The Layover Read online

  There is something peculiar about the sensation of another person’s skin against your own. When we lay there, Jamie and me— touching from heads to toes, thrusting our hips together, clutching at arms and shoulders, hooking our feet around each other—there was arousal of course. A whole lot of that. But I felt so much more—how it calmed and grounded me to touch the planes of his torso and the lean muscles of his thighs with mine. I kissed my way down his body, tasting him everywhere, committing him to my memory, realizing with some indignation that he was going to fill my imaginary spunk bank for many months. Hell, maybe years. So eager, so responsive, his whole body vibrated under my touch.

  When I finally took his slender cock in my mouth and looked up, he was watching just as he promised. Our eyes met, and he moaned loudly, his gaze fixed on my face, his hand on my cheek, his thumb tracing the corner of my stretched lips. I was free-falling, hoping like hell that when I landed and splashed my brain on the ground, it would be quick and painless.

  I did exactly what he told me he imagined, even if it took quite a bit of high-level multitasking. So when he began slowly losing it, moaning and begging with abandon, I was sheathed and ready. My fingers were twisting inside of his body, I swallowed around his perfect cock, and he arched off the bed. I heard him hiss please several times before he clutched my head between both his hands and came, thrusting into my mouth uncontrollably. I took it as well as I could; my eyes watered when I almost choked. But I didn’t mind because he wasn’t selfish. He was just able to let go. I made him let go entirely.

  “Sorry,” he whispered.

  I scrambled up his body and shushed him with a kiss. “No, nothing like that. No apologizing,” I mumbled against his lips while I hooked his legs around me. He was still trembling with aftershocks, and I sank inside him, watching his face.

  His eyes glazed over, half closed, his mouth parted, there was a deep blush on his cheeks, and the way he licked his lips looked positively obscene. I held still for a while, letting him adjust, maybe even enjoying the quiet hush that seemed to cover us as we lay there, joined. Looking into his eyes, I felt a stab of fear that left a burning sensation in my chest for a second. Before I could ask myself why, Jamie interrupted my train of thoughts.

  “C’mon,” he said with a sigh and squeezed my asscheek with his hand. So I pushed deeper, and Jamie threw his head back, giving out a low guttural sound. It was the single most erotic thing I’d ever witnessed.

  I had no worries about hurting him, not anymore. He was sprawled under me looking like the epitome of deep satisfaction, first boneless, staring up at me with those half-lidded glassy eyes, mouthing broken words of appreciation and recklessness, then holding on to my neck, dragging me down forcefully to kiss him again. I briefly thought of all the mythical sex-crazed creatures—vampires and the incubus—and the underlying sense of dread never left me. Because even though the metaphor was bordering on hallucinatory, the danger felt very real to me. He would suck my blood and poison me, eat me alive. Jamie would ruin me; I knew that from the moment he kissed me for the first time. Scared and frantic with joy at the same time, I gazed at him, lost in him, as he consumed me entirely.

  I tried to hold back for as long as I could, going slow and faster and slow again, adjusting our position and waiting for the right reaction from him, watching his eyes close from sensory overload before he forced them open again so he could see me. See us. I was sure I had never exercised that much control over my body in my life before. But Jamie was wicked when he let go. He met my movements with determination, no doubt trying to make me lose it. And because he truly was a demon, far too soon I did lose it.

  I started talking. I don’t know what I said. I honestly can’t recall a single word besides Jamie. I think I said his name a lot. I’m pretty sure the rest was in Slovak. Jamie snuck one hand between our bodies, and his grip on my arm became painful when, to my amazement, he came again, stroking himself just a couple of times, shouting and prolonging my orgasm until it hurt. I wanted to stay inside him for as long as he’d let me, unmoving, just feeling the heat of his body.

  He was so beautiful, glowing in the yellow light of the bedside lamp. Holding myself above him with one arm, I lifted my right hand and touched the few glistening splashes of come on his stomach. Some of it was caught in the barely-there happy trail below his navel. I begged silently for the memory never to fade. I wanted to save the picture of Jamie lying under me, soft, limp, and open, his arm bent at an awkward angle against the headboard, small tufts of hair visible in his armpit. There was a birthmark on his throat just under his jawline, and his swollen mouth was parted with ragged breath.

