From Brussels, With Love

by Emy Calirel

  He was folding his shirt, smiling to himself as he imagined Jerome teasing him again about not owning any T-shirts, when there was a knock on his door.

  He went to the entrance with a spring to his steps but froze when he opened the door. Hannah stood on his front step, eyes red and puffy, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “Boo? What’s wrong?” Trevor asked, reaching for her. She threw herself into his arms, and he automatically closed them. She was shaking, sobs racking her body. “You’re scaring me,” Trevor said, rubbing her back. “What happened?”

  “That lying, cheating, son of a bitch bastard,” Hannah said between hiccups, her words muffled by Trevor’s shirt. “He’s not divorced at all. He’s still with his wife, and I was just… I was just….”

  She couldn’t finish her sentence, tears breaking her voice. Trevor took a couple steps back so he could close the door and hugged her until she calmed down. When she finally stopped crying, Trevor pulled away so he could see her. She looked so sad and heartbroken, he couldn’t imagine leaving her.

  “Come on,” he said gently. “Go sit down. I’ll get you some tea and then we’ll talk.”

  Hannah sniffed and nodded, her gaze on her purple slippers.

  Trevor had just put the water to boil when his intercom buzzed.

  “It’s my taxi!” he called to Hannah. “I’ll be right back.”

  He grabbed his wallet from the table next to the front door and hurried down the four flights of stairs. He apologized to the taxi driver, tipped him generously for the bother, then ran back upstairs. When he made it back to his place, out of breath and his legs burning, Hannah was in the hallway. She looked lost but determined as she met his gaze.

  “I forgot this was your weekend in Brussels. I’ll drive you to the airport.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going anywhere.”

  He took her arm and led her back toward the sitting room, worried at how easily Hannah followed him. His strong, independent best friend was completely subdued. When she was on the couch again, Trevor sat on the table in front of her so they would be face-to-face.

  “Let me call Jerome while I make you that tea. I’ll be right back, okay?”

  Hannah sniffed and wiped a new tear from her cheek. “You were so looking forward to this weekend. I know how much you miss him. It’s unfair to keep you here.”

  Trevor took her hands, waiting until she looked up to him. “I do miss him, but you’re my best friend, and I’m not leaving you like this. He’ll understand.” He hoped like hell Jerome would understand and not be mad.

  “Thank you,” Hannah whispered.

  “No need.”

  Trevor stood up and kissed her head before going to the kitchen. He put the kettle Hannah had turned off back on and took out his phone to dial Jerome.

  “Hey,” Jerome said, his evident smile behind that single word making Trevor’s heart ache. “You’re already at the airport?”

  “I can’t come.” Trevor bit his lower lip.

  “What? Why?”

  “It’s Hannah. You know Eric, the guy she was seeing?”

  “Her dentist crush, yes.”

  “Well, he told her he was divorced. Turns out he’s not and he’s still with his wife.”

  “Connard,” Jerome muttered.

  Trevor glanced at the door, even though he couldn’t see the couch from the kitchen. “Hannah just found out, and she’s devastated.”

  “Yeah, I can imagine.”

  “I could come next weekend,” Trevor offered. “It’s last minute, but I’m sure I can find some flights.”

  The kettle clicked off, and Trevor grabbed a cup and tea bag, preparing Hannah’s drink while they talked.

  “Next weekend is Halloween. I have tours scheduled every night, and I promised Mariam I would help out on Saturday. She’s hosting a Halloween art-and-craft afternoon for the kids at the library. Twenty kids between ages three and ten are scheduled to show up. I can’t bail. And I’m working the weekend after that.”

  Trevor closed his eyes and thumped his forehead against the closed cupboard. He missed Jerome so much.

  “I’m sorry.” Trevor tightened his hold on the phone. “I can’t leave her.”

  “And you shouldn’t. Without Quentin, I would have made a huge mistake when I learned the guy I had been seeing for two years was actually married with kids. The betrayal hurt more than the breakup. She came to you, but I was on my way to trash Brice’s place when Quentin stopped me. He would have sued.”

  “What happened after Quentin found you?” Trevor asked, pouring the boiling water onto the tea bag.

