Afire: Entire Blinded Series

by Sarah Masters

  “Doing a lot of fuck all, to be honest.” He pauses, then, “Actually, scrap that. Just remembered I need to help Dad paint his living room. He moved out, didn't he, what with them getting divorced. Shit, I still can't get over that. Thought they'd be set for life, but people change, don't they? And Mum hasn't said whether she knows I'm doing it or not—not that she'd mind. He's still my dad. I haven't seen her for a few days. Must pop round there really. And I need to clean this shit-hole up. Living on your own sucks like that.” He sighs. “Painting isn't something I really want to do, but hey, saves me being bored. Like I told you the other night, I've given up going clubbing. Realised it isn't my scene. It's like I wanted to try it just to see what went on, how it was, then wondered what all the fuss was about. And bumping into people from school, pissed out of their heads or fucked on drugs...it's all bullshit. Can't be arsed. Would rather be ringing you anyway.”

  It's the perfect time for me to open my mouth and lead the conversation down a road I should have led it a long time ago, but my throat tightens. Instead, I say, “I've never been. Doesn't appeal. The gym does me for entertainment. That and the TV and books. Bit of a boring bastard, really.”

  “Only you think you're boring. So, you don't reckon you'll be wanting to get out there and mingle, then?”

  Did he say what I thought he did? Asking if I'm seeing someone else without coming right out with it? Surely he knows how I feel. I never mention anyone; all right, occasionally Josh and Sue but... I should put his mind at rest.

  “Nope. Got no need to go out, have I?”

  “Haven't you? Why's that, then?”

  “Too tired by the weekend for one thing.” Shit. Just say it!

  “And...?”

  “And I just...just don't want to go out.”

  “Ah, right. Doing anything this weekend? Meeting anyone?”

  He's worried, yet I'm still hedging on telling him I'm waiting for him. I don't want to influence his decisions. The need to come here has to be his choice.

  “Nope. Planned on staying home.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yep.” Tell him. Ask him. “D'you... D'you...reckon Trevor will be put away for a long time, then?” Brilliant, Lee, just fucking brilliant.

  Ryan sighs. “Dunno. I'd like to think so. Be interesting to see how his mates behave without their boss, know what I mean?”

  “Yeah. You seen them without him around?”

  I listen while Ryan talks, let his voice wash over me, around me, through me, and my hand strays inside my joggers. I palm my hard cock, wishing his hand covered it, his fingertips tracing the tip, circling the head. I remember the way he'd ground against me on my last night back home, how his silky skin brushed mine, our cocks squashed together. And my legs had turned to jelly, my need to have him closer an urgent force that took my breath away. I gasp now, blushing at my actions, and Ryan stops talking.

  After a beat he asks, “You all right?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, just ignore me.”

  “You tired? You yawned then.”

  “Sorry. Didn't mean—”

  “Hey, get some sleep. It's all right. I'll give you a ring tomorrow, yeah? That's if we get the painting done in good time.

  My lie has effectively ended the call and will take him away before I'm ready to let him go. I curse myself.

  “All right, but I don't mind talking, you know. I'm all right.”

  “No. You're tired. Time for me to hit the sack anyway.”

  Ryan's never been one to turn in early. Fuck. I grimace and stare at the ceiling. “Okay.”

  “I'll email tomorrow if I have time, yeah?”

  “Yeah. That'll be good. See you.”

  “Yep, see you.”

  He's gone, taken his ability to burn with him, and I clutch the phone to my chest, lost, hollow inside. My cock's still hard, still needing attention, and despite feeling sad I fist it, the desire to come a strong sensation that fills me. I work faster, harder, bucking my hips to mimic thrusts, and a thought arrives unbidden, one I've entertained before. Ryan tying my hands and fucking my ass. My imagination runs riot, and I allow the images to flicker in my mind's eye, relying on what I think it would be like rather than from experience. His cock fills me, stretches my hole, sending socks of pleasure-pain into the base of my balls and throughout my cock. He moves slowly, and I do the same with my hand, squeezing tightly to mirror what my ass-hole would feel like around his dick. Pressure mounts in my balls, and my ass-hole clenches. Fuck, I need him inside me, his hand fisting my cock, rope chafing my bound wrists. I jerk away my jogger's waistband with the back of my hand, the cool air wrapping itself around my cock-tip. Opening my eyes, I look down at myself, taking in the sight of my hand going up and down. It proves too much. Cum spurts, landing hot and fast on my belly, and a rush of pleasure surges through me. I squeeze my eyes closed and lift my ass from the sofa, toes splayed, jerking my cock in and out of my fist. I see Ryan, feel him working my ass, and another rope of cum leaves me, widening my cock and setting my teeth to clenching.

