by Liz Jacobs
It didn’t last long after that. They panted together in the silence of the room until Dex’s voice broke and he tensed up—so, so hard—then shuddered beneath Nick for a wild moment as he came. Nick worked him through it, couldn’t seem to let go, because he felt and looked so good, but eventually Dex pushed his hand away. It was gentle, and Nick barely had time to feel stupid because the next moment, Dex tangled their fingers together and pulled until Nick landed on his chest.
“Fuck. That was one hell of a hand job, man.” There was laughter in his voice, and Nick hid his smile against Dex’s chest. He felt a kiss on top of his head just as Dex squeezed him harder from all sides. “Well worth waiting for.”
Nick, still smiling like an idiot, bravely settled his thigh on top of Dex’s. “You were waiting for it?”
“Babe, you’ve no idea.”
Despite himself, Nick lifted his head enough to catch Dex’s eye. “How long?”
“You really haven’t got any idea, do you?”
His face grew serious. He ran his fingers through Nick’s bangs, pushing the wet curls off his forehead. Nick followed every movement as if from outside of himself. He was both sluggish and completely, utterly aware. The duality of it all was threatening to upend him. He welcomed it.
“So pretty. You’ve been sort of driving me mad for months now. Months. If you don’t believe me, just ask Izzy.”
“Izzy knows?”
“Mate, Izzy knows everything. Well, most things. Hell, she knew about you, didn’t she?”
“Yeah.” They reeked. Nick inhaled, reveled in it. Both of them had done this. Made this thing happen between them.
And Nick hadn’t chickened out.
His reward was this. Dex, content beneath him. Dex, running a slow hand down Nick’s back, soft and electrifying, and like it was something he did every day. Dex, welcoming Nick against him, showing him everything he was made of. So beautiful and open and—and wanting Nick.
Nick smiled and drifted off.
+
He woke up to a dark room, huddled against the wall. Not where he’d fallen asleep. Startled, he sat up and nearly elbowed Dex, who was awake and lit up by the glowing screen of his phone.
“Hey,” Dex said as soon as he saw Nick.
He lay back down, careful, unsure how much of Nick Dex wanted covering him. Dex switched off his phone, threw it aimlessly over the side of the bed, and turned over so they were facing each other. He reached for Nick and Nick reached for him, and then they were kissing.
Nick had beard burn. His chin pricked against Dex’s, just the smallest bit of pain in all the pleasure, and his lips felt just a little sore. He was filthy, too, he could tell. A bit crusty, definitely sweaty.
He inhaled through the kiss.
So was Dex.
He smelled so good. No hint of anything but Dex—his skin, his sweat, his come, his breath. They kissed until Dex had Nick pinned beneath him, his cock hardening against the groove of Nick’s hip, his hands tunneling through Nick’s hair. Nick wrapped his leg around Dex. It felt like a place out of time, this silent darkness around them. Nick never wanted it to end. He ran his hands down Dex’s back, learned every shift of muscle, every bump of his spine. Each movement turned him to liquid. He went lower until they were rocking against each other with Nick’s fingers digging marks into Dex’s ass. God, he was perfect. He felt perfect. Everything felt perfect.
They came one after the other, mouths open on silent gasps. Nick was pinned by Dex, and Dex was heavy. Solid.
This time, they managed to clean themselves up, Dex sacrificing his shirt to the cause. Dex climbed off the bed and padded to the bathroom. Nick wished the light were still on so he could watch him in motion. Dex didn’t close the door, and Nick listened, half amused, half embarrassed, while Dex peed. That, too, felt intimate. Maybe a bit too intimate. Nick squirmed on the bed, pulled the sheet over himself, and waited.
When Dex climbed back into bed, they just lay there, staring at each other in the dark, tiny grins barely visible. This high up, the streetlights didn’t really reach, so all the illumination seemed to come from the moving haze of London, like a shifting, glowing sky blanket stretching out from below.
“You couldn’t sleep?” Nick whispered.
