Falling (14 page)

“It reminds me how fragile we are,” I add, though I’m not sure where that sentiment comes from all of a sudden. It’s not like me to initiate existential conversations.

“I’m not so fragile,” Angus says wryly, looking down at his admittedly not particularly fragile-looking frame.

But that’s not the sort of fragile I mean. “We’re all fragile. Life is, everything. One moment here, the next gone.”

“Okay, I agree with that to a certain extent,” he says, pulling a thoughtful face. “But perhaps it’s the fragility, the temporariness that makes some things precious. Like moments that will never happen again. You have to make them worth it, because even though they are temporary, they are worth happening. If not, what’s the point?”

He means it rhetorically, of course, but I don’t. “What
is
the point?” I’m not being entirely serious, but in the past I have had this thought, and it has crushed me. Beyond that, sky is just space. We are nothing but momentary sparks in a darkness so endless it belies any
point
.

“Love. Happiness,” he states simply, unperturbed, his gaze holding mine. Far surer than his eighteen years suggest he should be.

With the travel tweezers in his hand, Angus focuses again on his foot. I’m still watching his face, thinking about his answer, but I have to glance away when he grimaces with pain.

“Think I might have a bit of glass in it still. It’ll be okay if I can get it out.”

“Let me take you to hospital.”

“And sit around in A & E for the next few hours? No way. I don’t want to waste today.” His cheeks flush, and he looks quickly away as if he didn’t mean to say that, the implications from what he said a moment ago still echoing—
our time together is precious
.

The blush suits him, and I can’t help but stare.

“You could get an infection in it,” I say.

“That’s what this is for.” He shows me the tiny tube of antiseptic ointment. “You’ve never actually opened this kit before, have you?”

“No, thank God. I’ve not needed to.”

“You’re much more sensitive about things than you let on, you know.”

“And I’d always thought I was hard as nails,” I say with a put-upon sigh.

Angus laughs. I want him to do it again.

But at that moment he gasps, and tears run down his cheek. He holds up a tiny bloody shard with the tweezers.

I look away.

“
Ow
,” he moans.

Still looking pained, he squeezes out the ointment onto his foot and then opens the pack of bandages with his teeth.

“I’m sorry I’m not being much help,” I say, feeling uncomfortable and still a bit woozy.

Angus shrugs. “Neither am I. Stepping on glass isn’t exactly the most helpful thing I could have done today.”

I watch as he bandages his foot, expecting the blood to soak through, but it doesn’t.

When he’s finished I reach out and take his ankle in my hand. His expression tells me he has no idea what I am doing, but he doesn’t pull back.

I stroke across the ball of his foot, dusting the sand away and massaging gently.

I just want to make him feel good after being in pain. And, strangely, touching him reassures me he’s okay.

“Does this hurt?” He shakes his head, not quite looking at me. “Is this okay?”

This time he nods, and I wonder if he’s lost his voice.

I’ve never really considered myself a person who would be in any way turned on by someone’s feet, but Angus’s are perfectly proportioned—though they’re quite wide, they’re not too big, his toes and nails are neat and clean, and his skin is soft. I wonder what his skin would feel like against my lips, if he’d find my tongue too ticklish to bear (because I know he’s ticklish). I think back to those drunken moments we had in my flat, but the memory is elusive and I can’t really remember any of it clearly—only that I wanted him. I’ve been so stupid.

I smile as Angus shifts as though he’s not quite comfortable.

But I don’t think he wants me to stop.

I think it’s more because today Angus seems to be wearing the tightest trousers known to man. I will myself to stop staring at how closely they hug his legs, the sweet curve of his thighs. With one hand in his lap, he adjusts himself. Again.

“You like your feet being rubbed?” I ask casually. I can’t really miss the fact that he’s turned on—my face is about a foot from his erection, even if his hand is trying to hide it.

Embarrassment wars with arousal in his eyes, and I’m not sure which feeling wins in the end until he opens his legs a fraction wider, giving me a spectacular view, so I can only assume it’s arousal.

“I like being touched.” Angus closes his eyes and tilts his head back. “God, that sounds so wrong….”

