by J P Sayle
He gazed at the large family photo he’d put in place of Martin’s. It never failed to remind him that regardless of what he’d lost there had been many wonderful times. They had been so happy in that moment, making you almost forgot that the cancer was eating his father’s liver, stealing his life.
Stuart willed the ache inside to lessen remembering those cherished days. Their last skiing holiday to the French Alps, the picture captured perfectly the glee they’d all felt. Iced cheeks glowed as they sat sipping hot toddies to warm their freezing limbs. The last run had been epic his father overtaking him on the black run, sailing past, the wind whipping at his flushed face, the beaming smile shouting his joy.
Unable to hold still, Stuart paced to the window and his jaw clenched, shoving his hands into his jogger pockets. He leant against the patio door, willing the sadness away, trying not to lose his shit. He’d often questioned in the dead of night whether it would get easier? Even after ten years he still didn’t have the answer, though it never stopped him from asking.
Brad’s happy chatter floated away before he heard heavy footfall telling him Joe had gone upstairs. Grateful for the few minutes, he turned towards the stove. Sure that Joe would be able to figure out which room was his.
Stuart carried on prepping for dinner, sliding in the garlic bread as Joe walked into the kitchen. He could feel the tension crackle where there had been none mere seconds ago. The space filled with electricity, lifting tiny hairs on his arms, jolting them to life.
Joe avoided looking directly at him. What the hell is his problem? Stuart’s brow scrunched, he quickly checked that Joe couldn’t see his semi erect cock.
Stuart took the bull by the horns. “Brad made us a meal that’ll be ready in a minute, unless you want to go to Martin’s now? Though I’m sure they will have eaten. Though you may not be hungry.” Stuart gave himself a mental shake. He was friggin’ waffling for shit sake. Stopping before he made it worse, he waited for Joe respond.
He knew full well Brad would have eaten with Martin. Martin got very hangry, as Sarah called it, if he didn’t eat regularly. Stuart had found this out to his peril after being stuck on the motorway once on a trip to London. Martin had been like an angry bear with a thorn in his paw, nothing helped. In the end, he had scoured their bags looking for anything he could feed him just to shut him up.
The regular stock of Mars bars he now kept everywhere, testament to preventing the same trauma from happening again. His thoughts making him nearly miss the slight nod Joe gave. Disappointed that any sign of Joe’s previous glowing smile Martin had received was gone.
“Sit down, Joe, it won’t’ take a minute to plate then we can go over to Martin and Brad’s. Hopefully, Martin has worked out his sulk in the gym before we get there.”
Joe’s sweet melodious voice interrupted. “They have a gym in their house? I don’t suppose I’d be able to persuade them into letting me use it? I could do with the workouts. It’s been a while since I had the chance.”
Stuart noticed Joe play with the place setting as he spoke. “I’m sure Martin or Brad or both would be happy to let you use it. I often go over at the weekend and make use of it. You should see the set up. Its sweet, man, it could rival any gym.”
Stuart got the plates ready for the meal, trying not to be obvious he was staring. Joe’s rail thin arms hung at the side of his over skinny frame. Stuart finally got past his lust and seeing Joe without the clouds of desire. There remained an ingrained beauty he remembered, but black circles ringed sunken, red-rimmed eyes. His beautiful chocolate brown eyes lacked vitality now that the laughter had stopped. Satiny brown hair flopped rebelliously hiding part of his face, looking in desperate need of a decent haircut.
His hair accentuated hollow cheeks and yellowish pallor, reminding of someone recovering from a long illness or who’d hidden from sunlight. The hoodie hung two sizes too large for his thin frame, the same with the jeans. In fact, he looked like he had escaped from a Jewish concentration camp, a hair’s breadth away from starvation. Martin’s earlier comments outside now making sense.
What the fuck had he been mixed up with that would cause him to mistreat his body in this way or was it something else? Was he ill? What had happened to the vibrant young man who seemed to have all the answers? Questions screamed for answers. His anger simmered as he pulled the pan out of the oven for want of something better to do with his hands. He reminded himself no good came from worrying; he just needed to convince his heart of that.
