I approached the room with some trepidation, both because of the conversation we’d need to have, and the possibility of seeing Steven in a state of undress. I already had, of course, but this time it would be unequal. Me fully dressed, and him—
“Something up?”
I gulped, had to steady myself against the bathroom doorframe. “I came to…” Another gulp. “Speak to you.”
Fresh from the shower, skin reddened by its heat, Steven wore nothing but a towel wrapped around him, a loose knot—dear God, how loose exactly?—slung low on his hips.
He stood by the sink, one hand to his jaw as he turned this way and that, probably trying to decide whether or not he needed a shave. If my vote counted, I’d have said ‘not’. I liked the way his stubble looked and felt rough.
“Anything in particular?”
“Yeah.” It was no doubt possible for a steamed-up bathroom to clear one’s airways, but for some inexplicable reason, my chest tightened and my mouth dried up then.
Coincidentally at the very moment Steven turned, leaned on the pedestal sink with one hand and rested the other on his hip. One tug away from…
“Kit. Christopher.”
I jumped, looked up.
“Thank you. My eyes are up here. Is this what women feel like when straight guys leer at their chests? I don’t know. Anyway, you were saying?”
“If you will wear nothing but a…”
“What else would I wear when I’ve just had a shower?”
“Nothing, nothing.”
“You want me to wear n—”
“No. No.” Actually, I did. “Look.” I crossed my arms but remained, hovering in the doorway like a vampire awaiting an invitation. “The other day. When you came. Home. I mean, when you came home. And I was ill.”
“Go on.” Steven smirked, pushed his weight off the sink and went back to examining his reflection. Whatever he saw there warranted not a shave, but merely a quick wash and splashing warm water over his skin.
Getting caught up in my observations again, I needed a further century or so to gather my thoughts, remind myself what I was there for. “I’m having some difficulty figuring this out.”
“I gathered that.” Steven glanced at me sideways before going for his toothbrush.
“You showered awfully quickly. Gary just went out and when you headed upstairs…”
“Stop changing the subject.”
“I’m not. I’m just saying—”
“I just wanted to freshen up after work. I wasn’t dirty.” He shrugged. “Just wanted to wash away the day. Anyway. The other day. When you were ill.” He almost singsonged the words as he squeezed toothpaste onto the brush. “And I gutched oo onna ingy.”
“When you what?”
He spat into the sink, but the toothpaste foam still on his lips made me think things I really shouldn’t have been thinking. “When I touched you on the winkie.” He turned back to the task in hand, for which I was grateful. It was a lot easier for me to speak when he wasn’t looking at me.
Of course, the fact droplets of water still glistened on his light dusting of chest hair made it hard— difficult. Made it difficult to…um…thingy. Concentrate.
“Look. I can’t do this.” I hung my head, pretended my scuffed trainers were more interesting than Steven’s face or his freshly-showered body.
“Guh?” More spitting, then he ran the cold tap to rinse his mouth out properly. “I mean, huh?” Dabbing at the corners of his mouth with a hand towel, he studied me with dark eyes under sharply-arched brows. “You can’t?”
“Yeah. This.”
Steven Kenton half-scowling was unsettling enough. If he got full-on angry I wouldn’t have a clue how to deal with him. “And what is ‘this’?”
“Us. I mean, not that there is an us. I wouldn’t want you to think I was being…”
“Being…?” He lifted his brows and didn’t blink.
“Presumptuous.”
In an instant his expression changed to one of amusement. Eyes crinkling up, he showed gleaming rows of freshly-brushed teeth in a wide grin. “You’re…you’re really something, you know that?”
“How d’y’mean?”
“I’ve made you come.” He stepped closer. “On more than one occasion, and…”
Wrapping one arm around himself, he stepped closer still, while stroking his chin with the other hand. “And you’re worried that you’re being presumptuous. Kit, you couldn’t be more noli me tangere if you tried.”
“Nolly my what?”
“It’s Latin. It means ‘stop clinging to me’. Christ said it to Mary Magdalene when… Look, never mind. I feel a bit weird discussing religion when there’s only a towel hanging between me and some serious sin being committed.”
“Look. Steven. This thing.”
“It’s called a penis.” He gestured down at himself with both hands and I couldn’t help but examine his towel for signs of a bulge.
“No, not that.”
“No?”
“I know what that is. I’ve seen one before. I mean loads. Jesus. I’ve had more cock than I know how to handle. Not yours. I mean…fuck. Where was I?”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Sorry. You were saying. This ‘thing’.”
“It’s not that I didn’t enjoy it. I did. It’s just…” I lifted my palms as if anyone was going to answer my supplication. “It can’t… We can’t…”
“Oh, I get it.” He nodded. “This is one of those ‘it was good while it lasted but we can’t do it again’ conversations, right?”
“Right.”
“Wrong.”
“Glad you ag—what?”
“This is about you freaking out. For some reason. Okay, I get it. You’re standoffish, antisocial, selfish, insular, all that bollocks. And you want to act like you’re all oh no, no, Steven, please, don’t defile my virtue. “ He gave a dramatic shrug, hands held up like a silent movie drama queen to emphasise his faux terror. “I don’t get it. Is this a faraway-so-close, reverse psychology thing? You want me to chase you? Would that be more”—he cocked his head and batted his eyelashes—”romantic?”
“Steven, you… This isn’t about romance or stuff.”
“Stuff?” He pulled at his bottom lip with one finger, manipulating it into a pout of sorts.
“Could you be a bit more specific? Define ‘stuff’?”
“Two
