Further Away
Thomas left at seven on Friday morning.
Noah knew because his phone buzzed at 7:06. He was still in bed, staring at the notification for several seconds before opening it even though he already knew who it was.
A photograph filled the screen.
Road. The bottom edge of a windscreen. Pale morning light stretched across trees on either side, the highway disappearing between them. A takeaway coffee sat precariously in one of the cup holders.
Thomas had added:
We escaped.
Noah smiled despite the small tightness beneath his ribs.
Already?
My friend believes sleeping is a moral weakness.
I hate him.
You haven’t met him.
Still.
Three dots appeared.
How are you feeling?
Noah stared at the question. Physically, yesterday remained present in small ways. His shoulders carried the pleasant heaviness of swimming and climbing over rocks. Other parts of him were more aware of the afternoon than they had been when he fell asleep - not exactly sore, just enough of a reminder that his body had done something new and very thorough. Emotionally was harder.
Fine.
Thomas replied almost immediately.
Nothing?
Noah laughed quietly.
Maybe a little tired.
Better.
Where are you?
About forty minutes north.
Forty minutes. They had not even been gone an hour.
Noah opened Grindr almost without thinking. Thomas was there. Forty-eight kilometres. Yesterday afternoon the number had been four. Noah knew exactly what was happening. Nothing dramatic. A car moving north along a highway. Forty-eight would become sixty, then eighty, then a hundred. Thomas had always been temporary. Knowing that did remarkably little to improve the number.
Another notification appeared.
Ryan.
Morning, Commando.
Noah switched chats and smiled before he could help it. He was still naked under the sheet, the soft fabric of the bed warm against his bare skin.
You need new material.
Absolutely not.
Then:
Shorts today?
Noah looked down. The sheet sat low across his hips; he had gone to sleep naked after washing the salt and sand from his skin.
I’m not even dressed yet.
Even better.
That wasn’t an invitation.
Shame.
Then:
But when you do get dressed. The dark ones from yesterday?
Noah glanced towards the laundry basket. The soft dark shorts still carried the faint scent of the beach and of Thomas.
You seem very attached to those.
Then a thought occurred to him.
What are you wearing?
The typing indicator appeared. Stopped. A few seconds later a photograph arrived.
Ryan was lying back against his pillows, shirtless, one arm bent behind his head, dark hair still messy from sleep. The silver chain rested against his chest, catching the morning light. Black shorts sat low on his hips, low enough that the V of muscle disappeared beneath the waistband, the fabric soft and slightly tented in a way that was carefully casual. The angle was plausible and deliberate enough that Noah noticed every detail.
The message beneath it read:
Current situation.
Noah enlarged the picture slightly, attention catching first on the chain, then the bare stomach, then the low waistband and the soft shape beneath it.
Ryan sent:
You looked.
You sent it.
Good defence.
Noah laughed, the sheet shifting against his own bare skin.
What time are you at uni?
I’m not.
What?
No classes Fridays.
For some reason, that was mildly disappointing. Ryan had appeared often enough around campus this week that Noah had already begun expecting him there. At station twelve. Across a courtyard. Somewhere nearby with that silver chain catching the light.
So you’re lying in bed sending me pictures while I have lectures?
Correct.
Terrible person.
I prefer efficient.
What are you doing all day?
Important things.
Such as?
Another photograph arrived.
Same position, except this time a closed notebook had been placed dramatically across Ryan’s stomach - and lower. The shorts had been pushed further down, the waistband now sitting well below his hips, the notebook carefully covering exactly where the soft outline of his cock would have been visible. Bare skin, the neat edge of trimmed hair just visible above the notebook’s cover, the silver chain still resting against his chest. The composition was deliberate.
Noah laughed, heat settling low in his stomach.
Studying?
Preparing.
The notebook isn’t even open.
You’re very judgemental this early.
Some of us actually have university.
Sounds awful.
Noah shook his head. Thomas was already forty-eight kilometres away and getting farther from him every minute. Ryan wasn’t going to be at university at all today. And yet Ryan was still here, sending carefully composed photographs that stopped just short of explicit and left Noah half-hard under the sheet.
Friday had started. Whether he was ready for it or not.
