Chapter 13
NEIL
I like my flat well enough, but I’m not enamoured.
Mostly, it serves as a very convenient shag pad, and I’ve made sufficient subtle adjustments to minimise bumps and bruises without raising questions.
Yes, it’s simple, and the colour scheme could provide a backdrop to a kids TV programme, but most folk I bring back here don’t give a fuck about the décor anyhow.
If Luke wasn’t so on edge, I suspect he’d take far more interest than most. His flat wraps you in a snuggly duvet the moment you walk in.
“Tea?” I ask, for possibly the first time ever after inviting a man up.
“No, I’m fine, thanks.”
Luke stands in the middle of the sitting room, pretending this is all in his stride, that our kiss hasn’t changed the nature of our relationship.
His expression, however, lies somewhere on a line between petrified and outright terror.
His left hand reaches up to his ear, a familiar move.
Is that one of the spots where he used to pull out his hair?
“The film was good, wasn’t it?” he ventures.
“I liked the part where there was that weird humming, like electricity maybe, or a generator. It was too dark for the time of day. And then Cumberbatch just appeared, out of nowhere, and she watched him, and the lights started flickering and there was that metallic scrape and…” He peters out with a self-conscious little laugh. “Sorry, I’m rambling. Nerves. Sorry.”
I can think of plenty of ways to calm him, but none is suitable if I want him to stay. And I do, very much. I want to hear him ramble some more, as well as kiss him. His heart’s probably racing; I should tell him mine is doing a little half-flutter too, because he’s cute as hell.
“Good enough to watch the sequel when it comes out?”
“Yeah. Yes. It’s been set up nicely. That man who came in at the end, who ran and wasn’t killed. It’s set up for him to exact revenge. That’s what I think, anyhow.”
“Yeah, probably.” I don’t remember the man, the woman, or the scrape of metal. But I won’t easily forget Luke’s tongue touching my thumb as I fed him Maltesers, nor the way his fingers felt wound through mine.
I make myself a tea I have no intention of drinking but to give me something to do so we’re not simply standing looking at each other.
Luke’s eyes skate around the kitchen as if he’s building up to saying something.
If only I had the emotional wherewithal to decipher it and help him out.
Whatever it is, I’ll be ready, even if he’s decided to sack the whole thing off.
I hope it’s not that. Luke’s hot, though he doesn’t know it. When I briefly got my mitts on them, his bum cheeks were a pair of well-disciplined boulders. The cutest man I’ve had back here in a long while, maybe forever.
But Luke’s already way more than a hook-up, which is why I’m making tea instead of pushing him down onto the sofa.
He lets me be who I really am– a guy floundering.
He understands I’ve lost sight of my place and role in this unpredictable fucker called life.
Holding my hand as I navigate this visually closed down world, giving me this breathing space to come to terms with it, makes him way more fucking special than a hot lay.
“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?” I ask eventually, “Because, as anyone who knows me well enough will tell you, I sometimes need that sort of stuff spelled out.”
He rubs his arms. Fiddles with his hood. “Would…would you have noticed someone like me if you didn’t have a problem with your eyes? If you weren’t…uh…suffering with your self-confidence right now?”
Oof. That hits straight to the jugular. I bark a laugh. “You don’t waste time dancing around, do you?”
“No.” Briefly, Luke’s serious gaze flickers up to mine, then back to the floor. “I’ve learned the importance of knowing where I stand. Uncertainty in interpersonal relationships makes me anxious.”
Interpersonal relationships? Could we be more different? Luke understands and speaks feelings as if he’s fluent in a second language. I’m still studying basic Duolingo in my first.
“Sorry,” he adds, “I know this isn’t what you invited me back for.”
“No,” I confess. “Not exactly.”
I couldn’t be dishonest with this sweet man if I tried. Abandoning my tea, I meet him in the middle of the floor. Waiting for him to look up again, I almost take his hand. But maybe his emotional intelligence is rubbing off. Something tells me to hold back.
“You want to know if I’d have noticed you?
” The memory warms me. “I already did, back when my eyes were better. You remember Ezra and Isaac’s house party, not long after they moved in?
” Luke had huddled in a corner with either Alaric or Isaac for most of the night.
“I’m pretty sure you wore this exact same hoodie.
” I give it a little tug. “I thought you were cute.”
