Twenty-three

Caspien’s homecoming, scheduled for the last week in March, began to feel like a countdown. A countdown to the starting point of the rest of my life; when everything I was confused about or which kept me up at night, would finally be resolved.

As soon as I saw him again, I imagined some great shift would happen inside me, like a big boulder would be rolled away to reveal the answers to the questions I’d been torturing myself with for months.

I thought about how it had started between us in the summer and wondered, not for the first time, how we had ended up here. How had I gone from loathing his every molecule to hanging on his every word? How had I gone from plotting his murder to dreaming about the scent of his skin and the shape of his hands? The wanting of him had grown so immense that it had the power to stop me in my tracks.

Caspien was an altarpiece, Deveraux his reredos, and I came to him in blind idolatry.

I’d planned to break up with Ellie prior to Caspien’s returning home to Deveraux. But the week he was due back, she’d called to say her grandfather had died. Old and apparently quite senile, he’d been living in some elderly home in Norwich. She’d cried quite inconsolably over the phone while I’d said things like ‘At least he wasn’t in pain’ and ‘He knew how much you cared,’ though I had no way of knowing either was true. Before hanging up, she’d said she loved me and would call me when she arrived. I’d said it back because not saying it then wasn’t an option.

I’d gotten around the Italy question by saying Beth and Luke were considering it, and it would depend on how hard I studied for my A-Levels (my mock results had been decent) and how much I helped Luke in the lead-up to summer. Conveniently, both of these meant I’d have less spare time to spend with her. The guilt at spinning these lies lasted only as long as I was with her. After, as surely as the wave always returned to the shore, my thoughts would return to Cas.

We’d spoken only once on the phone the week he was due home. On Monday, he called to say he’d beaten Hannes at Fence with a ‘very clever point-in-line’ and then a ‘disengage.’ He was as excited as I’d ever heard him.

“What time are you due home on Saturday?” I’d cut in when I’d heard more than enough about Hannes Meier’s superior swordplay.

“The car is collecting me at 8:30; my flight leaves Zurich at eleven.” He hadn’t video-called, so I couldn’t see what he was doing, but it sounded like he was moving around. Packing, maybe. “What are your plans this weekend?” he said as though my entire month, year, hadn’t been leaning toward this point, as though it was even slightly feasible I’d made any other plans except wait for him to call.

“Not sure,” I said. “Do you want to do something?”

There was a short silence before he said, “Something?”

A jolt of delicious heat shot straight between my legs.

I swallowed. “Yeah, whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want...” he dragged it out.

I breathed out.

“What if,” he said, “I want you not to come until I get home? Do you think you could do it?”

A thousand-volt electric shock would not have had a more violent effect on my body.

“Why...would you want that?” I managed.

“Do I need a reason?”

“If you want me to do it, then I wouldn’t mind knowing why, that’s all.” It sounded terrible. Painful even. But I knew if he asked me to, I would do it. He didn’t need to give me a reason. I wasn’t even sure why I’d asked for one.

“Forget it,” he said, sighing.

“I don’t...want to.”

I could practically hear him smirking. “Very well. Then do it because I want you to. No other reason.”

I licked my tongue over my teeth. My cock was already hard and a little painful. The thought of four more days without easing that, even a little? Well, I wanted to throw up.

But there was something in his voice, something very similar to how he’d spoken to Xavier Blackwell on the phone that day, and that alone drowned out everything else.

“I’ll think about it,” I said.

“I’m willing to bet that thinking is going to become quite the challenge by, let’s say, Wednesday evening.”

I snorted. He laughed softly.

Saturday arrived with the most excruciating need I’d ever felt. My entire body trembled with it. Tight skin over jittering bones. A pulsing in my legs and hands and balls. But I’d done it. I’d done what he’d asked for no reason other than he’d asked. I was sure the moment I set eyes on him, I was going to hurt him.

I smashed a cup in the kitchen, burnt my toast, and left the pot with the eggs boiling so long the shells had turned black and the pan smelled like the metalwork department. I was pretty sure, at my age, there was a health risk in going this long without masturbating. I’d Googled it but hadn’t found anything conclusive.

His journey was Zurich to Heathrow and then Heathrow to Jersey. As far as I could tell, it was about five hours in total, so I was expecting him to be at Deveraux by dinnertime. He hadn’t said a thing about seeing me, but I’d already decided I didn’t care. I’d go over to see him regardless. In fact, I distinctly hadn’t mentioned anything about going over because I didn’t want him to say no.

