It didn’t take long. A long day, a stressful week, and the blown lust in Ezra’s eyes were too much for Jesse to handle all at once. He loved this stage. It was new enough that he had tired of nothing, found nothing of Ezra naked and so turned on it hurt that he had grown bored with, and yet old enough that he knew exactly where the sweet spots were. He knew when to twist his fingers and kiss that hip-bone at the same time. He knew just when to start and when to stop. He knew the breathy sighs of contentment from the first edges of pain if he went too fast, and how to wring out all the best noises. All the right noises.
Ezra hooked a foot over his back once he was fully inside, whispering some incoherent endearment against his mouth. Jesse loved this. The closeness, chest to chest and tangled in the sheets, only permitted when Ezra was mindless with lust. The dampness of his skin, the flush in his lips and the way their mouths clung as though their lips were hugging instead of kissing. The strange kind of disarray that Ezra’s hair only adopted when they had sex, and the way that, right near the end, Ezra would tangle both hands back in Jesse’s hair and pull him close to gasp into his mouth, not quite kissing and not quite talking.
I love you, Jesse thought, as loudly as he could, at the precise moment that Ezra fell apart, jerking under him in a short seizure of bliss. The moment that his eyes went blank, his brain momentarily paused, was the moment that Jesse followed, and the white-out pleasure was somehow strangely intense that night, tearing him out from his toes to his scalp, and burying the remains deep in the heaving ribs that protected Ezra’s heart.
Deep in Ezra’s heart.
“I love you,” Ezra whispered breathlessly as they came down together, too hot and tangled up and still completely intertwined. “God, Jess. I love you.”
Jesse kissed him, barely a brush against his swollen mouth, and nosed wordlessly against his damp neck.
Then Ezra kissed his ear, whispered, “Mm, I know,” and Jesse knew that even if he didn’t say it out loud, Ezra heard him anyway.
Chapter Six
“So,” Ezra said when Jesse answered his mobile. “I hear my hero is back at work?”
Jesse blinked. “How did you—?”
He’d been cleared not ten minutes ago by occupational health.
“Iggy,” Ezra said immediately.
“Bloody Iggy.”
“Now you know why I let her flirt with me,” Ezra said triumphantly.
“Yeah, yeah. Snitch.”
“So when’s your next shift?”
“I’m on light duties from the day after tomorrow,” Jesse said. “No shifts yet. I haven’t passed the grip test, so I’m stuck on paperwork duties and installing alarms and crap. Should be back to the proper job in a week or two. Celebratory drinks?”
“Mm, I could be persuaded,” Ezra said, but Jesse strained his hearing, and could just about pick out the hustle of background noise that didn’t belong in Ezra’s house.
“Where are you?”
“Primark,” Ezra said. “Someone, who shall remain nameless, ruined my last stretchy T-shirt by ripping it.”
“So you’re buying more?”
“Mm.”
“Good, I like those,” Jesse said approvingly, and Ezra laughed. “So, meet you in the Wetherspoons for lunch in fifteen? My treat.”
“I never say no to a free lunch,” Ezra said. “See you in a bit. Love you, baby.”
“You too,” Jesse managed, and grinned when he hung up. He wasn’t comfortable with words like Ezra. He didn’t like voicing his feelings very much, not when it mattered, and Ezra mattered. That little ‘you too’ was a step in the right direction.
He had a bounce in his step as he walked the half-mile into the town centre. Jesse loved his job. He had been cursing himself every day since the accident for getting injured in the first place, even if it had at least been around some of Ezra’s own holiday time. Even light duties were better than nothing.
Ezra had beaten him to the pub, but not by much, and Jesse grinned to see that Ezra had bought the first round, two pints of Stella gleaming in the watery noon sun.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he said, catching him by the shoulders from behind and absorbing the startled flinch, bending over to kiss him briefly despite the public setting.
“Get off, you animal,” Ezra said, shoving his shoulder, but he was smiling as Jesse let him go and took his seat, and the clank of their glasses in cheers was loud. “Congratulations,” Ezra said. “Now you’ll stop moping around like someone killed your puppy.”
“I do not,” Jesse said.