A tiny smile twitches at the corner of his mouth, so I carry on.
“And now I know you, I think you’re even cuter.
But would we be here, doing this?” I blow out a breath.
“Probably not. The Neil I was before my eyes became an issue was only ever after a quick fuck. And that’s not something cute boys with your aura have on offer. ”
He snorts a laugh. “My what?”
“Aura. Maybe that’s not the right word. Maybe it’s a vibe.
But some guys seem like they might be up for a mutual blow in the toilets from the way they hold themselves or stare at me, or…
I don’t fucking know… and some seem as if they’d politely decline.
And your aura tells me you’re one of those.
You’ve got these fit swimmer muscles hiding under all these layers, and this hoodie with the cute pointy bit at the top makes you look like a clever little wizard.
But I’ll tell you now: sentences with the words 'wizard' and 'clever' in them never ever also include the word Neil. You’re not a wizard, are you? I mean, it honestly wouldn’t surprise me. And now I’ve completely lost my thread, and my own usually very cool aura is obviously going the way of my eyes. But I told you—I like you. I want to kiss you some more. And you’re not my ego panic button, okay? ”
At some point in amongst all that garbage, he stopped rubbing his arms and started rolling his eyes.
Just before I totally make a tit of myself, I recall that in one sphere of my life (occasional flaccid dick excepted, but that’s not the case tonight, absolutely not), my aura is completely, totally one hundred percent intact.
And it doesn’t involve brewing cups of tea.
I reach for him, my hands settling on Luke’s hips.
“I’m ready for some more of those kisses now, if you have any left.” I steer him backwards to the sofa, so gently he has plenty of opportunity to resist. My eyes never leave his face, watching for a sign that he’s less than comfortable. “Please tell me there are some still floating about.”
He laughs, a little breathless as he sinks into the cushions. Cheeks flushed, his eyes dart down to my mouth, then back up again, as if he’s not allowed to look that long.
“Um…yes. A lot.” His voice is shaky, and his hands lie uncertain on his knees. “Way too many.”
I ease onto his lap, settling my weight with one knee either side of his thighs. “You want some help getting rid of them?”
He moves his hands to my waist, curling his fingers tight into the fabric of my T-shirt. “Yeah.”
My first kiss is a light brush stroke, asking a question immediately answered by his soft sigh.
Parting his lips, Luke leans in closer, yielding to the kiss.
I let him take the lead. It’s awkward for half a second—all pressure and breath and the leftover taste of chocolate.
Then, suddenly, he moans again, and after that, nothing has ever felt more natural.
As our mouths move together, my hands do their own thing, gripping him tighter, pulling him closer, measuring the shape of him.
When I shift in his lap, he bites down on my bottom lip, then licks into my mouth, and I lick into his in return.
After that, for a long while, we get lost in some good old-fashioned hungry, messy snogging.
When we come up for air, Luke makes a frustrated sound, and I wholly concur. All dazed softness, he pulls me back down again, wrecked in the best possible way.
“Kick your shoes off,” I urge, doing the same. “I want to get closer to you.”
I manoeuvre us sideways until Luke’s on his back against the cushions and I’m above.
With him stretched out beneath me, my dick concludes its recent lack of interest was nothing but a series of bad dreams. Horniness blooms like it never went away.
If I can still do this with a hot guy, who cares if my eyes are shut forever?
They’re redundant right now anyhow, shuttered tight.
This kissing thing is taste and touch and smell and…
fuck me, Luke’s uninhibited guttural moans.
His hands clench my waist even tighter. I need them there—I swear I’d fall through the sofa if he let go.
Who knew quiet, hesitant Dr Luke Sinclair would feel this fucking good?
This time, once we come up gasping, a smile creases the corners of Luke’s swollen, reddened mouth. He’s trying not to grin, but it’s escaping anyhow. I return it with one of my own, seeing as I can’t fucking suppress it either.
“Got rid of them all yet?”
Messing a little with him, I grind my hips against the delicious ridge of his boner. I'm a man of my word, so I’m not going anywhere near it tonight unless he comes right out and asks for it. But, bloody hell, I’d like to.
“Not yet.” He blushes as I press down on him once more. “Nearly got rid of that, though.”
I laugh. “And they say the art of dry humping is dead.”
“We’re resuscitating it.”