A New Beginning

by Peter Styles

  “Did you at least have a good dinner, or were you worrying about me the entire time?” Stephen asks. There’s a tiny smile growing on his lips. Rowan feels an immense wave of relief wash through him.

  “You’re a fucking—”

  The rest of his insult dies along with his panic, smothered by warmth as Stephen kisses him. Rowan almost wants to jump into the man’s lap; he feels like it’s been ages since they last touched. All of their get-togethers and baking nights have been fantastic but essentially platonic and he’s been withering slowly, desperate for just a tiny bit of contact, just the barest reminder of what they had for one night.

  He did it, Rowan thinks, dazed. It was him this time. He feels like his heart is bursting. His hands slip over Stephen’s arms—they’re amazing, I can’t believe how strong he is—and he can smell something familiar, beneath the alcohol fog surrounding them.

  “Did—did you eat pizza?” Rowan asks, managing to pull himself away for a moment.

  “That’s not very sexy, Rowan,” Stephen mutters, even though his eyes are sparkling brightly. “If you wanted a better kiss, you could have just asked.”

  Better? He flips suddenly, the same arms he’d been admiring managing to suspend him carefully before depositing him onto the bed. This time, Stephen’s kiss isn’t as sweet as before. Rowan moans into it, turning his head to get just a little closer as Stephen’s tongue presses against his mouth. His hands trail carefully down to the hem of Stephen’s shirt, hesitating. Do I? Should this go any further? He’s still worrying when he feels a sudden tug at his jacket, the item thrown across the room after Stephen maneuvers it off with startlingly quick hands. I guess so, Rowan thinks.

  He stops worrying the second Stephen starts biting at his neck. All thoughts bleed out from him in a blissful flash of pain and pleasure, escaping into the world. Rowan is preoccupied with the hot mouth against his skin and has to focus on undressing Stephen. He almost laughs when they get caught in the tangle of clothes and come close to rolling off the mattress.

  The laughter dies in his throat when Stephen leans further over him, a leg pressing against Rowan’s groin. Rowan gasps out a sound, his nails biting into Stephen’s arms, and he feels bad for the briefest of moments before Stephen’s mouth returns to his. Rowan takes the opportunity to use his hands, carefully brushing over the body above him. He wants to memorize the feel of everything: Stephen’s sculpted muscles, the softness of his skin, the heat radiating from within.

  He’s hesitating, Rowan realizes after a minute, noticing Stephen’s arms tensing. He breaks away carefully, worried.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “No, nothing’s wrong,” Stephen says, breathless. His words are almost too fast, as if he’s avoiding something.

  “Hey. Wait,” Rowan says, pushing his hand through Stephen’s hair to move it back so he can look into his eyes. “We don’t have to do this. I know it’s fast—”

  “No, that’s…it’s not too fast,” Stephen says, sighing a little. “I just…I haven’t…”

  Oh, Rowan realizes, feeling dumb for not recognizing it faster. Of course he’s nervous. It’s pretty clear that Stephen’s only ever really been with Melissa. For all Rowan knows, Stephen has never been with a man, besides Rowan. It would certainly explain him being so hesitant. He knows better than to push it now. They can always talk later, if Stephen feels like it. He wants Stephen to be comfortable.

  “Okay. It’s fine. I’m a control freak anyway.” Rowan smirks, watching the hesitation in Stephen’s eyes start to dissipate. “And we can stop anytime you want. Okay?”

  “Yeah. Okay,” Stephen says, a smile making its way back onto his face.

  Now, where’s—Rowan opens the bedside drawer haphazardly, pulling Stephen down into a kiss again. His blind search is slowed even more as he relishes the taste of Stephen’s mouth, feeling heated but not as frantic as their first time. His fingers manage to close around something plastic and he smiles, pulling a bottle from the table. He pushes up from the bed, pours out some of the lube into his hand and begins to warm it as gracefully as possible.

