To: Dylan Mitchell

From: Gabe Foster

 

Eight Months Later

Gabe

I’m late. In fairness, it isn’t my fault. I have never been grocery shopping, let alone Christmas grocery shopping, so I didn’t know that I needed to book out the whole of December in order to find a parking space at Sainsbury’s. Having found one, I throw my coat on and half walk, half jog through the car park, dodging the hordes of people who all seem to be moving along at the same speed as someone from ‘The Walking Dead’.

By the time I get to the entrance, I’m overly warm and feeling cross and agitated, but that all eases the second that I see him. I pause, and ignoring a couple who are cursing after nearly walking into me, I stand and watch him. He’s wearing jeans and a thick, navy sweater with a long, striped scarf wrapped around his neck that makes him look like Doctor Who. His messenger bag is slung over his body, and he has a ridiculous, woolly pompom hat on. He’s staring at his phone with a warm smile on those mobile lips as he types something.

I stare at that smile for a while. He always smiles at everyone, being one of the sunniest and most gregarious men that I’ve ever known. However, he has a special one that seems to be only for me, and I hoard the sight of it like a miser with gold, because it’s happy and so full of love. It doesn’t surprise me when my phone chirps, and I pick it up, grinning as I read the message.

Dylan: Where the fuck are you? Much as it pains me to admit that you were right, I’m thinking that this was a mistake. Let’s do what you said, and get an online delivery and spend the afternoon in bed. It’s like hell in there.

I laugh, and he looks up, that smile brightening and widening as I walk towards him. “But this was your fucking bright idea, so take the pain,” I call out.

“Twat,” he says affectionately, grabbing my arms and drawing me closer. He shoots a quick glance around, and then reaches up and rubs his lips gently over mine. When he goes to pull back, I grab his head and pull off that fucking, ridiculous hat.

“What?” he laughs. “You really don’t like that hat?”

I stick it in the pocket of my coat. “Nope, it hides that gorgeous hair.”

He runs his hand through it. It’s longer now and has a sight quiff, which always seems to be on the verge of collapsing. With that and the rough beard that he’s grown, he’s even more gorgeous than when I first met him. However, I like him best when he’s naked in bed, and at that thought, I huff indignantly. “Do you realise that we could be in bed now, all naked and sweaty?” I look up as the electronic doors open, sending out a pulse of hot air. “Rather than just sweaty.”

He shakes his head, moving back. “Thanks for that, you bastard,” he mutters. “I cannot have a hard-on in Sainsbury’s. It’s just not done.”

“It is in our family.” I smile widely at seeing his face soften, but it’s the truth. He is my family. He’s everything to me.

He reaches out and grabs my hand, squeezing it gently. Then resolution fills his body and he claps his hands determinedly. “Okay, let’s do this. Can you get a trolley?”

I look over and see the ranks of trolleys sitting to the right of the door, and make to go and get one.

“Wait,” he says, sticking his hand in his pocket and getting out a handful of change. “You’ll need a pound.”

“Why?”

“For the trolley.”

“You mean I have to pay for the trolley. That’s outrageous.”

He bursts out laughing. “No, it’s a deposit to make sure that they get the trolley back. You’ll get the pound back when you return the trolley.”

“I am going to be spending an obscene amount of money in this shop. As far as I’m concerned they should throw in the fucking trolley as a bonus.”

He shakes his head and makes shooing motions with his hands. “Go and get the trolley. I knew I should have listened to Jude.”

I look back at him. “Why, what did he say?”

“He said taking you to a supermarket was like taking Prince Philip to Laser Quest.”

I shake my head, sticking my coin in the fiddly little slot, and pulling forcibly until the whole row of trolleys shake. Eventually, the fucking thing comes loose, and I turn back to find him laughing at me. “What?”

He smiles. “Nothing. Come on and let’s get this done.”

“And when we’re done we can go home and go to bed, and you’ll let me do that thing,” I say solemnly. “You promised.”

He flushes and looks around, before stepping close. “Baby, if you do this food shop, you have carte blanche for the week.”

I swallow hard, already thinking of all the depraved things I want to do to that fantastic body. “What are you waiting for?” I say briskly. “Let’s go shopping.”

His laughter follows me into the supermarket.

Unfortunately, for the next hour, I do nothing but follow him around. He darts here and there, grabbing things and throwing them into the trolley, then crossing things off a list that has more items on it than a spoilt kid’s Christmas list. I’d followed him gamely at first, but now I’m just slumped over my trolley, staring into space, which is reminiscent of the last time he’d taken me to a garden centre.

I look around and notice a display of Christmas lights. I whistle, and he looks up. “Want to get some more Christmas decorations for the house? Surely there must be a spare inch that hasn’t been covered by fairy lights yet.”

He shakes his head and raises his middle finger at me. “Stop taking the piss. I love Christmas.”

I scoff. “Our house looks like Christmas threw up in it.”

“You love it,” he smirks and wanders off down another aisle after giving me an absentminded kiss. I traipse along after him like a puppy, but I’m smiling because I do love it. I was taking the piss out of him, but it’s a recognisable fact that the man does love the holiday season. He started playing Christmas music on December 1^st, and it shows no let up so far. However, our house looks gorgeous.

