But Jesse still needed to reach out and touch him, just to make sure. Somehow.
The little blue car was lonely on the three-in-the-morning road, and Jesse propped the door of his flat to creep down the communal stairs and open the main door. Ezra had gotten sort-of dressed, in jeans and an open check shirt, feet shoved into his trainers without socks, and his hair was wild and fluffy, in gleeful disarray, as he locked the car and wrapped himself around Jesse in a tight, warm hug.
Jesse clung back until something creaked, and pressed the side of his face against that wild hair.
“You’re all right, sweetheart,” Ezra murmured.
Jesse squeezed again until Ezra’s grip on the nape of his neck tightened in warning, then he let go and dragged Ezra up the silent stairs by the hand. Concrete stairs. They wouldn’t collapse in a fire until the whole building came down.
He didn’t say a word until he’d pressed the requested tea into Ezra’s hands, locked the door again and bundled them both back to the messy bed. Ezra was equally silent, taking a couple of mouthfuls before abandoning the tea, stripping to his underwear and crawling into the mess to mould himself into Jesse’s arms.
“There you go,” he murmured lowly, kissing Jesse’s encroaching stubble and stroking a hand gently through his hair. “Feel better now?”
“Mm,” Jesse pressed his nose into Ezra’s neck, tangling their legs together. He could feel a strong pulse in Ezra’s jugular. He could feel the rough skin of the bumpy scar on Ezra’s shoulder under his fingertips. He could feel the fuzzy mess of Ezra’s hair, usually styled and stiff in that messy-but-it’s-on-purpose-so-it’s-okay manner, now just loose and wild. He could feel him. “Thank you.”
“Thank me again tomorrow afternoon when I’m grumpy and exhausted after two hours of the Year Nines.”
“Okay,” Jesse agreed, sliding his arms completely around Ezra’s back until he enveloped him. They didn’t often sleep cuddled together—or even together at all, between Ezra’s eight-to-four and Jesse’s shifts—but he needed this. He needed it.
“Mind if I go to sleep?”
“No,” Jesse squirmed until Ezra got the hint and tucked his head under his chin. His hair tickled. Jesse kissed the top of his head and wished he had the easy grace with language that Ezra did. Wished he could express himself properly. Wished he could talk as easily as he hugged. But all that came out was, “I just needed to touch you.”
Ezra said nothing to that, simply shifting until he was comfortable, one arm over Jesse’s ribs and the other tucked over his own waist in a casual sort of drop. Ezra was long—long limbs, long neck, all willowy lines and bendy joints, and he settled like water into the bulkier, stiffer contours of Jesse’s body.
But he fit, and he fit perfectly, and Jesse wrapped him up and held him, breathing in the smell of store-brand shampoo and cheap aftershave until the last traces of the nightmare-induced fear washed away.
It was still a long time before he slept.
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About the Author
Matthew J. Metzger is an asexual, transgender British author juggling books, an office job and a love of travel with the human need for sleep once in a while. He writes both adult and young adult books focusing on LGBT+ characters and their relationships, particularly those from the less salubrious areas in which he was dragged up over the years.
On the very rare occasions that Matt isn’t writing, he can usually be found at the gym, halfway up a mountain or collecting new tattoos. (And yes, he does have book ink...)
Matthew loves to hear from readers. You can find his contact information, website details and author profile page at https://www.pride-publishing.com
The Third Date (Starting Over) Page 18