  Stephen is distracted, which Rowan is grateful for—he’d like to be prepared without taking away too much time from what they’re doing. If it’s Stephen’s first time, or at least his first time in a long time, Rowan wants to make it memorable. The inglorious parts of having sex can wait until they’re more comfortable around each other; for now, he wants to pretend that everything is easy and the change isn’t as much of a change as Stephen thinks it is. At least, that’s what he’s thinking before he slips an arm below his own body, the stretch in his shoulder coupled with a twinge as he pushes a finger inside himself.

  Stephen swallows Rowan’s moan hungrily, as if he hasn’t eaten in years and the sounds Rowan makes are what he feeds on. Rowan feels his own arousal growing as he adds fingers and stretches himself in anticipation. He’s panting and excited, wanting things to move so much faster, and then he’s ready.

  “Tell me if you want to stop,” Rowan gasps, out of breath and impatient. He says it because he knows he should check, but all he wants is to go further.

  “Don’t stop,” Stephen says. It’s unnecessary but he says it anyway, something in his burning eyes telling Rowan it needed to be said. It’s like some sort of unspoken promise. I want this as much as you do.

  Rowan barely concentrates enough to roll over Stephen, letting the man settle as he tries to get comfortable. After a minute of waiting—a minute that seems to stretch into eternity—Rowan sinks down onto Stephen’s cock, sighing through every blissful sensation. So good. It feels good because somehow it feels totally natural despite Stephen never having really done this before. Even as Rowan balances himself, ready to move, Stephen’s hands are fitting perfectly on his hips.

  “You’re kind of beautiful,” Stephen says, barely a whisper.

  “Kind of?” Rowan repeats, laughter bleeding into a sigh as he starts to move. The heat coiled below his stomach burns pleasantly, pouring into every inch of his body, from his center to his fingers and toes. He rises and falls, slowly now, wanted to make the pleasure last, knowing it’s probably been a while for both of them..

  “Very,” Stephen manages, a hand wandering from Rowan’s hip to brush over his chest.

  Rowan loses track of their bodies, hands wandering and touches burning like fire, as he rocks mindlessly. Eventually, all he knows is the fullness inside and the press of flesh and the way Stephen’s arms are strong enough to keep Rowan upright as he levers his body up with the last bit of strength he has. Rowan finishes in a hazy flurry of heat and sparks behind his eyes, his entire body shaking with the force. He hears a shout, barely recognizing it as himself, and then with very little left to give, he holds on, holds on, holds on for a few more seconds until he feels Stephen’s orgasm beneath him.

  Too short but sweet, Rowan thinks, but damn, was it good. He feels rubbery and spent. He barely wants to move but he knows they’ll both be sticky and gross if they don’t at least make an effort.

  “We should clean up,” Rowan mumbles, breathing in the smell of Stephen’s skin beneath his cheek. He peels his head up a little, looking up at Stephen.

  “Sure,” Stephen smiles, vaguely amused. One of his hands threads through Rowan’s hair, pulling him closer. What am I, fifteen? Even the smallest touch gives Rowan butterflies, the fluttering in his stomach accompanied by a pleasant warmth.

  “I mean it.”

  “I know.”

  Stephen finally pats Rowan’s lower back indulgently, levering himself upright, and they stumble towards the bathroom. Rowan barely muffles a yawn, wrinkling his nose when he smells alcohol. He shoots Stephen a look.

  “Cleaning,” Stephen explains, passing Rowan an extra towel. “Sleep here. It’s late.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Rowan promises, feeling a smile work its way across his lips.

  When they fall asleep later, Rowan buries his face in Stephen’s neck to mask the fading smell
of liquor. He likes the combination of salt and vanilla there, the shop baked into Stephen’s body like a perpetual cologne. I could get used to this. He falls into a dreamless sleep and forgets all the worries he had before coming into the house, anxiety replaced with a pleasant warmth.

  It’s late in the evening at the bakery and Rowan feels like an idiot in love. Two days have passed since his he spent the night at Stephen’s but he feels like it’s been moments. Any time Rowan passes Stephen he has to fight the urge to reach out and touch him. There’s a magnet between them, drawing Rowan closer every time they’re near each other. He just wants to feel the same things he felt that night—the same warm skin and careful mouth.

