Page 23 of Topped

“So? Doesn’t matter. I want to know.”

“I didn’t know what to say. After we’d kissed. I knew I should say something but what if the words that came out were the wrong ones? What if I said something truly atrocious and you never wanted to be seen with me again?” The words all came out in a rush, a torrent of whispered fears tripping off my tongue like a river bursting out from behind a dam.

“First of all, I really want to know what atrocious things you’d say to make me run away,” he said with a teasing grin, his hand casually finding mine and interlacing our fingers together. “And secondly, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. It can just be ‘wow’ or ‘kiss me again’. You don’t have to suddenly give a speech about the virtues of my mouth—I already know how awesome it is.”

I snorted, trying and failing to raise an eyebrow at him. It was impossible to be serious when Milo was looking at me like that. “I don’t even know. What if I said something about your breath? Or compared you to an ex?”

“Would that really be the first thing out of your mouth?”

“No.”

“Did you think either of those things?”

“No.”

“Then why are you worried?” Milo asked softly, squeezing my hand.

“I don’t know. It’s my default state.” I tried to smile at him, but I had a feeling it looked more like a grimace. “I’m trying to be better, to worry less, and my therapist says I’m doing well. I just wish it would go away.”

“You can’t do any more than you’re doing. And baby steps are still steps.”

“Thanks.” I did manage to smile then, my body starting to relax. I shook my head. “I’m sorry, we just kissed and then I made it all about me.”

“Don’t worry. I’d rather we talked about where your head’s at than you go back to work and spend the afternoon panicking.” He was smiling too, joy and confidence radiating out of him the way it so often did. I was going to be thinking about it all afternoon.

“I suppose I should go back to work soon. Otherwise Norman will worry. No, actually, he’s more likely to tell people where I’ve gone and then do something like volunteer me for something. Last time, he agreed to supply two deluxe hampers to St. Michael’s summer fete and said I’d be happy to help run the tombola,” I said, scowling as I remembered. Fred, the vicar of St. Michael’s, had been so pleased I hadn’t had the heart to say no.

But it did remind me to volunteer Norman for something the next time I saw her. Maybe the Christmas fair. He’d make a good elf if she had someone in mind to play Father Christmas. If I was feeling truly mean, I’d suggest Sidney for Santa. That would cause an absolute storm.

“I bet you ran that thing with military precision,” he said with a chuckle. “And I bet you looked so cute with your ticket book and microphone. Did you wear a waistcoat too?”

“Of course,” I said. “It was yellow, unwittingly to annoy Norman.”

“Does he have something against yellow?”

“He does. His husband, Sidney, also has a yellow waistcoat and Norman keeps threatening to burn it. So, of course, Sidney wears it whenever Norman annoys him. They’re… an interesting pair. Vicious, petty, and yet they absolutely adore each other. They’ve been together for fifty years.”

“I guess when you’ve been together that long, and you feel safe with that person, then you can be like that. Because you know they’re not going to leave,” Milo said slowly, musing on the thought.

“Exactly. It’s an established dynamic in their relationship,” I said. “Sometimes I wish I could’ve known them in their youth, when they were actors in London, but I think they’d have terrified me.”

Milo laughed. “Same, but I bet they have some good stories.”

“They do, and some sad ones. They lost a lot of friends during the AIDS epidemic. But if you ever want to know about their scandalous youth, ask Norman sometime, he’ll happily talk your ear off.” I’d heard so many of his stories, and every time it felt like I was living a little slice of queer history. One day, I wanted to record him and Sidney talking so I could write everything down. Nobody else might care, but I wanted to keep a piece of them with me forever.

Norman would love it too. It’d give him more chances to be dramatic.

“I will,” he said. “I want to hear more about your scandalous youth too.”

“Not much to tell there.”

“Then I just want to hear more about you.” He leant forward and kissed me again, the press of his lips stealing the air from my lungs and wiping all my thoughts away, like he’d pressed control, alt, delete on my brain.

“If you keep doing that, I’ll forget all the things I have to tell you,” I said, a little smile spreading across my lips as we broke apart.

“Does that mean you never want me to kiss you again?”

“No… maybe if you do it more, I’ll remember how to think properly afterwards.”