Page 22

James

“ W here’s Mister B, Mister D?” Joey asks, leaning over the canteen’s front counter. He doesn’t seem to care that there are a bunch of hungry, impatient teenagers behind him. He twists his head from side to side, looking for my boyfriend. Instead, he finds the big, tattooed guy Ev sent in his place. Jack. His eyes widen. “And who’s the new hottie?”

“ Joey ,” I say warningly. It’s been two weeks since Ev’s accident, and while he’s back on his feet (and practically moved into my house because I refused to let him out of my sight for longer than necessary), he still tires easily and can’t lift anything heavy, so he called in a favour with one of his soccer friends.

(I haven’t heard the end of his ‘I miss soccer’ whinging, either.)

“You didn’t break up, did you?” the kid’s gaze flits to my ring and something that looks a lot like relief flashes over his face.

“No,” I tell him, “we’re still very happy. He just…had surgery a little while ago and he’s recovering. His friend, Jack, is here instead.”

Joey nods, then leans all the way over the bench to check the firefighter out. “Is Jack single?”

“Jack is not. He’s also twice your age.” I gently push him back onto his side of the counter. “Now, are you ordering, or just holding up the line behind you?”

“Does Jack like men?” he tries again, batting his lashes in Jack’s direction.

“Alright, that’s it,” I point to the exit lane. “Shoo.”

He pouts, but he leaves, and Jack snorts. “Kids are super ballsy now, aren’t they?”

“He’s got an accent?!” Joey pops his head in through the back door to the canteen.

Sophie, one half of the other couple rostered on today, laughs and then chases him away.

“He’s a menace,” I say, but it’s fond.

The kid has grown on me, too, it turns out.

After lunch time is over and we’ve cleaned and sterilised the canteen, Jack and I walk back down to the school carpark. He seems like a nice guy, and we’ve been bonding over his experiences as a relatively new fulltime dad to twin four-year-olds.

“Uh, Mister D?” I just about jump out of my skin as Joey pushes off the bonnet of my car, where he was obviously waiting for us.

“Shouldn’t you be in class?”

“Yeah, but, um, I just…I just wanted to make sure Mister B is really okay.”

I nod. “That’s sweet. He’s fine, I promise. He’s actually really whiny because he wants to be back out playing soccer again, but his doctor won’t let him yet.” I cock my head. “You really should be getting back to class.”

Joey nods and sighs. “Yeah.”

“Is everything okay?” I look the kid over. He doesn’t seem his usual bouncy self, but a lot of kids start hitting the wall in the second half of the school year. “Did you want to talk to Ev about something specific?”

“Yeah, no, I’m fine. I just…I like Mister B a lot. And you,” he hurries to add, as if I’m going to be offended that he likes Evan more than me. “But, yeah…I just…I’ve missed seeing you guys at stuff.”

I remember what he’s said in the past, about not knowing many other same-sex couples and, now that I’ve started to go through the coming out process, I think I get it more. He doesn’t feel like he fits in, especially when he’s not getting acceptance at home, and he feels safe with Ev and, to some extent, with me. A kinship, if you will.

“Why don’t you see if Mia feels up for hosting a drama club slumber party at our place?” I ask him, giving him an excuse to hang out with likeminded people without being weird about it. “Tell her that her dads will buy all the hipster gluten-free vegan pizzas your hearts desire.”

His eyes light up and he bounces on the balls of his feet. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I nod. “Now get back to class before your warden —I mean, principal— finds you out without a hall pass or whatever they call them these days.”

“You’re the best, Mister D,” he tells me, and I watch as he heads off up the hedge-lined path to the main area of the school.

When I turn back around, Jack is smirking at me, tattooed arms folded over his big, broad chest. “What?” I ask him.

“That was nice of you.”

I frown. “What, exactly, has Ev been saying about me that would make me being nice to a kid so surprising?”

“Nothing,” he’s quick to respond. “But not everyone gives random teenagers the time of day.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think he gets the attention he needs at home. Not that his parents are neglectful or anything. But some of the things he’s said have made me feel for him, y’know? Like I don’t think his dad is super accepting of same-sex relationships and Joey—”

“Is as camp as a row of tents.” Jack nods, then grimaces. “That sucks about his dad.”

