by Lily Morton
“I can if it comes in a glass with whipped cream,” I say in disgust sending him into more paroxysms of laughter and making me smile. The waiter comes over to take our order and Viv scoots closer so I mentally start the countdown. One. Two. Three. Four -
“What’s going on with you two?” she hisses. My God I never even got to five.
I turn to face her. “Nothing would be what’s going on.”
She eyes me sharply. “Last I heard you bloody hated each other. Bram and I were half convinced that we’d find a bloodbath when we got here.”
I raise my eyebrow. “Was it a long discussion?”
She smiles. “Bram got very involved in the descriptive element of what we’d find, but instead here you are.” She shoots a glance at Matt who is talking to Bram. “All chummy.”
I shrug. “We’re friends now. We had a long chat when he got here and cleared the air, and voila.”
“He touches you a lot.”
“That’s just Matt. He does it to everyone.”
She shakes her head vehemently. “No, he doesn’t.”
“Well he always seems to be touching somebody when I see you all.”
“That’s just us though John. We’re his family. He’s not like that with anyone else. You have to really be in with Matty to get that closeness.”
I feel a wave of warmth at the thought, and then immediately school my expression when her gaze sharpens. “John -” she begins, and then falters.
I smile. “Viv are you asking me if Matt and I are fucking?”
“Ssh,” she hisses, glancing at the other two but they’re in close conversation looking at something on Bram’s phone.
I laugh. “Well?”
She slumps slightly. “You just seem really close.”
I throw my arm around her. “We are, or we’ve become so. I think he’s great, but I’m straight Viv.” I’m saying what I know to be true but for the first time in my life it sounds a bit hollow and unconvincing, but she accepts it although her face is troubled.
“Matt likes you,” she says slowly. “Please be careful with him John.”
I glance at the man smiling happily at his best friend. “Why?”
She shakes her head. “He’s not as carefree as he seems. He’s got some bad baggage and scars and I don’t want to see him get hurt.”
“I wouldn’t hurt him. I don’t think that I could,” I protest, and Matt looks up and then grants me with a big smile before going back to Bram. Viv shakes her head doubtfully so I press on, “I know about his parents. I know how bad that was.”
She looks up startled. “He told you about that?”
I nod confused as she stares at Matt, something flitting across her face too quickly for me to see and then she turns back to me. “Has he told you about Ben?”
I shake my head and open my mouth to ask who Ben is, but I’m interrupted by the waiter bringing our order. “One blowjob sir,” he says, placing the glass full of something disgusting in front of me.
I look up to see Bram and Matt wearing identical looks of glee on their faces and I shake my head at them. “You’re like bloody children.” They collapse into laughter and then start reminiscing about something again.
When I look back at Viv she’s staring at me. “For Christ’s sake Viv take a picture and then you can look to your heart’s content,” I say crossly, but she just smiles and gestures at Bram and Matt.
“You don’t mind this?”
“What – them?” I’m surprised by the question but she nods. “No, why would I be?”
“Plenty of their partners haven’t liked their closeness. It’s caused problems in the past because they can’t be without each other for very long.”
“Viv, I’m not either of their partners so that’s a bit of a redundant statement.” She raises her eyebrow at me and I feel the power. This is why I use it. I sigh. “No, of course I’m not bothered by it. I like Bram and they make each other happy. They’re each other’s family, and I know what they did for each other when they were kids. They saved each other, so I have no problem with them being close. I’d have more of a problem if Matty dumped him just to make someone else happy.”
She stares at me and her expression which had been troubled clears for some reason and she smiles.
“Happy now?” I ask. She nods. “Thank fuck for that. Now please drink this shit for me before they notice and make me do it.” She throws her head back laughing.
***
I stand on my balcony in a pair of loose pyjama trousers, enjoying the heat on my body and listening to the lapping of the water in the pool and the breeze blowing in the trees. It’s four in the morning and everyone else has gone to bed but I can’t sleep. The alcohol is still flooding through my veins and I feel loose and vibrantly alive at the same time.
