Chapter 10
10
ISAAC
The last time I was somewhere this dark with Joe, I got too close to him in one of a long line of temporary addresses. Everything inside that place was borrowed, right down to the bed my brother slept in. Tonight, Lenny is in another borrowed bed, only with one big difference. He’s safe here. Can stay where nothing will scare him voiceless just as long as we’re both in Cornwall, and whether Joe believes it or not, he got that ball rolling.
The last few days have been one reminder after another. Or like wiping clean smudged lenses to see clearly for the first time in forever. Tonight, the only real similarity to our last evening together is that I’ll have to watch Joe leave again.
Not yet, though.
Not yet.
I focus on closing the van door, which clunks. So does something in my chest because yeah, I shut that door, but this time Joe’s on the right side of it.
Mine.
The darkness deepens. So does anticipation, my blood racing the same way as on the evening I thought I’d misread signals. There’s no misreading Joe, no rewriting history that his hand is on my jaw for any other reason than he wants to find my mouth and kiss it.
I get there first, landing one that misses. Stubble rasps, and that never felt electric before. It prickles my lips, tingling until I reposition to find softness, and I’ve never been more invested in reconnecting with the one and only person who gave a fuck. And who I told myself couldn’t have ever cared about us.
I can’t tell myself that lie anymore, can’t keep stoking that angry ember after seeing so many reminders of care in action. He’s shown me that over and over, from knotting my tie to vouching for me to promising not to upset my brother. Now, as my sight adjusts and a pink-streaked sunset is filtered by the roof light, I see more evidence of a skill set I’ve spent a whole year telling myself I imagined.
He takes care all over again.
Of me.
Joe sinks down onto one of the crates holding books for kids I never would have known needed them so much if he hadn’t pointed me in the right direction.
I’d tell him again that he was my signpost, my gateway leading to this fresh start, if I wasn’t busy straddling his lap, which is lucky timing—my knees weaken the moment Joe kisses me back, and not only the bunting outside flutters. Something in my empty chest does too when he runs a hand through my hair, then fists a good, thick handful to anchor me to him. I can’t make myself mind that his hold pulls a little too tight for comfort. It sets off the same sparks I saw under the willow tree that flecked him with similar bright, white flashes.
That’s what I see all over again, even with my eyes closed, and more sparks flare when he tilts my head exactly where he wants me, going all in on this kiss that will be our last.
I don’t kid myself that he’s doing this for any other reason.
Joe kisses me goodbye, and…
I’m not ready.
That’s wild when I could have happily pushed him into the sea yesterday. Now I hold tight, my fingers digging into the meat of his shoulders to anchor him to me just as firmly, and I didn’t predict this wet and wild contact—couldn’t have guessed that his tongue would be this deep in my mouth tonight either—but his hand in my hair tightens, and I wouldn’t choose any other outcome than this one for us.
“Isaac.” His voice is as rough as his hold on my hair and as gentle once he eases off.
“It’s okay,” I promise, then give an equally rough order. “Don’t stop. I want…” I don’t know how to describe that I’m grounded the same way now as when he caught my feet between his during an interview my whole future hung from. This bite of pain is nothing to what I’ve watched my brother live through. Now I can see a future for him.
Not with Joe. I can’t stay a dreamer like our mother.
This hold, though, and him not letting me go?
It’s so real that I want to. I settle for reaching up for his hand before he can lower it, my fingers skimming a scarred wrist and sliding under the sleeve of his jacket.
He goes still.
The inside of the van is dim. I still spot a familiar glimmer. This want Joe shows me is a reminder of kids who don’t believe they’ll get to keep the books I offer. It flickers again as if he doesn’t believe I want to touch him.
I do.
I have since he let Lenny trace each pit and divot on his forearms, his expression the kind of gentle that Wintergreen men don’t show. Now I repeat what I’ve seen Lenny do often enough to know it can’t hurt Joe, only maybe my touch does cause him pain.
