Page 40 of Glitterland
“Well, ahwight,” he said, at last. “But if it goes weird I’m stopping.”
I nodded again.
And, after a moment, he peeled off his T-shirt, baring an expanse of smooth, dark golden skin to my gaze. I suddenly realised it was the first time I’d really had the opportunity to look at him, but it was not like looking at a stranger. As though my fingertips had unconsciously sought the knowing of him in secret touches, and read him like fragments of braille. He was quite lovely somehow, all sleek lines and subtle definition. He was also perhaps the most groomed man I’d ever seen in real life, though the fake tan couldn’t hide the freckles that gathered across the tops of his shoulders and dusted his arms.
“Ahwight?” he said, looking awkward. I must have been staring.
“Oh, yes.”
He gave a slightly shy smile.
He wriggled out of his jeans, not without difficulty, making me wonder how he’d ever managed to get into them, and finally out of his boxers. He took his uninspired cock in a half-hearted grip.
“You look gorgeous,” I said.
“I feel like a right plum.”
“You’re beautiful.” I meant it. I meant it so utterly I was choking on the beauty of him. I looked at him, as though it could be like touching, as though eyes could be pilgrims.
“Um, fank you,” he said after a moment, hand moving lazily upon his hardening cock.
“You must know. You’re a model, for God’s sake.”
He swallowed. “Yeah, but, y’know.”
“What?” On impulse, I put my hand on his hand, aligning my fingers over his, feeling the heat of his cock against my skin, through his skin. His breath hitched, colour gilding the tops of his wide, angular cheekbones.
“It’s just faking,” he mumbled, eyes fluttering like he was falling into a dream, or waking from one. “Could be well busted underneaf.”
“Bollocks. Now stop making excuses and get wanking.”
He tipped back his head and laughed. He was fully erect now, hot and heavy beneath our tangled hands, so I left him to it. I put my back to the sofa, folded my trembling fingers about an upraised knee and watched, pouring myself into his every breath and his every motion, from the steady stroking of his hand to the involuntary flutter of his darkened lashes over his pleasure-closing eyes. I saw the slow kindling of desire through his body, like a match put to the corner of a piece of a newspaper. I saw the tightening of the long, lean muscles of his calves. The slight curling of his exquisitely manicured toes. The eager darkening of his cock and the glisten of pre-come that gathered on the head. The delicate feathering of his serratus anterior as he lifted an arm above his head. I saw the sinewy invitation of his hips as he twisted a little and—
“What on earth is that?” I asked.
His hand stilled. His lips clung to each other a moment before parting in speech. “What?”
“There’s a man’s name written on your body.”
“Oh yeah, nuffin to be jell abaht, babes. It’s only my ex.”
“I’m not jell. Err, jealous.” I tilted my head to better decipher a piece of ornate calligraphy. It appeared to read, somewhat bathetically for the amount of artistry that had gone into it,Gary. “It’s just,” I went on, “you have somebody’s name indelibly inscribed on your flesh.”
He pushed himself onto his elbows, abandoning his cock completely. “D’you want to be talking abaht my ex or watching me do myself? Cos I reckon it’s either-or, babes. ’E’s like a mate now and it’d be proper cringe.”
There was something wrong with me. Well, there were lots of things wrong with me. But for some reason I seemed to be still asking aboutGary. “I just don’t understand why you would do something like that. And for someone you’re not even dating anymore.”
“’E was my first boyfriend. We was in love. Togevver for like monfs.”
“Wow, months. And this led you to brand yourself?”
“I fink it’s nice.”
“I…have no idea what to say to that.”
“Well, the people you love are always gonna be wif you. Like—” He tapped his chest. “—in your heart or whateva. So what’s the difference?”
“One of them is symbolic and the other is the word ‘Gary’ literally written on your arse.”
