by Anna Martin
George looked up. Each of his teammates wore a similar expression of confused incredulity.
Slowly George nodded.
“You don’t look gay. And you don’t act it.”
“Yeah. I’m serious. Not every gay man is a big fucking fairy, you know.”
Darren laughed, a hard, loud sound. He looked at George, right in the eye, and shrugged. “So what? I don’t have a problem with it.”
One by one, the rest of the team muttered similar sentiments.
“You got a boyfriend?” Jason asked. He was the smallest guy on the team and played hooker.
“Why, you interested in him?” Darren said, elbowing him in the ribs.
“No.” Jason’s cheeks flamed red. “Just, you know, if he’s got a boyfriend, then he’s not gonna be looking at the rest of us, right?”
“Yeah, I’m seeing someone,” George muttered. He wondered if this could possibly get any weirder. “He’s out there. Wanted to watch today.”
Someone snorted, and George’s head snapped up.
“Problem?” he snarled.
“Joining the other WAGs, is he?”
The “wives and girlfriends.” George felt his jaw clench, the flush of humiliation crawling over his skin. He made to turn, to grab his bag and get the fuck out of there. Darren slapped a palm in the centre of his chest, stopping him in his tracks.
“Fuck you, Johnson,” Darren said. “I’d kick you out before Maguire. Mandy’s brother is gay, and I’ve beat the shit out of someone for saying the wrong thing to him before. Don’t think I won’t do the same to you.”
“I don’t need you to fight my fucking battles for me,” George said, pushing Darren’s hand off his chest. “I can beat Johnson up on my own.”
From next to him, Jason laughed. It wasn’t vicious or taunting or sarcastic; it was real humour. George could kick Mark Johnson’s arse, and they all knew it.
“Alright, let’s go,” Darren said.
They all turned and started to shuffle out of the concrete hut they called a changing room. George looked up automatically as they emerged into the bright sunshine and biting cold. Alex stood over by the cars, maybe so he could make an easy escape. He was wrapped up in his long tweed jacket, a thick knitted scarf, leather gloves, and a Starbucks takeaway cup.
George lifted a hand to wave at him, then jogged out onto the pitch.
By the time the final whistle blew, Alex was freezing. The weekend had brought clear skies, the cloud cover blown away by wind so cold it hurt. He had no idea what the score was or who had won the game. There had been a lot of shouting.
During the half-time break he’d climbed back into the car and put on the heating full blast for fifteen solid minutes. The day was deceptively cold, despite the weak spring sunshine. That sun had crept behind some clouds in the past half hour; his phone told him the outside air temperature was in the region of two degrees Celsius.
The team in dark green—George’s team—were all jogging back to their military bunker to change. Alex pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the time, and when he looked up George was almost by his side.
“Hi,” Alex said, surprised.
“Hey.”
George didn’t hesitate, just leaned in and kissed Alex on the cheek.
He smelled like the cold, and like mud and sweat and grass and testosterone. Alex decided if he could bottle this smell he could use it to attract gay men the world over.
“Did you win?” Alex asked.
“Yeah. Fifty-two to six. We gave away those drop goals as well. Sloppy playing after we crossed forty points clear of them.”
“Well done. Shouldn’t you be going to shower?”
“Do you want me to shower?” George teased.
“No, I want you to take me home just like you are and fuck me hard,” Alex said evenly.
George’s grin spread. “I’ll get your car all dirty.”
“Which is why I’m going to send you to the shower.”
“Okay. I won’t be long. Wait in the car, yeah? It’s getting cold.”
“I intend to.”
George jogged off, and Alex decided those shorts were definitely coming out again when they got home.
Jesus.
He wasn’t normally such a pervert. There was something about rugby boys that he’d always found ridiculously attractive. The thick thighs, broad shoulders, tight arses; the gentle giant demeanour that most of them exhibited.
It didn’t take George long to get showered and changed. He came back to Alex’s car, dumped his duffle bag in the back, and got in the passenger seat.
“Everything okay?”
“Yep,” George said. “You coming to the pub?”
Alex considered it. He really did. “I don’t think so,” he said, a note of real regret colouring his voice. “I have an essay due Friday next week, and if I don’t get a start on it now, I’ll be working late all week to get it done.”
“No worries. I’ll come back with you.”
“No,” Alex said, grinning at him. “You’ll be a distraction. Go to the pub and come back to mine tonight.”
“Are you sure?”
Alex poked him in the side. “Yes, I’m sure. If you come home with me, we’ll end up eating or watching TV or fucking, and even though I’m not opposed to any of those things, they’re not going to get my essay outline done.”
“True.”
“Which pub is it? I’ll drop you off on the way.”
George pointed at another low, military-esque building on the other side of the playing field. “See that?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s the rugby club. I can walk there.”
Alex laughed and started the engine. “Do the boys have to take the long way around?”
“It depends,” George said easily, strapping his seat belt on to stop the car beeping at Alex for having an unsecured passenger. “If they don’t mind their wives or mothers bitching about mud on their shoes, they’ll walk across the pitch. The rest of them take the long way around.”
