Muscling Through

by J. L. Merrow

  Larry’s mum looked like she’d just eaten a lemon, and she said “I’m afraid we’re very busy these days.”

  Mum gave her a dig in the ribs. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll find the time. Family’s family, innit? Now, if you’ll excuse me a mo, I’ve got to go stop my grandson eating the flowers.” Mum said something as she went past me, and I didn’t catch what she said, but it sounded a lot like “Snooty cow!”

  Larry’s mum was rubbing her side and giving my mum a really dirty look. I think her hearing’s probably better than mine.

  Lauren said Ali and her got on really well. They swapped phone numbers and everything. Ali didn’t even get upset when Lauren’s youngest kid wiped his nose on her posh skirt. That’s Jayden. He’s a good kid. When he’s older, I’ll take him playing football.

  I asked Larry if I should call his dad “Dad” now, but he said that probably wasn’t a good idea. I nearly asked, should I call him Nigel, ’cause that’s his name, but then I thought, maybe I just won’t talk to him unless I have to, ’cause that pissed-off look of his still creeps me out.

  My boss from Scudamore’s didn’t come to the wedding, but he gave us a present. It was a toaster. But it was a really nice one.

  When we got home, I wasn’t sure what to do. See, it was our wedding night and all, so it was supposed to be special, but we’d already done pretty much everything. Except one thing. So I asked Larry if he wanted to fuck me. He just looked at me for a moment. “Is that what you want?” he asked me.

  I had to think about that. Because I wanted it to be special for him, but I’ve never much liked getting fucked. So it was yes and no, and I wasn’t sure which one to say.

  “Al?” Larry said, and I realised I’d been thinking about it too long.

  “I want to do it if you want to do it,” I said. “I want tonight to be special for you.”

  Larry kissed me. “I just got married to the kindest, most honest and selfless man in the world. How could it not be special?”

  So we did it the way we like it best, with him on top of me, riding my cock, and Larry was right, it couldn’t have been any more fucking special. I had my hands on his hips, lifting him up and down, and he jerked himself off until spunk spurted all over my chest, and I thrust my cock up inside him like I was trying to go all the way through, and when I came, I knew it was the most special thing in the whole fucking world.

  We started our honeymoon in Florence, which is this really pretty town in Italy. That’s in Europe. They’ve got loads of art galleries there. They don’t open on Mondays, so we spent that day in bed and ordering room service. On Tuesday we were both a bit sore, so we went to the gallery with Michelangelo’s David in. He looks a lot like Larry, but for a seventeen foot tall guy, he’s got a really tiny cock. Larry’s cock is a lot bigger than that. Larry said that Michelangelo was a poof, so I wondered why he’d sculpted a guy with a really tiny cock. But I know when you go to old houses, the doorways are much smaller, ’cause people were shorter then, so maybe cocks were smaller too. It makes me glad I wasn’t born a few centuries ago.

  After we’d had a week in Florence, we went to Venice, and I got to see the Bridge of Sighs there. I didn’t think it was as pretty as the one in Cambridge, but Larry was dead pleased he’d taken me to see it, so I didn’t say nothing. I was dead pleased he’d brought me there too.

  We went on a trip in a gondola, which is like a punt only posher, and you’re not allowed to punt it yourself. You have to get a guy in a stripey sweater to do it for you. That was all right, ’cause I got to cuddle up with Larry in the back. The gondolier didn’t seem to mind or nothing, and after we got off the gondola, he told us about a club we could go to, and he pinched Larry’s bum. But we never went there, ’cause we had tickets for the opera. I was glad, ’cause I don’t want no one pinching Larry’s bum but me.

  The opera we saw was The Magic Flute. We only just got there in time, ’cause while we was changing to go out, Larry made this joke about how he liked to play on my magic flute, and we got a bit distracted. But we got to our box just before the curtain went up, so that was okay.

