by Indra Vaughn
“It went fine,” he said, and pushed the hair out of my eyes so he could see me. “She cried a lot. But she was very happy to see Milo. She said we’re taking good care of him, but—”
“But? Why is there a ‘but’? There can’t be a ‘but’! We are taking good care of him.”
“Ye-es,” he said slowly, “but she wasn’t too thrilled about us living here. With you.”
“What?” I sat up so fast I nearly brained him. This was the last thing we needed. “Because I’m a guy? Did you tell her we’re together? Is she having issues with me being—”
“Ollie, chill.” He eased me down again and began to unbutton my shirt. “Not because you’re gay, or a guy. Because she doesn’t know you. She wants to meet you next time we go to see her.”
“Oh.” I tried to process that, but his fingertips were tickling my belly, sending little zings of pleasure downward. “There’s going to be a next time?” I said weakly.
“Yes, she can see Milo once a week. And you can come too.”
“Okay. That sounds . . . good.” He tugged his shirt off and lay down on top of me.
Not-so-pleasant feelings were churning on the back burner. Fear of him pulling away when I was already in too deep. Guilt for lying here with him and not Sam, and liking it. Annoyance because I knew this could get cut short again any minute, and I realized that wasn’t fair, but God. I just wanted. So I pushed it all aside and tried to be here with him—not my past, not the uncertain future.
I loved how his chest hair felt against my skin. I wriggled a little as I sighed happily. “You know,” I said when his hand drifted downward and he cupped me through my slacks, “I thought I was done with handjobs on the couch when I turned twenty.”
He kissed my jaw, my neck, lifted his head, and murmured, “Who said anything about handjobs?”
I gulped as he licked my left nipple. I gave a nervous laugh that turned into a moan when he sucked it into his mouth. With a sharp pop I felt in my balls, he let go.
“Unless that’s what you want? I mean, I don’t have to go down on you. I could—”
“No, no,” I said. “Don’t let me stop you. Who am I to stop you from doing what you—ah Jesus—want?” He’d unbuckled my pants and yanked them open. My cock slapped my belly when he pulled my boxers down.
He bit his lip. “Hmm, Ollie.” His eyes were laughing at me, but in a kind way.
“What?” I snapped, almost desperately. “What now?”
“I have to admit, I’ve wanted to do this ever since I saw that painting.” And then he grasped the base of my cock, pointed it at his face, and devoured me whole.
“Oh my God.” I pushed the pads of my thumbs into my eyeballs and tried really hard not to shove my way down his throat. He applied some sweet, sweet suction, and moved his mouth up so slowly that it was pure, awful agony at its finest. I could feel the soft touch of his palate, the smooth roll of his tongue as he pushed it under my foreskin, a hint of teeth at the back of his mouth. I couldn’t believe how good it felt. Sam had never been a fan of blowjobs—which had been fine with me. We’d enjoyed the main event too much to linger on the lack of mouth action. But this . . . “Thomas,” I whispered far too soon. “Ah, I’m not going to last.”
He let go of me, and I made a bereft sound. Instead of giving up, he gently licked my balls, worked a finger behind them, and tickled my taint. “How about now?” he asked, rubbing my perineum with his thumb.
I gritted my teeth. “Yep. Nope. Now I’m just going to come all over myself.”
He laughed softly, and his breath cooled the spit on my balls. I shivered and groaned and clasped a hand over my mouth because he’d taken me down again. He was done playing and was going in for the kill. He sucked me on the way up, tongued me on the way down, squeezing the base of my cock with one hand as he kept his balance with the other. He went at it in a rhythm that made me sympathetic for his jaw. Only for a second though, because my balls drew up, my breath stuttered in my chest, my legs went rigid, and I shouted into the palm of my hand. He kept sucking me through my orgasm, swallowing until I had nothing left to give.
When he resurfaced and sat back on his heels, he looked so deliciously debauched that I did a crunch so I could reach for him and pull him down. As I kissed my own flavor away, I wriggled out of my pants, straightened my boxers, and pushed him up to sitting.
