was overwhelmed again, and grateful for the sight of a normal, narrow bed against the wall. He walked to it, then glanced over at Jonas standing in the doorway. Jonas gave him another one of those sad little smiles, but he nodded, and Asher collapsed on the mattress. He was going to be surprised at the softness of the sheets, but he fell asleep before it could fully register.
ii.
"I want to teach you about colors," Jonas said. They were sitting on the back porch. Asher was trying not to feel guilty that Jonas was spending so much time with him; Jonas had said over and over that he wasn't in charge here, really, and that he didn't need to be anywhere else. But Asher couldn't help the tightness in his chest, nor the formless terror that gripped him, sometimes, when he thought too hard about his life now. He was useless, not contributing. In the old Community that might have been grounds for a disciplinary hearing, perhaps even Release. But here —
Jonas was sitting with him in the — what, the sky-warmth? no, it was called sunlight. He was loose and relaxed. Sometimes Asher could see the boy Jonas had been in his face when he turned a certain way, or twisted his nose just so. Jonas was sitting with him and he wanted to teach him something, and nothing that Jonas had taught Asher thus far had been scary or bad. So he nodded, and Jonas smiled at him.
"Okay," he said. "So it's — not likely that you'll ever see them yourself; I'm sorry, I wish I could change that for you."
Asher bit back the still-instinctive response: 'I accept your apology'. He wondered how long it would take that to go away entirely.
"But I figured out a way I can describe it to you, anyway. Color is — " Jonas waved his hand in the air — "everywhere, all around us. This shirt I'm wearing is - well, okay, you're not gonna — " He exhaled, slowly. "You see shades, right? You'll have to remind me how it is, I can barely remember it myself."
Asher hesitated. He wanted to give Jonas what he was asking for, but he didn't know how. He just saw things the way he'd always seen them.
"This doesn't quite look like this, does it," Jonas said, when Asher still couldn't reply. He pointed to his tunic — shirt — and then to the pavement they were sitting on. At first Asher started to say yes, they looked similar, but he knew that was the wrong answer, and he wanted — so badly, he wanted to make Jonas happy. The formless ache of that was even more terrifying than the ache of feeling useless in the new Community. So he looked harder, and after a few seconds he did notice. He flicked his eyes up to Jonas' and gave him a hesitant smile.
"The shades are different," he said, and Jonas' answering grin told him all he needed to know.
"Right," Jonas said. "That's exactly right, Ash." His hand twitched like he was going to reach out, but he stopped himself. He did that a lot, and sometimes Asher wondered what it might be like for Jonas to touch him, to clasp his arm or ruffle his hair. But he was frightened of it — more so than he was of anything else here, the food waste or the temperature changes or the flashing lights — and he couldn't quite let himself go that far. But Jonas never pressed and he didn't press now. He just continued:
"So my shirt is dark blue, okay? That's the name for its shade. That's its color. The pavement is gray — well, it's more whitish-gray, but basically it's gray. That's — honestly if I remember right that's close to the shades you see naturally, yourself."
A pleasant chill ran up Asher's spine at the thought of him and Jonas seeing something the same way, even if it was just as mundane as a slab of pavement beneath their hands.
"But just saying the names isn't enough to describe color to you," Jonas said. "How it looks. How it makes you feel. I — I've given this a lot of thought. I'm going to say words that evoke the color I associate them with. They might not all be words you know, but I think some of them will be, and I'm hoping you'll catch the basic meaning no matter what."
Asher nodded. He sat up a little straighter and gave Jonas a smile which Jonas returned. Then Jonas began:
"First color on the spectrum is red. Think heat. Spice. Salsa. Sunlight. Anger. Lust. Rage. Blood. Despair. Fury. Passion. Violence. Slay. Thrust. Wrench. Force. Kill. Burn. Torture.
"Then there's orange. Crisp. Clean. Slick. Sweet. Savory. Juicy. Bright. Loud. Joyful. Tang.
"Next is yellow. Sharp. Slice. Sudden. Lick. Click. Crisp. Splash. Flash. Clash. Glow. Glitter. Sparkle. Sear.
