Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Matt opened his eyes.
For a few blissful seconds he couldn’t work out why he felt so settled. Then he turned his head.
Owen was still asleep. A strand of silver-grey hair had escaped across his forehead. His breathing was slow and even.
Matt smiled. I expected to wake feeling different. Not physically, but emotionally, as though something this enormous ought to have rearranged the furniture inside his head overnight.
Instead, everything seemed to have slipped into place.
And now I’m lying here, listening to Owen breathe.
What they’d done last night had been nothing short of huge, but this? Sharing a bed, Owen inches away from him, lost in the quiet of morning…
He’d never realised how much he’d wanted that.
Everything that had happened during the last few weeks drifted through his head. None of it felt separate anymore. Each moment had quietly led to the next until this morning felt less like a beginning and more like a continuation.
I spent so much time looking for the moment everything changed.
Except there hadn’t been one. It had happened gradually, while he wasn’t paying attention.
Matt smiled again.
Trust me to notice the ending before I spotted the story.
He turned onto his side. Owen stirred but didn’t wake. Matt shifted closer.
The day didn’t have to start yet, and whatever happened next, last night hadn’t been a mistake.
Owen woke up, and for one glorious, sleepy second he forgot where he was.
Then he felt a warm body pressed up against him.
Matt.
What flooded him wasn’t panic, but awareness.
Oh.
He shifted his head slowly. Matt lay beside him, fast asleep, hair falling over his forehead.
He looks much younger than twenty-five.
The memories of the previous night stole over him, a recollection of pleasure, shared kisses, shared orgasms…
Owen took a breath.
Don’t make this more complicated than it needs to be.
He tried his best to put last night into the Casual folder in his head, but it wouldn’t go. The reason for that lay next to him, one hand resting against Owen’s chest.
He closed his eyes.
This isn’t helping.
It wasn’t that he didn’t like waking up with Matt warm against him.
The problem was that he liked it too much.
Owen took a deep breath.
Enjoy the moment. Don’t read anything into it.
Then Matt opened his eyes and smiled. “Morning.”
Owen couldn’t help smiling back. “Good morning.”
“Did you sleep okay?”
He laughed. “I should be asking you that, seeing as I stole your bed.”
Matt’s warm smile felt like cream in his veins. “I invited you, remember?”
A reminder that it hadn’t been a mistake, no excuse of excessive alcohol, no misunderstanding…
Then he stretched, and Owen lost himself in the view of long limbs bathed in warm sunlight. “I need coffee. And bacon,” Matt added with a grin.
He gave an internal smile. Here’s me determined to keep things in perspective, and Matt comes away from it wanting caffeine and breakfast.
They were on different tracks, and Owen had the sneaking suspicion they were already moving in different directions.
“I don’t know about you, but I need a shower before we eat.”
Matt sat up. “Then I’ll check out the coffee machine and have a cup waiting for you when you’re done.”
Owen couldn’t help himself. He kissed Matt’s shoulder blade.
“Thank you.” He threw back the duvet, climbed out of bed, and strolled naked into the bathroom.
He opened the frosted glass door and flipped the water on.
Seconds later, steam filled the enclosed space, the warm water washing away the last traces of sleep.
Barely a minute after that, the door opened, and Matt got in.
Owen did his best not to react. His cock, however, didn’t get the memo.
He peered at Matt’s empty hands. “Where’s my coffee?” he quipped.
“I decided it could wait.” A heartbeat later, Matt reached for the shower gel, worked it into a lather, and began washing Owen’s shoulders, the scent of bergamot filling his nostrils.
Owen relaxed into Matt’s touch, loving the firm, easy strokes, the little noises Matt made as his hands slipped further down Owen’s body, Owen’s cock rising to greet him.
Owen closed his eyes and surrendered to the sensations.
“This is new,” Matt murmured.
“You’re surprisingly good at it.”
“I aim to please.”
Owen laughed and opened his eyes. “If gardening ever dries up, I imagine you’d get excellent customer reviews.”
Matt snorted. “Is that your subtle way of asking me to wash your back?”
“Well, since you’ve volunteered…”
Matt stepped behind him. “Turn round.”
Owen obeyed without argument.
“See?” Matt said. “Bossy suits you less than you think.”
“I’ve been told otherwise.” He stilled as Matt’s hands encountered his arse cheeks, then slid upwards again. Owen glanced down his body to where his shaft curved up, clearly with ideas of its own on how to start the day.
“My turn to wash you.” Owen turned him gently but firmly. “Hands on the tiles.”
Matt chuckled. “Why? Are you planning on destabilising me?”
Owen said nothing, but grasped Matt’s wrists and guided his hands to the tiled wall.
The hitch in Matt’s breathing was delicious.
He filled his palm with gel before spreading it over Matt’s shoulders and back.
Matt bowed his head, and Owen kneaded his shoulder muscles with soapy hands, working his thumbs into the flesh, moving downwards. He dug his thumbs into the fleshy part of Matt’s arse, and Matt moaned.
Owen’s dick switched onto autopilot.
He added more gel to Matt’s firm arse, working it into a rich lather, then pushed his cock through Matt’s crease, brushing over his hole.
Matt arched his back. “Oh. Oh yeah.”
Owen slid faster, tilting his hips, and Matt let go of the wall to reach back and spread his cheeks, the action almost instinctive.
Oh fuck.
Owen wanted in.
