“Good luck with that. I don’t work there anymore.”
“No?”
Jake shrugged. “I got sacked this morning. Guess you were right, and I’m not much of a waiter.”
“What happened?”
“Same as always.” Jake gulped the last of his tea. “They kept me until my probation was nearly up, then found some bullshit reason to get rid of me. It wasn’t too hard. My boss kept notes of my fuckups.”
“They can’t sack you for having Tourette’s. That’s illegal.”
“That’s life. I’m used to it.”
“Doesn’t make it right.” Tom absently stirred the dregs of his own tea. He could well imagine Jake’s TS made him a challenging team member, but victimising him wasn’t the answer. The laws against discrimination were there for a reason. “What are you going to do?”
“Something will come up. It always does. I haven’t worked on a building site for a while. Maybe I’ll try labouring.”
The thought of Jake shivering on one of the city’s many construction sites, ticking halfway up some perilous scaffolding, churned Tom’s stomach. “You don’t have to do that. I’m sure I can find you work.”
Jake kicked back his chair with an abrupt screech of wood on tile. He dumped a tenner on the table and stormed out of the café.
Tom wasn’t altogether surprised. He toyed with the idea of letting Jake choose his own good-bye. Then he shoved his own chair away and followed Jake out. He found him by the zebra crossing and caught his arm. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
Jake squirmed and pushed Tom away. “I don’t need a fucking sugar daddy.”
The frustration in Tom’s veins boiled over. He grabbed Jake’s flailing arm and held it tight. “I’m thirty years old, dickhead, I’m no one’s bloody dad, got it?”
Jake said nothing. Tom took his chance and pressed his business card into his hand. “I don’t feel sorry for you, but I can help you. I want to help you. Call me. I’ll be there.”
Soft bites woke Tom; gentle bites, like little bugs blowing warm air over his back. He smiled into his pillow and felt the first vibrations of a delicious morning stretch creep over him.
Cass ramped up his ministrations and dug his teeth into Tom’s shoulder, slid his hand down his spine, under his waistband, and squeezed his arse. “I know you’re awake.”
Tom’s smile widened, but he played possum a moment longer, enjoying Cass’s attention. The morning didn’t often find them cuddled together like this. Tom liked his space when he slept, and most days he was up and at ’em long before dawn.
Cass ripped the duvet from Tom, shocking him with the frigid, early morning air. “Don’t ignore me, Tommy-boy.”
“Bastard.” Tom rolled over, surprised to find Cass wide-awake and grinning at him. “What are you so chirpy for?”
“I’m not chirpy; I’m horny. You fell asleep on me last night.”
It was true. They’d met up at the flat only for Tom to inhale the plate of risotto Cass had brought him from Pippa’s and pass out in front of Breaking Bad. Another switch in their usual roles, but a long week of wrangling with estate agents and accountants would exhaust any man.
Not that there was anything bad about falling asleep in Cass’s arms, or waking up under the spell of his lips and tongue.
Despite Cass’s devilish ministrations, though, Tom reached for his phone. It was a big day. As of eleven o’clock that morning, they would be the proud owners of a derelict old fire station in downtown Camden. A decision Tom had made just moments after leaving Jake. A call he’d made with little conscious thought. Camden, Jake. Camden, Jake. Somehow it all felt right.
“Put that fucking phone down.” There was mirth in Cass’s tone before he closed his lips around Tom’s dick.
“Fuck!” Tom’s eyes rolled, and he arched his back from the bed. Cass knew his body well, his pleasure spots and weaknesses, and it wasn’t long before Tom was desperate for more. “That all you got?”
Cass pulled his mouth from Tom’s cock with a wet pop. “You can’t handle all of me.” Cass squeezed Tom’s balls and trailed his fingers lower. Tapping. Stroking. Pressing.
Tom squirmed. He could take a finger or two, but he had to be in the mood or drunk . . . very drunk. “Don’t push your luck.”
