Ukuleles & Scrums

Mitch lost himself in the simple pleasure of inhabiting his own space and sharing it with Cian, who’d become an integral part of his life in less than a year. A month after they’d moved into what Mitch still thought of as their miracle apartment, the novelty of living with his boyfriend hadn’t begun to wear off. He still woke up some mornings having to pinch himself before he could believe that Cian was sleeping next to him. He’d never known grocery shopping could be fun until they did it together. Nor could he have guessed how much joy he derived from discovering Cian’s habits, his rhythm, and his likes and dislikes.

Just when Mitch thought he should probably make a sound to let Cian know he was home, Cian turned away from the cooker. He pulled up short when he spotted Mitch before a wide grin appeared on his face.

“Sneaky.” Cian mock-glared at Mitch. “Have you been there long?”

Mitch chuckled. “No, just a few minutes tops.”

“And you didn’t think to shout out and let me know you’re back?”

“What can I say?” Mitch shrugged. “I like looking at this domestic God version of you.”

“Whatever.” Cian turned back to the cooker and turned on the heat beneath what appeared to be a pot of water. “It’s your turn to play the chef tomorrow.”

For a moment Mitch feared he’d upset Cian. Then his boyfriend glanced at him over his shoulder, his eyes gleaming with mirth before he reached for the large container with dried spaghetti on an overhead shelf, removed the lid, and placed it next to the cooker.

Mitch took the few steps separating him from Cian, pressed his lips to Cian’s cheek when they were shoulder to shoulder, and sneaked a peek at the contents of the bigger pan at the same time. “Bolognaise?” he asked hopefully.

Cian turned his head and gave Mitch a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Yes. I know we had it not too long ago, but—”

“I love it,” Mitch said before Cian could finish his sentence. “I’d eat your spag-bol every other day if you’d let me.” He rested his head against Cian’s shoulder.

“Ugh. Your hair’s wet.” Cian pulled away. “Still raining out there?”

“Does it ever stop?” Mitch sighed dramatically. “My trousers are soaked too. How long until that’s ready?” He nodded at the cooker, where the water was starting to bubble.

“About ten minutes.” Cian reached for the pasta, grabbed a handful, and dropped it in the pot. “Go and get changed. It should be done when you are.”

Whistling softly, Mitch walked to their bedroom, relishing the still new joy of simply being happy. He’d moved into his new life without doubts and, so far, without any significant hiccups either. There were moments when it was hard to believe Cian and he had only shared a house for about four weeks rather than several years. They’d found a rhythm, a way of being together automatically, without having to discuss rules, expectations, or a division of chores.

Mitch opened the bedroom door and smiled ruefully. Well, almost automatically. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to Cian dropping his clothes wherever he happened to take them off. Then again, he was convinced Cian would never understand why Mitch had an issue with that. As he made his way across the room, he picked up a sweatshirt, a T-shirt, and a pair of jeans, depositing them into the laundry basket before he stripped and added his own clothes too.

A few minutes later, after he’d changed into a loose-fitting tracksuit and still towel-drying his hair, he made his way back to the kitchen, hungry and eager to taste the result of Cian’s efforts.

Cian, who’d turned out to not only be very good at cooking but also really enjoyed it. The same Cian who had set the table, featuring a big pot filled with delicious-looking spaghetti and sauce as the centrepiece.

“This looks great.” Mitch pulled out a chair and sat, reaching for the pair of tongs and serving spoon immediately. He piled the pasta on his plate and tucked in. He’d taken at least ten mouthfuls before he looked up to find Cian staring at him with a bemused grin on his face and his own plate still empty.

“What?” Mitch forked up more as soon as the word left his mouth. “I’m hungry, and this is good.”

“Nothing,” Cian said while helping himself to some spaghetti. “I like watching you dive head first into something I cooked.”

Mitch flushed. “It’s your fault,” he muttered. “If you didn’t cook so well, I wouldn’t be so greedy.”
Cian swallowed, then focused on Mitch. “I wasn’t criticizing you. I only meant that doing something is more rewarding if the other person clearly appreciates it.”

