“You love the teaching, don’t you?” he said softly, stroking the hair out of my face.
“I love it,” I admitted. I loved the students, the college and the thrill of sharing what I loved. I felt almost like an adult there, and it was still a thrill to have students greet me in the street, calling me Mr Porter and introducing me to their friends. I thought I might even be good at it too. At least, that was what the headteacher told me in my last evaluation. And the students? They were fun. Challenging sometimes, but fun.
“You’re thinking too hard again. Stop it.”
“Can’t stop it,” I muttered into his chest.
“I was talking to Mrs Pasankar today, and she said her daughter had come up with a business model where we could just throw the whole bakery industry on its head and have a reception desk in store.”
“That’s hardly ground-breaking.” I smiled because he was looking so excited about whatever he was going to tell me, his hands all animated as he pulled out some papers from his bag.
“Say we have someone man the counter but have Graham in a comfy reception desk by the door. We could remodel it on the cheap, just a lick of paint, and invest in the furniture. We could call it a bake-ception.”
“Bake-ception…” I sniggered, then I smiled. It wasn’t a bad idea. “It needs to be cosy, darker colours, candles, and you know, greens and browns. Perhaps we could get a licence to serve coffee? Not that this town needs more coffee shops, but if we could have a good machine and a full-time barista, then Graham could keep an eye on things. I have a student who might need a part-time job. Good kid, always broke, but is really passionate about what he does. I think he could fit in well, then we could offer apprenticeships to cover the hours, and between us all?”
“Don’t think too hard,” Daniel whispered, placing a kiss on my lips. “You don’t have to do everything on your own anymore.”
I kept forgetting, even though I shouldn’t. I had him, and he had me as I smiled into his kisses.
“You’ve got me now,” he said.
“I know,” I would reply every day when he said it because we did have each other, and we had each other’s backs too, even when eggs got broken and things went wrong.
“Oh, I almost forgot!” Daniel laughed and left me in the kitchen as he disappeared out into the hallway, returning with a huge thing wrapped in brown paper.
“What is that?” I laughed as he excitedly placed it on the worktop.
“It’s a Christmas tree. Well, it’s a tiny one but look. It’s a sapling in a pot, so we will keep it for this year, and it’s got its own little tinsel and baubles and stuff already, but the lady at the florist said if we plant it outside in January, then it will take root and grow into a proper tree. So, we can use it every year, and like, put lights outside.”
He looked a little sheepish as I just stood there.
“I mean, we’ll get a proper Christmas tree too. I just thought, you know. We would put down roots. Our first tree, and it will go in the garden so we can keep it forever.”
“You know fir trees can grow up to sixty metres tall or even taller in the right conditions?”
“Yeah? So? We can cut the top down and burn it in our fireplace. Recycling and all that. We’ll just have to keep trimming it back.”
“Roots. We can’t plant them and then just burn them.”
“We’re not cutting it down. It can be like our baby. We’ll just top it a little and use the cut off as a Christmas tree. It’ll be fine, Charlie.”
“You’re nuts, Daniel.”
“I know. I’m your boyfriend. What was I thinking? Must have been one hell of a midlife crisis last year.”
“It makes a good story at dinner parties though. Remember last Christmas when you were so out of control that you got divorced and bagged yourself a boyfriend?”
“Nuts.” He laughed. “I was definitely out of control. Bought a wreck of a house and a bike and thought I could live happily ever after with those rats of ours.”
“Wonder where they all moved to. I miss them. Humpty, Dumpty, Lumpty and… what was the fourth one?”
“We only ever caught three, then we released them, and they probably all came straight back or maybe it was only one rat that we caught three times…”
“It was more than three, all those droppings! Must have been a whole squadron of rats under the floorboards here.”
“It was winter, and the poor rats were cold. And we had no food in the house anyway, so god knows what they ate. It was insane.”
“Last December was insane. I don’t think I slept much. When I wasn’t working, I was studying, and the rest of the time I was thinking about you. All the bloody time. It was exhausting.”
“It’s a whole year. We’ve managed a whole year living here.”
“I know. Madness.”
“Happy anniversary, my Charlie.”
“Happy one year of insanity, my Daniel. I love the tree. Thank you. I love the idea of planting it outside, baubles and all. Then it will grow sixty metres tall, and we will end up feuding with all the neighbours over our ridiculous blinking Christmas tree.”
“It will be our Christmas tree.”
“Our thing.”
“Our thing?”
“Another thing. That will be ours.”
“I’m your thing?”
“Always.”
He was as well. My Daniel. He’s my thing. My man. My partner and my best friend in the world. He was the man who held my heart and who loved me and held my feet on the ground. He gave me roots. Roots that were wrapped deeply in the foundations of this house and that grew tightly all around his heart. He told me he loved me. I still never said it back. He said it didn’t matter as long as we did our thing.
“I think I could say it back, but it would sound stupid, you know, after all this time.”
“I know you love me, baby. I know it. It’s okay. It’s just another one of our things.”
“I, you know, forever and all that.”