I’d never bothered with Christmas before, but now I come home to a massive tree in the lounge, all glittering lights and silver and white decorations. White fairy lights are twined around the bannisters, and the house smells of mince pies and spices. I can’t wait to get home, and he’d laughed the other night when he came home late to find me in the lounge with all the lights out, sitting in the glow of the fairy lights.

What I love most, however, is the ability to say our house. He’d resisted moving in at first, and for a few months we had dated, enjoying going out to eat and trips out to the theatre and the cinema, or just meeting friends at my local pub. I’d never been in there before, but now the landlord knew my name, thanks to my man’s ability to attract friends anywhere.

I’d taken him away for weekends to New York and Rome, but gradually the nights we spent apart had started to grate. I found that I couldn’t sleep without his warmth next to me. When he’d confessed the same, we made our minds up, and he moved in with me the next day. He’d immediately set about giving me a home for the first time in my life.

I’d always loved my house as it had been a link to the last of my family, but although it was beautifully decorated and furnished to my tastes, it had always been a bit of a shell. Lovely to look at, but empty. Now, it’s full. Full of laughter when it’s just us or when friends come over, because they do that all the time now. Dylan made himself at home in my kitchen, and I’d found to my surprise what a homebody he is. He loves cooking and having people over to sit for hours, drinking and eating and talking, and so I discovered a love of it too.

The house had gradually absorbed his presence, and got brighter for it the way that I do. Bright cushions appeared, as did new pots in the kitchen and herbs on the windowsill. Photos of us and family and friends are now everywhere, filling the previously empty spaces. We shopped for artwork together on rainy weekends away, and the house became his as well.

I’d wondered what it would be like to share my space, because I’d been so protective of it after years in care, but it’s amazing. It’s like having my best friend with me all the time. Sure, we argue and shout, and Dylan has proved to be quite the door slammer. Sometimes needing space I’ll retire to my study, or he’ll go out running, but we’re getting better at knowing when we need our space and giving it to each other.

I had known he was a game changer the instant that I’d seen him, when I made the woman from HR cancel the rest of the interviews. I’d been fascinated from that first moment, and then he’d come to work for me and scared me shitless. His humour, his brain, the way everyone gravitated to him, even the way that he knew all the shit going on around us. It all attracted me to the point of madness, so I instantly put up barriers. I became the cliché of the dickhead boss who lusts after his young employee.

I’d wanted him for so long, but despite my efforts, we got closer, and that was torture too, because then I knew when he was seeing people. I could stand next to him and smell the scent of his apple shampoo, and be close enough to touch, but never allow myself, and know that someone else had that freedom. It was like the Greek myth of King Phineus who could never eat the banquet laid before him every day. Every time he met someone I would torture myself with the idea that this would be the one, and then sag with relief when it wasn’t.

I’d thought I knew what I was doing when I reached for him and changed my rules, that I was in charge, but to be honest, I had no control over anything. I had simply looked up in that club that night and seen his gorgeous eyes on me full of heat, and that was it.

Sometimes I wonder at the difference he’s brought to my life. I never knew that one person could make such a change in another.

I don’t remember much of my parents, apart from the constant recriminations and accusations. I presume that they loved each other once, and hopefully they loved me, but I can’t recall any of that. My childhood had been spent moving from care home to care home, so that by the time I was eighteen, the mould had been set. I wouldn’t let anyone close, and if they offered I would take, but never give. I had been a selfish and cold man.

Dylan changed everything. I’ve never known love the way that he gives it, and the only real way to describe it is … steadfast. He’s just always there loving me, and it warms areas of me that I never knew were cold. I know if I need him to talk to, if I wake in the night from one of my bad dreams and reach for him, or if I just need to be near him, he will always be there. Because he loves me.

What has been more of a revelation is that I want to do the same for him. I had given my previous lovers anything they wanted, as long as it wasn’t a part of me, but him I want to give everything to, and the stubborn bastard won’t take anything. I had tried to buy him expensive presents, but he didn’t want them. He needed something more, and I found myself giving it to him, and in the process finding bits of myself that I had forgotten

I find that I can care because I have Dylan, and I love him fiercely beyond any of my previous barriers. I can be open, because I want him to know all of me, knowing that I won’t get all of him if I don’t. I can be warm, because I’m filled with the need to touch him all the time and make him happy, and I can be gentle because that’s how I am with him. Only him though. I haven’t suddenly become a soppy twat for anyone else.

The sweetest and most precious time to me is when we lie in bed, and I can feel all his warm, naked skin wrapped around me. It’s ironic that I’d previously thought the only use for a man in my bed was to fuck, and now I’ve discovered a hitherto unknown need to cuddle.

I suppose what he does best is to encourage me to be the best, because he loves me. Maybe at its finest, that’s what love should be.