My mind won’t shut off either showing me snapshots of the night, and once again I feel the impression of Matt’s hand on me burning like a phantom pain. I can’t help thinking of that moment when I’d said to Viv that I was straight, because as more and more time passes and we get closer the harder it is to dismiss the feelings that I’m having as friendship.
At first I’d thought that it was just an echo of old teenage friendships which create such deep attachments to people, enough sometimes to confuse vague hero worship with love.
He’s funny and bright with a sharp intelligence which challenges mine in a way that few does, and I’d thought that I just admired him, but admiration doesn’t make the skin heat under another’s touch. It doesn’t make my voice thick when I feel him near. It doesn’t switch me on like a lightbulb.
I can’t believe that I’m having these doubts. I’d thought them restricted to my teenage years with that baggage of uncertainty, not when I’m a grown man. I’d probably be totally freaked out if this was the real world, but here tucked away in our bubble I feel dreamy and cut off and free.
My thoughts are interrupted by a sound, a half groan, and I’m instantly alert. It must be coming from Matt’s room as Bram and Viv are at the back of the house and only we share this balcony. The noise comes again like someone’s in pain, and I’m instantly moving towards his open balcony doors. He could be sick or have hurt himself. He’d certainly had enough to drink tonight.
I fly to the open doors and then come to a jarring stop at the threshold as the filmy curtains billow out in the night breeze, gifting me a glimpse of Matt lit by the moonlight like he’s on the stage.
He’s lying naked facing the windows, but he doesn’t see me as he’s patently too busy and definitely not injured. His legs are spread open and his fist is working at his stiff cock furiously, the slick noises loud in the stillness of the room.
I stand still like I’ve been turned to stone unable to stop taking everything in with a feverish desperation that I’ve never felt before. The length of his cock wet and shining in the moonlight with the head dark and wet. The strength of his grip as his fist shuttles up and down, and the cords in his neck standing out as he throws his head back and gives another of the throaty, deep moans that had drawn me here to stand alone like some voyeur.
I tell myself to move and go back before he sees me and awkwardness ensues, but I’m rooted to the spot by his next action. He spreads his legs wider showing me the mounds of his balls drawn tight up against him and the shadowy cleft below, and then he lifts his other hand, spits on it and sucks for a second. When he withdraws his fingers they’re glistening and I watch in fascination as he lowers them down, caressing and tweaking his nipples before raising his knees and pushing two of the wet digits inside himself.
I gasp but it’s drowned out by the sound of him groaning harshly again, and that quickly I feel my dick spring up against my stomach making me almost dizzy with the speed of my erection. I draw breath in through my nose trying not to pant as his hand moves quicker on his cock and his fingers push in and out of his hole, the noises dirty and so very exciting.
I reach down against my will and palm my throbbing cock
, feeling the wetness of pre come already gathering there. I have never been this aroused or got hard so quickly, and the pulse in my cock sounds in my head as I reach under my pyjama trousers and give myself a long stroke.
My inner voice is screaming abort, abort. Being caught wanking over my friend wanking is something that the etiquette books that I was forced to read by my mother never covered. However, I can’t stop and my thoughts are blown when he suddenly lifts his head and sees me standing in the doorway. I freeze with my hand still on my dick and the moment seems to elongate and pulse as he stares at me through heavy lidded eyes.
“John,” he groans, and then as if against his control his motions become frantic, and he arches back against the bed all the muscles in his arms and torso drawn tight in seeming agony as he shoots all over his torso, creamy liquid running down the funnels of his six pack. “John,” he says in a quieter, thick voice, lifting a hand glistening with his come towards me but I still say nothing.
Instead I back away breathing harshly and race back to my bedroom like something is pursuing me. Slamming the doors and locking them behind me I lean back against the wall panting heavily, my prick throbbing like a toothache. I can’t believe that he saw me watching him. How can we talk normally ever again? I can’t believe that I was turned on by it. Does that make me gay?
