Absence Abstinence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder Cum Shoot Higher

Claude

Neither Sonny nor I could maintain eye contact for longer than one-point-five seconds without bursting into laughter. That, coupled with Jenny’s incessant, “What’s he laughing at? What’s so funny? Why are you laughing now?” in my head, it had all become a little too loud.

Dinner, at least, provided some respite from Jenny’s confused whinging.

Willow served pigeon with sautéed potatoes for me and a wonderfully bright salad for Sonny. Butternut squash, blue cheese, pomegranate seeds, apple slices, and a rainbow of unrecognisable leaves. Sonny was able to recite the official plant name for each one and devoured the entire dish, leaving not a molecule.

For dessert, we both had pear and chocolate tart with brandy cream. My cheeks heated. From the booze and the company.

But I had forgotten about Jenny’s nagging until we’d placed our napkins back on the table, said goodnight to Willow and Oggy, and headed into the main part of the house and up towards our rooms.

“I have several dining spaces and kitchens. You could eat inside me, you know?” Jenny said.

“That... just sounds wrong,” I replied. Sonny glanced at me and raised a brow. A small shake of my head told him it wasn’t worth the explanation.

We walked in relative silence, our bellies full and sated, and going by Sonny’s contented yawn, his mind was on sleep. Mine was very much still firmly fixed on our earlier conversations.

“It’s a very kind offer, Jenny. But I think, on this occasion, abstinence will be the most favourable option for all parties involved.”

He was right, of course. Abstinence. I could manage a month or two without a wank.

“Do you like him?” Jenny asked.

I side-eyed Sonny but pretended like I hadn’t heard the house speak.

“I mean, do you like, like him?” it continued. I remained stoic, though my heart started beating a little more erratically and the air temperature rose by about three hundred degrees. “D’you know how many people I’ve had inside me over the past millennia? Thousands. That’s how many. Six thousand, six hundred and eleven to be precise. Used to have so many parties back in the day. But d’you know what? Sonny is by far the cutest of them all. Don’t you think he’s cute? If I had fingers, I’d pinch his cheeks so hard. Tell me I’m not making it up.”

I ignored the sentient house, thankful it couldn’t read minds, though semi-nervous that on a soul-deep level I thought Sonny was cute.

He was cute. Adorable even.

Like the way he had to fold his stupidly long legs at weird angles to get them under the table, and the way they’d always brush mine no matter which position he placed them in. Or the way he only ever used a fork to eat. Never a knife. He would use the side of it to slice down through his food and then spear it on the end or scoop it up like a shovel. Or the way he covered his mouth with his dirty painted-nails when he giggled. But when he laughed, he threw his head back and his arm out, often bracing himself on my shoulder like if he didn’t he’d implode into a puff of mirth.

Over dinner, between fits of laughter, we decided that tomorrow we would visit the ley lines and “try shit out” to see if something “felt” right. Sonny had spent the day making notes on a scrap of paper. Things that we, or I, should at least experiment with. Some things that were probably too obvious to be an ancient, sacred ritual, but were worth checking off the list anyway, and other things that were related to folklore about mushrooms. Though Sonny seemed pessimistic about the likelihood of these doing anything useful, considering they were tales which had been told and passed down through centuries, even millennia of generations, and therefore didn’t pass the whole “can’t tell anyone about the ritual” vibe-check.

And it led me to believe that perhaps Sonny understood more about this than I was giving him credit for. Like, perhaps he already knew that once he found out what the magic involved, he wouldn’t be able to write it in his paper. I wanted to ask him, but part of me was afraid he didn’t realise, and the epiphany would make him quit.

I needed him. To help save the house and its occupants, but also, I really liked having him around.

We stopped at the top of the spiral staircase. Sonny jiggled the knob on his door, but it wouldn’t budge.

“It’s locked?” he asked. Presumably he was speaking to Jenny. “Look, I’m just gonna have a shower and then I’ll come straight over to Claude’s room.”

The handle clicked all the way down and the door opened.

Jenny spoke. “Ask him if he’s going to do what you did in the shower.”

I ignored it. “Well, I’ll see you in a while, I guess.”

“See you in a bit,” he said, and he nipped inside his room, closing the door behind him with a smile, leaving me in the dim hall.

I went into my room and flopped onto my couch like a lovesick teenager.

Wait—damn, was I lovesick?

“Oh, my gods, you are literally so in love with him,” Jenny said.

I groaned. I’d forgotten there was no escaping it now. “I am not ‘literally so in love with him,’ okay? I like him a normal amount.” Though I was glad I could say those words out loud. “He’s helping me save your ass.”

“I’ll tell you if he masturbates in the shower.”

“No! Please don’t. That seems like a huge invasion of his privacy. Besides, I already know he won’t. We made a sort of pact on it.”

The house sighed in resignation. “So settle a bet for me—”

“Who are you making bets with? Yourself?” I said, flapping my arms to my sides.