Dylan

A supermarket at Christmas is perhaps the very definition of hell. Hot air pumps out of the vents, Christmas music plays cheerily, and hundreds of people are crammed into the place, armed with trollies and an almost rabid desire to fill them. It often puzzles me that although supermarkets are only closed for two days over the holidays, people still act as if they’re preparing for Armageddon.

I wander past a couple who are operating two trollies which are already filled to the brim and having an argument in hissing tones. Then I look back, not even bothering to suppress a smile at my shadow, who is currently leaning on a trolley and staring into space in a decidedly glazed manner. I suppose I can’t blame him. This is Gabe’s first experience of supermarket shopping. Before I’d moved in with him, the only things he had delivered were takeaways, booze and men. I’m still surprised I hadn’t discovered cobwebs in his cupboards.

I, however, love cooking and entertaining, and it’s become common for us to spend a portion of our weekends having friends over for dinner. I’d wondered whether he’d miss his old club days and picking up men. Instead, he seems to flourish, embracing our life with enthusiasm and joy.

This is the reason why we’re now standing in Sainsbury’s; because instead of going to my parents’ house for Christmas, we’re spending it in our own home this year. I love to say those words our home, to the extent that Jude invented a shot game around it. Every time I used the words in conversation, we all had to down a shot. He and Gabe had got rip roaring drunk one night while I glared at them.

I’d always dreamt one day of having my own home and a partner to go with it. I had no idea I’d end up sharing that dream with a grumpy, sharp-tongued man who used to be my boss, but I couldn’t imagine anyone better. Gabe in a relationship is so different from what I’d initially presumed he’d be.

I’d thought that I’d have to tread carefully and avoid any references to relationships, the way that I had when we started. Instead, he revels in our commitment. Whenever we’re out, his hand finds mine, he introduced me as his partner at work as soon as we got back together, and he makes no secret of how much he loves me. In love, this once cold man is warm and funny, and somehow everything I ever wanted.

I’d wondered whether he would struggle with me moving in with him, as he’d never lived with anyone before. In fact, we did have some teething troubles, in that I’m very messy, and Gabe likes a level of tidiness only really embraced in the armed forces. I like colour, while he’s more neutral than Switzerland, and I don’t come fully awake until lunch, while he’s up at five and raring to go.

Consequently, at first, we’d argued fiercely over every little thing, and I’d done what I’ve always done when stressed. I’d made for the door and got outside. Walking outdoors never fails to calm me, but I’d been shocked by how shaken Gabe was when I’d got back. He’d seized me as soon as I got through the door, and we’d had wild, make-up sex in the hallway. Afterwards, he’d confided that he thought I’d left him.

I’d been mortified that I’d not paid heed to the fact that he’d associate an argument between a couple as a disaster in action, because of the way his parents died. I didn’t stop myself arguing with him because that wouldn’t be healthy. However, I had learnt to tell him that I was going out for fresh air and would be back, and equally he’d learnt to trust in me.

I grab a couple of tins of chestnut puree and wander back to my beloved. He’s graduated from staring into space, into now staring with fascination at the couple nearby, who seem to be in the throes of divorce by Christmas food shopping. They’re arguing fiercely and with increasing volume. I chuck the tins into the trolley. “Don’t stare,” I mutter.

He looks at me, the usual wide, warm smile that he gives me filling his face. “It’s fascinating. Reminds me a bit of that Jeremy Kyle Show that you made me watch the other day.”

“The one where you swore every second that you were losing brain cells.”

He laughs. “That’s the one.” He stares at me as I mark off another item on my list. “Are we done?”

I smile. “Ah, optimism, thy name is Gabriel Foster.”

He slumps slightly and then brightens as the argument next to us escalates in noise. “Come on,” I urge, grabbing his arm and forcing him onwards. “Behave, or I’ll have to take the trolley off you.”

“Hey,” he says indignantly. “I bloody paid for this. It’s mine.”

“It was a deposit,” I say patiently, fighting a smile. “You don’t keep it, and really you don’t want it.”

“It would have come in handy the other night, when you and Jude showed a shocking inability to hold your alcohol.”

I shake my head. “I was only slightly merry. We were celebrating our win at the pub quiz.”

“Shame I couldn’t join you. I was just at work, having to take your increasingly furtive phone calls and give you the answers.”

“Only on military questions. We had the rest covered.”

“My champion,” he says, fluttering his eyelashes disgustingly. “I still think you owe me one.”

I look at him flirtatiously and lean in, seeing his breathing pick up as I lean closer. “I’ll give you one later.”

He laughs out loud, his high-boned face full of warm appreciation. Two girls nearby sidle nearer, only to be disappointed when he hugs me close with one long arm flung over my shoulder. Completely ignoring an old couple’s tuts of disapproval, he smiles at me. “Come on, Romeo, let’s finish the shopping.”

His good mood, however, has severely diminished by the time we leave the shop. “That’s three hours of my life that I’ll never get back,” he mutters, slamming the boot of his car closed and leaning against the car, as I slot the trolley back into the row and extract his pound coin. I throw it to him and he catches it neatly, but stays where he is as I move towards him.

