Andrew lit the candles he’d set out earlier on both of his bedside tables, as well as atop the row of cupboards arching high over his bed, all the while keeping his back to Colin to hide the fact his hands were trembling.

When he was done, he clicked shut the lighter. “There. We’ll keep it dark so you can’t cheat and look at notes.”

“I don’t need notes.” Colin was scanning the bedroom. “You weren’t joking. You’ve really got three walk-in wardrobes.”

“The one behind you is actually a freezer. Remember I said the dead bodies upstairs were starting to stink?” Andrew knelt in the center of his queen-size bed. He quite fancied the image in front of him, with Colin’s dark clothes and hair shadowed in the candlelight. “Stand there while you answer my questions.”

Colin gave a cocky smirk. “Shoot.”

Andrew sat back on his heels and decided to go for the jugular straightaway. “Which currency would an independent Scotland use?”

“The pound, of course. We’ll have a currency union with what’s left of the UK.”

“The UK Chancellor says no, and it’s his call.”

“His bluff, more like.” Fingers twitching, Colin stared at Andrew’s half-naked body. “It’s…erm…”

“Sorry.” Andrew leaned back on his hands, purposely flexing his abs. “Is this too much for you?”

“No!” Colin blinked hard and rubbed his face. “Look, it’s pure common sense to see a currency union is best for both countries. Without it, Scotland can shirk its portion of UK national debt.”

Andrew sat up straight. “What if the Chancellor’s not bluffing?” As he spoke, he fidgeted with his gold bracelet, gliding his fingertip back and forth beneath the Spartacus link chain. “What if the UK is so offended at Scotland’s vote for independence that they tell us to fuck right off, even if that satisfaction costs them billions?”

Colin shrugged, his gaze stuck on Andrew’s wrist. “Then we’ll use the pound without a currency union.”

“And have no central bank. What happens if there’s another crash? We’ll have our very own Great Tartan Depression.”

“The risk of that is practically nil.”

Andrew smirked. Got you. “Sorry if I don’t trust the risk assessment of a man who crowd-dives at raves.”

Colin guffawed and looked away, shaking his head. Then he tugged on his tie. “Okay, you win that point, but only cos I’ve a head start and this fucking tie is strangling me.” He whipped it off and hurled it aside, then undid his top shirt button with a sigh of relief. “Next question?”

It was Colin’s turn to ask, but Andrew desperately wanted to see more of him. “However will we balance the budget?”

They tossed figures back and forth, each spinning them to suit his side. Colin’s analysis was far more sophisticated than Andrew had expected, and his brain seemed a bottomless repository of numbers. But ultimately his argument depended too much upon the price of oil, which was falling at the moment, possibly for good. Colin’s shirt followed his tie onto the bedroom floor.

Andrew’s hands begged him to reach out so they could caress that broad chest and those muscular, tattooed arms. He sat on those rebellious hands, then curved his feet up into the lotus position, enjoying Colin’s admiration of his flexibility.

“Next question?” Colin asked, clearly relishing the debate despite not having won a point.

Andrew decided to play on Colin’s political leanings. “You hate us Tories, but if Scotland leaves the Union, wouldn’t it doom the rest of the UK to permanent Tory rule?”

“Nah, we’re too wee to make a difference in national elections.” Colin rattled off more statistics to support his point. Until now, Andrew hadn’t known how seldom—practically never—Scottish votes had decided the UK’s governing party. It made his own political aspirations feel a bit pointless in the greater scheme of things.

“England gets the government they vote for,” Colin said in conclusion. “The rest of us—Scotland, Wales, Northern Ireland—we also get the government England votes for.”

“But without Scotland’s leftist voters, the UK will move further to the right politically.”

Colin shrugged. “That’s their problem, isn’t it?”

Biting his lip, Andrew lay back on the bed and began to unbutton his cropped trousers. He knew the excitement in Colin’s eyes wasn’t purely sexual. He had that very Scottish passion for argument that Andrew adored. “You’ve impressed me,” he said as he pushed his trousers over his hips. “Most nationalists like you can’t get beyond the faux-Braveheart ‘Freedom!’ argument.”

“All the information’s out there.” Colin grabbed the cuffs of Andrew’s trousers and yanked them off. “When I hurt my knee I suddenly had loads of free time to do research.”

