Page 3

“ I told her you were asleep. That you’d gone a bit hypo and that I patched you up and put you to bed,” I said, trying to manhandle him down onto the mattress.

Not for the first time, I might add. I’d left him for a few seconds to go answer his phone, and of course, that’s when he’d fallen over in the shower. At least he’d then gotten up to brush his teeth and to moisturise the hell out of his face. There were still streaks of white stuff in the scruff on his cheek. I’d never known anyone as vain as Bastien, nor anyone who carried as much…product in his toiletry bag. He had laid it all out on the bed yesterday, talked me through his skincare regime and let me sniff all the little bottles.

Like a twat.

It made me smile thinking about it, even though my stomach was still in a knot.

Bastien was hard to read. His blood sugar was going up, his eyes were focused, and he wasn’t spitting out swearwords in every sentence. Instead, he was mellow and soft, unusually cooperative yet slightly erratic.

To be honest, so was I, half wanting him to just go to sleep so I could sit in the corner and have a well-needed breakdown. The other half of me wanted to shake him, scream into his face, hurl more abuse than was strictly sane .

But that was me, and this was Bastien, and now he was sitting in bed reattaching the tubes to his pump, plugging things into his charging station and refilling the insulin with precision as if he hadn’t just barely managed to stick a grape in his mouth. Back to himself, he threw all the debris and empty boxes on the floor like the slob he was. I had to go pick them all up and dispose of it all in the bathroom because I was me and he was impossible.

When I returned to the room, he was actually fully under the covers.

“Come lie down,” he mumbled. “Want to talk to you.”

No, you don’t , I felt like replying, since right now I couldn’t trust myself to not say the wrong thing.

“Where’s your sharps bin?” I asked, holding the needle and other junk at arm’s length while I looked around for the yellow plastic box he took everywhere with him.

“Bag,” he muttered and pointed, and I disposed of the offending item, then I stood there, right next to him, feeling a right plonker as usual .

“Please.” He sat up and grasped for my hands. I thought about dodging out of his way, but in the end, he won, and I dropped my arse down onto the bed and let him shuffle around until he was comfortable. Freshly showered, his bare, gorgeous chest was less sweaty now, his wet hair dripping onto his shoulders, his cool, slender fingers cradling my hands. I broke loose and rubbed that annoying streak of moisturiser into his cheek. What the fuck was I doing?

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“For what?” Damn it, Bastien. Stop it. “I’m the one who should apologise. I think I did stupid stuff again.”

I shook my head. What was I supposed to say? He couldn’t even have told me which ‘stupid stuff’ he was apologising for. The drinking? The girls? The whole clusterfuck of an evening? Or the fact that he’d kissed me and then joked about it? Like. Fuck.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

“No.” Absolutely not.

“Why have we never talked about this? I mean, it’s… ”

Good opener. I had no idea where he was going with this. Well, I did, but I was still going to pretend I didn’t. Go to sleep, Bastien.

He was looking up at me like he was the sensible one and I was the nutter. I didn’t mean that in a horrible way, but those were the roles assigned. The ones we always played.

“Why are you marrying Juliet?” I countered. Yeah. I was not thinking clearly and once again letting my feelings take over, on a straight path to turning this weekend into even more of a disaster than it already was. How much worse could it get?

“Because she’s decent and nice and funny and looks after me.”

Oh, Bastien.

He laughed. “I’m marrying her because I love her. What the fuck, man?”

I swallowed my tongue. Looked at my hands.

I was not a good person. Not right now. Right now, I was as bad as all those people downstairs who I claimed to despise. I was rude and despicable in every possible way.

“Jakey,” he sang, off-key, and grabbed my hands again, gently squeezing them. “Do you honestly think I’ve ever cared that you’re into blokes?”

Okay. Gut punch. He knew, of course he did. And he was right; it was something we’d never talked about. We talked about work and sport and politics and the state of the financial industry. We talked about clients and injuries and our families and…Juliet.

We did not talk about…that.

“Can we not?” I tried to withdraw, but he wouldn’t let me and grabbed my wrists, placing my hands firmly back between us, his thumbs stroking mine.