“What’s up with you?” I ask curiously as I go to open the door, but then gasp as I’m flung against the door and he crowds in against me. “What are you doing?” I laugh. I take a quick look around, but we’re in a dark corner parked up against a large bush. “Whatever you’re thinking of, I want to make it quite clear that I have no wish to spend Christmas in jail for public indecency. If Jude has to bail us out, I will never forgive you, because he’ll never forget it.”

He laughs and then nuzzles my neck. “I just wanted you close for a second. I feel like I haven’t seen you properly for a couple of days.”

I melt against him. “It’s been so busy lately,” I murmur, pulling him close and hugging him tight, feeling the instant warm, free feeling that I have with him. The lift in my spirits that I get just from being near him. For a precious few seconds we enjoy the closeness, until the sound of a car alarm makes us break away. I run my fingers over his full, pink lips and lean in close. “Don’t forget, I promised you carte blanche in the bedroom tonight.”

His head shoots up, and an impossibly hot look crosses his face. “Fuck, I forgot.”

The door beeps behind me, and before I can protest, he’s thrusting me inside and has run around the car, getting into the driver’s seat and starting the engine.

I start to laugh. “This would have been like ‘The Dukes of Hazard’, if you’d only rolled over the bumper.”

“This is an Audi, you buffoon,” he says indignantly, as I start laughing. “Oh yes, laugh it up,” he promises me darkly. “You won’t be laughing when I get you home.”

***

Two hours later he pulls himself out of me with a groan and slumps on his back. One arm is flung over his eyes, and he’s panting heavily. I roll closer to him, sweat and come sticky over me, and run my hand down his wet chest.

He chokes out a laugh. “Don’t come near me,” he groans. “I swear to God you’re going to kill me, Dyl. I only have to be near you, and my cock’s ready and raring to go. I don’t actually think that I’ve got another fuck in me, and if my cock tells you differently just ignore him.”

I laugh. “I would never argue with my best friend.”

He raises his arm in contrast to his words, and I immediately nestle in close, resting my head on his shoulder and feeling his rumble of contentment run through our bodies. We lie together, content in the wreck that was once our bed. The pillows and duvet disappeared ages ago, and the fitted sheet is only hanging onto the bare mattress by one corner. Cold air washes over us from the window that Gabe had opened after our first bout.

After a bit I stir, something flickering at the edges of my brain. “What’s the matter?” he asks sleepily.

“What time is it?”

“Where’s your watch?”

“Over there somewhere with some of my clothes, or it could be on the stairs with the rest.”

He laughs. “It’s eleven thirty-five. Nearly Christmas Day, love. Shall I give you your present?” he finishes somewhat lecherously, putting my hand on his cock. “I’ll give you a clue. You don’t like it wrapped, and it’s eight inches long.”

“Shit!” I shout out, bolting upright. “Fucking shitbags. Shit! Shit! Shit!”

“What?” he asks, coming up on his elbows. “What’s the matter?”

“Oh, nothing.” I search for an explanation. “I’m just a bit hungry.”

He stares at me. “Wow, you must be starving.”

I laugh maniacally. “Yes, you know me when my blood sugar’s down.”

“I do,” he says slowly. “Only it’s usually a bit more Eeyore, and less Hannibal Lecter.”

I scoff and get up quickly. I go over to my pile of clothes and start trying to sort out the tangle, before giving up and grabbing a pair of jeans and an old Massive Attack t-shirt from the wardrobe.

“Wait, where are you going?” he asks plaintively. He gestures to his cock. “Dylan, you’re leaving me with this? You’re a cruel man.”

I shake my head. “I’m going to make us something to eat while you have a shower.” I make flapping movements at the bathroom while he stares at me. “Come on. Chop chop.” When he starts to move, I dart out of the room, only to backtrack and stick my head around the door. “Take as long as you like, providing you’re downstairs at midnight.”

“So take as long as I want, is actually twenty-five minutes,” he says wryly.

“Just do it,” I shout, and race downstairs as soon as I hear the shower start. I book it through the house, banging my shin painfully on a kitchen stool, before flinging open the back door.

Jude looks up from his position sitting on the bottom step. “You know, Dylan, we should do this every Christmas Eve.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“No, really,” he breaks in. “Spending Christmas Eve sitting on your patio in the cold, listening to you shouting at Gabe to do it harder, and him yelling about how good you are is just perfect. I’ve already put it in my diary for next year.”

I glance up at the open bedroom window. “Oh God, sorry babe.”

He smirks. “It was hot, but it’s so cold out here I couldn’t even pop a stiffy.”

“Do you have him?” I whisper, looking up at the open window again, worried that Gabe will look out.

He smiles and nudges the open box sitting next to his feet. “Fast asleep.”

I tiptoe closer. “Thank you so much, Jude. I really appreciate it.”

He smiles. “Anything for you babe, you know that.”

“Was he good last night?”

He smirks. “No, he howled all night. It quite put Dean off his stride.”

I look at him disapprovingly. “Something I’m entirely in favour of. Jude, he’s one of the vainest people I’ve ever met. What you’re doing with him is beyond me.”

“Have you looked at him?” he says lightly.