  “He got me drunk as a quince. We spent the evening trash-talking everything and everyone, but I don’t remember much of that, honestly. The next day, he found Brice’s home number and called the landline to tell him not to bother coming by. That all his stuff would wait for him at the dump, where it belonged. The wife answered. I think he still feels bad about that. She didn’t deserve it.”

  Trevor dunked the bag up and down as he listened, the smell of red berries invading the kitchen.

  “I’m just making her tea.”

  “Different technique, same level of care. At least she has a shoulder to cry on and someone she trusts to hurt with.”

  “Maybe I’ll get her drunk tomorrow.”

  Trevor dumped the tea bag in the trash. He didn’t want to hang up, but he needed to go back to Hannah. As if he was reading his mind, Jerome spoke.

  “You should get back to her. We’ll talk later.”

  “I miss you.”

  “Me too.”

  “I’ll find a way to come to you soon,” Trevor promised.

  “Okay.”

  “No way I can talk you into buying a webcam so I can see you in the meantime?” Trevor had tried already to talk Jerome into it but had given up when his suggestion had led to them almost arguing.

  “Goodbye, Trevor. Say hi to Hannah for me when she feels better.”

  Chapter 12—Jerome

  JEROME WAS at the end of his rope. Between creating new designs for the holidays, working, and Halloween, he had barely had any time for himself. And Trevor had been traveling back and forth between Ireland and Italy, so stressed out and busy, too, that Jerome hadn’t been able to talk to him on some days.

  And now, his heater was broken, had been for the last two days, and the repairman was calling to cancel tomorrow’s visit to fix it. Something about missing parts. It was all Jerome could do not to yell in frustration. He was arguing with the technician, pacing around his apartment to keep his anger in check, when someone knocked on his door. Jerome closed his fists. He did not need more trouble that evening.

  He opened the door abruptly, ready to tell off whoever was on the other side, and froze, the words caught in his throat. Trevor was on his front step, looking absolutely gorgeous in his black suit and gray scarf, his suitcase by his feet.

  Six weeks. They hadn’t seen each other for six weeks. Jerome hung up on the still-talking repairman, threw his phone on the nearby counter, and grabbed Trevor’s scarf to pull him into a bruising kiss. Their teeth connected painfully, and Trevor stumbled under Jerome’s pull, but he didn’t back away, his arms around Jerome to keep them as close as possible.

  The meaningful cough of a neighbor walking by pulled them apart. Jerome’s heart beat wildly, desire coursed through his veins, and his fingers itched to touch Trevor again. He took Trevor’s suitcase and rolled it inside with just enough care to not make the laptop case resting on it fall. His front door slammed shut, and when he turned around, Trevor was right there, his eyes dark and lips slightly parted. He pushed Jerome against the wall and renewed their kiss, passion burning between them. Jerome fought with Trevor’s scarf and jacket, throwing them haphazardly around the room as soon as they came free, needing to reach hot skin like he needed air.

  He pushed back from the wall and turned them around to slam Trevor against the door. Trevor hissed as his hip connected with the
handle, his hands tightening on Jerome’s arms.

  “Sorry,” Jerome said against his lips, making them walk a couple steps backward as he struggled to unbutton Trevor’s shirt.

  They crashed into the table, the wooden legs scratching against the floor as it slid back.

  “Don’t care,” Trevor said, breaking their kiss just long enough to pull Jerome’s shirt over his head.

  They stumbled their way to the bed, shedding clothes as they went, bumping into furniture in their urgency. They had barely landed on the bed in a tangle of limbs when Trevor rolled away from Jerome. He wrenched the nightstand drawer open and threw the lube and a condom at Jerome before getting on all fours, the invitation clear.

  Jerome put the condom on, squeezing the base of his erection to quell the urge to come, and poured cold lube on his hand. He carefully pushed a finger into Trevor, but Trevor moved away.

  “No prep,” he groaned.

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Jerome reached for him again, but Trevor grabbed his wrist and pushed his arm away. He looked over his shoulder, eyes blazing.

  “I said no prep. I don’t need it or want it. I just want you.”

