We exit the bar. It’s dark now. The sky has turned an inky black, and people chatter around us. The sidewalk is filled with students and young people. Some wear cowboy hats and cowboy boots, the uniform of people absolutely not in Boston.
The apartment complex is nearby, and Mateo and I quicken our steps.
We’ve already had sex. We don’t need to have it again.
But all I want to feel is Mateo’s body over mine. All I want to feel are his hands cupping my face. All I want to feel are his lips on?—
And suddenly, Mateo pushes me against a wall, and yes, then his lips are on mine, exactly like I was dreaming of.
“Sorry,” his voice rumbles against mine. “You looked so kissable. So hot. You take my breath away, Florian.”
I smile back at him. “I always want to kiss you, Mateo. You can kiss me anytime. Anytime at all.”
“Okay.”
We make our way to the building’s entrance. The elevator zooms too slowly, which is an issue, because I want to kiss Mateo more now.
But then Mateo doesn’t really live here. Normally it won’t matter how slowly the elevator moves. Because the only thing that I’ll find in my apartment when I return will be emptiness.There will be just a three-seater sofa, a coffee table, and a TV that will not be able to distract me from his absence.
“What’s wrong?” Mateo asks.
I shake my head. I won’t be glum and melancholic. I won’t be. Life is good now. Right now, Mateo is beside me.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I say instead.
Mateo smiles, and I know that was the right thing to say.
Mateo takes my hand when the elevator doors slide open and he leads me to the apartment door. He takes the key from my hand and unlocks the door. I tear off my shoes as fast as I can and hop inside. I grab my shoes, then Mateo’s shoes and line them up beside each other. Then we hurry over the marble floor in our sock feet, slipping over the smooth stone.
Mateo opens the door to the bedroom and ushers me inside.
He lowers me onto the bed, and I sink into the mattress. He crawls on top of me, and I look up at all his handsomeness.
I liked him when we first met.
I liked talking to him.
And I liked his hands on me.
But back then I didn’t think I could have him. Back then I was waiting for when my life plan said that I could come out. Back then I didn’t want to embarrass myself and make it so obvious that I wanted him.
He was so beautiful, so bright, and I felt foolish and naive and virginal in his presence.
But when he bends his head, I know it’s me he’s looking at with tenderness. When his lips part, I know it is my lips he’ll be kissing next.
And then suddenly we are kissing. His lips move against mine with certainty, and his tongue swirls against my own.
I am floating.
I am far from all my fears.
I amconsumed by Mateo.
He raises his torso, still kissing me. His hands unbutton my shirt, which is a coordination I won’t attempt, and suddenly my chest is bare.
He moves his lips from mine, then he is kissing down my torso. He sucks on my skin, paying attention to each part. He explores each section of my body, like each section of my body means something to him. His hands are strong.
He rises again, which is a tragedy, but then he lowers my trousers and my boxers which are not exactly tragedies.
