Page 23 of Forever Not Yours (Square Mile Rogues #1)

T his love letter to Bastien, the man who had held my heart for as long as I now could remember? It was an ever-changing story, a saga with a surprisingly straight line, because we’d had enough twists and turns to deal with, and now…

We’d both skirted around the subject of moving. Flossie was too small to manage the stairs. Flat living wasn’t for little dogs, and Bastien kept saying she needed a garden, a place where she could go out and lie in the sun instead of having to sit in her dog bed on our balcony hoping the rays would reach over the railing.

They rarely did. Also? I bloody loved that dog, and that had been a somewhat surprising realisation. And anyway, our concerns for Flossie were masking the real issue.

Bastien was still the love of my life, and he wanted to be a dad, something I fully intended to give him, however that would look. A family of our own, more than just him, me and Flossie.

Which was enough, of course it was. More than enough. But hey, I was me and he was him, and the way he was breathing right now? Yeah. He was ready for more.

My thoughts drifted, while he floated in the haze of the poppers, his whole body relaxing, then tensing up as I moved my hand, then relaxing again.

This had been a good session. A lazy Sunday afternoon, a stroll around the heath, a bit of shopping, and then he’d been standing there, stark naked, his skin free from those little things that kept him well.

My Bastien, slowly stirring that plastic pot of lube I’d prepared.

“You made some promises earlier,” he’d said.

We didn’t always need more words. He’d taught me that. Sometimes I knew exactly what he needed. When work overwhelmed him, and things become a little tense, when he stopped telling me everything he needed to get off his chest and closed himself in. The number of times I’d spanked those little mishaps out of him, leaving him raw and destroyed over my lap. Perhaps those were the wrong words, because that destruction was something he treasured, proudly showing off his skin to me and smiling smugly as he tried to get comfortable on the sofa. He said it helped him relax. Also? Yes, of course. It was bloody hot, and gave me all those little things I needed.

He worked from home a few days a week, gave himself a break, and let Faye take the reins. They were a good team, and now they were being joined by a new intern. I laughed, recalling something he’d said earlier about Faye demanding smoothies and that he would have to peg her down a notch or two.

“Go,” he huffed as I slowly got myself back in position, me on all fours on the floor, him on his back on the bed with his legs raised, heels digging into the bedposts. Also? New bed. I could tie him up now when I needed to, and the posts were very handy for all these new little things we were adding to our repertoire. Like these long sessions we were having, working on stretching him to the max.

My gloved fist, almost all the way in, including my thumb, right up to the last knuckles, his skin straining open around me, the lube everywhere. I adjusted my stance and twisted my hand. Only a few millimetres, but still, I had him, right here, doing so good.

“You’re almost there. You’re doing so well.”

“Green,” he said confidently. “Fucking intense, though.”

Sweat beaded on his forehead, despite the cold winter air seeping through the window. He was hot. I was too. Intense indeed. His skin stuck to the rubber sheet I’d strapped to the bed. Easy clean-up. Fisting was dirty work, and that was just the way I liked it. We’d spilled enough lube and stuff on the carpet, which was next on my list. We were getting wooden flooring in the bedroom. And a hook for a sex swing.

We needed a bigger place. That was glaringly obvious.

I was drifting again. I concentrated, letting him adjust, take my hand like he was built for this.

Fact. He was. He was made for being my man, and he was made for getting fucked. Fisted. Smacked. The dirty boy that he was.

He made a desperate sound as I twisted again, just a small movement, but it allowed me deeper, his hole suddenly swallowing up that last knuckle as I used my other hand to replenish the lube. I smoothed it around his rim as he took me in even further.

My breath hitched with every millimetre I pushed further in.

I loved this. Absolutely loved this.

He raised the bottle of poppers back up to his nose, took a short, sharp sniff, then replaced the cap and dropped it back on the sheet, his hand forming a fist as I went deeper inside him, everything stopping around me as I stroked my cock. One hand on me. One inside of him.

“Fuck,” he groaned.

“I’m inside, Bastien. Almost all the way inside. My wrist is slowly gliding in now. Can you feel it?”

He made sounds. I think I did too. Relief. Joy. Arousal.

I wasn’t going to make it. My jaw clenched as that sharp feeling of pain mixed with pleasure and my hand upped its speed.

He knew. Of course he did. His mouth hanging slack up there, his dick pointing firmly upwards, completely lost to that haze. Relaxed. Being…mine.

I tried gently moving my hand out, then slowly back in, gentle movements inside of him as he cried out.

“You can touch yourself now,” I instructed.

He didn’t move.

Sometimes he didn’t need to. Sometimes he would furiously jerk himself off, even with just my fingers inside of him. Other times, he’d just suddenly shake, almost violently, orgasming onto his stomach without any contact. Sometimes I sucked him off. Other times, like this, I doubted he was even bothered about coming at all. He just wanted this, being lost in his head, knowing there was nothing in the world he needed to care about. Just existing. Feeling. Letting me help him stay right there floating in his own little haze.

