This is a longer, more romantic story and less focused on sex. Let me know what you think.
The rain hit his face as if it was meant to cause harm. It felt like it would leave bruises. But it was also a relief from the heat he left behind in the house. He had slammed the door as hard as he could, feeling childish but justified.
He wondered what more he could have given than he already had. His time, his patience, his body. Seth always wanted more and especially when Derek wanted to give less. The more he tried to retreat, the more Seth surged forward as if trying to get inside of him, inhabit him.
As he tried to open the car door, he swore when he dropped the keys onto the gravel of the drive. He wiped his face in order to see better. He glanced at the house, wondering if he was at the window, watching with either fury or some kind of melodramatic desperation. Or both. He swore, but then managed to get the door open.
He slid into the car and took a few deep breaths, trying to find himself again. Where have I been? he thought. He looked in the rearview mirror. His hair was damp, a darker blonde, his eyes clouded with tears, obscuring what normally was green, now blurry as rough seas. The house loomed over him. He looked up at their bedroom window remembering long nights of intense physical conversation between their bodies, Seth's hungry mouth all over his, all over him. Even now, angry, he felt the pull of that connection, the latent flow of blood into his groin, a tingling through his thighs. It was what had worked best between them.
He shut his eyes, letting the anger clean away all the memories, leaving nothing but bare truth behind. He wanted to scream, but instead, started the car. He drove carefully as only the desperate do, turning the car around and driving through the stone gate that had been erected by one of Seth's heterosexual ancestors.
He said aloud, “What a fucking pile this is.”
He glanced in the mirror at the receding gates, the big house behind. Huge evergreens lined the drive. He imagined them burning.
It was raining hard. He was used to the narrow, winding road and the tunnel of hedge on both sides, curving through the countryside, past farms and the occasional church. A village. He glimpsed a huge house on a hill all lit up as if they were celebrating his departure.
Not having a destination in mind, he drove on, winding along the side of a long hill, then down into a deep valley. He knew if he continued, Wales would eventually meet the ocean and he wondered if it was worth driving into it, sinking into quiet oblivion.
But suddenly he was in a tiny village. A few thatched cottages. A petrol station, a shop or two. A sharp corner, then a bigger stone building with a hanging sign that read, “The Red Deer”. He stopped suddenly and parked at the front. He hoped he could stay the night. He had a stray thought about not having a toothbrush, but he got out and went through the ancient wooden door to a big low-ceilinged room with a massive stone fireplace that was blazing against the early December chill. There were a number of round tables and a few armchairs. The bar was dark oak, and a door behind led to a brighter room where he could hear the sounds of dishes.
He went up to the bar, feeling shy, despite being Welsh himself. The long winters in Canada had made what had been familiar, strange. He had come back because he missed Wales, and meeting Seth seemed at first to be a sign that he had done the right thing. But in a few months he realized his mistake.
A few people sat at the tables in twos and threes, and they were all looking at him. Not in an unfriendly way, but he knew he was being assessed.
Finally, out of the kitchen, a tall man in denim and a white shirt appeared carrying plates. He stopped, a look of surprise on his face.
“Derek.”
“Emrys...what the hell?”
“I could say the same.” He moved again, going out to one of the tables to deliver food, then came back, looking at Derek as if he was a new species of human.
From behind him, Derek heard someone say, “You know this one, do you?”
“Aye, Gareth. A long time ago. Another?”
The voice said, “I would be most appreciative.”
Derek turned and saw an elderly man sitting alone by the fire, an empty pint glass on a little table in front of him, his greenish eyes bright and young, Clearly a regular.
Emrys smiled at Derek. “Yes, I imagine you would be.” He started to pull a pint, then said, “And Derek. What will he have?”
He wondered if there might be several meanings inside the question. “Oh, I'll have a bitter and a room, if you have one.”
Emrys nodded and started another pint. Derek remembered the dark brown of Patrick's eyes, the same as Emrys. “Yes. We have three. There's small, mind. But comfortable.”
“That's all I want. Thank you.”
Having filled the first pint, Emrys went out and delivered it to Gareth. The two talked quietly for a moment, then Emrys returned to the bar.
It was quiet in the ancient room save for the crackling of the fire. No music. The locals – since they clearly where – talked softly. Derek found it strangely soothing. Emrys gave him the pint. “Derek...what in blazes are you doing here? It's been, what? Fifteen years?”
But Emrys was smiling. “I think so. What are you doing here?”
“Ah, Derek. That would be a long story. Do you have a few days?”
“Given how things are going, I probably do.”