By the time Noah reached the kitchen, Sophie was sitting alone at the table with both hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. Her hair was loose, and she wore sleep shorts and an old university T-shirt.
Noah had pulled on soft grey shorts but nothing else. A week ago he might still have wondered whether walking into a shared kitchen shirtless was too familiar. Apparently a week was enough. The soft fabric sat low on his hips; the lack of anything underneath was obvious if anyone looked closely, but neither of them commented.
“Morning.”
“Morning.” Sophie looked him over, bare chest, the soft shorts, the easy way he moved through the space. “You look tired.”
“Thank you.”
“It wasn’t criticism.”
“It didn’t sound complimentary.”
She smiled and pushed the coffee pot towards him. Marcus had already left; one of his containers was missing from the refrigerator, and his gym bag was gone from beside the front door. Liam’s bedroom door remained closed.
“I made too much.”
“You’re my favourite housemate.”
“You’ve known me for a week.”
“Still enough data.”
“Marcus is going to be devastated.”
Noah poured himself a mug and sat opposite her, the soft shorts shifting against bare skin as he settled. For a little while they drank in silence. It wasn’t awkward. That still surprised him occasionally.
Sophie looked at him over her mug. “So… First week almost survived.”
“Almost.”
“How is it?”
“Uni?”
“Everything.”
Noah considered the question. “Weird.”
“Weird good or weird bad?”
“Mostly good. I know where most of my buildings are now.”
“Impressive.”
“I’ve only taken the wrong bus once.”
“Basically a local.”
“That’s what Callum said.”
“The reptile guy?”
Noah looked at her. “How do you know about Callum?”
“Marcus told me.”
“Of course.”
“Apparently he likes lizards.”
“That is a significant understatement.”
Sophie smiled. “I want to meet him.”
“You say that now.”
She took another sip. “And the house?”
Noah glanced around the kitchen. The scarred table. The mismatched cupboards. Someone’s abandoned water bottle beside the sink. A note from Marcus reminding everyone the milk was nearly empty.
“Good.”
“You looked around before answering.”
“I was gathering evidence.”
“Scientist already.”
“Exactly.”
Noah smiled. “I think I’m getting used to everyone.”
“That’s dangerous. Soon you’ll start leaving things in communal areas.”
“I already do.”
“Then it’s too late.”
She asked whether his parents were still checking that he was alive. Noah admitted his mother was.
“That settles down,” Sophie said. “Mine wanted photographic evidence that I owned vegetables for the first month.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
Noah glanced towards the meal-prep containers in the refrigerator. “Marcus would have done very well.”
“He would.”
“He scares me a little.”
“He should.”
“Very reassuring.”
“He’s harmless. He just thinks everyone secretly wants a training program.”
“That part might be true.”
Sophie pointed at him. “See? He’s already got you.”
She checked the time. “What have you got today?”
“Lecture. Tutorial. Another lecture.”
“No lab?”
“Not today.”
“Quiet one, then.”
“Apparently.”
Sophie stood and carried her mug to the sink. “I’m working tonight, so I’m counting this as my social contribution for the day.”
“This?”
“I made you coffee.”
“Fair.”
She rinsed the mug, then looked back at him. “You settling in okay, though?”
The question was casual but genuine. Noah nodded. “Yeah.” And realised he meant it. A week ago the house had belonged to three strangers. Now Marcus was already gone, Liam was sleeping down the hallway, Sophie was standing barefoot at the sink, and Noah was sitting shirtless at the table drinking coffee as though he had been doing it for months - soft shorts, bare chest, the quiet domesticity of it all feeling more significant than it should have after the week he had just lived.
“Yeah,” he said again. “I think I am.”
Sophie smiled. “Good.”
Callum was outside the lecture theatre when Noah arrived, leaning against the wall and staring at his phone.
“Lizard?” Noah asked.
“Bird.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be.”
Callum turned the screen around. A tiny blue-and-black bird filled it. “Superb fairywren.”
Noah examined it. “That’s actually pretty good.”
Callum brightened. “Right?”
“I regret encouraging you.”
“Too late.”
