Smoking Hot Ch. 08

A short chapter. What would have been the second half has been made into Chapter 9, as again that's not Gay Male, and should be available to read now. Chapters 10-12 will be back to Adrian and Dan again.

A whole month off the smokes, over sixty scrambled eggs eaten, two fantastic nights with Laura, and a guy who seems to want to spend most of his free time with me.

Dan and I have been seeing each other every other day, pretty much.

Six weeks now. I guess this is more than a one-night stand. If I don't think about that, I can just get on with doing it.

Last night, he ended up meeting Izzy and Naz, as I left the office. "This is Dan," I said, no explanation. Izzy went "Nice to meet you," Naz shook his hand, and Naz suggested stopping off at the White Horse for a swift half.

Dan took him up on it before looking at my afeared face, so I felt I had to go along.

It was surprisingly good craic. Apart from Dan being just a bit older than Naz, who's clearly going out with Izzy only I'm not putting my size nines in that one yet, making me feel a bit like a cradle-snatcher.

Dan told me after, it's keeping me young. He has other good ideas to help keep me young, too.

That Friday, before heading down the pool hall, I go to him, "You know that idea you had, dressing up as a soldier boy, crashing in to do an interrogation?"

"Mm."

"Sounds kinda hot."

"You reckon?"

"I like you overpowering me. I grew up with soldier fantasies... I'd try blowing kisses at some of them, once I was about sixteen."

"Ever get one back?"

"Couple little smiles, but no. Pointing their rifle a bit more viciously, more like. Did you ever do house-to-house searches and all?"

"Few times. Had to restrain a few toe-rags for the cops to arrest. Mostly just scaring wifeys and kids. You know."

"I do." Where's a fucking cigarette? Oh, yeah.

"Re-framing it into a kink... could be good."

"What I was thinking." He's had the psychs at him, if he's using words like 'reframe your experiences', clearly.

We have a good time at the snooker. I beat him, just. He asks what I'd like for my prize.

"Ooh, I think I'd like you, Army boy..."

When we get to the door of my flat, he gives me a big smooch, then, "Be back in about ten minutes, OK?"

I wander in and go put the telly on. There's a Dara O'Briain show with some guests I vaguely recognise. I'm riveted, on the cusp of figuring out who the guy with wavy brown hair is, when there's hammering on the door. Not Dan, sounds proper urgent. Maybe John the caretaker saying there's a gas leak or something?

I get up to answer it.

No sooner is the door ajar than a soldier in green rushes in and slams me into the wall. I spot the dorky hat and the shape of a gun held aloft, shadow falling on the wall opposite. "Adrian Cullinane?" a voice barks, and I know: this is it. Reflex reaction, I have to get out.

I head-butt the guy, knee him in the balls, push him off. He's between me and the door, so I run the other way, round the sofa, yelling out 'Up the 'Ra!' for the first time in my life - mumbling support when the heavies last came round selling copies of An Phoblacht in some Kilburn pub doesn't count - and, thank fuck, I keep the sliding door to the balcony unlocked. I slam it to behind me, look out across the road. He's coming through the door.

There's only one way this can end. Parkour guys jump fifteen feet all the time, with their roll to the side; sure it'll be fine.

I'm hopping up onto the wall, one knee on, when I'm yanked backwards by my shirt, and land in the mucky gutter that runs along the tiled balcony.

I curl up in a ball for the inevitable shit-kicking.

"Adrian. Ade! It's OK. It's only me, Dan!"

It slowly filters through.

Dan.

I look up. The guy is kneeling over me, no hat, no gun in his hand. Dropped on the terracotta tiles is a large Super-Soaker water pistol, all lurid orange and green.

I'd only clocked the shape.

He pats my hand, then stands up. He leans on the wall, admiring my view of the churchyard, then looks at me and mutters, "You were going to do it, weren't you? Jump?"

I stay silent for a minute.

"What of it?"

There's a retching noise. He's puked on my wall.

Not from too much beer.

"Why d'you think I live on the lowest floor?"

I realise that's true, and all. I could have haggled the price down of the same flat, three floors up. No upstairs neighbours to disturb. I didn't.

He collapses next to me, keeping his arse out of the water that's running along the cement trough. "Shit, man."

"Mm. Not my greatest idea."

"Mine neither. I thought the water gun was obvious enough."

"I swear, I saw the uniform and the hat and the shape and didn't see anything else. Just assumed there were more behind ... Like being a kid again."

