Steven dos Santos - The Sowing

That’s it. Recording over. I shut it off and stuff it back into the rucksack, even as I place the ID tags around my neck once again.

I was so wrong.

The joints in my knees creak and pop as I haul myself to my feet and take a few steps, my bare soles crunching the leaves beneath them.

I cup my hands to my mouth. “Digory! Where are you?”

Trudging deeper into the lush pockets of pink and purple flowers, I hear a sound up ahead. A gurgling sound.

Water.

With both hands, I part a soft curtain of hanging moss.

And there he is.

I let out the breath I’ve been holding, drunk with relief.

Digory is sitting on the remnants of a small stone bridge, bare-chested, his feet dangling in the water and his long damp hair draped over his shoulders. His eyes are intent on the shimmering brook just below him.

Breathing deep, I wade through the tall blades of grass toward him, fighting a limp, drawing strength from his glowing form. I stop just behind him.

Suddenly, I’m afraid, in spite of all the horrors I’ve endured up until now.

He whips around to face me, and it’s like looking at the sun, a sight so brilliant and warm yet painful all at once.

I freeze. I’ve been seeing him in my dreams for so long that it still feels so surreal to be standing just a few feet from him again. Maybe it’s my mind playing tricks on me, but along with the glint of recognition in his eyes, I sense so much more—fear? Suspicion?

Anger?

I turn away, focusing on the rippling stream shimmering beneath us. “Thanks for the bed. And tending to my wounds. I didn’t see you when I woke up. I thought…” My words trail away with the current.

Digory still remains silent and I sit down beside him.

“I tried so hard to get back to you. But I thought that you were dead, that it was too late… and then I saw that holo recording.” I choke back my anguish, needing to get my words out. “I should never have given up on you.”

Pivoting, I sit cross-legged, facing him, and force myself to look directly at him. “You haven’t said a word to me. I understand, Digory. I won’t hold you to anything we might have said in the past.” We gaze into each other’s eyes in silence, the sound of our breaths harmonizing.

Taking a deep breath and steeling my nerves, I touch his warm, dewy skin. My fingertips graze the contours of his biceps, which, even relaxed, feels like granite, and then work their way to the inside of his elbow.

Digory flinches, and I instantly regret letting my feelings get the best of me. He can’t even stand my touch any longer. I feel sick and start to pull away.

But his hand grabs mine and presses it back against the hotness of his skin. I can feel the scabbing in the crook of his elbow. I lean in closer. The entire area is mottled with dark purple bruises, the smooth skin broken by needle marks. I examine his other arm and see the same thing.

It wasn’t me he was recoiling from.

Ignoring the aches of my own battered body, I sink into him, relishing the heat of his body in the chilled air, my face pressed against the expanse of his chest. All I can hear is the sound of thunderous beating, and I can’t distinguish between his heart or mine.

I look into his eyes.

He leans in close, his warm lips grazing against mine, igniting every nerve ending, even more wondrous than I remember.

Our mouths lock onto each other’s, tongues exploring, tentatively at first… I taste that same sweet nectar on his breath. It feels like I’ve left my body and I’m floating. All the aching, all the pain, both physical and mental, dissolves in that kiss, a sanctuary against all the darkness that’s engulfed my life for so long.

Soon we’re rolling in the still-damp grass. What little clothing we’re wearing is tossed aside as limbs intertwine, our hands and hearts eager with discovery.

He lets out a small cry. I look up in alarm. But his face is pure bliss.

His arms pull me into him. Then he’s planting more warm kisses on my lips. His tongue feels like heavenly fire as it traces down my neck, across the contours of my chest, and beyond.

At that moment, it doesn’t matter that he can’t speak. His eyes tell me how he feels.

“ Me too ,” I whisper.

After what seems like hours, we collapse against one another, slick with sweat, nestling in each other’s arms. I can feel Digory’s smile against my cheek. Soon, the sounds of his breathing and the steady rhythm of his heart against me lull me into the most wonderfully exhausting grogginess ever. I allow myself to drift into sleep, never wanting to wake from this dream.

Ever .

Hours later, we’re still lying on our makeshift bed of grass, Digory spooning his body against mine. He fingers the Recruit ID tags I’m wearing, nuzzling his lips against my neck. I take off the ID tag with my name on it and slip it around his neck, so that we both have one, then give him another kiss.

I smile and silently vow to give Valerian the biggest hug and kiss if I ever see her again.

Digory sits up beside me, his eyes wide. He looks around with that almost animal-like instinct, as if he’s reaching out with his senses and making sure there’s no danger around us.

I give him a peck on the forehead and hug him close. “There’s so much that you don’t know.”

Then I’m telling him everything. My training as an Imposer. Cole being housed in the Priory under Delvecchio’s eye. The failed assassination attempt against Cassius and Prime Minister Talon. Our exile to Infiernos and imprisonment in Purgatorium. Everything leading up to our reunion.

Even though he remains mute and I can’t be sure how much he understands, I can tell he’s hanging on to my every word, grasping the urgency of what I’m saying, if not the specifics. Whatever’s been done to him that’s traumatized him into silence, there’s still that compassionate, gentle Digory brimming underneath.

He’ll speak when he’s ready, when he’s healed—as much as he ever can be.

He wraps his arms tighter around me and I pull away just enough to stare into his eyes. “You know Cage, Tristin, Dru, and Corin, don’t you?” I ask tentatively. “You were part of the same rebel cell, weren’t you? They were your friends.”

He sighs and his fingers interlock with mine. His lips purse and he finally nods.

Of course he’s hesitant. After what he gave up for me during that last trial, sacrificing his husband, Rafé—and his entire cause—just so I could get to Cole. The mention of his old allies must be painful. Especially since a part of him might feel guilty for choosing to save Cole’s life with so many other things at stake.

“I know you feel you betrayed the rebellion, turned your back on what you were fighting for, all because of me. But I’m sure your friends would understand and welcome you back. They need you.” I squeeze his hands. “ I need you. We all do.”

He nuzzles my nose.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you,” I whisper into his ear. “I should have looked for you. When you wouldn’t speak to me after we found each other, I was afraid you hated me for leaving you behind—”

He touches a finger to my lips, capturing my eyes with his own blue prisms. Then he shakes his head slowly. His eyes glisten with moisture. He rests his head on my chest and I squeeze him tightly.

Digory’s hands caress my body, reawakening those sensations, sending the blood rushing to every part of me. His fingers trace the contours of my pectorals, squeezing. When he looks up, his eyes twinkle at me.

I can’t help but smile. “Yeah, I have been working out a little since the last time you saw me. I’m not that scrawny, naïve kid anymore.”