Due Friday
Tuesday morning put Ryan back where Noah had first properly met him.
Station twelve.
There was something almost unfair about that.
Two days earlier Ryan had been stretched beside him on a beach towel, shirtless and laughing while Noah admitted that his first experience with a man had involved an anonymous Grindr profile and a public shower. Now he stood across a laboratory bench in safety glasses and a white coat, reading the practical sheet with an expression of concentration Noah no longer entirely trusted.
The silver chain was hidden beneath his T-shirt. Mostly. Every time Ryan leaned forward, a small section appeared at the collar.
Noah arrived still carrying the residual heat of Sunday, his cock starting to thicken under his jeans. The fabric brushed against him with every step.
“You haven’t read that?” Noah asked.
Ryan looked up from the protocol. “I’m reading it now.”
“You were explicitly told yesterday to read it before coming.”
“And yet here I am, reading.”
“That is not what before means.”
Ryan smiled. “You’re very strict this morning.”
Noah pulled on his gloves. “Someone has to keep station twelve functioning.”
“We functioned perfectly well last week.”
“That is a generous interpretation.”
“We were pipetting coloured water.”
“Some with bigger error margins than others,” Noah teased.
Ryan folded the corner of the practical sheet back down. “You’re in a difficult mood today.”
“I’m prepared.”
“Same thing, apparently.”
Noah shook his head and reached for his lab coat. Ryan watched him pull it on. Then his gaze dropped. Not far. Just enough to take in the way the dark trousers sat across Noah’s hips. Noah noticed.
“What?”
Ryan looked back at his face. “Nothing.”
“That was very obviously something.”
Ryan’s mouth curved. He glanced briefly around them, then leaned slightly closer across the bench, voice low enough that only Noah could hear.
“You’re not the only one going commando today.”
Noah stared at him. Ryan straightened again as though he had merely commented on the weather. Noah’s eyes dropped automatically. White lab coat. Dark trousers underneath. Nothing particularly revealing. Which somehow made it worse. He looked back up. Ryan was smiling, eyes dark with quiet satisfaction.
“You can’t just say that.”
“I just did.”
“In a laboratory.”
“You’re the one who made it a profile tag.”
“That doesn’t make it a group activity.”
Ryan laughed and leaned against the bench. “You seemed very proud of the whole Commando thing on Sunday.”
“I answered one question.”
“Eventually.”
“You asked enough times.”
“And now we have equality.”
Noah raised an eyebrow. “Equality?”
Ryan gestured vaguely between them. “Same practical. Same station. Same dress code.”
Noah laughed despite himself, heat settling low in his stomach at the knowledge that Ryan was also bare under those dark trousers. “That is absolutely not what dress code means.”
“Close enough.”
Before Noah could answer, movement around them increased as the rest of the class settled into place. Plastic racks scraped across benches. Pipettes clicked into stands. Stools shifted across the floor. Someone farther down the room was already asking a question despite the demonstrator not having officially started.
Callum was two stations away with a girl Noah recognised from Monday’s lecture. He caught Noah looking and raised one gloved hand in greeting. Then his gaze moved to Ryan. Back to Noah. His eyebrows lifted. Noah looked away. He was going to regret telling Callum about Sunday.
“Reptile guy?” Ryan asked quietly.
“He has a name.”
“Callum.”
Noah looked at him. Ryan smiled. “You’re still impressed I remember.”
The demonstrator called for attention. Everyone turned.
“Before you start,” she said, “a reminder that today’s practical forms the basis of your first individual report. You’ll use the data you generate today, alongside the class dataset we’ll upload this evening. The report is due Friday at four.”
A low wave of dissatisfaction moved through the room. Ryan looked at Noah. Noah looked back. Friday. The demonstrator continued through the requirements: results, calculations, one figure, a short discussion and appropriate references. None of it sounded particularly difficult on its own, although Noah suspected that opinion might change once they saw the data.
“For now,” the demonstrator finished, “focus on getting reliable results. You can’t write much of a report if your experiment doesn’t work.”
