by Jane Davitt
“There’s no hurry,” Nick agreed. He slipped his arm around John’s waist and leaned in to kiss his ear, doing something a bit more distracting with his tongue than John had been prepared for but which was in no way unwelcome.
John closed his eyes and felt his body go from being aware that Nick was close enough to kiss, in a pleasantly low-key way, to being aroused to the point of wanting to fuck him over the sturdy table because it was the closest flat surface. It was a shift that Nick seemed able to trigger without doing much at all really. Breathing shallowly, he reminded himself that he’d only just got there, they were both hungry, and by the smell of it the garlic bread needed to come out of the oven.
It didn’t work.
“Stop that.” Even as he spoke, he was tugging Nick closer and running his hand eagerly over Nick’s backside. “You need to ... need to ...” Nick was biting on his earlobe, and John could feel a warm tingle race through his body. “God, Nick ‑‑” He turned his head and found Nick’s neck with his mouth. “Bread is burning,” he mumbled, sucking gently at the smooth skin. “Unless you like it extra-crispy.”
“It’s not burning,” Nick barely whispered into his ear. There was a brief pause. “Yeah, okay, maybe it is,” and the two of them detangled themselves.
John leaned back against the table and watched Nick’s backside as he bent over to retrieve the bread, which didn’t do much to take the edge off, that was certain.
The bread, unwrapped, wasn’t more than slightly dark brown. Nick gestured at John. “Sit down.”
John did, but that didn’t stop him watching Nick with a great deal of pleasure as the man served up the food and put it on the table.
“I should have thought about the garlic,” Nick apologized as he sat. “But I guess if we’re both eating it, it shouldn’t be a problem, right?”
“The way I’m feeling right now, you could eat raw fish and it wouldn’t put me off kissing you.” It was no more than the truth. “And yes, I know some people do, but the closest you’ll get to sushi up here is smoked salmon, which isn’t quite the same.”
“I don’t think it’s sushi if it’s smoked.” Nick tore off a slice of garlic bread and dropped it directly into his bowl of soup, where it immediately began to absorb liquid and sink, and then poked it with his spoon. “I like sushi, actually.”
“Somehow I thought you might.” John spooned up some soup. “I’m saddened but not surprised.”
Nick laughed. “Have you ever had any?”
John took a piece of bread and clucked his tongue reprovingly. “I’m wounded that you think I’d judge something I hadn’t tried. I’ve had it. Didn’t like it. As you’ll find out for yourself, Stella’s fond of theme nights. The fact that barely anyone shows up for them doesn’t seem to put her off. Japanese night was last May. You just missed the Caribbean one, and God knows what she’s planning next.” John took a bite of bread, chewed, swallowed, and said blandly, “I’ll think of a way you can soothe my hurt feelings, don’t worry. No need to apologize.”
Nick was looking at John with an expression he was quite sure was amusement despite the fact that Nick had just put nearly an entire piece of bread into his mouth and was chewing. He swallowed and spoke. “Just let me know. Whatever it takes to make it up to you.”
“Whatever it takes?” John fished out a piece of chicken from his bowl and looked over at Nick. “Insult me again.”
“Um ...” Nick looked at him thoughtfully for several long moments, then dropped his gaze to his bowl and spooned up some soup. “Sorry; I can’t think of anything.”
“Really?” John contemplated that for a moment, feeling pleased, even if they were just joking, and then shrugged. “Well, we have only just met.”
“I could make something up?” Nick offered. “I don’t like the way you dress, you’re funny-looking ... your mother smells of elderberries?”
“That makes four insults.” John nodded, finding that he couldn’t hold back his grin any longer. “And four whatever-it-takes. That’s enough to be going on with.” He took another piece of bread and dunked it in his soup. “This soup is really good.”
Nick didn’t seem to have any complaints about it himself, if the way he was eating was any indication. “Good. I’ve done more cooking in the past couple of days than I have in years. I kind of like it, though. I asked Sinclair ‑‑ sorry, I just forget his first name. Is it polite to call a minister by his first name? ‑‑ anyway, I asked him if he knew anyone that might be willing to show me how to cook. He seemed to think that was a pretty strange thing to want to do.”
