Tell Me Our Story

“The terrace in Sydney,” Mr Cranky finished. “Right?”

David’s grip tightened on his. Jonathan blinked.

“Don’t look so surprised. O’Hara likes to chat, remember, and I’m a nosey old sod. He told me about his lost boys before he had the guts to tell you.”

David winced. “Hey, Jonathan and I needed the journey.”

“And aren’t I glad you finally got there.”

Jonathan and David exchanged a look.

“You’ll understand, then, why we’re—”

“I can’t,” Mr Cranky said.

Jonathan’s heart plummeted toward his feet; he curled an arm around David and kissed his temple.

Mr Cranky cleared his throat. “Don’t look so forlorn. There’s a reason.” He looked between the two of them and landed on David. “I’ve already put in an offer on the terrace. I’m not planning on raising the rents, and I can afford to do renovations. Later we can look at ways to transfer what’s left of the mortgage into your names. But give yourselves a few more years to save up.”

The island seemed to rise and fall under them like a beating heart, and then they were throwing themselves at Mr Cranky. They tumbled onto the blankets with the force and Mr Cranky caught his hat before it went flying.

This island truly had offered Jonathan every treasure. Living together. His bedroom, theirs. Co-teaching ballroom dance. Parenting Savvy; Ben having movie nights and sleepovers. More kids, more laughter.

More David.

“All that emotional upheaval. I’m exhausted.”

Jonathan raised a brow. “You’ll have to work on your stamina.”

“. . .” David exploded into laughter. “That reminds me, is my poster still under here?”

“. . .”

David rolled onto his belly and threw an arm down the side of the bed. “Within reach—”

Jonathan tackled him, body sliding atop David’s in a hiss of heat.

Laughter jiggled under him and Jonathan harrumphed. “Come on. Shower. We’re all salty.”

David became a bundle of laughter as he stripped him and steered him under the warm spray.

A bundle of mischief, too. His eyes sparkled with it.

Minute by steaming minute, their disbelief turned to euphoria. He danced fingers over Jonathan’s soap-foamed skin and slowly, meticulously explored him—from his knees—trembling when Jonathan returned the attention.

They spilled out of the shower all lazy, languid limbs and slid naked under the bedsheets, losing themselves in giddy kisses until David stretched in Jonathan’s arms, and yawned.

Jonathan sighed. “When you weren’t here . . .”

David shifted his head onto the pillow, smile catching the light from the windows. “Do go on.”

“I liked looking at it.”

That dimple appeared. “Like you secretly loved working in the study when I was up on the wall?”

“Relentless.”

“Is that a yes?”

Jonathan growled at the base of his ear. “Don’t get too cocky.”

The shifting under him changed; it didn’t come from laughter. “Can you stop me?”

Jonathan paused. The quality of David’s breath had roughened, very real curiosity and desire under his playful retort. Jonathan dropped his forehead to the back of David’s head, damp hair tickling his nose. His nape was soft and soapy-fresh where he nipped it.

A snagged breath dragged coolly over Jonathan’s skin, all the places they didn’t touch. The rest of him burned.

David whispered, “Jonathan . . .”

Murmured back, “Can I—”

“Anything. Everything.” He pulled a small tube from under his pillow; it glinted in the light.

The preparation, the intent . . . Physically, emotionally, Jonathan swelled. Every inch of him thrummed, sensitive, and he quivered on the outer edges of his meticulous control.

Dragging himself down the taut lines of David’s back and thighs, he kissed a path, shivers pebbling where he left little wet lines.

Gently, he peeled David’s cheeks apart with his thumbs, and kissed a wet line against the smooth heat there, too.

David jerked under him with a gasp and buried his head in the pillow, body undulating towards Jonathan.

Jonathan kissed him again, gripping David’s hips through more sweet shudders. Each one pulled at Jonathan, like a rip in the ocean, dragging him further out to sea where he’d drown in the depths. He flicked out his tongue.

Pushed it against David’s silky pink core.

The next moan was shocked and breathless, broken syllables uttered helplessly against the mattress. As Jonathan’s tongue glided over him, into him, a fine trembling tension grew in David’s limbs. He tried to hold himself together, like part of him wanted to retain some kind of grace; like he might expect Jonathan to grade him on this later; like he wanted to impress him. Gold. But he couldn’t keep his movements smooth; couldn’t stop his heels jerking up around Jonathan’s hips, toes curling, hands fisting the sheets, pulling them from their tucked corners.

Jonathan smoothed hands down the backs of David’s thighs and steered him onto his back. A prominent vein ran down his length, and he twitched in the cool air. His chest rose and fell, covered in a flush that stretched up his throat and pinked his cheeks. Long lashes filtered his gaze.