Chapter Text
It was two in the morning and Paul was cycling over to a stranger’s house. His heart was pounding rapidly against his ribcage, nerves and excitement rushing through his veins as he tried not to think about the ridiculous thing he was doing. He had left his roommate, George, a note with the address. Just in case. All he could do now was hope this night would not end with his naked body bobbing in the Mersey.
The relative quiet of the city did little to soothe him. It was a weekday and most people were at home, in bed and asleep. The few people who were around were mostly drunk, stumbling out of pubs or bars or sauntering lonely down the pavement. But the worst were the empty streets. Paul wasn’t used to them and shadows could take on strange shapes when you were cycling down a dark road by yourself.
He had only spoken to the guy for what had barely been an hour. Lying in bed, his head leaning against the headboard and his musicology textbook propped up against his thighs, he had meant to read the assigned chapters for his 9am class, something he had been putting off for days. Class notes and extra pens had littered his bed and he had put on a study playlist on spotify to really push himself to do the work, but his phone, as always, had been much more interesting. Switching between the different dating apps he had downloaded, he had spent his precious study time chatting to various guys, trying to find the few gems that were not only hot but also knew how to hold a conversation and appear at least a little interesting.
He hadn’t had any luck, until a profile had popped up that made Paul pause.
John. 39.
Daft old dad looking for a new experience. (Divorced)
The picture showed a man, looking to be around forty with light brown hair. A pair of sunglasses hid his eyes, giving him an intimidating look, and a stubble covered his jawline, which was so sharp Paul wanted to trace it with his tongue. The lines on his face showed his age and his cheeks had sunken in slightly. His crooked aquiline nose gave him more of a classic appearance, an appearance Paul had eagerly admired on his study trip to Athens a few months prior.
The man’s next picture showed him smiling — this time without his sunglasses — looking happy and free. It was a striking difference from his first picture.
When Paul had come across a picture of the man playing an electric guitar, showing off his surprisingly muscular arms and strong hands, Paul knew he had to meet up with him. The sight of those hands in particular had sent little tremors of arousal through Paul’s body. Big and strong-looking, with slim fingers and clearly visible veins, Paul hadn’t been able to stop imagining all the dirty things he wanted those to do to him.
To his excitement, they had come up as a match, and after forty minutes Paul had quickly foregone his usual rules for meeting strangers online. They had been flirting, talking about all the dirty things they wanted to do to each other and when the man had invited him over — most likely as a joke considering the time — Paul had immediately agreed. He had even gone through the trouble of quickly washing himself and making sure he was cleanly shaven before he had pulled on a pair of tight jeans that hugged his arse just right, an (almost) see-through shirt, and his new strawberry jacket which he had found at a thrift store a few days ago and hadn’t stopped wearing.
He could skip his morning class.
At least the guy didn’t live far. Within ten minutes Paul was standing outside a small apartment building. He tried to fix his hair and checked the address one last time to make sure he had the right place.
There were no lights on inside the building. Walking up to the large double doors, Paul tried glancing inside but could see nothing. Next to the doors were about twenty different buzzers, each with a little plaque next to it with the last names of the residents on it. One of them was covered by a piece of paper with the name “Lennon” written on it in scrawly handwriting.
Taking a deep breath, Paul pressed it and waited. A little white light blinked above a small camera at the top of the list of names. Paul winked at it. Not two seconds later the door buzzed open with a click.
The lights flickered on as Paul made his way inside, lighting up the sparsely decorated space that consisted of three rows of mailboxes and two doors with the word “storage” on them. A set of stairs curled around a lift in front of him. Paul pressed the “up” button. The man had said he lived on the second floor.
Once he had reached the correct floor, he stepped out and glanced around. The lights failed to flicker on this time, leaving most of the narrow corridor in the dark. The only light source was the light of the moon and the streetlamps shining in from the windows at either end.
“I was almost afraid you wouldn’t come.”
Turning around, Paul’s stomach did an excited little flip. A silhouette of a man stood in the door opening of one of the apartments. The light shining in from behind him made it difficult to make out his face or any other part of the man’s appearance. Waving his hand above his head, the man triggered the light sensor, flooding the corridor in yellow light and Paul’s lips curled up into a grin as the silhouette’s face and body was made visible.
