From Brussels, With Love

by Emy Calirel

  “I found something you’re gonna like,” Jerome said, changing subject.

  “Yeah? What?”

  Jerome put his piercing between his teeth to show Trevor. Trevor’s eyes lit up, and he straightened. “You found your vibrating piercing?”

  “So you do remember last night.”

  Trevor tilted his head. “I remember some of last night. I remember your shirt buttons being way too small and being very fixated on that buzzing piercing I want to try with you.”

  “Well, we could try it if you want.”

  Trevor leaned closer, trailing his hand down Jerome’s side. “Are you asking me if I want a blowjob right now?”

  Jerome flipped them over on the bed, getting on top. “Now that your head is better.” Jerome kissed Trevor’s forehead, then his nose and the corner of his lips. “I know how I want to spend some of those hours we have left.”

  “Fuck yes. I like that plan.”

  His hands on Jerome’s waist, Trevor pulled him closer, their growing erections rubbing together.

  “You’re so easy, Mr. McGill,” Jerome said, circling his hips, his mouth brushing Trevor’s.

  “Only for you, Mr. Lambert. Only for you.”

  JEROME WAS already done with cleaning and restocking the store when Quentin arrived with their coffee.

  “Wow, what time did you get here?” Quentin put Jerome’s cup on the counter.

  “Around six. I couldn’t sleep, and there’s still no heat at my place, so I figured I might as well be here and work.” Jerome gratefully took his coffee. He needed it after a long night of tossing and turning in bed, unable to sleep because the cold sheets made Trevor’s absence even more obvious. “I’ll have to bail this afternoon for a couple hours, though. The technician is supposed to come and finally fix it.”

  “Yeah, no problem.” Quentin narrowed his eyes. “Are you okay?”

  “Of course.” Jerome busied himself by pushing things around behind the counter, avoiding Quentin’s knowing gaze. “Thank you for this weekend.”

  “No need. It was the least I could do after all the help Trevor has given me. I’m a bit ashamed to admit how many times I asked for his opinion in the last month.”

  Jerome looked up, startled. “Really? I didn’t know you two were still in touch.”

  “He didn’t tell you?”

  “He just told me he asked you for a favor. We try not to talk about work during our weekends.”

  Quentin snorted and reached out to poke at the love bite Trevor had left on Jerome’s neck. “I’m sure you don’t do much talking at all.”

  Jerome pushed his hand away. “Shut up.”

  “Seriously, though, I don’t mind switching my shifts with you when he comes to visit. All you have to do is ask. Contrary to popular belief, I do enjoy it when you are in a good mood.”

  Jerome smirked. “You just enjoy me not being on your case all day.”

  “Obviously. Did you really think it was about making my best friend smile? Come on.” Quentin huffed and winked before disappearing down the stairs.

  QUENTIN WAS bent over the end table they used as a desk when Jerome joined him.

  “Lunchtime,” he said, knocking on the doorframe.

  “Finally.”

  Jerome sat on the cardboard box next to Quentin and unwrapped his sandwich. It was their Monday ritual. Quentin would go down to work on paperwork, and Jerome would stay upstairs to deal with customers until the store closed for lunch break. Then they would eat together in the basement. Depending on their mood, they would tease each other, chat about their weekends, or have serious talks. That day, Jerome was grateful for it. He needed Quentin’s easy friendship after his weekend.

  “What’s on your mind?”

  “What?”

  Quentin looked pointedly at Jerome’s necklace, which he was unconsciously playing with. “You’re weird this morning. What’s going on? Something happened this weekend?”

  “Trevor met maman on Saturday. And the group.”

  Quentin bit into his sandwich, talking with his mouth full. “Laura texted me about that. I’m sorry I missed it. I was just too tired to come out. So you guys are official now.”

  “No. I don’t know.” Jerome forced himself to take a bite of his own lunch, even if he wasn’t hungry. “We haven’t really talked about what we are.”

  “Jer, he met Brigitte. He wanted to see you so badly, he almost begged me to take your shift. You light up every time your phone pings with a text from him, and you mope around when he leaves. Whether you want to admit it or not, you two are a thing now.”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  “You love him?”

