Commitment Issues by Ali Ryecart
Chapter Thirty-Five
Freddie
I don’t want to wake up. I’m warm and snug and it’s how I want to stay. The bed shifts slightly and I roll over and wrap my arms around the warm body that’s strong, muscular and hard. And very, very furry. I open my eyes and see a pair of brown ones looking at me.
“Jasper. You’re a bad boy, you know you shouldn’t be here.”
A long pink tongue whips out and licks my nose.
“Urggh! Early morning dog breath. Literally dog breath. Go away, you mad hound.” But I don’t push him away, instead I nuzzle into his neck, and his little sturdy body wriggles and rewards me with one of his trademark raspy little woofs.
“What would your daddy say? He wouldn’t like you being in the bed, you know.” And I wonder what Elliot would think if he heard me referring to him as Daddy… Daddy, with a capital D. I snigger, as I push myself out of bed and Jasper scrambles after me, lifting up one stiff little leg and nuzzling around where once there would have been a little pink pair of balls. But they’re long gone. “I’d ask if you want any breakfast but it looks like you’ve found something far more tasty to munch on.” Jasper doesn’t respond and I leave him to it, as I head off to the shower.
It’s been almost a month since Cosmo cornered me about Elliot. Neither of us have referred to it since, and I’m relieved. I’ve made sure I’ve spent more time at home, although where home is now, I’m not so sure. But Cosmo’s away again, and as soon as he left for the airport I was locking up, and taking the Northern Line to Hampstead.
Less than half an hour later I’m showered, shaved, and dressed. I also strip and remake the bed with fresh linens, ready for when Elliot gets home later. My balls tingle and my cock pulses as I think about our reunion. It’s Friday and he’s been gone for five days, back to Oslo to try and put his deal to bed. My cock presses against my jeans, as I think about him putting me to bed.
Downstairs, Jasper’s in the kitchen, waiting patiently by his bowl
“Come on boy, in the garden first and then you can have your breakfast.”
Opening up the door leading into the garden, I let in the warm morning sunshine, and watch as Jasper makes his stiff legged way down to the bottom and out of sight behind some bushes. As I wait for him to amble his way back, I put the kettle on for a cup of tea, as I think about the day ahead.
It’s going to be busy. I have to finish up a paper I’m submitting to a journal, and then after that plenty of reading. Or that’s the plan. It’s only just gone eight o’clock, but I’m already feeling antsy and I know my concentration’s pretty much shot.
I know what time he’s due back, and I wonder if I’ve got everything I need to cook a really nice dinner for him. Elliot can tell me about his week, and I can tell him about mine, before we get naked and screw ourselves stupid. Maybe screw ourselves stupid before we catch up. Or maybe screw ourselves stupid before and after, and maybe even during. My hand drifts down to my cock, a hard bulge in the front of my jeans.
“Fucking hell,” I breathe, as I squeeze and rub. I catch the zip between thumb and forefinger, ready to tug it down and release my throbbing dick when a high pitched, strangled bark cuts through the haze. Jasper, re-emerged from the garden, by his bowl doing some funny little shuffling dance, and yelping at me.
“Bloody furry cock blocker,” I say to the dog, but without any malice or conviction.
I set about sorting out Jasper’s breakfast, but my mind’s firmly on Elliot. I’ve missed him, not just the sex. I’ve missed him. The thought warms something deep inside of me I can’t let myself examine too closely.
I’ve not heard much from him in the last five days. He told me that when he’s working, he puts all his energy and concentration into doing just that. He’s sent me a couple of text messages, and there’s been a very brief phone call which was cut short because he had to get back to a meeting. I’d have loved to have talked to him via FaceTime or Skype or something like that, but he didn’t suggest it, so I didn’t either. He’s been busy, and I understand that. I’m much like that myself, when I’m involved in something and really focused. Everything else is just a distraction. And I get that, I really, really do.
With Jasper happily gnawing on his chew toy, I put my earphones on and let the soft background music lull me into work, as I try not to think about how excited I am that Elliot’s coming home tonight and that I’ll be here to welcome him back.
* * *
I keep looking out the window like a suburban curtain twitcher. I know from his flight details what time he landed so he shouldn’t be too long. My ears are attuned to every sound on the street outside and when I hear the cab pull up, I race to the door and fling it open, smiling so hard I’m in danger of rupturing every single one of my face muscles. Elliot makes his way up the steps towards the front door and I scramble down, ready to take some of his luggage, but he says it’s fine and keeps hold of it himself. We close the door, shutting the world out, and I fling myself into his arms.
