Mindbottling

Jimmy pressed experimentally on the bridge of my nose.



"I'm fine." I said, "I've probably just been picking it too much." It had been two hours since my nose did its fire hose impression, and he'd been watching me like a hawk. A blond, curly haired hawk. I shifted in my chair while he stared at my pupils.



"Sit still," he said, grabbing my jaw, "When you tilt your head like that I can't see." I put my head back up looked back into those snow-cone blue eyes.



He runs a hand across the rough stubble on my chin and gives me a smile that promises things to come.



"I should shave," I say, apologetically.



"No, I like it," he says, rubbing his nose over the same spot, "you should grow a beard."



I laugh at the thought and shake my head no. "Too itchy,"



He lays his head on my chest, and my fingers twine through his soft curls.



"You know what you should do, Jimmy, you should grow your hair long."



"Really?" he asks, head popping up to see if I'm kidding.



"Sure,"I say, "Why not?"



He puts his head back down on my chest and sighs. "You don't think I'd look too girly?"



A thousand smart-ass remarks run through my mind, but I push them away. "No. I think you'd look hot."



"I dunno, Chazz," he says, yawning and settling into the crook of my arm, "Maybe. I'll think about it."





"You're staying home."



"Forget it, I'm fine."



"You're not fine, Chazz. You should probably be seeing a doctor."



"I 'saw' a nurse this morning."



Jimmy sighed, his mouth pressed into a fine line. "I don't like this."



"Tough," I said, getting up. "Get your skates, we're going to the rink."



~*~*



"We don't have the entire rink to ourselves, of course, but we have twenty-four hour access, and every second afternoon we have two hours of private prime time."



I nodded, taking everything in around me, hoping that something might jog my memory. Tiny little hockey players were leaving the ice and they looked up with big smiles as we approached.



"Hi Jimmy! Hiya Chazz!" they called, waving their sticks in salute. Jimmy grinned ear to ear as he patted their little helmets and returned the hellos.



"Hey Chazz," called one chubby boy, "can I see your scar?"



I hesitated, afraid that he might laugh at my bald spot. God knows there's nothing worse than being laughed at by a fat kid, but I turned to him and bent my head down anyway.



"Cool!" he cried.



"Gross!" squealed another, but it was meant as a compliment I'm sure.



"Okay guys," said Jimmy, shooing them away, "Chazz needs some space." The kids reluctantly followed their teammates down to the change rooms.



"They're cute," I said. Something was tugging at the edge of my memory, but I couldn't quite place it.



"Yeah," said Jimmy, still grinning, "they're great. And they just love you Chazz. You're their hero."



"Yeah, whatever," I said. Drugged up sex-addicts aren't exactly heroes. "Now go skate."



I sat in what would amount to the penalty box and heaved a sigh of relief. I would never admit it to Jimmy, but being out was taking its toll on me. Just walking up the steps had tired me out. I leaned back against the boards and closed my eyes as Jimmy laced up.



The rink smelled good. Familiar. If I hadn't been so hog-tired I would have loved to lace up myself.



Jimmy hopped onto the ice and skated a few warm up laps. For the first time since I'd come home from the hospital, he looked genuinely happy. I gave him a thumbs up as he skated by and he grinned in return.



A quick nod to the sound booth and the speakers crackled with acoustic guitar. It took a second to register, but then I placed the song. Wonderwall.



Huh. I was right! We had been rehearsing to this.



Jimmy skated to center ice and lifted his arms in the starting position, then began to skate as the verse began.



Man, watching him skate was completely memorizing. He's a great skater, but I guess I had never just sat and enjoyed a performance. When we were competing against each other, I refused to look. God, I hated him back then, with his fancy costumes and his faggoty hair.



Waving to the crowd while Coach and that fuck-wad excuse for a father patted him on the back.



My head began to ache as I watched Jimmy glide across the ice.



And all the roads that lead to you were winding

And all the lights that light the way are blinding

There are many things that I would like to say to you

I don't know how



I said maybe

You're gonna be the one who saves me ?

