Page 39 of Baking Battles

He wakes up with the sun blasting onto his face through the blinds, having completely forgotten to shut them last night. Not that anyone can see in, the bedroom windows are conveniently hidden behind the snow-covered tree branches, nestled between the apartment blocks.

He’s alone, the bed messy and cold, sheets tangled between his legs and his cotton underpants twisted up in the crack of his arse.

There’s a strange burn all over his face, and he rubs the coarse stubble on his chin, trying to get his thoughts straight.

He kissed the hell out of Christopher last night. And Christopher kissed him back, until his head was spinning, and his cock was throbbing, and his whole body was just not behaving like it should.

Christopher, with his perfect lips and face full of angles. Christopher. Christopher, Christopher.Christopher…

Not that he knows how a body should behave, but somehow Mattias had let go. Let Christopher take the lead and he had kissed him until they were both panting and breathless, and then Christopher had wrapped him up in his arms and tucked the duvet under his chin and told him to go to sleep whilst Mattias’s cock had twitched in frustration and one of his fingers had been twisting under the waistband of Christopher’s boxers, and his brain had been full of messed up ideas of letting himself just rock against Christopher’s thighs, until he would have orgasmed in a heap of emotions, and made a complete fool out of himself. Because Christopher is justnot anyone, and he is obviously much more experienced in this whole sex thing than Mattias is, having barely managed to have sex to a whole one person in his life. Who is Sara of course, and when they have had sex he has struggled to get his head to co-operate with his dick at the best of times. Chemistry, he has thought in his head. There has been none of it, with Sara, and yet now his body seems full of chemical reactions and explosions and things he can’t quite explain.

He had gone to sleep. He had had no choice, being held with Christopher’s breath warm and wet against his forehead, and soft skin plastered against his chest.

Mattias had loved it. He loved the skin and the warmth and the feeling of being loved. He loved how Christopher had held him. How he had clung to him back.

It’s a little bit ridiculous how the smile on his face is just there. He can’t help it as he stretches his body out over the bed, letting his shoulders creak and his feet creep out into the cool air from under the edge of the duvet.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” Christopher asks softly, appearing in the doorway carrying two cups of steaming, what he hopes is, coffee. The tea-bag label dangling from the one in his right hand should have given it away, but the aroma of Italian espresso is wafting past his nostrils, and if Mattias hasn’t been so dumbstruck with himself, he may have sat himself up and reached out to grab the cup Christopher is holding out to him. Instead he just lies there.

“Sit up, baby, you look totally comatose. Let’s get some caffeine into you.” Christopher says, and gently places the cup down on the nightstand next to them. His hands are hot from the cups, wrapping around Mattias’s wrists as he gently pulls him into his embrace. Yes, because Mattias is limp like a baby, completely unable to function, it seems. He just melts into the shoulder in front of him, his lips finding space against the skin on Christopher’s neck and his nose breathes in, maybe a little louder and more excessive than strictly necessary. He can't help it. Christopher smells like softness and love and tenderness and coffee, and his hair is wet at the tips like he has just showered. Then there is the slight undertone of strawberry soap. The disgusting children’s stuff Emi insists that he buys, because it has a mermaid on the bottle and the plastic lid is a particularly appealing shade of pink.

“Did you use Emi’s soap?” Mattias half giggles. He’s officially rubbish at this. Christopher has told him he is beautiful, and Mattias replies by reprimanding him for using his hygiene products. Then he called himbaby, and Mattias doesn’t even want to admit to himself how he feels about that.

“It smells like her. All sweet and childish. I love it. I may have to buy a bottle to keep with me when I go away next. Something that I can smell to remind me of the two of you.”

“You can have it.” Mattias blushes. He’s really rubbish at being kind. He’s rubbish at expressing how fucking grateful he is that Christopher has stayed. That he hasn’t left Mattias in the horrible position of waking up alone and agonising for days whether he will ever kiss this man ever again. The thought makes him jerk with fear, and without thinking, he smashes his mouth on Christopher’s. Like he could stop himself from kissing the lips in front of him. Like he isn’t a totally lost cause, because now that he has discovered kissing Christopher, there is nothing else he wants to do.

“Gorgeous boy.” Christopher hums into his mouth. “No regrets I hope?”

“Regrets about what?” Mattias almost whispers. He needs more kissing. He’s pretty-much forgotten about the coffee next to him and the awkwardness of being half naked tangled up in his own duvet, when this man is right here and there is nothing but a thin t-shirt and the damn boxers he keeps wearing to separate the two of them.

“Making out with me. Letting me sleep with you.” Christopher says quietly.

“We didn’t really do anything.” Mattias says, letting himself lean back, so he can meet Christopher’s eyes. “We only kissed. I want more. I want so much more.”

Mattias is almost panting. He wants everything.

“The things I want to do with you would last us a lifetime, Matt. I want to do everything with you, but we have to take things slow, because I am not messing this up. Never. I need you to want me, to want this with me.”

“Please don’t call me that.” He pleads. “It… it’s not who I am.”

“It’s exactly who you are. You are Matt, my Matt, Sara’s Matt, and you are Emi’s daddy and also the man I have loved for too many years to remember. Even when I didn’t know you, I was in love with you, and I always used to call you that in my head, when I daydreamed about you. I used to make up stories about us. Silly romantic stories where you would just suddenly tell me that you have always loved me, and then we would have hot passionate dirty sex…”

“I want you to fuck me.” Mattias almost gasps at himself. His mouth should come with a health warning. What the hell was that?

“Hey... I want that. I do want it.” Christopher’s hands are up in the air, flapping about before landing curled around Mattias’s face. “Mattias, anal sex requires trust, full-on trust. There is nothing I would like more than to flip you over and fuck you right into this mattress, but, baby, darling, I would hurt you. We need to get to know each other, and figure out what exactly turns you on, and how you and I work. I need you to trust me, that I would never ever hurt you, and then, and only then, should we entertain the idea of having sex.”

“That doesn't work for me.” Mattias speaks. “I can’t walk around and keep wondering what the hell I am doing. I need to know what this is. I need to know if I’m gay, and if maybe this sex thing has got me all tied up into thinking that there is something wrong with me, when maybe I was just with the wrong person.”

“I think you just answered your own question there.” Christopher replies softly.

“Then have sex with me, please. I trust you.” He’s begging again. Being ridiculous.

“Just say, for example, that I stick a part of my body inside of you, and you like it? That won’t make you gay. Kissing me doesn’t make you gay. Being here, with me doesn’t make you gay. You don’t have to be so hung up on words, because in the end, it doesn’t matter. Being happy, being comfortable in your own skin, being just who you are? That’s what’s important. Not words. Labels. Those things really don’t matter.”

“They do when there is something wrong with you.”

“Matt, there’s nothing wrong with you. You just hadn’t met me.”

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