“I think…we need to. I mean. Yes. This weekend has been a mess, but, Jake, you kissed me.”

“You kissed me back!” I retaliated. “And you don’t love Juliet. You’re making a massive mistake.”

Hello, Jacob. Aged almost thirty. Throwing a tantrum like a child.

“You don’t know that. How can you? Jake, you’ve never loved anyone. Never had an official relationship. Never even tried. Those hook-up apps are not real life. You don’t flirt with girls. Not with boys either for that matter. You work, and then you work some more. I assume you still hook up with randoms when the urge comes, because that’s what people do—I see the apps on your phone—and you conveniently become besties with all my girlfriends. It’s not like I don’t know what you’re playing at.”

“I’m not besties with all your girlfriends,” I argued, sounding more like a stroppy teenager now. Yeah. I rolled my eyes as well, but the dark cloud in my stomach just grew and grew. I didn’t want to talk about this. That kiss had been a massive mistake, and now I was reliving it, over and over again, while Bastien just sat there stroking my hands and smiling. A small curious smile.

“You text Juliet every day. She texts you good night. She never texts me goodnight.”

Fuck you, Bastien.

Still, I had to smile. He did this. I couldn’t explain it. He was chaos personified, mess on a plate, wild and wacky, yet he would sit with me like this, tracing light circles on my palms with his fingertips, and I would melt into this puddle of anxious, weird…calm. Like as long as we both sat here, all would be well .

“I shouldn’t have kissed you,” I admitted. “I have no idea what came over me.”

“You’re a gay man. I’m a handsome bastard.”

Very him. I reluctantly laughed.

“Yeah.”

Admission? Yes. I wasn’t in any closet, but I wasn’t openly gay either. I was just me.

“Boyfriend?” He cocked his head.

“No. I wouldn’t be out kissing other blokes if I did.”

“ Do you kiss other blokes? Did you kiss anyone else this evening?”

“No! I don’t mess with people… like… do shit like that.”

“Well.” He grimaced. “I think I just did. That was bad, wasn’t it?”

“Does it count?” Of course it did.

“It’s my stag night. It was just a kiss.” He suddenly didn’t look so sure. “Oh God, and now I will have to tell Juliet.”

Oh.

“You know what she’s like,” he nattered on. “She’ll push and push, and she always knows if I’m stewing over something, and then she’ll get all pissed off with me and…”

You know I said I’d loved him my whole life? Things like that made you do bad things. Especially since we were finally talking about it, making sense of our behaviour and sensibly pulling back.

Or that’s what we should have done.

But he was too close. When had he moved this close? Too much him suddenly right there, his breath soft and warm against my face, those eyes staring at me with so much intensity. When Bastien looked at me, my world went silent. Any background noise went straight into the white.

I had already lost control once today, and my walls were paper thin. My defences were down. His mouth was still running as I leaned in and silenced him with mine, placing the lightest of kisses on his lips.

I had no idea what to expect, and to be honest, my brain was offline, but he let go of my wrists and cupped my face, soft palms warm against the rough stubble on my cheeks.

I kissed him again, and again, tasting him, letting myself feel everything that, in that moment, I needed .

I needed the calm he brought. The gentleness. The way I went from something hard and professional to this mound of jelly. Me. Him. The nothingness around us.

When I said I wasn’t drunk, I lied. I’d had my fill of alcoholic drinks. Liquid lunch and dinner. Afternoon pick-me-ups. Shots of vodka to calm my frazzled nerves. I’d spent the whole day trying to smother the screaming inside of me, desperately trying to keep my cool.

I wanted to pull back, to put an end to this madness. But there was no way I could, the way he was clinging to me and somehow rising up off the bed, his arms snaking around my neck.

I wasn’t fully on board with the logistics of our movement, but he was up on his knees, still kissing me from above, his fingers tugging at my hair, his mouth seemingly everywhere. In mine. On mine. Wetness against my cheek. My chin. Gentle kisses on my neck as his hands followed, pushing on my shoulders as we tumbled backwards, my arms catching him as we fell, him on top, me splayed sideways over the corner of the bed .

“Don’t stop,” he begged.

