by Helena Stone
Still seated deep inside Cian, he lifted one hand and reached for Cian’s cock, expecting to find it throbbing and hard. When his fingers connected with a wet, sticky patch of material instead, he chuckled.
Cian glanced at him again, and Mitch wasn’t sure whether the red glow on Cian’s cheeks was the result of his recent climax or embarrassment over how he’d reached it.
“That was hot,” Cian said. “We’ll have to do it again.”
Mitch couldn’t argue with that. He might not be sure how he felt about Cian joining a gay rugby team, but he had no doubts about how much he loved having a rugby-playing boyfriend.
Chapter Two
“You’re good.”
Cian grinned at the bear of a man standing next to him. “Thanks.”
“I mean it,” the man whose name Cian either hadn’t been told or couldn’t remember said. “If you really haven’t played for over two years, I can’t wait to see what you’re capable of after a few more training sessions.”
His first time back on a rugby field had been as exhilarating as exhausting, leaving Cian buzzing. He’d been vaguely aware he missed playing the game for some time, but it wasn’t until he held a ball again, was part of a scrum, and had one or two tackles under his belt that he realized exactly how much he needed the sport in his life.
“Wanna come for a drink?” the man asked. “Some of us are going for a pint or two. If you want to join us…”
“Sure.” Cian didn’t need to think before he answered; he was delighted to be part of a team again and couldn’t wait to get to know the others better. He shoved the clothes he’d trained in into his bag, gave himself a cursory glance in the mirror, and followed his new mates as they left the changing room.
Several hours later, Cian was still buzzing when he opened the door to the apartment, the alcohol having added another layer of intoxication to the heady happiness the training session had triggered. He’d had so much fun with the lads in the pub. Peter, the man who’d invited him and whose name Cian had been brave enough to ask for after his first pint, had made a point of including Cian in every discussion, even when he wasn’t sure what the others were talking about. The evening had flown by, and Cian hadn’t realized how late it was until one of the other players had mentioned catching the last bus. He couldn’t wait to tell Mitch about his first evening with the Emerald Warriors.
He opened his mouth to call out for his boyfriend when the quiet in the apartment filtered through the alcohol-induced fog in his head. He’d also failed to notice all the lights in the apartment, apart from the one in the hall, were off.
Shit. For the first time that evening it occurred to him he probably should have messaged Mitch much earlier than after his second pint. He’d gotten too caught up in the excitement of playing again, of being part of a team. He wasn’t proud of it, but Mitch had been at the back of his mind for most of the evening.
He entered the kitchen and saw the covered plate sitting on the counter next to the microwave. Bollix. The full extent of his stupidity hit him hard. He lifted the cover and cursed himself. Mitch had gone out of his way to make bangers and mash, which happened to be one of Cian’s favorite dinners and would have been perfect after a hard night’s training. His stomach cramped, reminding him the fatty burger and chips he’d eaten on the way to the pub earlier had not been a good idea.
He put the cover back on the plate before placing it in the fridge and making his way to the bedroom. Darkness greeted him when he opened the door, which was strange. They almost always went to bed at the same time, but on those rare occasions when they didn’t, whoever retreated first always left a light on for the person following. Had Mitch just forgotten, or was he so upset about Cian’s lack of communication that he’d deliberately left him in the dark?
Making his way from the door to the far side of the bed by touch and on spatial memory was difficult. He bit down on two curses as he banged his toe against pieces of furniture. As tempting as it was to at least turn on the bedside lamp, Cian resisted. He knew he had to talk to Mitch and apologize. He was also certain it would be better if he did so when he was completely sober. He dropped his clothes to the floor as he took them off. Nothing new there. He could almost hear Mitch say those words, and it took tremendous effort to hold back the nervous giggle bubbling up from deep inside as he carefully lowered himself onto the bed, doing his best not to make the mattress bounce.
