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Where You Lead

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It feels like an average night and Clyde sighs to himself, settling in for the usual routine. The bar isn’t too busy, mostly familiar faces. Ms. Grayson is back again, though, and Clyde can feel the smallest of nerves twitching beneath his eye.

It’s not that he doesn’t like her—she’s very nice—but she asks a lot of questions and Clyde really doesn’t feel he knows her well enough to talk about himself like that. However he is a gentleman, and when she takes her seat at the bar, he smiles and pours her a drink.

“Quiet night tonight, Clyde?” She tosses her hair over one shoulder, a wide smile on her face. “Surprised your brother isn’t stopping by.”

Clyde gives a shake of his head; the woman always seems to ask about his brother. “No, ma’am. He’s back home. I don’t think he’ll be back in these parts for a while.”

“Hmm, shame. Well, why don’t you join me in a drink, then?” Ms. Grayson tilts her glass and Clyde wets his lips, trying to think of a polite way to decline.

There’s a slam as the door of the bar flies open, and Clyde turns to see a somewhat dishevelled man standing in the doorway, hands stretched out before him and an expression of panic on his face.

“Shit. Sorry. I didn't mean that. The door was lighter than I thought.” His accent is musical in Clyde’s ears, soft and lilting. He shakes his head, smiling at the stranger.

“No harm done. Come on in. What can I get you?”

The man pauses, gaze flicking around the room for a second before he sits himself at the bar a few stools away from Ms. Grayson. “Um, just a beer, I guess?” he says with a frown.

Clyde nods and pulls a bottle from the chill. The man has his head buried in his hands, fingers clenched in the dandelion fluff of his hair. It's bright copper, and Clyde can't help but stare. It's a nice colour, like a sunset, and soft looking too. For a fleeting moment he wonders what it would feel like if he were to run his fingers through it. Ms. Grayson’s gaze seems to bore into him as he sets the drink down by the stranger’s head, and Clyde purses his lips, grateful for an excuse to escape her seemingly endless personal questions.

“Rough night?” he asks. The man turns his head up to reveal watery grey-green eyes.

Clyde’s pulse seems to quicken as the man gazes at him, lower lip quivering.

“I don’t even know why I'm here. I just”—he sniffs—“I just moved here and I don’t know anyone, and I hate bars, and my VCR broke so I don’t know what to do.” He slumps back onto the bar, face pressed into his arms, voice barely audible. “I’m pathetic.”

“Well, now, I can’t fix a VCR, or stop you being in a bar, but I can help with the not knowing anyone.” Clyde extends his hand. “I’m Clyde Logan. Welcome to town.”

“Stensland,” the man says, giving no indication if it’s his first name or last. “Nice to meet you.” He takes Clyde’s hand in a quick shake, the briefest of smiles flickering across his lips.

“So, what brings you here, Stensland?” Clyde asks, looking him up and down; there’s a familiarity there, something that puts him in mind of someone he knows. “You any relation to them Bang boys?”

Stensland’s eyes widen in confusion and he splutters, beer spilling down the front of his shirt, “I’m not a prostitute, if that’s what you think. Especially not a ‘bang boy’, whatever that is.” He tilts his chin in indignation, tossing his hair and taking a deep swig of his drink. “The nerve.”

Clyde frowns for a second before turning away, waved over by Earl and his acquaintances. At the corner of his eye he can see Stensland quickly downing the remainder of his drink, and concern curls in his belly. He doesn't want him to leave; Stensland quite clearly needs the company. The little spark of attraction that flares in Clyde’s chest has nothing to do with it. Or at least that's what he tells himself.

Quickly sliding out the round of drinks, Clyde grabs a glass and returns to Stensland’s side of the bar, pouring him a generous double measure of bourbon. Stensland’s nose wrinkles in a puzzled frown. “I didn’t order this?”

“I know. It's on the house. My apology for making you feel uncomfortable.” Clyde runs his hand through his hair. “I should explain: the Bangs are a family nearby. You just reminded me of one of them is all.”

“Oh!” Stensland brightens. “So, you don't think I'm a prostitute?” He throws the drink back and Clyde can't help but watch the muscles of his throat working as he swallows everything in a single gulp. He mirrors the action with a swallow of his own, mouth suddenly far too dry. Stensland winces as he slams the glass back down, clearly tensing for a burn that never comes. “Oh,” he says, blinking in surprise. “That was much nicer than I expected, actually.” Clyde swallows again as Stensland swipes his tongue across his lips, pink against pink. “Can I have another, please?”

“Sure,” Clyde says, reaching for the bottle. “Maybe take it slow this time. It's strong.”

Stensland nods, taking a sip and smiling up at Clyde. “You look strong.”

Clyde wavers for a second, unsure if Stensland is flirting or just trying to compliment him. Either way, he can feel heat creeping through him. “Um, thank you?” he says before turning back to his other patrons, not noticing the flush bursting into bloom on Stensland’s cheeks.

It's a little while before he gets the chance to talk to him again, as a gaggle of older ladies crowds into the bar, clamouring for cocktails. They are all shamelessly flirty, calling Clyde ‘big boy’, something he's not sure he likes: until he imagines it in Stensland’s voice, that is.

His thoughts turn back to that side of the bar and a quick glance shows him that Stensland has moved, sliding up a few seats to perch alongside Ms. Grayson. A thrill of panic races through Clyde’s belly and he rushes his way through the last few cocktails. The ladies don’t seem to notice, complimenting him on his skills. Clyde simply nods, intent on returning to the other side of the bar.

When he does, his mood plummets. Stensland is leaning on one elbow, relaying a story of some sort to Ms. Grayson: “So, that’s when the job offer came up here and I thought ‘Why not?’ It’s a chance for a new start. Maybe I can even find a nice girlfriend.” He smiles as Clyde approaches. “Ah! Another drink, please, my good man, and one for the lady as well.”

Clyde nods and Ms. Grayson beams at him. “Just my usual, Clyde. I’ll be back in a minute.” She slides from her stool, heading for the washroom, and Stensland turns to watch her walk away for a moment before turning to Clyde, voice dropping to a whisper.

“Please tell me she’s not your girlfriend.” His eyes are wide and earnest and Clyde can’t help but lean closer, shaking his head.

“Nope. Not my type. She just drops by to talk sometimes.” He’s quite happy to leave it at that. There’s no way that he’s going to mention that tall, skinny Irishmen are his type, especially when they are smiling the way Stensland is right now. “She’s fairly new around here, too.”

