Tell Me Our Story

Jonathan closed his eyes. “Every time?”

David shifted under him, around him; hot breath tickled over his ear. “The first time I knew I wanted sex one day, I was sixteen. You were riding a black horse, all tight-fitting riding gear. Dark boots, blond hair, so determined . . . you looked like some kind of god.” A longer stroke. “You saw me bouncing around in my saddle alongside my friends, and you frowned. You frowned while we were dancing too, but this time was different. Not criticism or figuring out a problem with my steps.” The scrape of lips down his throat. Fingers moving up and down, up and down. “You were worried. Genuinely afraid I might fall off and hurt myself.”

“You might have.”

A chuckle.

He shivered.

“You rode behind me the entire morning.”

“I didn’t think you noticed.” Gasp.

Puddled kisses at the curve of his shoulder, a lock of hair dragging at his ear. “I noticed. I almost wanted to fall just so you’d save me.”

Shivers rolling through him. His head dropped back. Teeth nibbled his neck, hot against his cooled skin.

Kisses took a sharp descent down his chest, to his pounding heart. “That was the first time I knew I wanted sex, but it wasn’t the first time I wanted you.”

Fingers drifted over his balls and ran up the underside of his shaft. He swapped his warmed hand for a cool one and Jonathan groaned.

A kiss at his chest, the tip of a nose dragging up the other side of his throat. The slide of his hand working faster and faster, chasing Jonathan’s responses. The dance of a tongue at the shell of his ear. “Your face stuck in my mind from the first. Your blue eyes. Your grave expressions. It wouldn’t go away.”

Like David’s laugh . . .

A whisper, “I started dancing because I wanted to be around you.”

Jonathan drew in a sharp breath. David’s hand moved with irresistible insistence, like the force that had always steered Jonathan’s attention to that vibrant laugh, those beautiful green eyes. Waves rose and rose and rose, tightening his muscles.

“I wanted to learn—” David shifted, lips skating across his jaw to his mouth. The pressure at his core, the pulsing in the ribbed net of David’s fist, the small bite of metal from his leather wristband. D + J.

“You.”

His gaze hooked with David’s, and locked, and all points met at a glorious apex, words and touches exploding through him like it would alter him forever. He shuddered David’s name and dropped into his arms as it raked through him, and he spilled, spilled, spilled.

They did it all again, twice, before daytime took hold and they had to face reality. They showered together, got lost in languid kisses, traded glances as they dressed, a silent when will we have this again?

“When’s your flight?”

“This afternoon,” David said. “Nash and I have to make . . . contingency plans. Yours?”

“Wednesday. We’re going to look around a bit.” A swallow. “Will you come on Saturday? Even if we don’t . . .”

David paused and nodded. His expression stiffened though, and Jonathan wanted to pull him back to the bed, make his worries disappear. He wanted to live in a bubble where it was just them, where nothing could threaten this.

David picked up Jonathan’s watch from the dresser. He didn’t meet Jonathan’s eyes as he strapped it onto him. His fingers trembled, though, and Jonathan fought an ache in his chest.

“Thank you.”

David grabbed two muesli bars and passed him one. “We definitely missed breakfast.”

They most definitely had.

They met the Sapphires lounging in a small conference room, Mira and George at the windows staring out over cloud-crowned cliffs and choppy seas—a glimpse of Jonathan’s own turbulence. David pulled out the chair furthest from the windows for Jonathan and slung himself into the neighbouring seat. The Sapphires eyed them inquisitively, like they scented a difference, and swapped twin grins.

Jonathan narrowed his eyes and immediately they cast their gaze toward Mira and George and smirked at them instead.

For the first time since they’d submitted their last post, David was scrolling through his Picstar, gripping his phone tightly. His foot jumped rhythmically on the carpet. They’d avoided watching the other two submissions, but now it seemed anxiety had gotten the better of him. Even Jonathan’s hand on his thigh did little to dull it. He had earphones in his ears; Jonathan couldn’t hear the posts, the others’ poems.

David slammed his eyes shut, and Jonathan gripped him harder.

His throat jutted on a swallow, and he slowly opened his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something and their hosts walked in, all smiles.

“This one was tough.”

“Yank off the band aid,” a Sapphire said.

“Fine. To the point. One of the three stood out the most. Congratulations George and Mira. You’ve made it to the final.”

Mira clasped her hands over her mouth and stifled a squeal. She gazed up at George and looked like she only just resisted throwing herself into his arms. George smirked. “Told you I could sing.”