Silent Shout

Author's note:

I promise I haven't quit writing Unrequited! I have the entire story outlined, and ready to go, but I have the attention span of a squirrel and the idea for this story kind of smacked me in the side of the head! This is just a one-off wander into another world, so I can think more clearly when I resume Unrequited. Thanks again for all your support, and I hope you enjoy the story of Davey and Oliver!

Warning: this story is a little dark! There are some touchy subjects involved, and I'm certainly not out to offend. Keep in mind it's purely fictional and meant to provoke thought on the complications of human interaction and emotion. Pleeease, no angry letters!

Thanks again (again!)!!!

- your city bird

Davey

I wasn't born this way.

I used to have a voice.

But it was stolen from me.

I was always quiet. And I didn't make many friends in junior high because of it. If I could give you a definite number of the times I heard "Cat got your tongue?!" or taunting whistle of "Silent Night", I would. But I lost count. I stopped caring. Because I had Oliver.

Aside from my parents and close relations, only Oliver knew my voice. Oliver was my safe haven. The way he would wrap me in his arms and gently ruffle my hair with his cool fingers and whisper in my ear, "My Davey," made me feel completely at ease–something I felt the real world could never offer me. Before I knew what love was, I was in love with Oliver.

When I entered high school, my hushed reputation preceded me. Even the teachers knew. Even Mr. Jameson.

I was always the last person to leave a classroom. I wanted to have as little interaction with my peers as possible. All I wanted was return to the comfort of Oliver without any obstacles. On that day, I should have left with the others...

I was sliding my books into my shoulder bag as the last of Mr. Jameson's world history class filed out the door. It was just like any other day. The warmth of the spring sun flooded through the windows and warmed my skin. I couldn't wait to spend that weekend out in the sun with Oliver. There was something so comforting about nature. Things happened so randomly and yet so regularly. Organized chaos.

My daydreaming was interrupted as I heard the sound of the classroom door slam and lock. I looked up to see Mr. Jameson standing by the door, staring at me. I had never seen anyone with that look in their eye before. I had known kindness and I had known hatred, but this... I had never known such a darkness until I knew Mr. Jameson.

"So, David, I'd like to talk to you," he smiled as he started walking toward me, "I'm going to go ahead and be upfront. Are you a mute? I never received any sort of memo about a disability, yet I have never heard you utter so much as a 'Mhmm.'"

I winced as I continued to put away my things. His tone of voice was terrifying me. It was so full of menace, and so pointedly directed at me, that it alone almost physically hurt. I simply shook my head as I slung my bag over my shoulder.

"You're not going to answer me? If you're not a mute, then you should be able to answer me. Show some respect!" he yelled, his anger flaring up. For such an ordinary-seeming man, he was showing such vile colors, "I might be young for a teacher, but you should show me at least a fucking shred of respect!"

His voice was getting louder and he was getting closer to me. No one had ever spoken to me like that. Maybe if I said something, he would just stop. Maybe he would let me go. My body was shaking as he approached me, towering above me just on the other side of my desk. "No, sir," I said. It was barely above a whisper and my voice was shaking. I hated the way I sounded when I talked. But Oliver always knew what to say to make me feel better about it.

I stared down at my feet as I noticed Mr. Jameson stop moving in front of me. "Ahh, so timid. And so... beautiful. That slender body, and," his tone changing abruptly into something somehow even more horrific. I saw the shadow of his arm move across my desk before I felt his warm, clammy palm on my cheek, "that lovely face." I turned away from his vile touch as the smell of sweat and cheap cologne filled my nostrils. I felt like retching on the linoleum.

I felt his hand leave my cheek, and I was filled with a momentary relief. Until I felt that same hand violently twine in to my hair. He jerked my head toward him with a brutal strength. "You will not flinch away from me. Unless you want me to rip all this pretty black hair from your scalp," his steaming, nauseating breath puffed into my face as he tightened his grip on me. Scalding tears welled up in my eyes as I heard the sound of the desks being moved away.

Maybe if I don't open my eyes...

Maybe if I don't make a sound...

This will all just go away...

