Disclaimer: This story is in no way a suggestion of the sexuality of the characters involved. Harry Potter is the property of JK Rowling and Warner Brothers. I am in no way connected to the cast of the Harry Potter movies and/or Matchbox 20. This story contains a FICTIONAL character from Matchbox 20, and involves a homosexual relationship. If this is in any way illegal where you live, or if you are underage, please do not continue reading.
American English Part IV Solo
Stepping out of my aunt's front door into the blistering rain, I pulled my jacket tightly around me. The wind was bitter and the air smelled wet and wild. Setting out down the street, I hailed a taxi and climbed in. The warm cab was pleasant after the chilly outdoors, even if it stank of cigarettes and alcohol. Asking the driver to put his foot down, I checked my watch. Dead. Typical. Pulling out my mobile 'phone, I took it off and put it in my pocket. 7.13pm. Late. Damn. I slipped it back into the inside pocket of my very retro, very funky, vintage blazer and zipped my jacket closed. Rubbing my hands against my jeans, I felt the vibrations across my chest, and quickly opened my jacket, reaching inside my blazer. Text message.
Hey Olly, cool u cd cum, cd yer stop n grab a vid or sumfink? Oh n btw, Dan, Em n Rupert wndrd if yer wntd 2 stp ova? S'cool if yer cant bt id like yer 2 too. C yer soon, Tom
After deciphering his wierd text language, I sent my aunt a message to say that I would be home early the next day, and asked the driver to go to the nearest video store. I replayed the message in my head. I just got to the part about the video when I realised how unbelievably pathetic I was being and replied, saying that it was all cool and did they want 'Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets' (which I thought was a pretty good joke) or should I pick something else?
Standing in the video store, I had no idea what I should choose. My hand kept wandering over towards a few films I had really enjoyed in the past, but I preferred the idea of something I hadn't seen. Grabbing a few DVD's I walked up to the counter and handed over a ten pound note. Looking out at the rain I thought about the night ahead. Realising that, once again, I had stupidly acted on impulse, had no clothes, no toothbrush, no PJs and no way of doing my hair in the morning. Once again, damn. Sending Tom a text as I walked out of the store, I asked the taxi driver to turn back to my aunt's house. Muttering he turned back. Why, I don't know, it was extra fare for him.
My aunt made a snide comment as I ran in through the door. I didn't listen and bolted upstairs to grab some clothes. Seeing my guitar, I grabbed it and raced back to the taxi waiting outside. I jumped in and glanced at my 'phone in my hand. 7.36pm. I could make it by quarter to eight if the driver rushed. I suggested that he did so. He did.
13 minutes later I stepped out of the cab with my guitar in one hand, my backpack on my back and my jacket over my guitar case, and, running up the steps at Claridge's, feeling the water soak into my sneakers. That was going to be unpleasant later on. Thank God I'd grabbed my other pair before I'd run out the door. I looked like a tramp with my hair soaked and my trousers dirty around the bottom from the water they had soaked up. I stood in the foyer, dripping, making an interesting puddle on the floor, and gazing idly into space, when a rather rude bell boy asked me if I was in the right place. I turned and mentioned to him that perhaps his rather silly cap would be of more use as a sling than a uniform, and he half-ran, half-walked back to his position by the door. I slowly trudged up to the desk, and, ladled with bags, asked the receptionist to direct me to Daniel, Rupert, Emma and Tom's rooms. She kindly declined before I noticed them through the large glass doors on the left, which led to the restaurant. Smirking at the receptionist, I pushed through the doors, and walked up. Emma noticed me first.
"Oh my god! Olly! You're so... wet!" she mused. "Yeah, great, I know!" I joked. I turned to Tom and he smiled. "Well, we had planned to have a drink, but..." he looked at me in my sodden trousers, "I think you had better get changed!" Brilliant I thought sarcastically as I followed them up the stairs. Emma told me that they had a table booked for 8.30pm, and I had that thirty minutes to change. Tom led me to his room, and I dumped my stuff on the floor. "Mine's the only room with two beds," he explained, "so we're all going to stop in here." "Cool," I replied, and took off my sodden shoes.
Rooting through the bag that I had brought, I threw the bag of DVD's at Tom. He remarked that they were cool, he hadn't seen half of them, and that I had the same taste in movies as he did. Great I thought But if you don't leave now, you're going to see me half-naked! He didn't budge. Go on, go! I thought* I need to get changed! God, I'm so embarrassed! Why is he making me do this?! All I want is to get changed in private!* Pulling a new pair of trousers and a top from the bag, I thought to myself, Perhaps I shouldn't care, and be cool about it. He's not interested. I attempted to console myself. He isn't even gay... With that I unbuttoned my cool vintage blazer, corduroy, with cool patches that appropriate rock slogans scrawled on them. Slowly pulling my yellow T-shirt over my head, I revealed my fairly well sculpted torso. Quite pale, but well-defined, and definitely not as scrawny as I was, I unbuttoned my trousers and let the offending wet material drop. The wet denim had ruined my socks, so I dutifully pulled them off, leaving me in just my black boxers, which had somehow managed to get wet too. And of course, pride of place, the very embarrassing strain beneath the soft cotton of my shorts. I quickly pulled on a new pair of trousers, and the fresh top, and dried my hair off with a towel, then blow dried it. Running some gel through my persistent mop, I dropped the drier, and walked over to Tom. Telling him I was ready, I pulled on a new pair of sneakers, and we walked to the rooms where the others were. Funny, but I could have sworn I'd felt him watch me as I got changed. Paranoia I guess...
