by Rhys Everly
"Is everything okay?" I asked.
Leo glared at me and turned back to slapping his phone as if his life depended on it.
"Why would you care?" he snapped. "We're not friends."
I knew we weren't friends and hadn't been in years, but it looked like Leo needed one, but if Leo didn't want my compassion, he certainly didn't deserve it. Why was it always me trying to be nice and go through all the effort to make up for my past? I’d grown up, but Leo? Leo seemed hellbent living in it.
"You're right. We're not friends. So I don't care," I snapped back and walked off.
"Yeah, you better walk away. It's what you do best, isn't it?" Leo shouted.
Yeah, Leo did live in the past. He still acted like a twenty-year-old. There was no rationalizing with a child. I’d made mistakes when I was younger. Who hadn't? That’s what life was all about. Experiment, live, make mistakes, fail, succeed. It wasn't my mantra, but it was something I’d witnessed in more than just myself. The heat in my body made me stop to catch my breath.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Leo mumbled, and before I could stop myself, before I could think of the consequences, I turned around and ran up to Leo.
"Okay, Mr. Perfect," I said and came head-to-head with him. "You might not have made any mistakes when you were twenty-one, but I did. And I've accepted them. I've embraced them and learned to live with them. It doesn't mean I'm proud of them, but it was what I thought I had to do at the time, and that's what I did. Now, if you, a thirty-eight-year-old man, doesn't want to accept that and wants to behave like a child, then be my guest. But don't blame me for growing the fuck up and moving on from the mistakes I made when I was a fucking boy."
I was heaving and panting and so close to Leo that I could feel the man's breath on my face. Leo didn't react. He didn't say anything. He continued to stare at me, and I stared right back at him. You could cut the tension between us with a knife.
Leo's eyes, their dark color I’d spent so many days and nights admiring, glimmered. His breath, fresh and minty, was calling out to me, begging for a trip down memory lane.
I grabbed Leo's head and pulled the man's lips to mine. I wasn't gentle, and I didn't care. I was angry. Angry with myself for still being attracted to this man even after everything he'd said and done. I was angry with Leo for being so stuck-up he couldn't see anywhere beyond his own nose. I was angry with my anger because I didn't do that emotion. I had erased it from my life a long, long time ago.
The kiss was not romantic. Not in the slightest. Our teeth clashed together, my tongue was forceful, and my hands were tight around Leo's nape. Leo touched both sides of my face and pressed down with his palms.
It was the messiest kiss I’d ever shared, but despite that fact, I was intoxicated. It didn't matter that all those years had gone by. It didn't matter that Leo hated me. It still felt like we’d never stopped kissing.
It might have taken me a few minutes, but I came back to my senses and realized what I was doing, even if a tad late. The damage had already been done. I pushed myself off Leo and stared at the man for a moment before I felt my legs give up.
"I've gotta go," I mumbled and ran back into my room.
I slammed the door behind me and supported myself on the back of it, reliving the monumental mistake I’d just made.
Leo's lips had left an imprint on my own. It had been left there seventeen years ago. I knew that now. Because as soon as I kissed him, the need for him re-awakened.
I fumbled with my phone, replaying the kiss over and over in my head and trying to erase it from memory. It was a pointless endeavor.
How could I have been so stupid? The man hated me. And I hated the fact that Leo hated me. How could I have done this?
No, this had all been a mistake. I shouldn't have done that. And I could only imagine how angry Leo must feel with what I’d done.
I threw my phone on the bed, opened the door, and decided to be the bigger man. I was not Dawson Eldred if I couldn't apologize for my mistakes. Every single one of them.
Even if one of them didn't feel like one, despite how hard I was trying to convince myself to the contrary.
Ten
Leo
I couldn't believe what had just happened. Dawson had kissed me despite everything I’d said and done. I knew I’d upset him. And I also knew I shouldn't care about what had just happened.