  “He lives in Dublin.”

  Quentin stopped Jerome from taking another bite, catching his wrist and holding it until Jerome finally met his gaze. “That wasn’t my question.”

  There was no trace of teasing in Quentin’s blue eyes, and Jerome found himself nodding. “Yes. I think I do.”

  “It’s a good thing. Why do you look so scared? You think he doesn’t love you?”

  “No. I know he cares.”

  “So what is it?” Quentin pushed.

  Jerome swallowed around the lump that had been stuck in his throat since he had kissed Trevor goodbye at the airport. “He lives in Ireland, Quentin. I don’t know how long I can deal with phone calls and one weekend every six weeks.”

  Sympathy shone in Quentin’s eyes before he threw his arm around Jerome’s shoulders. “Ah love.” He sighed dramatically. “It breaks your heart as much as it warms you up. Lights you on fire and makes you all gooey.” He took a bite of his sandwich, not letting go of Jerome. “Makes your heart sing and your dick cry. Makes your inside tingly and sometimes your outside itchy.”

  Jerome couldn’t help it. He laughed. “You’re an idiot.”

  “And you’re gonna be just fine. No more blind dates for you.”

  “Hallelujah.”

  Chapter 15—Trevor

  THURSDAYS WERE becoming Trevor’s favorite days, even when they were tough. They usually meant a new postcard from Jerome and, when he was lucky, only one night left before they were together again.

  Emma had barely left his office after bringing the mail when Trevor jumped on the decorated envelope to see what Jerome had sent him this time. The latest design was a Christmas tree with the faded outline of Grand Place in the background. On the back, Jerome asked Trevor if he should add glitter to the tree.

  Before he could think himself out of it, Trevor dialed Jerome, giving himself a couple minutes break from his crazy day.

  “Hey.”

  “I don’t think you should add glitter. Glitter gets everywhere and can be kind of kitschy.”

  Jerome chuckled, the sound going straight to Trevor’s heart.

  “Did you call just to tell me that?”

  “No. I called because I wanted to hear your voice. Are you busy?”

  “Just give me a second.”

  Trevor listened to Jerome speak in French, and closed his eyes, relaxing against his chair. Hearing Jerome’s voice was calming Trevor in ways few other things could.

  “Okay, I’m all yours. The store is empty right now. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. It’s just been a long day.”

  “It’s eleven in the morning.”

  “My point exactly. I really like receiving your cards in the mail. They make my day.”

  “It’s the snail mail effect. Makes you feel cared for, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, it does. Speaking of caring, I’ll have to call you either early or late tonight. I’m going out to dinner with Hannah.”

  “I would prefer before. I’m tired and I have a headache building. I want to go to sleep early. How’s Hannah?”

  “She’s getting there. We’re caught up on all the seasons of The Great British Bake Off, but she’s tough. And I have to admit, I’m glad we’ve spent so much time together the last few weeks. She kept me from firing someone.”

  “Prob
lems at work?” Jerome asked around a cough.

  “Same old. Valentina doesn’t like any of the designs we suggested to her. She wants something simple but classy. Ronan keeps providing ideas she deems too snobbish. Everyone’s getting frustrated because we’re wasting time and money, and we’re already behind schedule. And the factory in Tuscany burned down, but Valentina refuses to look at other factories. She wants her products to come from her village in Italy, and she won’t compromise.”

  “So, you’re rebuilding the factory?”

  “So we’re rebuilding the factory. She’s very generous with her money, my boss not so much. He keeps nagging me to convince her to move the production to South Asia. Which of course won’t happen. And in all honesty, I’m glad it won’t. I’m with Valentina on that one. But I can’t tell my boss to just shut the fuck up, so I say yes, knowing damn well I’m gonna hear about it every fucking meeting, which is every fucking day!” Despite his best efforts, Trevor’s voice had risen as he talked, his fist clenched around his pen. He took a deep breath and forced his body to relax. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get all worked up. I’m just frustrated.”

  “It’s okay. I understand.”

