To: Gabe Foster

From: Dylan Mitchell

 

I come awake the next morning slowly. I’m toasty warm in bed, which is rare for me as I always hover on the cold side. I stretch, and when my leg slides against a warm, muscled, hairy leg, my eyes flutter open. Instantly memories flood back of the fucking hot events of last night, and my cock involuntarily stiffens. Then my eyes fall on Gabe, and I smile.

He’d moved away from me last night, being a bit standoffish even in sleep, but now he’s curled around me like ivy. One leg is flung over me as if keeping me prisoner, and his head is lying on my shoulder. His hair is a dark mess, the silky strands glowing red in places where the sun touches it. His mouth is pouting adorably, and his morning stubble is a dark shadow on his jaw, making him look like a pirate. An irresistible impulse seizes me, and almost before I realise that I’m going to do it, I blow on his face.

His nose twitches like a rabbit then evens out as he slides back into sleep. Waiting a second, I do it again, manfully suppressing the fit of giggles waiting to seize me. Slowly his eyes flicker so I blow again, but it’s too much and his eyes open wide. He looks confused for a second, and I tense, waiting to hear what comes from his mouth. Then he looks up at me, a bemused smile on his face. “Did you just blow on me, Dylan?”

I laugh out loud, cuddling closer to him. “I did.”

“Why, for fuck’s sake?” His words are harsh, but a smile plays on those full lips.

“You looked so peaceful.”

“So you decided to blow on me like a bloody serial killer?”

I’m diverted. “Is that what serial killers do? I thought they just stuck to murder and dismemberment.”

He can’t hide the quirk of his mouth. “No, first they torture their victims by staring at them while they sleep, and then they blow on them.”

“How did you know I was -” I break off and he looks smug.

“Of course you were staring at me. Who wouldn’t?”

I shake my head mockingly. “I really feel we need to work on your confidence level, Gabe. It’s so low. You have so much to offer. Just believe in yourself.”

He stretches lazily, the duvet slipping to reveal his wide, tanned shoulders and hair-roughened chest, and then he presses against me. “I do have a lot to offer, Dylan. Thank you for reminding me.”

I groan involuntarily at the feel of his hard cock. “Yes, you really do.”

“Dylan,” he says throatily and rolls onto me forcing me to my back. Then he hovers over me, examining my face as intently as if he’s revising for an exam. “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he mutters.

“That’s you, not me.”

He shakes his head, something passing over his face that I can’t decipher. “No, it’s you, inside and out.” He lowers his hips, and we both moan as our stiff cocks press against each other. “How did I manage to keep my hands off you?” he mutters, and it’s as if he’s talking to himself. “It was so much work to keep away from you.”

“Well, all I can say is well done for putting your hands on me now.” I reach up and coil my arms around his neck, drawing him further down onto my body. He groans under his breath and thrusts his hands under me to cup my arse and bring me into him, starting to rub and slide against me. I laugh. “I heartily approve of where you’re putting them now.”

He chuckles, but just as he’s lowering his mouth to take mine, there’s a loud bang on the door. “Dylan, it’s ten o’clock. Breakfast’s ready, and Mum wants to know if you’re going to the beach.”

We both jerk and fall apart, and Gabe groans, reaching down and fisting his cock tight at the base. I smile at him, running my tongue lecherously over my lips, but he shoots me a look of disapproval, before pulling the sheet over himself like a prim, maiden aunt. I laugh out loud and then shout, “Yeah, we’ll be down in a minute.” I look over at Gabe as Ben’s heavy footsteps fade away. “Sorry, do you want to go to the beach? It’s something I always do, but we don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. We’ll stay here.”

“Can we take the dogs on the beach?” he asks cautiously, and when I nod, he grins. “Of course I want to go.” He bounds out of bed, and I groan. “What?” he asks.

I jiggle my hard cock at him. “You’re leaving me like this, honestly?”

He shakes his head disapprovingly. “Cersei and Jaime need a walk.”

“And Dylan needs you to give him a wank.”

