Rory and Sebastian Ch. 20

"Did you love him?"

"How could I love someone who wasn't you?" He said it with such sincerity and total simplicity that it stopped me in my tracks. "Please take my hand again," he asked, his voice rising and falling softly, undulating and pulling me in. I took his hand and he ran his free hand through the back of my hair.

"You mustn't be sad," he intoned. He'd said that to me once before, long before, and the tone was the same. Polished, elegant, flickering tones and lyrical smoothness. "You mustn't be angry, my darling. It's happened now and it's in the past."

I nodded.

"Talk to me," he commanded, beautifully.

I shook my head and lifted my head, my heart skipped a beat and my hand tightened around his. We were together again, everything seemed to melt away for a moment. "I love you."

"I love you, too, very, very much," he answered.

"It's just very hard for me to think of you as somebody else's boyfriend. Excruciating, actually, Rory."

"And it makes me want to vomit with fear at how much sex you've had. But it's happened, Sebastian, and we've come out of it still in love with each other. Haven't we?"

"Of course we have. You're my guy," I repeated.

"And you're mine. All these things, they're not going to matter if we hold onto each other. If we talk about them now, we'll find a way through them. I don't want to be without you again and I never want to let you go."

I smiled and the rain outside poured down harder. We stayed there for another forty-five minutes, I think, maybe a little longer. I drove him home and we began to laugh a little, at some memories and some random observations from the wedding the night before, the past and the future colliding nicely with each other. He shut down the idea of us formally reconciling there and then in the car, because he didn't want to restart the relationship in the car where we had both made each other cry. I understood that and when I dropped him off home, he kissed me on the cheek. After he left and I drove back to my house, his smell lingered in the car and I already missed him. By the time I got back, I had a text from him: -

"I love you. See you tomorrow at 11 xx"

***

== From Rory's POV ==

The next day dawned cold and clear, with the air only just a little damp from the heavy rainfall the night before. It would lift as the day dragged on. The sky was clear.

I can remember glancing out my bedroom window at half-past eight and feeling so completely elated. I can't explain why the news of Sebastian's other sexual partners didn't bother me too hysterically. In part, it was quite obviously because the gossip mill had given me a heads-up. I knew it was coming and I had mentally prepared myself by being firm with my own neuroses. After all, it had been my decision to end things and to maintain distance for so long. What had I expected: that he would remain a monk? Yes, of course, on some level there was a part of me that would have been overjoyed and immensely soothed if he could have told me honestly that there had been no-one else. Or, at the very least, only a very few. But I could be a realist when dragged to it. Sebastian was confident, handsome, a little cocky and very sexy. I hadn't asked him to take a vow of celibacy for me and I had no right to, either. When I sat down next to him in his car the night before, I had been holding myself in, steeling myself for the test of seeing how much damage had been done and how I would - or could - handle it. I had been surprised that it turned out that the real emotional damage, at least in the long-term, had been more on his end than mine. And he had taken the news of my relationship, that half-baked sequel to mine and his, far more painfully than I had taken the final confirmation of his active sex life.

I stepped into my shower and adjusted the nozzle as the too-hot water caused me to start. I began to lather up and congratulated myself on remaining so calm about his other partners, in what must have been a sure-fire testament to my personal growth. I knew that running into any of the people he'd gone to bed with would hurt, but when would that happen? And even if it did and it was uncomfortable, uncomfortable things are a part of life: was any of it really worth not being with him, again? Was anything?

I thought of Alisdair, Sebastian's temporary replacement. A lovely guy. Clever, elegant, funny, confident, but not Sebastian. In my eyes, who could compete? Whatever happened next, whatever had happened since, from the moment I had collided with him in the streets outside my hotel in Edinburgh, I had known that there was no going back. I had known it ever since Alisdair and I had broken up, or perhaps it's safer to say drifted apart, at the end of the summer term. I must have. On paper, Alisdair was perfect. I stepped out of the shower and glanced at myself in the mirror - naked and slightly wrinkled from the water. I steeled myself to look, inhaled and mentally steading myself. The love bites were still on my torso and I ran my fingers over them lightly. Had I ever, realistically, believed that there was any way I'd be completely happy away from Sebastian?

