Page 45 of Hearts Colliding
“Yes, you are. I can almost hear it. Just Ryan and Alex, remember? Go on, have your sad and lonely shower, but don’t blame me if you fall over.”
* * *
By the time Alex was back, Ryan had cleared away the pizza boxes and straightened out the sofa. Alex sank down into it, the warmth of their bodies lingering on the fine velvet. The curtains had been drawn and the lamps switched on, casting a soft glow in the warm room, making it homely rather than the makeshift office-bedsit he’d intended it to be when he’d returned.
Homely. The word hit him hard in the chest. It had been that, once, before everything had gone bad. He looked over at the window, where his mum had liked to sit and gaze out, almost expecting to see her there bestowing upon him that bright and loving smile that made all the wrongs in the world right. He breathed in deep, but the aroma that filled his senses wasn’t the soft floral perfume she’d always worn, long since faded, but spice and sex.
The rattle of crockery on a tray broke the spell.
“Coffee. And I found custard cream biscuits. I mean, custard creams? Are they your idea of afters?” Ryan put the tray on the coffee table, shaking his head in dismay as he sat down next to Alex. He looked so put out Alex couldn’t help but laugh.
“I like custard creams. I suppose I could have gone into the village to get some ice cream or cakes, but I didn’t fancy inciting a riot—”
Ryan pressed a heavy finger against his lips.
Ryan and Alex. Alex and Ryan. Nothing and nobody else when it was just the two of them. They'd agreed, and Alex was more than happy to abide by his side of the bargain.
In silent assent, they focused on their drinks and Alex relaxed back into the sofa cushions, closing his eyes as he savoured the strong warmth of the coffee. Next to him, Ryan’s leg pressed lightly against his own; it wasn’t only the coffee that was strong and warm.
“You need a telly.”
“A telly?” Alex opened his eyes, finding the place where one had stood, years before. “I hadn’t thought about it. I don’t watch a lot of TV.” He shifted. It was true, despite the monster sized screen attached to the wall in his London home, but a TV in the New House was getting a tad too comfortable, a bit too settled. “If I want to see anything, I stream it on my laptop.”
Ryan said nothing more, seeming to accept the explanation as he poured them both more coffee, and single handedly ate his way through the entire packet of biscuits he’d roundly mocked.
“Glad you enjoyed the custard creams. The whole packet of them.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers, I suppose. Get Hobnobs next time, because they’re my favourite. But that’s enough biscuit talk.”
Ryan plucked Alex’s mug from his hands, and put it down with his own on the coffee table.
“I was still drinking—”
“You were. Now, you’re doing this.”
Alex let himself be eased deeper into the sofa. Ryan lay down next to him, the warmth of his body, the soft waft of his breath a sure and comforting presence.
It would be easy, so easy, for the closeness to turn to something more, for buttons to be unbuttoned and zips to be unzipped, to fall into the heated desperation of sex. His body tingled at the memory of what they had done and could do again but as Ryan gently, softly, slowly brushed his fingers through his hair, he realised it was this he needed more than anything. Simple touch, that was anything but simple.
Ryan’s fingers butterflied over Alex’s face. Tracing the line of his jaw, sweeping over his cheekbones, floating down the bridge of his nose, ghosting across his lips. Alex’s eyelids fell closed. His heartbeat slowed, his breathing deepened and all the muscles in his body let go of those last vestiges of tension, so ingrained he barely noticed them any longer. The tracing of fingertips was replaced by the soft brush of lips, charting the same course across his face.
Alex sighed as Ryan laid a trail of feather light kisses, each one sweeter and softer than the last. Ryan’s lips came to rest on his own, easing them apart. So, so easy to succumb to urgent heat, but… Ryan kissed him lightly, the sweep of his tongue slow and gentle, the strong hand that rested against his cheek warm and steadying as Ryan brushed his thumb across the ridge of his cheekbone, backwards and forwards, forwards and backwards. Beneath them the sofa shifted, as Ryan gathered him up, holding him close, his arms wrapping around him like the warmest, softest coat on the bitterest of winter days.
“Where did you learn to do that?” Alex mumbled into Ryan’s chest. He looked up through his lashes. Ryan stared down at him, his eyes wide and dark. He looked dazed, as though he hadn’t understood the question.
“With you,” he said slowly. “I learnt it with you.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR
“… good news is that, as expected, almost the whole of the village has submitted its comments about the development. The bad news is, there’s a larger than anticipated number in support. Those in favour have cited the economic benefits. Or supposed benefits.”
Charles’ comments were met with tuts and sighs.
“He’s turned their heads, that’s what he’s done.” Eva snorted. “What he said about…”
Ryan tuned them out. Friends and neighbours, old and new, weren’t the only ones to have had their heads turned by Alex Love.
His thoughts drifted, as they were doing more and more, to what he and Alex shared when everything else was brushed aside, when it was only them, nobody and nothing else even thought of. That perfect day at the beach… meeting for lunch far away from the inquisitive gaze of the village… holed up in the house, gorging on pizza and each other, and all the other stolen, secret moments. His grip on the pen he held tightened. Like lovers. Like any other couple. Holding Alex, feeling every inch of his body. Tasting him. Kissing him. Oh, yeah, kissing him over and over and over. A smile tugged at his lips. He’d never known any man who loved to be kissed as much as Alex did, but then he’d never loved kissing any other man the way he loved kissing Alex.