He snorts and moves towards the door, grabbing a towel and stepping into a pair of blue-checked pyjama trousers. “Dylan needs to be patient and do as he’s told.”

“Yeah, that’s not going to work. I challenge you to name a time that it ever did,” I shout, hearing his deep, hoarse chuckle as he walks down the corridor to the bathroom, leaving me the en-suite.

Fifteen minutes later, we clatter down the stairs and into the kitchen. Gabe is dressed in jeans, a checked shirt and a grey, round-necked jumper and smells gorgeous, while I’m in dark jeans and a cream Henley.

I look around the kitchen appreciatively. The fire in the hearth is roaring, fairy lights glisten in their haphazardly strung lines over the cabinets, and Christmas music is playing merrily on the radio.

My dad and Ben are already there eating. Ben is still in his pyjamas, and my dad is fully dressed with Lizzie sitting expectantly next to him. Cersei and Jaime jump up straightaway from their beds in the corner and come prancing over to Gabe, bypassing me completely. “Traitors,” I mutter and Gabe laughs, crouching down to pet them.

“They just know quality,” he murmurs, and I shake my head.

My mum turns from the cooker. Her wild hair is caught back by a red and green bandanna with a holly pattern. She’s wearing jeans and an old jumper of my dad’s. “Morning boys,” she smiles. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Gabe murmurs, as I pad over to draw her into a hug.

“Sit down and I’ll do your breakfast. Full English alright, Gabe?”

“Sounds wonderful.” He smiles widely at her, before taking a seat next to my dad at the table which is loaded down with plates and cups. “Have you been out this morning?” he asks my dad, who smiles at him.

“Yes, the farm waits for no man. The cows don’t know that it’s Christmas.”

“Maybe if you played them Christmas music they might embrace the festive season more,” Ben says around a mouthful of bacon.

“Or maybe you could sing them your very own special milking song,” I say slyly, and then flinch as he punches me lightly in the side.

Gabe stares at him. “Milking song?”

My dad laughs. “Yes, that was priceless. Thank you, Dylan, for reminding me of it.”

I smirk at Ben. “You’re welcome. It’s his turn today.”

My dad turns to Gabe. “The children all had to do jobs around the farm when they were young, and Dylan and Ben had to milk the cows. Ben had a little song to help the cows.”

“What was it, Ben?” I ask sweetly, and Gabe snorts. My dad grins at him, as Ben mutters something under his breath. “I’m sorry I didn’t catch that, Ben,” I say.

He looks up, and says reluctantly and quickly. “Oh, we do love our cows. We love our cows more than those ugly, old sows. They give us lots of love and milk and cream, and on apple pie it tastes like a creamy dream.”

Gabe bursts out laughing, and I can’t help but stare at his gorgeous face, so full of life and laughter. Becoming aware of someone looking at me, I turn and catch my dad’s eye. I flush, but he shakes his head and then gives me a deliberate nod of approval. I stare at him nonplussed. My dad keeps his opinions to himself, and in the past has rarely expressed a judgement on my old boyfriends. Becoming aware that Ben has moved on to tell Gabe some of the ruder versions that we made up as we got older, I laugh.

“Fucking cows. Pain in the arse.”

“So you all worked on the farm together?” Gabe asks. “That’s really nice.” His voice is even as normal, but he can’t quite keep the note of wistfulness out of it, and I see my mum looking at him, her face warm and soft.

“Well, if you’re here long enough you’ll be press ganged in too. Tom is nothing but Musketeerish about the farm.” He looks up in query as she leans over him, putting a heaped plate of food in front of him, before hugging his shoulders and stepping back. “All for one and one for all.”

He looks startled at her touch, but there’s something warm and yearning in his eyes that makes me swallow hard. “I think that’s really good,” he says softly, and then shifts awkwardly as he realises everyone’s eyes are on him.

Feeling intensely protective of him, I reach out and clap him on the shoulder. “You won’t be saying that if you have to clean the cottages.”