I stop the second Joe’s forehead creases the same way as when kids think they’ll have to leave books behind. He looks away. Just by a fraction, but we’re so close that I feel his breath hitch, then gust, as if this old wound my thumb brushes is fragile instead of a sign of strength like the book he gave to my brother promised.
According to those pages, scars hold heroes together. It seems he didn’t make the link between those words and himself.
I want to voice that but, like Lenny lately, I can’t find words when I need them. Instead, I can only manage a rough-sounding, “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He looks down, still not meeting my eyes. “I can’t predict…”
“What?” I slip from his lap. Kneel between his legs. Look up to see his brow is still creased. “What can’t you predict? Tell me.”
“I can’t predict what I’ll feel. Sometimes it’s nothing more than pressure. Other times I get tingles.” I’m not sure that’s a good thing from his wince, and this low rumble confirms it. “Or shocks.”
“Shocks?” I sit back on my heels. “You let Lenny touch them loads of times. I saw you do it. You didn’t ever flinch.”
“We don’t, do we?” He reminds me of what a school librarian once stood me in front of a mirror to practise.“Showing weakness? Bad idea.” His eyes close. “Lenny never hurt me. Even if he did, a few volts would have been worth it.” He opens eyes that shine darkly. “They don’t hurt anything like getting scarred in the first place did. Wouldn’t matter if they did.” He finished with a request. “Tell him that I never stopped thinking about him, will you, one day?” And just like that, we’re kissing again.
It’s still new. Still a test of where we fit and where we don’t. In a different situation, we’d learn to avoid our teeth clashing, our noses bumping. But that would mean this being the start of a story instead of the end of a surprise bonus chapter, so I do what he did for my brother by ignoring discomfort. I kneel up and clutch his shoulders again before letting go just as abruptly. “Where…”
“Is it safe to touch?”
Drumming drifts from nearby practice rooms, a rat-a-tat my heart echoes as Joe repeats what I last saw him do on a moonlit beach. He strips, loosening his tie first, then sheds his jacket and shirt, and fuck there already being a coil of tension between us. Each pop of a shirt button through its hole twists a wire inside me tighter until he’s bare-chested, and that’s a lot to take in.
He’s broader than me. Hairier too, apart from one bare streak I already saw in moonlight. Now I pay close attention, piecing together this shadowed visual. “The acid caught your arms and belly, but most of it hit your back? You must have turned away fast.”
“Had good training. Dad couldn’t make a fighter out of me, but he drummed in the instinct to keep my guard raised.” He holds up his fists like a boxer, and I told Lenny stories about giants. Now I kneel in front of someone who might as well be one. The size of his fists alone should scare me. They’re huge. So is his sigh. “No worries about…” He gestures between us. “I get that it’s a vibe killer.” Joe grabs his shirt as if, now that I’ve seen what acid left him wearing, I won’t want to see more.
Fuck that.
I’ve felt rage about him for so long. A new wave almost swamps me.
For him.
“You think you’ve shown me your worst?”
He stills for a second time, shirt on again but unbuttoned, scarred torso still on show as I stand up, my hair brushing the van’s roof.
“If you wanted to put me off, you probably shouldn’t have shown me your best. Like putting Len first. And like you telling Luke I was a safe pair of hands even though I almost slugged you.” I came so close to doing that in that lay-by. “You meant everything you said, didn’t you?”
I’m close enough again now to see his quick nod and to hear another hitch in his breathing.
“Then listen up because I mean this.” I get busy popping my own buttons. “Someone’s gonna be lucky to get to keep you.” Until then, I get busy showing him I won’t be scared off by what an acid attack started.
As soon as I’m as bare-chested as him, he lets out a sound I’d think was my own, only he doesn’t need a tight hand in his hair to prompt it. But here’s the thing about being the same height as him—I still see hesitation. It fades as soon as I unfasten his belt and get his fly unfastened. His cock is already hot and heavy, his breath shuddering as I squeeze, but he gets it together enough to shove down his suit trousers, his underwear too. Then he’s bare to this faintly pink-streaked light. And to me.
