He Married the Farmer Who Taught Him to Live Again novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Carrot on Monday

Daniel takes his first pill in five months for a sticker wiped four times; a crash nightmare at 3 a.m. ends in his first kiss since the accident and a hot, clothed finish, and at dawn Johnny says they are going outside.

"I stopped taking those," Daniel said.

"I know. Your mother told me. Five months."

"Then you know I won't start again for a sticker."

Johnny looked at the little orange carrot on the case.

"It's not just a sticker," he said. "Monday is a carrot. Tuesday is a pea pod. Wednesday is a beet."

"Why a beet?"

"Because it was the last sticker on the sheet."

Daniel stared at him.

"The adhesive is unsanitary," he said. "It was handled by whoever made it, then by whoever packed it, then by you."

"And now by you." Johnny held out the case. "I'll wipe it. Three times."

"Four."

"Four."

Johnny took a wipe from Daniel's breast pocket, rubbed the case four times, and counted out loud.

Daniel watched him do it.

It was the first time in fourteen months that anyone had done one of his rituals for him without looking sorry.

"I won't take them," Daniel said.

"Then I'll sit here until morning." Johnny pulled a chair next to the bed. "I brought a book."

"I don't want a story."

"It isn't for you. It's for the tomato."

Daniel opened the little door and took the pill dry, because he refused to make a point of the water.

"Good," Johnny said, and the word landed in his stomach again.

He read aloud anyway.

It was a story about a tomato who wanted to be a rose.

She put on petals made of paper.

She was so busy being pretty that she did not notice the bees were already coming to her.

The tomato in the pot, facing the wall, did not comment.

Daniel said he was twenty-six years old and found the plot childish.

Somewhere in the third bee, he fell asleep.

He woke in the dark with the sound of the brakes in his ears.

It was always the same.

The long scream of tires came first, then the glass.

Then came a silence so large that he lay in it for what felt like an hour.

He was gasping, and his hand was clenched in the sheet, and he could not tell which room he was in.

"Daniel."

A warm weight pressed against his side. An arm came over his chest.

"You're in the east wing," Johnny said, low and steady. "The window's on your left. The tomato is still facing the wall."

Daniel's breath shook.

"Count something for me. What's on the dresser?"

"A, a lamp."

"What else?"

"A tray. The wipes."

"How many?"

"Forty. I counted them on Sunday."

"Good," Johnny said. "Count them again."

Daniel counted to forty in his head, then did it a second time.

By the end his heart had stopped hammering.

Johnny's thumb moved back and forth over his collarbone.

"You were in the car," Johnny said quietly. "And now you're here."

"I'm sorry I woke you."

"I wasn't asleep. I was watching you sleep. It's very rude. I apologize."

A laugh came out of Daniel, short and surprised, and it cracked into something else halfway through.

Johnny's hand came up to his cheek, and the callused thumb wiped away the wet before it could fall.

"That's not clean," Daniel whispered.

"It's yours. I don't mind."

Daniel turned his head.

They were close enough that he could see the flecks in the green of Johnny's eyes.

A small crooked scar ran through Johnny's left eyebrow.

Johnny's mouth was an inch away.

Daniel had been kissed by one person in his life. He had not been kissed since the accident.

He did not count anything. He just closed the inch.

Johnny made a low, startled sound against his mouth.

Then he kissed him back, slow and deep, with a hand sliding into his hair.

He tasted like peppermint and something green.

Daniel kissed him harder, and Johnny rolled over him carefully, taking his own weight on his forearms.

"Tell me if it's too much," Johnny said into his throat.

"It's not enough."

Johnny's breath hitched.

He settled between Daniel's hips.

The heat of him pressed down through two thin layers of pyjamas, and Daniel's whole body arched up to meet it.

"Oh," Daniel said. "That's, I can feel everything."

"I know. I want you to."

Johnny ground down against him in a long, slow roll, and the friction went through Daniel, bright and total.

He grabbed Johnny's back and held on.

"Again."

Johnny did it again, harder, and again, his mouth open against Daniel's neck and his own breath ragged.

His cock was hard against Daniel's, right there, thick and unmistakable through the cotton.

"You're," Daniel said. "You're the same."

"Since the bath." Johnny laughed, helplessly. "Since you told me to wash my hands twice."

Daniel's hips lifted into every stroke.

He was losing count of everything: the wipes, the steps, the seconds.

He lost the sheet under his hand and the whole shape of the room.

"Johnny."

"There. Say it again."

"Johnny, I'm going to, I'm..."

Johnny kissed him through it, hard and deep, and swallowed the sound.

A moment later he followed, with a groan that Daniel felt in his own ribs.

They lay tangled and wet and shaking, with the clock showing 3:40.

"That's a mess," Daniel said, in a very small voice. "I have to clean up."

"In a minute." Johnny's arm tightened. "Stay."

Daniel stayed.

He fell asleep a second time, and he did not dream.

At dawn he woke to the smell of coffee and a hand rubbing slow circles on his back.

Johnny was already dressed, with his hair wet and his boots in his hand.

"Up, husband," he said, and his grin was enormous. "Today we go outside."

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