Imperfect Harmony (26 page)

John nodded. He didn’t need Rhys to explain. He knew how hard he’d found his mum’s funeral—not just because he’d lost her, but because of how it brought up the loss of David again, John’s grief stacking up in layers, weighing him down.

They stared at each other.

Rhys’s eyes were huge oceans of blue, the emotion in them raw and honest. “I missed you so fucking much this week.”

“Me too,” John said hoarsely.

Rhys studied his face, and John knew he could see everything written there. John felt flayed open, raw. He didn’t have the strength to fight his feelings anymore.

Rhys’s brow furrowed. “I know you feel the same about me. I can see it. So why? Why won’t you give us a chance?”

“Just because I want you, it doesn’t make everything right.”

Rhys made a strangled sound of frustration. “Why are you so fucking
stubborn
?”

“I’m trying to do what’s best,” John said helplessly.

“By pushing me away out of some stupid, misguided belief that you’re protecting me? What exactly are you protecting me from? Being with someone I love? Having a happy future? It doesn’t make any sense. You’re
not
protecting me—you’re hurting me. You’re breaking my heart.” His eyes blazed and he continued, his voice stronger and more determined. “For fuck’s sake, we both know there are no guarantees in this life. Look at Lyle, look at David. Nobody can predict what’s going to happen. But would you rather David had dumped you after your first date so you never had to lose him?”

“No, but—”

“Well, then. I’d rather we had a year together… five years, or ten years… than not have any at all. If today taught me anything, it’s that life is too fucking short not to take every opportunity for happiness. Our relationship won’t be perfect, no relationship is, but I think we have something worth fighting for. If I can’t change your mind, then I’ll walk away. But if you’ll give this a chance…. John, I want you to be my future.”

John stared at him, his pulse pounding, his heart lodged somewhere in his gullet. He felt as though he’d run a mile when he hadn’t moved an inch. Poised on the cliff edge of decision, he could almost hear David’s voice encouraging him to leap.

His past and future met in that moment.

“Okay.” He let the word out in a rush of breath and saw the realisation of it dawn on Rhys’s features like the slow softening of a sunrise.

“Really?” Rhys’s lips curved, hope warring with uncertainty.

“Yes. Let’s do it. Let’s make a go of it. You’re right. This”—he gestured between them—“is too good to waste without giving it a proper chance.”

Rhys was on him then, his hands on John’s face, pulling him close and kissing him fiercely, messily.

John huffed a laugh of surprise and kissed him back. The kiss slowed, turning into something gentle and full of tenderness. When they parted, John leaned his forehead against Rhys’s, reluctant to let him go completely.

“Take me to bed,” he said, suddenly needing that act of closeness, the final seal on what they’d agreed. “Please?”

Rhys drew back and his smile said everything.

He took John’s hand and led him upstairs. They undressed each other slowly and reverently. There was no need for words at first; their bodies communicated through kisses and touches, becoming more urgent and heated.

Rhys got the lube from the bedside table. He straddled John and reached behind to finger himself.

John grabbed his wrist before he could reach his destination. “No.”

Rhys’s brow furrowed. “Don’t you want…?”

John shook his head. “I want you to fuck me.”

Rhys swallowed nervously, but his cock bobbed in approval. “Okay. How do you want to do it?”

“Like this.” John drew his knees up, and Rhys moved into the space between them. “Maybe with a pillow under my arse. I’m not quite as flexible as you.”

Rhys grinned, but he grabbed the pillow and helped John arrange it to his satisfaction. “There. God, you look hot. Lying there waiting for me to fuck you.”

Rhys paused to admire him for a moment, and John’s cheeks flushed hot as he tried not to squirm under the attention. It was a long time since he’d done this. He’d forgotten the vulnerability of waiting for someone’s touch.

“Anytime today would be good.” He tried to joke, but his voice came out breathless and tight instead of with the lightness he’d intended.

Rhys slicked up his fingers.

John bit his lip as Rhys circled his hole, pressing at the muscle and waiting for it to give. He was patient—almost too patient. John’s cock ached with need, but his body was out of practice. “Just do it,” he gasped. “Use your cock instead of your fingers. I’ll be fine.”