Stensland nods, looking contemplative, before he purses his lips. “She’s definitely not married, is she?” A small shudder runs through him. “I can’t go through that again.”

Clyde wonders exactly what Stensland means by that, but he isn’t about to pry. He simply shrugs. “I don’t think so; I haven’t asked. She usually wants to talk about me, or my brother Jimmy.” He frowns. “I don’t like it.”

Stensland leans back, looking Clyde up and down, his cheeks pink. Obviously the alcohol starting to have an effect.“Ohhh, well, if she’s interested in you then I’m not going to try my luck.” He bites his lower lip. “There’s no way I can compare to”—he waves his hand—“all of this.”

Clyde can feel the heat rising on his cheeks, not sure of how exactly to reply to something like that. Stensland is still looking at him, and their eyes meet for a brief second; it sends electricity shooting through Clyde’s stomach. He doesn’t want to turn away, but looking at Stensland feels far too much. He settles for staring at his feet.

“Miss me, boys?” Ms. Grayson returns, her hair bouncing as she tosses it over one shoulder.

“Actually,” Stensland says, “Clyde here was telling me you’re fairly new to town, too. How are you set for furniture? Soft Solutions has a number of deals on at the moment that you might be quite interested in.”

Clyde can’t help but smile as Stensland launches into a full-on sales pitch that has Ms. Grayson gawping. She looks to Clyde, possibly for some sort of escape, but he just nods, interjecting for a moment: “You know, my sister got her new futon there and it is really quite comfortable.”

“You should definitely stop by and visit me some time, then,” Stensland says with a smile. He runs a hand through the fluff of his hair and Clyde swallows, imagining himself doing the same thing. There is another long, frozen moment where all he and Stensland seem to do is stare into each other’s eyes before Clyde coughs and clears his throat.

“Well...maybe I will.”

Ms. Grayson looks between them both and sighs, throwing back the rest of her drink. “Well, I’m going to call it a night. See you around, gentlemen.” She practically marches to the door, not glancing back for a second.

“Wow,” Stensland says. “I really am woman-repellent.” He sighs. “I am going to be alone forever.” He raises his empty glass to Clyde. “Just keep these coming. I think I’m going to need them.”

Another few hours and it is closing time. Stensland is the only person left in the bar, his face in his hands and tears in his eyes. Clyde leans over him, his hand on one shoulder, unsure how much he can actually do to help. Stensland sniffs, rising shakily to his feet and stumbling, barely catching himself on the countertop.

“I suppose I should head home,” he says, misery written in every line of his body. “Where there is no one waiting for me, nor will there ever be.” He blinks hazily at Clyde. “Thank you for listening to me tonight”—he sniffs again—“even if it is just your job.” He hangs over the counter, one finger raised. “I know—I know I said I hate bars, but I’m glad I came here tonight.” He clutches at Clyde’s artificial hand, fingers trembling, tears spilling freely. “I just didn’t want to be alone.”

Clyde barely thinks, sliding out from behind the bar to take Stensland by the elbow, steadying him. “You’re not alone, and you’re not going home, not in this state. You can stay with me tonight.”

Stensland wobbles, clinging tight to Clyde’s arm, and Clyde can’t help but marvel at just how delicate Stensland actually is. Despite their closeness in height he just seems so much smaller, all narrow shoulders and birdlike wrists. He’s soft, too. Clyde can feel the gentle curve of his hips and stomach whenever Stensland presses close.

He doesn’t let go the entire way home.

By the time they reach Clyde’s place, Stensland’s tears have stopped and he is yawning, still keeping a firm grip on Clyde's arm. He flops onto the couch the instant he sees it, curling in on himself.

“I'll just sleep here then, shall I?” He has already kicked his shoes off, revealing mismatched stripy socks that Clyde finds inexplicably adorable.

“No, you’re my guest. The bed is yours,” Clyde says before padding through to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. He presses it into Stensland’s hands. “The bathroom is right next door. Just make yourself comfortable.”

Stensland nods, taking a sip of his water before meeting Clyde’s eyes. Clyde’s heart jumps into his throat. “Why are you being so nice to me? You don’t even know me.”

Clyde purses his lips for a second. “Because it's the right thing to do.” He raises his hand for a moment, planning on brushing Stensland’s hair from his face, but his courage gives out and he swerves away, turning the motion into a half-hearted shove at his own hair. “Besides,” he says, “I'd like to get to know you.”

Stensland blinks in apparent disbelief before shrugging and fiddling with the fastening on his shorts. “So, which side of the bed is mine?” he says, quickly stripping down to nothing more than his underwear and a t-shirt.

“Oh, no—I—couch.” Clyde gestures uselessly behind him. His eyes are caught by the curve of Stensland’s collarbone and the only thought in his head is the desire to run his tongue across it.

“Nonsense.” Stensland flaps his hand, wavering unsteadily. “I may be a drunken mess, but I am not chasing a man out of his own bed. I insist.”

“Well…” Clyde wavers. The couch really isn't comfortable. “Okay, then.” He reaches for the fastenings of his arm and slips it off to sit on the nightstand. “I'm gonna go wash up. Just pick whatever side you like. I honestly have no preference.”

Stensland doesn’t reply, simply flopping onto the pillow and curling into a ball, covers pulled up around his shoulders. Clyde, meanwhile, retreats to the bathroom to splash his face with cold water, not entirely sure what sort of night he’s in for. He stares at himself in the mirror for a moment, blinking at his reflection, before shaking his head and undressing.

By the time he returns to the bedroom, the cocoon of blankets that is Stensland is already snoring softly, light little snuffles that make Clyde feel oddly at-ease. He slips beneath the covers, making sure there is a respectable gap between them.

Lying for minutes that feel like hours, Clyde wills himself to relax, listening to the soft sound of Stensland’s breathing. It is gentle and soothing, and all Clyde wants to do is slide closer, wrapping Stensland in his arms. He stares at the ceiling, considering moving to the couch after all, when Stensland shifts, wriggling closer. He lets out a soft sigh as his hand finds Clyde’s arm. He nuzzles against his chest and all but rolls on top of him.

Clyde freezes, willing his body not to react. Stensland is warm and he is soft. His hair smells like strawberries, and in a moment of weakness Clyde reaches out, pushing it from Stensland’s face.

It is exactly as soft as he imagined.

