by N. R. Walker
“Do you have to use it often?”
“Too often. You’d be surprised.”
“Then it should be abolished immediately.”
He smiled at me, a half-smile. A comfortable, lazy kind of smile that made him look as cute as hell. “But getting back to my point,” he said. “You’ve shown me that it’s okay to have hard limits and likes and preferences, and that I don’t have to endure unwanted sex just to feel like society tells me I should feel. Because that’s not who I am; I know that now, and I know it’s not a defect. So for that reason, I’m really glad I met you too.”
I grinned at him.
“I mean there are other reasons I’m glad I met you, the most perfect second date in history, notwithstanding.”
“Such as?”
“Loves books, has great taste in books too, I might add. You’re kind and thoughtful, and you notice things about people that most people wouldn’t.”
“I do?”
“Sure. Like Feri,” he said, nodding toward where Feri was talking to another couple at the counter. “Most people would have described him as short, kinda round, Hungarian, or loud. All they see are obvious physical descriptors. But not you. You said he has the best laugh. You see a trait that embodies him as a human being.”
I was a little stunned by his assessment. He had an uncanny way of stripping away the bullshit and seeing the real me.
“Oh,” he added, then leaned across the table. “And you’re a great kisser.”
I snorted out a laugh and let my smile linger as I studied him for a moment. “It was kinda great.”
His cheeks drew a nice pink, and he rolled his eyes. “Actually, it was terrible. It was so bad, I think we might need to practise a whole lot more until we improve. And the hand holding needs work; there should be much more of it until we have it mastered. And we haven’t got to hugging yet, but I’m confident enough to know there will probably be a need for much training. I hear repetition is key.”
I laughed. “Most definitely is key.”
Just then Feri came over to ask if there was anything he could get us, but we were done. We halved the bill, bid Feri good night, and walked out into the street. The night had gotten dark and cold, and we both shoved our hands in our jacket pockets for warmth as we began walking back toward Cleveland Street.
“So we should try and organise a meeting of friends,” I suggested. “For me to meet Angus, and for you to meet Michael. Or do we leave it a while and just enjoy being us for a bit.”
“I don’t mind,” he replied. “I’d say you could meet Angus right now, only he’s getting his itch scratched and won’t be home until morning.”
“An itch?” I asked. “Does he need antibiotics?”
Jordan snorted. “He probably will after.” Then he explained. “He has a couple he meets up with every other weekend when they have an itch or when he does. If you get my drift.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. When I said we’re very different, I meant it,” he said with a smile. “He doesn’t really want a relationship, I don’t think. He just likes to hook up when it’s convenient. And the fact that there’s two of them isn’t such a great surprise, knowing Angus. A husband and wife who enjoy his company every so often, maybe every second or third weekend, with no strings attached. But apparently they’re super nice and they treat him well, so that’s all I care about. Plus, it’s how Angus likes it; he doesn’t want complications or anything but mind-blowing sex every so often. So when I say he’s getting an itch scratched, it’s getting scratched very thoroughly.”
I chuckled. “Sounds like it.”
“So if the universe has a quota of the amount of sex allowed, then Angus evens out my loss,” he said with a laugh. “I don’t want any, and he does two at once. Like I said, we’re very different, but maybe that’s why we get on so well.”
“How did you meet?” I asked. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Well, it’s a bit weird, but the real estate agent who manages rentals hooked us up.”
“Hooked you up?”
He made a face. “Not like that, God no. I meant hooked us up. She knew I was looking for a new place and the unit was perfect, but I needed a flatmate to help cover rent and she knew of someone else who was looking and she asked me if I’d seen Notting Hill…” He grinned. “The rest, as they say, is history. That was three years ago.”
“Notting Hill?”
He nodded. “Yep. You know Hugh Grant’s flatmate? The tall, weird Welshman?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s Angus. Except he’s not tall, and he’s Australian, not Welsh.”
“Sounds… fun.”
