Chapter 6

Chapter Six

TOM

“ I ’m quite sure this isn’t how Gutterheads is meant to be played,” Steven says sniffily as Freddy crouches over Theo’s face and erratically wriggles his hips.

“Is it constipation?” guesses Georgina.

Freddy groans and shakes his head. I’m pretty sure he’s miming teabagging, but he’s not on my team, so I’m not helping the fool.

I look over at my own team. Bee and Ivy are giggling helplessly, in part due to the many empty bottles on the tables. Bee’s appearance inspires lust and affection—his cheeks are flushed, his hair wild, and his laughter even wilder.

Steven brandishes the game's instructions at Sal. “It says here that we’re supposed to use the board.”

Sal waves a casual hand. “It was too much trouble, so we’re just using the cards and dice.”

I’m surprised Steven’s interested because he’s spent most of the evening on his phone, only breaking from that to occasionally admire his reflection in the mirror on the wall.

Nevertheless, he persists. “Aren’t we supposed to be drawing something?”

“Nah. This is much more fun.”

“Ooh, I know it,” Georgina shouts. “I know it.”

Silence falls, and Theo stirs under Freddy. “Maybe you could tell us then, love.”

“It’s erectile dysfunction,” Georgina crows.

“It is not ,” Freddy says crossly. “There’s nothing dysfunctional about my erections.”

The girls from next door break into loud laughter and catcalls, and I grin at them. They’re good company and have fitted in nicely, even though Steven is treating them like they’ve brought the plague with them rather than three bottles of Baileys.

“Any guesses?” Theo says. “I’d quite like my face back in one piece.”

“You don’t complain when I sit on it,” Georgina says, refilling her glass.

He grimaces. “Sometimes it’s hard to talk when my tongue is so tired.”

She sets her glass down with an ominous click. “Are you complaining about our sex life, Theo?”

“No. Not at all,” he says quickly.

“Because I’ve never had any complaints before.”

“It’s teabagging,” I break in, trying to divert the oncoming war of words.

“It most certainly isn’t,” Georgina says. “I’ve never downplayed my abilities to get ahead. That’s very dishonest, Tom, and certainly not me.”

I sigh. “That’s sandbagging, Georgie. Freddie is teabagging .”

“Well, not in real life. I don’t think Theo could handle them,” Freddy interjects.

“I certainly could,” Theo says indignantly. “I’m not a quitter.”

“It’s my turn,” Bee says, interrupting the incipient warfare and grabbing a card.

“Please let this be a fairly normal one,” I groan. “I don’t think I’ll ever recover from Freddy miming a prostate exam.”

“It was rather graphic,” Freddy says modestly.

Bee peers at the card myopically and then takes his glasses off and polishes them. He has another look and groans. “I’m seeing double.” He hands the card to me with a crooked smile. “Tell me the worst.”

Steven huffs, brandishing the board. “Tom guessed the teabagging, so you’ve got to roll forward,” he insists. “Maybe now would be the time to actually use the board.”

“No need,” Bee says amiably. Before I can stop him, he launches himself forward, rolling in an ungainly tangle of limbs, knocking over the cards, and ending up splayed on the floor with his head under a radiator.

A startled silence falls for a few seconds.

“What was that mime?” Freddy asks, looking rather impressed.

“It was a forward roll like Steven instructed,” Bee calls, his voice echoing slightly.

Steven huffs. “No, I said, roll forward with the dice. You appear to have a problem with listening for someone with so many degrees.”

Silence falls, and then Bee bursts into infectious laughter. He sits up. His glasses are crooked and hanging off his face, and his hair is a mess, but something inside me clenches as I stare at him.

You’re it , I think. And then I quickly think, What the hell?

I remember my dad telling me that when he met my mum, he knew immediately that she was the one for him. He’d always told his children that he hoped we’d be lucky enough to have the same experience. Is this feeling what he was talking about?

I shove the odd thought away and go over to help Bee up, which takes a while as he keeps getting the giggles and subsiding back under the radiator.

After another half an hour of games, Steven makes noises about needing time with Jack. I’d sooner shag a pissed-off scorpion, but I suppose it’s up to Jack. I salute him as Steven marches him towards the bedroom, and Jack rolls his eyes.

I watch the door shut behind them and frown. Freddy wanders over. “God, I hope he doesn’t end up with that prick.”

“I know,” I say, keeping my voice low.

Sal, Ivy, and Bee are packing the games away.

