Chapter 44

Chapter Forty-Four

Quinn normally spent Christmas night with his mum, no doubt because they would fall asleep watching a film and then wake up too late for him to go back home. But this Christmas was no normal Christmas, and after dessert, Quinn knew he needed to go home. Harold had morphed into the Grinch and stole Christmas from them, and as Quinn left for his own apartment, he wondered if he might hear news that Harold was now living on a mountain for the rest of his life.

On his way home, he texted Noah, explaining the situation.

Harold might get dumped.

I'm coming over.

It surprised him, but made him smile. The support was going to take some getting used to.

In his apartment, he made sure everything was tidy, and made sure there were no embarrassing things lying around, like stray jockstraps, though he did consider ‘accidentally' leaving one on the floor. Wine was chilling in the fridge, a Welsh Pinot made in Abergavenny, and a chocolate log was ready to be served. It didn't matter that he'd consumed half a tonne of trifle. It was Christmas!

The doorbell rang, and Quinn's phone lit up with the notification. He loved his fancy little video doorbell gifted to him by Ivy for Christmas, and as he opened the app, he saw Noah framed like he was about to go on a film set. Snow fell behind him, landing in his hair.

‘Come on in!'

Quinn approved the door to unlock and heard Noah climbing the stairs, knocking on his apartment door.

Oh, how he was nervous. This felt different. Intimate. Romantic.

He rushed to light some candles and then opened the door, leaning against it like he was nonchalant.

Only the door kept moving, and Quinn fell to the floor.

‘I really knock you off your feet.'

Noah held him up, and Quinn shook his head. ‘That's how we open the doors here in Hay.'

‘Funny how I don't remember that.'

‘Yule log?'

‘Stupid question.' Noah smiled.

He took a seat on the sofa, near the Christmas tree, the candlelight flickering over him as he took off his coat and then his hoodie. Quinn handed him an empty wineglass, placed the bottle on the table, and then headed back to the kitchen to get the dessert. And maybe a box of chocolates, for luck.

‘So, what happened?'

He wore a tight white T-shirt, showing off the muscle in his arms, one of which was cocked, resting his head against his fist. Quinn wanted to rip everything off him.

But he was civilised. So, he didn't.

Yet.

Coming back with the yule log and even more chocolate, Quinn tried to take his eyes off the perfect vein that went from shoulder to elbow in Noah's arms and focus on what he'd asked instead.

‘Harold is selling the shop.'

Noah, drinking his wine, almost spat it out again. ‘Sorry?'

‘Selling it.'

‘After evicting you because he wanted it to be part of the castle?'

‘That's right.'

Noah shook his head. ‘Fuck. I'm sorry.'

‘He's within his right to do it,' Quinn said. ‘But it's the principle of it. Not only do I feel betrayed, but I feel lied to.'

‘You were lied to. He wanted it to be a ticket office, didn't he?'

‘Yeah.' Quinn sipped his own wine. ‘Said he realised it would cost him more money, and it made more sense to sell it. Also blamed it on the fact his staff has been leaving him.'

Noah ate the chocolate log, closing his eyes as he enjoyed the taste. At that moment, he was the cutest. ‘They're leaving him?'

‘I got the impression from Gordon that he was a bit of a nightmare to work for during the castle renovation.'

‘Harold? A nightmare? Never.' Noah laughed.

A new feeling struck Quinn as Noah recounted his own Christmas, which ranged from Hermione opening the curtains and an elaborate meal for two. It was light, relaxed; the tension released from his back. He was smiling, laughing along at the anecdotes, feeling like time didn't exist. Curled up on the sofa, his hand in Noah's, sat across from him yet close enough to smell an unfamiliar scent on him this time – a spicy one – this felt like happiness.

For a long time, Quinn thought Dougie would be it. Despite his tendency to bring Quinn down, to disparage and manipulate his feelings, Dougie seemed like the choice for Quinn. He realised now that was because Quinn hadn't been able to find his voice. He didn't know himself back then, and thinking now about the man he used to be, when Dougie only talked of himself, only planned for his own life, he couldn't recognise himself. It was always easier for someone to tell Quinn what to do, rather than for Quinn to think or speak for himself.

With Noah, it was different. Like this was how it was always meant to be. Secure, like he could accomplish anything. Of course, it mattered that he'd lost his shop, and that his future now looked like it was on a different, unplanned path, but in some ways, maybe that was what he needed. Maybe Hay had offered him all that it could.

Despite the tense Christmas day, this was what mattered. The snow falling outside, casting shadows in the cosy apartment where the candles burned bright and the tree glimmered. Fruity and refreshing wine with sweet dessert. The warmth from the heating, from the sofa, from Noah's hand.

He could get used to Christmases just like this.

‘Why are you looking at me like that?' Noah asked.

‘Like what?'

‘Like … I'm a marshmallow covered in chocolate.'

‘Just wondering how you taste.'

Stop it!

Except don't.

Because despite that line, it worked. A muscle feathered in Noah's jaw, and then Noah was on him, kissing him, touching him, and it was like the apartment roof was ripped off and the light of the angels shone upon them. Quinn swore he could hear the choir singing heavenly melodies as he pulled Noah's T-shirt off him.

He used his fingers to trace a light dusting of the same blond hair on his pecs; the hair continued under his arms. Quinn ran his hands over his freckles, kissing his chest, his stomach. There was a trail of hair from his belly button disappearing under his jeans.

‘That wasn't there in the Instagram photo.'

‘I'm a big boy now.'

‘How big?'

Bloody hell, who am I?

‘Are you sure?'

Quinn bit his lip before speaking. ‘I'm sure.'

His lips were back, frantic, perfect. His hands pulled Quinn's T-shirt over his head, and the warmth of Noah's skin pressed against him. Noah slid between his legs, unhooking the button on his jeans, and Quinn pulled them down.

The singing angels seemed to know it was time to leave as Noah's hands explored Quinn, his touch like a feather playing across his every nerve. Quinn arched his back, feeling Noah against him, closing his eyes as Noah's lips went from his own, to his neck, to his chest.

‘Do you have protection?'

‘The bedroom.'

Noah brought him to his feet, holding his hand. He was naked, sculpted, the light hair from his stomach congregating at his pelvis. Quinn bulged against his own underwear, smiling as he allowed Noah to guide him to the bedroom.

‘This is the bathroom,' Noah said as he opened the door.

‘Bedroom is to the left.' Quinn giggled.

‘Why didn't you say anything?'

‘Your bum distracted me.'

Noah grinned and took him into the bedroom, pushing him onto the bed, climbing atop of him. Now Quinn was naked, and every part of them met, solid yet supple. Quinn reached for his bedside cabinet and slipped out a Durex packet, which Noah opened. Quinn helped him slide it on, feeling the tension under his fingers.

‘Lube?'

Quinn nodded to the same cabinet, and Noah reached over this time, dropping the water-based lubricant onto his hands. With a gentle touch, he massaged Quinn, slipping one finger inside him, which Quinn greeted with an audible gasp. Noah's dick, with its blue crisscrossing veins and curved shaft, responded to the noise with a jerk. Quinn added the lube to his own hand and ran it over Noah's shaft, letting his fingers run over the trimmed hair on his balls. Noah groaned, his breath dancing across Quinn's face.

Slowly, his lips on Quinn's, he pushed in.