Work for It

by Talia Hibbert

His gaze is burning me from the outside while my own feelings burn me from within. When I turn to ash, I hope he smears me all over himself.

When Griff’s eyes flutter shut, I tug on his hair and growl, “Look at me. Look at me while I fuck you.”

“You okay?” he murmurs, his voice a rumble against my spine. His fingers trace absent circles over my hip, and my smile widens. I don’t know why I get like this with him when I have always disliked being needlessly touched. I hope he never stops. “I’m fine,” I tell him. Then I correct myself. “I’m—great. I feel great.” “That’s good, baby.” I can hear the smile in his voice, and my feelings for him, whatever they are, tangle further. He nuzzles the back of my neck, and I shiver. “Keep that up,” I say lightly, “and you’ll get me up.” “Oh no.” Griff’s utterly deadpan.

Griff’s stony gaze is the iridescent kind, and when the light hits him just right, I see a rainbow of emotions. He bends his head and kisses me so slow, so deep, so true, that I’m caught halfway between wanting to crawl inside his skin and wanting to throw myself out of the window.

“You’re the one who organised and oversaw the whole thing. And there’s pictures of you working all over our accounts—people know who you are.” That’s news to me, the sly cow. “They do?” At least she looks a bit apologetic. “Er, yes.” “Bex—” “They like you, Griff. I thought it would be nice.” “They like me?” I feel like I’ve swallowed a wad of cotton wool. “They can’t like me. They don’t know me. It’s just pictures.” “They think you’re cute and manly and good with plants.” “All true,” Olu murmurs, and I know he’s trying to make me blush. Thank God my beard is overgrown enough right now to hide the fact he’s succeeding.

Since Henry doesn’t speak to common village folk if he can help it, he’s always behind on gossip and probably has no idea that I’ve been drooling over Olu like a besotted puppy. But the man’s finally taken his head out of his arse long enough to notice something, and I don’t want him to take that something out on Olu. See, you never can tell what rich people might do. They don’t think in straight lines. It’s like, the more money they were born with, the fewer logic points they get.

Speaking of, I need to find Olu before he does something fantastic like piss on Henry’s desk. I follow his footsteps into my building, take a quick look into Henry’s office just to make sure, then move on to mine. And there Olu is, sitting on my desk—not at my desk, but on my desk—tapping his fingers against the wood and glaring daggers at the wall. I shut the door behind me. “Don’t.”

“Oh, dear. Why do I have the feeling I’ve just royally fucked myself?” “Dunno. But you should practice that, because I won’t be doing it anytime soon.” We both laugh, but the fact is, I haven’t done it at all. Which is not to say we’ve been saints. We haven’t. And it’s not that he’s strictly a top, because we’ve talked about it, and he’s not. It feels like I spend half my life thinking about sinking inside this man, but I haven’t even tried yet, because… I just want to be sure that he’s okay. That he’s always, absolutely okay. So I’m taking my time.

I thought Olu would distract me, sitting there all gorgeous and maybe-mine, but whenever I mutter my frustrations out loud, he says things that clear my head. Things like, “Why, yes, spreadsheets are the devil,” and, “You’re not stupid, Griffin. Don’t say that.”

“You’re a brat,” I tell him. “You’ve gone all growly,” he says back. I might be embarrassed if he didn’t sound so pleased. “You’re licking me.” “But not anywhere interesting. I’m not allowed.”

“Arch your back.” When he obeys beautifully, I tease his hole with the fat head of my dick, giving him just the tip until he’s almost spitting. “You fucking bastard,” he growls, bucking beneath me. But I’m bigger than him. “This is what you want,” I tell him, and he doesn’t disagree—he can’t disagree. But he can call me an evil shit and swear that, “If you don’t fuck me now, Griff, I will ruin your life.” “I find it really hot when you threaten me.” My dick pulses like it’s testifying. “Fuck me, then,” Olu snaps, but there’s a desperate edge to his voice, and he’s rutting against the sheets like he can’t stop. “Fuck me.”

