Chapter Thirty-Three

Maeve

They're staring at me like they've just discovered something new and fascinating about me. Or like maybe I've got a bogey hanging out of my nose. I lift my hand to my face and wipe, but it comes back clean.

"What?" I ask. "What is it?"

Loncey gives me a small, soft smile. "It's you."

I feel heat in my cheeks and my voice comes out like a croak. "What about me?"

"Nothing," they say but their smile grows. "So, shall we?"

"Shall we what?" I ask, still preoccupied by trying to guess what they were just thinking about as they stared fixatedly on me.

Their fingers rub back and forth along the edge of my jaw.

"Shall we kiss?"

They want to do this. They want to kiss me. They want to kiss me and nothing else.

"Yes," I whisper.

Loncey inches closer to me and brings their other hand up to cup the other side of my face. In their hold like this, I feel tension leave my body, like I'm surrendering to them holding me up.

I close my eyes and ever so slightly pucker my lips.

"Wait, Maeve," they say gently. "First, I want to know where you're comfortable with me touching you."

They shouldn't, but my shoulders sink with irritation. I don't want to talk any more. I definitely don't want to have to tell them all the places I don't like to be touched. I don't want to highlight how different I must be from the many other people Loncey has kissed before.

"Maeve." Loncey's voice has a warning edge. They can sense my reluctance.

"Fine," I say grumpily. "No boobs, no genitals, maybe avoid my arse too."

Loncey's smile is one of amusement. "So can I touch your face? Your hair? Your arms? Your neck?"

"Yes," I say and I shiver at the prospect. If they notice, they don't comment on it. "And how about you?"

"How about me what?"

"Where can I touch you?"

Loncey looks surprised at being asked but they school their face quickly. "You can touch me wherever you want. Apart from my armpits."

"I remember," I smile at them.

"I'm glad," they say before their eyes drop to my mouth and I don't know why but it makes me laugh nervously. This is really going to happen.

And then I do what I always do when I'm anxious or nervous. I make a bad joke. "I mean, I wasn't planning on tickling you under your arms, or grabbing you between your legs, but I thought it was polite to ask."

"It was… polite."

I let out a ragged sigh and possibly overemphasise the frustration in it. My nerves are quickly turning into impatience. "Well, do we now have to decide which way your head is going to go and if we use tongue or not?"

Loncey gives me an assessing look. "Maeve, are you sure you really want to do this?"

I shake their hands off my face, my hair flying around my face and shoulders. "Well, I don't know now, do I? All this talking is making me second-guess myself and believe me, I've lived a life of second-guessing myself and I'm bored of it, bored to fecking tears—"

My outburst stops abruptly as Loncey moves slowly closer to me and I expect their lips to land on mine, but that doesn't happen. They stop when their head is beside mine, the heat from their cheek radiating to my skin.

"Maeve," they say, husky and low into my ear. "I'm going to kiss you, but it's not going to be quick or rushed. I'm going to go slow so I can listen to your body, so I know what it wants. I'm going to take my time with you."

"Okay," I say, aware of their warm breath on my earlobe and how their body brackets around mine, the bed dipping underneath our weight.

"All you have to do is say yes," they add. "And keep telling me yes, unless it's a no."

"Okay," I say.

They brush the tip of their nose on the skin where my ear meets my neck.

"So?"

"Yes," I say, my voice hoarse but I don't care. I don't care about anything but Loncey's next move.

It takes an age to come. I feel like I'm sitting there for hours with their breath coasting across my skin and the warmth of their body inching closer and closer to mine, and yet no contact is made.

"Loncey," I say, and I have a scathing remark ready. I have a very bossy, "Hurry the fuck up!" on the tip of my tongue but it doesn't come out. Instead, their mouth opens and they say one word and yet it comes out like a long, deep exhale, like they've been holding their breath for the longest time and they've finally let it go.

"Maeve," they say and then their lips are on mine. Warm, soft and plumper than I expect. There is force in their kiss and it knocks me a little off balance, pushing me back. I bring my hands down onto the bed behind me to steady myself and they ease off a little, but instantly I miss the pressure so I apply a little of my own as I chase their mouth.

As if to reward me for giving as good as I can get, Loncey's hand comes up to grip the side of my face, their thumb stroking my cheek. We stay like this for a while, our lips closed and pushing against each other. Then Loncey lifts their mouth up and kisses around my top lip, again and again and again until they drop down and do the same to my bottom lip. Then their mouth comes completely off mine and they rub their nose against mine.