Emrys seemed startled by his response and he dug a rag from under the bar and wiped up the bitter that had overflowed. Derek was aware of his hands with there little patches of black hair on the fingers. Emrys finally put the cloth down. “It would seem we both have some stories.” He paused, then said, “Will you be wanting something to eat?”
“No. Food doesn't interest me much today.”
Emrys pulled himself a pint of dark ale and extended the glass to him. “To complicated lives.”
The sound of the glasses making contact seemed almost loud in the room. He smiled at Emrys and took a long sip of his bitter, enjoying the fizz and the sharp dryness on his tongue, and said, “To complicated lives, indeed.”
Emrys walked out behind the bar and went over to a table by the window. “Will you sit?”
Derek felt shy again, but followed Emrys to the table and sat across from him. He looked into his eyes that were so much like Patrick's. He realized they were closer to forty than not. He felt a sense of something uncanny, as if he were being haunted, but he wasn't sure by what.
“How is Patrick?”
“Oh, so we are going there, are we? He's in Australia.”
Derek nodded, taking another big mouthful of bitter, hoping to anesthetize himself. He was afraid to say more, since there was so much that could be said. He finally found some words. “How long?”
“About six years. He met some fellow...you know.”
He did know. He had been that fellow, once. They could be twins, except Emrys was taller. He remembered the looks Emrys had given him when first they met. Appraising. Judging. As if Derek had been somehow distasteful.
Patrick had said to pay him no mind. He was straight, after all. What else do we expect from them?” But this Emrys seemed...softer. More open. More like Patrick. He looked down at his glass, watching the bubbles rising to the top. Derek looked up and Emrys was watching him. “And you? What have you been up to?”
Emrys gave a low chuckle, deep in his throat. “What haven't I? I was in the army, if you can believe it. I lived in Japan after that, teaching English. I came back and was in Swansea for a while...should I go on?”
Derek laughed. “I see. And then you ended up here. In the middle of the nowhere.”
Giving him a slow smile, Emrys said, “This village is where we grew up. My family owns this place. It made sense to come back.”
He stared at Emrys as if he was speaking another language. Patrick had only told him he had grown up in a village, which in Wales could be anywhere. He tried to picture Patrick inhabiting this space. He couldn't.
He felt even more out of place. His own Cardiff childhood seemed worlds away from this. The closest town of any size must be Llanidloes, he thought, and that wasn't saying much.
Emrys's voice startled him. “So how did you find yourself here, Derek? Out for a drive, were we?”
Laughter caused Derek to cough into his glass. He caught his breath. “The short version of this tale is I had been seeing someone whose family has a country place not far from here. You probably know the town...Caersws?”
“Yes, I have been there...”
“Well...I had to leave.”
“Oh, so your ex-partner...more stories.”
Derek smiled. “More stories.”
“Will you have another pint?”
“I will.”
Emrys got up and walked to the bar, and, filling his glass, said. “Work?”
“Graphic design.”
Emrys nodded and came back to the table with his pint.
They sat sharing memories as the fire died down and the pub emptied. When the old man left, tottering out into the night, they moved to the armchairs by the fire, sipping whiskey. Derek looked at his watch and yawned.
Emrys said, “You are not expected home, I take it? Your ex-partner's home?”
“No. Or at least I don't expect to go back.”
“I had a partner until a few years ago.”
“Where is she now?”
Emrys was staring at the embers of the fire as if hoping to find something there. He looked up at Derek, his face soft and vulnerable. “He's in London.”
He stared at Emrys, not quite understanding. “He...?”
“He.”
Emrys stood up suddenly, collecting their glasses and went back behind the bar. He seemed not to want to look at Derek. For his part, Derek stood up and went and stood across the bar from him. “How long?”
Emrys shook his head. “Six months? Last year, it was.”
Derek had a thought. “He was the first? Man, I mean.”
He looked up suddenly at Derek. “Is it that obvious?”
“It was the way you said it.”
“I feel ashamed, Derek. For how I treated my brother. For how I was with you. Lots of people. I was an idiot.”
The intimacy of his words felt like a shock, as if they came out of nowhere. Derek reached over and put his hand on Emrys's arm. “It's fine.” He took his hand back, trying to be lighter. “So you play for both teams, then?”
Emrys nodded, almost smiling. “It would seem.”
“What was his name?”
“Rhys.”
Derek realized he didn't know what to say. The image of Patrick lying in bed, sunlight revealing his smooth back, the curves of his strong thigh, flashed in his head like a beacon. There had been pain in Emrys's voice and he didn't want to make it worse. But the whiskey and the day were starting to slow his body, as if weighted by rocks.
