A Good Neighbour

by Clare London

  “I want you,” I whispered throatily.

  He didn’t answer, but he tightened his arm around my waist. I stretched my hand farther, rubbing a finger down between his buttocks, seeking the ring of crinkled skin.

  “Shit.” He pulled away, his arse slipping out of my grasp, but only until he twisted face down underneath me. He arched his back, pressing up to my belly. “Fuck me,” he muttered.

  Passion clenched like a small, sharp knot in my throat. “Supplies in the usual place?”

  He nodded and I sprawled awkwardly on top of him for a moment, reaching for the side table. He kept all his personal things safely hidden in a drawer, restocking whenever he came back to stay for a while. He protested that Josie knew all about him, but I think he still worried about her visiting one time and finding the family home littered with condoms and lube. I grabbed a packet: it slipped against my sweaty palm. I fumbled in opening it, though I rolled on the condom firmly enough. I slicked my cock quickly with some lube and dribbled more on Neal’s arse. He jerked and yelped.

  “Fuck, it’s cold!”

  I laughed, but my breath was too shallow to hold it for long. I smoothed the stuff over his hole, sliding my fingertip in and out of the opening. I watched the movement, fascinated, as if it were someone else’s hand. The dark hairs in the crease of his buttocks were glistening with sweat and stray lube.

  “God,” he said. He groaned. “God.”

  I set my dick at his hole and pushed in as carefully as I could. My hand was shaking by now and my head ached with tension. Everything I had was concentrated on my cock, on its slow and tight passage into him, on my fingers gripping the flesh of his arse, leaving red marks the size of pennies.

  “Hey.” I was fully sheathed inside him and I paused, breathing heavily, my heart thumping hard. I slid a hand over the curve of his buttocks, savouring the warmth of his skin.

  “Hey, yourself,” he muttered back. He lifted his upper body on his elbows and turned his head so he could look at me. It sharpened the angle for my cock, and the sudden squeeze made me moan aloud. “Dylan, it’s so good.” His eyes were wide, his mouth creased in a generous smile. “You here. You there.”

  “Bloody good.” I grimaced. “But not for much longer. I can’t…. Neal.” I was so close, I could feel the ecstasy tingling at the base of my cock, the control slipping away from me like liquid escaping through my fingers.

  Neal wriggled his arse and laughed raggedly. “Who cares? Plenty of time for more. But for now…? Get on with it!”

  I slid out a couple of inches, then back in. He grunted with satisfaction, and his head fell forward again. I made a few more strokes, and then I gave up any pretence of restraint. I thrust hard and came fiercely, my body shuddering and a strangled, involuntary cry hiccupping out of me. I clung to Neal, pressed down over him, waiting for the shocks of pure pleasure to subside, at the same time as wishing they never would. Underneath me, he moaned something, but I didn’t hear the words through the rushing in my ears. I just hung on and held him as if I’d never let go. His hips jerked, his whole body went rigid against me, and for a second or two we really were that two-backed beast.

  Then he relaxed and I peeled my skin away from his, sliding out my exhausted cock. We collapsed down on the bed, a mixture of sweaty hot and cold, side by side. Lying on my back, I turned my head towards him. I pressed my lips against his throat, and I could feel his pulse still racing. He stroked at my shoulder, his hand limp and barely touching me, but he seemed reluctant to lose the connection.

  “Need to clean up,” I mumbled. The condom had shrivelled around me, and it tugged at the hairs. I groped around on the table until I managed to snag a tissue to scoop it up. “And make some supper.”

  Neal didn’t release me but rolled closer, his front resting against my side. His cock rubbed against my leg, damp with the residue of his spilled come. A trail of it clung to my skin, warm and slowly trickling down my thigh onto the bed covers.

  “Later,” he whispered. “Can we just…?”

  “Take our time?” I finished for him, in uncanny echo of Bess’s words. “Of course.”

  His arms tightened, and I held him in return, waiting for his breathing to steady and for him to nap as he often did. By now, I knew what he needed. He didn’t need to ask the question in the first place.