“Maybe he’ll come around? Either way, I just feel like giving him a safe space where he can feel free to be himself is something easy that I can do. He’s Mia’s friend, and our home is always open to him. Plus,” I feel my cheeks heat, “maybe I would have been quicker to accept my feelings for Ev if I’d had same-sex couples to talk to growing up. Not that my parents were anything like his dad…but I didn’t know that for sure when I was his age.” I scrub my hand over my face. “I don’t know. I just feel for him.”

“You’re a good guy,” Jack claps me on the back. “And, hey, I just had my own ‘turns out I like guys too’ moment not that long ago, so if you and Evan need back up, you can always call us.”

It’s a really nice offer and I grin, bobbing my chin. “Thanks, man.”

“Also,” he says as he finally makes his way towards his car, which is parked a few spaces up from mine, “you’re welcome to come join our soccer team.”

I scoff. “Hard pass. My dad bod is not built for sports.”

Thankfully, Ev loves it anyway.

***

Raucous squeals and laughter emanating from down the hallway make me wince as I pull back the covers of my bed.

“This was your idea,” Ev tells me with a smug smile, then closes the bedroom door, shutting out the worst of the sound. He peels off his shirt and tosses it to the floor, and I’m momentarily too distracted by his toned chest, and the still-pink scars from his accident and surgery, to get annoyed with his untidiness. He chuckles. “My eyes are up here, buddy.”

“Shut up,” I mutter, blushing at having been caught ogling him.

I feel a little guilty for the arousal coursing through me. It’s not entirely my fault: we were exchanging orgasms at the rate of horny teenagers for months on end, and then they stopped suddenly during what we now refer to as the Week Of Doom. My balls are bluer than Marge Simpson’s hair at this point. However, until Ev’s given the all-clear from his doctor to resume physical activity, I’m not going to act on my building frustration.

It would just be nice if he’d stop being so fucking attractive.

“Do you like what you see, baby?” he all but purrs, sliding under the covers beside me.

I give him a look that reads ‘are you stupid?’ but I don’t answer.

He sidles in closer, running his palm down my t-shirt-covered chest and stomach, then lower still. I suck in a breath as my cock realises what’s happening and practically springs to attention.

“ Evan ,” I hiss, trying for a tone of warning but sounding stupidly needy to my own ears. “Stop it.”

“This” —he squeezes my erection through my boxers— “doesn’t feel like you want me to stop.”

“W-we can’t.”

“No?” He presses his shirtless form right up against my side and then mouths at my neck, trailing wet kisses over the curve of my jaw and to my earlobe. I throb for him. “Why not, baby?”

How does this man manage to make me feel like an inexperienced teenager so easily? Between his touch and his sinful voice, I could just erupt.

Oh, yeah, weeks of celibacy. That’s how.

Trying not to whimper, I answer, “You’re still recovering.”

“Doc said that once I was allowed to walk around again, I could resume other low-impact activities.” Ev sounds so proud of himself. “Including sexual activity. We’ve just gotta be slow,” to illustrate his point, his hand slips under the waistband of my boxers and strokes me up and down at a leisurely pace, “and careful.”

Breathing heavily, I close my eyes and arch into his touch. “Fuck.”

“Shh,” his breath ghosting over the shell of my ear makes me feel weak with need, “there are impressionable teenagers in the house. We have to be quiet.”

As if they’d hear us over their laughter anyway.

“I’ve missed this,” he continues to croon into my hear. “Missed your pretty cock. Missed your mouth. Missed your hands on me.”

Resolve crumbling, I rock my hips into the rhythm he’s setting with his fist.

“You want this just as badly as I do, don’t you?” Ev’s voice is barely a whisper, but it echoes in my brain and through my nerve endings. “I can feel it, baby. I can feel you getting even harder in my hand. Feel you leaking for me. God, I wish I could have you inside me again…”

“Fuck,” I repeat myself, unable to find other words. “Fuck. Fuck. ”

He chuckles. “I know,” he agrees, still sounding so decadent and teasing, “But not tonight. I’m too wired.” He moves, bracing his toned, nearly-naked body over mine, slotting a leg between mine and rutting his hard cock, covered only by the thin layer of his boxer briefs, into my thigh. “Feel it?” He asks. “Feel how hard you make me, baby? Feel me leaking for you?”

