by Box Set
“I’m thinking single trip, so grab everything you want now.”
Jasper zips his padded jacket up so that the collar covers half his face, then pulls his hat down low so that only his eyes are visible. “I must be mental letting you persuade me this was a good idea. I swear it’d better be true about there being food in this place, because if there’s not, I’m going to fucking eat you.”
There’s something to look forward to.
Jasper rubs a hand over his stomach then snags an oversized bag of Kettle Chips from out of the boot. “Can’t see the pizza place delivering out this far.”
“Not unless they own a snow plough, and yes, there’s food.” At least, I was promised a fully stocked cupboard. As for the pizza idea, I doubt him managing to secure a signal for long enough to even dial it in. This is going to be tough on him. Jasper lives with his phone pretty much superglued to his palm. If he’s not sending multiple texts or perusing social media, it’s only because he has a game controller in his hand instead. The man’s a total media addict. I’m still not sure how he managed to make it through the audition for the upcoming role he snagged, but I’m pleased as punch he did. We’re going to be the hottest super heroes to ever grace the small screen, and yes, I’m totally aware of the competition, but this is hot and different, and so up to the minute it’s positively edgy.
“Let’s get going before we need snowshoes.” He takes a step and sinks up to his knee.
“I see you’re no elf on snowflakes,” I remark with a laugh, before offering him a hand to tug him free. “Lord of the Rings.”
“I saw it.”
Philistine. I thought he was at least geek enough to have read the book.
Rucksacks shouldered and knitted bobble hats tugged down over our ears, we wade towards the gate. The snowfall is lighter beneath the towering pines. It’s only a short journey beneath their boughs before we are granted a glimpse of the thatched, chocolate-box cottage that we’re to be calling home. The rapidly fading light paints the yellow stone walls with a warming orange glow, giving it a welcoming feel.
“Looks like somewhere my granny would settle,” Jas announces.
“Don’t be fooled by first appearances.”
This property is full of surprises. While chocolate-box in appearance from this elevation, the front of the building is elegant and possessed of a canopied al fresco dining space the guide book describes as an umbrello. In the summer, there’s an unrivalled view over the Somerset Levels and the Mendip Hills. Right now, there’s just an endless sea of white on white, ground and snow-laden sky undistinguishable.
The main entrance is unlocked as we were assured. We tumble through the bark-clad door into a brightly painted kitchen. Jasper dumps his bag on the nearest worktop and immediately sheds his boots. He rolls his sodden trouser legs up displaying hairy calves. Only then does he turn and add his coat to the one already on the rack that some previous occupant has presumably left behind.
“Kettle on and get the fires stoked.” He moves to fill the stove-top device complete with whistle. “It’s a cool place. Not what I was expecting from outside. Thought I was going to be scraping my head on the ceiling all weekend.” Instead the ceilings are high, giving the place an airy feel, if making it a wee bit colder. Having set the kettle to work, he opens up a few cupboards, finds the fridge and ascertains the place is adequately stocked. Then he punches the air in delight when he finds a covered platter of teacakes, jam, and cream.
The action causes his woollen jumper to ride up, providing a brief glimpse of the musculature beneath. Knots instantly tighten in my innards. He’s sculpted just as I’ve imagined him to be. I’m probably a fool for even attempting to engineer all this, but if you don’t venture anything, there’s never any chance of securing a gain. I park my butt on the low bench beneath the coat hooks to unlace my boots.
“God, you’re so slow.”
“Didn’t realise there was a rush.”
“Don’t you wanna explore?” He’s like a kid on holiday, but I like that bubbly warmth.
“I’ll catch up.” The place isn’t big enough for me to need to. I’ve seen the floor plans.
“’kay” He opens the door opposite the one we arrived through and discovers the umbrello and an arctic blast of wind. “Okay, not that way.” Having slammed it closed again, he asks, “Left or right?”
“Always take the left hand path.”
