Rhapsody on a Theme (36 page)

“Slow,” Darren insisted blearily and hissed at the first touch. Jayden kissed his stomach apologetically, then his chest, then distracted him by sucking hard on a nipple until he could begin properly without those grimaces and hisses. “Fuck,” Darren breathed lowly, once the first hurdle was overcome, and then suddenly: “Love you.”

Jayden’s heart hiccupped. “I know,” he whispered, burying kisses in that flexing neck. “Always did. You’ve loved me from the beginning.”

“Nearly,” Darren mumbled, groaning when Jayden flexed his fingers experimentally. “
Oh
shit, yeah, that’s the spot. Jesus.”

“Nearly?” Jayden prompted.

“Just thought you were fit to start with,” Darren mumbled, and Jayden laughed, kissing him deeply and drinking in the muffled gasp when he moved again.

It
was
slow, partly out of the bleary lack of coordination Jayden had early in the mornings, and partly out of courtesy to Darren’s obvious discomfort—but slow was not still, and eventually Jayden was as close as he could possibly get: without clothing, without protection, skin-to-skin inside and outside, and he could feel a hammering pulse against his dick and some kind of electrical charge in Darren’s body, buzzing between them like a living thing.

“I love you,” he whispered, and Darren kissed him, murmuring the command to move. He groaned when Jayden did, but repeated himself, and a slow and gentle rhythm was finally established. “Love you,” Jayden repeated, almost trying to preserve Darren in his mind forever, touching and kissing and whispering that devotion over his damp skin. “Love you, love you, love you.”

“Everything,” was the only thing Darren said.

Everything
was all that they were.

They caught an afternoon train home, one from the sporadic hourly Sunday service. They were late getting out of bed, showering together even though it had been little more than lax kissing, a long embrace under the blisteringly hot water, and Jayden watching Darren’s curls bounce and defy the steam in silent fascination.

So they were even later still leaving, and missed the others. The hotel had no remaining evidence of a wedding, bar confetti still fluttering around the grey steps and London skyline outside. Jayden sent texts; Darren knocked back his pill several hours late with a bottle of cold orange juice from a coffee shop on the corner, and got out his mobile the moment they left the underground for the mainland station.

He was still on his phone when Jayden returned from the station cafe and collecting their tickets to get home, scrolling through what looked like a web page on the tiny screen, the text unreadably small, and Jayden peered briefly at it in tired interest before blowing on his tea and saying, “What’re you doing?”

Darren simply hummed, distracted, and Jayden laughed lowly before hooking his arm through Darren’s and steering him to the barriers. He had to push him through them, to the amusement of the guard, and led him down the exposed and windy platform to the locked and waiting train, not yet ready to leave for the coast.

“You’re not even here, are you?” Jayden asked lowly.

“What?”

“What are you
doing
?” he repeated, sipping at his tea and smiling fondly.

“Booking a table,” Darren mumbled. The breeze on the platform edge was catching at his drying curls, rippling through them like an affectionate parent or a lover in a playful mood, and the fine layer of dark stubble and those wire-framed glasses made his face look even more firm and angular than usual. Hair and clothes billowed, but Darren himself stood firm. He had showered intensely, still less than delighted by the aftermath of barrier-free sex, but hadn’t bothered to shave that morning, and Jayden liked the effect. Admiring said effect, Jayden transferred his cup to one hand and slid the other into Darren’s elbow, squeezing lightly.

“For what?”

“Mm?”

“Booking a table for what?”

“For next weekend,” Darren said. “
Franelli’s
. Saturday night if I can get it.” He began to tap on the keys, and Jayden bumped his head against the top of Darren’s damaged shoulder, frowning a little at the locked train doors and not really seeing them.

“Can you afford to take the time off?”

“I’ll swap shifts again,” Darren said. “Lizzie owes me one. And I have Sunday off anyway.”

Jayden hummed and sipped at his tea again. It was warm; so was the afternoon, but the breeze was chilly and the station in shadow. Summer had not really hit yet. When Darren slid the phone back into his jacket pocket, Jayden captured one of those hands, seeking the heat, and swung their joined fingers lightly between them, eyeing Darren’s calm face sceptically. He knew when something was up, and his curiosity was piqued. “Showing appreciation again, are we?”

“Nah,” Darren said.

“Then what?”

“There needs to be a reason?” came the innocent reply—and innocence from Darren was in itself suspicious.

“Darren, I love you, but you’re not romantic.”

“True,” Darren allowed and smiled crookedly. Jayden squeezed his fingers with a small smile. “But apparently I have to do this properly and everything, so for once, I’m going to be romantic. Or try. And romantic comes with a booking at your favourite restaurant. So, I booked.”

Jayden rolled his eyes, and Darren grinned, looking away to watch a train in the distance. As the wind ripped at their hair, the reason for the booking—
the favourite restaurant and everything
—suddenly made itself known, and Jayden squeezed that large hand tightly, curling his toes inside his trainers. His heart jumped, dropped, and swelled. A warmth flushed through his veins, and he smiled wide enough to hurt for a brief second. The world was over-saturated, over-coloured, and he squeezed Darren’s hand tightly in his own.

“We could always go Sunday if they’re booked up Saturday,” he said lowly, his voice sounding oddly distant to himself, and Darren smiled.

“I’m saving Sunday for a day in bed,” he said. “Recovering. Especially after you this weekend, holy shit.”

Jayden laughed.

The train doors hissed and opened, and Darren led the way, shunting their bags into the overhead space and dropping into the seat opposite Jayden, taking off his glasses and folding them on the table. “I’m going to nap,” he announced, and Jayden smiled, the expression shaking tremulously with his newfound knowledge, and slid back out of his seat to curl up in the one to Darren’s right.

“Think I might join you,” he said lowly, and Darren’s face creased in a short grin, eyes already closed and head back against the rest.

A little while later, the train peeled away, sunlight flickering through the glass as it left the station and rumbled over old tracks down the long streak to Southampton. Jayden rocked lightly in his seat, the motion soothing and lulling, and felt the relaxed way that Darren sat when he dozed. Jayden envied him: he was tired too, and wanted to be home in bed right now, and it was too cold for summer when he thought about it, and the tea from the station was weak, and he had work tomorrow with looming deadlines on some festival coverage that Stephanie would be stressed about even if nobody else was, and…and he was right where he wanted to be. In his own private rhapsody, even if it wouldn’t have been a rhapsody to anybody else.

Somewhere—anywhere—with Darren.

THE END

ABOUT MATTHEW J. METZGER

Matthew J. Metzger is the front for a British-born author dragged up in the south of England as part of a typical nuclear family with three kids, a mortgage, and no dog because a dog would get hair on the carpet. A brief escape to the north to study focused his writing from daydreaming rambles to his first novel,
Our Last Summer
. It is unquestionably better than the dissertation he produced at the same time for his university degree, but probably not as inventive as the excuses he provided for missing classes so often.

Matthew has since returned to the London area, and therefore lives mostly on the public transport. He suspects that his next few pieces will probably involve homicidal characters on the London Underground. Visit him online at
matthewjmetzger.wordpress.com
.

ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC

JMS Books LLC is a small electronic press specializing in gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender fiction (including erotica, romance, and young adult), as well as popular and literary fiction, nonfiction, and poetry. While our preference is for GLBT stories, we accept stories containing any and all sexualities, as well as general fiction without a romantic subplot. Visit our site at
jms-books.com
for our latest releases and submission guidelines!