Rókus
by Edward Kyle Stokes
Chapter 6
A Weekend Full of Promise
Rókus woke slowly, savouring the comforting warmth of the body next to him. Tomas was still sleeping, and for a long moment, Rókus simply stared. He took in the sight of his ruffled, unkempt hair, the lean line of his shoulder, the delicate curve of his back, and his slim hips. The duvet had slipped halfway down the bed, lying just across Tomas's hips, and Rókus couldn't resist pulling it down a little lower to reveal his small, enticing bottom. The sight of the firm, round curves had an immediate and obvious effect upon him.
Tomas stirred, turning over to open his eyes, which were still blurred by sleep. "What are you doing?" he mumbled.
"Nothing," Rókus whispered, his eyes gleaming. "Only admiring you."
Tomas dragged himself further into consciousness. "Admiring, huh? More like oogling my arse, you perve!"
Rókus chuckled softly, the sound a low vibration against the sheets. "Well, you do have a nice bum, and—"
"And nothing," Tomas interrupted, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward. "Haven't you had your fill last night?"
Rókus gave him a cute smirk and cocked his head. He ran a finger lightly over Tomas's bare buttocks. "Not really," he murmured. "And now we are alone."
"Hmm..." Tomas replied, leaning into the touch for a brief moment. "Well, you can stay... and maybe later. Who knows? But now I have to get up, take a shower and piss."
"You mean it?" Rókus asked excitedly, his eyes widening.
"Mean what?"
"I can stay?"
"Of course, silly," Tomas confirmed, and with a familiar, affectionate gesture, he ruffled Rókus's hair like he was a little kid.
When they were both clean, they stepped out of the bathroom. Tomas rummaged through his small closet and pulled out some fresh clothes for Rókus: a crisp white t-shirt, a pair of blue-and-white striped boxers, and a pair of blue baggy trousers. Rókus slipped into them; everything was soft and felt brand new.
They worked together to tidy the small studio. With a shared, easy rhythm, they made the bed—folding the duvet and sheets until the mattress could be pushed back up into the wall unit, reclaiming the floor space. They gathered the few scattered items, quickly restoring the room to its functional order.
"Come on," Tomas said, grabbing a light jacket. "I know this great little café around the corner. Strong coffee is a requirement after a night like that."
They settled into a cozy booth at the cafe, the smell of freshly baked bread and hot coffee a comforting change from the air of the club. As the caffeine began to work its magic, Rókus looked across the table at Tomas, his earlier shyness replaced by a gentle openness.
"I need to tell you something," Rókus said, swirling the coffee in his mug. "I know last night was crazy, and a lot happened, but... I enjoyed it." He paused, meeting Tomas' gaze. "But I enjoyed it most because we shared the experience. Having you there, it made all the difference."
Tomas' expression softened. He reached across the table and briefly touched Rókus' hand. "I know what you mean. And Rókus, I need to tell you that I really like you. Quite a lot."
Rókus grinned, a genuine, delighted smile. "Only quite a lot?" he joked, feeling a lightness he hadn't experienced in weeks. The simple honesty of the morning was a powerful antidote to the confusion of the night before.
"Hey," Tomas said, catching Rókus' attention as he stared into his coffee, lost in thought. "You like street markets?"
"Sure, yes, I guess," Rókus replied, blinking as he came back to the moment.
Tomas smiled, looking less than convinced. "I'd like anything with you," Rókus told him, looking into Tomas' eyes, a genuine warmth in his gaze that might have been close to swooning.
They found themselves wandering through the local street market, a bustling maze of stalls filled with flowers, handmade crafts, and the smell of spices and fresh bread. Rókus, usually overwhelmed by crowds, felt grounded by Tomas' easy presence. They paused to look at brightly coloured scarves, laughed at a vendor hawking questionable "antique" spoons and other silverware, and shared a warm, sugary pastry.
As they walked past a jewelry stand, Tomas suddenly stopped. He reached out and gently took hold of Rókus' hand, his skin warm and firm against Rókus' own. He pulled him along, drawing him to a stall overflowing with small, carved wooden figures. "Look at this," Tomas murmured.
He pointed to a tiny, perfectly carved wooden hedgehog. It was simple, unvarnished, and had a sweet, almost shy expression. Tomas bought it, slipping it into Rókus' palm. "For luck," he said.
As Rókus closed his fingers around the little gift, Tomas took hold of his hand again, intertwining their fingers naturally. The simple, non-sexual intimacy of the gesture was overwhelming. Rókus felt a sudden rush of emotion—relief, happiness, and a profound sense of feeling truly himself. His eyes grew wet, the tears welling up without warning.