What was more important was the fact that my meeting was being pushed back two days, which could mean one of only two things. Either they had changed their mind or the production had fallen through. Whichever of the two it was, I was fucked. I’d only given my heart and soul to make it into Hollywood. Now it seemed I was going to lose my big break before I’d had a chance to prove myself. It was as if history was repeating itself.
This shit was so frustrating. Milo had worked so hard to get me in, and now it was all up in the air again. From what Milo had said, the production team liked me and they’d watched tapes of the few independent films I’d managed to do over the years while living in the UK, and they liked the bad-boy persona that the tabloids kept brandishing me with. So what the fuck had gone wrong now? When would my luck change?
No matter how much I tried, I couldn't get my phone to work. It was crucial that I found out what this pushback meant for my career. Milo had told me not to worry, that it was all fine and that the reason for the delay was due to other commitments. But I’d been burned too many times to rest on my laurels when my chances were crumbling.
Yet, despite my anxiety levels over my career, all I kept returning to was that damn kiss. I didn't know what had made Dawson kiss me. It couldn't have been my anger, because if I knew anything, it was how unattractive I was when I was pissed. Of course, that was assuming Dawson still found me attractive. It had been years since we’d been together in that way, and we’d both grown so much since then. Not just on the outside, but also on the inside, even if Dawson didn't believe I had.
Was it true? Did I live in the past? No, that couldn't be true. I hadn't thought of Dawson for years. I’d had my modeling and my music career and all the crap that had come with it, but I still persevered and fought for my dreams. I hadn't thought about Dawson in what felt like a lifetime.
Still, kissing him again felt like we’d never stopped.
I still remembered when I’d first set eyes on Dawson that first day at drama school. Not only because there were not many boys in our year but also because he was the only one I’d found anywhere near attractive. Even back then, when Dawson was a scrawny, tall boy who was too cocksure of himself and who flirted with anything that moved, I was infatuated with him.
It wasn't even my fault. Dawson had been the one to approach me on the first day and introduce himself. He had decided that he and I were going to be best friends. As there were not enough boys in the class, we’d have to stick together to make our presence known.
Being an inexperienced eighteen-year-old, I hadn't known what to think of Dawson. We’d hang out a lot during class, and after, we’d discuss the future and our dreams. No subject had been too taboo to discuss but our sexuality. So, for me to admit my feelings to Dawson, it had been a rollercoaster, because I hadn't known where we stood. Two years later, and after I’d worked up the courage to admit it not only to myself but to Dawson, too, I still hadn't known where we stood. Dawson was a free-for-all guy. He made making friends look like a piece of cake. Everyone had liked him. He was easy-going and could get along with anyone. Unlike me, who'd stuck to my guns and wasn't a big fan of people, not even on the best of days.
So, after year two, Dawson and I had drifted apart because Dawson had made more close friends, and I suspected admitting my feelings to the guy hadn't made things any easier. Despite Dawson's reaction, I’d lost any hope of ever getting on his radar or his pants. Yet the love I'd felt for him wouldn't go away. That same night when I'd decided to move on with my life and stop obsessing over a straight guy, we’d ended up at a house party in the dorms and had a drin
k. One drink became two. And two drinks had turned into a night of tender lovemaking, waking up in each other's arms, unable to let each other go.
It had felt like a dream. Having the man I'd lost so much sleep over for two years finally within reach. It was the happiest I’d ever felt. As if all the pieces of my heart that had broken apart over years of abuse, bullying, and insecurities had been put back together. But knowing Dawson, I knew it might not last. So, I’d decided to enjoy it while it did because Dawson hadn't struck me like the relationship kind of guy.
Yet somehow, we’d made it all the way to the end of drama school. All the way through the third year, growing closer and closer but never calling each other boyfriend. We’d both been in the closet at the time and had decided to keep our affair inside it too. And I was fine with that at the time. As much as some tabloids took joy at calling me everything but a flaming queen, I’d never wanted my sexuality to dilute my career potential, and Dawson had felt the same way. Despite everything, we were happy with each other.