  Jerome hesitated for a second, but the fire in Trevor’s gaze was impossible to resist. He got on his knees behind Trevor and added more lube to his hard cock before pushing gently, opening Trevor slowly, his hands rubbing soothing circles on Trevor’s skin. Trevor grunted, his head down between his shoulders.

  “Jerome, fuck me,” he said between clenched teeth.

  Jerome pushed deeper, closing his eyes to find restraint. “I am.”

  “No. Fuck me!” Trevor suddenly pushed back, taking Jerome whole. Jerome froze. “Come on,” Trevor said, moving. “I need to feel you. I want to ache. I want to be unable to move tomorrow—” He gasped as Jerome put his hand on his lower back, finding the perfect angle for his cock to rub against Trevor’s prostate. “—without being reminded of what you did to me. Who I belong to.”

  Jerome grabbed Trevor’s hips to stop him from moving. He took a second to get himself under control before he pulled almost all the way out.

  “Is that what you want?” he asked, slamming back in hard.

  Trevor cried out. “Yes!”

  Jerome did it again, angling himself better. “You want to be unable to walk tomorrow without feeling me?”

  “Yes. Please, Jerome, please.” Trevor lowered his head to the pillow.

  The line between lust and love blurred as Jerome thrust into him, fucking Trevor as hard as he could, intoxicated by Trevor’s submission, his smell, the way he felt under Jerome’s hands and around him.

  Trevor clenched and unclenched his fists on the sheets. He moaned broken words and pleas almost constantly, begged and pushed back against Jerome for more and for harder until he came on a strangled cry. His cock emptied on the bed without him or Jerome touching it, his whole body taut as a string until his legs gave out and he fell on his stomach. He was quivering, breathing hard, and Jerome wanted to slow down, give Trevor time to get his bearings back, but he couldn’t. His own orgasm was building, his toes curling and legs burning with exertion. His world imploded as he came, pushing himself as deep into Trevor as he could. The intensity of his pleasure stole his breath away. He was dizzy when he carefully pulled out, taking care of the condom quickly before he crashed on his back next to Trevor, the cold of the room cooling the sweat on his skin.

  Trevor sprawled on the bed, his back rising and falling as he panted, his face away from Jerome.

  “Are you okay?” Jerome asked, reaching out to him. “Did I hurt you?”

  Trevor slowly turned his head toward Jerome but didn’t move a muscle otherwise. His eyes were hooded, and he looked completely spent, his bottom lip split where he had bit into it. He licked his lips before he spoke, seeming to gather his words.

  “I could really use a hug right about now,” Trevor whispered.

  Jerome immediately opened his arms and shifted closer for Trevor to lie half on top of him, his head on Jerome’s chest and his leg over Jerome’s waist.

  “Did I hurt you?” Jerome asked again, worry twisting his insides. “I didn’t mean to.”

  Trevor turned his head just enough to be able to kiss Jerome’s skin. “You didn’t. You were perfect.”

  They stayed quiet for long minutes, soaking in the moment and each other, until Trevor lifted himself up on his elbow to look down at Jerome.

  “I really missed you.”

  “I missed you too. I’m so glad you’re here.” Jerome’s stomach dropped when he remembered he was opening the store that weekend. “I need to work tomorrow, but you could come with me?” He couldn’t imagine spending the day away from Trevor now that he had him again.

  Trevor shook his head, never looking away from Jerome. “You don’t work this weekend. I called Quentin and asked him for a favor. Surprise.” He brushed his lips against Jerome’s before lying back down, tucking his head in the crook of Jerome’s shoulder. “I needed to see you,” he said quietly.

  Jerome shifted and held Trevor tighter.

  “It’s really cold in your flat,” Trevor said, his body racked by a shiver. “Is this normal?”

  Jerome reached for the blanket they had kicked to the foot of the bed, and pulled it over them.

  “No. Nap and then we talk?”

  Trevor sounded already half-asleep when he agreed.

  JEROME COULDN’T remember the last time he had so much trouble getting out of bed. The cold made his apartment uncomfortable, and making out with Trevor in their warm cocoon under the covers had felt too amazing to think about moving.

