"Touch me," Roy says, and Nathan embraces him. He leans against Nathan, who caresses the thick hair at the nape of his neck. He opens his shirt slowly and Nathan feels the strong upsurge of breath and desire, same as the night before; only in the daylight the rich color of his flesh glows, blinding, and when Nathan touches the curves and planes, the sudden rush of heat engulfs them both.
For Nathan it is a moment of poise, in which he must balance between what he knows and what he should not know. The fact of Roy makes a difference. Here it is easy to be held. Nathan's body has never felt so safe. They are touching each other in intimate places with a feeling of perfection. Their breaths, as they fumble and mingle, come faster; they cling and press until they finish. Nathan holds his eyes closed, aware of Roy against him and glad of the clean curved lines of Roy's body. Glad to lay his hands on Roy's firm shoulders and flat waist. The trembling of a vein in Roy's neck draws Nathan's fingers. The clean lines of Roy are a relief and Nathan focuses on that. Without reason, in Nathan's inner seeing, the vision of Preacher John Roberts arises, telling again how at the Last Supper John lay his head tenderly on Jesus' breast. Nathan ends that way, with Roy's fingers in his hair. Roy asks, "Did you ever do this before with anybody?"
Nathan shakes his head, unable to speak. He has never liked it before. That much is true.
"Do you promise?" Roy asks, and the fear is plain on his face when Nathan looks at him.
"I promise. I never did it with anybody." Hoarse, almost inaudible. Feeling hollow inside.
"Because it's okay as long as it's just you and me." Roy's face is suddenly very sad. Nathan reaches for the face, pulls Roy close. Roy settles, sighing, against Nathan's smaller shoulder. "I never did this much before. Not even with a girl."
Nathan holds him as if he has diminished. Nathan becomes the shelter, the protection. He touches Roy's chest with the tip of his tongue and Roy shudders; inside, his heart is regularly bursting. Stillness settles over the bus. Roy sighs and loops an arm around Nathan, keeping close to him through the aftermath, as the sinking sun caresses them through the windows.
When they can move again, Roy leads Nathan to the front of the bus, drives home down the twisting road with the shadows of the trees passing across his shoulders. He parks the bus in the usual spot in the yard and turns in the seat. "Don't go in yet."
"All right. I won't."
Roy studies his own hands, gripping the steel frame of his seat, smooth nail against smooth rivet. "I can't come to see you tonight. We have prayer meeting."
"At church?"
He nods. "Every Wednesday" He will not look up.
"Do you like to go?"
"Yes."
"I have a lot of homework to do anyway I have a test. I told you."
But Roy has heard only his own thoughts. Lips parted, as if words are close, Roy glances toward his house. He leans to Nathan, kisses him quickly. Pulling on his shirt, he says he will see Nathan later and hurries away without a backward glance.
The night is long and Roy moves restlessly in Nathan's thoughts. Nathan studies mathematics slowly, solving his tedious, non-algebraic problems with an indolent air. Later he walks to the pond, though not as far as the abandoned cemetery. He can see the distant outline of the tombstones against the black backdrop of trees.
He has gone to bed when Roy finally arrives at home again, driving his parents' car into the yard, letting it idle a moment. Nathan leaps out of the blankets. He stands back from the window to make sure Roy cannot see him. Roy steps out of the car, illuminated by the yard light atop its creosote pole. His figure is handsome in white shirt and tie, his face in shadow. Judging from his stance, he might be watching Nathan's window. But still Nathan hangs back, listening to the muted creakings of the house around him, the syncopated drip of water in the downstairs bathroom. Wind rattles the upstairs windows in their frames. Roy presently heads into the deeper gloom beneath trees, walking with his mother, who moves slowly due to her size. Nathan hovers in the dark over them both.
Soon a dim light burns in the bedroom above the hedge. As before, Roy's shadow slides across the visible wall. Tonight he avoids the window, and Nathan watches his shadow undress.
When that room goes dark, Nathan stands dumbly before his own window, reluctant to turn. When he returns to bed, a small fear seizes him. He replays in his head every moment of Roy's arrival, his stepping out of the car, his standing in the shadow, his undressing out of sight of the window. Nathan lies in bed and examines each of these images over and over. Something in the sequence of events frightens him.
