by J. P. Oliver
“You can take my spot,” Abella said, pulling herself off of her towel. She brushed the sand from her legs, flicking her fingers. “I was about to go in anyways.”
Fred thanked her and stretched out over her towel, allowing the brilliant sun to bake the rest of the wet off of him. I watched as he shut his eyes against the light and signed happily. “I can feel you watching me, Hassan,” he hummed, peeking one eye open. “Like what you see?”
I hummed, not bothering to hide my appraising. I did, in fact, like it. “Abella seems… not as bad as I thought she would be.”
“Not to say I told you so, but….” I flicked some sand at him. He scoffed, shutting both eyes again. “You don’t want to go in the water?”
“Maybe later.”
He rolled onto his stomach, tanning his already dark back. I suspected it had less to do with getting an even tan, and more to do with it was easier to talk this way, to look at each other while we spoke. “You alright?”
“Yeah?”
“You’ve seemed sort of, uh….” He ran a finger through the sand. “Quiet?”
I raised a brow. “Am I not always quiet?”
“Shut up—Hassan, you know what I mean.” Fred shrugged his shoulders.
Tell him.
No, it was a terrible idea.
Tell him.
I’d made stupider decisions before, though.
“I’ve been… thinking.”
“Oh?” Fred grinned. “That’s unusual for you.”
I ignored the playful barb, turning out to face the ocean, neverending, sparkling. The words came out faster than I could control. “I think I’m in love with you.”
Fred sat up faster than I had ever seen him move. He stared at me with wide eyes and while I pretended to be unaffected by it, I was beginning to worry inside. My heart was kicking up faster. Shit, shit, shit, that was not the right way to phrase it. I could have done it gentler. I could have led into it better.
But, that wasn’t how I did things.
I needed him to say something. A speechless Fred was more terrifying than a blabbering one. “Did you hear me?”
He spoke quickly. “I heard you. I just….”
You fucked it up.
I wanted to give him a way out. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to—”
“I do, I do, I just….” He settled back on his legs, knees folded under him. He seemed more concerned than upset or surprised. “Is that something you feel… ready for?”
I thought about it. The conversation we’d had the night before about my relationship with Henry replayed in my head. I was still connected to him in some way, but it was impossible not to be; the relationship had taken a toll on me. After we’d split, it was hard to imagine a relationship that wasn’t going to make me feel that way. I shook my head slowly. “No,” I admitted. I pushed my glasses up my forehead. “Is anyone though?”
Fred was silent and while I wanted him to speak, I understood it was a lot to process. A lot of feelings to sort out. Sex and emotions and other things.
“Like I said, you don’t have to say anything.”
The waves crashed on the shore, their roar like a white noise. I felt less afraid than I should have been. “Hassan—” he began, but it was interrupted by the sounds of coughing, both of our attentions ripped away from each other and towards the sound: Abella was bringing Juan back to shore, as he coughed on an excess of salt water, Teresa following closely behind.
“Uh-oh.”
Fred grinned at me, apologetic. “Let’s talk about this later?”
I wanted to sort it out now. The waiting had the potential to drive me crazy. But it was a lot. I wouldn’t push it. “Later,” I said, before we were playing doctor, attending to Juan’s newly-sprung tears. Fred’s official diagnosis was tiredness and the only way to fix it was with ice cream.
Juan stopped crying after that.
I could tell Fred was tense on the way back.
He tried his best to not let it show, chatting animatedly with the kids or snapping pictures of everyone as the sun began to fall, the pier lighting up where it extended over the ocean. Abella offered to take a photo of the two of us and I wondered if we gave off a certain vibe—after all, it wasn’t like we had told anyone about hooking up. Still, his body was expressive as the rest of him and his touch seemed a little less sure when we pushed together, my arm coming around his waist as she snapped the picture.
The ride back was a quiet one. The kids both passed out the second we hit the highway, and Abella followed soon after, Juan snoring, his head laid out on her lap. Fred fiddled with the radio, switching stations often instead of talking. I could count the miles between here and home, anxious for the gap to get smaller.