Ben makes a sound of disgust. “Fuck, no. Do you remember that hen party last year? I actually threw up in my mouth. It was nearly enough to put me off women for life.”

“Nearly?” I query, and he laughs.

“I’m not called fucking Pimp Master Ben for nothing.”

“You’re not called Pimp Master Ben at all,” I say faintly, and Gabe laughs out loud.

We all fall on our food, talking happily and discussing horror stories of past guests, including the woman who was mortally afraid of cows.

An hour later after we’ve cleaned up the kitchen, my mum chases us out. “Off you go,” she says brightly. “Blow some cobwebs away on the beach and walk these dogs. They’re driving me mad under my feet.”

I throw on an old, navy sweater and grab my parka, before looking at Ben who’s still in his pyjama trousers and a baggy old t-shirt. “Aren’t you coming?”

He shudders. “Fuck no, it’s cold out there. I’m going back to bed.”

I shake my head disapprovingly.

“Are you sure that you don’t want some help, Rebecca?” Gabe asks, taking the coat that my mum passes to him but not putting it on. “I can stay if you want.”

She smiles at him warmly. “Bless you, no. I like my kitchen to myself. I’ll potter and get dinner on, and then it’ll be ready when you get back.”

“And after that, presents?” Ben asks eagerly, looking like he’s six again.

“Yes, we wouldn’t want to miss your presents,” I say sourly, and then dodge his punch neatly.

Twenty minutes later we park in an empty car park, and Gabe steps out of the car breathing in deeply. It’s freezing, and the wind carries the strong, briny smell that I associate most with home. “I love that smell,” he says, smiling at me as I come around the side of the car to him.

I quickly pull on a blue beanie, and watch him do the same with a grey one. It suits him, drawing attention to those clever eyes and high cheekbones.

“Have you been to Devon before?” I ask, as he opens the car door and lets the two dogs out. We become occupied with clipping their leads on, so it takes a few minutes to get an answer.

“A couple of times with Henry on uni holidays. His grandparents lived in Ottery St Mary.”

“You’re really close to him, aren’t you?” I ask as we walk out of the car park. We find the sandy path and start picking our way along it.

“I suppose so,” he says thoughtfully. “He’s my closest friend but -”

“What?” I ask carefully.

“I don’t think I’m really close to anyone, but he’s one of the closest, I suppose.”

“Who are the others?”

He shoots me a quizzical look but doesn’t answer as we reach the top of the dunes where the pale grass billows in the wind. We stand there silently for a minute looking down to where the empty beach is spread out before us, a wide swathe of sand that looks almost leached of colour today. The sky is a cold, grey colour, and the wind hits us suddenly.

“Jesus,” he laughs, the power of it making even him sway slightly. “It’s wild.”

I laugh out loud and shout into the wind, “I fucking love it.” He laughs as the dogs echo my wildness and jump around us, barking and tying our legs together in a mad jumble of leads, before he grabs them gently and sorts them out. We unclip them, and they race down to the bottom barking happily. We follow at a slower pace, and when we reach the bottom, we set off walking briskly, the wind blowing our coats back and hitting us in the face.

Gabe looks at me curiously. “You really like it like this, don’t you?”

I nod, shooting him a smile. “Yeah. Growing up here we used to come to the beach in all weathers, but this was my favourite. The others weren’t so keen, apart from my sister Leah, who loved it too. When we were older and wanted time away, we used to come here and walk and talk.”

“Are you closest to her, do you think?”

I consider it and then nod. “Probably. She knows most of my secrets, and I know hers. She was the first person I told that I was gay. I miss her now that she’s married and living down here. She lived with me and Jude before she met Will.”

He smiles. “I’m trying to imagine two of you and Jude. How did that go?”

“It was trouble,” I say judiciously, and he throws his head back laughing.

I stare at him, incapable of saying anything more. He’s so utterly beautiful like this, free and unencumbered by any responsibilities, laughing and warm. I feel an insane urge to draw him into my arms, and I fist my hands in the pockets of my coat to stop myself. I can just imagine his reaction if I did that. It doesn’t exactly fit the parameters of whatever we are. Sadness and longing strike a pang in me, but I manage to paste a smile on my face by the time that he turns back to me.

