Smoking Hot Ch. 12

"Thought you'd..." I lip-read the silent words, which I'm pretty sure are 'not want me'.

"As opposed to you going back to being a shit-faced alkie? Cos obviously that's a step way above, 'look, before we met I agreed to shag a friend; now we're getting closer, would you prefer I didn't?' So many long complicated words..." I'm sounding as sarcastic as Laura was.

Adrian's blushing. Some words clearly don't come easy to him.

"God, you were right, you are a fucked-up bastard." I pause, wondering how to get through to him. "And you reek. Come on, into the shower and you'll feel better. Cos you are my fucked-up bastard and don't you forget it, matey. Come on, up and at 'em, quick march..."

"This has got to be against the Geneva Convention..." Adrian moans, once I've got him moving.

"No, it's natural consequences of you being a complete fuckwit. Tough shit. Step in. Kneel down in case you puke again. You OK? There, get that water all over you." On his knees, nude - that's more like how I'm used to seeing him. Can we get back to that, I wonder?

I pop out into the main room, where Laura stayed rather than follow Ade's naked body into the bathroom. "Cheers, love. Could you get some tea and toast ready for him? Actually, for all of us."

"Already on it. You look like you need it."

I nod. I'm exhausted, but I return to the bathroom. The door doesn't shut so Laura can hear my running commentary. "Get you washed. Go on. That's better. Better out than in... All done now, you think? Looks like you've run out of stomach contents... Rinsing you off again. There, that's you done, our boy! Hup you get. Dressing-gown. Come on, have some breakfast. No, you are. Out you come, a little bit'll do you good, boy.

"Yes, you damn well are! I've put up with a lot these last few days, so right now you're having breakfast, then you're calling up all your therapists for a refresher until you realise I love you, buck eejit and bastard that you are, and sort your fucking head out. Now shift it, before I get out that collar and lead and drag you..."

I suspect Laura is the tiniest fraction disappointed that Adrian isn't wearing a leather collar when I drag him into the room, looking thinner than usual in my huge white towelling dressing-gown and hastily-dried damp hair, but she's visibly relieved to see him vertical and moving under his own power. She greets him with a huge hug, her face nestling in the fluffy robe over his chest. His face is tired and more worn than normal, but still with that sensual quality that makes him so damn attractive. I bend him into sitting on the sofa, and Laura puts his tea and toast - scrape of jam, no butter - in front of him.

Mechanically, Adrian starts to eat. I mix up another rehydration sachet and hold the glass in front of Adrian's face until he silently drinks it.

Once Adrian's managed a whole slice of toast and a mug of tea, I pass him his phone. "Call your therapists about an urgent appointment. Let me know if you need me to go with you."

Laura diplomatically heads into the bathroom and stays there for a time, while Adrian speaks in a monotone to some receptionist. "Tomorrow, at four. Would... would you come with me?"

Thank fuck. If he's willing to accept help, then there's a chance for us.

I hold out my hand. "I'll be there for you. But you got to let me be there for you."

Adrian's running a finger up and down mine, obsessively. He nods, though not raising his eyes. "I... don't always know how."

"No shit! Now, you tell me, you've pulled these benders before. Do I need to lock up your booze?"

He shakes his head. "Nah. If I want to get shit-faced, I'm not wasting the good stuff. Bottle of Grant's, you've put the pieces in the bin, I suppose. Cheap vodka. Bought it yesterday. Just as well it wasn't the litre on offer, I suppose, just the seventy. You'll notice, apart from a few shots of Glenfiddich, I haven't touched that lot." He waves at his collection on the dresser.

I think for a moment. "You didn't think you were worth it?"

He shrugs.

I nod. "I think I'm starting to get it."

Laura emerges, still red-faced. I hasten to reassure her. "This wasn't your fault. And, you know what? Our boy here stopped at the offie for cheap alcohol to get blotto with, but you know what he didn't buy?"

"No cigarettes?"

"Indeed. Still no fags, even under stress. I think he's cracked it."

"That's what you think."

"Yeah? You want a fag, right now?"

He retches.

"Told you. So, you've got a lot to be thankful to our friend here for." I point at the embarrassed Laura.

"Mm."

"And, you never asked my opinion on you seeing other people."

"You were glad I wasn't being fucked by all and sundry!" Adrian's indignant.