Alex rolled his eyes. It took less than a minute to drive around, and he pulled up in front of the double doors. A few people stood smoking outside, but they paid the car no attention.
“Thanks,” George said, leaning across to kiss Alex sweetly on the lips. “For coming to watch today and for the lift.”
“Anytime. See you later, yeah?”
“Yep.”
George opened the car door, then leaned over again and stole a much harder kiss. When Alex pushed him away, out of the car, he was laughing.
Everything hurt.
Everything.
It wasn’t the first time George had been beat up, and probably, if history was anything to go by, wouldn’t be the last.
He knocked on the front door to Alex’s flat, wincing when his sore knuckles came into contact with the wood. He could hear soft music playing inside, muffled by the door. At least Alex wasn’t asleep yet.
“Holy crap,” Alex said after he pulled open the door and looked George up and down. “What the fuck happened to you?”
“Got the shit kicked out of me,” George said wryly.
Apparently that was enough to ignite Alex’s mama-bear instinct, and he grabbed George’s wrist to drag him through to the kitchen. He was muttering under his breath, and though George could hear him just fine, he had an inkling the noise wasn’t directed at him.
Since the sharp edges of pain were starting to turn into a fuzzy haze of ache, George sat down on the table, pulled his boots off, and propped his feet on the seat of one of the chairs. The roiling in his stomach told him the few pints he’d drank before setting off home were still there and willing to make themselves known. That was the last thing he needed—to spew all over the kitchen.
“Here,” Alex said, pressing a couple of painkillers into his hand and holding out a mug of tap water. “Take these. Then I’ll fix you up.”
“Thank you,” George said. He did as he was told, took the painkillers, then took sto
ck of his body.
“Do you need a doctor?” Alex asked. “I can take you down to A&E if you want.”
“No,” George said quickly. “No, thank you. I’m fine. Just a bit of a mess.”
“I’d say. Do you want to take your shirt off?”
“Do you want me to take my shirt off?”
“Please don’t get sassy with me now, George,” Alex said, planting his hands on his hips. “I can and will make this hurt more than necessary.”
“Sorry,” George grumbled. Wincing at the effort, he reached behind himself and dragged his polo shirt up and off.
“I’m going to soak this, see if I can get the blood out,” Alex said. George didn’t respond—he was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to.
When Alex came back a few minutes later, he was holding a green first-aid box.
“I’m okay,” George said quickly. “Honestly. I’ll just get a shot of something to make me fall asleep and deal with it in the morning.”
“Nice try,” Alex said. “But if you think I’m going to let you have alcohol right now, you are more stupid than you look. What you are going to do is sit still and tell me what happened while I fix your face.”
“Is it bleeding?”
“Yes.”
“Fuck.”
“And you’re still going to work tomorrow, so I’m going to try to minimise the damage. Is that okay with you?”
“And you call me sassy,” George grumbled.
Alex snarled at him.
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. Go on.”
Alex opened a bottle of something that smelled antiseptic, like it was going to sting like hell when he put it on George’s skin.
He wasn’t wrong.
“Ow! Fuck!”
“Stop bitching like a little girl and tell me what happened,” Alex said, his voice sharp.
“I left the pub home early so I could come home and see you,” George grumbled.
That had been his intention when he left the boys, who were still drinking pints in their regular postgame, post-rugby club pub. He was going to go and get chips from Central, because Alex was convinced those were the best chips in Scotland, and walk home in time to catch the end of Match of the Day with Alex curled up against his side.
He’d got as far as George IV Bridge when he noticed he was being followed. Not just by one creepy guy, though, but a group of kids. For the next few minutes, he ignored them. That’s when they started hurling insults.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, George,” Alex sighed, using the stingy stuff to wipe the blood off his face. “You’re an adult, aren’t you? Ignore them.”
“I was,” George whined. “Then they started calling me ‘faggot’ and I lost my cool.”
“You don’t say,” Alex said drily. He took one of George’s hands, tutted, and started to clean the blood off the knuckles.
“So I decided, as you do, that I was bigger and stronger than them, so I’d take them on,” George said, now acutely aware of the throbbing in his split lower lip. “Then about a dozen more of them appeared out of the fucking walls or something.”
“Jesus. I need to seal up this cut on your head, by the way. I have some of those paper stiches, I’ll put those on to hold it together.”
“Okay.”
“Did you run away?”
“Fuck no,” George spat. “I beat the little shits within an inch of their lives.”
“They just got in a few lucky punches, did they?”
“Something like that.”
“Something like that,” Alex echoed with a sigh. “You’re impossible, did anyone ever tell you that?”
“Nope. That’s why I have you.”
Alex’s eyes turned fond, and he brushed his fingers over George’s head. “Yeah, you do. I’m almost done here.”
“Thanks,” George mumbled. He reached out and plucked at the string of Alex’s pyjama pants, using it to tug him closer. “I was going to get you chips. From Central.”
“Oh, bless you.” He pressed a kiss to George’s temple. “There you go. I think you’re going to have a shiner by the morning, but the rest of it doesn’t look too bad now.”
