by M. K. Lee
"You've not answered my messages in days, Matthew. Days. Are you going to tell me you've not got any of them? Lost your phone or something? Forgotten how to write?" Joel demands, simmering with hostility.
"I saw them. Might've even read a few of them," Matthew replies, deliberate and careful with his words. It has the desired effect: Joel flushes with anger, moving a step closer so that it feels like that anger is radiating off of him in waves against Matthew's naked skin. It's a reminder that he's standing there practically wearing nothing, and that is uncomfortable now that their intimacy seems long gone; he turns away, mumbling about getting dressed, but gets no further than a foot away before Joel's hand is curled tight around his arm just above his elbow, preventing him from going any further. He refuses to turn back though, and stands right where he is, still stubbornly looking the other way. Matthew hears Joel sigh behind him, sounding like he's trying to compose what he's thinking into coherent words.
"I thought something had happened to you, Matt. I thought—"
"Why the fuck would you care if it had?" Joel's words have Matthew whirling around and ripping out of his grip. His response clearly baffles Joel from the look on his face; in any other circumstances Matthew might find it hilarious.
"I—what?" Joel starts with, shaking his head as though to clear it of a concept he doesn't understand. "What? Why would you think I wouldn't care if you were—"
"We're fuck buddies, remember? Don't mean anything else to each other at all," Matthew hisses, glaring back at him. "Haven't you been reminding me of that all week?"
"I—"
"Every fucking message from you is about us fucking. I mean, I know; I get the message, loud and clear—that's all we're about. But—"
"What do you mean you get the message?" Joel blasts back at him, voice low and dangerous. "According to your football team they've never even heard of me before. I'm just a friend you happened to bring along last week to make up numbers."
"I never told them about you because what we do together is private," Matthew growls out defensively, shaking his head. "It's none of their business. None of anyone's business. Not that it matters now anyway, huh?"
"What's that supposed to mean?" Joel answers, glowering at him and trying to force the eye contact that up until now Matthew's been avoiding. Matthew braces himself for what he imagines is going to be the kick to his stomach from having to look Joel in the eye, and slowly raises his head.
"I mean," Matthew says, loaded with faux patience, taking shallow breaths in an attempt to calm down, "you've got nothing to say to me all of a sudden other than about getting off. And since you don't need me for that anymore, there's really no point to us having this conversation at all."
"What the fuck does that mean?" Joel asks, taking another step forward. Matthew allows himself a final glance over the face that's been occupying his mind for however long it's been now and closes his eyes to it, shaking his head again.
"I saw," he admits, small, quiet, so very drained. Tells himself to open his eyes, to look back at Joel when he says this to him. "I saw you. Tuesday night. On your date. Nice to know you've replaced me so quickly, huh? What did you wanna do? Try out another hole to fuck without giving this one up just in case it wasn't what you were after?"
"Replaced?"
"If you think I'm sharing—" Matthew fires back, thick with disgust.
"Sharing?" Joel repeats with a humourless laugh, "I'm sorry; I didn't know I was yours to share in the first place. Thought I was just someone for you to figure out how to fuck with before you moved on to what you really wanted."
"What I really wanted was never really on the table for us, was it, Joel? Just a hole to fill, or a cock to fill you. That's about the extent of my claim on you, right, Joel? We never meant anything else to each other at all. There was never affection, never friendship, never—"
"We had all of that and more before you laughed in my face at the idea of me being your boyfriend in front of all your friends last week," Joel cuts him off with, visibly shaking with how angry he is. "And as for never being on the table... you said from the beginning you never wanted that. Told me, repeatedly, every chance you got—"
"Why the fuck are you turning this around like I've done something wrong here?" Matthew all but spits at him. "If you didn't wanna do this anymore you should've just said. Instead of having me catch you—"
"What were you doing, spying on me?"
