by Lily Morton
“He’s not arrogant,” Matt mutters. “And really, pot calling kettle, dear.”
“I am not arrogant,” I mutter and he turns his warm brown eyes on me disbelievingly. “Okay I may be arrogant, but I have a great deal of charm which buttresses the arrogance.”
He laughs and then winces in pain. “Oh Johnny never change.”
I wave mockingly at Christophe before accelerating away. “Is that where you’ve been for the last couple of weeks?” I mutter and he jerks.
“Where?”
“With him.” I wave back at the man standing with his hand raised in farewell.
I can feel Matt’s stare on the side of my face like a brand. “I’ve not been with anyone.”
“You could be if you want to. He’s interested.”
“Well I’m not,” he says sharply and then sighs. “I’m not interested in him at all.”
I feel a wave of relief spread through me and I sag slightly. “So where have you been?”
“Avoiding you,” he says lightly, and I flinch.
“I knew it. I’m so sorry Matt but I heard you groan and thought that you’d hurt yourself, and then I got there and found -” I trail off.
He’s silent for a second and then as if the words are torn from him he says, “Why did you stay John? Why did you watch?”
I look straight ahead at the road. “I don’t know,” I say finally. “I don’t know why I stayed but I couldn’t have moved if someone had forced me.”
Silence falls between us for what feels like hours but is only minutes, and I welcome the sight of the hospital. “We’re here,” I say softly, stopping the car and finally looking at him. He’s pale and dirty and obviously in pain but he stares back at me calmly and there’s something deep in his eyes that looks like hope before he shakes his head.
“We’ll put it to one side shall we?”
“And you’ll come home at a good time and we’ll talk again?” I say solemnly like a child.
“Home?” he queries, and then nods as if he agrees with the word. “Yes I’ll do that.”
I open my door and I’m sure that I hear him say that he missed me but when I turn back to him he’s fiddling with his makeshift bandage, so I dismiss it and race around the car to help him out.
Matt
I jerk awake as we pull up to John’s villa, or home as he called it earlier. He looks over at me and smiles lopsidedly. “You alright there Matt?”
I rotate my head and wipe off the drool gathering beautifully on the shoulder of my t-shirt. “I’m fine,” I mutter, and then go to unclip the seat belt and groan as the pain shoots straight up my arm before centering in the wound and starting a heavy throbbing.
“Careful,” he chides, leaning over to release my seatbelt. I make a determined effort not to flinch like an idiot this time. I remember that he’d just suddenly been so close to me, and all I could see were those amazing blue eyes and his firm lips so close to me. My brain had short circuited and I’d been on the edge of reaching out and kissing him and filling my hand with all those black curls which have slowly rioted over the weeks against his control. Luckily the fact that I was gushing blood all over an expensive Ralph Lauren sweatshirt and his E Type prevented me from doing something so unutterably stupid.
He sighs and pushes his hand down my head smoothing my hair back from my face which now that I think about it feels funny, all sort of numb. I stare at his concerned face. More and more I’ve noticed that he’s a very tactile man who likes touching and being touched, but it’s almost nervous as if he’s trained himself not to touch too often. It hurts my heart a bit because -
I shake my head, my thoughts trailing away like smoke and focus to find him racing around the side of the car to open my door and help me out. “John I’ve cut my arm, not sawn it off,” I say irritably, feeling like some sort of Victorian maiden. He’ll be covering up the legs on the tables next in case I have impure thoughts. I snort out a laugh and he looks at me curiously.
“Ookay.” He elongates the word. “The hospital said to keep an eye on you because you said that some pain medications make you stupid. Apparently if you were going to have a bit of a funny reaction to the painkillers it would hit you quite quickly. Luckily we’re home now.”
I laugh again. “Funny ha ha,” and then I lapse into giggles at the look of puzzlement on his face. “There’s that word again,” I sigh lavishly, pointing at him until he relocates my finger so that I’m actually pointing at him. Fuck. “Home. I like being at home with you.”
He looks at me in complete abject bewilderment his brow furrowing, and I poke the line between those spectacular eyes. God you’re pretty I think and then see the look of consternation on his face. “I said that out loud didn’t I?”