After I was dressed - jeans, black sweater, newish shoes - I curled up in an armchair in my room and tried to read. There was already a text from Sebastian: "Can we meet at 10? xx"

"Sure," I responded, mentally panicking that he had changed his mind. "Why? xx"

A few seconds later came the response: "I just can't wait to be next to you again. Spent 2 much time apart. I feel like this text merits an emoji?"

I smiled and wrote back, "I'd rather kill myself than use an emoji. 10 works fine. I can't wait to see you again."

I can't remember what the book in my hands was. Some novel that on another day I might have enjoyed. I picked a wax jacket out of my wardrobe, scarf and gloves and walked down the stairs at 9.55. My brother Dermot, in the standard rugby sixth year boy's day-off ensemble of sweatpants and t-shirt, was in the sitting room just off from our entrance hall. The beautiful Christmas tree twinkled behind him, as he munched a bowl of cereal and watched TV.

"Where are you going?" he asked, barely flicking his eyes away from his crappy show.

"Out," I replied.

"No shit, Raz. Who with?"

"Pardon?"

Dermot and I are nobody's fool and we could read each other and the rest of our family very well. He turned to look at me, his face now glowering with undisguised and knowing antipathy. "Seriously? 'Pardon?' You clearly heard me."

I rolled my eyes. "Don't start, Dermot."

"He's a cunt."

He had swivelled in his armchair to engage fully in the conversation and I felt myself getting angry. The coat felt heavy over my arm. "He is not a cunt," I answered, firmly. "You liked him."

"Past being the operative tense."

"He didn't..."

"He broke your heart."

"It was complicated."

"Nope," he said, angrily, "it wasn't. You love him. I get that, whatever. But he's still a cunt, Rory. And he'll do it again."

"You don't even know if we're getting back together!" I snapped. Why the fuck had I said that? It would just make telling him later even worse.

"I know you. When you didn't want to get back together with Sebastian Carson, you kept him as far away from you as you could. And since the wedding... For fuck's sake, Raz. You deserve better."

"I think I can be the judge of that, don't you?"

"Yeah, you're right," Dermot said, with tidal-wave levels of sarcasm. "I'm just your brother. Why the fuck should anything I say matter?"

"Well try fucking acting like it then!" I shouted. I swung the front door open, stepped out of the house and slammed the door behind me. Sebastian was getting out of his car in the driveway, determined to knock on the door this time. I had to give him points for manners and moxie.

"What's wrong?" he asked, instinctively.

"Nothing," I lied. "Where do you want to go?"

I was walking towards the car, but he crossed round and stood in front of me, taking my hand. "You're shaking."

"Nothing, I'm just... Stupid family stuff. Can we go?"

He glanced over at the house, then back to me: "Sure."

To his credit, as we drove to the forest car park where, two years ago we'd gone walking and had rambunctious sex in the rain, Sebastian did not ask anymore questions. If there was anymore proof needed that he knew the argument had been about him, his silence was it. He was too good and too selflessly noble in a crisis to ask, "Was it about me?" in case it magnified the stress or put himself in the centre of attention. He kept up a steady stream of distracting chatter and it reminded me of how much I loved him: he wasn't an emotional voyeur. He knew when to get angry and when to get involved; he knew when to step back and let things slide. It's a rare skill. Like so many of his.

We drove past Saint Eustace's Church and I blessed myself. A fond and teasing smile tugged at the corners of his lips, but he said nothing. We reached the car park and stepped out in the freezing December air. He reached into the back for his own coat, tugging it on over a thick cableknit sweater he was wearing.

"So?" He said, falling into step next to me as the winter sun splintered into light around us.

"So," I answered. An emotional call and response. I put my hand above my eyes to shield out some of the Sun's blinding glare.

"Are you my boyfriend again?"

"Am I yours?" Mary, Mother of God, that was a pathetic response! How cringe-inducing. Why did I say that? Fix it! "Yes."

A smile broke across his face. Both our faces. And he leant in to kiss me. I wish I could tell you that after so long it had been a moment of sublime melodrama, of angst and tears and passion, like the time he flung me up against the tree in the driving rain the first time we kissed. Or his plate-smashing loving fury at his uncle's cottage. But it wasn't. After eighteen months, the finale had been transformed into an intermission and it all slotted very gently back into place. We fell back in to one another, into each other, into us, on a cold crisp English winter's day and as I felt our fingers interlock as he kissed me, all I could do was devoutly thank God for bringing him back to me.