The man looked exactly as he did in his photos. The skinny frame, the sharp features. His brown hair, however, appeared auburn now, the reddish tint visible even in the harsh artificial light. Long and wavy, it curled at the ends, which reached just below his unshaven jawline. His almond eyes shone like honey as he regarded Paul, his gaze drifting up and down to take him in. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, showing hints of a smooth hairless chest Paul wanted to see more of.
He had an intimidating air around him, tough and confident as he stood leaning against the doorframe. Yet, there was an elegance in the way he held himself, and a softness in his eyes that intrigued Paul. The man was grinning at him, not in any mean-spirited way, but in silent recognition of the shared knowledge of what was about to happen. Paul’s stomach twisted at the sight of it.
“I had to shower,” he explained when he realised John was waiting for an answer, giving a sly smile in return as he walked over, deliberately swaying his hips.
The man — John, Paul reminded himself — followed his movements closely and Paul let himself enjoy the attention, glad to have foregone his usual rules.
“Wanna come in?” John asked as Paul came to stand before him. The sharpness of his features were more prominent up close and Paul nodded, licking his lips.
“Gladly.”
***
“Excuse the mess,” John said as he and Paul stepped through a tiny hallway and into a living area just large enough to fit a small kitchen, a round dining table, and a sitting area with a two-seater couch and a leather armchair. “I haven’t had time to unpack.”
John needn’t have said. Not only was the furniture too large for the room, the little space that was left was largely overtaken by numerous cardboard moving boxes, some of which had been half-emptied out while others were still folded shut. Papers and books lay scattered around the flat, and a pile of clothes and other stuff had been kicked into a corner. Beer bottles stood empty on the coffee table and two days worth of dishes stood unwashed in and around the sink. The only thing that appeared relatively organised was the small guitar collection that stood between the side of the couch and the wall. A practice amp was placed haphazardly next to the coffee table, and multiple cables swirled around it like long thin black snakes.
“Don’t worry about it,” Paul replied.
Making to take off his jacket, John came over to do it for him. Placing his hands on his shoulders, he let them rest there for a moment, warm and insistent, before sliding the material off down his arms. Paul leaned into the feeling, his muscles relaxing under his touch, and the moment John stepped away to drape the jacket over the back of a dining chair, he wished those hands would return to him.
“It’s a nice place,” he said, pretending he did not want to jump right back into the man’s arms as he turned around to follow John’s movements. The man shrugged.
“It will do. I don’t mean to stay long. I needed someplace to live, while… well…”
Paul nodded. John hadn’t said much about his divorce during their conversation, and Paul got the feeling he preferred not to talk about it much.
“Anything to drink?”
“Maybe later, thanks.”
John hummed and headed into the kitchen area to grab himself a glass. When he turned around to fill it with tap water, Paul could not resist letting his eyes drift down to his arse, sneaking a look, before quickly raising them again when John turned back. He must have been too slow, for a knowing smirk pulled at the older man’s lips as he leaned back against the kitchen counter, watching Paul with a smug expression. Paul tried not to flush, and rather than respond to the tease, he turned around, allowing himself to take in the room a bit more.
Making his way through the maze of furniture, he could feel the man’s eyes on him as he moved, taking him in, and Paul pretended to be unconcerned as his attention lingered on the many papers that littered the dining table. Most of them looked to be important, carrying fancy corporate logos of what appeared to be solicitor offices and banks, and Paul politely looked away from those. There were also some unopened envelopes, a take-away menu, and old photos, most of which showed two young boys at different ages. Paul guessed they had to be John’s sons.
In the center lay a messy stack of university flyers. Paul frowned at the sight of it and picked one up that looked familiar. Turning it over, he could read “University of Liverpool” in the familiar font.
“My son,” John’s voice came from beside him, far closer than Paul had expected, and turning his head, he saw the man leaning over his shoulder, his hand reaching over to pick up a flyer himself. Paul just managed to glimpse the words “Leicester University.”
“Jules. He’s looking around. Trying to decide where he wants to go. He’s being pretty indecisive about the whole thing if you ask me.” John let out a nervous chuckle and Paul hummed.
“How old is he?”
“Almost eighteen. He lives with his mother. My er… my first wife.”
Paul nodded, his eyes lingering on a photo showing two smiling boys, each holding an ice cream in his hand. John noticed him looking, and pointed at the photo.
“That’s him. And that’s Sean, my other son. He’s seven now.”
