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What was he thinking? Or better put, why was he not thinking?

Nothing about that night advanced the mission he'd cancelled his flight for.

If anything, it crumbled the logic of his whole defence.

For months, Timson studio had stuck to vehemently denying him and Uncle Jude being gay, and emphasising how preposterous it was for two straight men to marry themselves.

He'd had no reason to doubt the authenticity of the defence, even when his attraction to Alex developed. It was a brain malfunction. An insignificant temptation. Nothing serious enough to brand him the biggest liar of the century.

Then, yesterday happened.

His ass had felt the bulge of another man, and he'd pressed in, greedy for more.

And as if to totally rubbish the self-perception and control he'd held on to for so long, his dreams later that night had been plagued with long, elegant fingers running down his body, cupping and stroking, till he'd woken to his hips grinding against the sheets.

He should have stopped, but a face appeared.

Hooded eyes and wet lips whispering in his ear.

Begging him not to leave. And a few ungainly thrusts later, he was moaning into his pillow, a patch of wetness spreading through.

His first masturbation in years, and it was to his staff. His very male staff. While proving to the world his straightness was a parallel line running into infinity.

To sack Alex had been his first thought, but what would that make him?

A spineless amateur ruled by his dick? And how the hell could he go on with the plan without him?

His second thought had come close to considering abandoning the plan and jetting off, and his cowardice scale had clanged harder as it hit an all-time high.

Twenty-four hours later, and he still had no clue what to do or how to handle Alex.

Yesterday could never repeat itself, but it was like reciting those inspirational quotes while life grinded one to depressing bits. Striving to believe but knowing one was completely fucked.

He pulled on a fresh pair of pyjamas, and headed for the kitchen, needing something to snack on, and maybe watch a movie. He left his phone off, lest Alex's call or message dropped for the hundredth time.

He doesn't call or text? What a joke. Nejeere should forget everything she knew about the man .

At the entrance of his room, he nearly fell over the dinner tray Esther had left at his doorway.

Whenever he got into hermit-mode, his domestic staff knew well enough to make themselves scarce. Esther had once told him his face looked like the masquerade in her village who had beaten her up when she was ten. Judging from what he saw in the mirror, he'd never heard a realer truth.

He got to the stair railings before he noticed a figure sprawled out on the daybed portion of the gigantic sectional sofa running a c-curve around the upstairs living room.

The lights were off, but light from the raindrop-shaped chandelier at the staircase bathed the sleeping figure in a silvery glow.

He glanced at the blinking time-bar underneath the massive television.

22:46.

How long had he been here, waiting for him to come out?

In a daze, he moved towards the sofa and stopped before the man's face peeking out from beneath the arm flung carelessly across it.

His long lashes fanned those high cheekbones like a paint brush of an art maestro in repose, brows furrowed as though solving a nautical mystery.

Breathy snores escaped slightly parted lips.

And as if sensing he was being watched, the figure stirred, arm falling off his face and lips smacking wetly.

Timi's stomach did a giant flip, a rush of tenderness locking his throat.

Beautiful.

The only word for the vision before him. Alex was freaking beautiful, and Timi's heart raged at the unfairness of their situation.

Unable to help himself, he stooped, reaching out a finger. It trailed from lashes to button nose, smooth cheeks, down to those lips. His thumb brushed their fullness, back and forth, his heart thundering. They indeed were soft, with the right amount of flesh to suck into his mouth.

What would Alex do if he pressed his lips to his? Just a taste. Nothing more. He might even taste wrong and knock sense into—

His thumb got pulled into wet heat, and his heart nearly gave out.

His gaze shot up. Alex's eyes, though heavy-lidded, were open, his lips wrapped delicately around the tip of Timi's thumb.

He tried pulling his hand away, mortification and desire burning him up, but Alex sucked the finger further into his mouth in one smooth determined move.

A rush of heat sucker-punched Timi in his stomach at the wet warmth of Alex's mouth. “Let go,” he whispered.

How could Alex not see this bringing their ruin?

He'd been with him from the beginning and watched how only the idea of this could become the evidence of any abominable sin to exist. Paedophile.

Murderer. Mentally deranged. Brilliant nouns they'd graciously conferred on him and Uncle Jude. How could Alex want any of it?