He nods, a grin tugging at his lips. “I am not pretty Matthew. I am extremely good looking with a brain the size of the Tower of London. That makes me handsome, not I repeat, pretty.”
“Hope other things are the size of the Tower of London,” I laugh, and get up with a groan and then stand swinging idly back and forth on his door enjoying the breeze while hoping that my mouth stops talking right about now. A reaction to the painkillers I muse. Right at this point really could it get any stupider?
He looks at me as I hum a song that’s just come into my head and attempt to thread my good arm through his sweater. “Case proven for the painkiller reaction I think.” He shakes his head and takes the sweater off me. “That’s back to front babe.” He throws it onto the back seat and pushes his shoulder under mine. “Come on,” he growls, sending shivers down my spine.
I like that noise. It goes straight to my balls. He freezes. “Shit I said it out loud again didn’t I?”
He shakes his head and closes his eyes. “Maybe we need to get some food down you Matty? Mop up the painkillers.”
I nuzzle into him. “Let’s get some protein in me,” I growl. “Let’s have a liquid lunch. I promise that I’ll swallow.”
He closes his eyes in what looks like pain. “Fuck, the things that you say.”
“It’s not what I say, it’s what I do.” I’m starting to feel very weird now so to take my mind off it I attempt a lascivious wink, but judging from the consternation on his face I don’t think that I quite pull it off. “I’m very, very good at the things that I do Johnny,” I say proudly.
“Matt you’re actually shouting did you know that?” he says nervously, still attempting to get me up the stairs. Good luck with that I think distractedly because my legs don’t appear to be working.
“Oh my God,” I shout in panic, and it must be loud because he nearly drops me. “My legs don’t work. I can’t walk.”
“It’s okay,” he soothes. “The hospital said to let you sleep and the reaction will wear off. I’ve just got to make sure that I wake you up occasionally.”
“To check that I haven’t died,” I say slowly and painstakingly. “You must definitely do that Johnny. Hey you know what?” He jerks to a stop again. “We should get in bed together, then you can keep a check on me.” He closes his eyes and I go to nudge him and miss his arm by what feels like quite a lot. I smirk or try to. My face is so numb now that I might be dribbling for all the fuck I know. “My face feels funny, but my penis is still working,” I reassure him.
“Oh my God,” he groans.
I snigger. “I know, that’s what they all say. ‘Oh my God Matty, that’s so fucking good’.” I shout the last and I think that I end it on a bit of a howl because his shoulders are shaking with laughter. I nuzzle into him. “You smell really nice babe, like blackberries and sunshine and hot skin. Sometimes I want to lick you,” I say dreamily and his steps falter. My thoughts clear a little like clouds drawing back. “Oh Johnny is it all getting a bit too gay for you?”
He stops. “What?” He sounds fierce.
I gesture with my bad hand and hiss at the pain. “All this between us.” He turns his head to stare at me and I desperately want to stop talking now but it doesn’t happen. “Yo
u’ve felt it babe, I know it.” I sigh sadly. “It’s okay Johnny, it’s perfectly normal to be attracted to someone of the same sex. It doesn’t mean that you’re gay or bi or whatever, it just means that you find them attractive. Don’t worry about it.”
He stops abruptly. “What if I’m worried that I’m not more worried?” he mutters, and I pause trying to make sense of his words but my muzzy head won’t allow it.
I shake my head finally. “I don’t understand anything,” I say disconsolately, and he laughs sharply.
“Nor do I Matty, nor do I. Now let’s get you upstairs.”
“I like your shorts Johnny. Sometimes I can see your penis.”
“Oh Lord.”
“That’s a song,” I say delightedly, throwing my head back and singing loudly, “Oh Lordy, trouble so hard.”
“Moby,” he says patiently.
“Is that the little bald one? I love his music. Let’s sing some.”
“There aren’t many words in his songs,” he mutters, staggering slightly as I list into him.
I pull to a stop, hit with a brilliant idea. “Let’s make some up.”