  Chapter 3

  MUCH LATER, I rolled over in the bed to reach the bottled water on the side table. The digital clock winked 4:00 a.m. at me. The room was dark, even for that time of the morning, with only a sliver of early dawn showing under the heavy blinds. I peered around, getting accustomed to the dim light of someone else’s bedroom. There were a couple of empty plates on the table as well, smeared with sauce from our earlier meal, a fork lying beside them. The remote for the bedroom TV had fallen on the floor many hours before and stayed there.

  Beside me, Neal grunted sleepily.

  I pulled myself to sitting, the sheet creasing around my hips. My skin was very warm and my legs felt pleasurably tired. Neal turned his head on the pillow to face me, and his breath skimmed over my belly, warm and uninhibited. I’d have used the same words to describe him. Fresh goosebumps of anticipation ran down my back.

  “Can’t sleep?” His voice was muffled.

  I clicked on the side light and watched him scrunch up his eyes. “Sorry,” I said, but I knew he probably didn’t mind.

  “Look like shit at this godforsaken hour,” he grumbled, and half buried his head in his pillow.

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.” I smiled and trailed my fingers down the side of his face. The stubble was heavier now, but it felt good under my fingertips.

  “You’re not leaving?”

  I shook my head. “Not yet. I have school today, but I’ll come back here afterwards. If you want me to.”

  He grunted again, but this time it was more like a laugh. “You bet.” He shifted closer another couple of inches and reached across to kiss me, or whatever part of me he could reach without effort. His lips brushed the skin under my arm.

  “When do you have to go back?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Couple of days. There’s a briefing at the London office on Thursday.”

  I tried not to tense up. “Another assignment?”

  He yawned. Maybe playing for time, thinking how best to phrase his answer. But when he answered, I couldn’t mistake the excitement underlying his tone. “Yes. Asia, this time. It’s a fabulous opportunity, Dylan. The production company’s been pitching for it for months, and now they’re looking for a team to present. The kind of retrospective I love doing. A series of commentaries on the changes in the last ten years from the point of view of ordinary family life.” The room fell quiet again.

  “TV franchise?”

  He nodded; the pillow beside me bobbed. “Hopefully.”

  “You won’t be back for a while, then.”

  “Dylan.” He ran his palm over the top of my thigh. “Maybe I will. I don’t know yet. Honestly.”

  I sighed. “Some kind of gypsy.”

  “Huh?”

  I laughed softly. “That’s what Aunt Mitzi calls you. Even though she knows damned well you’re a writer.”

  “She’s a wily old bird.” Neal yawned. He rolled back over, so I could see his face again. “Maybe she’s right. They’ve both had their eyes on me since I moved here, you know, as if I’m up to no good. I’m sure Mitzi made a pass at me one time.”

  “She didn’t!”

  He laughed aloud at my shock. “No, I don’t think it was that deliberate. But she loves to flirt, doesn’t she? She came for tea with Josie a few months back when I was still here, and I think she was piqued I didn’t take any notice of her.”

  “She liked your cake,” I said.

  He flushed and laughed again. “Good God, is that true? I think Josie passed it off as her own. She used to try my recipes, but she could never get the balance of cinnamon right, always drowned the flavour of the apple….” He caught some expre
ssion on my face because his mouth twisted ruefully. “Your aunts like Josie.”

  “I know,” I said wryly.

  He slid an arm across my waist. “Come and tell me all about their latest schemes.”

  “In a minute.”

  “I’ve worn you out.” He smiled. “Dammit, and you usually have plenty of juice left in you for another round in the morning.”

  “Not just yet, Neal.”

  He lifted on his elbows and stared at me. The silence started to drag while he caught his lower lip up under his teeth. “What’s up?”

  I looked down at my hands and saw I’d interlocked my fingers very tightly. I hadn’t realised how tense I was. “I’ll miss you.”

  “I haven’t got the job yet, idiot.”

  “But you want it. You know what I mean.”

