Jum

[IN PROGRESS!!] Josh is an American teenager living in London after moving all over the States when he was younger, and determined to make it his home. Meet Michael, the British boy who will help him do so. (BL, some chapters feature explicit content.)

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17. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

In which the relationship moves to the Next Level




"I was thinking… We could go to Oxford this weekend," Michael suddenly whispered to me during a lecture a few days later.

Our little excursion to Virginia Water had been such a success that he'd been trying to come up with more idea for places to go to. Places outside of London, since he wanted to show me stuff he'd known since he was a kid.

"Oxford?"

"We could do a day trip. There are coaches that go back and forth all day and it's only a little over an hour and a half from London, I think. And there's a stop not too far from where I live so if we timed it right we could get on the same coach. Or we could go to Windsor. Have you ever been there?"

"Nuh, never."

"It's a lot closer than Oxford. You could get there directly by train and me by car."

"Oxford sounds good," I said, straightening up and trying to look like I was paying attention, "but do you think we could push it back a week?"

"Oh, right. Are you busy this weekend?"

I shook my head. "No, but Mom and Dad will be away next weekend, from Friday afternoon to Sunday night," I said with a wink and a grin.

The discussion came to a halt when the lecturer showed us a series of slides we needed to focus on for real and then resumed once we were eating lunch.

"Your parents seem to be away an awful lot," Michael said before biting into a cheese and tomato panini — and burning his tongue on the melted cheese, the way he often did.

"Dad's always travelling all over Europe for business and sometimes Mom goes with him. This time he's got something back in New York so she's piggybacking on the trip to see my grandparents."

"But if it's the weekend—"

"He's the kind of man who does business lunches any day of the week," I said with a small shrug.

"I see… So your mum's parents live close to New York?"

I nodded, blowing on my own panini one more time before tentatively taking a bite. "A place called Oceanside, conveniently close to JFK Airport. That's where I was for New Year's Eve."

"Oh right."

We remained silent for a little while, focusing on our food. We'd never talked about the emails we'd exchanged that evening and I have to admit I wasn't even sure what I could say about the subject so I said nothing.

"So err, anyway, I was thinking maybe you could… come spend the weekend with me?" I said after a pause. "Think your parents would allow it?"

"I'd have to have a good reason…" he replied after a pause, frowning.

"Or you could be honest."

He looked up, eyebrows raised. "What?!"

OK, if I can be honest I'll say that I got a little hurt at how quickly his response came and how utterly panicked he sounded. But his issues with his parents weren't something I was really allowed to stick my nose in — at least not until it became a problem — so I let it go.

"Well, partially honest then. Tell them you're seeing someone. Call her… Jocelyn if you have to. Say she's invited you over for the weekend and you promise you'll be a gentleman. She wants to wait until she's married anyway and her parents will be there. You won't even sleep anywhere near her; the guest bedroom's on the other side of the house," I added with a smile, and he laughed.

"Is that what you have in mind?"

I gave him a predatory look and leaned over so I could lower my voice. "The only place you'll be allowed to sleep in will be my bed, right next to me. And that's not negotiable."

He blushed all the way to the tip of his ears and smiled. "I'd better start making up a good story about Jocelyn then."

 

*


Needless to say — but I'll say it anyway — I was a ball of nerves the next Friday. It took him a couple of days to convince his parents and I didn't get any details, but he did it and that's what mattered. If he wanted to tell me about it I would listen, but what I was focusing on was having him for the whole weekend. From Friday afternoon to Sunday afternoon. Seriously, Heaven or what?

Since Mom and Dad weren't leaving for Heathrow until the early afternoon, Michael couldn't come around straight after his last lesson the way he usually did. I mean, sure, Mom knew about him but there was a very big difference between my mother knowing about my boyfriend and her meeting him. And that's not even mentioning Dad. So even though I told him it was stupid, he went home and showed up in the late afternoon with a bag of clothes he didn't want to take with him to uni. And you know what? Seeing that bag put the goofiest grin on my face.

"Hello," he said before putting his bag on the floor and kissing me. "Hmm, smells delicious…"

"I've been cooking," replied with a smile.

"Really? And here I thought we'd get takeaway to eat in front of the TV or something…"

I chuckled. "We can eat in front of the TV if you want but I promised you I'd cook for you next time Mom and Dad were away, didn't I?"

"I remember," he said, planting another kiss on my lips. "Didn't you mention candles?"

"We can put the candles on the coffee table."

We didn't put the candles on the coffee table because we didn't eat in front of the TV. I'd have done it if he'd been serious but he was just joking so we ate at the dining room table, with a couple of candles, just like I'd planned. To keep it simple, I'd cooked tagliatelle — my favourite type of pasta — with sliced up chicken in tomato and basil sauce and I served some garlic bread with it. I could have done something more adventurous, more impressive, but then the risk that he might not like it would have been higher and that would have been rubbish, right? Thankfully, he tucked in very happily and helped himself to the garlic bread several times.