Clyde breathes deep, relaxing into the touch. He makes a mental note to get up early to let Stensland have some space to sleep off his inevitable hangover. For now though, he simply enjoys the warmth.

Stensland mumbles, pressing his nose into Clyde’s neck, and as he starts to drift off, Clyde can’t help but smile.




The pale morning light slides over Stensland’s face, seeping in behind his eyelids and drawing him closer to consciousness.

The first thing he notices is the bed: it's not his. The walls and ceiling don’t belong to him, either, and Stensland can feel his heart starting to speed. What did he do last night?

He’s still half asleep, but his fuzzy brain registers that he’s not alone in this bed. There is a head on his shoulder and warm breath against his neck. Stensland slowly blinks, trying to figure out where he is. His field of vision is obscured by a mass of dark hair, soft and silky, and Stensland buries his nose in it, basking in the softness and warmth around him. At least he has woken up somewhere nice.

Memory seems to have escaped him for the time being, but, thankfully, so has the hangover, and Stensland lies back to enjoy the warm pressure of the arm that is slung across his belly. It takes a few moments before the details start to register: the soft tickle at his neck that can only be facial hair, the broad palm that lies on his stomach, and, most of all, the hot and heavy press of an erection against his thigh.

Oh, Stensland thinks. He's in bed with a man.

He tenses for a second, pursing his lips, disappointment flickering through him. Bloody typical. The first time he does anything more than kiss a man and he can't even remember it.

Shifting slightly, so as not to disturb his bedmate, Stensland reaches down. He's still wearing his underwear, so that's a start.

The man next to him mumbles, hips moving, the heavy heat of his cock sliding against Stensland’s thigh in a shallow thrust. Stensland glances down, not entirely sure what to do. It's not exactly unpleasant, and the heat of breath on his neck only serves to send shivers down his spine, and make him squirm. After a few more little thrusts, though, the man shifts, rolling away.

Looking at the broad expanse of back, Stensland wets his lips. It's a good back: broad shoulders, a little mole on the back of the neck—very nice indeed. On the nightstand, he spots a prosthetic arm and the world finally clicks into place.

Clyde, the bartender. The big, handsome bartender that Stensland hadn’t been able to look away from all night. That's who he's in bed with.

Nice one, Stens, he thinks, quite pleased with himself. His first time with a man, and what a man. Although now he's more disappointed than ever that he can't remember the details.

Clyde stirs, rolling onto his back, and Stensland can see the movement of his hand beneath the covers, patting down his chest before landing between his legs. He sits bolt upright, panic in his eyes as he turns to see Stensland looking up at him.

Stensland freezes for a second before raising his eyebrow in what he hopes is a sultry manner. “Good morning,” he says, voice far higher than he intended it to be.

“I—um— Good morning.” Clyde pulls his knees up to his chest, clearly trying to conceal the hard-on that was only minutes ago prodding Stensland in the hip. He turns away, fumbling for his arm, keeping his back to Stensland as he slips from the bed and heads into the kitchen with a single rumble of “Breakfast.”

Stensland pauses, pursing his lips, before sliding to the edge of the bed. That isn’t quite the reaction he’d expected. He’d thought maybe cuddles, some early morning kisses perhaps; something other than Clyde practically running away. A wave of insecurity washes over him. Was he really that bad?

Sighing, Stensland runs his fingers through his hair. Somehow he has done it again; he has pushed away someone who might have actually been interested in him. His eyes prickle and Stensland breathes deep, trying to compose himself. He yanks his clothes from the floor, quickly dressing, the urge to vomit rising.

When he enters the kitchen, Clyde gives a small smile and sets some plates on the table. Stensland inhales, his stomach gurgling at the sight of bacon, eggs, and bagels.

“Wow, this looks great. Thank you,” Stensland says, a flicker of hope lighting up somewhere in his chest. Surely you don’t make breakfast for someone after a bad fuck. Maybe he was better than he thought?

Clyde nods, not meeting Stensland’s eyes. “I—” He clears his throat. “Forgive me for my, um, rudeness earlier.”

“Rudeness?” Stensland frowns, and Clyde shoves his hair out of his face, colour rising on his cheeks.

“In the bedroom.”

Stensland tilts his head in confusion before realisation dawns. “Oh! You mean your penis? Why would I be bothered by that?” Stensland takes a bite of his bagel before continuing, crumbs catching on his lips. “I mean, we did spend the night together.”

Clyde sits back, brows furrowing. “We shared the bed. I don't know what you...oh! Oh...” Clyde’s eyes widen. “Did you think we—” He gestures vaguely and Stensland pauses, fork halfway to his lips. Clyde seems agitated, spots of colour high on his cheeks. “You were drunk, and I would never—”

Stensland raises a hand to cut him off, not really wanting to hear the end of that sentence. “Okay, I got it. So, we didn’t...”

Clyde pauses, the smallest of lines appearing between his eyebrows. He gestures from plate to plate, his voice so soft it brings a shiver up Stensland’s spine. “If I had made love to you, we'd be eating this breakfast in bed. And you'd get the good bagels, too.”

“So, what? These are the shit bagels?” Stensland can feel his lips curving in a smirk and glances up, meeting Clyde’s eyes.

There is a moment of tension, and then Clyde snorts, a chuckle rumbling up from deep within his chest. He is breathtaking when he smiles, and Stensland is struck once more with a flare of disappointment. Clyde has made it clear, though: he would never.

“I'll get out of your hair as soon as I've helped clean up,” Stensland says. He doesn't want to impose any more than he already has.

Clyde shakes his head. “You don’t need to. I was thinking I could show you around town today. Y’know, since you're new and all.”

Little bubbles of anticipation start to rise in Stensland’s stomach. Despite the miscommunication, Clyde still wants to spend time with him. He smiles, wondering briefly if he looks as smitten as he feels. “That’s very sweet of you. I'd like that.”

Clyde silently nods, although Stensland is sure that for a moment he can see his lips curving in a smile of his own.

“First though,” Stensland says, “I think I'll have another one of the ‘not-as-good-as-the-bagels-after-sex’ bagels.” He raises his eyebrows at Clyde, a half-smirk on his lips.

Dark brown eyes meet his own and Stensland fumbles, the swooping in his stomach enough to have him forgetting how to eat. He drops the bagel and curses, heat rising to his cheeks. “I swear, I’m not always Stensland, The Human Disaster.”