  I was kissing him again. More like eating at him, pressing my tongue into his mouth almost violently. I was ravenous and terrified because it struck me that this was it. The single most erotic moment of my life. Best sex ever. It was all I would get, and it was over.

  He kissed me back, trying to keep up, but he seemed to be half-asleep. I was an asshole again. I made myself slow down, nuzzling his sweaty face, brushing my lips against his cheek.

  “Amazing. You are amazing,” I mumbled against his temple.

  “Stay, don’t move,” he said.

  Oh God. I pressed my hips closer to him to keep my half-hard cock inside him.

  Jamie sighed. “Feels so good,” he whispered.

  “Yeah,” I managed, broken.

  His eyes were closed and his features slack. I pressed my lips against his eyebrow and just breathed. We lay like that for a few minutes while his grip on my neck loosened ever so slowly. I had to take care of him and let him sleep.

  I held the condom in place and stood carefully, mourning the lost connection immediately. I brought a warm wet towel, wiped Jamie’s stomach, his soft cock, ass, and thighs. He rolled on his side, almost asleep already. I cleaned up in the bathroom and went back to bed, refusing to put any clothes on. I wanted to feel him.

  I hugged Jamie close, and he tucked his head into the hollow beneath my shoulder and hummed in contentment. He must have been exhausted. He felt heavy and warm in my arms. He nuzzled my chest for a moment, and in just a minute, I felt his breathing even out. I kept my fingers in his hair, afraid to move because then he might turn away from me.

  When I was sure he was deeply asleep, I stretched my left arm toward the nightstand and fumbled for my phone. Jamie’s flight was leaving an hour before mine. I had no clue where his phone was. For all I knew, he left it in his room. I set the alarm for eight in the morning so that he could pack and eat some breakfast before he had to go.

  In barely six hours, the alarm would go off. I put the phone back on the nightstand, trying not to jostle the precious cargo on my chest. Jamie stirred and snuffled before settling even closer, tightening his arm over my stomach.

  The last thing I saw before I fell asleep was an ugly hat lying on the floor by the door.

  I WAS already awake when the alarm started playing Simon and Garfunkel. Jamie lay pressed to my side as close as he could get. Maybe he was cold during the night. But he felt warm and cozy against my skin now.

  I painted lazy circles on his arm and shoulder, refusing to think about leaving. I knew we had to. I just refused to acknowledge how I felt about it. My senses were full of him, his scent, the texture of his skin, the softest sound of his breath. I needed to suppress my arousal. I doubted he would appreciate me jumping him when he was supposed to be packing and checking out of the hotel.

  I turned off the alarm, but he didn’t seem to wake up.

  “Jamie, we have to get up.”

  He mumbled something into the pillow.

  I know it’s a cliché. Everybody looks cute when they’re asleep. But Jamie…. I threaded my fingers through his hair and kissed his forehead, inhaling deeply. There was no point in playing it cool. He was leaving in a few hours. Jamie was leaving. Everything felt surreal. Last night, him being here, him leaving so soon. And the most unfathomable thing was me, feeling like this, failing at this for the
first time.

  “Dobré ráno, láska.” Good morning, love, I cooed in Slovak just because I could.

  He opened his eyes. They were drowsy and red-rimmed with deep dark circles underneath. He looked very pale, still so tired.

  “Ondro?”

  “Perfect pronunciation.” I smiled. “Come on, it’s eight. We should eat something and check out.”

  He blinked several times, trying to decipher the odd reality. I was scared of how he would react. How drunk was he yesterday? Would he regret it? I might. Much later though and probably for different reasons.

  He sat up slowly while I was trying to gauge his mood. He ran a shaky hand through his hair.

  “I feel like shit.”

  “How much did you drink after I left?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re a lightweight.”

