4. 4

"You never called," came from behind Joq where he was waiting for his coffee.

"Again," Chris finished as he came to stand beside him, a ridiculously happy smile on his face.

"Neither did you," Joq replied easily, surprised by his answering smile.

Chris grinned.

His phone started blaring in his pocket. Joq frowned and looked away; it was none of his business, but who the fuck was calling this guy all the time? He had a horrible flash of memories—George's phone going off constantly at weird times, the way George would hastily leave a room. He'd been so stupid.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and faced forward. He was not doing that again. If this guy had a boyfriend or other guys he fucked—Joq didn't want to know.

"Would you like me to call?" Chris asked, his tone still playful but like he read the mood change and toned it down.

Joq rubbed his eyes. "I honestly don't know," he replied. "Probably not."

A laugh burst out of Chris and Joq had to look at him. Chris was looking back, his handsome face caught between accepting being shut out and bemused.

Joq flicked his eyes to Chris' lips and recalled the feel of his dick sliding in and out of that mouth, the way Chris just let him take before he gave it to him so good Joq felt it in the best way for days.

Joq had to hand it to him, he thought as he looked back into his hesitant eyes, Chris could deliver.

"Maybe yes," he shrugged.

Chris huffed another surprised laugh and when Joq's order was called, he went and got it and turned to hand it to him.

"Maybe we could get dinner this time?" Chris asked as Joq took his coffee.

Joq wasn't sure about that, but maybe they could fuck again. Before he could reply, Chris' phone rang again.

"And maybe you should get that," he said flatly, all interest evaporating as he stepped away.

Chris followed him, easily matching his pace.

"It can wait," Chris replied. "So, dinner?"

Chris' phone stopped. Started up again.

Joq shook his head. Only a partner would be that insistent. He was not doing that again.

"Coffee?" Chris tried.

"Take your call," Joq said, his tone far too cold for someone who was a step up from a stranger.

"It can really wait," Chris insisted. "And I'd really like to see you again."

"God, why?" Joq asked, sipping his coffee. It was good, but it's not like he couldn't get just as good elsewhere.

"Because we had a good time?"

"I don't do repeats," Joq delivered the line he'd delivered to overzealous hook-ups before. But it didn't have to be true anymore, did it? He didn't do repeats because he'd had a goddamned boyfriend. A boyfriend who not only did do repeats but went and fell in love and married the fucking repeat.

"I get it," Chris replied, his long legs strolling beside Joq's, head nodding in a way like he truly did get it. "You're not into it anymore."

Joq was definitely into it, had been right into it; he remembered the way he'd licked Chris' come into his mouth. He never got that kinky.

"That's not the problem." And why was he still talking?

"It's not?" And Chris sounded so surprised, Joq had to look at him.

"No," Joq said like Chris was stupid—of course no, what moron has a one-night stand that good and wasn't after more?

"Really?"

They arrived at the end of the street, waited at the light change that would take Joq to the stadium. Joq side-eyed Chris, who seemed to be waiting for an answer.

"Yes, really," he said slowly. "That's not the problem."

"Then what is the problem?" Chris asked.

The walk sign lit up and they started to cross. Joq had no idea where Chris worked in his expensive and perfectly tailored suit, but he was guessing it was not in the direction of the stadium and away from the CBD. He matched Joq's pace though, and when Joq looked up at him, he saw his small but confused smile as they weaved in and out of the throngs of people crossing.

"I don't do repeats," Joq repeated but it felt hollow because it was. What was the problem?

"Why?" Chris asked.

"Don't you need to get to work?" Joq jerked his chin up and down Chris' body. "Is it your boss calling?"

Chris chuckled. "I'm the boss, so, no, it's probably Brendan."

Joq's stomach dropped. He had no room to judge an open relationship, but if this feeling of bleakness was anything to go by, he wasn't cut out to do it again.

"My lawyer," Chris smiled, "and best friend, but since he's my lawyer now too the best friend part gets a bit strained."

Joq nodded, relieved, but he still couldn't fuck Chris again.

"Aren't you like, twenty-five?" he asked.

Chris was still strolling along beside him, hands tucked in his pockets, the morning sunshine catching the natural highlights in his brown hair, his smile warm.

"Twenty-seven. And you? Thirty?"

"Thirty-four," Joq replied just before they reached the bridge to the stadium. He stopped. Chris' phone rang again and Joq watched him take it out, reject the call and silence it before he tucked it back and smiled down at Joq.

"So, we're both consenting adults, that's good."