“Yes, but not half as much as he looks at himself,” I say tartly. “He’s so shallow. I know he’s a model, but so are you, and you’re nothing like him.”

He shrugs. “Not everyone can have what you do, babe.”

I shake my head. “Of course you can have the same as me. You just have to stop shagging total cock heads.”

I hear Gabe shout my name, but stare at Jude. “Stay where you are.”

“Gabe needs you.”

“So do you. You’re just not being quite as loud about it.”

He laughs. “I’m fine. Dylan, come on, it’s Christmas. Let’s table the subject of my hot hook ups, and you just focus on your man.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Gabe shouts again, and he gives me a shove. “Go and give your man his Christmas present.”

I look down at the box, seized by a sudden doubt. “Shit, what if he doesn’t like him?”

“He’ll love him. Don’t be fucking ridiculous.” He laughs and pulls me up the steps, before kissing my cheek and thrusting the box into my arms. “Merry Christmas,” he whispers, and then he’s gone, vanishing around the side of the house.

“Don’t think we won’t be revisiting this conversation,” I shout out the door.

“Who are you talking to?” I hear Gabe’s footsteps in the hall, and putting the box down gently, I race out and drape myself over the door frame.

“Wow, you look good,” I try to say seductively, but obviously fail as he looks at me as if I’ve gone mad.

“I’m in pyjama pants and a t-shirt. It’s hardly designer gear.”

“You’d look good in a sack,” I try again, but I’m interrupted by a tiny whine from the kitchen.

“What’s that?” he immediately asks.

“Nothing,” I say quickly. “Now go and wait in the lounge.”

The noise comes again, but louder this time.

He stares at me, as the whine becomes a positive howl. “Are you killing our dinner now? Didn’t we buy meat earlier in Sainsbury’s that was already dead?”

“Oh God,” I wilt. “Listen, I did something, but now I’m having massive second thoughts. You always said that you didn’t want one, and who am I to try and change your mind? I thought it would be an amazing Christmas present, but I’ve actually just gone entirely against the things you said you didn’t want.”

“Dylan, I have no idea what you’re -”

He breaks off as there’s a small thud from the kitchen, the sound of pattering footsteps, and then a tiny Border Terrier puppy teeters into sight. He manoeuvres through my legs, and comes to a slightly drunken stop, looking up at Gabe.

“Oh my God,” Gabe says faintly.

“Merry Christmas,” I say in a hearty voice, and then sag. “Shit. Gabe, I’m so sorry. I’ll take him back. Mum won’t mind.”

I break off as the biggest smile that I’ve ever seen crosses his face, and he bends down, picking up the tiny puppy in one large hand. He brings it up to his face and the two stare at each other.

I hold my breath as he brings him into his chest, lowering his face to sniff him. “Is this my Christmas present? Oh, he smells lovely,” he exclaims, sounding uncannily like a seven-year-old.

“You like him?” I ask nervously.

He laughs, and the puppy startles. “Oh baby, I’m so sorry,” he whispers, kissing the top of his head. “Daddy’s sorry.”

“Daddy?”

He flushes as if suddenly aware of what he said, and tries to glare at me. “That was an accident, Dylan. We will never speak of it again.”

I laugh out loud. “Oh, we will indeed, Gabe. We will speak of it many, many times.” I break off as he engulfs me in a massive hug, taking care not to squash the puppy.

“Thank you, Dylan.”

I stroke his hair. “Do you really like him?” I ask softly. “You said you didn’t want a dog, and I ignored that.”

He kisses the side of my head, pushing his face into my neck. “I’m glad you did. I’m so glad you ignored every single one of my rules.” He lifts his face, and to my amazement, his eyes are suspiciously shiny. “Because you did, I have a home again and a life, and fuck, most of all I have you, and you’re everything to me. Everything.”

“It frightens you sometimes, doesn’t it?” I whisper, hugging him close.

“A bit, but the thing is, if I give in to that fear I’ll lose you, and having you is worth every second of being scared. I’m really learning,” he says earnestly. “Every day I trust more.”

“Trust me?” I’m slightly stung, but he shakes his head immediately.

“No, I always trust you. I mean I trust in the love, in the life that you give me, and because of this, every day I become a little less frightened that I’ll be like him.”

“You could never be him,” I say fiercely. “You’re too strong.”

“Not always, but we are strong, Dylan. I trust that now.”

The puppy breaks the tension by yawning loudly, showing a long, pink tongue and tiny teeth, and we laugh. Gabe holds him up to look at him and kisses his little nose. “You give me so much, Dylan. I can’t ever repay that.”

“You don’t need to repay anything. We’re not keeping score, but if we were, I’d have to say that I’ve never been so happy in my life, and it’s because of you.”

“I’ve never felt this before, and I know that I mess up sometimes, but you need to know that I’m always happy with you,” he says affectionately.

“Not always. What about last Friday when I was wrapping presents, and inadvertently sliced open the leather sofa with the scissors?”

“Even then I was happy.”

“And what about when I put diesel in the car, rather than petrol? You didn’t sound very happy then.”

