by J. M. Snyder
“Eight-thirty,” Dez said. “I’ll be ready.”
For a day out with Fran at least. Anything else he was not quite ready for yet. Riley had done him a favor really. He’d have to slip the old ginger some treats.
* * * *
The weather held the next day, and Fran drove them way up the coast to the castles and beaches of Northumberland. They did indeed stop off for brunch, at a pub with a sea view and a great menu. Then they drove on, stopping for strolls and pictures at some of the best spots.
The day faded to a warm and pleasant afternoon, and they bought ice creams from a van and wandered a cliff path. Their talk had been a little superficial all day, just personal anecdotes and “getting to know you” stuff. But when they sat on a bench to enjoy the view, Fran spoke in a more serious tone.
“Dez, last night. You ran away from me.”
“Um, yes, I guess so.”
“If you think I’m pushing too fast or if you’re not interested in me that way, you can tell me. If you only want to be friends, that’s fine.” He turned and smiled. “Okay, not as good as what I’ve got hopes for, but still fine.”
“No, it’s not that. I want the same. But I’m…not myself right now. Not physically, not mentally. It would be unfair to draw you into that.”
“I’d like to help.”
“I know.” He put a hand over Fran’s. “But it’s not fair to ask. You’re not my counselor. That’s not what I want from you. I don’t want you feeling sorry for me.” The fact Fran didn’t deny that this was at least part of his feelings was telling. “I don’t want a pity shag.”
“It wouldn’t be that,” Fran protested, but in a way that sounded like a reflex.
“It might be. If it was right now, it might well be.”
Fran gazed at the ocean for a while, finished his ice cream and crunched up the cone, then turned back to Dez. “Okay, then you set the pace on this. I’ll be your friend and I won’t make a move on you. You initiate things. When you feel ready.”
“That sounds okay.” He finished his ice cream. “Pretty damn pathetic I am, for a so-called hero.”
“Hey,” Fran said, taking his hands. “Don’t be like that. It takes time. I know. You take the time to get better again. I’m not looking for a loophole or a shortcut. You lead. Leading is what someone strong does. And you can do it.”
“I wish I had your confidence in me.”
“You soon will.” Fran stood. “Come on, I think we can get to Kielder before it gets dark, drive by the—” He stopped himself suddenly. “Shit, no, that’s where it happened, right?”
“In the forest. Yes.” Hours of running and hiding, and bleeding, dodging between the trees, sometimes running into them in the dark, desperate to find someone, a house, anything, where he could be safe. “We should definitely skip Kielder this trip.”
“We’ll go back down the coast, then. I can’t be back too late, have to let my cat-sitter get home. How about we pick up a takeaway to eat when we arrive?”
“Chinese?”
“If that’s your preference, then sure, Chinese.”
And just like that they were on a new footing—friends until Dez indicated he was ready for more.
He snuggled in his jacket as the wind became biting, cutting through the heat of the day.
Fran did the same. “Let’s get back to the car. It’s way too cold for August.”
Chapter 5
“You never raided this place, did you?” Fran asked as they walked into a pub with a rainbow flag over the door.
“Raided? No. Why? Do you think we should?”
“Of course not. It’s just a police thing, isn’t it?”
“You watch too much telly. We don’t raid pubs just for being gay, not anymore. Only if we hear of anything illegal happening. Drugs. Underage drinking. Sex on the premises.”
“I don’t think this one is that kind of place,” Fran said with a grin. “I’ve certainly never seen that. Or done it, obviously. I mean, I’ve snogged a guy or two pretty hard.” He held up his hands in an “I surrender” gesture, grinning again. “So cuff me.”
“Maybe later.”
Dez was trying to act cool, but he wasn’t super-comfortable with this and had started wishing he’d never accepted the invitation to go for a drink with Fran and his friends. But he’d wanted to at least try. He’d never been one for coming to gay pubs and clubs. You never knew who you might meet there. If it was someone from the job, things could get a bit awkward. Plenty had changed, at least in theory. But the culture, away from the senior officers, in the locker room and the canteen, wasn’t so very different from what it might have been thirty years ago. Policies, rules, guidelines, they could all be changed with the stroke of a pen. People weren’t so easy.