"Green. Crisp — that one can be used for several of them. Sharp. Slice. Moss. Grass. Air. Poison. Danger. Dungeon. Sour. Tart. Decay. Demolish. Linger. Cling. Slender. Stalk. Fresh. Brush. Soak. Froth. Lurch. Clench. Slip. Swipe.
"Blue — " he pointed at his shirt. "Ocean. Sea. Galaxy. Stars. Moon. Sky. Planet. Calm. Quiet. Soothe. Sleep. Mist. Swim. Song. Drown. Rush. Water. Slow. Dream. Dance. Sigh. Peace. Despair. Wreckage. Winter. Ice. Storm. Thrash. Sorrow. Release. Refresh.
"The final color on the spectrum is purple. Livid. Loud. Deep. Rich. Thick. Drink. Pillow. Blur. Escape.
"There are so many shades of colors within those main six," Jonas finished. "And there are other colors beyond those — brown, white, black, pink — but those main ones are enough for you to know. Especially since you can't truly see any of them — I just wanted you to have some kind of basic idea if I ever, y'know, if I ever say something is some color in front of you. I didn't want you to feel left out."
For some reason it struck Asher as possibly the nicest thing anyone had ever said to or done for him. He felt a tightness in his throat and swallowed it down.
"I didn't understand most of those words," he said, carefully. "But I — you were right. I have a better sense of the colors now." And he did. He wasn't sure if Jonas' expressions and tone had actually changed so drastically while describing each color and its associated words. But it had seemed to Asher that he'd gotten more riled up when describing red, and more - almost melancholy, when he'd gotten to blue. Blue was Asher's favorite of the six. He guessed it wasn't a coincidence that it was the color of Jonas' shirt.
Jonas was smiling at him. "You're doing so well, Ash," he said, even though Asher hadn't done anything at all. "I want you to know — if you ever want to ask me anything. Anything. I promise. I won't be offended or angry. I won't be uncomfortable. You may ask me any question you like and I'll try to answer it to the best of my abilities." His hand flexed again on the pavement. Asher imagined how it would feel if he were to simply reach out and take it himself.
"And if I don't know the answer, I'll direct you to someone who does," Jonas said. "But I won't ever lie to you."
A less-pleasant chill ran down Asher's spine at those words. He remembered receiving his folder at the Ceremony of Twelve. How he'd opened it that night at his family's dwelling, eager and excited to begin reading about the upcoming weeks and months of training. How he'd felt suddenly light-headed when he'd reached the fifth page and seen the rule typed out quite clearly at the bottom:
You may lie.
"I believe you won't," Asher said to Jonas now, and Jonas let out a soft exhale. It sounded relieved.
iii.
Asher's hands were shaking. Jonas was sitting perfectly still on the couch, his own hands folded in his lap. Asher couldn't do it, and he didn't know why, but he knew enough to understand he felt like a failure. When he gave up, jerking his hands back in frustration, a quick, pained expression crossed Jonas' face.
"Ash," he said, quietly. "We don't have to do this."
Asher swallowed. Tears had sprung unbidden to his eyes. Not for the first time he found himself wanting instinctively to rush to the speaker and depress the button, order relief of pain, or go into the cabinet in the kitchen and shake out an extra dosage of Stirrings pills. But there was no speaker; no one listening to their conversations. There were pills, but they didn't work the same, they weren't absolute. And Asher knew, instinctively, that no pill would be able to help him with this feeling of inadequacy.
"I know how you feel about me," Jonas continued, still in that quiet voice. "And you know how I feel about you. Don't you?"
Asher nodded, staring at his hands twisting over and over each other in his lap.
"So that's good enough for me," Jonas said. "I'd rather live the rest of our lives together here and never make physical contact than force you to touch me even one time when you don't really want to."
"But I do want — "
"Ash, I know." Jonas' voice got somehow even gentler, and for some reason it broke Asher down completely. He began weeping — the color blue — and he felt the couch shift as Jonas got up. He heard his footsteps go into the kitchen. Momentarily he returned with tissue which Asher took — just two, long-ingrained habit, though he really wanted and could have used more. He wiped his eyes and blew his nose as Jonas sat back down beside him. When Asher could look up again Jonas said,
"I know you want to. But you know — I told you, it's not quick, getting over everything that happened. The lifestyle we were raised in. You know I left the Community when we were only twelve. That was — fuck, I guess almost twenty years ago now. And I was a child. My brain hadn't fully developed. It wasn't easy, but it was easier for me to transition than it's going to be for you."