“Don’t push it, Dylan. I’m sure everyone’s happiness has a limit.”

I laugh. “Okay then happy chap, how about we name this puppy? Then we can get some food and sit with him in the lounge. We can open our presents then.”

He looks up. “You can’t have your main present yet. You get that tomorrow.”

I’m instantly intrigued. “Any hints?”

He laughs. “No, I’m too busy naming my new baby.” He looks at him considering, and the dog looks back, grinning lopsidedly. “With his scrunched up little face, I’m going to name him after that actor you’re always slobbering over.”

“I do not slobber,” I say indignantly, and then pause before saying incredulously, “Do you mean Charlie Hunnam?”

He nods happily. “Yes, that’s the one. We’ll call him Charlie for short.”

“I’m not sure Charlie Hunnam would be flattered, but good name, daddy.”

“Shut up,” he growls.

Gabe

I wake up the next morning with Dylan’s warm body pressed against mine. He’s still sleeping heavily, his arm a lax weight across my belly, and his warm breaths huffing softly into my shoulder. I take a long second to just look at him, at the high cheek boned face and full lips that I know better than my own face nowadays.

If anyone had told me a year ago that I would be happily settled down and not interested in anyone else, I would have laughed in their face. But that was before Dylan. I breathe in, inhaling the scent of sex on the sheets wrapped around us. It’s the smell of us, and it stands for joy to me.

Then a howl rises up from downstairs, and I smile and untangle myself. Dylan had insisted last night that Charlie go to sleep in the kitchen. He’d bought a basket for the puppy, and we’d left him last night, curled up comfortably with a hot water bottle wrapped in a towel. Apparently, this replicated the warmth of the puppy pack he’d been sleeping in until recently.

I’d been down a couple of times in the night to let him out, enchanted by his tiny body, sturdy, little legs and indomitable spirit. He’d fallen back to sleep quickly each time, but now his patience is obviously at an end.

I pull on my pyjama trousers, making sure to transfer the little box from my jeans to my pyjama pocket, and pad downstairs. I open the door gingerly, not sure what to expect, but apart from a little puddle there isn’t anything, so I pick him up and open the back door.

“Who’s a good boy then,” I croon. “So clever for your daddy.” I break off and look behind me, but luckily the piss taking fool is still asleep, so I can indulge in endearments freely.

I set Charlie down and watch as he lollops around, tracking scents and snuffling happily. The garden is secure, so leaving the door open I go back inside and switch the machine on to make coffee, a job that I’d thankfully taken over from Dylan. The man fucks like a dream, but his coffee tastes like something crawled up and died in the cup.

Here more than anywhere in the house I can feel him. Before he moved in, I had a beautiful, highly expensive kitchen. It was lovely to look at, but empty. Now it’s a warm, functional room that serves as the heart of the house. Herbs grow greenly on the windowsill, and photos are three deep on the fridge. He’d painted one wall a deep vibrant pink which I’d initially looked askance at, but then his mum gave us one of her stunning paintings, and the wall suddenly made sense.

The painting is an abstract, a gorgeous melange of greys and pinks and silvers, and it hangs on the wall over a large, deep, silver, velvet sofa which is insanely comfortable. It’s where we sit most mornings having coffee before we leave for our day, and where I tend to set up shop in the evening, working on papers while he cooks and tells me about his day.

Charlie comes gambolling into the room, tripping over the doorstep and landing in a heap. He gets up happily, before zipping over to his bowl and pushing it around the room.

“Okay, wait a second.” I fill it with water and stand, watching him drink. A sudden thought occurs to me. “Hope you’re good at travelling. We’ve got a long journey ahead of us, mate.”

I feel nerves settle in my stomach at the thought of showing Dylan his present. What if he doesn’t like it? What if it’s too much?

I shake my head. It’s totally too much, but I want to give him everything. The trouble is that he doesn’t normally let me. He insists on splitting things fifty-fifty, despite me not needing the money, so instead I’ve put the money in a separate account that we can raid for holidays and household stuff.

I tap my fingers against the box in my pocket. I want to give it to him so badly that it’s killing me to wait. I want to see my ring on his finger and have him take my name, no matter how caveman it is. I want our lives entangled so deeply we won’t ever get free.

I’m not stupid. I see how men look at Dylan. He’s so gorgeous it’s not surprising men look, but what is surprising are my territorial impulses. It’s sort of ironic that a man who spent most of his sexual encounters sharing men, should have this desire to punch anyone who so much as looks at my man. I used to have such modern ideas about marriage, insisting blithely that it was the creation of straight people. Now, I want nothing more than to grow old with him.

As if my thoughts have summoned him, I hear his footsteps and his arms come around me from behind. I lean into his warm embrace and smile.

“Mmm, Merry Christmas,” he mumbles, the early morning hoarseness in his voice catching me in my nuts.

“Happy Christmas, baby.” I turn around and take his mouth in a deep kiss, noticing happily the lust drunk look in his eyes when I pull back. “Less of that,” I say smartly, standing back and pouring his coffee. I shove his mug towards him, and watch as he takes a grateful sip of the hot liquid. “We’ve got a busy day today.”