“You can call him what you like to me, but you’d better say ‘Mr. Sinclair’ to his face.” John’s mild dislike of the minister deepened. “He’s a traditional sort of man; thinks God created woman to do cooking and cleaning and such. I doubt he’s ever made himself more than a piece of toast in his life. Ignore him.” A thought occurred to him. “Stella. You ask her. She’s too busy to teach you herself, but she might know someone. Katy, who works in her kitchen, could come here and give you a crash course or something Or you could get a book. It can’t be that hard to follow instructions and that’s all a recipe is.”
“I just thought it would be easier to learn hands-on.” Nick used the side of his spoon to cut the piece of bread he’d dropped into his soup earlier. “There are a couple of books in one of the cupboards, but I think they’re from the late eighteen hundreds or something. I didn’t even know what some of the ingredients were.”
John raised his eyebrows. “Oh, aye? Neeps and tatties, cullen skink and the like? Show them to Stella and she’ll be all for doing an authentic Scottish night, and you’ll get to taste haggis for the first time.” He gave Nick a challenging look. “Or does a stuffed sheep’s stomach not sound appealing then?”
It wasn’t something John was particularly fond of, although he’d had it once or twice, but he enjoyed watching the fascinated look of horror creep over a tourist’s face when they found out how it was made.
“Not really.” Nick gave him a bland look. “Actually, it sounds worse than raw fish, but I’ll try it if you think I’d like it. Is it any good?”
John kicked him under the table. “Spoilsport,” he said without rancor. “You’re supposed to go pale and then turn an interesting shade of green. It’s not bad, but I’d rather have another bowl of this soup, if there’s any going.”
“There’s plenty.” Nick stood up and snagged John’s bowl, taking it over to the range. “Oh, and it would help if I actually turned the burner off before going away and ignoring it. This would be why I could use actual cooking lessons and not just a book.” He ladled some more soup into the bowl. “Will everyone else think it’s weird I want to learn how to cook, or is that just Sinclair’s thing?”
“Why do you care? And no, I can’t see why they would. Your uncle looked after himself just fine until he got too poorly; cooked and cleaned, and so do I.” John considered what he’d just said. “Well, more or less. My mother’s been known to comment on the state of the kitchen floor from time to time, but if she thinks I’m mopping it up when I’m in off the boat, bone-tired and soaking-wet ... well, I’m not, then.”
“I don’t see the point of cleaning unless it’s going to make a pretty big difference.” Nick set John’s bowl in front of him again and sat back down. “You could get someone in to that kind of stuff, though, if you wanted to?” It was definitely a question.
“Can’t afford it.” John grinned, trying to picture his sisters’ faces if they found out he’d paid someone to clean his bathroom. “But if you can, and you really don’t want to be bothered, aye, there’s a cleaning service on the island. Mother and daughter team. They mostly do the holiday cottages, but that’s more in the summer.”
“I don’t know. I might not like people traipsing through here all the time. I kind of like my privacy.” Nick finished his beer. “But maybe a couple of times a year, just to keep the worst of the filth under control.”
�
�Sounds like a plan. It probably isn’t worth getting them in before you tear the place up though, and speaking of which, Niall and his brother said they’d come over on Monday, if that suits you.”
John had had to have a quiet word with Niall, as he’d been planning to charge Nick over the odds on the grounds that he was an American and could afford it, but he wasn’t going to mention that.
Nick groaned. “Oh, God, they’re going to have to rip the walls open and stuff, aren’t they. That should be fun.” He stood up and went over to the refrigerator. “You want another beer?”
“Thanks. You ‑‑ maybe by then, if ‑‑ well, maybe you could stay at my place if it gets too bad. With the dust and the noise, I mean.”
John finished what was left of his first beer just to give him something to do that wasn’t looking anxiously at Nick to see how he’d react to that idea.
Because he’d been thinking about what they’d discussed, he really had. The idea of being able to be with Nick whenever the hell he wanted without worrying, of being able to speak without guarding his tongue ‑‑ well, it was what he wanted, no doubt about it.