They went inside together. The lecture was about cellular membranes. Noah expected to be bored and instead found himself genuinely interested in diffusion gradients and membrane proteins, in how much more active cells were than school diagrams had made them seem. Callum took obsessively neat notes.
Noah’s phone vibrated once inside his bag. He ignored it. Then again. Callum glanced sideways. “You’re demonstrating impressive restraint.”
“I’m learning.”
“Is it Commando?”
Noah turned. Callum’s mouth twitched. “I hate you.”
“You never explained it.”
“And I’m not going to.”
“Then I’m forced to investigate independently.”
“That sounds threatening.”
“I’ve considered several hypotheses.”
“Please don’t.”
Noah lasted another minute before checking the phone beneath the desk.
Ryan. A photograph showed him still at home, shirtless again, sitting against his headboard with coffee balanced against one raised knee. The silver chain caught the light. The soft black shorts sat low enough that the V of his hips was fully visible, the fabric soft and slightly strained.
University going well?
Some of us are actually learning things.
I learned how to make coffee.
Proud of you.
Thank you.
Then:
What are you learning?
Noah glanced at the projected slide.
Membranes.
Hot.
Everything is hot to you.
Not everything.
Then:
You in those shorts probably would be though.
Noah looked down at the soft grey shorts he was wearing, the same ones from the kitchen, nothing underneath, the fabric sitting low and soft against bare skin. Heat moved through him.
You’re supposed to be asking about university.
I did.
Very briefly.
How’s reptile guy?
Noah looked sideways at Callum.
Callum is currently judging me for checking my phone.
Tell him I remember the pipette story.
Noah glanced at Callum. “Ryan remembers your pipette trauma.”
Callum stopped writing. “Ryan?”
“My lab partner.”
“I know who Ryan is.”
“That sounded judgmental.”
“You’re talking about me?”
“He asked.”
“Why?”
“Apparently you’re memorable.”
Callum considered that. “Tell him Eleanor is still a threat to precision instrumentation.”
Noah laughed and typed it.
Thoughts and prayers.
Callum nodded solemnly when Noah showed him. “Tell him I appreciate his support during this difficult time.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because there is a lecture happening.”
“You started this.”
“I absolutely did not.”
Noah locked the phone, the soft shorts shifting against him as he resettled in the seat.
They ate lunch on the grass outside the science building. For almost ten minutes they actually talked about the lecture. Then Noah’s phone vibrated.
Thomas. A photograph showed a petrol station beside the highway. Thomas stood beneath the canopy holding two coffees, sunglasses on, his friend visible only as an arm reaching into frame.
Civilisation.
Noah smiled.
Where are you?
Thomas sent the name of a town Noah didn’t recognise. Noah opened Grindr. One hundred and thirty-seven kilometres. The number sat there with an uncomfortable kind of precision.
Callum opened his drink. “Everything okay?”
Noah looked up. There was no teasing in the question. “Yeah.”
Callum waited. “Someone I met left this morning.”
“Left university?”
“No. The city.”
“Oh.” Callum took a bite of his lunch. “Friend?”
Noah hesitated. “Something like that.”
Callum nodded as though that were enough. “He’s travelling?”
“Yeah.”
“For long?”
“No idea.”
“That would annoy me.”
“It does.”
“Good.”
Noah frowned. “Good?”
“Would be weird if you cared that he left and it didn’t annoy you.”
Noah considered that. “That is surprisingly sensible.”
“I’m full of depth.”
“You sent me six reptile facts yesterday.”
“Seven.”
“That’s worse.”
Noah’s phone buzzed again.
Ryan.
Lunch?
Yes.
With reptile guy?
He has a name.
I know.
Then:
Callum.
Noah stared at that.
You remembered.
I occasionally listen.
He smiled. Callum noticed immediately. “There’s the face again.”
“There is no face.”
“There absolutely is. Is it Ryan again?”
Noah gave up. “Yeah.”
Callum nodded and returned to his lunch. Nothing more. Noah looked at the dark screen of his phone. Thomas more than a hundred kilometres north. Ryan at home remembering Callum’s name, sending photographs that stopped just short of explicit. Callum sitting beside him as though none of it required explanation. For the first time, the different parts of Noah’s new life were beginning to touch.