“I slept a bit. But then my phone went off. Forgot to set it to silent.”
Nick wanted to ask if it was anything important but decided it was probably not for him to know.
“And couldn’t really sleep after that.”
“How come?”
“Thinking.”
The dark really did give Nick courage. “About what?”
“You.”
“What about me?”
A rustle as Dex reached out and tugged a stray curl away from Nick’s forehead. The touch was light, but Nick shivered anyway. “Dunno, just—this.”
“This?”
A silence. “Yeah. This. I guess I’m just … happy.”
A flutter of wings in Nick’s belly. He reached up and touched Dex’s hand where it still rested against Nick’s hair. He curled his fingers around it, tugged it until he could touch his lips to Dex’s palm.
“And I was thinking about what you said earlier.”
“Which part?”
“About how you felt like you weren’t supposed to exist.”
He still couldn’t believe he’d blown up like that, but it had felt … good. Like a tiny door inside his chest opened and let some of the pressure out.
“And in a way, I know that feeling.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You never really see queer black kids portrayed much, either.”
Nick thought about it. He wasn’t sure what it was like in England. He only knew Michigan, really. America. “But … you’re so.” He didn’t know how to end that thought. Confident. Yourself. All the time. “You seem so comfortable.”
“I know. Wasn’t always like that.”
“I can’t even imagine that.”
“I hadn’t really … thought about it for years.”
Nick waited as Dex struggled to find words of his own.
“Man, I—maybe—fuck, sorry.”
Nick’s heart was beating fast, thump-thump-thump. In the meantime, Dex dropped Nick’s hand and ran his fingers over his dreads. Nick thought he saw them trembling.
“Fuck, I’m tired,” Dex whispered. “Okay, so … basically, my family are great, right? I love them. I knew I was gay really fucking early.”
“When?” Nick whispered.
“Like … eight, maybe? Nine?”
Nick couldn’t begin to imagine that. “How?”
Dex shrugged. “I just did. I can’t really explain it. It was part of me. Just like anything else.”
Nick couldn’t say anything to that, so he just waited.
“And I was fucking scared. ’Cos I didn’t know anyone else like that. Growing up, we lived in … well, definitely not where my parents live now. Birmingham was totally different, working-class and all that. There were black families around us, and brown families, and it wasn’t easy, but it was, you know. Fine. Good. My parents had good jobs, we were totally fine. Al was just a baby, or toddler, I guess, and it was good.”
“And then?”
“Dunno. I was a bit of a loner as a kid, to be honest. A real nerd.” Even in the dark, Nick must have been easy to read, because Dex laughed and raised a palm. “Swear to God. Proper Star Trek–watching and science geek. Don’t believe me, ask Alex, man.”
“Did you guys know each other?”
“Nah, we met at uni, but he’s seen it all by now. He’s quite the nerd himself.”
A part of Nick squirmed in not a bit of resentment. He hadn’t known that. He didn’t know so much about Dex. But, of course, that was how he operated. Sit back and don’t ask questions. Don’t make yourself known. He never learned to be an actual friend.
Dex laced their fingers together as he spoke, and Nick memorized every touch, took in every word. “Anyway, I
just—I knew that gay kids got the crap beaten out of them, heard enough queer jokes to last me a fucking lifetime.”
“Did anyone ever mess with you?”
“Yeah, a bit. Luckily, my growth spurt came early.”
There were some days when Dex seemed invincible to him. He was probably just over six feet, but he felt like a mountain of intimidation to Nick’s five eight. He always took up room as if it belonged to him. It was hard to imagine him ever being small.
“And then what?”
“Then I guess it wasn’t a good idea to continue calling the big black kid a fucking queer if you didn’t want consequences.” Dex’s voice was a harsh whisper. “Parents sent me to counseling once, though.”
“What—why?”
“Well … I came out to them sort of … dramatically.”
“How?”
“I came home one day with a gay porn magazine practically sticking out of my bag.”
