Commitment Issues by Ali Ryecart

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Elliot

It’s a habit I could get used to. Freddie feels good in my arms, strong but lithe and supple. He kisses like he’s savouring a fine wine, and taking his time. Nothing’s rushed, the kisses we share are long and lingering.

I pull him in closer and he yields into my arms, my heart tripping when he moans and sighs into my mouth, and pushes deeper. But it’s not the kissing that makes my skin tingle and my stomach flip. It’s the tender way he caresses my face, the way his fingers drift through my hair as though he’s taking his time to know me once more.

The need to breathe pulls us apart. At the end of the long garden, the light from the flares, and spilling from the kitchen, can’t reach us and we’re lit by moonlight alone.

It’s perfect, until angry shouting and pleading crash in on us.

“Domestic,” Freddie mutters, as a couple, oblivious to everybody but themselves, make their angry way towards us. “Come on.” Freddie grabs my hand, pulling me up and leading me back to the house, leaving the warring couple behind us.

Just before we step back into the kitchen, Freddie cocks his head to one side, groaning and laughing at the same time.

“Whenever Cosmo’s had too much to drink, he always does this.”

“What?” And then I hear it, the strangled cries of a chicken being slaughtered for the pot.

“Karaoke.”

“James is exactly the same. It must be genetic. I’m going to keep out of the way, because if James sees me, he’ll try and get me up there to duet with him. The last time I got caught, he made me sing Dancing Queen with him.” I shiver, and Freddie laughs.

“Yeah, let’s keep out of their way. Erm, I’m going to make a cuppa if you’re interested?” I meet his eyes, remembering as we tussled for the box of tea bags, and the first time I’d nearly kissed him.

The kitchen’s empty, the remaining guests joining in with the karaoke, and I wince as I hear James’ squawking.

“That is seriously painful, and I suspect it’s causing irreparable damage to my eardrums,” Freddie says as he hands over the tea. He bites down on his lip as indecision races across his face. “Look, do you want to come upstairs? What I mean is, do you want to come upstairs to my room?”

He groans, and lets his head drop back.

“That sounds like some cheesy line, and it’s not what I mean.” He looks me square in the face, a hard flush colouring his cheeks. “I don’t want to be dragged into karaoke, so if they can’t find us we can’t be.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea. And don’t worry, I’ve heard cheesier lines.” I give him a smile I hope looks a lot more confident and assured than I’m feeling.

And that small, shy smile reappears, the smile I’ve not been able to get out of my thoughts over the past month since France. I’ve missed it so damn much and as I look at him, warmth nestles deep in my chest.

“Then we need these.” He rummages through a cupboard, and a second or two later he’s holding an unopened packet of custard creams, a big grin spread across his face. “Now we’re tooled up.”

I followed him up the stairs, to the top of the house, and to his room.

“I think it’s tidy,” he says, grimacing, before opening up and letting me in.

The room’s large, and screams Freddie, a mix of serious and fun. A double bed’s wedged up against the wall, and the duvet’s slightly rumpled as though he’d roughly straightened it when he got up. Along another wall, a large desk takes up a lot of the space, the shelving either side rammed with books. Every available inch of space is covered in posters and photographs. A huge, old-looking, and ornate map of Scandinavia takes a central place, alongside an elaborate family tree.

“Is this your family?” I take a few steps closer, and peer hard.

Freddie’s laughter rings in my ears as his warm breath wafts over me, sending a delicious shiver down my spine.

“No. That’s a tree depicting the genealogy of the Norse kings. I don’t come from such exalted stock.”

I look a little closer. “Erik the Eunuch.”

He snorts. “So you were listening to me,” he says, both surprised and pleased.

“Of course I was. I listened to every word you said to me.”

My gaze shifts to a nearby collage of photos. “Who?” but I don’t need to ask.

“My family.” Freddie points to a photo that takes pride of place in the centre. “My parents, brother and two sisters. It was taken just before I started university. The last time I was home was in February, for Dad’s birthday. We’re a close family, and although we talk on the phone and FaceTime, it’s not the same. My brother and sisters were my best friends, growing up, even though we fought like cats and dogs. My sisters are both married, and still live in the village, but my brother’s still at home. I’m the only one who’s properly moved away.”

