From Brussels, With Love

by Emy Calirel

  Trevor looked so amazing caught in his pleasure, Jerome had to just enjoy the sight for a moment.

  “Look at me.” Jerome put two fingers against Trevor’s lips. “Prep or no prep?” he asked after Trevor complied.

  Trevor poked his tongue out, licking Jerome’s fingers, and Jerome pushed them into his mouth gently.

  “Make sure they’re dripping so I can get you all nice and ready for my cock, then.”

  Trevor moaned around Jerome’s fingers and hollowed his cheeks, his eyes never leaving Jerome’s. Jerome’s pants became unbearably tight, and he had to let go of Trevor’s hip to unzip them.

  “Good man,” Jerome praised before taking his fingers from Trevor’s mouth, immediately replacing them with his lips.

  He kissed Trevor as he slid a finger into him, then another, their naked cocks rubbing against each other. Trevor was moaning into Jerome’s mouth, his hips constantly moving. Trevor lowered his hands, putting his arms around Jerome’s neck, and Jerome pulled back.

  “Hugs later. Turn around, hands against the door,” Jerome said, taking the bottle of lube from his back pocket. Trevor looked already half-undone, his cheeks red and eyes bright. He turned around slowly. When he reached for his pants to push them down his legs, Jerome slapped his ass, hard enough to startle Trevor but not hard enough to hurt. “I said hands against the door. Except if you want to stop or slow down.”

  Trevor froze and seemed to hesitate for a second before he did as told, putting his palms flat against the metal door.

  “No slapping,” he said quietly.

  Jerome caressed the asscheek he had hit and kissed Trevor’s shoulder in apology. “No slapping,” he repeated, assuring Trevor he had heard him.

  Jerome watched Trevor as he lubed up, the way he shifted his feet in anticipation, sweat sticking his white shirt to the skin of his back, so trusting it made Jerome’s heart ache.

  Jerome took Trevor’s cock in his hand and stroked it as slowly as he entered him, relishing how tight Trevor felt, how heavy Trevor’s erection was in his hand. When he was all the way in, Jerome paused and gave Trevor time to adjust, peppering his neck with kisses.

  “I want to fuck you hard and fast,” he whispered, giving small thrusts that made Trevor’s breath catch. “I want to make you scream and paint that door. Do you want that, too, mon coeur? Want me to make you feel good and show you who you belong to?”

  Trevor dropped his head between his outstretched arms and pushed back against Jerome.

  “I want to hear it, Trevor. Tell me what you want.”

  “I want you to fuck me hard and fast. Make me scream and paint that door. Show me I’m yours.”

  Jerome smiled and let go of Trevor’s leaking cock to grab his hips. He fucked Trevor hard, losing himself in his pleasure. He pounded him until Trevor’s continuous moans grew louder, until his hands curled into fists against the door and he started to beg for Jerome to touch him and let him come. Everything faded but the feel of Trevor’s body, the smell of sweat and arousal, the sounds of their passion invading the apartment. Jerome’s orgasm crashed over him fast, so intense he lost his breath as he came, holding Trevor’s hips so tight he was sure he would leave bruises.

  When Jerome opened his eyes, Trevor was shaking before him, thrusting back as he chased his own release. Jerome pulled out carefully and dropped to his knees between Trevor and the door. It took less than a minute for Trevor to scream and his taste to rush down Jerome’s throat.

  Jerome sat back against the door, panting and spent. Trevor trembled above him, his eyes closed and his forehead resting against the door. His clothes hung on his heaving frame, and he was covered in sweat.

  “Sit down before you fall,” Jerome said, his voice rough. Trevor fell on his knees like a puppet with his strings cut, and Jerome immediately reached for him. “Come here.”

  Trevor shifted to sit next to Jerome, against the wall, resting his head on Jerome’s shoulder.

  “Thought you wanted me to paint the door,” Trevor said, his voice a little slurred.

  Jerome closed his arms around Trevor. “I don’t like wasting good things.”

  Trevor laughed tiredly. “That was great. I’ll need a minute before I can move again, though.”

