by R. J. Moray
Nate swore, jerking into him, coming up on his knees to slam down again, and again, and then he groaned, burying himself as deep as he could go as his hips stuttered to a stop. He tipped back his head, his breath hard and rough, his fingers digging into Ewan’s flesh, and Ewan thought, Bruises, leave bruises, I want to remember this.
“Fffffuuuuck,” Nate breathed, collapsing over him and only barely catching himself on one palm. “Ah. Hah. I was gonna make you beg,” he panted, and the sweat dripping off him should have been gross but Ewan wanted it, craning his neck to lick along Nate’s jaw before he could think better of it. It made Nate snort, and shake his head with a spatter of sweat. Ugh, he was so wet.
His arms ached. He wanted to take them down but more than that he wanted Nate to tell him to. “Nate,” he whined, flexing his fingers. “Na-ate…”
“Okay, baby?” Nate’s eyes ran up Ewan’s body, up his arms to where his hands ached. “Hey, you wanna let go now?”
“Please,” Ewan begged, hating the sound of his own voice, hating how needy he was now.
But Nate just smiled and wrapped a hand around one of his wrists. “Let go, baby boy. You’re good.”
Ewan let go. His hands hurt. He worked his fingers, willing the blood back into them, and Nate took them in his hands, massaging his palms.
“That’s my boy.” He pulled Ewan’s hands to his mouth and kissed his knuckles, the way he had at the front door, and Ewan felt this huge rush of, of something just race through him. Affection? Desire?
Love?
It was frightening and wonderful, and Nate just smiled at him, opening Ewan’s palms and kissing them tenderly. “That was so fucking good,” he said, and then, with a flash of reluctance. “I should…pull out.”
Ewan didn’t want to let him go, but— “This is why I hate condoms,” he grumbled, and Nate chuckled at him.
“So long as we’re fucking other people, you know we have to,” he said, and Ewan hated the idea of that so much it made him feel crazy.
Nate moved away then, taking the condom and tossing it in the bin with the other one and all the wrappers. Then he found the tissues, cleaning up Ewan’s come with slow, careful swipes, and binned those too.
Ewan rolled onto his belly, feeling wiped out and shaky. Nate ran a hand up his spine, rubbing him over with this intense carefulness that swelled a lump in Ewan’s throat.
“You good?”
Was he? He felt…really fucking good, but there was this nagging thing in his head that made him want to run as far away from all of this as he could get. He’d shown Nate something tonight that he hadn’t meant to, that he didn’t want Nate to know about because it was inevitable that it would be used against him. That’s just how people worked. That’s what Doms did. No matter how nice they seemed when they were fucking the brains out of you.
Still. “I’m good,” he said, because he was pretty good, and he could still feel the shape of where Nate’s cock had been inside him, and the places Nate had pressed bruises into his hips. “Are you staying?”
As soon as he said it he regretted it, and he smothered his face in the bed-covers, ashamed of himself.
“I’d like to, if that’s okay with you.”
Ewan nodded, still too ashamed of himself to meet his eye.
He felt Nate lie down next to him, the warmth of his arm and his chest as he wrapped himself around Ewan’s shoulders, his mouth wet where he pressed it to Ewan’s neck. “We don’t have to, you know.”
Ewan didn’t know. “Have to what?” he mumbled into the covers.
“Have sex with other people. If you want.”
Ewan went completely still. Was Nate offering? And was he offering because he wanted that or because he thought Ewan did?
“I’m getting tested anyway,” Nate said gently. “If you wanted we could go together, and then, if everything’s okay and you wanted to be exclusive, we wouldn’t need condoms. Since you hate them so much.”
Oh, God. Ewan felt so fucking reckless right now, longing to throw himself on the altar of whatever Nate asked of him. But this sounded so like commitment, like a trap, and he didn’t know how he could get out of it if it was.
“Hey, I’m not trying to argue you into it,” Nate said, and Ewan could hear his smile. “We don’t have to talk about it now. Just something to think about.”
“I want you to stay,” Ewan told him, the words coming out before he could stop them. “I…that’s all I want right now.”