At least this pub was fairly quiet. He couldn’t take noise and crowds yet. He couldn’t even be in that kitchen at the café with Fran and a few women. Loud music and too many people in his personal space would be more than he could stand.
They got drinks at the bar and Fran led him to a table of young men, who all greeted him heartily. He introduced Dez only with his first name—and only “Dez,” not “Derek”—and as “my neighbor.” That suited Dez. He didn’t want anyone twigging from his full name who he was. He didn’t want them knowing he was police. He knew plenty of gay guys hated the police. He didn’t blame them for it one bit, not with some of the shit he’d heard—in the canteen and locker room—and had even seen go down in the custody suite.
It was possible someone would recognize him since his face had been in all of the papers for a few days after the shooting, and then again for the trial—which, thank God, had been short, and he’d avoided giving evidence, because Simmons had changed his plea to guilty at the last minute. But he’d changed his hairstyle, shaved the goatee he used to wear. And it was dark in here. Someone would have to be looking very hard to recognize him.
A couple of the guys did look quite hard, but from the eye contact and the vibes he got, that was more to check him out. He didn’t encourage that. There was really only one person he wanted checking him out just now.
The pub filled up through the next couple of hours. The next time Dez went to the bar, he had to shoulder his way there. When he got back to the table, he found he couldn’t see a clear path to the door anymore. His mouth went dry. Never mind, he told himself. You’re safe here. It’s a friendly place. The people around you are not out to hurt you. Keep it together.
Fran leaned in close to him. “You okay?” he whispered.
“Fine.” Dez wiped his upper lip, feeling the sweat. Damn, how bad did he look to make Fran concerned? He tried to focus. One of Fran’s pals was telling some daft anecdote about his job. It was funny. Dez knew it was funny from the way people were laughing. The story had plenty of funny elements that his brain recognized as jokes. And yet he wasn’t laughing. He was not laughing so hard that the storyteller, catching his eye, faltered a bit in his tale.
Focus, Dez told himself. There’s nobody here but me and Fran and Fran’s friends. No other people pushing by, no loud music and babble of voices—
Then the music went up in volume and some guy pushed by hard enough to make Dez’s beer splash onto the tabletop.
“Watch it, pal!” Fran called after the man, who looked as if he had a good fifty pounds on him. The guy just shrugged and went on. “Well fuck you, too,” Fran shouted.
“Oh, my God, Fran, stop trying to start a fight,” one of the other men at their table said. “He’d shred you.”
Fran smiled. “Not with Dez to stick up for me.” He took Dez’s arm. But again, he looked concerned and leaned in. “You want to go? You look like you’re done with this.”
“Yes,” Dez said. Mouthed, really. He didn’t trust himself to speak with a steady voice.
Fran finished the rest of whatever ridiculous cocktail thing he’d been drinking. He glanced questioningly at Dez’s beer, but Dez shook his head. He didn’t care about finishing it.
<
br /> “We’re going to head out,” Fran said to his friends.
There was a chorus of protest.
“You’re not coming clubbing?” one of the crew asked.
God, no, not clubbing. The noise, the crowds, the flashing lights. Dez would never agree to clubbing. He’d assumed he’d go home alone while Fran went on with his friends.
“No, I promised to come out for only a couple of pints,” Fran said. “Do you guys know how hard it is to sleep late with ten hungry cats standing on the bed staring at you?”
That led to some good-natured mockery about Fran being a cat slave, then Fran was leading Dez from the pub, holding his hand. He let go when they got outside and they donned their jackets. Dez hoped Fran would take his hand again. And he did, for at least as long as they were in the area clustered with gay pubs and clubs. As they left that neighborhood and joined the more general nighttime crowd, Fran let go.
