Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Kieran
Stefan closed the door behind us, and the quiet snick of the lock was enough to give me palpitations. I took a moment to drink in my surroundings.
Anything not to think about what was coming next.
Stefan waited while I removed my jacket. I toed off my boots then got a better look at the apartment. It was a very masculine space, clean lines, books, a record player sitting above shelves of LPs. I had to smile at that.
“Most of my students would wonder what those are,” I said, pointing.
Stefan glanced over. “Records?”
“Yes. Or as they see them, ancient artefacts from a forgotten civilisation.”
He snorted. “That’s reassuring.”
I laughed. “I brought a CD into a lecture last term, to play them a piece of music, and one of them actually asked me what it was.”
Stefan raised his eyebrows. “You’re joking.”
“I wish I were. He picked it up and stared at it as if it might start making noise on its own.” I grinned. “Another one asked where you plug it in.”
He blinked. “And what did you tell them?”
“That it required a ritual sacrifice and a working knowledge of 1998.”
That earned me a throaty laugh that I felt all the way through me. I glanced at the shelves again. “They thought I was making it up. Like I’d invented an entire obsolete format just to confuse them.”
Stefan tilted his head to one side. “You do seem the type.”
“I’m a very committed educator,” I said, my tone serious. “If I’m going to lie, I do it properly.”
His gaze lingered on me for a moment longer than the joke required. “Good.”
The way he said it made it clear he wasn’t talking about CDs anymore, and suddenly my thoughts were tripping over themselves, and there was a fluttering deep in my belly.
This is ridiculous.
I was a grown man. I’d travelled to another country. I’d spent the better part of two days walking around a city with someone I barely knew.
And yet standing here, in the quiet of his apartment, this felt like the most dangerous part.
Now I was aware of my hands, my breathing, the way everything suddenly felt too sharp.
Stefan didn’t close the distance between us, but watched me with an intensity that didn’t help.
“You’re nervous,” he said.
I shuddered out a breath. “That obvious, huh? And there was me, aiming for calm nonchalance.” I looked at the records, the books, the prints on the wall, anywhere but at Stefan.
“It’s not a problem.”
I jerked my head in his direction. I didn’t see expectation in those blue eyes, only calm.
He took a step towards me. “We don’t have to do anything, you know. We can sit down, have a drink, watch something.” He smiled. “Listen to music.”
“You’d be fine with that?”
“Yes.” There was no hesitation, no negotiation, and something inside me loosened a little.
I let out a slower breath this time. “Okay.”
“Do you want a drink? You didn’t get to finish the one at the bar.”
I glanced at the shelf containing several bottles. “Is that spiced rum? I have the same brand at home. A small glass of that would be good.”
Stefan gestured towards the couch. “Sit.” Then he went into the kitchen.
His departure brought everything rushing back in.
What this space was. What might happen next.
My hand went to the hem of my T-shirt—and froze.
Suddenly I was aware of myself in a way I hadn’t been all evening.
I wasn’t a small guy, but neither was Stefan.
What consumed me was what he was about to see.
I was covered in hair. My chest, my stomach, shoulders, back…
Canal Street flickered through my mind without invitation. The lean, smooth bodies, sculpted in a way that had always felt like a quiet, unspoken standard.
I’d never fitted into that.
Diana’s voice surfaced just as quickly. Berlin seems to be filled with a lot of gay men who look exactly like you. I’d kind of half believed her, because I’d seen a few photos. But now?
Now I was sitting in the apartment of a man I wanted, very much aware I had no idea what he wanted in return.
Don’t think about it. Let things… happen.
I took several breaths, forcing calm into my body. The quiet space around me helped, especially the—
How did I not see that?
A piano sat under one of the windows, dark and sleek.
Stefan returned, carrying two small glasses, and I pointed to it. “I didn’t even see that when I came in here.”
He chuckled. “You were obviously distracted.”
“Do you play?”
Stefan shook his head. “It belonged to the previous owner. I got the feeling it was an unpleasant reminder of something, because he didn’t want to take it with him.” He smiled. “Maybe you could play something. That wasn’t a request, by the way.”
I watched him as he poured the dark liquid into them, and the noise in my head started to quiet down. By the time he joined me on the couch, I felt more like myself again. He handed me a glass, then leaned back.
We drank in silence for a moment, the rum warming me.
I set the glass down on his coffee table. “I think I might have overthought this.”
