Arcana by Jess Whitecroft

Author:Jess Whitecroft [Whitecroft, Jess]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: LGBTQ, paranormal, romance, mystery, contemporary
Published: 2020-06-12T23:00:00+00:00

*

That night was so hot that even the sand dunes were groaning about it. They hummed with a subtle, shifting drone that sounded like the monolith at the beginning of 2001: A Space Odyssey. Gus lay naked and sweating in his bedroom, a two wall, two windowed square that was almost an exact facsimile of Michael’s. Two boxes, separated by a decking walkway. If he reached across and twitched back the curtain he could almost see into Michael’s box. The lights were on and Michael’s cheesecloth drapes only veiled the interior rather than concealed it.

The room was empty. Gus could make out the bed and the shoulder of the cello case. He was about to draw the curtain back across when he saw movement in the dark, then Michael – glass in hand – stepped into the box of light. Gus froze, but of course Michael couldn’t see him. He knew he shouldn’t watch, but he seemed unable to tear his eyes away. Michael set his glass of water on the nightstand, then crossed his arms at his waist to pull his t-shirt up and over his head. The cheesecloth was so thin that Gus could make out the dark ink of Michael’s many tattoos – all those Hands of Glory, Eyes of Horus and astrological glyphs.

Michael unfastened his belt and started to remove his jeans. Gus caught a glimpse of pale hip and the shadowed crack of his butt before forcing himself to pull the curtain back across. He flopped back on the bed, hand over his mouth, appalled by how it had come to this. Two naked people in two near identical boxes, both desperate to be in the same box together, but neither having the nerve to cross the space between them. There was a metaphor in there somewhere, but he was too tired and horny to hammer it into shape.

“Go to sleep,” he told himself, under his breath. This was how things had to be. He had a duty of care to Michael, and that meant keeping it in his pants.

No sooner had he rolled over and closed his eyes, he heard the plaintive creak of a cello.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” he said, but no. Michael was actually doing this again. He was scraping his way through warm up scales, and Gus knew what came next – an endless loop of cockblocked Bach. “Brat. Absolute brat.” He was reaching for his shorts when it occurred to him what Michael was up to. He was going to make Gus come over there and tell him to knock it off.

Gus flicked back the curtain again. He could make out Michael’s silhouette, his head bent and his bare legs wrapped around the waist of the cello.

The little shit.

Gus lay back again and squeezed his eyes shut, pushing both fists into his eye sockets as if he could somehow blot out the sight that was tempting him. If he had to get out of bed and go over there then it was over.

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