The movie was terrible, but at the same time, it was the best movie Tom had seen in his life. He wouldn’t have traded the hours spent sitting next to Bailey in the dim theatre for anything. The occasional brush of their arms as they sat side by side, the sound of Bailey’s laughter as he cracked up at the bad jokes on screen, the shine in his eyes when he’d accepted the Choc Top ice-cream cone that Tom had ducked out mid-movie to get. The night had only gotten better when Bailey had agreed to a late dinner back at Tom’s place—one of the advantages of living in the city within walking distance of the movie complex.
The apartment above Take Two only had a basic kitchen but it didn’t really matter, not when Tom wasn’t doing any real cooking there anyway. Dinner had been huge slices stolen from the massive pan of moussaka Tom had made for the cafe. It was a popular dish with his customers and Tom had known Bailey liked it because he’d ordered it a couple of times when it was on the daily specials menu. Tom had accompanied the dish with a Greek salad. Simple but filling food that he’d hoped would be a crowd—or more accurately a Bailey—pleaser.
Tom looked at the plate Bailey placed on the coffee table, and judging from its empty state, Bailey had enjoyed his meal. Warmth filled his chest. Score!
“Do you want seconds? There’s plenty more,” he asked.
Bailey groaned but the smile didn’t leave his face. “I couldn’t fit in another mouthful. That was delicious. You’re a good cook.”
“Thanks.” Heat travelled to Tom’s cheeks at the compliment. “I stick with the few things I can do well. Mostly simple dishes really, nothing fancy.”
“Did you study commercial cookery?”
“God no.” Tom chuckled at the thought. “I’m not a professional chef, just a cook. I don’t even make many of the sweets in the cafe. I order in most of the cakes and pastries.”
“But you went to uni? Studied, right?”
“Yeah. I studied at Sydney University but I majored in finance. Nothing to do with cookery.”
Bailey tilted his head, the confusion evident. “Finance?”
“Finance and investment.” Tom squirmed uncomfortably, not sure he wanted the conversation to follow this path, at least not right now.
“Wow. Unexpected. So that’s what you meant about changing careers?”
“Uh-huh. Four years at uni followed by a not-so-stellar corporate career, before ending up with the cafe. But I love what I do now. I hate the road I took to get here, but at least I’m finally doing something I can be proud of. Building the business, watching it grow from nothing, and knowing I did it myself is satisfying.”
“I think it’s brave—chucking in one career and starting all over,” Bailey said, his voice filled with conviction.
If he knew the real reason for the change he wouldn’t think I was brave. More likely he’d think I’m an arsehole.
Tom cleared his throat, then turned the focus away from himself. “If you could start again, and knowing what you know today, what would you do? Teaching?”
“That’s an interesting question.” Bailey paused and took a sip of his drink. He leaned forward and replaced the glass on the coffee table before settling back and answering. “A lot of what I’ve done has been driven by a need to make money. I left home and had to get a job to support myself, so that meant not much time for study and definitely no university course with a huge fee. I guess I could have taken on some debt, but a roof over my head was more important at the time. I’ve tried my hand at retail and done some bartending. I eventually ended up on the phones at the energy company about a year ago under some misguided notion that I could start at the bottom and climb the corporate ladder. Climb to where is the million-dollar question, but I guess working in an office felt more like a proper career.” Bailey stood and picked up the empty plates from the coffee table and carried them over to the sink, continuing to talk as he crossed the short distance. “To be honest, I’m not sure why I even thought I wanted to work for a big company. Perhaps the idea of maybe stumbling on something I’d like or earning more money, but it’s not really my thing.”
“Huh?”
Bailey chuckled. “Not the making money part, I like making money. A lot. It helps pay the bills. I mean the office job part isn’t really my thing. And the thought of climbing the ladder makes me feel nauseous.”
Tom joined him at the sink and started filling it with water. “So why are you still doing it then?”