As soon as his head hit the pillow, movement beside him suggested Mitch turning. He reached out, hoping it meant his boyfriend was trying to connect, but his hand connected with Mitch’s back. Are you awake? He didn’t give voice to the question. If Mitch’s move had been deliberate, he was better off not knowing…for now.
Cian placed his hands behind his head and stared up into the darkness, not surprised when the room spun a little. He really had drunk too much earlier, even if he hadn’t been aware of it while he was downing the pints. It had been easy, thoughtless, just as the whole evening had been relaxed. The other rugby players—his teammates, he realized with a delighted shock—had been most welcoming, even before they knew whether or not he could handle a ball, and over the moon after they discovered he wasn’t half-bad if he said so himself. The evening had slipped away from him as he’d relished in the ache in his muscles after his first training session in years and enjoyed the easy banter and gentle slagging off between the men. He didn’t regret his decision to join for even a second, just as he couldn’t be sorry for taking the time to get to know the other Emerald Warriors.
Mitch made a small noise and stretched his legs, his bare foot stroking against Cian’s calf.
But he did regret not calling or messaging Mitch after that first brief text.
Tomorrow… He’d make up for it in the morning.
Fuck. Cian knew he’d overindulged last night before he opened his eyes. His head throbbed, and he was sure the brightness he’d encounter as soon as he did force his eyes open would only make the pain worse. He reached out with his hand, blindly hoping to connect with Mitch, only to find the other half of the bed empty and the sheets cool.
The surprise of finding himself alone in bed on a Saturday morning had Cian forgetting about his headache and opening his eyes. He regretted the action instantly when bright sunshine, filtering in through the only partially closed curtains, hit his retinas. He groaned softly, forced himself up, and slowly made his way to the bathroom, where he opened the tap and gulped down as much cold water as he could handle.
After he’d used the toilet, Cian returned to the bedroom again, fully intending to put on some clothes and join Mitch, wherever he was, but the lure of his bed proved impossible to resist. He’d obviously already upset Mitch, so one or two more hours probably wouldn’t make a difference, whereas he had no doubt it would help if he didn’t feel like death on legs when he encountered his boyfriend.
Cian wasn’t sure how much time had passed when the sound of the vacuum cleaner woke him. Feeling significantly better than he’d done the first time he opened his eyes, he stretched out, luxuriating in the gentle loosening of tired muscles before he shot into a sitting position when something, probably the hoover, banged loudly into the bedroom door.
Somebody isn’t happy. And Cian was out of excuses to postpone getting up any longer.
When he left the bedroom minutes later, wearing only loose-fitting tracksuit bottoms, the apartment was quiet again, which was also strange. They usually blared music from the speakers when cleaning.
Trying very hard to ignore the knot of worry sitting heavily in his stomach, Cian focussed on getting to the kitchen, which was empty and ignored the rest of the open-plan living area until after he’d filled the kettle with water and switched it on.
Fuck. Mitch sat on the couch, with his legs curled up and his unblinking gaze fixed on Cian.
“Good morning,” Cian said, realizing full well how weak his opening was but suddenly unsure how to approach Mitch. “I’m making tea. Would you like one?”
>
For what felt like endless moments, Mitch said nothing, just stared at Cian.
“Sure, I’ll have a cuppa.” He smirked. “It’s good afternoon, by the way.”
“What?” Cian glanced at the digital display on the microwave oven and saw it was indeed almost one o’clock. Unsure what to say and not wanting to start the conversation they needed to have before he’d joined Mitch on the couch, Cian concentrated on getting out the mugs, putting a spoonful of sugar in Mitch’s, and adding teabags to both of them. Once the kettle was boiled, he took his time, allowing the teabags to brew in the water for a while before squeezing them out, removing them, and adding milk to the dark reddish-brown liquid. Only when he couldn’t postpone the moment any longer did Cian pick up the cups and slowly made his way across the room to where his boyfriend sat, observing him quietly, his face expressionless.
