Page 79 of Full Mountie

Fuck, it pains me to say that.

We’re both off the clock for a few hours and she bought sexy underthings.

She’s practically begging for me to whisper in her ear until she comes with her hand jammed between her soft thighs.

Beth: So… good night, then

Hugh: Wait

Beth: Waiting…

Hugh: Can I call you?

Beth: Sure.

The smiley face she adds is adorable. Fuck it. I’ll make it quick.

The next day, the PM’s schedule is as expected, but there’s a tension simmering on the Hill because we all know he’s going to Beaumont at some point. It’s like someone’s pulled the pin on a logistical grenade, and is just holding the hammer down.

Throw it already.

But that’s not how natural disaster visits work. I’m vaguely aware of this from being on the other end of them. The flooding in Manitoba, an ice storm in Quebec.

When the afternoon hits and we’re pretty sure it’s not going to happen today, I head to the gym to try and shake off my funk, but the punishing workout doesn’t help.

Lachlan comes into the change room as I’m getting out of the shower. We’re not alone, and he doesn’t even glance at the towel slung low around my waist.

As queer men, this is engrained in us from before we understand that we’re different than the expected norm. For me, the passing as straight, passing as a bro, is something I still bristle at on the inside. It’s flashbacks to high school, to bullying, to sick feelings and worry and distrust.

It’s easy right now to pretend we’re not looking at each other because it’s unprofessional and this is our workplace. That’s not a lie.

It’s just not the whole truth.

I leave before he gets his stuff in his locker and has a chance to turn around.

The restless ache gets worse, and when he texts me ten minutes later, I want to ignore it. Maybe show him, show me, that I can master this feeling.

I tell myself it’s a choice that I still look at his message anyway.

Lachlan: Want to grab a coffee after work?

The instinct to say no is strong. I shove it down.

Hugh: Yeah. Beth up for it too?

Lachlan: She says not until the weekend. I’m standing at her desk.

Hugh: I thought you were going to work out.

Lachlan: Nah. Just had a quick shower. I’m off the clock until the morning, though. Meet at seven at my place?

Ah. “Coffee”.

Hugh: Sure.

Lachlan pressesme up against the wall in his foyer and kisses me like a man dying of thirst and I’m an oasis.

It’s hard and demanding, his lips pulling at mine, his tongue thrusting deep without invitation.

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