Nick let out a sound like a croak.
“I’d sort of been trying to figure out how to tell them. I mean, I was thirteen, so I felt, you know, like a man. Rawr, my balls have dropped, I’m wanking off left right and center, so I must be brave and all that rot. Can’t live a lie, right?”
Nick swallowed.
“But I realized I couldn’t actually say it to them in words. So much for being a man. So I let my mum take my homework out of my bag, and dad was there, too. So was Al, by the way—he got an eyeful that day. An earful, too.”
“Were they mad?”
“Yeah, I mean—no. They weren’t happy. They wished I’d used my words, instead, and had at least made sure Al hadn’t been in the room.” They were palm to palm. Dex drew his hand up, and Nick’s followed like it was glued to it. “But in the end, they made their peace with it. Not the Al part, mind you. I got grounded for that stunt. But they pulled through.”
“And the therapy?”
“To make sure I was doing all right. I was. I guess. All right. But—” He broke off, made a frustrated sound. “I’m sorry, it’s stupid … here I’ve been all. I dunno. Ragging on Al and wailing on you, but I sort of … forgot, I guess.”
“Forgot what?”
The air between them felt thick, charged. He didn’t know that was possible when just talking, but … this felt like more than just talking.
“What it felt like to feel so alone. So different. Because my family’s … we’re different just in who we are, or, like. That’s what white people think.”
“How?” Nick suppressed the desire to squirm. Was he one of those white people?
It was impossible to tell what Dex was thinking. “Being black is different for everyone. But my dad’s family has been here for centuries. Like, genuinely, he can trace them back to the seventeen hundreds, but … he still gets asked where he’s from.”
Nick’s heart pounded in his chest. Thump. Thump. Thump. Dex was staring at the ceiling.
“Because people don’t believe that we’re British, you see. Fuck’s sake, he’s called Michael Cartwell, it’s not like—anyway, a lot of the other families we knew growing up were immigrants. From Ghana, from Trinidad, Nigeria … all over. So I guess it’s normal I got asked where my parents were from, but it fucking—I hated having to say it each time. Brum. Like, where the fuck do you think we’re from, the same bloody place as you, innit?”
Thump-thump, thump-thump.
“Nobody thought we were supposed to exist, either. And they saw us, every day, but on telly and everything, you just kept seeing segments on fucking … immigration this and that, and so much of the time, it was mostly dark faces. I know it’s all exploitative crap, but it sticks with you, doesn’t it? My dad’s a fucking accountant in a lucrative firm, my mum’s a head nurse, but we’re still seen as outsiders, I suppose. Because we don’t fit into their little narrative of who we should be.”
His voice had risen enough that Nick forced himself to stay still and not flinch, because raised voices always scared him, but Dex never had. Maybe at first. Now there was nothing separating them but air, and the only thing Nick flinched at was what Dex had unspooled before him. He thought back to when they first met. Had he been surprised that Dex was a biochem major? Yes, a tiny, vicious voice inside him said. Yes. You were.
He knew he had to say something, something to let Dex know that he was listening. Listening with his whole entire being. Nothing came to mind that sounded right, though. I’m sorry was pathetic, even he knew better than that. You’re so fucking brave was even worse. I wish I had your strength was equally bad.
In the end, it was Dex who lifted his head off their shared pillow and asked, “You all right? Was that … was that too much?”
Nick screwed up his courage, tried to line up proper words. They refused to marshal themselves into obedience, so what came out was, “I didn’t … I didn’t know.”
Which was the stupidest of all. Dex had said something to him once. He had pointed at himself and let Nick know he knew exactly what it was like to feel different. Black. But if difference curdled into fear and humiliation in Nick, it seemed to blossom into confidence and strength in Dex. Nick hadn’t known because Dex had never shown it. But here he was, naked in Nick’s bed, laying it out in stark works, and all Nick could think was, How do you do it? I could never—will never—be as brave as you.