I open my eyes and panic inside, fearing that this means the is the kiss over, but I am wrong. I am so very wrong. Their mouth returns to mine and this time their lips are slightly parted and they use them to nudge mine apart. I close my eyes again as I let them ease my mouth open, my head falling back a little but still safe in their hold. A second later their tongue swipes slowly across the length of my bottom lip and I sigh. It's like they want to catch that sigh when they seal my open mouth with theirs and all I can think, all I can feel is soft wet flesh, the texture of their tongue as it touches mine, and the continuous stroking, stroking, stroking of their fingertips along my cheekbone.

Our kiss deepens. Our tongues tease each other endlessly. Our mouths open wider, and our lips push harder. My tongue constantly chases theirs. I follow it as they explore my mouth, running the tip of their tongue across my teeth and taking their sweet time sucking my bottom lip into their mouth.

Loncey is true to their word and their hands only touch my face, my neck, my shoulders and my arms. As their one hand continues to cup my face as if to keep me tenderly but firmly in place, their other hand slides up the full length of my arm, their fingertips almost frustratingly light as they stroke the sensitive skin of my upper arm and collarbone. But then they slide that hand up my neck, wrapping their fingers around my throat, and there is nothing light about their touch. It's not dangerous or threatening, but their grip around my throat has intent. It's possessive and purposeful and I like it. I like feeling like they want me – sexually, or otherwise – and I realise I like it because I feel safe with it. I feel safe with Loncey.

I feel safe and I feel lost. Lost in their kiss.

Their kiss that doesn't end, and more beautifully, doesn't develop into anything else. Even as we fall back onto the bed, both of us lying side by side, and our legs become tangled, we don't stop kissing. They let go of my neck and then move their hands around the safe parts of my body, stroking my arms, my face, the underside of my chin. And I lose my hands in their hair, I squeeze the tight muscles of their arms, and I slip my hands under their clothes and spread my fingers out against their back.

At one point, I shift closer to them, feeling a slight strain in my neck from not being as close as I could be, but they shift back.

"Wait," they say and they reach a hand behind their head. They pull one of the pillows out from under them and lodge it between us.

"What…" I begin, but I immediately realise what they're doing. They're covering their erection for me.

"Thanks," I say, quietly.

"Are you okay?" they ask and I don't miss how their eyes dip down to my lips. I wonder if my mouth looks like theirs, all red and swollen.

"Fuck, yeah," I say, breathless.

"Want to stop?"

"Fuck, no." And I dive in for more.

*****

But we do stop, eventually. We stop kissing but we don't pull away. Our mouths move apart but our bodies stay close and eventually I'm pulled into their body, up against their chest, the cushion they put between us still in place.

"Shit, it's late," Loncey says.

"How late?" I ask.

"Twenty past midnight."

I yawn. "Yeah, that's pretty late."

"I should drive you back to your hotel."

"I'll get a car. I'm not making you drive all that way and then back again."

"I don't mind," they don't stop stroking my back, "or you could stay here?"

I hold my breath. "I could?"

"You said your flight's not until tomorrow night."

"But that means sharing a bed," I think out loud.

"Would that be a problem? I could get more creative with cushions if it is."

I shake my head slightly. "No, it's okay. I think… I think I'd like to share a bed with you."

Loncey pulls back to look at me. "I think I'd like it too."

"I'll need that shower first, and do you…" I pause and allow myself to feel like the vain idiot I'm always so paranoid of being seen as. "Do you have make-up remover? And skincare? And maybe some clothes I could borrow, to sleep in?"

"I have all the above, and a spare silk bonnet too." They smile at me, their teeth so white and straight.

"You have a beautiful smile, Loncey," I tell them and their face falls. "Did I say the wrong thing?"

"No." They look down. "I'm just… I'm just not used to compliments… like that."

I roll my eyes. "Are you fecking kidding me? I bet you get a million compliments a day from a small army of Internet strangers."

"But that's it, isn't it? They're from strangers. Strangers that watch me to get themselves off. They're all lust drunk or in a cum-coma or something."

"A cum-coma?" I shudder. "That sounds messy."

Loncey smiles. "What I mean is, I don't always take compliments well."

"I noticed that by the way you looked like you'd shat yourself when I said your smile was pretty."

"You can talk. You bat away every single nice thing I say to you. Or kill it with comedy."