Andrew slid his bare foot up the side of Colin’s thigh. “Let’s hope you stay healthy, or the No campaign is in real trouble.”

Colin caught Andrew’s foot, suddenly serious. “I’d sacrifice my knee for Scotland. If it ever came to it, I’d sacrifice my life.”

Andrew stared up at him. Things were that bad, Colin felt that oppressed, he’d be willing to die for change? He wasn’t merely a nationalist, he was a revolutionary.

He was the last person Andrew should be spending time with.

Colin took his other foot and pulled him closer, framing his own thighs with Andrew’s ankles. “Does that put the frighteners on you?” he asked in a low voice.

“It should.” But right now, the only thing Andrew feared was the sight of those pale-green eyes turning away. They could regard Andrew with loathing, as long as they regarded him.

His heart fluttering like a wounded bird, Andrew said, “Your turn to question me.”

“Right. The No campaign has been phoning people like my gran and telling them that in an independent Scotland, they would lose their pensions.” He gripped Andrew’s heels hard. “Isn’t this a fucking lie?”

Andrew glanced down at his own body, which was completely naked but for his black silk briefs.

“I’ll count your bracelet as an article of clothing,” Colin said. “Now answer me.”

Andrew’s cock twitched at Colin’s demanding tone. “Yes, it’s a lie, more or less. There are, however, scenarios with private pensions—”

“Take off the bracelet.”

“Right.” Before Andrew could even undo the clasp, Colin moved on to the next topic:

“The Trident nuclear program.”

Oh dear. Andrew handed him the bracelet. “If you could set that on the—”

“No.” Colin tossed the bracelet over his shoulder. Its impact against the wall made Andrew flinch. “The nuclear submarines cost Scotland half a million pounds a day. The Cold War is over, so they’re totally pointless. Nukes won’t stop terrorists. Yet here they sit on the River Clyde, wasting money and endangering Scottish lives.”

“And providing civilian jobs.”

“Five hundred and twenty. With the money saved from scrapping Trident, we could pay those folk half a million pounds each to give manicures to the Loch Ness monster—and still have enough left for free prescriptions.” He reached for the waistband of Andrew’s briefs. “And that’s me winning this debate. You’ll be joining us to canvass in Drumchapel on the seventh of September.”

“Wait.” Andrew put his hand over Colin’s. He wasn’t ready for this to end, not by a long shot. “Without nuclear weapons, Scotland won’t be admitted into NATO.”

Colin stared at him in shock. “Only three out of twenty-eight NATO countries have nukes. I’m insulted you tried that one.” He gave the waistband a light tug. “September seventh in the Drum?”

Andrew knew he’d lost, but he’d thought of another way to get the best of Colin. “Take them,” he said, tilting up his hips.

Colin dragged down Andrew’s briefs with a tantalizing slowness. Then he crawled up over him, framing Andrew with his hands and knees. “Say it. Say I win.”

“I win.” When Colin grabbed his waist, Andrew laughed. “Sorry, you win. You win.” He slid his arms around Colin’s neck. “Shall I have a kiss as a consolation prize?”

“You can have a lot more than that.” Colin crushed his mouth to Andrew’s. As they kissed and groped, writhing together, Andrew gloried in the feel of being completely naked with Colin still half dressed. It made him feel vulnerable and powerful at the same time.

Colin shifted to kiss his neck, and Andrew lifted his hips to slide his cock against Colin’s bare stomach, feeling the vibrations of every breathy moan.

Colin reached down, then pulled Andrew’s right thigh up, higher and higher. Andrew reveled in the burn of the stretch, imagining his ankles hooked behind Colin’s neck as they fucked.

“That’s amazing,” Colin whispered at the sight of Andrew’s foot nearly reaching his head. Then he moved his mouth behind Andrew’s knee and began his journey down—and up—Andrew’s inner thigh, until his nose, then his lips, brushed Andrew’s balls.

He drew one into his mouth, carefully, yet so thoroughly, Andrew came close to screaming. But he stayed quiet, clutching at the duvet as Colin’s tongue worked its way over every inch.

Colin soon released him, pulling back to stand between Andrew’s feet again. He started unfastening his trousers with quavering fingers.

Andrew caught his breath enough to speak. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Colin froze, his belt unbuckled. “Erm…undressing?”

