Stay the Night

by Scarlett Parrish

  I couldn’t remember hearing anything hotter than his breaths getting shallower. There was something dirty about the closed curtains, the protesting mattress, the time of day. He shouldn’t have been here, we shouldn’t have been doing this, but he was and we were.

  “God. Fuck yes.” The last of my breath grunted out of me at the second my spine melted and I came, muttering against his shoulder, his neck, him. I think I said his name. I probably swore, or it could have been Steven’s voice I heard throwing a random profanity out into the room as he covered my hand in semen.

  He didn’t stop moving straight away—his hips slowed but every so often he juddered, and I heard his breath catch in his throat.

  “Oh God.” Steven leaned in, I thought to kiss me, but didn’t. Not yet. “Need. To get.

  My breath back.”

  “I…” I realised my hand was still moving. I didn’t want to stop and his hand still covered mine. “I needed that.”

  “You’re not the only one.” He laughed. “How’s your head now?”

  “Which one?”

  “Dirty bastard. Christ.” Still finding it difficult to breathe—I felt his heart rate against my bare chest, nearly as rapid as mine—he looked down at our hot, wet, sticky hands. “I’ve got cum on my fucking shirt. I need to get changed before I go back to work.” He caught my eye before looking down again and lacing his fingers through mine, not giving a damn about the mess we were in.

  “Really? You don’t think it would be a good idea to show up at the office with cum stains on your shirt?”

  “You’re one classy bastard, Blackman, you know that?”

  “Hey, I’m not the one who came back home in the middle of the day to wank off my housemate.”

  “You make it sound so sleazy.”

  “And it was an entirely mutual thing.”

  “Which is what made it so hot. And sleazy.” He grinned, finally disentangling his fingers from mine and falling onto his back.

  I pulled my shorts off completely and used them to wipe myself sort of clean. “That sure beats lying in bed feeling sorry for myself.”

  “You, sorry for yourself?” He turned his head on the pillow and a tangle of curls fell in front of his eyes. He did nothing to move them out of the way.

  “Hey, I’m an invalid. Or was.”

  “Better now?”

  “All better.” I stared up at the ceiling. As cold as it seemed at the time, I wondered when Steven would get up and go change, return to work. Not that I exactly wanted him to leave, but something about the situation made me uncomfortable. It had been a long time since I wanted someone this much. “Mostly. Still tired, but…” I looked at him again. That tangle of curls still fell across his face. I threw my shorts aside and reached over to brush his hair out of his eyes. They widened as I did so and I wanted to lift my hand away.

  Steven must have felt the tension as I thought about breaking contact and he caught my hand in his own. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  He didn’t say anything for the longest time, just looked at me and it was obvious I’d look away first. Maybe our eyes had only met for a few seconds but they were the longest few seconds of my life. I turned away, and the mood broke. It was strange, that combined feeling of relief and something.

  “I’d better go and get cleaned up, then.” Steven let my hand go and I didn’t even have time to let it fall back to the pillow before he was sitting, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

  Well, yeah, I was relieved. I couldn’t name the other ingredient in the cocktail, though.

  Not until Steven picked up his shoes, illustrating his hurry to leave the room again.

  Ah. There it was. Disappointment.

  Chapter Nine

  ‘Awkward’ wasn’t the right word to describe the atmosphere between us after that.

  ‘Shifty’ wasn’t quite right either, although we made an effort to look like we completely hadn’t ever wanked each other off, never in this lifetime, whenever we were in Gary’s presence.

  I had the feeling I’d done something wrong, and this itch in my conscience wouldn’t leave me alone. If I’d offended Steven in some way—and surely it was his duty to inform me if I had—I couldn’t imagine how. Two gay guys wanking each other off. Big fat fucking deal.

  Yet that persistent feeling of what’s wrong with this picture remained.

  So did Steven. He still lived in the same house as me, so we had to deal with each other.