I can’t find any answers because the pressure between my legs is too fierce, and ripping my trousers down I fist myself with a groan of relief, feeling the wetness running down my cock. It only takes a couple of strokes and then I come calling out his name and ejaculating great gouts of semen onto the marble floor.
I fall onto the bed my vision dark, and my last coherent thought before I succumb to sleep is to wonder what would have happened if I’d answered his call and gone to him. I’m amazed that I’m not more frightened of the answer to that question. I’m amazed to find that I wish I’d done it.
Chapter 5
Song: ‘Absolute Beginners’ by David Bowie
John
Two weeks later I’m still no nearer answering those questions, and I’ve had no help from my housemate who appears to have vanished from sight. He goes out in the morning and comes back very late at night and then zooms straight up to bed.
He’s definitely giving me space which with other people I’d be grateful for, but strangely not with him. I’d thought that I’d feel awkward around him. I mean my God he caught me with my hand down my pants watching him tug one off and staying for the money shot. I looked like a total creeper, but I still need to talk to him.
I sit in my study wearing just my brown and white striped board shorts. My desk may be solidly pointing away from the view but I’ve circumvented it today by sitting on the sofa, so consequently I’ve been staring into space for an hour.
I feel utterly ridiculous but I miss him. I miss our early mornings and late nights talking. No one makes me laugh like him and this last couple of weeks have been … boring. I don’t know how I stood being on my own all those previous summers that I spent here. It used to be the highest luxury to have that peace, but now it just seems like a silent prison.
Something snaps in me and I stand up slipping on my white t-shirt which I’d left lying on the chair. I’m going out to the house and I’m going to take him out for lunch and then we’re going to hash this thing out. After all nothing really happened. A sudden image of his hand holding his wet dick with come spilling down it flashes into my head, and I feel a whole body flush sweep over me. Okay something big did happen but I need to talk about it with the other person concerned, damn him. I move into the hallway kicking into my trainers and swiping my car keys.
Five minutes later I pull up outside the villa and I look around with interest as I haven’t been here for a few weeks and already huge changes show. The outside is cleared of weeds and the exterior building work looks halfway completed, with the brickwork repointed and the new roof being worked on. I leave the car and follow the sound of loud voices, but I pick up my speed with my heart pounding when I catch the sounds of urgency.
A man comes shooting around the corner and bumps into me and I recognise Monsieur Dubois the carpenter who is covered in blood.
“Jesus Christ,” I say, grabbing him to prevent him landing on his arse. “Are you okay sir?”
“I’m okay,” he babbles in his rapid French, and then he seems to recognise me and clutches me to him. “It’s not my blood, it’s Mathieu’s.”
“What?” I growl and try to get free. “Where is he? Is he okay?”
“He’s through there.” He gestures to the pool area and then I’m gone running full tilt, a panic filling me unlike anything that I’ve ever felt. I tear round the corner and come to a shuddering halt as I see him sitting on the ground surrounded by a chattering group of workmen. He has a dirty towel clutched to his arm that is rapidly turning scarlet and another saturated towel lies next to him.
My stomach turns. “Jesus fucking Christ what have you done now?” I growl.
He looks up startled and for a second I see relief and something else cross his face, and then he smiles lopsidedly. “A chisel slipped and voila.”
“Are you okay?” I reach him and part the cloth gingerly, relief filling me so quickly that I feel dizzy. He has an extremely deep cut running from his palm down his right arm that’s leaking blood thickly, but it’s not spurting out so he hasn’t nicked an artery and although he’s pale he’s coherent.
I look at the towel in revulsion. “Who the fuck put this filthy thing on an open wound?” I grind out, glaring round at the chastised faces. “Where’s the medicine kit?” I snap, and several jump and shuffle their feet.