He swallows, and all I want to do is kiss his throat.

“It doesn’t sound wrong.” I slip my hand up his tight trouser leg a little to massage his calf, well aware that I may have just crossed a line. I’m carrying on touching him while knowing it turns him on, that he
is
turned on. His legs feel quite hairy, so I’m careful not to press too hard to pull any hair. I just want to give enough pressure to make it pleasurable.

“God, I’m going to be in your lap in a minute.” He doesn’t look at me as he says this; his head is still tilted away, his eyes still closed, and I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. His talk about making moments worthwhile makes me want to create something worth remembering.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he groans, flopping his head forward and looking at me through slitted eyes.

“Perhaps. Not as much as you, though,” I add with a wry smile, ducking as he picks an empty plastic cup off the floor and flings it at me.

Angus shifts again, this time with a wince.

“Want me to stop?” I ask, stilling my hand but keeping hold of his calf.

“No,” he says heavily. “Wish I’d put some more comfortable trousers on, though.”

“Then I wouldn’t be enjoying the view so much.”

He swallows again, distinctly uncomfortable this time, and pushes himself upright.

“What?” I ask gently, sensing he’s pulling back from me and unable to stop the disappointment I feel.

Angus bites his lip, looking as though he’s warring with himself and deciding on whether to tell me something or not.

“Oskar told me I should maybe back off.”

“I wonder why,” I say heavily, reluctantly withdrawing my hand from his leg.

Oh, I’m aware I told Oskar I wasn’t interested in Angus, so I can’t really be upset about Oskar’s advice.

Angus shakes his head. “He said you were naturally dominant and me coming on to you the whole time might be putting you off. He said you’d probably prefer to be the one doing the chasing—”

Oh. I see.

Dominant? Really? I don’t think I have enough experience to exactly know, but I’ve never thought of myself as particularly dominant. Sure, I like to take the lead in sex, but it’s just a preference.

I look up as Angus carries on talking.

“
—
And I know you probably don’t want me to say anything, and it probably defeats the whole object of everything if I tell you, but I feel better when I’m not hiding anything or trying to. I won’t mention it again if you don’t want me to but….” The plea in his voice goes straight to my heart. I’ve knocked him back so many times. I’m such a dick. “I think you already know how much I like you.”

The sweet, lopsided smile he gives me has my heart beating heavily and heat pooling in my groin.

“And I really, really like you,” he repeats, making me think my reaction to his words must be visible and finding I no longer care.

It’s his honesty, his openness with his feelings, that breaks through all my defenses, I realize. It’s like an ocean flooding the empty cavities of my heart, filling them, me, with rushing, welcome warmth.

It’s as terrifying as drowning and ten times as exhilarating as anything else I’ve ever felt, and I am becoming too weak to keep on forcing myself to deny these feelings I have for him. I want to surrender to them, lay them down at his feet. I want him to know the fear inside me. I want to finally throw something back at it. Something good. Something like this. Though I still have so much doubt.

“I like you too,” I say softly, unable to bring myself to look right at him. “Don’t be too hard to get,” I add quietly.

I’m hoping he doesn’t hear the plea in me, the admission that part of me that’s not tied up in knots has wanted to chase him all this time. And at the same time, I know he should hear that. I owe it to him.

Gently, I pick his hand up and move it away from his lap, amazed that he managed to squeeze himself into these trousers at all the way his dick is straining the buttons.

It’s a little unfair on him that he can’t see how turned on I am right now. But even though it is hidden by my much longer T-shirt, my cock is desperate for some attention. For some of his attention.

I glance around to make sure no one is watching and press the heel of my hand all the way along his erection in one slow stroke. His breath huffs out in little pants, and he bites his lip in an effort to stifle a groan.

“Don’t tease me,” he pleads, but I can see that even if I told him I
was
teasing him, he wouldn’t want me to stop.

“I’m not.” I take his hand, locking my fingers briefly with his. “I promise.”

After everything, I’m not sure he entirely trusts me, which is not really surprising. Trust is like that—it takes time, its worth needs testing.

