Dylan stared across the crowded rock club, his gaze drawn, as ever, to the graceful form that stood out among the sea of sweaty bodies. Angelo was dancing with Eddie, lifting her high above his head, his strong arms holding her firm as her laughter rang out over the thrashing music.

Sam watched them too, his expression hard to gauge. “Should I be jealous?”

“Of what? His moves? Probably. But if you’re worried he’s gonna crack on to your missus, don’t bother. We’re in the wrong club for that.”

Sam laughed. “Don’t mention that bloody sex club to Eddie. You know she’ll want to go.”

“That a bad thing?”

“Fucked if I know, but I ain’t man enough to deal with all of you.”

Dylan laughed too, leaning on Sam and absorbing his familiar solidness. He’d fretted when Eddie had called him a few days ago to say she and Sam were paying London a flying visit, but his anxiety had proved baseless. Sam was happy and healthy, and the space he’d once owned in Dylan’s heart now belonged so entirely to Angelo that it was hard to recall when life had been any different.

It helped that Angelo and Eddie got on like a house on fire. Both so beautiful and vibrant, Dylan could watch them move together all night. Had done exactly that, in fact, while he and Sam had got quietly drunk in the corner.

“When do you start your new job?”

“Hmm?” Dylan snapped his attention back to Sam. “Oh. Um, next week. I’ve got a few cases to close up in Stratford first.”

Sam tipped the last of his beer down his throat. “Never thought I’d see you working in the Romford office. You always said you’d rather shoot yourself.”

“I’m not going to be just working there, though. I’m running it⁠—the financial department, at least. And they’ve given me a lot of scope to change things. It’s worth it now that I can make a difference.”

“You don’t have to change things to make a difference. Sometimes you’ve just got to carry on.”

Dylan thought of the years that Sam had put into keeping his grandfather’s café open, the eighteen-hour days he’d worked without a second thought to the effect it was having on the rest of his life. In that, he and Angelo were exactly the same. “I hear you, but there’s a real opportunity here to make things right. And it’s closer to home so I can be there for Angelo if he needs me.”

Sam said nothing to that, all too aware of what it was like to depend on those he loved most to take care of him. He’d been well the whole time he and Eddie had been in Poland, but who knew what was round the corner? Not Dylan, and living with Angelo’s condition had taught him to take each day as it came. Worrying about tomorrow didn’t make anything easier.

Besides, today was a great day, and as awesome as it had been to spend it with Sam and Eddie, Dylan was itching for the next phase to begin.

Hot, sweat-sheened arms slid around him from behind. Angelo pressed a wet kiss to Dylan’s cheek. “What are you smirking about?”

“I’m not smirking,” Dylan protested as he turned around, though Sam certainly was until Eddie distracted him with a heated kiss of her own. “I’m just happy.”

“Happy, eh? I’ll take that. Have I done enough moshing for you yet?”

“You love it.”

“I love you.” Angelo swiped Dylan’s beer and necked it. “And you’ve been pining for this place, admit it.”

“Maybe,” Dylan hedged. “I didn’t think you’d be quite so into it, though.”

Angelo set the empty bottle down. “Why not? I let you fuck me with Motörhead growling in the background, don’t I?”

Behind Dylan, Sam burst out laughing. Dylan flipped him the bird over his shoulder and made an executive decision. He moved impossibly closer to Angelo, wedging his knee between his legs. “Careful. It’s your turn to call the shots when we ditch this place, but I might change my mind and bend you over the bar.”

Angelo smirked, seeing Dylan’s bluff for exactly what it was, because they both knew that even if Angelo was more than a once-in-a-blue-moon bottom, Dylan was waaay too thirsty to switch up their sex club adventures. “Does this mean you’re ready to go?”

Of course it did. They said goodbye to Sam and Eddie and left The Pitt, taking advantage of the heady summer air to save money and walk across town. They held hands, like always. Nine months to the day since they’d first met, and it had yet to get old. Would it ever fade?

Dylan doubted it.

* * *

Angelo fell onto Dylan’s chest, his muscles screaming, but for once the lactic acid in his legs was there for all the right reasons. He kissed Dylan’s sweat-damp skin, trailing his lips up until he found Dylan’s neck, and then he sank his teeth in, thrusting into him one last time. “Jesus!”

At home, his shout would’ve rung out and disturbed the neighbours. In Lovato’s, though, only the crowd who’d chosen to watch the show reacted, and Angelo barely noticed them⁠—too transfixed by Dylan falling apart beneath him. His arched back and flailing hands. His wild, guttural cries. One day, Angelo would get used to how beautiful he was.

But not today.

They peeled themselves off the mattress and slipped away from the masses into the private showers. Angelo finished first and sat on the bench while Dylan finished up, watching, awed and wondering, as had become his habit in the last few months. How did I get so lucky?

As if he’d ever know.

Dylan crouched in front of him, naked, his hands on Angelo’s denim-clad knees. “Are you falling asleep on me?”

“Not yet. Just enjoying the view.”

“In Romford? You need to get out more.”

“Don’t be a dick.” Angelo poked his tongue out. “I want to ask you something, actually.”

Clearly intrigued, Dylan grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist. “Not gonna propose, are you? Because I’ve already told you I’m not a marriage kind of bloke.”

Angelo snorted. “You and me both.”

It was true. On one of the many nights they’d sat up battling the evil tag team of Dylan’s insomnia and the spasms in Angelo’s muscles, they’d talked about anything and everything, learning what made the other tick, and solidifying their bond until it was absolute. They were different men, but their dreams were the same.

“Actually,” Angelo went on. “I was going to ask you if you’d be my student for the day on Wednesday. I know it’s your last day off before your new job, but it’s my first assessment and I’m freaking out a bit.”

Understatement. Freaking out wasn’t Angelo’s usual style, but Dylan wasn’t the only one with new employment prospects. Angelo’s ME-specific physio had panned out so well that Harry had suggested he retrain as a graded exercise therapist. In a moment of madness, he’d agreed and was now three months deep into his first year.

Dylan nudged Angelo with his shoulder. “Of course I’ll be your student for the day. I don’t know what you’re fretting for, though. I know you don’t like peopleing, but you’re an amazing teacher. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be able to bend my legs behind my head like I did just now.”

Angelo chuckled. “You’re a quick learner.”

Dylan laughed too, but the ever-present shrewdness in his gaze told Angelo that he’d seen right through him. “They’ll give you another date if you’re not up to working that day.”

“Yeah, but what’s the point in that? If I can’t get myself healthy enough to go to work, how can I help anyone else?”

“By showing them that it’s okay to have bad days. You know that exercise therapy isn’t a blanket treatment. It’s helped you massively, but it doesn’t work for everyone⁠—and it doesn’t work all the time. That’s what Harry tells you, and that’s what you’d tell your patients, right?”

“I s’pose so.”

“You know so.” Dylan knocked Angelo’s shoulder again. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Besides, you have just as much chance of having an amazing day. Like today. Did I tell you that I love you yet?”

And just like that, the malaise clouding Angelo’s mind cleared. Despite their surroundings and lingering heat of their playtime encounter, Dylan’s gaze seemed innocent and pure, and Angelo lost himself in the smile that had turned his life upside down for the better. “I wanna get into bed with you.”

Dylan held out his hand. “Then we’d better go home.”

“Okay, but Dylan?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you too.”

THE END