“Right,” I said as I kneeled between his thighs. “I haven’t done this in a long time, but—” I’d reached for his jeans, but he caught my wrists before I could touch his belt. “What?” I asked, suddenly self-conscious. “You don’t want me to?” I eyed the large bulge in his pants.
“I do,” he said. “But if blowjobs aren’t something you usually do, then . . .”
I tilted my head to the side. I’d have put a hand on my hip if he weren’t still holding my wrists. “Do I look like I don’t want to?”
He smiled. “No. Wearing nothing but underwear and an unbuttoned shirt, you look like you want very much.”
“I do.” I lifted my chin and strained for him as I said, “I want an awful lot of things we don’t have time for right now, just so you know.” I kissed his slightly slack-jawed mouth smugly. “Now let go of my hands, handsome. And let me get reacquainted with the act of fellatio.”
He groaned. “Please don’t call it that.”
“No? You prefer kneeling at the altar? Bob some knob? Gobble—”
“Stop talking, Ollie.”
I grinned up at him. “Make me.”
His eyes darkened, and a hot spark raced down my spine. With slow movements, he undid his belt, his button, his zipper. He pulled his jeans and boxers down. His cock sprang free. Was he going to— Oh yeah. He put his hand on the back of my neck and drew me forward. He was gentle about it, which I appreciated since it had been a long time, but there was no mistaking it. I let him push my face against his cock. I nuzzled him, inhaled him, licked him root to tip. He let go of my head and sank back into the couch with a deep, satisfied sigh.
I rubbed his thighs soothingly, a promise in a touch. Let me take care of you.
He gently swept my bangs aside, and take care of him I did.
On Friday I met with my lawyer, Sam’s parents’ lawyer, and Simon and Martine themselves. Martine kept throwing me watery glances, but Simon sat in stony silence, staring at the wall behind me like I wasn’t even there. The whole thing went by so fast, it felt unreal. I wrote signature after signature, until I couldn’t keep track of the documents anymore.
When it was done, I felt shivery, as if a fever lurked. I stood on the doorstep outside of the lawyer’s office, hugging my arms around myself as rain came down hard, contemplating whether I should wait it out or make a run for it. Martine appeared behind me and faltered when she saw me.
“Oliver,” she whispered. Her bottom lip trembled. She looked ten years older than the last time I’d seen her. “I’m sorry.”
I wanted to say a million things. Not as sorry as I am was one of them. Not as sorry as Sam would’ve been, if he’d known. But Simon came out behind her, taking her arm in an iron grip and marching away like it wasn’t raining at all, and I said nothing. I was sorry, but not for myself. Money was only money, after all, and I had a glorious, warm home to return to.
“What’s up?” Thomas asked that night, startling me into closing my laptop quickly. Milo looked all nice and clean from his bath. Thomas eyed me curiously, raising his eyebrow.
“It’s nothing,” I said, ignoring his dubious look. I didn’t want him to see how empty my bank account was. I didn’t want him to feel obligated in any way. If he was staying, it was because he wanted to be with me and for no other reason. I’d make sure of that.
My phone rang. On autopilot, I pressed the Answer button and put it on speaker.
Cleo and Imran had been caught up in a coinciding double-duty nightshift, which didn’t happen very often, but when it did, they tended to fall off the face of the earth. So I wasn’t surprised Cleo didn’t sound c
ompletely sane. “Ollie!” she practically shouted. “Tell me everything! How did the date go? Oh my God, I can’t believe I haven’t spoken to you in so long. Did you guys get on okay? Are you resurfacing from a black hole of sex and debauchery? Is that why we haven’t heard from either of you?”
Thomas turned around slowly at the same time I looked up. He began walking Milo around the kitchen. Milo had no interest in going to sleep tonight.
“I thought you told her,” I whispered to him urgently.
He shook his head, eyes wide. “I thought you told her.”
Oh God.
“Um, Cleo there’s something you should know.”
“What?” She suddenly sounded dead serious. “What is it? Are you okay?”
“Yes. We’re both okay. Uh, the thing is . . . Thomas had a baby.”
Silence.
