Chapter 21
Peter
“Afternoon!”
I felt like I’d been run over by a truck, lying here stiff as a board on the edge of the bed. Now trying to roll myself backwards to where Oliver was fidgeting around, sat cross-legged on the bed. Tray on the side. Reaching out for me with a cup of tea in his hand.
“I used to be a coffee person, and now I suddenly can’t get enough of this tea stuff. Terrible really. You’re turning me into some old person before my time.”
“Tea is comforting,” I said, trying to sit myself up.
If I had felt weird last night? Overwhelmed this morning? Now I felt positively naked, sat here topless, trying not to notice how he stared at me. His gaze following my shoulder. My chest… I tried to cover up, taking an awkward sip of the tea.
Good tea. A pang of warmth in my chest. Then back to feeling my face flame as he leant forward. Took a tentative crawl towards me.
“So…we kiss now?” he whispered. Like it was something we did.
I stared at him blankly.
“It’s my turn,” he declared with a cheeky grin on his face.
He took the teacup out of my hand. Placed it on the bedside table amongst all the crap still littering the surface.
Fear. So much…anticipation. And more fear. What were we doing here? What was I supposed to…
His hand was on my cheek, positioning my face to where he wanted it. Adjusting the way he was leaning over me, now one hand on either side of my head. Leaning on top of me.
“Is this okay?” he asked, like he expected me to protest.
I wanted to. But didn’t. Oh my almighty God.
If I felt naked before? Now I felt stripped bare. Like my skin was on fire and my mind laid out for everyone to see.
And there it was. His mouth pressed softly to mine. A kiss. Really Peter?
“You didn’t go to pickleball then, since you’re still not dressed and back in bed,” he said, sitting himself back up and, at the same time, giving me a little wink.
“I was exhausted.” No lie. And I was not blushing. Everywhere.
“You were a chicken. We both need to somehow…you know. Figure out how to go back out in the real world and do normal stuff.”
And now he suddenly blushed too, like he’d said too much. Like I couldn’t feel how his heart was racing under that hoodie he was wearing. The whole bed vibrated. Or maybe that was me.
It was Ed’s top. Cal’s trousers. The socks I didn’t recognise, and there was definitely mud on the trousers and here he was in my bed and I should have said something.
I didn’t. Because, as usual, I had lost complete control over my mouth.
“Mary doesn’t mind,” he said, smiling sheepishly at me. “And don’t you start too, but the boys were telling me stuff and said she definitely promised to haunt them. So if she minded us…” He swallowed. “Kissing. Then she would be tipping over furniture or something, wouldn’t she?”
How old was I? Five? Well, I was making him smile and had to cover my face with my hands, grunting out my usual, “Oliver,” sounding more like a smile than a sigh. Good. Good?
“She wouldn’t mind. How can she? She’s dead,” I said flatly. Get yourself under control, Peter!
“I know she is. But at the same time? I like that…you know. It’s not that big elephant in the room. She’s your wife. She’s dead. She’ll… She’s here. I can deal.”
“She…” I sat myself up, letting the duvet once again expose my chest. Soft hair. Some faint remains of muscle tone. I hadn’t worked out in ages. Not been on my bike or played…at anything. I used to be fit. For a granddad.
Weird. Now I was just…meh.
“You’re very handsome,” came out of his mouth, like he knew what I was thinking, hiding my bare skin behind my arms and a cup of tea. Apparently, this was now a thing I did. Hiding. What else was new?
“I have this plan here.” He looked very proud of himself, smiling knowingly. “It’s called Operation Make Peter Fall In Love With Me.”
I grunted.
“When I set out to complete a project, that’s what I do.”
So bloody confident. Where was the Oliver I knew and loved?
Loved? Oh, fuck off.
The floorboards above us creaked, and he burst out laughing.
“This operation of yours…” I had no idea what to do. What to say. This felt more like Operation Make Oliver Spill His Brain All Over Peter. Not good. Probably not ideal here.
“It’s what will happen anyway,” he mused, taking another sip from his cup.
Messy, messy boy.
“Your trousers are muddy. The bed is clean.”
“I would have changed, but you only have one shower, and apparently, I am way down the pecking order here.” He was still smiling. “I’m happy to wait. Football was…”
Another grunt from me. A startled look from him.
I was stuck here. I could either get up and go raise hell with my sons, demand a shower myself and…
Or I could sit here in bed and hopefully get away with taking him in like the work of art he…
Crap.
He smiled. And I had to smile too.
“See? It’s already working. I just have to sit here, and you go all funny. I love it.”
He made himself comfortable, adjusting the pillows behind his back as he just leant back against the headboard. Watching me try to shrink myself into nothing.
“Is this how you hook up with people in clubs? You were talking about vibes?”
“We’re well beyond vibes,” he said quietly, like he was tasting the words. “We just…you know?”
“No,” I said sternly. “I don’t know, Oliver. What is going on? You’ll have to explain this to me because I’m losing my marbles here. I don’t know what is going on, and why you are here, and suddenly I can’t even take an afternoon nap in peace and quiet without getting bombarded with all these…”
I was losing it. I wasn’t proud.
“This was not what we had. We were friends. I liked it when we were friends. What am I supposed to do with you now? We kiss? Do you expect me to just flip you over and do exactly what? I don’t know what’s happening here, and I don’t agree with this…Operation whatever you think you’re doing!”