It took only ten minutes to walk home. Dez accepted the invitation to come in for a drink when they arrived. Fran checked on the cats and left their door open when he exited the room. Some of them came out to check what was going on, while Dez sat on the couch. Fran joined him a few minutes later, bringing two cold beers and some crisps.
“You okay?” Fran asked after a while. “I’m sorry if the bar was too much for you.”
“It’s fine. I have to get used to it again. I can’t spend my life in my flat.”
“No. But that doesn’t mean you have to push yourself into a situation you’re not ready for.”
“I should be ready,” Dez protested. He took a swig of beer. “It’s been months.”
“So what? Is there a deadline? It takes as long as it takes.”
“I…should be stronger than this.” He dropped his head and covered his eyes with one hand. A rustle later, and Fran was beside him, an arm around him. He spoke so close, Dez felt the breeze of his soft words.
“There is no ‘should’ about it. You’re hurt. You’re in pain. But, Dez, pain is not weakness. You have to give yourself time for recovery. You wouldn’t go on walking on a broken ankle, would you? Because you’d damage it permanently, and then it would be weak, not just hurt.”
“And what if it never stops hurting? What if this is not temporary?”
“It is. I promise you. I saw it with my brother. He’s fine now. He’s as strong as ever.”
“What if I was never strong, though? What if I’m not the big hero everyone thinks?”
“Dez—”
Dez sat up. “That day, on the forest road, I was no hero. I ran from Simmons. I just ran.”
“He had a gun. He’d already shot you. Of course, you ran. What were you supposed to do? Stand there and let him finish you?”
“Tackle him. Disarm him. But I ran and he came after me, so I kept running, and hid and I was so…fucking…scared. So I hid and he got away.”
“You survived. You were strong that night, like you were the night you went after that burglar here.”
“Ha!” Dez barked out the laugh. “No, not so much.” He shook his head. “I let him go as well. He…brandished something at me. And I thought it was a gun and froze solid. Then I saw it was just a jemmy. But I was still frozen and he ran for it. I couldn’t move. I’d seen that it wasn’t a gun. I’d seen it. And yet I still couldn’t move. That’s why that hero cake made me uncomfortable. I didn’t deserve that cake, or any of the praise I’ve received since the shooting.”
Fran moved in close again. “You don’t have to be a hero. Not for me. You just be Dez. That’s enough. You’re enough.”
Dez turned to look at him, saw the question in his eyes, and gave the answer. He leaned in to meet Fran’s lips with his own.
After that, there wasn’t so much talking, not of the serious kind, just soft words and kisses as they lay on the couch. Fran rested his head on Dez’s chest, draped over him like one of the cats. Dez stroked his hair.
“You’ve got a lot of wise words for a man who serves cake to cat ladies,” he said.
“It’s surprising the insight into humanity you get seeing how people are with cats, or any animal. Speaking of cats…” Dez followed his gaze.
Riley was sitting on the table, watching them with some interest, as if waiting to see what they’d do next. What would they do next?
“Look at him,” Fran said. “He keeps me up half the night and he’s got no dark circles under his eyes, has he?”
“Because he sleeps all day. Why were you up half the night with him?”
“He’s not too well just now. I’ve kept him out of the café for a couple of days.”
“What wrong with him?” Dez asked with genuine concern.
“He’s just old, really. And he’s had that rough life I mentioned. Who knows what kind of trouble some of his old injuries might have stored up for later? He was malnourished, too, when he was rescued. That can do lasting damage. Poor old soldier’s ready for retirement, I think. I’m probably going to take him out of the shop.”
“What happens to him then?”
“Oh, he stays as my pet, I guess. He can still play with the other cats when they’re in their room.”
“I assume you have insurance for the vet’s bills for all these furry monsters.”
“Oh, hell, yes. Vet’s bills are ridiculous. I’d go out of business just paying for their monthly checkup otherwise.”
“You take good care of them,” Dez said, stroking his hair again and smiling when Fran looked at him, resting his chin on one hand on Dez’s broad chest.