“You’ve not earned the right to do that. Not until you lose another point.”

The look on Colin’s face was priceless.

“You’re kidding,” he said.

“Another three points, actually,” Andrew added, “as you’re still wearing both shoes. I’ll be kind and not count the belt as a separate item of clothing.”

“Aye, right. Very funny.” Colin reached for his fly.

Andrew sat up and took a calculated gamble. “Unzip that and this debate is a draw. Which means I don’t campaign with you in Drumchapel.”

Colin groaned and swiped his hands over his face. “God, you’re the worst.”

“I don’t mind starting without you.” Andrew lay back, putting one hand behind his head and using the other to stroke his own rigid cock. “You can comfort yourself with the rightness of your arguments. That’s what matters, isn’t it? Winning?”

Colin grunted, hands folding and unfolding at his sides. “Ask another question.”

Andrew chose an easy one. “Won’t an independent Scotland lose our beloved National Health Service?”

“Och.” Colin turned away, gritting his teeth. “You know—” He started to pace, bristling with pent-up energy. “Scotland has always had its own NHS. So have England, Wales, and Northern Ireland.”

“Oh, right,” Andrew said breathily. “I forgot.” He licked his finger, lifted his knees, and began probing himself, giving an exaggerated moan of delight.

“Fucking hell.”

“I never said you couldn’t touch me.”

Colin was atop him again in an instant, hands spreading his thighs, mouth devouring his cock. “Ask another question,” he said, tonguing the head with rapid strokes.

“Border guards!” Andrew cried out. “We’ll need passports just to nip off to England for the day.” He writhed with a pleasure quadrupled by Colin’s frustration. “Think of the costs, the hassles to shoppers. And what about people who work on one side and live—”

“Schengen Agreement.” Colin drew Andrew’s foreskin up, then tugged it with his lips. “No guarded land borders within the European Union.” He tugged again, this time with his teeth. Andrew’s eyes rolled up, his delirium for a moment swamping rational thought.

Then he put a hand in Colin’s hair and tilted his face up. “The UK didn’t sign the Schengen Agreement.”

Colin stared at him, pupils dilated with desire. His tongue flicked over his lips as he thought. Then he smiled. “We’ve got an unguarded land border—between Northern Ireland and the Republic, no less. It’d be the same between England and Scotland, unless the English want to build a very expensive wall to keep us out.”

Andrew’s smile widened. “I guess you win that one too.”

Colin gave a frustrated groan and flipped him over. Then his mouth was on Andrew’s arse, his tongue twirling, stroking, and diving.

Andrew whimpered at the warm, wet exploration sending ripples of pleasure to his every cell. “Losing feels so good. I should do it more often.”

Colin began using his finger. “Don’t you want me to fuck you?”

“Not as much as you want it.” That might have been a lie, but out of the two of them, only one was riding wave after wave of ecstasy. “Okay, bonus round. You can fuck me if you sing ‘Rule Britannia.’” When Colin stopped dead, Andrew looked over his shoulder at him. “Just one verse.”

“I willnae,” Colin growled.

“I’ll sing ‘Flower of Scotland’ at the same time if you like.”

“No.” Colin sat back on his heels. “I’d rather come in my pants than sing a hymn of oppression.”

Andrew wanted to laugh. Instead he turned and got up onto his knees. “That can be arranged.” He palmed the bulge in Colin’s trousers and began to stroke.

Colin caressed Andrew’s cock in return. “I cannae believe we’re doing this.”

“Seems such a waste of privacy, doesn’t it?” He slipped his hand inside Colin’s trousers, reaching down, beneath the soft cotton briefs, until he felt the warm, velvet-sheathed hardness he was seeking. “I could do this to you in an alleyway, or at the cinema, or behind the fountain at my parents’ reeling party.”

“Shut up.” Colin kissed him hard. They stroked each other faster and faster, and then their hands stilled and their hips took over. They thrust together, fucking each other’s fists, mouths still melded in a bruising kiss. It was graceless and haphazard, and Andrew had never been so turned on.

“I’m gonnae come. You—” Colin’s grip tightened, and his mouth moved to Andrew’s neck.

Andrew felt it too, the pressure building within him, spiraling up. “Yes! God, yes!”

In the next moment, their cries were swamped by the crash of shattered glass.