Clyde shakes his head. “You’ve just moved to a whole new place, you don’t know anyone. It’s a big thing. I’d say you’re doing just fine.” He pauses for a moment, pursing his lips. “I just gotta ask one thing, though.”


“Is ‘Stensland’ your first name or your last name?”

“Oh!” Stensland blinks. “It’s my last name.” It has been so long since anyone used his first name, including himself. “My mum was pretty much the only person who’s ever called me by my first name.”

Clyde doesn’t say anything, just tilts his head slightly, waiting for him to continue. Maybe it’s his patience, maybe it’s the fact that he genuinely seems to like him, but Stensland feels this is definitely a man he can trust. He rolls his eyes in mock defeat. “Okay, I’ll tell you. Cian. My first name is Cian.”

Clyde wets his lips, carefully pronouncing it. “Keey-ahn. It’s nice. I like it.” His voice is like honey in Stensland’s ears, slow and sweet and utterly delicious, and for the briefest of moments he actually considers going back to using his name; but he shakes his head.

“Yes, well, don't expect me to answer to it,” Stensland says, scooping his last forkful of eggs into his mouth. He sighs in contentment. “This is delicious, thank you again.”

Clyde shrugs. “It's nothing, really.” He sips at his coffee, never quite meeting Stensland’s eyes, although he knows he is looking at him. He taps his fingers on his knees, not sure if the quiver that runs through him is good or bad. Either way, he can't get enough of Clyde’s eyes on him. Nervous energy thrums beneath his skin until he can't stand it anymore and he has to move. He grabs for the empty plates and heads for the sink.

“You really don't need to—” Clyde starts.

Stensland cuts him off: “Well, I want to. It's the least I can do.”

“Well...okay, then.” Stensland can hear the scrape of Clyde’s chair as he rises. Stenslandshivers, the mental image of Clyde coming to wrap his arms around him and press against his back fluttering through his mind. Instead, Clyde heads back to the bedroom.

“I gotta shower. You can get in after, if you like.”

What if I get in during? Stensland wonders, his brain helpfully supplying him with another mental image that is all hot steam and damp skin. He grits his teeth, focusing on scrubbing the plates.

The shower is still running when Stensland finishes clearing up, and he finds himself peering around. Clyde’s place is small but cosy, the shelves next to the couch crammed with books of all genres. Stensland flops down, surprisingly at ease despite the awkwardness of the morning. He’s comfortable here, around Clyde. Hopefully, he can get to know him better as they spend the day together.

Stretching his arms along the back of the couch, Stensland breathes deep, closing his eyes and listening to the gentle patter of water in the next room. He most certainly does not imagine how Clyde looks standing under it.

He is almost drifting off again when Clyde returns, wet hair curling about overlarge ears, which Stensland finds just adorable. “Shower’s free,” he says, and Stensland just stares.

Little rivulets of water run down his neck, sliding down the broad planes of his chest, trickling even lower to where a trail of dark hair leads beneath a towel. Stensland gawps for a moment before snapping his head back up so fast he almost gives himself whiplash.

“My turn,” he squeaks, sliding past Clyde and dashing into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. It’s just too much; the temptation is too great. Stensland leans over the sink, glaring at himself in the mirror. “Okay,” he murmurs, pointing a finger at his reflection. “You’re about to get naked in the house of a very nice, very attractive man. You are going to have a shower and that is it. You are not going to have your usual shower wank, it would be disrespectful and rude.” He scrambles out of his clothes and into the shower, shrieking as he turns the tap and is immediately doused in freezing cold water. “Shit!”

It turns out to be a good thing, the cold water quashing the low burn of arousal that has been present pretty much since Stensland woke up. He shudders, quickly scrubbing himself, maybe paying slightly more attention to his undercarriage than usual, just on the off chance.

By the time he is done, his skin is bright pink, as is the towel hanging over the rail. Stensland grabs it, considering his options. He could waltz out in nothing but the towel, maybe drop it and say something witty about Clyde warming him up. That seems a bit forward, though, and would put his bitch hips on display Combined with the fact that the cold water has not been kind to his genitals, it probably wouldn't be the best show.

He could dry off, get dressed, and just throw himself at Clyde. That seems a bit desperate, though.

Stensland sighs; he could always just stop thinking with his dick and get dressed, go out, and actually spend time with the man who, if nothing else, seems to want to be his friend. He ruffles up his hair with the towel, wishing he at least had clean clothes to change into.

Dressed once more, he wanders back to the living room, where he can hear the sound of voices on the TV. “Listen, Clyde, you need to let me at least buy you lunch or something to thank you for all th— Is that the Gilmore Girls?”

Clyde’s eyes go wide and he quickly flicks the channel. Stensland can see the tips of his ears turning red and he grins. “Oh, don’t change it, that's a good one.” He perches on the edge of the couch, making sure to keep a sizeable gap between himself and Clyde. “I mean, it's no Dawson’s Creek, but it's a good show.”

“Well, then, maybe we’ll head out once this is done.” Clyde’s lips curl in a lopsided smile and he pats the cushion next to him. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Stensland slides down, inching closer, sinking slightly into the squashy cushions of the couch. The day is just starting to warm up, and he can already feel himself starting to sweat, something that is in no way helped by Clyde’s proximity. He can practically feel the space between them, every inch of separation setting the hair of his arms on end.

One episode quicky turns to two, and then three—some sort of marathon, evidently—and Stensland can feel himself starting to relax. He does so even more when he turns his head slightly and catches a glimpse of Clyde mouthing along to the theme song. He joins in, murmuring, “If you need, you need me to be with you. I will follow, where you lead.

Clyde catches his eye then and smiles softly, gaze dropping back to his knees the instant Stensland smiles back. He has stretched out now, his artificial arm slung along the back of the couch, just behind Stensland’s head, and he shifts slightly, inching just that little bit closer.

“So,” Clyde says, “Dawson’s Creek, huh?”

“What can I say? I’m weak for it.” Stensland moves up a little himself, fingers twisting a little in the hem of his t-shirt as he does. “I have them all on VHS, which is why I was so distraught when the VCR broke last night.”

“Y’know, I think there’s a spare in the back room of the bar,” Clyde says. “If it works, you can have it.” His teeth scrape his lower lip as he turns to Stensland, the pink tip of his tongue flicking over it immediately after. “Maybe I could come over and we could watch it together sometime.”