Ryan leaned slightly towards Noah, close enough that Noah could smell the faint clean scent of his skin. “No pressure.”
Noah picked up the protocol. “You read it yet?”
Ryan looked down at the page. “Working on it.”
Noah shook his head.
The experiment became interesting quickly enough that Noah stopped thinking about Ryan for periods longer than thirty seconds. They were measuring enzyme activity under several pH conditions, following the change in absorbance of a coloured product over time. The first run produced a set of values that made no biological sense whatsoever.
Ryan stared at the plate reader output. “That seems bad.”
Noah looked at the numbers. “Unless our enzyme has discovered a new form of chemistry.”
“So publish?”
“Obviously.”
They checked everything. Volumes. Tube labels. Calculations. Ryan finally picked up one of their buffers and stared at it. “Noah.”
“What?”
“This says pH 8.”
“Yes.”
Ryan held up another. “This also says pH 8.”
Noah looked. Then at their rack. The buffer that should have been pH 6 was sitting behind the rack. For a second they stared at each other. Ryan began laughing. “You did the labels.”
“You handed me the tubes.”
“You’re blaming me?”
“I’m distributing responsibility.”
“Very leadership-oriented.”
Noah tried not to laugh. “Get another set.”
They repeated the run. This time the trend actually resembled biochemistry. Ryan leaned beside Noah as they watched the readings appear. Their shoulders touched through the lab coats. Neither moved. Noah became aware of it anyway - the heat of Ryan’s body, the knowledge that both of them were bare under their trousers, the soft fabric of Noah’s own jeans shifting against his cock every time he adjusted his stance.
Sunday had changed small things. Before the beach, accidental contact with Ryan had carried uncertainty. Now Noah knew what Ryan’s bare shoulder felt like beneath his hand. Knew the warmth of his back after applying sunscreen. Knew what his face looked like when he stopped teasing and spoke seriously about something. The contact wasn’t less charged. It was charged differently.
“Better,” Ryan murmured.
Noah looked at the screen. “Much.”
Ryan turned his head. They were close enough that Noah could see the faint darker ring around his irises. For half a second neither looked away. Noah’s cock gave a slow, heavy throb inside the jeans. Then the plate reader beeped. Ryan stepped back. “Saved by science.”
Noah’s mouth curved. “You were doing nothing.”
“Exactly.”
They finished slightly before the end of the session. Noah was cleaning the bench when Callum appeared beside them.
“How’d yours go?”
Ryan looked at the results on his laptop. “Eventually.”
“That sounds promising.”
“First run was questionable,” Noah said. “Second one actually resembled science.”
Callum nodded. “Better than us.”
Noah glanced towards station thirteen. “Eleanor?”
“She didn’t destroy a pipette.”
“Progress.”
“Technically.”
Callum sighed. “She’s already asked if we can meet tomorrow to go through the data for the report.”
Ryan looked over. “Thought it was individual.”
“It is. Apparently that doesn’t prevent her from wanting to compare every calculation before either of us writes anything.”
Noah smiled. “You sound thrilled.”
“I’m considering changing degrees.”
“Bit early.”
“Three practicals is enough.”
Ryan laughed. Callum glanced between them, then towards their much tidier bench. “At least you two work well together.”
Noah looked at Ryan. Ryan looked back, eyes lingering a second too long on Noah’s mouth. “Mostly,” Noah said.
“Disturbingly well,” Ryan added.
Callum nodded. “Great. Happy for you.” There was just enough in his expression to suggest he meant more than the practical. Noah smiled despite himself. “Go away, Callum.”
“Gladly. I have calculations to supervise.” He headed back towards station thirteen.
The demonstrator called from the front that the full class dataset would be available by six that evening. Ryan closed his laptop and slid it into his bag. “Want to work through the report together tomorrow?”
“Yeah.”
“Mine?”
Noah looked at him. The question was entirely reasonable. That did not stop him remembering Ryan’s bedroom, the photographs, the way Ryan had looked at him on the beach with wet shorts clinging to every thick inch of him. “Six?”
Ryan smiled. “Works.”
“We’re actually doing the report,” Noah stated.