“Thanks,” Mitch said as he accepted his tea. “Good night yesterday?”
Ouch. Obviously Cian’s reprieve was over.
Feeling like a coward, Cian decided to take the question at face value. “It was amazing. I had forgotten how much I enjoy training, running with the ball, the scrums, until I got to do it again. And those guys were so welcoming. They seemed truly happy to have me join the club.” He lost himself in his recollections, the pure joy he’d experienced the night before filling him again. “I can’t wait for when I get to do it all again, Tuesday.”
“Sounds good. There’s training twice a week, then?”
Cian ignored the flat tone of Mitch’s voice. “Yes. And matches on the weekends.” He turned to Mitch, fully facing him for the first time. “It’s as if I’ve found my tribe again.”
He shrugged as he silently acknowledged how dramatic he sounded. It was true. Rugby and, more importantly, being good at it was what had gotten him safely through secondary school. Nobody there had so much as suspected a “manly” rugby player could possibly be gay. To now be part of a rugby team where being gay was almost expected rather than just accepted was more than he could have imagined. “You should come with me next time.”
Mitch stared at Cian, his eyes wide. “I don’t know about that. Rugby is your tribe, not mine.”
Mitch’s emphasis on the word “tribe” took Cian by surprise.
“I didn’t mean you should join the team,” he explained. “Just that you could come and watch us train or play a match. Join us for a drink afterward.”
Mitch focused on the mug in his hand, taking a sip before looking at Cian again. “As you said, it’s your thing, not mine.” He produced what looked like a forced smile. “I’d probably be like a fish out of water.” Mitch drank more tea. “So I guess I shouldn’t expect you home for dinner on Tuesdays and Fridays.”
Bollix. “About that—" Much too late Cian realized he’d approached this conversation the wrong way. “I’m sorry I didn’t text you earlier. I didn’t know I’d stay out so late. I thought we would just go for a quick beer. I messaged as soon as I knew I would be longer. But I guess it was already way too late by then.”
Mitch finished his tea with his eyes glued on Cian. “Shit happens.” He shrugged. “You are entitled to live your life. You don’t owe me an explanation.” He placed his cup on the table. “We need to go shopping today. When do you want to do that?”
The sudden change of subject was startling. Is this it? Deep inside a niggling feeling tried to tell him the conversation wasn’t over, that both of them had more they needed to say. But his relief that Mitch wasn’t as angry as Cian had feared was too big for him to push. After all, Mitch was right. Cian was entitled to his own life. There was no reason he shouldn’t pursue things that brought him joy.
He finished his tea and got up. “I’m going to take a quick shower, and then we’ll go.” He waited long enough to see Mitch nod, before walking away, ignoring both the pinched expression on Mitch’s face and the alarm bell going off in the back of his head.
Chapter Three
Mitch stared at the notice board, amused that in the age of digital everything many student clubs and groups still recruited through handwritten cards on a pinboard that looked as if it had hung on that wall since the building had been first erected.
Yoga and meditation weren’t really him, and he didn’t think the historical club was up his street either. In fact, he didn’t know what he was looking for or even if he wanted to take up a hobby. A week earlier he would have said his life was complete. Cian, the psychology course he’d started about a month earlier, keeping their little household going, and the occasional night out together had been more than enough to keep him happy and content.
He sighed as he mentally discarded a philosophy club and a rambler’s group. It wasn’t that he begrudged Cian his rugby. It was obvious he enjoyed his return to the game. His enthusiasm when he came home from a training session was both beautiful to behold and painful. The idea that he might not be enough to fill Cian’s life had never crossed Mitch’s mind. He hadn’t given it much thought but recognized now that he’d always assumed they’d spend most, if not all their time, apart from lectures, together. He wasn’t sure what to do with himself on his own. Which didn’t make sense because he’d always been perfectly capable of keeping himself occupied and happy. But that shouldn’t be necessary anymore now that he was in a relationship. Should it?