  He smiled wearily. And then he caught my hand in his, looked at it briefly, and kissed my palm. My eyes drifted closed with relief.

  “Thanks for the alarm. I’d have overslept.”

  I squeezed his hand. “Go pack and we can meet in the lobby. Do you want to have breakfast with me and maybe share a taxi to the airport?”

  “That’d be great. I need coffee. Jesus, what was in those drinks?”

  He looked half-dead. I sat up as well and kissed his neck. Leaning back, he rested his head on my shoulder.

  Shit.

  It was going to hurt. I could feel it coming. Like a stirring in those depths of my brain that haven’t been touched in years. Why the fuck now? Just because it was impossible? Weirdly, a part of me was trying to sabotage the rest. Conflicted was not a correct enough word to describe it. I felt utterly overthrown. My life had decided to demote me. I was a helpless observer while everything I was supposed to have under control just rushed ahead into the unknown chaos dragging my banged up body behind. I held Jamie closer.

  “How can I be this hungover when I wasn’t even properly drunk? That’s unfair,” he complained, his eyes closed, and his nose was skimming my jaw.

  I didn’t answer. My throat closed up, and I couldn’t speak. He didn’t treat me like a hookup. He behaved and moved as if he trusted me, as if he knew me. Our bodies interacted as if we’d been lovers for years. I couldn’t make myself draw the line either. I kissed his forehead instead.

  I could pretend that we were just going to pack our things, take a taxi to the airport together, and get on a plane somewhere, whine about the food and airplane coffee together. We would come home tired, into a small, cluttered apartment that had blurry contours in my imagination. An actual home. We would heat some frozen pizza and cuddle on a sofa watching old episodes of Red Dwarf until he would fall asleep in my arms again.

  He scrambled to the edge of the bed and stood, swaying a little. I reached out to steady him.

  “Fuck, it’s cold in here,” he complained.

  He had goose bumps on his arms. I couldn’t watch him get dressed without feeling embarrassingly desolate. So I turned away, fumbling with my boxer briefs and shirt.

  I dressed and packed the few random items I didn’t put in the bag yesterday. I caught my reflection in the narrow mirror on the other side of the door and started. I watched the stranger in the mirror, still bent over my suitcase. He was looking back at me with fearful eyes and parted lips. He looked like someone I used to know. I frowned at the thought and immediately recognized myself again. There, that frown, that was me.

  I double-checked my tickets and the location of my passport routinely and went to join Jamie in the bathroom.

  The door was open, and Jamie stood there, looking very poorly. He held on to the sink, his head bent like he was going to be sick.

  “Hey, are you okay?”

  “I don’t know. I probably only need caffeine.”

  I stroked his shoulders and arms up and down. He turned and leaned into me, and I hugged him tight. We stood like that for a minute until he took a step back, and I dropped my arms.

  “I’ll meet you downstairs in fifteen, okay?” he said, not looking at me.

  “Yes.”

  He nodded, staring at his feet, and with a deep sigh he turned away. I had to close my eyes. I was so close to crying it was ridiculous. How the hell did I get here?

  The door to the small room closed with a soft click.

  I peed, shaved, brushed my teeth, and splashed a lot of cold water on my face. When that didn’t help, I took a cold shower.

  I looked at the man in the mirror again, the man I used to know. I’ll be fine. I always am.

  BREAKFAST WAS torture. The room buzzed with businesspeople and families, turning our silent corner into a plaguing contrast. Jamie was trying and epically failing to keep a decent conversation going. I didn’t know if it was because he still felt ill or because he found the situation awkward. I felt empty.

  He ate very little but clung to his coffee mug like it was his lifeline. He looked out the window, and I couldn’t help but watch his profile, letting the desolation flood me. In the cold morning light, his skin was almost completely white. He’d tied his hair into a little bun again. The whisper-soft strands that curled around his ears made my fingers tingle with the need to touch him. His mouth was tense with sharp brackets around the corners as if he were in pain. I imagined pulling him over onto my lap, tucking his head under my chin, and comforting him until I’d feel his smile against my throat.