I add, “He’ll be trapped in some sort of Groundhog Day similar to his parents’ marriage.” We both shudder. “I think he believes that good relationships are formed by one person being as unpleasant and domineering as they can manage and the other one going along with it.”

“Hardly surprising,” Freddy says. “I remember going home with him for Easter. His mother asked what my pension plan was, and how did I see my long-range financial forecast.” I snort, and he grins at me. “I barely followed the weather at that point, let alone some math version of my future.”

“I know. Once, we went back to his after a school party where someone had snuck in some rum.”

“Was it you, Tom?”

“Maybe. We were trying to be sober, and Barbara called Jack into the front room to recite a Byron poem.” I pause. “In Mandarin.”

Freddy starts to laugh. “That’s got to be a piss-take.”

“Nope. Deadly serious, mate. I couldn’t even remember my first fucking name and fell over. Jack had to tell them I had an inner-ear problem. Which was just as well, because then I threw up in her Portmeirion flowerpot.”

He laughs harder, and I shove him.

We settle back on the sofa in a comfortable silence, which is broken when he edges closer. “You’re getting on well with Bee?”

I give him my best cool stare. “Isn’t getting on with everyone the point of this holiday?”

“Maybe, mate. What would I know? I mean, I thought it was about the birth of the Baby Jesus rather than shagging someone on holiday, but hey, if that’s the real reason for Christmas, then I say go for it.”

“I’m crossing you off my Christmas card list.”

“Which would be terrible if you ever remembered to send any.”

I give up and edge closer. “I don’t know what it is about him, Freddy.”

“I certainly do. He’s gorgeous, clever, and quirky. You were a goner as soon as he agreed to come on this holiday.”

“You’re probably right.”

“There’s no probably about it.” He eyes the threesome who are currently reading from the Gutterhead cards and giggling. Bee’s face is radiant, and he’s swaying as if in a high wind. “So, does he fancy you too?”

“Ah, that’s where the problem comes in.”

He wrinkles his nose. “He doesn’t fancy you? Well, that’s a surprise. He watches you all the time.”

“Does he?” That lovely thought diverts me until he flicks my nose. “Ouch.”

“Pay attention. What’s the problem?”

“Well, I think he sort of uses sex to keep people at bay.”

“Jack told me about the bloke in his flat.”

“Yes. I’m not shagging Bee. Yet,” I add quickly. “I mean I want to so badly, but I want to be different to him.”

There’s a startled silence, and then Freddy starts to laugh. It’s loud and long, and the others glance at us curiously.

I clap him on the back. Hard . “And so that is what the actress said to the bishop,” I say loudly. Sal’s eyes narrow, but then she turns back to Ivy and Bee, and I relax. “What the fuck?” I hiss at Freddy.

He’s wiping tears from his eyes. “You’re the most special person, Tom. The gift that just keeps on giving.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment. Do you think waiting to shag him is a mistake?” I whisper.

He takes a while to consider the question. “Maybe,” he says.

“I waited minutes for that advice. What the fuck , Fred?”

“Well, I think it’s a good move at the moment. He’s seriously clever, and Ivy says he gets bored easily and is really stubborn about blokes. This way, he gets to know you, which is good, because you’re awesome and so much more than just nice hair and a careless attitude, no matter what Steven says.” I stare at him, and he continues quickly. “On the other hand, sex shouldn’t be a big deal. If you both want it, then go for it. We’re only here once.”

“Edinburgh or heaven?”

He claps me on the back. “There. See?”

“No, I don’t. You’ve basically told me I’m right and still wrong.”

“Ah, grasshopper, such is life.”

Caro, one of the girls from next door, approaches, and Freddy winks at her. “Fancy a shag?” he asks.

She snorts. “I’ve had better offers, but yeah, okay.”

He grins and then follows her out, waving goodbye. There’s a mass of movement as everyone calls goodnight.

I wander out onto the balcony, feeling the freezing air hit me, blowing away the cobwebs in my brain from alcohol and the heat of the flat. The city sparkles like someone threw a net of fairy lights over it. I lean on the balcony, watching the heavy clouds overhead.

The door opens, and I know it’s Bee before I even turn around. It’s like someone tuned me into his frequency without me knowing about it. “Had a good night?” I ask.

“I think the true scale of my enjoyment will be felt tomorrow morning.”

My stomach tightens at his warm chuckle. I’ve heard it more and more as the evening went on. He laughs like a child does—raucously and completely uninhibited—and it’s infectious.

He’s so much more than I thought when I’d first met him and he was a bundle of attitude, truculence, and hangover.