By mutual accord, we fall silent and walk across the sands companionably. The wind blows and buffets us and the sea echoes it, boiling and frothing onto the sands in a fury. The dogs dart here and there, occasionally bounding at the sea and barking furiously as if warning it not to misbehave. They find driftwood and bring it to Gabe, solemnly dropping it at his feet and waiting while he examines it and throws it for them.

“They’ve adopted you,” I say, as he straightens up.

He smiles. “I love dogs.”

“Why don’t you -” I hesitate, and he smiles.

“Ask me, Dylan. It’s not like you to be reticent.” He laughs. “I swore the day that you stopped asking me personal questions I’d hold a party, but I find myself curiously edgy when you actually do it.”

I nudge him playfully and then look sideways at him. “How come you don’t have a dog if you like them?”

He shrugs awkwardly. “I work such long hours it wouldn’t be fair, because they need a lot of looking after.” The answer is reasonable on the surface, but it sounds almost pat, and I feel a wave of disappointment. He’s not going to confide in me. He doesn’t trust me enough.

Something of what I’m feeling must show because he stops, the wind blowing his black hair around his face, his eyes glowing silver in the stark light. “That’s not the whole truth actually. When I was eight one of my foster carers had a dog, a little pug called Arthur. I loved him a lot. He was just so happy. He didn’t want anything except your company. When I got back from school he was always just so fucking happy to see me. I hadn’t had that for -”

He breaks off and looks at me self-consciously before starting walking again, and I jog to keep up. He carries on talking. “He loved bacon. The foster woman in that home was nice enough, but she was very insistent that we eat everything that she gave us, and she could get quite nasty if we didn’t. That was easy enough for me, mostly because I was a growing boy and always hungry, but she used to make bacon with the fat on and I couldn’t eat it. It made me gag. My mother used to cut it off, but I’d learnt by that point in my life not to ask for things.” Incredibly he laughs. “Arthur was a godsend. He used to wait under the table, and I’d slip the fat to him while she wasn’t looking.” He pauses and smiles. “Actually, looking back that’s probably why he was so glad to see me all the time.”

“Not true,” I murmur. “Dogs are very perceptive. What happened to Arthur?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know. He’ll be dead by now, but I was moved from there after a few months, and it was onto the next home.”

I want so desperately to hug him at this moment, my heart and belly hurting at the thought of a vulnerable little boy being too scared to tell someone that he didn’t like fat on his bacon.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly, and he shakes his head.

“It doesn’t matter.” He looks contemplative, and his next words come as if he’s thinking aloud. “I think that’s really why I don’t want a dog. You get so attached to them, and I can’t bear to lose anyone else.” He breaks off and gives a startled ouf, as I give in and tackle hug him, dragging him into my arms and hugging him tight.

“Dylan, for Christ’s sake, what has got into you?” he tries to say in a grumpy voice, but it sounds almost like an actor putting on a character, and suddenly he gives in and hugs me back, holding me tightly.

“Gabe,” I say softly, and he raises his head, and as if to stop me talking he seals his mouth over mine, kissing me softly. We kiss for ages on the deserted beach, buffeted by winds but holding tight to each other, and I can’t feel the cold. All I can feel is him.

***

Christmas dinner is raucous and alcohol fuelled. Crackers bang and we read out corny old jokes, laughing as if they’re new. Gabe and my mum sit talking enthusiastically about art, and I can tell she’s loving having someone who understands her work.

We eat a turkey reared on a neighbouring farm with homegrown vegetables that Gabe swears he can taste the difference from supermarket ones. My dad serves wine from his wine cellar, telling Gabe that he might have come home to run the farm, but he was dammed if he was going to drink scrumpy cider like his father had.

Gabe sips the wine and makes an appreciative noise, which is alarmingly close to the noise he makes when he fucks into me, and I shift awkwardly. “This is gorgeous. You said you came home. Were you living away?”

