Alexis Hall

It was ridiculous. A skinny nineteen-year-old with his adolescence still written on his skin. I nearly said, You’re not a dom, you’re a child.

This is why I like Laurie so much—he has absolutely no culture.

Point is, my dad’s a dick who treated my mum like shit, and now he’s doing this big comeback where everyone’s acting like it’s okay, and it’s not okay, and it fucks me off.”

just sort of aware that anything you wanted to know about me you could Google.”

“Would it be the truth, though?”

I cringed. “Some of it. And not only the good stuff.”

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my line of work, it’s that ‘some of the truth’ is the most misleading thing you can hear. Anything I want to know about you, I’ll ask.”

“You’re okay.”

I lay still, my body not sure whether it wanted to run screaming for the door or just sort of…melt everywhere. “Um, what’s going on?”

“You’re going to sleep.”

There was no way that was happening. This was too much. It was far too much.

Except, as it turned out, he was right, and it wasn’t, and I was.

There’s actually French toast.”

“For me?”

“Lucien, I don’t understand why you’re obsessed with glorified eggy bread.”

I think I was blushing. “I don’t know. It’s just got this domestic bliss vibe to it that I find, um, nice?”

“I see.”

“And, honestly,” I admitted, “I never imagined anyone would actually make it for me.”

He brushed the hair out of my eyes almost absentmindedly. “You know, you’re sometimes very sweet.”

glanced from me to the lack of filth to me again. “You cleaned?”

“Yes. I mean, I had help.”

“You didn’t do this for me, did you?”

“For myself. And a bit for you.”

He looked genuinely overwhelmed. “Oh, Lucien.”

“It’s…it’s not a big de—”

He kissed me. And it was the most Oliver kiss, his hands cupping my face gently to draw me to him, and his lips covering mine with a deliberate care that was its own kind of passion. The way you’d eat a really expensive chocolate, savouring it because you knew you might never get another. He smelled of familiarity, of homecoming, and of the night I’d spent wrapped in his arms. And he made me feel so fucking precious I wasn’t sure I could bear it.

Except I also didn’t want it to end. This moment of finding something I’d long since given up looking for. Maybe even stopped believing in

e laughed, a bit unsteadily. “Oh, Lucien. I don’t know what I would have done without you today.”

“Well, probably you wouldn’t have had to leave your parents’ anniversary.”

“From what you’ve said, that might not have been a good thing.”

“See. You’re making progress.”

There was a pause. “I’m afraid I still can’t quite bring myself to think about it properly. I’m not as fearless as you.”

“I’m plenty fearful, as you well know.”

“It never seems to hold you back.”

I caught his wrist and kissed his palm. “You’re giving me way too much credit. I was a total mess before I met you.”

“Your flat was a total mess. It’s not the same.”

“Y’know”—I smiled up at him—“I’m not going to sit here and argue with you about whether I suck or not. You just keep believing I don’t.”

“I’ll never believe you’re anything less than remarkable.”

Oh fuck. I’ve never been good at this stuff. “Me too. I mean, only like, I think you are. Not that I think I am. I mean, not in a low self-esteem way. Like, that would be really arrogant. Look, can we have sex now?”

“Ever the romantic, Lucien.”

“It’s how I express myself. It’s part of my unique charm.”

He snorted, but let me lead him into the bedroom anyway. Where I undressed him slowly and, for some reason, couldn’t stop kissing him. And he gave himself up to me, moment by moment, and I lost myself in the rhythm of his body and the hunger of his touch. I came to him like I thought I’d never come to anyone—forgetting to hold back in the need to make him feel as safe and as cherished and as special as he made me. I held him, and he clung to me, and we moved together, and, okay, I gazed into his eyes. And I whispered to him, telling him…stuff. Embarrassing stuff about how much I cared about him and how wonderful he was to me. And I…and we…and.

Look.

It’s not the sort of thing you talk about, okay? It was for us. And it was everything.

Family’s hard. But you know you’ve got me, right? Um, not as a replacement. But, like, a bonus.”

“You’re more than a bonus, Lucien. You’re integral.”

Oh, be still my beating heart. And I wasn’t even being sarcastic.

He stirred nervously at my side. “I’m conscious this could be rather burdensome to hear, but you remain the thing I have most chosen for myself. The thing that’s most exclusively mine. The one that brings me the deepest joy.”

I suspect you were right and I was trying too hard. It felt safe to let my guard down with you because I could tell myself it wasn’t real. But now it is and…well…I’m coming to the conclusion I might be unbelievably terrified.”

“Me too,” I said. “But let’s be terrified together.”

I slipped my hand into Oliver’s and we sat for a while in silence. And I was pretty sure this was how love felt: fuzzy and scary and confusing and light enough to whisk you away like a Tesco’s bag on the wind.