“To be honest, I’m not really sure why I haven’t moved on. Maybe I felt like I need to give it a proper go, be grown-up and stick to a job.” Bailey passed over a plate and Tom started washing. “Obviously I still need an income, and I guess I haven’t worked out what the next step would be, where the money to live will come from. I’ve got to think about rent, food, paying the bills, keeping the van running.”
Tom passed the clean plate back to Bailey. “Like I said last time, life’s too short to be unhappy. You need to grab for what you want.” Tom continued to wash. From the corner of his vision he watched Bailey drying up. He looked pensive as he ran the tea towel in circles over the plate. If he rubbed much longer the navy stripe would be gone from the porcelain. Shit! I’ve fucked up. I shouldn’t have brought this up again. He already told me he didn’t get to follow his dream after the stuff with his brother. “I suppose the book library keeps you busy enough without adding extra work or study,” he said in an effort to change the topic back to something he knew Bailey was passionate about.
Bailey placed the plate on the bench and reached for the other one. He smiled as he met Tom’s gaze. “Busy is an understatement,” he said with a laugh. “But being busy with the library sure beats being busy on the phones. I’m lucky to have it to focus on.”
“You’re lucky? Fuck, those kids are the lucky ones, having you to keep an eye out for them.”
“Those kids deserve a bit of happiness. Everyone needs a leg up every now and then, and people like to help others. It’s not just them that gets the benefit—it gives me a sense of satisfaction to know I’m doing my part. Giving something back, you know?”
Tom looked at Bailey. Such an amazing guy, with a heart of gold. Bailey didn’t even seem to understand how much good he did, how everything he did was focused on helping other people. He appeared to be the type of man who naturally put everyone else first and he didn’t expect anything in return. “I think you’re pretty amazing.”
Bailey flushed under the praise. “Thanks. You’re pretty okay as well. Ah… I guess I should get going.”
“Do you have to? It’s not that late.” In truth it was close to midnight, but the thought of Bailey leaving hung heavy. Tom’s spirits lifted when Bailey replied.
“I suppose I could stay a bit longer.”
They settled back on the couch and chose a show to watch, but Tom had a hard time getting into it. It was virtually impossible to give the television any attention when he had Bailey sitting next to him on the couch.
The light from the TV flickered over Bailey’s face. The play of light and shadow highlighted his cheekbones and outlined a jaw already shaded with the day’s stubble. The desire to touch was strong. As if reading Tom’s thoughts, Bailey turned. His eyes were dark but glinted as he locked gazes with Tom, sending a shiver down Tom’s spine. Tom couldn’t help it, he reached out and placed his hand against the side of Bailey’s face. His skin was warm under Tom’s touch. He turned his head slightly, his lips meeting Tom’s palm, breath warm. Oh God. Tom’s skin tingled; his breathing sped up. The feeling was electric. He ran his fingers down Bailey’s throat.
Tom leaned in, his cheek against Bailey’s. “Is this okay?” he whispered.
Bailey sank into his hold, nodded against his neck. “More than okay.”
Tom continued his journey, sneaking his hand under the hem of Bailey’s shirt, his palm exploring the soft skin of Bailey’s chest, the smattering of hair under his fingertips. He encountered the soft rise of Bailey’s nipple and circled the small nub. Bailey’s breath caught when Tom scraped a nail over the sensitive flesh. It peaked under his touch and he tweaked firmly, causing Bailey to groan and arch into his touch. Oh God, he loved the sounds Bailey made. Tom’s own pulse was thundering. It was such a turn-on to have Bailey in his arms and the way he responded to Tom’s touch—Jesus!
Tom’s fingers grazed Bailey’s side and Bailey flinched, arching away from the touch. “Ah, ticklish?”
“Uh-huh,” Bailey murmured, and Tom could feel the nod.