My dad nods. “I was in London at university doing a finance degree. I was going to be an investment banker. That’s where I met Rebecca.”

My mum laughs. “I was doing my art degree when I met him in a pub. He was going out with a girl I knew. We hit it off, and before I knew it, he’d dumped her and asked me out.”

“Fast worker,” Gabe smiles. “So how did you end up here?”

My dad shrugs. “My father took ill and later died. There was only me, so I came home.”

“But you wanted to do something else?” Gabe asks softly, and my dad smiles.

“Family first, Gabe. It’s the way I was brought up, and I couldn’t change that. In the end, I didn’t want to.” He looks around the room, memories soft on his face. “Sometimes we think that a certain path in life is the way we have to go. We see other routes, but we avoid them because we’re so insistent they’re not for us, that we might get lost or hurt. Then sometimes fate sets in, and someone takes your hand or waves you over. You step off your chosen path, and find that although this one is new and scary, somehow your feet know the way to navigate it. You might even find that it leads you the way that you were always meant to go.”

There’s a short silence as we all stare at him. I’m not sure what he’s saying, but I am sure he’s not just talking about his coming home, and it’s meant for Gabe in some way.

Gabe stares at him, thoughts slipping across his face too quickly for me to read, and then he looks at my dad and nods, before turning to my mum. “And what did you think to the change?”

My mum smiles and looks at my dad lovingly. “It was too late for me by then. I loved Tom, so I came with him.”

“And left your art career?”

She laughs and grips his arm lightly. “My career was something that happened around my real hopes and dreams, which were tied up with having this family and growing old with Tom. We didn’t have much money then, but we were all together. The art career and the success are just icing. I love it, and it feeds my soul, but my kids and Tom are enough. They always will be.”

Ben breaks the moment. “Fucking hell, this is way too touchy feely for me. Let’s open the presents.”

We make tea and wander into the lounge. It’s a big room with a view over the hills to the sea. Our old, insanely comfortable sofas are still here, and the room is lit with the glow of the lights on the Christmas tree. This is weighed down with decorations, some of which are older than we are, and others made by us when we were children.

Mu mum hands around a plate of homemade mince pies, and we munch happily as we open presents. Gabe goes out of the room for a minute, and when he comes back he has an armful of brightly wrapped gifts which he hands out. I watch as my family opens them and look astounded.

He’s bought my dad a case of wine which from my dad’s expression is expensive stuff. My dad looks up at him, his eyes bright. “Gabe, you really shouldn’t have, but I’m definitely not going to complain.”

My mum opens the envelope inside her parcel and exclaims loudly, before coming over and drawing him into a tight hug. “Oh my God, a weekend in Venice in time for the carnival. How did you know that I’ve always wanted to go there?”

Gabe smiles, looking pleased and awkward at the same time. “I didn’t, but it’s a fantastic time to be in Venice. I hope you can get away from the farm okay.”

“We will,” she says firmly, looking at my dad who laughs.

“I’ll do as I’m told, Gabe, like always. Thank you, son, that’s so thoughtful.”

Gabe flushes red and sits back down, accepting a fist bump and an awed thank you from Ben who is looking at the brand-new Play Station in its shiny box.

“It’s nothing compared to what you’ve given me this holiday,” Gabe says in a soft voice. “Thank you so much for letting me join your holidays.” He reaches for the last present which is a small box, and hands it to me. “This is for you, Dylan.”

“I thought you gave me my present last night,” I say without thinking, and then reach out and kick my brother when he makes a retching noise.

Gabe smiles, and I think only I see the wolfish side to it. “No, this is my real present.”

“But I didn’t get you anything,” I protest. “You said we weren’t doing that.”

He shakes his head, a smile flitting over his mouth that’s surprisingly tender. “I changed my mind. You already give me enough.” He gestures to the present impatiently. “Open it then.”

I tear off the wrapping, and then still in surprise. “Gabe, what the hell?”

“Fucking hell,” Ben whistles. “That’s an Omega Seamaster watch, Dyl. They cost a fortune.”

