Believe: A Skins Novel

by Garrett Leigh

  Jevon’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as he palmed himself. “You’re gonna kill me. You’re literally every fantasy I’ve ever had come to life.”

  Rhys wanted to be so much more than that, but right now, it was all they had. He left Jevon hanging a moment and rummaged under his bed. His box of tricks had been neglected in recent months and was covered in a thin layer of dust. He wiped it clean with a sock from the nearby laundry basket, then heaved it onto the bed and nudged off the lid. “Pick and mix. Whatever you want.”

  Jevon’s rumbling chuckle turned throaty. “I don’t know what half of it is.”

  “I do. Just ask and I’ll show you.”

  “Show me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wow.” Jevon whistled through his teeth and sat up on his elbows. “Is it wrong that I want to know what that tentacle thing is?”

  Rhys laughed and retrieved the Bad Dragon dildo from the box. “You’d think it was a novelty toy, but it’s probably the most expensive thing in here.”

  “For real?”

  “Bible. And it’s a small one.”

  Jevon gulped. “Jesus.”

  “Yep. I’ve never really used it, and I’m nowhere near drunk enough to try now.”

  “Good job it’s not my first pick then, eh?”

  “Very funny. What is your first pick?”

  “The black cock. I can’t take the rest of it seriously—not yet, anyway.”

  Relief washed over Rhys. Most of the toys in the box were well used, but there weren’t many that seemed to fit the burning desire in his gut for Jevon. Kink was kink, and he embraced it all, but getting off with Jevon wasn’t like that. They still had so much to learn about each other.

  Rhys claimed the toy and put the box on the floor. He lubed up the dildo and fucked himself with it while Jevon looked on. Coming under the weight of Jevon’s gaze but without his touch was an odd feeling. Breathing his name without an answering kiss. “Oh, god, Jevon.”

  “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

  “I miss you,” Rhys choked out.

  Jevon’s answer was a whisper. “I know, baby. I know.”

  Twelve

  Birmingham Children’s Hospital was as familiar to Jevon as it was brand new. The interior had changed beyond recognition, but it smelled exactly the same.

  He took the lift to the oncology department and cycled down the corridor to the nurse’s station. Wide eyes followed him. He smiled and waved, the exaggerated movements so natural it was a wonder he didn’t do it to everyone he met. Wan-faced children waved back. Some even smiled, and Jevon’s world narrowed to just them as he entertained them with a quiet magic show.

  An hour later, he made his escape and ventured into the fracture clinic. Despite the plaster parade, the children in there were more mobile. For hours, Jevon played games and painted pictures. Laughed, sang, and danced. He knew “Fee-fi-fo-fum” in six languages. Today he used four.

  “Can you come again tomorrow?”

  Jevon glanced down at the small boy tugging on his sleeve. “I don’t think so, kiddo, but you don’t really need me to. You know all the tricks better than I do.” He pulled a pound coin from behind the boy’s ear. “Look at that. Who put that there, eh?”

  The boy took his prize and wheeled his chair back to his bed, a look of wonder on his face that got Jevon out of bed in the morning. I fucking hate hospitals.

  A smiling young nurse brought him a cup of the worst tea in the world. “He’s not the only one who’d like to see you every day. You’ve cheered me right up too.”

  Jevon ducked his head under the pretence of packing up his plastic pizza kit. The woman had been following him around all afternoon, testing the waters with gentle flirtation. Awkward.

  “Listen,” she said. “I’m finishing at five, and a bunch of us are going for a drink. Do you want to join us?”

  “Thanks, but I’ve got plans.”

  “With your, uh, girlfriend?”

  “Nah. I’m gay.”

  The nurse seemed as surprised as Jevon by the admission he’d never voiced to a stranger outside of a gay bar. It had slipped off his tongue like honey, and damn if it didn’t feel good. He’d already smiled so much that day his face hurt, but he left the ward with a spring in his step, his unicycle under his arm, and his phone in his hand.

  J: Guess what?

  R: What?

  J: I just told a complete stranger I’m gay

  R: That’s fucking awesome. Who was it? Some rando in the street?