“I'll have that room now, Emrys.”
“Yes.” Emrys turned and pulled a key from a hook on the wall. He turned and his eyes were big as if he had seen a ghost. “The stairs are over here...”
He turned and disappeared down a little corridor and opened a door. Derek saw an ancient, narrow set of stairs. He imagined drunken travellers three hundred years ago stumbling up them.
The room was not as small as he expected with a big bed, thick brown quilt. There was a tiny fireplace that Emrys quickly lit from a little stack of wood beside it. Derek sat on the bed, not sure what to do, watching Emrys.
“Will you need some water?” He was standing looking at him trying to smile.
Derek shook his head. “I can go downstairs?”
“You can. The sink is behind the bar.”
“The loo?”
“Beside the staircase.”
Derek stood up and wanted to do something to comfort the man since he seemed to be in distress. He leaned close, about to hug him, but Emrys seemed to freeze. Pulling back, Derek looked at him a moment. His face seemed still now. “Well, good night.”
“Yes.”
He left the room quickly and closed the door with a creak. Derek went and sat by the fire. There had been too much already, and now this? Patrick? His brother? Wasn't Seth's neurosis enough? He pulled off his shoes and socks, then crawled into the alien, comforting bed, thick with wool and soft cotton, finding oblivion.
--
There was light coming through the little window when he lurched awake, his phone buzzing beside him. For a moment he wondered what his mother could want at this hour, but it had been a dream where she was saying something to him that became the sound of the phone. He looked at the screen. Seth, of course. There were a long series of texts expressing variations of pleading, fury, insults, rationalizing. The same litany. He stared at the timbered ceiling. There were some industrious spiders residing up there. The room smelled of wood smoke. He slid further into the bed, the maternal warmth lulling him back to sleep.
But he needed to pee, so he pulled himself out of bed and opened the door. The hall was dark but there was a light on in the loo and he could hear a shower. Apparently the twentieth century had made it to the first floor. He stood, uncomfortable, remembering his first days at school when he was seven. It was the same feeling. Trepidation, shyness, longing to be home.
The water was turned off and suddenly the door opened and Emrys, naked, emerged, towelling his head. His body was lean and dripping, dark hair covered his chest, his thighs were strong. He turned away as if he shouldn't be looking.
“Oh, I'm sorry. I did not expect you to be awake.”
“No problem...”
He watched Emrys go through a door at the end of the hall and close it. He was certainly Patrick's brother. The same body, the same thatch of hair – now flecked with grey - that thickened at his groin, surrounding his meaty cock. His ass seemed strong. It had been such a long time, but he could remember clearly. He could taste Patrick's skin. There was a little dot of pain in his belly.
--
Emrys made him porridge and strong coffee at the bar, then Emrys joined him. They sat, side by side, not saying anything. The radio was droning quietly about the state of the world. Emrys put his coffee cup down. “What will you do?”
“Do? I'm on holiday until Monday...I'll go back to Cardiff, work. Go back to my flat, sort myself out.”
“Back to your flat?”
“I spent most of my time at his house. But I wanted to keep my flat. I suppose that says something? But I think he's hoping I will change my mind. He sent me a dozen or so texts this morning.”
Emrys laughed. “But you will not change your mind?”
“No. I'm done.”
Derek could smell the soap Emrys used, the heat of his body so close to his. He couldn't stay here. The past needed to stay in the past. Patrick was on the other side of the planet, and his brother...?”
He slid off the chair. “I need to go.” He glanced out the window. “At least the rain has stopped.”
Emrys was just staring at him. Those big eyes again. He went upstairs to get his phone and his keys. Just as he turned to leave the room, there was Emrys. He seemed to be everywhere. And then he was close to him, taking his face in his hands and just before their mouths met, looking into his eyes. But hunger met hunger. His belly told him to taste this man's mouth. His own cock told him to pull him down to the bed. Emrys was on top of him, his weight warm. Derek could feel how hard he was against him. He reached down and fumbled for Emrys's trousers, but it felt too complicated. Emrys stood up and desperately pulled them off. Derek struggled with the fly of his own and Emrys leaned down and pulled them off and for a moment, they were wrestling together.
Derek sat up, grasping Emrys in his fist, the heat of his flesh seeming to almost burn him. As he leaned his face closer, he could smell the soap again, and something thick and animal. He was about to take him in his mouth, when Emrys suddenly pulled back, his cock slapping against his belly.
“I'm sorry...I shouldn't have...I can't...”
