Page 52 of Home Grown Talent
After that, the evening went swimmingly. Nicely buzzed on cocktails, they made their way to Callao, the pop-up restaurant Mason had picked, which was way less pretentious than Cosmos. Owen’s relief was palpable, his smile broadening into a grin as they ordered from the amazing menu and then tasted all of each other’s food while they talked and flirted, bumping knees under the table and tangling their fingers on top.
The restaurant was small enough to be intimate, but buzzing with life. Just regular people, Londoners in all their infinite variety. Laughing conversations in a dozen different languages reached Mason’s ears, and yet the only person he had eyes for was Owen.
And the only person Owen had eyes for was him.
“Are you ready to go?” Owen said at last, when the waiter had cleared their plates and they were playing with each other's fingers on the table top.
Mason smiled, nodding. “Very ready.”
They got a cab back to Mason’s flat, sitting close together in the back seat, legs touching from hip to knee, hands clasped. Owen’s thumb kept stroking over Mason’s knuckles, back and forth, a gentle soothing gesture.
Owen was a big, strong guy, but he had a soft streak a mile wide. Mason knew he had to be wary of that soft streak, wary of entangling Owen, maybe even hurting him. That would be awful. Mason never wanted to hurt anyone the way Kurt had hurt Frieda, and he knew he was very like his father; everyone said so. A real chip off the old block.
Which meant he had to take care that Owen didn’t get too invested. That neither of them did. Not that they were there yet; this would only be their second night together.
He just had to make sure to keep things fun. Light.
They’d split the bill at dinner, so Mason picked up the cab fare when they pulled up in front of his building. Owen didn’t object, although that may have had more to do with the desire dancing in his eyes as Mason led him down to his flat. This time, it wasn’t booze but anticipation that had his hand shaking as he worked the key into the lock.
In the bright hall light, things were suddenly real, and Mason felt an inexplicable spike of nerves. He wasn’t drunk, but he wasn’t stone-cold sober either. Neither was Owen.
“Do you, uh, want a nightcap?” Mason said, slipping off his jacket.
“Not really.” Owen was taking off his boots, and Mason did the same. He felt lightheaded when he stood up and laughed, a giddy sort of giggle, steadying himself on the wall.
Owen smiled, that thoughtful look back in his eyes as he reached out and took Mason’s hand. “Don’t be nervous.”
Mason laughed again, a breathy sound. “I’m not.”
“No?” Owen drew him closer, their socked toes brushing. “You certainly don’t need to be. I’m going to take good care of you tonight, petal.”
Oh Jesus, could he read Mason’s fucking mind? “Yeah?”
“If that’s what you want?”
“It is.” He swallowed, pulse racing. “It is, yeah.”
Owen nodded then leaned in to kiss him, one hand sliding into Mason’s hair, holding his head lightly.
Just like in the van yesterday evening, Mason went up like a firework. Heat and desire surged through him as he opened his lips and felt Owen take charge, arms wrapping around him, holding him, kissing him deeply, thoroughly, before pulling back to bite lightly at Mason’s bottom lip, then nuzzling at his jaw, kissing him just beneath his ear.
The only sounds were their rasping breaths and the soft, involuntary cries Mason made that he knew sounded needy and desperate but which only seemed to fuel Owen’s fire.
“Fuck, I’ve been dying to do this all night,” Owen panted, backing Mason up against the wall.
“Same,” Mason gasped and gasped again when Owen rolled his hips against him, the rigid length of his cock mashing against Mason’s through their jeans. “Fuck.”
“I want to fuck you,” Owen said, pulling back far enough that his forehead rested against Mason’s, their breath mixing steamily between them. “Would you like that? Do you like that?”
“Yeah,” Mason said, heart rabbiting, banging around inside his chest. “I fucking love it.”
Owen’s eyes were bright with lust, but still smiling. Still warm and playful. “Now, let me see,” he said, sliding a hand down Mason’s back, dipping his fingers beneath the waist of his jeans. Mason sucked in a breath, eyes fluttering closed, head knocking back against the wall as Owen slid his hand lower, cupping his bare arse.
“No underwear again,” Owen said, his voice teasing. “You are a bad boy.”
“So bad,” Mason whispered, thrusting his hips forward with a little whimper. Jesus, was this really happening?
Owen laughed softly at his desperate state. It did something wild to Mason, that laugh, and he wasn’t sure why. The laughter was kind, not mocking, but it was a recognition of Mason’s desperation—and Owen’s control. And yeah… he kind of loved that. Feeling out of control. Feeling mastered, but mastered by someone who liked him. Who enjoyed his little display of needy desperation and was willing to indulge him.