Stensland’s entire world seems to freeze. This can’t be right; he must be dreaming. He doesn’t have this kind of luck. He pauses, trying to sort through the jumble of words clustering to escape him. Phrases like ‘Where have you been all my life’ and ‘Marry me’ float through his brain and he fights them back. Instead he goes with the oh-so-eloquent, “Um...yeah, sure.”

Clyde nods before standing up. “S’cuse me. Bathroom.” His leg slides against Stensland’s bare calf as he leaves, and Stensland wouldn’t be surprised if all his hair is standing on end at this point. The world beyond the pair of them seems to have disappeared, leaving only a faint pressure, like a thunderstorm on the horizon. The air is heavy with a tension that Stensland is desperate to break, if not for the fear that he is the only one who feels it.

When Clyde returns, the space between them is even smaller, and Stensland swallows, far more intent on watching Clyde than watching the show. There’s something about the way light catches on his eyelashes, the way he bites his lip whenever something nice happens onscreen; Stenland wants to reach out and touch. The room is sunlight-bright and he wonders just how warm Clyde’s skin would feel beneath his fingertips.

“I think that is my dream proposal right there,” Clyde says, the molten tones of his voice sliding into Stensland’s thoughts and breaking him from his reverie. He glances at the screen to see a room filled with flowers and tilts his head.

“It’s nice, but I think I’d prefer to be in the same room as the person I was proposing to, instead of on the phone.” Stensland shakes his head. “Iknow it’s important to the story that he gives her the space to make her mind up, but I would definitely want to be there.” He meets Clyde’s eyes and makes a face. “This is the person who I’m going to spend the rest of my life with. I’d want to see their face when I tell them that.”

Clyde gives a lopsided smile. “You’re a real romantic, aren’t you?”

Crossing his arms, Stensland pouts. “Well, so what if I am?”

“No, no.” Clyde shakes his head. “Nothing against it, it’s nice. Very sweet.”

“Hmm,” Stensland says, ignoring the flush creeping up his neck. “So, anyway, what about you? What about the person giving you this dream proposal?”

Clyde peers at him from beneath dark eyelashes. “I dunno, someone nice.” He pauses. “Sweet.”

Stensland’s breath catches, and then the words are spilling from his mouth, unable to be held back: “Look, I wasn’t going to say anything because I'm not sure if it's just me imagining things, or if you've noticed too, but I feel like there is something here. Between us.” Stensland waves his finger from Clyde to himself. “And unless I am completely wrong and misreading the situation, which I’ll admit, seems very likely now that I’ve started talking and I can’t seem to stop, then I'd be quite interested in seeing where that goes...if you like.” His eyes are fixed on Clyde’s hand, resting on his own knee, so close, so easy to reach out and touch.

Clyde pauses, looking Stensland up and down. “I would like.” He runs his hand through his hair. “It’s just— Didn’t you tell Ms Grayson at the bar last night that you wanted a girlfriend?” Clyde’s dark eyebrows slide together in a frown and Stensland doesn’t think for an instant before grabbing for his hand and lacing their fingers together.

“Well, the more I think about it,” Stensland starts, meeting those dark eyes and feeling his breath catch, “the more I think a boyfriend might be the way to go.”

Clyde’s pout slowly curves upwards into a smile and he slides closer, making their thighs brush together. “Any reason in particular you might be thinking that?”

“Well…” Stensland’s breath seems to rush from him, his focus caught entirely on the sensation of Clyde’s rough palm against his, and the gentle squeeze of his hand. “If I had a boyfriend, then, um, maybe he could be you?”

Clyde’s eyes meet his own, and Stensland’s breath catches as he feels the smooth hardness of an artificial finger stroke down his cheek.

“I think I'd like that.”

His lips are impossibly soft as he brings them to meet Stensland’s own in a light, far-too-chaste kiss. It is gentle and sweet and nowhere near enough. Stensland swallows back a whine, following Clyde’s lips as he pulls away.

“Oh, you need to give me more than that,” Stensland says, practically climbing into Clyde's lap to wrap his arms around his neck.

Clyde leans in close, the whisper of his breath on Stensland’s ear sending a shiver up his spine. “If you let me, I will give you everything.”

Stensland shuts his eyes, fingers combing through Clyde’s hair as he pulls him in for another kiss. He is giddy, held tight against Clyde’s chest as their lips meet once more. It is still soft, but slow and intense, lips sliding against lips, Clyde’s moustache tickling just under his nose. He catches Clyde’s lower lip between his own, just for a moment, delighting in the softness and the heat of shared breath.

Clyde tilts his head, changing the angle, and Stensland hums in contentment, clenching his fingers in the soft waves of Clyde’s hair, slipping his hands lower to stroke down Clyde’s neck and spread across his broad shoulders. He can’t remember the last time he has wanted to kiss someone so much. Even as Clyde’s lips slide against his own, he still wants more.

Clyde’s artificial hand slides into Stensland’s hair and he moans at the slight tug, mouth slipping open to allow Clyde to swirl his tongue inside. It’s enough to make Stensland’s toes curl as he gently brushes Clyde’s tongue with his own. He still tastes like the coffee from this morning, not a taste Stensland usually enjoys, but right now he cannot get enough. He grinds down, knees spread across Clyde’s lap, groaning into the heat of his mouth.

Clyde grips tight on one hip, softly squeezing, pulling him closer. His other hand slides down, hard and unyielding against Stensland’s back. He arches up in a shallow thrust and Stensland pulls back as he feels the press of Clyde’s hardening cock against his own. He peers down, face flushed and chest heaving. “So, what happened to ‘I would never’?”

Clyde frowns, peering at Stensland in confusion. “What are you talking about?” He presses his nose to the hollow of Stensland’s throat, lips tracing across the soft skin and making him shiver.

“This morning, when I thought we’d, y’know…” Stensland says, somehow embarrassed despite the fact he is straddling Clyde’s lap. “We’d done the naked tango.”

Clyde’s breath huffs against Stensland’s neck in the smallest of chuckles. “Oh, that. You realise I meant I would never get intimate with someone so drunk?” He squeezes tight on Stensland’s hip, hand sliding a little lower to smooth over the curve of his ass. “Now that you’re sober, I have no such reservations. Providing you want me to, of course.”

Stensland squirms, the gentle pressure of Clyde’s hand only serving to make him harder. He pushes his hair from his face, trying to hide just how desperate he is for more. “Maybe we should, I dunno, go on a date or something, y’know, before we go any further.”