  Jerome sighed, his eyes prickling with an emotion he blinked away. “Me too.”

  They stayed quiet for a while, sitting on the floor together.

  “I’m not complaining,” Trevor finally said, “but what got into you?”

  A teasing comment was on the tip of Jerome’s tongue, but Trevor looked so earnest when their gazes met, he couldn’t do it. He wanted to tell the truth. To say that for days he had been feeling out of place and like he wasn’t good enough. Like he didn’t belong in Trevor’s world and never would. Feeling so overwhelmed with doubts and fears, he needed to get some control back. He couldn’t say all that, though, so he said it the only way he could.

  “Ireland.”

  JEROME FELT better, more centered and connected to Trevor, for about half a day. Until they had to get ready for the New Year’s Eve party at Trevor’s friend Matt’s. Jerome had planned on wearing his suit, but after the previous night, it wasn’t an option any longer. He ended up wearing his nicest pair of black jeans, a simple white T-shirt, and his suit jacket. Trevor looked edible in black slacks and a dark green sweater so soft Jerome wanted to bury himself in the fabric.

  Matt’s apartment was even classier than Trevor’s place. Slick black furniture and pristine white walls with some expensive-looking paintings hung around the room to give some color to the monochromatic space. It was about the size of Trevor’s apartment and currently filled with people in elegant outfits, all drinking champagne and talking about their jobs. Trevor had introduced Jerome to most of them, and they had seemed nice enough, asking questions about his job and life in Brussels. It had quickly become apparent they had nothing in common, though, and conversation died down as soon as Trevor left to talk with Matt.

  Jerome waited for Trevor to come back, observing people who peeked his way too often to be talking about anything else but him. The idea of getting drunk was getting more and more appealing. He finished his glass and glanced at his watch. One more hour until midnight. One more hour before he could kiss Trevor silly and convince him to go home to celebrate the new year in bed. And he needed another drink if he wanted to make it till then.

  He was making his way toward the bar when a tall black woman wearing a red minidress called his name. Jerome turned toward her in surprise.

  “We haven’t been introduced yet. Audrey Marchall, nice to meet you.” Audrey held out a thin, perfectly manicured hand to Jerome. “I’m a literary agent. Trevor showed me pictures of some of your comics,” she explained, when it became clear Jerome had no idea who she was.

  Cold washed over Jerome.

  “I work in children’s lit, so I can’t do anything with your comics, but I found your drawings really impressive and talked with a friend about them.” She handed a colorful business card to Jerome, who reached for it automatically. “Give her a call. She’s interested in talking to you.”

  Audrey turned around and left before Jerome could find anything to say. The blur of her words faded and growing anger replaced confusion. Jerome put his glass on a table and went in search of Trevor.

  Trevor stood at the kitchen sink, getting some water when Jerome found him.

  “Are you okay?” Trevor asked. “Was there a problem with my friends?”

  “How dare you?” Jerome fought to keep his voice down.

  Trevor straightened and his eyes widened. “What?”

  “You showed my work to one of your friends? Who gave you the right?” Jerome shoved the card Audrey had given him at Trevor.

  “You seemed distressed when you told me about them. I just wanted to prove to you that they are good. That you’re talented, and professionals think so too. I was trying to help you.”

  “But I never asked you to,” Jerome snapped. “N
ever gave you permission to share my work with anyone. The only reason you saw them was because I was too sick to hide them better.”

  Trevor’s lips tightened, but before he could defend himself, a man with incredibly red hair and a blazer came in.

  “Hey, mate! Kenny told me about China. Congrats!”

  Trevor paled, but neither he nor Jerome spoke before the redhead left the room with a bottle from the fridge. The tension was so thick suddenly, it was palpable.

  “China?”

  Trevor swallowed visibly and put his glass down. “Let’s go outside.”

  For a moment, Jerome entertained the idea of not following him, of making a scene right there, putting some ambiance in that shitty soiree. But it just wasn’t his style.

