by J P Sayle
Brad’s sudden stillness had him gaze around to see what the problem was. Joe gave Brad a nudge when he stood transfixed, gazing inside of his van.
Brad’s whispered reverence had Joe looking back in the van. “Oh my God is that he HEX Ultra M5000X with Intel Xeon 14-Core E5-2697v4?”
Joe nodded in agreement, not that Brad noticed as he was already climbing inside.
“You look to have done some modifications to the system?”
Joe was gobsmacked, hardly anyone understood the complex level of his computer systems. Joe’s bewilderment turned to utter joy when Brad started firing questions at a rate of knots at him. Joe felt a newfound respect developing between him and Brad. Climbing in he answered Brad’s questions and showing what his baby could do, cementing their friendship.
Twenty minutes later they still hadn’t moved. His growling stomach had Brad giving an apologetic smile. “Come on, I made lasagne and garlic bread for you and Stuart. Hopefully, he hasn’t scoffed the lot while we’ve been busy.”
The musical lilt in Brad’s voice had Joe questioning its origin.
“Originally Cambridge, but the Island has always really been my home. I have developed a good ole Manx twang. You’ll see if you stay long enough it rubs off on you. Though Martin thinks his British accent won’t change, but we’ll see. See you later.” Brad waved him off as he headed to his own home.
Strolling silently towards what was going to be his home, if only for a little bit. Joe paused looking around, not making out much in the dwindling daylight, but he got a good feeling about this place. The clatter of plates coming from inside had him rethinking for a second. Nope, he would deal with the unwelcome attraction and keep his promise to himself. His shoulders sagged, feeling a little desperate when the defeated sigh floated on the quiet evening air, mocking his determination.
Stuart’s agitation grew as he stepped back into the shower. It had to be the same man, it had to be. Slightly older yes, but those eyes, eyes don’t lie. He’d obsessed about them often enough to remember them anywhere. Stuart felt a familiar ache in his chest, knowing without a shadow of doubt he’d only ever felt it once before.
His revving body unable to hold on any longer, reality slamming into his oversensitive balls causing him to grip his cock, two swift pulls had cum bathing the shower floor. He bit back his moans, mortified at his loss of control. Stuart let his body sag against the wet tiles, feeling the cool, smooth surface slide against his overheated skin. He let his mind clear, understanding his lack of control was a foregone conclusion after opening his front door.
Unsure how long he had stood staring in shock before Martin had interrupted. Recalling how Joe’s intense stare had all but buckled his knees. Joe’s obvious desire making in nigh on impossible to hide his own under the towel. He knew what Joe and Brad had caught sight of, horrified at his lack of modesty.
Shit, I had flashed the whole cul-de-sac for fuck sake! Stuart shook his head in dismay, thoughts of his neighbours spotting him flashing his bits, completing his humiliation. Stuart groaned, already seeing his name splashed across the pages of the Courier. With what they normally reported in the newspapers, it would probably make front page.
He chastised himself for his own stupidity. Inhaling, he tried to slow his racing pulse. Instead all he got was a steamy mouthful of cum coated air. Groaning, his mouth watered, his body starting to feel re-energised when hot, dreamy chocolate eyes swam before his eyelids. His cock firmed, leaving him lightheaded when all his blood rushed south. His lust seeming nigh on impossible to think past.
Laughter drifted up the stairs from outside reminding him now was not the time. His eager cock on the other hand, seemed in complete disagreement, slapping against his abs, leaking pre-cum. Joe’s musical laughter not helping Stuart’s cause, he closed his ears forcing himself to wash quickly.
He stepped out of the shower, drying off, ignoring his pulsing desire. Stuart looked at his straining predicament, grabbing some loose joggers and praying it hid his desire. He headed to heat the meal, his earlier hunger lost to a different meal he’d like to eat. Every step reminding him of his dilemma, maybe he should have sorted himself first?
Fuck it.
Stuart pushed searing chocolate eyes to the back of his mind. Heading to the kitchen, giving himself something else to focus on. He hovered over the table, should he set it? Deciding it couldn’t hurt, he pulled the place settings out of the side drawer. He moved silently hearing the occasional burst of laughter from outside.