“Make what up?” He sounds wary.
“I’ll start,” and I throw my head back. “Johnny is very wary of my cock, cock, cock when it’s not covered in a sock, sock, sock.”
“That is like some sort of horribly dirty Dr Seuss rhyme.”
“Ssh!” I put my finger to my mouth. “Ouch, what happened there?”
“You poked yourself in the eye,” he says patiently.
I hug him expansively while he makes silly, joking, chuckling noises, and I sing out the next line loudly. “I poked myself in the eye, but at least I won’t catch a stye.”
“Oh God please make him stop.”
“Has never been said in my bedroom ever,” I say proudly, and smile at his loud laughter.
John
I manhandle my chatty patient into his bathroom and start the shower. He leans against the sink looking at me with slitted eyes and attempting a smile which is really more wonky than I think he’d like. I eye him worriedly. Should I take him back to the hospital? He’s wobbly and keeps poking his face. Then I remember the nurse saying that it might happen but not to worry too much. She didn’t mention the sex talk though.
I want to think about this later because a lot has come out in the last ten minutes, and if the drugs aren’t to blame and he meant it, then it means that he’s as attracted to me as I am coming to realise I am to him. I feel the panic unfurling in me again, but as normal it’s mixed with this potent pull towards him that means I can’t take my worries seriously.
I shake my head. Seriously, I have now devolved responsibility for making rational decisions to my cock for the first time in my life. I look down at my crotch and snort. Good luck Sergeant. Do your best.
“What are you thinking Johnny?” Matt slurs. Then his attention is drawn to the shower. “Gosh is that water? I’m so thirsty.”
I straighten up hurriedly. “Not for drinking babe.” The endearment slips out without conscious thought. “I’ll get you a drink in a minute.” I eye his dirty arms and legs and clothes that are covered in brick dust. “How about you have a shower and get that muck off you now? Then I’ll make you something to eat and you can sleep.” I think for a second. “I’ll change your sheets as well. It’ll be nicer for you to sleep on cool, fresh sheets.”
“Are you sure that you’re a lawyer?” he asks slowly. “You sound like a housekeeper.” He sends me what he obviously thinks is a sexy look, but it’s slightly spoiled by the fact that his eyes are crossed. “I like sexy housekeepers.”
I snort. “Seen many have you? The life that you jet setters lead.”
He shrugs, huffing petulantly as he tries to get his good arm out of his sleeve. “Here let me help you,” I say calmly. I grab the neck of his t-shirt. “Bend forward.”
He snorts. “I’ve heard that before.”
I laugh before I think about it, which happens a lot with him. “Okay Romeo, I’ll pull this and you move back gently.”
“Nudge, nudge, wink, wink,” comes the muffled voice from the depths of his t-shirt and I can’t help smiling as I pull it gently until he comes into view, his hair a complete mess and his eyes screwed up like a little mole seeing daylight.
I kneel down to undo the laces on his work boots and look up at him. “Please don’t say anything,” I beg and he smiles lopsidedly, before it stills and he runs his fingers through my hair. For a second I lean into his touch and then remembering that he’s technically fuck faced and I am sort of straight I pull back, focusing instead on working his boots and socks off his feet. He even has nice feet, long and nicely arched with square neat toenails. I shake my head. I’m even admiring his toenails. Fuck, my life gets stranger.
I pull to my feet. “Okay take your shorts off.” He squints at me and I hold up one finger warningly. “Underwear on please. This is strictly a PG show.”
He huffs reaching down and undoing his cargo shorts with an unsteady hand. It takes three attempts and I’m just going to help, when he does it and the zipper separates with a sibilant hiss. I swallow hard as he pulls them off his hips letting them fall to the floor cavalierly, and then I still because he is beautiful. Tanned sleek skin stretches tighter than a drum over lean muscles, and his grey Calvin boxers cling to a high, firm ass and show off the ‘v’ of his pelvic muscles with one long vein stretching down his lower torso and into the briefs.