***

Our mutual friend Robbie took the news of our reunion even better than I had expected. Although Robbie had been angry on my behalf during our break-up and, with Virginia, even helped determine it in their own way, he had remained close to Sebastian, Seb, as he and everyone bar myself, his mother and Virginia, called him. Robbie was, I think, lad enough to sympathise with Sebastian with the benefit of hindsight. He smiled when I told him and clapped me on the shoulder, "I think that's for the best," he grinned. "I always hoped you two'd work it out eventually."

Virginia was more sanguine, but hardly condemnatory. She raised the issue of the distance between Saint Andrew's and London, but, that aside, she simply asked how I felt about it, commented that she had felt sorry for Sebastian in her own way when we broke-up and said, with the kind of firm pragmatism I loved about her, that no-one knew a relationship better than the two people involved. Our "In a relationship with" moment on Facebook, a staple in the cyber age which Sebastian insisted upon honouring, drew dozens of likes but Dermot and I did not thaw to one another for at least a week and his non-like of the status was, to me, louder than the dozens who did click.

My brother point-blank refused to even acknowledge Sebastian's name in conversation, left the room when I told my parents we were dating again, went upstairs when he saw Sebastian pulling into our driveway and since I'd be damned before I'd climb down over this before he would, we were still technically on non-speakers with one another when we went to Midnight Mass with our family on Christmas Eve.

As the candles flickered in the gloom of the chapel, the heavy scent of incense swirled around us and Father Bridgeway intoned the Mystery of Faith, my father glanced down the pew to throw a reproving glance at Dermot and I, who were sitting next to each other but yet to even look in one another's direction until the Sign of Peace forced us to shake hands half-way through the service. "God be with you," Dermot said, quietly.

"And also with you," I replied.

He half-smiled awkwardly and hunched over. Then he nudged my shoulder, "Happy Christmas, Raz."

"Happy Christmas, Dermot."

"Hail Mary, Full of Grace," sang Father Ridgway, "The Lord is with Thee! Blessed art thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of Thy Womb, Jesus."

As we sang back, "Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death," I saw my father nod with curt approval at the rapprochement between his two eldest.

***

===From Sebastian's POV===

Two days after Christmas, Evan sat opposite me at the local McDonald's, where we'd stopped en route home from the stables where our horses were stabled. I was starving and as we tucked into our food, he raised the subject of New Year's Eve.

"Have you two any plans?"

I nodded and swallowed, "Yes and no. Dominic's having a big NYE part, but Rory got wind that Joshua Peterly is on the invite list and doesn't want to go."

"Is that the guy you used to hook-up with before him in school?"

"Yup - shithead," I took a drink. "I fucking hate the little dickhead, so I'm fine with staying in, too. All our friends are going to Dominic's and Rory thinks it'd be too aggro to start an alternative party all because of Joshua. So we're probably just going to stay in at ours. I've already said to Mom and Dad, and they're cool with it."

"That's probably for the best," Evan agreed. "I think Sarah and I are going to spend a few hours there, then head over to her sister's for about 10.30."

"Awesome."

"Mom was so pleased you and Rory were back together," Evan grinned. "You couldn't have asked for her to like him more, right?"

I smiled, "Yeah, that was really nice. Jenny, too. His brother wasn't exactly thrilled, you know."

"How many does he have?"

"Three," I answered, "but the eldest, after him, Dermot's, in Upper Sixth now and I think he knew a bit more about what went on when we broke-up. I like Dermot, so it's a bit annoying, but I guess he was there to see how upset Rory was..."

"I was there to see how upset you were and I don't dislike or blame Rory," my brother interjected, clearly a little riled on my behalf. "Why does this kid feel the need to get involved?"

"Same reason you feel the need to get involved now, Evan," I jibed.

"Fair," he laughed. "Have you two spoken about visiting each other or how you're going to make it work when you go back for next semester?"

I swirled a fry around in barbeque sauce. "We have. He's coming down to visit first and then we'll be together half-way through semester when we go to Leeds to visit Robbie for his birthday and then towards the end, I'll go stay with him for a few nights in Saint Andrew's. And Skype at least twice a week."