  Around eleven, hunger won and drove them to leave the bed.

  Wearing pajama pants and two sweaters, Jerome stood in front of the too-bare fridge, looking for something appealing to cook for brunch. A key slid in the lock, followed by the telltale click, and before he could react, his mother eased the door open.

  “Maman?”

  She frowned as she came in carrying plastic bags, a bright blue scarf around her neck and her white hair perfectly curled as usual. “I thought you would be at work today,” she said in French.

  Jerome froze midstep toward her, his eyes widening. “Oh putain, the repairman! I’m sorry. He canceled last night, and I meant to call you but—”

  The door to the bathroom opened, and Trevor stepped out, wearing nothing but a towel loosely hanging around his hips. “We really need to talk about the col—” Trevor startled and immediately straightened.

  Brigitte’s wrinkly face lit up as she smiled. “But you forgot,” she finished for Jerome. “I can see why.”

  “Maman.” Jerome groaned, resisting the urge to laugh. He wasn’t sure if it was because it unfortunately wasn’t the first time his mother had caught him, or if it was from nervousness. “Trevor, meet my mother, Brigitte.”

  Trevor’s expression reminded Jerome of the kids back in middle school, when the principal would catch them making out near the dumpsters. He had turned a few shades redder and was clutching the towel like his life depended on it.

  “Bonjour, madame.”

  Jerome melted at Trevor’s Irish accent when he spoke French.

  “Pardon, je vais….” He pointed behind him with his thumb. He glanced at Jerome in panic and walked back into the bathroom.

  Jerome watched him disappear before turning back toward his mother. She had a huge smile on her face and her eyes danced with amusement.

  “So, that was the famous Trevor?”

  Jerome nodded.

  She kissed his cheek before putting her purse on the table. “I approve.”

  “Stop it,” he chided her, gently hitting her arm. “Let me bring him some clothes. I’ll be right back.”

  “Take your time, mon grand. I figured the fridge would be empty, so I bought groceries. I’ll just busy myself putting things away.”

  Jerome went to Trevor’s suitcase, resting open in the corner, and picked up the first shirt
and pants he found. He pushed a discarded pair of boxer briefs under the bed with his foot on his way to the bathroom.

  Trevor was sitting on the closed toilet lid, the towel still around his waist. His blush hadn’t yet faded.

  “I figured you would want some clothes,” Jerome said, closing the door behind him.

  “This is not how I pictured meeting your parents.” Trevor stood up and took his clothes, letting go of the towel. It fell on the tiled floor, and Jerome let his gaze travel down Trevor’s body. He would never get tired of checking him out. “Actually,” Trevor said, putting his shirt on. “I didn’t think I would ever meet your mother. You told me she passed away.”

  Jerome leaned back against the door and crossed his arms on his chest. “I grew up with two moms. Maman Brigitte, who you just met, and Mama Ingrid.”

  “Jerome?” Trevor asked, looking up with his eyes wide. “Where is my underwear?”

  Jerome couldn’t help it. He laughed. “I forgot to grab you some.”

  “You’re kidding, right? Not only do I meet your mother half-naked, but now I have to go back out there commando?”

  He looked so dismayed, Jerome laughed harder. “At least your pants are soft,” he said between chuckles.

  Trevor pulled his pants up. “I hate you.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  Trevor glanced up with a small smile, his gaze softer. “No, I don’t.”

  “Do you mind if I ask maman to stay? She drove over an hour to be here because I was supposed to be at work, and the heater technician was scheduled for today. He canceled, you showed up, and I forgot to call her.”

  Trevor carefully zipped his pants up. “I don’t mind, but can I invite you two for lunch?”

  Jerome was about to say no, but Trevor looked so nervous and uncomfortable, the refusal died on his lips.

  “Sure. I’ll let her know.”

  Brigitte was passing the sponge over the kitchen counters when Jerome joined her.

  “Maman, you don’t need to clean my house.”

  “Sorry. Habit.” She put the sponge back into the sink and brushed her hands. “Well, time for me to go, since you don’t need me after all. There’s some chicken in the fridge, and leftover bourguignon I made yesterday.”