Derek sat, frozen, feeling the chill of the room on his body. He struggled to understand what he was feeling. Desire. Shame. Was he trying to recreate something? Recreate Patrick? And what was Emrys doing? “No. It's fine. This shouldn't happen, should it? It can't.” He reached for his trousers and started to pull them on. He realized Emrys was standing there, naked. His cock was clearly deflating, looking sad.
Finally, Emrys started to dress. The room was silent. He couldn't look at Emrys. He wanted to crawl under the quilt and disappear. Finally, after Emrys had slid into his sweater, he said, “I'll go make us some more coffee, yeah?” He didn't wait for an answer and left the room.
Derek lay, half-dressed, listening to the sounds of dishes and water running downstairs. He reached for his phone. If nothing else, he had to get his things. He texted Seth, asking to come by. He didn't want to say anything about not wanting to talk. He half-believed that Seth might burn his belongings or refuse to give them back if he did. There wasn't much. Some clothes. His laptop. Some shoes. Things. They were just things.
--
It had started to snow. Wales was so beautiful in the snow. Not just because it was rare. It seemed to transport the place back a millennium, as if the medieval world had been there all along but somehow revealed by a layer of snow. The roads were slick and he drove slower. The laneway to Seth's house was still dark with evergreen shade.
Seth opened the door and attempted to hug him. “Derek...I'm so glad...” but when Derek pulled back a little spasm of fury crossed his face. His eyes were red-rimmed. He clearly had not slept.
“Seth...I'm sorry. I'm just here for my things. I need to go. We can't...”
He walked past him and made his way up the big staircase to their room. He filled his carryall with his clothes and his laptop, a book. He found his toiletries and shoes. Seth was still standing in the hall when he came down. He suddenly realized how lucky it was that he had driven up on his own. To be trapped here?
“Can't we talk? I'm sorry I've been such a shit. I don't know what comes over me.”
“Seth, it's fine. You're always like this. This is who you are. But I can't take it. I'm sorry.”
Seth started to cry which felt almost unbearable. He turned quickly, feeling Seth's tears would dampen his ability to move or think. Just like his mother. She could paralyze a room by breaking down. Without turning, as Orpheus had been unable to do, he said, “Good-bye, Seth.”
He threw his bag in the back and got in the car. He felt shaky and unsure of what he was doing. He sat, taking deep breaths, willing his body to relax, willing his mind to begin working again. He drove out to the road and made his way back to the inn.
It was near lunch and there were a few people eating, drinking cider. There was quiet music playing, and Emrys was busy. He wondered how he managed on his own. Preparing the food, pouring pints. Making tea. He sat by the fire, watching him work.
After a little while, he went the bar. “Can I have a cider, Emrys?”
“You may, indeed. Give me mo'.
He took a plate of sandwiches to a couple at a table and exchanged some words. He seemed to know everyone, which only made sense given how tiny this community must be. He was the only stranger here. He returned and filled a glass and handed it to Derek. “Cheers.”
He clearly didn't want to talk, so Derek returned to his chair and the fire. He pulled his phone out and checked his email, saw some texts from friends. His mother wondering when he might be back in Cardiff. It was a good question. Tonight? He was reluctant to make Emrys any more uncomfortable than he already was by staying another night.
He drained his glass and stood up. At the bar, he handed his credit card to Emrys. “I'm going to go now...”
Emrys stopped and looked him. His face was unreadable. They just looked at each other. The spell was broken by Emrys. “Stay. Go up to my rooms. I'll be up later. I want to talk to you...”
But he needed to leave. He knew that, but he couldn't move. “I can't...I...”
“You'll find food in the kitchen up there if you get hungry. There's more cider. Tea. Stay a bit, Derek. Just to talk.”
He sighed and nodded. He wasn't sure what the point was. The past was a place that held no answers. But he went upstairs anyway, and he knew that a part of him wanted to.
--
He had been dozing on Emrys's sofa when the door opened. He looked at an old clock on the wall which told him he had slept into the late afternoon.
“No trade at the moment. It should be quiet for an hour or so.”
Derek sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Did you live here when you were small?”
“We did. Not a lot of room for four, is there.”
“No. I can't really imagine Patrick here as an adolescent. You two must have gone mad with boredom.”
Emrys laughed and went into the tiny kitchen. He put the kettle on and opened a packet of biscuits and put them on a plate. “We did. We were both little shits. Mum was the one to go mad from all we got up to.”
Derek could believe it. He remembered Patrick having a feral kind of energy, always wanting more. Wanting things to always be different than they were an hour previous. He found himself remembering how he wanted to be fucked a new way every time. He wondered why he was thinking about sex now. But maybe it was obvious.