  J: A nurse. She was chatting me up

  R: A nurse where?

  J: Kids hosp in Birmingham

  R: BCH?

  J: That’s the one

  R: Ure taking the piss, right?

  J: Um, no?

  R: Where are you?

  J: Told you. BCH

  R: No. Literally. Where are u?

  J: Gift shop by Xray

  R: Stay there

  Nonplussed, Jevon put his bags down, and leaned the unicycle against the wall. He spun around, searching for any clue as to why Rhys wanted him to linger in the hospital and . . .

  Found himself face to face with the man of his dreams. “Jesus!”

  “Not quite,” Rhys said with a grin. “But I’m hoping that means you’re pleased to see me?”

  “Pleased to see you?” Jevon enveloped Rhys in a bear hug, squeezing him as tight as he dared. “I’m over the moon. What are you doing here?”

  Rhys pulled back and glanced pointedly at his orange flight suit. “Fancy dress party. Seriously. What do you think?”

  “I think my costume is better than yours.”

  Rhys laughed. His face lit up, and his often-stormy eyes crinkled at the sides. “Yeah. I’m pretty sure I couldn’t pull off Rupert Bear trousers and a pink dickie bow, but it looks awesome on you. I take it you’re working?”

  “I was. All done now and heading home. What are you doing here?”

  “Dropping off a patient. We do transport sometimes as well as emergency calls. I reckon I’ll have been halfway round the country and back by the time I get home tonight.”

  “I can’t believe you’re here.”

  Rhys’s grin widened. “Me either.”

  They stared at each other, lost in a moment they hadn’t expected. Since their drunken FaceTime sexting, they’d spoken only briefly, relying instead on texts and the occasional dirty GIF. Jevon hadn’t expected to see Rhys until after the weekend. Another four days, at least. “What time do you—”

  “What are you doing tonight?” Rhys blurted at the same time.

  Jevon shook his head. “Damn. That didn’t work out. You go.”

  “We’re due back in London at eight. If nothing comes up, I should be home by ten.”

  Jevon nodded slowly, calculating his own timetable. He had a meeting in Bedford when he got back, but it would be the easiest thing in the world to reschedule it and get on a train to London instead. Screw it. “I can meet you somewhere . . . if you want? Grab a drink and a late dinner? I’ve got a key to Efe’s place, so I can sleep on her—”

  Rough lips cut Jevon off. The kiss was harsh, brutal, and brief. And Rhys’s glare was fierce. He pressed a key into Jevon’s hand. “You’re not sleeping anywhere but with me. I’ve gotta run, but let yourself in whenever, okay? I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

  He was gone before Jevon could answer, dashing away to get back on his helicopter, perhaps unaware that he was the only man on the planet who could make a tango-orange jumpsuit sexy.

  Jevon shook his head, half convinced the entire exchange had been a dream, but the key in his hand was warm against his palm, and the curious stare of a nearby couple bored into the side of his head.

  He spared them a glance, bracing himself for disgust or derision. After all, they weren’t in Vauxhall now, and Rhys had been in uniform. But to his surprise, the elderly couple smiled and waved, and Jevon realised they’d been upstairs with him on the oncology ward.

  “W
onderful work you do,” the old man said. “We haven’t seen our wee girl smile like that in months.”

  “Thank you.”

  It was all Jevon could say.

  Letting himself into Rhys’s flat felt all kinds of weird. Jevon’s gaze darted around the small space, half expecting Rhys to emerge from the kitchen or from the bathroom, wearing just a towel. But of course, he didn’t.

  Jevon dropped the key on the coffee table and stashed his stuff in the hallway cupboard. Then he sat on the sofa and twiddled his thumbs, feeling no more at ease doing naff all than he had in Angelo’s flat ten days ago.

  Shit. Has it been that long?

  Yeah. It had. It really fucking had.

  Jevon got up and paced the room. When he got bored with that, he opened Rhys’s fridge, rolling his eyes at the bare shelves. What does the boy eat? He already kind of knew the answer, but the Pot Noodle and baked beans in the cupboards still struck him as sad.