"I took the long way home—"
"Conveniently by my apartment—"
"Saw you through the window. With your date," Matthew presses on, glaring again, "I don't know why you're standing here all defensive after I saw it with my own eyes. Don't really know why you're standing here at all to be honest." But with every word he's saying, Matthew is nudging himself forward, closer and closer to Joel until his bare chest is glancing against Joel's jacket with every exhale of breath.
"You didn't see anything," Joel tells him, pressing a little forward himself. There's a charge in the glare they have for each other, both breathing hard for just how seething with anger they are. Seconds tick by with each of them silently daring the other to say something, until Matthew's breaking, pressing his chest hard against Joel's and kissing him brutally.
Joel kisses back just as frantically, hands down the back of Matthew's boxers and gripping painfully as he thrusts his tongue hard into his mouth. Matthew shoves him forcefully in the chest, making him stumble backwards before he grabs and pulls him forward again, kissing him back harder still with one hand clamped tight around his jaw to angle Joel how he wants him.
Matthew yanks at Joel's jacket, then sweater, then balls his fist in his t-shirt and pulls him up close and tight. He glares for a few seconds then tugs that over his head as well, fingers clawing at his jeans and yanking them down, giving Joel barely enough time to stumble out of them before turning on his heel and walking out of the room.
Joel follows practically close enough to be a second skin. Matthew shuts the door by shoving Joel back against it, glaring when the force of it bumps his head. He pauses, sees Joel's nod to show he's okay, then shoves his boxers down, presses both hands on Joel's shoulders until he's on his knees before him. Matthew ruts against him so his cock is rubbing against his face then grips his jaw tight and presses his cock against his lips. "Suck," he demands, groaning when Joel opens his mouth.
Matthew's so angry he has to fight against the urge to really go to town on Joel. Instead he forces a breath in and out of himself, presses his forearms flush against the door then drops his head between his arms, rolling his hips and fucking into Joel's mouth. He hears Joel struggle and pauses again, and when Joel wraps shaking hands around his hips he takes it as a sign to continue, angling himself into that tight heat until he's groaning against the door.
He pulls out just as suddenly, dragging Joel to his feet and turning to the bed. Matthew crowds him against it until he's falling back then leans down over him, grinding against him hard, their kiss furious. Matthew pulls back and orders Joel to his knees, and watches as he does it eagerly. The sight has him fisting his own cock, which makes Joel raise his head to watch hungrily but drops his gaze away again when he sees Matthew pull out the lube and a condom, throwing both on the bed and walking around behind him.
Matthew reaches for his ass cheeks and pulls them apart sharply, making Joel gasp. He holds him like that, just looking, enjoying Joel squirming and not knowing what to expect. But Matthew doesn't have much patience for teasing, instead lubes up his hand and opens him up with thick and hard thrusts of his fingers that has Joel keening at but pressing back for even more of. Matthew gives another couple of thrusts then is up on the bed behind him, pressing his hole open wide and nudging his cock head inside. He waits, feels the full tremble of Joel's body in anticipation for him. Then he gives one sharp snap of his hips and fills him whole, gripping hard as he howls.
Joel rams himself back on Matthew's cock, encouraging him to drive into him harder still. The slap
of their flesh together as they fuck furious and frantic echoes out into the room. Matthew's fingers dig into Joel's sides hard enough to leave bruises, pulling him back sharply to impale him on his cock as he strikes his hips hard against him to fill him up.
At one point Matthew pushes Joel flat to the bed and continues fucking him just as furiously, pinning him there with his full weight pressed against Joel's back, curling over him and biting a bruise of claim into the side of his neck. Then he's pulling on Joel's hips to have him up on his knees again and pistoning into him with deeper and even harder thrusts, coming in an arch that has him grinding so rough against Joel he knows he's going to be feeling it in the morning, then grunts as Joel arches as well, and spills himself on the bed.