“And Thomas and the baby are—” I glanced at him, then back at the phone “—temporarily living with me until things settle down. It’s a long story.” Why was I so nervous about telling her this? And why was she not saying anything? “His name is Milo, and he’s gorgeous. We were wondering if you and Imran would like to come and meet him?”
“Thomas had a baby?” she asked in a really small voice, and promptly started crying.
Thomas gave me a what the hell? look, and I shrugged. He leaned over the phone. “Cleo? You okay?”
“Yes,” she said. “No.”
There was a rustle, muffled voices, and Imran came on the line. “I can’t get any sense out of her, guys,” he said, sounding resigned. “What did you say to her?”
“Uh.” I looked at Thomas. It was his turn.
“I had a baby,” he said without preamble. “The mother is in treatment for PPD, so Milo and I are staying with Ollie.”
I waited for the for now, but it didn’t come.
“Oh, Jesus,” Imran said, and he sounded annoyed.
“I have to say, this isn’t the reaction I thought we’d get when we mentioned a baby,” I tried to joke.
“No? Well, I guess Cleo never told you she had a miscarriage.”
The phone went dead, and I stared at Thomas as my brain tried to process the words. “What the hell?” I asked him. “Why would he be such an asshole about that? Unless . . . Was it yours?”
Thomas rounded the island, holding one hand up in plea as he clutched Milo to his chest. “It can’t have been,” he said. “Oh my God, Ollie, you have to believe me. It can’t have been.”
“I—” I stared into his kind, warm eyes. Right then they were shiny with anguish. “I don’t know what to think,” I said. After the jab about me wanting him here so he could help pay my mortgage, I wasn’t feeling exactly magnanimous. “I need a minute.” I knew he’d slept around a lot. I knew that. And it had never bothered me. I knew he’d slept with Cleo, and that hadn’t bothered me either. But this? My heart hurt. God. I couldn’t do this. I wanted Sam. I nearly started crying there and then.
He opened his mouth, but closed it again and nodded. “If you leave, please let me know when you’re coming back. If you want us to go, I can—”
I was about to reach for the door, but I turned to him, angry suddenly. “Don’t insult me. I told you I wasn’t going to kick you out of here no matter what. And I meant it. For the record, I’m also not using you to pay my bills.” A low blow and I knew it. Softer, I said, “I need a minute, that’s all.” It didn’t seem like too much to ask, but his dejected expression made me feel like a jerk regardless.
“I’ll be here when you want to talk.” He looked defeated when he turned to the living room. My heart shattered when Milo began to cry quietly. Had he felt the tension? Was he sensitive to fights already? I felt terrible.
For some reason my feet carried me up to the top floor. The painting sat under its cloth, and I carefully revealed it. Seeing my face in ecstasy like that was still a shock, and the whole thing made me squirm on the inside. How had Sam done that? Just from memory in the bedroom mirror? Had he taken a picture I wasn’t aware of? Not that I minded. I only wondered. My eyes were closed in the painting, but Sam looked right at the viewer. Godlike, he was, even though I was sure he hadn’t meant it like that. He’d been aware of his beauty, his presence, but never in an arrogant way. This look on his face was meant to say, See? See how much he’s all mine?
And I had been. But I wasn’t anymore.
Of course Thomas would’ve told me if he’d known about Cleo’s baby. He was a good person through and through. And good people made mistakes too. I’d made my fair share, and he’d always forgiven me.
I sighed and covered my face. I hadn’t signed up for this, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want it.
I’d taken Sam for granted in the best ways, and I’d lost him. But if I had the choice and knew what was coming, I’d do the same again. Sam had been worth every ounce of pain I’d felt over the past year.
But what about Thomas?
I tried to imagine never knowing what his kisses tasted like, what he looked like first thing in the morning, sleepy and soft. The way he gazed at me when he thought I wasn’t watching. I let my hands fall away and rose to my feet.
I hurried downstairs and found him on the couch, Milo asleep on his shoulder. He looked too exhausted to even carry him to bed.
“Here,” I whispered. “Let me. You put on the TV. I’ll be right there.”
“Ollie?”
“It’s okay. I won’t be long.”