Instead, he put a brake on his desires and rubbed over Matt’s pucker with his dick, short, quick glides, his chest sliding against Matt’s back, both of them making noises now.
Too close.
Owen cried out as he shot his load up Matt’s back, shuddering. He clung to Matt, holding onto him until he’d emptied himself, his legs trembling. Then he wiped every all traces, letting the water carry the evidence down the drain.
When he was done, Matt turned in his arms, grinning.
“So, does this normally happen when you take a shower?”
Owen snorted. “Believe it or not, my normal routine usually only involves soap.”
“In which case, I probably owe you an apology.”
He arched his eyebrows. “For what?”
Matt’s lips twitched. “Hijacking your routine. Though, to be fair, you did start it.”
Owen gaped at him. “I did? And how exactly did I manage that?”
Matt gave an innocent shrug. “You got in the shower.”
“To get clean,” Owen remonstrated.
Matt’s grin was back. “Maybe I should let you finish what you originally came in here to do while I go and make the coffee.” His eyes sparkled. “My work here is done.”
Before Owen could answer, Matt stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel.
Owen blinked.
“Hey! That was my towel!” He couldn’t stop grinning, however.
His day was off to the perfect start.
Matt couldn’t have put together a more perfect itinerary for a day in London if he’d tried.
The fact that Owen had come up with all of it still made him smile. He’d expected touristy activities, sightseeing, the usual things people did when they visited London.
Owen had blown him away.
Their first stop of the day had been Cecil Court, a tiny Victorian street between Charing Cross and Covent Garden, full of antiquarian bookshops, old prints, film memorabilia, and theatre history.
Matt could have spent hours there, and it tickled him when Owen teased him about disappearing into another century.
Their next port of call had been The British Film Institute on the South Bank.
Matt had been in heaven browsing the bookshop, looking at posters from classic films, exploring exhibitions, and soaking up the atmosphere.
It wasn’t his first visit, or even his second, but the fact that Owen had even thought about it added a fresh delight to the proceedings.
Now and then he’d glanced at Owen to find him smiling at Matt’s obvious enthusiasm.
The walk along the river afterwards had been pleasant too, not to mention lunch in the sunshine.
Their day had culminated in a visit to the Photographers’ Gallery in the West End, a mere twenty-five minutes’ walk from the hotel. Matt had wandered through several exhibitions, browsed in yet another bookshop, and generally lost himself. Owen hadn’t reacted beyond an affectionate smile.
As they headed back to the hotel for dinner and a cocktail before the show, Matt shook his head.
“It’s funny. I’ve spent all week scanning photographs because of the memories they hold.” He inclined his head in the direction they’d come from. “Those photos were trying to create memories for people they’ve never met.”
“You don’t just look at photographs, do you?” Owen smiled. “You read them.”
That felt like an accurate assessment, and Matt felt seen.
“So when are you going to tell me which show we’re going to?”
Owen chuckled. “When they scan our tickets.”
“At least give me a clue.”
Owen pretended to think about it. “There are songs.”
Matt stared at him. “That's your clue?”
“I never said it was a good clue.”
He knew he’d spend the rest of the evening trying to guess.
He also knew Owen would enjoy every second of it.
“Well?” Owen glanced at Matt as they reached the Strand. “I think I’ve been very patient, but you haven’t said a word since we left the theatre.” Not that he was too worried: Matt’s bursts of laughter throughout the performance didn’t leave much room for doubt.
Matt chuckled. “Okay. I’ve never even seen a copy of The Book of Mormon, but—”
“There’s one in the drawer at the hotel,” Owen interjected. “Along with a copy of the Bible.”
Matt narrowed his gaze. “But, I was about to say, now I’m curious. Although I think “The Book of Arnold” might be more my speed.” He grinned. “He had the best lines. And oh my God, that song the villagers wrote…”
“So I made the right choice?”
He laughed. “You know you did.” He let out a happy sigh. “I’ve had such a good time. I’m only sorry it has to end.” He huffed. “Back to reality tomorrow. Which means the dissertation.”
“Not much longer now, and it’ll be finished. And I’ll crack the whip if I have to.”
Matt smiled. “That mythical whip you don’t actually possess?” Then he lapsed into silence.
They strolled at a reasonable pace, accompanied by the constant hum of traffic, the city showing no signs of slowing down for the night.
Then it hit him. Matt was way too quiet.
Owen gave him another glance. “Where’s your head right now?” Matt flushed, and he chuckled. “Let me guess. Last night or first thing this morning?”
“I didn’t know I was that obvious.” Another huff. “To be honest, it’s never been far from my mind all day. It’s as if my brain has a default switch.” He shook his head. “This isn’t something I’ve ever experienced before, and it takes some getting used to.”
Owen gazed at him. He couldn’t escape the feeling Matt wasn’t talking about sex with a guy.
“Would it help if I said what happens at the Savoy stays at the Savoy?” Owen knew he was giving Matt an out.
Matt bit his lip. “Only if that’s what we both want. It doesn’t have to end here, does it? I mean… we can still do this at home?”
Owen’s heart gave a little lurch. “Is that what you want?”
He nodded, still flushed.
“Then that’s what we’ll do.”
They crossed the road together as the lights changed. The Savoy came into view, its entrance glowing warmly in the London night.
Owen looked at it. Twenty-four hours ago, it had just been a hotel, somewhere he’d stayed before, a familiar, safe, predictable space.
It was now proving to be none of those things.
Somehow, it had become the place where everything he’d been so determined to keep simple no longer was.