My hand was now sliding in and out. More lube, a few more desperate jerks. I was close, so bloody close, revelling in the sight of him, those small squelching sounds my hand made him make. In and out. Twisting. Feeling every little warm crevice. Softness. Wetness. Warmth. Him.

The sounds he made were intoxicating, the desperate moans and syllables he was singing out. The way his toes curled. How his feet pushed against the bedposts, spread out like this, which was why I’d chosen this bed. Practical and perfect. Just like him.

My hand flew over my length, my fingers working their magic, while he lazily stroked his dick, soft movements, almost dreamlike as he suddenly shook and his back arched up, forcing me to move with him. His dick released a squirt of white, a wet pool against his stomach, running slowly to the side as he arched again, a desperate whine coming from his mouth as I slowly pulled out and allowed him this. The release, and relief.

His breaths were far too fast, like he’d run and exhausted himself. Well, he had. This wasn’t something for everyone. This was a workout in patience and skill, in being able to trust and relax. A little light chemical relief. Add to that a generous dollop of weird kinks that I was starting to realise were okay. A part of who I was. Who we were.

I was exhausted too, my own orgasm almost an afterthought, having spectated the deliciousness of his. I was wrung out, slumped on the floor by his feet, trying to get back into some kind of functioning state.

I need to clean up, clean him up, but I was still too lost to care.

His quietness calmed me. Rest. He’d need it, and so would I, but neither of us was in a state to actually do just that.

“Jake?” His voice was gruff.

“Hang on. Let me just… I’ll bring a towel.”

Not just any towel. One I had soaking in the sink. I forced myself up on my feet, stumbling awkwardly out into the kitchen. Flossie stared at me with disinterest from her bed. Gloves off and in bin, a thorough wash of my hands in the right sink, I poured boiling water into the soak on the left, checked the temperature and wrung out a couple of handtowels. Warm, and soaked in soothing intimate lotion, they would not only clean him up but heal his skin, reduce the burn, allow him to rest in comfort.

“When we move into a house, we need one room to play in and then have a bedroom for sleeping so you can just carry me to bed and let me sleep this off.”

He was still delirious, lying there spreadeagled on the rubber sheet.

“Roll a little to the side?” I suggested. Bunching up a hot towel in my hands, I smoothed it over his forehead and gave him a soft kiss. “Just going to clean you up, then I’ll get you a snack and put you to bed.”

“Just a nap,” he huffed out. “Don’t let me sleep too long.”

“Nah.”

I wiped down his chest, his long slender arms, the gorgeous curves of his shoulders, down his back, where the sweat had transferred onto the sheets. I needed to get better ones. Perhaps disposable ones. Cleaning these was quite the chore. Disinfectant. I hated the smell of it.

“This is nice,” he mumbled, snuggling into the pillow.

“How do you feel?” I asked gently. I was so goddamn proud of him.

“Wrung out.” He smiled. “That was…intense.”

“It usually is. It’s not quite normal to have a hand up your anal passage, but yeah. It’s intense.”

“It was…good. Different. I’m glad we went all the way this time.”

“I knew you could do it. It was just a matter of time.”

“Well, not really. A bit of willpower. And a promise of a good orgasm. Also? It’s fun. I like spending time with you, doing things like this.”

“Fucking.”

“Of course. Fucking. But. You know. Talking. Laughing. Having you give me a nice, heated bed bath.”

“Spoilt.”

“I am spoilt, and worth it.”

“Of course you are. ”

“I was thinking.” He turned around again, giving me access to continue to wipe him down. I smoothed carefully over his arse, leaving small kisses in my wake. I loved his body. I went out and replenished my towels, placed one neatly folded over his face. He hummed. Yeah. Mega spoilt. I continued down his body, smoothing down the fine hairs on his legs, smiling at the way he wriggled his toes as I cleaned his feet. And again.

“What were you thinking? I prompted.

“We spend time with my parents. I really want to go stay with yours.”

“They live in a flat.”

“We can afford a hotel.”

“No.”

“Jake.”

“Yes?”

“You’re a grown man. And your mine. You speak to your mum, like, once a month if she’s lucky. Go see them.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Of course it is. You’re a gay man. And they…they don’t kn ow that. Do they?”

“My sister knows,” I protested, but he wasn’t wrong. I chose my battles, compartmentalised my life. Bastien knew. He’d always known all of this.

“But…” He sat up gingerly, grimacing as I gathered the sheet, and then stood beside the bed while I gave his backside another wipe-down.

“I should go shower,” he said, giving me an out. But I was me…and he was…

“You’re right,” I said quietly. “And whilst were on the subject, my parents are not like yours.”

