Quin came out of the bathroom, cloth in hand and perturbed look on his face. “Stop exaggerating my age. I look maybe fifteen years older than you. Ten if you’re being generous.”
“I’m going to buy you so much expensive anti-ageing cream.”
Quin took Kit’s chin in his hand. Quin had run the towel under the hot water, and it was easy for Kit to close his eyes and let Quin swipe the warm material over his skin.
When he was done, Quin laid a soft kiss on Kit’s forehead. “All clean. Need anything else?”
Kit shook his head, but then immediately changed his mind and nodded instead. “Yes, actually.”
“Mm-hmm?”
Kit pointed to his forehead. “Another kiss, Daddy.”
Quin’s lips brushed gently across his skin. Kit let a smile spread over his face as warmth filled him, both at the sweet gesture, and also at the knowledge that Quin really would do anything for him. Whether it be as simple as another kiss, or as serious as listening to him speak about his worst moments, Quinhad proved it. That devotion, that protectiveness, thatlovewas so new to Kit. Every small gesture had him falling deeper and deeper, and he didn’t want to stop the fall.
He didn’t think he ever would.
TWENTY-TWO
Quin
Quin reclinedin the armchair in Kit’s living room, watching him fluff a cushion, then place it this way and that on the sofa. Quin thought the cushion looked the same no matter how it sat, but Kit seemed to want to discover a new angle that didn’t exist in their particular dimension.
Kit had been flitting around the flat the last couple of nights, cleaning it from top to bottom, using so much bleach spray and air freshener it scraped at the back of Quin’s throat.
When Kit turned the cushion over again, Quin decided it was enough. “Baby, come here.”
Kit glared at the cushion but obeyed.
Quin grabbed hold of him and pulled him to stand between his spread legs. “What are you worried about?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
It was the expected response, but not the one that he wanted. “Kit.”
Kit made a noise of frustration in the back of his throat. “What if they hate the flat?”
“Why would they hate it?”
“Because it’s ugly.”
“Kit, your flat isn’t ugly. I’m pretty sure the guys are just going to be excited to see you again.”
“They barely know me. What if it’s awkward?”
“Then it’s awkward.”
Kit opened his mouth to protest, but then his head snapped around to face the road. “I can hear them.”
Quin strained his ears, making out a couple of voices; both with English accents, one deeper than the other. Whoever owned the deeper voice spoke a mile a minute as they rambled about the best beach they’d ever visited, which was apparently in Jamaica.
“That’s DJ,” Kit whispered.
The other person responded, remarking on how the white, sunny beaches of Brighton compared to the golden sands of Turtle Beach. They were getting closer to the door.
“Shaun,” Kit said.
The next voice—another English accent—was close enough now that Quin could hear every word clearly. “I’m aware you’re being sarcastic, sweetheart, but I feel the burning need to point out that Brighton beach is all pebbles.”
