Chapter 10: The Second Date
The phone was a silent, guilty weight in Matthew’s pocket for days. Patrick’s texts arrived like periodic tremors, subtle but unsettling the ground beneath him.
That was intense. We should talk.
I can’t stop thinking about you.
Mike knows something’s off. Please, Matt. Just a coffee.
Matthew read each one with a cold knot in his stomach. He’d start to type a reply—a blunt No, a cautious This is a bad idea—but his fingers would freeze. Engaging felt like opening a door he’d just nearly been crushed by. Silence felt like cowardice. He chose cowardice. He left the messages on ‘read’, a tiny, digital act of violence that gave him no satisfaction.
By Friday, the guilt had fermented into a desperate need for a clean hit of something real. He texted Sean. Still on for dinner? I need a pint. And possibly your company.
Sean’s reply was almost instantaneous. The company’s guaranteed. The pint’s on you. O’Malley’s at 7?
Perfect.
O’Malley’s was the kind of pub that felt grown from the cobblestones, all dark wood, low beams, and the perpetual, comforting scent of stout and old tobacco. Sean had already secured a snug booth in the back, two pints of dark amber Guinness waiting, when Matthew arrived, shrugging off a light rain.
“You look like a man who’s been thinking too much,” Sean said by way of greeting, sliding a pint across the worn table. His eyes were warm, assessing.
“Is there another way to be?” Matthew countered, taking a long, grateful pull. The bitter creaminess was a balm.
“Absolutely. It’s called drinking until you can only think about where your next piss is going to be.” Sean grinned, but his gaze held Matthew’s. “Seriously. You alright?”
“Better now.” Matthew managed a smile. It wasn’t entirely a lie. Sean, in a soft grey sweater that made his eyes seem greener, was a tangible, welcome anchor. They fell into easy conversation— embassy gossip, a hilarious scandal involving the Danish cultural attaché and a stolen bicycle, Sean’s plans to hike the Wicklow Mountains next weekend. Matthew felt himself unwinding, the tight coil of anxiety around his spine loosening pint by pint.
It was during a lull, as Sean was flagging down a server for a second round, that Matthew felt it. A familiar, electric prickle on the back of his neck. He knew, with a sickening certainty, before he even turned his head.
There, at a high-top table near the front window, were Patrick and Mike. They were sharing a plate of fish and chips. Mike was talking animatedly, gesturing with a chip, his face open and smiling. Patrick was nodding, but his body was angled slightly toward the back of the pub. His eyes, dark and unreadable from this distance, were fixed directly on their booth.
On him.
Matthew’s breath hitched. He quickly looked back at Sean, who was watching the server approach. When he dared another glance, Patrick hadn’t looked away. It was a raw, hungry stare that cut through the smoky air, a silent communiqué that screamed of their last, frantic minutes on the couch. Matthew’s face flushed hot. He took a hurried gulp of his pint.
“Everything okay?” Sean’s voice was casual, but when Matthew met his eyes, he saw the sharp intelligence there. Sean hadn’t missed his tension.
“Fine. Just… thought I saw someone I knew.” Matthew’s voice sounded strained to his own ears.
Sean’s gaze flicked past Matthew’s shoulder, taking in the room. It lingered for a half-second on the window table. When his eyes returned to Matthew’s, they were still warm, but a new watchfulness had settled in them. He knew exactly who Matthew had seen.
“Right,” Sean said slowly. He didn’t press. Instead, he leaned forward, his voice dropping into a more intimate register. “You know, the great thing about pubs is you can always leave. The world outside is full of other, better locations.”
The suggestion was a lifeline. The weight of Patrick’s stare felt like a physical pressure, threatening to pull him back into that vortex of poor decisions and older pain. He needed to get out. He needed to prove, to himself most of all, that he was here, with Sean.
“This round’s on me,” Matthew said, his voice stronger now. “And then… my place is just around the corner. It’s quieter. We could… continue there.”
Sean’s smile returned, a slow, promising curve of his lips. “I like the way you negotiate, Ambassador.”
They didn’t look back as they left. Matthew paid quickly, and they slid out of the booth. As they passed the bar, Matthew kept his eyes straight ahead, but he felt the heat of Patrick’s gaze tracking him all the way to the door. He didn’t exhale until they were on the damp street, the cool night air slapping his heated face.
The walk to his apartment was a blur of determined steps and shared, knowing silence. Sean’s hand found his, their fingers lacing together, a solid, present claim. Inside the bland embassy housing foyer, the quiet felt charged. They rode the elevator up, and the moment Matthew’s door clicked shut behind them, the careful calm shattered.
Sean pushed him back against the door, his mouth crashing down on Matthew’s. It wasn’t like the lazy morning kisses in Sean’s sunlit bed. This was fierce, possessive, a reclaiming of territory. Matthew met it with equal hunger, his hands fisting in Sean’s sweater, yanking it up. They broke apart only to pull fabric over heads, garments falling in a haphazard trail from the entryway to the hallway.