He leans on the balcony, swaying a little, and I automatically put my hand out to steady him. I’d do it for anyone, but his expression comprises surprise and gratitude as if I’m the first man to ever perform such courtesies for him. It makes me feel ten feet tall.

“Careful,” I say.

He chuckles. “Yes, I do not wish to become a pavement pancake.” He has the precise diction of someone who is pissed. “I still have another four or five degrees to attain.”

I watch him, as he’s far more interesting than the view. “Do you have any more degrees than the ones you already mentioned?” He wrinkles his nose, and I start to laugh. “You’re actually having to stop and think about it?”

He shoves my arm gently, but my heart starts to hammer as he keeps his hand on my wrist, idly caressing the skin under my jumper. I shiver, and he looks up at me, his eyes suddenly dark and full of heat.

I think of my bank statement to calm the heat. Even if I wanted to reconsider my abstinence game plan, which is more of a mad idea at the moment, I still wouldn’t do anything while he’s this pissed. I clear my throat. “Well?"

He stares at my lips for a second and then blinks like a little owl, shoving his glasses up onto the bridge of his cute nose. “Did I mention the Open University one? It was an ancient history one. I took that part-time because I needed to relax.”

“Really? I usually just go to the pub.”

He chuckles again, staring out at the view once more, but he keeps hold of my wrist, his fingers stroking the soft skin and distracting me dreadfully. His next words bring me back to the moment.

“I was at Oxford University when I was fourteen.”

“ What ?”

He grins at me. “I took my A levels when everyone else was starting to think about what they’d take for their GCSEs.”

“Wow. I’ve read about kids doing that. I’ve never met one before.”

He hiccups softly. “Well, now you have.”

“What was it like?”

Every time I think he can’t get any more fascinating, he manages it. It’s like unwrapping the present in Pass the Parcel and discovering brighter and bolder paper underneath.

He shrugs, turning and leaning his back on the balcony. I immediately put my arm across his back, grabbing his hip to keep him from going over. He hums, seemingly unconcerned about his safety, but still nestles a little into me.

“It was okay,” he finally says. “I mean, it was fascinating to be at Oxford. We lived there, and I was familiar with the uni, but to be there attending lectures at the Mathematical Institute was incredible .”

“But?” I ask as he falls silent.

“Eh? Oh, it was also a bit isolating.”

“At fourteen?” I think of my first year at uni, which seemed to be mainly aimed at testing my alcoholic and sexual limits, and maybe considering a try at the world record for consuming the most amount of beer and kebabs. “I bet it was.”

A smile plays on his full lips. “I was fourteen, and my dad was a fairly famous don.”

“I’m gonna make him an offer he can’t refuse,” I say, doing a terrible impression of Marlon Brando.

He chuckles, giving me a little shove, and then returns to his memories. “Everyone was very nice, but I was never part of anything. They couldn’t include me in the pub, and I hadn’t had those valuable couple of years of growing up that they’d had, so I wasn’t on their level emotionally either. I was isolated from sex and alcohol.”

“They formed my entire university career.”

He laughs. “I wish it had been mine. I got used to people either staring at me like I was an exhibit in a museum or looking right through me. Even now, I struggle with being dismissed, which is not one of my best character traits.”

He stares at me as though I should understand something, and then it comes to me. He told me I’d looked right through him when I first met him.

I nudge him. “I’m sorry.”

“Eh?” He seems to take it as a general comment on his university career rather than a personal apology. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I made up for it later on.”

He turns sideways, leaning into me and shivering, which is hardly surprising as he’s only wearing a thin T-shirt. I put my arm over his shoulders.

“God, you’re so warm,” he says throatily, and my cock immediately stiffens because that voice says Sex with a capital S.

An alarm roars in my head because I’m very susceptible to him in this current mood, where he’s soft from drink and memories.

He studies me, and I swear there’s a spark of laughter and interest in those clever eyes. His mouth quirks, making me smile helplessly back.

There’s a sound at the door and I turn to see Ivy and Sal watching us. Ivy’s face is vivid with amusement and affection.

“Yes?” Bee asks, rolling his eyes.

“Do you want that portable speaker?” she asks. “It’s in my room.”

“Yes, please. I struggle to sleep if I can’t have my thunderstorm sounds on.”

“Come and get it, then.”

He offers me a heated look before following Ivy into the flat.

My sister eyes me, and I lean against the balcony casually, offering her a smirk that always, without fail, irritates her.

“Yes, can I help you?” I drawl.

