Jason’s seen plenty of porn over the years, starting at senior school where magazines stolen from older brothers supplemented sex-ed lessons. Before the internet made access easier, those magazines were an early sign that women didn’t do too much for him, the boobs his friends pored over his first clue that Garry Hirons might share his reservations. Garry’s eyes had been just as drawn to any men on those magazine pages as Jason’s. Back then, watching Garry had been his own version of X-rated viewing. Now, with Vanya sitting the other side of his table, licking spaghetti sauce from his lips, he feels like a teenager all over again, wanting someone only a few feet from him who seems just as far out of his league.

It’s easy to forget over the phone that there are decades between them, impossible to ignore when the kitchen light leaves nothing hidden. Vanya’s so fresh faced and stylish, dressed in yet another offbeat outfit that would look stupid on Jason. It’s still hard to believe that someone like Vanya is interested in him.

Vanya doesn’t notice Jason’s introspection, clearly very hungry. He’s already nearly done with his first serving, but as his dish empties, he slows pace to savour the last mouthfuls. Jason has to close his eyes before the way Vanya takes his time over his last few bites kills him. He takes such care with each mouthful, twirling every single strand of pasta so none eludes him, eyelids lowering for a split second with each neat and tidy forkful.

This simple sauce can’t be the best thing he ever tasted, despite all Vanya’s assertions. It’s nothing very special—something his foster mum taught him before he left for college. Jason might have upgraded her basic recipe with chorizo and fresh chilli, but he’s pulled it together so often he could make it with his eyes shut. Still, preparing something on autopilot had been about all he could manage while second-guessing this invitation. Now he’s glad he didn’t give in to cold feet and even gladder he cooked something simple, not certain how he’d cope if Vanya moaned any louder around mouthfuls of something fancy.

“This”—Vanya points at his near-empty dish—“is best meal.”

It’s the third version of the same judgment he’s given in as many minutes.

“So you said.”

Sipping wine seems safer than leaning across the table to clean spatters of sauce from Vanya’s chin. It doesn’t matter that they’re tiny. They torment him until Vanya wipes them with the tip of a finger and then sucks it clean intently. Jason busies himself rather than stare any harder. Grabbing the pan from the counter seems like a good plan, even if ladling out a second serving only prolongs this torture.

Jason’s lips tingling when he sits again has nothing to do with the pinch of smoked paprika he added as the sauce simmered, and the sweetness that lingers on his tongue isn’t down to the sprinkle of sugar he added to fresh tomatoes either. It’s only his imagination on overdrive wondering what Vanya would taste like if he leaned in for a kiss right now.

Vanya’s oblivious, sucking on a last strand of spaghetti that spatters his chin again.

It takes everything Jason’s got not to lick him.

He shoves back in his chair abruptly and returns to the counter, telling himself to get a grip already. Luckily Vanya’s finally finished and looks around with wide eyes, like he just noticed that the room he sits in extends beyond the kitchen. He swivels his head towards a draftsman’s table set under a huge skylight.

“This is where you work?”

“Yes. I’ve got a small office as well, but I built this extension so I could catch the light here. I still use the table a lot even though using computer software is standard these days. I prefer drafting on paper. You can take a look at what I’m working on, if you’re done.” He tidies away leftover bread and butter only to find Vanya, his hands full of their dirty dishes, standing behind him when he turns.

“Was very delicious, thank you.”

It’s a simple statement, but Vanya lingers like he’s not done.

Jason’s voice comes out quieter than usual. “You want some more?”

“No.” Vanya sounds determined, even as the dishes he holds clink like his hands are shaking. “Want something else,” he says and takes it.

It’s a quick kiss, that’s all; a swift press of his lips that Jason responds to right away, instead of hesitating.

He takes the dishes from Vanya’s hands, hoping they land safely on the counter when he thrusts them in that direction. Then he pulls Vanya close, his cheek warm in his hand when he cups it, his lips parting as their kiss deepens, and yes, he does taste sweet and smoky. There’s as much thrill in having that answer confirmed as there was the first time he had a kiss reciprocated. It’s a sense of rightness, at last, that comes with a faint echo. The only difference today is that instead of getting stood up before a second kiss can happen, Vanya clearly wants more.