I swallow hard and then curse myself for being a creeper but I release the tension with a snort as he gets caught in the material of his shorts. I catch him as he lists sideways, trying to kick irritably at the offending material. “Easy Bruce Lee,” I soothe, putting my foot on the material so that he can lift his leg up, which he does so slowly it’s as if I’m watching a film on slow forward.
I steady him and then reach into the shower to test the temperature. It’s cool and should be nice and refreshing for him. I guide him in where he slumps against the wall totally out of the reach of the spray. He leans there his eyes half closed, and I think that we’re moving to the sleepy stage of the proceedings.
I look at him for a second and then mind made up I kick off my own shoes, throwing them to one side and stripping off my own t-shirt and shorts. Clad in only my boxers I step into the shower and take hold of his shoulders sliding my hands over his warm skin.
“Come on babe.” I indulge myself with the endearment, secure in the knowledge that he’s barely paying attention now. “Let’s get you washed up.”
I pull him under the water making sure to position his bandaged arm out of the spray, and the shock of the water seems to wake him up a bit because he opens his eyes staring at me before smirking. “This reminds me of a porn film that I saw once.”
“If this was porn,” I say briskly, turning him so that the dirt runs off him and pouring soap into his good hand so that he can wash himself. “I would be called Dirk and you would be called Colt. We would have had a terribly poorly acted conversation before any action, and both of our dicks would be considerably bigger.”
He laughs softly and looks down at where my boxers are clinging to me. “I’m not complaining babe,” he says archly, and I chuckle.
“Shut the fuck up. Turn around and lean back a bit. Let the water wet your hair.” He does it docilely. “Okay lean back on me.” I reach for the shampoo and work it into his hair thoroughly, smelling the citrusy scent that always seems to cling to him. He leans back and something about his lowered eyes and wet spiky eyelashes strikes me because he looks almost vulnerable, and a wave of protective feeling courses through me that startles me.
“Nobody has ever done this for me before,” he mumbles, and sighs contentedly as I work my hand through the longish strands until they’re thoroughly coated. I feel a sharp wave of happiness, but trying not to think too hard about it I shield his eyes with my hand to avoid the shampoo stinging them and direct him under the spray. I pull him back out when it’s
all gone and reach for a towel so that he can wipe his eyes.
However, I still as he grabs my hand in his when I pass the towel to him. He is almost dropping with tiredness, but despite the cloudiness of the opiate that is still there in his eyes he looks searchingly at me. “Thank you Johnny,” he whispers. “I feel safe with you, you know?”
“I do,” I say in a low voice, wrapping the towel tenderly round him and patting him dry. “I do with you.”
It’s the truth, and as I marshal the sleepy man into bed where he rolls over with a huge sigh nuzzling into the pillow and falling asleep instantly I wonder when I’ve ever felt that before. It feels new enough to know that I never have.
Chapter 6
Song: ‘Pure Shores’ by All Saints
Matt
I come awake in drifting increments, slowly surfacing until finally I become aware of the delicious scent of something sugary. I try to open my eyes which seem as if they’re stuck together, and wince at the pain that flashes across my temples.
“Headache?” a deep voice enquires, and my eyes snap open.
I’m blinded by the bright sunlight spilling into the room for a second, but then I focus on John who is standing by the bed dressed simply in a pair of red checked, cotton pyjama shorts and holding, oh my God yes, a tray filled with things that smell delicious. I struggle up on my elbow, letting out a hiss as my arm registers its extreme soreness.
John puts the tray down on a side table and rushes to help me sit up. “Does it hurt much today?” he asks as I gingerly manipulate my arm.
I look at the offending limb consideringly. “It’s sore. I suppose fifty stitches would account for that, but it doesn’t hurt as much as it did in the night.” John had woken me a few times on his many scheduled wake up calls to check that I was still breathing.
“That’s good. Are you hungry?”
“Fuck yes,” I sigh, and he laughs and puts the tray on my lap. On it is a plate piled high with toast and buttery mounds of scrambled eggs flecked through with tiny pink slivers of smoked salmon. Next to the plate is one of his deep blue and white cups holding milky hot chocolate. “My favourite breakfast,” I sigh. “You are a god.”