“Can’t make up your mind?” The amused voice pulled Mitch out of his bewildering musings. He turned and blinked when the first thing he noticed was spikey, purple hair. He blinked again, and a smiling face with huge, black-lined yet very kind eyes completed the picture.
“None of that is really me,” Mitch said.
The mystery girl gazed at the board for a moment before focusing on Mitch again. “So what is you?”
Mitch sighed. She’d just asked the million-dollar question. “I don’t know. I want to do something, get to know a few people, but I’d just as soon enjoy what I sign up for.”
“First year?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Me too,” she said. She studied him for a moment. “Do you play an instrument?”
The question was so apropos of nothing it took Mitch a moment to catch up. “I used to play guitar,” he eventually said. “But I haven’t picked one up for at least two years.”
“Perfect.” A huge grin spread across the girl’s face. “You can join my ukulele group.”
“I can what now?”
The girl held up her hand, revealing a, not surprisingly, purple card. “I was about to put this up. A few friends and I are starting a little band. Just ukes and singing and, hopefully, fun.” She reached up and pinned the card to the board.
Mitch read the short message, hoping to buy some time before he had to come up with a sensible-sounding response.
Ukulele Rainbow Orchestra looking for members
Experience not required and ukes will be provided.
Call Ro on: 08……..
“Are you Ro?” Mitch asked. It was an easier question than the other one burning in his mind. Rainbow Orchestra?
“Yes. I’m Robin, but I prefer Ro.” She shrugged as if it was the umpteenth time she’d made the statement. “So, are you in?”
Mitch could think of several good reasons why he should say no. He’d stopped playing guitar mainly because he hadn’t been comfortable performing with and in front of others. What was more, he didn’t know Ro, no matter how friendly she appeared, and he hadn’t even seen the others Ro referred to. He also couldn’t imagine how anyone was going to play an instrument without prior experience or instruction.
“Sure, why not?” To say his answer took Mitch by surprise would be an understatement, but much to his shock, he didn’t regret it or want to take the words back.
“Fabulous.” Ro grinned at him as if he’d just given her the best birthday present ever. “Come along, then. I’ll introduce you to the others.”
“What? Now”
Ro grabbed his wrist and pulled Mitch along as she walked away from the b
oard. “Yes. Now. We’re getting together for the first time, so if you’re going to join, you might as well do so from the start.”
Bemused with himself for not being more reluctant, Mitch allowed himself to be led away. He considered sending Cian a message to let him know he was going to be late and reached for the phone in his pocket with his free hand before remembering it was Friday, which meant Cian had training and probably wouldn’t be home until well into the night if the previous week was anything to go by.
A few minutes later Ro, who still held his arm as if she was afraid he’d do a runner, brought them to a one-story building Mitch had noticed before but never visited. Inside was a long hallway with several closed doors, the fourth of which Ro opened. The notes of a song Mitch recognized but couldn’t instantly place washed over them.
“Here we are.” She released Mitch’s wrist. “Guys, I found a new recruit.”
The music stopped, and three people looked up from the instruments they held.
“That was quick,” a completely bald man who didn’t look much older than Mitch said. “What did you do, kidnap him?”
Mitch chuckled while Ro managed to look defiant, even as a blush crept up her cheeks.
“Very funny,” Ro muttered. She approached the three others, apparently expecting Mitch to follow her, which he did.
“This is Mitch. I found him looking for an after-school activity.” She winked at him. “And these misfits are Patrick—and for fuck’s sake, please never call him Paddy, or we’ll never hear the end of it—Cora, and Harry.”
Mitch studied the two men and one woman, uncomfortable under their obvious scrutiny. “Hey.” He raised a hand in what he knew to be a feeble gesture. The group made a striking impression. Between Ro’s pink hair, Patrick’s bald head, Cora’s mismatched clothes, and Harry’s all-black appearance—up to and including his hair—Mitch couldn’t help feeling he stood out as being boringly average.