“I do,” my voice sounds wrecked and gravelly and I can hear my own heartbeat in my ears. “I want…Ev… please …”

“What do you want?”

“N-naked,” I demand through heavy, panted breaths. “I want to get naked. Both of us. I want…”

Why are words so difficult?

It could be because all of my blood is currently running directly to my dick, not leaving a lot behind to run my brain.

Speaking of my dick…

Evan is already halfway through helping me out of my shirt and, with some awkward manoeuvring, I help him finish the job, not caring when he chucks it off the side of the bed. Then he climbs off me to tug down my boxers and turfs those aside, too. While he’s up, he wriggles out of his underwear, and then we’re both stark naked, and I drink in the sight of him in the glow of the bedside lamp.

His skin glows golden under the warm, yellow light. He’s just as toned and perfect as I remember, even with the faded bruising and the scars from his accident. His chest hair is a bit patchy from where they had to shave him for surgery, but it’s still enough for me to tangle my fingertips in.

How did I ever convince myself I was straight?

Don’t get me wrong: boobs are still awesome, but Ev’s body is droolworthy. Plus, I’m so in love with him, it makes him even more attractive.

His cock, long and lean, bobs in the air as he moves back over the mattress and brackets himself over me again, this time with his legs on either side of mine, well and truly pinning me beneath him.

My breath catches at the feeling of skin on skin, of our cocks brushing against each other, of feeling completely vulnerable and also utterly wanted by the man on top of me. I run my hands up his sides, probably far too gently, but remembering his warning that we need to be slow and careful.

“ Shit, Jay,” he exhales and rocks his hips, whether because he’s seeking friction or wants to get closer, I don’t particularly care, “you feel so good.”

“I haven’t done anything yet” —he rolls his hips with a bit more force and the feeling of his cock rubbing up against mine is pure bliss— “ ah! ”

“Shh,” he bends to press his lips to mine, all of his weight braced on his strong arms, his tasty biceps straining on either side of my head, “we’ve got to be quiet, remember?”

It feels completely different to be beneath him like this. Aside from the time he sat in my lap and rode me, I’m usually the one pretending to be in control. But tonight, I’m content to be passive. To let Ev set the pace and take the lead.

It feels surprisingly awesome to be underneath him. To be surrounded by him. To look up into his handsome face and imagine him pushing his way into my body the way I normally sink into his.

He pauses and sits up, fumbling in the nightstand for the lube. He squirts a generous amount into his palm and then coats our cocks with it, sitting back on top of my thighs as he jerks us together languidly. I watch his olive-toned hand work our dicks together, loving the way we just fit together so well. Precum pearls and leaks steadily from both of us, and I moan when he scoops some of the combined liquid up on his thumb and then pops it between his kissable lips, sucking noisily.

“ Jesus Christ, ” I exhale, “that was hot.”

He grins and then stretches over me again, kissing me fiercely, coaxing my lips open with his tongue to share the flavour with me.

I whine low at the back of my throat at the sensory overload. “I’m gonna come,” I warn him, blushing at how soon into this experience it’s happening.

But it has been weeks and I am completely keyed up.

I feel him grin against my lips, but then he moves his mouth to the shell of my ear again, lowly encouraging me, “Come for me, baby. Come all over my cock.”

I pant as the pleasure builds and crests, egged on with his command.

“That’s it,” his own heavy breathing only makes me chase the high more, “show me how much you like it.”

“E-Ev…”

His hand tightens its slippery hold, and he jerks us together faster, leaning all of his weight on his other arm. “I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you. Give it to me.”

“Oh fuck,” my hips jerk as I feel the tension inside me reaching breaking point, bursts of pleasure beginning to spark through my nerve endings, “fuck, Ev , fuuuuuck. ”

My orgasm washes over me like a tidal wave and I’m swept away in it. I come and I come and I come, coating his hand, his cock, and our bellies in my release. I’m dimly aware of him stroking harder and faster, chasing his own release as he uses the evidence of mine as additional lube.

I’m still floating in the afterglow, my body trembling from the intensity of my release as Ev drops his head to my shoulder and practically sobs, “Yes, Jay…Jay… James .”

Hot splashes of fresh cum land on the mess already between us and I flinch away from his touch as I finally start to come down, my cock feeling hypersensitive and beyond spent.