“Then I’m staying,” Nate said, sounding satisfied. He kissed the back of Ewan’s neck, and it felt like a promise, sweet and dangerous and wonderful.
Chapter 6
Nate stayed all Sunday. In the morning he discovered Ewan didn’t have anything more interesting than oatmeal in his pantry for breakfast, so he ordered coffee and bacon sandwiches on UberEATS. He took a photo (carefully obscuring the details of where in fact he was) and posted it to Twitter with the hashtags #breakfast #programmerfuel and got a ridiculous number of likes for what was, essentially, pork product in a bun. Ewan seemed to find this amusing, snorting into his takeaway cup as the inevitable comments came in.
Two sandwiches? What did you DO last night?
Somebody got laaaaaid #getsome
this is an irrisonsible application of wealth sumbody stop this man
And, of course, choke me daddy.
“You should take them up on that,” Ewan said when Nate showed him the last one.
Nate pulled a face. “They always do that. It’s a meme.”
“Maybe. Maybe they’re just gagging for it,” Ewan said, taking Nate’s phone and tapping the screen.
“You’re not replying to it, are you?” Nate asked, only a little concerned.
Ewan looked devious, but then he showed Nate the screen. “It’s a troll account. I think. The rest is in Russian.”
“Well, I’m not not into Russians…”
Again Ewan snorted, and then downed the rest of his coffee. “Don’t choke a Russian.”
“Okay,” Nate said, enjoying the possessiveness in that.
They didn’t really talk about the night before. Instead Ewan wanted to curl up on the sofa and play Halo. He offered Nate the second controller with a skeptical expression, and Nate didn’t do too badly, he thought. They played co-op, anyway, and wound their way through a deserted city overrun with aliens, chasing a mystery Nate hadn’t ever played through to the end. It was moody and pleasant, and around lunchtime Nate hit pause and asked if Ewan wanted to go out and get something to eat or order in again.
“If we go out we have to shower,” Ewan complained, rolling his head back on the sofa to look up at Nate from his nest on the floor.
He looked so petulant. Nate smoothed his fingers though Ewan’s hair, feeling relaxed and comfortable in a way he hadn’t in what felt like forever. “We should shower anyway. Eventually.”
They didn’t. They ordered Italian. Ewan settled onto the sofa with his pasta and made pleased noises as he vacuumed it up. Nate liked it way too much, liked feeding Ewan and keeping him entertained, liked just being here with him more than he should. It was an out-of-normal experience, this magical day-after time in which neither of them wanted to admit that they had responsibilities, or that the outside world really existed at all.
After lunch, Ewan talked him into a Brooklyn 99 marathon, and they curled up together, Ewan warm against his chest, lying content between his thighs in a t-shirt and boxers with Spiderman on them. Nate teased Ewan’s hair through his fingers, rubbing his scalp to make Ewan purr, and it felt good.
They did shower, eventually, but they did it together, wasting some water making out under the shower-head, and it took everything Nate had not to push Ewan to his knees and himself into Ewan’s mouth. Instead Nate jerked him off, slow and deliberate, enjoying the echo of Ewan’s soft whimpers and sighs and gasps with the thrum of water behind it. And then he rubbed himself off on Ewan’s thigh, coming with Ewan’s teeth latched in the skin of his shoulder.<
br />
“Hungry?” Nate asked, and Ewan snickered, rubbing himself down with a threadbare towel.
“All you do is feed me.”
“I like feeding you. Do you like being fed?”
Ewan looked down, suddenly shy, and it felt strange in the gathering dusk, in this time out of time. “I don’t hate it,” he said, glancing up, and Nate wanted to kiss him so he kissed him, pushing him naked up against the sink and sinking into his mouth. Ewan let him, opening up like a flower, and Nate was glad Ewan had found a new toothbrush for him to use because it meant he had no reservations about pushing his tongue into Ewan’s mouth and licking him.
“Let me take care of you some more,” Nate said, and Ewan, blushing, said he wouldn’t mind if Nate wanted to order curry.
For some reason, curry turned into a competition. Or it would have if Nate gave one single fuck about it.