  It was weird, ’cause there we were in Italy listening to people singing in German. The music was nice, though, and there was this guy dressed up like a parrot. If you’d asked me a year ago to guess what opera was like, I’d never have guessed it had guys dressed as parrots. I might’ve wanted to go and see some sooner if I’d known. It was a sweet story, ’cause he met this girl who was dressed as a parrot too, and they got off together.

  And there was this big snake in there too, but I didn’t quite get that bit. Larry said it was probably Freudian, but I don’t know how he knew, ’cause it didn’t look much like a real snake to me. Maybe he could tell from the zigzags on its back.

  When the opera was finished, we walked round and round Venice, ’cause it was a really nice night, but also ’cause we kept getting lost. It was a bit like one of those mazes you get in posh gardens, only with buildings instead of hedges. It was weird, walking through a city with no cars. In the bits with no people, all you could hear was the water in the canals lapping against the buildings, and it was so dark that when you looked up you could see all the stars. It made me think of the river in Cambridge, and I felt a bit funny.

  “You’re quiet, Al,” Larry said. “What are you thinking?”

  I didn’t say nothing for a moment ’cause I wanted to sort it all out in my head. “I was thinking of Cambridge, and then I got a bit homesick for a minute, ’cause I never been this far away from home before. But then I remembered you’re here, and now I’m not homesick no more.”

  I thought Larry would have something really clever to say about that, but instead he just stopped walking and grabbed hold of my face with both his hands, and he kissed me under the stars. I put my arms round his little waist, and we stood there, just kissing.

  We stayed there for a long time, until this group of lads came round the corner and started wolf-whistling and calling out stuff. I don’t know what they was saying, ’cause I don’t speak Italian. I asked Larry, but he just smiled and said, “Probably best you don’t know. I shouldn’t like to spend the rest of my honeymoon visiting you in jail.”

  So we stopped kissing and started walking again, and it turned out we was only round the corner from out hotel. I was glad about that, ’cause it’s not very comfortable walking ’round with a hard-on.

  That was awhile ago now. A bit after we got back home, Minnie had kittens, which was kind of a surprise, ’cause they’re supposed to take care of all that at the cat place. They were a bit funny-looking, with bits of ginger. There’s a big ginger cat two doors down we think must have been the father. It was weird, thinking of dainty little Minnie with that big ginger tom twice her size. But I guess she must have liked it, ’cause when he comes down the street, she doesn’t spit at him or nothing.

  There were five kittens, and we kept one and gave the rest away. We gave one of them to Larry’s mum and dad, and guess what? Larry’s dad doesn’t look half so pissed off all the time now.

  I still don’t call him Dad or Nigel, though.

  So anyway, I guess it’s not just fucking after all, Larry and me.

  Although, you know, the fucking’s pretty good too.

  About the Author

  JL Merrow is that rare beast, an English person who refuses to drink tea. She read Natural Sciences at Cambridge, where she learned many things, chief amongst which was that she never wanted to see the inside of a lab ever again. Her one regret is that she never mastered the ability of punting one-handed whilst holding a glass of champagne.

  She has had over thirty short stories and novellas published, and her first novel, Camwolf, is now available from Samhain Publishing. She is currently plotting murder and mayhem on the Isle of Wight for the purposes of her second novel.

  Find JL Merrow online at: www.jlmerrow.com

  Look for these titles by JL Merrow

  Now Available:

  Pricks and Pragm
atism

  Camwolf

  Coming Soon:

  Wight Mischief

  Easy come, easy go…until the heart gets involved.

  Pricks and Pragmatism

  © 2010 J.L. Merrow

  English student and aspiring journalist Luke Corbin should be studying. Instead he’s facing homelessness, thanks to the lover who’s just kicking him out of their posh digs. It’s not his first rejection—his father tossed him out at age sixteen—but Luke has no problem trading his favors for a home and security. Especially with rich, powerful, handsome men.

  Except now, with finals bearing down, there’s no time to be choosy. He needs a roof over his head and he needs it now. Even if it means settling temporarily for a geeky, less-than-well-off chemical engineer called Russell.

