Page 16

O kay. Not clever, and definitely not smart. But I was irrationally angry, mostly at myself. Why had I let this go on like this? This whole shitty situation was insane. Why the fuck did I always do this?

He came up behind me and let me in, because I couldn’t even open the door myself. I had a bloody key in my bag, which was still at work, and the list of things I was fucking up seemed to be never-ending at this point.

I followed him up the stairs and picked up a yapping Flossie on automatic, letting her lick my face and claw at my shirt like she always did. It should have calmed me down, but it didn’t. She needed a walk, but I needed a shower, and I needed to reload the other pump and get this whole shitty day over and done with. Sleep it all off.

This was usually the point when Jake would walk up to the kettle, dropping his shoes on the way, and offer me a tea. Smile and tell me something mundane about his day. Like, Hey, guess what? I had to pick up my mate from a bar today. Not just any bar, but the kind of bar you go to for a quick, dirty, mindless fuck.

Not fun. Not clever. I ground my teeth together, trying to swallow the disgust pooling in my mouth. He looked…

Me and my fucking inability to use my mouth. Even when I did, I threw tantrums and fucked things up. I hated the look on his face right now, and he wasn’t even looking at me. So, yes, he’d cried the other day, but that was Jake. He cried at Christmas adverts and puppies, and he’d bawled his eyes out at my grandma’s funeral. I rarely cried. Instead, I would freeze up in disbelief, wondering what the hell was going on, just like I was doing now.

Jake, leaning against the counter, wearing those flimsy work scrubs he wore, was watching the kettle like he was waiting for it to boil when he hadn’t even flicked it on. He had his back to me, shoulders rising and falling in a steady beat, head slumped, the way he did when he was…

The realisation shouldn’t have felt like it did, but this was me, and I didn’t always think before I acted. Or spoke. This was why I shouldn’t open my mouth, because when I did, I caused things like this. I’d shouted awful things at my mum in my teens, called my dad names he didn’t deserve. Teenage hormones and all that, but I was a grown man now, still doing the same thing. Hurting the people I loved.

I loved Jake. Of course I did. We said it all the time. Well, he did. I nodded. But I did love him, and I absolutely hated that he was hurting. Because of me. Because all he had done for me was go along with all my insanities, and he’d supported all my whims and ideas and infatuations, and the bloody stag night. Just the thought of it brought me out in a cold sweat.

The weird activities. The people. The drinking. The panic in my chest that threatened to overwhelm me the entire time. Constantly looking for him, hoping he would just make it all stop.

Red. Red, red, red.

“Red,” I said out loud.

He didn’t move.

“Red,” I repeated, the familiar sensation of panic rising up my arms. “Red, Jake. Red, red, red.”

“What?” His voice cracked wide open in a single syllable.

And just like that, I seemed to crack open myself as well, words suddenly falling out of my mouth, raining down on him like wild droplets as I smashed my front to his back.

“I need this to stop. All of it. All of fucking everything needs to stop, right now, because I hate this. Hate the way I feel, and how I make everyone else feel around me. I can’t control anything, and it’s all wrong. Everything is wrong and messed up and nothing is right. So red. Red on fucking everything.”

His breathing was deep, steady, yet his arms were shaking, trying to hold himself up against the kitchen counter, with me plastered across his back, my arms around his front, trying to do something that I had no control over, until my lips found the skin on his neck. I pressed against that warmth, a little damp on his collar, but I kissed what I could reach and held myself firm, rising on my toes so I could get my nose in there too. His skin against my face, the scent of him everywhere. Strong. Firm. His chest under my hands. Arms holding him tight.

“Red,” I said again. What the hell else could I say? Red on my brain too, apparently.

“I need a minute,” he said quietly. “I’m too angry to be rational right now.”

“Hurt,” I said, again shocking myself with finding the right words. “You’re not angry. You’re hurt, and I…Jake, I get that. I did this, and I have an awful lot of explaining to do, because you don’t deserve this. Yo u’ve been doing everything for me, and I…I hurt you. I did, and I…”

“Go shower, Bastien.” He shrugged me off, me stumbling awkwardly backwards as he turned around and walked away. Pausing by his bedroom door, he took another breath. “Come get me when you’ve figured out what the hell is going on here, because enough, Bastien. Fucking enough.”

It stung, but somehow, my head was clearing. Things I hadn’t thought about were slowly coming back, organising themselves into neat little compartments in my brain.

Red. Start again. Reset fucking everything.

