Chapter 11 Moses #2
I reached for my phone on the table, confirming that yes, there were indeed three unread messages from Bronwyn, the last one featuring several suggestive emojis and a warning that she was coming by the bar.
“Right,” I conceded, unable to meet her eyes. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t apologize,” she replied, a hint of genuine warmth breaking through her usual sardonic demeanor. “It’s good to see you happy, Moses. Both of you.” She included Rhett in her gaze, something like approval in her expression.
“Thanks, Bronwyn,” Rhett said, composed despite the awkward interruption. “For everything this week.”
“Just doing my part for the course of true love and all that nonsense,” she said dismissively, but I could tell she was pleased.
“Now, I’m going to leave again, and this time I won’t be back.
If you decide to continue your celebration, might I suggest the perfectly good apartment upstairs?
With an actual bed and, more importantly, a door that locks? ”
With that parting advice, she was gone, the sound of the front door closing firmly behind her.
Rhett and I looked at each other for a suspended moment before simultaneously dissolving into laughter, the tension broken, replaced by the giddy relief of teenagers who’d narrowly avoided being caught by a parent.
“Well,” Rhett said when our laughter subsided, “I think Bronwyn just gave us her blessing. In her own unique way.”
“That she did,” I agreed, standing and holding out my hand to him. “And she made a good point about the apartment upstairs.”
Rhett took my hand, allowing me to pull him to his feet. “Lead the way.”
The journey to my apartment was a blur of stolen kisses and wandering hands, the narrow staircase becoming an obstacle course as we refused to separate for even the brief ascent.
By the time we tumbled through my apartment door, my shirt was completely unbuttoned, and Rhett’s was half untucked, his hair mussed from my fingers.
In the soft lamplight of my living room, we paused, both breathing heavily. This moment felt significant, crossing a threshold we couldn’t uncross, making real what had existed in memory and fantasy for so long.
“Will you make me yours?” I asked, needing to hear him say it again.
Rhett’s answer was to cup my face in his hands, his touch gentle despite the desire evident in his darkened eyes. “I have never been more sure of anything in my life,” he said, the simple declaration both an answer and a promise.
That was all I needed. I closed the remaining distance between us, kissing him with everything I’d kept bottled up for twenty years, desire, regret, hope, longing, all of it pouring out in a connection that was as much emotional as physical.
We moved together toward the bedroom, shedding clothing along the way, eager to feel skin against skin. When Rhett’s back hit the mattress, I followed him down, covering his body with my own, reveling in the heat and solidity of him beneath me.
“This is addictive,” he breathed, his hands tracing patterns across my back, my shoulders, everywhere he could reach. “I dreamed about this. About you.”
“Me too,” I confessed, pressing kisses along his jaw, his neck, his collarbone. “More than I ever let myself admit.”
What followed was a rediscovery, of each other’s bodies, of preferences remembered and new sensitivities discovered.
We took our time, mapping terrain that was both familiar and excitingly new.
The lean muscle of his youth had matured into a more solid frame, distinguished by the faint silver threading his hair and the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes.
I traced these changes with reverence, learning this new version of Rhett with hands and lips and whispered questions.
“Is this good?” I murmured against his skin as my hand found him, hard and wanting.
“Yes,” he gasped, arching into my touch. “Perfect. Don’t stop.”
I had no intention of stopping, not when every sound he made, every twitch of muscle beneath my hands, sent fire coursing through my veins.
I worked him with deliberate focus, watching his face as pleasure built within him, memorizing the way his eyes darkened, the flush that spread across his chest, the slight parting of his lips as his breathing quickened.
When he was close, too close, he caught my wrist, stilling my movements. “Wait,” he panted. “Together. I want to feel you.”
The raw need in his voice nearly undid me. I nodded, allowing him to reverse our positions, thrilling to the weight of him above me. He reached between us, taking us both in hand, the dual sensation of his fingers and our bodies pressed together drawing a moan from deep in my chest.
“Look at me,” he commanded softly, and I did, our gazes locking as he began to move. The intimacy of it, of being seen, truly seen, in this moment of vulnerability, was almost overwhelming. There was no hiding here, no armor, just the raw truth of what we meant to each other.