"This is delicious," he said, wiping tomato sauce off his place with a piece of bread. "You didn't lie; you can really cook."

"Wasn't particularly complicated…"

"You're talking to someone who can't do anything more elaborate than omelette and baked beans."

"Seriously?"

He smiled and nodded. "I've never had to cook for myself. I have lunch at uni and my mum cooks a meal in the evening. If I have to make my own lunch I'll go for toast most the time because I can't ruin that."

"Wow…"

"I know, it's pathetic. How did you learn?"

"I guess I got fed up with having to order crappy takeaway food when I was on my own. I wanted good stuff, you know, and I wanted to be able to make it myself. So I watched Mom, I helped, did some research and then started experimenting. Some experiments have been less successful than others but I haven't had a real disaster yet," I added with a grin.

"It's nice to eat something prepared by someone who obviously loves food and cooking. My mum doesn't really care about either. Dinner is more something that needs to be done every evening in order to stay alive, you know? She doesn't really enjoy cooking and her food is… oh I sound like such an ungrateful son but it's… quite bland most of the time. Boiled or steamed vegetables, no spices or herbs. That kind of stuff."

Oh I felt so sorry for him. Food was… it was supposed to be fun! Boiled vegetables? No spices or herbs? I wanted to cry.

"You'd better start coming here for dinner more often," I said with a wink. "I can also teach you a couple of things, if you want."

"That might come in handy."

"Do you want dessert now?" I asked, standing up and gathering the plates and cutlery. 

"What's for dessert?"

"I bought some chocolate roulade-type thing I thought you might like. If you're still hungry you can have some now or… we can watch a movie and have some in about an hour or so."

"That sounds better. I'll help you clear up."

"No way, you're my guest. I'm not washing up yet anyway, just putting things to soak in hot water and tidying up a bit. You go choose a DVD."

"But it'll be quicker if I help you."

"DVD. Now," I said with a smile, picking up the plates and walking to the kitchen.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

Tidying up so that the place wasn't a war zone took me about ten minutes and everything that had to be soaked was now in hot water, waiting for me to attend to it later. When I walked back into the lounge, Michael was still in front of the DVD shelves.

"Found something you like?" I asked, walking up behind him and wrapping my arms around his waist.

"You have a lot of DVDs, and certainly quite a few I'd like to see but… It's pathetic but I keep coming back to Notting Hill. I haven't seen it in years."

A chick flick — I really should have known.

"Let's put it on, then. I haven't seen it in a while either."

And so we watched Notting Hill. Well, I watched most of it, whenever my eyes weren't wandering towards Michael instead. Whenever he was focused on something, he'd often bite his bottom lip — probably unconsciously. And he played with his hair as well. Took me a while to notice how often he'd twist one lock of hair around his index finger and make it go round and round until it slid away. And then he'd start again. And I'd watch, entranced.

I'm not entirely sure when he moved right beside me and the heavy petting started, but by the time the credits came we weren't really paying attention anymore. I'd never really done anything like this since I'd never brought anyone home to stay the night — apart from that night after the party, but it was different — and I was really enjoying it. There was no need to worry about going back to revisions, Mom coming home early or him needed to leave before long. He was staying with me for the entire weekend, we had all the time we wanted.

"Shall we move to your bed?" he asked once I was virtually on top of him. My hands were already under his jumper and it was only a matter of time before his clothes would start coming off.

A very small voice at the back of my mind told me it would be best to do the dishes first but I didn't listen long enough to even consider telling Michael to wait. As expected, clothes started coming off the second we passed my bedroom door and by the time I pinned him on the bed we were only wearing our jeans and underwear — and it didn't take long for them to go too. I was about to get down to business when Michael stopped me.

"Hmm…?"

He propped himself up on his elbows and looked at me, biting his bottom lip again — this time out of embarrassment, I knew. "I… I was wondering—"

"You don't want to do anything?"

"No! I mean yes, I do, but I… I was thinking…"

"What is it?" I asked, moving some locks of hair away from his face.

"I was thinking maybe we could… try something different…?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Something different?"

The blush that had started creeping over his face intensified as he searched for words. "I want… I'd… I'd like to… to go all the way…?" he stammered.

I froze. I knew the moment to take things to the next level would come, and I'd have been a big fat liar if I'd said I didn't want it, but it seemed too soon. He wasn't ready. Or maybe I wasn't… I wasn't entirely sure. The very last thing I wanted was a repeat of what had happened to me and he knew that. So why was he asking for this?

He sat up and grabbed me by the neck to pull me towards him again when I sat back on my heels. "I'm ready. I want this."

"You don't know," I replied, shaking my head. "You don't know, and if it goes wrong there's no undo button."

