Enough

by Matthew J. Metzger

“I’m sorry,” Jesse jumped the gun. “I’m sorry, I just—I don’t like—the idea of you being with someone else.”

  A half-truth.

  “Mm.”

  Oh shit, he was sceptical.

  “Look at it from my point of view,” he coaxed, wrapping both hands around Ezra’s and stroking the back of it lightly. “I just found out your ex is, like, the most attractive man east of Birmingham, and a lawyer, so he’s well-off and clever and—”

  “Boring as fuck.”

  Jesse blinked.

  “He’s boring, Jess,” Ezra said, winding his fingers around Jesse’s thumb and squeezing gently. “He’s a lawyer. He’s one step up from an accountant.”

  Jesse snorted, the wave of humour taking him by surprise. Ezra wasn’t mad at him. And he wasn’t crushing on Liam again.

  “Look at it from my perspective,” Ezra challenged. “I have a stupidly good-looking boyfriend—I’m serious, you manage to look good covered in ash, and that’s not an easy one to pull off—who whines when I try leaving the bed too early on the weekends, tried to drown me in the Channel because, and I quote, ‘it seemed like a good idea when I did it, Ez!’ and keeps a laser pointer in my kitchen for the sole purpose of driving my kitten insane. And breaks into my house to do so.”

  Jesse flushed hotly.

  “You have nothing to be jealous of,” Ezra said gently. “A lawyer whose idea of a fun day is screwing a client for another five hundred pounds just doesn’t come close to measuring up to you.”

  The blood receded from Jesse’s face, and fast.

  “Is your hangover feeling a bit better?” he asked.

  “Um. Well, I guess so, short of a couple of aspirin—”

  Jesse was already standing, pulling Ezra after him by the hand, barely pausing long enough to let him grab his bag. “Let’s go back to the hotel,” he said as the door clinked shut behind him, and Ezra huffed, his face flushed slightly under its freckly outcrop.

  “Oh my God, you’re a walking sex machine,” he said, but made no move to remove his hand from Jesse’s.

  Liam might have taught him, but Jesse had every intention of going over the lesson. Repeatedly. And right fucking now.

  * * * *

  “I’m disgusting.”

  The declaration was betrayed by the heave of Ezra’s ribs under Jesse’s arm, and the very slow shift of his eyes from lust-blown black back to beautiful brown. The sheets were tangled hopelessly around their legs, and the mess drying between them was sticky from the heat, the exertion and the possessiveness Jesse hadn’t quite managed to keep in check. Although judging by the scratches on Jesse’s shoulders, Ezra hadn’t been complaining.

  “Mm,” he hummed, and kissed the bruise on that long neck. Ezra was going to murder him when his brain kicked in enough to realise what Jesse had done.

  “I need to shower.”

  “Mm.”

  Jesse still felt boneless. There was something heady about Ezra he’d never gotten from any of his casual fucks or one-night stands. Something that just wrenched the bad out and left only this blissful sort of haze, like lounging in heaven. Maybe this was what doing heroin felt like. Maybe Ezra was a drug.

  “Jesse,” Ezra whined, wriggling. Jesse tightened his arms, drawing him further in. “Jesse. I need a shower. Seriously, I feel rank.”

  Jesse grumbled. He didn’t want to let go. Ezra was warm and bruised and ruffled. His hair was sticking up in every direction, and Jesse was tracing his fingers rhythmically over an exposed hip, because he could feel Ezra’s pulse there, and the way it was dropping down into the same laziness that Jesse felt. Why couldn’t Ezra just lounge?

  “I’ll cuddle with you after my shower,” Ezra bargained, peeling away Jesse’s arm and kissing him. He tasted of salt and sex. “Okay?”

  “Fine,” Jesse grumbled. “But be quick about it.”

  Ezra grinned. Jesse pulled him down for another kiss by the rumpled hair, and finally let him go, watching that perfect body disappear into the en suite. When the shower started up, he rolled over and groped by the side of the bed for his underwear.

  And found Ezra’s jeans, a bit of paper sticking out of the back pocket.

  Jesse paused, blinking the orgasmic haze away, and slid the paper out. It was card, he discovered, and he turned it over to see the black lettering of a business address, along with a scrawl of handwritten blue.

  William Quesne, divorce and separations solicitor. And just underneath the ‘call now for a free quote’ spiel, scribbled in a looping cursive, my new number—call me, gorgeous xxx.