I take a closer look at the photo. The likeness between them all is clear, but it’s his mother Freddie resembles most, her hair as blonde and heavy as Freddie’s. But the family photos aren’t the only ones.

There are lots of him and Cosmo, arms slung around each other, around their waists, or over shoulders, their bodies pressed tight. There’s even one of them tousled-haired and sleepy-looking as they peer out from under a duvet they’re sharing, in a tent. They look like a couple, and a spasm hits my chest and I know it for what it is.

Jealousy.

“You and Cosmo, you look close.” My voice feels tight and strained. I know the two of them are best friends, but…

“We are,” he says, simply. “We found ourselves sharing a student house in our first term with a bunch of Neanderthals, although that’s an insult to our cousins on the evolutionary tree. Four Hooray Henry homophobes, they made our life difficult.”

His face closes off, as his lips press tight.

“I was eighteen and fresh from home. I’d never experienced anything like it and I found them intimidating. But Cosmo wasn’t prepared to take their crap, so he decided to vote with his feet and find somewhere else and he asked me if I wanted to go with him. I jumped at the chance, then later we ended up here when he inherited this place from his gran. I love the annoying little git to bits, but close friendship’s all it’s ever been.”

The spasm in my chest loosens and melts away.

Two floors up, it’s easy to forget there’s a party taking place below. The music’s just a distant echo, and I’m happy to be away from it, happy to be sharing cups of tea and eating custard cream biscuits with Freddie, the pair of us on his bed and propped by pillows. He takes his garlanded helmet off and shakes out his hair, releasing the slight citrus aroma of lemon.

A burst of laughter drifts up from downstairs, along with cheers and clapping.

The digital clock that sits on a small table next to Freddie’s bed flicks over to 01.35am.

Outside, a car screeches past, a heavy bass beat thumping out, before it fades into the night.

I should go. I should get up, and thank him for the tea, and tell him I hope to see him again soon.

Instead, I sit on the bed, doing none of those things.

Freddie puts his cup down, and looks at me through the thick fall of his hair.

“Stay the night. Here, with me.”

My heart hammers hard in my chest, and James’ words came back to me. Cut myself a bit of slack… Have some fun… Don’t think about it too much. It doesn’t have to be more than that. It’s not about love or commitment or a relationship, all the things I tell myself I can’t face.

“Are you sure?” My voice is rough and parched.

“No, I’m not sure. In fact, it’s probably a really bad idea. But that doesn’t stop me wanting you to stay.”

And it’s what I do.

We strip off, our clothes landing in a heap on the floor, and slip into bed. I close my eyes as he kisses me, soft warm kisses, and I sigh.

I like sex, I love sex, the sweat, the moans, the curses, the hard and heavy thrust as I ram my cock into a tight, hot arse. I’ve lived a life since my first fumbling encounter as a teenager, before committing myself to Gavin, only to have that commitment thrown back in my face. But more than that I love—

This.

This, with Freddie.

Soft kisses, gentle touches, a sweep of fingers across hot and tingling skin. Licks and nips that works their magic, drifting down my body, making my muscles quiver and my nerves tremble.

I suck in an uneven breath, and force my eyes open. And gaze down. The bedding’s slipped from our naked bodies and moonlight streams through the window illuminating Freddie, between my splayed legs. His face hovers just above my heavy, blood-filled cock, his hot breath wafting across and lighting up every pulsing, throbbing nerve.

My breathing’s shallow and ragged as I push trembling fingers through the tangle of his hair.

He looks up at me; everything about him is still. The only thing I can hear is the thumping of my heart, the rush of blood racing through my veins, and my stuttering, shallow breaths.

He drops his head forward, and takes me deep into his mouth.

“Ah, Christ,” I grind out, screwing my eyes closed as electricity races through me. My blood’s on fire, searing every part of me as I thrust into the tight, hot wetness of his mouth. One hand holds me at the base of my dick, the other rolling and massaging my balls, and all the time the lick and flick of his tongue along my nervy, burning shaft. My moans and groans and muttered curses fill the air as his lips piston along my dick, wet and slippery from spit, and my own juice.