By late afternoon, Friday had become almost aggressively ordinary. No dramatic revelation. No stranger in a shower. No Thomas waiting outside campus. Just lectures, a tutorial, bad coffee and Callum explaining why one of Noah’s assumptions about Australian snakes was offensive to science. It felt strange after the week he had just had. It also felt good.
When Noah got home, Liam was in the lounge with his laptop. Sophie had already left for work and Marcus was still out.
“Good day?” Liam asked.
“Yeah. Boring.”
“Congratulations.”
Noah stopped. “What?”
“First normal day.”
He smiled. “Actually, yeah.”
In his room, Thomas was now two hundred and twelve kilometres away. Ryan was seven. Noah stared at both numbers, then put the phone down, the soft grey shorts still sitting low on his hips, nothing underneath.
Saturday morning arrived without an alarm.
Noah woke slowly, sunlight already bright around the curtains. For once there was nowhere he needed to be. He was naked under the sheet again. Ryan had messaged twenty minutes earlier.
Morning, Commando.
Morning.
Plans today?
Absolutely nothing.
Ambitious.
I worked hard all week.
You attended university for five days.
Exactly.
Noah typed:
What about you?
Similar to yesterday.
Noah smiled.
Being shirtless in bed all day?
The response came almost immediately.
It’s like you already know me.
Before Noah could answer, someone knocked once on his door.
“Gym. Nine-thirty,” Marcus called.
Noah stared at the door. “What?”
“Legs.”
Footsteps moved away. Noah looked back at his phone.
Apparently I no longer have no plans.
What happened?
Marcus.
Gym?
Apparently.
Voluntarily?
That part is becoming unclear.
Ryan reacted with a laughing face.
Good luck.
That sounds ominous.
I’ve met gym people.
Noah smiled and got dressed - soft black training shorts, nothing underneath, a sleeveless shirt that left his arms and the lines of his shoulders bare. The soft fabric of the shorts settled low on his hips.
Marcus treated leg day as though he had a personal grievance against walking. They started with squats, then split squats, then something Marcus called a warm-up that Noah considered grounds for complaint.
“My legs are already shaking.”
“That’s dramatic.”
“You live with Liam. You should recognise the genre.”
Marcus laughed. “Again.”
Noah reset his stance.
“No. Feet slightly wider,” Marcus said.
Noah moved them.
“More.”
“That feels wrong.”
“It isn’t.”
Marcus stepped closer. One hand settled at Noah’s hip, the other against the outside of his knee, guiding him a few centimetres wider. The contact lingered, fingers pressing firmly into the muscle, thumb brushing the edge of the soft shorts, staying a beat longer than necessary before adjusting the angle.
“Keep the knee tracking there.”
His voice was completely normal. Professional. Exercise-science normal. Noah looked at him through the mirror. Marcus was watching his stance. Probably. But his hands stayed on Noah’s body a second longer than the correction required.
“Got it?”
“Yeah.”
Marcus removed his hands slowly. “Better.”
Later, during Romanian deadlifts, Marcus shook his head after two repetitions. “You’re losing the hinge.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
“Of course you don’t. Push your hips back.”
Noah tried. “No. Back.”
“They’re attached to me.”
Marcus sighed and stepped behind him. Both hands settled firmly at Noah’s hips, fingers spreading across the soft fabric of the shorts, guiding the movement with deliberate pressure. It was entirely legitimate coaching. That did not prevent Noah from noticing how close Marcus was standing, the heat of his chest almost against Noah’s back, or the way his hands stayed locked on Noah’s hips for several full seconds after the movement had been corrected.
“Like that.”
Noah met his eyes in the mirror. Marcus held the position for another second — hands still firm on Noah’s hips, body close — before stepping away. Noah tried again. The movement immediately felt different.
“Oh.”
“Exactly.”
“That’s annoying.”
“What?”
“That you were right.”
Marcus smiled. “Do another eight.”
By the time they reached the leg press, Noah had stopped pretending he would walk normally afterwards. Marcus’s hand landed briefly on his thigh while Noah finished the final repetition - palm warm, fingers pressing into the muscle just above the knee, staying until the platform settled into place.