“Charlie, use words.” He laughed, stroking my fringe out of my face.
“Fuck you, Daniel.”
“Fuck you too, Charles.”
“I love you, you wanker,” I hissed into his neck as he giggled and stroked my back.
“I know you do.”
I knew it too. And that was the thing with Daniel. He was mine as I was his, and with him holding my hand we would get through whatever the future threw at us.
“Show me those plans for the bakery,” I said, sitting myself down at the table, a loud sigh spilling out of my chest. “Let’s see if we can make this thing easier for all of us, and then let’s just do it.”
He showed me. And then we did. We made things happen. But that’s a completely different story.
Thank you to everyone who has read my books, and thank you for being brave enough to read this one. I hope it made you smile, and perhaps even laugh out loud as Daniel and Charlie figured their thing out.
You will find Andreas’s story in Ship of Fools, available on Amazon and in KU, and meet Rufus and Joshua in Custard and Kisses, available as a free download on Prolific Works.
Thank you to Erika and Jenn for the amazing feedback and beta reading. Takk Marianne for nit-picking the finer details. Elouise for picking up the pieces when things got messy, and Aurelia for the perfect cover.
Sophia Soames should be old enough to know better but has barely grown up. She has been known to fangirl over TV-shows, has fallen in and out of love with more popstars than she dares to remember, and has a ridiculously high-flying (un-)glamourous real-life job.
Her longsuffering husband just laughs at her antics. Their children are feral. The Au Pair just sighs.
She lives in a creaky old house in rural London, although her heart is still in Scandinavia.
Discovering that the stories in her head make sense when written down has been part of the most hilarious midlife crisis ever, and she hopes it may long continue.
Facebook reader’s g
roup
Sophia Soames’ Little Harbour
Find me on social media @sophiasoames on all platforms
Aurelia Morris is a cover artist, photographer, photoshop wiz and eternal fangirl. She works in many mediums under more aliases that she can keep track of.
717 miles
717 miles Christmas
The Scandinavian Comfort Series
Little Harbour
Open Water
Baking Battles
In this Bed of Snowflakes we Lie
What if it all goes right?
The Naked Cleaner
The Chistleworth series
Custard and Kisses (Free on Prolific Works)
Ship of Fools
This thing with Charlie
The Clouds Hotel Series (Coming soon)
Short stories
Honest (Free on Prolific Works)
Ship of Fools
Sample Chapter
Andreas Mitchell is single, stupid and bored, and should honestly have a good long think about the amount of bad life choices he has made lately. Instead he heads straight for the one guy he knows will become his worst mistake yet.
Luca Germano makes no choices at all, instead he lives quietly in the background, and prefers the safety of his own hand to risking his heart. And someone as pretty and fearless as Andreas Mitchell, is the last person on earth he should let into his life.
Especially at Christmas.
This is a work of fantasy and fiction. This story contains descriptions of sexual roleplay and consensual violence, and elements of mild BDSM, which are not intended to be taken seriously, or imitate real life. Please read with caution if these themes might trigger or upset you.
Andreas
There are big showy snowflakes falling from the sky, which makes this evening feel frankly bizarre. It hardly ever snows in England. Well, almost never, despite what the Hollywood films try to sell. Winter in England is usually wet, dark and miserable, but tonight the town of Chistleworth is covered in a thick layer of magical, sparkling white fluff. The view from where I am standing almost looks like an old-fashioned postcard, the streetlights casting a pretty glow over the silently falling snow.
It’s bizarre alright, the magical Christmas scene developing in front of me, accompanied by the heavy breathing from the bloke thrusting against me as I shiver in my thin shirt. The air is freezing, my clothes are wet and his ice-cold fingers are annoyingly twisting my already erect nipples, making me hiss a little under my breath.
“You like that, do you?” he grunts as his body shoves me hard against the stone wall in front of us. I can just about see the cityscape over the top of it as my chest gets pressed against sharp edges that are no doubt scratching marks into my skin. There’s another shove and his hand tugs at my hair, just the way I asked him to. I can’t even remember if we exchanged names, but it doesn’t matter as he grinds against me, making me moan out loud.
“You can be rougher than that, mate,” I stutter out as cold air hits my back, and for a second, the pressure is off as he tugs my jeans down over my hips, kicking my feet to the side before shoving me back against the wall. The brute force, and the weight of him crushing my dick against the chiselled stone, is filling my chest with hopeful anticipation.
“Rough, eh? You won’t need lube then?” he cackles in my ear with an edge in his voice that is starting to grind on me. His cock is already pushing against my crack, awkwardly trying to find my entrance as the guy takes another deep drag of the cigarette still dangling from his lips. The smell is intoxicating, adding to my fantasy that is already laced with that addictive hint of danger.
“You need a map or something?” I hiss out, getting antsy with his clumsiness.
“Fucking keep still then,” he grunts, his hands freezing cold against my skin. The whole thing is starting to feel off. Wrong. Stupid even as his dick, once again, misses the target and slides up along my back.