“Obviously.”
Noah narrowed his eyes. Ryan picked up his bag. Noah laughed as they headed towards the exit, aware of the fabric of his jeans brushing against his bare cock with every step, and of the matching knowledge that Ryan was walking the same way.
By the time Noah got home Tuesday afternoon, Claire was sitting at the kitchen table with one of Liam’s mugs between both hands. She looked up when he came in. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
Liam was at the bench chopping capsicum and spring onion for a stir-fry, occasionally reaching past Claire for something he had left on the table. Sophie sat opposite her with her laptop open, although judging by the shopping website on the screen, very little academic work was happening. Claire nodded towards Noah’s bag. “Lab?”
“Yeah.”
“How’d it go?”
“We accidentally invented new chemistry.”
Liam looked over from the chopping board. “Successful day, then.”
“Apparently.”
Sophie closed the shopping tab with absolutely no attempt at subtlety. “Is this the lab with Ryan?”
Noah looked at her. Claire looked between them. “Who’s Ryan?”
“My lab partner.”
Sophie smiled. “Apparently.”
Noah pointed at her. “Don’t.”
“I said nothing.”
“You never have to.”
Claire laughed softly. Noah liked her for that. She never seemed particularly interested in extracting information from him; mostly she seemed entertained by the rest of the house doing it for her. Liam tipped the chopped vegetables into the hot pan. The sudden hiss briefly drowned out the conversation. “How bad was the practical?”
“Fine once we used the correct buffers.”
“Once?”
Noah opened the refrigerator. “We had a minor issue.”
“Whose fault?”
“Shared responsibility.”
“That means Noah’s,” Sophie said.
“It absolutely does not.”
The front door opened before she could answer. Marcus appeared a few seconds later, gym bag over one shoulder. His eyes found Noah. “How are the legs?”
“Better.”
“See?”
“You’re still not forgiven.”
Marcus dropped the bag beside the wall. “You’ll come back.”
Claire looked at Noah. “What did he do to you?”
“Leg day.”
Marcus opened the refrigerator. “He volunteered.”
“That word is being used very generously in this house,” Noah said.
Sophie nodded. “I’ve noticed.”
Liam returned to the table and sat beside Claire. Without interrupting whatever she was saying to Sophie, Claire took his mug instead of her own and drank from it. Liam looked at her. “That’s mine.”
“I know.”
“You have one.”
“Yours is better.”
“They’re the same coffee.”
Claire took another drink. “Then there’s no problem.”
Liam stared at her for a second before smiling and pulling her mug towards himself instead. It was such a small, practised exchange that Noah found himself watching. Five months. Long enough for apparently pointless habits to become normal. For Claire to know which mug was Liam’s without looking. For Liam to complain about her stealing his coffee while already reaching for hers. Noah looked away before either noticed, the residual awareness of Ryan’s “same dress code” comment still sitting low in his body.
“So,” Sophie said, “what’s the new chemistry assignment?”
“Report. Due Friday.”
Marcus winced. “Cruel.”
“We got the data today. Ryan and I are working on it tomorrow.”
Sophie’s eyebrows lifted. Noah saw it happen. “No.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“Your face did.”
Claire looked between them again, smiling now. “I feel like I’ve missed several episodes.”
“You have,” Liam said.
Noah stared at him. Liam took an entirely innocent drink from Claire’s mug. Traitor.
Wednesday became an unexpectedly long day. By five Noah had already attended a lecture, sat through a tutorial and spent nearly an hour in the library with Callum, who had somehow turned a discussion about coursework into another explanation of superb fairywrens.
“The blue ones are the breeding males,” Callum said, turning his laptop towards Noah. “But outside breeding season…”
Noah looked at the folder open on the screen. “You have eighty-seven photos.”
“Some are duplicates.”
“That does not help.”
“Different angles.”
Noah laughed. His phone buzzed.
Ryan.
Still coming tonight?
Noah smiled, heat settling immediately.
For the report?
That’s the official reason.
A second message followed.
Mostly.
Noah felt warmth settle low in his stomach, his cock shifting inside the soft shorts he was wearing.