“Never a dull moment, that’s for sure.”
I had wondered about his dynamics with his flatmate, or best friend, or brother as he’d called him. Jordan had said they were close but very different, and I’d wondered if they had some kind of history. I couldn’t deny the selfish stab of relief when he confirmed there’d never been anything physical between them. I knew everyone had a past and exes. I had my own. But I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about them still living together.
We’d somehow managed to walk ourselves to my place. “Oh,” I said, rather stupidly. I pointed to the townhouse I called home. “Um, this is me.”
“Oh!” Jordan looked kinda horrified, and if I could read him properly, he looked anxious. “I um, I should, uh…” He glanced up the street.
“Jordan,” I said gently. “I can call you a cab or an Uber right now, and I’ll even pay for it so I know you get home safely. Or you could come inside? I can promise you there will be no pressure for sex or anything, really. Although I wouldn’t be opposed to maybe some more kissing or hand holding. And I’m pretty sure Deep Space Nine is on Netflix, and I haven’t seen it in years.” I was nervous and it was very obvious. “I’ve just had a really great day and I don’t want it to end yet, but if you want to go, it’s totally fine and I understand, I really do. It is kinda late, but if you do want to leave, please let me pay your Uber fare because as much as I love this place, it can be kind of sketchy at night and—”
Jordan put his hand on the gate to my front door and pushed it open. “After you.”
I let out a relieved laugh but went through the gate. My stomach tightened with nerves. “Um. Thank you.”
“The nervous rambling is cute,” he said. “But like I said, that’s my trademark. You’ll need to get your own.”
Smiling, I took out my key and unlocked my front door, and this time, I held the door for him. “I’m not normally the nervous type,” I admitted as I stepped inside. I flipped on the light and closed the door behind him, then leaned my back against it. “But I am around you. I mean, I’m comfortable like I’ve known you forever, but I’m nervous because I don’t want to fuck this up.”
He turned and eyed me for a moment. “Why would you fuck it up? Because believe me, if there’s anyone who is a walking train wreck, I’m pretty sure it’s me.”
I put my hand to my forehead, trying to get myself in order, and pushed off the door to close the distance between us. “You’re not a walking train wreck,” I whispered, putting my hand to his jaw. “You’re kind of awesome and really cute. And I probably should find my manners and ask you if you’d like a drink or something, but I’m pretty sure if I don’t kiss you right now, my heart will explode.”
He sucked back a breath and licked his lips. “Well, we can’t have exploding hearts. I mean I know CPR and I can keep a heart beating until the ambulance gets here but I don’t think there’s much I can do for an exploding heart and I’d much rather you didn’t die right now because the cops might think I did it and I’m far too cute to go to jail.”
I chuckled as I leaned in. His eyes fluttered shut and his lips parted slightly just before I kissed him. He responded, leaning into me and kissing me back with a restraint and tenderness that made my knees weak. I had one hand cupping his jaw and the other at his waist, and he felt so right agains
t me.
There was no arousal; my body didn’t usually react like that. But my heart was beating triple time, my blood singing, and my chest bloomed with a warmth I’d only felt a few times before. He took my breath away.
I slowed the kiss, and keeping my forehead pressed to his, I swiped my thumb along his jaw. “Wow.”
He laughed and his blue-grey eyes swam as if he were drunk. “Yeah. Wow.”
I hummed and licked my lips, enjoying the thrum of sensations kissing him had given me. Like he’d done to me before, I took his hand and placed it over my heart. “Feel that? That’s from you.”
He blushed and laughed it off, sliding his hand from my heart down my arm. It took him a moment, but he eventually met my eyes and there was uncertainty in his.
“You okay?” I asked.
He nodded and looked around the room, taking in the TV, the couches, and the small dining table. “I um…” He let out a breath.
