Chapter 8 #2
Leo gave a hollow laugh that shuddered down the length of his back. “You’ve only ever had sex with Mo.”
Joshua didn’t reply. When Leo glanced over, a quick, stolen look from the corner of his eye, he found Joshua staring at him.
Another breath. Leo gathered his composure around him like a leaden cloak, and somehow, he managed to meet Joshua’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you think—this doesn’t have to be awkward, right? You and Mo have been doing this for ages.”
“You’re not Mo,” Joshua snapped, the first hint of irritation in his voice. Leo should be glad for it. If Joshua was angry, it would be so much easier to put an end to this before it could spiral out of control.
Before it could spiral out of control? Christ, it was too bloody late for that; Leo had lost control the moment he’d kissed Joshua. This was the aftermath of his personal apocalypse.
“I know I’m not Mo.” Tea. There was tea, and Leo was meant to be pouring it. He continued evenly. “I just meant that sex doesn’t have to fuck up a friendship, right? We’re still friends.”
“Are we?” Irritation had thickened in Joshua’s voice. “Are we friends when you won’t tell me anything? You’re so… How do you bloody live like that, with all these walls?”
It felt like a punch to the throat, and Leo exhaled around the impact.
Grabbing one of the cups he offered it to Joshua, and their fingers brushed over the porcelain as Joshua went to accept it.
It seemed like an automatic reaction, and afterwards, Joshua stood in the middle of the kitchen with both hands clutching the dainty cup, blinking at Leo before he swallowed and turned away.
Leo allowed himself one second, one tiny, insignificant second of memorising the line of Joshua’s back, the gentle swell of his bum.
Then Leo picked up his own cup and took a sip. The liquid was too hot, almost burned his tongue. He focused on the bitter taste of herbs rather than the sour bile that sat at the back of his throat. This was bloody awful, and Leo needed to say something, offer some small measure of truth.
“I had a crush on you. When I was a teenager.” It was out before he had a chance to think better of it.
There was no way but down. “And that was confusing as hell at first, and I took it out on you more than I should have. But now I just… You’re…
” Everything. “Last night was brilliant, all right? But there’s not—we just can’t. It would never work.”
Not a lie. Not quite the truth either. Leo felt the sour taste rise, and he washed it down with another mouthful of tea that burned behind his sternum.
Joshua set his cup down with a clank, tea sloshing over the rim. “So you used me?” he asked sharply. “Like, living out some teenage fantasy, getting it out of your system, and now you’re just—fuck.” His chest rose on a deep breath, and wait, what?
What?
Before Leo could interrupt, Joshua rolled his shoulders back, voice rising. “Well, okay, fuck you. I thought that you were—I thought you were different. That this was different, like, I thought you saw me. But you’re just like everyone else. Aren’t you?”
“Joshua,” Leo began, and then he didn’t know how to continue. How the fuck could he set things right without exposing all of himself? His heart was trying to claw a way past his ribs.
“I want you to leave,” Joshua said, fierce and rough.
So. Okay then.
Leo’s entire body shrunk down to skin and bones. With Joshua’s words clanging around his skull like skeletons rattling their chains, Leo put down his cup, turned away and moved towards the bedroom.
“Where are you going?” Joshua snapped from behind him.
“Grabbing my things. I can’t very well leave like this.” Each word scraped against the inside of Leo’s throat, leaving a raw, bloody mess in its wake.
Joshua made no attempt to stop Leo. He didn’t follow either.
One step, another. And another. Leo glanced around Joshua’s bedroom—the sheets they’d messed up last night, Joshua’s jeans a crumpled heap on the floor, tangled up with Leo’s own. His hands shook when he bent to pick them up. He pulled them on, then scooped up his T-shirt.
He should change into it. He had no right to keep Joshua’s shirt, had no right to anything that belonged to Joshua.
Leo didn’t change. Patting his pockets for his keys and his wallet, he kicked his own T-shirt under the bed and left the room, moved past the kitchen and hoped that Joshua would call out—but Joshua didn’t. Of course he didn’t.
When Leo stepped out into the stairway and shut the door, it sounded like the lock of a prison cell clicking into place.
* * *
The moment the door closed, Joshua sagged into a chair. He felt cold all over, ice running through his veins. Anger buzzed under his skin, but it evaporated within seconds, made room for something bleak and heavy, a nauseating pressure that originated in his chest and radiated outwards.
Leo’s tea still sat on the work surface. The scent turned Joshua’s stomach.