Joq huffed a laugh. This guy.

"Yeah, okay," he said.

"Yeah, okay, you want to again?"

Joq shrugged. "Why not? It's not like I've got a boyfriend."

Chris frowned at him. "I fucking hope not."

Joq laughed. He couldn't be bothered explaining. "See you at seven," he said and moved for the bridge. "You can stop following me now."

He heard Chris' answering laugh as he replied. "See you then, I'll text you my address."

Joq lifted a hand. He'd shoot that down via text—a hotel room was better, less personal, but then he thought, why was he still maintaining these boundaries? A decade-old habit that had no place anymore. But the thought of entangling himself with another person again exhausted him.

He looked back at Chris watching him, frowning, but he smiled when Joq looked, waved stupidly like he knew it was stupid too. Joq rolled his eyes.

Well, at least he was getting laid again. That was a good start.

He opened the little gate and walked up the cobblestoned pathway to knock on the door to the townhouse Chris had sent him the address to. Inner city and no doubt heritage-listed, the place was worth over a million in any market. Joq wondered for a second what the hell Chris did for a living. His suits were the thousands of dollars kind too—Armani and Ralph Lauren if Joq had to guess—and they looked personally tailored. And he was only twenty-seven.

Joq knocked and thought about himself seven years ago—working the stadium, stuffed in George's closet in George's austere mansion in Toorak—and felt a pang of insecurity. The feeling was so unfamiliar in a hook-up situation, he almost walked away. He'd certainly felt insecure with George in that final year, but not like this; this was inadequacy.

Before he could turn around, the large, green wooden door opened and Chris was greeting him with a warm, breathless smile.

"Hi, you came, come in," he said as he stepped back.

"I said I would," Joq replied.

But Chris looked good—in his faded jeans and bare feet, still in a white suit shirt but untucked with the collar open to bare his throat—and Joq felt the desire to fuck him, to lose himself in this young, uncomplicated body and forget about George.

"You did," Chris agreed and shut the door with a heavy thud.

Joq kept his back to him as he toed off his shoes, glanced around—an ornate staircase in front, a long hallway with polished wooden floorboards that led to what he imagined was the kitchen and dining area, a luscious garden flanking a cobblestoned courtyard out the back and giving that end of the place open light against the white walls. He glanced to his left as he worked his shoe off, took in the sitting room, well-lived in and full. The whole place immediately felt like that—lived in, loved, with books and expensive, yet well-used furniture in front of an open fireplace.

"This is nice," Joq said as he turned back to Chris hovering behind him.

"My grandfather's," Chris replied. He seemed nervous. He was still the confident young man Joq barely knew, but there was a hint of nervousness in the way he stood like he was trying to be still when what he really wanted to do was move.

But that explained it.

"Is he here?" Joq asked hoping to fuck not.

Chris cracked a smile. "No, he's dead. I inherited," he kept his eyes on Joq and went on, though he didn't seem invested in what he was saying, "I've got my eye on a place in Brighton, but this does the trick for now."

Brighton was prime real estate, which made Joq wonder again what the fuck Chris did.

What Chris was doing now was nothing but stare.

Joq was about to get things started when Chris moved forward. "I was going to offer you a drink, I've got food as well," he slid his hand around Joq's waist, eyes checking in just before he made the move, which Joq welcomed with a slight tilt of his head, "but I think I need to kiss you first?"

Joq was walked back until he was against the wall and Chris was looming over him.

"Why is that a question," Joq replied.

"Because," Chris braced one arm against the wall and crowded him in, tucked his hair behind his ear with the other and stroked his cheek, "we never talked about it. What's the kissing etiquette if we're just hooking up? Can we do it if we're not doing anything else?"

"I thought we'd do everything else," Joq stated.

"Kiss hello," Chris leaned down and brushed his lips against Joq's and pulled back in the world's worst tease, "then drink and eat, then bed."

Joq shook his head. "Kissing," he leaned up, kissed him, and it felt exceedingly intimate as he broke away to finish, "then I'm going to suck you off."

Chris groaned and kissed him. He shuffled forward and pressed him against the wall, his hands cradling Joq's face, brushing his cheekbones with his thumbs.

Joq had to break away. It was too much.

"Okay?" Chris asked, he brought his head back slightly, his breathing harsh. "Too fast?"

"I think," Joq replied and was surprised he needed to keep his voice even—Chris was just looking too closely, too intensely. Joq reached under Chris' shirt and undid his pants quickly, "I promised to blow you."