Tomas saw the change immediately. He stopped walking, his expression becoming concerned. He gently pulled Rókus into his arms, right there amidst the crowd and the clamour. He held him tightly, then pulled back just enough to look into his eyes and kissed him. It was a soft, tender kiss, a promise of comfort and a recognition of all the fear and confusion Rókus had been carrying.
They left the bustling energy of the market behind, walking back to Tomas' tiny studio, their hands still intertwined. Once inside, the door closed out the noise of the city, and they stood for a moment, simply looking at each other. The air was charged, not with the manic energy of a drug and alcohol fueled hookup, but with a palpable, tender anticipation.
Tomas moved to the wall unit and pulled down the fold-up bed, letting it fall with a soft thud. He threw back the duvet, and the bed immediately dominated the small room, turning it into a private sanctuary.
They began to undress each other, slowly, savouring the intimate ritual. Rókus gently slipped the white T-shirt up and over Tomas' head, his fingers tracing the lean muscles of his shoulders. Tomas unzipped Rókus' baggy trousers, his touch light and reverent. Each piece of clothing was removed with purpose, a silent promise of what was to come.
When they were both naked, they fell into an embrace, their bare skin meeting with a soft gasp. They kissed and hugged, a long, slow coming together that was all about connection. There was no rush, no commanding voice from the side, just the quiet exploration of two people who genuinely liked each other. They finally climbed into the bed, pulling the duvet up around them.
Their love making was a gentle, emotional experience. Rókus was nervous at first, but Tomas' soft touch and honest passion quickly calmed him. It was a release of all the tension, the fear, and the intensity of the previous weeks, replaced by an authentic, profound pleasure. Their bodies moved together naturally, finding a rhythm that was entirely their own, culminating in a shared, exquisite release.
Afterward, the afternoon sun streamed through the window, bathing the small room in a warm light. They lay side by side, naked and content, their breathing soft and even. Their lust satiated, they simply held hands, the simple weight of Tomas' body next to him being all the comfort Rókus needed. The chaos was gone; only peace remained.
They did get up eventually, but the Sunday morning remained a soft haze of domestic calm. They tidied the bed away, transforming the tiny studio back into a living space. They listened to quiet music, sipping instant coffee, and watched a slightly predictable film, their bodies pressed together on the sofa. There was an easy, natural intimacy between them.
Sunday brought with it the comforting feeling of being a couple. As they sat together, Rókus turned to Tomas, the words bubbling up with unrestrained emotion. "This is it," he confided, his voice earnest. "This is what I've been looking for. You are the nice boy my dad wanted me to find."
Tomas smiled, his expression warm but cautious. He reached out and touched a finger to Rókus' lips, gently silencing him. "Hey," he murmured. "I told you, I like you, quite a lot. But don't jump in too fast. Let's just... see where this goes." He felt Rókus had a tendency to be excessive in his emotions and attachments, a trait that was both endearing and a little worrying. But in that moment, he didn't want to break the spell.
They decided to go for a walk that morning, and found themselves hand-in-hand strolling through a quiet park near Tomas' flat. The autumn air was crisp, and the simple act of walking together, talking about their lives and their backgrounds, felt profoundly normal and wonderful.
For lunch, they found a small, sunlit restaurant. They shared a meal on the terrace, it was still warm enough in the midday sun. They sat at a table for two, lingering over their food and conversation, the kind of unhurried day that Rókus had only ever dreamed of. The ease and simplicity of their time together stood in stark contrast to the chaotic, excessive Friday nights that had brought them together.
Finally, as the evening chill began to settle, they said their goodbyes outside Tomas' building, sealing it with a long, tender kiss. Rókus headed home, his heart light.
He found his father in the kitchen, reading. His dad looked up, his face breaking into a wide, all-smiles expression. "Well, look at you," he said, setting down his book. "How was your weekend?" He guessed that the unusual glow about Rókus might mean his son had finally taken his advice, but he waited patiently for Rókus to volunteer the details.
Rókus leaned against the doorframe, a genuine, joyful gleam in his eye. "Dad," he announced, the single word full of promise and relief. "I think I met someone."
Authors deserve your feedback. It's the only payment they get. If you go to the top of the page you will find the author's name. Click that and you can email the author easily.* Please take a few moments, if you liked the story, to say so.
[For those who use webmail, or whose regular email client opens when they want to use webmail instead: Please right click the author's name. A menu will open in which you can copy the email address (it goes directly to your clipboard without having the courtesy of mentioning that to you) to paste into your webmail system (Hotmail, Gmail, Yahoo etc). Each browser is subtly different, each Webmail system is different, or we'd give fuller instructions here. We trust you to know how to use your own system. Note: If the email address pastes or arrives with %40 in the middle, replace that weird set of characters with an @ sign.]
* Some browsers may require a right click instead
