Page 47 of After Hours at Dooryard Books
“Hey,” Nathaniel says. He puts his hand on Patrick’s thigh. “For what it’s worth, they’re pleased with themselves.” The men on the television are, in fact, smiling. “They did the right thing, and if they’re being made an example of, then maybe that’ll bring things to a head.” Nathaniel sucks in a breath. “They did the right thing,” he repeats, like he’s just heard himself.
Patrick puts his hand on top of Nathaniel’s and leaves it there. “You sound like Susan. You sound likeIris. Next thing you’ll be telling me about American imperialism.”
“And I’ll be right,” Nathaniel says. “God help us all, but they’re right.” He pulls his hand away from Patrick’s and tips his head against the back of the couch with a discontented sound.
“We should get ready for bed,” Patrick says, because sitting this close is going to make him want things. No—he already wants things, but sitting like this is making it hard to pretend he doesn’t. Nathaniel’s a few inches away, the stretched out collar of his—Patrick’s—t-shirt revealing a bit of collarbone and a glimpse of chest hair. His lips are slightly parted, his hair rumpled, and Patrick should turn his head and watch the television, but he can’t look away.
Nathaniel rests his cheek against the back of the couch, looking Patrick dead in the eye. His face is lit up by the flickering light from the television.
Patrick feels like there isn’t much ambiguity here, but when he reaches out to touch Nathaniel’s thigh, Nathaniel practically flinches.
Patrick pulls his hand away. “Sorry,” he says, mortified to have gotten that wrong.
“Don’t be.” Nathaniel makes an impatient sound. “I don’t know how to do this.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know that,” Nathaniel snaps. It reminds Patrick of all the times Nathaniel got frustrated with himself for not being able to go outside. “I mean, I don’t knowhow.”
“It can’t be that different.”
“The difference is that I want to.”
Patrick feels his face heat, his own want coming into perfect focus, like the television antenna is finally pointing in the right direction. Nathaniel hasn’t let himself want this, but now he is, and what he wants is Patrick. Patrick hasn’t ever been particularly attracted to inexperience. He understands the appeal, in an academic kind of way, because he remembers when men saw that quality in him. But he’s afraid that he’d be drawn to whatever attitude Nathaniel had, that he’d be hungry to give Nathaniel whatever he wanted.
“I’m nearly forty,” Nathaniel says, dropping his forearm over his eyes. “This is absurd. I’m not some blushing ingénue.”
Patrick snorts. He pulls Nathaniel’s arm away from his face and doesn’t let go. “You’re a blushingsomethingall right.”
“It’s dark. You can’t prove anything.”
Patrick rubs a thumb over the bones of Nathaniel’s wrist. “You did okay last time.”
“Damned with faint praise. Besides, you did all the work.”
“I can do all the work again.”
“I don’t want to impose.”
Patrick feels faintly hysterical. “Jesus Christ, impose all you like.”
“Fine,” Nathaniel sighs.
Patrick can’t take it anymore. He’s either going to start laughing or he’s going to kiss Nathaniel and he thinks the latter option will be more enjoyable and less embarrassing for both of them. He gets a hand on the back of the couch and leans in, halfway to a laugh when their lips meet.
Last time, Nathaniel hadn’t kissed back. It hadn’t really been that kind of kiss. This time, he still isn’t really kissing back—but his hand is on Patrick’s shoulder and his lips are soft and he’s very much letting himself be kissed. He makes a soft noise when Patrick deepens the kiss.
“You want this?” Patrick asks, his lips moving against the corner of Nathaniel’s mouth. He wants to hear it. He wantsNathanielto hear it.
In answer, Nathaniel bites Patrick’s lower lip. Patrick hears himself make a noise, low and shocked, and he presses close. Nathaniel starts to lean back. If Patrick goes with him they’ll be lying on the couch. That’s fine, more than fine, but maybe not tonight.
Patrick pulls back, then, for good measure, gets to his feet. Nathaniel opens his eyes and gives Patrick one of his morewithering glances. “So much for impose all you like,” Nathaniel says.
“If you imposed any more we were going to ruin my couch.”
“It’s a horrible couch.”
“I want you to keep wanting it,” Patrick says, and it feels like a confession, feels like they both know he meantI want you to keep wanting me.