Asher shook his head, but the movement was perfunctory. Jonas was speaking in the usual way he had, earnest and desperate and soft, and Asher knew he knew he was listening.
"You've been here just over two years," Jonas said. "That's hardly any time at all, but you've come so far. And you still have so much more to learn about yourself, about the rest of the world... I just, all I'm saying is, don't beat yourself up about this, Ash. Please. I want us to touch if and when you're ready for it. I'm going to be miserable if we start doing anything and you're not actually comfortable. Can you understand that?"
Asher shrugged, because Jonas had always made sure to remind him that not knowing an answer was preferable to lying about knowing. Jonas sighed, but it wasn't exasperated. When Asher looked at him he was looking back. The expression on his face was — well, it was fond, there was no other word for it. It made Asher feel flustered and warm inside his shirt. It made him want to reach out, try again, and before he could overthink the impulse he did reach out, his hand crossing the length of the couch. It started to shake again once it got closer to Jonas but he pushed through it, and Jonas held completely still, and then suddenly —
Jonas' skin was very warm, and dry. Asher could feel all the bones in his hand. It wasn't until he was touching him that he realized he had no idea what to do next, but thankfully Jonas saved him from embarrassment by flipping his own hand over beneath Asher's. He curled their fingers together and Asher let out a shocked, shaking gasp at the feeling of it. He hadn't imagined - not in all his dreams, not in all his fantasies. He couldn't have made this specific sensation up, not with all the time to read all the fiction in all the world.
Jonas was trembling too, more faintly than Asher, but he was definitely trembling. He was smiling almost helplessly down at their joined hands. "Can I come closer?" he asked, and when Asher nodded Jonas scooted down the couch. Seconds later Asher jolted, because now their knees were touching, too. Where they'd made contact Asher felt a sharp electric sting, but it wasn't unpleasant or painful. It made him want to press back, actually, so he did, which in turn made Jonas' smile widen.
"This is unfuckingreal," Jonas breathed out, after a long while.
"Unfuckingreal," Asher echoed, just because he knew it would make Jonas laugh.
iv.
He was on his back, legs spread open. He was on Jonas' couch and he was mostly naked except for a pair of shorts. He'd gotten past the sense of shame which came with showing any part of his skin, except it was a little bit back now, because of the situation they were in. Asher had his hand on his lower stomach and he was looking at Jonas, and Jonas was looking back, equally as naked as Asher was, and Asher wasn't sure he could do this.
"I don't know if I can do this," he said.
Jonas nodded. He reached out and patted Asher's ankle. "It's okay," he said. "You wanna just come over here and cuddle?"
Yes, Asher thought, because it would be easier; because he was used to it now. But he could still remember how terrifying it had been to let Jonas touch him at all, once. And then how difficult it had been from there to take his shirt off in Jonas' presence. It had been three years since the first time Jonas had put his hands on Asher, and Asher didn't think he was doing himself any favors by continuing to put off the inevitable progression of their relationship. His dreams — Stirrings, he still thought sometimes, when he wasn't really paying attention — weren't going to go away; there was no pill that would take them from him again, and he knew he wouldn't want that even if he was presented with the option. There was so much about this world that Asher had come to appreciate in the five years he'd lived with Jonas; the influx of feelings and emotions, the staggering weight of responsibility and choice, and the odd, incongruous freedom that came with both. He couldn't help laughing a little to himself sometimes when he remembered the long-ago day when he'd stood on the platform and been given his full-time, lifelong career at twelve years old. Assistant Director of Recreation, they'd called him, and he'd been so honored and excited. But it hadn't been a real job; at least, not in the way he'd thought back then. What had the duties been except to tell people how to spend their free time. Which in turn had meant it wasn't free time at all.