Ev collapses beside me, one arm and one leg draped over me as our chests heave in unison and we catch our breaths. I turn my head to lazily kiss his sweaty forehead and he tilts his head back, begging for a real kiss.

It’s lazy and sloppy and languid…and absolutely perfect.

“I love you,” he murmurs when it comes to an end. He nuzzles his face into my shoulder and adds, “I've changed my mind. I was wrong. I want to move in.”

My lips twitch with amusement. After all of his 'I'm being the rational one', and the serious chats we had about my impulsive offer, it's just like him to change his mind. I love that about him. I love that he's not afraid to admit he was wrong.

“Then move in,” I tell him, not making a big deal out of his change in tune. I'm too happy to tease him. “You’ve practically been living here the past few months anyway.”

Because I really am happier when he’s here. We’ve already proven that our daily routines fit in easily with each other and, after almost losing him, it triggers my anxiety when he’s not around. That’s something I’m working through with my therapist because, yes, both he and Doctor Rogers were right about us needing one, especially after his accident, too. (See? I can admit when I'm wrong, too.)

“It’s that easy?” he asks, sounding surprised. “Just like that?”

“Why wouldn’t it be? Everything is just that easy with you.”

It always has been.

Maybe that’s another sign I missed over the years. Things with Ev have just been easy. We just make things work together. This isn’t any different.

“You don’t think it’s moving too fast? I mean, I thought when we talked about it, you agreed that it was."

I consider that for a second, then shrug. Yes, he had convinced me that my offering (demanding?) for him to move in with me moments after he regained consciousness was probably a hasty, panic-fuelled suggestion, but it never stopped me from wanting him here with me.

Besides, we have done everything else arse-backwards anyway.

“We’ve spent our lives together already,” I muse out loud. “Yeah, most of that was just as friends, but you’re the person who knows me best in this world. You moving in isn’t going to change the way we hang out casually, it’s not going to change the way we feel about each other…well, not unless you insist on leaving your clothes on the floor…”

“I guess I can work on that.”

“Then what difference will it really make? Other than being able to do this” —I bend to kiss him again, this time sweetly— “whenever I want.”

See, everyone important in our lives knows about our relationship now. They even accept the fact that we’re still wearing the tacky rings he bought as a prop, even though we’re probably never actually going to get married. I’ve started meeting his soccer friends as ‘the boyfriend’, and I plan on introducing him to my work friends in the same capacity.

“I thought you’d be more freaked out by it, is all.”

Hugging him closer, I shake my head. “I was more freaked out when I thought I was going to lose you.”

“Jay…”

“No, listen. That put everything into perspective. Even Mia’s pregnancy scare. Because all those fears I had about life changing, or about what people might think of me…they were nothing in comparison to the fear of not having you in my life, as my best friend or as my partner. Boyfriend. Lover. Whatever. And I promised myself that if — when — you got through surgery, I was going to make sure that I was just as strong and brave for you as you’ve always been for me. That’s why I’ve gone to therapy. That’s why I’m not allowing the fear of all the things that could go wrong to get to me. Because there are also so many things that could go right, too.”

I feel his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. “That’s…deep, Jay,” he says playfully, but his voice is thick with emotion.

“I know. But I love you, Ev. I will always love you. So move in with me. And if you still want to talk about having kids one day—”

“Nope,” he cuts me off, laughing as he sits up so he can shake his head emphatically. “Nope. Nope . That was a one-off offer for a hypothetical scenario. We can be kickass grandads together one day, if Mia ever does have kids. But…no. No kids. Just us and Mia.”

Relief floods through me and I grin, sitting up as well. “That sounds perfect to me.” Then I look down my body and scrunch up my nose. “But for now, let’s grab a shower.”

“Yeah,” he waggles his eyebrows, “I could go a second round in the shower.”

Before I can tell him that that’s not what I meant, my best friend-come-boyfriend has climbed out of bed and raced into the ensuite. I snort to myself and follow him at a more leisurely pace.

If anyone would have told me that a crazy fake-engagement would lead to the most rewarding relationship of my life, I would have laughed in their face. I’m glad I went along with my daughter’s harebrained scheme. And, though she still tells us it’s weird, I think that, secretly, she’s happy for us, too.