“Good.”
The touch was probably encouragement. Probably. His hand stayed there a second longer anyway. Nothing happened. That was becoming its own kind of pattern - lingering hands, open looks, and the quiet decision not to name any of it.
The showers were busy enough that morning that neither of them spoke at first. It felt almost ordinary. They had seen each other naked before. Noah stepped beneath the water, Marcus took the shower beside him, and for several minutes they simply washed.
Then Marcus turned. His eyes dropped. Only once. Noah saw it. He looked too. Water moved over Marcus’s shoulders and chest before disappearing lower. Marcus had stopped pretending not to notice when Noah watched him. Their eyes met. Stayed there. Then Marcus’s gaze dropped again, slower this time, lingering openly on Noah’s body under the spray. No smile. No comment. Nothing Noah could point to afterwards and call proof. Noah’s cock began to thicken under the open attention. Marcus’s did the same - the soft hang becoming heavier, the head starting to emerge as the water ran over him.
Noah turned towards the water. When he looked sideways again, Marcus was still watching, eyes moving slowly over Noah’s chest, stomach, the growing hardness between his legs. Something shifted in Marcus’s expression, barely anything, as though he knew exactly what they were doing and had decided not to be the first one to acknowledge it. Both of them were half-hard now, the mutual awareness thick in the steam. Noah looked away first. Not because he particularly wanted to. They finished showering without speaking, the residual hardness fading slowly as they dried off and dressed.
In the changing area Noah checked the time. 10:50.
“You working today?”
“Eleven.”
“You’ve got ten minutes.”
Marcus shrugged while pulling on his shirt. “I work next door.”
“That seems unfair.”
“One of the benefits.”
“You planned this.”
“The gym?”
“The timing.”
Marcus glanced at him, eyes dropping once more to the soft black shorts Noah had pulled back on, nothing underneath, the fabric still slightly damp in places. “Maybe.”
For half a second the shower followed them into the changing room: the staring, the mutual hardness, the silence, everything neither had said. Then Marcus picked up his bag. “Stretch later.”
Marcus headed for the door. Noah watched him go. This time, he didn’t bother pretending he wasn’t.
The walk home confirmed that Marcus had successfully destroyed his legs.
Liam was sitting at the kitchen table with his laptop open and coffee beside it when Noah returned. He looked up. Then looked again - at Noah’s bare arms, the soft black shorts, the slight visible outline of his cock, the way he moved carefully into the room.
“You look terrible.”
“Everyone in this house is incredibly supportive.”
“Marcus?”
“Legs.”
Liam winced. “Yeah.”
“That sounded personal.”
“It is.”
“What did he do to you?”
“Walking lunges.”
“Where?”
“Hallway.”
“You agreed to that?”
“Once.”
“What happened?”
“I learned boundaries.”
Noah laughed, took water from the refrigerator and lowered himself carefully into the chair opposite him, the soft shorts shifting against bare skin.
“Tomorrow’s worse,” Liam said.
“Don’t.”
“I’m warning you.”
“That isn’t helpful.”
“It will be when you try stairs.”
Noah stretched one leg and immediately regretted it. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to convince myself I understand statics.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Thanks.”
For a minute Liam typed while Noah recovered. Then Liam looked up. “How did Thursday go?”
Noah knew immediately what he meant. “Good. Really good, actually.”
“Where did you go?”
“The beach. Smaller one farther out. Thomas knew it.”
“Sounds decent.”
“Yeah.”
The cove returned easily. Cold water. Rocks. Thomas beside him. Then the slow push inside, the tight heat, the way Thomas had come while Noah was still buried in him, the cum Noah had licked from his stomach and painted across his face. The quiet beneath the overhang afterwards, when neither of them had seemed in any hurry to leave. Noah’s cock thickened inside the black shorts.
Noah turned the water bottle slowly between his hands.
“He left yesterday.”
Liam looked up. “Thomas?”
“Yeah.”
“Already?”
“His friend wanted to keep moving. They headed north yesterday morning.”
Liam nodded slowly.
“So Thursday really was goodbye.”
“Yeah.”
Noah picked at the edge of the bottle label.
Liam watched him for a moment.
“You okay with that?”