Mostly - we do actually need to write it.
Ryan replied.
Very responsible.
Then another:
What are you wearing?
Noah looked down at himself.
Clothes.
Cruel.
You asked badly.
There was a pause.
What shorts?
Noah smiled.
Why?
I like being prepared.
For the report?
Obviously.
Then:
Six. Bring your laptop.
Very romantic.
Who said anything about romantic?
Another message appeared.
Grey shorts would be good though.
Noah laughed quietly, already half-hard at the request. Callum stopped talking. “You weren’t listening.”
Noah looked up. “I was.”
“I asked you a question.”
“What was it?”
Callum nodded. “Exactly.”
Noah locked his phone. Callum looked at it. “Ryan?”
Noah stared at him. “How do you know?”
Callum shrugged. “You smile at your phone.”
“I smile at lots of things.”
“Not like that.”
Noah narrowed his eyes. Callum immediately pointed at the laptop. “Can we go back to the fairywrens before this becomes a conversation I’m not qualified for?”
Noah laughed. “Please.”
Callum turned the screen towards him again. “Good. Because I haven’t even explained the cheating yet.”
Noah stared at him. Callum brightened. “Genetically. It gets really interesting.”
“Of course it does.”
Noah stopped at home before heading to Ryan’s. The grey shorts were exactly where he had left them. He pulled them on first, the soft fabric sitting low on his hips, nothing underneath, the thick outline of his cock already visible against the thin material. Then he stood in front of the wardrobe longer than the rest of the outfit probably required. A T-shirt would have been fine. Instead, he reached for a light button-up shirt. He left the top two buttons undone. Then looked at himself in the mirror. Grey shorts. Bare legs. The shirt loose enough to look casual, fitted enough across his shoulders that it didn’t quite manage it. The soft shorts left almost nothing to the imagination. He adjusted the collar. Stopped. Noah stared at his reflection. He was going to work on a report. He grabbed his bag and headed into the hallway.
Sophie was coming out of the kitchen. She looked at him, kept walking for two steps, then looked again. “Oh.”
Noah stopped. “What?”
Sophie’s eyes travelled over him once more - the open collar, the soft grey shorts, the clear outline against the front. “You look nice.”
Noah glanced down at himself. “I’m going to work on a report.”
“Of course.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing. I just didn’t realise reports had a dress code.”
Noah looked at the shirt. “It’s a shirt.”
“It is.”
“I wear shirts.”
Sophie smiled. “You absolutely do. Sometimes.”
Noah narrowed his eyes. She looked him over again, taking in the open collar and the fact that his hair had apparently received more attention than usual, and the way the soft shorts sat low enough that the lack of underwear was obvious. “That’s a lot of effort for a report.”
“It’s a shirt.”
“Mm.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Noah stared at her. Sophie smiled. “Ryan will appreciate your commitment to academic presentation.”
“I’m going there to work.”
“I know.”
“We actually have a report due Friday.”
“Also know that.”
Noah adjusted the strap of his bag. “You’re annoying.”
“And yet I’m not the one dressing up for biochemistry.”
Noah opened the front door. “I am not dressed up.”
“Of course not.”
He looked back at her. Sophie’s expression was perfectly innocent. “Good luck with the report.”
“Thanks.”
He stepped outside, the soft shorts brushing against his already half-hard cock with every step.
Ryan opened the door barefoot. Black shorts. Black T-shirt. Silver chain visible at the collar. His eyes dropped almost immediately to Noah’s grey shorts, lingering openly on the clear outline of Noah’s cock against the soft fabric, then travelled back up more slowly. Ryan smiled.
“You wore them.”
Noah glanced down. “They’re shorts.”
“Very specific shorts.”
“You requested them.”
“I suggested them.”
“At five in the afternoon.”
“Still a suggestion.”
Ryan’s gaze moved over him again, this time taking in the open collar of the button-up, the way it sat across his shoulders, the fact that Noah had clearly made some effort - and the way the soft grey shorts left almost nothing hidden. Then his smile changed. “You dressed up.”