  “Tomorrow cannot be here soon enough.” Someone knocked on the door, and Trevor sighed. “I have to go.”

  Jerome coughed again before clearing his throat. “Good luck with the rest of your day. Call me back if you need to.”

  “You too.”

  TREVOR HAD been waiting at the airport for a while, wondering where Jerome was. He tried calling him several times, but when there was no answer, he gave up and took a cab. His frustration grew when he had to knock twice before he heard movement from the other side of the door. The feeling was instantly replaced by worry when Jerome finally appeared. His unruly hair was sticking to his sweaty skin, his face white and eyes red. Even with his big sweater on, Jerome was shivering.

  Jerome looked at him in confusion. “Are you a hallucination?” he croaked.

  Trevor rolled his suitcase inside before closing the door behind him. Jerome’s apartment was almost unbearably hot and stuffy. Dirty dishes and laundry were all over the place.

  “You were supposed to pick me up at the airport,” Trevor said gently, reaching out to put his hand on Jerome’s forehead. He was burning up.

  “Sorry.” Jerome leaned into the touch and sighed. “Feels good. Gonna get ready now and be on my way,” he mumbled with his eyes closed.

  Trevor smiled and stepped closer, wrapping Jerome into a hug. “No hurry.”

  “You’re the best hallucination ever.” Jerome slipped his arms around Trevor’s back and under his jacket. His head against Trevor’s shoulder, he seemed to deflate, the heat from his body seeping into Trevor’s.

  “Not a hallucination,” Trevor said, rubbing Jerome’s back.

  “Even better.” Jerome sniffed. “I wanna smell you, but my nose is all stuffed up.”

  “I probably smell like boring meetings and airplanes right now.”

  Jerome hummed in agreement. “With expensive cologne on top. Very you. I like the way you smell. It means you’re really here.” Jerome’s voice was getting more slurred, his weight against Trevor heavier.

  “Hey,” Trevor said, taking Jerome’s shoulders to push him away. “Don’t fall asleep on me.”

  “You’re comfy and safe.”

  Jerome tried to tighten his hold on Trevor, as if to keep him from pulling away, but he was too weak.

  “Come on, back to bed. It’ll be cozier than standing up.”

  Trevor led Jerome back to his unmade bed before letting go of him to straighten the rumpled sheets.

  “It’s not if you’re not there.” A violent shiver racked Jerome’s body. “You’re going to leave again. I’ll fall asleep, and you’ll be gone.”

  Trevor took Jerome’s arm and helped him back to bed. “I’m not going anywhere right now.”

  Jerome curled onto his side and coughed roughly before wincing, his eyes tightly shut. “But you will. You always do. It’s not fair to have a boyfriend you always miss.”

  Jerome pulled his legs tighter against his chest. Trevor reached for the cover and tucked him in before he sat on the edge of the bed.

  He pushed Jerome’s hair from his face. “I’ll be here when you wake up. I promise. You can rest easy.”

  Jerome opened bleary eyes to look at him, but he closed them again quickly. Trevor spent a couple of minutes running his fingers through Jerome’s hair, worried at how hot Jerome felt. When Jerome’s breathing was slow and even, Trevor got up. Jerome’s weak grip on his wrist startled him.

  Jerome was looking at him, his eyes unfocused, pain shining in their feverish brightness. “Don’t leave me again,” he whispered. “Please, I love you. Don’t go again.”

  Trevor froze, his whole body turning cold. He gently pried Jerome’s hand from his wrist and put it back under the covers.

  “I’m not leaving,” he said, his voice thick. “I’m just going to call the doctor for you, and I’m coming back.”

  Jerome searched his face for another breath before more coughing made him moan and turn toward the mattress.

  Trevor found Jerome’s phone on the kitchen counter, with Trevor’s seven missed calls on it. He unlocked it and scrolled through the contacts in search of a doctor but couldn’t find any. Not sure what to do, he called Quentin.

  TREVOR COULDN’T sleep. Leaning back against the headboard, Jerome’s forehead resting against his hip and his arm thrown over Trevor’s legs, he kept replaying Jerome’s words over and over again in his mind.