Before Dex could say anything in response, Nick rose up on his elbow. He felt his entire body flush as he said, “I mean, I knew intellectually, obviously, but you’re—you never—” He swallowed. “I guess you never show it.”
Dex was quiet for some time. Nick became aware of the prickling of shame all down his spine. How quickly could he ruin a beautiful thing? Or for how much longer could he hide the truth of his own cowardice and cluelessness from Dex, and how had he even managed to do it for this long? In fact, how was Dex even here? Nick had had an emotional fucking breakdown and spilled beer down his own duvet, but Dex had held him, and had stayed, and called him pretty. Had kissed him. Was … was telling him things that felt so private, Nick could only hear them in the dark.
“I guess I was just always annoyed,” Dex said. “Annoyed and a bit angry. I guess I translated that into not giving a fuck after a while.”
“And do you?”
“I do. I give a lot of fucks,” Dex said, a flash of white teeth in the dark. His fingers were threaded through Nick’s curls, a heavy, comforting weight. “But I only give fucks I’m willing to give, if that makes sense. I know who I am, I’ve known it all my life, but … it took me a while to be all right with that, so I guess once I did, I managed.” He ran his fingers down until they were warming the skin of Nick’s nape and treading the dip of his spine. Nick shivered. “I liked how it felt to be me. So I made myself forget how it had been before.”
Nick took that in. Could he possibly ever come close to feeling like that? He didn’t think so. Nick wasn’t Dex. Dex, who took all that life had thrown at him and made himself powerful with it. Nick had let his own troubles pelt him into cringing submission.
He didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t ruin the moment, so he took the cue from Dex and ran his own hands down Dex’s body. He started with the spot over his heartbeat, his hand pale against the expanse of Dex’s chest. Then he let his fingers wander over the dips and bumps of Dex’s abs, not washboard but hinting at the strength beneath. Dex was rounded, beautiful, warm. When Nick’s palm reached the fuzziness below his navel, Dex scooted closer, took in a hissing breath.
Nick felt the heat of Dex’s touch progress all the way down to his ass and shuddered. With some force, he willed all his other thoughts away, filed them away for after, after, after. Please, let him think about it after.
“Yeah,” Dex breathed against him. “Fuck talking.” Dex grinned and closed the distance between them.
25
Izzy was rummaging around in the back of the fridge when her phone buzzed in her pocket. Thinking nothing of it, she nearly dropped it when Nat’s name came up with “new iMes
sage” on the screen.
She couldn’t remember when she’d swiped her phone open faster.
Hiya. So we should probs talk. Maybe drinks tonight?
Izzy blinked. Then, before she could second-guess herself, she typed out a swift reply.
Yes please. Arms?
The reply dots appeared almost immediately. Disappeared. Appeared again.
How about that bar with the ducks?
Sure. 8?
See u then
Well.
Izzy clutched her phone in her hand and felt her thoughts racing ahead to tonight. What did we should probs talk actually mean?
+
By the time eight o’clock came around, Izzy had wound herself up into a frenzy.
We should probs talk, she had decided, now translated to one of three things: We need to stop being friends because … reasons, I’m sorry for being a stroppy cow will you forgive me, or, well, Izzy couldn’t actually think of a third. That was the one that worried her most, an unidentifiable mass of ectoplasm ready to suck up one of Izzy’s most important friendships. If it was even still a friendship. Did it still count as a friendship if you hadn’t actually properly spoken in nearly two months whilst still technically living together and hanging out with the same group of people?
A smaller part of her felt mean and petty and ready to lash out because it seemed like Natali was calling the shots. Hadn’t Izzy meant to stop caring as much at some point?
She snorted. Good one.
Anyway, Nat had reached out earlier. It was clear she was, at least, trying. Right?
Izzy had pregamed a bit at home, sucking down a glass of wine like it was her job, so by the time she walked through the door—and she couldn’t help thinking Nat had picked a neutral ground for some nefarious purpose—she was more or less a tremulous mass of nerves.