The setting sun idled, reflecting light on to the copper pots hanging above the breakfast bar. Not much of a cook himself, he’d been intrigued by Martin’s kitchen set up. He’d explained the kitchen had been refurbished before he’d bought it. A local carpenter handcrafted the oak wood cabinets. Stuart could see the quality in the design and build. The wood appeared alive, glowing with life, creating lovely warmth that invited you in.
The homeliness begged for smells of freshly baked bread and homemade soups. He had no memories of his grandparents, but his mother said his grandmother had taught her to bake from scratch. Their kitchen at home when he had been growing up had always smelt of fresh baking. His childhood kitchen had been a place for family time, no phones or telly. His father had been adamant, and nothing impinged, not even his work.
They were good memories to have, and this kitchen gave him that same feeling of centeredness his family home had. The slow slide of grief reminded that nothing could fill the hole inside his chest his father’s death had created. It ached like a bruise that you forgot about only to knock it making it hurt all over again.
He gazed at the large family photo he’d put in place of Martin’s. It never failed to remind him that regardless of what he’d lost there had been many wonderful times. They had been so happy in that moment, making you almost forgot that the cancer was eating his father’s liver, stealing his life.
Stuart willed the ache inside to lessen remembering those cherished days. Their last skiing holiday to the French Alps, the picture captured perfectly the glee they’d all felt. Iced cheeks glowed as they sat sipping hot toddies to warm their freezing limbs. The last run had been epic his father overtaking him on the black run, sailing past, the wind whipping at his flushed face, the beaming smile shouting his joy.
Unable to hold still, Stuart paced to the window and his jaw clenched, shoving his hands into his jogger pockets. He leant against the patio door, willing the sadness away, trying not to lose his shit. He’d often questioned in the dead of night whether it would it get easier? Even after ten years he still didn’t have the answer, though it never stopped him from asking.
Brad’s happy chatter floated away before he heard heavy footfall telling him Joe had gone upstairs. Grateful for the few minutes, he turned towards the stove. Sure that Joe would be able to figure out which room was his.
Stuart carried on prepping for dinner, sliding in the garlic bread as Joe walked into the kitchen. He could feel the tension crackle where there had been none mere seconds ago. The space filled with electricity, lifting tiny hairs on his arms, jolting them to life.
Joe avoided looking directly at him. What the hell is his problem? Stuart’s brow scrunched, he quickly checked that Joe couldn’t see his semi erect cock.
Stuart took the bull by the horns. “Brad made us a meal that’ll be ready in a minute, unless you want to go to Martin’s now? Though I’m sure they will have eaten. Though you may not be hungry.” Stuart gave himself a mental shake. He was friggin’ waffling for shit sake. Stopping before he made it worse, he waited for Joe respond.
He knew full well Brad would have eaten with Martin. Martin got very hangry, as Sarah called it, if he didn’t eat regularly. Stuart had found this out to his peril after being stuck on the motorway once on a trip to London. Martin had been like an angry bear with a thorn in his paw, nothing helped. In the end, he had scoured their bags looking for anything he could feed him just to shut him up.
The regular stock
of Mars bars he now kept everywhere, testament to preventing the same trauma from happening again. His thoughts making him nearly miss the slight nod Joe gave. Disappointed that any sign of Joe’s previous glowing smile Martin had received was gone.
“Sit down, Joe, it won’t’ take a minute to plate then we can go over to Martin and Brad’s. Hopefully, Martin has worked out his sulk in the gym before we get there.”
Joe’s sweet melodious voice interrupted. “They have a gym in their house? I don’t suppose I’d be able to persuade them into letting me use it? I could do with the workouts. It’s been a while since I had the chance.”
Stuart noticed Joe play with the place setting as he spoke. “I’m sure Martin or Brad or both would be happy to let you use it. I often go over at the weekend and make use of it. You should see the set up. Its sweet, man, it could rival any gym.”