  Jerome loved him.

  He already knew Jerome cared for him—that was obvious—but love? Love was stronger. Love was scarier.

  Jerome mumbled and shifted, caught in yet another feverish dream. He had had a lot of them already, his fever not going down despite the medicine the doctor had prescribed. He mostly muttered in French, so Trevor wasn’t sure what he was dreaming about, but his and Jerome’s mama’s names had been mumbled a few times.

  “Shh,” Trevor soothed, brushing his fingers over Jerome’s cheek.

  Jerome paused. “Cold hand,” he whispered. “Feels good.”

  Trevor smiled a little and trailed his fingers through Jerome’s hair, making sure he brushed the hot skin of Jerome’s neck as he did.

  “Even my eyes hurt.”

  “I know, love. It’s gonna get better.”

  Jerome coughed and tightened his grip on Trevor’s legs. “It’s worth it if it makes you be here.”

  Trevor’s chest suddenly felt too tight. He shifted and lowered himself on the bed, Jerome’s head on his shoulder instead of against his hip, so he could put his arms around Jerome.

  “Fuck,” Trevor whispered after Jerome fell back asleep. He could barely see him in the semidarkness, but he couldn’t look away. Despite the illness, Jerome was beautiful, his lips slightly parted as he breathed slowly, his lashes fluttering as he dreamed. So vulnerable-looking, it stirred something deep inside Trevor. “I think I love you too.”

  Chapter 16—Jerome

  JEROME FELT horrible. Too hot and too cold. Every muscle in his body hurt and he was so tired, he couldn’t think straight. It was like trying to function inside a cotton ball. A painful one.

  The flu was kicking his ass, but thankfully he could feel the meds working. By morning, he was able to move a little from the bed and eat some soup. Quentin had made it spicy enough that the hot liquid warmed Jerome’s insides, and he even temporarily recovered his sense of smell.

  Trevor was always there with him. Bringing him water and painkillers. Putting cool cloths against his flushed skin or trailing his fingers through Jerome’s hair. So caring and comforting, it made Jerome want to cry.

  “Come on,” Trevor said, putting his arm behind Jerome’s back to help him up. “You need to get up if you want that shower.”

  Jerome groaned but forced his body to follow suit, standing up on unsteady legs. He almost regretted talking about w
anting a shower, but he was covered in dry sweat and felt gross. The trip to the bathroom was a short one, and yet by the time Jerome made it to the shower, all his energy was gone.

  He undressed with shaky and uncoordinated hands while Trevor turned on the water and gave it time to heat up. Once inside the cubicle, Jerome angled the showerhead toward himself and leaned back against the cold tile, giving his body a rest. The hot water felt good, the pressure helping to ease the aches in his muscles a little, and Jerome closed his eyes. He was so tired.

  He startled when the glass door opened and Trevor stepped into the shower with him. Naked. The last time they had been in the shower together, Trevor had been the one leaning against the wall while Jerome sucked him. The memory made Jerome smile.

  “I’m too tired right now, but next time I’m in the shower with you, I’ll fuck you against that wall,” Jerome said, his voice rough.

  Trevor grinned, reached for the soap, and lathered his hands. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “I can do it,” Jerome croaked, coughing painfully when Trevor reached for him.

  “I know, but I want to do it. Let me take care of you.” Trevor washed him, his hands traveling down Jerome’s sore body gently. The sight should have been arousing, but Jerome was too weak, his brain too foggy to do anything but stand there. By the time Trevor was done, Jerome had completely zoned out. He whined before he could help himself when the hot water suddenly turned off, leaving him shivering. A second later, he was wrapped in a dry towel.

  “You’re burning up again.” Trevor passed his hand over Jerome’s forehead. “You should get back to bed.”

  “I want nothing more than getting back in bed.”

  “Let me change your sheets first.” Trevor pulled out a kitchen chair for Jerome to sit on. He quickly pulled the sheets from the bed and piled them in a corner before he turned to Jerome in question.

  Jerome glanced at the tall, thin dresser next to the window. “Top shelf.”