  Neal was quiet for a moment. “Yeah. I do want it. Badly. Partly for the adventure, you know? But it’d also make my name, being involved in a project like that.”

  “Which is what you’ve always wanted.” I shook my head, sort of agreeing, sort of trying to cut short the well-worn discussion.

  He glanced at me, then away again. “It is. Everything—and the only thing—I planned for, all through university and beyond.” He cleared his throat. “At least until I met you.”

  I snorted with disbelief.

  He frowned. “Don’t be a bloody arsehole about this. You don’t give me any credit for missing you too. I’ll come back when I can—that’s a given by now. And maybe the trip won’t be as long as we think, with air travel as fast and easy as it is. You know.”

  “Sure. I know.” I’d never been on a plane in my life, but that wasn’t really relevant at the moment.

  “Dylan?” He poked my side with his finger. “Shit. You knew what job I did, when you first met me. I only came here to help Josie move in because I was between assignments. Don’t get me wrong, I love this house. I was happy to share the cost with her. To share having a home, even if I wasn’t around much to benefit. And of course, it was worth every overpriced pound, for the sake of meeting you.”

  I glanced at him, suspicious.

  He pulled a face back at me, obviously still trying to lighten my mood. “Fuck you, you still have no idea how good you look, do you? Those fabulous brown eyes in your pale face. Bloody cute smile….” His voice gentled. “You were so polite when you came to welcome us that first day, so friendly. I wasn’t used to that, such a London lad, coming from the big, bad, cynical city.”

  The memory teased at me. “You were standing in the middle of the hallway, cursing at that poor guy. One of the removal men had mixed up the boxes with your books in, or something. You couldn’t find your diary and you were beside yourself with fury.”

  Neal grimaced. “Sodding morons.” He caught sight of my look. “Okay, so did I really complain that much? But wouldn’t you? A simple task, meant to be their job, get things safely into the place they’re packed for—” He glanced at me again and started to laugh. “But you wouldn’t rant on like I did, would you? You have the tolerance and patience I lack in spades.”

  “You were great.” I could remember it vividly: my first sight of this dark, vibrant young man I’d never met before, but who was completely uninhibited about yelling at an employee in the middle of his hallway in front of an unfamiliar visitor. Neal’s barely repressed anger, the fascination of his fierce movements, his tousled hair and his slowly growing smile as he noticed I was there and probably realised what an idiot he must look himself—and all over a couple of books being mislaid.

  Eventually, he apologised to the guy and the diary turned up in another box. I helped him find it, which was fun in itself, searching through the haphazard collection of stuff he’d brought to his new base. Souvenirs of his travels, hundreds of maps, scattered piles of foreign coins in every place we looked. Josie had been delayed at work, and so we were alone for a few hours. He found the coffee and made me many cups, only some of which I drank. He offered me cake and confessed with a slightly self-conscious grin that he’d made it himself. It was very good. I stayed until very late, just listening to him. Talking to him.

  Neal sighed. He wriggled restlessly under the sheet. “So. This isn’t enough, is it? Us. This.”

  I turned abruptly to stare.

  “Don’t get me wrong.” He lifted a hand as if to stave off any protest. “I’m not saying it’s bad, or I don’t like it. Don’t look forward to it. I just mean….” He shrugged again.

  It isn’t enough.

  “You have a great job. It takes up so much of your life.” I tried to keep my voice steady because I really didn’t want to sound churlish. “It’s everything to you.”

  “Sometimes.” He wrinkled his nose and stared up at the ceiling. “I mean, it’s all I’ve ever done. I don’t always enjoy it, you know.” He wasn’t very convincing.

  “It’s okay. You’re right. I’ve known from the start what you do, what you really need. What’s most important to you. I understand this is just—”

  “No!” He gripped my arm suddenly, far fiercer than he needed to, because I wasn’t going anywhere. When I tried to tug away, he just tightened his hold. “Don’t you dare dismiss this like that, dismiss what we have! Why would you do that?”