Those were my thoughts as I felt the back of my skull collide with the solid ground. Those were my thoughts as I felt the disgusting pressure of Mr. Jameson's body, the repulsive touch of his hands as he gripped my throat...

"Oliver...." I choked through my tears and the pain. Nobody was listening.

I don't know how long it lasted, but I know it didn't take Mr. Jameson long to leave when he had finished. I just laid there. I didn't move. My entire body was plagued with an unbearable agony, but inside, I felt nothing. There were no tears left for me to cry. There were no words left for me to say.

That was the last time I spoke.

I eventually gathered myself enough to walk myself home. It was just before nightfall when I returned to my house. Both my mother and father were waiting on the foyer couch clenching their cell phones tightly in their hands.

I looked a wreck. My eyes were still raw from tears and I was bruised all over. My parents let out a simultaneous gasp as they ran to my side, embracing me. "Did you get into a fight, David?" My mother questioned, worry causing her voice to quaver, "We were so worried about you! Where have you been?!"

"Sheila," my father spoke, placing a hand on my mother's shoulder, "You know David doesn't fight, right David?" I shook my head in agreement. I could at least give him that. "So were you beaten up?" Mother questioned her eyes widening as she gripped my shoulders. I winced in pain as I nodded a silent 'yes'.

We made it through that night. I convinced my parents that I had been beaten up because everyone at school despised me so much. I, of course, didn't say this directly to them. The complete cessation of speech really came as a shock to my parents, but they agreed to let me homeschool if I agreed to see a therapist. Of course I agreed. Anything to get away from that school. Anything to never see those eyes again. Anything to never see that darkness.

It was an incredible relief to be able to stay within the four walls of my room. I could always deal with the feel of the real world if I had Oliver by my side, but realizing the pain and fear that lurked there, even in the broad daylight, without him, I couldn't bear it. But even this new world I had created, even within the realm of utter solitude, my heart felt heavy. Throughout my silence rang the sound of my pain. I didn't want to face it alone. I wanted to be with Oliver.

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Oliver

From the moment I saw Davey, I knew he was special. There was something in his eyes when he would gaze out the window in class. It wasn't the expression of just another eighth-grade student, it wasn't just a daydream; you could see the longing and thoughtfulness in those frosty blue eyes. I had always admired him from afar: his long, shining dark hair that spilled over his shoulders, his smooth pale skin that shone in the sunlight, the constant mix of worry and curiosity that painted itself across his face, and his absolute silence that surrounded him, but I wanted to know more. I wanted him to speak to me. I wanted to know parts of Davey that nobody else knew.

All it took was a little kindness–something I discovered Davey had received little of in his life. I would speak to him kindly every day before and after school, taking pride in the smile he would share with only me. I had nearly given up hope on hearing his voice by the last day of our eighth grade year. I sprinted down the hall as the afternoon bell rang and chased after my Davey. He was nearly out the front door when I caught up to him and pulled gently on the sleeve of his shirt.

He turned around in surprise and I saw the fear flash in his eyes. I knew never wanted to see him look at me that way again. I pulled him close, hugging him tightly–as if I would never let him go. "Have a good summer, Davey," I said softly, running my fingers through his long dark hair and ruffling it slightly.

I felt his body stiffen as he braced his arms against me, pushing me away. I was prepared to feel absolutely horrid about his reaction to my touch, until I saw the sweet smile delicately playing upon his lips. "Won't you still talk to me in the summer, too?"

I could feel my heart stop beating, like the last rumble of the engine of a switched-off car. His voice was even more beautiful than I could have imagined. Like a sweet breeze, carrying with it the scent of a blooming field.

A worried look flashed across his face as he reached out to cradle my cheek with his cool, delicate fingers. I was shaken from my catatonia and wrapped my hands around his, placing his palm over my now rapidly thumping heart. "Of course." It was barely a whisper, but I knew he heard me.

He smiled once more before turning from me and strolling out into the sunlight. In that moment, I knew I would do anything for Davey. Before I knew anything about love, I was in love with Davey.

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Davey

"So, I'm thinking of going to school at NYU. It's not that far from here to Manhattan, and I'll be able to see you every weekend," he said these words so casually. As if it were okay. "I've already been accepted... Classes start the beginning of next month..."

