Can’t say why those memories fill my mind as I kick around my house, waiting on Sab’s message, but recalling some of the happier vibes from my childhood is a million times more fun than hanging out on a dormant chat thread.Ignoringother threads pinging with activity as the night settles in and folk go hunting.
I have a craving for vanilla and it has nothing to do with sex. Mostly, anyway. Can’t deny I haven’t thought about fucking Sab. That I’m not thinking about fucking himright now, as I chuck clothes in the washing machine and toss the old milk from the empty fridge. As I consider ordering two pizzas for dinner so I don’t have to think about tomorrow’s breakfast.
LeLionDuBois96:I think I’d like that xx
A groan escapes me as I shut the fridge. It’s not the message I’m waiting on, but it’s tattooed on my thoughts. Stuck on repeat. Two weeks ago, if you’d told me I’d find myself a newbie pal who wanted to play aroundtogether, I’d have been proper fecking chuffed. Up the wall and tickling the bricks.
But it’s not excitement coiling in my gut as I think about setting meets with Sab. Maybe hitting a couple of clubs. Some private rooms. No. It’s not excitementat all, and I think I’m starting to know what it is instead.
Jealousy.
Dread.
A possessiveness I haven’t earned.
Because you want all his firsts for yourself.
Ack. Is that it? I drift from my kitchen space to the massive sofa I dragged from my flat on the Firbank estate when I moved here. The brown leather is old and weathered, but the cushions are moulded to my body at this point, and after all the adventures we’ve shared, I’m kind of fond of it.
Not that I pay it much heed as I sink into the lumpy cushions with Sab on my mind. Picturing those firsts, revelling in the fact that I’ve already claimed his kiss. Fecking anxious as hell that might’ve been it, the peak of the chemistry crackling between us every time we’re close.Because it’s not enough.I want to be the first bloke who ever wraps a hand around his cock. To ever take him in their mouth. To hold his face as he comes like a?—
My phone flashes. A soundless notification from the app where the epic story I’ve concocted in the last few hours all began.
I snatch the phone from the pile of boxes I’m using as a coffee table with enough enthusiasm I nearly tip over. Thumb my way to the message waiting on the only thread I care about.
Two messages, actually. The first is everything I want. The other is Sab second-guessing himself and I know the sole way to fix that is to plant my handsome self in his face before he’s had too much time to think about it.
LeLionDuBois96:Come over now if you want
LeLionDuBois96:It’s fine if you don’t x
I shut that shite down.
HotCraic97:Be over in ten xx
Galen
I take the quickest shower known to man. Then I slip through my back gate and into the alley between Cinnamon Row and Cosmic Avenue, tasting the sweet scent of the nearby bakery in the air. At this time of night in this part of town, the alley isn’t the safest place to be, but with less than a minute to spare between my house and Sab’s, I take my chances.
His front door has a wreath hanging from it that wasn’t there when I drove past yesterday on my way to work. It’s made of holly and ivy, with random glittery pipe cleaners woven through it, and what I’m pretty sure is a half-eaten biscuit stuffed in the ivy leaves.
Cute as hell, it jinglesas I tap a light rhythm on the door. At least it does until the tiny bell comes loose and skitters to the ground.
I stoop to find it, and that’s how Sab findsme. On my knees on his front porch, something gold and sparkly in my hands.
He blinks.
I offer him the bell. “Came off when I knocked.”
“Oh.” Comprehension dawns on his gorgeous face. “Je ne comprenais pas ce que tu faisais à genoux par terre, mais…ça m’a plu.”
Lord. If he’s already lapsing into French, I’m in trouble. And I don’t need to understand a word he says to get a rush in my chest as wry shyness sweeps his features.
I don’t make him repeat himself in English. Instead, I drop the bell into his open palm and accept his other hand to haul myself to my feet. Hiswarmhand, like his arm at the car a few hours ago, despite his skin being exposed to the elements. The calloused fingers that send such charged sparks through mine, it’s hard to imagine I’ll survive it if I ever do get him naked.
Sab lets go of me to reattach the bell to the wreath. Then he steps back, waving me into his home. “Sorry about the mess.”
“What mess?” I glance around as I precede him into the house. “Boy, all I see is life.” In the tiny shoes by the front door. The handprint artwork on the walls. The unfinished decorating that’s barely a fraction of the carnage I live in. “I have no worktops or tiles in my kitchen, if it’s any consolation.”