What the hell, Bastien?

“I know you think I’m all drunk and hypo and everything, but seriously. Don’t stop. Please don’t. Let me have this, because right now, it’s what I need. I need you to…”

Sense? What was that and where had it gone? Left the building, obviously, as I grabbed his wrist and flipped him over so now I was on top, his slim body underneath me, his wrists pinned to the bed either side of his head. I had to be careful with his pump, his sensor, all things that were second nature to me. I’d always been careful, considerate of him, yet…

I was rolling on muscle memory, behaving as if he was one of my hook-ups. I had a type. I knew exactly what made me tick and what kind of guy would give it to me.

Bastian was nothing like that, yet…here I was, growling slightly under my breath as I gnashed my teeth in frustration.

This was not good. This was not sane.

“Jake.” He was staring up at me so intensely, I had to turn away. “ Look at me.”

I did. What else could I do? Unconsciously, my grip on his wrists tightened, and he sucked in air.

“It’s not…the first time…with a bloke for me. So just do this. Let’s have this. Just this once. For us.”

There were so many alarm bells going off in my head. Red flags waving like alluring finishing lines in front of my eyes. And also words. All the words I needed to hear.

“Do it. Be a bit rough and just let loose. I need you to fuck me. Hard and fast. Don’t think, Jakey, just do it. I know you want to. I can see how you look at me, what I do to you when you don’t think I notice. I notice. I see everything. So just do it. Not because of what we are, or the consequences. Switch off. For once. Let me see the real Jakey. The one you hide from me. Because that is what I want.”

“I can’t,” I whispered.

“You can. Stop thinking so hard.”

I swallowed. He strained his neck up and kissed me. Nipped at my lips. Begged.

I was a sucker for a beggar .

And he was…irresistible. Always had been. Always wrapped me around his finger. Teased me. Pushed every one of my buttons. Every time.

The times I had fantasised about just this, having him underneath me, my dick already filling out in my jeans, him in boxers, shower-fresh, licking a firm line from my neck up over my Adam’s apple, my chin…

I leaned back, trying to gain some space, pull away from the madness reeling me in.

“You know you want to,” he teased in a voice that was all gravel and grit. I could smell the alcohol on his breath. I could smell soap.

I was about to completely ruin everything I had ever wanted. Everything bright and good.

“Just do it, Jakey. Spit in your hand. Get that fat cock of yours out. Give it to me. Hard and fast.”

Had I not had a whole bunch of drinks in my system, and had I not been so bloody high on every word coming out of his mouth, I would have stopped right there. I would have gotten straight up and walked away.

I would also have asked all the right questions and not done what I did .

Regret? I didn’t know what that was either.

“Jake,” he warned, his nose pressing against mine. Maybe it was me staring him down. Maybe it was someone else. Maybe I wasn’t even me.

I snapped. I truly did, letting go of his wrists that now bore the red marks of my strength, my frustration. Anger pulsed through my veins. I couldn’t put words to it, my thoughts too scrambled, as I flipped him over like he weighed nothing and kicked his legs apart. Then I was ripping at his boxers, the flimsy fabric splitting apart between my hands.

I was good with my hands, and I knew every muscle on his goddamn body, every tendon and bone, every little curve of his back. The way his bum formed those little dimples at the bottom of his spine. I traced them, kneaded his buttocks, firm and contracted under my fingers.

“Do it,” he whined.

“What did you say?” I ground out between strangled breaths. He didn’t hesitate. Not for a second.

“Spit in your goddamn hand, Jakey. Show me what you’ve got. ”

I spat. I wasn’t proud of myself. But neither was he, crawling up on his knees and offering himself up like that. Smoothing my hand down his back, I separated his butt cheeks and spat again, watching my saliva trickle down his crack. He’d asked for it.

I had nothing here. It hadn’t even crossed my mind to bring my trusty hook-up kit. No lube. No condoms. Nothing. And I was still fully clothed while he was naked, his skin glistening in the soft light from the bedside table.

“I know what you’re doing,” he said. “You’re overthinking shit again, Jakey. I need you. I need you to—”

I pressed my finger against his opening, silencing him, and followed up with a swift swat of my hand. A red blush formed on that smoothness as he made a sound that went straight to my dick.