He shifted closer and wrapped both arms around my neck. "Stop worrying so much. It won't be the same."

"But you don't know that, and I can't—"

"You're always so gentle with me, it won't be the same," he said again before framing my face with both hands and pulling me into a hungry kiss.

Dammit, when had he become so good with the whole kiss thing?

"I can't."

He chuckled and rested his forehead against mine. "I can't believe I'm having to beg… Look at me and listen to what I'm saying," he said, holding me by the chin and forcing me to look straight at him. "I'm ready. I want this."

I searched into his eyes, and all I could see was trust — and a good dose of lust. He trusted me to do it right, but what if I messed up? What if — even though I found it hard to admit he was truly ready — what if I fucked it up and made him as reluctant to do it again as I'd been? I'd been with a fair amount of guys and no one had ever come back with complaints, so what was so different? Why was I so scared?

I cared about him in a way I hadn't cared about anyone before; that's what was different.

And I was seriously scared to fuck it up.

"Please," he said softly, breathing against my neck and planting small kisses here and there, "I know you want it too… Think about it; we had a great meal, watched a lovely movie that's definitely put me in a romantic mood and we're both ready," he added, palming my crotch and making me moan. "It makes sense…"

I froze again and moved away from him. "What are you talking about? That's not what I had in mind."

"I was just—"

"I mean… I didn't do all of that in order to fuck you!"

The word seemed to make him flinch. "I know you didn't. I never implied you did. I'm sorry if I phrased it wrong. But… the evening has been perfect so far, so isn't it just logical to—"

"Stop treating it like steps for a recipe or something!" I shouted, unable to keep my voice down.

He stared at me and blinked a few times, like he was looking for something to reply to what I'd just said.

"You talk too much…"

Even though we'd done some serious making out and really ought to have continued until we passed out from the lack of oxygen instead of doing any talking at all, I seriously wasn't expecting him to stop there. So he really caught me by surprise when he grabbed me and pulled me to him. Before I knew it, his tongue was in my mouth, I was lying on top of him and he was wrapping his deliciously long legs around my waist. He was definitely as aroused as I was and for a while I pretended he hadn't asked what he'd asked and just revelled in the wonderful sensation provided by the friction between our bodies. 'Unfortunately', he became impatient before too long and I tried to ignore the pace my heart was beating at when I reluctantly moved away from him and opened my bedside table drawer.

"You're absolutely sure you want to do this?" I asked as I uncapped the lube. "Remember, there's no undo button. It's not too late to stop."

All I got was a small nod before he took a deep breath and settled himself more comfortably in the middle of the bed. Oh shit, this was it.

It seemed… surreal to be doing that sort of thing to him. With him. I'd never been anywhere near his ass before for the simple reason that I wouldn't have let him go anywhere near mine. I'd never said it outright because we didn't talk about it but I'd never been bottom to anyone since Brendan. If there was any penetration going on, I was the one doing it — and I always made sure whoever was with me got to enjoy himself as well — because… well, that's a story for another day.

I did my best to stay focused on the task at hand to prevent my brain from going into complete meltdown. I knew I knew how to prepare; I'd been well taught so that wasn't something I really had to worry about. Or rather, it wasn't something I should worry about. Truth be told, I nearly stopped everything when he flinched big time after I inserted the first finger — and I did it as gently as humanly possible, trust me on that. I really couldn't blame him. I remained still, waiting for him to ask me to stop, but instead he pulled me into another one of those kisses that made all the blood in my body flow straight down south.

Each passing second made it more difficult to stay focused on my goal because I was beginning to feel crazy with desire. Goddammit, I wanted nothing more than to pound into him until he made a permanent dent in my mattress, but at the same time it was the last thing I wanted to do. So I tried as hard as I could to focus on the technical side of what was happening and it helped a little. Not much, but a little. When I put a second finger in, I was pleasantly surprised to see that he was still decently aroused; that had to mean I was doing it right, yeah? So I angled my fingers slightly differently and…

"Oooh!!" he moaned. "Oh God, did you just touch—"

"Yes?" I asked with a smile, pulling my fingers nearly all the way out and then pushing them in again at the same angle.

"Hnnnyes," he moaned louder, squirming.

I went on for quite some time, marvelling at the way his body responded to all the slight changes I made. I also made sure to keep my eyes on his hands clenching the sheets for any sign that the new-found pleasure had turned into pain, but it never came. Instead, he suddenly let go of the sheet and reached up towards me with both hands.

"Please…"

You know that special effect like an elastic band snapping that you hear in cartoons and stuff when someone's self-control finally gives in? Well I swear I heard my inner elastic band go sproing and I knew that was it. Before I was aware of it, I'd withdrawn my fingers, grabbed a condom and the lube and prepped myself faster than ever. He gasped louder than I'd heard him gasp so far and his hands flew towards my hips as if to stop me when I pushed myself in, but he didn't.

