So Jesse felt not only out of his element, but oddly nervous. He stopped at the petrol station to buy more flowers off the rack in the forecourt—a nicely clichéd bunch of dark red roses—and got a taxi the rest of the way to Ezra’s, fidgeting in the back seat the whole time. He felt oddly like he was being tested, like this was the first date all over again.
Ezra had obviously just gotten out of the shower when he answered the door, hair damp and wild, dressed in his boxers and nothing else.
“Hello,” he said, grinning at the flowers and taking them before leaning in to kiss Jesse—a light kiss, but a lingering one. “I suppose you’d best come in. Can’t have the emergency services loitering on my doorstep.”
Jesse closed the door behind him and kissed Ezra again, pulling the flowers from his hand and dropping them on the phone table. He felt a little desperate, a little like he had something to prove, and when Ezra wrapped a hand around the back of his head and deepened the kiss, he saw his opportunity.
“We haven’t time,” Ezra murmured into his mouth when Jesse slid his hands up the backs of his thighs. “We’re going for six-thirty.”
It was about six already, but—
“Let’s be fashionably late,” Jesse suggested, laying open-mouthed kisses down the long column of Ezra’s neck. Ezra tilted his head and hummed. “Come on,” he coaxed, steering them towards the stairs. “He can wait.”
Ezra laughed a little, then his quick fingers were at the buttons of Jesse’s jeans.
“Quickly, then,” he murmured, his breath hitching when Jesse bit down on the sinewy juncture of his neck and shoulder, then they were folding gracelessly down onto the stairs, too far gone to bother going up them and to bed.
It was little more than a mutual hand job, but it was what Jesse needed—Ezra’s cool hands stroking him in his briefs with expert skill, the tangle of his other hand in Jesse’s hair, and the shuddering gasp when Jesse found that jut of tantalising hip and sucked on it until it bruised. The way he dragged Jesse up for a kiss that could have stolen his soul just before the end, and most of all the way, when that end crashed into them like a tsunami of electric bliss, Ezra arched and groaned into Jesse’s mouth, long and deep and ridiculously beautiful.
“God, I love you,” he murmured croakily as Jesse shamelessly wiped off his hands on Ezra’s ruined boxers. “Ugh, now I have to shower again.”
“Don’t bother,” Jesse advised, kissing the bruised neck semi-apologetically. “Let him notice.”
“Jealous fuck,” Ezra grumbled, and kissed Jesse’s cheek before rolling himself off the stairs and staggering drunkenly up them. Jesse listened as he lounged, and a little flower of smugness bloomed in his head when the shower conspicuously never came on.
Once he’d gathered himself a little, he went to wash his hands and put the roses in a vase. Flopsy, Ezra’s enormous brown cat, was stretched out on the kitchen tiles in the last sunny spot of the evening and opened one eye to glower at Jesse before rolling over, stretching and going back to sleep.
“Yeah, fuck you too,” Jesse grumbled at her, and set the roses on the table. The purple daisy-things were still basking proudly on the windowsill. Fuck Liam, too. What kind of abusive boyfriend brought flowers, after all?
He contented himself with poking around in the living room while Ezra got dressed upstairs. The marking was split into two piles either side of the coffee table. Jesse surmised he’d used the coffee table as a chair to do it, because Ezra refused to be disabused of the notion that any and all furniture was to be used however he liked. He was a complete and utter furniture-surfer.
Kitsa emerged from under the sofa to play with Jesse’s feet, and he spent a good ten minutes rolling her over and ruffling her belly. She would have been ferocious if she had a temper, but she was more interested in a tickle than actually hunting his hand. Jesse liked Kitsa. Flopsy ignored him or hissed at him, and cosied up to Ezra purring at every chance she got. Manipulative beast. Kitsa was easy.
“Leave my kitten alone,” Ezra said petulantly from the doorway, and Jesse turned to find him tragically dressed, in dark skinny jeans and some fashionable long-sleeved thing. And a summer scarf.
“Leave that at home,” Jesse coaxed, but Ezra held on to it.
“Oh no,” he said. “I made the mistake of going out once after you attacked me. One of the brats saw me, and it was all over the school in about ten minutes. I’m not doing that again.”