  I cry out in part pleasure, part yearning, and huff out a stuttered breath. I grip the sofa back with my free hand, fingers digging into it, and lower my ass as another orgasmic spasm overtakes my body. I slow my hand, aftershocks stabbing my cock, and lay still, spent and out of breath. Sweat prickles my temples and glides down into a neck crease. I open my eyes, see stars glittering in the air above, and wait for my body to return to normal. Blinking to clear my vision, I wipe the cum with my T-shirt, wishing Ryan's tongue lapped it up. Would he want to taste it? Do all the things to me that I wanted? How would he take me asking him to tie my hands? I don't know, don't know anything much about that because we haven't talked about it. Haven't really discussed our last night together, either. We've just chatted as mates, like we always did before, and skirted around what we both probably want to talk about.

  This has to stop, doesn't it? This pussy-footing around and shit. We need to get stuff out in the open.

  I tuck my cock inside my joggers and sit up, taking off my T-shirt, and stare ahead at the electric fire and the novels on the bookshelf. I'm going to send Ryan an email. Tell him what I want. Need.

  I lift the laptop to my knees and boot up, logging onto my email account. I pause while thinking what to say, knowing I need to speak up but not knowing how to put it. And in my usual fashion I tap the keys, saying the only thing that feels right.

  Miss you.

  Sleep doesn't want to come, despite how tired I am. My body's shattered, but my mind is wide awake, pinging from one thought to the next, all of them whirring around, a whirlpool of indecision and what ifs. I'm a prick, you know? I risk losing the only person I've ever loved besides Dad, and all because I can't open my mouth and spill out my feelings.

  I can't keep thinking about this. Going on and on about it.

  I stare at the window. A cloud must have covered the moon and shunted away, because moonlight sneaks through a wide chink in the curtains where I've left the blackout blind rolled up. The shaft splashes onto the wall, an oblong of silver. It's like a projector screen, and Ryan's face appears on it, frown in place, mouth downturned. Have I made him unhappy by my inability to tell him what he plainly wants to hear? I reckon I have. Shit. No one told me this would be so hard. No one explained that love can rip you up, fuck you up, and make you happy at the same time. Yet I chose this damn route. Chose this solitary life. I only have myself to blame.

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  * * *

  Chapter Three

  Time passes quickly yet not. How has another two years gone by without me sharing my inner feelings with Ryan? How has he put up with keeping in touch but not visiting? Weird, because everything's the same but different. It's like I've grown up a bit but the child within lurks, worried, fretful, alone. Ryan still emails and calls. My job's the same as it was. Josh and Sue are just Josh and Sue, and Josh is in the living room now, over for a beer and a movie. What am I doing standing in the ki
tchen, staring out the window when my mate's in there? The usual thoughts batter my head, erasing my concern about Josh and my duty as host. Maybe, after all this time, I've pushed Ryan away from the idea of us getting together. Maybe he thinks if he asks to come I'll tell him to fuck off, that I just want to remain friends who live apart.

  What a fucking mess.

  I'm ready for him to visit, ready to see him again and make a go of things. Ready to accept who I am, my past, and my future. Without Ryan in it, it isn't worth shit.

  I stare out the window for a minute longer, taking in a deep breath and trying to work out what feels wrong tonight. Something's not right, hasn't been since yesterday, like a piece of me disappeared and a fierce freedom took its place. I don't understand it. Don't think anything's happened to trigger it off; not that I know of, anyway. Yet...

  My mobile phone rings, and I turn from the window, going into the living room to pick it up. Ryan's name is on screen—shit, I forgot to tell him I was busy tonight. Adrenaline surges through me, and I nod at Josh, who is sprawled out on the sofa, though why I bothered I don't know. He's fixated on the TV and Hannibal Lecter. I go back to the kitchen and answer the call.