Freddie pulls off me and something that sounds like a whimper pushes its way through my throat. I force my eyes open and my heart almost stops as he straddles me. His dick, long and thin and seared into my memory, bobs against his stomach. My mouth waters and I reach for him, needing to feel him, hot in my hand, but he bats me away and laughs.

“Patience.” He flicks the top of a small bottle.

I hiss as the cool lube hits my heated shaft but all that melts away as Freddie’s fisted hand glides up and down, slathering me with the slick. Wet noise fills the bedroom, the wet noise of Freddie’s drenched fist making a tunnel for my dick.

“You’re not getting all the fun,” he murmurs.

My brain’s fog-bound, incapable of rational thought, deprived of blood and oxygen. I can’t think, I can’t understand, until I do. And I cry out as his cock, as hard and hot as my own, slips against mine.

“Fucking hell Freddie, that’s… that’s…”

But whatever it is, is lost as our slick, hot cocks ride each other in the hot prison of his fist.

Freddie rocks into me, his hips rolling, his arse pressing back against my thighs before pushing forward again. I meet him roll for roll, thrust for thrust, as he jacks us both in a hard, relentless rhythm. Clamping my hand over his, he gasps and mutters God knows what as his breathing hitches hard in his chest.

In the moonlit room, he throws his head back, his hair hanging behind him as our hips speed up. His hand, our hands, matching the hard pace we’ve set. The faint noise from the party has long since dissolved to nothing and the only sounds are our ragged and torn breaths, the wet slap of skin on skin, as we rut into Freddie’s hot, soaked hand. Beneath us the bed creaks, the headboard rams hard into the wall, beating an erratic rhythm.

“Elliot…”

My name on his lips is an explosion in my head and in my balls, ripping my climax through me. I jack us harder, as my hips jerk out of control as hot cum spews from me, overflowing our hands, soaking us, splattering us both. Freddie’s jagged, out of control rhythm falters and stills, his body tensing and quivering as his orgasm erupts from him, hot semen arching from his slit and coating us both, his release merging and mixing with my own.

He collapses on top of me, his breathing as hard and torn as my own. He’s shaking and I wrap my arms around him, holding him close, wanting only to keep him safe through the aftershocks of his release. His heart beats hard against my own, and I brush my fingers through his hair, whispering I don’t know what, in between peppering his soft, silky, sweat-damp strands with kisses.

I breathe him in deep, I breathe us both in, the tang of sex and salt, of sweat, of the lingering aroma of our colognes that could never be a match for the scent of us.

“Bloody hell,” Freddie mutters as he rolls off me, and scrubs his face with the heels of his hands.

My pulse, which had started to calm, picks up once more as my head clears, making a path for indecisiveness to tear through me. He’s asked me to stay the night, in his bed. But his body’s angled away from me, one arm flung over his face, blocking himself off from me. The gap between us on the bed is small, but it’s big enough for the heat we’ve shared to cool.

What he said before isn’t what he wants now. My heart twists hard in my chest as I push myself off the bed and scramble for my clothes.

“What’re you doing?”

In the darkness, Freddie’s voice is small and thin.

“Maybe it’s best if I…” Go. Leave. It’s no more than sex, two unattached consenting adults doing what unattached consenting adults do.

“No. Stay. I want you to stay.” He shivers, even though the room’s warm.

My clothes slip from my hands and I climb back into bed.

Should I touch him, hold him, curl around him, pull him in tight, kiss him goodnight…? We’re covered in each other’s cum and sweat, but I don’t have a clue what to do.

Freddie solves it for me, snuggling into my side and sighing as he throws an arm across my chest.

“They’ll be prising us apart with a paper knife tomorrow… should have a shower, but I can’t be arsed, just lie here like…”

Whatever he says next is swallowed up in a light snore as he falls asleep, curled up against me.

I stare up at the ceiling, watching the dust motes dance in the moonlight, as I wonder what the morning will bring.