A Quiet Kind of Thunder(73)

Everything about this moment is perfect. When he asks me if I’m ready, his eyes both nervous and excited, I mean it when I nod yes.

His touch is hesitant now, and I feel his nerves as we slide under the covers together, face to face. I kiss him to ground us both and he wraps his arms round me, pulling me close. Between kisses we shed our clothing, top to bottom, slowly at first and then faster. In no time at all we’re both down to our underwear and he is starting to ease down my knickers and oh my God has there ever been a more perfect moment in the history of moments and I’m going to have sex and it’s not going to be crap like everyone says the first time is and holy crap we’re naked and he’s getting on top of me and –

And then it all gets awkward very fast. Half leaning on me, Rhys pushes his hand down between us both and there’s some kind of sweaty fumble, then a judder. He half thrusts, half pokes his penis at my leg. I hear him grunt, then there’s another attempt at adjusting himself. I let out an involuntary ‘ow!’ when he puts his elbow on my hair, and am grateful he can’t hear me.

After another few awkward seconds I reach down, take hold of his penis and guide him. He breathes into my ear, drops a kiss on my neck, then raises himself on his arm so he can kiss me as he pushes his way in. The moment itself is not exactly painful but not exactly pleasurable either, and I’m glad he’s not looking at my face, because I can feel I’m screwing it up involuntarily. The whole thing is so much . . . realer than I was expecting, so much more physical. Maybe I’d always imagined sex as more like a dance or something, instead of this sweaty tangling of bodies and body parts that it actually is, and the reality is a sloppy, slightly anticlimactic surprise. I guess it takes time to –

And then, suddenly, it’s over. Rhys’s face tightens, his eyes glaze over, he lets out a noise I’ve never heard before, then collapses against me. He’s sweaty and hot. I love him, and I’m glad we’ve shared this intense, sensual thing, but ew. Can I push him off? Is that allowed?

The whole thing has lasted less than two minutes. Passenger is still singing about his heart being on fire.

Rhys rolls off me and I try not to be too obvious about wiping his sweat off my chest. He beams at me, all breathless and hopeful, and oh God, I do love him.

OK? he asks.

I nod, beaming back. He leans to kiss me, softly this time, and I have had sex. Suddenly, for no reason at all, I want to cry, even though the impulse makes no sense. I push my face against his chest, not caring now about the sweat, and close my eyes, listening to his heartbeat. I think, Rhys, Rhys, Rhys. I feel him wrap his arms round me, safe and warm and close. I think of everything that led to this moment and all that could come next for us. I think how nice it is to be part of this us.

Rhys pulls back a little. With one hand, he signs, I love you.

I look at him, trying to turn this moment into a sense memory I can keep and return to forever. I love you too, I sign.





I wake up the next morning with half my body hanging off the side of the bed. I blink, trying to figure out where I am, and then it all comes rushing in. I’m in Edinburgh! I had sex! (Twice! And the second time was so much better!)

I sit up and look over at Rhys, who is lying on his stomach, face buried into the pillow. It would have been more romantic to wake up in each other’s arms, but oh well. Can’t have everything.

I lie back down and curl up next to him, resting my cheek against the smooth slide of his shoulder blade. He makes a happy snuffling noise, but doesn’t properly stir. I stay like that for a while, too awake to doze but also too relaxed to get up. Outside I can hear the soft rumble of cars through the double-glazing of the windows. Someone walks down the hallway talking loudly about the merits of croissants versus Danish pastries. I close my eyes.

Later, we go for a late brunch in a Scandinavian cafe on the way to Arthur’s Seat. We get one full breakfast and one plate of French toast and share them across the table, tapping each other’s hands out of the way to spear potatoes, dropping forks with loud clangs to speak.

I tear off a hunk of French toast and begin to chew. So is it a mountain? Bonus of BSL: talking with your mouth full and it not being rude.

More like a hill, he says. Arthur’s Seat is the peak. The views are amazing.

How many times have you been up there?

Only once. I was about eight.

Is it a big climb?

He smiles, Not really. You’ll be fine. We’ll be up and down in a couple of hours. Wait until you see the view. We’ll get some great pictures.

My phone gives a buzz against the table and I reach for it automatically.

Tem:

Are you at home? Can I come round?

I need to talk to you. Xxx



I hesitate, feeling my very first stab of guilt about going away in secret. Maybe I should have told Tem. I’m not even sure exactly why I didn’t, except that I was attracted to the idea of Rhys and me being the only people in the whole world who knew.

Steffi:

I’m out with Rhys!

Sorry, what’s up? xx



I reply finally, telling the truth but not the whole truth, nor nothing but the truth.



Wah ? When can I see you today?

I REALLY need to talk to you. Xxxx



Shit.

What’s wrong? Rhys asks, seeing my face.

Tem, I say, holding up my phone. She wants to see me. I nibble my lip, trying to figure out what to do. How can I say I can’t see her until Sunday without telling her why?