The impulse to mother him wouldn’t let go. He plated the food as high as he could for Joe before sorting himself and sitting. They exchanged very few words throughout the meal. Stuart kept his eyes on Joe, making sure he ate every mouthful, getting up to get him a second helping after he wolfed the first. Thinking he might refuse, he gave him a no no-nonsense look. Joe submitted taking the plate, finishing that as well.
Stuart attempted to do justice to the wonderful food, but his anger tied his stomach in knots. The delicious cheesy tomato herbed sauce and pasta just wasn’t cutting it past the bitterness. Joe’s sigh of pleasure, eased a little of his gathering tension, but not enough for him to find his usual pleasure in one of Brad’s meals.
Stuart fidgeted with his plate, needing to move, he leant across the table plucking up Joe’s empty plate, hesitating when Joe’s thin cold hand touched his. Roughened skin had sparks leaping up his arm. Joe’s alarmed eyes clashed with his a second before his hand was snatched away as though burnt. Stuart fought the urge to rub his own sensitised skin.
Stuart stiffened knowing who was making the repeated scratching behind him, outside the patio door. What the hell did she want? Ignoring Princess was no good, he knew from past experience she would just get louder. The last time she’d wailed like a banshee for an hour. In the end, the neighbours had complained, and he had to let her in. Then he’d spent several hours trying to remove the bloody cat hair from everything she’d touched. He was positive she’d somehow moulted her entire body hair in one go.
Feeling disgruntled Stuart let out a sigh, his feet dragged unwillingly towards the door. The delighted squeal had him spinning around. Watching in horror as Joe ran past him to the patio door. Stuart could see immediately how enamoured Joe was with Princess. Her smirk of satisfaction had Stuart’s teeth snap together.
“Aren’t you adorable, oh look at how pretty you are.”
Rumbling purrs had Stuart’s eyes roll in disgust, he tried to hide it when he introduced her. “Let me introduce you to Brad’s cat Princess. Princess, meet Joe, my new houseguest.”
Stuart stormed to the sink trying to pretend that he wasn’t jealous of Princess. Joe’s gushing praise and lavish touches set his teeth on edge. What the hell did Joe see in the bloody cat anyway? Joe didn’t talk to him like that, no, in fact, he hardly spoke to him at all. The bloody cat bats her eyelashes and Joe can’t shut up!
Quietly seething, not aware soap suds were soaking his T-shirt while he side-eyed them both. Joe reverently stroked her silky fur, cuddling her to his chest. His earlier dull eyes alight as he enjoyed Princess’s company, so much more than his.
Pretending he wasn’t bothered, his stomach dropped as Joe advised he was going to go and visit with Martin and Brad, before hurriedly skipping out carrying a sneering pussycat.
Stuart prised his grinding teeth apart, reminding himself categorically; jealousies were not something he felt. He ignored the laughing mock voice in his head telling him differently.
He hissed out a frustrated breath, undecided to what he should do. He could follow, but Joe seemed to want to be anywhere he wasn’t. His ‘stay the fuck away’ vibe through the meal, at complete odds to the ‘ravish me senseless’ he’d emitted when Stuart had opened the door.
Distracted he took his hands out of the water, raking them through his hair in frustration. Cursing up a blue storm when water dripped down his face, alerting him to his befuddled state. Growling, he snatched up the tea towel, swishing it across his wet for
ehead.
Stuart gave himself a few minutes to settle, convinced deep down that Joe and he were meant to be together, regardless that in reality they’d only officially met a few hours ago. Alright, he reminded his stupid heart he’d spent ten years on and off fantasising about Joe. Stuart knew he hadn’t got it wrong that Joe had shown an interest while he was outside. Christ, he’d all but felt Joe’s heated gaze devour his naked skin. The combustible wank he’d had mere minutes later telling Stuart exactly what that heated stare could do to him.
Stuart huffed into the empty room, tidying to keep himself busy, he worried his lip. Whatever was going on with Joe, it had to have been bad. Maybe he would share whatever was going on with him with Martin? His fingers dug into his palms as his hands fisted at the idea. What the hell was wrong with him, that he wanted to punch Martin’s lights out? His muscles twitched, rolling his shoulders, he continued to search for a distraction, anything to take his mind off Joe and Martin.