He’s chanting my name into the pillow like I’m a god. Sometimes he makes me feel like one. And even though it’s reckless, even though it’s fucking pointless, I can’t stop myself from whispering into his skin, “I love you.” For a moment, every inch of him freezes—but there’s no ice to it, somehow, and a second later, he’s relaxed again. He lifts his hips and fucks himself back on me, and we both make this low, strangled sound of pleasure at the same time. Being inside him is like touching the centre of the earth. Being with him in any way is like dying and going to heaven. Olu is everything.

I lose whatever threads of control I had left, grab his shoulders, and drag him closer as I fuck him deep. It’ll never be deep enough—I want to live inside him, the only place in this world I could ever be safe, even if I’m too big to fit.

She is scrubbing her daughter’s football boots. Watching her makes me think of Elizabeth, and the nights we spent dyeing pink pointe shoes brown.

I’m assuming we’ll still be friends, after you go, and I’ll see you again.” Perhaps that’s supposed to be a question, but she says it rather firmly. And it’s easier than I expected to reply, “Yes. Yes, of course we will.” I sit back, pleased with myself. That felt rather like progress. Then Maria ruins it all by adding, “Or maybe you’ll fall wildly in love with Griff and stay here forever.”

Time slips through my fingers like fine soil. It’s running out. He’s running out. We’re running out.

Thursday night, I take my mother’s ashes to the woods and try to put her in the earth. Just like ten years ago, I can’t. Olu rubs soothing circles over my back and takes me home again, and the way he holds me in my bed should make me happy—but all I can think is that it should be our bed. There should be an our bed and there never will be. I want to punch Henry’s smug face in; I want to roar at every villager who looks right through me; I want to shake the ones who watch me as if I’m a rabid dog. I want to burn the woods Mum used to love, because I walk through them now and I can’t even see her ghost anymore.

Maybe there’s dissatisfaction sitting right under his tongue, and I’ve been drinking it like cordial. Oh-fucking-well. I’ll spend the rest of my life remembering how good he tastes.

Now it’s Friday morning, and I’m on my hands and knees, yanking out the dandelions by my office building’s front door and imagining they’re all Olu’s tongue—the same tongue that tried to let me down gently before losing patience. Ever since he left, his words have been ringing louder and louder in my ears. I would’ve given him anything. I put my heart and my world and my entire fucking self on the table, and he said, “I don’t want you to.” I almost wish he’d said what he really meant: “I don’t want you, Griffin. I came here to escape something, and you helped, Griffin. But did you really think I’d fucking keep you, Griffin?” I should’ve known better. No-one keeps me. No-one.

I’m not ready to be around people yet; not when Griff is still in my blood. Not when I can’t forget the look on his face when I pushed him, once and for all, away. He never told me out loud that he feels constantly rejected, that it digs into his skin like a burr. I noticed that fact on my own, and then I used it.

“Theo, what are we talking about?” “We’re talking about the fact that you’ve been avoiding my calls, your sister told my sister you’re acting weird, and then, for the first time in our lives, Keynes, you just claimed you were too busy to help someone. You, who almost missed your final tort law exam because you were helping your next-door neighbour bury their ferret.” “For Christ’s sake, will you ever stop bringing that up? I assure you, I really didn’t want to.” “But you did it anyway,”

“I think you’re lying,” Liz tells me calmly. It takes a moment for me to absorb her meaning, but when I do, my mouth actually hangs open. I am awash with shock and indignation. Did this little brat just call me a liar? How dare she disbelieve my carefully constructed falsehoods! I expend all this energy on faking happiness for her, and she simply calls me out? Children are so ungrateful.

Gently, she asks me, “What happened, Olu?” For a moment, I can’t reply. Then Isaac says, “Bet you any money it’s a fella.” I scowl. “For fuck’s sake, Montgomery, disappear.” Lizzie puts a hand over her mouth. “Olu! Is it?”

I pound at the front door, and someone tall, thin, and very much not Rebecca opens it. I really don’t have time for this. “I’m looking for Griff,” I say without preamble, “or someone who knows where Griff is.” The man gives me a slow, sceptical look up and down. “Quickly,” I snap. The fine lines on his forehead become deep furrows. “So,” he says. “You’re the bloke, are you?” I sigh. Then I shout at the top of my lungs, “Rebecca!” It does the trick.