“I like that you’re so turned on. I just want to make you feel good. But we can stop. I don’t want to make you feel vulnerable by doing anything out here.”

I let go of his hand and rub my thumb over the head of his cock through his jeans, the heel of my hand pressing against him. I watch his face carefully for any sign he wants me to stop.

He makes a little needy
mmm-mmm-mmm
sound and I close my eyes to slow my breathing down. I want him right here. I wish no one else were around. I wish we were back at home in my flat. I wish I hadn’t pushed him away all this time.

“Stop,” he says suddenly, gripping his hand over mine, his eyes wide. “I’m going to come.” He flushes deeply as he says it.

I lift my hand away and take a deep breath to steady myself.

“Do you really like me?” he asks, his eyes as wide and dark gray as the ocean, his mouth soft and wet from the path of his tongue as he licks his lower lip.

“You have no idea how much I want you right now,” I groan, so full of desire it’s almost painful not to have him in my arms.

I gesture toward the backseat with my head, and when he nods, I grab his hand and pull him up. I open the back door and help him hop inside to sit on the backseat. Shaking sand off the picnic blanket, I climb in the back of the car with him and drag the blanket across his lap and mine.

We don’t kiss, but I want to, God I want to, and I know Angus does too by the way he keeps looking at my lips. I would wait until we get home so we can do this properly, slowly, but I don’t think I’m going to be able to see straight enough to drive. My dick is in control of my brain. I pull Angus’s hand down to my lap so he can feel it. His fingers scrabble across my stomach and hip, searching, until he finds it—I stifle a moan. Then his fingers slow, stroking delicately, feather light.

With one hard tug, the buttons to his trousers are undone and warm, wet heat is against my fingertips. The front of his thin underwear is so damp, I want to press my face against it, but we’re having to do this blind and hidden. I take a peek as I slip my hand inside his underwear, reaching for his balls and finding them nestled painfully in the crease of his trousers.

“Off,” I murmur, and Angus obediently shuffles his trousers down until his bare arse is on the car seat, though his nakedness is still hidden by the picnic blanket. It really turns me on sitting next to him like this.

“Better?”

All I get in response is a hot groan against the crook of my neck. The hair at the top of his thighs is so soft and silky against the back of my hand. Angus opens his legs wide as I ignore his dick entirely to cup and stroke his balls. They’re large and heavy, and I can tell he likes me touching him like this by the way he’s panting. His heart is beating madly—I can feel it hammering against my arm. Emboldened by his reaction, I reach farther back to press against his hole. I just intend to brush against the ring of muscle, but he pushes needily against the pressure, so I spit on my fingertip and rub it around the sensitive area, feeling how tight and tense he is but not quite pushing inside him, just playing with his resistance.

His hand that’s not wrapped around his own cock is still lightly tracing the outline of mine, but I know he’s too far gone to concentrate on anything but the building sensation.

His eyes are squeezed shut tight, and his expression is one of pained pleasure, so I’m guessing he’s close. I watch all his reactions carefully, scared I’m going too fast with him. The quick mutual masturbation in the back of the car I envisaged has turned into something a bit more intense.

If anyone looked in the window right now, they could hardly mistake what we’re doing. Angus looks so breathlessly sexy, his full lips slightly parted, so completely uninhibited as I touch him.

I lock my other hand with his as he strokes himself. His thick cock feels amazing, his skin like silk. I rub my thumb across the head, feeling the slickness, spreading it out. It’s so different from my dick, and it’s been a long time since I’ve touched anyone else’s. I feel the moment he starts to come—the way he goes unbelievably hard and his buttock muscles tighten, the way his mouth opens and he gasps as though he can’t breathe. He spurts over my hand, and it soaks into the blanket as he pulses and pulses. I keep stroking until I feel his teeth graze my neck, and I take that as a hint that the sensation is too much.

It’s the most intimate sex I’ve had in years. Without wiping my hand, I reach inside my jeans, smearing Angus’s come over my cock. Fuck, it’s not going to take long. With a lethargic grin, Angus bats my hand away.