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“Rhythm?”
“Aye.” Jake tapped slow fingertips against Harrison’s spine. “Keeping time for each other when one of us loses the beat a bit.”
Warmth spread through Harrison so suddenly it almost hurt.
Christ.
This bloody man.
But, because he physically couldn’t allow the moment to remain entirely sincere, Harrison said, “Alright, rock star. You can keep hitting me with your rhythm stick.”
Jake barked out a laugh loud enough to shake the mattress and Harrison smiled at the sound of pure joy, then he leaned forward and kissed him, before snuggling into him beneath the tangled sheets where Jake’s heartbeat thudded steadily beneath Harrison’s ear, as if finally keeping time with his own.
And with the sounds of Hartswick fading low beyond the grimy windows and Jake’s arms clamped around him, Harrison fell asleep without fear for the first time in years.
Chapter twenty
No Safe Footing
Jake spent Sunday memorising Harrison Black.
Every inch of him.
And loving every fucking second.
He’d bailed on the usual Sunday dinner at his parents’, promising Teddy he’d make it up to him next week. Teddy had complained down the phone that it wasn’t mates-before-dates behaviour, were it, while Jake laughed quietly from the bed, listening to Harrison shower in the next room.
“I very much need this one day,” Jake whispered conspiratorially into the phone. “For the securing of future dates that I can bin off for you, alright?”
“When will I see you then?”
“I’ll come pick you up from training on Monday. Give you another guitar lesson here, aye?”
“Fine.”
“Good lad. Now I better go.”
Teddy, somehow, understood. For a thirteen-year-old, the kid understood far too much.
And maybe that was why, when Harrison finally emerged from the bathroom with damp hair curling at the nape of his neck and steam clinging to his skin, Jake threw his phone away and dragged him straight back into bed again.
Because, Christ, Harrison Black was a delight to fuck.
It was glorious. An entire day hidden away inside Jake’s cramped little bedsit, music drifting low from his playlist while the town carried on outside, doing almost nothing except kissing, touching, fucking, and sleeping for an hour before starting all over again.
And Jesus, Harrison could certainly keep up for an older bloke. Not that Jake would ever say that aloud unless he fancied being strangled with his own bedsheets. But the man gave as good as he got. Better, actually. Harrison kissed as if he meant every single one and touched Jake with a level of care and attention that made him realise how rarely anyone had before. And he knew what to do with all the bits in between, too. The lazy mornings when neither of them was trying to get off. Lying around half naked with Jake sprawled across him, talking absolute bollocks and seemingly in no hurry to be anywhere else.
Jake hadn’t done that before.
It was pretty fucking brilliant, as it turned out.
Then when Harrison muttered that he should head home, maybe check in with the office, perhaps do something more productive than spending an entire weekend getting ruined by Jake Whitton, he never actually made any move to leave.
Strangely, Jake didn’t want him to.
So by evening Jake plugged his laptop into the tiny television he barely used, stuck some Netflix shite on neither of them properly watched, and ordered takeaway they ate half naked in bed while dusk settled outside the windows.
Fucking heaven.