His gaze landed on the book he’d left on the side. Yes, maybe reading would help. He’d only just picked up the new bestseller Crazy House by James Patterson. He had become one of his favorite authors years’ ago, Along Came a Spider had hooked him, making him search for any and every book James Patterson had written. Now, the wait between each book got harder, he was like an addict waiting for his next hit.
Stuart carried his book into the lounge, dropping it down. He sorted the fire, pleased when it roared to life, removing the evening chill. Switching on the several scattered lamps, he shut the evening out, letting the lamps cast a warm glow against his sand coloured walls.
Sitting in his snuggler seat, he pulled the book into his lap after curling his legs under him. He let his mind drift watching the fire cast flickering patterns on the multicoloured rug. His fingers pulled at his pursed lips. His mind lost in hot melting looks and not the page he had opened.
He couldn’t help the groan when his mind struggled to focus on the book he held. Stuart ignored his growing feelings of desperation, settling deeper into his chair. The heat of his wood burning stove lulling him, his eyes drifted closed.
Disorientated, Stuart blinked his heavy-lidded eyes several times before he registered he was still downstairs. What time was it? The sudden movement had his neck popping, “Argh.” He massaged the crick, groaning in agony he tried to straighten his head. Staring at the clock, his eyes goggled. How the hell had he slept for five hours straight?
Stiffness seized his back and arse muscles, his body rebelling as he staggered up. “Fuck, fuck, shit.” Stuart cursed under his breath, shuffled towards the stairs. The light in the hall had him stopping. Joe must have turned it on when he’d returned. Shit, hands flew to his face. Had he been slobbering in his sleep? No crusty chin, oh thank God. Had Joe been watching him while he had been out of it? Hot pleasure spread across his chest at the thought he might have.
Not registering the sound for a second, the creaking floorboards had him glancing up. Stuart’s gaze connecting with Joe’s, seeing wariness along with something else he couldn’t decipher in their depth, had him stepping back feeling uncertain. He hesitated when Joe turned, storming off, his hope they could talk dying under the loudness of the door slamming.
Okay then, so Joe hadn’t resolved anything at Martin’s. Wanting to follow and demand Joe tell him what was wrong, no sooner than the urge entered his head, he pushed it back out. Deciding he didn’t want his head bitten off. Joe was too much bother, acting like a teenager slamming doors, instead of being a grown up and talking. Stuart pretended instead that he wasn’t bothered, dragging his weary body off to bed.
Impatient with himself, he struggled with all the feelings coursing through him, protective, jealousy, mothering, then add in a large dose of lust. Then, if that wasn’t bad enough, he even wanted to cuddle him too! When had he ever wanted to do that?
His clothes landed in a heap around his normally immaculate room, before he scrambled between his cool cotton sheets. Unseeing the mess he’d created, he snuggled down waiting for the goosebumps to subside that reminded him too much of work-roughened fingers. Groaning into his pillow when his tired body stirred to life, his cock trying to lift and get in on the act. He punched the pillow into submission, turning onto his stomach, doing everything in his power to stop his arousal from growing.
Joe was far too close he’d probably hear him, thinking Stuart was some sort of deviant on top of everything else. Stuart was unsure whether that would be a good or bad thing right now? He closed his eyes, burying his face into the pillow. He sniffed deeply, taking comfort from the freshly air dried bedding. Willing the tension out of his body, his mind, on the other hand, was having other ideas. The pillow sailed towards the wall, flopping on his back, he had a feeling it was going to be a long night.
Joe
Joe lifted the last box before heading to the door. He was surprised he wasn’t waddling, considering the amount of food Stuart had threw at him for breakfast. He chuckled quietly, checking around not wanting Stuart to catch him laughing at his expense. Joe was at the stage of calling Stuart a feeder. With one exception, Stuart couldn’t cook for shit.
