Chapter Three My Favourite Things #2
“Temporary glitch in the matrix. Don’t panic, I still drink boxed wine and cry at Coco.”
“Thank fuck. I’d block you otherwise.”
They chatted longer. Old rhythm, nothing heavy. Then Aaron ended the call, pocketed the phone, and trudged the rest of the way home.
The cottage glowed as he approached. Light in the windows, fire in the hearth. The smell hit him the second he stepped inside: tomatoes, paprika, fresh bread.
His stomach growled.
Chaos dropped his damp self onto the rug and exhaled with theatrical satisfaction as Aaron hung up the lead and his coat, then shucked off his boots.
He roamed to the kitchen, drawn by the warmth and the smell and the quiet rhythm of Kenny at the stove, sleeves rolled to the elbow, sauce bubbling in the pan.
Aaron groaned. “You did shakshuka? Are you trying to kill me?”
Kenny didn’t look up. “You’ve been good.”
Aaron narrowed his eyes. “You are so full of shit.”
“You brought the milk.”
“I got the other milk.”
“Still counts.”
Aaron dropped his shopping bag, crossed to the stove, and dropped his chin onto Kenny’s shoulder, fully expecting to be told off.
But he wasn’t. Cause Kenny was a goddamn mind reader.
He knew. He always fucking knew. He’d probably assessed it in how he turned the key in the lock, the way he’d slouched into the kitchen, the guarded pursing of his lips that wasn’t a smile but a worry.
Telltale signs of a system nearing overload.
He was holding. And Kenny, ever the quiet observer, read it in seconds.
God, he might cry.
So he grumbled instead, “You’re feeding me to stop me exploding.”
“I’m feeding you because you’re hungry.”
“I’m horny.”
“I’m aware.”
Aaron dipped his finger in the pan, then sucked the tomato off with exaggerated misery. “You’re weaponising breakfast.”
“Lunch.”
“Brunch then. Edging brunch.” He breathed him in, the scent of Kenny’s skin and spice and smugness grounding him instantly. He pressed his cheek to Kenny’s shoulder, nudging his nose against the warm place beneath the collar. His entire body leaned without meaning to, as if it had decided for him.
He wanted a kiss.
Not a deep one. Not filthy. One of those tender ones. On the temple, maybe. Not a fuck-me-now kiss. A stay-with-me kiss.
Kenny said nothing. Didn’t make a show of it. But he did set the spoon down with quiet care, turned slightly, and slipped a hand to the back of Aaron’s neck. His fingers were warm. Steady, certain, no rush in them. And he looked at him. Really looked. A single breath passing between them.
Then he kissed him.
Not deep. Not filthy.
Lips on lips.
Barely any pressure.
But enough for Aaron to feel it. Not in his mouth. In his chest. In that fragile, too-quiet place inside him where need and fear blurred together.
Aaron sighed into it. Let it hold him for a second longer. Then whispered, “Fuck, you’re good at this.”
Kenny smiled, ghosting his forehead to Aaron’s, stroking his thumb along the side of his neck. “Sit. Let me feed you.”
And when Kenny placed the plate in front of him with the shakshuka still steaming, flatbread charred right, all the irritation drained from his body as if someone had pulled the plug.
Not someone. Kenny.
“It’s disgusting how well you know me.” He tore into the bread and scooped it into the bowl.
“Thank you.”
Aaron ate. He swore. He declared, “I hate you,” through a mouthful of roasted pepper and yolk.
Kenny didn’t eat, though. He leaned against the counter, arms folded, one ankle casually hooked over the other, fixing his gaze on Aaron.
Not watching. Reading.
Aaron knew the difference. He’d been on the receiving end of that look more times than he could count. Analytical. Quiet. Precise. Not invasive… measuring. Weighing his emotional temperature. Deciding if now was the moment to speak, or if he needed more food, more softness, more time.
Aaron wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, swallowed. “What is it?”
Because they both knew there was something. There always was.
Kenny chewed on his lip. Then, “I had a call.”
“If it’s terminal, can we have sex first?”
Kenny raised an eyebrow. Held his gaze.
God, he looked serious. Still. Focused.
And fucking hot.
Aaron squirmed. Tore more bread. Dipped it. Bit it. “Okay. Not dying. No sex. Honestly, hard to care what else there is after that.”
“It was from the police.”
Aaron froze mid-chew. “I didn’t do it.”
Kenny tilted his neck.
“I mean it.” Aaron threw his hands in the air. “If this is about that car in the Co-op car park, it was barely on the line. Technically, I didn’t even hit it. Just… nudged it with intent.”
Kenny sighed. “It’s not about the car.”
“Thank fuck. Do you know how much wing mirrors cost on your luxury fucking vehicle?”
“It’s a ten-year-old Discovery, Aaron. Not a Porsche.”
“Still bleeds me dry every time I drive it.”