  Resolved, Jevon left the flat again and crossed the road to the Asian supermarket. He bought real noodles, prawns, green vegetables, and bird’s eye chillies. In the spice aisle, he picked up ginger, garlic, and a hefty bottle of soy sauce. With a cheap wok under his arm, he made his way to the till. He was still wearing his bright clothes, but this was London, and no one gave a shit.

  At the One Stop next door, he stocked up on bread and milk and all the things Rhys seemed to be lacking, then he went home—to Rhys’s home—and put it all away.

  The whole expedition had taken forty-three minutes, which still left three hours until Rhys was due home. Jevon sat on the sofa again, then on the bed when he unfolded it just for something to do. The TV held little interest, and Rhys didn’t seem to read books. He was on the verge of searching for a porn stash when he remembered the box under the bed.

  Wow. Jevon had seen most of the toys over FaceTime, but that didn’t come close to seeing them in real life. Dildos, plugs, rings, and probes. Handcuffs, ropes, and about eighty-four gallons of lube. Inadequacy reared its ugly head, but Jevon fought it. And won. He remembered Rhys’s face when he’d come with Jevon’s name on his lips. And he believed him.

  Setting the black cock from that night aside, Jevon rummaged through the box, searching for something way smaller. His hand brushed a civilised looking plug. He pulled it out and considered it, turning it this way and that. Its girth didn’t appear to be much more than Rhys’s fingers, but it had been a while since that night, and however easy Rhys had made it look to take something inside him, the small plug was halfway to terrifying.

  Still, Jevon kept hold of it—and a bottle of lube—while he packed the box away and slid it under the bed.

  He shot Rhys a text.

  J: Can I use your shower?

  R: Of course

  Awesome. Or was it? The butterflies having a rave in Jevon’s belly couldn’t quite decide. He shut down WhatsApp and started to toss his phone aside, but a work email buzzed through at the last second.

  Jevon opened it with most of his mind already in the shower, just him, the butt plug, and a bottle of Wet. He’d read the message three times before it made any sense and his soul sank through the floor.

  Fuck my life.

  Thirteen

  Rhys dashed up the stairs to his flat with seconds to spare. Jevon had buzzed him inside, and as he neared the front door, the delicious scent of something he’d never dream of cooking was everywhere.

  The front door was on the latch. Rhys pushed inside and followed the smell to the kitchen where Jevon was tossing something around in a pan that definitely didn’t belong in Rhys’s kitchen. “All right, mate?”

  “Rhys!” Jevon turned the burner off and set the pan aside.

  Rhys pounced on him, kissing him, and backed him against the counter. “Fuck, it’s good to see you.”

  The words were mumbled against Jevon’s lips, and they lost a battle with his roving tongue. Gasping, Rhys shoved his hands past Jevon’s clown clothes, roaming the smooth skin he found there, and unbuttoned Jevon’s ridiculous trousers. Jevon was a tall bloke and not much leaner than Rhys, but lifting him onto the counter was easy. Swallowing his thick cock made sense, and minutes later, swallowing every drop of his come was a balm to Rhys’s bitter soul.

  “Jesus fucking Christ.” Jevon banged his head on the cupboard behind him, panting. “You’re a whirlwind.”

  Rhys straightened up, licking his lips. “I’ve been called worse.”

  “Not by me.” Jevon seized Rhys’s jacket and yanked him close, snapping his teeth in Rhys’s face. “Now get your arse up here.”

  Minutes later, it was Rhys’s turn to come with a startled yell, his fingers carving grooves into Jevon’s skull as he clutched at his head. Best day ever.

  He came back into himself with a happy sigh. The sound surprised even him, but he let it go and slid from the counter. Jevon steadied him, then turned his attention to whatever magic he’d cooked up in the giant pan, his trousers still undone and hanging low enough to give Rhys a second wind.

  Rhys left his own jeans open and came up behind Jevon, wrapping his arms tight around him, burying his face between his strong shoulder blades. His still half-hard dick pressed between Jevon’s cheeks, but he tried to ignore how amazing it felt and bit down on Jevon’s neck, revelling in his squirm. “I can’t decide what I’m most hungry for—you or whatever sorcery you have in that shiny thing.”