I give them my best dazzling grin. "What can I say? It's a talent that can't be taught."

They laugh under their breath then pull back even more, disentangling themself from me and getting up. I watch Loncey move around their space before they disappear into the bathroom. They finally return with a number of items which they throw down on the bed.

"A clean toothbrush, skincare you might like, a bonnet, and a bottle of water. And to sleep in," they step to their chest of drawers, "would you like a T-shirt and shorts… or would you like the satin shorts that match that top?"

I look down at the camisole I'm wearing. "You have the matching bottoms?"

They don't catch my eye as they open a drawer. "Somewhere in here."

"Let me see what else is in this drawer of goodies," I say, getting off the bed and coming to kneel beside Loncey. "Wow," I put my hand in and pull out a handful of silk and satin negligee, "these are beautiful. Are they vintage?"

I swear I see a rush of colour bloom on Loncey's cheeks. "Some of them. But others are new."

I hold up a pastel blue top with a scalloped neckline. "How come you don't wear these clothes by day? They're stunning."

Loncey still avoids my eye contact. "Because," they begin sounding confident but then all that collapses and their shoulders sink. "I don't know. Maybe it's the last claws of misogyny or more likely, misogynoir in me, but I just always felt like it would be too much. You know, being Black, being queer, being non-binary, being poly, being a sex worker… I just feel like wearing clothes that are considered feminine would just say something more about me, and aren't I expressive enough as it is?" They rub a hand over their face. "But even as I say that, I want to call bullshit on myself."

"I know that feeling." I nod. "And I think I understand what you're saying. It's like these clothes are gendered, even though they really shouldn't be. They're just clothes for fuck's sake, but they represent something that you're not sure you want to be seen as."

Loncey's eyes finally find mine and I can't help but think how lost they look. I can almost see what they looked like as a child and it pierces my heart in the sweetest way.

"It's not like I don't like the idea of being feminine, or that I don't like femme people or things. I think one of the reasons non-binary makes sense to me is because I feel deeply connected with my feminine side and I like that. A lot. But I just know that when I share this with the world, other people's opinions seep in, they become part of the story, part of the narrative that right now I have complete control over. All of a sudden my non-binary identity becomes open for discussion again, and that already happens way too much. And that's not to mention how much more at risk Black trans femmes are of abuse and violence, and worse."

They release another long, heavy sigh.

"Also, I shared this side of myself with somebody once, somebody I loved, and it didn't go so well."

"Really? What happened?" I ask as gently as I can, but still Loncey's face hardens. I half-expect them to ignore my question but they don't. They have a wry smile on their face as they start to talk.

"Geneva was the one who told me to play up to my queer viewers. She knew I was pansexual at this point, but we never talked about. She never acknowledged or validated that part of myself. I think she thought it was a phase, that was all in the past as soon as I got with her. And yet still, she told me to be open about being pansexual because to ‘keep the gays happy' because they would help pay my bills. So I thought she'd be cool with me wearing these clothes I liked to wear. Back then it was silk boxers. They weren't even so-called girls' clothes. But she didn't like them. She laughed when she saw me in them the first time. I can still hear that cackle of hers echoing in my head."

I put my hand on their shoulder and massage the warm, smooth skin there.

"That's not cool," I say and it sounds so inadequate for the comfort I want to give them.

"Yeah," Loncey agrees and tilts their head towards where my hand is massaging their shoulder. "I should have broken up with her right then and there. But I didn't. I thought I needed her. To be successful online. And in some ways, I thought she was right. That I was wrong to play with clothes in that way. It played into the way I also thought I was wrong to feel like I wasn't a man. If I stayed with her, I also stayed in this bubble I thought was safe. But instead I just ended up eroding not just the trust between us but my own sense of self, and my self-trust."

I keep my fingers on them, stroking slowly. "Isn't it fucking ironic? The ways we hurt ourselves to try and avoid pain."

They huff out a dry laugh. "Pretty much."

"Why did you break up in the end?"

Another humourless chuckle. "She cheated on me."

"What?!"

"Yep. Her boss at work. They were married within the year of our break-up."

"My flabber is gasted," I shake my head. "What a cunt."

Their laugh finally has some real amusement in it. "Yeah. She was a cunt. Fuck, that feels good to say out loud."

I dig my fingers a bit harder into their warm skin. I want them to know I'm proud of them for that, and I'm grateful they shared.

"Can I see you, though? Wearing some of this?"