“Of course not, you butt-crack. I’m making bets with the Earth Bells.”

“The Earth Bells?”

“The tiny mushroom folk who live in the hills.”

“You can talk to other people besides me?” I was on my feet, my brain going into overdrive. Ideas popping like fireworks. “Do the Earth Bells know what the rhizome ritual is? Have they ever seen it?”

“Sure, they always watch, the little degenerates.”

My heart started beating at super speed. “Can they tell me what it is?”

“Nope,” Jenny said.

“Because of the shroom law, right?” I climbed the steps to the mezzanine level in an effort to rid myself of the sudden spike in adrenaline, followed by the crash of disappointment. “Because that would be far too easy.”

“No, because they are mushroom folk. They don’t have vocal chords. Crikey, what did you learn at school?”

I sat on the end of the bed and undid the laces of my brogues. “Apparently nothing.”

“You didn’t let me ask my question,” Jenny went on.

I held out my hands in a go ahead gesture.

“Masturbation—”

“Dear lord, please stop.” My face found my splayed palm.

“Is it an activity purely for enjoyment, or is it like a necessity, like a chore, something that has to be done?”

Jenny was quiet, evidently waiting for my answer.

I blew out a breath and spoke through the gaps in my fingers. “Uh...” Gods save me, I was talking to a sentient house about wanking. “It’s both, I suppose.”

Jenny hmmed . “Very interesting. Is it painful? It looks painful.”

I laughed, peeled my face away from my hand. “Not painful exactly, more like... intense.”

“That makes no sense,” Jenny said matter-of-factly. “What happens if you don’t do it for a while?”

“I guess we’re gonna find out together, aren’t we?”

I removed my suit, no longer bothering to hide my body from Jenny. It would see everything anyway. What was I supposed to do, change in the guest house? Plus, it had already told me it liked my tummy.

I dressed in my PJs and straightened the duvet on the bed. Fluffed Sonny’s pillows. Spritzed a lavender sleep spray about the place. Put the cosy softer lamps on instead of the big overhead lights.

Jenny giggled. I ignored it.

There was a soft knock at my door.

“You don’t need to lock the door behind him, okay?” I whispered to Jenny. “He can sleep in this bed the whole time he’s here. I know you think you’re gonna achieve something by pushing us together, but we’re doing this to keep you alive. So don’t scare him off.”

“You make a valid point,” Jenny said, and the door swung wide open.

And there he was, framed in the doorway, wearing my train-print pyjama pants I loaned him last night, bare feet and a good four inches of ankle poking out the bottom. On the top half, a black T-shirt with a white screen-print cat and the text Sleepy Kitties are Happy Kitties . I guessed I was getting to see his bedtime tees now.

Damn, why was that the cutest thing ever?

“Hi.” Sonny pushed his wet hair off his forehead. His cheeks grew pink.

“Hi,” I said back, climbing down the steps to meet him.

“Tell me you see it already?” Jenny said. Of course, Sonny made no response. “You’re a different person when you’re around him. I’m right, aren’t I? You have a crush on him.”

“I brought a notepad. In case we get any ideas about the ritual at night, and need to jot them down.” Sonny scratched at a spot on his nose. He looked away from me. “It’s still okay to crash here, yeah?”

“Yes,” I squeaked, cleared my throat. “Yes.”

The answer was for both Sonny’s and Jenny’s questions.

Sonny and I settled in my bed, taking up the same positions as the night before. I tried not to breathe in the shower-fresh scent of him. His clean, mossy incense smell. Was it his soap, or his shampoo, or just his smell? In any case, it was doing all sorts of funny things to my body, which I largely pretended weren’t happening.

I lamented not using the same time to shower, but it hadn’t occurred to me. I liked morning showers, where I would be fresh for a day on the underground trains. Where my skin would be warmed and soft and ready to shave. But now I was getting paranoid that I hadn’t washed the day’s stink off me, and poor Sonny would have to breathe in my musty funk all night.

“Do I stink?” I blurted. Sonny pulled his brows together, tilted his head to the side. “I can go shower if you want me to.”

“You don’t have to. I like the way you smell,” he said, before closing his eyes in a slow blink and grimacing.

Neither of us spoke for a few seconds, possibly minutes. Sonny’s comment echoed through my memory. He was fae. He couldn’t lie. Which meant... he did like the way I smelled.

If Jenny could tell I had a crush on Sonny, maybe it’d be able to say if the reverse was true as well.

Sonny eventually broke the silence. “Did I get taller, or does this bed seem smaller to you?”

“Jenny?!” I yelled. “I am this close”—I held my thumb and forefinger out like I was holding a golf ball—“to getting the overground back to Borderlands and letting you dissolve into compost.”

The bed grew by ten centimetres each way.