Stefan seemed to be holding back his smile. “I hadn’t noticed.”
I shot him a look. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
I took a calming breath. “I don’t want to rush into anything.”
“Good.”
That word again, but this time it felt… right.
I twisted in my seat, gazing at him. “And I don’t want to misread anything either.”
“You’re not.” His tone spoke of calm assurance.
My nerves hadn’t gone, but now I felt less overwhelmed.
More focused.
I expelled a long breath before speaking. “Can I be honest?”
“Of course.”
I hesitated for a fraction of a second. “I think what I actually want is another kiss.”
Stefan regarded me steadily, and heat rose at the back of my neck.
I’ve said it now. No taking it back.
“I’ve only had one,” I added, as if that helped somehow. “From a man, I mean.”
Stefan’s mouth twitched. “Yes, I think you mentioned that part.”
“Right.” I cleared my throat. “So it would be irresponsible not to… confirm the data.”
A beat of silence, and then Stefan let out a quiet breath, something very close to a laugh.
“Of course,” he said, his expression grave. “For research purposes.”
“Exactly.” I paused. “I just want to be sure.”
Stefan held my gaze, and I knew what he saw wasn’t my attempt at humour, but what lay beneath it.
“I know.”
There was no teasing now.
He set down his own glass, then leaned in slowly, giving me time to meet him halfway.
Which I did, because this time, I knew what I was doing. Or at least, I knew what I wanted.
That made all the difference.
He was close enough for me to feel his warmth, hear the steady rhythm of his breathing, aware of his quiet presence that had somehow gone from unfamiliar to necessary in a matter of hours.
Then his fingers found my face, my neck, and I shivered. He rubbed his thumb over my lips, moving lower to my chin, maddeningly not close enough for our lips to meet. Stefan looked into my eyes, his hand on my nape, and then he leaned in closer, our noses rubbing, my breath catching.
At last our lips met, and I closed my eyes, losing myself in the kiss.
This time there was no question in it, no careful testing of something unknown.
It was slow and sensual. I slid my hand from his arm to his shoulder, the contact grounding, steady, the shape of him beneath my fingertips suddenly very real in a way that made my breath catch again.
Stefan murmured against my lips, moving his hand from my jaw to the back of my neck, firmer this time, guiding—not forcing but directing the angle, deepening the kiss in a way that made something shift low in my chest.
This is different.
He wasn’t taking anything from me—he was building on what I’d already given.
That was all it took for me to want more.
I tightened my fingers against his shoulder as the kiss deepened, my breath hitching as I responded, following where he led—because I wanted to, because it felt right to let him. Stefan’s other hand came to my side, drawing me closer, the space between us disappearing completely now.
This wasn’t careful anymore.
This was heat.
Stefan slid his hand under the hem of my tee, stroking my belly, moving higher, our kisses not faltering for a second. I moaned when his fingers brushed over my nipples, aching to feel more of that. I tugged the tee over my head and leaned back against the cushions, my breathing ragged.
Stefan stared at me for a moment, his eyes shining. “Oh my God,” he said quietly. “Look at you.”
Everything in me paused. That was not the reaction I’d been bracing for.
I glanced down at myself, suddenly seeing what he was seeing—or trying to. The same body, the same hair. Nothing had changed, but the way he was looking at me made it feel as though it had.
“What?” I said, my heart quaking a little. I grabbed a cushion to hold it against my chest, but he stopped me.
“No,” he murmured. “Don’t—don’t hide.”
Oh fuck.
His gaze raked over me again, slower now, not hurried or greedy, but simply taking me in.
“You have no idea,” he whispered.
Then it hit me.
He means it.
This wasn’t politeness or performance. This was clear, uncomplicated want—directed at me.
Relief flooded through me before I could stop it. I didn’t feel out of place.
I felt seen.
My breath caught in my throat.
He moved closer, like someone approaching something he didn’t want to disturb. I could feel the weight of his gaze everywhere, its warmth, the way it lingered without apology.
“You have no idea,” he said again, barely above a whisper. He reached towards me, then hesitated as if he were giving me time to stop him.
I didn’t.
He stroked my chest, slow, deliberate, the contact warm and firm, his fingers tracing through the hair there—intentionally. Appreciatively.
“God,” he murmured.
That one word sounded like something he couldn’t hold back.
He moved his thumb, a small, unconscious motion, brushing through the hair at the centre of my chest as if confirming it was real.