Page 44 of Beyond the Hedge Maze

“No! Not fuck…Kiss maybe. And then fuck. I guess. I don’t know! I thought something would happen.” Oliver tossed his head back with a groan.

“Olive, I’m going to say this once, and honestly one time is too many times. Go make the first move.”

“Well I—”

“Nope. Get after it. That’s the advice.” Oliver scoffed at his friend, but maybe he was right. Why did he need to wait for Jesse to approach him first? “Not to abruptly change the subject because I will eventually want each and every sordid moment reenacted, but we should talk about this weekend.”

Fuck. He had forgotten. Every other month, the three would meet up either at the estate or back in London. This month was a London month. He needed to do better. He needed to figure out a way to dig himself out of the constant shit he was in and be a better friend. “This weekend, yes. I’ll be there.”

“I’m going to pretend like you didn’t forget. Bring your hot rower. Better yet, tell your hot rower to invite his friends, too, if they’re around. Let’s get all the introductions out of the way. Merge worlds. I’m all in.”

Oliver laughed and rubbed his hand down his face. “Of course, you’re all in.”

“I have to go, but text me. I’m looking forward to meeting your hot rower this weekend. Love you.”

“Love you,” Oliver responded before hanging up.

Oliver set his phone to his side, oddly nervous at the thought of introducing Jesse to his friends, but that was a problem for later. Jesse might not even want to go, or might think he was crazy for even suggesting he meet his friends when they were, what? Acquaintances? Childhood friends? Idiots who obviously had feelings for each other and sometimes held hands, and kissed cheeks, cooked together, and loitered sexually in hallways?

A problem for later, he reminded himself.

Oliver finished checking the rest of the paints, satisfied that not many had gone bad over their prolonged period of disuse. He set up his palette and easel after finding a stack of unused canvases, turned on a mix he had made years ago, and got to work.

Starting with something simple, he used the scenery beyond the windows as his inspiration. He first sketched out the gardens in pencil—more accepting of their overgrowth today than he usually was—and began the underpainting.

After an hour had gone by, he was truly lost in what he was doing, his mind completely clear as he listened to music and painted. An Arctic Monkeys song played loudly through a Bluetooth speaker he had found in one of the cabinets.

He didn’t notice Jesse’s arrival until he was standing behind him, his shadow overcast on the canvas.

“I’ve been looking all over for you to complain that you abandoned me with the lamps, but now I just want to pull up a chair and watch you do this all day.” Jesse’s hand had found Oliver’s upper arm, tracing little circles along his bicep. Oliver leaned into the touch.

Oliver blushed, secretly thrilled by the thought of that. He set down his palate on a small table he had set up next to the easel, and swiveled around on his stool to face Jesse. His eyes were level with Jesse’s chest, and Oliver stopped to appreciate the man standing in front of him. If he had thought the way Jesse looked in the crisp button-ups he’d been wearing each day was a crime, the green Henley he was currently sporting was downright obscene.

His eyes dipped down to Jesse’s jeans before trailing slowly up the expanse of his torso, until they finally landed on his face. Jesse’s mouth was already set in a smirk. Smug bastard. Of course he knew how good he looked.

“I see we’ve abandoned all sense of proper dress. Professionalism has gone straight out the window,” Oliver stated, returning Jesse’s smirk with one of his own.

Jesse brought a hand to Oliver’s face, tenderly rubbing across his cheek below the rim of his glasses. Oliver’s breath caught, the smirk swiftly falling. He pulled his hand back to reveal a streak of green paint that was a near identical match to Jesse’s shirt. “You’re one to talk. Look at the state of you,” Jesse quipped.

In the end, it was a simple decision. Jesse was right in front of him, standing there tall and beautiful, his dark hair falling effortlessly around his face as he looked down at Oliver. And Oliver simply wanted him.

Oliver abruptly stood, his hip knocking against the table holding his palate, and Jesse unsuccessfully lunged to catch it before it hit the ground. Paint splattered over Jesse’s hands and splashed all along their feet, but Oliver was already reaching for him. He hauled Jesse down to his level, his fingers clutching the fabric of Jesse’s shirt.

Their mouths crashed together—a kiss ten years in the making.

Jesse opened to him, his hands digging into Oliver’s hair, his large palms maneuvering him to deepen their kiss. More paint smeared across Oliver’s face, but he couldn’t care less. He’d scrape the acrylics off his skin for the rest of his life if it meant never stopping this kiss with Jesse.

Nothing about it was gentle, and somewhere in the back of Oliver’s mind, he knew, he knew there would be time for that later. That this kiss could be frantic, and rushed, and needy, because there would be more to follow.

He wrapped a hand around Jesse’s neck, pulling him even closer, their chests and lower bodies pressing together. Oliver was already hard beneath his jeans, and Jesse’s matching erection pushed up against his waist.

Jesse walked them both backwards, carefully steering them around the easel towards the floor-to-ceiling windows along the conservatory walls, never breaking their kiss. Oliver’s back hit the windows with a soft thud. Wanting the upper hand, he swiftly turned them around, and Jesse obediently sank against the glass.

Oliver kissed a path across the scruff along Jesse’s cheeks and down his neck, moving the collar of his Henley out of the way so he could reach the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Jesse groaned, and the sound went straight to Oliver’s cock.

“What were you saying about professionalism?” Jesse jokingly asked between harsh breaths.

Oliver lightly nipped at the side of Jesse’s neck. “Shut up.”