“What was the rumour?” Jesse asked, interested, but Ezra snorted and waved him out the door.
Ezra lived close to the town centre, so they walked. The sun was only just sinking behind the building, casting long shadows across the streets and gold and pink streaks across the sky. There was a light, warm breeze that teased at Ezra’s perfectly-styled hair, and his paranoia was justified when they passed a group of kids outside the KFC, and one yelled, “All right, Mr Pryce!” after them. Ezra raised a hand but didn’t stop.
“Jamie Burns,” he muttered to Jesse. “Spends more time wanking than he does breathing.”
“Don’t you like any of your kids?”
“Some of them,” Ezra admitted. “But not that lot.”
“You really are the worst teacher in the world,” Jesse said, and Ezra rolled his eyes.
Liam had booked a table at one of the fancier gastropubs. Jesse relaxed on seeing the couples in similar blends of smart and casual clothing, but mentally wrinkled his nose at the specials boards. Why was it necessary to point out that the salmon was organic, Scottish and sustainable? It wasn’t very sustainable if it was dead, was it?
Then he wrinkled his nose for real when Ezra took him by the wrist and dragged him towards a secluded table underneath a big splat of colour masquerading as a post-modernist painting, where the underwear model was waving.
“I was beginning to think I’d been stood up,” Liam said, rising to hug Ezra warmly and a little too long. He shook Jesse’s hand, and his grip was weak. “What can I get you to drink? No, really, my round, I insist.”
“Couple of pints of Stella, then, I suppose,” Ezra yielded quickly enough.
“Stella?” Liam looked faintly surprised, but then nodded and was away. Jesse took the seat next to Ezra and raised an eyebrow.
“He had me drinking wine at uni,” Ezra confessed.
“Can’t see it,” Jesse said.
“It didn’t last long afterwards,” Ezra agreed, reaching for a menu. “Play nice, babe. I don’t want to have to referee a slanging match tonight.”
“I’ll play nice if he does,” Jesse bargained, and Ezra laughed lowly, squeezing his thigh under the table.
“I know you’re not happy about this,” he said lowly, “and neither am I, really, but if you play nice, I’ll reward you later.”
“Why are we even here?”
“Because he was a nice guy, and I would like to have him for a friend. I promise, if he doesn’t get the message tonight, that’s it. But you have to behave.”
“Do I get to spend the night?”
“If you’re really nice.”
“Deal,” Jesse said, and Ezra offered a quick kiss on the cheek before Liam came back. The model’s face darkened slightly at the sign of affection. “So, Liam, what do you do again?”
“I’m a family lawyer. The firm specialises in divorces, child custody cases and power of attorney requests, but my area is mainly divorce.”
“Figures,” Jesse said.
Liam narrowed his eyes. “Why’s that?”
Jesse shrugged. “The unhealthy interest in other people’s lives.”
“Jesse,” Ezra said warningly.
“It’s fine, Ezzy,” Liam waved it off, but his expression didn’t change. “You’re a firefighter, aren’t you, Jesse? That must pay well.”
“Shift allowance is pretty good,” Jesse returned.
“Good God, you’ll be comparing cars next,” Ezra muttered. “Cut it out, the pair of you. Liam, what are you even doing here?”
Liam sh
rugged. “Had the week off work—about time I had a break—and frankly, Ezra, I couldn’t stop thinking about running into you in Norwich.”
Jesse ground his teeth.
“I thought I’d come and catch up, see how you’re doing.” Liam’s gaze slid to Jesse briefly. “What you’re doing,” he continued slowly.
Ezra shrugged. “Teaching. Trying to stop my cats from destroying my house. Still running, and I took up yoga as well.”
“Yoga?”
“Yeah, he’s very bendy,” Jesse interjected, and Ezra elbowed him in the side. “What? You are!”
“It’s a shame,” Liam said, then put down his wine glass and held up both hands. “I’m not, you know, I’m not disparaging your life choices.”
Jesse didn’t know what ‘disparaging’ meant but he could take a guess.
“I’m just saying, you know, it doesn’t half look like you’ve—well, settled, Ezzy.”
