“What things?” The muscles of Ross’s stomach cramped in anticipation of the reply. He placed his hand over Kit’s fist, but his friend’s grip didn’t loosen.
“We left things at an awkward point.”
“You mean, you did.”
Kit jerked away at the accusation, and stalked across the kitchen. He paused by the pantry door and snatched up a towel with which to dry his hands. “Maybe I could have handled things better, but it seemed best not to embroil you in the media circus.”
“But leaving without so much as a goodbye, let alone a postal address. That was uncalled for.”
“Call it guilt. I had to, Ross. I couldn’t stay.”
“I’d have left with you.”
“Gone into exile. That would just have made us both look guilty.”
Dark storm clouds billowed across the coal-dark surface of Kit’s eyes. Ross chucked aside the tea-towel and closed the gap between them again. He touched Kit’s arm, where his bicep peeked from beneath his sleeve.
“You were training, Ross. You’ve a practice now. This place is right for you. Always has been. I couldn’t steal you away from that.”
Ross prodded him slightly with two fingers and felt the tension in the muscle. “You’re still making excuses. Deal with it, instead of running.” He turned away and opened the fridge. Kit’s gaze never left him as he gulped down mouthful after mouthful of tart cranberry juice. Ross ignored him, focused instead on the explosion upon his taste buds. Neither of them could alter the past. The difference between them was that he’d moved on. Kit hadn’t. Kit had lost himself in a cornfield six years and never found his way out. The shadow of that golden valley still clung to his skin.
Kit moved so fast, he was on Ross before he’d had a chance to react. “You want me to deal with it?” Kit was right in his face, so close there wasn’t room for a whisper to pass between them without it raising hairs. Hard fingers dug into Ross’s upper arms. The cold metal of the fridge door buzzed against his back. Nerves across his loins and torso jumped when he felt Kit’s hips meet his own.
“What are you doing?” he barked, unintentionally showering Kit in vibrant red drops of juice, which clung to his pale skin and rolled down his cheeks like blood tears.
“Dealing with it. This is what I came back for. You, Ross. Not Flora’s legacy, not to apologize, or face their continued suspicions, but to see you. You’re right. We left things undone. I don’t intend to make that mistake again.”
Cold washed up Ross’s spine as he stiffened. Heat washed down to his loins just moments later. “I’m with Evie now,” he protested, clinging to the juice carton so that the cardboard crumpled beneath his fingertips.
“And I was with Sammie then.”
Ross felt his skin drain of warmth and colour at the mention of Kit’s ex. Hard enough to hear her name, let alone hear it spoken with the growled note of possession Kit had produced. Ross knew the facts. Told himself he knew the truth, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t lain awake on numerous nights past, picking over events, and letting the darkest reaches of his soul mount suspicions. Kit’s reassurance, his denial, should have been enough. Most of the time it was, just every now and then the demon imp of suspicion roused itself and crowed, “what if?”
“Kit, no,” he whispered, but he wasn’t sure if his protest was real. It certainly carried no weight with Kit. His friend leaned closer, stretching and pressing his body against Ross’s. Ross sensed the hardness of him, smelled the natural scent of his body beneath the lingering trace of aftershave. “Evie—she could come back down.”
“One kiss, Ross, that’s all I’m asking. I don’t intend to break you apart. I like Evie. She suits you.”
Ross shook his head, but even as he did so, he tilted forward, bringing his lips closer to Kit’s.
One kiss!The tremble in his loins told him he wanted more.
So many shared moments, but this was only the second occasion they’d properly kissed. If they’d resisted the first time would things have turned out differently? If he resisted now, what would happen? Would Kit walk away, go back to Japan and leave him to his cosy, normal life with Evie?
The trouble was, just looking at Kit was tantamount to being teased by the devil. Something about him beckoned you closer, made you want to touch him, and long for him to touch you. It’s how it had happened the first time. He’d spent too long looking at Kit, admiring the lines of his wiry body as he fucked. In those days, he always seemed to be watching Kit fuck. More often than not it had been Sammie, but there’d been a host of other faces too. Then Kit’s interest seemed to wane. He was suddenly all for stepping back and letting Ross sow his oats.
Kit’s lips barely brushed the surface of Ross’s own. Whisper light, they dusted the over the sensitive skin, offering the promise of enjoyment, but not yet delivering.
“I love her,” said Ross, half-turning his head away. A wave of melancholy besieged his tired mind.
Kit’s hard fingers curled around the side of his jaw, and forced them face-to-face again. “This doesn’t change that. I don’t expect it to.”
Kit might say it and believe it, but Ross wasn’t so sure. Everything impacted on everything else. He had no idea how Evie would react to even knowing that he’d shared a homoerotic encounter or two with Kit in the past, let alone that Kit seemed intent on picking things up exactly where they left off as if nothing had bloody well happened in-between.
“Ross,” Kit sighed. Their lips finally met, Kit leading. Kit pressing him hard up against the humming fridge and not letting up, forcing compliance and taking what he wanted.
Somehow Kit managed to get a hand down between them. He covered Ross’s loins, kneaded his already hardening cock through the layer of denim, leaving Ross gasping.
“Kit,” he shot out a warning. His friend merely smiled and playfully circled the button fastening of Ross’s jeans.