  He ends up adding too much whipped cream to two orders of coffee before he rights himself. Work isn’t the place to be daydreaming about having sex, he tells himself. It’s easier said than done.

  He hasn’t actually had a long-term relationship since his first two years of college. Of course, they’d been fumbling and baseless, more a matter of convenience than anything else. His partners had usually been classmates and while their time together had been good, it had been immature. When he first had a relationship freshman year, they broke up over summer in what Rowan felt was an adult way. Now, he thinks it was probably the least adult thing he’s ever done. Starting something just to abandon it because it was never supposed to last. I can’t believe I gave up so easily.

  “Can I get a coffee?”

  The voice that brings him back to reality is familiar. Rowan looks up from the coffee machine he’s cleaning, surprised, to see Melissa at the counter. She doesn’t look as exhausted as before, although she still seems to be tired.

  “Oh…yes, of course. What would you like?”

  “Iced chocolate mocha, please. It’s hotter than hell outside.”

  “I believe it,” Rowan says, wondering if he should be smiling more or less. Do I say something? Should I ever say something? Is there a point when I’ll have to tell Melissa I’m having sex with her ex—husband?

  “How’s Stephen doing?” Melissa asks, quiet.

  Oh God she knows, Rowan thinks, immediately panicking. He manages to keep a straight face as he tries to calm down, reminding himself that she has no way of knowing. Aside from Stephen telling her, of course, which is unlikely.

  “He’s well, I think. He’s not drinking every night.”

  “Really?” Melissa looks thoughtful. She leans against the counter, looking down at her phone as she rubs the back of its case. She seems to be considering something. “I want to help him get better.”

  “Of course you do,” Rowan says immediately. He doesn’t add, you were his wife. He feels like he’s already in sticky territory. “He deserves help. He’s not a bad man.”

  “I know,” Melissa says, a rueful smile lighting her face the smallest amount. “You know, before we finished college, he was fantastic. He’s always been father material, I think—he worries about others without smothering them. He’s good at remembering little things and he likes having a routine.”

  “Yeah. I kn—noticed,” Rowan stumbles, trying not to give too much away.

  Something tugs at the corner of his heart. Does she…still love him? He suspected she still cared about Stephen, of course, but now he’s wondering if Melissa still loves him. Wants to be with him. He wants to ask about the divorce—why it happened—but he knows he can’t. It’s not his business and he doesn’t want to pry.

  What do I do if she does still love him? If she wants him back? Melissa and Stephen have a daughter. She might be in college but if both parents want to get together again, who is he to stand in the way?

  “I’m glad you’ve been there for him. He needs a friend—especially one who doesn’t know much about his past. It hangs over him sometimes. He judges himself, even if others don’t.”

  “Yeah. I’ve noticed that,” Rowan agrees quietly. “I’m doing my best to help him.”

  “Well, you’re probably doing better than I ever could.” Melissa smiles tiredly. “Thank you.”

  After she takes her coffee and leaves, Rowan is left staring at the counter with a pit of something like dread in his stomach. He feels like things are slipping away from him. The small triumphs he’s faced are all dissolving and all he can wonder is how soon Stephen will realize Melissa still loves him and how quickly they’ll get back together.

  Whatever happens, he knows he can’t stand in the way. I just have to go back home and forget about it.

  13

  “Thank God you shaved,” Jen says, appraising Stephen with a critical eye. “It’s a party at the putt-putt course, so we need you looking as clean-cut as possible without being a Ken doll.”

  “I think I have a pastel pink sweater at home,” Rowan contributes, stacking boxes of cupcakes. His tone is just as sly and cheerful as ever but something in his expression puts Stephen off.

  For the last two days, Rowan has seemed…as close to unhappy as Stephen has ever seen him. He’s been a little more withdrawn. Is it because he only has a week and a few days left? They haven’t exactly talked about longevity in their relationship, despite that they’ve been kind of dating and spending every work day and most evenings together. Not to mention the fact they’ve now had sex twice, one instance of which was clear-minded and slow.