He looks at me curiously. “Can I get some answers to some questions now?”

“Hmm, maybe.”

He groans. “Okay, I’m fine with having Christmas dinner on Boxing Day, but I need to know why? Are we going somewhere?”

I reach up and brush his golden-brown hair away from his face. “We are going somewhere, but I’m not telling you where.”

Charlie prances up, and Dylan bends to pick him up, crooning nonsense to him and laughing as a tiny pink tongue washes his face. He shoots a look at me. “Are we taking him, because I don’t think he’ll stay on his own? Oh shit, has this thrown a spanner in the works?”

I pull them both into my arms. “Of course we’re taking Charlie Hunnam. He’s part of our family.”

He laughs. “Jesus, I really wish that sentence was real.”

I huff, and he raises his head and kisses me, but before it can get too heated, I pull back and smack his tight arse lightly. “No more. Take your coffee and go and get ready. You’re fine in jeans, but make sure you wear something warm. We’ll eat on the way.”

An hour later, Charlie is lying in his basket on the back seat. We’d only driven ten minutes down the road before he fell asleep. Dylan looks back at him. “Mum said he was good in the car.”

I shoot him a look. “Is that what they were doing in London on Tuesday?”

He nods. “Yeah. I got him from a litter on the next farm along from ours. They brought him with them, and he’s been staying with Jude for the last couple of nights.”

He reaches out and fiddles with the Bluetooth and his phone, until the sound of Wham’s ‘Last Christmas’ drifts through the car. I groan. “More Christmas music.”

“It is actually Christmas Day now. It’s obligatory to play George and Andrew.”

“I’m not sure that it’s obligatory, but it’s certainly torturous.”

He sniffs. “Keep whining, Gabe, and the next song will be Cliff Richard’s ‘Mistletoe and Wine’.” I shut my mouth with an audible snap, and he nods. “Yeah, I thought so.”

We drive, talking easily about anything and everything, mixed with his increasingly desperate guesses as to where we’re going. We stop for lunch at a little pub and to let Charlie have a run, and then finally, after four hours, I flip the indicator and draw the car over to the side of the road.

He’d been dozing lightly, and I’d left him alone, very aware of the long hours that he’s been putting in over the lead up to the holidays. He’s now an editorial assistant, and I can see him going far. That mix of keen intelligence, his eye for detail, along with his natural warmth and ability to inspire loyalty, will see him well. I still miss him at the office, but it’s a concrete fact that I get more work done now.

The sudden quiet wakes him up, and his eyelids flutter. I smile at him, and then before he can look around, I reach out and deftly slide the blindfold over his eyes.

“What the fuck?” he mutters. “Gabe, what are you doing?” His full lips smirk. “Oh, is this my Christmas present? Are we role playing? I can see it now. You’re the hunky kidnapper, and I’m the naughty hostage drawn to you against my will.”

I laugh. “You should try writing novels, rather than reading them.”

He pouts. “Disappointing, but I’m rolling with the blow.” He straightens his shoulders. “Okay, hit me with it. Why are we miles away from home in an unknown destination, and one of us is blindfolded in a sadly non-sexual manner?”

I shift in my seat. Something about that blindfold hits me in my groin – the slash of red across his face that seems to highlight his full, cock-sucking lips. I make a mental note to keep the blindfold, then bring my attention back to where it should be.

“Because I don’t want you to see where we are,” I say briskly, starting the engine again and pulling out onto the road.

“Oh, so it’s somewhere I know,” he immediately exclaims, and I smile.

“Shut the fuck up and stop guessing. We’re nearly there.”

The car crests the hill, and my whole sight is filled with the grey-blue mass of the sea. Seagulls fly overhead, and I see Dylan cock his head at their unmistakable cawing, but he says nothing. Looking left and right I drive slowly until I see the turn I’m looking for. I flick on the indicator, and try hard to fight down an attack of nerves. This has the potential to either be amazing or go horribly wrong. I smile, because that’s life with Dylan. It’s sort of a chicken and egg scenario. Which came first, my intense feelings or intense life experiences?

“You alright?” he asks quietly, reaching over and laying his warm hand on my thigh. I feel the weight of it, which seems to always magically ground me and set me free at the same time.

“Why?”

“Because your breathing just got really fast, and I can hear you vibrating from over here.”

I pull the car to a stop and start talking really quickly. “Okay we’re here, and I really need you to remember one thing. I love you more than anything, and all I want to do is see you happy.” I stroke his face. “You also have to remember that anything I give you for the rest of our lives, will never balance the scales of what you give me every day.”

“Oh God,” he smirks. “You’ve bought me something really fucking expensive, haven’t you?”

I hum and haw. “Price isn’t the point.”

He shakes his head. “Yes, I guessed right.”

I push the door open. “Enough talk. You have to keep the blindfold on. I’ll come around and lead you out.”

I step out, lifting Charlie down, who immediately pootles off to water a few bushes. I pause for a second inhaling the scent of the sea greedily, and then race around to let Dylan out. He straightens next to me and stands still.

