The irony of my mother calling me on my birthday to tell me she's dying isn't lost on me. And the fact that I didn't hang up on her or say a few curses speaks a lot about how much I changed during my time in Alaska. But some of those old, dark thoughts are slowly coming back. Anger and frustration are the strongest ones. But underneath that, I'm not as strong as I thought I was. Because when I heard my mom's voice I was that small kid again. I was eleven years old, standing next to her shaking form in front of a casket trying to be a brave boy for her as we had laid my dad's body to rest.

I shift in my seat, and look at Dylan who's sitting next to me. We'd made an unspoken agreement to keep our words to ourselves, and to go back to pretending like there is something to celebrate. But Dylan's face says everything–he doesn't want to be here anymore–there's something really morbid about celebrating one's birthday while someone else's death is looming over all of us.

"I should go," Dylan speaks and stands up. For an hour now, he's been quiet, his demeanor changed from concerned to uncomfortable to closed off.  And I really can't blame him, he was never supposed to be a part of my circus–I selfishly dumped all of my baggage on him. But I want to know what's on his mind. We became so attuned to each other that this now is uncharted territory for me.

"Can you stay, maybe we can talk?" I ask him before he leaves the room. He takes his time to respond, but after saying goodnight to my Uncle and Aunt we climb the stairs to my room.

"You ok?" He talks first after he closes the door behind him.

"Yeah, just... what the fuck, you know?"

"Oh Noah.."

"This is just so fucking typical. Of course she had to be dying. Of course she is calling me to say she's sorry when it's too little too late. Of course!"

"She might not be dying, babe. She'll be going through dialysis."

"Yeah, but it's non curable apparently. She's going to be dependent on dialysis forever. And it's not going to work out for long." I am not entirely sure about the details of her condition but she sounded certain that it is not something we should get our hopes up about.

"I'm so sorry that this is happening to you..."

"I don't know what to do," I release a long breath.

"You know."

"Dylan..." The tone of my voice is threatening because I can't handle him saying what he's about to say.

"You have to. You have to see your mother and talk to her. This is coming from someone whose mother passed away from cancer. I will always carry those last moments with her with me."

"But your mother was actually that, mine abandoned me."

"That's true, and it's ok to not forgive her for that. But when you came to Alaska, you said you wanted to find her. There was a reason for that."

"Yeah, but that was before," I turn my back to him and go to sit on my bed.

"What changed now?"

You. I fell in love with you.

"Well, I met you," I say instead. "I'm happy here, with you, with Paul and Adel. I don't want to ruin this."

"Ok. If that's what you really want, then stay. Just tell me, how does that make you feel?"

I'm quiet. Images of my dad flash through my mind and one thought is a constant–if only I had one more chance to see my dad, even just to watch him play football from the distance, watch him do something completely random like loading a dishwasher. If I had one more chance to spend time with Maya, to just sit on a fire escape metal staircase sharing my earphones with her so we could listen to a new song from our favorite band. I'd give anything.

"I think..." I shake my head. "I don't know."

My throat closes up, and he must notice I've become too overwhelmed, because then he is right there, sitting next to me, hugging me to him, and I screw my eyes shut.

"If you stay, and don't see her before she dies, don't you think the guilt is going to eat you alive? I don't want you ever feeling like that."

He's right. The guilt I carry from Maya's death is still there. I don't think I'll ever stop thinking about what I could have done differently, would she still be alive if I got her out of that sick man earlier?

"But I don't want to leave you."

He inches away and palms my cheek, and he brushes his thumb under my eye. "I'll be right here, in the good old Wake Forest, Alaska, you'll always know where to find me."

I press my lips to his in a tender kiss before closing my eyes and tilting my head up to the ceiling.

"Ok. I'll go. And Dylan, I'm coming back. I promise."

He doesn't say anything. When he pulls me back to his chest, he dips his head and captures my lips with his again. I lose myself in the warmth of his mouth, in the soft but unhesitating strokes of his tongue against mine. My hands snake up around his neck, finding purpose as I lean into his solid body. Soon we break the kiss but I feel Dylan's lips skim over my neck as he continues to let me cling to him.

"Better?" he whispers. I manage a nod, but nothing more. I pull back so he can see my face, but I can't even manage a smile to reassure him. I think he knows how complicated this all is for me.

