Chapter 33 Trouble
Trouble
I wake up to the soft sound of two men breathing.
I open my eyes and look around. Will slept in the middle last night and Mat’s lying beside him.
Mat looks angelic. His eyes are closed and his head has fallen to one side.
His cheeks are flushed with sleep and his curls frame his face.
Will looks, well, not angelic exactly, but not totally intimidating.
I think for Will, that’s about as close to angelic as it gets.
His skin is dark against the white pillowcase, and his hand is tucked under his chin.
I don’t even need to look down at myself to know I look neither angelic nor non-scary.
I know without so much as a glance in a mirror that I’m what’s commonly known as a mess.
A hot mess, but still.
I get up as quietly as I can and pad down the hall until I find the door leading to the bathroom.
Much as I’d like to duck and run, I’m liberally coated in dried cum, and even I can’t pull off a walk of shame of this magnitude.
I mean to have a quick shower and then get on with the aforementioned ducking and running, but what with the hot water and the steam and a lot of sore muscles, I end up staying in for longer than I planned.
By the time I get out, I can hear the sound of cooking and laughter coming from the kitchen.
I wrap a towel around my waist and psyche myself up to make a dignified and stately semi-nude entrance.
Head up.
Shoulders back.
Five, six, seven, eight.
Turns out, there’s no need. When I open the bathroom door, I find my clothes on the threshold.
They’ve been folded neatly and with care.
Even my jockstrap has been carefully arranged.
I handle it with a little trepidation. Almost all of me is convinced that after what that jockstrap went through last night, I shouldn’t wear it without thoroughly washing it first. Unfortunately, I don’t have much choice.
My dong gives not a quarter of a shit about the fact its owner is trying to make a stealthy escape.
It’s rock solid and entirely unapologetic about it.
There’s no fucking way I can get into an Uber wearing a kilt without strapping that bad boy down.
I arrange my face into a bright smile as I enter the living room. Mat’s wearing pajama pants and an apron—oof—and has two frying pans on the go.
“Morning,” says Will. “Want some tasting bacon?”
“What’s tasting bacon?”
“Mattie makes an extra batch of bacon so we have a little something to snack on while he cooks the rest of the breakfast.”
It’s not just me, right?
That’s a damn good idea.
He hands me a mug of strong black coffee and motions over to the plate of tasting bacon. “Help yourself.”
“How’d you sleep?” asks Mat.
Hmm. Looks like everyone’s going to act like my being here is totally normal.
Fine. I’ll play along.
We make small talk, and I watch as they move around each other in the kitchen.
Will gets three plates out and butters the toast when it pops up.
As soon as the eggs are done, Mat serves them along with the bacon.
They move around each other like a well-oiled machine.
Will runs a hand along Mat’s lower back when he needs to get past him.
Both of them pause now and again sip their coffees.
Mat sighs happily and Will’s eyes crease when he does.
Then they get back to work in a way that’s so seamless, I can tell it’s happened many, many times before.
It can’t just be me. That’s hot, right?
I can’t tell if it’s objectively hot or just how I’m wired, but watching them together like this does exactly nothing to help resolve my boner.
If anything, it’s making it worse. I glance around the room to distract myself.
It’s a good size. Pretty big for this part of town.
The dining room and kitchen are open-plan, and the kitchen cabinets are made of timber that has been painted a sad mint green.
The paint has chipped along the edges of the doors and drawers to show the plethora of colors they’ve been painted in the past. The dining table is dark wood and has six mismatched chairs.
Not mismatched in an I-have-a-flair-for-throwing-things-together-in-a-way-that-looks-good way.
Mismatched in a way that says they have some of their shit together but not all of it.
They’re starting out, and they’re doing it together.
The living room is dominated by a huge sofa that looks like it was purchased directly from a porn set.
It has that whole black plastic-y thing going on and looks uncomfortable as fuck.
Literally, the only thing in the world a sofa like that is good for is recording yourself fucking.
It’s big enough for it. There’s plenty of space. I could kneel on the…
Wait.
No, no!
Something about wits. And keeping them about me.
“Right, well, thanks for breakfast. I better get going,” I say the second I’ve taken my last bite. “Does anyone know where my phone is?”
“Yeah, I put it on the charger for you. It’s in my room next to my bed,” says Mat.
I fetch it, determinedly forbidding myself to think about how sweet it is that he did that for me, and on my way back, I hear the two of them talking in the living room.
“…want him,” says Mat.
“I know.”
“For real, Will. I’m serious.”
“I’ll get him, okay? I’ll make sure he comes back.”
I take the last few steps down the hall a little heavier than usual to let them know I’m on my way.
“So, I’m gonna take off,” I say, leaning my head toward the door.
“I’ll walk you out,” says Will.
“Oh, you don’t need to do that.”
“I want to.”
The way he says it makes it clear it’s the end of the conversation. A period at the end of a sentence. A paragraph break. A chapter that ends when everything has been completely resolved and there’s not another word to be said about the matter.
It shouldn’t be so hot.
But it is.
He stands with me on the curb as I wait for my ride.
“Trouble,” he says softly, “last night you said you’d come back. There was a lot going on, and you were out of it, so you might not remember, but you said it.”
“I remember.” I try to go for a smile, but it’s one of those that turns wobbly and a little strange at the corners of my mouth.
“Neither of us would ever want you to do something you don’t want to do, but I do need to know if you’re planning to come back or not.
Last time, we thought you would, and you didn’t.
It wasn’t good for Mattie. He waited…and it was hard for him.
He was pining or something. I didn’t like seeing him like that.
I can’t have that happen again, so I need you to tell me your plans, so I can help him deal with whatever they are. ”
“Just Mattie?”
“Just Mattie, what?”
“Who pined, or whatever.” I keep my tone breezy, but that doesn’t mean I’m not suddenly—and worryingly—aware of how invested I am in his answer.
He casts his gaze down the street. It’s still early. There’s a garbage truck slowly working its way toward us. There are people dotted here and there. Some have that frazzled look specific to those on a desperate coffee run, and others are red-faced and sweaty in the name of healthy living.
When he looks back at me, his eyes meet mine with a hard flick I feel at the back of my skull.
His hair is still tussled from sleep. Thick and pushed back off his face.
His jaw has a dark shadow smudged across it.
If I reached out and touched it, it would be rough and hard like him.
His lips quirk up, and for a second, his eyes soften.
He takes a step toward me, butting me with a hip and twisting around so his hard cock rubs against mine.
He leans down and kisses my lips without laying a hand on me.
It’s quick and so sweet that I swear it gives me a sugar rush.
“No. Not just Mattie,” he says.
My phone pings to let me know my driver will be here in a minute. A quick sense of dread clenches something that resides near my sternum. That, along with what just happened, makes me feel decidedly panicked.
Feelings.
Ew.
“You know,” I trill, in an effort to recover, “for a pair of straight guys, you two sure have missed the whole ‘Why the hell am I boning a guy?’ thing.”
Will smiles again. This time he circles my waist with one arm and pulls me hard against him. He grinds against me and chuckles into my ear.
“I gotta say, Trouble. I haven’t felt particularly straight since the first time I laid eyes on you.”