Screens Apart

by Charlie Novak

  I groaned as I bottomed out in one smooth stroke. Simon’s channel clenched around me, threatening to pull my orgasm from me before I’d even started.

  “Fuck, I love your ass,” I said, giving a couple of slow, experimental thrusts, watching Simon’s face for any sign of discomfort. But he just moaned, pushing back onto me, his spent cock twitching against his hip.

  I pushed on the back of his thighs, bending them over him, driving my cock in deeper as I began to fuck him faster and harder, chasing my own release. Simon gasped underneath me, urging me on as he clutched at the bedsheets.

  “Oh, yes. Fuck yes. Just like that.” He writhed underneath me, totally lost in his own pleasure. I was almost surprised, since he’d come twice already, that he was so receptive to me fucking him. “Fuck yes, I love your cock.”

  “Yeah?” I groaned out, feeling the familiar burn of my oncoming orgasm. “Love me fucking you like this? Such a little slut for me, aren’t you, Simon? Love my cock inside you.”

  “Yeah, such a slut for you,” he groaned. “Love it when you fuck me.”

  I leant down, taking his lips in a rough kiss, plunging my tongue into his mouth and swallowing his moans.

  “G-gonna come,” I whispered between kisses.

  “Fuck yeah, fill me up. Please.” His words were the final straw, and I came with a deep grunt, emptying into the condom as my orgasm burnt through me. It felt like a million firecrackers exploding and firing through my nerves, an intense pleasure that was almost too much.

  I collapsed onto the bed next to him, probably grinning stupidly, but too happy and sated to care.

  “That was incredible,” Simon said, and I looked over to see him smiling at me. He looked even more debauched now, with his lips red and swollen where I’d kissed him.

  “Fuck yeah it was.” I took a deep breath, chuckling for no reason. “Give me one second and I’ll get those cuffs off you.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got it.” There was a soft clinking and the sound of buckles opening. “These are really comfy,” Simon said, examining them. “We’ll have to use them again.”

  “Fucking hell, Simon. Don’t say that! You’re killing me.” I laughed, sitting up and pulling the condom off, reaching for a tissue to wrap it in. “Was that okay though? Seriously.”

  “Seriously, it was… incredible.” Simon leant over, kissing me gently. “Thank you.”

  “You don’t need to thank me.”

  “Um, you spent a fucking fortune on me today, and I got, like, two amazing orgasms. I think I need to say thank you.”

  “Fine,” I said, rolling my eyes and pulling him into my arms. We were both sweaty and sticky, and we should probably clean up soon, especially because I wanted to make sure Simon got something to eat and drink as soon as possible. I didn’t even know what time it was.

  Shit, Steve would probably be back soon… if he wasn’t back already. Bollocks.

  “If you’re worrying about Steve, don’t. He had some American Football try-out this evening for that team he was talking about last week. He won’t be back till like nine at the earliest.” Simon smiled at me, pressing a kiss to my jaw. “He put it in the group chat earlier.”

  “You know I never fucking read that.”

  “I know. That’s why I mentioned it. You looked like you’d seen a ghost.” He laughed and snuggled closer into me. I pressed a kiss to his temple, stroking his hair.

  Whatever this was, it wasn’t casual anymore… I just didn’t know what it was. It felt like it was bordering on a relationship. That was the question though—did I want a relationship with Simon?

  Yes. Yes, I thought I did.

  For once in my life, that idea didn’t terrify me as much as it should have or had in the past. But I wasn’t sure what that meant. I just knew I didn’t really want to think too much about it. Answering a hypothetical question in my brain was one thing; acting on the answer was another.

  “Come on, we need to get cleaned up and get some food,” I said finally. “I’ll cook something after we’ve grabbed showers. Are you okay with stir fry?”

  “That’s fine. You could always join me you know?”

  “I’m not trying that again. It was a bloody disaster last time we tried it. I’m gonna use mine while you use the hall bathroom.” We’d finally attempted to squeeze the two of us into the bath for a shower last weekend. Not only had I frozen to death like Simon had predicted, but I’d nearly fallen out of the shower trying to change places with him. A broken leg was the last thing I needed.