Someone at Glynn Harber sure loves drumming. It pounds along with the pulse in my ears and inserts a lyric I really don’t want to hear on repeat right now.
What if it’s loud enough to wake Len?
“We gotta hurry.” That sounds like it comes from a stranger, not from me. So does the noise I can’t keep in at Joe’s mouth latching onto the juncture between my neck and shoulder. His teeth graze, and I see stars. Then he sucks, and I’m as hard as he is.
His dick is hot in my hand. So is seeing a gleam at its head that dampens the tight ring of my fingers. I work on getting him off, and me cupping his balls means he lets out another groan that drowns out everything but the heaviness of our breathing until our mouths reconnect.
Our teeth don’t clash this time. It’s slick and good from the get-go, and wild in a way I could only imagine night after night alone in bed, with no one I’d trust to look after Len.
That’s got to be why Joe rubbing my own hard-on with the heel of his palm feels like a first. Once my own suit trousers are puddled, my boxers shoved down, I shudder—it’s been so long since anyone but me hurried to get my clothes off. He pauses, checking in, and if his hand around my cock didn’t already get to me, this slow and careful question would.
“You’re okay with this?”
Okay with it?
Right now, I could do what a school librarian once warned me against. Joe’s got me near to melting. He also takes over making decisions, which is useful. I’m too on edge to focus on anything but sensation, on him getting me off, on how it feels to edge closer and closer. I don’t even notice that he’s steered me back to that crate until I almost stumble over the tangle of my trousers. The moment I go down, he’s between my knees, head dipped until he looks up.
“And with this?”
I shouldn’t see more stars, neither in his eyes nor in the sky while it’s out of sight. They still burst to life as soon as he blows me, and I have to clench the edge of this crate to stay upright.
I’m close, sooner than I want. So soon that I could choke like he does each time he takes more of me than can be easy. That’s a sign of him being as desperate as me. For this.
For us.
Joe alternates sucking me off with a hand job just the right side of too hard and fast, and if I don’t ever breathe again, at least it will be for good reason. His tongue flicks, his hold abruptly stopping, and I blink stars away to see his shoulder moving.
“Getting yourself off?”
He nods, his mouth full, and fuck me, it’s a lot to take in. A lot to turn down too, but if we’ve only got tonight, I want to be his reason for seeing the same stars as me.
I slide a hand into hair so much easier to rake through than mine. He lets out another low rumble, a surprised purr at getting petted, so instead of pulling him off my dick like I meant to, I run my hand through his hair again, and if this feedback loop of touch and sound and slick, wet motion is how tonight ends, it might just end me.
His head bobs faster. Harder. Joe chokes one time too many and has to pull off, a sparkling strand of saliva all that connects us until I slide off the crate and onto his lap again, where he holds me. His cock is so fucking solid, and I want it in me enough that I stutter like it’s my first time. “Y-you got something?”
He bites off a curse, so that’s a no.
Then he asks, “You on PrEP?”
“I was in Brighton. Didn’t seem much point staying on it after…” I don’t bother to end that sentence. He already knows what kept me busy. Besides, I’m more interested in getting busy with his dick. I rock against it, and he holds me tighter, thick fingers digging into my hips. He lets me go to reach for the same mats I usually set out in a circle for storytelling sessions in community centres, only he rolls me onto one of them, and I’m flat on my back with his weight heavy on me, and it’s nearly as good as fucking because we couldn’t be much closer.
We’re connected at mouth and pelvis, both of our dicks trapped in almost the best way, and I haven’t dry humped like this in so long I’d forgotten how much I like being covered like Joe does now. I forgot too that I’d rather kiss than breathe, as long as I’m as close to coming as he gets me. His dick nudges mine, his weight a heavy blanket I fight against. Not because I want him off me. Because I can’t help pushing up each time he grinds down.