“I hope you like it,” Gabe says. “Because I had it engraved.”

I extract the watch from its velvet home with shaking fingers and turn it round, only to burst into laughter. On it is engraved the words, ‘Hopefully this will rectify your appalling timekeeping’. I burst out laughing. “That is so fucking you,” I hoot. “I love it.” I hug him tight, feeling the warmth of his body and inhaling the scent of spiced oranges. “Thank you,” I whisper into his ear, and he shudders and puts me away.

Mu mum and dad look at each other and stand up. “Be back in a minute,” she says, and they leave the room. Ben busies himself throwing the wrapping paper on the fire, but not before checking it carefully. We’d learnt to do that when my sister once inadvertently chucked two hundred pounds on the fire.

“Thank you,” I whisper, snuggling up to him daringly, and he draws me close for once.

“I know you’ve needed one since that piece of crap broke.”

I smile. “That’s what you were doing last night when you asked me the time.”

He smiles bashfully. “Do you like it?” he asks almost awkwardly, and I slide it onto my wrist and admire it.

“I absolutely love it, Gabe, but it’s too much.”

He shakes his head. “No, it isn’t. You give me a lot.”

“This is just a few days at Christmas.”

“Not the holidays.” I open my mouth to ask what, but I’m interrupted by my mum and dad dragging in a huge rectangular object covered by a dust cloth.

“What’s that?” Ben asks, turning away from his mini bonfire.

“This is Gabe’s present,” my mum says brightly, and Gabe gets to his feet.

“Oh my God, you shouldn’t have got me anything, Rebecca. I didn’t expect anything.”

“I don’t think you expect much at any time, Gabe,” my mum says softly. “I hope that changes in the future.”

My dad smiles and balances the object against the wall. “Well, tear the cloth off, lad. Put Dylan out of his misery.”

I sniff. “I can’t imagine what you’re implying, Dad. I’m just sitting here minding my own business like normal.”

My dad laughs, but Gabe walks over and grabs hold of the cloth, before pulling it gently and almost reverently away. The cloth falls away, and he gasps loudly.  “Oh, this is too much.”

It’s one of my mum’s paintings, a bold and very dramatic rendering of the moor under a stormy sky. The colours are dark and wild with blacks and greys and muted greens, but from one of the wild clouds a shaft of gold is coming down and illuminating a pool of water to iridescence.

My mum comes to stand next to him. “I didn’t know what to do with this,” she says softly. “And then I met you, and I realised that it was yours.” He jerks and looks at her, and she nods. “I think it’s a bit like you, Gabe, and I’m hoping very much that you get your own break in the clouds.”

“I can’t accept this,” he says hoarsely. “It’s too much.”

She smiles. “You can and you will. You’re a friend of Dylan’s now, and a friend of ours too. Our door will always be open to you, regardless of whether you bring Dylan or not.”

“Actually, we’d prefer you to not bring Dylan,” Ben says though a mouthful of mince pie, breaking the moment expertly, and giving Gabe a second to regain his composure and hug my mum and dad. I shoot Ben a grateful look, and he smiles kindly back.

***

Later that night I come awake suddenly. Not sure why, I lie still, listening. The wind is roaring around the eaves. It’s wild sounding, but it’s not what woke me up. I’ve been hearing that sound since I was little, and it’s almost like a lullaby.

Then I become aware that Gabe isn’t wrapped around me, and I’m cold. I turn my head and frown, because he’s lying huddled against the far side of the bed, facing away from me. As I watch, he gives a deep groan and rolls to his back, his face screwed up and his body glistening with sweat in the moonlight.

“Gabe,” I whisper, and put out my hand thinking he’s sick. However, at that point he arches his neck and rolls again, and gives out a hoarse moan which must be what woke me up. Realising that he’s having a bad dream I reach out, but just as I touch him he sits bolt upright and shouts out, “No, no, no.” I sit up hurriedly, hovering on my knees in front of him as he stares with unseeing eyes.