She grimaces. “I cannot begin to imagine how you’d help me, Tom. I’m not sufficiently desperate to take your advice, and if ever that day comes, I will retire from the world.”

“I give excellent advice.”

“Was it you who told Arlo that skateboarding could help with his balance?”

I subside. “I still think that would have worked if he’d just given it a chance.”

“Tom, he wiped out in two seconds and took out three ten-year-olds at the same time. He’s banned from that skate park for life.” I snort, and she watches me for a few seconds. “I don’t want to know,” she says.

I nod. “Wise words.”

She narrows her eyes in her usual sisterly disdain and heads back into the flat.

I turn back to the view, but I don’t see the city’s lights or the cloudy sky. I see Bee’s full, pillowy lips and bright blue eyes. I tap the balcony’s railing. This has the makings of the best Christmas holiday ever.

I wake up with the sense that something’s changed. Fred’s bed is empty, so he’s obviously staying the night next door. I hear a soft pattering against my window. I sit up, rubbing my eyes, and look out.

“Oh my god ,” I breathe, jumping out of bed, and padding over to the window.

Shivering in the cool air, I stare out at the heavily falling snow, with huge, swirling flakes the size of two-pound coins. The courtyard is already covered, and I can barely see across it. Excitement seizing me, I check my watch. It’s three in the morning.

Is it too early to wake him up?

Nah. It’s snow.

Decision made, I throw on jeans and a hoody and stomp my feet into my boots; I pull on my parka, hat, and gloves, and head like a homing pigeon to Bee’s room. I tap on the door softly, and then, without waiting for a call to come in, I turn the handle, push the door open, and poke my head around the door.

The noise surprises me for a second. It sounds like a full-on storm is happening in his bedroom. Then I remember he likes to fall asleep to thunderstorm sounds. God knows how he manages it. I’d spend the night fighting the urge to get an umbrella.

He’s in a silent huddle under a mound of blankets, and I inhale, catching his vanilla scent. Then I pad over. “Bee,” I whisper, not wanting to scare him. “Bee, wake up.”

“Hmm,” he mumbles, burrowing farther under the covers. My eyes are adjusted to the darkness, and I can see the dark waves of his hair poking out. I tug on one of the strands gently. It’s soft and silky.

“Wake up,” I whisper.

I bend closer and his head comes up and collides with my nose. I fall back on my arse, clutching my face.

“ Shit ,” I choke out at the explosion of pain.

There’s a pause, and then the light comes on, making me hiss at the brightness.

“What the fuck ?” he breathes, sitting up. “Why does my head hurt?”

“Oh, don’t worry.” I wave a casual hand. “It just collided with my dose. Doh harm done.”

His chest is bare, and he’s beautiful in the lamplight, his skin shining like a pearl, his nipples pale pink. “Why on earth was your nose in my bed?”

I gingerly touch my nose, checking for blood. Luckily, there isn’t any. “Not in it. I’m not Cyrano de Bergerac.”

“Alexa, switch off.” Blessed silence falls in the room, and he shakes his head in confusion. “Is this a dream?”

“No, why?”

“Oh, no reason. Did I take hallucinogenic drugs last night?”

“No, just a vat of Baileys.” I suddenly remember why I came in here and jump to my feet. “Look,” I say excitedly, pacing over to the window. I draw the curtains back.

“Oh my god, Tom, it is three in the morning. Are you mad, or did you carry on drinking? And oh, that’s so pretty ,” he finishes in a breathy voice.

He pushes the duvet back and bounces out of bed. His grey boxer briefs cling to his narrow hips and little round arse. He’s all legs, sharp bones, and big eyes, and I wonder not for the first time how long I’ll actually manage to hold him off. Not long now I have this gorgeous image in my head.

I grin as he stares wonderingly out the window. It’s even more stunning from this vantage point to see the snow falling over Edinburgh. Streetlights shine like tiny beacons, illuminating the flakes as they tumble lazily down.

“Want to go out?” I ask.

He turns to me. “What now ?”

“Of course. Why not?”

“It’s three in the morning.”

“So? It’s the best time. No one will be about.”

Excitement fills his eyes. “Yes,” he says and starts scrambling into his clothes.

“Make sure you put on a jumper,” I instruct. “It’ll be freezing out there. I’ve been in snow in Edinburgh before.”

He obeys me, and we’re creeping through the silent apartment within a few minutes.

He pauses by the front door. “Don’t you want to wake the others up?”

“Do you?”