Rhys hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

John shoved two of his own fingers in while Rhys rolled the condom on, working himself open roughly. The burn made him gasp but it felt good. He needed Rhys inside him. He needed to be fucked.

“Jesus.” Rhys’s gaze was fixed on John’s hole where he was pumping his fingers in and out. “Stop that, or I’m going to come just watching you finger yourself.”

John gave a breathless chuckle. “You can’t have premature ejaculation. That’s my thing.”

“Not for much longer. Jesus.” Rhys gripped his cock.

“Come on, then.”

The slow, aching slide of Rhys’s cock stole John’s ability to form words.

“Okay?” Rhys asked, eyes intent.

John just nodded, trying to remember to breathe.

“Okay like ‘you need a minute’ okay? Or okay like you’re ready for me to fuck you?”

“Fuck me,” John gritted out.

Rhys started to move. Rhys braced himself, hands gripping John’s thighs as he fucked him in long, sure strokes. He was so beautiful. His tattoos were dark on his pale skin, his blue eyes luminous in the half-light of the room. He didn’t take his gaze off John, and John stared back, love blooming, desire building, pleasure curling tight.

Rhys’s movements started to falter as his breath quickened. “You feel so good,” he gasped. He fucked John harder, shifting slightly, and the angle changed.

Suddenly John’s climax became an imperative. The drag of Rhys’s cock deep inside was too much, yet not enough. John wrapped a hand around himself, stroking hard, and the touch combined with another thrust of Rhys’s cock drew it out of him, inevitable and all-encompassing, leaving him panting and breathless as Rhys came too, his head back and eyes squeezed closed as he cried out and collapsed forwards into John’s waiting arms.

John’s heart was slowing now, and swelling happiness filled him with each breath. The reality of Rhys in his bed, in his life, came gradually into focus. John was starting over as he shed the chrysalis of his past and emerged, blinking into sunlight. He was the same person he’d always been, but reformed. Shaped and scarred by the cruel hand of experience, he’d been healed by the man who lay on his chest now. Their hearts thudded in unison as Rhys softened inside him. John stroked his hand down Rhys’s back, the skin warm under his palm.

“I wrote a song for you,” Rhys murmured.

“Yeah?” John remembered the words and phrases he’d seen on that piece of paper in Rhys’s flat. “Will you sing it to me?”

“Maybe later.” Rhys snuggled closer. “I thought I might sing it at the open mic night next month… if you like it.”

“I’m sure I’ll like it. What’s it called?”

“‘Second Chances.’”

John smiled, his nose in Rhys’s hair. “I can’t wait to hear it.”

EPILOGUE

Five months later

“Hi, Maggie.” Rhys greeted her at the door with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Am I the first one here?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I don’t have far to come.” She smiled and offered Rhys the bottle of white wine she was holding and a bag containing some olive bread. “Here, the wine’s already chilled, but you might want to put it in the fridge, anyway.”

“Thanks. Come through to the kitchen. John’s in there fussing over his pasta salad. After you.” Rhys guided her down the hallway to the kitchen at the back of the house.

“Hi, John,” Maggie said as she entered. “Oh, it looks lovely in here. Haven’t you done a great job?” She looked around the newly decorated kitchen.

“Hello, and thanks.” John beamed as he stepped forward to hug her. “We’re thrilled with it. The whole house is done now. We finished the music room last weekend.”

“Oh, can I see that too?”

Since Rhys had moved in at Easter, they’d spent every weekend and the whole of the summer half term doing up the house. Maggie had seen much of it in progress, but last time she’d been around, the kitchen had been half-finished and they hadn’t even started on the music room.

They both followed to stand behind her as she opened the music room door.

“Oh, it’s lovely.” She stood, admiring it for a moment.

Rhys looked proudly over her shoulder at their handiwork. The awful old carpet was gone, and the floorboards it had hidden were sanded and varnished. The walls were a duck-egg blue, a pale imitation of the deep blue of the summer evening sky outside the window.