Cass chuckled, and Tom took his moment to turn the tables. He tugged Cass up and flipped him onto his back. They wrestled a moment, neither man prepared to yield dominance. Then, as so often happened when Tom was naked with Cass, the world seemed to stop. He stared at Cass, his heart hammering in his chest.
I want you.
Cass stared right back.
I know.
They did this from time to time: tried to deny the enduring desire they had for each other, all the while screaming for more.
Cass blinked first. He rolled over and raised himself up on his hands and knees. “What are you waiting for?”
Nothing on this earth would keep me from you.
Tom retrieved condoms and lube and got them both ready. Cass needed little preparation, but Tom took his time anyway. Playing Cass was the best kind of fun, hearing him gasp, feeling him jerk and shudder.
He sat back on his heels, easing Cass down on his cock. They’d danced this dance more times than he could remember, but though Cass liked—craved—it rough, Tom would never truly hurt Cass, to take their game beyond a little dirty pain.
Cass shivered. Tom wrapped his arms around him and pressed his chest against his back. “Okay?”
“Yeah.” Cass lolled his head on Tom’s shoulder, and Tom felt him relax from the inside out. “I wanted you to fuck me until the damn bed collapsed. Now, I want to stay right here.”
Tom smiled into the arch of Cass’s exposed neck. He felt the same.
He kissed Cass’s sweat-sheened skin and stroked his cock, slow and languid. He had a full day ahead of him, but he was in no hurry. Cass hummed around some deep breaths, and then rose up on his knees. Tom followed and thrust slowly in and out of him, watching his cock breach Cass over and over.
Cass fell forwards, raising himself up to meet Tom’s thrusts. “Fuck yeah.”
“Yeah?” Tom moulded himself to the curve of Cass’s body, took Cass’s hands and placed them on the bed frame. “What about this?”
He rolled his hips and drove into Cass with a biting, twisting thrust. Cass groaned and dropped his head, and Tom knew he had him. Cass wielded a power over him like no other, but this was a game Tom knew well—he knew Cass well. In the end, no matter who won the struggle for dominance, Tom would never feel like he’d lost. Cass was any man’s ultimate fantasy.
Tom picked up the pace and pounded Cass the way they’d both been craving for weeks. He steadied himself with one hand on Cass’s tattooed hip, and kept the other busy, roaming his glorious, sinuous back. Stroking. Scratching. The heat between them rose. Sweat trickled down Tom’s chest. He shoved his hand into Cass’s hair. Tugged. “Touch yourself.”
“No.” Cass ground the word out through clenched teeth, still resisting the inevitable.
Tom smirked, released Cass’s hair, and reached around him. “Do it myself, then.”
He gripped Cass’s cock and slid his slick hand up and down, working him in time with the push and pull of his own hips.
Cass growled, low and desperate. A violent shudder jolted him. “What are you trying to do to me?”
“I’m not trying, Cass. I will make you come.”
“Ugh, God, you’re such a smart-arse.”
Cass panted through some harsh, sharp breaths. Tom rubbed his back until, finally, Cass cried out and wet warmth coated Tom’s hand. Watching Cass come was his own undoing. He slammed forwards once more and came hard, leaving bruising fingermarks on Cass’s hips.
Tom slumped on top of Cass’s trembling form. They stayed still a moment, gasping for breath, then Tom pried Cass’s hands from the bed frame and toppled them both to their sides. He wrapped his arms around Cass from behind and held him tight until h
is shaking calmed.
He stroked Cass’s sweaty hair back from his face with his clean hand. “Love you.”
Cass blew out a breath. “Love you too.”
They washed up and lay quietly for a while, exchanging lazy kisses. Tom felt wide-awake and ready to start the day, but Cass dozed until the alarm on his phone startled them both.
“Bloody hell.” Cass fumbled on the bedside table and turned it off. “It can’t be time to get up.”
Tom laughed. “Some might say you’d been up already.”
“Piss off. I’ve got a big order to do today for the weekend. I need to get in the fridges before everyone else is there to get in my way.”
Cass started to get out of bed, but Tom caught his arm. “Oh no, you don’t. I need you today. We’ve got to sign for the keys to the Camden place, and we’ve got a meeting at Bites straight after, remember? You need to be there.”