It seemed to help, clearing things up like that, starting over. Just like a flowchart, I started from the top: first things first, like food. I opened the fridge and stared into it, found some plain chicken in a bowl that I wolfed down before stopping myself mid-bite and once again remembering what an absolute arsehole I was.

Enough, Bastien. Fucking enough.

Okay. I got all my stuff lined up, washed my hand and pricked my finger. On the low side, but nothing I couldn’t fix. I shoved some dry oatcakes in my mouth, chewing furiously as I swapped over my insulin pump, dosed up the syringe and then stood there like a fool, staring at the packets.

This was me, wasn’t it? No wonder the pump was fucked. Right in front of me was this morning’s dosed-up syringe, still full. Of course my levels had been going off the charts, my pump alarming like crazy, and I hadn’t even refilled it this morning, too flustered to function. I’d eaten as normal, so of course I’d been hyper earlier, which I’d topped up with those biscuits and then crashed like a crazy person because I had no idea what I was doing, except I actually did. I just absolutely refused to acknowledge that to myself.

He was right. Enough was enough. I thought I’d solved things when Juliet had thrown me out, but I’d actually made everything worse. Then I’d stuck my head in the sand, thinking I could hide out here until things calmed down, but the calm had been replaced with chaos, and now here I was again. Bastien Dewaert, the king of fuck-ups.

I did what any self-respecting Brit would do: I made us a cup of tea. Two mugs, strong brews, a dash of milk. I needed a shower, and I really needed to sit down and organise my supplies, and I definitely needed to track down my delivery and get it here pronto. And find emergency prick-sticks and testing strips for the office, if I still had a job. I’d walked out today, and my phone… I didn’t even dare to look.

Not yet.

First things first. I kicked the door open with my foot, balancing the mugs in one hand and a glass of water in the other. Jake liked water with his tea. Weirdo.

“We’re going to talk,” I said. Wow. Good opener.

He must have thought the same, because he got up from where he was lying on his stomach. At least he’d ditched the scrubs and changed into his loungewear: that soft T-shirt, joggers, scruff on his chin, Flossie bunched up in his arms.

“She likes you,” I said like this was all a normal evening.

“Of course she does. I let her have cheese.”

“Fridge tax,” I muttered.

“What? ”

“Every time you open the fridge, you have to pay Flossie fridge tax. In cheese. Them’s the rules.”

Jake was so handsome, he truly was. I’d always thought so, even looking all grumpy and conflicted and trying so hard not to smile when he was clearly butt-hurt. I didn’t mean that in a snarky way, but he was. And it was my fault, and now I would have to eat bloody humble pie galore.

“Tea,” I said.

“Thank you.” He accepted the mug and the water, placing the glass on the side while I made myself comfortable, sitting cross-legged on the bed next to him, still in my bloody suit slacks and tie.

Then he looked at me, like he had expectations. So did Flossie, obviously taking his side here, the traitor that she was.

“I don’t know where to start,” I admitted weakly, having lost all that earlier bravado. “But I didn’t…I didn’t do anything stupid today. Well, apart from that I thought I’d refilled my pump, but the syringe from this morning was still on the kitchen counter. And then I obviously ate and stuffed biscuits down my gob, an d then when I thought I could walk it off, I went hypo because I’m a fucking idiot.”

“Not gonna give you a lecture on that one.”

I loved when he finally smiled. It made me happy.

“I’ve been diabetic most of my life, I know better than this. I have to sharpen up, I know that. And I know you have a lot of questions.”

“Yup.”

He was still pissed off, no doubt about that. Drinking that tea and swallowing it down like it was poison.

“I…I’ve never wanted to be…like…this.”

“But you are. You fucking are.”

Jake could be snarky and mean when he was in that mood—exactly this mood.

“No excuse, but you know what my parents are like with me. They’re so bloody overprotective, and I can’t go home without my dad constantly checking that I’m still alive. There was always so much wrong with me when I was younger, and I didn’t want to add this one as well. They’ve had enough to deal with.”

“Being gay is not a disease, Bastien.”

Oh, so was that what we were talking about? Another rush of blood to my face. I had no idea why I still behaved like this, why everything made me feel like a child. I’d meant the fact that I wasn’t coping well, and that my levels were all over the place, and that… I suppose yes. I was not marrying Juliet, and I liked cock. Fuck.

“I bloody know that, but Mum and Dad—they would see it as another thing they had to add to their list of worries.”

“So admit you are and that you hid it.”

“No. I didn’t. I just decided not to…you know? And anyway, I like women too, so it’s not like I’ve been living a lie and all that. It’s just… Fuck. I never talk about this because I can’t even explain it to myself.”