He moved, pulling back slightly, and Bailey immediately tilted his head. Their mouths joined in another kiss. This time there was no soft touch of lips and gentle licks; this time the kiss was all open mouths and probing tongues. Tom allowed himself to be pushed back onto the couch cushions as Bailey scrambled to sit astride his lap. Their mouths didn’t separate, Bailey’s grasp on Tom’s jaw holding them together. Tom slipped his hands further under Bailey’s T-shirt, holding him close, as if they weren’t already pressed tightly from mouth all the way down to where Bailey’s legs gripped Tom’s thighs. The pressure of Bailey’s body on his was exquisite.
“Jesus, Bailey,” he finally said when they came up for air. Bailey nuzzled his throat, kissing and sucking. Bailey’s hips had begun rocking against Tom, drawing a groan from him as their jeans-clad dicks rubbed against each other. The muscles under his palms flexed in time with Bailey’s thrusts—strong and firm. He moved to the front, shoving his hands between them, and fumbled at Bailey’s button and zip. Bailey groaned as Tom pushed his briefs down, exposing his cock. Tom wanted to take that hard flesh in his hand, but the angle, and Bailey’s insistent thrusts, made that impossible. Instead he ran his hands around to Bailey’s back, not letting the waistband stop his journey. He pushed his hands under the loosened fabric and explored the curve of Bailey’s arse. The skin was warm and silky smooth over taut muscle that bunched under his palm. “Feels so good, Bailey.”
“Yeah. So good. Don’t stop.”
It took Tom a moment to work out what Bailey wanted him to keep doing, as it seemed that Bailey was doing all the work—kissing, sucking, undulating, breathing hot, moist air against his throat, pushing Tom closer and closer to an orgasm. Even now it was hard to think past the sensations in his groin. His cock was throbbing with need as they frotted like teenagers, but there was no way he was stopping, not when his orgasm was so close and not with Bailey begging in his ear. “Don’t stop. Yeah. Just like that. So close. Don’t stop.”
“Not stopping.” Tom forced his hands further into Bailey’s jeans, momentarily contemplating pausing to remove clothing, but—yeah, no stopping. Instead he shoved harder until he grasped Bailey’s arse with enough leverage to lift him. Tom took over the motion, thrusting up with his hips while at the same time hauling Bailey closer. He could feel the beginnings of his orgasm as he pushed them both closer and closer to the inevitable. He hoped he’d be able to hold off long enough for Bailey to come first.
“Oh My God.” Bailey arched back, hands on Tom’s shoulders, face tilted to the ceiling as he pushed his cock hard against Tom and came. Tom could see the strain in the muscles of his neck and the throbbing of his pulse at the base of his throat. He focused on watching Bailey take his pleasure—he looked damn amazing.
Tom moved his hands, intending to pull Bailey down into another kiss, but before he could stop him, Bailey was scrambling from Tom’s lap. “Wait. No.” Tom was too slow. But his disappointment was short-lived when Bailey dropped to his knees between Tom’s parted legs.
“Is this okay?” This time it was Bailey who asked the question.
Tom looked to where Bailey’s hands hovered over the button of his jeans before nodding. Hell, yes. More than okay.
Bailey dealt quickly with the button and zipper before urging Tom to lift his arse and shimmying his jeans and briefs down to his thighs. Tom’s cock—hard and aching—was exposed but only briefly. Tom’s eyes rolled back in his head as Bailey engulfed him in his mouth. Every bit of Tom’s focus was on the feel of Bailey’s mouth around him. And fuck, could Bailey use his mouth. Hot and wet suction, a perfect pressure, and the rhythm just right. He sucked and licked, and even the small scrape of teeth under the head of his cock was exquisite. Tom knew he wasn’t going to last.
“Fuck, Bailey. Shit. I’m going to come.”
Bailey pulled off, his hand taking over where this mouth had been, jacking Tom to completion. His world narrowed to the release of pleasure as he spurted in the most intense orgasm he’d had for… for a hell of a long time. When he finally came back to his senses and opened his eyes, it was to meet Bailey’s amused gaze.
“What?” He hardly had the energy to lift his head, but he looked where Bailey was indicating.