DON'T LEAVE ME!

I wanted to scream.

Oh, god, please don't leave me...

"I mean, it's been a year since I graduated now. I feel like if I wait any longer, I'll just keep putting it off forever," he paused, taking a moment to plant a soft kiss on the back of my hand, "I promise you, I'm not leaving you."

I really didn't want to hold Oliver back. He was the smartest person I knew; I didn't want to see that go to waste. But I knew I couldn't face being without him.

It's only the four years... And I'd see him on weekends...

I tried to reason to myself. There was no comfort in reason. But I'd have to face it. Even if it meant loneliness.

It'd been four years since I left that high school behind. And four years of silence. Oliver was shocked at first, but he came around to the idea once he realized that it wasn't that I didn't want to speak. I couldn't. He stayed with me for all this time. And even though I couldn't tell him with words how much he meant to me, he knew.

The way he was kneeling in front of me on the bed. The way the golden curls sprung from his head, restoring a boyish quality to the face that had become a man's. His hands were so strong and secure in the way that they held mine. His beauty was almost surreal. He could have anyone: man or woman. So, why me?

"I love you so much," he whispered, nuzzling his face into my open palm.

Why me?

Because he loves me.

I traced my thumb along the outline of his bottom lip, reveling in the smooth warmth of his handsome face. His brows furrowed gently with need as he opened his eyes, catching the sight of the tears falling from my eyes. My vision blurred, I saw his figure moving as I felt a weight shift on my mattress. Suddenly, I felt that long-familiar gentle pressure of Oliver's lips against my own.

Though Oliver could not have been the first to know my body, he was the first to touch my lips, the first to bring my body pleasure, the first to give me love. And as far as Oliver knew, he was my first in every way. I wanted so badly for him to know how dirty my body felt before he made it his. But in moments like this, in the way he made me feel, I lose my pain deep in the torrent of love and pleasure. He's the only one who can make me feel this way. The past becomes irrelevant.

In this moment, the past

was

irrelevant, but it was the thought of the future that brought me pain.

Oliver parted his lips and allowed our tongues to join in a gentle caress as he shifted his body above me. My head fell back onto the pillow behind me as I felt his legs straddle my thigh. He was so hard already, and from just a kiss. I did this to him. Only me.

Don't leave me...

I reached up and touched his face as he kissed me. He leaned into my touch once again as one hand began to slowly unbutton my shirt. His lips left mine as he buried his face in the crook of my neck. "My Davey... I love you..." he repeated over and over again as his hands roamed lower down my body.

I shivered as he reached into the waistband of my jeans and claimed his prize. Oliver stroked me slowly, still breathing those words heavily against my collarbone. With Oliver above me like this, with me staring deep into his amber-colored eyes, his hands claiming my body and his lips proclaiming such sweet love, it never took me long to come.

Oh god, please stop!

I wanted to scream. I didn't want my release to come so soon. I pleaded to him with my eyes.

Please, let's come together.

Though I made not a sound, Oliver heard my pleas. "Okay, my Davey, I'll let you come with me," he panted. Only my thigh was touching Oliver and yet he was panting and heated with arousal. The gentle pressure of his body was lifted from me momentarily as he removed his T-shirt and shimmied out of his denims. I loved seeing Oliver's body like this. His skin was a little darker than mine from the sun, smooth and golden like the halo of curls around his head. Sometimes I feel so small and dull when compared to Oliver's shining gold. But when we're together like this, I can feel his glow radiating around me. When I'm with Oliver, I shine.

Oliver knelt before me, his powerful body fully revealed to my gaze as he turned his attention to my disrobing. With such self-assured movements, he smoothed the legs of my jeans from my limbs until the cool chill of the room shook my body with a shiver and I realized I was completely bare. Oliver had a way of hypnotizing me with his hands. #94637 on the list of one-million things I love about Oliver.

He climbed back over my body, slowly moving his hips over mine so his weeping length slid steadily against mine. I felt his firm hands grip my shoulders as he looked into my eyes. "How do you want it?" he whispered, his face barely a centimeter from mine.