I wasn’t a fan of shelving things for later. If a problem arose, I dealt with it. If there was an issue, I wanted to debate it, discretion be damned. But this wasn’t just about me. I had sprung the ‘I possibly maybe love you’ on Fred in the first place; the ball was in his court now and if space was what he needed to think before speaking, then so be it.
He was aware of me waiting, I think. Fred wasn’t a secret agent or anything, but he was perceptive. I lingered in the background, moving about the kitchen to busy my hands and pass the time as I waited. I could hear him chatting lowly with Abella, reminiscing on the day we’d shared. I heard Fred bid her goodnight and her footsteps grew softer and softer as she climbed the steps to tuck her kids in for the night.
I thought about grabbing a glass of water.
I thought about my no drinking on the job rule.
I heard Fred’s footsteps drawing closer, nearing the kitchen.
Fuck it, I thought, moving to the liquor cabinet. I poured a small shot of whiskey into the bottom of a rocks glass, knocking it back; just a little liquid courage. I was rarely this nervous. It didn’t manifest itself in any kind of stomachache or tension in my fingers, but rather in a restlessness that would persist until the issue was dealt with.
“Hassan?”
His voice was low as it came from the doorway.
I turned to him. I’d faced war and stalkers, been blown up and shot at—hell, I’d been in a very deliberate car accident just a few days ago—but somehow this was far more nerve-wracking.
“Hey.” I set the glass down.
Fred eyed it and my position in front of the cabinet. He had questions, but didn’t voice them. “Hey.”
“Did they have a good time?” I scratched the back of my neck and leaned against the counter, trying to keep things fine, normal, casual. The small talk was killing me. “Abella and the kids?”
“Yeah, they did.” Fred rounded the island, demeanor lighter than mine. I remembered he was an actor; his original profession. If he was uncomfortable, he had the ability to hide it. “Juan and Teresa had never been to the beach before, so….” He raised his brows. “Very excited.”
“Good.” Despite my admission, I felt far away from him. Or maybe I was just projecting. “I, uh… everyone deserved to have a good day today. With all the shit that’s been going on.”
“Yeah.”
Fred looked away, licking his lips. “We should probably unpack the car….”
I didn’t want to keep sidestepping the issue. Fred knew it. I knew it.
“It can wait till tomorrow,” I told him, the suggestion firm. I didn’t ask to talk, but it was insinuated. I wanted him to make the decision himself.
Finally he looked at me. “We can… we can go upstairs if you still want to talk?”
I relaxed just a fraction. Finality was in sight. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
Fred grinned; it was small, almost nervous. I didn’t think a guy like him could be nervous. “Okay. My room.” He turned away from the island, pausing just before the door. With a sly expression, he pointed to the liquor cabinet. “And, bring the whiskey. Don’t bother with the glasses.”
I hadn’t been in Fred’s bedroom very often.
Usually we met
up in one of our offices, the living room, my bedroom once. As I shut the door behind me, I watched Fred wander over to his bed—it was a large mattress with expensive sheets. He gestured to the clear space next to him.
With whiskey in hand, I sat myself on the sheets, feeling like I was on trial.
“Fred—” I began.
“I’ve been thinking.” His voice spoke over mine accidentally, as if the words had been waiting there a while; waiting to come out. He gave me an apologetic look. “About what you said earlier.”
I nodded slowly. We held each other’s gaze a long moment before I spoke. “I’ve been thinking, too. It isn’t something I take back. It’s how I feel.” I shrugged, glancing at the window. “I don’t know. I’m not great at talking about shit like this, but… it isn’t something I can ignore anymore. Especially as an employee.”
Fred made a face, reaching for the whiskey. He spun the cap. “That isn’t something that matters. I don’t think there’s that dynamic between us. Employer and employee.”