We moved together, finding a rhythm that built steadily, inexorably, toward release.
Words gave way to broken sounds, to whispered encouragements, to names spoken like prayers.
When the edge approached, I clutched at his shoulders, holding on as if he were the only solid thing in a world gone liquid with pleasure.
“Rhett,” I gasped, a warning and a plea.
“I know,” he murmured against my lips. “Let go, Moses. I’ve got you.”
And I did, surrendering to the wave that crashed through me, dimly aware of Rhett following me over that precipice, his body tensing above mine before relaxing into the aftermath. For a long moment, we lay tangled together, hearts racing in tandem, breath mingling in the small space between us.
Eventually, he rolled to his side, keeping one arm draped possessively across my chest. “Well,” he said, his voice rough with satisfaction, “are you ready for another round?”
I laughed, the sound surprisingly free. “Give me a moment.”
“Understandable,” he said fervently, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. “In fact, I vote for multiple repeat sessions all night long. Who needs sleep?”
“Ambitious,” I teased, turning to face him. “We’re not teenagers anymore, you know.”
“Thank God for that,” he replied, his expression softening into something more serious. “I like who we are now. Flawed, complicated, but real in a way we couldn’t be at eighteen.”
I understood exactly what he meant. At eighteen, we’d been all passion and possibility, but without the grounding that comes from experience, from making mistakes and learning from them, from building lives on our own terms.
“Me too,” I said simply, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “Though I do sometimes wonder who we might have become if we’d stayed together, if that night had never happened.”
Rhett considered this, his fingers tracing idle patterns on my skin. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe we’d have made it, maybe not. Long-distance is hard at any age, but especially right out of high school. And we both had a lot of growing up to do.”
“That’s true,” I acknowledged. “I needed to figure out who I was outside of Gomillion, outside of my family’s expectations. You needed space to become the architect you are now.”
“Exactly,” he agreed. “So maybe, in some strange way, these twenty years apart were necessary. They shaped us into people who might actually have a shot at making this work now.”
The thought was oddly comforting, that perhaps our separation, painful as it had been, wasn’t just a tragedy but a necessary detour that had led us back to each other when we were truly ready.
“A philosophy major and an architect,” I mused. “We were either destined to overthink everything or to build something lasting. Maybe both.”
Rhett laughed, the sound vibrating pleasantly against me. “Definitely both. Speaking of building things...” he trailed off, a hint of nervousness entering his expression.
“Yes?” I prompted, curious about this sudden shift.
“Tomorrow,” he said, propping himself up on one elbow to better see my face. “My surprise. I don’t want to ruin it, but I also don’t want you walking into it completely blind.”
I raised an eyebrow, intrigued by his uncharacteristic uncertainty. “Now I’m really curious.”
He took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. “I want to show you a property. A house, actually, about fifteen miles outside of Gomillion.”
“A house?” I echoed, confusion giving way to dawning understanding. “You’re... house shopping? Here?”
“Not exactly,” he clarified quickly. “I’m considering it as an investment. A weekend place, maybe, or even a rental property most of the time. But also...”
“Also?” I prompted when he hesitated.
“Also, a potential middle ground. Between Boston and Atlanta. A place where we could meet, spend time together without either of us having to completely uproot our lives right away.”
The implication, that he was actively planning for a future that included me, that included us finding ways to be together despite the geographic challenges, left me momentarily speechless.
“That’s... a lot to process,” I finally managed, my heart racing with something between panic and elation.
“I know,” he acknowledged immediately. “And I’m not asking for any kind of commitment right now. It’s just an idea, a possibility. If you hate it, or if it feels too fast, we can forget I ever mentioned it.”
I studied his face, the earnestness there, the vulnerability beneath the confidence. This was Rhett putting himself on the line, offering a tangible symbol of his intentions toward me, toward us.
“I don’t hate it,” I said softly, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw. “It’s unexpected, but... not unwelcome.”
Relief flooded his expression. “Good. That’s... good.”
“But I do have questions,” I continued. “Practical ones. About logistics, about how often we’d actually be able to use this place given our careers, about who would maintain it when we’re not there.”
“All valid concerns,” he agreed, settling back beside me.