Matthew places one solitary kiss into the middle of Joel's back, pulling out immediately and not taking any time to be careful of him or give the reassurances they normally give each other at this point. Instead he's picking up his t-shirt that he'd left earlier before his bath to wipe himself off, throwing it in Joel's direction for him to do the same, then throwing back the duvet and laying down on the bed, uncaring if he jostles Joel beside him.
Matthew closes his eyes, painfully aware of Joel's hovering, awkward presence in the room, debates over telling him to leave and turning over, feigning sleep, or waking himself up enough so that they can talk. He likes neither option so instead slaps the back of his hand against the empty space on the bed beside him, barks out a, "Sleep," then turns away and on to his side, pretending he doesn't care either way what Joel does. Though when he feels the duvet lift and the bed dip beside him Matthew is secretly relieved, and although he tells himself he's not relaxed enough to sleep with Joel there behind him, it only takes a few minutes before he's nodding off.
*~*~*
"It wasn't a date."
Matthew cracks open his eyes the second he hears Joel's words, foggy with sleep and a part of his mind whispering for him to turn over, to seek out Joel's warmth. But then he stiffens, tension rippling across his shoulders as reality punches him awake with memory and pins him right where he is, waiting for Joel to say or do whatever he's going to do, telling himself he'll have no part in it.
"It wasn't a date," he hears Joel repeat. From the direction of his voice Matthew presumes he's already standing and dressed. "I was feeling sorry for myself thinking about you being at football and not—and not wanting me—not wanting people to know about me. Guy at the bar asked if I minded him joining me, bought me some drinks. We talked for a bit; it was a nice enough conversation for a while. He got a bit handsy, and for a little while I let him. But when he tried to kiss me I couldn't do it. I didn't want it. All I could think was that it would feel like cheating on you—even though you've made it perfectly clear you didn't want anything from me but sex. Which was fucking incredible last night, by the way, not that I'm sure you deserve to know that right now. And not that that solves any of this between us—it's kind of why we're in this mess in the first place, don't you think?"
Matthew listens to his words, still too angry to trust himself to speak, doesn't even trust himself to move yet. So he listens again, hears Joel's sigh, swears he can hear his shoulders sinking in disappointment. "Look," he hears, tensing all over again, "I'm gonna hope we've... we've got some... we've just got some crossed wires here. That... that even if we haven't, that I mean—I did mean enough to you at some point over these past few months to warrant at least a conversation about this. I won't push, I promise. But maybe when you've—you've had chance to think things over, maybe we can talk. I... I'm going home now, going out tonight with friends—only friends—to some birthday party I'm in no mood for. But I'll be home all afternoon. And all of tomorrow. You can... you can show up any time you want. If you want. Or message me, or... anything. Anything you want, Matt."
Matthew listens to Joel purposely taking his time to presumably get his jacket on and get his things together before he leaves, giving Matthew the irrational impression that the apartment is now cold and empty following his departure. It's then that he rolls over on to his back and groans to himself, part in frustration and part at the aches he's now cataloguing through his body from last night. He lays there staring at the ceiling for ages while blatantly forcing his mind in other directions when it continuously strays to thoughts of Joel, and he does this until he makes himself crazy with it, throwing the duvet back and jumping out of bed when it finally gets too much.
When he turns back to straighten the bed up, Matthew's foot touches something cold on the carpet that he bends down to retrieve with a mumbled complaint at his stiffness, frowning at an unopened condom packet and lost for a second about how it got there. His eyes blow wide with realisation; blasts of images assault him from last night and leave him dropping back to sit heavy on the bed with his head in his hands, groaning out a string of expletives.
Matthew's only saving grace, he thinks, clutching guiltily at straws, was Joel's insinuation that he'd enjoyed what they'd done together—what Matthew had done to him. And then that given the number of times they've sucked each other off, and that they've already told each other they're clean, having no barrier between them when they fuck wouldn't make any difference anyway—at least health-wise, it wouldn't.