  “What?” Nausea nagged at the back of my throat. “Neal, I’m a lot less naïve than you give me credit for. You’re travelling all the time, meeting new people. It’s a hell of an adventure.” I’d seen him getting ready for a trip, his whole body alight with the anticipation, his mind focused totally on driving his plans forward. And I’d seen him when he came back too: the weariness and anticlimax of leaving that exciting life behind and returning to….

  What?

  “That’s your world and you’re successful there.” I knew his agent had been pushing for a television deal for a long time, and there’d been talk of him writing travel books for publication, not just blog articles. Everyone seemed to think his talent coupled with his personality should make him much more than a writer. He could be a celebrity too. “There’s nothing to compare with that here.”

  He huffed. “Are you telling me you haven’t had plenty of adventure?”

  I wasn’t offended. We both knew Petersham. “Adventure for this place is a new set of costumes for the summer fete, Italian bread stocked for the first time in the local bakery, the church using desktop publishing for its weekly newsletter.”

  “And for you?”

  “Something much more domestic, I’m afraid.” I didn’t often put it into words, not even for him. I just assumed he knew how different we were. “It’s watching some people slow down when they move out from the city, and some people increase in confidence as their families put down roots here. Watching a community build and settle and absorb change, but at its own pace. And over the last couple of years, seeing an increased proportion of my students coming from local homes, taking up new opportunities, pushing themselves forwards on their way to success in London. Or wherever they choose to go.”

  He was watching me closely. “That’s your world. Watching others. Working for others.”

  I frowned. “You make me sound like a mix of voyeur and saint.”

  “But it’s what you like, isn’t it?”

  “Being here? Yes.” He knew the answer to that already.

  “And what about romance?”

  I laughed now, prepared to joke. “The options are rather more limited. We’re not big on alternative lifestyles, at least not in public. I suppose there’s that guy at the charity shop no one’s really sure about. The postman’s hairdresser cousin from up north. Some of the softball team at the leisure centre who spend way too long in the showers.”

  “Dylan, you really can be an arsehole. There are gay men, here and out of town. There always are. There’d be plenty of interest in you, if you wanted.”

  “I don’t want.”

  “Yeah. But you could. You’re bloody smart. And a good-looking guy.”

  “What I am,” I
said slowly, and rather fearfully, “is spoiled. Spoiled for you.”

  Neal just stared at me. Slowly, the skin across his cheekbones turned pink. “Are you worried I’m screwing around during all these adventures of mine?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. “You know what? I’m not. I don’t want that interest in me either, because I’m dating you.”

  My heart beat faster. “It’s not like that, though, is it? Like, proper dating.” What the hell was I really trying to say?

  “And is that only my fault?”

  I stared at him, bemused, but he looked away.

  We were silent again for what seemed like a long while. Then Neal leaned back against the headboard, his shoulder against mine. We sat still for another few seconds, just touching. I was listening to his breathing, and I expect he was listening to mine. All the time I’d known him and maybe I still didn’t know much.

  “So. Your aunt Mitzi… is she watching the house?”

  I was startled, but glad of the distraction. “Yes, I think she is. How did you know?”

  Neal shrugged and grinned. “Don’t panic. I just guessed. I thought I’d been pretty discreet—I’m not looking for any company but yours when I’m back here—and if Josie’s not here, I come in the side gate and keep the blinds drawn at the bedroom windows. Any repairs or mowing the lawn, I try and schedule for times where there aren’t many people about. But there’s an old guy comes past most mornings, whistling and waving hello if he catches sight of me. Whether I acknowledge him or not.”

  Mr Gerald. I sighed. My aunts’ pet Smiley.

  “Hey, it’s okay. I doubt anyone ever sees much more of me than that.” He nudged my shoulder. “And especially not when you’re here too.”

  I bit back the protest, because we both knew how things were in a small community. “Mitzi and Bess know I come here regularly. I tell them I’m checking the house for you while you’re both away, but they think I’m courting Josie. Bess told me to bring the flowers.”