"Yeah, because you had said it wasn't making you happy - you were just doing it as a distraction from your demons. You doing someone because they're hot and you like them and you really want to - that's different. Or me doin' the same, even."

Laura grins, nervously. "OK, boys, sounds like you've got a lot to talk about. Um, yeah. As Adrian certainly hasn't told you, we had it in the diary for me to come round Saturday after this, to celebrate him staying non-smoking for three whole months. I'm open on what that celebration is - dinner will be just fine, honest - so I'll leave that appointment in place for now. But let me know!"

She comes over and gives me a hug. "Thanks for looking after him. Someone has to." And a giant hug for Adrian. "You are a daft, stupid, exasperating, stupid bastard, and I love you, gorgeous. You hang onto this bloke, he's a good one."

_____________________

Laura's gone.

I'm so tired.

Feel like death. Hollow, and aching inside. Puking your entire stomach contents out repeatedly, especially when it's just the hydrochloric acid, will do that.

Only physically like death, though. Mentally, a weight's been lifted, at least as far as somewhere just over my head, sword-of-Damocles style. Laura's spelt everything out to Dan; the ball's in his court, now.

He didn't run away.

Saved my life, more like.

Him and Laura.

He's shoved me onto the sofa with a mug of sweet tea and more toast and jam, then sits down beside me. He takes my hand, rubs it slowly.

I'm a wrung-out dish-rag, too exhausted to respond, though I manage to circle my thumb round the back of his hand. We sit in silence for a good while.

He's good at being quiet, when he doesn't have anything to say.

Eventually he goes, "Where's this therapist for tomorrow, then?"

"East Dulwich, he is, now. Off Goose Green."

"Uh-huh."

He's probably surprised it's a bloke. I was, too, but the man's a fucking genius. I kinda wish he wasn't a psych, cos I get the impression he'd be a good mate, but in reality I know nothing about him beyond his formal qualifications and him being on the Pink List of queer-friendly professionals. Sometimes I think he's gay, other times I get the impression he isn't. He's a blank slate, delving into my thoughts and untwisting the knots of logic and emotion. I always come away from him feeling mentally ironed.

Dan puts the remote in my hand, disappears for a minute. I assume he's gone to the bog, but then he tells me, "I told your work you wouldn't be back until at least Friday, probably Monday - "

"Who did you speak to?"

"Izzy. I said you'd had a really bad stomach upset needing a paramedic, and wouldn't be back in the office this week. I'm not sure she believed me; she mentioned a Sam Protocol?"

I shrug. Sam wants to know about shit affecting his staff. Fair. He's not stupid. Nor's Izzy.

Dan nods. "She said Naz was prioritising ruthlessly for when you and the new one are there, and she's looking after him."

Oh, good. I was feeling bad about what was dumped on him, too.

"Trashy movie?"

It sounds bearable. "What about your work?"

"It can wait for tomorrow. Underemployed, remember? Not much to do, this week."

We've paused Die Hard 2 to get more tea, when he mentions, "Been looking at college courses, to fill up my time. Not sure what would be worth it, though, even if I ever managed to pass one."

This, finally, is something I can help with. I know what knowledge we look for in our draughties, and what gaps Gary despairs of filling. I explain the differences between various diplomas - he's adamant he's not doing an Access course nor going to university, but turns out various of the diplomas and certificates are run by Birkbeck or Imperial as evening or part-time courses. "A university's just a college where they do research, too. No need to panic about it."

"I was intimidated by college, already!" he retorts.

He's got a good set of bookmarks to read up on later, before we go back to the fillum and I doze on his shoulder. Soup and bread for tea - he has cheese too, I can't face it. I'm still not up for saying much, and nor is he. We end up lying a bit stiffly in bed. He's never going to want to stay with me after pulling this shit, is he?

Then there's a wee kiss on my shoulder and he rolls over to sleep.

It's like a tiny light in my heart.

Just maybe, maybe, there's a chance I haven't completely bollocksed up my life again, after all.

I'm pretty silent the next day, too, even with Dan ushering me on the train to Dulwich where we have a nice cafe lunch and sit watching the ducks. Therapy really is fucking terrifying, especially after a long break. I'll be such a disappointment to Martin.

Which I end up telling him. And get reminded about jumping to conclusions, yet again. Separating real consequences from further-downstream consequences which exist only in my imagination is something we went over a lot before. He makes me go over actual evidence that Dan has had enough of me. It's less convincing that I'd thought, for sure.