  “Before you yell, let me explain,” Trevor said as soon as Jerome joined him on the balcony. Their breath puffed before them, but Jerome was so angry, he didn’t care about the cold. “Valentina’s project is on hold until the factory is rebuilt, so my boss needed to assign me a new project. That’s what the meeting I was called into was about. A Chinese investor wants to import luxury spas to Europe. It’s a huge deal. Financially my biggest project yet.”

  “That meeting was two days ago. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because,” Trevor said, shifting and rubbing his hands against his thighs, “it’ll require me to travel to Asia often, and I knew you would be upset. I wanted to wait until tomorrow to tell you at home, where we could discuss it quietly.”

  “But you took the job.”

  “Well, yes. Of course I did.”

  “Without talking it through with me first.” Jerome snorted and shook his head, feeling empty suddenly. “This isn’t gonna work.”

  “What’s not going to work? I can’t back off now. We’ll find ways—”

  “Us,” Jerome interrupted. “We aren’t going to work. Let’s face it, Trevor, this is going nowhere.”

  “Are you breaking up with me because I took the job?”

  “No, I’m breaking up with you because you don’t care. You say you love me, but the job always comes first. You won’t commit. You made a huge decision, one that’ll affect not just you but also me and our relationship, and you didn’t think about discussing it with me. I wasn’t even the first one to know.”

  “It’s not like I had a choice. I couldn’t refuse the project.”

  “You just don’t get it,” Jerome said, his heart breaking. “We don’t belong together. You want a partner you can see on the weekends, and I want a husband and a house I can come home to each night. You prioritize money and success, and I want time with my loved ones. You like fancy restaurants with extensive wine lists, and I love the small pizzeria down the street. All your friends wonder what you’re doing with me. Even without the distance, we never really had a future together.”

  Trevor’s face was cold, his blue eyes hard. “So you’re not even going to try. Like with your dreams and your mother’s story, as soon as it gets complicated, you give up.”

  “Don’t you dare bring Mama into this. It has nothing to do with it,” Jerome snapped.

  “Keep telling yourself that. You say I don’t care, but you’re the one who won’t give us a chance. Admit it, Jerome, I pulled you out of your comfort zone and you’re scared. You never fight for what you want. You just run from it.”

  That hurt, and Jerome took a step back. “Fuck you. I’m going home.”

  “Your flight is in two days. What are you gonna do, sleep at the airport?”

  “I’ll get an earlier flight,” Jerome said, his hand on the door handle.

  Trevor’s scoff made him look back.

  “How? You keep blaming me for being wealthy, but you can’t go through this world without money.”

  The lump in Jerome’s throat grew. With a last look at Trevor, he went back into the apartment and quickly made his way to the front door. How could he have been so blind to the rift between them?

  Chapter 21—Trevor

  TREVOR FELT empty, going through the motions like an automaton. He threw himself into his work and went to the gym every day, exhausting his body enough to sleep without tossing and turning in bed all night. Keeping busy at all times so he wouldn’t spend hours thinking of all the things he did wrong and how much he missed Jerome in his life. He’d thought Ronan had broken his heart, but it had been nothing compared to this.

  As January came to an end, bringing with it a gray sky matching Trevor’s mood, Trevor got ready for his first trip to China. If he had been excited about the idea when his boss gave him the job, he only dreaded it now.

  Emma, the mail clerk, sauntered into his opened office, making Trevor look up from his spreadsheet. She wore long dangling heart earrings, a pink top, and her usual smile.

  “Mail for you. There’s a letter from Belgium but no drawings on it. You should tell your friend to do them again. We were always looking forward to seeing them in the mail room.”

  Trevor swallowed heavily. “I will. Can you close the door on your way out?” he asked, forcing the words through the sudden lump in his throat.

  He barely heard Emma wishing him a good day or the click of the door closing behind her. His throat was tight and his chest hurt, caught between hope and despair. Not sure if Jerome was offering him a second chance or a final goodbye, he carefully opened the envelope and took out the larger-than-usual card slipped inside. On one side, Jerome had drawn a simplified map of Brussels with a small drawing marking each stop they had made that very first Saturday. On the other side, he had simply written “I’m sorry.”

  “Fuck,” Trevor breathed. “What are you doing?”