Paul hummed again, and for a moment it was silent. John shifted awkwardly next to him.
Laying the flyer back down, Paul shuffled over, pressing his hip into John’s crotch. The man took in a sharp breath at the touch.
“You’ve really never done this before, have you?” Paul asked with a grin. His fingers slid over the roughened surface of the table, moving closer to where John’s hand rested. From the corner of his eye, Paul saw the man shake his head. He was staring at their hands.
“I wanted to. Never had the chance.” John’s voice had lowered to a deep rasp. Paul couldn’t wait to find out what he’d sound like moaning and groaning into his ear.
“It—” John continued, but his voice broke off as Paul’s pinky found his, the calloused tip running lightly over the skin, “it’s not about the age thing. I just…”
“I know.”
“I just wanna see what it’s about.”
“To explore,” Paul suggested, still rubbing the pad of his finger over the roughened skin of John’s hands. John nodded.
“Not that you aren’t… attractive.”
“Not that it doesn’t turn you on,” Paul corrected, and before John could say anything in return, he turned around, taking his hand away from John’s and leaning back against the table as he slid fully in front of the older man, meeting his eye and holding his gaze.
They were close, their bodies mere inches apart, and Paul didn’t miss the heated sparkle in the other’s eyes. Whether at his correction or their sudden proximity, Paul couldn’t be sure, but he guessed it was both.
He held his gaze, daring John to correct him as he regarded him with a seductive smirk. When he didn’t, he leaned further back, inviting John to do exactly what he wanted if he dared to reach out and take it.
With experience he had learned to tease and play rather than act on impulse. Patience was a virtue, and the desperation of his partner once he finally could not hold back anymore was Paul’s heavenly reward.
Usually it didn’t last long. Most men Paul had been with knew what they wanted and weren’t afraid to take it. The trick was to hold them off long enough. But John had never been with a man before. Paul would be his first. John didn’t reach out to touch, he didn’t make suggestive comments, he didn’t try to kiss him or grope him or do most of the things Paul’s dates usually tried. He held back, as if waiting for Paul to give him his okay, unsure of what to do.
No, John did not need holding off. John needed coaxing.
With a glance over his shoulder, he reached behind him to grab the flyer advertising the University of Liverpool. He offered it to John, who blinked at the sight of it.
“This one’s good,” Paul said, smiling innocently as John looked up from the flyer and into Paul’s eyes. “It’s closeby.”
Taking it, John glanced at it.
“Is that where you went?” he asked with a small grin, turning it over in his hand as he took a step closer. He made it seem casual, as if he hadn’t meant to do it. The slight tremor in his hand told differently.
Paul hummed as he cocked his head, baring his neck and pretending not to see the way John’s eyes lingered on the pale skin. “Still do.”
“What do you study?”
“Music. I’m almost done.”
John tore his eyes away, once more looking over the flyer before meeting Paul’s with a sly smirk. Paul’s breath stocked.
“I’ll keep the recommendation in mind, then,” he said, slowly, slipping his hand past Paul’s waist to put the flyer back on the table as he again slid an inch or two closer.
Their bodies almost touching, John kept his hand resting on the table behind Paul, crowding him a little. His eyes, soft yet hungry, flickered down to Paul’s lips. Mouth curling into a smirk, Paul waited for John to continue, his body buzzing with the need to be thrown down on the table behind him and fucked stupid by the man in front of him. The chances of that were slim; John did not appear the type to suddenly throw off his nerves and get violent. He needed a little guidance.
Still, for a moment, it appeared he might take the bait. John leaned in, only an inch or two, his head cocking to the left as his gaze travelled between Paul’s eyes and his lips, as if searching for encouragement.
Paul waited, mouth slackening as he held his breath, his stomach constricting with need and desire. He wanted to reach out, to close the final gap between them and force their lips together, to feel those warm hands on him again, grabbing him, holding him, claiming him. It would be so easy. John was close enough for Paul to feel his breath ghosting over his skin, hot and uneven.
But he waited, like the good boy he was, watching John get closer and closer, and just when Paul thought John was finally going to close the gap—
—The man pulled back.
With a disgruntled wail, Paul grabbed John by his bicep, pulling him back. But like John, he stopped, their faces mere inches apart, bodies now fully touching as John was forced between his legs, their thighs pressing together. With a shuddering breath, John met his eyes.
Come on, then, Paul thought, kiss me.