"They came to your house?"

"Couple times, looking for my Da. They pushed over a bit of furniture and left, so not so bad, really."

"Still, scary having guns in your house."

I laugh. "We had guns in the house anyway. So did loads of people. For farming, for self-defence - not going to call the RUC, were we?"

The lack of impartiality of the Royal Ulster Constabulary and their treatment of the Catholic community was why the British Army were called in in the first place. Shame that they weren't much better. And then there was Bloody Sunday...

"We'd probably have written that up as 'discovering a cache of IRA weaponry'."

"Aye, you would. Though now you mention it, there were more guns in my family's houses than might ever be needed for defence. Huh. Maybe Da wasn't just shooting his mouth off and really was supporting the Ra?"

"Did he put them 'beyond use' come the ceasefire?"

"My da? He didn't trust any ceasefires, not even the last one, not until Gerry Adams became a minister. Not that he liked Adams, you get me, said he was a tosser, but he respected Martin McGuiness."

"They say Adams is a good constituency MP."

"I'm sure he is. Just like Harold Shipman was a good GP." Everyone loved the nice doctor, except for the couple hundred patients he murdered.

Dan shrugs. "How you feeling now?"

"Damp." Still shaking and terrified. I'll probably have one of my nightmares again.

He pulls me up and back into the flat. As an afterthought, he locks the sliding door, like I won't notice.

I spot his fucking hat on the floor, pick it up and run my fingers round it. Stupid shape. Harder than I'd expected. Makes me feel queasy, too, just touching it.

"Hey, Dan! Why don't you use that water pistol to clean off my wall?"

He does, quicker than I thought he would, so he sees me hurl his stupid hat into the kitchen island.

"D'you want me to go?"

I have to think about that. But not for long.

"I don't. Come here. Get your boots off." He sits next to me on the sofa and I unlace the chunky strings, ease off the boots.

Have they ever stood on a man, I wonder. Suddenly, I have to know. "You ever killed a man? Or beat them up?"

He just looks at me, sadly, silently.

Oh, shit.

Eventually he replies, "I don't think so."

It's hardly reassuring. "Eh?"

He doesn't say anything for a minute, then takes a deep breath. "Never seen a man die. Or kicked shit out of anyone. But I did shoot in earnest, a couple times. Snipers... We heard more noises after, which suggests I missed."

"Or there were two of them."

"Exactly. I'll never know." I suppose nothing made the news.

We sit still for a minute. "D'you mind if we change the subject, now?" he asks.

"Good idea," I agree.

He shucks off his jacket, which suddenly seems oppressive, too. In his khaki T-shirt and camo trousers and bare feet, this is more the level of soldierly seduction I can cope with. I give him a big kiss. Actually, that snot-green top is too much, too - I pull it off as well.

There. A fit lean guy in just combats. "That's more like a fantasy soldier."

"Uh-huh. Are you intending on crossing my border?"

"Only if I'm invited. I'm a good boy, sir!"

"Ah, good manners. You could earn your way across, boy."

He opens his fly. He's going commando. Obviously. Oh, yeah...

"Fraternising with the enemy? You're asking a lot of me, sir!"

"But you're a dirty kinda boy, aren't you? You like it. See. Knew you did. Yeah." He catches my eye as I start to suck him off. "I wanna invade you..."

"I might be incentivised to collaborate... You know, I think we've discovered why porn dialogue is cheesy as fuck."

"Yeah. Oh, keep doing that! Fuck reality..."

I have a feeling we might be able to prevent me having one of those nightmares of a knock on the door, now. Maybe. If I don't start having more about jumping from a height, anyhow. If I can think of this, every time I think of the Forces...

"Take me to your bedroom."

"Need to search it, do you sir?"

"Oh, yes. Need to search some things very thoroughly..."

He orders me to remove each bit of clothing in turn, his bare chest and familiar smile keeping me in the now, not getting scared. Once I'm just in my pants, he makes me kneel up on the bed. He lays his hands on my arse and over my junk, then pulls the briefs down to expose me completely.

Feather-light touches all over, and I whimper, in happiness, not fear.

"Stop that! Stay still!" But the whack is a warm spank and a caress, and I can deal with it.

"Sir, for you, sir!"

He hovers by my ear. "I could get used to hearing that."

"Aye-aye, sir!"

He flicks my nipple, almost painfully. My cock is sticking up painfully. I don't know whether to pray he flicks it the same way or that he doesn't.

