The Captain and the Prime Minister

by Catherine Curzon

  But hadn’t he almost hoped it could be? To get Alex out of his system? Why the hell had he even thought that? Seeing Stuart and Alex in the same room made Tom realize just how much more attractive he found Alex than Stuart. Doubtless there’d be people far more excited by the inflatable bulges of Stuart’s body, but not Tom.

  “Hey, who’s gonna blame an old soldier for trying? It’s brunch, man, chill.” He winked, seemingly oblivious to the CPO who had materialized seemingly out of nowhere. “Don’t you keep him out too late, bossman.”

  “I’ll do my best,” was Alex’s smooth, professional politician reply. It was the one he used when he had to speak to the US president. Curt, like a father addressing an errant child.

  “Yeah, we’re off now,” Tom said. “See you tomorrow, Stuart.”

  The vast, shimmering room was darker and busier than ever as they made their way through the tables toward the door. Seeing Stuart had been an unwelcome surprise, but Tom told himself that there was no need to feel awkward, even though he did. There was no dishonesty. There was certainly no date.

  Alex’s ever-vigilant CPO looked uncharacteristically relieved when his charge was finally safe in the armored car, the doors closed and the engine purring as they pulled away from the curb. Only then did Alex say, “That was bloody good fun, wasn’t it?”

  Tom leaned against the seat. “It was fantastic! The food and the entertainment—the decor! And…” Tom wondered if the driver and the CPO were listening in. “And it was great seeing you relax for once!”

  “I might get a taste for it,” he mused, settling into the leather seat. Jenny would certainly be interested to hear that, but Tom wouldn’t be the one to tell her. “I think the kids’d love it there too, though maybe for lunch rather than dinner—some of the show wasn’t really child friendly!”

  “What’s not child-friendly about a man twirling his nipple tassels?” Tom laughed.

  Alex laughed too, and from the front seat, the CPO stifled a snigger and called back, “You don’t get that on trips to the palace!”

  “It’s a form of dance, that’s all!” Tom told him. He really wanted to hold Alex’s hand, but that would have to wait until they were behind closed doors.

  “Soon to be on Strictly, no doubt,” Alex told the car at large. The streets were busy despite the lateness of the hour, and from somewhere a police motorcycle glided alongside them. All this fuss for a first date, Tom thought mischievously. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

  “You never know!” Tom smiled at him. “But yeah, we definitely need to take the kids for lunch one day.”

  “It’s a date.” Alex smiled, but only Tom knew just how true that was. The gates of Downing Street were free of tourists and photographers alike and the car swept through into the peaceful road, carrying them home. They left the driver and CPO at the door of number 11 and, with a bright greeting for the police officer who stood there, made their way inside.

  They headed up to the flat, and once they were inside, the door safely shutting out the world, Tom looped his arms around Alex’s neck.

  “Thank you for a wonderful date, Alex.”

  “Does that mean you’d say yes to a second?” Alex slipped his arms around Tom’s waist. “I had a fabulous time.”

  “I did too.” Tom brought himself nearer, until his body was against Alex’s and their foreheads were touching. Alex’s eyes were so intensely blue and Tom couldn’t look anywhere else. And as their lips met again, that affectionate little smile Alex wore for him turning so easily into a kiss, Tom found that he didn’t want to.

  Tom crossed his arms behind Alex’s head, holding him close. Their kissed deepened, and Tom sighed against Alex’s mouth. He could happily have invited Alex back to his room there and then—he wanted nothing more—but Alex had asked to take things slow and slow probably didn’t include tumbling into bed after the first date. Yet the kiss was so hungry that it was hard to remember that taking things slow had even been discussed.

  Tom stroked one hand down Alex’s back and cupped his buttock. It was heavenly—firm, but with just enough softness for Tom to squeeze it, and push their bodies closer together still.

  He heard Alex’s breath catch and he whispered Tom’s name before kissing him again. Then Alex’s hand shifted just a little from where it rested on Tom’s back and he hooked his thumb into the waistband of Tom’s trousers, his fingers fluttering at the top of his buttocks.