“Quite the homecoming,” he says.
I go to kiss him, I want to do a whole lot more than kiss him, but he steps back out of my arms. My body flinches. I’ve been too much, too gushy, and for a moment I feel stupid. But then I look at him, which is what I should have done before I’d leapt on him with only one thought on my mind, and I understand.
Elliot doesn’t just look tired, he looks exhausted, drained and wrung out, and I wonder how much of a bitch the past few days have been to him.
“How was it?” I ask, hoping he’ll tell me, but he doesn’t like to discuss his work in any detail, when we’re together. He’s not secretive about it, he just likes to keep the professional and the private separate as much as he can.
“It was difficult, but in the end it was worth it. There was a lot to be hashed out, but both parties got what they wanted, I think.” He smiles at me but it’s kind of vague and distant. “Something smells good,” he says, his smile brightening, but somehow I still don’t think he’s really here with me.
“I hope you’re hungry? I’ve made a—”
“Jasper! Come give me a cuddle. I’ve missed you, you mad hound.”
I watch as Elliot scoops the dog up in his arms and nuzzles around his neck. Elliot cuddling Jasper, Elliot missing Jasper, Elliot peppering Jasper’s head with kisses. I turn away and head for the kitchen because I don’t want him to see my smile crack and crumble to the floor.
“Have you been all right here?” He says, following me, still holding Jasper tight in his arms. “Hope this one hasn’t been too much trouble.” Elliot looks at me over Jasper’s head almost as if he’s noticing me properly for the first time.
He’s tired, I tell myself, he’s tired and worn out and probably all he wants to do is eat, have a soak in the bath, and sleep. And that’s fine, I don’t have a problem with that. And I wouldn’t, if he didn’t feel so distant and that me being here in his house, making myself at home just as he’d wanted me to, and cooking him a welcome home meal, didn’t feel so weird and strange and awkward.
“Sure. Everything’s been fine, and Jasper’s no trouble.”
“That’s good, and thank you. I really appreciate it, you know that.” His smile feels like the first genuine piece of attention he’s given me, and I smile back.
“I was happy to. I’ve cooked dinner, but if you don’t want—”
“I do. And it smells wonderful, thanks for going to the trouble.” He puts Jasper down, and the dog totters off to his basket in the corner. “But I really need to have a shower first, and get into a change of clothing.”
“Shower? I can jump in with you and give you a good scrubbing,” I say with a laugh, waiting, hoping, for a dark grin and an outstretched hand, but all I get is a weak smile and a shake of the head, and I feel stupid, so damn stupid, as my heart plummets and crashes through my body.
“I shan’t be long.” He heads back towards the hallway, leaving me staring at his retreating back.
Forty minutes later and he’s still not emerged. Roast chicken and the bowls of vegetables are waiting on the table, ready to be served up, and there’s a cold beer too, the hoppy citrus one he likes so much. The food’s going cold, as the beer warms up, and a burst of irritation and annoyance flames in my stomach. Has he forgotten that I’ve cooked for him? Has he forgotten that I’m even here?
I stride out of the kitchen and lean on the newel post looking up the stairs, ready to call up to him but I swallow back what I know will be my tetchy, prickly words as I realise what’s probably happened. He’d looked so tired when he got back, and I wonder if he’s fallen asleep.
I make my way upstairs and stop, half way up, when I hear the low rumble of his voice, and I strain to listen. He’s on the phone, talking fast, whatever he’s saying punctuated by the other person as his voice goes quiet. I can’t hear the words properly, but there’s something almost fevered in his tone. I clutch the handrail. I can’t go forward and I can’t go back, and it’s only the sound of the door opening that jolts me out of my frozen state. I can’t be caught eavesdropping, and I scuttle back to the kitchen as fast as I can. When he walks in I’m dishing up the food and grinning like a 1950s housewife on acid.
“How was your week?” he asks, in between forking up the food that I somehow know he’s not tasting. The question feels limp and disinterested but I tell myself it’s my imagination, that he’s tired, he’s tired, he’s tired…
“Busy,” I say, trying to inject some sunshine into my voice. “Like yours, I guess?” I wait for him to tell me about his week, to tell me about what’s made him so strained, but all he does is shake his head and mutter that it’s been tough.
“That was good, thank you,” he says, pushing his plate aside.