  On the surface we did just that. We were polite. Civil. Strained. Ostensibly, we spoke about paying the bills, shopping, what to watch on television, even including Gary the third wheel in these verbal parries. Underneath it all, each “Anyone fancy a coffee?” translated as

  “Have I pissed you off?” The undercurrents below every “Got any other DVDs to watch?”

  whispered “I’m not going to tell you.”

  I shrugged it off after a while. The refractory period of our flirtation had passed and I was back to normal now and ready to fuck the world.

  Every so often I’d catch Steven’s eye and the corner of his mouth would twitch, like the nanosecond before speech came, but in those moments he said not a word. It was, I felt certain, simply because in those moments he held all the power. I wanted him to speak. I wanted him to give me something and because of this, he didn’t. Two grown men staring each other out.

  I blinked first.

  Though there were three of us sharing the house, there were still plenty of opportunities for private conversation wherein the third party melted away to a night down the pub, faded to an evening with friends, hovered in the middle ground while shopping for beer, chocolate biscuits and a curry.

  On just such an occasion I gave Gary ten minutes to distance himself from the house and near the local supermarket, and Steven the same length of time to do whatever he was doing upstairs. I’d hoped to grab him in the kitchen—metaphorically—but the nerves which had up until now silenced me kept me mute until he’d vacated the ground floor.

  Climbing the stairs, I tried to ignore the symbolism of me seeking him out upstairs, where the bedrooms were. In the end I put it down to chance having a sick sense of humour.

  Or me, having a rubbish sense of timing.

  Yeah, it was more likely to be my fault.

  “Steven?” A sign of life had reached me from across the hallway, the thunk of something being settled on a shelf. No music played in the background to confuse me; the click of a cabinet door being closed came to me sharp, decisive and clear.

  “Yeah?” His voice came from the bathroom and as he spoke, a wisp of steam drifted across its doorway. If he’d showered, he must have done so very quickly, in minutes, and under water hot enough to scald the skin off his back if steam was visible afterwards.

  I approached the room with some trepidation, both because of the conversation we’d need to have, and the possibility of seeing Steven in a state of undress. I already had, of course, but this time it would be unequal. Me fully dressed, and him—

  “Something up?”

  I gulped, had to steady myself against the bathroom doorframe. “I came to…” Another gulp. “Speak to you.”

  Fresh from the shower, skin reddened by its heat, Steven wore nothing but a towel wrapped around him, a loose knot—dear God, how loose exactly?—slung low on his hips.

  He stood by the sink, one hand to his jaw as he turned this way and that, probably trying to decide whether or not he needed a shave. If my vote counted, I’d have said ‘not’. I liked the way his stubble looked and felt rough.

  “Anything in particular?”

  “Yeah.” It was no doubt possible for a steamed-up bathroom to clear one’s airways, but for some inexplicable reason, my chest tightened and my mouth dried up then.

  Coincidentally at the very moment Steven turned, leaned on the pedestal sink with one hand and rested the other on his hip. One tug away from…

  “Kit. Christopher.”

 
; I jumped, looked up.

  “Thank you. My eyes are up here. Is this what women feel like when straight guys leer at their chests? I don’t know. Anyway, you were saying?”

  “If you will wear nothing but a…”

  “What else would I wear when I’ve just had a shower?”

  “Nothing, nothing.”

  “You want me to wear n—”

  “No. No.” Actually, I did. “Look.” I crossed my arms but remained, hovering in the doorway like a vampire awaiting an invitation. “The other day. When you came. Home. I mean, when you came home. And I was ill.”

  “Go on.” Steven smirked, pushed his weight off the sink and went back to examining his reflection. Whatever he saw there warranted not a shave, but merely a quick wash and splashing warm water over his skin.

  Getting caught up in my observations again, I needed a further century or so to gather my thoughts, remind myself what I was there for. “I’m having some difficulty figuring this out.”

  “I gathered that.” Steven glanced at me sideways before going for his toothbrush.

  “You showered awfully quickly. Gary just went out and when you headed upstairs…”

  “Stop changing the subject.”