He looked debauched, with jizz over his stomach and splattered on his dark T-shirt. He was a mess—the very best kind of mess.
* * *
The small apartment felt too quiet, the only sound the muted noise of evening traffic floating up from the street below. Usually Tom was too exhausted to feel lonely when he climbed the stairs to his home. Ordinarily he craved the relative silence of the apartment after the hectic hustle and bustle of the cafe and being surrounded by people all day. Coming upstairs was his escape from the world; the apartment, his sanctuary. But tonight, as he looked at the couch where he and Bailey had sat—and more—last night, he could feel Bailey’s absence like an ache in his gut.
With a flick of the remote, the sound of the evening news filled the small room. That’s better. Something to fill the void. Tom threw himself onto the couch, placed a cushion behind his neck, and flung an arm over his eyes. Immediately images of Bailey flashed behind his lids—Bailey with his head thrown back in laughter, the sadness touched with resignation in his voice as he spoke about his job, the flush to his skin when Tom had kissed his way down Bailey’s throat—
Stop.
God, he wanted to see him again. They had finally crossed the line last night and that small taste hadn’t been nearly enough. Suddenly Tom was craving things he hadn’t wanted in so long. He’d been adamant that he was going to focus on setting himself up for the future, not letting anything get in the way of turning his life around, but Bailey was addictive. After one night, and getting a glimpse of what made Bailey tick, he knew he wanted more.
Would he look too desperate if he called Bailey and set up another date?
Why the hell didn’t I make plans before he left last night? Why didn’t I make sure he stayed last night so we could have talked over breakfast?
Tom understood that Bailey had had to go home so he’d be able to get ready for work in the morning, but still….
Fuck! Who cares if I look keen? I am keen.
Tom jumped to his feet with a renewed sense of vigour and retrieved his mobile phone from the counter where he’d tossed it with the rest of the contents of his pockets when he’d come upstairs. Within moments he was back on the couch staring at the small screen as he continued to debate calling Bailey. Before he could bring up his contacts, he was distracted by the blue Facebook app on his home screen. It only took a moment to launch the app, locate Bailey’s profile, and send him a friend request. He wondered how quickly Bailey would respond. He thought it was maybe one of Bailey’s nights out with the books.
Tom settled back into cushions and tapped out a text message.
TOM: Thanks for last night. Had a great time ☺️
He looked at the screen for minute, as if staring at it would conjure up a reply. Stupid.
Tom forced himself to put the phone on the table. He closed his eyes again, thoughts buzzing until the words of the news presenter cut through his consciousness.
“Recent statistics show alcohol-related violence is on the rise. Last night’s bashing of a teenager in an alleged drug-related dispute is the third incidence in as many weeks. Opponents of Sydney’s mandated lockout laws are using this as evidence that laws aimed at reducing alcohol-related violence are failing and therefore unnecessary,” the announcer said.
Where previously he would have listened to this type of news report with mere passing interest, now he sat riveted to the television screen and the scenes of flashing lights and emergency services personnel outside a city pub. His blood ran cold.
Was this the sort of thing that Bailey was faced with every time he went out? Violence? The threat of injury?
Tom admitted he didn’t know Bailey all that well. They’d shared a couple of phone calls and been out a few times, and last night had been… well, something special in Tom’s eyes. But surely it was too early for this worry about Bailey to affect him like punch in the gut—but it did, like a knock to the solar plexus. And this visceral response confirmed to Tom that his feelings already ran deep.
Jesus.
He turned off the TV. The remote hit the coffee table with a clatter. The dull thud of his footsteps on the floorboards as he paced the room was loud in the sudden silence, but not loud enough to drown out the thoughts echoing through his head.
Tom had thought he’d been happy with the new path his life was on. But now he knew he needed more. He’d had enough of regrets and he wasn’t going to let the opportunity for happiness pass him by.
There was no going back. No going back to lonely nights, and definitely no desire for casual, meaningless hook-ups. No going back to a life without Bailey.