  “Fine.” Simon rolled his eyes cheekily, giving me a last kiss before he rolled off the bed.

  I watched him go, my chest full of warmth and affection. Simon was the most fucking amazing man I’d ever met, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to go much longer without telling him. I just had no idea how to do that.

  I needed help.

  Grabbing my phone, I headed for my bathroom, opening Pornblr to see if Thick Boy in Lace had answered. He hadn’t. I shook my head. Fingers crossed I could talk to him over the weekend. Actually talk this time, not sext.

  I didn’t think I wanted that anymore.

  I didn’t get a reply until Saturday afternoon, while I was lying on the sofa watching The Great British Bake-Off reruns on Netflix. It was my guilty pleasure show, and it always gave me the most intense cravings for whatever they were making. Simon was at the gym and Steve was out at training, having made the team he’d tried out for. I was watching pastry week and lamenting one contestant’s attempts at making a tart—it was definitely going to have a soggy bottom—when my phone flashed.

  thick boy in lace Hey! Sorry for not replying sooner. Everything okay?

  mr. smith Yeah, it’s okay. Was just having a panic

  mr. smith Confession time. I’ve sorta started seeing someone, and I was freaking out

  thick boy in lace Ah shit! Anything I can help with?

  mr. smith Nah, it’s fine. I’ll live. How’s everything with you? You still hooking up with your friend?

  thick boy in lace Yeah… it’s going great. He bought me panties

  thick boy in lace Like really nice panties

  thick boy in lace I Googled the brand. They’re really fucking expensive

  thick boy in lace I’m kinda confused because he said he’s not interested in a relationship, but he does shit like that, and he’s ridiculously sweet to me. He spoils me rotten and makes me feel like I’m the only person who matters

  thick boy in lace It’s making it so much harder to pretend it’s just a hook-up

  Ouch. That hit close to home.

  Really close to home.

  Fuck.

  I felt like I was having my own experience described to me, and I wondered if this was how Simon felt?

  thick boy in lace I just wanna know if it’s real, you know? It would hurt if it wasn’t, but it’s starting to hurt more not knowing

  thick boy in lace Fuck, sorry! I didn’t mean to whine to you

  mr. smith I get it. I really fucking do

  mr. smith I really like this guy I’m hooking up with, but I’m fucking terrified if I’m being honest

  mr. smith What if he doesn’t want a relationship? I don’t have the best dating history, but this guy is amazing, and I just wanna make him happy

  mr. smith What the fuck am I gonna do?

  thick boy in lace lol aren’t we a pair?

  mr. smith Yeah. It fucking sucks, right?

  thick boy in lace Oh yeah!

  thick boy in lace This is usually the time I’d ask if you wanna get off with me

  thick boy in lace But I don’t really wanna do that

  mr. smith Me neither. Sorry

  thick boy in lace It’s okay. Think I’m just gonna drown my sorrows at the gym

  mr. smith lol I’d crack open the whiskey but it’s only 2:30

  thick boy in lace It’s 5 o’clock somewhere, right?

  mr. smith True lol

  We chatted for a little while longer, m
ostly just about mundane life stuff and our new favourite TV shows. Afterwards, I focused back on Bake-Off and gave my own opinion on the contestant’s showstoppers, even though I couldn’t bake for shit. Simon came home an hour later to find me still sprawled on the sofa, muttering darkly to myself about the ins and outs of bread making.

  “How was the gym?” I asked as he flopped down beside me, not taking my eyes off the screen.

  “Okay,” he said, his voice thicker than usual. “I’ve got a bit of a headache though.” I turned to look at him. His skin was slightly pale and looked almost tacky, but not as if he’d been sweating in the gym.

  “Do you feel bunged up?” I raised an eyebrow. I knew there was a nasty cold bug going around because we’d had a couple of tutors off sick during the week. I’d been doing everything in my power to avoid it.

