Chapter 7 #2
“I’m not irritated. I like it that you’re here.”
“Even though I’m not saying anything or being helpful in any way?”
Nodding, Jesse turned back to his work.
Tentatively, Arthur scooted closer, his heart fluttering a bit.
“Alright, then I’ll stay. But the moment you’d like me to leave, I’ll head home.”
Jesse’s cheeks reddened, though he kept his eyes on the little letter he was lining up.
“I won’t want you to leave,” he murmured, his voice filled with a kindness that made Arthur’s stomach tumble.
Warmth bloomed on Arthur’s cheeks.
Mustering up the rest of his courage, Arthur moved even closer, intentionally causing their thighs to touch, and then he whispered, “And I wouldn’t have wanted to go.”
With bated breath, Arthur waited for Jesse to scoot farther away, at least a little, at least far enough that their legs wouldn’t continue to touch. But he stayed. Jesse stayed even though their thighs were resting together. Or perhaps . . . because they were.
Over the next hour, Arthur looked on while Jesse worked on the forme.
It was so incredibly impressive how fast Jesse could transcribe what had been written on a sheet of paper to the lines of type, the sentences and letters backward.
It was as though Jesse could think in mirrored text, which was .
. . oh, it was intriguing. It was exciting.
Arthur had never met someone who was clearly so naturally brilliant before (as opposed to the folks in his social circle whose smarts had mostly come from their rigorous schooling).
“Almost finished with this one,” Jesse said, looking over. “Do you want to try to compose a line?”
Arthur’s eyes widened. “Me? Really?”
Jesse shrugged. “Why not?”
“Oh, I’ll be so slow.”
“It isn’t as though we’re short on time. I intentionally worked a bit faster than usual. Normally, I try to take my time. I like being here by myself. But—”
“But you thought you’d rush so that you could be rid of me sooner?” Arthur teased.
Jesse huffed a light laugh. “Exactly.” He pushed the wooden stick closer to Arthur, along with the paper containing the news stories. “Here. Try one.”
Swallowing his nervousness, Arthur searched the page to find where Jesse had left off.
After he located it, he began picking the letters he would need from the case and piled them together in a small heap.
Jesse made a little sound under his breath, like a soft, reluctant laugh.
Arthur’s method probably seemed silly to him.
Arthur couldn’t help but smile in return.
Carefully, he started to line up the letters.
His smile fell away, his brows furrowing in concentration.
It was tricky to focus with the letters being so small.
Arthur’s spectacles weren’t made for looking at tiny backward text.
“I think I need to remove these,” Arthur said, plucking his frames from his nose. He set them on the table in front of Jesse. “I’m straining my eyes a little with these tiny type letters.”
“I can take over if you want.”
“I’d like to finish one line,” he said. “Oh!” He turned to Jesse. “Could I have one of the sheets when we’re finished?”
“You want one page of a six-page newspaper?”
Arthur’s face reddened. “Just . . . as a keepsake.”
“Sure,” Jesse said with a shake of his head.
Arthur smiled. “Thank you.”
Arthur resumed composing the line of type. He continued to feel Jesse’s intoxicating presence beside him while he worked. Not only the weight of Jesse’s leg pressing against his, either, but Jesse’s overall closeness. It was very hard to concentrate with him being so . . . so right there like that.
Arthur’s heart began thumping excitedly, its beats fierce enough that he found himself wondering whether Jesse might even be able to hear its rhythmic movements.
It took Arthur five more minutes to finish the line, which seemed like a very long time compared to how long Jesse had taken with his. Gazing at the finished product, Arthur felt both foolish and proud simultaneously, his cheeks warming while a separate heat swirled in his chest.
After pushing the wooden stick back over to Jesse, Arthur reached for his spectacles, but Jesse took them from the table before he could retrieve them.
“I need those to see clearly farther than a few feet in front of me,” Arthur said, keeping his tone playful as he turned toward Jesse.
Jesse began reaching toward Arthur’s face. Arthur’s lenses were balanced between his long, nimble fingers. Once Arthur realized what was happening, his heart stuttered. Fear and excitement crashed together and began coursing through his veins at the same time.
Gingerly, Jesse set the pince-nez-style frames back on the bridge of Arthur’s nose. He even knew to pinch the sides of the nosepiece together so that they’d stay on. One of Jesse’s hands lingered, and his fingers brushed Arthur’s cheek. Arthur let out a shuddered breath.
“Jesse . . .” Arthur whispered, though he wanted to say so much more. He was simply too overwhelmed by the beauty of the moment to come up with something better, something sweeter.
Although, what could have been sweeter than the sound of Jesse’s name?
Jesse moved his thumb back and forth, back and forth, on Arthur’s cheek over the faintest hint of stubble.
“I know. I like you, too, Arthur.”