“I agree.” I watched him take a sip, wrinkling his nose at the bite behind it. Affection flickered in my chest, annoyingly. “But it changes how I am around you. It’s less professional.” I paused. He gave back the bottle. “Obviously. We fucked, so… already not the typical employment scenario.”
Fred’s lips twitched into a frown. “You don’t…. Do you regret it?”
“No.”
He shook his head. “I don’t either.”
The corner of my mouth pulled up. I looked down at the bottle. “I don’t know. I haven’t felt this way about someone in a long time. How did you tell someone you loved them without sounding cheesy or cliche? “You’re optimistic. You’re… annoyingly persistent. You don’t listen to anyone or anything when you’ve made up your mind about something—”
His voice was flat. “I’m flattered.”
I clicked my tongue. “You’re not like anyone I’ve met before. There’s a lot of shit in your past, but it’s like it doesn’t touch you.”
I couldn’t remember being this candid and nice at once.
Fred smiled, though he tried to clamp down on it. “You really think all those things?”
“Yeah… yeah, I do.” I nodded slowly. “I don’t say shit I don’t mean.”
Fred hummed.
“Does it freak you out?” I asked.
“Does what?”
I shot him a look: my best ‘don’t be stupid’ look.
Fred deflated, sighing. “No,” and the look on his face was earnest. Genuine. “No, it doesn’t. I wanted to think about it. Make sure I said the right thing.”
He shifted closer, our legs brushing; Fred’s lips met mine in a chaste kiss. It was a feeling I wanted to get used to, but couldn’t allow. Not yet.
“I don’t want to lose you, Hassan,” he murmured. His hand settled over mine on the whiskey. I screwed the cap shut and allowed the bottle to settle to the wayside. “And, I… I don’t know that I’m ready to say it yet, but I know I care about you, and I know there’s….” His face twisted in thought. “There’s something there. Enough that I don’t want to end whatever we’re doing. It’s been a long time since I’ve been with someone I feel like I can trust.”
Looking at him, knowing he was in front of me, confirmed how I felt; I didn’t want to lose him either. I wanted to be around him, whether it was as his bodyguard or something more, and I would take whatever he gave me.
My lips brushed over his, our eyes closing; he inhaled, hands coming to either side of my face as he took the initiative, deepening the kiss. His tongue was quick to work its way into my mouth—not that I put up much of a fight. Maybe we should have been talking, but this worked too; Fred cared for me. Trusted me enough to keep me in his home, to give up control, to bring me into his bedroom.
I pulled the plush of his bottom lip between my teeth and he signed, a quiet little gasp that sparked a heat deep inside me. It was impossible not to recall the feeling of being inside him when we were kissing on his bed, to feel the same kind of heat stirring between us. He hadn’t said that he loved me, but I didn’t need him to; this was enough.
Fred’s hands moved slowly, fingernails grazing lightly back through my hair, the feel of it dragging goosebumps over my skin, hands hooking behind my neck. For a minute, there was no kissing; just breathing. It was the feeling of being with another person; to be comfortable with another person, to be sure of their intentions. Trust. The word echoed in my head. Fred trusted me with his life, with his body; I trusted him, too, enough to admit something as private as love.
Fred slid into my lap, legs parting on either side of my thighs, flexing wider when my hands pulled him closer. It was as if he couldn’t be close enough, a flurry of feelings mixing around in my chest. A desire to protect; a desire to admire. His neck tilted back as I mouthed along it, touching him with a new appreciation. I love him. The thought was simple and confusing, ecstatic and nervous. I could taste the salt water still stuck to his skin.
My hand drifted down the front of his chest and his body rolled to follow the touch, as if magnetic.
“Hassan,” and my hand ghosted over the front of his pants, cock straining under the fabric. Even if he didn’t love me, we had this. His breathing was shaky, a moan rattling out of him as I put pressure on him, the friction more than he’d had before but also not enough.
Slowly, Fred hooked his hands under the hem of his shirt, peeling it over his head and letting it fall away, mingling with the whiskey bottle, making an offering of himself—I had the sudden urge to give him everything he wanted, without question. It was a dangerous feeling, unconditional devotion.
