Chapter 7 #3
Sitting down at a picnic bench, I fumble in my pocket and pull out my cigarettes.
I light one and exhale the smoke towards the sky.
The stars are bright tonight and almost look close enough to touch, but they’re not a patch on the stars in Afghanistan.
I remember sitting smoking by a campfire.
The air was crisp and cold, and so fresh you could almost taste it, and the stars hung over me like a bejewelled net.
When I tipped my head back they seemed to wheel and move over me until I grew dizzy.
The image is so real that I wonder for a second if this place is the dream, and I’m really back there. It’s disorientating.
“There you are.”
I inhale a lungful of smoke and cough like I’m on my last legs. “Shit,” I splutter, banging my chest. “I need to put a bell on you.”
Xavier comes to sit next to me. “I’m pretty sure I’ll let you hang it on my cock.”
I baulk. “Please, no. Just no.”
He laughs. “Why not?”
“Because we’re in enough of a fucking mess as we are.”
“Oh, chill out,” he says in a very accurate impression of his father.
“Just stop,” I sigh, fighting the urge to laugh.
He settles back on the bench. “I think it’s bad to smoke,” he observes as I send another lungful of smoke up. “But that might just be a silly notion I have in my teeny brain.”
“Xavier, death by nicotine is the least of my problems at the moment.”
“Oh, dear.”
I nudge him as he breaks into laughter. “Shut up. It’s not funny. I actually fucked the throat of my best friend’s son.”
“As an autobiography title, it’s not too bad, but the publishers might put up a few roadblocks.”
I can’t help but laugh this time. It bursts out loud and unrestrained, and he grins approvingly at me.
“There. See, it’s not that bad.”
“It sort of is.” He takes my cigarette from me and takes a drag. “I thought smoking was bad for you, Xavier Conway.”
“That hasn’t stopped me so far with any of my life decisions.”
“Oh, dear. That sounds even more ominous after a few hours of knowing you.”
“Biblically.”
I look at him in question.
“You know me biblically,” he clarifies.
I shift on the bench at his throaty voice. He puts his full lips around the cigarette and sucks on it, and my jeans suddenly get a lot tighter. He shoots me a sidelong look, and I roll my eyes.
“Pack it in.” I take the cigarette from him and crush it onto the ashtray on a nearby table, then I settle next to him again, and a silence drops. It feels oddly comfortable, and I wonder why. This close, I can smell his shampoo. It’s a curiously innocent smell.
Eventually, he stirs. “There’s no need to freak out about it. We just messed around.”
“You’re Jez’s kid.”
“I’m a byproduct of his sperm. Nothing more.”
“It could turn into something more.”
He shoots me a cynical look that looks so wrong on such a young face. “Really?”
I rub my neck awkwardly and can’t think of anything to say.
“Exactly,” he says. “I’m never going to see him again after this weekend. I already knew that before I came here.”
“Why not? Because of him, and how he behaved?”
He shrugs. “Maybe. And maybe because of me, too.”
“So, why did you come?”
“Because I wanted to finally see him. And I wanted him to see me.” He laughs, but there’s little amusement in it. “He’s a bit like a comet that shot across my mum’s life and ruined everything.”
“That’s not true,” I say quietly. “After all, you’re here. That will always be a bonus.”
He turns and looks at me, and I wonder what he’s thinking.
I search his face for some resemblance to Jez.
I find it in his cheekbones and the wave of his hair, but that’s it.
He looks almost fey in the garden’s shadows, his sharp features blurred by the moonlight.
Then he blinks, and he’s back to the snarky boy I met a few hours ago.
“Anyway,” he says. “He’s got no intention of ever meeting again. I doubt he’d even be here if you hadn’t come along too.”
“Then I’m glad I did,” I say softly.
“Me too.”
“You okay?”
He looks at me, surprised. “Yes, why wouldn’t I be?”
“Not disappointed?” I’m not inclined to sugarcoat things.
“Nope. I didn’t have any expectations, which is a good way to be.”
He’s so cynical. “Is it?”
“I think Jez doesn’t like anything that inconveniences him or holds a mirror up to him. I’m both of those things.”
The sharpness of his perception is startling. Jez can usually charm his way out of most situations, but he’s sadly failing with this boy of his.
“Well,” I say. “We’re here for a few days. Maybe you’re wrong, and the two of you can reach an accord.”
“We’re not Switzerland.” He deliberately moves his hand so it covers mine on the bench. His skin is as soft as silk. “Although there might be benefits to staying in the same hotel as you.”