"I'm sorry…" I could help say, the obvious desire in my voice definitely undermining my sincerity.

Holy fucking shit, it felt so good. I know it sounds kind of downright crazy, but the further in I got, the more I felt myself sort of… pull away from my own body, you know what I mean? Like I was there but not really there at the same time — in some sort of trance, I guess. I lost it a bit more when he pulled me to him for another spine-melting kiss — presumably to take his mind off the pain — and then completely when he came unexpectedly fast and his body tightened around me oh so fucking deliciously.

I must admit things got very hazy after that but I know I kind of forgot about the 'gentle' part the second his legs wrapped around my waist and pulled me closer. I was suddenly very glad that my bedroom wasn't adjacent to a neighbour's because I know the headboard met the wall more times than I could count. I was so completely gone that at one point I could swear I'd left my body and was looking at myself pounding into him from the ceiling. And you know what? All I could think about was that, damn, it looked fucking hot. A part of me did worry about being too rough, eventually, but before I knew it I'd reached my limit and found myself pulled right back into my body, grunting and cumming hard.

I don't remember much after that but I know I passed out for a bit — so did Michael — and then woke up just enough to clean up what I could and check that the sheets were decent enough to sleep in before crashing again.

 

*


I woke up with a start many hours later, judging by the light coming through the blinds, and was honestly surprised to see a very naked Michael lying next to me.

So it hadn't been a dream. Last night had really happened… If I had any doubt left, all I had to do was look at the opened pack of condom and lube on my bedside table.

Michael was on his side, facing me, so I lay there for a while, looking at him, until I couldn't bear the guilt any longer and checked my alarm clock. Half past seven; decent time to get up. I went to the bathroom and then the kitchen, which needed clearing up. I closed the door, turned the radio on, made myself a cup of strong black coffee, refilled the sink with hot water and got to work. I needed something to do, something to focus on so I could distract myself from the thoughts going round and round in my head, and I'd always found washing up to be a rather relaxing activity.

About fifteen to twenty minutes went by before I knew it so I made a cup of tea for Michael. I didn't know if he'd still want to go to Oxford but I couldn't let him sleep in if we were going. I'd almost finish washing and clearing everything up when I heard the door open behind me.

"Morning," he said with a yawn.

"Hey, good morning," I replied casually, not looking around. "I made you a cup of tea. I was about to bring it to you."

He thanked me and sat down at the counter to my right and I still didn't look at him. I just couldn't. I didn't know how to face him or what to say after what had happened. So we spent a couple of awkward minutes not saying anything — thank God the radio was on! — until he shifted in his chair.

"Josh —"

"I'm sorry," I cut off.

We remained still and silent for maybe another minute and I hated every second of it. I couldn't believe I'd been stupid enough to get us in this situation after all. What had all my brave talk been about, huh?

I peaked at him as discreetly as I could. He wasn't looking at me but at the steaming mug in his hands.

"Was I… was it so bad that you can't even look at me today…?" he asked with a frown.

What the —

"What are you talking about?" I asked, facing him properly, and it was his turn not to look up.

"I'm sorry I wasn't—"

"What are you apologising for?"

He looked up. "What?"

"You have nothing to apologise for. I… I'm the one who has to apologise! I'm the one who—"

I stopped and looked up when he reached out to touch my arm. "I think it's my turn to ask what on earth you're talking about."

I blinked a few times. "I… I shouldn't have done what I did last night. I fucked up. I'm so sorry."

He was frowning. Did that mean he was angry with me? I'd never seen him angry. And then the most unexpected thing happened — he laughed.

"Are we talking about the same thing here? Sounds like we're on different wavelengths..."

"Stop it! How can you joke about this? I did precisely what I've always promised myself I wouldn't do. I couldn't stay in control. I haven't learned anything and I'm no better than Brendan!"

I stopped short when he put his index finger on my lips. "What are you talking about? You're nothing like him."

"Oh yeah?" I snapped, looking to the side.

"Yes. Look at my face," he said, cupping my jaw with one hand.

I almost let out a gasp when I saw the way he was smiling at me. I mean, yeah, I know, he smiled most of the time, but it was different. There was something there I'd never seen before and I wasn't sure what it was but I knew it was good. Something that said things weren't fucked up at all and were in fact better than before. That we'd taken a risk and come out victorious. That everything was going to be OK. And that thought was only reinforced when he leaned over and kissed me.

"I didn't hurt you?" I asked incredulously. "I must have. I didn't—"

"I'm fine. I did my research so I… sort of knew what to expect. Sort of. I'm not saying there was no… discomfort, but…" he said after a short pause.

"We're OK?" I interrupted.

"We're definitely OK," he replied, kissing me again.

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