Clyde nods. “Good idea.” He pulls his hands back to lightly rest them on Stensland’s thighs, peering up at where he is still perched on his lap, his eyes are wide, golden brown in the afternoon sun.

Stensland swallows. “Good.” He reaches out to touch Clyde’s cheek, shifting on his lap and hissing out, meeting Clyde’s heated gaze as he does. He is as flushed as Stensland is, his chest heaving slightly with every miniscule shift of his hips. His fingers tighten on his thighs, and Stensland bites his lip. “On the other hand, fuck it. Come here.”

He surges downwards in a frantic kiss, clacking their teeth together in his enthusiasm, Clyde’s nose bumping against his own. Clyde’s fingers tangle in his hair to pull him close and Stensland hisses out, the little spike of pain enough to set his nerves ablaze. Clyde’s tongue flicks against his own and he moans, palms spread wide across the broad pecs that are visible even beneath the faded t-shirt Clyde wears.

Stensland shivers as smooth carbon fiber slides beneath his own t-shirt, cool against his heated skin. He squeezes his thigh muscles and feels Clyde thrust up in response. The cool fingers trail upwards and Clyde pulls from his lips to nip beneath his ear, words hoarsely whispered: “Is this okay? It doesn’t bother you?”

Stensland’s eyes flutter open and it takes a moment for him to register that Clyde is referring to the hand beneath his shirt. He circles his hips, panting and feeling a thrill of triumph as Clyde moans in response. “Why would it bother me? It’s you touching me.”

Clyde arches into him, hot and hard, and Stensland can practically taste the arousal rolling off him in waves. He keeps moving, steadily thrusting, Clyde’s tongue laving a trail down his throat. Sweat is steadily beading on both of their foreheads, tinging the air with a salt tang that is simply intoxicating.

Heat burns through Stensland, settling heavy in his cock, which strains against his underwear, further friction that he cannot stop himself from bucking into. Both of Clyde’s hands are under his shirt now, his thumb gently circling Stensland’s nipple and making him whine in a way that he would find embarrassing were it not for the hard press of Clyde against him, spurring him further.

Clyde’s teeth scrape against his throat and Stensland’s movements stutter. He’s suddenly hyper-aware of every sensation wracking him: the hot press of Clyde’s cock against his own, the scrape of his beard against his throat, the warm fingers pinching his nipple and the cool ones on his hip. Clyde moans against his neck, thrusting up hard, and then Stensland is coming, spurting into his underpants far too soon, a helpless whine on his lips. He digs his fingers into Clyde’s shoulders, shuddering against him as his release soaks his underwear through. Clyde pulls back to peer at him, an expression close to wonder on his face.

“I’m sorry,” Stensland pants, the overwhelming sensation of orgasm giving way to a deep sense of shame. “I didn’t— I want to— Let me make it up to you. Let me make you come. Please.” Stensland winces, his oversensitive cock rubbing against the damp, sweaty fabric of his underwear. He bites at his lip, meeting Clyde’s eyes as he palms his erection, stroking at the hard length through his jeans. “I want to make you feel good. I didn’t mean to come so soon. I’m sorry. Please let me make it up to you?”

Clyde holds tight on his hip, running his fingers through Stensland’s hair and stroking down the back of his neck. He sits up, pulling Stensland in for a soft kiss that helps quiet the panic running through his mind. “First off, stop apologising,” Clyde says. “I’m glad you feel good.” He lowers his voice, rumbling, “I really like that I can make you feel like that. Second, you don’t need to worry about me.”

Stensland shakes his head, pressing his nose into the hollow of Clyde’s throat. “No, no, no, I want to. No one calls Stensy a selfish lover.” He pulls back, catching his lower lip with his teeth as he meets Clyde’s eyes. “Now, I don’t have a lot of experience with pleasing a gentleman who isn’t myself.” His hand still strokes at the hard tent of Clyde’s jeans. “But if you tell me what’s good, or I dunno, draw me a diagram or something, then I’m sure I can manage just fine.”

“How about we start by getting you cleaned up?” Clyde’s hands cup Stensland’s ass and he stands, lifting him up completely and heading straight for the bedroom. Stensland feels lightheaded as he clings tight, nuzzling into the sweat-tinged waves of Clyde’s hair.

Clyde lays him out on the bed, pausing for a moment to stare down at him, tongue swiping out to wet his kiss-swollen lips. He smiles, dark eyes flashing—almost predatory—and Stensland shivers beneath his gaze.

“You look good enough to eat,” Clyde says, stripping off his shirt and crawling onto the bed, his hand just skimming at the hem of Stensland’s t-shirt. He dips down for another slow, soft kiss, pushing Stensland’s clothes up as he does.

Quickly scrambling to get the shirt over his head, Stenland takes a moment to look down. Clyde is fantastically hard, the line of his cock straining against his jeans, and Stensland feels a twinge of pity. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable if you took those off?” he asks. Clyde grins, kissing him once more.

“I’ll get to it. I just gotta do one thing first.” He kisses at Stensland’s lips, light little pecks that start to move lower, ticking across his chin and down his neck, and then Clyde’s mouth is at his throat again, tongue swirling across the pink marks he has already left there. Stensland squirms, skin sensitive to every little touch, gasping in breath with each caress of Clyde’s lips.

He trails lower, across Stensland’s collarbones and down his sternum, and Stensland reaches for him, needing something to anchor himself. His body still trembles in the afterglow of orgasm, but the way Clyde is kissing him, marking him, possessing him—it’s almost too much to bear. He wants to tangle his fingers in that dark hair and push Clyde lower, but that doesn’t seem very polite, tempting though it may be. He settles for gripping tight on his shoulders.

Clyde hums to himself, nosing against one soft nipple before drawing it into his mouth and sucking lightly. He moves onwards, hands and lips brushing across Stensland’s ribs. Stensland squeezes tight, moving from shoulders to hair and back again, hands hovering above the sheets, fingers clenching, twitching and flexing with restless energy. Clyde pauses, gazing up at him from beneath dark eyelashes, his lips curving in a lopsided smile. He reaches, gently gripping Stensland by the wrists and bringing his hands down, placing them on his head. He chuckles at Stensland’s expression as he curls his fingers. “Go ahead, I don’t mind.”

His hair is soft and slightly damp with sweat between Stensland’s fingers, and he can’t help but tighten them as Clyde kisses down his stomach, swirling his tongue around his belly button, dipping in and making Stensland whine, before reaching for the fastenings on his shorts.