  Gorgeous?

  Jesse carefully ripped the card into four and prised himself out of the mess of bed to cross the room and throw it away, rearranging a couple of chocolate bar wrappers to hide the pieces. New number, his arse. Ezra didn’t need the prick’s new number. Who did Liam think he was, giving his number and flirting with his ex? His ex who had a new boyfriend.

  Jesse felt a bit sick. Why had Ezra taken it? Hell, why had he kept it?

  In the crumpled pile of clothes, something beeped. Jesse resisted the temptation to find it. He knew the tones of Ezra’s phone, and knew he’d be in a world of trouble for spying on his texts, so he returned to the bed, curling up on Ezra’s side and breathing in the smell of him from the pillow, heavier than usual thanks to why they’d been back in bed by lunchtime.

  “Ez?” he called.

  Ezra always left the bathroom door open, and Jesse usually didn’t like to invade. It wasn’t an invite. Ezra got twitchy if the door was closed on small rooms with only one exit, and absolutely refused to lock it. But right now, the glimpse of gleaming tiles and the sound of the shower were too tempting.

  “Ez?” he called again.

  “What?”

  “Can I come in?”

  “If you want, I guess.”

  The hotel bathroom wasn’t sophisticated. It was a toilet, a sink and a bath with a shower installed over it much later, judging by the poor tiling job. It was cramped, despite the management’s attempts to make it look bigger by installing lots of mirrors, and it took about ten seconds for Jesse to abandon the sheets, cross the cold tiles, pull back the curtain and step into the bath.

  Ezra squinted at him suspiciously, the water plastering his hair to his head for once and turning it a deep honey-gold colour. Jesse sat on the ledge where the bath met the wall, and beckoned for Ezra to sit in his lap—one of Jesse’s favourite positions to cuddle him in, because it meant he could squeeze the life out of Ezra and he wouldn’t feel trapped or suffocated, but one that Ezra tended to find bemusing at best.

  “What’s gotten into you?” Ezra asked, but obligingly perched on Jesse’s thigh, nosing at his cheek. He was hot from the steaming water and Jesse wound his arms around that tight waist.

  “Just wanted a hug.”

  “Mm.” Ezra toyed with Jesse’s hair. Jesse’s was heavier than Ezra’s, tending to fall around his face and look permanently damp because of the thickness of it and the way it refused to drift or float around. Ezra began to slick it back with wet hands, exposing Jesse’s forehead and kissing it absently. “You’ve been very clingy ever since we left Brighton, you know.”

  “I saw Liam at Jackie’s,” Jesse blurted out.

  Ezra’s hand stilled in his hair. “And?”

  “I saw him flirt with you and give you his card and just— I don’t know. I didn’t like it.”

  Ezra snorted and smiled against Jesse’s temple. “Mm, I know. You hate other people flirting with me. You go into caveman mode.”

  “I—what?”

  “Me Tarzan, you Jane. All that guff,” Ezra clarified, and kissed Jesse’s damp skin again. “It’s kind of sweet. Kind of hot, too, sometimes. You do realise the reason you refuse to come to any of the socials with my colleagues is because you think the head of physics has a thing for me?”

  “She does,” Jesse grumbled. “She practically took her top off for you at that retirement do you made me go to in February.”


  “Never mind that I’m gay and wouldn’t notice?” Ezra prodded gently. “Jess, you’re the jealous type. Admit it. It doesn’t matter that Liam’s my ex, it—”

  “It does. It makes it worse.”

  “Why?”

  “You fancied him once!”

  Ezra shook his head and laughed quietly, returning to his self-appointed task of styling Jesse’s hair with nothing but hot water.

  “You’re terrible,” he accused. “Yes, Liam flirted with me. Yes, I was pleased to see him, because he might be boring but he’s a very nice guy and we didn’t have an ugly break-up with things being thrown, you know.”

  “You kept his card.”

  Silence. Jesse winced and dared to glance up at Ezra’s face. The eyebrow was up.

  “It was in your jeans.”

  “Was?”

  “I threw it away.”

  “Mm.”

  “He called you gorgeous!” Jesse defended himself. “And he put kisses on it.”

  “One of your analysts calls me gorgeous.”

  “What, Iggy? Iggy calls everybody gorgeous.”