The only problem was that it was like winning the Lottery; you could lose yourself in dreams of what you’d do, and have the money spent by the end of them, but the reality was that it wasn’t going to happen, and that distant vision of him and Nick together, openly, was about as likely as his numbers coming up one Saturday night.
And asking Nick to stay at his house temporarily wasn’t particularly brave, so he didn’t know why he felt as if he’d just done something momentous. He’d got three bedrooms after all, and in some ways there’d be less said about Nick stopping than if he’d made the same offer to Katy.
John realized his head was aching trying to predict the town’s reactions and sighed in frustration.
Nick set the fresh bottle at his elbow and looked down at him, one hand coming up to brush tentative fingers across John’s cheek. “It’s okay. People would probably talk. I get that.”
“I’d have had Niall or Michael over to stay without thinking twice,” John said heavily. “It’s just because I know damn well you’d be in my bed that I think everyone else would know that, too. Which makes no sense, so you don’t need to point that out.”
Nick’s hand didn’t move away, and he turned his face into the light touch, grateful for the comfort.
“It’s okay,” Nick repeated, bending down and kissing him. Nick’s mouth was soft, gentle, comforting, and yet the reassurance of the kiss lasted only moments before it turned into something more eager. Nick’s hand continued to cup John’s face, mouths exploring each other, the taste of garlic so unimportant that it barely registered. “I don’t care about any of it,” Nick murmured between kisses. “If we have to hide and pretend we’re just friends. Whatever. I don’t care. I just want you.”
“You’ve got me.” John meant it. “And we can do better than that, I swear it.” He stood up so that he could put his arms around Nick properly, the arousal that half an hour of eating and talking had damped down flaring to life again. “God, it’s not been five hours and I want you again. What do you do to me? Or do you think that’s the fault of the fresh air, too?”
“We can blame it on the fresh air if you want.” Nick ran his hands over John’s back and kissed his jaw. “I don’t care why, really. I’ve never been like this with anyone.” He pressed against John hungrily, and when John turned his head to claim another kiss Nick made a small sound of pleasure.
“Maybe ‘blame’ and ‘fault’ aren’t really the right words. I’m thinking it’s just you, and I don’t care either as long as you don’t stop whatever it is you’re doing.” Nick moved to lean against the table, spreading his legs enough that John could stand between them, their lower bodies touching. John groaned as he felt how hard Nick was already, unable to keep from rubbing up against him. “God, please don’t stop.”
“I never want to stop.” Nick kissed the corner of John’s mouth. “I just want to ... keep doing this forever ...” His hands slid down to John’s arse and curled into claws, pulling John toward him. Breathlessly, Nick asked, “Would it be showing a total lack of self control if I undressed you right here?”
“Aye, it probably would.” John gasped as Nick’s teeth found his ear and bit down on it. “But don’t let that stop you. Assuming you don’t mind being bent over this table five minutes later that is.” John shuddered from just picturing Nick like that, his fingers gripping the edge of the table, his skin glowing pale against the dark wood, glancing back over his shoulder with his face showing every bit of the need he’d be feeling. “Or we could try and make it upstairs, but for God’s sake think of something we can use for lube, because I don’t know how much longer I can wait for us to fuck.”
It crossed John’s mind to wonder if Nick would rather be the one doing the fucking. It wasn’t the impression he’d got though, so he decided to wait and see. It didn’t matter to him all that much. The only thing he was certain of was that he was all in favor of anything that involved Nick and him naked and enjoying themselves.
“I bought lube.” Nick got one hand beneath the waistband of John’s jeans, caressing bare skin. “Today. And condoms. Everything. Oh God, John, I want to be naked in bed with you. I want to be able to see you, touch you.”
“You did?” John had a moment of worry about the implications of that, but it faded as Nick’s hand slid further down, the tips of his fingers grazing across John’s cock. “Good. Oh fuck, your hand ‑‑” He leaned his head against Nick’s shoulder, trying to stop himself from squirming, or begging, or both. “Well, wherever you left them is where I want to be, and if it’s your bedroom you’re going to have to stop that or I’ll be too weak in the knees to walk up the stairs.”