Noah looked at him. “I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
“It’s a shirt.”
“With buttons.”
“That’s generally how they work.”
Ryan laughed, eyes dropping once more to the grey shorts and the thick shape pressing against them. “I’m not complaining.”
That landed considerably lower than Noah wanted it to. His cock thickened further under the open attention.
Ryan stepped aside. “Come in.”
Noah moved past him.
“Oh,” Ryan added behind him.
Noah turned. Ryan hooked a thumb briefly at the waistband of his black shorts.
“Still no underwear.”
Noah’s eyes dropped automatically.
Ryan smiled. “Thought you’d appreciate the information.”
“Very considerate.”
“I try.”
Noah passed him, suddenly very aware of exactly why he had chosen the shorts — and of the matching knowledge that Ryan was also bare under his own black ones. Ryan’s bedroom was the only part Noah had seen in photographs. The rest was exactly the sort of student flat he might have imagined around it. A narrow lounge. Small kitchen. Evidence of three students existing without coordinated cleaning schedules. One of Ryan’s flatmates was sitting on the sofa with headphones on, playing something on a console. He glanced towards them. “Hey.”
“Ben,” Ryan said. “Noah.”
Ben’s expression changed minutely. Recognition without prior introduction. “Ah,” he said. “The lab partner.”
Ryan immediately steered Noah towards the hallway. Ben laughed behind them. Noah waited until Ryan’s bedroom door closed. “He knows.”
“He knows nothing.”
“He knew exactly who I was.”
“I’ve mentioned you.”
That stopped Noah. Ryan dropped his phone on the desk. “What?”
“You mentioned me?”
“We have a report.”
“That sounds convincing.”
Ryan looked at him. Then smiled, eyes flicking once more to the front of Noah’s shorts. “Sit down, scientist.”
Noah did.
They actually worked. For almost two hours. That surprised Noah less than it probably should have. Ryan was better at the calculations than he pretended to be and considerably worse at writing figure legends. Noah had the opposite problem: he could explain the experiment clearly but kept trying to turn the discussion into something twice as long as required.
Ryan read one paragraph. “You’ve used ‘however’ three times.”
“They’re different however situations.”
“That isn’t a thing.”
“It is.”
Ryan deleted one. Noah stared. “You can’t just delete my words.”
“I just did.”
“Give me the laptop.”
“No.”
Noah reached across. Ryan moved it. Noah reached farther. Ryan held it beyond him. The movement brought Noah almost against his side, thigh pressed to thigh, the soft fabric of Noah’s shorts brushing against Ryan’s bare leg. They stopped. The laptop suddenly mattered considerably less. Ryan was smiling. “You were saying?”
Noah’s hand was braced against the mattress beside Ryan’s thigh. Ryan held the laptop in one hand. Noah looked at his mouth. Then back at the screen. “You’re still wrong.”
“About however?”
“Yes.”
“Very committed.”
Noah took the laptop from him. Ryan let him. The moment passed. Mostly. Noah’s cock was half-hard again, the soft grey shorts doing nothing to hide it. Ryan’s black shorts showed the same.
They finished the results section. Then the discussion. At 8:10, Ryan leaned back against the wall. “I can’t look at enzyme activity anymore.”
Noah closed his laptop. “Agreed.”
Ryan closed his laptop. “We should probably eat.”
“Probably.”
Neither of them moved. Ryan looked at Noah. “You hungry?”
Noah considered it. “Not particularly.”
Ryan’s mouth curved slightly. “Good.”
The room became quieter. Noah looked at him. “Good?”
Ryan put his laptop aside. “Means we can do something else first.”
There was no mistaking that. Noah felt heat settle low in his stomach, cock thickening fully inside the soft shorts. This was the part he had wondered about since Tuesday. Possibly since Sunday. Possibly since Ryan Taylor had sat across from him at station twelve and appeared on Grindr at zero metres. Thomas had been different. Thomas had known Noah was new to men and had given him room to discover what he wanted. Thomas had always been temporary. Ryan wasn’t. Ryan was nineteen. In Noah’s course. His laboratory partner. Someone Noah would have to look at again tomorrow. Somehow that made this more frightening - and hotter.