“Uh, no. No, definitely not.” I take his hand and set it on his lap. “Keep that there.”
He laughs. “Oh, dear. Scared you might be tempted again by little old me?”
“Of course not.” I sincerely hope the emphatic statement is firm enough, because the truth is, I am afraid of that. Already, I can feel this pull towards him, this desire to touch him.
He leans in and whispers into my ear. “You’re a liar, Reuben Langley.”
I make the mistake of turning to him. My mouth is open to say something harsh, but the words die away when I realise how close he is to me. His eyes seem to reflect the starlight, and I feel dizzy.
“Reuben,” he says, tilting his head.
I forget everything. I forget that he’s so much younger than me, and Jez’s son. I forget my own sense of honour, which has guided me along every step of my life. Instead, I lean in and fit my lips to his.
His lips are soft and full, and I can taste the gin on them from his drink at dinner. It’s a sharp, cool taste, and I push my tongue into his mouth, searching for more.
One of us groans. I honestly don’t know whether it’s him or me, but it’s way too loud in this quiet garden. I pull away, putting my hand over his face and pushing him gently back when he tries to chase my lips.
“We’ll get caught if we keep on with this,” I whisper.
His eyes had been heavy-lidded and dreamy, but now they float up to mine, and the seemingly ever-present spark of humour is there. “And the problem is?”
I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. This is a mistake and—ouch!
” I jerk as he scrambles up and sets himself neatly in my lap, straddling me so his long legs wrap around my hips.
The position puts our cocks together, and as hard as I try, I can’t stop my hands from rising and fastening around his small waist. My body is acting very independently of my brain today. “What are you doing?” I protest.
He smirks. “I would think it’s very obvious, Reuben. I am opening an account with the Post Office. Where are the stamps, please?” I open my mouth, and he slaps his hand over my lips. “No, don’t speak. You’ll just talk sense, and then where will we be?”
I raise my eyebrows.
He chuckles. “We’ll be behaving sensibly, and it will all be very boring and regrettable.”
He removes his hand, and I say evenly, “Oh, am I allowed to talk now?”
He grimaces. “Is it going to be a diatribe about how dreadful you feel, and you can’t take advantage of me?” I press my lips together, and he laughs. “Thought so.”
He leans down, and before I can say anything, he kisses me again.
There is nothing hesitant about this kiss, though.
He licks along my lips and then forces them open, pushing his tongue against mine and tangling them together.
His breaths are coming fast against my cheek, and he makes a low moaning noise that makes my brain go completely dark.
Then I kiss him back, fisting my hands in his silky hair.
I feel insane, as if I need to meld with him so there’s no space at all between us.
This is no prelude the way some kisses are.
This is the first act of sex, and we both know it.
He twists in my lap, pressing the hard length of his dick against mine. His choked little whimpers hum against my lips, and I release his hair, filling my hands with his full arse and settling him more firmly on my lap.
Pleasure intensifies as we notch even closer together, and we both moan.
A burst of laughter comes from the nearby open window, and I go still, staring up at Xavier.
His blue eyes are turbulent in the shadowed light, like stormy seas, all traces of amusement gone.
Under my hands, his hips continue to thrust and grind, as if he can’t stop himself.
I take a gulping breath like I’ve run ten miles, desperate for air and sweating from exertion. More laughter erupts from the window, and my hands tighten on Xavier, holding him still.
“Not here,” I say, guiding him off my lap.
His eyebrows lower and his lush mouth twists into a frown. He doesn’t want to stop, and God, I sympathise.
“Over there,” I command. I get to my feet and take his hands, helping him off the bench before shoving him gently towards an alcove safely away from the windows. The spot is shielded by a large lilac and protected from view on all sides.
Xavier tips his head against the brick wall and grins. It’s big and so charming that my heartbeat stutters, and I almost can’t bear it.
What are we doing? Xavier’s young and bold with it, and so it’s up to me to show some coolheaded common sense. I’ll give him a quick kiss goodbye and go up to my room, lock the door, and tomorrow I can give Jez an excuse and hare it back to London.
Sadly, cool heads are nowhere to be found.
I place my hands on Xavier’s shoulders, shove him more tightly against the wall, and kiss that gorgeous grin off his face. His arms immediately wind around my neck and he pulls me impossibly closer.
When I’m finally forced to pull away for air, my lips feel as tender and bruised as an overripe strawberry. He watches me, his face shadowed, but his eyes bright with lust. They widen as I lower myself to my knees.
“Reuben?” he breathes.