Perhaps it was anger, shame. Maybe it was years of pent-up frustration with him, and me, my broken heart somewhere in the middle of all the lies and truths and my complete inability to control myself around him. My body shook with everything that this was, the total madness of my finger finding itself deep inside him as he sucked in breath. Hard .

“More,” he whispered. I could barely hear him over my own breaths and the dick-fever taking over my brain. “More.”

More of what? Fuck knew, but I landed another firm smack on his buttock, then one on the other side. The noise that came out of his mouth was intoxicating, bewildering, soothing to my soul.

“Please…”

Who was this Bastien and what had he done to the man I knew? Any second now, I would wake up with a hard-on and realise I’d just had a very wet dream. The haze in my head was overwhelming. I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

“Spread,” I barked, my voice sounding weird, disembodied, but he did as he was told, opening up for me and moaning softly as I pushed my finger inside him. More spit. Further in. I nudged his legs wider apart with my knees and took a second to admire him on all fours, balls hanging low, my hand marks on his skin. I gave him another swift slap.

“Stay still,” I demanded. He couldn’t, shivering and jerking everywhere as my finger went in past the first knuckle, and out again. Two this time. More spit .

Dirty. Filthy. Just the way I liked it, despite the very loud voice at the back of my head yelling insults and demanding my sanity return. I swatted the voice away as well.

Pulling my fingers out, I replaced them with my thumb, fought his muscles as he made noises that egged me on. I swore at him; he swore back. My belt pulled open, zip down, I tugged my jeans over my arse so I could get my cock out. I was rock-hard. Our mutual slanging match increased in intensity and volume as I gave in to the madness and stood up so I could lose the jeans completely.

“Fuck you,” I hissed out as his gentle laughter filled the air.

“Fuck you right back, Jakey.”

This was me, and this was him, making another deliciously desperate noise as I grabbed his hips and put him where I wanted him. Right there, ready for me, that gorgeous pink hole clenching as I pinched my foreskin together with my fingertips and held it against his opening, which I lubricated with another generous amount of spit .

I was expecting a slow push. Instead, he seemed to eat me up, allowed me access as I entered him, warm heat against my bare skin.

Sanity. What? Never heard of it.

It was just him and me, and in that moment, nothing would have stopped either of us.

I rammed fully in with a roar, another well-placed slap on his thigh as I nudged out. Slammed back in to the tune of his panting and joined him in our symphony, a song made of noises and words, a language that made no sense but which we both understood. A song of love, of lust…of absolute madness.

I grabbed his shoulder and pulled him up, clamping my mouth on the bare skin as my hips jerked, in and out, while he reached behind him and around my back, fusing us together as I fucked him hard, fast, just like he’d ordered. I bit into his shoulder, my fingers moving up his neck, to his chin and his mouth, demanding he suck them.

I caught a glimpse of his dick when he grabbed it and frantically started jerking himself off—a vision strong enough to make me lose it. I was everywhere and nowhere at once, my vision having descended into that blankness where the world was only white, my ears deaf to the roaring noise around me. Everything and nothing.

My orgasm tore through me like a tornado, a thing of destruction that ripped my heart straight out of my chest.

Then a sudden silence that shook me to the core.

I didn’t fully come back around at first, just existing, trying to find my stability on the mattress. Find my breath.

Him? Curled up on the bed. Arms around his chest. Eyes closed.

It seemed like forever, a lifetime of me just kneeling there, looking down at him.

“Can you hold me?” he whispered.

I didn’t. Couldn’t. I tumbled backwards, staggering to my feet on the cold floor, and stared at the outline of him on the bed in sheer disbelief.

This was me, and him, and whatever was left of us would never be the same. This was the end. The final part. The space and time where my life would irrevocably change, and there was nothing I could ever do to undo what I’d just done .

I should have picked him up, apologised with everything I had, tried to do some damage control. Anything. All of it.

Instead, I retreated from the scene of the crime, locked myself in the bathroom and cried until there was nothing left of me. Nothing at all.