I wasn't too distracted by curiosity over what he was up to now, to fail in grabbing myself an eyeful of his bare ass as he left the room. When he returned seconds later carrying a writing pad and pen, I flinched back into position --- propped up on one elbow, facing him as he joined me in bed again. Inside, I tried to convince myself I hadn't been eagerly anticipating his return, even if the promise of this "game" unsettled me.
"We're going to make a list."
"We are, are we? So lemme get this straight, Jock; you've got a naked nerd in your bed and you want to write your shopping list?"
"No. Well, in a sense I guess you could say that. Your suck-it list. Bucket. I mean...oh fuck it. Wait --- that was it! Your fuck-it list."
"What about it?" I gave a nervous half-laugh, embarrassed now that I'd mentioned it.
"We're going to write it down."
"Then tick off each item as we go?"
"Depends. How long's the list? It could take longer than one night."
My heart skipped when he said that. I told myself it was adrenaline.
Or something. "If you whittle out all the shit with donkeys and buckets of custard..."
"Yeah, that sort of thing's so passé these days. Come on. Fuck it. What have you never done that you want to do?"
I rolled my shoulders, trying to shrug off the weight of expectation.
"I'm not sure I seriously have anything I've ever thought about, just..."
"Whatever you've already done, except more of it?"
"I guess."
"Bo-ring." James licked the tip of the pen dramatically and screwed his face up into an expression of what I supposed he intended to be contemplation.
"Does sex outdoors count?"
"Ooh, illegal as well, Texas. I like your style. That blow job earlier was just a warm-up, I take it?"
Spoken as if you're going to help me with this list, huh? "Um...God, I can't think --- "
"Rimming."
"You what?"
"Come on. Every gay guy's tried that at least once."
"I haven't. Oh, damn it."
"Ha --- gotcha! It's going on the list. I'll put figging down as well."
"No you won't. The only ginger I want up my ass is Michael Fassbender."
James snorted with laughter. "Don't we all? So. Rimming and figging are out. What about nipple clamps?"
I hissed in a breath.
"That's another no. Gotta tell you, Texas, this list is looking as thin as Victoria Beckham at the moment. You know what you need?"
"I would have thought that was obvious."
"Apart from that. You need some imagination. I mean, where's your spunk --- No, no, for the love of God don't answer that. I'll write this thing down myself."
"What are you --- "
"No, no, don't look." He elbowed me away --- gently so --- and eventually I gave up trying to read whatever he was scribbling.
"It better not be anything too outlandish."
James lowered the notepaper, narrowing his eyes as he looked at me. "Does that mean no baboons or llamas?" He grinned and got back to whatever he was writing. Within seconds he finished up, closed the writing pad and tossed it on the floor beside the bed, near his soda can.
"Aren't you going to let me see?"
"Not yet."
"Oh come on, that's just --- "
"You'll just have to wait and see the assignment I've given you." He grinned and, with a whispered "I'll tell you in the morning," he reached, with one hand, under the covers.
Chapter Seven
James's bathroom was small, little more than a matchbox in fact, so there was very little chance two men would have fit in his over-bath shower, but it still would have been nice to try. The shower curtain would have ended up torn, we'd have splashed water everywhere and possibly cracked a few tiles slipping all over the place, but...
I sighed, the rush of water over my head masking the sound.
So I was in a stranger's shower and he was in the bedroom pulling on his jeans, or in the kitchen making breakfast. On occasions such as this I rarely stayed to chat over pancakes and waffles. Hell, I rarely stayed to shower, preferring to do the walk of shame by sunrise. I liked to shower at home, dress in clean clothes, cram my gear in the machine, drink enough coffee to refloat the Titanic. Just get on with things. Move on.
James was so hospitable though. His offer of "Shower?" was grate-fully received. The additional "Sorry, if I tried to fit in there too it would be like the world's gayest game of sardines. We'd end up elbowing each other in the pink parts, probably," made my heart sink.
Huh. So that's it, Austin. You're glum because you wanted a rematch.
I didn't know where I got the energy from. I didn't know where he did.
Faint bruises in the shape of his fingers curved over my hips like shadows.
Shadows that made me smirk all the same. Water running over my back highlighted the tracks of what were likely deep scratches. My scalp itched even under the shower, reminding me of James's tendency to grab my hair and pull when he was desperately trying not to come. Not yet.
Another heavy sigh morphed into a groan and instantly I bit my lip, not wanting James to hear and think I was beating off without him. He was the sort of guy to say "Shame to waste it," and offer to lend a hand.
Burn Idiot. Why the hell wouldn't you want him to join in? You've just been whining to yourself about how much of a shame it is he couldn't join
