Page 67 of Open Water

“I really should go home, I have seventy biology tests to mark before Monday and my Year 3s are sitting their Maths exams on Wednesday. I still haven’t decided on the questions and I really need to up my game this weekend, get organised. I didn't get much done last week because of you.”

“What did I do?” Tom says. It's not even a question. He's just trying to prolong the inevitable.Please don’t go. Not yet. Just let me have you here for a little longer.

“You,” Lukas says, and the smile is back. He tugs at Tom’s waist, pulling at his shirt. Positioning them both until he has him right where he wants him. Nose to nose. Lukas’s hands on Tom’s hips.

Tom’s hands holding onto Lukas’s arms. Strong muscles under his fingers. And to be honest, it makes Tom a little dizzy. “You messed with my head all week. I was all lovesick and confused.” He smiles, and Tom goes weak at the knees. What the fuck has he done to himself?

“Good. My tactics worked then.” He’s joking. But he’s not. Not really.

“I didn't know if I was being seduced, or if you were trying to kill me with chocolate. Either way, yeah, I think it worked.”

“Good,” Tom says again, and for once he’s tongue-tied. I mean. All he wants to scream is “Stay!” But, then he does understand it. Slow and gentle. Let’s do it right.

“I should let us breathe for a little while. But can I see you again? This week?” Now Lukas is nudging his nose. Up and down. Little movements that are mesmerising in their simplicity.

Tom is pouting his lips.Just kiss me. For fuck’s sake, how old are we? Ten?It’s not like they haven't kissed before. It’s not like this is new. But it is. And it’s not.

So, Tom doesn't reply. Instead, he pushes his lips onto Lukas’s mouth. Just the softest of presses. Lips on lips and damn.Oh, fucking hell.

He’s forgotten about the bloody nerve endings inside the mouth of the human body. He’s forgotten about that stash of hormones that has been hibernating in his brain for years and years. He’s forgotten about all of it, the surge in his stomach, the way his hands just know what to do, suddenly grasping and tugging at the back of Lukas’s head, as Lukas seems to come out of the complete shock of Tom lunging at him. Because now he is being walked backwards until the kitchen sink is digging into the back of his jeans, andfuck. Oh Lukas. Oh God.

“Please don’t go,” Tom whimpers, then dives right back in. Because, if he can only keep doing this, nipping at Lukas’s mouth. Tasting the line where the inside of his mouth meets the softness of lips. Feeling the tongue softly stroking against his own. And then, there are all those things going on between their hips that Tom doesn't even want to acknowledge right now. Small jerks and movements and there is definitely less room in these jeans than he remembers from a few minutes ago.

There is stubble against his fingertips. Lips on his cheeks. The tip of his nose. His eyelids. “Please don’t go. Because we have missed out on so much time, and I don’t want to waste another minute when I can have all this. Whenwecan have all this.”

“We need to take this slow,” Lukas whispers. His fingers curling around the hair resting on Tom’s collar.

“I know,” he whispers back. “Doesn't mean I want to though. I want you. Here… with me.”

There. He’s said it.

“There is nowhere else I would rather be, but I’m trying to be sensible here. I need to go home and get some work done. I’ll text you though. I’ll text you and say goodnight later. Okay?”

“Okay.” Tom sounds defeated. But yeah, Lukas is probably right. He’s waited all this time. Tom can be patient. He can wait a little longer.

“Thank you for dinner. Thanks for today,” Lukas says. And Tom presses his mouth back on Lukas’s. Just stands there trying to memorise it all. The hands around his face. The warmth on his tongue. Breath on his face.

It’s over too fast. And Lukas walks away, whilst Tom stays by the sink with his fingers glued to his lips.

It’s not until the door slams shut that Tom jerks back into reality. Back to life as he knows it. Alone. Yet, he’s not. He’s nowhere near alone, and that kind of makes him smile through the tear that starts its slow journey down his cheek.

MAX

It’s taken a long time for Matteo to calm down, which kind of scares me at first, but then I realise that it probably makes sense. I have never seen him upset before, not like this. Like he is rattled and embarrassed that he is not holding it together the way he always does, when he doesn't have to. It’s only me. It’s just me here and he doesn't have to pretend that nothing's wrong when something clearly is.

Instead, he just lies on my chest and lets me hold him, rub his back and kiss his hair, and do all those little things that make my insides turn to mush. Yeah, because I’m a right softie, me. I love all this shit. Skin and warmth and the feeling of doing something good. Like I am.

Honestly, because looking after Matteo is like a drug. Like I can feel it in my veins, the connection. It’s fucking weird, but I love it. Like I scratch his back and I can feel the pleasure on my own skin.

Matteo is the best thing that has ever happened to me, that’s for sure. I don’t know how I lived before that day when he found me under the stairs. I don’t know how I survived. Because, now I feel like I can’t bear the thought of being without him and that is fucking weird – in a good way… I think.

Anyway, he’s calm now, his hand resting on my bare skin, having somehow made its way under my jumper. His fingers tapping softly on my chest. Little strokes on that super-soft skin around my nipple. Which is lighting me up like a Christmas tree, again.

Sex. Ugh. Can one actually get enough of sex? It was bad enough that I had a quick wank in the toilets before lunch. Quietly, but I needed it. I was sitting in class with a blatant boner and I had to somehow fix it. Beggars can’t be choosers. I suppose when we get better at this I can just text Matteo and get him to blow me. Just like that. Maybe find some janitor’s cupboard somewhere where we could have a few minutes’ peace and… well.Fuck.I shouldn’t think about sex all the time. I just can’t help it.

“You okay, baby?” I try to crane my neck up, so I can look at him. See what state he’s in.

“Yeah,” he says. His eyes red and raw and his skin still a mess of mush and dried-up tears. “I kind of feel like a baby. Sorry, Pumpkin. I kind of lost it a bit there. Got all emo over whatever.”

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