Bites was their organic snack company: a crazy, harebrained scheme, cooked up over one too many bottles of wine. It was two years old, a lot of work, and expanding so fast Tom could barely keep up.
Cass scowled. “I’ll come to the estate agent’s, but you don’t need me in some stuffy, bigwig meeting. I’ve got shit needs doing.”
“I do need you,” Tom protested. “They’re your products. You need to have a say in how they’re packaged. You’ll only get the arse if we do it wrong.”
“They’re flapjacks, Tom. Just put them in a bloody box.”
“Don’t be a dick.” Cass, with the help of the trusty team of cooks that staffed their production kitchen, had developed every one of the Bites products, which were now being delivered to offices around the capital. Organic, nutritious, and cheap, every single line had been a winner. They may have started with flapjacks, but things had moved faster than anyone had expected and Tom couldn’t handle it all on his own.
Cass sighed. Tom didn’t often drag him into the corporate world, but he still fought every time. “How long will it take? I don’t want to be stuck in Shoreditch all morning.”
“Takes as long as it takes. Be quicker if you contribute.”
A few hours later, Tom kicked Cass under the table that separated them from the designers the packaging company had sent. Glared at him to still his drumming fingers. Cass was bored, he could tell, but he didn’t much care right now. Didn’t Cass realise Tom was bored to tears too? “Do you like those boxes? Or do you prefer the plastic?”
Cass shot him a withering glare. “No plastic. There’s no point producing organic food, and then coating it in slimy cellophane crap.”
“It’s recyclable,” one of the designers put in. “Your clients can dispose of it in their green bins.”
“If they have them,” Cass said. “Most of our stuff goes to office blocks. I don’t think they dispose of their own rubbish. Use cardboard. If it ends up in landfill, it’ll biodegrade.”
The designer made a note, and Tom smiled to himself. Cass thought he was no good at this, but in reality, he was far better than Tom. He didn’t waste his time negotiating, or trying to keep everyone happy. He said what he wanted and expected it done.
The meeting drew to a close. Tom glanced at the time. Despite Cass’s dire prediction, they’d wrapped it up in ninety minutes.
After the designers left, Tom slugged Cass’s shoulder. “Wasn’t so bad, eh?”
Cass rolled his eyes. “It was bollocks. Couldn’t they have emailed you all that?”
“Maybe, but we’ve not used this firm before, and it’s better they get to know us a little. Makes the process easier, especially if there’re any problems down the line. Besides, email or no, I wouldn’t have known the answers. It had to be you.”
Cass defied the lecture with an insolent smirk that drove Tom up the wall, and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Can we have brunch now?”
“Thought you had an order to do?”
“Adam can put it on the system. I’ll check it later.”
Tom leaned over and kissed Cass on the cheek. The scratch of Cass’s stubble and the smell of his skin brought their morning fuck rushing back. “Let’s check in with the girls downstairs, then we can go to Kat’s.”
Cass led the way down to the production floor. Their ten-strong team of cooks met them with warm hugs and smiles, especially Cass. Women of a certain age always loved Cass. He donned the appropriate garb and disappeared into the kitchen to check what was cooking.
Tom lingered in the break room by the admin area. Ethel, the oldest staff member they employed across the whole company, made him a cup of tea, and they settled down on the communal sofa for a catch-up. Ethel was a true cockney and had known Cass for most of his life. Bites had started with a batch of the old family recipes she’d taught him when he was a boy.
“So what’s been going on around here? Have we missed anything good?”
“Go on with you.” Ethel pinched his arm. “You know nothing ever happens around here. Work and sleep, that’s all we’ve got in this life.”
“You should retire.” Tom added more milk to the builder’s brew Ethel favoured. “Let Donny look after you.”
Ethel snorted. “That daft apeth can’t look after his silly self. Have you seen your old nan recently?”