Sean’s mouth was on his neck, his teeth scraping the sensitive skin. “That was him, wasn’t it?” Sean murmured, his breath hot against Matthew’s ear. “Your ex. Staring like a fucking ghost.”
Matthew groaned, his head thudding back against the door. “Yes.”
“He doesn’t get to have you,” Sean stated, his voice low and rough. His hands cupped Matthew’s face, forcing him to meet his eyes. The green in them was almost black. “Tonight, you’re here. With me. All of you.”
“Yes,” Matthew gasped. “Please.”
They stumbled toward the bedroom, a frantic, disjointed dance. Sean unfastened Matthew’s trousers, shoving them and his briefs down in one rough motion. Matthew kicked free of them, then made quick work of Sean’s jeans, freeing his cock, which was already thick and hard, curving up against his stomach. They fell onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and urgent need.
Sean lay atop him, the full, hairy weight of him a glorious anchor. He kissed him deeply, his tongue claiming Matthew’s mouth. His hands roamed, mapping Matthew’s smooth chest, pinching his nipples until they peaked into hard, aching points. He moved down, his mouth following the path of his hands, sucking a bruise into the hollow of Matthew’s hip, nuzzling the coarse hair at the base of his cock.
“Turn over,” Sean commanded, his voice guttural.
Matthew obeyed, his heart hammering against his ribs. He got onto his hands and knees on the cool duvet. He felt exposed, vulnerable, and desperately, desperately wanted.
He heard the click of the lube bottle. A moment later, Sean’s slick fingers were pressing against him, circling his entrance. One finger pushed in, a smooth, burning stretch. Matthew dropped his head, a low moan escaping him.
“That’s it,” Sean coaxed, working his finger in and out, then adding a second. The burn deepened, melting into a deep, aching fullness. Sean scissored his fingers, searching, and when he brushed over that particular bundle of nerves, bright stars exploded behind Matthew’s eyelids.
“Fuck! Right there, Sean, please…”
Sean didn’t tease. He removed his fingers, and Matthew heard the slick, rhythmic sounds of him coating his own cock. Then the blunt, insistent pressure of the head was against him, nudging, demanding entry.
“Breathe out for me,” Sean whispered, his hand steadying Matthew’s hip.
Matthew exhaled, and Sean pushed forward, a slow, relentless invasion that stole the air from Matthew’s lungs. It burned, a glorious, sharp stretch that felt like being split open and remade. Sean paused, fully sheathed, his body trembling with the effort of his control. Matthew felt impossibly full, every inch of Sean’s hard cock buried inside him.
“Christ, you’re tight,” Sean gritted out, his forehead dropping between Matthew’s shoulder blades.
Then he began to move. He started with deep, slow pulls, nearly withdrawing before driving back in with a solid, grinding thrust that hit Matthew’s prostate dead-on. Matthew cried out, his arms buckling, so he collapsed onto his forearms, his ass raised high, taking every inch.
The pace quickened. Sean’s thrusts became harder, faster, less controlled. The sound was obscene—skin slapping against skin, Sean’s ragged grunts, Matthew’s choked-off pleas. Each powerful drive pushed Matthew forward on the bed, the friction of the duvet rough on his own leaking cock.
“Is this what you wanted?” Sean panted, his hands gripping Matthew’s hips hard enough to bruise. “To forget him? Let me help you forget.”
“Yes! God, yes, just like that,” Matthew babbled. He was trying. He was trying so hard to give himself over to the sheer physical brutality of it, to the way Sean filled him, to the animal sounds they were both making. He focused on the burn in his muscles, the sting of Sean’s grip, the electric jolt of each deep stroke.
But behind his clenched eyelids, flickers intruded. The memory of Patrick’s desperate, guilty face as he pulled on his sweater. The feel of Patrick’s hairy chest. The phantom weight of him on this same bed, in another lifetime. A wave of shame, hot and acidic, washed over him, even as his body convulsed with pleasure.
Sean shifted his angle, pounding into him with a new, brutal precision. “Come for me, Matt,” he growled. “Come on my cock and show me you’re here.”
The command, the raw ownership in Sean’s voice, was the final push. The orgasm ripped through Matthew, violent and obliterating. He shouted, his cock pulsing, spilling onto the rumpled duvet beneath him in thick, hot stripes. His inner muscles clenched violently around Sean, who gave three more ragged, driving thrusts before slamming home with a choked roar, his own release flooding Matthew’s depths in warm, liquid pulses.
They collapsed together, a slick, sweaty, panting heap. Sean withdrew carefully, rolling onto his side, pulling Matthew back against him, spooning him tightly. They lay in the dark, the only sounds their slowing breaths and the distant hum of Dublin traffic.
Sean pressed a soft kiss to the nape of Matthew’s neck. His hand splayed possessively over Matthew’s pounding heart.
Matthew closed his eyes, the physical satiation a heavy blanket. But beneath it, in the quiet dark, the shame crystallized into a cold, hard truth. He had been trying to fuck Patrick out of his system. He had failed.
And Sean, holding him so close, had felt every second of that failure.