And after all

You're my wonderwall





"I'm gonna go shower. You gonna be okay?"



I was surprised to look up at an out of breath Jimmy. Wow, had it been two hours already? I must have dozed off. I nodded and Jimmy headed down to the locker rooms.



More little hockey players were filing in, stuffed to the gills with equipment and padding. I got up to make room for them, but at the last second decided to step out onto the ice.



God, it felt like forever since I'd been on a rink. I kept one hand tentatively on the boards as I shuffled around, feeling that familiar slickness beneath my shoes. Kids and parents started to fill the stands, and I decided go back and return to my seat. Jimmy would crap himself if he saw me on the ice.



"Daddy!" cried one little kid off to my right, "I want an ice cream."



The shrill voice drilled into my already sore head, and I leaned more heavily on the boards as I made my way back.



"Dadeeeeeeee!!"



That high pitched whine went straight to my brain and I suddenly lost my balance, falling to one knee. I tried to get up, but was unable, so I put out my hands and began to crawl.



"Hey buddy, are you okay?" asked someone beyond my range of vision.



"Daddy, please!" cried the little girl and I was filled with such a sudden and overwhelming panic, that I almost puked, but through my pounding heart and tight chest I had one clear thought.



Jimmy was in danger.



I stumbled to my feet and staggered off the ice. Hands reached out to grab me, but I shook them off. I had to get to him! They were going to kill him! I lurched under the stands to the changing area.



Oh god. Oh fuck! Where was he? I ran past endless locker rooms, calling his name. Shit, why couldn't I remember? I know we'd been rehearsing here for months, but the basement was a maze of identical cinder block walls and doorways.



"Jimmy!" I screamed, my head pounding with fear.



"Chazz?"



Was that him? Was he still alive? I burst through a door to find him standing by the showers, a towel wrapped around his waist.



"What is it? What's wrong?" he asked, reaching out to steady me.



"You!" I huffed.



I clutched him to me and buried my face in his neck. Thank God. Oh, thank God! A tidal wave of relief crashed over me, mixing with adrenaline, panic and fear. Jimmy's arms slowly went around me and he tentatively patted my back.



"What happened? Are you okay?"



I both nodded and shook my head, then crushed him closer to me. I had felt with such certainty that he was hurt or dead, that I still couldn't believe that he was all right.



"Chazz, I can't breathe," he squeaked out.



"I thought … I was sure you were ..." I tried to loosen my grip on him, but found myself unable. "I had a terrible feeling that you were … dead." My voice began to crack and I buried my face deep into the crook of his neck.



'Pull it together, Nancy,' I told myself. Sobbing like an idiot wasn't going to achieve anything here. I willed myself to take a deep breath and chill. I released my death grip on him and pulled back to look him in the eye. "Jimmy," I said, my voice even, "you're in danger. We've got to get out of here."



"From who? Hector's back in jail, he can't touch me. Who else would want to hurt me?"



"I don't know who," I said, realizing how crazy I sounded. "You just have to trust me on this. You're in danger, Jimmy," I said, gripping him by the shoulders and shaking him, "we have to go!"



"Hey," he said, brushing my cheek, "I'm okay. I think your memories are just jumbled up, and you're confused. I'm fine. Really."



I shook my head and began to protest, but he pulled me into a hug. "Just try to relax, and let this pass." One hand slid up and rubbed my back, and I slumped against him. "Breathe Chazz, just try to breathe."



"Okay," I said, drawing in a few shaky breaths, my face still pressed into his shoulder. He smelled … safe, familiar. I turned my head so that my nose brushed against the junction of neck and collarbone and inhaled again. He hadn't yet showered, and I savored the heady smell of salty skin and fresh sweat.



His other hand slid around me and rubbed slow circles across my shoulder blades.



"S'okay Chazz, I understand. It's just going to take some time until things settle down in your mind. The doctor said that you just have to let yourself recover at your own pace."



"I know," I said, feeling the panic slowly begin to fade, "it's just that …"



"What?" asked Jimmy. "Tell me."



"I've been remembering stuff," I whispered, letting my hands travel around his waist.