I very carefully changed Milo’s diaper, and while he woke briefly, he snuggled back to sleep as soon as I put him in his crib. After turning on the baby monitor, I made my way into the kitchen, grabbed two beers, and joined Thomas on the couch.
He accepted the beer but wouldn’t look at me.
“You okay?” I whispered. “I’m sorry about what I said.”
He nodded and drank from his beer. “This isn’t easy,” Thomas said. “And I think we’d be really good together, Ollie. I do. But—” Oh no. My breath stuttered in my lungs. “When you said you needed a minute, I thought that was exactly what we both needed.”
“What?”
He set his beer down and pulled one leg underneath him so he could face me. With gentle fingers, he began to play with my hair. “I think we both need some space. Some time to sort ourselves out. I don’t want to end this.” He picked up my hand and kissed my knuckles. “But this isn’t turning into anything sustainable at the rate we’re going. Ollie . . . I’m going to go home for a while with Milo. I understand if that means you don’t want to continue this. I know financially you’re in a tough spot, and I can lend you some—”
“I don’t want your money,” I said, wanting to sound angry and hurt. Instead I sounded resigned. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have doubted you. Here I am asking you to have faith in me, and I didn’t show you the same kind of respect. Maybe you’re right. Maybe we need some space.” I’d only ever been in one relationship, and Sam and I had never needed space. I knew what it generally meant when couples came to that conclusion. Tears prickled against my eyelids, but I managed to hold them back. “When do you want to leave?”
“Tomorrow, if that’s okay with you.”
“It’s fine, Thomas,” I said, and my heart ached. “I’ll help you pack. But I do think we need to resolve this thing with Cleo and Imran somehow.”
“Ask them to come over in the morning if you want.” He sounded so tired. “The thing is . . . there is no way that baby was mine.”
“What?” I sat up a little. “But you guys had sex, didn’t you?”
“Yes, we did. But I never came.”
“What?” I sat up even straighter. “But you did . . .” I had no clue how to put this delicately.
“Yes. With a condom. And I didn’t have an orgasm. I sort of faked it when she came, and hurried into the bathroom and squirted some shower gel into the condom in case she saw it when she emptied the bin.”
I tried not to laugh but a snort came out anyway.
“It’s not fu
nny,” Thomas said, but he laughed too. “Oh my God, I’m ridiculous.”
“Little bit.” I put my head on his shoulder, and he put his arm around me. I couldn’t decipher what this meant, if this was friendly affection or love, and I was too emotionally exhausted to try. “You have to tell Imran this. And Cleo. Or this is going to ruin more than our friendships.”
“Shit.”
I picked up my phone and sent Cleo and Imran the same text.
Come over tomorrow. We need to talk. All of us.
I felt like some sort of reality TV armchair psychologist as I sat in my living room, Cleo and Imran on one side of the sectional and Thomas on the other. Milo was making cooing noises on the floor, completely fascinated with the plastic mirror dangling from his play mat.
Okay, Cleo why don’t you tell the audience your side of the story?
I wanted to giggle. But didn’t, thank God. “A beer, anyone?” I asked, my voice pitched a bit higher than usual.
“It’s ten in the morning,” Cleo said.
Meh . . . “Okay, well, coffee, then?”
“What are we doing here, Ollie?” Imran asked for the second time. “I have to go to work in an hour.”
I frowned at him. He had always been blunt, but this? And the way he wouldn’t look at anyone? “What’s the matter with you?” I asked him. “Why are you being such a dick?”
“He’s being a dick,” Cleo said, “because he never believed me when I told him there was no way that baby was Thomas’s.” I noticed they were sitting next to each other but not touching at all.
Thomas made a startled noise and turned bright red. “You . . . knew?”
“Honey, I know the difference between spunk and shower gel.”
I still wanted to laugh, but managed not to. “Okay, so now you know.” I pretended to bring their heads together. “Now kiss and make up.”
“He can’t,” Cleo said. “It was never about the baby, just like our previous fight wasn’t really about me sleeping with Thomas.” She turned to Imran. “I know you tried, but you can’t, can you?” She began to cry. When Imran reached for her, she ran out of the room. I gave Thomas a baffled look, but he shrugged, clueless as well.