“Alex?”
“Hmm?”
“Nothing.”
He snorted. “Okay.”
George slid off the table to his feet, keeping his hands on Alex’s waist to hold himself steady. Once he was back on solid ground, he leaned in and fit their mouths together, careful of his split lip.
The kiss was achingly soft, delicate and simple, and Alex sighed into it. He was incredibly careful of George’s lip, his mouth barely caressing George’s every time they came together. Alex was the one to break away first, resting his forehead against George’s for a quiet moment.
When George had stripped off and tucked himself into bed, Alex padded back upstairs to check all the locks and set the alarms. George did a mental run-through of his body and the various injuries that were currently provoking it. It was definitely going to hurt more in the morning, once all the aches took up residence.
He was still awake when Alex came back downstairs, shut the bedroom door, and enclosed them in the safe little cocoon of his bedroom. George watched Alex change into a clean pair of boxers and a T-shirt, and then slide into bed.
“Can I do something I’ve never done with anyone before?” George asked.
“Um, okay. Yeah.”
“Close your eyes,” George said. “And roll onto your back.”
Alex licked his bottom lip and caught it between his teeth, doing as he was told. George reached over and turned off the light on the nightstand, then rolled over and put his head on Alex’s chest. After a moment, Alex wrapped his arm around George’s shoulder, and George took hold of a fistful of Alex’s T-shirt. A soft kiss brushed over his temple.
“No one ever held you before?” Alex asked in a soft voice.
“Not like this. No.”
“George?”
“Hmm?”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Okay.”
“It’s personal.”
“Okay.”
Alex still hesitated for another moment before asking, “Why do you live in that shared house? You must be earning quite good money as a design engineer. That’s a career that takes a long time to develop, and a good education too. You should be able to afford a place of your own.”
“Maybe I like living with other people,” George said. He was feeling groggy, his head and heart both sore, along with most of his muscles.
“Because you grew up in a big family.”
“Yeah.”
“Oh. Is that it?”
George huffed a laugh. “I send money home to my mum every month,” he said quietly. “She needs it more than I do.”
“Oh. Oh, George.”
“Don’t do that. It’s fine. Dad and Maggie do well at the garage. They run a clean shop and turn over decent profit. I wanted Mum to stop working night shifts after she got ill a few years ago, so I started sending the money home. She still works, but she cut her hours back a bit.”
“You’re an amazing man.”
“I’m just looking after my mum.”
“That makes you pretty amazing in my book,” Alex murmured, pressing his lips against George’s temple.
“Not a twat for getting into a fight with a bunch of kids anymore, then?”
“You’re still that,” Alex said. He squeezed George’s shoulder. “Do you want to sleep there all night?”
“Maybe. Is that okay?”
“Yeah,” Alex said. “That’s okay.”
Chapter Eight
“Hey,” George said, slipping into the chair opposite Alex in Starbucks. As Alex had predicted, George had a faint purple bruise blooming under his eye. With his shaved head and pokey-out ears, the black eye made him look like an angry little elf.
Alex decided to keep that assessment to himself.
They both only had half an hour for lunch, George between meetings and Alex be
fore his lecture. Alex had still wanted to see him, though. This would be his last chance until Sunday—both their schedules conspiring against them for the rest of the week.
“Hi. Macchiato.”
“Thank you. You’re brilliant. How are things?”
He reached across the table, grabbed Alex’s hand, and squeezed it lightly. It wasn’t a kiss hello, but it was more than Alex was expecting. He smiled and squeezed back.
“Not bad. You?”
“Yeah. I have news.”
George looked worried, a little frazzled. He was wearing one of his horrible suits that didn’t fit him properly, and Alex was once again overcome with the desire to take this man shopping. That would come in time. He had to be patient for a little while, wait it out until he could go through George’s wardrobe and burn most of it to ash. Then he could start again.
“Okay,” Alex said and sipped his own coffee. “Go on.”
“Uh… you know when I went out with Doug the other week?”
“Yeah? When he took you to the sauna.”
“Yeah.” George blushed. Alex decided he was going to tease George at every possible opportunity if it meant he could watch his cheeks warm like that. “Well, I got talking to a guy called Dom.”
“I know Dom,” Alex said easily. He’d met quite a few of Doug’s friends over the past year. He’d also taken several trips to the bathhouse, but he was saving that information for another time. The long-term plan was to take George there himself, maybe convince him to get one of those private rooms. Maybe.
“Well, he told me he’s HIV positive and I should go get tested. So I did.” He looked into his coffee like it held the secrets to the universe. “I’ve got chlamydia,” he muttered.
Alex was silent for a moment, then snorted with laughter. His hand automatically flew to his mouth to cover the noise as George’s eyes widened with shock.
“Oh dear,” Alex said. He pressed his lips together to cover his giggles.
“I’m sorry?” George said. It came out as an almost bitchy question, as if he wasn’t sure if this was the right response at all.
“Have they given you some antibiotics?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. It should clear up pretty quickly, then. Thank you for telling me.”