“You grow up and you figure things out.”

Yes, Jake. You do . I was trying so hard here, but he kept interrupting me.

“Juliet said today that I was her weakness, like I’m the one that makes her derail and make bad decisions. Felt a bit like a gut punch.” Changing the subject like a pro.

“Doesn’t always mean that. Perhaps she meant that you’re the one who makes her human, grinding down those sharp edges. It’s not a bad thing. ”

“But it felt like it, and it made me think, right now, about you.”

“What about me?”

“The way we are.”

“You and me? We’re fine. We always have been. Different, but fine. This whole—”

“No.”

“No what, Bastien?”

I was just sat there, holding my still-full mug, frustration filling my whole being, my heart beating too fast. I’d interrupted him mid-flow. Now I had to get all these words out somehow.

“You’re not my weakness. Not at all. You’re the one thing in my life that makes me strong, because I always know that whatever is going on, you will look after me, make sure I’m okay, and then you’ll help me figure everything out. You’re my strength.”

Calm. The fuck. Down.

He watched me in silence, calm pouring from him. I seeped it up like a parched pot plant.

Calm. Breathe, Bastien .

“I will always look after you,” he said. “Always help you if I can. But I have my limits, Bastien, and today you’re pushing them.”

“Remember when we went to Alicante?” I needed a break, something neutral to get me back on track, steer him away from the hurt state he was still in.

“My first time abroad.” Oh, yes, it had been. I’d forgotten about that.

“First year of uni. Mum and Dad invited you, and we rocked up at the hotel and they’d booked two single rooms for us. Thought we’d be thrilled to have some alone time.”

He smiled again.

“And you threw a tantrum like a child, said you couldn’t sleep in that cockroach-infested hovel and demanded to swap to get a double, so I could stay with you.”

Yes. That had been me. Well, could you blame me? I was on holiday with Jake, and I wasn’t going to sit in a room on my own and study stock market strategies, was I?

“We were on holiday. Those single rooms felt like prison cells.”

Still smiling.

“I loved it. That holiday was the best. But also the absolute worst.”

“Why?” I finally took a sip of tea. Cold, yet still comforting. I didn’t mind.

“Because that was the summer I realised that you were the one for me. I mean, we were still young, but I knew. Absolutely. And you know that photo I took of you? Standing on the edge of the pool?”

“The butt photo?”

“The perfect shot of your arse.”

I was smiling too now, because of course I remembered. Good photo. I’d been young and not quite the gym bunny I was these days, but I’d looked good, and it had been the perfect shot of my backside. I had seen it, even then.

“I jerked off to that photo for years. Couldn’t have the real thing, but it was good enough.”

“Freak.”

“Says the guy with the perfect arse.”

“I don’t have the perfect arse.”

“I’ve been wanting to spank it for years. Finally got my wish, and I can die a happy man now. ”

“You’re not dying.”

“Neither are you. I’m going to make sure of that.”

Idiot.

“The spanking?” I asked. I was intrigued about that, and it just came out.

“I like it.” Jake in a nutshell. Honest. Direct. “Get off on it, but only if the guy taking it is enjoying it. You were.”

Okay. I swallowed down another mouthful of tea, almost sending it the wrong way. Not good, and now I had tea on my tie.

“I saw it in porn once.” I’d never admitted that to anyone before, and I had no idea why I’d said it now.

“Good boy,” he replied, looking at me with all that kindness. I’d missed it today, the way he looked at me, the virtual sunshine that radiated from him and warmed my face.

He reached out and gently tugged at my tie, pulled on the knot, untying it, and smoothed out the fabric, twirling it around his fingers in a way that was mesmerising to watch. Silk against his skin.

It turned me on. Another weird thing I couldn’t quite explain.

“Have you been to that bar in Tufton Street before?” he asked.

Okay. So we were doing this, whatever this was.

“Colours still apply,” he added, waiting for me to respond.

“Orange?” I said weakly.

“Orange? As in ‘I need OJ’? Your alarms are not going off.”

“No.” I smiled. I had no idea why. “Orange is for I need Jake not to be angry with me . You’re still hurt, and yes, you’re angry, and it’s making me antsy.”

“Of course I’m angry. You put yourself at risk and are potentially fucking other guys behind my back. I’m going to be both fucking hurt and angry.”

“I’m not.” Truth. An absolute one.

“But you have, before.”

“Yes.” It came out before I could think. Surprising, but it was a relief to simply have admitted that. To him. Mostly to myself.