He slid down the wall before Chris could refuse, hooking his thumbs into his waistband and dragging so Chris' jeans were slung lower on his hips.

"Shit, are you sure, I'm not—"

Joq got his hand around Chris' half-hard dick and stroked, cutting Chris off with a gasp. He knew what he was going to say—I'm not hard yet—but Joq could get him there. He leaned in and sucked the tip into his mouth.

Chris groaned, braced himself on the wall with his forearms and looked down. Joq flicked his eyes up and smiled around his dick. Chris laughed, rocking his hips forward. Joq could feel him hardening already as he shifted in polite increments into Joq's mouth, his eyes never leaving Joq's. Joq had to squeeze his eyes closed as he sank all the way down to the base. He pulled back as Chris cursed above him.

He was suddenly assaulted by the memory of George going soft in his mouth, his bullshit excuses, and the depleted feeling that had sunk in afterwards. But worse, and barely acknowledged, he'd felt like he wasn't desirable, like he was the kind of guy who inspired other guys to go soft.

He choked a little on nothing because he only had the tip in his mouth, and he had to pull off and smother a broken sound that came out of nowhere. He put his hand on Chris' dick and stroked him—he was hard and getting harder the more Joq worked him over—but Joq had to hide his face, squeeze his eyes shut tightly as he tried to shake it off.

"Hey," Chris' hand wrapped around Joq's on him while he reached down with the other one to stroke over Joq's hair, "you okay?"

"Yeah," Joq croaked.

Chris removed his hands and before Joq could stop him he was tucking himself away with a pained sound, which made Joq crack a nervous laugh, but—

"I can keep going," he said as Chris planted himself in front of him.

"In a sec," Chris said completely unfazed.

He was sitting cross-legged in front of Joq in the entryway to his million-dollar townhouse and saying that like it was nothing.

"I'm fine," Joq said, flicking his eyes up and then down to where his hands had fallen uselessly in his lap. "Just, ah, haven't done that in a while."

"You're really good at it," Chris said and from anyone else that might sound patronising, and in this situation, placating, but Chris sounded sincere.

Joq looked at him and held his gaze. Chris watched him back.

"I've had a lot of practice," Joq said dryly.

Chris huffed a surprised laugh. "It shows."

He smiled warmly and adjusted his dick surreptitiously.

Joq felt interest stir again, and he berated himself, needing to get his shit together.

"I can go again," he reached for Chris.

Chris stopped him with the hand that wasn't squeezing his dick.

"Have a drink with me."

Joq met his eyes. "We're just hooking up." His tone was cold but even he could hear the tremor in it: what was happening to him? He was meant to be getting laid and out of nowhere, he felt like he was about to shatter apart. He hadn't felt like this since just after George and Finn got married and he'd allowed himself to get royally drunk, cry, get it all out, and send them the footage he'd taken. That'd been the end of it. He was over it. He'd moved on. So what the fuck was happening?

But Chris was nodding along like he truly got that's all they were doing. "You never have a beer with the guys you fuck?"

And, well, yes, Joq used to do that all the time. Fuck. Have a beer. Fuck again. It'd been fun. Everyone had a good time. He didn't feel like anyone was having a good time right now.

"Well, yeah, but—"

"I got the pale ale you like."

"How do you know what I like?" Joq asked.

"Oh, well," Chris looked sheepish but he soldiered on, "I told you, we met, at the rooftop bar. You ordered six pints of the boutique pale they had on tap and I remembered, so," he shrugged.

Joq looked at him, really looked. He could not recall meeting him. At all. But he said the name of the pale he liked—a pretty niche beer—and Chris nodded like, of course.

"Come on," Chris stood, took Joq by the hand and tugged him to his feet. "Let's have a beer and then I'll let you blow me again."

Joq laughed, surprised and relieved, but he was still rattled.

Chris didn't let his hand go as he walked him down the hall into the beautiful space. Joq took his hand back, leaned against the kitchen island and looked around. It was so old school—the wooden furniture, the pictures of family in black and white, art work that belied real taste; instead of The Kiss, there was Three Ages of Women, a few Egon Schiele's, a back catalogue Monet, and Lady with an Ermine where everyone else would have the Mona Lisa. All replicas of course, but perfectly done. The garden outside grew along the glass and the fairy lights lit up the furniture flanking a cast iron bonfire, rugs artfully thrown as if at any moment they could sit out there and drink and cuddle in front of a fire.

Chris cracked the beer, the sound hissing and drawing Joq back to him; he smiled, something pleased and sure in it, as he handed him the beer.