"That's Navy speak. More importantly, you're just taking the piss. Just stay still."

He stings his fingernail across the other nipple. This is one of those challenges where you're being set up to fail. I can't decide whether I want to be good for him or not. It's going to be academic, soon, anyway.

He flicks my cock, pulls the foreskin back, flicks the head again.

"Hush."

A flick on each of my balls, and I manage to suppress my groan.

He steps to stand behind me. I might as well give in now, only I don't know how.

A flick onto that soft skin under my balls. It's slightly painful but so good, and I can't help the moan.

"Oh, that's a good place for you, is it? Spread those legs, I need a closer look."

His finger probes along my arse crack, and he's licked it. It's so delicate there's no way I can keep my balance, so I fall forward.

"Ah, thought you'd be hiding something. Along to the bathroom and let's get you clean so's I can investigate."

His entrance earlier had had me literally practically crapping myself. Now it's touching

cloth time. He herds me into the bathroom, faces the door while I get on with it.

"Ready for a thorough search?"

I am. "Please, sir."

"That's 'Yes, sir.'"

"Aye, sir."

He decides not to push it. Wise.

He pushes me over the end of the sofa, instead, kicks my feet apart, and shoves some suddenly-lubricated fingers in my hole. I can see his camouflage-pattern legs and it's a total taboo combination. Soldier and the local faggot, him ditching all his rules and regulations, me luring him to the queer side.

Hotter than fuck.

"Ride me harder, Army boy!"

He uses both hands to hold my shoulders down and growls in my ear, "I give the orders, you Irish nancy shite!" He does step it up, so I figure he can call me what he likes. Except British.

"Eh, shut yon bake, ya quare aul slabber!"

"Ooh, cheeky!"

"Wind it in, ya turd-packin' gobshite!"

He mocks my accent, sounding like a piss-taking schoolkid: "I'll shut my gob the day you shut ya hoop! Only we all know yer hole's more twenty-four seven than Tesco's..."

I can't help laughing at that. I mean, technically hoop means hole, arsehole, but it's the kind of phrase your annoyed mum or big sister says. Good comeback calling me a slut, though.

"Aye, you and your ma are me best customers!"

He loses it too. We both end up on the floor. And keep laughing when we realise what I should have retorted: Tesco's slogan, "Every little helps!"

"You know, I did love the Irish way with words."

"Must have been an interesting subset of the language you got, the heckling. 'Wind yer neck in, Army!' 'Ya thick as manure but only half as useful!'"

"Oi! That was a rare compliment!"

"Heh. Ever get a piss balloon land on ye?"

"No, thank god! Why, did you make them and lob them?"

"I couldn't possibly comment. Long hot summer days of boredom. Can't recall doing them myself, but I had mates who did. Excuse to hold each others cocks, trying to fill the wee water balloons, if you ask me. Did the odd bit of firing dirt, that kinda thing. Mostly, my rebellion was taking my compasses during maths lessons and scratching out the Queen's head on coins! And scribbling stupid faces on political posters, though those dryshites usually couldn't get any uglier..."

"Hardcore." Amused sarcasm.

"Aye. Proper young terrorist, me. Made coming over here a bit of a shocker."

"How come? Oh, I can guess... all the 'you're quite bright, for an Irishman', "No dogs, no Irish'..."

"That. 'Best lock up extra careful now, there's Irish folk moved in.' 'Put away your booze before the Irish guys see it.' 'There's a new guy joined our team, he's Irish but he's nice...' 'Sorry, no rooms left, all gone.' I used to always get Diane to order our take-away, put it that way."

"Sheesh."

"One consolation. My mate Will - he's a mate now, but it took us a couple years - he faced the same shit. Despite being Unionist as they come!"

He chuckles.

"Ah well, you've discovered another way I'm dead fucked up. You going to run home, or can I persuade you to stay here til morning?"

"Well now. You'd best get on with the persuading..."

It doesn't take much.

I don't have a nightmare.

A few days later, Dan appears on the crack of six. "Evening mate. How you doing?"

Dan rolls his eyes. "Not so good. Max asked me what I'd think about Gem moving in. Told him, you do that, and I move out. He said, 'She could cover the rent. I know you don't like her, which is a shame, but I want more time with her. It's not like I see you much any more anyhow - you're always off at Adrian's.' I've got three grand saved, deposit and rent. Just, so many dodgy places, don't meet legal requirements... it'll be a right hassle..."

