Page 42 of Melting His Grumpy Heart
Jake closed his eyes, willing the prickle of sudden, unbidden tears not to fall.
Mumbling about his need for the bathroom, Jake slipped out of Ru’s embrace and the warmth of the rumpled bed.
In the bathroom he rested his weight on the sink and stared at himself in the mirror. His hair, normally too short to ever be a mess, stood up in little clumps. Other than that, he looked the same. What had he expected?
Until he stared deep into his reflected eyes.
Eyes that were clear and bright, eyes that looked… happy.
His world, already thrown off its axis, tilted some more.
Back in the bedroom, Ru looked up and smiled. “Come here.” He held out an arm in invitation.
Jake settled in beside him, allowing Ru to arrange them so that Jake’s head rested on his chest, their legs tangled together. It should have felt strange because Jake was usually the one doing the holding, if there was holding at all, but somehow it didn’t. It felt right, the solid thump of Ru’s heart beneath his ear grounding him.
They lay in silence for a while, Ru’s fingers drifting across Jake’s shoulder, Jake’s hand resting on Ru’s hip. The room was quiet except for their breathing. Outside, the day continued brightening, winter sunlight casting shadows across the floor.
“That was…” Ru began, then trailed off. “I kind of feel like I’ve been hit by a hurricane, and somehow survived. I think.”
Jake made a sound of agreement, not trusting his voice yet. The silence stretched between them, comfortable at first, then gradually weighted with unspoken questions. Jake could feel tension returning to his body, awareness creeping in around the edges of the post-orgasmic haze.
What had they done?
No, that was the wrong question. He knew exactly what they’d done. The real question was: what the fuck happened now?
The storm would clear eventually. Ru would move on to Bobblecombe or return to London, to his life, to a world entirely separate from Jake’s moorland isolation. Whatever this had been, it was nothing more than a blip in lives that shared no common ground. And without that, nothing could grow. Jake shifted, to move away, but Ru’s hold on him tightened.
“What are you thinking?” Ru asked, fingers still sweeping back and forth across Jake’s skin. “You’ve gone very quiet.”
A bland answer, that said nothing of worth, would be easy to give but it’d be a lie, and he owed Ru more than that.
“I’m thinking about what happens when the storm ends.”
Ru’s hand stilled momentarily, then resumed its regular, almost metronomic, movement.
“That’s a problem for future us. For now, can’t we just be here? In this moment?”
Future us. The words implied continuity, connection beyond this room, this day. It should have frightened Jake, instead the words burrowed, deep and warm, into his chest.
“Here and now.” Jake pressed a kiss to Ru’s chest, right over his heart. “I can do that.”
They lay together under the winter light, learning the contours of a new landscape, navigating by touch and trust rather than maps or compasses.
Yet Jake knew, somewhere beneath the surface contentment, that questions remained. Questions about what happened tomorrow, or the day after; about what happened when the storm ceased and real life resumed; about how much he could bear to have this again with Ru, and about how much he could bear not to. But for now, with the waif and stray he’d found in his barn warm and solid against him, those questions could wait.
For now, there was only this, skin against skin, shared breath, and the growing certainty that nothing would ever be the same again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Ru’s eyes flickered open. He was disoriented, his mind still fuzzy with sleep, his body both sore and bone deep relaxed. He blinked and looked around.
Jake’s bedroom. Jake’s bed.
He stretched, letting the memories flood back. Keeping watch all night, as they awaited the solstice sunrise. The kiss that had finally broken through Jake’s restraint, and everything that had followed in this very bed.
The place beside him was empty, the sheets cool to the touch. Ru ran his hand over the depression where Jake’s body had been, a sharp twinge of disappointment that he was alone cutting through his contentment. They’d fallen asleep wrapped in each other’s arms, their bodies fitting together perfectly, Jake’s breath warm on his skin. He’d hoped to wake the same way.
The light filtering through the windows was different to earlier. Ru glanced at the bedside clock. Just gone 3.30pm, the bright morning sun had been replaced by the darkening shadows of mid-afternoon. Day was already fading into night.