"I can't believe you don't remember," he said as Joq took it and thanked him.

"When was this?" Joq sipped.

Chris gave him the run down and Joq remembered the day. He'd come home to George and Finn wrestling in the pool, every instinct telling him something about it wasn't right but believing George's version—Finn was just over for a swim to cure his hangover after the big win—and Joq had convinced himself it was his fault anyway because he'd been the one to invite Finn into their private life in the first place.

He'd been so stupid—the way those two wrestled was an excuse to touch, even if they didn't admit it to themselves at that point yet.

Suffice to say, anything else that happened that day—including meeting someone as striking as Chris—was buried. He wouldn't have let himself really see him anyway. He wasn't the cheating type.

Joq shook his head with an apology.

"All good, you seemed busy," Chris shrugged like it really was alright, but Joq didn't miss the disappointment. He suddenly wished he did remember. And he cursed George for good measure, blaming him for his failure to remember. Maybe he could've hooked up with Chris, fallen in love himself when he was still the clean, confident guy he'd been before he turned into someone he didn't even recognise with what he'd done to Finn.

And if he kept following this line of thought, he'd never get laid tonight.

"Sorry," he said and focused on the outdoor area.

"It's really fine," Chris said even though it kind of wasn't, Joq could tell, but Chris let it drop and asked if Joq wanted to sit outside. "I can get the fire going?"

"No, no," Joq shook his head, "no need to go to that much trouble for a fuck."

"Joq," Chris gave him an exasperated look and Joq felt the height difference between them as Chris sauntered over to him, his smile small but there. "It's no trouble and even if we are just," he waved a hand between them, "we can hang out, right? Do you like me? I mean, shit, sorry, that sounded like a high schooler."

Joq couldn't help his laugh. Chris seemed confident—controlled yet loose with it, young but not juvenile—and yet every now and then, Joq caught these awkward moments that were more endearing than he wanted to notice.

"I definitely liked fucking you," he replied smoothly.

It was Chris' turn to laugh. "You haven't fucked me yet."

"Getting there," Joq took a deep drink of his beer. "We can go again in a minute."

"Or I could light the fire, get you something to eat?"

And okay, Joq needed to stop this getting too serious.

"Look," Joq put the beer down, spread his palm on the counter. "I don't want to be this guy, but I can't, I'm not," he shot out a breath, "I can't be in a relationship."

Chris covered his hand with his own.

"I can't really do that either," Chris murmured. "Doesn't mean I can't eat with you, then, you know, do other stuff tonight."

Joq's curiosity was piqued—Chris didn't want that either? With Joq specifically or in general? He didn't need to know. He swallowed down all the shitty feelings that seemed to be choosing tonight to bubble up and replied, "Yeah, okay."

"Awesome," Chris took Joq's hand in his and led him outside. "Sit, get comfortable," he looked around, gave Joq a concerned look. "Shit, do you know how to light a fire?"

"No?"

Chris grinned. "I'm kidding. My grandfather was big on camping, making me ‘self-sufficient in the woods'," Chris did the air quotes and then got busy getting a fire going, getting them more beers, bringing out kebab skewers and a plate of flat bread. Joq watched him start cooking on a hot plate on one side of the fire.

"You weren't kidding about the self-sufficient thing," Joq said.

Chris chuckled, his head tilting down and to the side. The flames licked up and cast his face in a glow and Joq was caught off guard by how handsome he was—classic features, manly and perfectly proportioned—and as he regaled Joq in his deep, yet soft voice, with stories of camping trips to the "homeland" in Scotland with his grandad, ski trips to Switzerland, a memorable week seeing old world vultures in Serbia, Joq let himself relax. He also began to realise Chris' house wasn't the only old-school thing around here—Chris was old school. Old money. Old-world breeding. He could almost picture him in tweed on an estate in Scotland in wellies, hunting rifle at his side as he surveyed his estate.

Joq was surprised when a couple of hours and three beers had gone by. He was completely relaxed, laughing as he told Chris his own stories about some of the shit he'd seen people do at the stadium.

He wound down and found Chris staring at him.

"What?" he asked around a lingering smile, thinking of Simo's glee every time there was a fight.

"Nothing, just," Chris shook his head, cleared his throat and looked away. "Do you want another beer, or?"

"Or?"

Chris glanced back at him, a decision lingering there. "Or we could move this up to my room?"

Joq swallowed.

"We don't have to—"

"Yeah," Joq nodded and stood, "I think a room with a bed sounds good."

Chris stood.