“Gabe,” I say hoarsely. “Sweetheart, you were dreaming. It’s okay.” The endearment slips out unknowingly, but I don’t care. He blinks like a startled owl. “Baby, it’s me. It’s Dylan. It’s okay. Everything’s okay. It was just a dream.”

His eyes clear of the dream, and something desolate and despairing runs over his face, and I can’t help but reach out. I pull him close, holding his sweat soaked body against me and offering comfort. Whatever he needs, he can have from me.

For a second he holds himself rigid, and I prepare for the emergence of his gruff persona. It happens every time he feels vulnerable, but this time it doesn’t. This time he folds almost like an accordion and lets me have all of his weight. I grab him with a firmer grip, coiling one hand around his back to hold him tight. The other hand I run through his hair, stroking and whispering nonsensical words of comfort.

We stay there for what seems like aeons, but then he raises his head. “Dylan,” he whispers.

“I’m here.”

“Dylan, I -” He chokes off his words, and then the next ones come in a rush, as if they’ve been waiting behind his wall of resolve, ready to flood out when he removes a few bricks. “Dylan, I need you.”

Instantly, my body floods with heat. Adrenaline and something stronger coursing through me and readying my body for him. “Anything,” I whisper. “You can have anything.”

“I want it all,” he mutters, and pushes me down onto the bed, following after me and stretching his hot, hard body over mine.

This time is different. I know it instantly, and so does he. There’s a new tenderness in the fingers that run over my face and body that has never been there before. That he’s never let be there before. I also know that I’ll pay for this as soon as it’s finished. Maybe that’s why the whole encounter assumes a dreamlike feel, a sequence of mental snapshots that I’ll store away when he goes back into emotional hibernation.

My senses reel. I feel the heat of his lips as he kisses me, the moist warmth of his mouth, and the tensile strength of his tongue as it tangles with mine. I feel the tremble of his hands, as he runs them over my body as if memorizing me. I absorb the way he sends his fingers, wet with lube, between my cheeks as he readies me, but he lingers over the act, turning it into an act of devotion rather than just simple preparation. I see myself arching into him as he eases into me, and I hear the heated whispers of praise that fall from his lips.

He tells me how my body feels to him, how the act is different with me. I feel the slow, languid thrusts grow fevered. I see the fire in his eyes, and feel the tremor that runs through his body as he thrusts harder, lost to passion and need. I throw my head back as I come, and I feel the warmth as he comes into the condom inside me. I remember that for a brief second, he looks into my eyes and I let him see everything, and later I remember the touch of wetness against my cheek as he rests his face against mine.

I hold him closer, and memory fades as the darkness drags me under.

Payment comes sooner than I expect, as I wake up the next morning to an empty bed. Hearing movement, I force my bleary eyes open and jerk as I see Gabe. He’s fully dressed and moving around the bedroom, picking clothes up and pushing them frantically into his bag.

I swallow hard. I can feel a wave of pain inside me, but I push it away. I can’t show it to him. Not yet. He’ll guess my feelings and pull away, and I know I’m close now. I knew last night that he’d fight it, but apparently, he’s opted for the simple tack of flight instead.

“Going somewhere?” I ask, and he jerks to a stop, halting his silent, frantic packing.

“Dylan,” he says, and then nothing else comes out.

I raise my eyebrow. “You were expecting someone else?”

“No. I, no -” He thrusts his hand through his hair, and when I see the tremor, I’m overwhelmed with the need to protect him. I think it’s always been there, and I can’t see it ever vanishing.

“Is there an emergency at work?” I make myself say.

Relief and something else that looks like regret crosses his face before he recovers. “Yes, I have to go back. I’m sorry.”

I shrug. “Don’t be sorry. You can’t help it, can you?”

He shoots me an uncertain look. “No, but you stay here and enjoy your holiday.” He attempts a smile. “You can take an extra few days off. Come back after New Year.”

Pain lodges in my ribs, but I refrain from flinching. He doesn’t want me with him for New Year’s Eve. I’d had visions of being with him on that night, doing the countdown and being the man on his arm when he looked the new year in the face, but I let them slide away. It’s not time yet.

