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“Joq,” Chris approached him carefully, slid his arm around his waist and tugged him in, “you didn’t actually do anything.”
“I did, if you saw Finn’s face,” Joq shuddered. “I don’t like the guy, not one bit, but he didn’t deserve that. I was just so angry at George. And it’s this shame, this fucking shame and anger and I can’t get away from them. The constant news and then Finn’s fucking here.”
Chris pulled him close, relieved Joq was allowing it. He pulled back so he could study Joq’s face. “But this guy, he fucked your boyfriend like he wanted more, didn’t he?”
Joq’s face flashed with a scary amount of anger. “Yes.”
“And he knew about you?”
“Knew about me,” Joq said incredulously, “he’d been round for dinner, he came over regularly, he saw me on video calls when they were on the road.”
“So he knew the guy he was fucking had a serious boyfriend and he chose not to walk away,” Chris shrugged, tightened his hold. “All’s fair in love and war, he knew what he was getting in the middle of.”
Joq shook his head, but his arms circled Chris’ waist, and his head fell against his chest as the empty champagne glass tapped on Chris’ lower back.
Chris kissed the top of his head.
“You shouldn’t want me. I’m a mess. I could do it again,” he said into Chris’ shirt buttons.
“You could threaten extortion on some young thing if he tries to take me away?” Chris grinned.
Joq laughed. “It’s not funny.”
“I think I’d be flattered,” Chris said and he really would—imagine if Joq liked him that much?
“Seriously though,” Joq lifted his face and Chris met his eyes. “I’m that guy. I’m not a good guy.”
“I like you anyway,” Chris tried for light but it came out breathless because with those calm blue eyes staring into him, staring like they looked right through Chris and weren’t overly impressed with what they were seeing but deigned to stick around anyway, Chris liked that Joq gave him the time of day.
“You’ll regret this,” Joq said, eyes boring into Chris’.
“I’d never fuck around on you,” Chris answered seriously. “Never. So it’s a moot point.”
And then he saw a crack in Joq’s armour, a tiny sliver of sunlight in those cold eyes.
“And you don’t need that right?” Chris shook him a little. “To see other people?”
“No, I don’t. I didn’t then, I just,” Joq stopped and looked past Chris. “I think I just needed something of my own or I needed it to be even. I don’t know, I don’t even understand it myself, I was just so young and stupid.”
“Well, I’m not going anywhere,” Chris leaned down, searched Joq’s eyes before he kissed him.
“Okay,” Joq said and allowed the kiss, his response shaky, so unlike him, but there.
They had a long dinner on the deck, a gourmet seafood feast presented by waitstaff who blended seamlessly into the bungalow after serving each course, topping off white wine glasses that never went empty, Chris’ bare foot sliding alongside Joq’s as Joq laughed and let go more than Chris had ever seen. He held eye contact, all heat and interest, and Chris couldn’t wait to get him into bed.
By the time they stumbled into the white sheets, Chris couldn’t stop touching—he ran his fingers over every inch of Joq’s tan skin, followed the path with his lips, had Joq shaking and begging for it under him before he pushed in, took him in a deep grind, lips fused and bodies entwined so no space was between them.
It was the best sex Chris had ever had and he never wanted to let go. He held Joq against his chest after, kissed the top of his head with a panting breath, relished in the feel of Joq’s laboured breathing skirting over his skin, and thought about that footy player. What a fool to have this—loyalty, a body so willing to let go and let him take what he needed—and throw it all away on a twenty-year-old. It reminded Chris of his dad—fucking every young thing that caught his eye—and he firmly believed that footy player would pay in the end.
Unlike me, he thought, and ran his hand up and down Joq’s back, couldn’t stop touching, sinking into the feel of him, the closeness.
Chris was so sure in them, him and Joq as a couple now, a real couple, that when it happened, he took a second to realise what was going on.
It was their last night and Joq had finished inside him with a brutal thrust, his face in the crook of Chris’ neck, his lips and tongue working a mark into his skin, Chris’ come cooling between them.
Chris needed him off. He was too heavy and the breath whistling from his nose was annoying. Chris inhaled deeply and tried to shake it off. Joq’s smell washed over him—cloying, it stuck in his throat and he thought he’d gag.
He was barely aware of himself as he pushed Joq off.