“If that’s something you need in your life, then I will have to step back and think about this. It’s not something I’m into. I don’t want to share you with anyone, least of all randoms in bars. ”

“No,” I said, my head spinning, then slowing down. “It’s a coping mechanism. That’s what Juliet called it.”

“Juliet.”

“Sorry.”

“We’re going to have to work on this. Juliet is important to you, I get that, but she should not be part of this conversation. We need to set some clear rules here.”

“She is important. I want to work with her, because it’s my career. My job. And she’s great, and also… Sorry.”

“Exactly. Juliet is work. She is also my friend and your ex. All things we’re going to have to figure out, but we’re not talking about work now.”

He’d shuffled closer as he’d spoken, making Flossie jump out of his lap and onto the floor. He followed her, getting up and closing the door behind her. She’d be back scratching at it in minutes. She didn’t like being shut out. Then he sat back down on the bed, right in front of me, slowly and carefully removing the tie that was still around my neck, the fabric gently sliding between his fingers.

“Give me your hands,” he said sternly.

Okay? I put my cup on the side and laid them on my lap. A swift swirl around my wrists with the silk tie, and then he knotted the fabric. A sharp yank.

Oomph.

“Colour, Bastien.”

For the first time, ever, I didn’t have a clear answer. Reds and yellows and greens dancing over my lips like some demonic chant.

“I’m going to need an answer. Red stops everything. Green? I take control, and you do as you’re told.”

“Green,” came out of my mouth. My dick tapped weirdly in my pants. I wanted to adjust myself, but he had my hands, and instead I had to wriggle awkwardly on the bed.

“Stand up,” he demanded next, tying another knot in the tie. I was now absolutely stuck, my wrists pushed together. I wriggled my fingers.

Coping mechanisms. I had a lot of those. Little things I did to calm myself down, things I did to make myself feel better. Other times, I needed out of my own head, something to take everything away from me .

Control. I was out of it.

He had all the control. Just thinking the words made me relax, the fear of what he was about to do with me was nothing against the fact that I had no decisions to make here. Nothing was on me.

He’d unbuttoned my trousers and pulled them down and was now leaning over, waiting for me to step out of them, my movements slow and clumsy as I tried to catch up with myself. My underwear pooled by my feet.

I leant forwards, assuming this was what was happening, ready to take whatever punishment he was planning to dish out, but he stopped me with a firm hand on my chest.

“Not today. Never in anger, Bastien. Spanking is for when it turns us both on, not for punishment, because I think Juliet was wrong there, however much you may have deserved it in her book.”

Okay? I’d have taken it. All of it. Bruised my skin for days again, just to make him forgive me.

“Lie down,” he ordered instead, his hand still firmly gripping my tie, guiding me where he wanted me. His joggers coming down, a couple of strokes around his growing dick .

He had such a nice dick. Hairy legs. Balls that hung nice and low. Strong legs, the thigh muscles bulging as he stepped out of his pants and pulled his T-shirt over his head, swapping his hands so he never let go of my restraint.

I was already hard, stupidly so, a heady mix of anticipation and confusion, wondering what he was going to do with me.

And here were those gloves again. No—different ones this time, being removed from the bedside table drawer. Rubber. Just one.

“I like the glove,” I breathed out. No lie there.

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“They’re really thin, so I can feel everything. Every little shiver.”

I was shivering. Even more so as he adjusted the glove on his hand and then reached out, ran a black-rubber-clad finger down my chest, over one nipple.

A pinch over the nub. I made a little squeak, and it made him smile .

“You need this. You need to relax and get out of this anxious state you’re in. And I will make that happen. Colour?”

“Green.” I was certain this time. Absolutely so, because he was right. He carefully moved my pump to the side before giving my wrists a sharp yank as he lifted my leg, bent it up towards my chest, and rested it over his shoulder.

“Open up.”

His fingers. My mouth. Soft rubber over my tongue.

“Suck it,” he hissed out. “Make it good and wet.”

I couldn’t even describe the taste, or the sharpness, or intrusion as he pushed two fingers deep into my mouth.

“You can take it. Just suck. Hard and wet.”

Oh, fuck. My mouth felt bone dry, my throat spasming slightly as he pushed further, making me gag before easing out.

“Deeper, Bastien. All the way in.”

And again. My eyes watered as his two fingers pressed against my tongue, deep and hard. Rubber against my lips, his knuckles against my teeth. Coughing up saliva as he pushed deeper, I gagged and slobbered all over him.