“I know. I only met them at your graduation, and that was kind of weird. Like, my parents were showering you with flowers and taking photos, and your parents just stood there.”

“They love me,” I argued. They did. “Not everyone is alike.”

“We just energise our feelings differently,” he said, looking absolutely serious. “And it bothers you. I can tell every time we go see mine. You love the attention, but it stings.”

“It does.” Had I mentioned how much I loved him? How perceptive he was. How kind. Thoughtful. How he loved me so unashamedly these days. He’d changed, and I think I had too. Mellowed into this new version of me who was…happy.

I was really happy.

“I don’t want to rock the boat,” I admitted. “I like the distance. The phone calls. I get a card on my birthday. Not all of us need to be mothered like you do. Don’t get me wrong, I love your mum. Really. She makes me laugh, and the breakfast trays are insane, and the sitting on the side of the bed talking Flemish to you makes me all kinds of happy. I just don’t crave that from my mother. It’s not what we are, and that’s okay.”

“I just want you to be happy,” he said softly, reaching out and stroking my cheek. "I want you to have everything you want, even if it's things I can't give you. You need to get better at telling me what you need."

“You smell,” I said, grimacing as the odour hit me. Yeah. Filthy boy. “Go shower.”

"Don't change the subject. You always do when it's things you don't want to acknowledge. Like the fact that you deserve everything good in the world. That you are a fantastic person. The best partner I could ever wish for and the most brilliant lover. I'm being honest and truthful here, Jakey. I love you, and I love every part of you. Just the way you are. But if you need more? You need to open your mouth. You taught me that, remember?"

I just stood there, gulping air, feeling the blush creep up my cheeks. I supposed he was right. I wasn't good at taking these new compliments he was dishing out. They didn't always sit well with me, because there were still parts of me, that I hid. Not from him, but perhaps from the world. My parents. The way I lived my life. The future I wanted us to have.

“And if you ever want to go up north, just say the word. I’ll drive. Book us a fancy place to stay. Sort all that out.” He said quietly, reaching up and pulling me down for a kiss.

I shook my head. “Let it lie, Bastien. It’s nothing that will ever bring any good to our lives. Instead, we’re going to build our own family one day.”

“And you won’t be that kind of parent, Jake. I’ll make sure of it. My mum will teach you everything she knows. You’ll be all overbearing and anxious and drive the kids to uni every day because you won’t let them move out or you’ll take them food parcels and go do their laundry.” His knees were wobbling as he stood himself up, trying to find balance against the bed post. He still smiled, making my heart jolt. It always did, every time he popped those dimples my way.

“I will,” I admitted. He wasn’t wrong. "At least I'll try."

“You’ll be amazing.” He just stood there smiling at me, and it made me brave. Perhaps recklessly so.

“I know it’s too soon and all that,” I said softly, “but I had another email from that social worker with the knee injury I treated. She said she’ll help us get the ball rolling, if we…you know…ever want to get the ball rolling.”

“It’s not even been a year,” he said, carefully tasting the words. “You sure you’re ready to tackle this?”

“Are you?” I threw back. Yeah. Reckless. But then, maybe not. Words. We were using them.

“It’s not going to be like it was with Juliet.” His voice was solid, determined yet soft. “That was completely different. A whole other set of variables that I will always struggle with. It’s nothing I can change. But we have to start talking about it without us both cringing. You have to stop thinking I will have a breakdown if we try. We need to buy a house. A home. I know that, despite freezing up every time I see an estate agent sign.”

“We do. But if it’s too soon, we can manage here a little longer.”

“I think if we can just…get over that first hurdle, decide where to look…”

“Shower, Bastien.”

“I know.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s just… So much to talk about. Too many words.”

“Shower,” I repeated, walking up to him to steal a kiss… then I smacked his arse. Sassy little brat.

Too many words indeed, but they were good ones. I’d make him happy, because he made me happy. And we did need a house and a social worker and all that.

I wanted to raise a child. With him.

With love and care and understanding and hope and every single emotion that suddenly bubbled up in my chest.

A love letter to the man in the shower, the air that we breathed, the view from our bedroom window and a future that would be part of something new.

Jake and Bastien.

A few years back, I thought he’d forever belong to someone else, and I’d be forever not be his. That he’d never truly be mine. I knew I’d been wrong back then, because every time I’d lost him, I’d gained him a little bit more, another shot of him straight to my heart. I’d been patient, let him do what he needed to do until he found his way back to me, where he belonged. Forever…now mine.

I smiled. Then I rolled up the rubber sheet and threw it in the bin. Fuck saving the planet. Well. He’d no doubt dig it out and clean it later. Disinfect it and hang it out on the balcony to dry.

The little brat.

Then I made him a cup of tea and a sandwich. Because that was life. Our life. Forever.

The End.