River lay back on the bed and allowed his older companion to climb on top of him, though Ezekiel could do whatever he liked to River and the younger boy wouldn't have complained. As far as River was concerned, Ezekiel could do no wrong. He looked like the angels in the books Father Lamont used to show them, with pearly white skin, fair hair and sorrowful eyes that watched the slow deterioration of the world their Lord had created. Ezekiel's expression was often like that, observant and sad, save the times he had been forced to witness River getting punished for his sins. Whenever one of the boys had been obligated to see the other punished, their faces were always twisted in ugly masks of torment, tears streaming down their faces as the one receiving the corporal punishment only stared blankly. Aside from separating them, it was the most effective punishment Father Lamont had ever devised. Indulge in too much food or sneak a sweet behind Father's back? Sit and watch as your brother gets his fingers smacked with a wooden spoon. Speak out of turn or talk back? Your brother will get his mouth washed out with soap. It didn't happen all the time; Father Lamont still enjoyed taking the boys away from one another and lashing them separately when he deemed appropriate.<br/><br/>Ezekiel was grinding on top of him now, and River could feel his erection throb in his trousers, aching to be released, but he could hear the hesitation in Ezekiel's voice. They had tried it dry before, many times, and it had never ended well for either boy. The first time they had tried entering one another, each boy cried, not understanding how babies could be made like this when it burned, not comprehending the different anatomy of males and females. River knew that boys and girls were different. Boys had penises and girls had vaginas. His mother had told him that when he was very young, but the complexities of sexual reproduction had never been properly explained. He didn't understand that women created their own lubrication, that males didn't have the same mechanisms in their body. But they had wanted it, craved the connection, and their hands felt so nice against one another. River couldn't remember whose idea it had been, or who had swiped what from the kitchen or how, but he remembered how sweet it felt when they used it. It changed everything.<br/><br/>"He used it all the time, I remember. They must have it, too." He shifted Ezekiel off of him and lifted himself from the bed, moving back to where he had moved the furniture in front of the door. "We need it," he grunted, putting his weight against the dresser to shift it out of the way just enough for lean Ezekiel to crack bedroom door open. When he was finished, he was breathing hard. The dresser was large, heavy and solid, but River didn't mind helping Zeke in any way he could. "I think you should distract her," River commented, adjusting himself so his erection would be less apparent. Both boys were in a partial state of undress, too hasty in their need to be with one another and touch.<br/><br/>"You're her son. She'll talk to you whenever you want, about whatever you want. I could see it in her eyes, in the way she wants you to let her touch you. Desperate. Is that the word? For your attention. Or for you to receive her attention. I don't know. But if you say you want to talk, she'll listen." River moved back to the bed and took Ezekiel's hand, pulling the smaller male up and hugging him close to his chest. "You go first, distract her, pull her away from the kitchen if she is still in there. I will go down and search through the cupboards and see if I can find it." River had convinced himself that he would be successful in his endeavor, not wanting to think about what they would do if he couldn't find it, if they couldn't be together.<br/><br/>River helped get Ezekiel dressed again, straightened out his shirt and followed as the blonde boy slipped past the bedroom door. He stayed behind his lover, tiptoeing not unlike he had done for so many years around Father Lamont's home. The stairs creaked as the two boys descended and the noise made River grit his teeth. He wanted to be quiet like a mouse, like a shadow, like Ezekiel's shadow, but he felt lumbering here, unfamiliar with the surroundings. He did his best, for Zeke, keeping his eye on the young man's back as he planted his feet on the floor at the bottom of the staircase.<br/><br/>"Go talk to her. Just give me five minutes," he instructed, brushing his lips against the back of Ezekiel's neck, tasting the salt on his skin.