But as with most fairy tales, all good things come to an end. Because at the end of the third year, on the most important day for both of us, it had all come tumbling down.
A knock on the door brought me back from my trip down memory lane. I felt it vibrate on my spine as I stood with my back against the door.
It was probably Melody’s housekeeper on the morning rounds. I didn't want to leave the room and risk seeing Dawson again. That kiss had confused me. I didn't know how I felt about it, nor how I felt about Dawson.
Without thinking too much about it, I opened the door, ready to ask them to skip this room, but instead of the housekeeper, I found Dawson standing at my doorstep. His eyes were red, and his demeanor defeated. I hadn't seen him like that over the last few days. He seemed to be struggling with something, his fingers fumbling in front of him, but the more he fumbled, the sorrier I felt for him. Whatever it was he was there for, it wasn't easy.
"Leo, I'm…" Dawson finally spoke, his words no louder than a whisper. Before he could finish his sentence, the housekeeper behind him wheeled her cart and knocked Dawson on his behind, because Dawson lost his balance and fell on me, and we ended up on the floor.
“Ouch,” I said, my back burning from the impact with the floor.
Dawson's sapphire blue eyes locked with mine with so much want and need. I couldn't look away from them.
"Oh my God. Are you okay?" I heard the housekeeper say, but I ignored her.
I continued to look into Dawson's eyes. It didn't look like we were going anywhere. And I wasn't so sure I wanted him to leave. When I finally took my eyes off Dawson and looked down at his mouth, the kiss from earlier sparked something inside me, and I craved for his lips again.
Without much effort, I lifted my head and touched my lips to Dawson's. Softly at first, but I became wrought with passion very quickly.
I let go of all my concerns and allowed myself to feel good under Dawson's body. I was finding it really hard to remember why I was upset with this stunning man and why I had ever let him go.
"Oh. Oh. I’ll be off then. I’m guessing your room won’t need changing for a while,” the housekeeper said and rolled away with her cart.
With that, I ended the kiss. I pulled away from Dawson and laughed. He smiled, but it wasn't one of those millions dollar smiles that he flashed for the cameras. It was a guilty smile. A smile that said way too many things all at the same time. It was like a picture. That smile might not be worth a million dollars, but it was worth a thousand words.
Dawson stood up, helping me off the floor.
"I'm sorry," he said.
There they were, those eyes I couldn't help forgiving.
"I'm not," I replied and grabbed Dawson by his T-shirt, pulling him closer. At the same time, I closed the door with my other hand so I could give us some privacy. I returned my mouth to its rightful position, back on Dawson's, and my hands explored his upper body. It had indeed changed so much since we’d last been together. Gone was the scrawny kid from Chicago who wanted to be a superstar. In front of me, an actual star was standing. A man who'd made all his dreams come true.
Dawson got into the rhythm of the kiss and pushed himself off the wall, leading me to the bed without breaking away from my lips. He helped lower me onto the mattress and moved his kisses down my neck.
"I hate what you do to me. Even after all these years," I whispered.
My admission was followed by a moan. Dawson sat on top of me and helped take off my T-shirt. Once that article of clothing was out of the way, he pinned my hands to my sides and kissed my chest.
Having Dawson sitting on top of me with both our erections rubbing against each other, it was like we were back in drama school. As if there hadn’t been a day before our last naked encounter.
Yet, despite the feeling, I felt different. Grown-up. Being with Dawson now after all these years, after all we’d been through together, and separately, it felt more right than it had ever felt when we were just twenty-one.
Each of Dawson's kisses was like letting go of everything the man had done to hurt me in the past, and it felt good. When Dawson’s lips reached my stomach, he released my hands so he could unbutton my pants, but he was having trouble with the belt.
I tried to help, but Dawson grabbed my wrists and pinned them back down with one hand, still trying to get my pants off.
"Just rip it," I yelled, unable to take it any longer.
