Page 22 of Ship of Fools

His words hit me like a hammer to the nuts, and I bury my face in his neck. Let the scent of him somehow soothe me as he strokes my back. I’m probably squashing him, and he must be struggling to breathe with me on top of his body like this, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Just strokes. Soothes. Shushes softly as I somehow seem to calm myself down.

“You are… exactly what I am scared of.” I manage to whisper out.

“And you, are like all my nightmares and every fantasy I have ever had, weirdlythrown into one.” He says, and giggles into my hair. “I think, we could.”

“We could, what?”

“We could work at this.”

“Doing exactly what?” I say, finally getting my face out of the snug little place against his shoulder.

“Being good for each other. Starting over. Being friends. Falling in love instead of just being in lust. Sleeping together and waking up like this. Talking, and... being just who we are. We need to stop being scared. Because you are not the only one terrified here.”

“I’ll never break your heart.” I promise.

“You break hearts left, right and centre, I can tell. What about your fuckbuddies? Would they not miss you if you just broke up with them?”

“Fuck buddies?” I smile.

“Yeah, you said yesterday... or Bea said...fuck, I can’t remember.”

“At college I hung out with this guy Aaron in my course. He’s in a wheelchair. A mechanic in an electric wheelchair. He’s bloody awesome, and gayer than you and me. We meet up once in a while and fuck, but he’s almost always booked up with Grindr dates and he belongs to a sex club in Manchester. Will he miss me? Nah. I’ll still chat to him and we keep in touch. I sometimes mess around with a guy called Josh, but he’s in an open marriage anyway. Geoff? Geoff calls me the worst shag ever. I have an award he gave me somewhere.”

“So, you want to mess around with me?”

“No.”

“It’s Christmas. Please, don’t dump me on Christmas Day, lying naked on top of me with your dick between my legs.”

I wonder how he does that, how he can soothe me and excite me, and break me and put me back together, all whilst lying naked on my bed and making me laugh.

“I’m not dumping you, you fool.”

“Then, can I stay tonight?”

“I can’t let you stay. You drive a flipping Mini! What kind of madness is that? You work for a bloody luxury car business, and drive a Mini?”

I’m joking, of course, and he pouts before he kisses me.

“My Mini is the best. I bought it on a lease with my first paycheque, because that’s all I could afford, being stuck with a crippling student loan and an entry-level sales job.”

“You should just pay it off.”

“I did. First paycheque from Lambert and Gloss. Got myself a nice bonus that month.”

“Well done.”

“High five.”

“We are not five years old, Luca.”

“No, thank god for that.”

“Have you seen my phone?” I ask, as the familiar message ping rings through the silence.

“No idea.” he says, and stretches like a cat, as I lift myself off him.He’s naked and covered in a fine sheen of sweat, more beautiful than I have ever seen him.

Andreas Mitchell. Naked. On my bed.

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