Page 85 of Open Water

“Blowjob?” He grins. “Then, after I have licked your balls and had my finger up your hole with your cock hitting the back of my throat and have made you come so hard that your head is kind of spinning, then I will explain to you why you need friends. And why I love you. Then after that, you might want to let me jerk off all over you, so I can lick come off your perfect body. Whaddya say, Pumpkin?”

“Shut up,” I say. But I am smiling. And I kind of run down the hallway dropping my pants on the way.

LUKAS

Lukas almost trips on the staircase in his haste to get through the door.

Which is stupid, but he is kind of desperate.

It’s been the strangest week. Strange and weird and he feels kind of out of control emotionally, like he needs to find something stable to cling onto so that everything will make sense. In some weird way.

He tried to go home on Wednesday, determined to stay put in his own home and find some peace. A bit of calm in the stormy sea that seems to be his life these days, but as much as he tried, and to be honest, he didn’t try very hard, Lukas ended up back on Tom’s sofa by 8 o’clock, watching some strange Spanish thing on TV, with Max huffing slightly at his presence.

Lukas couldn’t help it. He didn’t want to be at home. His flat obviously didn’t want him there either, mocking his sheer existence with its cold walls and bare fridge and broken TV, when Lukas knows full well that Tom’s house is warm and full of cosy blankets and weird foods in the fridge, and Tom’s bed is a mess of smelly sheets that seems to be the only thing that can calm Lukas’s nerves these days.

So that is what he has done. Every day. Gone to work. Smiled smugly through his lessons. Done the extra Biology work with Max. Run the Queer group with a truckload of laughter and three new people who seemed to enjoy it. Maybe. Well, they hadn’t run out in fear, nor started to cry, so he kind of felt okay with that. And he sat next to the boys on the way home on Thursday, smiling a little tense smile whilst his head was full of fantasies of this being his life. Him. On his way home from work with his two boys. Wondering if people looked at him and thought that. Dad on the bus with the kids. Dad on the bus with his teenager and the teenager’s boyfriend, who are doing their best to ignore him, the Dad smiling smugly at their not-so-subtle chatter and lame jokes.

Or maybe people just thought,there sits a middle-aged bloke who is so love starved that he can’t stay away from his new boyfriend’s house, even though he knows full well that his poor boyfriend is pulling fifteen hour shifts this week, in addition to sitting in on a Street Medics meeting and doing volunteer work, yet the said boyfriend still manages to do a supermarket shop and prepare some chicken thing for dinner tonight, even though he has barely slept today.

Which must be love, Lukas thinks. Because he fucking loves it.

And in a way, he feels a little bit sick, because Lukas should have offered. He should have been the one to say,‘This week I’ll take over. You work, I’ll run dinners and laundry and all that stuff that must need doing that I kind of just take for granted.’

He has promised himself he will do it tonight. Run the washing machine and maybe hoover and change the sheets on their bed.

Yeah, because itistheir bed. Tom’s bed, that Lukas has kind of claimed. He even knows which pillows are better, the one in the blue cover is fluffier than the one in the off-white one with the coffee stain on. And to be honest, the one on Tom’s side with the suspect yellow stain is even better, because it smells of Tom. Which is kind of why Lukas has ended up falling asleep with his face buried in the mess of it all, whimpering softly at the ache in his stomach. He has missed Tom, every night. Fallen asleep with his phone in his hand wishing he was there next to him. Wishing he could tell him all the things that are swirling around in his head right now.

Instead, he kicks off his shoes and lets the familiar warmth of the house hit him in the face. The smell of coffee lingering in the air mixed with dust and trainers. The mess of bags and shoes on the floor filling him with home comforts rather than irritation. If this had been his house, he would have felt compelled to tidy it all up. Here, this is what this is. A place where people live. Where Lukas feels alive.

“Hello?” he shouts into thin air. Like an idiot, but hey. It’s Friday. The weekend. And his heart does a little jolt in his chest, because Tom is off. He worked his last night shift for the week last night, so tonight, Lukas is sleeping in Tom’s bed, with Tom there. He has already imagined it too many times in his head, the smoothness of Tom’s chest against his face. The smell of him tickling his nostrils. And sex. He is so getting some tonight.

“Lukas?” Matteo’s voice is coming from the kitchen where he stands, leaning back against the kitchen counter.

“No Theatre group tonight?” Lukas asks, striding across the room, opening the fridge door. Of course. There are small bottles of beer nicely lined up on the top shelf. Something that smells spicy marinating in a bowl on the middle shelf. Sausages in a bag. All things that look inviting and homely and like someone cares. Things that Lukas still needs to learn, because he should have thought of that, buying some treats for Friday night. He sometimes treats himself to a small bag of crisps on a Friday, but he has other people to care for now, and he should have thought about that. Should have thought to make it special, with food and wine and… Fuck. Lukas has so much to learn.

“No, we have our dress rehearsal tomorrow and then the premiere on Sunday,” Matteo says quietly, stuffing his face with bread, the butter knife still in his hand.

“Premiere?” Lukas asks, grabbing a beer, then putting it back. He needs coffee first. Or water. Or… fuck it. He grabs the beer bottle again.

“Yeah. Our new play. It’s only a small venue, and the story is quite gritty and violent. I punch someone at some point and I play a real arsehole, but maybe you would like to come?”

He sounds almost shy about it as Lukas’s face cracks into a smile.

“Absolutely.” He beams. “Is Tom coming?”

“Haven’t asked,” Matteo says, looking a little embarrassed. Like this isn’t a given. Of course, they are all going.

“We are coming. All of us,” Lukas says matter-of-factly. “Just give us a time and a place and we will be there. How exciting! Is that what you think you want to do? Acting?”

“Yeah, but I have to be realistic, like I have to earn money, and I can’t support myself on delivering pizza, and go to Uni and then spend all my time trying to break into something that is pretty much impossible to make a career out of. It’s a dream, but I think I am going to go down the Uni way and become a social worker.”

“Wow. That’s a good choice. I think.” Lukas takes a deep breath. “Social worker.” He can feel it on the tip of his tongue, the moral rant and unnecessary advice. Matteo is bright, and he could do so much with his life. He should go for something more challenging with a future full of earnings in the higher tax bracket and a house in a posh area with holidays in far flung places. Lukas remembers them well, his own Dad almost foaming at the mouth with rage about Lukas ‘throwing his grades away for a mediocre career’. His Dad’s words, not his own. He had never been enough. Always a disappointment.

“Yeah. I have met loads of really crap social workers in my life, and I kind of know how it all works, so maybe I could become a better one. Someone who has actually lived through it all and seen the system from the other side? I think I could do something good with my life. And I want to be a foster parent as well, so it would kind of all tie up.” Matteo grabs another piece of bread, buttering the slice with firm movements.

“You can still do acting, go to a few auditions. You should apply to some drama schools too. See how you go. I mean, you need to try these things, because someone must fill those places and you never know. You might just have what it takes?” Lukas takes a long gulp out of his bottle, letting himself lean back against the worktop as Matteo shoves another piece of bread in his mouth.

“Sorry, so fucking hungry,” he mumbles between chewing and crumbs escaping from his mouth.

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