It wasn't even so much that Asher thought the old Community was a horrible, evil place to live, because it wasn't. He and Jonas had discussed that, so he knew Jonas felt the same confusing mix of emotions about it as he did. They'd been safe there, and they hadn't known any different way of living could even exist. Fear, power, heartbreak, anger — all the things that could cause real pain and strife had been taken from them, and Asher was sure that, whatever the initial reasoning behind it had been (back when the Community was first established), the people who were in charge when he'd left had not intended it to cause harm. They'd wanted a society free of choice and pain, and they'd had that. If Asher had stayed — no, if Jonas had stayed, and held the memories for all of them — but if Asher had stayed protected from all of that, he would have been content with the rest of his life, because he would have known no different. He would have never been in danger. He would have had a fulfilling job, a house that would have been picked for him, a spouse and two children if he'd chosen to apply for such things. Moreover he would have been guaranteed all of those things, instead of facing the potential that he would not receive them due to whatever various elements in the world out of his control.
But having left the Community, and having experienced the things in Jonas' world, music, television, smells, variety, love - Asher knew he would not be able to go back. Even if he could be certain they wouldn't Release him as soon as he returned; even if he could be certain they'd give him some kind of injection that would erase his memories of the last five years — really, the memories from since Jonas had left — he would not be able to go back. He knew he'd feel the ache of something missing. He wouldn't be able to put it into words. He'd grow frustrated. He might lash out. The Community wouldn't understand it, and it was possible he'd be Released anyway.
So lying here on Jonas' couch Asher understood he could choose to just take the easy option, crawl into Jonas' arms, maybe exchange a few slow, lazy kisses before they'd turn on a movie or get dressed again to go out and exercise. But the point was that it would be his choice. And he'd already made so many choices well outside of his comfort zone.
So he shook his head at Jonas in response. He slid his hand uncertainly between his thighs, where Jonas had told him to, and Jonas let out a low, rough sound like Asher had shocked him. His hand was still wrapped loosely around Asher's ankle and he started to pull it away, but Asher shook his head again, said,
"No. Keep it there,"
and Jonas did. His mouth was slightly open, the lower lip wet with saliva. It was the hottest thing Asher thought he'd ever seen.
"What do I do from here?" Asher asked, with his hand resting over his penis. Jonas swallowed - his throat made an audible clicking sound.
"Spit on your hand, then put it in your shorts," he said. "Wrap it around yourself."
Asher acted accordingly. The damp feeling of his palm against his penis was odd, but it wasn't unpleasant, just — different. Jonas was staring at it, the bulge his hand made inside his shorts. The expression on his face — Asher couldn't think of a better way to describe it other than to say he looked hungry. Precision of language was good for something after all, he thought wryly, and huffed out a laugh as he watched Jonas' face, waiting for instructions.
"Move your hand," Jonas told him. His voice was pitching lower and lower. "Stroke yourself. If the friction starts getting painful just take your hand back out and spit in it again."
Asher moved his hand. For a second he didn't feel anything, and he was afraid, perhaps the pills had damaged something inside of him permanently — but then an unexpected burst of warmth flooded through his groin, and he gasped, surprised. He stared at Jonas, and he could feel that his own mouth had fallen open. The hunger in Jonas' gaze had furthered into starvation. He put his own palm over the bulge in his own shorts. He licked his lips.
"Keep rubbing," Jonas said. "It's just gonna get better from here, I promise."
Asher stroked himself. The warmth in his groin continued spreading, tingling into his lower stomach, and down his inner thighs. He could feel his hand was getting dry but he was reluctant to take it out; he didn't want to stop touching himself. His penis was tingling; every part of his groin was tingling. He could feel his face and his chest growing warm, and it furthered as he watched Jonas, too, because Jonas was rubbing himself over his shorts, practiced quick movements, the heel of his hand against his penis. His breath was coming shorter and choppier, or perhaps that was Asher's echoing in his ears, or perhaps it was both of them together.
Asher forced himself to draw his hand out; to spit in the palm again. The warmth and the tingling faded back a little when he stopped touching himself, but they quickly returned when he slid his hand back in. Jonas groaned, watching him:
"Yeah," he said, voice even lower now. "Yeah, fuck, Ash — that's right, that's good — "
A jolt ran through Asher's whole body at the word 'good'. He whimpered (he couldn't ever remember making a noise like that before in his entire life). His thighs tensed up. Instinct was spurring him on and he began to move his hand faster. Something was coming out of the head of his penis that made the slide easier; he didn't have to spit again, and he could see that Jonas was aware of it happening, the way his eyes were fixed on Asher's groin.