“You can stay if you want to,” Fran said. “Not on this sofa. I don’t think you’d be comfortable here all night.”
Fran wasn’t pushing it. He’d said he’d let Dez set the pace, so he shouldn’t get ticked off if Dez said “no.”
“Just to sleep if you want,” Fran said. “Nothing has to happen that you don’t want to happen.”
“I’m pretty sure that, if I’m in bed with you, something will happen.” He kissed Fran. He’d never managed to “just sleep” in a bed with another guy, barring times he was seeing someone steadily and they weren’t up for it on any particular night. Fran returned the kiss, open, welcoming, but still holding back, letting Dez decide.
“I think…I’d like to,” Dez said at last. “Go to bed. See what happens.”
Fran smiled. “That’s great.”
He slithered across Dez to get off the couch. That was quite…stimulating.
“Let me check on the cats and make sure they’re all secure for the night. Come on you, stop perving on us.” He picked up Riley and took him into the cat room. A rattle of the bowl of cat snacks Fran gave as a late-night treat had other furry monsters hurrying out from hiding to get their share. In a moment, Fran came out of the room and locked the door.
“You want another drink or anything?” Fran asked.
Dez rose. “No. I’m fine.” That was overstating the case a bit. His hands were shaking and his knees felt weak.
Fran nodded and came to him, taking his hand. “It’s this way.”
“I know.” When Fran looked at him questioningly, he went on. “The night of the burglary, I went into the bedroom to find your phone and collect your coat and shoes.” He shook his head. “I can’t remember seeing much of it, though, since it was dark and I was focused on calling for help.”
“You haven’t been missing much, in terms of bedroom décor anyway.”
Fran led the way in and turned on the light. Dez looked around. Fortunately the duvet on the double bed did not have pictures of cats on it. There were a few cat-themed artworks on the walls, and some shelves that held cat ornaments and figurines. None of the furniture stood close enough to the shelves to allow a cat to jump onto them and scatter its ceramic brothers and sisters to the four winds.
“I know,” Fran said with a sheepish grin, nodding at the shelves. “But I can’t help it. People give me cat things. I’m ‘cat boy’ to all my family and various friends. I can’t throw them out when they�
��re gifts, can I?”
“I suppose not. It’s okay, they’re charming. Mostly.” There were one or two among the bunch that Dez wouldn’t like staring down at him in bed. Maybe he should turn their faces to the wall.
“And I’ll turn the sound off on this thing,” Fran said. He waved at a small screen in the corner, a web cam of the cat room with strange shapes of cat trees lurking in the shadows. “I can’t always hear any trouble going down. Not with two doors between us.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Usually fighting. They’re pretty friendly and sociable with each other most of the time. I chose them for their natures, not just their looks. But a scrap breaks out now and again that I have to break up before either side gets hurt.”
“I bet you wear gloves to do that,” Dez said, watching the cats, a couple of them still playing on one of the trees.
“Absolutely. Can I close the door, or would you like to leave it open?”
“Ah, could we have it open?”
“Okay. So…” He looked at Dez with that questioning expression again.
Dez answered by taking Fran into his arms, pulling him close. Their kiss became hot and eager as Dez forgot it all, the feelings of shame about being a coward, the doubts about how he wasn’t someone with much to offer Fran. All that second-guessing stopped as his senses drowned in the touch of lips and hands, intimate exploring.
After undoing the front buttons, he helped Fran off with his shirt. Fran was lean, even skinny, his skin soft and pale. Light brown hair dusted his chest and thickened to a treasure trail leading to his black jeans. Dez had seen the back of those jeans—okay, he’d checked out Fran’s ass—earlier, back in the pub. They had sequins on the pockets, arranged in male symbols. He was about to go to bed with a guy who wore be-sequined jeans. Not something that had happened to him often. Or indeed, ever.
He slid his hands into those pockets, cupping the firm ass cheeks. This made Fran whimper and grind against him. Very satisfying to have someone reacting that way to him. He’d never expected to have someone in his arms again. Or not for a long time.
