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I found his other shoulder, traced a finger down another set of scars.

I didn’t mind. I never would. They would forever be a part of what this was. Whatever it was.

“You can do anything to me,” he whispered. “I just want to feel…”

“What do you want to feel?” I asked. Finally. Proper words that didn’t feel like they belonged in a life from what felt like hundreds of years ago. Young Stewart was no longer an inexperienced, ridiculous man who had no idea how to talk to people.

This Stewart was me. Older. Greyer. Still inexperienced, but…

I didn’t think it mattered anymore. It didn’t matter when I loosened his belt. When I was sucking into the skin on his shoulder. When he was stepping out of his trousersand the flimsy boxers he wore. I was familiar with all his clothing, having laundered and folded them, just as I knew his fancy teacups. The tall glasses that stood in his cupboards. The plates on which I served his toast.

I knew his arms, which were now around my neck as I almost lifted him off the floor in an awkward dance towards my bed, where I laid him down, allowing myself to follow.

“You’re still wearing all your clothes,” the now almost-naked man below me said with amusement in his voice.

“I am,” I agreed. “You’re still wearing socks, though.” That made him laugh. I loved that it did.

“Let me help you,” he suggested, rolling over until I was on my back, suddenly feeling awkward. I didn’t know where my hands were supposed to go. On his chest? His back? Down over his delightfully small buttocks?

“You’re mine, too,” he whispered, tugging the tie from around my neck.

Nods. I think I made them as he unbuttoned my shirt, my chest hair silver-grey and wiry under his exploring hands, his soft palms against my skin. Another kiss.

Was this what I thought it was?

I’d always hated the wordintercourse. Sexual contact. Intimacy. This was neither. This was something different, and I had no words, none whatsoever, as my brain clouded over with his mouth delivering small kisses downwards, playing me like this.

My belt buckle tinkled, and I strained to see him, to watch this unravel. He pushed down my trousers and ran his thumb along the waistband of my Y-fronts. I caught his hand, the uncertainty in me breaking free.

“Dylan, I haven’t done this for a very long time. I don’t even know if it all works anymore.”

“Stewart,” he said calmly.

“I haven’t engaged in…self-pleasure…for a long time. I honestly don’t know.”

“And I…” He sat up. The small trail of dark hairs on his stomach were stark against his pale, slender form. I was looking—of course I was. More dark hair. A male member. And I realised how beautiful he was. Strikingly so, in his own way. Strong, yet fragile. Broken, yet perfect. So very perfect.

“I think you’re gorgeous,” he continued. “And I don’t care. I don’t care if we get off tonight. I don’t care if we just lie here and hold each other. I really don’t. I just wantto be here, with you, like this. I want you to kiss me. I want you to tell me all those things you’re telling me because I love hearing them.”

“Come here,” I said. Because perhaps I’d needed to hear that too. I caught him in my arms and held him, tangled my legs around him, my trousers gone with a few gentle kicks. I managed to free the duvet and wrap us up.

Him. Me. Warmth. Soft skin. His lips against mine as my hands became braver, exploring his skin. The soft dips of his back. His mouth on my shoulders. The waistband of my underwear once again getting gentle tugs.

“I’m going to take these off,” he told me more than suggested, and I let him, too helpless to refuse.

“There,” he said as my manhood found freedom. His fingertips gently stroked down my shaft. I shivered. “Still works,” he whispered, a smile forming as he proved me wrong. My shaft was filling out right there under his touch.

I swallowed. More gentle tickles, the familiar feeling in my groin. The way he kissed me, how his fingers grew bolder, and how mine joined in. Our bodies rocked to the same invisible beat as I found his… Oh God. His erection was glorious, hard and warm in my hand. How anyone could resist such a man was suddenly beyond me because hewas all beauty and strength, and his tongue was so deep down my throat I could barely breathe.

I wondered if his erection would fit. If his skin would taste as good as his kisses. How, when I climbed on top of him and he rolled underneath me, if he would…

Oh, he did. His legs clasped around my back, my erection now too prominent to ignore. His, in return, was right there poking me in the groin.

I rocked my hips, joining him in the dance we were choreographing, his hand clasped around my length, mine finding his as we kissed, uncoordinated, messy movements above as we discovered perfection below. His hand moved around me, mine around him. The bed creaked alarmingly as we drifted off into something I once again had no words for. Blissful ignorance. A state where I no longer cared. Where his pleasure was mine and mine was his. Where the sounds coming from his mouth were everything, and my heartbeat was no longer just my own.

His neck bent back, my mouth somewhere behind his ear, my body screaming with something I hadn’t felt for years.

Pleasure. I had no words for it. Or none I could say out loud.