  He startled so badly when the door of his office suddenly opened, the card slipped from his grasp and fell on the ground.

  “McGill! Ready for China?”

  Mr. Banks entered Trevor’s office like he owned the place, his usual smug grin on his too-thin face. Trevor ignored him and picked up the card, putting it on his desk with the map side up.

  His boss glanced at it and frowned. “Another one of those drawn envelopes? I heard about them, and you need to tell whomever is sending them to stop. This is a business, not primary school. Your girlfriend better suck your dick instead of sending you doodles.”

  “Boyfriend,” Trevor said, surprising himself at how calm he felt. How much he didn’t care about the consequences anymore.

  Mr. Banks paled behind his fake tan. “You’re one of those pansies? You hid it from me.”

  “My sexuality is none of your business,” Trevor said, standing up to face his boss. “And yes, I’m gay. You spent fifteen years shaking hands with a gay man. Sir,” Trevor sneered, not caring about the hatred now clear in his boss’s eyes.

  Mr. Banks was fuming, his lips tight and nostrils flaring. “We’ll talk about that after you come back from China,” he said, taking a step back.

  Trevor stared his boss down. “Don’t bother trying to fire me without me suing you for discrimination. I’ll do you a favor. I quit.”

  Trevor couldn’t quite believe what he had said, but instead of dread and fear, all he felt was calmness and relief. He had spent so many years hiding and worrying, seething at homophobic comments and loathing his boss. His decision had been made, and it only left behind the thrill of finally being honest and free.

  “You can’t quit. Your flight is in two days!”

  “Well then, you better hurry up and find a replacement for me,” Trevor said, feeling bad only for the poor guy who would end up in his place.

  “I’ll ruin you if you quit now,” Mr. Banks threatened, his voice getting louder.

  Trevor’s smile was everything but kind. “No, you won’t. No one can stand you in this business. The only reason you still have clients is because you have amazing employees you don’t deserve. Now please, get out of my office so I can collect my things.”

  “This isn’t your office anymore. You’re fired!” Mr. Banks yelled.

  “You can’t fire someone who’s
not yours anymore.” Trevor put his hands flat on his desk and leaned forward. “You have two choices here. You get out right now and I leave quietly, or we go out there and make a big scene. I’m sure the others would love to hear all the things I still have to tell you.”

  Mr. Banks was red and huffing, and for a second, Trevor thought he might actually get punched. “If you’re still here in five minutes, I’m calling security.”

  “Please do. And close the door behind you—” The door slammed shut, interrupting Trevor’s words.

  Trevor logged off of all his accounts, turned off his computer, and gathered his meager belongings in a daze. His pens, the small fake cactus his mother had gifted him ten years earlier, the box filled with postcards still in his bottom drawer. He closed the door of the office he’d had for the last ten years without a second glance.

  TREVOR WAS nervous. When he had booked his flight the week before and spent the remaining days planning with Hannah and Quentin, it had all seemed like a great idea. Now that he was standing in Jerome’s apartment lobby, waiting for Jerome to come down, he was second-guessing everything but his need to see Jerome and talk to him. He fidgeted as he waited, equally impatient and scared. Whatever happened today, at least he would have given their relationship his best shot.

  Quentin’s part of the plan was to text Jerome about urgent mail, and Trevor was relieved when Jerome came down the stairs, the small silver key in hand. Trevor waited until Jerome opened his mailbox to step out from the corner he was hiding in.

  Jerome froze when he saw Trevor’s card, his back visibly tensing. Trevor’s heart beat wildly, and he wiggled his fingers, willing himself not to hide his shaking hands by putting them in his pockets.

  It took Jerome a long time to follow the instructions Trevor had written on the card and turn around. He wore faded jeans and a gray hoodie, his hair cut short, and finally seeing him again stole Trevor’s breath away. He had missed Jerome so much every cell in his body wanted to step forward and hug him close. He didn’t move, though. Jerome’s expression was guarded, and he looked tired, deep purple bruises under his eyes. They observed each other for what felt like an eternity before Jerome spoke.