The house groaned. “I’m just trying to help a guy out. When was the last time Little Claude—ha! That’s not accurate, is it? When was the last time Not-So-Little Claude saw any action?”

I pretended not to hear the house.

“So, tomorrow, I thought we could go to the ley lines and...” Sonny began.

“Try shit out,” we both said.

I had an idea. “Jenny, would we know if we stumbled across the right thing? Like, would there be any sign?”

“Oh, you’ll know,” Jenny said.

“What did it say?” Sonny asked.

“It said yes, we’ll know.”

Sonny’s eyes lit up. He sat upright, and the covers tumbled into his lap. “How will we know? What will happen?”

“He’s a scientist. He’ll work it out,” Jenny said.

“You can’t tell us, can you?” I asked.

To which Jenny mimicked my voice, made it higher pitched, whinier. “You can’t tell us, can you? Whaaaah.”

Sonny watched my expression closely, his black eyes trained on my face, a ghost of a smile echoing around his mouth. Damn, he was gorgeous.

“It can’t or won’t help us,” I said. Based on what Willow and Oggy had told me about the house, I’d wager the latter was true. Maybe it was deliberately sabotaging things.

But, no . . . that would be so stupid.

As though Sonny read my thoughts, he said, “Seems self-destructive, but whatever.” He sighed and relaxed against the headboard. The back of his head hit the wooden slats, and he closed his eyes.

My eyes followed the curve of his jaw, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed on his swallow, the long line of his neck, his collarbone, the way the fabric of his sleep tee hung over the contours of his chest. And I swallowed too, my mouth suddenly very dry.

Sharing a bed with Sonny for the next month or two and not being able to “release the tension” was going to be one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do.

Literally.

I whined, and face-palmed at my accidental pun.

“What did it say?” Sonny asked. Oh, he thought I was talking to the house, not having an internal debate about masturbation.

I decided to be honest. To a point. “It didn’t. I was just thinking about how difficult it’s going to be over the next, however long, not doing... the thing we said we wouldn’t do.”

Sonny laughed. He understood what I was referring to. Perhaps it’d been on his mind, too. “Honestly? I’m kinda bricking it. I’ve never considered how often I—” He broke off, laughing, his cheeks pink. I had to adjust my position on the bed just in case. “There was one time, when I was maybe a hundred and fifty, I went travelling with my parents and my sisters for the summer. In an RV. The beds were all in a single communal space, and the walls surrounding the on-board bathroom were as thin as tissue. I couldn’t... all summer... I thought I was going to burst. At one point I snuck into some random, abandoned roadside barn to... you know.”

Oh, my gods. He was adorable.

“We’ll just have to not think about it. And try not to think about anything that might trigger the... appetite for it,” I said.

He bit his lip, making my lower abdomen clench and my dick twitch.

“I can definitely try to do that,” he said, nodding.

Well, that made one of us.

“Are you okay if I switch the light off now, or did you want to make notes or read or something?” I asked.

He slid down under the covers. “Nope, I’m ready. Good night, Claude.”

“Night, Sonny.” I clicked the lamp off. Settled myself into my usual sleeping position.

After a minute of quiet, Sonny spoke. “Truth or dare?”

Dare. And please say, I dare you to kiss me.

Instead, I said, “Truth.”

“How come, all those times I asked you to get coffee with me, you turned me down?”

“Uh...” I faltered. Because I’d figured a guy like him—as attractive, and cool, and intimidating as he was—wouldn’t genuinely want anything to do with me. That I would say yes to his proposal and he’d point and laugh and tell me he’d been kidding. Why would a young fae like Sonny have any genuine interest in a miserable old U-Rail conductor like me? I’d be fooling myself if I ever thought I stood a chance. “I don’t drink coffee.”

It was the truth. I only prayed he wouldn’t ask if that was the only reason.

“Sure,” he said, and I got the sense he knew there was more, but he didn’t push me on it.

“Truth or dare?” I asked.

“Dare.”

I dare you to kiss me. “Tell me more about plants or soil, or whatever you’re passionate about.” Let me fall asleep to the sound of your voice again. “Please.”

He shifted on the mattress, turning his body onto his side to face me. Even with the light off, there was no mistaking his smile. “My biggest passion is soil. And everything that is the soil, including fungi, and what we can do as individuals to save the planet through good soil health...”

And while Sonny waxed lyrical about microbes, and bellyached about artificial fertilisers—which he referred to as the grim reapers of the soil—I realised I’d spent so long fearing this man’s voice. Worrying he would strike up a conversation with me beyond the initial, “Tickets please.” Worrying about what I’d say to him if he did. How I could say as little as possible for fear of putting my foot in it and making a gigantic tit of myself.

But it wasn’t like that with him. Not at all. It was easy and fun, and his voice seemed to soothe something so deep in my soul I had no idea it needed soothing.

Even Jenny must have sensed it, because the house made no attempt to interrupt Sonny.