  “My point exactly,” Ezra muttered, and huffed, tugging a little too hard on Jesse’s hair. “You’re awful, you are,” he grumbled absently. “Stop fussing. I’m not about to go running off to shag Liam again. In fact, after that performance, I won’t be running off to shag anything at all for at least two days.”

  “Sore?”

  “Just a bit.”

  Jesse tried to look contrite, but actually just felt a bit smug. If he was sore, he’d be reminded all the time of what they’d just done. And he knew from experience that if Ezra kept thinking about sex, he’d want sex more, too. Which was, really, most of Jesse’s intention.

  “Stop fussing,” Ezra repeated, dropping a teasing kiss to the corner of Jesse’s mouth. “I love you, remember? Seeing Liam again doesn’t change that, even if he’s discovered how to lighten up since we split.”

  Jesse caught his mouth properly and kissed him back, tugging on that swollen bottom lip with his teeth. Sliding his hands up Ezra’s back, hot and slick with water, he felt the first prickles of arousal in his groin, and Ezra laughed, pushing back.

  “Oh no you don’t,” he said. “I said at least two days, and I meant it.”

  He got up and reached for the shampoo, batting Jesse’s hands away from toying with his hips. His cock was right there in front of Jesse’s face, soft and alluring, but the attempt to get to that was denied, too.

  “Lay off. We have to go to Nana’s birthday dinner this evening, and you get to meet Grace.”

  And just like that, Jesse wasn’t turned on anymore.

  “Oh, shit.”

  “Oh, shit indeed,” Ezra agreed, and kissed him one last time.

  Chapter Four

  Grace answered the door, and the silence was telling.

  They arrived at six for dinner. The moment that Ezra parked the car, light spilled out from the opening front door—and Jesse got his first look at Grace Pryce.

  Ezra was open about his friends and closed about his family. He didn’t have any of them on Facebook, or any pictures. As far as photos were concerned, Ezra had popped spontaneously into existence at the age of nineteen, drunk, at some barely-remembered house party at university. Jesse had never seen even an old picture of his sister, yet—

  Yet.

  Grace was very much Ezra’s sister in appearance. She had the same tall, long-limbed, lithe figure. She had the same fair hair that shimmered like caught sunlight in the dusky evening. She had the same long face and slightly too-large nose that lent an imperfection to her face and made it pretty rather than stunning. She had the same firm cheekbones, and a long elegant neck. Her eyes were the same large, captive shape and placement, but a ferocious blue instead of hypnotic brown, and her skin was a smoother, creamier shade of white than Ezra’s freckle-prone tones—but they were still so obviously siblings.

  Physically. The pursed shape of her mouth, the wrinkle in her nose and the raised eyebrows formed an expression that Jesse had seen on Ezra’s face, but never in looking at somebody he actually liked.

  “Ezra,” she said coldly, and flicked that blue gaze to Jesse. “Is this the fuck?”

  “He’s my partner, and you don’t refer to him like that,” Ezra returned, equally coldly.

  “Partner,” she drawled, and the wrinkle in her nose deepened and radiated out into her lip and cheeks. “Playing at commitment, are we?”

  “I’m playing at nothing,” Ezra snarled.

  “Really,” she said flatly. “We all know gays can’t commit, Ezra. It was commitment that had you running from that law student. What does he do now? Divorce law for faggots who tried it?”

  Ezra’s fist curled. Jesse took his wrist and stepped forward to flank him. “I don’t appreciate the use of that word,” he said, half-diplomatically and half-coldly. Such blatant hostility wasn’t something he was a stranger to, but nor was it something that he expected from Ezra’s family. Not that blatant. He was suddenly grateful for Ezra’s warning.

  “That’s not my problem,” she said flippantly. Her eyes flicked to Jesse’s fingers around Ezra’s wrist. The sneer deepened one final time, then she turned on her socked heel and marched back into the house, leaving the door wide open.

  “Fucking bitch,” Ezra hissed under his breath, and Jesse worked his fist open to hold his hand and lace their fingers together.

  “We can go whenever you want,” he offered hopefully.

  Ezra shook his head, but his face was tight and upset. Jesse stopped him at the stairs and pulled him in by the hand for a brief kiss.

  “I’m okay,” Ezra murmured against his mouth, and Jesse nosed his cheek.

  “You’re not,” he corrected gently, and squeezed his hands. “Did you live here?”