"Lead the way," Joq said with more confidence than he felt.

Thankfully, Chris took him at his word and took him upstairs.

Twenty minutes later, Joq had Chris' dick in his mouth, two fingers sliding in and out of him, and Chris writhing and panting above him.

"Give me a minute," Chris arched away.

"You don't like to get fucked after you've come?" Joq asked as he rolled his hips on the bed, grinding his cock against the mattress to get some relief.

"No, I," Chris held Joq's hair in a vice grip to keep him off his dick and Joq swore he swallowed down what he was about to say. "No, I like to come during."

"Hmm," Joq replied, gave him a minute.

"Okay," Chris spread his legs wider, loosened his grip.

Joq slid in deeper with his fingers, massaged him there.

Chris pushed into it with a gasp.

Joq took in the lean lines of him, stretched out and covered in a thin sheen of sweat; just from a couple of fingers and a mouth on his dick.

He slid his fingers out, came up onto his knees between Chris' thighs and reached for a condom near his hip. He stroked Chris' stomach, over his chest, rolled a nipple between his forefinger and thumb as he rolled the condom on with his other hand.

"You alright there?" he asked as he stroked himself. He was desperate to fuck him, aching for it like he hadn't in over a year, possibly two, but Chris seemed to be hypersensitive, so he did his best to patient.

"Yeah," Chris cracked his eyes open. "Like this?"

"You're the one about to get fucked," Joq replied, already leaning down to line himself up. "How do you like it?"

He pushed so just the tip was inside.

"Jesus," Chris breathed out harshly. "I want, maybe," he pulled back and rolled himself over like it was a real effort.

Joq couldn't help his laughter. "You gonna be alright?"

Chris propped himself up on his knees and reached back for Joq, crashing their lips together. Joq rocked into the crack of his ass.

"Yeah," Chris rolled his hips back against Joq's dick. "Feels deeper like this."

Joq nudged him until he fell back onto his hands.

He pushed in, slid to the hilt and stayed there.

"Okay?" he asked. It was heaven.

"Yeah, yes, fuck, don't go easy on me."

"Jesus," Joq gripped him by the hips, drew all the way out, then slammed back in.

Chris met him, rolling his hips back into each thrust, moaning as he gripped the sheets. His dick slapped loudly against his stomach and Joq's hips smacked into his ass almost violently but Chris urged him on with a hand on his hip, a litany of "more, yes, please," coming out of him as Joq fucked him harder, taking them both right to the edge.

He reached under, gripped him, jerked him off until Chris was tightening around him, his deep groan pressed into the sheets.

Joq managed to get him all the way there before he had to let go. He draped himself over Chris' back, mouthed at his shoulder as he buried himself deep and started to come, muffling his sounds into Chris' skin.

When he came down, Chris was patting his head. His body vibrated lightly and Joq realised he was laughing.

"What?" Joq asked.

"Nothing, just, that was good, and," he rocked back, "and you're still in me."

"Shit, sorry," Joq sat up, but stayed where he was. He ran a hand through his hair and rocked into Chris' body; his dick still half hard. It felt nice.

"Shit," Chris gasped and craned his head back.

Joq met his eyes and raised an eyebrow.

"Enjoying yourself?" Chris asked, his face flushed, his smile undimmed.

"Yeah," Joq ran his hands down Chris' sides and watched him shiver.

Chris gave him an odd look.

"What?"

"Nothing," Chris shook his head and slid forward on the bed with a groan.

Joq got the condom off and got up, went for the bathroom. He splashed water on his face and looked at himself. He looked relaxed; sated and something else.

Happy.

He shook his head at himself. Not the time to be getting introspective; the antics from earlier were enough.

He went out and found Chris sprawled on his back, the sheet between his legs.

"You're leaving?" Chris asked.

Joq wasn't planning on it. But, "I can go if you want, yeah."

Chris tilted his head to the side and watched Joq pull his boxers and pants back on.

"No," he said slowly like he was realising something profound. "Stay, please."

"To fuck again," Joq replied, but he was dead tired, so he crawled back up the bed, found himself sprawling on Chris' chest when Chris opened his arms and tugged him in, one hand running up and down Joq's back in soothing sweeps.

"Yeah," Chris breathed out. "Yeah, we could fuck again."

"Nap first," Joq sank into the touch.

Chris kissed the top of his head and something about it made Joq ache, but he was sleepy and drifting, and the last thing he heard was Chris saying. "Yes, nap, then it's my turn," that hand never ceasing in the most soothing caress.