“Liam—”
“You were one of the best in your year. You have a brilliant mind, not to mention your looks. You have all the potential, and yet—”
“I like teaching, Liam,” Ezra said shortly. “I’m bloody good at it, too. One of my kids found the courage to come out at Christmas, and you know why? She told me herself it was because I was so open about it, she felt like it was okay. That’s why I teach. If I can help one kid a year, it’s worth it.”
Liam hummed. “Yes, but—”
“Let’s order?” Ezra interrupted almost pleadingly. Jesse touched his hip lightly under the table. “We had this argument in the third year. You didn’t get it then, you don’t get it now, so let’s just order.”
The near-argument was waylaid. Liam insisted on buying dinner too, taking one last stab at their salaries before heading for the bar with the menu, and Jesse whistled before he was even out of earshot.
“What a prick,” he said casually.
“He’s not,” Ezra said tiredly. “He’s just very, very set in his ideas.”
“You make him sound old.”
“He kind of is,” Ezra grumbled, and squeezed Jesse’s hand. “He wouldn’t have accosted me on the stairs. Liam is a gentleman.”
“You liked it, don’t lie.”
Ezra laughed. “I did,” he admitted, and a hot wash of arrogant pleasure blossomed in Jesse’s stomach.
It didn’t last. Liam seemed to take the time at the bar to recover himself, and returned all guns blazing on the charm. He was ridiculously good-looking anyway, but smiling and openly flirting made him disgustingly good-looking. He oozed suave sophistication, and he oozed it all over Ezra as he told him stories about his recent trip to Vietnam. Jesse didn’t believe for a minute that he’d actually done charitable work out there—he was a lawyer, for God’s sake, he’d probably never left the Ho Chi Minh Hilton—but Ezra soaked it up, laughing and sympathising in all the right places, and even letting Liam put his hand on his arm for a little while.
Jesse felt…oddly left out. By pure coincidence over the course of their relationship, the odd times Ezra had gone out with his colleagues had been times when Jesse was on shift, and Ezra never really socialised much with his yoga club or running club outside of the actual sessions. He was a bit of a loner. If he went out, it was with Jesse. So it was a strange position, to sit listening to Ezra sharing inside jokes Jesse didn’t understand, and it was an unpleasant one, too. They reminisced, and Liam flirted. They caught up on the lives of people Jesse didn’t know, and Liam flirted. They discussed politics, where Jesse was plainly out of his depth, and Liam flirted. Just before their meals arrived, he openly called Ezra beautiful, right there in front of Jesse, and the itchy angry feeling was rising back up.
“You’re still into your Italian then, Ezzy?” Liam said, and beamed. “Do you know, I can actually cook now?”
“I don’t believe it,” Ezra said flatly.
“I can!” Liam insisted brightly. “I learned—took cooking classes at the weekends, very therapeutic after you’ve spent a week with some irate husband shouting at you over his wife’s affairs, you know—and my class tutor was Italian herself. Call me next time you come to Norwich or London, and I’ll cook you a proper homemade risotto.”
Jesse twitched. “Why Norwich or London?” he demanded tartly.
Liam chuckled. “Oh, yes, well. I find the commute a bit of a bore. I liked Norwich, you know, went a couple of times on day trips with Ezzy, even if he did refuse to introduce me to his family. And I can’t abide living in London, so I thought, why not? I have the money. I rent a flat Mondays to Fridays in Edgware, and I have a mortgage on a house near Norwich town centre for the weekends.”
Sweet Jesus. He didn’t just earn a bit more—he earned a lot more. Jesse felt slightly sick. His salary was less than Ezra’s, and teachers were hardly well-paid either. Jesse would never be able to afford just one flat in London. But Liam was rich, he’d been to Vietnam and Jesse wasn’t stupid—Liam hadn’t taken cooking classes run by some Italian by accident. He’d taken them for Ezra. If he’d wanted to catch up, he could have called, not just turned up out of the blue.
This wealthy lawyer had an agenda to get Ezra back, and Jesse’s dislike blossomed into outright hatred.
All his comfort of the past week was ebbing away. So maybe he wasn’t like his father, but it wasn’t enough, was it? Liam was still infinitely better than him—money, success, experiences—and Ezra was… Ezra was perfect. Ezra was far too brilliant to ever settle for Jesse. Far too brilliant to settle for anyone who was anything less than brilliant themselves, and even if Liam was a prick, he was a bloody brilliant prick. He had two fucking homes, for God’s sake.