Stuart got the plates ready for the meal, trying not to be obvious he was staring. Joe’s rail thin arms hung at the side of his over skinny frame. Stuart finally got past his lust and seeing Joe without the clouds of desire. There remained an ingrained beauty he remembered, but black circles ringed sunken, red-rimmed eyes. His beautiful chocolate brown eyes lacked vitality now that the laughter had stopped. Satiny brown hair flopped rebelliously hiding part of his face, looking in desperate need of a decent haircut.
His hair accentuated hollow cheeks and yellowish pallor, reminding of someone recovering from a long illness or who’d hidden from sunlight. The hoodie hung two sizes too large for his thin frame, the same with the jeans. In fact, he looked like he had escaped from a Jewish concentration camp, a hair’s breadth away from starvation. Martin’s earlier comments outside now making sense.
What the fuck had he been mixed up with that would cause him to mistreat his body in this way or was it something else? Was he ill? What had happened to the vibrant young man who seemed to have all the answers? Questions screamed for answers. His anger simmered as he pulled the pan out of the oven for want of something better to do with his hands. He reminded himself no good came from worrying; he just needed to convince his heart of that.
The impulse to mother him wouldn’t let go. Plating the food as high as he could for Joe before sorting himself an sitting. They exchanged very few words throughout the meal. Stuart kept his eyes on Joe, making sure he ate every mouthful, getting up to get him a second helping after he wolfed the first. Thinking he may refuse, he gave him a no no-nonsense look. Joe submitted taking the plate, finishing that as well.
Stuart attempted to do justice to the wonderful food, but his anger tied his stomach in knots. The delicious cheesy tomato herbed sauce and pasta just wasn’t cutting it past the bitterness. Joe’s sigh of pleasure, eased a little of his gathering tension, but not enough for him to find his usual pleasure in one of Brad’s meals.
Stuart fidgeted with his plate, needing to move, he leant across the table plucking up Joe’s empty plate, hesitating when Joe’s thin cold hand touch his. Roughened skin had sparks leaping up his arm. Joe’s alarmed eyes clashed with his a second before his hand snatched away as though burnt. Stuart fought the urge to rub his own sensitised skin.
Stuart stiffened knowing who was making the repeated scratching behind him, outside the patio door. What the hell did she want? Ignoring Princess was no good, he knew from past experience she would just get louder. The last time she’d wailed like a banshee for an hour. In the end, the neighbours had complained, and he had to let her in. Then he’d spent several hours trying to remove the bloody cat hair from everything she’d touched. He was positive she’d somehow moulted her entire body hair in one go.
Feeling disgruntled Stuart let out a sigh, his feet dragged unwilling towards the door. The delighted squeal had him spinning around. Watching in horror as Joe ran past him to the patio door. Stuart could see immediately how enamoured Joe was with Princess. Her smirk of satisfaction had Stuart’s teeth snap together.
“Aren’t you adorable, oh look at how pretty you are.”
Rumbling purrs had Stuart’s eyes roll in disgust, he tried to hide it when he introduced her. “Let me introduce you to Brad’s cat Princess. Princess, meet Joe, my new houseguest.”
Stuart stormed to the sink trying to pretend that he wasn’t jealous of Princess. Joe’s gushing praise and lavish touches set his teeth on edge. What the hell did Joe see in the bloody cat anyway? Joe didn’t talk to him like that, no, in fact, he hardly spoke to him at all. The bloody cat bats her eyelashes and Joe can’t shut up!
Quietly seething, not aware soap suds were soaking his T-shirt while he side-eyed them both. Joe reverently stroked her silky fur, cuddling her to his chest. His earlier dull eyes alight as he enjoyed Princess’s company, so much more than his.
Pretending he wasn’t bothered, his stomach dropped as Joe advised he was going to go and visit with Martin and Brad, before hurriedly skipping out carrying a sneering pussycat.
Stuart prised his grinding teeth apart, reminding himself categorically; jealousies were not something he felt. He ignored the laughing mock voice in his head telling him differently.
He hissed out a frustrated breath, undecided to what he should do. He could follow, but Joe seemed to want to be anywhere he wasn’t. His ‘stay the fuck away’ vibe through the meal, at complete odds to the ‘ravish me senseless’ he’d emitted when Stuart had opened the door.
