God, he couldn’t stop giggling. Jesus. “Do you really think it gets better?”
“Sex?”
“Lift your head.” Wentworth did as he was told and Elliot stole his pillow and hit him with it. “Of course sex, you beautiful, aggravating idiot.”
Wentworth perked up and tossed that pillow aside too. “Are we about to have frustrated sex?”
Elliot tackled him and they rolled around, Wentworth letting him win for a little while before pinning him panting to the bed. Wentworth kissed him and bumped their noses together. “Yeah, Elliot. I think it gets better.”
It got better.
Over a year and a half they worked at it. In bed they were playful and curious, experimental. Outside of it, they were joyful. They fought from time to time, sure, but it always dissolved into laughter and apologies.
They just . . . they just fit.
Elliot never tired of curling into Wentworth and breathing him in, and a day without seeing him felt too long. Super ridiculously long. But on those days Wentworth always messaged him with how are yous and miss yous and silly smiley faces.
He started to believe . . . Oh God.
He’d started to believe he couldn’t live without Wentworth.
Not in a dependency kind of way. They had their own things to focus on and they were both very capable of looking after themselves.
But just . . . these feelings. The intimacy and ease between them . . . it just kept deepening. He, he . . .
He loved Wentworth. More than that. He loved Wentworth with his entire soul.
He dropped his pen. It clattered onto the table and rolled down his notes to the practice essay Wentworth was penning.
Wentworth looked up, startled. Whatever he read on Elliot’s face, it intrigued him. “What are you thinking?”
With a week to go before the end of school, they had a lot of work to do. As head boy, Elliot also had to draft up his end of year speech. This realization was very ill-timed. “Elliot?”
“Shush. We’re in the library.”
Wentworth’s chair rumbled over the floor and suddenly his boyfriend was on his knees beside him. “I can be very quiet.”
That smirk was too irresistible. Elliot bent down and kissed him. “Get your mind out of the gutter. You haven’t finished your essay yet.”
“Was that motivation?”
By God, was it? “No! No.” He wanted to be remembered as the Head Boy who successfully instituted Pride Week at school. Not the proud boy who got head in the school library. “I mean . . . later, sure.”
Wentworth laughed and returned to his seat. “Just as well. Handsy Laura is on her way over.”
“That’s a new nickname.”
“She’s pinched my butt twice this month.” He sighed. “I told you being famous at school would be a burden.”
Elliot snickered. Wentworth had sold one of his songs to a kiwi film production company, and they’d used it on the trailer of an upcoming blockbuster. Which meant everyone knew the song, and Wentworth’s popularity had exploded. Not that he’d ever been lacking in fans. “You love it.”
A sneaky grin lit up Wentworth’s face.
“Hey guys,” Laura said, pulling out an adjacent chair and seating herself. Immediately, Elliot stiffened. He might joke, but the fact that she . . .
Elliot wanted to . . . well, it was quite dramatic really. He wanted to roar, to pound his chest. He wanted everyone to know Wentworth was his.
“You don’t mind if I study with you?” she said.
Wentworth stood, looking somewhat queasy. “I’ll be back in a wee bit.”
He disappeared and Laura daintily pulled out her study materials.
Elliot watched her. “Nice hands.”
“Thanks.
“Perfectly manicured.”
“I use a French polish and moisturise every night.”
“You take good care of them.”
“Yep.”
“I have the best tip how to keep them perfect.”
She looked at him. “What’s that?”
He leaned in. “Don’t ever touch my boyfriend’s arse again.”
Her mouth dropped open; Elliot picked up his pen from Wentworth’s essay and returned to his paper on Regency politics.
“I heard you, by the way.”
Elliot parked his car outside his place and glanced over at Wentworth, who had been looking at him weirdly all afternoon. His lopsided smile was more crooked than usual and he flashed most of his teeth.
“Heard me?”
“I was in the literature aisle behind you.”
Ah. Elliot flushed. “Are you coming in?”
“I’m not done talking about that moment in the library. Of course I’m coming in. Besides, it’s paella night.”
“Mum’s been crook all week. We might have to fend for ourselves.”
“I’ll order in. Now scooch that cute bum of yours inside and start talking.”
Inside, Elliot made them hot chocolates, eyes narrowed on Wentworth lounging smugly against the kitchen island. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“Stop looking at me like I’ll start planning our wedding.”
Wentworth’s eyes sparkled. “I was hoping you might jump a few months into ‘our future’ but if you’re ready to set a date . . .”
Elliot plunked Wentworth’s hot chocolate before him. “I’ll do neither of those things. Besides, setting a date? We haven’t even . . . I mean, you mentioned it the first time we met, but we’ve never said it again.”