“Good boy,” he said softly. “Next time, I’ll make you take my cock, but for now, I’ll give you my fingers elsewhere.”

A threat or a promise? I didn’t care anymore.

Fuck. Lube. Drizzled over his fingers, the black glove now dripping with liquid as he showed it to me, bent those wet fingers down, then slowly inspected them one by one while I squirmed beneath him, his chest right there, his lips pursed in a small smile.

Bastard , I thought. Maybe he was. Maybe he got off on this, treating me like the mischievous idiot I was. Maybe I…got off on this too. My dick certainly did, erect against my stomach as he bent me into place, one leg up over his shoulder, the other awkwardly bent to the side and his fingers now pushing against my hole. Not just one but… Fuck.

“Breathe in and just take it, Bastien. Plenty of lube there, so you’re going to be good for me. Take the burn. Ride it out.”

I whimpered, because it was a bit much. Intense. Strangely…perfectly so. The stretch and pain stung on my insides as he slowly pushed those fingers inside of me, then pulled out. More lube. More pressure.

“Colour, Bastien?”

Could I take it? Oh God, yes. “Green,” I huffed out, my eyes squeezed shut as I tried to relax, let him in, take all that girth. All that… Oh God. Even further.

“Good boy. You’re doing well. Two fingers halfway in. Just relax.”

I could, of course I could. My leg spasmed, and I tried to move it, only for him to push it back.

“I’m in control here.” He yanked the tie. “If I had a hook on the wall, I would tie you up properly, make sure you couldn’t move at all. Would you like that? Tied up, letting me do whatever I want to you?”

I had no idea why I nodded, but I did, vigorously, as he pushed his fingers further in. One sharp push that made me shout out loud, too startled to control myself. Then he pulled out. And back in. Another one.

“More,” I whimpered.

“Colour?” he demanded, moving his knee under my bum, lifting me up so I was totally bent back, my leg over his shoulder kicking out as he shoved his fingers in all the way.

My hands restrained against my leg, the tie dangled from his grip.

“You’re going to take all of it. Let me fuck you until you’re all done. Is that clear?”

I didn’t care. Nothing was important anymore, just the feeling of his fingers once again so deep inside of me, and then the way I blew air when he withdrew them. Relief as they pulled back in. And out. Like I was made for this. Just lying here, letting him fuck me with his fingers as I once again kicked my leg out in a spasm I couldn’t control and then…

Then he fucked me. His fingers violently stabbed inside me, over and over again. My neck bent back, and there was nothing but blackness under my eyelids as he did to me exactly what I hadn’t known I craved.

Him.

Me.

“Want me to touch you?” he whispered. “Touch that dick of yours? It’s asking for it, isn’t it?”

The way my insides burned, the insane fire in my stomach, the way my dick twitched in longing. I wanted his hand on it. His fingers around it. I wanted everything that I couldn’t have, and my hands were fighting against his restraints as he laughed. The fucking was so intense that I lost touch with everything. I just existed. A small whimper left my lips, the light at the edges of my vision blurring out everything, hardness inside of me, over and over again. Deeper and deeper.

I could feel the sweat on my forehead, the dryness of my mouth, every breath too deep and heavy for my body to produce, small hisses with every one I tried to take.

I wanted more, because it no longer was enough. Nothing was enough. Everything I needed and wanted and had and…

I came, just like that, having not even touched my goddamn dick. I shot load after load as he kept going. His hand. Me. Us. Everything good in the world.

It took a while until I came to, still lying there on the bed, worn out and flexing my fingers as he undid the tie around my wrists.

“Good boy,” he said softly. “You took that so well.”

“I came,” I slurred, trying to get the image of him to sharpen, my vision still a little blurry.

“You did. It was glorious. Did you enjoy that?”

“Mmm.” I sounded like a baby after a feed. Fuck’s sake, Bastien.

“I almost had the fourth one in. Your arse is made for fisting. We’ll keep working on it, and one day, I’ll get my whole hand in there.”

Hell, no.

“Oh, yes. Can be really intense, but bloody good if done right.”

I made a noise, but he just smiled, disposing of the tie on the floor, then crawled into bed next to me, adjusted my pump again, looked after me. Pulled the covers over us both.

“Later, when you’ve had a nap, we’re going to talk. Set some new rules. And we’re going to figure all this out, okay?”

I loved when he kissed me. A soft touch against my dry lips. Something so small that felt like sunshine on my skin. My worn-out skin.

“Sleep, babe. You needed this, and now you can relax.”

Could I? I had no idea. But next thing I knew, I did just that.