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“So …” Darcy mimicked, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Here I am, as promised.”
“So I see.”
“And a nice place you’ve got here,” Darcy joked, surveying the room in mock admiration. “It’s very … neat.”
“Well, thank you.” Bron cleared his throat. “I like to keep a tidy room.”
“And this here is your bed? The very bed in which you sleep?”
Bron shrugged.
“And what else do you get up to in this bed of yours?”
He was teasing him, and Bron wasn’t sure if he should tease back. “I don’t know …” He tried to be flirty. Coquettish. “Lots of stuff.”
Darcy reached out to Bron’s chest and rubbed him there in circular motions. He didn’t utter a word.
“Do you like it when I do that?” he asked.
“Uh-huh.”
“And this?” he said. And Darcy’s lips were on his cheeks, his eyelids, and then his lips, moving toward his neck and lulling him into a state of intoxication. “And this?”
Bron sighed. “I like that very much.”
Soon Darcy’s hands were on his ribs, then crawling down to his waist to pick at the tight band of his skinny jeans. Bron lifted his arms, and Darcy swiped his top over his head, tossing it away. Bron instinctively covered his chest with his arms, but Darcy quickly removed his own shirt, and they pressed their bare torsos together.
“Mmm, that’s nice.”
“You’re very hot,” Bron said. “Temperature-wise, I mean.”
Darcy lifted an eyebrow. “Just temperature-wise?”
“N-no. Not just temperature-wise.”
Enveloped in the middle of the room, Bron rocked on the balls of his feet in a bid to stand tall and still. He thought he might topple over. Clung unsteadily onto Darcy’s shoulders.
“Should we move to the bed? To make things slightly easier?”
A pause.
“Okay.”
He went to the bed and hustled to one side of it, where the sheet was cold on his back. He took a sip of water from the glass on the table, and Darcy watched as he drank it. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, Darcy turned on the bedside lamp before lifting his legs and twisting sideways to face him.
Bron thought there to be something miraculous about that moment, the two of them lying on their sides and facing each other, suppressing the awkwardness and hesitancy to reach out for each other through cautious, silent laughter. Their closeness, two bodies scooped up in the dark, made him think back to his schooldays, but Darcy soon leaned out to hold the hard ball of his hipbone,and closed the gap between them. They began to kiss again. Bron slipped his fingers in between Darcy’s, and suddenly he wanted to bring them to his lips, slide them all the way into his mouth.
He rubbed at Darcy’s trousers, pushed his body against his. When Darcy climbed on top, Bron guided his hands gently down his muscles, strayed to the square patch of soft hair at the small of his back before descending into his underwear and squeezing him. Darcy whimpered, and Bron’s own breath came out in spurts. He couldn’t stop the thoughts encircling his brain:Why has it taken so long for us to do this when it feels so good and so right?
He loved the musky smell of Darcy’s sweat, the worn-off scent of his cologne. The way he pressed his weight into him as though he couldn’t bear for them to be two separate bodies any longer.
“You okay, Bron?”
He nodded, no longer feeling the need to use words, superfluous words that said nothing other than surface-level niceties. Words—they were best left in fiction. This here was reality. He communicated with his body, willed it to say a number of things, that yes, he was okay, more than okay, but also“Take me, I’m yours, devour me, shatter me.”
“Bron, I haven’t … I haven’t done this in a while.”
“Me neither.”