The kettle boiled and Emrys brought the teapot and the biscuits. He found two mugs, the milk. He moved with quick, sure, efficiency. He came and sat beside him and poured tea in a formal kind of way, as if they were well-heeled acquaintances having a formal meeting in a stately home.
Derek sipped his tea, then put it down, feeling restless. “What did you want to say, Emrys?”
Taking a bit of a biscuit, he chewed for a moment. “When I met Rhys I...well, until then, I hadn't really let myself accept that I...was also interested in men....” He stopped, clearly running out of words.
Derek sat back on the sofa. “Because of Patrick?”
“Yes. I suppose. My parents had a hard enough time accepting him, which they only barely did. And in those days...well, I thought as they did. My mum said to him a few times, 'There's no one else like you out here, Patrick.' And as far as we knew, this was true. I believed it.”
Reaching for his tea, Derek said, “And so...what? This is what you wanted to tell me?”
Emrys laughed, but clearly not from amusement. “No, Derek. What I wanted to tell you...what you need to know, to explain why I was so unwelcoming back then...” But he stopped, clearly uncomfortable.
Unwelcoming. That was not a word Derek would have used. Patrick and Emrys had been sharing a flat in Cardiff when Derek met Patrick. They had met at a bar and both drunk, had made their way back to the flat. When Derek got up in the morning, he met Emrys in the kitchen. Who barely spoke to him. And for the year that he was with Patrick, it continued like this. He seemed to judged him, almost sneered at him, or ignored him. Unwelcoming is not the word he would have used.
“What did you want to say, Emrys? Finish what you started.” He could feel anger rumbling in his belly.
Emrys looked away, as if he could not meet his gaze. “I was such a shit because I was jealous.”
Derek stopped in the middle of chewing a biscuit. “Jealous? What the hell? Of what? That you wanted to shag a guy but couldn't bring yourself to do it?”
He felt reckless and bitter. He knew it had as much to do with Seth as anything, but couldn't stop himself. Emrys somehow seemed calm. “No. Not just that. I was jealous because I wished I had been Patrick. That I wished I could be with you.”
He ducked his head as if trying to ward off a blow. Derek was speechless. He took a gulp of his tea. He tried to remember what Emrys had been like fifteen years ago. All he could remember was the occasional sardonic comment, barbed sarcastic remark or outright indifference. He turned and looked at
Emrys who was still, just looking at him. The image in his memory of Emrys did not resemble this man who seemed almost defeated. He finally said, “I don't know what to do with that, Emrys. You were pining after me? Jealous, you say? Why are you telling me this?” He felt desperate and frustrated.
The other man sighed. Derek watched the muscles in his jaw clench. He turned to him again. “I don't know, Derek. Because I wanted you to know. I suppose that makes a difference. Maybe not to you, but it does to me.”
Derek drank more tea. He felt himself begin to relax. Emrys was making sense. It was Seth who didn't make sense. This made sense. “I think I understand. So what we tried to do upstairs...what was that, anyway?”
With a laugh that was more what a laugh is meant to be, Emrys said, “Damned if I know.”
The room felt less fraught with emotion. Derek found himself looking at Emrys's body, wondering what it felt like underneath his shirt. His resemblance to Patrick seemed to be fading and he could see the differences. Emrys seemed stronger. More solid. He reached over and ran his hand up and down Emrys's back, feeling the muscles, the strong bones of his shoulders.
Turning to him, Emrys asked, “You aren't angry with me?”
“Oh, a little. But the thought that you were into me back then. It's rather flattering. Exciting, if I'm honest...” Laughing, Derek pulled Emrys to him and they shared a long, slow, kiss. Emrys leaned back and took a breath.“Maybe we should try again...”
--
“Can I...?”
They were in his bedroom. Emrys was on top of him, the muscle of his cock was pressing into his. Derek felt surprise and at the same moment it made sense. Of course he would want that. He was not Patrick.
“You can.”
He pushed Emrys back and spread his legs, adjusted the angle of his hips, wanting to have him, wanting to be the keyhole, wanting to be taken. They had a ritual libation, the little bottle slipping from each other's hands, retrieved and with some laughter, some bruising kisses, Emrys found him with his hand and with his cock. He pressed and looked into his face as if to make sure he was welcome. Derek slid his hands onto Emrys's muscular rump, encouraging.