There’s proof in the way his grip tightens before releasing only to skim from Jason’s waist up his torso. It finally settles when his hands span Jason’s shoulders, squeezing as if he likes what he feels. There’s more evidence when he breaks off to pant, “I’m need to check. This is a date?” like he’s worried Jason might want him here for some other reason.

“Well I didn’t ask you over to talk about clothes.”

Vanya gets back to kissing again, both hands on Jason’s face now, if very gently, like he’s wary of pressing too hard on bruises that a stranger wouldn’t know had ever been there.

He’s sweet when he stands on tiptoes to kiss the skin where Andrew’s knuckles landed. Then he’s serious until Jason gives into his urging to dip his head so he can inspect his face from close up. The press of his fingertips where bruises once blossomed is so slight it shouldn’t be as affecting as the kiss that follows. Still, Jason has to brace against the counter to keep his balance.

Vanya’s smile is shaky as well when he eventually pulls back, his lips reddened like they tingle the same way as Jason’s. It’s more than the hint of chilli he added to the sauce that’s done that. It’s the result of kisses dragging over a day’s growth of stubble. Vanya’s lips part, like he’s about to speak again, only this time Jason moves first, both hands gripping an arse cheek as he lifts him onto the counter to kiss him from a different angle. He tugs Vanya’s shirt free from the waistband of his jeans, mapping the skin that he bares from back to ribs to stomach, where he thumbs at his fly button.

It’s not that Vanya stops him, exactly.

It’s more that he suddenly stiffens, his body rigid instead of pliant at the same time as his phone chimes. Vanya kisses him again very quickly before slipping down from the counter.

“Sorry,” he says while pulling his phone from his pocket. It’s clunky, Jason notices, instead of smart and slim like his own—another retro item, no doubt, which must be the height of fashion.

Jason watches as Vanya tucks in his shirt while reading a text. “Sorry,” he quickly repeats. “Forget something. Have to make call….” He dials and then speaks quickly in his own language, turning his back on Jason, who overhears muffled shouting. It’s a very quick conversation that leaves Vanya rattled, his face shadowed when he ends it.

“Is everything okay?” A hundred thoughts flit through Jason’s mind.

Who the hell had that been?

And who the fuck were they to yell at Vanya like that, as if they were worried?

He’s been in this same spot too many times in the past to keep quiet.

“Was that your boyfriend?”

“What?”

Jason blunders on, blurting the truth that he lived with for years before he got wise to Garry. “Because if you’re seeing someone already and that was him, we’ll call this quits right now.”

“Call quits?” Vanya inches closer.

“It means we’ll stop seeing each other.” He shakes his head. “It’s not dating if you’re already taken. It’s cheating. And it’s no fun for me if you’ve got someone waiting at home, especially if they have no clue what you’re doing.” He’s had enough of that crap to last a lifetime. “I… I’ve been there, that’s all. And I’m not interested in a repeat performance, no matter how much I want you.”

Now Vanya stands beside him, his expression guileless. “You want?”

Of course he does, but he sticks to his guns. “Not if you’re seeing other people.”

“Was Kaspar, not secret boyfriend.” Vanya’s face is so expressive, hiding nothing. “He is upset because I’m forget a very serious promise, so I’m make him another.” Something in his expression firms when he says, “I’m definitely want you too, Jason Balfour.” His next kiss is fleeting. “But I’m promise to come home on last train.”

Jason gets lost in the next kiss Vanya offers, warm and enthusiastic, Vanya’s grin a little goofy when it ends, and Jesus Christ he’s gorgeous.

Instead of feeling low at their date ending too soon, Jason goes ahead and plans the next one. He taps the design on his drafting table. “I leave for York tomorrow to supervise the start of a restoration for my biggest client. Then I’m going back to Riversmeet for the weekend.”

“Riversmeet?” Vanya carefully tests out the word. “Place where you grow up?”

“Yes.” Going back this soon was his parting promise to both Andrew and Chantel. He points to a nearby watercolour painting. It’s a very simple picture capturing the gold stone of the cottage in a way that’s warmly perfect. “It’s about the best place on the planet,” he says while thinking of one thing that might improve it. “Why don’t you come with me?”