London, May 2006
It's been unseasonably warm for a week.
John stretches a long piece of packaging tape over the seam of the last box, then lowers it carefully to the cardboard, flattening it out over the split. That done, he pauses to take a look around the flat that's been his home for four years. Even though he always looks forward to the novelty of a new place, this is the part of moving on that he hates. The ugly checked Oxfam armchair that had taken up half the lounge is gone, and with it much of the accidental warmth of the room. The walls echo with every step John takes, and he can hear clearly the distant clap of Gareth's feet as they climb the stairs leading to his door.
A day spent in Gareth's company has gone a long way to acclimating him to the other man's presence; but in the fifteen minutes he's been gone to Tesco, John's nervousness has returned.
They've spent the day overwarm and under-dressed, John in a plain white vest and Gareth in nothing but his jeans. John's noticed Gareth casually brushing up against him with slowly increasing frequency, and - he doesn't know, exactly, what he's thinking when he starts responding in kind, leaning just a bit too close to see how much room is left in Gareth's open box; letting his eyes travel over the gently curved plane of Gareth's back. He's free to look (this time, a whisper in back of his mind), but there's no reason why he should.
Except... a blind, thoughtless want so overwhelming he can taste it.
The door bangs open unceremoniously and Gareth, a bag of sandwiches and crisps in hand, bursts through with a cheerful, "Here we are." He puts the bag down on the now-cleared kitchen table and reaches in to hand John a cold lager, dripping with condensation.
"Ta," John says. He allows his fingers to brush lightly against Gareth's as he takes it, and Gareth reaches out with his now-empty hand to grasp John's wrist.
"What -" he begins, looking - panicked - up at his friend. But Gareth - whose dark brown hair has copper highlights in the light of the late afternoon sun, whose coffee coloured eyes are gentle as they seek out John's - takes the lager in his other hand and replaces it on the table. John's eyes follow the movement, then travel back up to meet Gareth's. His breath is coming in sudden, shallow pants and, he'd regret this, he would, but Gareth's head tilts and his eyebrows rise in a question, and all John can do is nod after a moment's hesitation, almost imperceptibly.
He expects a lunge - something masculine and aggressive - but Gareth simply lets his hand slide from John's wrist to tangle their fingers together, each soft stroke against John's skin more overwhelming than the last. He dips his head and John, eyes wide, cranes his neck to meet him halfway; their lips brush lightly, and all the world is reduced to this - this touch, this kiss, this moment.
When their mouths part, John murmurs into the scant space between them, "I'm not - I don't -" punctuating his words with a defeated sigh he can feel against Gareth's chest.
"I am," Gareth says, mercifully without condescension. "I do." He tugs at the hand he holds in his own and pulls John across the lounge and into the small bedroom. The furniture is gone, but the mattress remains on the floor; Gareth lowers himself on its edge, stretching out his legs before him, and John kneels between them on the warm wooden floor.
"I want... " he says. "I want... " he tries again, a little more vehemently this time, then screws his mouth in a tight knot, shaking his head in frustration and looking away to the empty corner of the room.
Gareth reaches forward and places a hand on John's nape, rubbing the short hair he finds there.
"Hey," he says, but John gives another angry shake of his head. Gareth lifts his hand to John's head, stroking his hair. "Hey," he says again, and John lets out another huff, raising his eyes to Gareth's.
"Are you sure?" Gareth asks.
"I don't. I don't know what - " John begins, wanting to explain that there's clearly something wrong with him, to be so hungry yet unable to eat; but Gareth hears a different confession and draws John close, lightly pressing his lips to John's, nipping at them with teeth and tongue. He slowly coaxes them apart, and John finds himself succumbing to sensations that very nearly drown out the high-voltage hum of his doubts. He climbs onto the mattress with Gareth, crawling forward to lie next to him, savouring the feel of the hands that slip under his vest and pull it over his head. The swipe of Gareth's tongue over a nipple brings John down, panting so heavily he can feel it in the numbness of his hands. A nuzzle at his neck, a nibble at his ear, and John is gasping, grasping at Gareth's shoulders, Gareth's arms; and then his hair, as Gareth slides down his body to take John in his mouth.
John knew, but he didn't know how good it would feel, how "good" doesn't even come close to describing the electric shock of mouth on exquisitely sensitive skin, could never explain why he's hoarse and heaving when he comes down Gareth's throat.
And cresting on the wake of his climax is the surety that this cannot happen again. It wars with John's wish - no, need - to reciprocate somehow, though (not ready for that I can't) maybe with his hand, rather than his mouth. He rolls on his stomach and licks and bites as he's been tutored, and Gareth makes gratifyingly appreciative sounds. John reckons he must not be mucking it up too badly, but when he reaches down to take Gareth in hand, the angle is all wrong, and suddenly John doesn't have the first clue what he's doing. He grips Gareth as he would himself, and after an awkward moment or two, Gareth wraps his own hand around John's to show him the way. Gratitude wars with embarrassment, and both are canceled out by the relief that washes over John when Gareth comes.
The sky is a dusky blue now, the only light in John's bare bedroom that of the streetlights outside. The two men lie side by side, and when Gareth take's John's hand in his, John turns his head to look at him. Gareth brings John's hand to his lips, and (lost) John blurts out, "We probably shouldn't do this again."
Gareth stills. After a moment, he sits up and reaches over for his pants. They dress together in the dark silence.