“You do,” Ezra corrected, checking his phone when it beeped. “Day after tomorrow, huh? Nine to five?” he added, replying to whatever text had distracted him.
“Yep,” Jesse replied. “Mostly paperwork. And probably some liaison shit. The boss was saying how the police want to do this community safety drive and want us on board.”
“Exciting,” Ezra said, his tone saying it was anything but. “Well, I’m thinking that once your nine to five is over, I live within spitting distance. And I need someone to distract me from lesson plans.”
“I think I could manage.” Jesse grinned, then paused and chewed on the edge of his lip. “I’ve, um—I’ve been saving my holiday leave, and I talked to the boss today, and he said if I get in early enough, he’ll prioritise my leave request this year.”
“Lucky you,” Ezra said.
“No, listen. I was thinking maybe we could go on holiday. A proper one, away. It was—your family aside—leave it,” he added, batting the phone away when it beeped again and Ezra opened the text. “Your family aside, it was nice getting away somewhere new with you. We could, I don’t know, go for a city break somewhere, or hiking somewhere.”
Ezra was smiling, turning his phone over and over in his hand absently.
“That sounds nice,” he said, the smile widening when Jesse’s face flushed hot. “It would have to be August. I spend most of July working on my lesson plans for the next year so I can actually take August off, but—no, going away sounds nice,” he finished, firing off a quick text before putting the phone aside again. “Depends where.”
“We can look on the web when I get back from work on Wednesday,” Jesse said, and grinned. “Somewhere hot, though.”
“I’ll burn.”
“You’ll freckle.”
Ezra threw a menu at him. “I’ll burn,” he insisted. “Anything more intense than Brighton in the summer, and I go scarlet. Pick your lunch.”
His phone beeped. Jesse rolled his eyes and scanned the menu as Ezra dealt with whoever wanted him. “Think I’ll go with a chicken burger,” he said eventually, and the moment he did, Ezra was standing. “Hey, no, I said I’d—”
“And it’s your good news, so I’ll get it,” Ezra insisted, then smiled. “You can pay me back after work on Wednesday.”
Jesse raised his eyebrows. Ezra smirked and sauntered away with the menu, leaving Jesse to stare out of the window at the world passing by. The sun was trying to break through the clouds and mostly failing, and there was a hint of rain against the windows. A typical day on the south coast, then. Jesse loved days like this.
Ezra’s phone beeped, and Jesse jumped. He started at the lit display for a moment, before glancing towards the bar. Ezra was leaning over it talking to the barman. So Jesse took the chance and slid the phone across towards himself, opening the one new text message notification.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
From: Liam Q
Time: 13.32
Message: I saw the bruises.
Well, that made a whole lot of sense. He backed out of the text and went to the previous one, also from the underwear model.
Liam Q: I just didn’t get a good vibe off him, that’s all I’m saying.
Which made about as much sense. Jesse frowned at the phone, but Ezra’s reply of you’re being an idiot between the two messages didn’t help. Why were they texting anyway? He’d thrown away the card with the number and the kisses on it. Had
Liam gotten in touch some other way, then? Jesse honestly couldn’t remember if he was one of Ezra’s friends on Facebook. Neither of them used it very much.
The phone beeped again. God, this arsehole was persistent—and completely bloody cryptic and kind of patronising too, when Jesse opened that message to find—
Liam Q: If you ever need to talk, Ezzy, I’m here x.
“Thank you,” Ezra said tartly, snatching the phone out of Jesse’s hand as he returned. “What are you nosing about in there for?”
“It wouldn’t stop buzzing,” Jesse said.
“Mm.”
“It’s Liam.”
“I know that.” Ezra gave him a funny look, glancing at the latest message and rolling his eyes.
“Why do you have his number?”
“He sent it me on Facebook.” Ezra shrugged. “In theory, we’re catching up, but funny, you two have something in common. He’s been your favourite topic since you met him, and you’ve been his since, oh, about the same time.”
Jesse winced. He knew that tone of voice. “Sorry?” he tried. “I just—he keeps texting you.”
