Fredric had his eyes closed, and his now free hand crept up toward Ilan’s jaw, his fingers tracing the shape of it, drawing lines in his week-old stubble. “And then what?”
“And then a date where they painted shitty cacti,” Ilan said, and he felt a wave of triumph when Fredric laughed. “And then they took walks on the beach and played with the dog and spent Sunday mornings eating shakshuka and then scrubbing the bathrooms.”
Fredric opened his eyes, and Ilan saw they were glassy and soft, pointed to the left of his face. “Is that right?”
“Yes,” Ilan said, “it is.” He brushed his fingers more firmly through Fredric’s hair. “It took a while, because even the prince was terrified that he wasn’t ever going to be good enough or strong enough. And sometimes, he wanted to run away, because he felt like he was going to ruin things. But…he didn’t. He held on, with white knuckles and ragged nails and the jagged shards of hope.”
“Ilan,” Fredric said softly.
It was a moment—a choice. He’d been here before, in Fredric’s kitchen, with his face too close and his breath too warm, the promise of what he would feel like too perfect. But this time, the sky could start falling. A storm could rage. The house could fall down around him, and it wouldn’t matter.
He leaned in, and he closed his eyes, and he felt Fredric’s breath hitch. “Maybe it started with a kiss…” It was the only sound he could get out before Fredric closed the distance between them and sealed their mouths together.
Time stopped. He forgot how to breathe. He forgot everything except those hands holding his face like, if he wasn’t careful, Ilan would shatter under his tender care. And Ilan was half convinced it was true, because he had never felt like this before. He’d had other kisses in his life, but this felt like a first. The way Fredric was tentative and nervous, but relentless with how he moved one hand around the back of Ilan’s head and curled his fingers in his hair. And his lips parted on a sigh, and his tongue met Ilan’s, and he tasted like salt and perfection.
Ilan opened for him—not just his mouth, but the very makeup of his being. He felt cracked in half, his soul exposed, and it was so good it was almost painful as Fredric wrapped around him and pressed in and in and in.
And then it was over. The kiss slowed and gentled to the rhythm of the ending song, and soon, it was just their lips pressed together, then a breath of space. Then inches. Fredric’s hands softened in their hold, but didn’t let go, and it was the only thing that kept Ilan from collapsing into his fear.
Everything had changed again.
“Something is telling me to apologize,” Fredric started, but Ilan pressed their foreheads together and shook his head.
“Don’t you dare.”
“You wanted to take it slow,” Fredric protested, but Ilan smiled because he could tell Fredric didn’t really mean it.
“I do want to take it slow, but I’m done denying my heart what it wants. I don’t know when that moment was for me. I know at the wedding there was something. I didn’t even think to look, but I felt it. I knew it before we went to the gardens and before you touched my face and almost…almost this,” he said, his voice cracking a little, “in your kitchen. I won’t ever regret this kiss. Whatever the hell happens in the future, I will never regret it.”
Fredric sagged forward and pressed his face to Ilan’s shoulder, holding him tight. They’d stopped swaying, and the music was still soft but upbeat and all wrong for the moment. And yet, it still felt perfect. Fredric’s body against his, the warmth of him, knowing that this would never be meaningless. It didn’t erase his fear, but it allowed more room to hope, and it allowed him to believe that every step after that would be worth any risk Fredric ever asked him to take.
Chapter 19
Fredric woke up smiling, but it was impossible not to after that night. He’d taken one of the biggest risks of his life: he’d leapt off the cliff into an unknowable void, and he’d been caught in soft, strong arms. And like those fairy stories, Fredric wasn’t content to lie back and accept the kiss as his happily ever after.
Ilan was still petrified of being wrong for Fredric, of not being enough, of being fundamentally unlovable once push came to shove and the relationship became work. And he didn’t need Ilan to pour out his insecurities to know that, either.
Now, everything and nothing changed, and it was one of the few things that brought Fredric comfort when he faced down the reality of him and Ilan taking the next step in their relationship. Ilan was still himself, only he was older and kinder and a little less willing to make mistakes. It was something Fredric could work with, and it was also the reason he went home even after Ilan asked him to stay.
“You’re exhausted,” Fredric had said, placing his hand on Ilan’s cheek. He liked how it was still warm and still rough. His thumb touched the edge of his lip, and he let it linger there. “You need a good night’s sleep.”
“I could do that with you in my bed, you know,” Ilan teased, and the low, husky promise of more touching put Fredric’s willpower to the test.
But he shook his head, no matter how much he hated himself for doing it. He was grateful he could hear Agatha’s car sitting in Ilan’s driveway, because it gave him a reason not to linger. “That’s something for the third date,” Fredric promised him.
He knew Ilan was probably afraid if Fredric had time to step back and think, he’d change his mind, and he was going to have to be more patient than he’d ever been. But he didn’t mind. He dragged his hand lower, pressing it to the side of Ilan’s neck, and reached up into a kiss. He missed his mouth on the first try, but he dragged his lips toward the center and found Ilan’s tongue eager and waiting to push past his lips.
“God, this is going to drive me crazy,” Ilan groaned, curling his fingers into the front of Fredric’s shirt.
Fredric grinned. “What’s that saying about absence…”
“Don’t start with me,” Ilan growled, then gave him one last, fierce kiss before stepping back.
Fredric felt the loss of touch like an ache in his gut, but he still gripped Bas’ harness and commanded him to find the car. He took comfort in the dog resting between his legs, and he appreciated that Agatha didn’t try to make conversation.
She dropped him off with a short pat on his hand, then told him to call if he needed another ride. It helped settle something in him, and even though he wished desperately he was back with Ilan in his little house, in his soft bed, he knew that time would come.
The sun felt a little brighter when he took Bas out for his morning walk, even with December’s chill creeping up on him. He kept away from the water, but the spray from the waves was enough to keep him invigorated, and he was still grinning when he pushed through his back gate and moved to the kitchen to start his coffee and check his messages.
‘One message from Ilan,’ the voice announced, and he smiled even wider.
Ilan: I actually slept last night. I hope you’re happy.
Fredric: Over the moon.
Ilan: When can I see you again?