Kenny narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
Aaron shook his head, shovelling in some food. “I told you, I can’t reverse park. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be looking for over my shoulder.”
“How on earth did you pass your test?”
“I sucked the bloke off.”
Kenny inhaled sharply.
Aaron chuckled. “Chillax. Joke. I did the whole look-over-the-shoulder thing.” He demonstrated, twisting awkwardly in his chair. “But there’s a camera on the dash. What am I meant to see by looking behind me?”
“Other cars.”
“Obviously. I saw other cars. Saw a blue one. And that hideous putrid green one. Got a real close look when I hi—” He jabbed a finger at Kenny before he could interrupt. “Nudged it. Back into its own bloody parking bay where it should’ve been in the first fucking place.”
Kenny pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Technically, that’s on you.”
Kenny raised an eyebrow. “How, exactly, is it my fault you hit another car?”
“Nudged. And I moved it to a better position, so really, you’re welcome. Also, I did what you always tell me. I drove off and parked far away like some law-abiding idiot and got actual frostbite walking to the entrance.”
Kenny opened his mouth.
“And it was your fault, because you wanted the good sherry for the Christmas cake that’s now fermenting in the airing cupboard like a Victorian ghost trap.” Aaron smirked. “You’re lucky I love you. And that the vomit-green Fiat didn’t have a dash cam.”
Kenny sighed. “Brilliant. I’ll look forward to that fine arriving in time for the New Year. A festive little fuck-you from the traffic police.”
“Car’s in your name, lover.” Aaron grinned. “You won’t put it in mine, the consequences are yours.”
“I put it in your name and the insurance triples.”
“Not my fault I’m twenty-four and a high-risk icon.”
“You’re a walking premium adjustment.”
“And yet, here you are. Still stirring my lunch like you didn’t sign up for this voluntarily.”
Kenny drew in a breath. “Right. Well, the call wasn’t about that.”
Aaron stilled. He hadn’t forgotten about the call. The police. His brain had… shelved it. Or maybe his subconscious was doing him a favour. Nothing good ever came from local law enforcement ringing Dr Kenneth Lyons.
“They got my number through the Met.”
“The Met?”
“Metropolitan Police.”
Aaron flipped him off.
Kenny exhaled a quiet laugh through his nose. “They want me to consult on a case. Ongoing investigation here on the island.”
Aaron slumped back in his chair. Appetite gone. Even his lingering semi gave up the ghost.
“Is it the boy they found in Ventnor?”
Kenny hesitated. “Yes. How do you—”
“Gerald was gossiping at full volume to one of the book club Betties.”
“Right.” Kenny went off into that thoughtland he sometimes did when trying to dissect something. “How would Gerald know about a murder before its common knowledge?”
“You’ve met him.” Aaron twirled his fork in the air. “He’s the Isle of Wight’s town crier.”
“Hmm.”
Aaron studied his face. “You gonna help them?”
“I haven’t decided.”
Aaron snorted. “Sure you have. You just haven’t told them yet. You wouldn’t be here, serving me my favourite meal, talking soft and staying close, if you weren’t already halfway to balls-deep in the crime scene.”
Kenny winced. “That is…an incredibly unnecessary visual.”
“I’m incredibly horny and emotionally compromised. This is what you get.”
He scooped the last of the shakshuka onto a wedge of bread and shoved it in his mouth. A silence followed. Until Kenny stepped forward and sank to his knees in front of him.
Aaron flinched. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Staying close.” Kenny cradled Aaron’s neck, stroking his thumbs along Aaron’s jaw in grounding strokes. Rhythmic. Familiar. Ritual they’d both come to rely on. “You’re important.” He kissed him. Soft. Sweet. Beautiful. “You’re heard. You’re my constant.”
Then he kissed him again. Deeper.
Aaron resisted at first, too knotted up in his own pride and panic to let go.
But his body betrayed him. Of course it did.
He was conditioned for this touch. For that voice.
For the way Kenny gave him enough to feel safe.
His mouth softened. His arms moved without thought, curling around Kenny’s shoulders and dragging him closer. Not for friction. Not for escalation.
For contact.
To feel.
To be felt back.
He kissed Kenny deeper, not hungrier, but heavier.
Needing weight. Proof. And Kenny gave it.
He swept his tongue around Aaron’s. Just enough.
Always just enough. And Aaron wrapped his legs around him, crossing his ankles together at Kenny’s lower back, clinging onto him as if half-sinking, half-saved.
Kenny stayed on his knees, one arm wrapped tight around Aaron’s waist, the other stroking up his spine in long, soothing sweeps. Then he slipped his hand beneath Aaron’s jumper, fingertips warm and smooth as he traced the delicate curve of Aaron’s lower back.
Aaron melted.
So close to being that fucking Crème Egg in the sun.
Then Kenny leaned into his ear and whispered, “I love you.”
And Aaron blinked. Turned to utter mush.
He didn’t even have the energy to call him an arsehole.
So he held on tighter.