He crosses the tiles to reach the door, peeps around the frame. “Lounge.” Makes a sliding turn aided by his socks and skids over to the final door. “Bedroom.” Finally, he returns to the worktop by the kettle scratching his head.
Here it comes. Realisation is about to dawn. I peer up at him, pretending I don’t know what he’s about to say.
“There might be a teeny problem.”
“What’s that?” I straighten up, so we’re level, because clearly this is important.
His nervous itch moves to the dark growth of stubble across his chin. “I’m not seeing any stairs, so I assume it’s just this floor, and well…Well, there’s only one bed.”
“Come again?”
I’m a fucking awesome actor.
He swallows. “There’s just the one bed.”
“So there’s probably a fold out thing in the lounge.” I suggest, dismissing the notion that we’ll be bunking together. I’m a bad man, because I know full well there’s only one room, one bed, and no alternatives, unless you count the floor.
His pretty face creases, brows pulling low while his Cupid’s bow lips pucker. “Armchairs only in there.”
I throw my arms around him and squeeze him tight. “Guess that makes us snuggle buddies.”
“Ger off.” He pushes me away and raises his arms to ward off my attempt to plant a kiss on his cheek. He eyes me with what I interpret as the teeniest hint of suspicion, but then shakes his head as if to dismiss whatever thought just entered his head. “You’d better not snore.”
I mock piggy noises. “Yeah, well you’d better not be a duvet hog.”
“We can put pillows down the middle,” he suggests, feigning nonchalance over the issue. I can see the tension running through his shoulders and the magical blush lines emerging along the ridges of his cheekbones. “It’ll work. I mean we’re only here a couple of nights.”
“Building a wall to ensure I don’t accidentally stumble upon your morning wood?”
Colour floods into his cheeks. Damn, is he easy to tease. Nothing like my flat-mate Dare, who—at least until recently—was just as likely to call me on any insinuations. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve ended up on my knees for that bastard. Meanwhile, in the here-and-now, I swear Jasper’s knees are visibly quaking. Goddammit, there’s no earthly reason why two men should be so afraid of occupying the same bed. It’s not as if we’re back in the days of it being illegal.
“Christ, lighten up will you. I’m just jerking your chain. I’ll only actually bone you if you beg for it.”
“Beg,” he mouths, staring at me like I’ve grown an extra head.
“Yeah, though I’ll suck you off in return for a simple please.”
He gulps. Poor sod, it must be damned hard work being so sexually incapacitated you get tongue-tied over the prospect of a bro-job.
“You’re so hilarious,” he drawls a couple of moments later, faking a snort of derision as he turns his back on me. “Right, so er… you do the bags and I’ll make the tea.”
For a second or two I debate grabbing the silly bugger, jamming him up against the nearest wall and giving him a taster of what he’s so afraid of, but common sense wins out. I need to lure him into a sense of security first. Get him to relax and wrap his head around the concept of us being intimate in a professional capacity before I suggest anything unprofessional.
He fills the kettle under the spout-like tap in the old-fashioned Belfast sink. “How’d you take it?”
I also resist the urge to turn my response into another innuendo. “Tea, I don’t drin
k it. Coffee, please. Black and as sweet as your favourite snatch.”
“Are you always this crude?”
I shoulder both our rucksacks. “Nope, about ten times worse.” I haul both bags through to the bedroom and deposit them one either side of the bed. In the summer, the room must be glorious with the white painted shutters folded back and sunlight flooding in to light up the mint green walls. It must feel like an extension of the surrounding countryside. For winter, it’s slightly too airy. The quarry tiles under foot are cold, and the high ceiling sucks all the heat towards the rafters. Still, it’s not exactly bitter in here. I could probably happily sport nothing more than a T-shirt.
Truthfully, it’s more of an atmospheric thing. I have seduction in mind and I’m not planning on taking things slowly. I intend to make as much of this weekend as I can. Jasper and I have been dancing about each other for long enough already throughout various meetings, fittings, and read-throughs. A fortnight is my absolute dithering limit. Plus, there’s this big, bouncy, brass bed before me that’s just begging to be used as a bonking platform.