Brad, on the other hand could, clucking over Joe like a mother hen fussing over her chicks and that meant feeding him. Brad was supplying their meals daily, and Joe couldn’t be happier. His taste buds and stomach were in full agreement. He’d tried stopping him in the beginning, albeit not very hard, not wanting to put Brad out. Brad had told him to shut up in no uncertain terms, so Joe had let it be.
Brad also encouraged Joe to go over daily and use their home gym. Their love of all things electrical had forged an instant bond. Brad’s inquisitive nature about computers allowed Joe to repay some of his kindness.
Joe felt overwhelmed by the generosity surrounding him after the months of drought he’d suffered. He felt he had been stuck in a desert, a flower slowly dying of dehydration, only to find an oasis with an abundance of water that made him flourish. It was such a welcome reprieve and helped with his depressive thoughts that caught him unexpectedly, dragging him into its black depth. Those episodes had decreased tenfold over the past few weeks, along with it would seem his wilted libido, which had awakened at the most inappropriate time.
Distracted by the feel of sweat dripping down his back, Joe felt his clothes sticking to his back, exasperated by how much effort it was taking to shift a few boxes. Who said moving house was easy, shitting hell. Martin was only moving fifty yards away, across the road, so why did it feel like ten ruddy miles away? Joe grunted, almost hearing his muscles begging him to stop this nonsense. He ached in places he didn’t even know could.
Grinding his teeth, he gripped the box tighter, heaving it up. Joe huffed and puffed under the exertion, feeling his earlier smugness dissolving with each step. He may have regained some of his strength and weight since arriving three weeks ago, that, it would seem, still didn’t stop his arms from feeling like a wet noodles.
Joe stepped up to Brad’s home. He was still shocked by the contrasts of the exterior to the interior. The interior was something else, and that was before you added in the happiness factor. He could feel it everywhere; you could practically swim in it. The thing was it just added to his torture with Stuart.
The mixed messages Stuart was sending were more confusing than Morse code. His trembling hands caused the box to wobble. Joe tried to concentrate on not dropping it when the spike in his pants, at thoughts of Stuart, made it hard for him to walk. His heavy sigh at his misbehaving body did little to appease. His distinct dark spiced, musky scent lingered in the air whether Stuart was there or not. Everything about Stuart tempted him, clothes, body, smell, voice, everything taunted Joe. The long and the short of it was Stuart was driving him nuts.
Joe scowled, peering over his shoulder at Stuart’s house thinking about scents. The scent Stuart had all over him last night had most definitely not been his own, or Joe’s for that matter. The flowery smell hinted at female, but there’d been a distinct mas
culine undertone to the aroma. Joe growled, feeling the box dig into his chest when the questions he couldn’t answer made him want to punch something, preferably the owner of that scent.
He just couldn’t understand why Stuart was flirting with him when he was evidently going out dicking about with someone else. Joe’s knuckles cracked as they flexed around the box. Joe wasn’t Stuart’s keeper, but he’d rarely spent a night at home this week.
Stuart might have some good qualities, okay some great ones, but it appeared he couldn’t keep his dick in his friggin pants, a real fucking Lothario.
The sudden heat that bloomed on his cheeks had Joe checking that no one could see him as he moved into Brad’s home. Joe felt the unwelcome rise in his blood pressure. Jealousy, when had he ever been jealous of anyone? He stalked towards the kitchen, blaming Stuart for his confused thoughts. He couldn’t explain why anyone else touching Stuart or vice versa had a red mist cloud his judgement.
Joe tensed as he walked into kitchen. Brad’s shout from above had Joe giving a confused look at the two men who stood in the kitchen. “I’m not deaf, you know, squirt, indeed.” Feeling a little excluded from the joke, he thudded further into the kitchen feeling two sets of eyes on him, both conveying completely different questions. Hiding his eye-roll, Joe wasn’t prepared to answer either question.
“This seems to be the last of it.” Hesitating, he waited for Martin to direct him.
Seeing Martin’s concern that instantly sprang forward whenever Joe entered a room was wearing on him. Joe watched Martin warring with his back off look. Holding his breath, Joe let it out in relief when Martin let it go. He could read the deepening hurt, giving Martin a pleading look for a little more time.