As if a problem had been solved, he felt Emrys slide in. This anti-Patrick was now inside him. Emrys leaned down and managed to fasten his mouth to his, while beginning to move his body, angle his hips. This movement, at once familiar, but particular because it was Emrys and not Patrick, or Seth or anyone else he had wanted to do this with. It was like the answer to a question. The question that he didn't know he had wanted to ask, but now had an answer for.
They stared at each other the whole time Emrys's body moved and moved with increasing intensity. Derek felt a kind of ache. Not so much physical as circumstantial. He pulled Emrys's face to his, their mouths seeming to want to go deeper. He felt crushed. He wanted to swallow Emrys's tongue.
When the intensity had reached a peak, and Derek felt he could no longer sustain whatever this was, Emrys began to tremble and at the same time they heard a voice from downstairs.
“Emrys? Hello? Are you up to serving?”
It was the old man. Derek could tell from the inflection, the old fashioned almost-Welsh English he spoke. Emrys, startled, pulled back and slid out of him, and he could feel splashes on his groin as Emrys was in mid-orgasm. Laughter burst out of him. “His timing is miraculous!” He stood, gasping, cum dribbling onto the bed. Derek was tempted so taste, but it wasn't the time.
Emrys half-smiled and fumbled for his trousers, sliding them over his streaming cock, rushing as if the place was on fire. But he continued smiling and, when his shirt was back on, his sweater arranged, he leaned down and kissed Derek. “Come down when you're decent. I'll introduce you to Gareth so you can see who caught me mid-fuck.”
Derek lay, still laughing, watching Emrys run out of the room.
--
Gareth was telling him about a very hard winter in northern Wales sometime in the '50's. The fire beside them was warm and Derek found himself getting drowsy. He had eaten some stew that Emrys had produced and was working on his second pint.
The man's eyes were bright and ocean coloured, his wrinkled face emphasizing their youthfulness, as if he was that child in 1954. He could understand why Emrys liked him. His humour was sly and he seemed not to miss anything.
So he should not have been surprised when he took a big swallow of his dark beer and said, “So you and Emrys were busy up there, were you not?”
“Busy...?”
“Oh, don't bother, Derek. Emrys came down looking like he's stolen the Sunday offering.”
Derek had to laugh and he shook his head. “Well I suppose you're right...”
Gareth chuckled. “You suppose. What is that expression? Your clock was getting cleaned, I believe?”
Emrys appeared beside them with two more pints. “Gareth...I think you made your point. It's almost time, so drink up.”
“Yes, mum.” Gareth took a big swallow of his beer. “You know, Derek, my son is like you. He and Emrys's brother....they got up to all sorts.”
Startled, he stared at the man, who seemed not to be fussed by talking so openly and in a place where he had imagined such things were not talked about. Derek said, “Did they? Patrick and I...we did as well.”
“You boys, always getting into each other's knickers.”
Gareth lapsed into silence, sipping his beer and occasionally chuckling to himself. It was as if he had drifted off into the past or into another world.
Emrys came over and removed Gareth's glass and said, “Time, Gareth. You should toddle off home.”
When Gareth had left and after Emrys locked the door, they stood looking at each other, grinning. Derek finally said, “Where were we?”
--
They made it back upstairs, this time to Derek's room. They pulled off each other's clothes with barely less intensity than the last time. And after Derek had pushed Emrys onto the bed, after he had fed him his cock on his knees, after he had pushed Emrys's legs apart and after he had slid his cock deep into Emrys, they began to kiss again, as if it was their reward, as if the fucking was just the preamble not the other way around.
Derek took him slowly, gently grasping Derek's thighs, pushing himself forward, in, feeling himself enveloped, feeling a different warmth than the one in Emrys's eyes, yet another warmth than the one his mouth gave him as it met his, tasting beer in his tongue. He thrust slowly, wanting to feel time become slow, wanting the fuck to take them far away from the complications that may or may not exists in the future. His thighs felt strong and Emrys's felt stronger. He felt his balls rubbing against Emrys's ass. It felt comfortable.
Their kisses were soft. He could feel energy flowing in his body, could feel Emrys silently urge him on, feeling that his cock must be starting to glow. The feeling was like a sheet of the best, warmest rain falling on his parched tongue. His body took flight. Emrys pulled his face down closer and he bit Derek's neck, vampiric and hungry.
Derek burst and his body tensed, he cried out and Emrys pulled him close, his arms wrapping around him as if to keep him from floating into space. He pulled himself out of Emrys and leaned down, reversing the polarity so that Emrys was now in him. Emrys pushed him down so he was nearly choking and gave a similar cry, the slick, sharp wetness filling his mouth. He sat up, gasping, swallowing, arching his back as if his own orgasm was still taking him over.