Rhys’s guitar stood next to David’s in a purpose-built rack, and John’s violin was tucked in beside them. The piano was where it had always been, but its wood gleamed with a fresh coat of polish. In an alcove by the window, John had built in some shelves to hold all their music, along with framed photos showing the two of them playing together, plus smaller pictures of Lyle and David. Gone, but never forgotten.

Maggie crossed the room, her limp completely gone now. She put her hand on Rhys’s guitar case. “Will you play for us later?”

“Maybe. If you ply me with wine and ask me nicely.” He grinned.

“And John too.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged.” Rhys looked at John, who blushed and shrugged.

The doorbell rang again.

Soon the house filled with people from the choir gathering for their end-of-term party. It was the end of July. Rhys always took a break from choir during the school holidays in August. In the past, they’d always gone out to the pub to celebrate. It had been John’s suggestion to host it here, and Rhys thought it was a great idea.

Laid out in the kitchen was more food and drink than they would ever be able to consume in one party. Everyone had brought a contribution to the buffet, and most people had brought a bottle too.

John and Rhys didn’t have enough plates and cutlery for everyone, so Maggie popped next door to fetch more.

Finally, everyone had managed to help themselves to food. They all sat outside in the garden on an odd assortment of indoor chairs and folding chairs that some people had brought with them.

It was a gorgeous evening; they couldn’t have been luckier with the weather. Dry and warm, the sun was just setting and the sky was turning the deeper shade of blue that heralded twilight, with a hint of rose near the horizon.

When everyone had finished eating and they’d done a little bit of clearing up, Maggie clapped her hands to get their attention. “Time for some singing.”

It was traditional for them to sing at their end-of-term party—much to the bemusement of other patrons of the pub, who weren’t usually expecting a singing flash mob to disturb their quiet pint of beer in a pub garden.

There was a murmur of assent, and the choir started organising themselves into their parts, setting their chairs aside to stand and looking at Rhys expectantly.

Rhys smiled. It made him happy to see their enthusiasm. “What? Oh, you want me to tell you what to do?”

“Well… you could just sit there and we’ll serenade you,” Maggie said. “But it will probably sound better if you give us the starting note and count us in.”

“True. What are you going to sing, then?”

There was a bit of conferring, and then Rhys heard John say, “How about ‘I Can See Clearly Now’?”

More chatter broke out. “Oh yes,” “Good idea,” “Yes, let’s do that one.”

They’d been learning it this term and it had become very popular.

“Okay.” Rhys hummed a few notes, working out what key it needed to be in. He didn’t have perfect pitch, but it was close enough. “Basses start us off, here’s your note.” He sang the words to give them the pitch. “After four? One, two, three, four—”

They launched into the song they knew by heart now. Swaying in time to the music, the altos sang the melody with the tenors harmonising below, and as they moved into the second verse, the sopranos joined in on a higher harmony. Rhys sang with the tenors, watching his choir lose themselves in the song.

His eyes lit on John, standing with the basses. Their eyes met, and John smiled as he sang. Rhys’s skin tingled with the rightness of everything in his life as he looked at the man he loved. The lyrics were uplifting, so suitable for what they’d been through to find a future with each other.

The choir gave it their all, perfectly imperfect, and it was beautiful to hear. The deep blue sky stretched clear and endless above them.

Rhys’s heart was full.

John’s breath caught as Rhys’s gaze fixed on him. Around him, the song swelled and his spirits rose with it, floating higher until he thought he might burst with happiness.

The past few months had been magical. John had rediscovered how it felt to live again. This song represented so much, and now, singing it with people who had become his friends, conducted by the man he was in love with, he felt whole again.

The choir sang a few more songs, bickering happily about which songs to do until eventually some people started to get tired and wanted to sit down.

“Rhys, why don’t you get your guitar out?” Maggie said. “You must know some things we can join in with if you’re up for playing. And John too?”

Rhys looked questioningly at John. “What do you reckon?”

John nodded. “Sure.”

They went to get their instruments. Pausing before he picked up his violin, John said, “This is fun.”

Rhys turned and smiled. “The party?”

“Yes. The party, the people… having them here in our house. It feels good.” He moved closer, cupping Rhys’s jaw lightly, then dipped his head and pressed a gentle kiss on Rhys’s lips. “Thank you.”