I kiss him softly before I finally speak, "I just wish the timing was better."

"Me too. But that's ok. When you come back we'll have all the time in the world." Dylan assures me but somehow the words don't come out very convincing. He untangles my arms from his neck and moves them away from him, standing up from my bed. "I should get going, it's getting late."

Why do I feel like he's slipping away from me? Physically he's right here, and he isn't going far, just to his house but he suddenly looks like Dylan who wanted nothing to do with me those first days of my job.

"Please stay."

He doesn't look at me just stares at the wall. He only moves one step towards a chest of drawers where some of my sketches lie on top of it. All of a sudden, I remember what's on them and I make a move to hide them but it's too late.

He picks up the sheet closest to him, turning it over and leaning closer to the lamp light to get a better look. The rough sketch depicts a man from behind. A nude man from behind. He stands on a window, palms pressing into its window seal, his head lowered, with the forest expanding in the dark distance spotlit by the moon. He traces the muscular planes of the man's back with a trembling finger, chasing the hard line of his spine down to his right butt cheek. The second piece is more explicit. Two men in bed, their faces hidden. The one from the first sketch hovers between the other one's spread thighs. The man below him is obviously me because of the tattoos decorating my arm. He drops them on the floor and he takes my chin in his hand and angles my head toward him. The fire in his gaze sends desire down my spine like wildfire.

"You sketched me? Us? What does it mean?"

He traces his thumb over my lips, like he wants to pry the words out of my mouth. Like he needs them to survive. He kisses me and our tongues tangle in a needy caress, causing goosebumps to erupt across my skin. His hands trail up around my head before his fingers rake through the hair on the nape of my neck. He gives it a gentle tug, and I groan. "What does it mean?"

I clear my throat, struggling to withhold my own emotions. "It means we are forever. It means we are eternal, like the paintings are. It means I'll always be yours and you'll be mine."

Dylan visibly shudders. He skims his fingers along the indentation of my dimples before his mouth moves along and finds that sweet spot on the curve of my neck. I hiss as he alternates between sucking on my skin, hard, and soothing the sting with his tongue. My moan echoes around the quiet room as he trails his lips down the column of my throat.

"Shhh," he murmurs against my skin, his tongue flicking over my Adam's apple.

"They can't hear us," I manage as I angle my head to allow him better access.

"Off," he says as he tugs at my jeans while I try desperately to remove his shirt. I'm so blinded by lust that in just a few seconds all our clothes are on the floor and Dylan is picking me up. His strength renders me speechless as he pins me to the wall, his muscles twitching beneath my fingers where I'm holding onto him like a vine.

"Those things you said... Do you really mean that?"

I brace my hands on his shoulders as I frantically nod. "Y-Yeah."

He gropes my ass, fingertips brushing against my hole. "Lube?" He mutters.

"Nightstand," I manage to get the words out.

He walks us to my bed effortlessly and sits down. I roll my hips instinctively, seeking some form of friction as my cock swells impossibly hard. When our mouths meet again, it's desperate. Needy. Frantic.

"Just promise me I'll still feel you tomorrow," I say, inhaling his kisses and my words make him feel unhinged and desperate. He grabs the flesh of my ass so hard I swear it will bruise. But it hurts so fucking good. I can't wait any longer. Grabbing the lube off my nightstand, I get us ready, then he lifts me by my ass cheeks before bumping the head of his cock against me.

"Oh God," I cry out as he begins to stretch me. I drop all my weight down onto him in my eagerness to get him fully inside of me. The stretch borders on painful as he bottoms out and my heart is thudding inside my chest, breaths coming in and out of me as we become one body.

"Slow down," he whispers into my mouth when I begin bouncing on his cock. I shake my head. I don't want slow. I want fast and hard and hot. I can't explain why, but I need it at this moment.

He leans in and nips my ear. "Well then, I'm gonna let you do the work, baby. Fuck me. Use me like I'm your toy. I wanna see how desperate you are for me."

His hands are resting loosely on my hips, keeping me steady while his words make me go wild. I find the rhythm I want after just a couple of minutes as I let gravity work in my favour. I can feel Dylan's fingers trace my stretched hole, every time I lower myself onto him, and my breath comes out in a shudder, the sensation just pushes my need higher.

"You make me feel so fucking much," I breathe out desperately. "Yes, fuck, like that. You're so deep-"

"Yeah, baby, that's it. Take all of my cock..." Dylan hisses.