  “Hello, mate. How're you doing?”

  “All right. You?”

  His voice—God, it sends shivers through me. Shivers of longing. “Fine, fine. Watching a bit of TV. You?”

  “Um, just been for a long walk.”

  “What? Tell me you're taking the piss.” Ryan going on a long walk is like me telling him how I feel. Unlikely unless pushed.

  “Nope. Hill walking.”

  My eyes widen, and I stifle a laugh. “You? Fucking hill walking?”

  “Yeah. Listen, I was wondering, d'you feel ready for a visit yet?”

  “What, from you?” Of course from him. Who else? And shit, yes, I want you to visit. Want you here right now, your skin against mine, your voice in my ear...

  “Yeah.”

  “Fuck yeah. When were you thinking of coming?” Next weekend? I can get through a week no problem if I know you're coming.

  “Now.”

  What the fuck? I didn't hear him right. Didn't...I... “Now?”

  “Yeah. Open your front door.”

  “What?” He's never here, is he? Outside?

  “Just do it.”

  My guts roll over, and I smile so wide, so damn wide my eyes crinkle closed. With a shaking hand I flick on the hallway light then fumble with the door lock like my fingers have expanded. Swinging the door wide, I squint out at the hilltop, the doormat fibres digging into my bare feet. Ryan stands there, my beautiful fucking Ryan who makes everything worthwhile, everything fit into place, everything right, a beanie hat on his shaved head. I lower the phone, telling myself I'm dreaming, that he isn't standing there laughing and slipping his phone into his pocket. That he isn't stepping closer. “That you?”

  “Yep.”

  “Fuck me! How...? What...?” I stare at him, take in his face. His jawline's more rigid, squarer, but his eyes remain the same.

  “A beer would be nice.” Ryan steps up to the door, and a blast of his scent wraps around me. “But a hug'll do.”

  I open my arms and bring him into them—Christ, that feels so damn good—and pat his back, though I want to do other things with my hands. Fondle, stroke, smooth. His cheek is warm against mine, the first smattering of stubble good on my skin, and all too quickly he pulls back. His lips brush mine, just the briefest of touches, but God, my cock swells. I'm conscious of Josh being inside, and shit, I wish I'd stayed home alone tonight.

  I stare at Ryan then step back, ushering him inside. “What a fucking shock, but shit, it's good to see you.” Closing the door, I walk down the hallway to the kitchen, hoping Ryan follows and doesn't go into the living room. Not until I've had a chance to introduce him to Josh. “Want a beer, mate?” I put my phone on side and look at Ryan, who stands holding a bag. I nod to it. “Dump that on the floor. I'll sort out the spare room later. I don't have many guests. Sheets need changing.” Please don't use the spare room. Please share mine. I open the fridge and pull out a beer, handing it to Ryan. I can't stop grinning! “Can't believe you just did that to me! Nice surprise, though. Shit, come here!” I have to have him close, want him near me—he's too far away right now.

  Ryan steps into my arms, his body warmth a stark contrast to the cold seeping from the fridge. He rests his cheek on my chest, and fuck, I'm a goner. I'm in love with him, always have been, and my stupidity in not telling him sooner crashes into me, a massive slam hell bent on waking me up to smell the damn coffee. He puts his beer on the side and smoothes his hands up and down my back. I do the same, feeling for any changes since we were last together. There are a few—broader back, shoulder blades more defined, a dip at his lower back—but all in all he's the same Ryan.

  He raises his head, looks at me, tears in his eyes. “Shit, I've missed you.”

  My eyebrows rise, and I offer a lopsided grin, too happy to answer him right away. After a few seconds I say, “Didn't realise how much until I saw you, but I've missed you too.” I grip the tops of his arms—new muscles there—and squeeze. Although I want to spend more time alone with him, I have to consider Josh. I feel selfish as the wish for Josh to go sweeps through me, but hell, I can't just turf him out, not after everything he's done for me. “Come on into the living room.” With reluctance I let Ryan go, hand him his beer again and close the fridge. Taking a deep breath, I lead him back down the hallway, wondering if I should tell him Josh is here or whether to just introduce them once he sees him. “Got a lot to catch up on.” I step inside the room and flop onto the black leather recliner, intent on explaining who Josh is. “Take a pew.” I look toward the sofa. “Budge up, Josh.”