“Is this okay?” Clyde asks, pausing to peer up at Stensland, who nods, torn between watching Clyde’s every move and squeezing his eyes shut, lost in the sensation of Clyde’s lips.

Clyde strips off both his shorts and underwear, balling them up and tossing them into the laundry hamper. “We can clean those later. Right now, though…” Clyde finally removes his jeans, cock springing loose, bobbing as he gazes over Stensland, tongue sweeping across his lips.

Stensland whines under the scrutiny. His cock is still soft, sticky and shiny with his earlier release; it has wet and tangled his pubic hair. He brings his knees together, instinctually trying to curl in on himself, when Clyde’s hand lands on his hip, pressing him down, his thumb circling in the soft dip, soothing.

Clyde lowers his head, lapping across Stensland’s cock, drawing it into his mouth to suck lightly, cleaning every drop. He pulls back off when Stensland gives his hair a light tug, trailing his tongue all over, until Stensland is shivering, his cock chubby as it starts to rise again.

“I could watch you like this all day,” Clyde murmurs, propping himself up on one elbow.

“Why would you want to do that? Look at me,” Stensland says, taking his hand from Clyde’s hair to gesture at his lower half. “I mean, the thing is...about my hips…” He squirms, back arching at the tickle of Clyde’s beard against his stomach as he dips back down.

“They’re perfect.” Clyde presses his nose into Stensland’s belly button, tongue still circling on the soft skin of his stomach.

“I'd much rather look at you,” Stensland says. “And, quite frankly, this is unfair. You've touched almost all of me. I think it's my turn now.”

Clyde raises his eyebrows. “You're right. Where are my manners?” He practically scrambles up the bed, wrapping his arms around Stensland and pulling him in for a kiss.

Stensland can taste himself on Clyde's tongue, and groans, his hands roving all over the broad expanse of his back. There is just so much of him, and he wants to know every inch.

He starts with his mouth, mapping it with his tongue, stroking across the seam of his lips before teasing back inside, Clyde’s tongue hot against his own. He can feel Clyde’s fingers in his hair again, gently stroking through the sweat-damp strands as he arches into Stensland’s touch, cock prodding into the soft skin of his thigh.

Stensland smiles into the kiss, astounded that someone as nice and sweet as Clyde could want him like this. He scrapes his teeth across Clyde’s lower lip and hears him groan, pressing even harder as he rolls, pulling Stensland to lie atop him, their chests pressed together.

Pulling back, Stensland pauses for a second to admire the sight. Clyde’s chest is heaving, his hair spread across the pillow like an ink stain. He fumbles for a moment with his arm before removing it and setting it to one side. “Is this okay?” he asks, eyes wide and beseeching.

All Stensland can do is kiss him in reply, soft and sweet, before he moves away, tracing the line of Clyde’s jaw. He spreads his hands on his chest, bracing himself as he dips down to run his teeth along the shell of one ear. Clyde gasps, holding tight on Stensland’s hip, parting his legs and letting Stensland settle between them. Clyde’s pulse is racing when Stensland brings his lips to his throat, sucking lightly at his Adam’s apple and feeling a moan reverberate through his lips before he moves further downwards.

Nipping across Clyde’s collarbones, Stensland pauses, feeling the hard press of his erection against his lower belly. He peers up, looking to Clyde for guidance.

“You might need to help me out a little here,” he admits. “I'm a bit out of my depth.” He slides up, stretching himself over Clyde’s chest and whispering against his lips, “Show me how to do you properly.”

Clyde groans and waves his hand towards the bedside table. “Lube, in there.”

Stensland follows his direction, pulling out the bottle and sitting back on his knees between Clyde’s spread thighs. He uncaps it, looking to Clyde for confirmation before squirting a handful into his palm. “Okay,” Stensland says, “this is a little cold.”

Clyde smiles down. “It'll warm up.” He bites his lip as Stensland takes his cock in hand, stroking and squeezing, spreading the lube down the length of him.

Stensland can't help but gawp at the difference between them. Clyde’s cock is thicker than his own, bigger too, a distinct line around the shaft where he's been circumcised. He squeezes, feeling Clyde’s pulse beneath the heated skin before loosening his grip slightly, hand slicking up and down in long, smooth, strokes. Clyde hisses in a breath, and Stensland squeezes on his thigh. “Is this okay?”

“It’s good. Real good,” Clyde says, sitting upright and taking Stensland’s wrist in his hand. “But I was thinking something else, if you’re okay with it?” He pulls Stensland’s hand from his cock, leading it lower, past his balls and into the crease of his ass. “I’d like you to touch me here,” he says. Stensland swallows, nodding mutely.

His hand twitches on Clyde’s thigh, a jolt of arousal shooting through him like lightning. He slides his fingers forward, spreading the drops of lube that have dribbled downwards, shining in damp curls of hair. His fingertips slip between Clyde’s cheeks and Stensland bites his lip, exhaling. “You have a very lovely bum.” Clyde just chuckles, spreading his legs wider.

“Just take your time, I’ll let you know what feels good.”

“Okay,” Stensland all but whispers, sliding his fingers along the crease of Clyde’s ass again, sweeping over the pucker of his hole with his fingertips. He circles around the rim with two fingers, just catching at Clyde’s hole and feeling him shudder.

“Good, that’s good. You can go further.” He circles his hips, cock bobbing free in the air.

He wants me inside him, Stensland thinks, and his cock twitches in response. “Okay,” he says again. “Just like this?” He gently slips one finger past the tight pucker, the slick slide of lube making things so much easier. He's hot inside, and softer than Stensland would have thought. He circles his finger, brushing against the inner walls.

Clyde pants, hips thrusting into empty air again. “Just like that. Use two, please.”

Stensland snorts, pulling his index finger back. Together with his middle finger, he teases Clyde’s rim once more. “You’re awfully polite for a man getting fucked, you know?”

Whining, Clyde clenches at the sheets as Stensland slides his fingers into the welcoming heat once more, breath catching. “I—ah! I am always polite.”

“I’ll bet you are, as well,” Stensland says with a smile, circling his fingers, sliding them in and out, the tip of his tongue poking from his mouth as he concentrates. “Now, I know I’m looking for something here…”

Clyde’s breath is speeding, cock twitching with every slide of Stensland’s fingers. “A little further, you’ll feel it.”