  Luke's fully prepared to put out for the guy—because after all, in this world no one gets something for nothing. But Russell isn’t just a nerd; he’s an honourable nerd who wants to save himself for someone special.

  At first Luke is annoyed, but the more time he spends with Russell, the closer he comes to a devastating realization. He wants to be that someone special. Except he’s fallen for the one man he can’t seem to charm…

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Pricks and Pragmatism:

  I clocked Russell the minute I walked in the door of the café. He was sitting on his own at a table in the corner playing with his mug, short stubby fingers moving nervously over the china. I was almost worried to say hello in case I made him spill his drink. Tom had been right. Russell really wasn’t my usual type. He was… Well, he was a bit of a geek. Actually, he was a lot of a geek. Round face and too-long mousy brown hair, although at least he’d washed it. An actual beard to match; and we’re not talking a neatly trimmed goatee, either. He wore a shapeless sweater over a shirt his mum must have bought him, and glasses from Nerds’R’Us. No spots, thank God. He looked around thirty, although from what Tom had said he ought to be a lot nearer my age. Still, it wouldn’t be the first time Tom had given the truth the odd nip and tuck.

  Three weeks to Finals, I reminded myself. And beggars can’t be choosers. So I plastered on my best cheeky smile, pulled out the chair opposite him with a scrape and sat down. He looked up, startled, and just managed not to drench me in coffee. “Hi, I’m Luke. You’re Russell?”

  “Er, yes,” he said, like he wasn’t really sure. “Nice to meet you.” He didn’t say anything else, just stared into his coffee cup as if helpful suggestions were going to spell themselves out on the foam on top. His fingers linked around the sides of the mug like he was giving it a cuddle. I wondered who’d taken away his security blanket. Maybe it was in the wash.

  “Coffee any good here?” I asked. Actually I’d been here a few times before and I knew it was shite. But they were really good about letting you hang around all day when it was cold outside, and one waitress in particular was always good for a free refill if you flashed her a smile.

  Russell looked worried, like he thought it was some kind of test.

  “Not that I’m fussy, mind,” I added to put him at his ease. Never a truer word, and all that.

  “It’s—it’s all right, I suppose.” His eyes darted up to me briefly, and then returned to the safety of the coffee cup. “Their tea’s better,” he ventured.

  I shrugged. “Like I said, I’m not fussy. As long as it’s hot and wet, it’ll do me.” I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table, and made my tone low and suggestive. Habit, really, more than an urgent desire to get into Russell’s C&A slacks.

  Russell blushed. Ye gods. Well, at least his innuendo detectors were working just fine. “Tom said…he said you needed somewhere to stay for a bit,” he said, looking up briefly from under his hair and then ducking back down for cover again.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I know it’s a pain, but I need somewhere by the weekend. Tom reckoned you might be able to help me.” He still wasn’t looking at me, which wasn’t helping at all, so I made my voice as warm and seductive as possible and reached across the table to place a hand on one of his.

  He jumped a bloody mile and this time he did spill the coffee. “Shit! Oh, God, sorry!”

  “Hey, don’t sweat it,” I told him easily, seeing as about one drop had gone on my sleeve and the rest was soaking into his sweater. Shame it hadn’t gone in his lap, but I made the best of it. I must have used half the paper napkins in the place to mop him up, even the bits that didn’t strictly need it. He appreciated it. Believe me, I could tell. “Come on, we’d better get you home and into some dry clothes,” I said, taking his arm.

  Russell lived in a development near the docks. Not the posh end, by Ocean Village where Sebastian lived so he could go and wank over his yacht any time he wanted, but it wasn’t totally downmarket. His flat was on the second floor, up four flights of stairs. It was all right, I suppose. Nothing like Sebastian’s, of course, but I’d known I wouldn’t get that lucky again. There was a tiny hall that led into a smallish lounge/diner, with other doors off that must be to bed and other rooms. “Great place you’ve got here,” I said, slinging my rucksack on the floor.