"Yeah?" he whispered back, shifting ever so slightly closer against me.



I nodded into his neck, the saltiness there making my lips tingle. "About us." I lifted my face, grazing my mouth against the edge of his jaw. Jimmy pulled back and looked at me, wide eyed, then swallowed with an audible click.



His eyes moved to my mouth, and I self-consciously licked my lips. This was insane. I was about to tell him to forget about it. That I was crazy for even thinking that he'd be attracted to someone like me. That he was young and gorgeous and God, so beautiful on the ice. He could have anyone that he wanted, and obviously, it wouldn't be an over the hill, drugged up sex addict.



But then he was kissing me. Kissing me! His mouth hot and fierce against mine, hands clutching and searching and grabbing. Oh, the taste of him! The flick of his tongue against mine! The pounding of his chest pressed against my own. My poor heart had barely stopped racing from running through the endless basement corridors, and now it was beating so fast I could barely breathe.



Something snapped in my brain, and another memory burst forth.



Jimmy's on his stomach, on our bed, looking back at me, brows knitted with worry.



"You're too big," he says, "you'll crack me in half."



"Trust me," I say, running my hands over his smooth flesh. "You'll be begging me for it, I promise."



He does not look convinced. I fill one palm with sweet smelling oil, and rub my hands together to warm it, before spreading it over his back and shoulders, smoothing the tight muscles. As the tension drains, he sinks into the sheets, and I work lower, down to the small of his back, pressing my thumbs into the two pronounced dimples there.



"That feels great," he mumbles into the mattress, and I take that as permission to move even lower as I slip one hand between his cheeks and gently caress him. He spreads his legs slightly and I carefully push the tip of my finger in. I use my other hand to reach underneath him and give his cock a little attention, and while he is happily distracted, I push that finger farther in.



"You okay?" I ask, and he nods, humping the hand beneath him. I press a second finger in with the first, and although he tenses slightly, he is soon moving his hips and pressing back into me.



"More," he moans, but instead of adding another finger, I push the two in further and curl them just right.



"Oh!" he cries, and I quickly withdraw my hand.



"What? Did I hurt you?"



"No," he laughs, "That was … well, amazing. What the heck did you do?" He sticks his butt in the air and I replace my hand, easily finding his slick heat. "Do it again," he says, and I gladly push in and find his sweet spot. He grunts, and the way he curls his toes makes me want to jump him right then and there and fuck him senseless, but I know, that if I ever want him to let me do this again, I'd better take it slow and make sure he enjoys it too.



His moaning tells me I'm on the right track and I add another finger. He is writhing and grunting when I spread my hand and guide my cock in. He stills as I enter him, but doesn't tell me to stop, so I continue, inch by inch. I press my mouth to the back of his neck, tasting the salt and feeling his damp curls tickling my nose.



"Breathe," I tell him, and I pull out a little and then push back in.



He does, one deep breath after another. I pull back and press forward again, and this time his breath has an edge to it.



"Chazz," he cries, and I bring one hand around him and grab his dick. I groan and sink my teeth into that salty patch of neck. Oh shit! He's so fucking tight and I feel myself losing control.



"Chazz!" he calls again, and the taste of salt on my tongue becomes oddly metallic.



"CHAZZ!" My eyes rolled forward from the back of my head, and I slowly focused on Jimmy's face. I was confused as to how Jimmy went from beneath me to on top of me.



"Chazz, are you okay?" I blinked dumbly for a moment, trying to decide if I WAS okay. We were in the showers. At the arena. I'd been dreaming. Or fantasizing again. Or had I? Did he kiss me?



I opened my mouth to ask him, but a glut of blood spewed out of me, spilling down the front of my shirt. The white cotton staining a dark, dark red. Why was that familiar? There was something important that I needed to remember. Something else that was red like this.



I heard Jimmy call my name again, but he seemed so far away, and this memory, this elusive bitch of a memory that had been teasing me for so long, seemed almost within reach. I hesitated, then dove into the darkness, grasping desperately at the wisps of this recollection.