Without Olu. Although, sometimes it doesn’t feel that way. I sort of see him everywhere. Like, when I arrived here, I remembered the way he’d described it and compared everything I saw to the memory of his voice. Even now, I see someone walking toward my bench from the corner of my eye, and some awful, hopeful voice in the back of my mind says, That’s Olu. The fine hairs on my arms stand up like an electric charge has washed over my skin, as if it’s actually him. Then he says, “Griff,” and I almost fall off the bloody bench.

What the fuck is he doing here? How is he here? Why is he here? My tongue feels too heavy to ask any of that, and my hands are grasping the bench tight enough to ache. I sort of want to throw something at him and run away, so I don’t have to face how much I love him or how much it hurts. But judging by Olu’s expression, if I really wanted to avoid him, I’d have to throw something pretty damn big. Because he looks determined.

“I pushed you away,” Olu says. “I lied to you, when I said we were too much work. I’m sorry for acting as if there was nothing between us, when there’s everything. And I am so fucking sorry for hurting you, Griff.” His voice doesn’t waver, and neither does his gaze. “I want you to know that I only did it because—because I was struggling with myself, and I couldn’t believe that you might love me anyway. I’m not sorry for feeling that way, exactly, because dealing with those feelings is… part of me,” he says, as if the words are brand new and he’s still learning them. “So I can’t apologise for that. But I am sorry it made me lash out at you. Sorrier than I can say.”

I think he needed me more than I knew, and I was too hurt to notice. I replay the things he said to me that day, the wild look in his eyes that screamed Escape, and I see everything a little differently; it’s like pouring light into a shadowed room and watching the monsters melt back into furniture.

“I need you to know,” he says, “that I adore you. In fact, I—I love you. A lot. A ridiculous amount, really, but who am I to argue with, er, feelings?” He winces. His discomfort is a weight on my chest; the kind that comes from a huge dog trusting you enough to fall asleep there. “I love you,” he repeats, firmer now, “and you’re brilliant, you’re gorgeous, you’re perfect—for me. I think you’re perfect for me. So, I wanted to ask if you’d possibly give me another chance. Because I want you. I mean, forever. I—okay, that’s enough.” He nods sharply and presses his free hand into his thigh.

“Griff,” he says suddenly, and his foot starts to tap. I think he does that when he’s nervous. “Do you want me to leave?” “What? No!” I blurt. “Oh.” The tapping stops. “Right. You just looked…” he laughs. “You’re thinking ferociously again.”

Then his mouth is there, hot and sweet and cautious. A hello kiss, the whisper-soft brush of skin on skin. An I missed you kiss, holding still and breathing each other’s air. I whisper into his mouth, “Please don’t leave me again.” “I won’t,” he says. “I won’t.” “And I won’t stop loving you when things get hard. Please try to believe that. Because I’m going to prove it.”

I press our foreheads together, let him feel my lips move against his. “You’re not a burden, Olu, not to anyone, and especially not to me. I know you’re depressed. I know you have bad thoughts sometimes. I know all that, and I love you as you are. I want you to feel better, but I love you as you are.”

“And I love you.” “It’s not a competition,” I say solemnly. “If it was,” he tells me,...

“Alright, then. No condom. How thrilling.” He’s trying to be sarcastic, which means this is a big deal for him. “Since I also forgot my dick worked, here.” He produces a little tin of Vaseline and throws it on the bed. “We’re DIY-ing it today.”

“Did you miss me?” Olu asks lightly. “It feels like you did.” “Yeah, yeah. I’m about to fuck you legless. Let’s see if you can be smug then.” “I can always be smug, darling.”

“Jesus,” Olu pants, tugging at my hair. “Come here. Just fucking—come here. I need to see you. I need you in me.” I give him one last lick and straighten up. “Well, since you need it so bad…” “Actually, never mind. Get my dick in your mouth again so you can’t talk back.”