I cast a sly glance back towards the kitchen. Jas is checking out every nook and cranny of the place like he’s hoping to find something that just doesn’t exist. The truth is that what he wants is right here and his for the taking just as soon as he realises it.
He catches my eye and smiles. “There’s a dishwasher.” The man has a killer grin, half gurn and a hundred percent infectious. First time I saw it, I knew we were going to have fun together. The fact he also has a wiry, fit bod and buns I want to grab hold of are additional bonuses. Yeah, and a way too pretty face. An asset there’s no downplaying, no matter how hard he’s trying to disguise it behind a layer of facial scruff. The dark of his not quite beard makes his lips almost raspberry pink, like he’s been kissed at length already.
I strip off my winter woollies and flop onto the bed to check the mattress meets with my exacting expectations. I can’t abide anything too soft. I shift around a bit. Actually, it’s not bad. It’ll do us nicely.
“Hey, Lorne, I’ve realised there’s another problem with this place besides the beds issue.”
“What’s that?” I yell over the rumbling of the kettle.
“No bathroom.”
I push up onto one elbow. It’s a good point. Although, if he’s tried all the doors and hasn’t found it... “Of course there’s a bathroom. Don’t be absurd. It’s not legal to let a place without a loo.”
He comes clattering into the bedroom carrying a two mugs on a tray along with an unopened packet of biscuits and a bowl of Kettle Chips.
His attempt to show he’s civilized is cute.
“Yeah, well where is it, then? I’ve checked out all the doors.” He lowers the tray onto the bedspread and then does a three-sixty turn to check he hasn’t missed anything in here. As it happens, there is one door he hasn’t tried yet. Immediately his face brightens. “En suite, of course.” He slaps his brow.
More like al fresco. The wind blows snow over the threshold when he throws open what turns out to be another exit onto the garden.
“What the fuck! Are we supposed to piss in the snow?”
I pause halfway towards snatching a pawful of chips and grab the booking details out of the top pocket of my rucksack instead. There’s a handy set of floorplans included, which is how I knew about the bedroom issue, but honestly, I never more than glanced at them before now. All the essentials were shown, that was the important bit, and a bathroom is clearly depicted. It just happens to be, “About ten metres in that direction.” I point at the door he’s just slammed shut.
“Outside!” His mouth stretches open to near impossible proportions. I bet he could fit a few things in a mouth that big. “You’re kidding, right. You did not book a house with an outside toilet.”
Fuck it, I love his expressions, and how his face is so elastic. It’s beautiful how it contorts to reveal every nuance of his moods.
I nod. “’fraid I might have.”
“You’re bloody insane.”
“It’s outside so as not to interfere with the unique heritage of the original building,” I read off the booking form.
“So we get a port-a-potty in a shed?”
I lean over, dunk a biscuit in his tea, and then hold it out to him to bite. “The facilities are slightly more advanced than that. It has a Jacuzzi, and one of those rainfall showers.”
“It needs to have bloody frolicking nymphs or mermaids or something to warrant making a ten metre trek through waist high snow every time I want to piss.”
“Don’t be such a wimp, and it’s nowhere near waist height.” Even where it’s drifted, it’s barely knee deep.
“Yet.” His dark brows twitch, and he drags a hand through the spiked front of his dark brown hair. “Shit, I can’t believe I’m going to have to don thermals and trek across the arctic with a torch if I need to piss at 3 a.m. It’s virtually guaranteed I’m going to need to piss at 3 a.m. now.”
I open my mouth to reply, but he waggles a finger in my face. “If you make a quip about thawing me out afterwards, I’m going to tip this tea over you. And will you stop dunking biscuits in it. Dunk them in your own drink.” He swats my hand away.
“Aw, come on. I hate it when there’s bits in the bottom of the cup.”
“But it’s fine for me to have a mug full of soggy digestives?”