I needed to see him as much as I needed to come. Perhaps even more. So if he hadn’t called me by 6:30 p.m., then I was going to cycle up to the house.

“Gideon said Cas is due home today,” Luke said after dinner.

I was lying on the couch trying to force myself through the chapter I was reading. He said it as though he might be imparting some vaguely interesting piece of information to me that I may or may not have cared about.

Luke didn’t know we spoke on the phone.

“Yeah, Gideon mentioned it to me too,” I replied.

He was flicking through his phone on the other sofa. Beth had gone into town to meet her friend for a bottomless brunch.

“Was gonna head up and see him later.”

“Cool,” he said without looking up. “I’m heading out to meet the boys for a couple around six. I’ll meet Beth out, and we’ll come back together later. Not too late, though.”

“No worries.”

My phone buzzed with an Instagram notification. Ellie had posted a picture of her and her grandfather. He was wearing a bright green Christmas jumper and one of those paper crowns you get inside crackers. She was in a headband shaped like reindeer antlers. It read: Miss you, Gramps x

I sent a heart and locked my phone again.

By 6 p.m., Caspien hadn’t gotten in touch. Luke had left in a taxi to meet his friends about twenty minutes before, and so I’d finally been able to stand and go to the kitchen to watch the road. He was sure to be home by now. Unless there’d been a delay. Unless he’d missed the connection.

My fingers itched to text him. I pulled my phone out to do just that when a text came in.

Ellie:

Miss you ?? x.

I was about to respond, debating too long over the words, when another came through.

Caspien:

what are you doing?

Was he serious?

Me:

I’m at home.

Caspien:

That’s not what I asked.

Me:

I’m not doing anything. Are u home?

Caspien:

Yes.

My hands trembled as I wrote:

Me:

Luke and Beth are out

Caspien:

How lovely for them.

Me:

if u want to come over

There was nothing for so long that I thought I might just go outside and drown myself in the lake. The speck of pride I had left wouldn’t possibly allow me to turn up there now.

But then:

Caspien:

all right.

I ran upstairs first and made sure my room was clean. Which it was since I’d cleaned and mopped it earlier for something to do. I opened the window and squirted some of my cologne into the air.

I went to piss and check my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Then I brushed my teeth. Then I worried that brushing them might indicate that I’d been expecting to kiss him, so I grabbed a bag of Skittles from the sweet cupboard, threw a handful into my mouth and chewed.

I switched the TV onto something I thought would look as though I’d been watching instead of what I’d actually been doing. A rugby union match was on, so I turned the volume up and made to settle into the couch to watch it.

I could not have told you what teams were playing or who was in the lead; my brain refusing to move past Caspien, you’re going to see him, you haven’t seen him in the flesh since September.

Six bloody months. It felt like years. It felt like yesterday. It felt like I was going to—

The doorbell rang.

My blood was popping and bursting like there were fireworks beneath my skin, my heart vibrating wildly behind my ribs. I went to go answer the door.

He stood with his hands in the pockets of his navy chinos. He wore a strange cord jacket in dark grey, a darker grey woollen shirt beneath it, and a deep wine-coloured scarf around his neck, though it wasn’t particularly cold.

His hair was shorter than it had been when I’d last seen him. A messy tangle of blonde that looked like spun silk. I realised I’d been staring too long without saying anything.

“You know I don’t actually need an invite to come in,” he said. “We own this house. It’s just a matter of manners.”

“You sure you’re not a vampire?”

“Why, would you like me to suck you dry?” he said and stepped inside.

He sat on the couch. I offered him a drink (Don’t you have anything stronger than this?). Skittles (They will ruin your teeth, you know?). Food (Elspeth prepared an entire tasting menu for me—I needed to walk it off).

He’d taken off his jacket and scarf and was sitting on the opposite end of the sofa with his legs slightly spread, long fingers settled on his thighs. I wasn’t sure if he was actually watching the rugby. Or just pretending to like I was.

All I could smell was him, fresh air, and something sweet, and there was a battle inside myself not to throw myself on top of him and rut against him until I came.

His eyes were still on the TV when he said, casually, “Did you do it then?”

