Page 114 of The Associate
Slowly, his arms came up, his hands settling tentatively on Gael’s back. He could feel the warmth of his skin through the thin cotton, the solid muscle beneath. He let his head rest against Gael’s shoulder, breathing him in.
Then Gael shifted. He leaned back just enough to look down at his face. His eyes were still soft, but now they held a different kind of intensity. He bent his head and kissed him.
This kiss was nothing like the ones before. It wasn't a devouring, or a claiming, or a question. It was slow. Deep. Undeniably tender.
Gael’s lips moved against his with a patient, thorough sweetness that made Samuel’s knees feel weak. It was a kiss that saidgood morning.A kiss that saidyou are here, with me.
Samuel made a soft, helpless sound into it, his hands tightening on Gael’s shirt. He kissed back, surrendering to the gentle, devastating rhythm of it. The ache in his body flared into something else; a sharp, urgent need. He wanted Gael to stop being gentle. He wanted to be pushed, possessed, taken. Right now. He wanted to be dragged back to the bedroom, or hell, lifted onto this very kitchen counter and fucked until he couldn't think, until he screamed, until the only truth in the world was Gael moving inside him.
The kiss ended. Gael pulled away, just enough to break contact. Samuel’s lips felt swollen, tingling. He blinked up at Gael, his breath coming too fast, his desire surely written plainly across his face.
He saw the knowing look in Gael’s eyes. A faint, understanding glint in the softness. Samuel felt a flush of shame heat his cheeks. He was so transparent. So pathetically, desperately needy for this man.
“Are you hungry?” Gael asked, his voice a low rumble.
The question was so mundane it took Samuel a second to process it. But as soon as he thought about it, his stomach gave an answering growl. He was ravenous. He nodded.
He expected Gael to turn back to the counter, to start pulling out eggs or bread. The pattern of the weekends was clear: he stayed until Sunday morning, they shared quiet meals in the apartment, and then he left.
Instead, Gael kept one hand on his hip, his thumb making a slow, absent circle. “There’s a nice little brunch place just down the street. Wanna go?”
Samuel blinked. He felt the world tilt slightly on its axis.
Go out? To a restaurant? Together? It sounded like a… it sounded like a date.
They didn’t do that. The Club was different. That was part of the dynamic, an extension of Gael’s world, a lesson. This was something else. This was normal. This was what couples did.
“Sam?” Gael prompted when the silence stretched.
Samuel swallowed. He wanted to say yes. He wanted it so badly it was a physical pull in his chest. To sit across from Gael in the sunlight, to have a normal conversation, to pretend, even for an hour, that this was a simple thing between two people who liked each other.
But the old fear was a cold whisper at the base of his skull.
What if someone sees you? What if they tell your parents? What are you, a couple of fags on a date?
The voice was small, but it was sharp.
“Or we can stay here,” Gael said, his tone even. His face didn’t change, but Samuel saw it; a subtle shift in his eyes. A faint withdrawal. The softness receding.
Samuel’s heart clenched. He never wanted to be the reason that look entered Gael’s eyes. He hated the part of himself that put it there.
He shook his head to clear it. He took a small, steadying breath, meeting Gael’s gaze. “I would love to go,” he said, his voice firmer than he felt. “Thanks for asking me.”
The neutrality in Gael’s eyes dissolved, replaced by something warm and quiet. He didn’t smile, but the lines around his eyes softened again. He gave Samuel’s hip a light, final squeeze before letting go. “Good. Go get dressed. Wear something comfortable.”
∞∞∞
The brunch place was small and bright, all reclaimed wood and hanging plants, the air rich with the smell of bacon, maple syrup, and freshly ground coffee. They were seated at a corner table by the window, sunlight streaming in and painting warm stripes across the polished wood.
Samuel felt a bizarre, giddy sense of normalcy. He was just a guy having Sunday brunch with another guy. The world outside the window continued on, unaware of the seismic shifts happening inside him over eggs Benedict.
They ordered. Coffee arrived in heavy mugs. Gael took a sip, looking out the window, a faint, unguarded ease in his posture Samuel had never seen.
“What was law school like?” Samuel asked, stirring a packet of sugar into his coffee.
Gael looked back at him, a wry twist to his mouth. “Loud. And full of people who were much too sure of themselves at twenty-two.” He set his mug down. “I shared an apartment with three other future litigators. Our living room was a permanent war zone of casebooks and empty pizza boxes. We’d argue constitutional theory at three in the morning. It was exhausting.”
“Sounds it,” Samuel said, smiling a little at the image.