  “A bit, but mostly just a bit cold.” He shrugged. “It’s okay, I’ll just take some paracetamol. I’m sure I’ll feel better tomorrow.” Then he sneezed twice and made a pathetic little whining sound. I sighed and shook my head, wondering if we still had any cold and flu tablets left over from the last time one of us had been ill.

  Simon sneezed again, making a noise like a deflated squeaky toy.

  Somehow, I didn’t think he’d be feeling better by tomorrow.

  Part Four: Ice Cream

  Simon

  Everything hurt and I was dying.

  Okay, maybe that was a touch over-dramatic, but it was how I felt. My whole body ached, including parts of me I couldn’t usually feel or didn’t usually notice, like my ears. I was bunged up and my head felt like it had been stuffed full of cotton wool, while my lungs protested every ten-minutes and made me sound like I was about to hack up my internal organs. Meanwhile, my body couldn’t seem to decide on a temperature. One minute I was dripping with sweat and boiling in my own skin, and the next I felt like I’d been forced into a freezer. And to top it all off, I felt like I was five seconds away from throwing up, so I couldn’t even indulge in my usual treatment for being ill—copious amounts of chocolate ice cream.

  I sighed, sounding like an old squeaky toy, and sniffed. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this poorly, and now I couldn’t even remember what it felt like not to feel ill.

  I just wanted ice cream and cuddles and to not feel like my body was at war with itself.

  Rolling over in bed, I reached for my phone, the low-screen lighting making my eyes ache. I’d been in bed for two days, alternating between sleeping and binge watching all the serial killer documentaries Netflix had to offer. It was nearly six on Monday evening and a tiny flame of happiness flared in my chest when I realised that Taylor would be home soon.

  He’d been taking care of me ever since I’d come back from the gym on Saturday afternoon and complained about feeling ill. He’d forced me to take some cold and flu tablets while plying me with some toast before making me go to bed. I’d tried to insist I didn’t feel that bad, but it hadn’t worked. Mostly because I’d started coughing while trying to tell him I was fine, and then my nose had started running.

  Taylor had just given me a firm look that had me climbing under the covers and doing what I was told.

  He’d checked in on me on Sunday, bringing me small snacks and juice and more pills. Although I’d nearly died of laughter when he’d first appeared, wearing one of those paper face masks across his nose and mouth and armed with a bottle of hand-sanitizer. I’d started giggling and that was all it took for me to start coughing up my lungs. Taylor had given me a very unimpressed glare and thrust a bottle of cough medicine under my nose.

  Still, it was so sweet of him to take such good care of me, but I couldn’t work out why he was doing it. I mean I knew we were friends and fuck buddies, but that didn’t mean he had to spend his weekend looking after me. And it was pretty clear he’d spent a good deal of time raiding Boots for medicine and then Tesco for snacks and drinks. Plus, he’d bought name brand medicines instead of just the generic stuff, even though there really wasn’t much difference except a huge price hike.

  He’d never done this when I’d been ill before.

  Last time, he’d bought me some cold and flu pills and made sure I was still alive every so often, but there was definitely a marked difference in treatment this time around.

  A small part of me wondered whether it might mean something had changed, but I didn’t dare to hope that might be the case. Especially because my own feelings for Taylor were now so strong I was pretty sure you could see them from the International Space Station.

  I’d known from the start that hooking up with him as friends was probably a bad idea, but I’d gone along with it anyway because I’d thought sex would be enough for my heart, and I’d be able to get a handle on my feelings. I’d tried to convince myself it wouldn’t be hard to bury all my emotions and pretend I didn’t have feelings for Taylor.

  That had been a lie.

  The biggest fucking lie I’d ever told.

  It wasn’t easy at all. In fact, I hadn’t really tried. Because the truth was that I was in love with Taylor, and there was nothing I could do to change that.

  I had no idea what I was doing or if I could even tell him. Something seemed to have changed between us in the past couple of months, but I had no idea what it was or what it meant. All I knew was that something was different. I just had to hope that it was a good thing.