“That sounds good,” I say calmly. “Thank you.”

He hesitates and then nods jerkily, disappearing out of the door and then returning with his shaving kit. He forces it into his bag, and then zips it up with a final sound. I look around the room. It’s as if he’s never been here.

I slide out of the bed, grabbing my jeans and a hoody and pulling them on. “What are you doing?” he asks, a touch of panic in his voice, and I make sure he sees me roll my eyes.

“I’m seeing you out, Gabe. Is that okay, or should I just wave a handkerchief faintly from the window?”

“Twat.” He smiles, but it’s a faint facsimile of his normal grump and sarcasm.

He follows me out of the bedroom and down the stairs, and we stop as my mum appears from the kitchen. “You’re up early, boys. Ready for breakfast?” Then she sees his bag. Understanding runs through her eyes, and she shoots me a quick, commiserating glance that he misses.

“I’m so sorry, Rebecca, but there’s been a work emergency and I’ve got to go back. Thank you so much for the last couple of days.” He stops, and when he speaks again it lacks the usual polish and sounds almost raw. “It’s really been the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”

She smiles and pulls him into a hug, kissing the side of his face. “Oh, you’re very welcome, sweetheart. Don’t be a stranger.”

He pulls back almost reluctantly. “I’ll arrange to have the painting shipped to me if that’s okay.”

She nods, and I lean against the wall. “I’ll do it, Gabe. Don’t worry about it.”

He hesitates. “Are you sure?”

I smile. “It’s my job.”

He flinches slightly, and then rallies quickly. “I’ll just put my bag in the car and go and find Tom to say goodbye. Will you say goodbye to Ben for me?”

I nod. “I will.”

I watch him open the door and move towards the car, and then see my dad emerge from the cowshed and walk towards him, Lizzie trotting at his side like a shadow as normal. The two men talk, and my mum turns to me.

“Are you okay?” she whispers.

I shrug, fighting down the feelings that are threatening to emerge in all their ugly glory. “I’m fine.”

She slings her arm over my shoulder. “Maybe sleeping with your boss was a reckless thing to do.”

I jerk and stare at her. “What? You knew?”

She laughs. “Of course I did. I’m your mother, Dylan. I don’t have to be Mystic Meg to realise that the Gabe you’ve gone on about for two years, the bastard, is also the man who you’re in love with.”

I stiffen. “I’m not -” I break off as she gives me a sidelong glare. “Okay, I am in love with him, but I can’t let him know, Mum. He’d run for the hills.”

She stares at Gabe as he talks quietly to my dad. “If I was a sane woman, Dylan, I would be telling you to get out now. That he has heartbreak written over every gorgeous inch of him, and that he’ll never love you back.”

I stare at her. “But you’re not sane. We all know that.”

She smiles. “Exactly. Dylan, that man needs love like no one I’ve ever met before. It’s like he’s starved himself of any meaningful connection.” She sighs. “He reminds me of Fagin.”

I jerk. “Do you mean the scraggy, old dog that used to sniff around for scraps? That’s who my boyfriend reminds you of.”

She laughs. “It’s actually a good comparison. Fagin had been beaten and neglected all his life. No one knew who he belonged to, and although people tried to help him, he wouldn’t have it. He’d appear at your door and let you feed him, and sometimes he’d even let you pet him. When you did, he’d lean against you for a while as if he couldn’t understand what a good touch should feel like, and you’d feel so powerful and happy. But you’ve got to remember that when he’d done that, he would always move away and be on his way.”

“Okay, lesson learnt. I’ll remember it,” I say, but she shakes her head.

“Gabe might be worth all this handling, Dylan. I happen to think that he is, and I’m crossing my fingers for you because the two of you could really be something together. I think he cares, but that’s not what I want you to get from that story.”

“What then?”

“Fagin would bite if you got too close. Gabe’s like that, Dylan, so you need to be careful, because if you corner him, he could hurt you badly.”