“Shit,” I say. “Sorry.”
Although I’m not sure what I’m apologising for. Giles is certainly clueless that I just freaked out at the idea of touching his penis.
“Are you okay?” he asks as he brings a hand to his mouth and swipes his fingers across his lips.
“Yeah, I…” I bring a hand to the back of my neck. “I’m fine.”
His hand comes to my elbow. “Marcello, this is only going to work if we’re honest with each other.”
“Is that another rule?” I ask, teasingly, grateful for an opportunity to ease the tension between us.
Giles crosses his arms and I think it’s fast becoming my favourite look on him. It emphasises his muscles. It embodies how in control and self-assured he is. It makes me feel… safe.
Yes, Gilesmakes me feel safe.
Maybe more than his muscles and suits and confidence, that’s what I like about him. He makes me feel safe. The least I can do is try and ensure he feels the same by being honest.
“I freaked out,” I admit.
“Because?” he prompts, gently.
“Because I felt your… erection.” I point down his body.
Giles looks down. “Oh, that.”
“Yeah, I know it’s stupid after I practically begged you to do these queer sex lessons with me, but I felt it against my thigh and my brain just… short-circuited.”
Giles leans back against the counter behind him, his arms still crossed. “You know, you don’t have to touch it.”
“I don’t?”
“No, especially not today. This is your first lesson, after all.”
“But… but I sort of want to?” I only sound half-convincing.
“You do?”
“Yeah, I just… I just don’t know how.” I rub a hand over my face. “Honestly, I feel like it took me a good ten years to learn how to pleasure one kind of genitalia. The idea of putting in another decade of trial and error doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence.”
Giles laughs softly and unfolds his arms. He reaches for my hands and holds them in the space between us.
“It won’t take ten years,” he tells me.
I look down at our joined hands and feel another wave of reassurance wash over me. Giles actually gives a shit about me. He doesn’t want me to feel uncomfortable. And God knows he’s going out of his way to help me with this strange request of mine. The least I can do is help it feel good for him.
“Will you teach me how to make you come?” I ask.
Giles blinks in rapid succession. “Jesus, Marcello,” he mumbles.
“What? What did I say that was wrong?”
“Nothing.” He swings our hands. “You said nothing wrong. What you said was very… right.”
“But will you? Teach me?” I ask and I step a bit closer.
“Let’s just start at the beginning. How about today we focus on you, on how you like to be touched?”
“But then I’m not learning anything,” I protest.
