Chapter Twenty-Four #2
“It was perfect, Zan. Anything with you is.” It’s my turn to reassure him now, and it seems to work.
He rests his head against mine and weaves our fingers together.
We just stay where we are, letting the darkness wrap around us.
The shadows are the one place he feels most comfortable, the only place he’s ever really felt seen.
So if I have to dim my light to stand by his side, that’s exactly what I’ll do.
When we finally emerge from what I learn is the stairway to the cellar, we’re greeted by none other than Toby.
“Didn’t realise you were into a bit of everything, Z,” Toby says, dragging his eyes suggestively up and down Zander’s frame.
And just like that, I can feel the awkwardness creep back in.
Not between Zander and me– it’s the societal pressure that usually looms over me when there are other people around.
Interacting with Toby is much more difficult when alcohol isn’t involved.
“I’m not.” My stomach plummets. He’s not? Could have fooled me. I feel so stupid, my cheeks are burning, and my hand is growing sweaty in his grasp. I try to tug it back, hoping I can salvage a bit of the dignity he’s just tossed to the gutter, but he tightens his hold and refuses to let go.
“Just him,” he clarifies, looking only at me. It’s not exactly him ‘coming out’, it’s more like a promise that I am his, and he is mine. Everything falls away; the people, the noise, until it’s just us.
“Forever?” I risk asking.
“And a day.”
I left the pub before Zander’s shift ended; the need to shower settled in pretty fast. Mom was out for the evening with her girlfriends, something about bingo and naked butlers.
I didn’t pay too much attention, just made sure that my number was in all her friends’ phones in case she needed anything.
I’m glad she’s finally getting out again.
The wheelchair was definitely worth the endless arguments, and she’s admitted as much, too.
With the house all to myself, I don’t waste time.
Stripping off my sticky clothes in the kitchen, I toss them straight into the washing machine and set it to a hot wash.
A random thought occurs as I make my way from the kitchen– I don’t think I’ve ever walked around the house naked before.
The idea intrigues me, and my mood seems to be accommodating of new experiences tonight, apparently.
The curtains are closed, where’s the harm?
Mom won’t be back for a while yet, and Zander still has two hours left at work.
Hitting shuffle on the music app–yes, I’m feeling extra adventurous–I turn right, bypassing the stairs, and head into the living room.
Tom Jones “Sexbomb” is the first song to come on, bringing an instant smile to my face.
The lyrics, paired with my mood, are the perfect combination to get my foot tapping and eventually, my body swaying in sync.
Because I’m me, when the song ends, I hit replay, putting it on an endless loop and giving into the freedom and euphoria coursing through my veins to the baritone rasp of Tom telling me “the route to go, to sex me slow”.
I dance, sing, and continue to feed the good mood clinging to me, forgetting about everything and everyone, just for a little while.
After the second play, my mouth was drier than the Sahara, so I skidded into the kitchen like a child at a sports hall birthday party, catching myself on the counter and flicking on the cold tap.
Pre-first-sexual-encounter, Jules would get a glass, check the bottom for dust, then fill it.
But this Jules, he’s a different species altogether.
I stick my head under the tap and lap at the water.
It runs in streams down my face and up my nose, adding to the amusement washing over me.
Vengaboys “Boom, boom, boom, boom” fills the air next– it’s quickly becoming one of the best nights of my life.
“I want you in my room,” I sing along, knowing exactly who I’m thinking of when my hips thrust in time with the chorus.
Closing my eyes, all I see is him; his smile, his hands, his mouth.
There’s movement down below instantly, and I grin at the reaction.
With Zander, there’s no worries or second-guessing; we just react to each other and let whatever happens, happen.
“You have me in your room every night, Jules.”
Fuck. My dancing stutters to a halt, and heat floods my face.
“You're back early,” my hands fly to my groin to hide the evidence of what his voice and presence do to me.
“Toby said I could leave early to get myself… how did he put it… Oh, yeah– ‘sucked and fucked,’ before your Mom gets home,” he chuckles, but I can tell by the way his eyes are dancing across my body that he’s not opposed to the idea.
“He’s so crude,” my nose crinkles in disgust at his manager’s lack of boundaries, as Zander nods along.
“Looks like you’ve been having a good time…” I follow his eyes as they scan our surroundings; the droplets of water at my feet, the music playing from my phone on the table, and yep, me fully naked.
“I just felt good for a while, y’know?” His eyes soften at my response.
He knows I’m not just referring to our earlier activities.
If anyone would know the feeling, it’s Zander.
He’s the only person I trust to just get me, because he knows exactly how it feels when someone comes along and holds the weight of your sadness for a little while.
He understands better than anyone to grab the opportunity with both hands and ride it out, because who knows when the next reprieve will come?
“I do,” his head nods once. His eyes averted now.
“Come and shower with me?” I ask. The sudden need to feel him close floods me.
I want to see him completely bare and emotionally naked in front of me.
I want the version of Zander that crawls into my bed at night, telling me how confused and lost he feels, just so I can be the one to find him and bring him back home.
I don’t wait for an answer, I just take his hand as he so often does with me, and lead us upstairs to the bathroom.
There’s no discomfort, no feelings of needing to hide from him, just the heavy fog from the shower and two people who will always need each other.
I watch him watch me from across the bathroom, as he slowly removes layer after layer of clothing; socks, jeans, t-shirt.
His body is lean and toned, the hard edges protecting his inner softness, but I don’t take my eyes from his.
I move my hands, exposing myself completely; mind, body, and soul, it’s all his for the taking.
Hooking his thumbs over the waistband of his boxers, he slides them down his legs, bending at the waist, but still watching.
I want to look– of course I want to. But that’s not what this is about.
I won’t cheapen this moment; it feels too precious and fragile.
He’s showing me that he trusts me, accepts who we are, and is giving himself in return.