  For some reason that Tom couldn’t pin down, Alex’s fluttering fingers were sending arrows of desire through him with more intensity that if he’d merely grasped him. But then, Alex was a refined sort of chap—Tom was a former soldier who got straight to the point.

  “Tom.” Alex gasped, kissing his jaw. “God, you’re making this hard.”

  Tom chuckled. “Hope so, or I’m not doing it right!”

  For a moment Alex was silent, no doubt reaching through the fog of Manhattans to realize exactly what he’d said. Then the moment passed and he laughed, dropping his head to rest on Tom’s shoulder.

  “Well, yes, you’re making other things hard as well,” he admitted.

  It wasn’t as if Alex’s erection was easy to miss, but Tom kept that quip to himself. He loosened his grip on Alex’s buttock. “Am I going too fast?”

  “I think I’m probably going too slow, aren’t I?” He drummed his fingers lightly where they rested just beneath Tom’s belt. “Will you wait for me?”

  “Don’t you worry about slowing me down, okay?” Tom combed his fingers through Alex’s hair. Was he close to wrecking everything, being so impetuous? “I just can’t believe my luck, that’s all. And I want to enjoy every second…at your speed. I’m greedy—and I’ll slow down.”

  Alex kissed the tip of Tom’s nose. “Thank you. And it’s not my business but…be careful with Stuart. I remember how upset you were when— You’re such a good man, Tom. I don’t want him to hurt you again.”

  “It’s just brunch. Don’t worry—I’m not going to let hurt me again.” Maybe Tom should cancel the brunch. “And there’s definitely nothing going on in that department, by the way—I’m a one-man kind of guy.”

  “Hey, it’s fine.” Alex brushed Tom’s face with the tips of his fingers. “You don’t have to explain anything. And you two have history, way before you were a couple.”

  “Yeah, and don’t worry, I won’t breathe a word about us to him. Strictly off limits.” Something tightened in Tom’s chest. Alex was so understanding, and Tom wasn’t all that sure he deserved him.

  “Tomorrow… I’m knocking on constituency doors all day.” And Tom knew that Alex wouldn’t have it any other way. Being PM was one thing, but being MP to his constituents was as important as it had always been, a duty he never shirked. “But if you’re not doing anything in the evening, after I’ve Skyped the twins…could I cook you supper?”

  “I’d really like that. Do you want me to grab anything from the supermarket?” What a conversation to have while he still had his hand on the man’s bottom.

  “It’s your day off. I’ll nip to the shops while I’m out, you don’t have to do anything at all.”

  “I get to be your kept man for the day, then?” Tom moved his hand up to rest on the slightly less dangerous territory of Alex’s back. “Let me get the wine, though.”

  Alex nodded. “Deal. Now, much as I don’t want to, I ought to get to bed, or I’m going to be no use to anyone tomorrow.”

  “Okay.” Tom patted Alex’s shoulder. What he wouldn’t have done to invite Alex to his bed—just to sleep beside him, nothing more. But that’d terrify the man. Tom kissed his cheek. “Good night. And if you have nightmares, give me a shout and I’ll tickle your feet.”

  “I’ll probably be tramping the streets before you have to get out of bed, you lucky thing.” Alex kissed Tom’s cheek in return. “If I don’t see you in the morning, have a lovely brunch.”

  “I’ll be thinking of you the whole time. Hoping your feet don’t get sore.” Tom edged
away. Oh, Alex, Alex, Alex…

  Alex’s elegant feet, in need of a massage of their own.

  “Sleep tight.” Alex took a step toward his own bedroom, the door standing ajar. “And thanks again for tonight. It was very special.”

  “It was, wasn’t it?” Tom smiled. “Goodnight.”

  He wandered to his bedroom. He wasn’t sure he’d get much sleep, but he’d have happy thoughts to keep him company until morning.

  Chapter Nine

  Tom set off for brunch with a note in his jacket pocket. Written in Alex’s careful handwriting, and left on the worktop by the kettle, it read, Have a lovely brunch—leave some room for supper!

  Oscar’s was bustling and Tom grabbed a table and ordered his food before looking for Stuart. Based on yesterday’s performance, Stuart would no doubt bounce up like the world’s worst jack-in-a-box as soon as he saw him.