“Okay.” Nick’s voice sounded so normal that John might have thought Nick wasn’t as eager as he was if he hadn’t seen the sparkle in Nick’s eyes. “Come on ‑‑ let’s go upstairs.”
Chapter Eleven
The bed had been hastily made, the bottle of lube and a box of condoms set on the bedside table and the curtains drawn. John wondered if Nick preferred not to see the graveyard, and thought for a moment about suggesting that they could rearrange the upstairs of the house so that Nick could use a different room as his bedroom. But then Nick’s mouth was on his, and Nick’s hands were slowly removing his clothes, and most of the thoughts that went through John’s head on a regular basis fled in favor of blissful sensation.
As neither of them wanted to stop kissing for long, it took a while to get naked, but John didn’t mind. Taking it at a leisurely pace meant that he got to have his hands on Nick for longer, the anticipation building deliciously and the urgency lost because they’d arrived at where they wanted to be the moment they’d started kissing. Coming was something he was starting to think of as signaling the end of the fun, rather than being the point of it.
When the last piece of clothing was on the floor, he stepped back a little and looked at Nick in silence, stretching out his hand and tracing a line from the hollow at Nick’s throat down, dragging his fingers slowly over smooth skin and fine, dark hair until the head of Nick’s cock was resting under his palm, warm and slick.
Then he slipped his arm around Nick’s neck and pulled him closer, kissing him with a hunger he didn’t think he could ever sate.
Nick pressed closer, molding their bodies together and giving another one of those little whimpers against John’s lips. His hands were on John’s arse again, stroking over the skin more lightly than John thought he could have managed at that moment, when barely touching was the exact opposite of what he wanted to do.
“I’d like to point out,” Nick mumbled against John’s throat, “that we’re yet again standing when we could be using the perfectly good bed.”
“You distracted me again.” John tipped his head back, wondering if Nick could feel the way his heart was racing. “And if you want me on the bed, all you have to do is get on it yoursel
f and I’ll be beside you not a moment later.”
“Or I could do this.” Nick maneuvered them both in the direction of the bed. The mattress hit the backs of John’s knees at the same time Nick’s hand found his erection and began to stroke it very slowly. “Weren’t you saying something about needing to lie down before?” Nick asked innocently.
After making sure that Nick wasn’t actually holding onto him, John fell backwards, dragging Nick with him so that they landed in a sprawled tangle, both of them laughing as they scrambled higher up the bed and then falling silent again as they began to kiss, their eyes closing as their lips met.
John ran his hand from Nick’s shoulder to his thigh, feeling Nick edge toward him, his upper leg sliding over John’s, rubbing against him eagerly. He moved his hand higher again, stroking over the exposed skin of Nick’s inner thigh and brushing against his balls with a light, testing touch. Nick turned his head, finding John’s mouth and kissing him hard, his tongue darting inside and exploring John’s mouth as John’s hand continued to rove over Nick’s body.
Nick’s leg slid higher in a wordless invitation, and John cupped Nick’s balls as best he could at this angle, rolling them gently in his hand and feeling them tighten, getting an eager, hungry sound in response that was all the encouragement he needed.
He couldn’t hurry with Nick somehow, not even now, when he was hard and aching with arousal. It took a whimper from Nick to have him slip his fingers back across the smooth strip of skin behind Nick’s balls and tease gently at the opening to his body, feeling Nick’s fingernails dig into his back in response.
“Want you.” John could hear the yearning he felt in his voice, making it shake. “Never wanted anyone the way I want you.”
Nick’s mouth settled over John’s nipple, lips and tongue teasing it into a tight peak at the first touch and each subsequent lick sending a jolt of arousal to John’s cock. John realized that he was trembling ‑‑ not in a visible way, and not even in a way that he thought Nick could feel, but deep inside, where no one knew about it but him. He wanted Nick so desperately that he was, quite literally, shaken to the core.