  “I’m not. I’m just saying—”

  “I just wanted to freshen up after work. I wasn’t dirty.” He shrugged. “Just wanted to wash away the day. Anyway. The other day. When you were ill.” He almost singsonged the words as he squeezed toothpaste onto the brush. “And I gutched oo onna ingy.”

  “When you what?”

  He spat into the sink, but the toothpaste foam still on his lips made me think things I really shouldn’t have been thinking. “When I touched you on the winkie.” He turned back to the task in hand, for which I was grateful. It was a lot easier for me to speak when he wasn’t looking at me.

  Of course, the fact droplets of water still glistened on his light dusting of chest hair made it hard— difficult. Made it difficult to…um…thingy. Concentrate.

  “Look. I can’t do this.” I hung my head, pretended my scuffed trainers were more interesting than Steven’s face or his freshly-showered body.

  “Guh?” More spitting, then he ran the cold tap to rinse his mouth out properly. “I mean, huh?” Dabbing at the corners of his mouth with a hand towel, he studied me with dark eyes under sharply-arched brows. “You can’t?”

  “Yeah. This.”

  Steven Kenton half-scowling was unsettling enough. If he got full-on angry I wouldn’t have a clue how to deal with him. “And what is ‘this’?”

  “Us. I mean, not that there is an us. I wouldn’t want you to think I was being…”

  “Being…?” He lifted his brows and didn’t blink.

  “Presumptuous.”

  In an instant his expression changed to one of amusement. Eyes crinkling up, he showed gleaming rows of freshly-brushed teeth in a wide grin. “You’re…you’re really something, you know that?”

  “How d’y’mean?”

  “I’ve made you come.” He stepped closer. “On more than one occasion, and…”

  Wrapping one arm around himself, he stepped closer still, while stroking his chin with the other hand. “And you’re worried that you’re being presumptuous. Kit, you couldn’t be more noli me tangere if you tried.”

  “Nolly my what?”

  “It’s Latin. It means ‘stop clinging to me’. Christ said it to Mary Magdalene when… Look, never mind. I feel a bit weird discussing religion when there’s only a towel hanging between me and some serious sin being committed.”

  “Look. Steven. This thing.”

  “It’s called a penis.” He gestured down at himself with both hands and I couldn’t help but examine his towel for signs of a bulge.

  “No, not that.”

  “No?”

  “I know what that is. I’ve seen one before. I mean loads. Jesus. I’ve had more cock than I know how to handle. Not yours. I mean…fuck. Where was I?”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “Sorry. You were saying. This ‘thing’.”

  “It’s not that I didn’t enjoy it. I did. It’s just…” I lifted my palms as if anyone was going to answer my supplication. “It can’t… We can’t…”

  “Oh, I get it.” He nodded. “This is one of those ‘it was good while it lasted but we can’t do it again’ conversations, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Wrong.”

  “Glad you ag—what?”

  “This is about you freaking out. For some reason. Okay, I get it. You’re standoffish, antisocial, selfish, insular, all that bollocks. And you want to act like you’re all oh no, no, Steven, please, don’t defile my virtue. “ He gave a dramatic shrug, hands held up like a silent movie drama queen to emphasise his faux terror. “I don’t get it. Is this a faraway-so-close, reverse psychology thing? You want me to chase you? Would that be more”—he cocked his head and batted his eyelashes—”romantic?”

  “Steven, you… This isn’t about romance or stuff.”

  “Stuff?” He pulled at his bottom lip with one finger, manipulating it into a pout of sorts.

  “Could you be a bit more specific? Define ‘stuff’?”

  “Two people. The kind of ‘stuff’ they get into when they spend a lot of time together.”

  “Am I… Why yes, I think I am witnessing another man quietly freaking out over the fact he’s getting cold feet to match that iceberg of a heart he’s got behind that shivering ribcage of his. You are, you really are, a piece of work, Kit. Look. We’ve fooled around—”

  “Rather more than that.”

  “Okay. And you’re telling me now that you…what? Want it to stop?”