He clambered to his feet and went back to his bedroom. Everything smelled like sex and sweat, disgusting and dirty, and he started by pulling the sheets off the bed and throwing them in the wash along with last night’s clothes. His shirt wasn’t there; Leo must have taken it.
What an arse. What a bloody fucking bastard. How dare he?
Joshua almost, almost called him. He’d already reached for his phone, fingers numb, then opted to send a quick text to Mo and Tristan instead.
So L is a proper dick.
Dropping the phone on the bedside table, he considered putting fresh sheets on the bed. He couldn’t be bothered. The bare mattress stared back at him, like an accusation.
A shower, that was what he needed. Wash off Leo’s scent and the memory of last night, flush it all away and start this day from scratch. He left the bedroom without a backwards glance.
Beside the tub a small puddle still sat on the tiles, a reminder of last night.
Joshua stared at it for too long, remembered water streaming down his back and Leo’s fingers in his hair, the helpless little sounds Leo had made as he’d worked himself into Joshua’s mouth.
Thoughtless words of praise, so good, best I’ve ever had, no one else, no one else.
Leo spilling with a ragged sigh, slumping a little, supporting himself with a hand on Joshua’s shoulder.
Using that hand to push Joshua onto his back, even though it was crowded in the tub.
Leo kissing him until Joshua couldn’t taste anything but Leo, Leo, Leo.
By the time Joshua left the bathroom in loose pyjama bottoms, Tristan had arrived. “Mo’s bringing the vodka,” he said in lieu of a greeting, then dragged Joshua into a hug.
Joshua took what felt like his first breath in years. “How did you know?”
“We know you. You wouldn’t call someone a dick unless they’d acted like the biggest fuckwit in the universe, so…” Pulling back, Tristan poked at Joshua’s collarbone. Glancing down, Joshua noticed the prominent lovebite, glaringly obvious, a bruise. “Take it he spent the night?” Tristan asked.
“Yes.” Joshua exhaled through his nose. The two cups were still on the work surface, and he peeled himself away from Tristan to empty the cold tea into the sink.
Tristan watched him, frowning. “Take it he didn’t spend much of the morning?”
“Let’s wait until Mo gets here. Don’t think I want to tell the story twice.
” Leaning back against the sink, Joshua crossed his arms. “Fuck, I hate being cooped up in here. Do you think… The paps are probably stalking Windsor Castle and—I mean, they’re probably stalking everything that’s royal property, but do you think we could maybe go to your country home? Just for a bit? Bring Mo and Kels?”
“She’s got some fashion thingy tomorrow,” Tristan said. “But we could spend today there, definitely. And the night. I’ll make some calls.”
“I love you,” Joshua told him, completely honest. Just the idea of getting out of London calmed his blood so that it was no longer rushing in his ears like a waterfall, like water pouring down on him as he kneeled—no.
While Tristan went to make arrangements, Joshua busied himself with breakfast preparations.
Mo arrived in the middle of it, pulled Joshua into a hug and didn’t ask any questions while he fell into Joshua’s rhythm, helping him fill the plates and carry everything out into the grey light of an overcast day.
The vodka bottle took a spot of honour at the centre of the table, even though the sight turned Joshua’s stomach. It was the principle of the thing.
“So am I right,” Mo asked around his first mouthful, “that you got your hands on Leo’s dick, yeah? And it turns out he’s little more than that? Like, a dick?”
“Well fucking said,” Tristan congratulated.
Joshua put down his fork. He hadn’t been hungry in the first place. “Something like that. It was… The sex was really good. Like… I mean, I just never—”
“Careful there,” Mo warned, but his smile was kind, and beneath the table he pressed his foot against Joshua’s.
Joshua managed to return the smile. “I’m not going to stroke your ego. We both know you’re adequately competent.”
“Do I have to be here for this?” Contradicting his protest, Tristan raised his glass of spiked orange juice. “Either way, here’s to damn good sex, everyone.”
“I don’t know. Damn good sex, yes, that’s brilliant.
It’s just… I didn’t expect the emotional connection.
Someone should have warned me.” Joshua’s throat felt dry when he swallowed.
He squinted at the clouds, and they seemed to be frozen, no movement at all.
Like the world had come to a standstill.
It heightened the impression of being trapped, removed from reality, and Joshua was really fucking sick of it.
Leo had told him to stay away from all news channels. But Leo was also a massive twat, so why should Joshua listen to anything that came out of his mouth?
Tristan’s voice brought him back. “Let’s be real, the emotional connection is the best fucking thing about it.”