“Because you’re both idiots,” Ezra said, turning off the phone and pocketing it. “What does it matter if I’m talking to my ex-boyfriend anyway?”
Jesse squirmed. There was no way to answer that without getting yelled at, or—or waking Ezra up to the facts. That Liam was better than him.
“Jesse,” Ezra said firmly. “Stop it. Liam is not a bloody threat to you—or to us. He’s my ex, he’s my ex for a reason that hasn’t changed, so drop it. I’m getting sick of the pair of you—you’re both carrying on like absolute idiots since you met.”
Jesse scowled at the phone where it now resided. “So he meant me.”
“What?”
“He said he didn’t get a good vibe or something. He meant me.”
Ezra rolled his eyes. “We’re not going there, Jesse. And seriously, stop snooping through my phone. You’re being overbearing.”
“He doesn’t like me.”
“Well, isn’t that good, because you apparently don’t like him either.”
Then the first part of the exchange clicked in Jesse’s head, and he felt a cold wash of dread flooding his system. “He—what bruises?”
“Oh, my God,” Ezra groaned.
“He said he saw bruises.”
“Jesse, I swear to God, if I catch you going through my texts again—”
“Ezra, what bruises!”
Ezra huffed. “Oh, for God’s sake. You left fingerprints on my wrist, and Liam’s got eyes like a bloody hawk.”
Jesse felt suddenly cold. “I—”
“Jesse. Jess.” And suddenly Ezra’s hand was over his, ignoring the setting. “Jess, sweetheart, stop it. I know that face. Stop it.”
“I left—Ez, why didn’t you tell me!”
He’d left bruises. He’d gripped hard enough to leave a mark, and sure, Jesse liked leaving love-bites occasionally, and sometimes he’d bruised Ezra’s hips if they were a bit rough, but he’d never—had he? If he’d done it once, how many times had—
“I didn’t notice.”
His brain stalled, stuck and rebooted. “What?”
“I didn’t even notice until he pointed them out,” Ezra shrugged. “In the bar. Then he gave me his number. I didn’t even think about it until he started carrying on like a bloody idiot.”
“Ez, I—” Jesse croaked. “If I—”
“You didn’t hurt me, Jess, come on. You know me, I’d have raised hell if it had hurt. Now stop it. A couple of bruises aren’t going to kill me.”
“I shouldn’t leave them in the first place!”
Ezra rolled his eyes. “You’re being overdramatic.”
“Ez, that’s—that’s—” Jesse couldn’t even bring himself to say it. He felt sick.
“How about this? When you deliberately leave a bruise, or a mark, or whatever, then we can start having rows about it and what you’re up to,” Ezra said calmly, squeezing Jesse’s fingers.
Jesse swallowed and took a deep breath, pushing away the sudden onslaught of panic. He wasn’t like that. He wasn’t. He’d never hurt Ezra on purpose, and he’d—he’d have to be more careful, and—
“One chicken burger and one gammon and chips?”
Ezra offered the waitress a sunny smile and withdrew his hand. “The gammon’s mine,” he said. “Thanks.” The moment she retreated, those dark eyes homed back in on Jesse’s face, and he frowned lightly. “You all right?”
“Yeah,” Jesse lied, and mustered up a smile. “Yeah, I’m, I’m okay.”
“Mm,” Ezra said, spearing a chip with his fork. “I think you and I need a bit of a talk about this.”
“I’m fine, Ez.”
“You completely overreacted. You’ve been overreacting ever since I suggested visiting my family, and I’m done pretending you’re just nervous and you’ll get over it, because you’re not. So we’ll talk about it—like rational adults, instead of you snooping around in my phone—and get this all out in the open. Okay?”
Jesse took a shallow, shaky breath, feeling the edge again. This was it, then. This was going to be when Ezra realised he could do better, that he had done better, then—
“Okay,” he lied again, and watched those narrow wrists as Ezra reached for the salt shaker.
He couldn’t see a single mark.
* * * *
“All right,” Ezra said, the moment that Jesse had shut the flat door behind them. “Sit down and let’s hash this out.”