Though it's not really about that, Matthew chides himself, closing his eyes, feeling himself sag under the weight of his disappointment with himself. It's about trust. When he has so many trust issues that have undoubtedly shaped and warped so much of what's happened between them over these past few months, it's nothing but hypocritical to be sitting here attempting to justify his behaviour. That he let his angry fog get the better of him. In the aftermath it feels like the ultimate betrayal of Joel's trust in him. And as he sits there staring aimlessly down at the carpet between his feet, Matthew realises that there are very few things he has done in his life that have left him feeling this ashamed of himself.
*~*~*
It is a long, long day for Matthew. He sits at his dining room table attempting to distract himself with reading, takes a walk and picks up groceries intent on cooking a good meal and bolting up in his apartment for the rest of the day. He comes back, throws himself down on the sofa intent on watching something. But nothing holds his attention for long, not when thoughts of Joel are screaming for attention.
Matthew sits up when he's had enough of avoiding thinking about it, stomps to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of red wine then returns to the sofa and sits cross-legged, still wincing at the ache in his muscles and then wincing harder for how sore Joel must be feeling. He takes a big gulp of his wine and almost chokes himself on it when he sits back hard in the sofa, cursing repeatedly until he catches his breath.
Joel is an incredible man, Matthew reminds himself, taking another sip and allowing the truth of that admission to hit him. Up until seeing him on that date—which Matthew recalls Joel's explanation for, and screws up his face against in the process—Joel was about the best thing that he thinks has ever happened to him. Sure, he huffs, a good amount of why he's thinking that is because of the sex, of course it is. But there's much more to it than that—so much more to them. The affection between them, how in tune with one another they are about all kinds of things, the easiness that is them. It's like they're in a relationship and neither one of them is willing to be the first one to admit it out loud, Matthew thinks to himself. Or at least, it had been like that, he amends, sighing hard.
Up until last week there had been several occasions where Matthew had been able to fool himself that how he felt about Joel, perhaps Joel felt about him too. And if not, then that he was good enough at pretending he felt the same, or at the very least not minding Matthew feeling the way he did. Or perhaps just not acknowledging any of it at all and happy to live the lie to get himself laid, Matthew groans to himself, hating the circles he's turning himself in.
Matthew sits there sipping absently at his wine while going through all the things he's missing about Joel, trying hard and failing to come u
p with things he doesn't like about him. Sure, it had been draining arguing with himself continuously about what he was feeling for Joel, and the effort it took keeping it from everyone else so he had only Sarah to talk to about it was pretty exhausting. But when they were together it was so easy to forget those difficulties because they really were so good, Matthew mumbles in complaint, hit once more by the sting of the loss. In fact the only bad thing about him and Joel, Matthew groans to himself then with the honesty of it, was that Joel always leaves him feeling like he wants even more.
Joel reminding Matthew that no one from football knew about him sounds all of a sudden like an accusation, or at least something that he was offended by, perhaps was hurting because of, Matthew realises, a little wide-eyed at the thought. Which makes no sense, he decides a second later, shaking his head in dismissal of the idea. No sense at all, unless Joel really did feel at least a little back for him. Which is a ridiculous thought to be having, Matthew knows that, and drains his glass, standing to get a refill.
Although, he realises with a tight grip around the bottle neck once he's finished pouring, a lot of the affection and sweetness between them that he's been missing the most about all of this has actually come from Joel. All the hugs, the kisses, the closeness that they've shared. Joel's been the one to initiate the majority of that, Matthew acknowledges, wide-eyed. And where Matthew's happily leaned into every bit of it, he's been so hesitant about giving the impression he wants more than what they've agreed to that he's forced himself to hold back from what he naturally wants to do. To stop himself being the first to touch, the first to reach, the first to give attention. Not that he hasn't done things for Joel that are nothing but affectionate, he huffs to himself, returning to the sofa with a scowl, remembering how very humbled, how grateful Joel always appears for receiving things like that from him. Matthew glares at his wine, taking another large gulp, and debates moving on to the beer that's in the fridge as well.