"Can't you just say no?"

"For a bit. He'll want to move in with her eventually, though. Otherwise he moves out and I have to find someone - I don't know anyone that well in this whole bloody city! And the stress of whether they'll be reliable at paying the mortgage and all that. I'd be better off with a room in a shared house and just flitting when it turns out to be shit."

I try to distract him with dinner, beer, and my body, with increasing amounts of success. Later that evening, I have a think.

"Dan?"

"Mm?"

"Tell me I'm mental, right?"

"You're mental. What?"

"Look, you're here half the time, anyway. We don't know if Max and Gem will work. Surely he'll see the light sometime? What if, just temporary, right, you move in here and she moves in upstairs? Two, three month trial. Gives you a couple months to save up more, you just pay your bills here, cover me losing my council tax single discount and that. When you've had enough of me, you don't need to worry about timing and all for moving, because she's already paying upstairs."

He's shocked. "Run that by me again?" I repeat the idea.

"Where would I work?"

"You need the light, right? Move that bookcase, use this corner of the lounge. Put one of these chairs in the bedroom, even. Your big printer can go in the office - I mean, you could, too, but I don't want to distract you when you're working..."

He's thinking about it. "What about space for my other stuff? My bike?"

"See if it fits in the locker downstairs, or keep it on the balcony like you do now. Half the bits of wardrobe in my bedroom are empty, you know. And the walk-in in the office has lots of space, still. There's the spare bed, there, too, if you want your own space - could partition it off, left of the door..."

"Come in there." He leads me to my office, which he's never spent time in.

My desk and all are to the right of the door, by the window. The left half of the room is fairly empty, leaving a route to the walk-in closet around the spare bed, which hasn't been used since my sister last came over. "There's a couple bookcases I'd have to move or empty."

"Hm." Dan's thinking.

He straightens up. "Armchair goes in here." He points. "Bookcases next to the dresser. The one in the lounge gets cleared for my files. Or moved, and I get a tall one. And some sort of partition in here, one of those folding wooden screens, so I've still got my own room, as it were."

I can't believe he's running with it.

"Do we have enough sockets there?" He checks. "And let me make very clear. You do not touch the desk!"

"Likewise. Could your big printer go across here, d'you think? What about kitchen stuff - what do you have?"

"A couple good pans and knives, but that's it. I'm not attached to any of the rest."

I'm gobsmacked at how calmly Dan's taking my idea, like moving in with an older semi-alcoholic he's known eight weeks is a good plan.

He's counted the plug sockets in the wall and deemed them satisfactory. "I'd better talk to Max. See how serious he and Gem were."

Turns out, Gem's housemates have a friend in dire need of a room. Or they're just desperate to get rid, who knows?

Result is, we spend a couple evenings that week moving stuff about, and take a morning off to hit a furniture auction. It does mean the other three nights I'm working until about 2 am. Can't wait until Lissa joins us - I'm running on caffiene already.

We score two tall solid-wood bookcases, and one folding wood room partition with fake-paper panels; plastic, but looks good while still letting light through.

"I do intend to be in your bed, unless you snore."

I take a breath. "Our bed."

His tone is joking but I know he's being serious. "Can you cope with that kinda commitment from your repeated one-night-stand guy?"

I cup my hand round his head. "I don't know, love. I really don't know."

Next afternoon, Friday, Dan's arranging papers to make his desk the appropriate degree of cluttered, moves the wooden figure to his hideaway where he's putting a couple of his pin-ups. I pick up the sketchbook underneath.

"Don't touch that!"

"Sorry, on the desk. Right."

"No, that book, anywhere... it's private. OK?"

It's the first time I've heard him snap at me. "Got it. Any other really private stuff you don't want me touching, apart from your desk?"

He shrugs. "Not really. I mean, the old photos and porn collection are mildly embarrassing..."

"Ooh, porn! Mags or DVD?"

"Few of both. Chucked the videos a while back - box down there, if you really want a rummage, nothing too specialist..."

"Not right now. Got you right here. Who needs porn when they have the real thing?"

"Get away! You'll miss all the exciting porno plots! 'Hell-oh, I'm the new plumber!'" He looks me up and down, lasciviously.

"That roleplay might be a safer bet, sometime."

"You can adjust my spanner any time, darlin'!"

I go and do just that. In our bed.

Is this the most stupid thing I've done in years?

It turns out surprisingly OK, actually. Eventually.