Noah gave a small shrug.
“Not really.”
The answer came out more easily than he expected. Liam closed the laptop a little farther.
“You liked him.”
It wasn't phrased as much of a question. Noah looked towards the window.
“Yeah.”
Saying it aloud felt different. Not enormous. Just more definite than keeping it inside his own head.
“I think I did.”
Liam nodded.
“That sucks, then.”
Noah smiled faintly.
“You’re the second person to tell me that.”
“Who was first?”
“Thomas.”
That made Liam laugh. “He told you his own leaving sucked?”
“Basically.”
“At least he’s self-aware.”
Noah smiled.
“The annoying part is nothing actually went wrong.”
Liam waited.
“He didn’t turn into an arsehole. We didn’t fight. I knew he was leaving. He just…” Noah shrugged. “Left.”
Liam leaned back.
“Nothing to be angry about.”
That landed with uncomfortable accuracy. “Exactly.”
Liam shrugged. “You can be annoyed anyway.”
“Thanks for permission.”
“You’re welcome.”
They sat quietly for another moment. Then Liam asked, “How did you meet him?”
The question was so casual that Noah nearly answered without thinking. “Grindr.”
Liam went still for half a second. “Oh.”
There it was. Noah felt warmth rise faintly into his face. “Yeah.”
Liam processed it. “Right.”
“I just didn’t realise.”
Noah smiled faintly. “Neither did I. Not properly.”
Liam’s eyebrows lifted slightly.
“I had a girlfriend last year.”
“Oh.”
“And I liked her. I still like girls.”
Liam nodded.
Noah looked down at the bottle. “But apparently…”
He gestured vaguely.
Liam’s mouth tilted slightly. “Guys too?”
Noah laughed softly. “Apparently.”
There was another small pause.
Then Liam nodded once.
“Okay.”
That was all.
Noah stared at him.
Liam noticed.
“What?”
“That’s it?”
“What else is there?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want me to make it weird?”
“No.”
“Good. I wasn’t planning to.”
Something inside Noah loosened. The kitchen didn’t change. Liam didn’t look different. The refrigerator still hummed behind them, and Marcus’s protein shaker was drying upside down beside the sink. After a moment Liam glanced over again.
“So you met a French backpacker on Grindr less than twenty-four hours after moving here.”
Noah closed his eyes. “There it is.”
Liam laughed. “I’m not judging.”
“You sound like you’re judging.”
“I’m impressed by the efficiency.”
“That’s worse.”
“A little.”
Then, quieter: “You okay, though?”
Noah considered it. “I’m a bit shit about him leaving.”
“Fair.”
“But yeah. I’m okay.”
“Good.”
Noah leaned back carefully, grimaced, and Liam noticed. “Stairs tomorrow.”
“Fuck off.”
Liam laughed and returned to the laptop. Noah stayed at the table. He didn’t particularly need to. But he did.
That afternoon Noah discovered Marcus had been lying. Stretching did not help. He lay across his bed shirtless, soft grey shorts low on his hips, one leg hanging over the edge when Thomas messaged shortly after four.
A photograph showed the ocean somewhere farther north, darker water beneath a distant cliff line.
Not terrible.
Very philosophical.
I am growing.
Noah opened Grindr. Three hundred and eighty-six kilometres. Yesterday morning he had watched it reach forty-eight. He switched back to their messages.
Where are you staying?
Thomas named another town.
Hostel?
Of course.
Good shower?
Priorities.
Then:
Maybe.
A moment later:
How are you going?
Marcus destroyed my legs.
Again?
Apparently I learn nothing.
I noticed.
Noah smiled. He almost left it there. Then typed:
I talked to Liam about you today.
Liam?
Housemate.
The one with the girlfriend?
Noah laughed softly.
Yes.
What did you tell him?
That you left. That Thursday was basically goodbye.
Then:
He asked how we met.
And?
I told him.
Grindr?
Yeah.
A pause.
So now he knows.
Thomas understood immediately what Noah had not quite said.
Apparently.
How was that?
Noah thought about the kitchen table. The laptop. The complete lack of anything dramatic after he said the word.
Normal.
Good.
Then:
I’m glad.