Tom craned his neck and glanced through the window that separated the office from the production floor. Beyond the preparation area, he could see Cass peering at something one of the girls had pulled out of the ovens. From a distance, it appeared to be the new aged-cheddar oatcakes he’d devised to come packaged with chutney dip—cheese and crackers without the worry of perishable cheese. “I went last week.”
“Cass go with you?”
“What do you think?” Tom blew out a frustrated breath. Dolly was Cass’s grandmother, not his, and she’d taken Cass in when he was just a baby and raised him like a son. But things had changed in recent years. Dementia had taken hold, and the lady who’d once been the brightest light in Cass’s life had faded to a frail bag of bones in a Clapham nursing home. “He won’t even talk about her. It’s like she doesn’t exist.”
“Cass is just like her, you know,” Ethel said. “Silent and stubborn. It’s in his genes.”
Tom felt the familiar low burn of grief in his heart. “Dolly didn’t look good when I visited her last. She doesn’t know who I am anymore.”
Ethel clicked her tongue in a way that reminded Tom of Jake. “The old bird’s not long for the world now, I can feel it in me water. I just hope there’s some closure before she passes. No mother should go to the grave not knowing the fate of their—”
Tom’s phone cut her off, and he was grateful for the distraction. Cass had carried the shadow of his mother’s disappearance since he was fifteen years old, and the weight of his grief had been a heavy load for him and Tom both. Sometimes Tom thought it would be easier if she’d just bloody died.
He pulled the phone from his coat pocket. He didn’t recognise the number lighting up the screen, but that wasn’t unusual for his business phone. He touched the screen and waved Ethel an absent good-bye as she cleared her mug away and drifted back to work.
“Tom Fearnes.” Silence, then a similar tongue click to the one Tom had heard just moments before. “Jake? That you?”
“Wankers. How did you know?”
“A hunch. I was hoping you’d call.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. How are things?”
More silence. Tom sat up straighter on the couch. He and Cass had talked about Jake a lot since Tom had last seen him a fortnight ago.
“He’s on your mind, I can tell.”
“Does that bother you?”
“Only because it bothers you, because you’re worried about him. You wouldn’t be you if you weren’t.”
“Wouldn’t be me?”
“Yeah.” Cass shrugged like it was obvious. “I know you. This isn’t just a hookup for you. You won’t rest now until he’s sorted, and I’m good with that. I told you . . . you need to fix him.”
&nbs
p; Fix him. That conversation had been the second time Cass had uttered those words in the last couple of weeks, and Tom remained unconvinced. And he wasn’t sure how he felt about Cass being so magnanimous either. Though they’d always been open with their sexual relationships, something . . . everything felt different about Jake.
Who cleared his throat at last. “You said you could help me find a job.”
“Okay.” Tom could fix that at least. “Doing what?”
“Anything . . . shit, fuck, KAPPOW!”
Jake’s sudden exclamation made Tom smile, and he was glad Jake couldn’t see him. “I can meet you this afternoon?”
“I don’t need to see you. I just need a job.”
The rejection should’ve stung, but Tom had expected it. Between them, he and Cass had figured Jake wasn’t the type to ask for help unless he had no other choice. In that, Cass and Jake were very similar. “Fair enough. How about you meet me anyway, and I’ll show you a few options.”
The most sensible thing would be to send him to Rascal’s, their street food canteen at South Bank. The place was casual, teeming with students, and Jake’s best chance of blending in unnoticed, but would he want that? And did Tom want to be complicit in hiding Jake away from the world?
It didn’t feel right.
“I have an office in Greenwich. Can you get there?”
Jake made a strange noise, then he sighed, though Tom couldn’t be sure if he was as frustrated as he sounded, or ticking. “Got nothing else to do. Where is it?”
Tom gave Jake directions to the Stew Shack and hung up after agreeing to meet him at noon. He checked the time. If he was going to make it, he needed to leave now.
“Sacking me off?”
Tom whirled around to find Cass right behind him. “How much did you hear?”
“Enough. Is Jake okay?”
“Hard to tell. He’s looking for work.”
Cass found Tom’s hands. He seemed thoughtful, which was always dangerous. “What are you going to do with him?”
Misfits Page 5
