My heart’s going double as fast as usual. Time ticks by. I check my phone once — 1:07 — then put it firmly away in my blazer pocket. The last thing I want is for my screen to light up when R is here. I don’t want a flash of blue light to ruin the thing between us.
The next few minutes feel like an hour. I comb fingers through my hair, but quickly stop when I realise R won’t even see me anyway.
Then there’s a hesitant knock on the door.
I freeze for a second, then quickly squeeze my eyes closed. Behind my eyelids, there’s a rectangle of light, and then it’s gone again.
The door clicks close and there’s an ugly bang, and a hiss.
My eyes snap open, and I take a moment to adjust to the shades of black and grey. R must’ve hit the chair, and I gently pull him aside. He obeys like a doll. I fight the urge to say hello or hi. No talking, remember?
Reaching out like a zombie, I push the chair so its back is nestled under the door handle.
R’s clothes whisper as he sits on the carpeted floor, and I do the same. And then I move over so I’m right beside him.
It’s awkward, but since we’re in the dark, I don’t get embarrassed. I don’t have to worry about making a fool of myself in front of R. He can’t see me. He’s in the same position as I am. To be honest, if he was all suave about this, I’d wonder whether he seduces boys in dark spaces all the time.
His elbow brushes mine and then his hands reach out, touching my arm. I find his wrists, and bring them up to my face.
He lets out a shaky exhale as he rests one hand on my shoulder, the other on the nape of my neck. I hear something wet — so subtle and quiet, I almost wonder if I imagined it — and guess he’s licking his lips.
God. I want him to kiss me already.
He leans forward — I know because I can smell what I assume is his shampoo and conditioner. The scent is not overwhelming, just clean, with a few sharp notes.
The hand on my shoulder reaches up to my chin. He swipes his thumb over my bottom lip. I realise he must be locating where my mouth is, and a moment later, he leans forward and his lips touch mine. Shy at first, and I sigh. Immediately, I wish I hadn’t exhaled all over him, but he doesn’t seem to mind because he kisses me properly, and it’s like a switch has been flipped.
He’s here. He’s actually here. We’re kissing in a dark storeroom, and I could either spend the whole lunch break frozen in a state of shock, or I can make the most of it.
I slide my hands around him. He’s only wearing a shirt, no blazer, and I can feel the firmness of his body through the cotton. His back is wide, wider than mine, and if I push down, I can feel the jut of his shoulder blades. Then I touch the back of his hair, and he lets out a sound as he leans forward.
Is he dropping hints? I curl a hand into his thick hair, which is as silky as I remember, and he bites down on my bottom lip, not enough to hurt, but enough to know it’s a direct reaction. Itry tugging and he kisses me harder, grunting into my mouth, a sound that goes straight to my cock.
We kiss for a few minutes more, and it’s smoother than last time. No clanging teeth at least. Then, R pulls back, sucking in a deep breath, and I realise I’m panting.
R rests for ten seconds, then reaches out for me again, finding my blazer and pushing it off my shoulders. I let him, and once it’s off, I do my best to fold it and push it behind me, out of the way. R places a palm in the centre of my chest, fingers splayed out. I start to touch him too. His broad shoulders. His upper arms.
Slowly, I drag my hand to his navel, and he squirms but doesn’t pull away. I play with the hem of his shirt, waiting. He doesn’t say anything. Is that a yes or no?
It’s something to discuss in the next letter I write him, I decide.
He wraps a hand around my wrist. “Um,” he breathes.
I try to snatch my hand away. It’s a no. I hope I didn’t make him feel uncomfortable. I didn’t want to strip him naked or anything, just touch his skin.
“Sorry,” I say automatically. To my relief, the word comes out as a breath, disguising my voice, but I can’t believe I’ve broken the no-talking rule so soon.
His hand tightens around my wrist. “No,” he says, voice as soft and throaty as mine. I don’t recognise it as belonging to anyone I know, only that it’s the exact same as his half-lost raspy voice from the weekend. “It’s not that. But… I don’t have abs or anything —”
My shoulders drop in relief. “I don’t care,” I whisper.
His grip loosens, and I slide my hand up under his shirt, feeling warm, smooth skin. His belly is soft, yes, but when I push down, there’s undeniably a lot of muscle there. “I like it.”
“Yeah?” He sounds halfway between unsure and hopeful.
“Yes.” I push my hands up so high, his shirt pools around the back of my hands as I touch his pecs. Even though I can’t see anything, I can sense the way his broad body tapers down to his waist.
“Then…” He fingers the bottom of my shirt. “Can I?”