Stensland curls his fingers, drunk on the breathy moans that fall from Clyde’s lips as he arches his back, pushing onto his fingers. That’s when he feels it, hard and distinct beneath his fingertips. “Oh, I think I got it!” Stensland says, circling the spot and feeling Clyde clench around him.

“Mmhmm, you got it, just like that.” Clyde pants, eyes squeezed shut, and Stensland grins, stroking just a little harder. It’s intoxicating to see Clyde spread out before him, hair in disarray, chest heaving and limbs trembling, cock hard and leaking. He wants more. He needs to see Clyde fall apart because of him.

Stensland settles, lying on his belly between Clyde’s knees, watching as he pumps his fingers in and out, paying close attention to just which movements get which reactions.

Clyde’s cock steadily drips onto the planes of his stomach and Stensland takes it gently in his free hand, giving a quick stroke that has Clyde whining. He pauses for just a moment, adjusting his angle and feels a tight clench around him. Clyde is trembling now, the muscles of his thighs bunching and relaxing as he moves, bucking into Stensland’s fist and onto his fingers, every movement accompanied by a loud moan.

Wetting his lips, Stensland tries to concentrate, not wanting to lose his rhythm, too occupied with making sure he’s stroking at Clyde’s prostate just right. He's distracted, though, by the slick head of Clyde’s cock slipping through the circle off his fist, far too tempting. Curling his fingers up, he leans forward, licking a single long, wet stripe up the hard length.

Clyde makes a strangled noise and convulses, clamping down tight on Stensland’s fingers as his cock pulses, spurt after spurt coating Stensland’s face, his hair, his hand. He brings his fingers to his mouth to taste before squeezing tight on Clyde's hip, thumb rubbing in soothing circles. “There you go. You looked like you needed that, you came so hard.” He’s babbling now, pleased with himself. “That was I want to try sometime. I don’t think I've ever come like that. Can you make me come like that? Not today, obviously, but I think I'd like it.” Clyde simply lies there, shivers rippling through him, breath slowly starting to slow. Stensland gives another squeeze. “Are you all right there, sweetheart? Clyde? Clyde?”


It takes a moment for him to surface, for the aftershocks to subside and the waves of pleasure to recede from the forefront of his mind. Clyde exhales, blinking down to see Stensland, face covered in his come, his cheeks flushed and his eyes glassy.

“Mmm” is all that Clyde can seem to say, and he deliberately clenches around Stensland’s fingers, not quite ready to give up the sensation of being filled.

Stensland licks his lips and swallows, slowly dragging his fingers out. His cock hangs hot and heavy, and Clyde is torn for a moment, wanting to wrap his legs around Stensland’s waist and beg him to just put it in. Instead he sits up, grabbing the tissue box from beside the bed and wordlessly handing it over. He rolls onto his side as Stensland slides up next to him, wiping his hair. “Sorry,” Clyde says. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

Stensland just grins, pressing in for a kiss and nipping at Clyde’s bottom lip. “It was pretty hot.” He wiggles his hips. “Look, I'm all hard again.”

“Well, I'm sure I can do something about that,” Clyde says, brushing Stensland’s hair aside, still marvelling at how soft it is. He lounges back on the pillows, gently urging Stensland up to straddle his chest.

Stensland’s fingers tangle in his hair as Clyde laps at his cock, drawing it into his mouth, head bobbing. The faintest flutter of worry passes through him as he wraps his arms around soft hips, the stump of his arm pressing against Stendland’s ass.

He doesn’t seem to care.

Clyde hums, tongue sliding around the head of Stensland’s cock. He feels his scalp sting as Stensland clenches his fists, groaning Clyde’s name. He smiles, fingers squeezing into the curve of Stensland’s ass as he jerks forward, the smallest of thrusts into the circle of his lips.

Carefully sliding his palm around, Clyde brings his fingers to the cleft of Stensland’s ass. He rests them there for the time being, focusing. Stensland gasps as Clyde swallows around his cock, lips sliding up the shaft. He slips his tongue beneath the soft foreskin and feels another tug at his hair.

Clyde pushes forward, burying his nose in coppery hair and breathing deep the scent of sweat and sex and Stensland. It's intoxicating, and all his. If his instincts are right, he and Stensland are going to be spending a lot of time together.

There is a tang of salt as Stensland’s cock slides across his tongue and Clyde moans in time with him, sliding his fingers between his cheeks to barely brush against his hole.

“Oh!” Stensland’s movements stutter, and Clyde starts to pull his hand away, afraid he's overstepped his bounds. He is stopped by a firm grip on his wrist and a breathless mutter of “No, no, don't stop.”

His movements speed, still pushing into Clyde’s mouth, his cock starting to twitch as he gets closer to his peak.

Circling the little pucker with one finger, Clyde is careful not to push too far. Next time he'll make sure to take his time, plenty of lube—and maybe his tongue, if Stensland is amenable—but for now he settles for gently teasing.

It definitely seems to be working.

Stensland’s fingers are splayed across Clyde’s scalp, his hips rocking in shallow thrusts, little whimpers falling from his lips at every sweep of Clyde’s fingers across his hole. “Clyde, I'm getting close. I'm gonna come,” Stensland warns, and Clyde smiles, lips still wrapped around his cock. He hollows his cheeks, speeding his movements, head bobbing in time with the thrust of Stensland’s hips. He presses inwards with the tip of his finger and then Stensland is gone, cock pulsing in waves over Clyde’s tongue. He swallows, working Stensland over as he shudders, shivers running down his spine at the sensation of fingers tugging tight in his hair.

When Clyde finally pulls off Stensland’s softening cock, Stensland is panting, sliding down to slump against Clyde’s chest and nuzzling into the crook of his neck. He breathes deep, sighing in what Clyde guesses is contentment. He presses kisses to his sweaty hair, holding him close.

“Stensy,” Clyde says, nudging his forehead with his nose, “you still wanna go into town? I did say I would show you around.”

“Mm, sure.” Stensland slides his hand into Clyde’s, interlacing their fingers. “Can we stay like this a little longer, though?” He tilts his head up, a sated smile playing across his lips.

Clyde dips down, kissing Stensland’s lips softly. “Of course, but we should probably shower again first.”

Stensland simply nods, holding tight. His stomach gurgles and Clyde runs his hand across it, fingers playing across the soft skin. “Maybe lunch, too.”

Stensland props himself up on his elbows, eyebrows raised. A sly smile plays up his lips and he kisses the tip of Clyde’s nose, one hand squeezing on his shoulder.

“So, do I get the good bagels, now?”