Tristan hung on to Brian, both arms wrapped around his lover, thoughts churning through his head. All he could see was the gray-haired woman lying dead on the stretcher. He wanted something to take him out of that head space. “f**k me,” he whispered. “Make me forget for a little while. I don’t care if it hurts. I don’t care if I get off on it. I just want to stop seeing…that image.”
There was no verbal response from Brian. He simply led Tristan down the stairs. In the bedroom, Brian finally said, “Get undressed while I take a quick shower. We don’t need coal dust and plaster in the bed.”
Stripping slowly, Tristan tossed his clothing in the general direction of the hamper and stretched out on the bed, face down. It probably took all of about ten minutes until he heard the shower cut off.