I felt his touch linger between our bodies as he wrapped a warm hand around both our erections as they continued to slip past one another in the soft vice of his fist.

No.

I shook my head. Not like that.

"In my mou...?"

I shook my head again as I watched him slip a long digit into his mouth and remove it, shining with saliva.

You know exactly what I want.

I felt his hand move once more over my hip and beneath my thigh. One long, slick finger traced down the small of my back, slowing at the cleft just above my entrance. My breathing quickened in anticipation as his finger continued its journey downward. When he arrived at his target, I flinched, blushing furiously. He pressed lightly against the resisting flesh. Just as my breathing began to steady and I began to relax, I felt his hand move forward, his finger thrusting deep into my body. I let out a tiny squeak of pure bliss as Oliver hugged my body close.

"Do you want it here, baby?"

I nodded my head furiously in reply as I spread my legs wider for him.

"Can you get the lube for me, darling. I want to make this good," he whispered, his voice getting huskier and deeper. His lust voice.

I reached out underneath the pillow beside me and retrieved the small tube I kept there. Oliver reached out his hand to take it from me, but I shook my head.

No. I want to.

I opened the bottle and squeezed out a generous amount into my palm. I knew what to expect, but I never got used to the chill. I moved my hand down between us, seeking out Oliver's thick and throbbing flesh. I stroked him gently, my hand barely wrapping around his girth as I made him slick for my body.

His fingers continued to move in and out of me as I continued to stroke his erection. My hand was but a replacement for my body and his fingers were but a replacement for his flesh. I was done with the stand-ins; I wanted the real thing.

I looked deep into his eyes and just as I released my grip, he released my body. He leaned down, claiming my lips once more as I felt his well-oiled length press against my entrance. He broke the kiss for a moment to look into my eyes. "You ready, baby?" he asked, almost completely breathless. All I had to do was look at him. He already knew.

Oliver slowly slid into me as I pressed down against the intrusion, accepting every last inch of him into my body. "I love you so much, Davey."

I love you too.

I never felt more whole than when I had Oliver inside me like this. If we could stay like this forever, I would.

When you're ready to move, move.

Oliver began to move his hips, moving inside me just a fraction of an inch at a time. Slowly, Oliver started to build up steam, thrusting in and out of my body at a steady pace. It felt so good I could cry, but Oliver's kisses kept the tears at bay. He covered my face and neck with sweet, sloppy licks and brushes of his lips. He always kissed me like that when we were together: as if he were trying for my lips, but with horrible aim. #72 on the list of one-million things I love about Oliver.

The longer he continued, the closer I became to orgasm. He could feel the tension in my body as I neared the edge. "Faster?"

Yes! God, yes!

His body moved rapidly, his flesh swelling inside me as he moved faster and faster into my body. He moved at a breakneck pace, yet was still careful not to be too rough. Oliver could never fuck me. This wasn't a quickie or a roll in the hay. Oliver and I had only ever made love. We were so madly in love with each other, there is no way this could be anything else.

"Oh... Davey... I'm coming. Are you with me, baby?"

I am...

Oliver buried his face in the crook of my neck, smothering his cry as I felt him come deep inside me. I was filled with warmth as he continued to thrust into me, pushing his seed even deeper. Just one thought of Oliver spilling in me and I was over the edge. I inhaled sharply through my teeth with a hiss as I came, jets of come painting our chests and stomachs as they sharply rose and fell with heavy breath.

"Jesus, Davey... I love you so much..."

I love you too... Please don't leave me behind...

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Oliver

One month, I'd been away from Davey. And one month I'd felt so empty like this. Every moment I was away from my Davey, I felt as if I lost connection with another part of me. Sure, I loved living in New York. It was so much different from Philadelphia. And going to school here was a dream come true, but only being able to see Davey on weekends wasn't enough.

I tried to think of any way that I could have Davey here with me, but I couldn't afford an apartment here with my pay from the print shop and as a scholarship student, I was living in a dorm. It was useless. And it hurt like hell. But Davey seemed so strong that it gave me hope–hope that I could make it through these four years and come out with an education strong enough to support him and our life together. This was all for him–this was all for us.