“And I’ve thought about most of them. The property has a caretaker’s cottage that could be rented to a local who’d handle basic maintenance.
It’s close enough to Gomillion that Bronwyn could check on it occasionally if needed. As for logistics...”
He launched into a thoughtful analysis of travel options, work schedules, the potential for remote work that made it clear he had, indeed, given this serious consideration. I listened, both touched by the depth of his planning and amused by the very Rhett-like thoroughness of it.
“You’ve really thought this through,” I observed when he paused for breath.
“I have,” he admitted with a sheepish smile. “I told you once that I left you alone after the statue incident because I was young and scared and didn’t know how to fight for what mattered. I don’t intend to make that mistake again.”
The simple declaration, delivered with such quiet certainty, melted something inside me, a final remnant of the armor I’d built around my heart over the years.
“I want to see this house,” I decided, the words feeling right as I spoke them. “I can’t promise anything beyond that, but I want to see it. To understand what you’re envisioning.”
His smile was like the sunrise after the longest night. “That’s all I’m asking for. A chance to show you possibilities.”
“Possibilities,” I repeated, liking the sound of the word, open-ended, full of potential without the pressure of immediate decisions. “I can work with possibilities.”
He kissed me then, soft and sweet, a promise without demands.
When we separated, I felt a sense of peace I hadn’t experienced in years, perhaps ever.
Whatever tomorrow brought, whatever decisions lay ahead, for tonight we were here, together, the past acknowledged but no longer a barrier between us.
“So,” Rhett murmured after a comfortable silence, his hand drifting purposefully down my chest, “about those shorter intervals we discussed...”
I laughed, catching his wandering hand and bringing it to my lips. “Already?”
His eyes darkened with renewed desire. “We have twenty years to make up for, Moses. I intend to make the most of every minute.”
“Well, when you put it that way,” I replied, pulling him down for a kiss that promised much more, “who am I to argue with such sound logic?”
I shut him up with a kiss. “Too much talking.” Rhett laughs as I roll him into his back. The kiss is territorial; I’m staking my claim on this man that I had wasted twenty years of my life without.
I reach down and feel he’s hard again. “Guess you missed me as much as I missed you.” I murmur against this mouth.
His eyes burn up at me, challenging me and surrendering to me at the same time.
Rubbing the pre-cum, helps my hand to move, teasing him slow at first, long strokes that have his breath hitching. He bucks into my grip, desperate already, and I can’t help but smirk. “Still greedy I see.”
“And you still talk too much,” he pants, as his mouth crashes into mine.
I reach between us, lining myself up. “I want you so bad, Rhett.”
“Well, what are you waiting for? You’re in control here.”
The first push steals both of our breaths. He’s tight, hot, and I pause just to savor the way his nails bit into my arms.
“Fuck, Rhett…” I press harder, getting deeper. Every inch is a battle and a homecoming at the same time. His legs lock around my waist, dragging me closer.
“Don’t stop,” he gasps, his voice cracking. “Please God, don’t stop.”
I thrust slow at first, drawing it out, watching his face twist with pleasure. Then faster, harder, years of frustration and need boiling over. Our bodies slap together, slick with sweat, the rhythm raw and just perfect.
His moans grow louder, his head thrown back, and I can’t take my eyes off him. “Mine,” I growl against his throat, biting down just enough to make him curse.
“Yours,” he chokes out, and it wrecks me.
I reach down, wrap my hand around him again, stroking in time with my thrusts. It only takes a few rough pulls before he’s spilling over my hand, clenching tight around me as he falls apart.
That’s all it takes. I slam deep into him one last time, burying myself inside him as my release rips through me, hot and consuming. I collapse against him, out breaths tangling, the room heavy with the sound of us finally finding our way back to each other.
And for the second time that night, we lost ourselves in each other, building something new from the ashes of what we’d once had, something stronger, deeper, and infinitely more real than the fevered dreams of our youth.
Whatever the future held, this, at least, was ours: this connection, this moment, this second chance neither of us had dared to hope for but both of us had secretly wanted.
Tomorrow would bring its own challenges, its own decisions. But tonight was for celebration, private, personal, and perfect in its imperfection.