I might have thought he was nervous but it wasn’t that. He was anxious. “Want that drink?” I asked, figuring he could use the distraction. I walked into the kitchen and hit the lights before opening the fridge. “I have bottled water or lemon-flavoured mineral water, which I sometimes add vodka to? Or Corona if you want beer, and tea or coffee.”
He was still standing in the living room where I’d left him, his hand in his back jeans pocket. “Um… water’d be great, thanks.”
I took two bottles and handed him one, then picked up the TV remote. “So, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. Should I start at the first episode, first season? Or do I just skip straight to season three?”
It seemed to take a second for his brain to kick into gear. “Oh, episode one, season one, of course.” He walked around to where I was and sat slowly on the sofa. “Um, you can’t be a true fan if you skip anything.”
“True.” I waited for Netflix to load and found the thumbnail I was after and hit Play. I sat beside him, on the same couch, but not too close. I leaned back, put my feet on the coffee table, and plonked a cushion on my lap. “So, Sisko is the best captain or commander, whatever his rank ended up? What about Picard, or Kirk and Spock, or Janeway? There has to be a reason you picked Sisko.”
He smiled at me and seemed to relax before launching into a spiel on consistency and compassion and how Sisko’s being a father in the show made him more relatable. He was animated; the light in his eyes was back, along with his smile. We watched two episodes before I couldn’t fight another yawn. “I think it’s time for bed,” I said, trying to shake off my tiredness.
“Oh,” Jordan said, quickly getting to his feet. He swallowed hard and took a small step back. “Yes, I should be going. I didn’t realise how late it was.”
His anxiousness was back, and I think I knew what it was. While we’d been standing close and touching, he’d become anxious, but as soon as I put some distance between us and made no move to get cuddly on the couch, he’d relax.
I sat up and put my feet on the floor. “Jordan, can I ask you something?”
He opened his mouth but shut it again and he glanced to the front door. “Uh, sure.”
“Are you worried that I want more?” I looked up at him. “Because I don’t. I mean, that kiss earlier was amazing and I’d like to do more of that, but not tonight. And maybe we’ll work our way up to cuddling on the couch.” I gave a pointed nod to the TV. “Maybe by season two? But not tonight.”
He let out a loud breath and almost swayed. He sagged back onto the couch next to me. “Am I that obvious?”
“You’re like a rabbit in front of a fox.”
He barked out a laugh. “That’s an apt description, because it’s how I feel.”
I gave him a sad smile. “I’m sorry. I want you to feel safe around me. But I get it. I do.”
He frowned and spoke to his hands. “It’s just that things always start like this, and there’d be hand holding and kissing, and I’d say that’s all I want and they’d agree, but then they’d think kissing was just a tool for foreplay. Like no one can just kiss because they like it. It has to be a prelude to wanting more, and they’d always think I was playing hard to get, and then I’d have to say no, again, because how could anyone not want to have sex, right? And then they’d say, ‘But you like kissing, it’s not that different,’ but it really fucking is. Kissing and having sex aren’t mutually inclusive. Just because I want one doesn’t mean I want the other or have to partake in sex just because I want to enjoy kissing.” He took a breath. “And you kissed me and it was incredible. Like, seriously, it may have been the best kiss of all time and I was floating. Seriously. You have skills. But then habit snuck in and I thought for sure you’d ask for more and I didn’t want to have to say no to you because well, this has been the best date ever and I didn’t want to ruin it.”
I shook my head. There was quite a lot to unpack in that. I took his hand and waited until he looked into my eyes. “Okay, first things first, you saying no wouldn’t ruin anything. Don’t ever think you’re doing something wrong by saying no. Blame should fall on the person with the expectation that they are owed sex. Secondly, kissing is not the same thing as sex. Not even close, and if someone tries to guilt you into something you’re not comfortable with, then they’re a piece of shit and witches should put a hex on them so that every time they get a hard-on, they cry for their mummies.”
Jordan snorted. “If they don’t already.”
I laughed and the tension was now, thankfully, gone. I squeezed his hand. “Jordan, I don’t want to have sex with you.”
