Twenty-two

Iwoke up the following morning with Cas pressed to my front and my nose buried in his neck, the scent of his hair the breath I took. I kissed the skin at the line of his hair as I pushed my morning erection against the firm heat of his body.

He woke slowly, stretching and groaning like a cat. He turned onto his back without opening his eyes, pouting until I captured his pout with a kiss.

“Morning,” I whispered, kissing my way down his sleep-warm chest. I dusted him with kisses, sucking one nipple then the other into my mouth before continuing lower.

We’d fucked twice more last night before taking a dazed, languid shower together where I’d washed his body then his hair before sinking to my knees and sucking him off again. I wanted to do it again now.

“Good morning,” he gasped as I reached his thigh, kissing the inside of it. He spread open his legs invitingly but let out a small noise of complaint. “I’m sore everywhere. What on earth did you do to me?”

I lifted my head to say. “Fucked you senseless.”

The blush that crept across his cheeks was the most disarming thing I’d ever seen. “I’ve never had much sense, so I wouldn’t count it as a major accomplishment, Jude.”

I rolled my eyes and dipped my head to suck his warm sleep-soft cock into my mouth. He winced, but his eyes flashed with heat.

“I honestly don’t know if I have the energy,” he said.

I let him drop from my mouth. “You don’t have to do anything, just lie there and look pretty.” I smirked as I pushed his legs up and buried my face in his hole. Slowly and with focus, I ate him out until he couldn’t resist anymore. He used his hand to get himself off, and when I could see he was on the verge, I sat up and opened my mouth so he could direct the head of his cock into it.

“Fuck, I love how you taste,” I said as I kissed him, pushing his own come into his mouth with my tongue.

He whined a protest against my lips but opened his mouth and swallowed what I gave him hungrily. Then he pushed me onto my back and returned the favour.

Some binding had come loose, a line in the sand washed away, the Rubicon crossed. Because we could not, and did not, hold back after this. I touched him when I wanted to, where I wanted to, pulling him into me while we cooked to kiss him stupid, snatching the book out of his hand while he read on the sofa to pull him to his back and swallow his dick.

He instigated less – though I knew this was because of a reluctance to display certain emotions and not because his desire was less than mine – because when I initiated, I was always rewarded with an enthusiastic and deliciously submissive Cas. He knelt and bent and spread himself for me willingly. And each time he came, it was always hard and completely, and with a look of almost shock on his face. It was fucking adorable.

I got so lost in him (and us) that I forgot all about the things I’d wanted to ask him; the pills in his bathroom and the reasons he was in London, when he’d leave me again. Nothing else existed outside of us.

I knew I should be careful. It was almost identical to how it had been in those days before he’d left me for the first time. I would have moments of clarity and begin to think straight and sensibly for a bit. But then he’d appear and smile that shy smile at me, say something or do something so completely unlike the Cas I thought I knew, and I would forget again.

We’d been sleeping together four days and nights when he took a call on his mobile, bringing him back to bed in a strange mood. I assumed it had been the pervert. I wanted to ask. I’d been thinking all the time he was on the phone that when he came back we’d have the talk, but when he’d come back to bed, he’d pulled back the covers and went down on me. He’d turned me on so hard and so fast with his tongue and his hands (he’d gotten even better at the thing he used to do with the slit at the end of my dick) that I was moments away from coming. Then without a single bit of prep, he climbed on top of me, pulled me inside him, and rode me into oblivion. He’d been focused, determined, and almost angry, which had been incredibly confusing.

I hadn’t been thinking straight either because I sat up, grabbed him tight around the waist while I spread and drove up and into him and asked, “Does he fuck you as good as this?”

His eyes had blazed with arousal as he shook his head.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“No. He doesn’t...fuck me like this. Oh, shit, Jude.” He came, gasping and untouched, a few seconds later.

The following day, I was doing short laps in the pool while he watched from behind his sunglasses on one of the sun loungers. I could feel his eyes on me, appreciative and lustful. I’d never considered myself a vain person, but with him watching me, all of the things people had often told me about my appearance suddenly seemed very important. I climbed out of the pool and stalked toward him, crowding over him to kiss him, ignoring his huffs and complaints about getting him wet. When I pressed my palm to the front of his shorts, I was thrilled to find him half-hard.

“Sunglasses or not, I can see you ogling me,” I whispered at his lips.

“My eyes were closed actually,” he lied. Against my mouth, his breath was coming in quick gasps. When I kissed the side of his neck, his pulse raced against my lips.

“Mmmm sure they were.” I straightened and reached out a hand. “Come into the water with me. It will cool you down.”

He lowered his sunglasses. “I don’t think what you have planned for me in there is going to do anything of the sort.”

“Busted.”

I reached down and grabbed his good hand, and he let me pull him toward the pool. He watched me jump in before he lowered himself in at the steps. Once he was in, I immediately went toward him and crowded him against the side. He slung his arms carefully around my neck – he was wearing his sling less, but I was always careful with his splinted fingers. We kissed under the heat of the sun, the cool blue of the water lapping at our bodies as I lapped at his mouth and his jaw, and as he played with the hair at the nape of my neck.

“I love this,” I whispered. “Being here with you. No one else but us.”

I was prepared for him not to answer, but very softly, as though someone might overhear him, he said, “I do too.”

I was tempted to spoil the moment by asking him to stay with me, to leave him, to never go back to America, but I bit my tongue and hugged him close instead. We floated out into the middle of the pool, kissing lazily and deeply under the all-seeing glare of the August sun.

Later, we drank a bottle of good wine in the garden before wandering, tipsy and silly, down the street to a small Italian restaurant for huge bowls of pasta, which we ate on a small table outside. He talked about his favourite restaurant in Rome, about his course at Lervairè, about his cat – Laurent – before we walked hand in hand by the river while the sun set. I’d never been more content, not since I was a child and I knew what it was to be blessedly unaware of how painful life could be.

He looked radiant under the witching hour light. Over the last few weeks, his skin had turned a deep Grecian gold, bringing out the vibrant and dazzling azure blue of his eyes. He’d smiled more than I’d ever seen him smile, and day by day, his hand bothered him less. He was happy.

When I bought him a white rose from a seller on the bank of the Thames, he rolled his eyes but looked adorably flustered.

“You’re ridiculous, you do realise that?” he said as he took it from me.

I smiled, unapologetic. “Oh, I know. You’ve told me enough over the years.”

His smile faltered, but then he moved his rose to the other hand and re-took my hand. We’d come to a stop to watch a boat pass by, a large river boat, which seemed to be hosting a party on board. The music was loud enough to hear where we stood.

“What if I asked you to dance with me?” I turned to him. “How ridiculous would that be?”

He flicked his eyes to me, no doubt to see if I was serious. I was. He laughed and shook his head. But he danced with me, slow and wary. I’d never been more in love with him in my life. I’d never been more happy in my life.

That night when we made love, I thought my heart would burst.

“Jude,” he gasped, clinging to me. “Jude...fuck, it feels so good. You always feel so...good.” I kissed every part of his face I could reach, touching his lips just as his orgasm shot through him. He held me so tight it was as though he was afraid I might disappear, and I wanted to tell him that I never would.

“I’m yours, Cas,” I told him. “You’re mine, and I’m yours. Always. Tell me you know that, tell me.”

“I know, Jude,” he replied, soothingly. “I know.”

Since the pattern of my life had always been the same, I should have expected what was to follow. Events never turned slowly, or gradually; my tragedies were always great and sudden and complete. And this one would be no different.