He considers me with his bright eyes. “No,” he finally says, looking as though that simple word has become complicated.

I grab his hand. “Come on, then. We’re wasting snow time.”

The corridors of the apartment building are silent as we creep along and meet nobody. I tug him towards a door on the ground floor. “Out this way. It brings you onto Cockburn Street without going the long way round.”

The cold hits us as we leave the building, the wind picking up the snow and throwing it at us like a child in a tantrum. We huddle into our coats and pick our way carefully down the old stone steps.

I jump the last two steps, feeling my feet sink into the snow with a cushiony thump. “Come on, slowcoach,” I urge.

He chuckles. All I can see is his sharp blade of a nose and those pretty eyes above his scarf. They widen as we come out onto Cockburn Street. The wind howls down it, cutting into us with icy precision.

He looks around wonderingly, and I can understand his appreciation. Four and five-storey buildings topped with pretty gables or turrets line each side of the road. Snow collects on the colourful awnings of the little shops and is already a thick layer on the road. Christmas lights twinkle in the shop windows and are strung above us, and they shine red and gold in the dim light. It looks like a fairytale street.

“Oh my god,” he breathes. “It’s so beautiful , Tom.”

I nod. “Like going back in time.”

“It’s like we’re the last two men on earth.”

The snow falls heavily past the streetlights, and there’s no one about. The street has that thick, muffled sound that comes from heavy snow, and it stretches ahead in pristine and untouched white. Bee and I look at each other, and as one, our lips curve up. We start to race up the road, slipping and sliding, making trails. We get to the top of the street and look back at our tracks. Our footsteps march side by side all the way up.

“It’s beautiful,” he says again softly. He leans against me, his head on my shoulder, the fluffy pompom on his hat tickling my nose.

I put my head back, and he watches and copies me. We hold our faces towards the sky with our tongues out to catch the flakes. They land on my face, tiny cold kisses alighting on my tongue like ice pops.

I look down just as he looks up, and everything in me stills. His gaze is bright with enjoyment, and he seems almost magical—like a snow pixie. He must feel something, too, because he gives me a slow, sensual smile and tilts his head. The silent invitation is too tempting to resist, and before I can think, I dip my head, and my lips are on him. That heat I felt at the castle roars through me again. Only now, there aren’t any tourists around. It’s just me and him in the falling snow, alone on a pretty street.

My hands tighten on his narrow hips, pulling him into me. My fingers clench his arse, and he gives a throaty purr and wriggles closer.

Within seconds, his coat is opened, and so is mine, only a few layers of clothes separating us from nakedness. We’re close enough I can feel his hard cock through our jeans. I grab his bum and kiss him like the world is ending—deep, hard kisses as he starts a grind against my thigh. His head falls back, the long line of his throat white in this strange snowlight, and I break away from his soft, pillowy lips to press kisses to it. He feels cold and soft, and he shudders as snowflakes land on his skin. I lick them away, the ice stinging my tongue, and then suck along the tendon where his neck meets his shoulder. He cries out and lifts his head, fumbling with my jeans.

I flinch as his freezing hand grabs my cock. “ Shit ,” I squeak. “Warn a bloke, please, Frosty the Snowman.”

He pauses, and then, to my astonishment, he starts to laugh. It’s infectious and makes me chuckle too.

“What’s so funny?” I ask.

He leans into me, his head tucking under my chin as though that spot has waited all my life for him. I tighten my grip on him, feeling his laughter vibrate against my chest.

Finally, he pulls back, looking up at me. “I suppose there’s no way I can persuade you to have a quick shag?”

“ Here ?”

He snorts. “No. Even I draw the line at potential penile frostbite.” He eyes me, and the laughter and interest are heady in his eyes. “You’re going to say no again, aren’t you?”

I bite my lip. “Maybe. For now, anyway.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I have no idea what is going on here. I’ve never had to work so hard for a bloke before.”

I cock my head. “But you’re enjoying it, aren’t you?” I hold my breath as I wait for his answer.

He watches me for a long few seconds and then shakes his head in bemusement. “I think I am,” he whispers.

I want to beat my chest in satisfaction. Instead, I zip his coat and bend to pick up his hat from where it fell on the ground. I pull it down over the dark waves of his hair, smoothing errant strands away and looking into his clear eyes.

Then I walk him back to the apartment, and even though we part at our bedroom doors, a part of me stays with him as I lie in bed watching the snow tumble past my windows and thinking of his smile.

“Twat,” I say to myself, but it doesn’t stop my sappy smile.