Distracted he took his hands out of the water, raking them through his hair in frustration. Cursing up a blue storm when water dripped down his face, alerting him to his befuddled state. Growling, he snatched up the tea towel, swishing it across his wet forehead.
Stuart gave himself a few minutes to settle, convinced deep down that Joe and he were meant to be together, regardless that in reality they’d only officially met a few hours ago. Alright, he reminded his stupid heart he’d spent ten years on and off fantasising about Joe. Stuart knew he hadn’t got it wrong that Joe had shown an interest while he was outside. Christ, he’d all but felt Joe’s heated gaze devour his naked skin. The combustible wank he’d had mere minutes later telling Stuart exactly what that heated stare could do to him.
Stuart huffed into the empty room, tidying to keep himself busy, he worried his lip. Whatever was going on with Joe, it had to have been bad. Maybe he would share whatever was going on with him with Martin? His fingers dug into his palms as his hands fisted at the idea. What the hell was wrong with him, that he wanted to punch Martin’s lights out? His muscles twitched, rolling his shoulders, he continued to search for a distraction, anything to take his mind off Joe and Martin.
His gaze landed on the book he’d left on the side. Yes, maybe reading would help. He’d only just picked up the new bestseller Crazy House by James Patterson. He had become one of his favorite authors years ago, Along came a spider had hooked him, making him search for any and every book James Patterson had written. Now, the wait between each book got harder, he was like an addict waiting for his next hit.
Stuart carried his book into the lounge, dropping it down. He sorted the fire, pleased when it roared to life, removing the evening chill. Switching on the several scattered lamps, he shut the evening out, letting the lamps cast a warm glow against his sand coloured walls.
Sitting in his snuggler seat, he pulled the book into his lap after curling his legs under him. He let his mind drift watching the fire cast flickering patterns on the multicoloured rug. His fingers pulled at his pursed lips. His mind lost in hot melting looks and not the page he had open.
He couldn’t help the groan when his mind struggled to focus on the book he held. Stuart ignored his growing feelings of desperation, settling deeper into his chair. The heat of his wood burning stove lulling him, his eyes drifted closed.
Disorientated, Stuart blinked his heavy-lidded eyes several times before he registered he was still downstairs. What time was it? The sudden movement had his neck popping, “Argh.” He massaged the crick, groaning in agony he tried to straighten his head. Staring at the clock, his eyes goggled
. How the hell had he slept for five hours straight?
Stiffness seized his back and ass muscles, his body rebelling as he staggered up. “Fuck, fuck, shit.” Stuart cursed under his breath, shuffled towards the stairs. The light in the hall had him stopping. Joe must have turned it on when he’d returned. Shit, hands flew to his face. Had he been slobbering in his sleep? No crusty chin, oh thank God. Had Joe been watching him while he had been out of it? Hot pleasure spread across his chest at the thought he might have.
Not registering the sound for a second, the creaking floorboards had him glancing up. Stuart’s gaze connecting with Joe’s, seeing wariness along with something else he couldn’t decipher in their depth, had him stepping back feeling uncertain. He hesitated when Joe turned, storming off, his hope they could talk dying under the loudness of the door slamming.
Okay then, so Joe hadn’t resolved anything at Martin’s. Wanting to follow and demand Joe tell him what was wrong, no sooner than the urge entered his head, he pushed it back out. Deciding he didn’t want his head bitten off. Joe was too much bother, acting like a teenager slamming doors, instead of being a grown up and talking. Stuart pretended instead that he wasn’t bothered, dragging his weary body off to bed.
Impatient with himself, he struggled with all the feelings coursing through him, protective, jealousy, mothering, then add in a large dose of lust. Then, if that wasn’t bad enough, he even wanted to cuddle him too! When had he ever wanted to do that?
His clothes landed in a heap around his normally immaculate room, before he scrambled between his cool cotton sheets. Unseeing the mess he’d created, he snuggled down waiting for the goosebumps to subside that reminded him too much of work-roughened fingers. Groaning into his pillow when his tired body stirred to life, his cock trying to lift and get in on the act. He punched the pillow into submission, turning onto his stomach, doing everything in his power to stop his arousal from growing.