It’s pure sensation. Pleasure combined with frustration, both of us close and both of us too tall for the space left on this floor.
Books fall.
So does a box that spills toys I keep for toddlers, and I hope to fuck nobody is anywhere close to where this van must be rocking.
Something else rocks inside me at Joe lifting himself up, but only enough to get a hand between us, and I thought I’d already felt good, had already been close. I hurtle even closer to the end when he holds our dicks together.
I’m there. Right on the edge of a different kind of cliff, where seagulls don’t scream. It’s my shout that Joe muffles, his hand over my mouth only making this more intense. I come my heart and soul out, vision dimming until I can drag in deep breaths and watch what he shows me.
Joe gets himself off, but I’m his focus. Me. He doesn’t look away for a single second, braced over me on an arm that wears another symbol of strength, and right now I wish whoever did that to Joe could see that they didn’t break him. He’s rock solid until the moment I take over. My hand wraps softness covering steel, which describes him right before he crumples. My own shoulder muffles his groan, and I take his weight when he collapses.
Somewhere in a practice room, that drummer finishes their solo with a wild and frenzied flourish.
My heart takes way longer to settle. Then it skips beat after beat when Joe’s lips nuzzle my neck, my jaw, my mouth to kiss me goodbye.
That’s what this is—a final farewell that I can’t voice once we dress in the almost dark, then stand in more light when I slide open the van door. The last of tonight’s sunset streaks Joe once we get out, alone in the car park.
He rumbles, “Come here.”
He has my tie in his hand, only he doesn’t loop it around my neck this time, or knot it for me. Joe folds it to tuck away in the breast pocket of my suit jacket, so I don’t get to feel a last brush of his knuckles.
My throat tightens out of nowhere.
He sounds choked too, hoarser now than I’ve ever heard him. “Say yes when you give Luke your answer about staying. Say yes to whatever job he gives you. Just…” He finishes tucking away my tie. His fingers still hook into my pocket although he doesn’t need to pull me closer. I’m already in his space, chest-to-chest all over again as if he’s my magnet. “Kinda think they all want to look after you for a bit, yeah? Both of you.” He snorts. “Take it from me, they want you to let them.” His eyes drop to my mouth, his voice even lower. “Say yes, Isaac.”
I want to kiss him then, only that drummer starts up again, bang, bang, banging, and I have to check my phone to believe my brother isn’t awake and worried. By the time I’m done, Joe has backed off.
I missed my chance again.
Maybe I haven’t—Joe surges back into my space, taking exactly what I wanted to give him.
This final kiss is soft. Rough. Far too brief before he strides across the car park, walking away.
From me.
“Wait!”
Joe stops, but he doesn’t turn.
I have no clue why this comes out sounding desperate. “There’s a time capsule celebration tomorrow for friends and families.”
He still doesn’t turn my way, and I still don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. All I do know is that this feels vital.
“I don’t have any family to invite for Lenny, so I was thinking about…” Asking this feels risky. I know I stand in a school car park. Mentally I’m in front of a librarian’s mirror, faking bravery for a first time.
Chin up.
Eyes narrowed.
“I was thinking about inviting a friend.”
Joe faces me then, stones crunching under his heel. He’s equally as gravelly. “For Lenny?”
I get honest in a hurry when I catch a glimpse of wariness that doesn’t suit him. “And for me.”
He drifts back, smiling, and that’s so much better. “You got a friend in mind?”
“I do, only you said you needed to get back to?—”
The sun is almost gone. It doesn’t matter. Joe’s smile couldn’t get any brighter.
“London, to deliver a car to my brother?”
He’s in my space all over again, and I can’t blame a drummer for what kicks off in my chest when he cups my chin and tilts it up again, then leans in.
“He can wait.”