The air is full of the sound of the sea, and heavy with the fragrance of salt and a deep pine resin, and he sniffs deeply. “I know that smell,” he says, and a silence falls before I reach back and untie the blindfold. It falls away and he looks up, stilling at what he’s seeing.

We’re standing on a gravelled drive, looking at a white-washed cottage. Two storeys with large windows, it seems to huddle comfortingly over us. It’s obviously rundown, but still has a great deal of charm, and I’d fallen in love with it when I viewed it a couple of months ago with his mum. I’d walked the empty rooms with their stunning views of the sea, and I’d known with a bone-deep certainty that this was meant to be ours. I pay attention to these feelings now, as they’d led me to Dylan in the first place.

He looks around. “This is Mr Peter’s cottage,” he finally says. “It’s been empty for a few years. Why are we here?” He turns to me with his beautiful green eyes full of questions.

I hold out my hand, and he puts his own into it instantly, and something about that gesture touches me deep inside. Then I raise it palm up, and reaching into my pocket I pull out a red box tied with white ribbon and put it into his palm. Swallowing hard, I try a smile. “Merry Christmas?”

There’s a choked silence for a long second, then he opens the box to reveal a silver key on a naked Santa key chain. “Oh my God,” he says quietly. “Is this real?” He looks at me. “Do people really do things like this?”

I examine his face intently. “If I said this was your Christmas present, on a scale of one to ten how angry would you be?”

That seems to stop him in his tracks. “You think I’m angry?”

I stare at him. “That’s sort of the reaction I was anticipating.”

He suddenly gives me that slow, sweet smile that I love. “You’re the most contrary man that I’ve ever met, Gabe. You foresaw that I would lose my shit if you did something, and yet you went ahead and did it anyway. Why?”

I shrug. “I kind of like it when you lose your temper.” He laughs, and I hasten on. “It’s just that I wanted to give you something no one else would. A present that would really mean something to you. So I thought about it, and I realised that by being with me you’re waving goodbye for a long time to moving near your whole family, and I don’t want you to completely cut yourself off from being with them.”

He turns to me, his expression soft. “Sweetheart, you’re my family. You have to know that by now. I’ve given up nothing at all to be with you. Instead, I’ve gained everything.”

I pull him to me. “But that home was mine first. I love that you love it, and I adore the way it’s become our home, but I wanted us to have something that was ours from the beginning. Something we can make into our home here. I want you to be near your family and have everything.”

He wraps his arms around me and hugs me to him, and I smell the familiar scent of his Tom Ford aftershave, which never fails to warm and excite me. “Gabe, we could have nothing, no home, no money, nothing, and I would still have everything because I have you.” I swallow hard, and he smiles, reading my mood as always and lightening the atmosphere. “And Charlie Hunnam of course. Now that’s my idea of a real threesome.”

Before I can glare at him, the puppy staggers towards us, dragging a stick that’s too big for him. Dylan looks fondly at him. “Just like your daddy, Charlie. Always wanting a big stick in your mouth.” I laugh, and he throws his arms around me. “Thank you,” he says fiercely. “I love it. I fucking love it. I’ve always loved this house.”

“I know,” I say smugly.

“How?”

“Your mum. She said that when you were little, you announced that you’d live in it one day.”

“There you go,” he says, smiling. “Dylan has presentiment. Let it be known far and wide that Dylan is a seer.”

“Let it be known far and wide that Dylan is now talking about himself in the third person, and add that earlier on, he guessed his Christmas present was a golden dildo.”

He snorts out a disgusting laugh. “That still would have been an epic present.” He laughs suddenly and whirls around. “I can’t believe we own this. I can’t believe you did this for me.”

I stay him for a second. “I would do this and more for you, Dylan. I would do anything for you,” I say earnestly, and he smiles lovingly.

“Luckily for you, I’ll never ask for everything. All I’ll ever need from you, is you.”

He reaches up and kisses me deeply, sending his tongue languorously over mine. I grab his head and pull him closer, feeling the familiar heat rise and twine around us.

He pulls away panting, with his eyes blown. “Let’s christen the house,” he says hoarsely, reaching down and stroking my cock, making me grunt and shove against him.

I pull back. “Shall I carry you over the threshold?”

He shakes his head. “Twat.” Then he moves towards the house shouting something about not asking his brother Ben for a house-warming present, and did I remember his fondness for miniature alcohol.

I stare after him, then push my hands into my pockets, feeling the tiny ring box with the tips of my fingers. He has no idea of the way that my thoughts have turned to permanence. I know we’re in it for forever, but I need visual proof on his finger.

No one should ever look to me for love advice because I have done everything wrong that could be done. Yet still, I have ended up with this wonderful man who will walk by my side for the rest of our lives. Maybe my luck has changed. I don’t know about that, but what I do know, is that I will spend the rest of my life treating him properly and making him keep trusting me. I will spend the rest of my life with him.

I tap the box again. Soon I think, my old wolfish grin appearing, the way it does before I facilitate a deal. Soon, love.

 

The End