  The knot of nerves in the back of my throat swelled to the size of a golf ball, making it difficult to swallow or breathe or speak. So I resorted to a tentative glance up through downturned lashes, and a nod so brief it was little more than a twitch.

  “If it was nothing more than a bit of casual fun between two guys who just so happen to live together for however long, then what’s the problem?”

  My brow tightened in a frown, and I waited for him to explain.

  “Mind, a more sensitive guy than me might be inclined to be just a little bit pissed off right now. Okay, so I’m good for a bit of fun, but damn it, Kit, you could really have hurt my feelings tonight.” His voice wavered and I looked at him closely, then.

  It was an act. The biting of the back of his hand to put on a show of hurt, the over-emotional scowl, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple—they all melded into a laugh deep enough to shake his shoulders as the sound echoed around the now-cooling bathroom.

  “What makes you think I was after something serious?”

  “I never assumed that. I…” I swallowed hard, was what I did. How to tell him that it wasn’t a case of thinking he wasn’t worth a relationship? It was closer to the truth to say I didn’t want to keep falling into this. I didn’t want to get used to him. “Never mind.”

  Steven closed the distance between us in an instant, or a couple of steps, grabbed my shirt and pulled me across the threshold. I stumbled, but he stood his ground.

  With nothing between us but my clothes and his towel, I held my breath until my head spun. I could have reached out and touched those minuscule droplets of water still dusting his chest hairs and no-one would have been any the wiser. No-one would have known except us. I could have kidded myself with just this one time.

  “Let’s try something.”

  I licked my lips which did absolutely no good at all, then shrugged. “Okay.”

  He moved back again, and pulled me with him. I put up little, if any, resistance. And he kept hold of my shirt. “You walk out of this room, and I’ll do nothing to stop you.”

  I waited. Waited for the explanation. The catch.

  “That’s it.” He slowly backed up against the wall and it looked as if I was holding him there, but the truth was far different. One fist clasping at the cotton of my T-shirt and that was al
l it took to nail my feet to the floor and stop me going anywhere. “You really think this is nothing, then leave.”

  I swallowed, hard. Gulped back air, even, and it rasped down my throat like shards of glass. I glanced from his hand back up to his face. “Then let me go.” When I looked down again, he splayed his fingers, and my wrinkled shirt fell away from his hand.

  “Aren’t you going to leave?”

  God knew how our torsos ended up in such close contact, but there was no room for even a sliver of daylight to get between us now. “You pulled me into the room.”

  “You let yourself be pulled.” Even the way he lifted on eyebrow was a gesture dripping in sarcasm, though not cruelty. It was just to make a point. I’m right. You know I am.

  “You…” My breaths shallow again, I lowered my gaze and it fell on his inked shoulders, his pecs, and as my gaze fell my blood pressure soared. “Why did you…”

  “To see if you’d let me, or protest.” Whispering now, he studied me, his eyes flickering up and down as he looked into my eyes then at my mouth as I, still nervous, licked my lips.

  “I’m not going to force you into anything if you’re so keen to call it quits. But you have to admit, there’s something between us.”

  “Steven—”

  “Two somethings, actually. Bit more than a couple of handfuls, though.” He shrugged, smirking as he did so, again flipping from serious and seductive to flirtatious, leaving me breathless in his wake. “Or a mouthful.” He winked, lifted both hands to my face and pulled me in for a kiss. I trembled like a high school virgin who’d never been touched before. “Pull the towel away, would you? I’ve got my hands full.”

  “But—”

  “Just fucking do it, Kit.” He wriggled his hips against me, doing almost all the work. All I had to do was give that loose towelling knot a tug, and the whole thing fell away in my hands. I wasn’t being obedient. I wasn’t doing anything I didn’t want to do, and Steven knew that. He wasn’t giving me orders. He was giving me permission.

  And still I felt scared. Two grown men staring each other out and I was a heartbeat away from giving in.

  “I know you don’t like being looked at.” Steven read my mind, even as he pressed his lips together, bleaching them into a forbidding line which stopped him saying anything further. And he nodded, once. Told me to kneel without uttering a word.