“Oh.” He jolted back, shocked, frowning and upset. His voice was quiet. “Is there something wrong with me?”
I would have laughed at that, except it really wasn’t funny. It was a very stark reminder that he was still coming to terms with his asexuality and that he had a lot of years of rejection and stereotypical demons to conquer yet.
I lifted his hand and rubbed my thumb over his knuckles. “Jordan, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with you. You’re perfect just as you are. My not wanting to have sex with you isn’t personal. I don’t want to have sex with anyone. That’s where I am on the spectrum of sexuality, and there’s nothing wrong with me either. It’s just who I am.” Now for the tricky part. “Your knee-jerk reaction to thinking there’s something wrong with you because I’m not attracted to you sexually tells me you’ve spent a lot of time dealing with arseholes who told you you weren’t normal for not wanting sex.”
He chewed on his bottom lip and conceded with a small nod. “You’re very good at this support-group-mentor speech.”
I chuckled. “Thank you.”
“But yes. I’ve been told too many times to count that there’s something wrong with me.”
I scooted a bit closer so our knees touched, and still holding his hand with one of mine, I put my other to his cheek. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Jordan. Actually, you’re pretty damn close to perfect.”
He blushed. “Well, then that’s such a coincidence because I think you’re pretty damn close to perfect too.”
I grinned at him and we both took a second to just take it in. “You feel better?” I asked.
He nodded. “Much. Thank you for not letting me freak out and ruin everything.”
“You were about ready to bolt for the door.”
“I was working out the mathematical equation of hurdling your couch and escaping.”
“It takes maths to jump a couch?”
He nodded. “Yep. Distance of the jump required times the height of the couch, divided by the energy and exertion necessary. I’m sure there’s a cos, tan, sin equation in there somewhere but I failed year-eight maths so I really wouldn’t know. And you’d need to subtract the amount of food I ate at dinner and my absolute lack of athletic ability to do anything, really, so I’d also need to allow for an inevitable crash over the back of the couch, hitting your floor, possibly denting the wall, and in all likelihood, any bones that break when gravity reminds me that I’m no longer a teenager,
fit, or agile.”
I laughed, because right there was the real Jordan I knew; all hint of anxiousness was gone. “Then how about I walk you around the couch and see you out.” We stood and I took my phone out. “Let me book you an Uber. It’s late.” I handed him my phone. “Your address?”
He quickly thumbed it in and handed it back to me. “Thanks.” Then he was quick to take my hand again. “We still need to practise.”
“Oh, true. Practice is key.”
He swung our still-joined hands and smiled. “You can stop trying now. I stopped scoring this date. It passed a solid ten at lunchtime. You’ve lapped ten several times.”
I turned to face him, leaning my back against the front door. “I’m not trying. I just want you to get home safe, that’s all.” I held my phone up. “Your driver is three minutes away.”
“Well, if you’re not opposed to it, I think I’d like to kiss you again,” he said.
“I’m not opposed to that at all.”
He leaned his front against me, pressing me against the door, and kissed me. I let him lead this time, and he was slow and languid, deep and thorough. There was the right amount of pressure, the right amount of tongue, soft lips and rough stubble, gentle hands and a gentle nudge of his nose when he pulled away.
“Damn,” he breathed. He lifted my hand to his chest this time so I could feel the thump of his heart.
“Damn,” I echoed. My entire body was buzzing and warm, alight with the memory of his kiss. We stared at each other for a long moment, our smiles growing wider. I turned the door handle and stepped in closer to Jordan so I could open it. He didn’t move, just kissed me again, chastely this time. Then he took a step to the side so I could open the door fully. “I have had the best day,” I said.
“Me too.”
“What are you doing tomorrow?”
“Laundry, groceries. All that super fun adulting stuff.”
I groaned. “Same.”
“You can text me though,” he said. “Or call me. I won’t mind at all.”
A car honked its horn out the front. “That’s your ride.”