Noah stared at that one.
Me too.
The conversation rested there. Noah didn’t try to restart it. Thomas was elsewhere. Nothing more complicated than that.
Fifteen minutes later, Ryan messaged.
How bad?
I can barely walk.
That good?
Noah stared at it, then smiled.
The workout, Ryan.
Obviously. What else would I mean?
You knew exactly what you were doing.
No idea what you’re talking about.
Sure.
Then:
So are you spending the rest of the day horizontal?
Noah looked at himself stretched across the bed, shirtless, soft shorts low on his hips, nothing underneath.
Currently.
Lucky.
You spent most of this morning in bed.
And I stand by that decision.
Noah smiled. He had no plans for tomorrow. More importantly, he realised he wanted one.
Do you want to go to the beach tomorrow?
The reply took just long enough for him to notice.
With you?
That was generally the idea.
Yeah.
Then:
Definitely.
Something warm settled low in Noah’s stomach.
Late morning?
Works for me.
Main beach?
Sure.
Then:
Are there clothing requirements?
Noah laughed.
Swim shorts would probably help.
Probably?
It is a public beach.
Very restrictive.
You’ll survive.
You keep saying that.
You keep proving me right.
A pause.
What are you wearing now?
Shorts.
Very informative.
You asked.
Which shorts?
Noah smiled.
Why?
Scientific interest.
Obviously.
So?
Noah looked down at the soft grey shorts. He could tell Ryan. Instead, he opened the camera. He angled the phone down his body. Bare chest. The lean lines of his stomach. The shorts sitting low across his hips. He hooked two fingers into the waistband and pulled it down slightly, not enough to answer the question Ryan actually wanted answered, only enough for the first edge of trimmed dark hair to appear above the fabric, the soft shape beneath the shorts still mostly hidden but suggested. He sent it.
Evidence.
The reply came almost immediately.
Barely.
Noah laughed.
They are clearly shorts.
Technically.
They’re halfway off you.
Exaggeration.
Strong supporting evidence though.
Still just evidence.
Then Ryan sent a photograph.
This one sat lower than the others. He was still shirtless, silver chain against his chest, but the frame followed his stomach towards his hips. Dark shorts sat very low - lower than before - one hand resting at the waistband as if he had stopped just before the photograph became something else entirely. The soft outline of his cock was clearly suggested beneath the fabric, the angle deliberate, the lighting soft. No caption.
Noah looked at it twice, heat settling heavy and low.
Then Ryan sent:
Evidence.
Barely.
Exactly.
Ryan knew exactly what he was doing.
You’re terrible.
You started it.
I sent you shorts.
Barely.
Tomorrow might be interesting.
You invited me.
I remember.
Good.
Noah looked at the photograph again.
Still looking?
He considered lying.
Yeah.
A pause.
Good.
That single word worked considerably better than it should have. The room was warm, late-afternoon light stretching across the wall. Somewhere down the hallway Liam moved through the house. Ryan was seven kilometres away. Tomorrow he would be considerably closer.
Their messages continued in fragments, teasing that became less innocent without either of them deciding when it happened. Ryan’s photograph stayed open on the screen while Noah let the tension of the conversation take over. He pushed the soft shorts down just enough, wrapped a hand around himself, and stroked slowly, the image of Ryan’s low shorts and the careful almost-explicit framing keeping him hard and leaking.
For a little while there was only Ryan. Nearby. Someone he would see tomorrow. At some point Ryan wrote:
Tomorrow is definitely going to be a problem.
Noah looked at the message, fist still moving. He remembered the same words from Wednesday night. Except tomorrow there would be no laboratory bench between them. No lab coats. No Callum one station over. Just Ryan. The beach. Several hours neither of them had any academic reason to spend together. Noah stroked faster, the wet sound quiet in the room, the photograph of Ryan’s low shorts and bare torso open beside him.
He came with a low breath, thick ropes spilling over his fist and onto his stomach, the image of Ryan still on the screen. He cleaned up slowly, licked his fingers, and typed:
See you tomorrow.
Definitely.
He put the phone beside him, Ryan’s photograph still open on the screen. Then he stopped trying to think about tomorrow at all.