  “Stephen,” Jen says, as if it’s the millionth time—and it could be, for all the attention Stephen is giving her. “Come on. Pay attention—you need to find Erica at the party and let her know you’re there. I can’t reach her and she never gave me a definite answer on whether the cupcakes are a surprise or not.”

  “Isn’t our cover kind of blown if I show up? People know me,” Stephen points out, dusting flour off his jeans.

  “Why don’t I find this Erica,” Rowan offers, waving a hand, but Jen cuts him off.

  “You don’t know her and we can’t risk you talking to the wrong person. Take your time, all right? The inspector will be at the shop in half an hour and I have enough employees in to triple-check everything. Now go, the both of you, before you’re late.”

  Jen rushes them out the back door, helping with a few boxes, and then Stephen and Rowan are piled into Stephen’s truck.

  Do I say something? Stephen starts driving across town, unsure of whether he should drag the topic out of Rowan. He knows he could wait—they both technically have the day off, after this catering event, but he’s a little worried that Rowan will run off after the party to avoid having the conversation. He doesn’t want to make Rowan feel trapped, though, so he decides against bringing anything up, instead waiting for the drive back. At least that’ll give him time. And me, for that matter.

  The putt-putt course is probably the second-most popular party venue for children in the city. Most of the kids at the party are ten and under, running around with miniature golf clubs while their parents call out in mostly-unconcerned tones for them to slow down. The families are all upper-middle class, with kind demeanors and somewhat expensive cars that are all freshly washed.

  “I’ll be right back,” Stephen promises, gazing around the gaggle of adults before ducking out of the truck. Rowan doesn’t say anything.

  Erica is easily visible. She’s in her late thirties, with cascading waves of blonde hair and a sharp smile. She’s divorced, which would probably be a deterrent on any other woman in her neighborhood, but she’s practically the queen of her cul-de-sac. Erica seems to have hit her second wind after divorcing; she even makes running after her eleven-year-old twins look effortless. What I wouldn’t give to have ended up like that, Stephen thinks drily.

  “Hey, Erica,” Stephen smiles, sliding carefully behind her as she listens to two other women talk about potted succulents.

  “Stephen,” Erica smiles, all teeth. Her black-rimmed eyes have almost no traces of wrinkles. “Darling, it’s been too long. I’m so pleased that Jen sent you.” She air-kisses him as if bestowing blessings on him.

  “I’m supposed to ask if the cupcakes are
a surprise,” Stephen volunteers, “although I doubt they could be anymore, since I’m here.”

  “Oh, it’s fine, no surprise,” Erica laughs gaily. Her gaze wanders, taking in the crowd. “I…wait, who’s in your car?”

  “Oh,” Stephen says dumbly, suddenly realizing he’s going to have to introduce Rowan. Keep it simple. Be natural. You chat with people every day at the bakery. It’s the same. Just the same.“That’s my, uh...he's Rowan. Rowan is Jen’s cousin.”

  “Does Jen know you and her cousin are doing the horizontal tango?”

  “Erica!”

  “I’m joking, honey,” Erica smiles, eyes twinkling, “I won’t spill the sauce. It’s too good. This is all for me,” she adds, waving her hand over his probably flustered expression. Damn it.

  “Right. Well, we have cupcakes. Where do you want them?”

  “Table, dear. The one with the pink tablecloth.”

  Stephen nods, wordless, and slips back to the truck. He wonders if his and Rowan’s relationship is so obvious to everyone. He can see Rowan staring at him before quickly breaking eye contact, pretending to glance down at his phone. Stephen opens the backseat door, preparing to pull out a few boxes, and Rowan raises his eyebrows in question.

  “No birthday surprise,” Stephen says, shrugging. “Erica’s great, but she’s only human. Especially since she has twins. Allison and Milton are definitely smart kids. Jordi was kind of like Allison when she was younger, so I get déjà vu sometimes.”

  “You know them well,” Rowan says, less of a question and more of a statement. Stephen can’t tell how Rowan feels about the fact.

  “Yeah. Erica’s divorced—she came out of it better than before, though. I used to run into her at the bar. She only ever had one drink—she’d test herself to see how many guys she could pick up without ever actually taking any back home.”