“I know.” Mitch felt silly. He couldn’t deny he always breathed a sigh of relief when Cian appeared to enjoy something he’d concocted. “Can I take some more?” He mentally crossed his fingers Cian hadn’t meant to keep leftovers for his lunch the following day.

“Knock yourself out,” Cain said. “Just leave some for me. I’m playing catch-up here.”

Mitch focused on his food again, mentally going through his options for the next day’s dinner. If at all possible, he wanted to impress his boyfriend.

“So, I’ve got a bit of news.” Cian handed the plate he’d just washed to Mitch, who waited with a tea towel in hand.

Although he wouldn’t admit as much out loud, Mitch loved these domestic moments. His favorite was probably changing the sheets because that almost invariably led to them trying to get the new covers smudged almost as soon as they put them down, but any household task they performed together filled him with more joy than the simple job warranted. Which was one of the reasons they rarely used the dishwasher for the two plates and one or two pots they used most days.

“Okay?” Mitch placed the plate in the kitchen cabinet and glanced at Cian. The suppressed excitement in Cian’s voice intrigued him.

“I went and joined a rugby club this afternoon.”

“Nice one.”

“Yeah,” Cian continued, the elation in his voice growing more pronounced. “I missed it. But joining a new club after coming out”—he shrugged—“I just couldn’t do it.”

That made perfect sense to Mitch. Whenever one of his fellow students asked him about his partner, he found himself hesitating and assessing the person before revealing Cian’s name and gender. “So what changed?”

“I discovered there’s an inclusive rugby club here in Dublin. They’re called The Emerald Warriors, and this afternoon I joined.”

“Inclusive?” Mitch wasn’t sure what that meant. Inclusive of what?

Excitement shone from Cian’s eyes. “As in it’s a team that welcomes players who are gay, or trans, or otherwise queer.” He chuckled. “Even straight people are welcome.”

A gay rugby team. Mitch’s mind zoomed in on the word. He wasn’t at all surprised Cian wanted to play rugby again. He’d watched him compete when he was on the school team back in Castleforest. Cian had not only been good at it but also had always come across as thoroughly enjoying himself on the field. But a team made up of gay men… Mitch pushed the thought away, hoping the action would also take care of the discomfort cramping his stomach, and summoned up a smile.

“Sounds perfect,” he said. “You must be excited.”

Cian’s smile lit up his face. “You bet I am. I can’t wait to start playing again. I wonder where I put my old gear.” He pulled the plug, draining the water from the sink, and walked away.

Mitch placed the last pot back in the cabinet before he followed Cian, berating himself for not being more enthusiastic about Cian’s revelation. Cian’s delight was obvious, and Mitch felt like a dick because he wasn’t able to fully share in that. He wasn’t even sure where his reservations came from, except that the idea of his boyfriend in a scrum with men who might all be attracted to him—and Mitch had yet to meet a person who didn’t find Cian attractive—made his stomach squeeze. He didn’t look forward to spending less time together either. They’d fallen into a nice and comfortable routine since they’d both started classes, and this development was bound to mess that up.

The bedroom no longer resembled the neat place Mitch had left an hour earlier. Despite the confusing emotions keeping him on edge, Mitch couldn’t help smirking and shaking his head in mock despair at the two bags on top of their bed and a collection of shorts, shirts, and other, less easy to identify objects scattered across the floor.

“Can’t find what you’re looking for?” he asked, not trying to hide his amusement.

Cian glanced up at Mitch, inspected his surroundings, and had the grace to grimace and flush. “Sorry about that. I’ll fix it in a min.” He glared at the various items of clothing on the floor, then bent and picked something up. “Gottcha.”

“What’s that?” Mitch squinted at the item consisting more of connected bands of material than solid pieces. He thought he recognized it but didn’t want to hazard a guess and make a fool of himself.

“A jockstrap.” Cian slung one strap over his index finger and swung the piece of underwear around.

“Jockstrap, hey?” Excitement heated Mitch’s blood. “I can’t say I’ve ever seen one of those up close and personal.”

Cian glanced at him, his gaze intense. “I’ll be right back.”