  Josh swings his feet off the sofa and sits at the end nearest to me. He nods at Ryan, who looks unsure, uneasy, and I smile brightly, still unable to believe he's here. Ryan sits at the other end of the sofa, and it's like the light has gone out of him, as though tiredness has caught up now he's resting.

  I squirm in my seat, telling myself I can't get up and sit with Ryan, much as I want to. “Shit. Should be introducing you, shouldn't I? Ryan, this is Josh. Josh, this is Ryan.”

  “All right?” Josh says, his smile bright as he looks at Ryan.

  He's a good bloke. He'll be smiling because he knows how much Ryan means to me. I reckon he'll go soon. Please, God, make him go!

  Ryan nods at Josh and snaps open his beer, his face a mask that blanks out every emotion except tension. Surely he remembers who Josh is. I know I haven't spoken about him much, but shit, he doesn't think...? I watch him to gauge what he's thinking. He eyes the room, gaze darting from the tongue-and-groove walls to the fake Monet hanging above the TV in the corner beside the window. He stares at the black rug beneath his feet, looking lost and unsure and ready to bolt.

  Josh breaks my study of Ryan, lifting his foot up to rest an ankle on one knee. “So you're Lee's friend from years back, yeah? Heard a lot about you.”

  Ryan swallows, gaze still on the rug. “All good, I hope.”

  Josh laughs, easy in our company. “Yep, all good. So, what prompted this surprise visit, then?”

  Ryan looks up, his gaze glancing off me then resting on Josh. “Uh, I just came on a whim. You know, to do something different for a change.” His face reddens, and he asks, “Known Lee long?”

  “Long enough.” Josh laughs again, like he's uncomfortable now.

  I watch Ryan, watch the tic flickering beside his right eye. He looks at me as though he wants some kind of explanation, or for Josh to go, and I detect a tinge of stress.

  Mouth suddenly dry, I drain my can and put it back on the table. “Josh, didn't you say you had stuff to do?” God forgive me, but he needs to go. I look at him, willing him to get the message. “Me and Ryan have got a lot to catch up on. Old times to talk about.” Come on, mate. Go. Stop messing about—you know me well enough by now to understand where I'm going with this.

/>   Josh lowers his foot in a lazy motion. He's a damn wind-up merchant, but in this case it isn't funny. Ryan doesn't look right. Does he think Josh is my bloke?

  “Ah, I see,” Josh says. “You want to be alone.” He winks and stands. “Anyway, I've got to be getting back. Sue'll be wondering where I've got to.” He turns to face Ryan. “Nice to meet you. You staying long?” Josh reaches down the side of the sofa and pulls out his coat. He slips it on, the waft of his aftershave whooshing over me.

  Ryan's cheeks redden some more, but I can't work out whether it's embarrassment or anger. “Um, I'm not sure. Depends on Lee.”

  “Stay as long as you like, mate.” Like forever. “And Josh? Hurry up and piss off out of here. I'll see you at work on Monday.” He can't leave quick enough for me, and it seems like he's moving in slow motion, all languid movements and time-wasting.

  “All right, all right! Jesus!” Josh winks at Ryan. “You just hope he doesn't treat you like this. Nice meeting you. Safe journey home if I don't see you before you leave.” He holds out a hand for Ryan to shake then leaves the room as though walking through glue, hand held up in farewell.

  His footsteps recede down the hallway, and the front door closes. Relief spreads through me, and I look at Ryan, big smile on my face, and launch a throw cushion at him.

  “You thought he was my bloke, didn't you?”

  Ryan blushes again. “No, not at all. Don't know what you're on about.”

  “You did, didn't you? Aww, shit.” I get up and plunk down beside Ryan, giving him a serious look to let him know it's all right, that I'd have felt the same in his shoes. Who can blame him when he hasn't a clue how I still feel? It's time I opened up. Said shit I've kept quiet for too long. “I haven't been with anyone other than you, you know.”

  His eyes widen. “Um, really? How come?”

  He's doing it again, asking me a question that means another one entirely, and I don't blame him. He's as bad as me, unsure whether to push me for a concrete answer or let me do the running. Time to bite the bullet.