“Johnny it’s fine,” Matt soothes and I shoot him a fulminating glare that he trades for a confused, humorous one of his own.
“It’s not okay. Has anyone called for an ambulance?”
“I don’t need one.” He struggles to his feet and then sways slightly. I exclaim and grab his arm until he steadies himself, and then I curl my hand around his skull feeling the silkiness of his hair which is warm from the sun.
“Wait a minute,” I mutter. “Get your feet steady. You’ve lost a fair bit of blood and that wound definitely needs stitches and cleaning,” I say on a louder note staring around at the sorry looking men.
“Johnny for Christ’s sake,” Matt mutters. “You’re making me look a bit girly here. I’ve got an image to maintain.”
“I’m sure you’ll manage to keep that. Just keep cracking the jokes. They’ll get the punchline when you lose your arm through catastrophic blood poisoning.”
He breaks into laughter, leaning on me slightly. “John, your mother must have been overpowered by what a ray of sunshine and positivity you are.”
“She was too concerned with what the world saw as the second coming, now shut up,” I smirk, becoming suddenly aware of two things. One, I’m still hugging him close to me and two, the group of men are now giving us very strange looks. I subject them to a level stare refusing to remove my arm until they give very Gallic shrugs and start to move away offering him pats and manly slaps of pride.
Finally, only one man is left - a tall, tanned, good looking man who is holding an industrial sized First Aid bag. He removes the towel and stares hard at the cut. “You definitely need stiches Mathieu,” he offers in a rich, deep voice accented with French, and I recognise the project manager who I think is called Christophe.
He holds onto Matt’s arm a little longer than I think necessary, and when he looks at him I see a clear interest in his eyes which makes me bristle. “I’ll take you to the hospital my friend,” he says decisively and Matt smiles at him, making me step forward still holding his arm.
“I’ll do it,” I say brusquely.
“Oh no Johnny,” Matt protests. “That’s too much trouble. Chris will take me.”
Christophe raises one arrogant eyebrow at me almost challengingly, his face dark and amused.
“No trouble at all,” I say coldly smiling at him,
and I see Matt do a double take looking between us, but then he winces and I forget my anger instantly. “Matty let’s get you in the car. That’s a deep cut and you’ve lost a fair bit of blood.” I turn to Christophe. “I’ll take him and then I’m taking him home. I presume that you can manage without him for the day.”
“John,” Matt mutters chidingly but Christophe just smirks, giving me an insulting half bow.
“I am sure that we’ll cope, but it will be boring without him.”
I shake my head bored of the conversation now, and steer Matt to the car listening with half an ear to his commentary over how he could cope on his own and wondering why that man wound me up so much.
I’d like to blame his attitude, but let’s face it I do arrogance on a whole different level to him. However, I think, no I know, it’s to do with the familiarity of his touch on Matt and the way that he looked at him. I hated it and the thought occurs as to whether this is why Matt’s been coming in so late. A feeling of rage spreads throughout me like a contagion, immediately followed by confusion as normal. I can’t believe that these feelings are being stirred up in me for the first time ever, and by a man. I never saw that coming.
Matt settles into the car with a wince holding his arm close to him. I exclaim and reach into the back for my navy sweatshirt. “Put this on it Matt. It’s cleaner.”
“I can’t use that. It’s fucking Ralph Lauren.”
“It may be, but it’s also clean,” I enunciate. “That towel looks like someone’s wiped their feet or something worse on it.”
He grimaces and takes the sweatshirt gratefully, and I reach over to get his seatbelt but I still suddenly as he flinches away from me. “What the fuck?” I say softly. “What was that for?”
He shrugs, looking embarrassed. “Caught me by surprise,” he mutters but I know that’s a lie. I open my mouth to say I don’t know what, but then Christophe bangs his hand down on the bonnet and gestures to me to go.
“Arrogant twat,” I mutter, putting one arm behind Matt’s seat as I reverse. “I know what I’m fucking doing. I don’t need bloody directions.”