  Tom could already taste the thick slices of sourdough bread, and he checked his phone as he waited for his order.

  He scrolled idly through a few sites to pass the time, almost on autopilot as pictures and headlines whizzed past beneath the pad of his thumb. It seemed like a slow weekend for anything worth reading, but at least a slow weekend meant that Alex wouldn’t be called away to sort out some outrageous political drama or other.

  Then he saw a photo of a street he recognized, and two men he knew very well indeed.

  Great.

  The Mail had a photo of Tom and Alex getting into the car. The headline didn’t seem too bad—Night out for PM and Manny. But Tom’s stomach started to churn at the thought of what they were going to say about his outfit. The linen suit was creased, but linen was supposed to be. Would they question his housekeeping skills and speculate whether he adequately ironed the twins’ school uniforms?

  He should know better, he told himself, but still he scrolled down to the user comments, looking for the supportive flurry of green arrows and the accusing volley of red. With a deep breath he clicked on the top rated, and waiting for the moment of truth.

  Alex has earned it—those blue eyes get my vote & OMG Manny you’re a heartbreaker—I’d go out with him ANY night.

  Did he want to know what the trolls were saying? No, but he clicked on the worst rated anyway, because he never could resist a challenge.

  Tax money spare to be spent on a night out but not on an iron, I’d hate to see the top of their kitchen cupboards.

  Tom blew a raspberry at his phone. “It’s called linen, you moron.”

  “Hey, T-bird!” A heavy hand slapped against his shoulder. “What’s cooking?”

  “Morning, Stuart!” Tom looked up at him. He looked even more pumped this morning, unless he was wearing a tighter shirt than he had been last night. “Here’s the menu—no churros con chocolate, I’m afraid!”

  Stuart lifted his T-shirt for a moment to give Tom a flash of his tan stomach, every muscle defined beneath hairless, taut skin. It looked like he’d molded it from plastic.

  “Does that look like it ever gets chocolate?”

  Tom wrinkled his nose. “Nope.”

  “Don’t I get a hug after three years?”

  Tom stood reluctantly. It was a hug, he’d get it out of the way, and that’d be it.

  “All right, mate?” Tom opened his arms to Stuart. The hug felt awkward, hardly surprising given the fact that they were former lovers with virtually nothing in common beyond that and their years in the military together. But now? Now they could’ve been from different planets.

  When they parted Stuart stepped back and dropped into a seat, exclaiming, “So, look at you now!”

  “Yeah, still the Manny.” Tom slid the menu to him across the scrubbed wooden table. “So Barcelona didn’t work out then?”

  “Barcelona was…” He sighed, as though searching for the words. “A wild ride. Good times, bad times… But it was time to come home.”

  “Sounds like you’re doing okay, though, with the yoga business,” Tom said. “Stuart the Zen master—never thought that’d happen!”

  Stuart nodded, looking at the menu as he said, “Aaaand you’re out with your boss on Friday night? Jesus, man, get that guy a woman! I hope he paid you overtime!”

  “He’s a busy man!” Tom moved his phone off the table as the waiter arrived with his food. “And we had such a good time. What were you up to there? Is cabaret particularly Zen?”

  “You ordered without me?” Stuart’s scowl was as dark now as it had been when they were together. “That’s a bit out there after three years, mate. You couldn’t wait?”

  “I’m hungry.” Tom grinned as he unwrapped his cutlery from the napkin.

  And you don’t own me.

  “So you got here early and ordered food? What’s up, boss got the meter running?” He threw the menu down and told the waiter, “I’ll get a superfood smoothie.”

  “It’s always busy in here, so I grabbed a table as soon as I found one free. I couldn’t just sit here farting about on my phone, could I?”

  Although if anyone’s going to be farting, it’ll be Stuart after that smoothie.

  Stuart scowled, letting his disapproval fester. “When I saw you last night, I thought you had some hot hunky sugar daddy hidden away in your secluded little booth.” He grinned, showing a row of perfect white veneers. “I was all ready to meet the hubby!”

  Tom shrugged as he poured his tea. “He is pretty hunky, but sadly unavailable…”

  “Dude,” Stuart laughed, “Believe me, I came through hunky to end up at ripped. He’s not hunky. Cute ten years ago, maybe, but…nah.”