He collapsed on the bed, his face in Emrys's neck. There was sweat running down his forehead. He turned over and lay on his back, the slightly salty, chlorinated taste of Emrys in his mouth. He closed his eyes and slept.
He opened them when he felt Emrys's mouth on him, his tongue moving smoothly over his balls, under them, farther. Exploring. He shut his eyes as the wetness reached into him, Emrys's lips suctioning, and he felt a zing of energy rush up his back as Emrys's tongue went deep.
Emrys sat up, grinning, and pulled him over onto his belly, then lay on him, the hot flesh of his cock sliding into his buttocks, pushing, almost searching, then finding where it needed to go. Emrys bit his shoulder and started to press into him, started to stretch him again, until he could rear back and push again. Derek turned and they tried to kiss, but the angle was too much, Emrys's breathing too short, all the concentration of both of them on his ass, on the flesh filling it, the hardness of Emrys's cock finding a depth he didn't know was there.
Pushed into the bed, all Derek could do was gasp and moan, his own cock painfully pressed into the blanket. He felt pinned to the bed, felt Emrys's flesh slapping against his as he crested a wave of intensity that never quite became pain, but being like pain, pushed him further into pleasure. He felt Emrys lick his neck, the slide his hands, then arms between his torso and the bed, gripping him harder as if for traction, and it made it even more intense.
Derek felt as if they were one body, that their skin had merged together, their sweat was the same sweat. A distant thought crossed his mind that the abandon he felt he had not felt quite like this before, and as the thought faded, Emrys gasped in his ear, swearing in Welsh – he assumed, since he had never learned properly – and then slowly come back to stillness.
Emrys pushed himself up and Derek felt their wet flesh separate and left him feeling hollow and electrocuted. He collapsed beside him, breathing deeply and Derek turned over, looking at him.
Emrys grinned. “I hope I didn't push too hard...”
Derek smiled and kissed his nose. “Just enough.”
They dozed and at one point, Emrys drew the blanket over them, and pulled him close.
--
When Derek awoke, it was dawn. He could see faint glimmers of red and orange in the sky through the window. The room was cold and Emrys was snoring. Something about the sound, the intimate, simple sound, made him feel immediately restless. He got up, shivering, and found his clothes. He quickly packed up his bag and slipped from the room. All he could think about was getting home, even though it felt like he had no home.
He had wanted relief by leaving. But the relief of getting away from the intensity and history into which he had sunk with Emrys was only vague. What he most felt was longing. For Emrys's body. For something he realized was solid, real. Already he wanted more. The leaving was just habit.
Driving into Cardiff, he wondered what to do. His hadn't been to his own apartment in months but it was still his. But first he went Seth's house in Cyncoed, a big house among bigger houses that he had more or less moved into. Finding his key, he found the house cold and dark and he packed his clothes and some books, and the few things that he had left there over the time he was with Seth. He felt adolescent and rootless.
Just as he was leaving the house, his phone pinged. And then again. Another litany from Seth who was driving back to Cardiff. All the more reason to keep moving. He did not want to face Seth here, this place that was not just Seth's, but represented his family and all their Anglo-Welsh ancestors. He almost ran to his car.
His flat was dusty and seemed desolate. He tried to clean up, bought some groceries and a bottle of wine, tried to recreate the bachelor life he had had before meeting Seth. Sitting on the sofa with his glass, he felt lost. Then there was hammering on the door.
“Derek...I know you're there. Let me in.”
He took a gulp of his wine knowing that on some level he expected this.
Seth seemed desperate. He came in and began to pace the room, his reddish hair a mess. “We can get through this, Derek. We just have to work at it.”
He watched Seth's restlessness which was familiar and suddenly distasteful. “There's nothing to work. I can't do it. I don't....I don't love you. I've felt like I just accommodated you.”
Seth stopped, clearly startled. But he sat beside him and tried to embrace him. Tried to slid his hand in Derek's trousers, unzipping his fly, massaging his cock which, to Derek's horror, responded. Seth got in his lap and seemed to maul him with his mouth. For a moment, Derek could feel tendrils of desire start to wrap around him, feel Seth's cock rubbing against his.
But then he felt sick or desperate. Or both. He felt like this was an assault. He pushed Seth backward, hard, who fell onto his back on the floor. Derek got up and did up his trousers. “You have to go, Seth. I won't do this.”
For a moment, when Seth got up and put his cock away, Derek wondered if Seth might hit him. He had never felt this way before, but the fury in Seth's face was incandescent. Derek walked to the door and opened it and just looked at him. Then Seth began to cry – another familiar sequence fulfilled – and tried to speak. “Don't, Seth. Just leave. I need you to leave.”