"It's — fuck," Jonas said. He was digging his hand harder against himself. "It's called precome, or I guess pre-ejaculate, it — hhhh." His jaw was tense; eyes desperate. He looked up at Asher's face and said, voice pleading, "Can I — fuck, do you mind if I touch myself too, I — "
Another one of those jolts rushed through Asher at the sound of Jonas asking — begging — for permission. He nodded — he didn't trust himself to speak — and Jonas slid his hand beneath his waistband. He groaned again, getting his hand around himself.
" — it's normal, it always happens," Jonas said after a moment, panting. "Means you're aroused."
Arousal was the same as Stirrings, Jonas had told him once. He wasn't entirely sure if Jonas had been using precise language at the time, though, because this — this was nothing like Stirrings. The intensity of it was overwhelming; the heat that had suffused through Asher's whole body, the way the tingling in his groin had turned into this constant, rolling pressure. He could feel his toes curling against the couch cushions. Jonas' hand tightened around his ankle; Asher's hips kicked up of their own accord. Something was tightening in his center, in his inner thighs and in his penis and in his lower stomach. His testicles were tightening; he'd broken a light sweat, he — he was —
"Yeah," Jonas breathed out, watching him with that same starvation in his eyes. He was moving his hand on himself almost lazily. "Yeah, that's right, baby. That's so good; such a good boy — "
Asher moaned, the sound shocking him in its brokenness and its honesty. He felt that hard jolt again, but this time instead of subsiding it crested over and peaked, gathering up all the tension and tightness in his body and sending it flying forward. His mouth fell completely open and his head canted back against the arm of the couch. Hot wetness spurted out of him, soaking his hand, the inside of his shorts, his pubic hairs. He felt the slit of his penis catch against the elastic edge of his waistband and another pulse of it roared through him. Everything was clenching inside him. He felt on the verge of exploding open.
"Oh, fuck," Jonas said, and Asher opened his eyes just in time to see Jonas' head fall back against the couch, too, his hand moving suddenly very very fast in his shorts. His other hand was a vice around Asher's ankle but Asher didn't mind the pain. Jonas stroked himself two, three more times, then his whole body tensed up and Asher saw dark spurts appear in his shorts, too. His own hand was still moving on himself and the sight of Jonas completing the same way Asher had made his hips and his penis jerk again, a third little crest of crushing tension leaking out of him. He collapsed completely back into the cushions, eyes falling shut again. He was hot all over, and suddenly exhausted. The feeling of his hand on himself was beginning to grow uncomfortable, so he pulled it out, resting it again on top of his shorts. He could still feel Jonas' hand curled, now loose again, around his ankle.
After what felt like a very long time Jonas said, "Ash?" and when Asher looked, Jonas was watching him. Asher smiled at him, and Jonas smiled back. He said, "Hey, let's go clean ourselves off now, okay? We'll put on fresh shorts and — "
Asher didn't know where the impulse came from, but he let it lead him. He sat up while Jonas was still talking and he kissed him, putting his clean hand on Jonas' face, on his jaw. Jonas let out a soft sound into his mouth, lips parting. He licked Asher's tongue and Asher moaned, and in spite of the sensitivity of his penis he felt something stir faintly between his legs again.
Stirrings.
Oh.
He smiled against Jonas' mouth. When they pulled apart Jonas lifted his hand off Asher's ankle to brush Asher's hair off his forehead.
"You liked that, huh," Jonas said, softly.
Asher nodded. He was dizzy and dazed with how much he'd liked it. How much he wanted to do it again, as soon as possible, as often as possible. When he said as much to Jonas, Jonas laughed. He got a sly look on his face.
"You know," he said, "I'd be more than happy to help you with that."
Asher laughed, too. "Insatiable," he teased, and let himself be tugged up from the couch and led down the hallway into the bathroom. Jonas wet a rag with warm water and had Asher strip off his shorts, then wipe the fluid off himself. Jonas did the same, then tossed their dirty clothes into the hamper.
"I did it right?" Asher asked a while later, when he and Jonas had dressed again and were outside in their garden. Jonas paused — he was planting cucumber seeds — and looked up. He reached out; took Asher's hand. He lifted it to his mouth. Kissed Asher's dirty knuckles.
"You were fucking incredible," Jonas told him, softly.