Lunch had been pleasant, if a little tense, and they had walked back to Jesse’s flat together with Ezra’s arm tucked into the crook of Jesse’s elbow, for once ignoring the risks of bumping into homophobic idiots or, worse, one of his students. But Jesse knew he wasn’t getting away with it the moment Ezra spoke, and he sighed heavily.
“Ez, can we just—”
“You can tell me what’s going on,” he said sharply. “I feel like I’m the only one working without a script here. Now I know why Liam’s kicking up a fuss—it’s a stupid reason, but it’s a reason. You? No idea. So, talk.”
Jesse dropped heavily onto his sofa. “What do you want me to say?”
“How about why you overreacted when I told you about the bruise?” Ezra tried, perching on the edge of the coffee table and leaning his forearms across his knees.
Jesse bit his lip. “I—nobody—nobody normal wants to think that maybe—”
“Jesse, you went white as a sheet and your hands started shaking,” Ezra interrupted. “Something else is going on here. Come on.”
Jesse said nothing, wringing his hands anxiously between his knees. He couldn’t be like that, could he? There was—he wasn’t.
“Jess? Talk to me,” Ezra murmured.
“I’m not like him,” Jesse blurted out, staring at the carpet. “I’m not, Ez.”
“Like who?” Ezra prompted gently.
Jesse took a deep breath. This—this maybe he could do. Maybe if he told Ezra about this part, then he might not have to spell out for him how much better Liam was than Jesse. Because this part wasn’t true. It wasn’t.
“Like my dad,” he said.
Ezra frowned. “You never told me anything about your father,” he said slowly.
“I told you he left.”
“But that was all.”
Jesse took a shaky breath. “He left when I was eight,” he said finally. “And good riddance to the fucking manipulative, abusive prick.”
Ezra’s breath caught, and Jesse couldn’t look at him. “Oh, Jess,” he murmured, then those beautiful, dexterous hands were winding into his and squeezing them gently. “He abused you?”
“Not me,” Jesse whispered. “Not really. He never hit me. He yelled a lot, and he ignored me all the time, but he never touched me.”
At all, in fact. Jesse couldn’t remember his father ever hugging him, or carrying him around as a little kid, or wrestling with him, or even playing football with him
.
Ezra squeezed his hands. “What was he like?” he said gently.
Jesse squashed the surge of anger that rose just thinking about his bastard of a father.
“He was a cunt,” he said shortly. “A two-timing fucking cunt. I don’t remember him ever being a dad, you know, and he was a fucking lousy husband, too.”
“But he didn’t hit you?” Ezra echoed, rubbing a thumb over Jesse’s knuckles.
“No,” Jesse said. “Ignored me, mostly. Mum. He’d hit her. They’d have shouting matches almost every day, calling each other all sorts, then he’d hit her and storm out and she’d just sit in the kitchen and cry. She’d have a black eye every week. He used to call her a slag, too, even though he was the one sleeping around. He’d go out to the pub every night and she’d just sit in the kitchen and wait for him. She cried a lot, even before he left.”
“She loved him?” Ezra whispered gently.
Had she? Jesse couldn’t understand it if she had. She’d depended on him, he knew that much. She’d been a weak-willed, painfully shy sort of woman who’d leaned on him too much. She hadn’t worked—too meek to get a job—and she’d not had any friends, though Jesse couldn’t tell if it was because the bastard had driven them away, or she’d never had any in the first place. When he was there, she hovered around him like an anxious, eager-to-please lackey. When he wasn’t, she sat in the kitchen all day, sipping endless cups of tea, and cried for hours. Had she needed him? Yes. Had it been love?
Jesse couldn’t think it was. He loved Ezra, he knew he did. But did he sit around and cry when Ezra was at work, or on the odd occasion when the other teachers or the guys from the running club persuaded him to go out with them? Of course he didn’t. And Jesse liked to think that if Ezra started badmouthing him all the time, or hit him, or any of it—not that he would, but if—then he’d leave. Even if it hurt. So had Mum loved the son of a bitch?
“I don’t know,” Jesse said honestly. “I mean—I don’t understand how she could have.”
Ezra tilted his head. His face was wrought in gentle empathy, and Jesse drew on it for strength and courage.
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