He left, glaring at him through his tears. When the door was closed and locked, he threw himself on the sofa and grabbed his wineglass from the side table and took a big gulp. He stared at the place where Seth had fallen and it seemed almost comical now. He reached for his phone.
When Emrys answered he said, “I'm sorry I slipped out this morning...” He could hear sounds of voices. “Oh...you're busy.”
“No, it's fine. I'm glad you called. Come back...”
Derek was almost surprised, expecting anger. “I'm not sure...”
“Derek, it's not as if I'm asking to be your husband, for fuck's sake. I just want to talk. See you some more...”
Emrys's voice made him remember the man's body, his thatch of chest hair, the feel of being connected to his cock. “All right. Just until Monday...I have to go back to work.”
“That's fine. Come.”
He slept that night in a bed he hadn't slept in for months. It felt cold, despite blankets. In the middle of the night he was awake, wondering if letting go of Seth was a mistake, that he was just running from something and running in a way that was familiar. But he managed to fall asleep, and he woke to a chill morning.
Getting some coffee before driving out of the city, he made his way along snowy roads. Winter had decided to stay in Wales.
--
When he walked in the inn, it felt as if he had never left. Gareth was by the fire, a few tables held quietly chatting locals, and Emrys was behind the bar, smiling. At him. He tried to remember the last time Seth had smiled at him like that.
He went to the bar and Emrys leaned over and quietly said, “I wish I could fuck you right now.”
Derek knew he was blushing, pleasure washing over his body. He grinned. “That would be nice, but the neighbours would talk.”
Emrys's laughter was another bright spot. He filled a glass with cider for him and said, “Go talk to Gareth. He will tell you stories.”
And so he did. Of post-war Wales, of the Thatcher years, of winters past, of the modern world coming at last to places like this. At one point he took a big sip of his pint and said, “Our Emrys has taken a shine to you, Derek. You had best treat him right.”
The old man's eyes were as bright as the last time, and assessing. “I will, Gareth and thank you for the warning.”
Gareth laughed and emptied his glass. “I must be off. The twenty yards to me door will not cross themselves.”
He stood up, a little unsteadily, and Derek got up and helped him to the door, made sure his coat was buttoned and sent him into the night. He realized there were no other customers.
Emrys said, “Will you have some stew, and then...?”
--
They lay on the bed, their lips together, their cocks pushing into each other, their arms pulling each other close. He found Emrys's ass and slid his fingers in, which made Emrys gasp into his mouth. Suddenly eager, he pulled himself up and pushed Emrys's legs apart. “I want to...”
“Fuck, yes.”
It was all they said, and he pushed his cock deep, slowly and managed to kiss him the whole time. Emrys's arms went round him, pulling him deeper, his hands gripping his ass. It was both familiar and novel, this simple feel of cock in the warmth of another man.
But he found the animal urge to push and thrust and pull. So elemental. He leaned down and bit Emrys's nipple, who gasped and slapped his buttocks, which made him move deeper and harder.
Feeling like being a shit, he said, “You can't get this with a woman, mind.”
Emrys laughed into his mouth. “No, and I wouldn't want it. Only from a man...”
Derek felt as if he had meant to say 'from you'. The intimacy of it made Derek move faster and he could feel it was starting something he wanted to finish and he began to make sounds that got louder. Emrys, urging him on, saying, “Yes. Yes. Yes...”
And when he exploded it was with his tongue deep in Emrys's mouth, his body emptying itself, his thighs trembling. And just as he started to feel the waves receding, Emrys took hold of himself and threw his head back as if he was squinting into the sun, and jets of cum covered his chest. He gasped almost in surprise then kissed Derek very slowly, still catching his breath.
He fell backward, sliding out of Emrys, his cock still drooling, and left a streak of liquid on Emrys's leg. He leaned down and licked it off and they kissed with ever decreasing energy. Sleep seemed to come very fast as they wrapped their arms around each other, face-to-face, body-to-body, Derek burrowing his nose into Emrys's neck.
The inn was silent. There was a wind outside that sprayed ice crystals on the window. But Derek, just before sleep, remembered a moment when he was five, wrapped in blankets in front of his Gran's fireplace that had glowed with warmth, her little stone cottage as silent as this inn, as it was nestled in the arms of this man who was both familiar and different, as peaceful as childhood sometimes can be when we believe that nothing bad will ever happen and even though we know it's not true, the fantasy feels better than anything.