  Ezra blinked. “Um. Yeah. Moved in about eight months before the—Dad died.”

  “Then say your hellos and show me your old room?” Jesse coaxed. It would prise open some of the secret that was Ezra, and it would hopefully shake off the bitch for a while. He couldn’t imagine, if that was their version of hello, that it was going to get better.

  Ezra nodded, and led him into the kitchen by the hand. He looked calm again, but his grip said otherwise, and Jesse made no move to let go. He was hating the Pryce family more and more as this visit went on. He would have to talk Ezra out of staying so long.

  Grace had disappeared. Nana was sat at the table, knitting the eight-foot sweater again, and looked up as they came in with a cheery smile and an, “Ezra, darling, there’s biscuits in the tin!” There was no visible tin.

  “Hi, Nana,” Ezra said, letting go of Jesse’s hand to hug her. “Happy birthday! How you doing?”

  “Don’t be silly, dear. It’s not my birthday. And we’re waiting for Zach,” she said cheerfully, knitting away. “He’s late again, daft child. Where’s Josh? Is Josh with him?”

  “Yes, Nana,” Ezra said after a momentary pause.

  Mrs Pryce, watching from the sink, bit her lip. Jesse frowned at the reference he didn’t understand, and wondered if Josh had died at the same time as Ezra’s father. He didn’t know the details of Mr Pryce’s death, only that Ezra had been a teenager. Ezra had simply said, “Accident,” and changed the subject. Had Josh been in the accident, too?

  “Where’s Grace, then? She has a ballet lesson at five. She’ll be late.”

  It was nearly quarter past six.

  “Grace doesn’t do ballet anymore, Mum,” Mrs Pryce interjected, beckoning Ezra for her own hug. She stroked back his hair, but said nothing to him directly.

  “I’m going to show Jesse around,” Ezra said. The tension in the kitchen rose, but for once Jesse felt as though he wasn’t quite the source of it. When Ezra took his hand again to drag him back into the hall, the weight in the air was almost suffocating.

  “What was that?” he asked as they climbed the stairs on a worn carpet runner that was a murky brown and had probably start
ed its life as red.

  Ezra shrugged. “Nana often asks where people are,” he said lowly. “Even people who aren’t coming back. It’s just—painful. She doesn’t know she does it.”

  Jesse bit his lip. “Did Josh…die in the accident?”

  Ezra took a shaky breath.

  “Yes,” he said shortly and pushed open the first door on the landing. Another flight of stairs wound up inside. “Welcome to my room,” he said and climbed them gingerly. They were ancient and creaking, dust exploding from the flex of the old wood as Ezra and Jesse climbed, and they opened into an attic room that had been frozen in time, so abandoned that even the dust hadn’t formed, the air stale with age and immobility.

  It was a large room. A window let the setting sun pour gold and red beams of liquid light into the otherwise dim space, the ceiling was little more than the wooden eaves of the roof itself and the air was chilly in a way that spoke of how exposed the walls were to the outside world. The furniture was dark wood and wrought iron, a double bed dominating the west wall, bathed in a waterfall of colour from the sunset outside, and the duvet was still rumpled from its last use, years ago.

  For all the space, it smacked of a cosy haven. Photo albums were stacked under the desk and an armchair in one corner was littered with old clothes—a football scarf, a pair of trainers lying abandoned between the front legs, a woollen beanie over the back with holes diligently eaten into it by the moths that now littered the desk, dead and gone. There were pale squares on the wall where posters and pictures had hung, and when Jesse glanced back down the stairs, the rusty padlock was still affixed to the inside of the door.

  “You nested up here,” he said, and Ezra laughed.

  “Mm, a little,” he admitted, bouncing down on the bed and toeing his shoes off to fold his feet up under himself in the lotus position. “I could lock everyone else out.”

  It seemed a sad and lonely existence, and Jesse’s heart twinged. “You didn’t like your brother either?” he tried.

  “No,” Ezra said simply.

  Jesse stared at him. “Ez—”

  “I was a lonely kid, okay?” Ezra offered, staring around the room with an oddly empty melancholy expression. “We moved around a lot. Dad always had big ideas, was always changing jobs, always on the move. I mean—Jesus, I’d moved eight times by the time I was thirteen. We only stopped after he died. Mum refused to leave the grave behind us.”