Ryan shifted closer. “You’re thinking.”
Noah smiled faintly. “Maybe.”
“Bad sign?”
“No.”
Ryan watched him for another second. “Tell me if that changes.”
“I will.”
Ryan’s hand settled against Noah’s thigh, fingers spreading over the soft fabric, brushing the hard outline beneath. Then he leaned in. The first kiss was almost careful. Not uncertain. Just aware. Ryan’s mouth was warm, softer than Noah had imagined despite having imagined it more times than he would admit. Ryan touched Noah’s waist, fingers resting there rather than pulling. Noah kissed him again. Harder. Ryan’s hand moved around his back. That was enough to change everything. The teasing disappeared beneath something simpler. Want.
Noah shifted closer. Ryan laughed quietly against his mouth when their knees collided. “Smooth.”
“Your bed is small.”
“You’ve been here ten minutes.”
“Two hours.”
“Right.”
Noah kissed him before he could continue. Ryan’s hands slipped beneath Noah’s shirt. Warm palms against his sides, thumbs brushing the soft skin just above the waistband of the grey shorts. Noah pulled back just enough to let Ryan lift it over his head. The silver chain caught briefly on Ryan’s collar when Noah returned the favour. They both laughed. “This was better in my head,” Ryan muttered.
“You planned this?”
Ryan stared at him. “No.”
“Very convincing.”
“Shut up.”
Noah smiled and kissed him again. Soon there was less clothing between them. Noah pushed Ryan’s black shorts down; Ryan did the same to Noah’s. Both of them were fully hard, bare, the soft fabric discarded. The difference from Thomas surprised him. Thomas had made Noah feel safe enough to explore. Ryan made him feel matched. When Noah touched, Ryan touched back. When Ryan tried something, Noah responded rather than waiting for instruction. There was no sense that one of them knew what the evening was supposed to become and the other was following. They worked it out together. Sometimes badly.
At one point Ryan shifted, elbow sliding against the sheet, and almost knocked Noah’s phone from the bedside table. Noah caught it. Both stared at each other. Then laughed. “Very sexy,” Noah said.
“I recovered.”
“You nearly killed my phone.”
“It has survived worse.”
Noah put it farther away. “Continue.”
Ryan raised an eyebrow. “Bossy.”
“You like it.”
Ryan’s smile answered before he did. The humour never entirely disappeared, even as everything became more intense. Noah liked that. He liked the way Ryan’s breathing changed when Noah stopped joking long enough to focus on him. Liked discovering that photographs had told him almost nothing useful about how Ryan reacted to touch. Ryan learned him in return. Hands. Mouths. Kisses that became messier as restraint slipped.
Noah shifted down Ryan’s body, kissing the lean stomach, the silver chain, the neat trail of hair, until he reached Ryan’s cock. It was thick, cut, already leaking at the tip. Noah took it into his mouth without hesitation, tasting the salt of precum. Ryan’s hand settled in his hair, not pushing, just resting. Noah sucked slowly at first, then deeper, letting the head push against the back of his throat, working the shaft with one hand while his other cupped Ryan’s balls. Ryan’s hips lifted. Noah took him deeper, the wet sound of it clear in the quiet room, until Ryan was breathing hard and murmuring Noah’s name.
Then Ryan pulled him up and reversed their positions. Noah lay back against the pillows while Ryan kissed down his chest, tongue tracing the lines of his stomach, until he reached Noah’s cock. Ryan took him in with the same unhurried focus Noah had used, the heat of his mouth perfect, the slide of his tongue under the foreskin making Noah’s hips jerk. They ended up on their sides, mouths on each other at the same time, the awkward angle making them both laugh once before the laughter dissolved into wet, hungry sounds. Noah’s cock was buried in Ryan’s mouth; Ryan’s was sliding deep into Noah’s. The mutual heat, the wet friction, the way Ryan’s throat worked around him while Noah did the same, built fast and messy.