  “Dude, it’s a wok.”

  “If you say so.”

  Jevon chuckled and drew the wok towards him. “It’s just a stir fry. You had nothing but MSG-noodle junk in your cupboards.”

  “I wasn’t expecting company, but if you ever meet my brother, do me a favour and don’t gossip about the nutritional state of my kitchen cupboards. I don’t need that lecture in my life.”

  Jevon said nothing. Just exhaled slowly, like he was bracing himself for a storm. Rhys frowned and spun him around. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Liar.”

  “Am I?” A hint of a smile played on Jevon’s lips . . . a whisper of mischief, but there was something else too.

  Something that squeezed the giddy feeling Rhys had carried since their surprise Birmingham encounter. “Seriously. You look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders. What’s on your mind?”

  “Two things,” Jevon said. “One you’ll probably like, and one that if you feel anything like me will probably make you want to drown yourself.”

  Jevon wasn’t a man given to dramatics. Rhys pulled himself entirely from his lust-filled haze and reclaimed the functioning adult he’d left at the door. “Give me the bad news first.”

  “Sure about that? ’Cause it’s pretty fucking shit.”

  “Just tell me, man.”

  Jevon sighed. “You know how I’m due back overseas just before Christmas?”

  A painful band tightened around Rhys’s heart. “Yeah . . .”

  “They’ve brought it forward. Someone on my camp needs to come home right now, so my troupe is going in early.”

  “How early?”

  “Two weeks. We fly out a week from Monday.”

  A week from Monday. Jesus Christ. The wind left Rhys’s sails in one harsh breath. His hands tightened like vices around Jevon’s wrists, and the tic in his jaw rattled his teeth. For a horrifying moment, he thought he might cry, but then apathy set in, forced, as usual, by circumstances he couldn’t change. He pushed the pain from his heart and forced himself to meet Jevon’s broken gaze. “What was the good news?”

  “What?”

  “You said you had something to tell me that I might like.”

  The sadness marring Jevon’s lovely face deepened. “Don’t be like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Cold. It doesn’t suit you.”

  “I’m not being cold, mate. I just need to hear something happy right now. Help me out . . . please?”

  Jevon inhaled deeply, then seemed to find a smirk from somewhere and plast
ered it on his face. “Okay . . . well, while I was waiting for you, I had a rummage in your magic box. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “My magic box?” It took Rhys’s brain a second to compute. “Oh. That box.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And?”

  “And . . .” Jevon stuck his hand in his pocket and withdrew a squishy purple plug that Rhys had never used. “I found something I liked.”

  Rhys took the plug from him and turned it over in his hands. “Did you try it out?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you liked it?”

  “Yes.”

  Rhys passed the plug back. “Show me.”

  The sun woke Rhys the next morning. Crisp, clean winter rays streaming through the blinds he’d forgotten to close the night before. He bathed in them a moment, enjoying the warmth, but then the solid body next to him invaded his dazed consciousness. Jevon.

  Rhys rolled over. Jevon was still asleep, stretched out on his stomach. Smiling, Rhys trailed his fingers down his spine, counting the vertebrae, and slid his hand under the sheets that were bunched at Jevon’s waist. Flashes of the night they’d spent together before they’d crashed out danced through his mind. They’d played around for hours, like they could use pleasure to block out the wrench of Jevon’s news, and done everything under the sun except fuck. Jevon was ready—Rhys knew it like he knew water was wet—but every time the opportunity had arisen, he’d found himself backing away. Like fucking Jevon was the icing on a cake he didn’t want to eat yet.

  Like it was their pinnacle and nothing else could come after.

  “You’re gonna give yourself a migraine.”

  Rhys blinked. Jevon was awake and staring at him, his arm curled beneath his chin. “What do you mean?”

  Jevon stretched like a luxuriating cat, exposing more of his sinuous body. “You look lost.”

  “I’m not lost. I’m right here.”

  “Are you, though?” Jevon sat up slightly, just enough that he could loop an arm around Rhys’s shoulders and tug him into an embrace that felt like home. “’Cause I don’t want you to spend the next ten days feeling like I’ve already gone.”