Arthur’s breath caught. Even though he had been certain—one hundred percent certain—over the last hour that Jesse reciprocated these romantic feelings, it still felt so wonderful to hear Jesse speak those beautiful words out loud.
He could hardly believe the precise words that Jesse had chosen when he had made his confession, either.
I like you, too, Arthur. With that, Jesse had spoken of Arthur’s own crush for him.
It was as though he had taken on the entirety of the responsibility for what was between them.
Oh, what a magnificent man Jesse O’Connor was.
Now it was Arthur’s turn to be bold.
He checked to make sure the curtains were closed. Then, slowly, he leaned forward. His wild heart thumped excitedly as a swell of nervousness caused his stomach to swoop. Good Lord, he hadn’t been kissed in sixteen years. And he had never, ever kissed a man before.
Jesse slid his thumb over Arthur’s cheek one more time, and the sweet gesture provided Arthur with enough courage to follow through. After one more long, terrifying second, Arthur touched his lips to Jesse’s in a featherlight kiss.
Immediately, Arthur’s body started to tremble, and he wondered whether or not he ought to pull back. But then, he caught a whiff of the faintest hint of something sweet lingering on Jesse’s skin, and a lightning bolt of need shot through him.
Oh, how he needed more. More of the smell. More of the kiss. More of Jesse.
Hooking his hand behind Jesse’s head, Arthur deepened their kiss.
Quivering with a mixture of need and want and fear and like, Arthur touched his tongue to Jesse’s lips—a silent plea for entrance—and Jesse responded by opening his mouth wider and kissing their tongues together.
Jesse moaned into Arthur’s mouth as their tongues twirled in the midst of the intricate ballet that was this beautiful forbidden something between them.
One minute passed, or perhaps two, while they continued to kiss.
Arthur’s fingers became tangled in Jesse’s soft, beautiful hair while one of Jesse’s hands roamed over Arthur’s chest, first clutching tight to one of Arthur’s lapels and then playing with his cravat—the same blue cravat that he had worn when they had first spent time together.
And then, finally, Jesse pulled back. Arthur let out a soft, pathetic whimper in response to the loss of contact.
Jesse’s hand moved behind Arthur’s head, and he tipped their foreheads together. Both men stayed silent for a few seconds, save for their forceful exhales as they panted from the emotional exhaustion of their intimacy. Arthur continued to lightly twist Jesse’s hair between his fingers.
After a while, Jesse said, “I need to finish the formes.” He heaved a sorrowful-sounding sigh. “I need to finish the formes, but . . .”
He trailed off. Arthur knew precisely what Jesse wanted to say. Jesse wanted them to keep kissing. And Arthur wanted them to keep kissing, too.
He winced from a sudden twinge of pain in his chest, his heart splintering from the realization that the two of them might not have the chance to kiss again for a while after this.
Unable to even entertain the possibility of not kissing Jesse for hours or weeks or, hell, any length of time, Arthur caught Jesse’s mouth in one more hungry kiss.
Jesse’s tongue brushed his, and Arthur let out a happy hum, his earlier pain temporarily tempered, but then Jesse placed a palm flat on Arthur’s chest and pushed.
“Arthur,” he said. “I really want us to continue this, but the work . . .”
“Oh, Jesse,” Arthur began, “I promise I’ll let you finish the formes, but I, too, want to keep kissing. In fact, I’m finding it incredibly hard to stop.”
“Others will—”
Arthur cut Jesse off with a hard, fast kiss. Jesse chuckled. He tried to keep talking, but Arthur kept on interrupting him with more and more kisses, every one of them more ridiculous than the last.
“As I was saying, other people will”—kiss—“be here soon. I have to finish these formes so that the paper”—kiss—“can be ready in time for circulation tomorrow morning. Perhaps we can”—kiss—“spend some more time together when—”
Arthur moved to kiss Jesse once more, but Jesse covered Arthur’s mouth with his hand, and then Arthur laughed into his palm.
“Silly man. Will you please let me talk?” Jesse scolded. Arthur nodded. Jesse kept his hand over Arthur’s mouth, which was honestly pretty smart of him. “After I’m finished with the forme, maybe you can come to my place? I live with someone—a friend—but he won’t bother the two of us. I promise.”
Arthur nodded. He would like that very much. Charlotte and Emma only expected him back later that evening. Jesse took his hand away. Arthur placed one more playful kiss on Jesse’s lips.
Jesse shook his head and chided, “Silly, silly man.”
Arthur held up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll let you work now.” He scooted his chair a few feet to the right, away from both Jesse and the workstation. “See?”
“Thank you,” Jesse said, the faintest hint of a sweet smile on his lips.
As Jesse resumed his work, Arthur let out a happy, lovesick sigh and leaned forward, resting his head atop his fist. It had really happened, hadn’t it? He and Jesse had kissed. Many times. In the middle of the print shop. When it was quasi-open! Oh, Charlotte would really scold him for this.
And Arthur could hardly wait to tell her.