Walking down the stairs, I felt eyes turn to me and my friends. I slowly walked through the double glass doors to the restaurant. Sitting, I noticed that people were watching us. Sometimes I didn't enjoy being centre of attention. At this moment in time I wasn't in the best of moods to be the one everyone was looking at.
An hour later, and my belt straining, we made our way back to the hotel room. The DVDs I had chosen were a big hit, and the mini-bar was full enough to feed (and water) an army.
Soon, Emma was falling asleep. Yawning she made her way to the door and said her good nights. Rupert soon followed. Snuggled in blankets, the three of us left watched the end of the film, then Daniel too left for bed. Glancing at the clock I noticed it was nearly 2am. Stifling a yawn, I went to the DVD player to change the disc.
"Leave it," said Tom, "let's just chat for a while." "OK, cool," I replied. My hand dropped from the DVD controls, and I re-buried myself under the amassed duvets and pillows that were piled on the floor of the suite. Warm and cosy against the storm outside, I dipped my hand into the bowl of chips that were nestled in the duvet in front of me. Crunching away, Tom asked me about America, about my home, and about what I did when I got a break. I told him about our beautiful sprawling country estate in New England and he looked amazed as I told him about New York, the Niagara Falls, the Grand Canyon and other places. I told him the usual likes and dislikes, my guitar, my piano, my drums, films, books, ice skating, roller blading, hockey as my likes, bad smells, angry people and annoying old women who think they know everything as my dislikes. I asked him the same, and after a while found myself slipping into sleep. My lids were heavy, my shoulders sagged and I soon felt my ears closing out the sound of Tom's mellow voice. I felt a hand on my shoulder. Tom's. I opened my eyes. His face, just mere inches from mine, was looking at me deeply. He pulled back quickly and muttered something about 'wondering if I was asleep'. I smiled at him and rolled over.
I awoke to a large clap of thunder. Light sleeper. And the rain crashing against the windows didn't help. This heavy weight on my side wasn't helping me sleep either, and the solidness I was leant against was slowly moving back and forth. I suddenly realised. I was snuggled into the duvet too far. I had backed into Tom's arms. I shivered as I felt him sigh and his lips brush the back of my neck. The warm air tickled my spine and made me tingle. Wriggling from his grasp, I felt his arm tighten as I wrestled free. Staggering back as I stood, I saw him, laid snuggled into the duvets and blankets, warm and cosy. The dark, stormy sky briefly lit the room with a sharp jab of lightning, followed by a tremendous thunder roll. It made me jump. Laid on the edge of the hollow I had created, Tom shifted position and shivered. I slowly crawled back to where I had been, and, in a bit of a dream, laid back down again. I wasn't sure why. Or whether I should. I didn't think. I felt Tom's breath against my back again, and sighed. Soon the mingled weight of Tom's arm and my eyelids pulled me back into sleep.
I woke again, but this time to a cold empty space behind me. I turned slowly, feigning sleep, and peered over the pillow. Tom was sat on the edge of the bed, looking at me sleepily, smiling, and half-naked. He had discarded his top, and I could see the pale, defined lines of his abdomen and chest forming tight, compact and beautifully toned muscles. His wonderful stomach had a slight, pale blonde treasure trail running beneath his trousers, and his hand rested just above his belly button. I closed my eyes, rolled back over and smiled to myself. Feeling him behind me, I innocently moved back slightly, rubbing against his groin. He flinched. I did it again, presumably just repositioning myself. Then I pushed my neck back towards his beautiful mouth, and he nuzzled the back of my neck. I reached backward, and put my arm around him, letting him know I wanted him to. He slowly and gently kissed the back of my neck, and I sighed. Moving his hands down my body, he gently licked my spinal chord with his tongue, rubbing it softly enough so that it tingled. His hands reached the bottom hem of my t-shirt, and he hesitated. I put my hand on his and closed it around the fabric. He gently moved downwards, and kissed the base of my spine, slowly working his way up my muscular back as he removed my shirt.
My spine was on fire, and my hands felt numb as he caressed me and kissed me, made me feel wanted, protected, loved. I knew him as a friend, and I never saw it coming, but as he massaged my muscles, I felt the friendship, the relationship, grow bolder and more solid. I wasn't in love. I felt love, but he wasn't my partner. He was my friend. Guiding me, helping me, loving me. His electric touch and pale, soft skin, warm and silky. I could feel his pale blonde hair trace my back as his head moved with each solitary kiss. I pulled him tightly around me and relaxed into him, feeling the warmth from his torso envelop my back, feel it radiate the warmth I needed.
My eyelids drooping heavily I snuggled closer into him, letting his strong arms hold me, him whispering his thoughts into my ear, his soft voice sending me to sleep and making me dream things untold.
To be continued...
Is it love? Is it a fling?
Is it going nowhere?
Write and let me know...
american_english_the_story@hotmail.com