“You’ve got something on, haven’t you?” I continue, turning my head, which is a little fuzzy with it all. The drinks, the cigarette we just shared, the high of the idea in my head that we’re playing out and, of course, the fact that the guy is now pressing his cock inside of me, lube-free and, hopefully, condom clad. Because right now can’t remember what I actually told him, nor what he said in return. The drag inside of me feels condom-like enough, so I relax and try to enjoy that delicious burn on my insides.
He’s big. Rough. Doesn’t care who I am or what I want, apart from that he liked the idea of fucking me, and I liked the idea of him just taking me there, in the back alley behind the club with nothing more than a shirt covering my skin and my dick being scraped raw against the brickwork. He’s also not going easy on me, his big hands holding me in place as my feet slide around in the slush on the ground, my own hands hurting from trying to hold myself up against the wall.
The falling snowflakes are pretty though, and the snow on the rooftops is even prettier as I find myself… bored. Again. I’ve got a massive cock giving me exactly what I asked for, and I’m standing here trying to catch a snowflake on my tongue. There’s a big one that lands on my nose, which makes me laugh—a small distracted giggle dancing in the still air.
“You like that, you little slut, don’t you? Fucking letting anything up that tight hole of yours?”
I do. He’s right about that. I like it, and I should like it even more when his hand comes up around my face, forcing me to lean back into him as he spits the cigarette out and tries to kiss me.
“No fucking kissing,” I pant out.
“Fucking tease.” His voice is in my ear, his fingers digging into my mouth. “You gonna come from this? Getting railed like a whore in a back alley?”
I’m not a whore. And I suddenly don’t like his voice, or the shit he’s churning out. I didn’t ask for that.
“Just get off.” I try to speak, but he’s got tar-tasting fingers jammed in my mouth as he shoves me back against the wall, slamming into me with more force than I’m comfortable with. My dick is getting scraped, my hands are hurting and his breath bloody reeks of stale beer and cheap cigarettes.
I don’t know why I even suggested this. I didn’t sign up for this part.
“Get off me!” I buck my hips, kicking his shin hard enough that he loses his balance, and then he’s obviously coming and cursing me at the same time, a jumbled mess of words and moans as he’s furiously jacking himself off in front of me as I tug my jeans up and tuck myself away.
“Come on. Lick it up, taste it…” He tries to grab my hair, but I duck and back away, giving him the finger as I leave.
I hope he won’t follow me. I hope he won’t come back into the club, because that? That was a complete waste of time.
There are a few people lingering outside the club entrance, so I blag myself a cigarette and let my body lean back against the wall. I just need a few minutes to calm down. A moments peace to quell the disappointment. Whatever that was, it wasn’t good, and I’m such a fucking fool for even thinking it was a good idea in the first place. I didn’t fancy him. He made advances, and I kind of played along…. oh, fuck off, Andreas. I should know better and wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. I’m not crying. Fuck no. Instead, my foot stamps the cigarette out on the ground as I blow into my frozen hands. I shouldn’t smoke and never usually do, but on a night like this, I tend to lose all sense and sanity and do stupid things—especially if Charlie isn’t there to rein in my insane spur of the moment ideas. I don’t even like the guy, and I still jump up and down with fake excitement at any suggestion of wild nights out at the dump of a gay bar we tend to frequent. The Eden bar touts overpriced drinks, loud music and desperate men—everything Charlie adores, and everything I have come to despise.
Yes. You heard me right. I can’t bear this whole foolish charade of grownup fun. Yet, I go out, almost every weekend, and get drunk and disorderly, then go home with some ridiculous man that I end up spending the rest of my life avoiding. It’s stupid and exh
austing, yet I have no idea why I don’t put an end to it. Perhaps, it’s because it’s Christmas and I’m single and simply bored. Perhaps, it’s because my parents are spending the holidays in their holiday home in Spain, and my sister has gone off to some yoga retreat in India for the winter. Or maybe it’s just because I’m stuck in this godforsaken dump of a town with only Charlie for company.
Friends. I wish I had better ones, but I moved here a year ago for a glittering promotion and promises of large bonuses. I’ve still to see a bonus that I would describe as large, but I like the job. I like dealing with customers, and I like that my wage is decent enough to help with paying off my student loans. Yet, I still have no idea how to live like an adult and make good use of the rest of the money in my account because I mostly work, and when I don’t work? I sleep and go out with Charlie. Charlie. Fucking Charlie.
I head back inside the Eden Club, my mouth tasting of tar and misery, letting myself melt into the too-loud music and the sea of bodies on the dance floor. People are hopping around like idiots, apparently pretending to dance to the ridiculous beat blasting out of the loudspeakers. I used to love all this—the noise, the bodies, the feeling of total freedom—just letting myself be swept away in a haze of mind-numbing alcohol and the anticipation of... sex. Not with Charlie, though. He’s strangely cute, but no. Not for me. Although here he comes again, his hair sprinkled with confetti and a glazed-over look in his eyes.
This Thing With Charlie Page 10
