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Darcy touched him through his trousers. “I want to, though.”
“You do?”
“Yes, I do, very much. I get this strange feeling, whenever you are near, that at any moment you could disappear, ghostlike, into somewhere unreachable. Sometimes I think I’ve completely imagined you, lurking about as you do.” He continued to rub him, tease him at the band of his underwear. “But if you were to disappear now I … I don’t know how I’d—”
“I’m here,” Bron said, grabbing Darcy’s hand and placing it on his chest. Kissing him all over. “And here and here and here. And you say you want me?”
“I do,” Darcy repeated.
“How much?” Bron said, steering him through limits they had yet to cross. “Show me.”
Darcy parodied a stern voice. “Unbutton your trousers.”
Bron did as he was told, and Darcy knelt at his head to kiss his collarbones, then down to his nipples, and eventually to his stomach. He streamed back up to Bron’s lips after spitting into his palm, and slid his hand into Bron’s underwear, holding the length of him.
“Is that nice?” Darcy asked.
A nod, a constancy of them.
“I want you to say that it’s nice.”
“Yes, that’s nice,” Bron whispered. “It’s really nice.”
“I think I should like to see you now, all of you.”
“Okay,” Bron said, sitting up. He shimmied his trousers down his hips, his legs, until they got stuck. Soon he was yanking at them and conscious of Darcy’s laughing.
“Could you … I mean … maybe stop laughing and help me?” Bron was laughing too, so loudly he worried his voice might carry.
Darcy pulled them until he was freed. “That’s better.” He brought his hands to Bron’s mouth to suppress his laughter, almost suffocating him.
“And now you?”
“If you insist.” Darcy unbuckled his belt, undid his zipper. Bron sat up to kiss his stomach and helped him lower his trousers. He nestled his head in Darcy’s lap, ready to take him.
But Darcy pushed him onto the bed and climbed on top of him. From there, he nuzzled his head into his neck and lingered there a while. Before they knew it, they were completely naked, Darcy gripping onto his hips and Bron holding onto his back, grinding into each other. He dropped his hands lower. Squeezed.
Bron’s tongue in Darcy’s mouth, their faces wet, the groans in his throat, then out of Darcy’s, an animalistic moan. A cry met with another, one of equals, of need.
“God, I want you, Bron.”
Bron. Bron. Bron.When Darcy called his name, he claimed him. And Bron responded:Take me, take me, I’m all yours.
“Oh, the things I am going to do to you—”
Tap, tap, tap.
Three little knocks on the door, which, in that moment, sounded like a bang. Darcy pulled hurriedly away from him, hitting into the side of the bedpost.
“Bron, Bron, are you awake?” Ada’s little squeak from behind the door.
“Don’t you dare answer her,” Darcy whispered, stumbling onto the floor to search for his shirt, fumbling to drag up his trousers. In a frenzy, he searched for a place to hide. Bron looked from him to the door, and back again.
Three more little knocks.
“It’s Papa—and Darcy. They won’t answer their doors to me. Have they gone somewhere?”
He, too, was on his feet now, and yanking on his dressing gown that hung on the back of the ensuite door. “N-no, I don’t think so, Ada.”