And then he asks for evidence that maybe Dan is willing to stick with me.

The fact that the lad is sitting on the sofa in the hall this very minute is clearly what Martin's thinking of, but it's that wee peck Dan gave me last night that comes to mind.

It's a gruelling hour, made bearable by Martin's constant calm politeness, as he delves into my mind with his precise invisible forceps, snipping unhelpful connections and starting to re-route my thoughts. It's not an instant resolution by any means - I step out of his room feeling I should have a huge bandage on my head holding a pile of raw wounds closed until they scab over. Instead, I get Dan raising an eyebrow and reaching out a hand.

It's a lot to put on him, holding me together.

Martin would say I'm not putting it on him; Dan's choosing to.

It might be true, I suppose?

The bloke would have to be mad.

He ushers me to another cafe where the waitress delivers tea and a large bun for each of us - I'm not really with it enough to notice him ordering.

Back home, he pulls some home-made bolognese out of the freezer, tells me to stick some pasta on, he cooks some frozen peas. It's getting back to some sort of normality, though there's still that elephant in the room, crowding out my air.

I lay my fork down a moment. Deep breath.

"I don't have to fuck Laura, you know."

He chews his mouthful. More than necessary.

"No, you don't," he agrees. He drinks some water. "But you don't have to not fuck her, either."

I cough on my juice. Is he dumping me...?

"Seriously. She's in multiple relationships already, shags other people sometimes, knows the score. She's hardly going to want to run off into the sunset with you, is she?"

It's a dry chuckle, but it's my first laugh since I went off the rails. "No, me and Laura would never be a coupley thing. Never. Even if Dave wasn't around."

"Exactly. So have your reward. You've given up smoking, after how long?"

"Pfft... Must have been eleven, when I had my first one. Thirteen, fourteen, when it became a proper habit?"

"Twenty-five years! Silver Jubilee, you could have had for it. And now you've completely quit, even not buying more when you went to pick up cheap shit vodka. I think that merits a celebration, don't you?"

"I could celebrate with you."

He takes my face in his hands. "Oh, don't worry. We will." Letting go, he says, "Like I was trying to explain in that sauna. I'm no clingy monogamous dude. I've been fucking different guys most weeks for the last few years - I'm a right gay tart! Just at the same time, I don't want to be abandoned and don't want to see you doing stuff unless you really want it. You looking round, you wasn't wanting, you was just going 'i could get, if I tried'. Big difference. Huge."

I shrug. It's true enough. Nice, proving I can still seduce them at my age.

"If you'd seen someone you actually wanted for them - hell, someone you'd wanted to fuck because you haven't been getting that from me - if you'd kept me there, holding me too, not leaving me out - wouldn't have to join in, but y'know, think about that, eh? - that really would have been fine."

"Huh. You reckon?"

"I know. You're not the first relationship I've ever had, you know."

"Those broke up."

"Not because of who we were shagging. Honest. Sex: great. Domestic bliss: great. Overlap - brilliant." I realise he's trying to mime a Venn diagram of overlapping circles. "Doesn't mean we have to stick to the bit within both circles and ignore the stuff that sticks out."

"Laura's an edge case, is what you're saying?"

"She's not going to go bunny-boiler on us, is she? Or steal my man. It's obvious you were looking forward to it. So. Why not?"

He folds his arms.

Woah.

"Um..."

"Exactly."

"Are you sure? I mean, she comes over, there'd be noise..."

"I'm sure I can push off to the gym for an hour or so and leave you to your own 'exercise'." He's grinning, pleased with his euphemism.

Huh. "It's a thought. I'd be worrying about you, though."

"Even though I've told you clearly not to. You talk to your Martin about that."

I do, seeing as I've got another appointment two days later. Two more the next week, then back to weekly, is the plan.

But in the meantime I text Laura, confirming her invitation for dinner and possibly more.

Copying in Dan. See, improvement in communication already!

She replies to us both. "Looking forward to dinner. L xx" God, I love her! She gets it.

It's a strange week all round. That evening, we hit the sack early, clinging to each other a bit. I send a couple work emails the next day, but tell them I'm still totally washed out. Cos it's true.

One of the emails I send is to Izzy. A fail-safe. If I'm not acting right on the Monday or Tuesday after Laura's been round - not that I mention that, just citing the dates - tell Sam to phone Dan.

