Nate snorted. “I could just follow you.”
“With our luck?” Flynn said as he slung an arm over Nate’s shoulder. “You’d run into a misplaced bride on the moors, and I’d find a lost hiker on the cliff while I was waiting for you. No, we’ll take my car.”
After a second Nate rolled his eyes. “Maybe you have a point,” he admitted.
A SLICKfilm of sweat cooled between their bodies. It was salty against Flynn’s tongue as he kissed Nate’s bony shoulder. He sprawled on top of Nate, sated, smug, and a little too lazy to move just yet. His cock was still in Nate’s ass. The twitched aftershocks of orgasm sent electric shocks of pleasure/pain through him.
Nate reached back and curled his hand around the nape of Flynn’s neck. “I had a whole speech.”
“Hmm?”
This time when Nate shifted under him the prickle shock down his overstimulated cock was closer to pain than pleasure. Nate propped himself up on one elbow and looked around at Flynn.
“On the ferry,” he said. “I had a whole speech ready.”
“It’s a twenty minute trip. What would you have done if I’d said thanks but no thanks?”
“… pretend to have been sleepwalking.”
Flynn snorted and dropped a kiss on the corner of Nate’s mouth. “I had a speech too, you know.”
He lifted his weight off Nate and his soft cock, the shaft slick with come and lube, slid out of him. Once he wasn’t pinned down anymore Nate stretched, all bones and elegance, and rolled over. He sat up and grinned at Flynn.
“Go on, then,” he said. “Let’s hear it.”
Flynn leaned back against the pillows. Out on the balcony Nate the seagull was a fluffy ball with a resentful, beady eye trained on them. It probably wasn’t the time to introduce Nate to his namesake, Flynn decided.
“Nate,” he said earnestly as he held out a hand. Nate took it and crawled onto his lap, his cock pressed soft and heavy against Flynn’s stomach. “Do you want me to stay?”
Nate braced his hands against the headboard and leaned in to kiss Flynn. His lips moved in a “yes.” Then he leaned back and smirked. “Mine was better.”
“Prove it.”
“The moment’s passed,” Nate said loftily.
“Paraphrase,” Flynn told him.
Nate paused for a second and then sat back against Flynn’s legs. He felt the hard line of scar tissue against his inner thigh and started to lift his weight back off. Flynn caught his hips and pulled him back down.
“It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt.”
That wasn’t entirely true. He could feel Nate’s weight through the scar tissue like pins and needles, but he liked the view enough to put up with it.
“Okay. Well, you’re rubbish at being a bad boyfriend,” Nate said. He ran his fingers over Flynn’s stomach as he talked, patterns that made the ridges of muscle twitch. “So maybe you could just… drop the bad?”
Flynn sat up and wrapped his arms around Nate’s waist. His hands cupped Nate’s ass. “You want me to be your boyfriend?”
“I guess.”
Flynn picked Nate up and dumped him onto the bed. He grinned at Nate’s startled, indignant squawk as he hit the sheets. “I’ll think about it.”
He left Nate halfheartedly cursing him on the bed and went into the shower. A flick of the taps turned them on and he stood under the water, his head tilted back so it hit his face like rain. He waited it for it to wash the stupid happy away with the sweat and the sex.
No such luck.
It felt strange. Flynn wasn’t used to being happy. It wasn’t that he’d spent his life as a miserable bastard; he’d been fulfilled, content, smug, and frequently sated. Happy sometimes, on afternoons spent in bed or in the first flush of a relationship when the world seemed possible. He’d always known it wouldn’t last, though. His dad’s gruff misery in the back of his head always there to weigh him down.
Life’s not about beinghappy.