Yes, I was shouting. Yes, bad move, because now he was pressed into the pillows, looking awfully pale, and his bottom lip was trembling, and here was Cal, walking in like his father and his father’s… OH FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE. My sigh was embarrassing enough here.
“Dad, what do you want from Karachi Castle? I have Auntie’s order from next door, I have Ed and me, Ollie says he likes lamb, so we’re getting a bhuna with extra chops on the side…”
He stared at me, phone in his hand, like he expected me to be able to make rational decisions. For the record? I had no brainpower to even make my body breathe.
“Were you two up to something? You both look guilty as hell.”
I loved my son, but sometimes I wanted to…
“Nothing’s going on,” Oliver said calmly. “Your dad thinks I ask him too many questions.”
“Oh, that’s totally normal. Dad’s old and grey. He needs to be dragged out into the front room and plonked on the sofa with a blanket over his legs, and then he needs a beer.”
“I don’t need a beer!” I half shouted. Half sobbed.
“Calm down, Dad. I’ll put down a king prawn korma and tarka dahl. Two naans. Do you want naan, Ollie?”
He nodded whilst shaking his head, and Cal tottered off, phone pressed to his ear.
Nothing was normal. Nothing was…
He climbed onto my lap. That was the first thing. Then he wrapped his stupid arms around me and buried his face in my neck. Trapped me in my own bed with no way of escaping, and my hand awkwardly tried to put my teacup somewhere where I wouldn’t have to mop something off the bloody carpet.
The ceiling creaked.
What now? I can’t even think it, and the ceiling creaks?
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“Don’t,” I said, surprised I actually spoke. Too much hair in my mouth. Too much Oliver on my lap.
“I just… I want this. Can you at least acknowledge that?” He was talking into my neck. Me? Chin on his shoulder. Arms wrapped tightly around his waist.
“This is not one of your business deals. And it’s not…”
“No, it’s not. It’s someone who thinks you’re wonderful. And someone who thinks he knows you enough to see the obvious.”
“Which is?”
Why was I talking? The obvious? I knew the obvious. The obvious was right here.
“I think you should go home,” I said.
I hated that I did. Suddenly I hated everything I was. Who was I? What had I done to the rational human being who usually slept in this bed?
“I’m not going anywhere,” he replied sternly, then gently rose up.
His fingers settling around my face. They were still warm from the tea he’d been cradling in those hands.
Those large, soft hands against my rough skin.
Then his eyes were right there. His forehead against mine.
“Not going home. Forget that. I’m right here because I think you need me here. ”
“I don’t,” I protested weakly.
Weak. Stupid. Pushed into a corner. And where the hell had that cup of tea gone? I’d be mopping up tea in a minute…
“Stop fighting this so hard!” he urged. “Because I get it. I do. God, Peter, I get it. I know what it’s like because I’ve spent all my life fighting who I am.
Being gay. Being weird. Being more interested in numbers than normal things other kids were into.
Still got in trouble, all the time. Did stupid shit.
Took stupid shit. I know. I have fought it my whole life, that urge to not do all the things that are so incredibly destructive in my life.
But this? This, Peter? This is the one thing I am not going to fight against. I’m going to fight for it. ”
“It’s…”
“It is.”
I didn’t know why I did it. What insanity possessed me to do what I did. But I got my hand free and fisted the front of that hoodie, then I threw him down on the bed and climbed on top of him. Held him down with everything I was. And he was right there.
I didn’t know what I’d expected to see? Maybe fear. Perhaps I had hoped he’d just run away. But no, he was all flushed and gorgeous, and his eyes were dark. So bloody dark.
My nose against his. Don’t make me do this.
This was so wrong. So insane. So very much not normal behaviour. I was a middle-aged dentist. I wasn’t…what was going on here.
I didn’t think I could have stopped if I’d tried.
“Your turn,” he whispered.
It was. And I did. And my lips were on his and my hand gripped a handful of his hair, and I kissed him with everything I was. Hard. Wet. My tongue in his mouth as my lips tugged at his. Bit gently on that plump mass. Pulled and let go. Dove back in and tasted the way his tongue felt against mine.
Maybe I should have thought about my technique. Marvelled gently over what a sensual kisser he was. Smiled at his taste on my tongue.
Instead I kissed his cheek. His skin. Warm stubble against my lips. His neck, marvelling at the little gasp I teased out of him. A collarbone under my chin as I sucked at that skin. The smell of him intoxicating. The small noises coming from him making my heart jolt.
“Don’t cry,” I whispered into his mouth. “Please don’t.”
“I’m…” He tried to say something else. I silenced him with my mouth. Because I wasn’t ready. If I thought I’d been ready for something? I wasn’t. And I had lied. I had lied about absolutely everything.
I didn’t want this. Yet, here I was, yearning for everything I shouldn’t. So I did the only thing I could. I wrapped him in my arms and held him. Rocked him in my embrace, back and forth as he breathed into my chest.
“Dad, dinner.” And here was Ed, rolling his eyes, standing in the doorway like the badass kid he was. “And you two are disgusting.”
“Not,” I said.
“Fuck you,” Oliver whispered from beneath me.
“No,” I said gently.
I hoped he smiled. Because now I’d gone and done it.
And perhaps? Just perhaps it was time to start to own up to…a few small things.