The food’s gone, which should gratify me, but if I ask him what it is he’s just eaten, I doubt he’ll be able to answer. There’s no dessert because other than biscuits for dunking in our tea, neither of us has a sweet tooth. Or at least there’s no dessert of the spoon it out and pile it high in a bowl variety, because there’s another kind of dessert I thought I’d be giving him, one that could satisfy all his cravings. I’d planned on serving it up hot and steaming and ready to be devoured, but I won’t, not tonight, because I’m not sure if I can take the rejection I know I’ll get.
I get up and clear away the dishes and pile them into the dishwasher. As I move around the kitchen, I can feel his eyes on me.
“Freddie?” I turn to look at him and he’s looking back at me with a soft smile. “Thank you, for staying here and putting yourself out to look after Jasper. I know he appreciates it as much as I do. And the chicken was lovely.”
All I can do is nod, because I don’t know what to say.
We make our way to The Roxy, the room with the giant TV. It’s a great room, but there’s not the intimacy of the one I think of as his, filled with much-loved books and albums. I’d like to sit and talk, cuddled up on the sofa, about anything and nothing, and maybe plans for the weekend, but Elliot reaches for the TV remote.
“I hope you don’t mind?” He nods to the TV. “But I just think I want to immerse myself in something mindless, where I don’t have to think.”
It’s on my lips to say he can immerse himself in me, but the words die as he turns his attention to the screen.
Yes, he’s tired, I tell myself. That’s all it is.
He switches on a comedy quiz show we both like, and I watch without taking in a word of it. We’ve got into a habit of entwining ourselves when we’re on the sofa, but he’s in one corner, legs out and crossed at the ankles, and I’m in the other, with my legs tucked up under me, cut off from each other, two separate little islands.
In between us, Jasper’s jumped up and he’s curled up and snoring wetly. Elliot doesn’t mind him being on the furniture as long as he’s lying on a blanket, but there is no blanket, and Elliot doesn’t shoo him off. Instead, his hand’s resting lightly on the dog’s back. I run my fingers through Jasper’s fur, nudging accidentally but not accidentally, Elliot’s hand. He doesn’t nudge me back or take mine as, instead, he slips his hand away to rest in his lap.
And I want to cry. It’s stupid and ridiculous, because I know it’s only because he’s tired, because he’s stressed out, because he’s had a difficult week, and we’re not in a real relationship, but I still want to cry until there are no more tears left to shed. He’s not unkind, he’s not cold, he’s just fading away from me, and it makes me want to weep.
The television clicks off; I haven’t noticed the end of the programme. Elliot yawns as he pushes himself up to his feet and I follow. I summon up a smile from God alone knows where.
“You look done in and I think you need a long sleep. I’ll make my way home.” And see you when?
He hesitates. I’m waiting for him to say yes, that he’ll ring me, but he doesn’t.
“You’re right, I am done in. I’m sorry Freddie, for being so unresponsive this evening.” He gives me a wry smile. “But don’t go. Stay the night. If you want to, that is?”
We do this, we do this all the time. If you’ve got no plans… Stay but only if you want to… It’s all part of our non-commitment, the underlining that this is a loose arrangement only, an arrangement that in the most secret place in my heart feels like so much more than we’ve agreed. But tonight, I’m reminded exactly what the arrangement really is. I should go, tell him I’ll see him whenever, but I don’t. Instead, I follow him up the stairs, to the bedroom where I’d imagined we’d mark his homecoming. We strip off, and climb into bed.
He’s asked me to stay, he wants me here… he’s tired but I can relieve the stresses and strains that are holding him tight… he doesn’t have to do a thing, only take what I can give him…
I trail my hand over the warm skin of his stomach, and my cock twitches, the first sign of life all evening. I love to feel him, love to feel those firm muscles quiver under my touch, and I shuffle in closer, ready to add my lips and my tongue, ready to taste him.
He lays a hand over mine, halting my downwards progress.
“Not now, Freddie. It’s been a long day and I just want to go to sleep.”
He’s not unkind, he’s not cold, he’s neither of those things. Tired, that’s all it is, he’s just tired.
“That’s okay.” I slip my hand from beneath his, and roll onto my back.
“You sure? Sorry, but—”
“Don’t be daft, there’s nothing to be sorry about. You get the sleep you need.” For a moment I wonder if he’s going to kiss me goodnight. He doesn’t, instead he shifts onto his side, away from me as I stare up at the ceiling.
It’s only seconds before his breathing levels out and I shift and turn on my side, away from him, the two of us clinging to our own sides of the bed. He mutters and mumbles something in his sleep, but whatever it is I know it’s not my name. As I curl into a tight ball, for the first time since I’ve been with Elliot I wonder if I should be here in the morning when he wakes up.