My lips dragged from his chest upwards, over his collarbone and shoulder and back again, teeth pinching, tugging at his nipple. His hands found my hair again, voice lowering with his pleasure.
He squirmed in my lap. I was unmistakably hard beneath him and he was fully aware of it, giving an experimental roll of his hips. The moan it drew from me was smothered in the crook of his neck.
My fingers explored the lines of his back, moving in long strokes down his spine, lingering in the small of his back.
“Hassan,” he said again, gasping around it. He was shaking a little in my lap.
“I want you.” The truth of it was stark. I didn’t feel any kind of panic about it. “Even if it isn’t forever, I want this with you.”
“Will you stay here tonight?” he asked, tongue darting over his lips nervously—as if there was anything for him to be nervous about. When I kissed him, he melted into me and I could feel the beginnings of a smile forming beneath my lips.
“As long as you want.”
He stripped away my shirt in a fluid motion, a hand settling on my chest to guide me back against the bed; I gave into it without hesitation and it was easier this way for Fred to deepen our kiss and to rut our clothes cocks together, the friction of it slow and twisting. Our hands wandered; his nails scraped up my sides and it was a place that hadn’t been touched in so long, I had forgotten how sensitive the skin there could be.
My hips jumped at the sensation of it, grinding hard against his front. I could practically hear the idea forming in his head, predictably.
“Fred, don’t—” but he already was, nails scratching harder into my sides. Through gritted teeth, I groaned, glaring up at his amused face.
“Are we a bit ticklish, Hassan?” he purred, though the smile there was affectionate. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“So you couldn’t exploit it,” I huffed.
“Oh—” and he rolled his hips hard, intentionally desperate in their search for friction “—I will.”
I thumbed the hem of his jeans, digits slipping beneath them and his boxers, feeling the warm skin there. I scratched lightly where his ass began, just before it dipped into his most private space and I could feel his reaction to it.
Words weren’t exchanged as I slid them off of him, Fred helping with the button, and that was all it took for
him to straddle my body in his bedroom, completely naked, body in stark contrast to mine, still fully clothed.
“Fred,” I began, but his eyes darkened as he leaned over me, arms braced on either side of my face. His kiss was deep, our tongues tangling messily, and, before I could say much else, his hips were rolling, the pace punishingly slow—
“Fuck.” The word was breathed into my mouth as his fell slack, the sensation of his swollen cock dragging over the fabric of my jeans enough to give him this criminally fucked out look. I wanted to feel the same relief, but there was another part of me that wanted to watch. I derived pleasure from seeing Fred enjoy himself.
“Again,” I murmured, breath hot against his ear; with a shivering exhale, his hips snapped a little harder and he worked himself into a sort of rhythm, grinding against me. His tongue curled slowly around my finger, laving it with spit when it put it to his mouth—it wasn’t to silence him. As I drew it away, I reached behind him, wanting to give him as much as I could; wet with saliva, my finger traced his entrance, teasing against the ring of muscle.
He cried out, hips jumping sharply, cock grinding hard against mine.
“Fred,” I began, unsure of what I was going to say next. It was like going into autopilot. Everything with Fred felt natural, even when we were arguing about something.
He looked down at me with dark eyes, pupils blown wide and chest moving with his labored breaths. There was an urgency in his eyes, but it didn’t translate to his voice. He spoke slower and touched my face with an amount of reverence and affection I’d never felt before. I leaned into the touch like I was starved for it.
“I want these off,” he said, smile flickering over his face as he fingered my collar. He rolled off of me, watching appreciatively as I undressed, clothes unimportant, though I paused, catching the look on his face as my shirt came over my head.
His eyes roamed over me, fingers ghosting over his cock, and while, yes, that made my mouth water, it was his expression that did it for me. Fred’s face was overcome with a certain softness, his mouth set in an easy, leisurely smile.