She's probably assuming I'm waiting for some news about my health. Sort of right, I suppose. Sam's the sort of guy who would actually take mental health seriously.

I fanny about, get the place tidy, then start to cook, wondering whether Dan knows what he's saying. I'm sure he believes it, but can he really be that content? I ask him, when he's done for the week and we're eating dinner.

"I certainly can. Gay bloke, right? Don't have all those heterosexual expectations of one person having to meet all your desires. Me and Jim, our idea of a good Saturday night was going clubbing and seeing what talent we could pick up for the night. Sometimes we did, sometimes we didn't; it didn't really matter." He sighs. "Shame he was set on moving to Australia. He's all settled down with a new guy, must have been five years now."

"Uh-huh."

"Besides, she's a woman - by definition she's going to be different to me. She couldn't look more different, could she?"

Curves. Long black hair. 'Her red dress on,' my mind supplies. Yup, totally different image.

"I mean, I wouldn't put it past her to be up for pegging you, in which case I'd stay and watch..."

He laughs, which alerts me to my mouth goldfishing in shock.

"That wasn't in the plan for next week," I tell him.

"Ah, well. May give it a miss, then."

It's strange, hearing him make light of what seemed such a huge deal in my head a week ago.

Though he hasn't had me, yet. Maybe I'm now in the domestic side only of his diagram?

I share my worries with Martin. At some point there's a cough, which my paranoia tells me is him covering up 'oh, for fuck's sake, boy'. He suggests that some talking about what we both want from our sex lives might be in order, this weekend. Like how we did at the Brau, what seems like eons ago.

I get home for lunchtime - there's not many people I'd go out to see for 10.30 on a Saturday morning, which shows how much I rate Martin. And I blurt out, "Fancy fucking me, or have we gone all domestic like you and your Louise?"

He rolls his eyes. "Yes, I want you. You've only just got over your alcohol poisoning - give yourself five minutes! All right. Dinner and a date tonight, you're on."

We hit the wee Moroccan, and I don't feel the loss of alcohol. Mostly we manage to chat and banter like we've always done, but every now and then I stumble. I can't believe I'm getting a second chance.

Fiftieth chance.

Millionth chance.

He even holds my hand on the way back, setting his body determinedly against the flow of revellers near the river, like he's hoping for a fight. No-one seems to even clock us as queers, even when he pulls me in for a good snog on the High Street near home.

Guess the area really is improving.

Back in our apartment, I'm all awkward and nervous like a first-date virgin. But again he reminds me he's had as many relationships as I have, possibly more, and a goodly amount of casual sex too. Given how he mostly doesn't regret that, one could even say he's better at it than me.

Which means letting him take the lead, so I can learn, is a grand idea.

Of course, my brain jumps in to try to spoil things, just as he's got my kit off and is reaching out for my balls.

"Why don't you get yourself a guy without all my baggage?" I ask him.

He pauses for a short moment, then continues moving his hand to circle round my scrotum, cock leaping to attention above it. A few minutes later, he answers.

"I could try. But two things: one, everyone's got baggage. Even if - especially if - they don't know it. Yeah, you've got some issues and you'd better not make a fucking habit of shit like Tuesday, but at least you know what your shit is and you've been working on it. And working on it again." He shrugs. "Better the devil you know."

He squeezes and pulls down gently, and I almost forget to ask what the second thing was.

He smiles, tightening his grip. "Second reason? Simple." He stares into my eyes and twists my sack round, starting to get a bit painful. "I don't want to. I've got you. I want you."

My cock's leaking from the sensations. Well, shag me with a sledgehammer! "I don't believe it," is all I can say. That's me, chucking away the best thing since sliced bread.

He snorts. "One moment." He drops my bollocks and wanders to his bedside table, pulling out a crumpled bit of paper.

His voice is quiet and sarcastic, which I'm finding gets me hard. "I think you'll find, pal, that not only do I want your service, but you are contractually bound to provide it." He hands me the torn half an A4 sheet and stands over me, hands on his lean hips.

It's that fake builder's note I scribbled for him a couple months back, confirming I still owe Dan Johnstone one Type O, option 1.

"Huh. You sure?"

"Totally. Or do I have to speak to the manager? I'm assuming the manager is Laura... I don't think your mate Will or your Izzy want to get involved in this supplier dispute..."