Alex released his suction, giving him a chance to decline what he clearly offered. Timi, drawing on a dwindling strength, pulled away and got up.

He faced the digital clock. “It's late.” And kept his face averted as Alex got up to stand beside him. He was so close, his heat burned through Timi's thin clothes.

“Do you want me to leave?” Alex asked.

“It's late,” he repeated, eyes fixed ahead.

Alex moved closer into his face, his shirt buttons grazing Timi's arm. “Tell me to leave, and I will.”

Leave. A simple word, but Timi's tongue felt like it had been pumped with nitrogen.

Hanging on to his last shred of strength, he stalked off towards his room, but Alex caught up with him, pushing him gently against the wall and caging his body with his warmth.

Timi's pulse thumped wildly as their gazes held.

Lips a hair's breadth away from the other.

Time slowed, the sound of their breathing dominating the hum of the air conditioner.

Exhales furling into exhales. His heartbeats pounding through his ears.

“Tell me…” Alex said in a cracked voice, closing his eyes. “Tell me I'm not the only one going through this torture. Please.”

Timi tried to take in air through his blocked throat. Tried to hold on to sanity the sizzling tension was constricting. “Does it matter?”

“I can't…I can't continue living like this, Timi.”

“Like how?”

“Like I can survive one more day without kissing you. ”

Molten desire pooled in his belly. He'd finally voiced it. “Alex, we can't…we're not…” gay

Alex opened his eyes, and Timi's heart twisted at the frustrated pain in them.

“You think I don't know how this is…inconvenient?

How scared it makes you? You think I haven't fought it too?

But I'm tired. We aren't kids anymore and we've always given precedence to our hearts concerning matters like this.

Why not now? Why not trust it isn't as clueless as our brain wants us to believe?”

It was Timi's turn to close his eyes. Against words, images and feelings bursting out of the dead place he'd buried them.

Sharp pain tearing through.

My desire is a sin before God.

“Yes, Principal, I know they beat him. But maybe…maybe it was better this way. Now, he will never repeat the nonsense again. His wounds will heal, and his brain will repair.”

Kiss me. It will be better, I promise.

Why are you squeezing your face? Are you not enjoying it?

Not that name! Say Taiye! Mimi! Bolu! Lizzie!

“Hey. Hey. Timi, are you okay?”

Timi opened frantic eyes. They roamed over Alex's face to drown the other faces clouding his mind.

Alex's eyes widened, and he stepped back, hands dropping from his shoulders.

A panic stabbed through Timi at his withdrawal, but before he could do something stupid like beg him to not leave, his breath got knocked out of him as he was scooped up into strong arms, bridal style.

Shock pulled him out of his head. “What are you doing?”

Alex didn't answer. He held Timi close to his chest, which heaved with every step he took. Timi wasn't small and was only a few inches shorter than the man carrying him, but Alex made him feel tiny. He should demand being dropped, but his head was too clouded for a testosterone outrage.

In his bedroom, Alex laid him on the cool sheets like he was a premature baby or a glass amulet from Tutankhamen's tomb. When he began pulling up the covers, Timi gripped his hand .

“Sleep,” Alex said. “I'll see you tomorrow. Do you want me to get you anything?”

“Why aren't you asking me?” Timi said softly.

Alex's shoulders dropped. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pushed knowing how traumatising everything must be for—”

His fingers dug into the wrist he held. “No. Why haven't you asked me about…yesterday?”

Alex's gaze found his in the faint light spilling from the recessed bulbs lining the surrounding walls. “Because I believe you'll tell me when it's right for you, or you won't. It doesn't matter to me.”

Timi dropped his hand and looked away, the familiar slimy feel of self-disgust slithering through him. “You were going to kiss me, even after hearing about…that?”

It was a long time ago. An old life he hadn't chosen.

But as Timi Lawson, he had a choice, yet he'd lived no different.

Women. All shapes and sizes. Bodies without faces or names.

Giving himself to them because he'd believed they were his salvation.

How could Alex want to kiss him? How could he want to kiss Alex?

The bed dipped as Alex settled at the edge.

“Even if I'm stupid enough to believe my wanting to kiss you is inversely proportional to your past actions, have you forgotten I sent your medical report to Buck days back, and was also with you for your latest skin treatment?

If this question must be asked, shouldn't it come from me?”