“Korma,” Ewan said with some derision, “is soft as fuck.”
“It’s delicious. I’m getting lamb Rogan Josh too.”
“Soft!” Ewan shook his head, smirking fit to burst. “I bet you can’t stomach phaal.”
“I don’t know what that is, so probably no. Let’s get paneer, too.”
Ewan rang up the order with his local restaurant, where apparently they knew him well enough to only argue a little about how hot he wanted his ‘phaal’. Nate got to pay for it only because he reached under Ewan’s towel and pinched him hard on the thigh, offering his credit card with the other hand; Ewan squeaked and accepted it, blushing furiously as he read the numbers out.
They made out on the sofa until the food arrived. Nate took one mouthful of the phaal before waving it away as the devil’s food. “I’m too white for that,” he said, and Ewan smirked, pleased in himself, but still stole plenty of Nate’s Rogan Josh.
Eventually, a couple of hours into a history program Ewan seemed deeply invested in, Nate knew he had to go. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said when Ewan pouted at him. “It’s like twelve hours away.”
“You should stay,” Ewan whined, and then he went red as a tomato, refusing to meet Nate’s eye.
“I would. I fucking would, but I need clothes, and there’s something I should send out before stand-up tomorrow,” Nate said, wishing he could just…hang out here all night. All he had waiting for him at home was a bunch of houseplants that the housekeeping service watered for him, and empty rooms. Cleaner, sure, with nicer furniture and faster internet, but just…empty.
Ewan nodded, still not meeting his eye. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
It took an effort to get dressed. Ewan followed him around like an abandoned puppy, one that was trying to pretend it wasn’t doing it all the while. Nate kissed him in the doorway. He tasted like curry and yogurt and mango nectar, and Nate imagined staying with him before pushing that thought away.
He thumbed Ewan’s lip after, tilting his head up to make him look at him. “Hey, I had a really good time. I hope you did too.”
Ewan nodded, downcast and trying to hide it. “It was good.”
“Let’s do this again.”
Ewan sighed, glancing up. “Yeah. See you tomorrow.”
Walking away was like breaking a spell. The world outside pressed in hard, and Nate could feel it wrapping itself around him, tight like a vice.
Things would be fine, he told himself. It was going to be okay. They’d talked, and they were on the same page, he thought. He’d given Ewan enough space to make his own decisions, and now? Now they could work out what they actually wanted from all of this.
On the drive home, with his thoughts ricocheting around in his head, Nate knew three things. One? He wanted to play with Ewan again, and hurt him in all the ways Ewan wanted. Two? He wanted to take care of Ewan, just sort out all the shit running around in his brain, all the ways in which he sabotaged himself, just pull him out of that rut and shine him up until he gleamed like a diamond.
And three? He wanted to be the only person in Ewan’s bed, the only one who made him come, the only person to touch him where it mattered.
He wanted Ewan in every way. Was that possessive? Yes, it fucking was. But was that a bad thing?
Nate really couldn’t find an answer for that, yet, but he knew what he wanted, and that was everything.
⁂
When Nate had gone, Ewan crawled into his bed and stuffed his face into the pillows, his chest throbbing dangerously. He felt like he might pass out. The scent of Nate was everywhere, his cologne and his sweat soaked into Ewan’s bed, and Ewan just…God.
He rolled onto his back, blinking dry-eyed at the ceiling. Nate. Nate, Nate, Nate…
This was crazy. He felt ridiculous. Nate had stayed all day and had been gone for half an hour and he missed him already; it was utterly fucking ridiculous.
He levered himself up and staggered into the lounge room, collapsing on the couch and forcing himself to care about the fall of Rome on the telly, but it was hopeless. He imagined he could still feel the warmth of where Nate had lain up against the arm of it, and Ewan curled into that spot, closing his eyes and remembering how it had felt to trust him.
The thing was…the thing was that Nate was ultimately trustworthy. He did what he said he’d do and he checked in, and he was safe in all the right ways, in that a Dom or a boyfriend needed to be safe. (Boyfriend? Ewan shuddered and tried to forget he even knew the word.) He was a good man, and if he wasn’t Nate then it might have been okay to do all this.