Holy shit. I think I may combust from all of it so I decide to slow down. I begin to slowly rock my hips, easing off him a few inches before rolling back and taking him in deep. I moan, arching my back because the angle causes him to hit my prostate with every glide of my hips. I then take his hand in mine and guide it to my neck. He freezes as I show him what I want but soon his hand smooths over my shoulder and wraps around the front of my throat.

"Okay?" His dark eyes hold mine.

Giving a shaky nod, I tuck his hair behind his ear then run my fingers over the scruff on his face. "Okay."

As his hand wraps around my neck and squeezes just enough, I begin to frantically ride him again. "So good," I growl as I chase my orgasm. "So close," I tell him, hoping he isn't far behind me.

"Take what you want, Noah. Wanna watch you come," I'm dimly aware of him urging me on with his voice and his hands, but I am too far gone to care at this point. My one and only goal is to come, to use his body to my benefit. I reach between our bodies and begin desperately jerking myself off as the friction of his dick sliding in and out of me is pushing me so close to the edge.

"That's it, baby. Yeah. Shoot it all over me," Dylan's voice breaks through the haze of pleasure.

His hand choking me robs me of the last of my air and that claim of ownership is enough to send me over the edge. I come hard and fast, but luckily, I manage to keep my eyes open long enough to see a jet of my cum splatter across Dylan's open lips. Another shot of semen grazes his cheek. I am so turned on by the sight that I keep riding him as I lean over and run my tongue up his cheek to collect the fluid. His chin is next, and then I am kissing him and sharing my taste with him. He eagerly licks at my mouth as he takes everything I give him. And that's what pushes toward his own orgasm.

His harsh breaths mixed with my whimpers in the silence of my bedroom are deafening. I feel him rock into me a few times before he goes still, his dick pulsing inside of me and I swallow his gravelly groan as we continue our kiss. I hang onto his shoulders as he jerks his hips upwards one more time so he can press himself as deep inside of me as he can get. Pinching my eyelids shut, I want to record to memory the sensation of his cum filling me as I internally beg the moisture cresting behind my eyes to return to wherever the fuck it came from.

"No," Dylan breathes, pressing his hips in tighter when his softening cock begins to slide from my hole. Reality intrudes, and I realize that tonight very well could be one of our last nights before I leave. When he kisses my sweaty neck as we are coming down just there in silence, one traitorous tear rolls down my cheek.

Finally he shifts me on the mattress, looming over me, peppering soft pecks across my nose and mouth before gathering my hands over my head.

"You're always so fucking pretty," he whispers.

"Only for you."

"You'll still be mine, baby?" He asks with so much vulnerability. So much pain.

"Always, Dylan. Always," he releases one of my hands to cup my cheek, and he kisses me with so much hunger that I stop breathing. Neither of us has anything else to say. We become all hands, mouths, and the rest of our bodies.

"Want more, baby, want you inside again. I don't ever want to stop," Dylan moans when I say the words, I hook my ankles over his ass, wanting more, more, more.

"So greedy," he plants an openmouthed kiss along my neck that gives me goosebumps. I can't wait to see if his fingers left marks on my skin. "It's what you are, isn't it? You're a greedy boy?"

He is doing this on purpose. He is pushing at my mindset. We never defined our kinks or turn-ons but they were clear from the very beginning, when he pushed me to my knees so he could fill my mouth with his cock. Because when I'm full of him, I'm at my happiest. I have a purpose. I belong.

I part my legs a few inches by drawing up one knee a little to feel two of his fingers sliding inside of me which instantly unclouds my mind. "Did I hurt you?" he asks as his nose burrows into the crook of my neck before kissing the mark his teeth and hands left.

"In the best way possible," I say drowsily, which causes him to smile. The sheer beauty of him lingering above me is breathtaking. Too tired to function properly, I let him take care of me. And he does. With kisses and touches and slow, gentle explorations of my used body. Eventually, he stops playing with my hole too, and he hugs me tightly to him.

"Will you stay?" I ask while the sleep pulls me under. I'm so exhausted that I don't hear him answer me. Sometime during the night when I wake up from a dream I realize that the reason why I'm freezing cold is not because of the current weather in Alaska. It's because Dylan didn't stay.

                                  _______