There was absolutely no emotion in his voice. He might have been asking what I had for dinner (a single roast potato because I couldn’t stomach a thing). But still, I knew what he was asking. I took a long drink of my Coke. Hoped my throat wasn’t dry so that words would sound normal.

“What if I did?”

I saw him shift his body a little, tongue dipping out to trace his lower lip.

“I’d ask you to prove it.”

I made a weird snorting noise. “And how exactly would I be able to do that?”

He turned his head then and looked between my legs. Then he shrugged. “You could show me it.”

“How would that prove anything?” I tried styling it out because the thought of taking out my dick to show him how hard it was, was causing my brain to derail slightly.

“I’ve an aptitude for this sort of thing.” He was smiling now, a pretty sharp thing that felt like a knife at my throat.

I was suddenly afraid. What if this had all been some terrible joke to him? What if the moment I pulled it out, he’d stand up and point and laugh? Despite what we’d done over the phone for the last few weeks, this still seemed like the sort of thing he might do.

So I said, “You first.”

He stared at me a few long moments then rolled his eyes and pulled out his dick. It was half-hard, pretty and pale like the rest of him. It was longer than it had looked in his hand on any of our calls, and the end a deep pink. He pulled at it lazily while he raised an eyebrow at me, expectant.

I unzipped and manoeuvred the stiff aching thing out of my jeans. Even this was torturous; every graze and shift of fabric making it vibrate with shocking sensitivity. Caspien’s eyes on it felt as good as him touching it.

“Christ, it really is quite something,” he said, looking at it.

My chest puffed up. “Thanks,” I smirked.

He met my eye, something wolfish in his gaze. “Does she like it? Your girlfriend? I bet she does.”

I stopped breathing.

“Do you shove it down her throat?”

I wasn’t certain what was happening, only that my mind was recoiling even as my dick throbbed.

“I like being choked on someone’s dick like that,” he told me. “The bigger the better, really. I like it to feel as if I’m going to die.”

I let out a strangled groan and felt something pulse out of the head of it.

Caspien was alternating between looking at my dick and my face, conductor-like concentration in his eyes. He stroked his own without urgency.

“Would you like to do that to me, Jude? Shove that…” He indicated it. “…so far down my throat I can’t breathe? Choke me with it?”

“Caspien,” I warned.

He smirked. “Tell me what you’d like to do to me.”

“I...” I wasn’t even touching it, and it was pulsing, a stream of liquid leaking out of the tip. “I’d like...to kiss you again.”

He blinked a few times. Surprised.

“Well, do it then,” he said.

I leapt across the couch and pressed him into it with my body. His bare dick chafed against mine as I shoved my tongue down his throat. I moaned, deep and satisfied, as I tasted him.

There are things I’ve tasted since – the burrata from that café by the Tiber in Rome, the croissant from that café in St Mark’s Square, the hot chocolate from Angelina’s on the Rue de Rivoli – that I’d describe as little pieces of heaven on earth. But his mouth, laced as it was with grape and watermelon, altered my brain chemistry in a way that I’ve never been able to undo.

He let out a little huff of breath at first, but then he was kissing me back. Our first kiss had been a strange thing, our second a rushed desperate chaos of lips, but this, I decided, would be something else. I kissed him slowly, deeply, I tilted my head and sucked and bit at his lips in gentle motions. I drew my tongue over his and curled it around it. Caspien sank into the couch deliciously submissive, his body softening and hardening at the same time. When I felt him grab my dick I thought my body might erupt in flames.

He stroked my dick with his long, elegant fingers, his touch a searing brand. His mouth, a warm, wet paradise I never wanted to leave. I lasted less than ten seconds before I gasped, bit down on his lip, and poured great floods of white over his hand.

After, I sat up and muttered an apology, but he just wrapped his hand, still covered in me, around himself and stroked.

His eyes never left mine as he did it, and I watched, bewitched, my brain popping and fizzing like champagne as he made himself come. His own orgasm was gentle and restrained, and it slipped out of him in a series of small gasps. He scooped up his own mess – mixed now with mine – and sucked them into his mouth to lick them dry. Then he leaned across to kiss me, pushing our come into my mouth with his tongue.

My head spun as my dick twitched back to life.

I kissed him back eagerly, not at all minding the thick sour taste of us inside his mouth.

I was already desperate to do it again.