"Saint Andrew's is supposed to be really stunning," said Evan. "You'll love it. History geek."

"Yeah, the only thing is, and it sounds fucking dumb, but Rory's ex-boyfriend lives in the halls next to his up there and apparently they have a lot of mutual friends. I'm kind of worried of what it will be like to meet him, because it's more or less impossible that we won't if everyone's going out together. And I'm not sure how I feel about it. It makes me really... I dunno..."

"This is the guy he dated for a few weeks..."

"... Four months..."

"... when you two weren't together?"

"Yup. I asked Robbie. The guy's name was Alisdair, does Theology, just like Rory. Robbie never met him, but..."

"Seb, stop this. Don't let it get in your head as something to be paranoid about. He broke-up before you two started to get back together again, didn't he?"

"Yeah, but..."

"Then clearly it wasn't working for reasons totally unrelated to you! Do not make this a big thing. Especially since he has been nothing but very, very supportive and understanding of how many guys you hooked-up with when you two split-up. Look, Sarah dated two other guys when her and I broke up. Did I like it? Of course I fucking didn't, but it happened, it's life and you have to move on with it, you know? If you don't want Rory to fling your actions in your face, you can't make a big deal out of his. And Seb, look, even leaving aside relationship tactics, anyone can see when he's around you that he absolutely adores you. And the feeling's mutual. Listen to me, you met the one when you were eighteen years-old. I have a feeling, and my gut tells me I'm right, Rory is my future brother-in-law because you are going to marry your high school sweetheart. And that's incredible. You've got him back and this kid Alisdair, for all you know, might have no interest in Rory anymore. They dated for a few weeks, months, whatever, in their first year of college. That's hardly unusual! You're with the guy you love and who loves you. Don't freak out about anything. It's not like you!"

I smiled, "Thanks, Evan. Are you going to finish those fries?"

"Yeah, I am. Touch them, and I'll break your fucking fingers, dude."

***

Just after midnight, and the Auld Lang Syne, Rory and I slipped into my bedroom at my parents' house. I turned the main light on, walked over to my bedside table, turned the lamp on and Rory clicked the main light off. The room was bathed in its soft glow, flowing over the contours of Rory's face as he walked towards me. We kissed each other deeply and my hands went round his waist, pulling him in closer until he was pressed tightly against me. His trailed awkwardly up my back until they were on the back of my neck.

"Happy New Year, I suppose," he said, as we separated. My right hand snaked round to his front and went down to the crotch of his trousers, massaging his building thickness through the fabric. I pulled him back into me for another kiss and began slowly shuffling him backwards towards the bed, until he crumpled over onto it and I lowered myself in with him. I was hard and began to unbutton his shirt. When it had separated along the buttonholes and fallen on either side of his body, I stepped back and, looming over him, pulled my red Christmas sweater off and shucked it to one side. I was completely topless as I leaned back in towards him, but just before our lips locked again, his right hand came up to my chest and stopped me going any further.

"Wait," he said. I leaned back, supporting myself with my arms on either side of him. Beneath me, those big beautiful dark eyes of his were swimming with an emotion that even I couldn't decipher.

"What is it?" I asked, softly, stopping down to kiss him gently on the side of his neck. But his right hand didn't go away and I was gently nudged back into my former position.

"I've just realised something," he said, in some kind of half-whisper.

"What, baby?"

'I've just sort of figured out... it's just sort of hit me that this is the last time I'll ever have sex with someone different again in my whole life. I know the wedding was, technically, but I didn't... I mean, this is definite. There'll never be anybody else as long as I live. I'm just very happy. I wanted to say it. I wanted you to know."

I felt my lip quiver and my chest contract. My hand went round the back of his neck and pulled him in towards me again. My tongue slipped into his mouth possessively. His torso crushed his right hand, still there, into mine. Mid-kiss, I began to unbuckle his belt and yank off his trousers.

"Me too, Rory," I said, flipping him over onto his front, pulling off shoes, socks and boxers and pulling his ass cheeks apart. I began to lick his asshole, lubricating it up with my spit, by the time he was wet enough for me to slip a finger in there I angled myself until I was on top of him and I kept fingering him as I whispered in his ear: "I love you so much and I will ask you to marry me one day."