  Russell looked pleased. “You like it? I know it’s a bit bare—I haven’t had time to do it up much yet.”

  “No, it’s great,” I told him, walking past the squashy, lived-in sofa to the window. “That view is amazing,” I added, with a lot more sincerity this time. The flat looked out over Southampton Water, and you could see the lights of ships passing by underneath in the twilight. Farther up to one side was a bridge over the river with tiny little cars driving over it, visible only by their headlamps. Somehow it made me feel like we were right in the heart of things, but in our own little world; part of the city, but above it too.

  “It’s great, isn’t it?” Russell said, coming up behind me. “It’s why I bought the place. Just fell in love with that view. You look at that and you feel you can go anywhere, do anything.” It was more words than he’d strung together the whole time in the café.

  “Yeah? You always lived here alone?”

  Russell nodded once, clamming up again. “I’ll just get changed.”

  He disappeared into what must be his bedroom, and I looked around a bit, checking out the bookshelves and the DVD collection like you always do, although hopefully I’d have plenty of time to do that later. There were the engineering books like you’d expect, and the complete works of Terry Pratchett snuggled up to Gormenghast and The Lord of the Rings, but there was also a whole shelf full of books in French, mostly crime stories, which made sense. You don’t need half as big a vocabulary to read thrillers in a foreign language as you do for science fiction. There were a couple of Arsène Lupin paperbacks that looked familiar from my teenage years, and a solitary Maigret. It made me nostalgic for childhood holidays in Brittany. Back when my dad had still been speaking to me.

  “Do you speak French?”

  Russell’s voice had startled me, and I spun ’round. He’d changed into jeans and a baggy red T-shirt that made him look like his own kid brother. “Haven’t done in years,” I said, shrugging.

  He gave a shy smile. “You’d probably pick it up again all right if you tried. Um. Have you eaten?”

  “Not yet, no,” I told him with a smile, sitting on the well-stuffed sofa and putting my arm along the back. I casually rested my right ankle on my left knee, giving him a good look at my package. Laying my cards out on the table, so to speak. “What do you fancy?”

  I watched him perch awkwardly on the edge of an armchair and tried not to sigh. He was like a tortoise, I decided. Retreating into his shell every time I tried to get close.

  Was he even actually gay?

  Still, as long as he let me stay here until the end of Finals, what did I care? I sat forward again. “If you’ve got some food in, I’m not bad at cooking. Or we could get a takeaway? If you’ve got the money, that is,” I added, as it was probably time we got the business details out of the way. “Tom told you I’m skint, right? So I can’t affo
rd any rent, but I’m happy to pay my way in other ways. You know—you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours. Or, you know, any other bits you want scratching…” I left it hanging, but I didn’t lick my lips. I’ve got some class. And he’d probably have run off screaming.

  I could see Russell’s Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed. “Tom said…he said you didn’t have any money.” He frowned. “But you don’t need to…you know.” He stopped, looking like he’d rather be at the salon getting a back, sack and crack.

  Shit. He wasn’t gay. I was going to kill Tom.

  Speak now, or forever lose your love…

  The Last Supper

  © 2011 Scarlet Blackwell

  Table for Two, Book 3

  Luc Tessier finally has all the ingredients of a perfect future assembled. His beautiful English fiancé, Daniel, on his arm, five hundred wedding guests on the way, and the honeymoon suite reserved.

  Now if only he can get Daniel to stop obsessing over last-minute details. So what if the date is set for Friday the thirteenth? After all they’ve been through to get to this point, what else is left to go wrong?

  Plenty, starting with Daniel’s sudden determination to “save” himself for marriage. How does a healthy, hot-blooded Frenchman fend off a bachelor party stripper with one arm while trying to beckon his lover closer with the other—and not go insane?

  Daniel wishes he had it as easy as Luc, who’s already finished preparing the extravagant menu. Between contending with a jealous best man, a spiteful mother-in-law, a bad haircut and Luc’s frustrated libido, Daniel’s ready to have a nervous breakdown of failed-pressure-cooker proportions.