River grunted as his lover entered him, but it was easy to adjust as the slight man began thrusting into him, pumping his narrow his into River's backside. Muffled moans crashed against River's clenched mouth as he attempted to hide his pleasure, spent cock limp against his torso. Ezekiel was the only person he had ever been with. Hell, aside from Father Lamont, Ezekiel was really the only person River had seriously spoken with for over a decade. Sex was merely an extension of the tight, frighteningly dependent relationship they had cultivated with one another. River hardly understood the complexities involved in his feelings for Ezekiel. All he knew was that he loved him. He<b>needed </b>him, and Ezekiel's body gave River brief moments of peace and respite from the horrors the world had to offer. Though he was only eighteen, River believed he had figured it all out. The world was evil, he was a walking, breathing vessel for sin, and Ezekiel was his savior.<br/><br/>He opened his arms to Ezekiel once the older boy had released himself inside him, cradling him tightly once they had been lazily cleaned up. The older boy nestled against his neck and River breathed a satisfied, content sigh, wishing he could simply lie there forever with Zeke and ignore the world behind the door. That might have been possible for a short while. No noise came to bother them at first and they were allowed to simply be, though River could feel Zeke shift uncomfortably against him, unable to fully settle. River understood, sweetly dragging his fingers along Zeke's spine in an effort to comfort him. "It's all right," he whispered, pressing his lips against Ezekiel's sweaty forehead. "I am here with you."<br/><br/>Their momentary serenity was violently accosted by the sound of heavy pounding on the bedroom door. Both boys were jolted into a state of shock, but Ezekiel was quick to silence whatever noises might have escaped from River's lips. The boys huddled together in a terrified silence, and River's eyes grew wide when the door was opened, jamming against the dresser they had strategically placed against the entryway.<br/><br/>A masculine voice was calling for Ezekiel, demanding he open the door, but neither boy moved. River's eyes darted to the bottle of olive oil, then back at the door.<i>He knows we stole it</i>, River thought, his heartbeat frantic as he dug his fingers into Ezekiel's side.<br/><br/>Another voice, Cassandra, Ezekiel's mother. Her voice was much softer, though chastising toward the masculine sound. He seemed suspicious, but apparently it wasn't the oil he was concerned with. No, the man, who River assumed to be Ezekiel's father, had caught a small glimpse of them in the bed together and sounded appalled at the realization. River couldn't blame him. What the two did with one another behind closed doors was blasphemous, worthy of every cruel and violent punishment Father Lamont could think up, but truly the two young men just couldn't help themselves. To indulge in one another was the only defense they had against the rest of the world, and River knew he could never stop experiencing Zeke.<br/><br/>"We had to," River spat out, a desperate attempt to protect his darling from whatever probing questions Cassandra or--Randall, was it?--might ask. "To protect ourselves from those who might do us harm." It was the truth, mostly. River certainly didn't trust the inhabitants of the large and unwelcoming home. "When we rest, we are vulnerable, so we blocked the door in an attempt to be vigilant. Always vigilant. Please go away."