“I think I’ll pass,” Ezra was saying. “Seems like a skill you’d want to reserve for your new guy.”
“There is no new guy,” Liam said brazenly. Jesse bristled.
“No one at all?” Ezra pushed.
“Nope.” Liam swirled the wine in his glass. “Not since you,” he said meaningfully, and Jesse pursed his lips, tongue itchy with the need to tell him to put a fucking sock in it.
“Well, get one,” Ezra said bluntly. “It’s not healthy to mope around and reminisce all the time.”
“I don’t think you quite realise the effect you have on people, Ezzy,” Liam said slowly.
“Doesn’t matter,” Ezra said briskly. “There’s no success in wanting things you can’t have.”
Except he could have it, and both Liam and Jesse knew it. Liam’s hungry look over the wine glass didn’t abate. Jesse daringly slid a hand across the wood and wrapped his fingers around Ezra’s.
“Yeah, I see how that is,” Liam muttered.
“No, you don’t,” Ezra said sharply. “I’ve told you before to drop that subject, and you haven’t. So, for the last time, Liam, drop it. It’s not like that. Jesse’s not like that.”
Liam held up his hands. “I didn’t mean to offend,” he said. “I just want to look out for you, Ezzy. You’ve always been very—trusting.”
“I have good reason to be,” Ezra said, but he was calming down.
Jesse was still curling his toes under the table. He wanted this lawyer gone, and he wanted him gone now.
“All right.” Ezra suddenly pulled his hand free and pushed back his chair. “Nature calls. Play nice—both of you,” he added, throwing Liam a dirty look. Liam smiled back agreeably.
For as long as it took Ezra to get out of earshot. Then he leaned forward over the table and said, “I’m not stupid.”
Jesse didn’t dignify that with an answer.
“I get it, you know. Ezra’s attractive and funny and trusting. That’s the problem. He might trust you, but I’m not blind.”
Jesse ground his teeth. “He trusts me because I’ve never done anything to make him not trust me,” he snapped.
“He’s too blind to see it,” Liam said sharply. “You know what he told me the other day? Do you? Stop texting him so much because it makes you jealous. That’s nice, isn’t it? You ask him to say that?�
�
“No,” Jesse replied, and didn’t add the “But I would have done” that he desperately wanted to.
“Uh-huh. Listen.” Liam jabbed a finger at him. “I saw the bruises you left on his wrists. Ezra admitted you did it. And maybe you get off on playing the macho fucking hero—you’re in the fire service, it wouldn’t surprise me—and maybe you think Ezra’s just going to play along and let you bully him and control him, but—”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Jesse snarled. “I’ve never hurt him. I would never hurt him. I—”
“You bully him,” Liam returned, equally heatedly. “You’re controlling, you’re domineering, you push him around. And when he resists, you—”
“I back off,” Jesse snapped, and winced when a look of triumph flashed across Liam’s all-too-handsome face. “If Ezra doesn’t want something, I fucking respect that. Unlike you,” he added suddenly, Ezra’s laughing account of his graduation day bubbling up in Jesse’s memory. “I don’t make plans for the both of us like he can’t have his own dreams. I listen to his dreams. You didn’t.”
Liam flushed angrily. “I was young and naive and we didn’t communicate enough, but I have accepted those flaws about myself and I am working to—”
“Great, you work on them, but not with my boyfriend.”
“He’s not a possession.”
“I’m not the one who wanted a fucking trophy wife!”
A passing waitress from the kitchens glanced uneasily at them, and Jesse struggled with his blood pressure. Who the hell did this smug, sanctimonious prick think he was? What, was he going to swan in here and rescue Ezra from the fucking dragon?
“This isn’t about me,” Liam said coldly.
“I think it is,” Jesse snapped. “You want him back, and you know the only way it’s happening is if you’re some bloody hero who gets to save Ezra from an—”
He couldn’t say the word.
“From a bad relationship,” he amended. “But it’s not bad. It’s not perfect but it’s fucking good and I would never hurt him or bully him or any of it because I’m not a fucking scumbag!”
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