Ryan felt it first. He pulled off just enough to warn, “Noah…” but Noah stayed, taking him deeper as Ryan came hard, thick ropes pulsing into Noah’s mouth. Noah swallowed most of it, then pulled off and let the last few pulses land across his cheek and open lips. The taste of Ryan brought Noah close. He pulled free of Ryan’s mouth and took himself in hand, stroking quickly until he came with a low groan, spilling across Ryan’s chest and stomach.
They stayed like that for several moments, breathing hard, cum cooling on each other’s bodies, still tangled across Ryan’s bed and trying not to laugh at how completely the report had been forgotten. Noah licked a streak from the corner of his mouth. Ryan watched him do it, then reached out and wiped a smear from Noah’s cheek with his thumb, bringing it to his own lips without looking away.
For several moments neither spoke. Then Ryan said, “So…”
Noah turned his head, cum still drying on his face. “No.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to.”
Ryan smiled. Noah was still breathing too quickly. His body felt pleasantly loose. Different from Thursday with Thomas. Not more. Not less. Ryan. That was apparently its own category. Ryan shifted onto his side. “You okay?”
Noah looked at him. “Yeah.”
“Good.”
Noah nudged Ryan’s ankle with his own. “You?”
Ryan stared. “Noah.”
“I want confirmation.”
Ryan laughed. “Very good.”
Noah recognised the shape of the joke, although Ryan couldn’t possibly know why. For a second Thomas passed through his mind. Not painfully. Just there. Then Ryan leaned closer and kissed him, tasting himself on Noah’s mouth. The thought disappeared again.
Eventually they cleaned themselves up and found enough clothing to make the kitchen respectable. They ate at almost nine. Ryan made toasted sandwiches because neither could be bothered ordering anything. Noah sat on the edge of the kitchen bench wearing his grey shorts and Ryan’s T-shirt because his own shirt had somehow ended up beneath the bed. The soft shorts still sat low, nothing underneath, the residual sensitivity of his cock brushing against the fabric. Ben wandered in halfway through and stopped just long enough to take in Noah, Ryan, and the borrowed shirt. “Biology going well?”
Ryan closed his eyes. Noah smiled. “Excellent results.”
Ben nodded thoughtfully and opened the refrigerator. “Sounded like a very intensive report.”
Noah nearly choked. Ryan stared at him. Ben kept looking into the fridge as though he had said nothing unusual. “You heard that?”
“The walls are not especially thick.”
Noah felt heat rise into his face. Ryan pointed towards the hallway. “Go away.”
“I live here.”
“Unfortunately.”
Ben took a drink from the refrigerator and shut the door. “Good luck with the discussion section.” Then he left.
Noah waited until he was gone. “I like him.”
Ryan looked horrified. “Why?”
“He’s funny.”
“He’s unbearable.”
Noah laughed. “You’re just embarrassed.”
“I’m considering moving.”
“Bit dramatic,” Noah said laughingly.
It was almost 10:30 when Noah finally found his own shirt. Ryan watched him pull it on, eyes lingering on the soft grey shorts one last time. “You going?”
“I probably should.”
“Right.”
There was no disappointment exactly. Noah could hear the possibility of it anyway. He picked up his laptop. “The report still exists tomorrow.”
“Unfortunately.”
“We need references.”
“And figure formatting.”
Noah opened the bedroom door. Ryan followed him to the front entrance. Neither seemed entirely sure what goodbye was supposed to look like now. Noah solved it. He caught Ryan by the shirt and kissed him once, tasting the residual salt of both of them. Ryan looked surprised. Only for a second. Then smiled. “See you tomorrow.”
Noah opened the door. “That sounded ominous.”
“You’re the one who kissed me.”
Ryan leaned against the frame, eyes dropping once more to the grey shorts. “Night, Commando.”
Noah shook his head. “You really aren’t stopping that.”
“No.”
Noah started down the stairs. Then looked back. Ryan was still there. Noah smiled. The walk home felt shorter than the way there. Because tomorrow, for the first time after being with a guy, Noah didn't have to wonder whether he would ever see him again. Ryan would be at university. Probably late. Probably annoying. Still there.
