Timonthy felt strangely indecisive. He was tempted, deeply tempted to throw caution to the wind and stay there but he had this image in his head of Paris coming down to see what the commotion was and putting the light on to see him wrinkled and exposed.
“No, we’ll go upstairs,” he said picking up Gerard’s blanket from where it made an untidy mess on the living room floor. They padded lightly and reached the safety of the bedroom again.
In the semi-dark Gerard’s wandering hand found its way into his dressing gown.
“God, your hands are cold,” Timonthy said. He wondered why he had bothered speaking. Was it just to provide a commentary to relieve him from feelings of awkwardness? Gerard seemed to have wondered the same, as he kissed him as if to shut him up. Timonthy remembered,
“I was just about to have a shower. Do you want to join me?”
***