Dawson obeyed and pulled the loose end of the belt fast and hard. The belt buckle broke and ripped one of the jeans loops with it, and two moments later, Dawson threw what was left of the belt on the floor behind us and took my pants off.
"I have no idea how I did that." Dawson smiled.
I pushed my hands free from Dawson's grip to touch his face.
"All those years as Detective Strong have paid off," I said, my voice full of desire.
He pecked my lips before returning his attention to my upper body, moving down kiss by kiss, licking his way down to my V, avoiding any contact with my throbbing cock which was sheer torture.
Dawson had definitely learned some new tricks since we’d last had sex. Or had it simply been that long and I didn’t remember how good he was? I tried to thread my hands through Dawson's hair, and as soon as I did, he peeked up and looked at me full of remorse and need.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" I asked him.
Dawson placed his chin on my stomach and bit his lip.
"Are you sure? I'm the one who hurt you," he said.
Admitting it like that, in this submissive position with my fingers tangled in his hair, I appreciated the sentiment more than when he'd spewed it out in anger earlier that morning.
I nodded.
"Then let me apologize," he whispered and lifted his head off my abdomen and grabbed my erection over the checkered fabric of my underwear. Dawson bit down on my cock through my boxers, and my breath caught. His tongue wet the fabric and made me harder.
Slowly, he slipped my boxers off and took hold of my dick, taking the head in his mouth. I fisted my hands in the sheets and tried to tame the moan I knew was coming. Dawson took more of my length until his gag reflex made him come up for air. He played with me, while the only thing I could do was stare at Dawson adoring my cock.
It had been a while since I’d had that view in front of me, and I’d be an idiot not to enjoy it while it lasted. Because surely it couldn't last. We had different lives. Different careers, for now. We were different people. Dawson was still in the closet, while I’d been forced out of it a long time ago. Despite my anger about it at the time, I felt blessed now, because I could be myself, criticism and self-doubt be damned.
No. There was no future between us. Was there? Aside from the fact that having sex didn't mean we’d be together for the rest of our lives. Life wasn't a chick-flick. Why was I even thinking about a future with Dawson anyway? We’d both grown up and changed so much; we weren’t the same people anymore.
&nbs
p; This was just sex. What better way to unwind than having sex with an old flame? If that's all this was, I was okay with it.
Dawson trailed up to my chest, then my neck, and finally my lips.
"Are you okay?" Dawson asked me.
"I'm good," I replied, bringing myself back to the present and into the room. "What? Are you finished already?"
Dawson smirked. "I haven't even started yet," he said. "I want to ride you like there is no tomorrow."
For some reason, it felt wrong hearing Dawson say those words, even if I’d heard it, and done it, countless times back in school. My cock, however, didn't have any qualms about it, because it pulsed harder.
"Are you sure?" I asked him.
"More than anything. I've missed this," Dawson said and leaned back down for a kiss. "I've missed you."
I grinned.
“In the drawer,” I said.
Dawson raised an eyebrow and fidgeted over my head until he found the box of condoms I’d stashed in the bedside table on the first day I arrived. He took a condom out of the packet and tore through the wrapper.
His hands hovered over my dick, and he placed the lubed condom on my tip, then slid it down my shaft with his mouth.
Once that was done, Dawson sat on me and took his top and pants off, slowly, sensually, in a way that only made my hunger for him stronger.
I allowed myself to admire Dawson's body. It was a sight to behold. His abs well defined. And his pecks? Damn, his chest was a place I craved to rest my head and never let go.
My gaze came down to Dawson's hardness. That I remembered. I’d had some wild nights with it, and so had Dawson with my cock.
Dawson squirted some lube over my dick and pressed his fingertip against his own ring of muscles, prepping himself for me.
When he took me in, he gasped, and a grunt escaped my lips before I could stop it. He was so tight, I fought with everything I had not to come there and then. Dawson took my entire length after a deep breath, letting out a hiss, and then came down to me for a deep, passionate kiss.