  A knock sounded at the door, and I rolled over in bed, trying to find the words to say come in, but all that came out was a funny squeaky noise followed by a sniff.

  “Are you still alive?” Taylor’s blond head appeared around the door, lit by the hallway light. The curtains in my room were still pulled, turning it into my very own plague den.

  “I think so,” I said, my voice raspy from disuse. I didn’t think I’d actually spoken all day.

  “Good! I tried texting you at lunch, but you didn’t respond, and I figured you were probably asleep,” Taylor said, edging into my room and looking at the mess of clothes on the floor as if something might leap up and bite him. “How’re you feeling?”

  “Okay.” I pulled myself into a sitting position. “I’ve felt better, but I don’t feel quite as bad as I did yesterday.”

  “Good.” Taylor moved closer to the bed and peered at me suspiciously. “You don’t look quite as pale, although it’s hard to tell in here.” He reached out and flicked on my bedside lamp. I moaned sadly, my eyes blinking rapidly in the sudden light. I pulled my duvet up to my chest, suddenly aware I was naked. “You do realise I’ve seen you naked before, right?” Taylor asked, giving me a wry smile as he placed a hand on my forehead. His fingers were deliciously cool, and I leant into his touch.

  “I know,” I said. “But that was different. That was sexy naked, not roasting-to-death-because-I’m-ill naked.”

  “I don’t think there’s much difference.” Taylor gave me a small smile. “You’re still cute either way.”

  “Thanks… I think,” I said, covering my mouth as I started coughing again. Taylor stepped back, looking pained, but I couldn’t tell whether it was out of sympathy or fear of catching whatever I had.

  “Do you want me to make you something to eat?” he asked, and I sighed mournfully.

  “I don’t know. I still feel kinda sick. I don’t know if I’ll actually be sick, but I don’t know if I want to eat anything.” I twisted the duvet in my hands. “Unless you have any ice cream?”

  “If you’re not well enough to have some pasta, you’re not well enough to have ice cream,” Taylor said with a grin.

  “But that’s not fair!” I knew I was pouting and probably looked fucking ridiculous, but I couldn’t stop myself. “Pasta is different from ice cream. Plus, chocolate ice cream has healing properties.”

  “Does it?”

  “Of course.”

  “That feels like a lie, but since you’re ill, I’ll humour you.” Taylor leant down and pressed a kiss to my forehead, and something inside me sparked, flooding me wit
h warmth. What had I done to deserve this man? And how the fuck could I keep him? He was everything I’d ever wanted in a boyfriend, and I’d stumbled upon him without even realising it. I’d spent so long looking for the perfect partner, and he’d been right under my nose the whole time.

  I loved Taylor with everything I had. Nothing was going to change that. And he didn’t even know it.

  “You don’t feel quite as clammy,” Taylor continued, blissfully unaware of the swirling mess of emotions currently inhabiting the space where my brain should have been. “Did you wanna get up and have a shower? I’ll make some dinner and then you can have some ice cream. Maybe we can watch a film for a bit?”

  “Okay,” I said, not really registering what he was saying. He’d said something about food and a shower, which was probably a good idea. I hadn’t washed in two days, and I probably smelt rank.

  As soon as Taylor’s back was turned, I took a quick sniff. Rank didn’t even cover it.

  “Maybe I should change my sheets too,” I muttered to myself as I swung my legs out of bed. “They probably smell as bad as I do.”

  Taylor snorted, and I felt my face heat. I didn’t think I’d said that as loud as I had. “Don’t worry. I’ll do it,” he said, pulling me to my feet and pressing a pile of clean clothes into my hands. “Go shower. You’ll feel better once you do. And leave the door open in case you fall. I don’t want to have to explain to the London Fire Brigade why they’re having to rescue you from behind a locked bathroom door.”

  “You could batter it down?”

  Taylor just raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “It’s been well established that I never get any exercise except sex. How the fuck am I supposed to batter a door down without your muscles? I’d be bloody useless, and you’d be stuck there forever. You’d be shower people.”