  You wouldn’t say that if you’d had the pleasure of gripping his arse.

  A very pleasant flush ran through Tom at the memory and he fanned himself with his napkin. “Stop it, Stuart, I’m coming over all unnecessary. Hunky this and ripped that…blimey!”

  “I’m jealous, mate,” he admitted with a good-natured shrug. “Because I binned off the best thing I ever had and I’m going to make it right.”

  He was hardly going about it the right way with that scowl within seconds of arriving. Tom slurped his tea.

  “And how are you going to make it right?” Tom asked.

  “I’d say by winning you back, but I’ve a feeling you might not be into that.” Stuart glanced up as his smoothie arrived, green and glutinous in a tall glass. “So by making a go of the studio, being the best Stu Donnelly I can be, and proving to you that this old soldier has got what it takes to be worthy of the manny.”

  “Look, I think maybe I should be clear about this, Stu. I don’t want to hurt you, but I think we’re at cross purposes.” Tom’s brunch was suddenly unappealing, the egg yolk hardening where it spilled onto his plate, the smoked salmon an unpleasant shade of pink. “I’m not here on a date. I don’t see any romantic future for us. I’m sorry if you do, but I can’t give you what you want.”

  But Stuart held up his hand, instantly placating. “All I want is your friendship again, mate. Remember back in the day? Soldiers stick together. All I want is the laughs we used to have. Romance is something else, that’s cool.”

  “That’s great! You can never have too many friends, right?” Tom sawed into his food, his appetite returning. “We did have a laugh, and…yeah, let’s do friends.”

  Tom relinquished his cutlery to offer Stuart his hand. Stuart took it and they shook, a friendship renewed.

  Hopefully.

  But he knew Stuart well enough to know that with him, things were rarely this easy.

  Chapter Ten

  Tom hadn’t expected to be the first one home—the flat was empty when he arrived. He laid the table with a fresh sourdough loaf from Oscar’s on the breadboard and flowers in a vase. Big, bright gerbera daisies.

  Then he felt a bit lost, and changed his shirt three times in anticipation of Alex coming home.

  The Skype with Alastair and Madeleine was booked for five o’clock, as was the routine when the twins visited either set of grandparents, so whatever Alex was up to o
n his crusading afternoon of campaigning, he would be back in Downing Street by then. Tom couldn’t help the thrill of anticipation at the thought of his return, nor the night to come. The memory of their kisses and Alex’s fluttering, uncertain fingers just below his belt were as fresh as ever today, and tonight they had the whole evening to themselves. In private.

  “Tom!” Alex called as the flat door opened. “Are you home?”

  “I am! Waiting for my—” Tom stopped. What if someone was lurking by the door with him? “Waiting for a hungry MP!”

  “Excellent, because dinner won’t be long!” Alex closed the front door and Tom paused for a second, assured now that they were alone. “It’s been a busy afternoon for my shoe leather. How was brunch?”

  “Not too bad. Stuart wants to be friends, so I’m happy with that. I’m just relieved he’s all in one piece, really.” Tom went to the hallway and smiled as soon as he saw Alex in his sensible jacket and jumper, his shirt unbuttoned at the neck. He was just the right side of windswept too. “And you’re looking particularly handsome.”

  God bless the changeable weather.

  “In my layers?” Alex asked with a smile. In one hand he carried a shopping bag that was filled to the limit of every seam while the other, mysteriously, was held behind his back. “You look lovely, the nicest sight I’ve seen all day. I left you a note, because I had to work while some people got to sleep!”

  Tom stroked his cheek. “I got it! I walked there and back so I’ve got plenty of room for supper. But I doubt I’ve walked as far as you have today.”

  Alex put the shopping bag down on the carpet and, with all the extravagance of a magician producing a rabbit from a top hat, held out a bright bunch of flowers that had been concealed behind his back. Then, as if there could be any doubt, he said, “For you.”

  “Flowers? No one’s ever bought me flowers!” Tom took them and was about to sniff them when he was overcome with affection for Alex. He flung his arms around him, kissing Alex’s neck. “They’re so lovely! You’re lovely! Oh, Alex…”