"You want to?"

"We could do a fashion show!"

Loncey laughs but then looks at me and stops. "Oh, you're serious?"

"As a heart attack."

And that's what we do. We tip out the contents of Loncey's negligee drawer onto their bed. They put on Prince's Greatest Hits and we take it in turns putting on a different camisole top, a nightie or a matching set and we prance around the cabin like it's a runway. I throw myself into it from the outset, swishing my hips, throwing my shoulders back and then tossing my hair almost violently when it's time to turn around. Loncey is slower to get into it but sure enough, by their second outfit, they're strutting with more purpose and pouting like the catwalk model they really could be with their high cheekbones, commandingly straight nose and piercing dark eyes.

It's not long before we're taking it to new extremes, throwing our arms around, putting hands on hips, and then Loncey shocks me by doing a perfect ballroom death drop, which I would have thought impossible considering what limited floor space there is. But they do it, collapsing to the floor quicker than a busted deckchair as Prince hits the chorus of When Doves Cry. And that has me bending over, wheezing with laughter.

"Fuck," Loncey grunts as they slowly get up. "I think I put my back out."

I should probably move to help them up, but I'm so overcome with laughter that it's all I can do to fall back onto their bed.

"I can't believe," I gasp between chuckles, "you did that."

Their head pops up above the bed. "I probably shouldn't have."

"It was fecking genius!" I roll over so I'm on my front. "Although it would have looked better with some eye-popping make-up on and a fuck-ton of body glitter."

Loncey's eyes slowly widen. "You think?"

"I know," I say. "You may be an expert in sex, but I am an expert in make-up, beauty and the finer things in life, like body glitter."

Loncey's gaze drops to an indeterminable point on the bed. "I would like to have a MaeBae makeover one day."

"Really?" I ask. And I don't think they know that I'm not asking them about the makeover. I'm asking them about us seeing each other again in the future. Doing more of what this evening has been: the painting, the kissing, the dressing up, the dancing, the most fun I've had in years.

"For sure," they say as they get up and it feels like that although that comment fills me with joy and hope and other light and airy things, their movement stops that conversation, so I too fold my body up so I'm sitting on their bed.

"Come on, let's sleep," they say. "Which side do you want?"

"Which side is yours?"

They shrug. "I don't have one. I alternate."

My jaw drops. "You animal."

That gets me a smile and it feels like a win.

Thirty minutes later, I'm showered. I spent much of my time in Loncey's tiny cubicle watching the paint washing down the drain and feeling a little sad but also a bit happy. It was like I was already feeling nostalgic for a moment that only just happened. When I emerge from their bathroom, we each choose the negligee we're going to sleep in, and then we take turns in Loncey's tiny bathroom for skincare and teeth brushing. We plug our phones in to charge on the countertop opposite the bed, and then we climb into bed together, silk bonnets on both our heads.

I don't know who rolls over first but we end up on our sides, facing each other.

"I haven't shared a bed with someone else in a long time. Even Arabella sleeps in the spare room at my place when she stays," I admit.

"Me neither," they say, their eyelids already looking heavy.

"Ah come on, now, don't bullshit me!"

"I'm not. It's the truth. I haven't shared a bed with someone in months, if not years. Even with Miko and Harley, I always opted to sleep alone."

"So… am I the first person to sleep over in this bed? In your cabin?"

"Yes, you are," Loncey says.

I let myself enjoy the rush of warmth this prompts as Loncey's eyes droop further.

"When did you… when did you know you were polyamorous?" I ask tentatively.

Loncey takes some time to answer, their lips rolling in and out of their mouth. "I guess when I met them."

I expect more words and I could swear I can even see the shape of some of those words in Loncey's expressive eyes, but they fall silent.

I don't know why but I push them a little more.

"Like aromantic?"

There is another pause before they answer but this one is filled with a twisted smile, one that seems to lack joy. "When I broke up with them."

I nibble on my top lip as Loncey yawns.

"You should sleep," I say.

"So should you," they say as their eyes close.

"Yeah," I agree, but I don't feel tired.

"Good night, Maeve," they say in a husky voice.

I watch them fall asleep. I track the lines and dips of their face in the dim light that filters through their windows and I'm only just realising we didn't close the blinds, but I'm happy we didn't because it means I can keep watching them. I can keep studying their chest and their lips as their breathing slows and steadies.

And then I close my eyes. But I don't fall asleep for a very long time.