The problem, Ewan thought, was that Nate couldn’t possibly shoulder the weight he was trying to take on. He couldn’t be Ewan’s boss and his Dom, someone Ewan slept with and someone Ewan went on dates with. He couldn’t be all of that and not fail dismally. People couldn’t handle it, it was too much. Ewan was too great a burden for someone to tolerate for long.
Nate couldn’t. Ewan couldn’t let himself get too wrapped up in Nate because eventually Nate was going to fail.
It was inevitable. Ewan wallowed in the knowledge of it, let himself feel bitterly hurt by it, and then tried to claw his way through to resignation.
It wouldn’t come. He just kept thinking, What if…?
Fuck, he was fucked, he was so fucked. He groaned, covering his face with his hands, and reached for his phone.
No messages. He opened up the text app and stared at the keyboard blankly.
Hope you got home ok
My bed smells like
I’m making myself ridic over your bastard face
But no, he couldn’t send anything like that. Why was he trying to send anything at all?
He lay there in an agony of self-deprecation. This was stupid. He was being stupid. Nate was—
His phone pinged. It was snapchat. Nate had a toothbrush in his mouth, his hair mussed up over his brow, and was wearing pajama pants with a white undershirt that left his collar-bones exposed. He looked sleepy and warm. Sleeping alone. Boring.
Ewan groaned, his whole body flooding with heat. It was nothing, just one of those ‘thinking of you’ messages flung out into the world, but it left him feeling like Nate had just reached out and kissed him.
He rolled onto his belly, angling his phone to take a photo of his bed through the doorway, the covers rucked and rumpled. All this could have been yours!
He dragged himself to bed, feeling wired and exhausted and jittery inside. He checked his phone as he plugged it in—there was another photo of Nate. He was face down in a pillow, one arm hugging it up under his chin, just eyes and the corner of a smile peeking over the edge. I’m a fool, it said. He looked relaxed, happy, and Ewan tried so hard not to care about the exhaustion beneath his eyes. He wanted to tease Nate for it, wanted to mock him until Nate did something about it, wanted to make him tea and kiss his face and demand his attention until Nate forgot about work and Jonathan Nash and everything else that made him look tired in the afternoons, everything that put crinkles around his eyes.
He wanted. He shouldn’t want that.
He didn’t answer, jus
t shoved his phone under his pillow and buried his face in the covers, and tried not to see Nathaniel Scott’s smile behind his eyelids.
Chapter 7
“Are you okay?”
Ewan jerked so hard he nearly fell off his chair. “What?”
It was Bianca. She waggled her eyebrows at him. “You’re staring at Nate,” she said. “Like you want to kill him.”
Heat crept threateningly up his throat. Ewan hunched, realized he was doing it, and tried to sit up straight. “I don’t want to kill him.”
“You’re staring at him.”
“I like that shirt,” Ewan said, trying to come up with an excuse. It was a nice shirt, charcoal grey with button tabs over rolled-up sleeves. It went with Nate’s slacks, the plain heavy belt. The shoes, though, were too shiny for Ewan’s taste. He’d have preferred heavy boots, something with stomp in it. He had been wondering if he should tell Nate this, but also wondering when he’d started to care about what Nate wore to the office.
“You like Nate’s shirt.” She sounded unconvinced. “You care about shirts.”
“Can’t I care about shirts?”
“You dress like a homeless person,” she said, casually cruel.
For fuck’s sake. “Maybe I am a homeless person,” he snapped, and turned away from her, away from Nate and the whole stupid meeting.
Nate had spent the week out of state, at a conference he’d apparently hated, or at least that was what Ewan had figured from the way he wouldn’t stop texting. It was cute, really. Nate was bored out of his skull so he sent Ewan endless shower thoughts:
Ironically, this guy has been talking about efficiency for an hour and I have learned nothing.
Are cats Chaotic or Neutral Evil?
The AC remote in this room is so sophisticated I’m pretty sure I could port Doom to it.
Every time I think about my toes I temporarily lose the ability to walk like a sober person.