I shrug. “It’s your punishment for being a wimp over having to cross a bit of snow.”
“A bit! Anything could happen between leaving this door and reaching the cabin. And who knows what’s in there already once you make it. I could be like totally desperate and find myself face to face with the Thing, or Ithaqua.”
“Itha-who?”
“You’re telling me you’ve never played Call of Cthulhu?”
“Lovecraft, right? I’m more of an M.R. James fan myself.”
I’m treated to another head shake and an eye roll. “Tell you what; I’m just going to piss in the kitchen sink.”
“Do that and I’m going to hack your Sony account and amend your game data.”
“Fucker!” He thumps the mattress covering it and me in crisps. “No one mucks with Lana. Do you realise the new game is out tomorrow? I’ve sacrificed being at the official launch to hang out here with you. I could have been at a meet and greet with the lady herself.”
“You chose me over a date with a pixelated computer sprite.” I cross my hand over my chest. “I’m honoured.”
“Edward Aster’s muse for the series is who I’m talking about. Seriously, you’re so fucking clueless. I think hanging with that Dare Wilde dude has creamed your grey matter. It was all babes, booze, and parties, right?”
“Whereas you’ve been focussed on computerized wank fantasies. Guess which of us has been getting more?” I wink at him, and he flicks a piece of biscuit at me, which lands right in my coffee cup. “Bastard!”
“Have you ever played with the computerized wank fantasy?”
I shake my head. I admit, I’ve just never been a gamer. It’s too isolating. I know that sounds weird considering my choice of location for a weekend break, but for the most part, I’m a people person. I like being surrounded by noise and action. And if I don’t want that, I fall into the pages of a book.
“I should have brought the system with me.”
“There’s no TV, and besides, we’re going to be too busy—”
“Rehearsing,” he interrupts.
“I was going to say fighting alien tentacle monsters and seeing who can go the longest without peeing out of the door.”
“Same thing isn’t it?”
Good point. The show we’ve both been cast in does have a fair proportion of monsters—not sure if they’ve tentacles—which we’re expected to defeat. That is, when we’re not dealing with our intensely complicated emotional lives. I actually get giddy when I so much as think about it. Decent roles have been a bit thin on the ground for far too long. I’ve lost track of the number
of offers I’ve had to reprise my Sunsetters persona. This one though, I knew I wanted it so bad I refused to breathe a word of it to Dare in case he or his family tried to influence the decision and cause everything to backfire. They’re good people, and they look after their own, but not everyone always appreciates their meddling. Anyway, I got it and the show’s going to be genius.
“So, what did you bring along for the fight?” Jasper lifts my rucksack off the floor and places it on the bed between us. “Big gun, machete, some C-4?”
“All of which would be illegal.” I snatch back my pack. “It’s essentials only in here—change of pants, toothbrush, whisky.”
“Awesome, we can use it for making Molotov’s.”
I cuddle the bottle of Talisker to my chest. “One does not ignite the whisky.”
“No dominoes, then? Or a deck of cards?”
I dig deeper. “Script. Big Socks.” I stack the items up on the bed. “Deodorant. More socks. Tic-tacs.”
He sighs. “That’s it?”
“More or less.” No point scaring him with the jumbo pack of extra-strength party hats and the bottle of Slide ‘n’ Glide. I believe in being prepared. “Book,” I wave said tome at him.
“In dead tree form no less. You do know the rest of the world has gone digital?”
“Paperbacks don’t require chargers, nor does digital smell this good.” I fan through some of the leaves, breathing in the musty odour of aged paper and lifetimes of adventures. It’s an old book. It’s seen a few owners, all of whom have left little pieces of themselves behind within its pages. “I’ll read it to you, if you like.”
“It’s okay.” He leaps up from the bed that he’s barely settled upon. “I don’t need a bed time story to get off—”
I purse my lips.
“—to sleep,” he adds.
“Shame,” I lean towards him to whisper conspiratorially. “You’d probably have liked this one. There’s lots of dirty bits.”