  So I dug my nails into my palm painfully, drank my coffee, and said nothing.

  AN HOUR later, we sat in the back seat of a taxi. The trip had taken barely fifteen minutes yesterday, and now on our way back, for the first time in my life, I wished for a traffic jam. Pathetic.

  Jamie almost fell asleep against my shoulder. He looked as if he needed someone to take care of him, and I wished like hell it could be me. And that was what made something in my head click. Like a safety switch. My brain couldn’t take the emotional overload, so it turned the critical circuit off.

  In the end, I was pleasantly numb when we dragged our bags toward the check-in area. Jamie’s flight was due in a little over one hour, so I went with him, helped him with his bags, and followed where the security line ended.

  We stood in the middle of the busy terminal staring anywhere but at each other.

  “I should check in too, and you should hurry to your gate,” I said matter-of-factly.

  He didn’t answer, just made a weird sound in his throat that made me look at him properly for the first time since we’d left the hotel. He was almost gray in his face.

  Jamie nodded jerkily, his eyes half-closed. I scrambled for something reasonable to say to him, half looking for excuses to get his phone number or, at least, an email address. Shit, I didn’t even know his last name. At the same time, I wanted to turn away and run, never to see him again, wishing I could forget him as soon as possible. I dug deep to reach my dwindled reservoir of basic humanity so I could just hug him goodbye.

  Jamie swayed from side to side infinitesimally, his eyes squeezed shut, and he spread his arms as if he were readying to jump. That… was weird. I realized almost too late that he was just trying to keep himself on his feet.

  I caught him, and he slumped in my arms like a rag doll. What the…?

  “Ondro, I don’t think I’m hungover,” he mumbled into my shoulder so weakly, I barely heard him.

  “Jamie? Jamie!”

  He was passing out on me. Eyes closed, body limp, mouth slack, ghostlike paleness, seriously passing out. Shit, shit, shit!

  I exclaimed something again. I think I shouted “kurva” quite loud. Not a polite thing to scream at an airport in the middle of Europe—half of the nations east of Berlin use the same vile expletive. But it’s not like my filter was on at that moment.

  I went down on my knees on the faded gray tile, cradling Jamie like a child. For a confusing second his shaking interfered with mine. Helpless. Oh fuck, I was helpless. The sounds around me melted into a high-pitched ringing. I felt hot. It was like stepping out of m
y apartment building in Dubai, going from twenty-five to forty degrees Celsius in a second, getting punched in the face by the heat, trying not to faint.

  Please, calm down, please, be able to do something. Do something!

  My training kicked in at the same second as the adrenaline flood made my whole body pulse with energy.

  “Jamie, do you have any allergies? Diabetes? Does your chest hurt? Did you take some medicine? Talk to me! What is it?” My questions came too fast. I was fucking it up.

  “Nothing. No allergies. No pills.” He seemed to be trying to open his eyes, but his eyelids only fluttered. I went through the motions: his pulse, his eyes, his temperature. He was burning up. When did that happen?

  “Mmm… head hurts really bad. Feel weak….” He talked slowly and slurred his words.

  Where the fuck was my phone? How would I reach it? I’d need to let go of him. I couldn’t let go of him.

  “Jamie, your stomach? Are you going to throw up?”

  “No. Just cold.”

  I shrugged off my coat and cuddled him to my body, covering him. I looked around from our spot on the floor. People stared, but no one seemed to understand that we needed help. Then I saw a uniformed guy coming toward me. He was tall and slim with a big head; he looked like a stick figure. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

  “Hi! I think we need an ambulance. He’s passing out. He has a high fever and pulse, and I don’t think he can walk. He’s breathing fine. A strong headache. No drugs, no chronic diseases. The fever seemed to come freakishly fast,” I rattled, hoping the guy understood.

  He nodded, his eyes wide open when he dug out a phone and started talking in rapid-fire Swiss German. It hit me then that he looked a lot like Stephen Merchant. His big bony hand shook, and it calmed me as if his tension were draining my nerves.