Strays

by Garrett Leigh

  “Almost.” Nero expertly slid a few more pizzas and calzones out of the furnace-hot oven. “Or I might’ve seen you dancing up the road in a world of your own.”

  Oh. Lenny should’ve known. While he liked to meander through life with his head in the clouds, Nero was a man who missed nothing, and Lenny had yet to truly surprise him. “Are you going to be done by the time I eat this?”

  “Depends how fast you eat it.”

  “You know how fast I can eat. Don’t play games with me. You promised you’d come home with me tonight.”

  “Then why are you asking when I’ll be done?” Nero finally looked at Lenny, and his eyes blazed. “Eat your dinner, birthday boy. I’m all yours.”

  “It’s not my birthday till tomorrow.”

  “So?”

  God, I love him. Lenny swallowed a blissed-out sigh and walloped back his pizza while Nero handed the kitchen to Jolen, who’d come over from Pippa’s to be Nero’s second sous chef. Then they left together, walking hand-in-hand through the packed restaurant they’d made their own. Urban Soul had built the foundations, but there was no doubt that the Stray Tiger had evolved into a vision that encapsulated Nero’s soulful, seasonal menu and merged it with Lenny’s eclectic artwork splashed on every available surface. The pizza restaurant combined with the artisan bakery had become one of Vauxhall’s most popular food spots, and Lenny couldn’t deny how proud he was of that fact.

  Nero let them into the upstairs flat—a cool, white space that was still devoid of many creature comforts, aside from the mountain of Lenny’s books that Tom had delivered a few days ago. Moving day had been enlightening. It was only when they’d packed up to leave Shepherd’s Bush that Lenny had realised Nero had even fewer worldly possessions than he did, something he was planning to rectify if they ever stopped fucking long enough to go shopping, which, apparently, wasn’t happening today.

  Lenny shut the door behind him and unbuttoned his coat. Nero helped him, and made short work of stripping them both. Then he stood back and flatted himself against the wall behind him, arms open wide, giving Lenny his cue to take over.

  He wants me to fuck him. Lenny’s pulse quickened. The first time he’d pushed Nero back on the bed and eased inside him had been an emotional night. Nero had cried, and Lenny had held him tight, and taught him that pain wasn’t inevitable, and that the void in his heart could be filled with love. Since that night, Lenny had fucked Nero over and over, and it just got better. Nero had proved a versatile lover—a rough top, a submissive bottom, and everything in between—and tonight he was Lenny’s for the taking.

  They stumbled to the bedroom, the only sounds in the flat their tripping footsteps and breathless gasps. Lenny’s cock throbbed as Nero knelt before him and took him in his mouth, and he saw stars as teeth scraped skin.

  He couldn’t take it for long. Groaning, he tugged Nero to his feet and kissed him roughly, pushing backward to the bed. They tumbled onto it, scrambling, rolling, grabbing any part of each other they could reach, until Lenny had Nero where he wanted him, on his stomach, his arms behind his back, and his face mushed into the pillow. Nero liked it like this, slow and rough, Lenny’s cock thrusting into him, driving him into the mattress until he came so hard Lenny briefly feared something was wrong.

  After, they lay panting, tightly entwined in each other, while Nero dozed and Lenny gazed out over the city. It hadn’t taken long for Vauxhall to feel like home, but that wasn’t a surprise. Cass could call him a stray as much as he liked, but holed up the bakery with Nero in his arms, Lenny was the happiest bloke in the world. And finally, he was home.

  Lenny scowled, looking, thanks in part to his turquoise hair, like a stroppy teenager. “Where are we going?”

  “Berkhamsted,” Nero said. “Now get on the fucking train.”

  Lenny glowered some more, but he got on the train and flung himself into an empty seat. “I don’t see why we have to go all the way to the Dragonfly to see Gloria. She comes to see Efe often enough.”

  Nero shrugged. He was running out of things to say about his fictitious meeting with the head chef of Urban Soul’s Berkhamsted bistro, and Lenny’s obvious hurt feelings that Nero would do such a thing on his birthday were hard to take. “She’s got those jerked sweet potatoes she brought us last week on the menu this week if it’s any consolation.”

  Lenny sighed. “It shouldn’t be, but it is.”

  “I don’t get why you’re so upset. You said you didn’t want to do anything tonight.”

  “Uh-huh.” Lenny pulled his phone from his pocket and became instantly engrossed in the Urban Soul Twitter account he’d taken over from Jake.

  The conversation was apparently done. Nero left him to it and sat back in his seat, contemplating a twenty-minute catnap, but Lenny’s conciliatory hand on his thigh—squeezing—kept him awake, like Lenny did most nights when they crawled into bed.

  A bolt of heat zipped through Nero’s veins. He’d always known he’d get off on having a man inside him, but that man being Lenny? Jesus. The only thing that came close was when they switched—

  “Nero?”

  “Hmm?” Nero looked down at Lenny, who’d lolled his head on Nero’s shoulder. “Sorry, what?”

  Lenny laughed. “And you call me a dreamer. I said, ‘Is it Berko we get off at, or Hemel Hempstead?’”

  “Berko.” Nero glanced out the window as the train passed through Watford Junction. “Won’t be long.”

  And indeed it wasn’t. The train rolled into Berkhamsted a few minutes later, and Nero guided a grumbling Lenny off and through the station until they hit the canal path that led to their real destination.

  “It’s posh round here.” Lenny looked around at the well-kept houses and neat gardens. “Is this where Tom’s from?”

  “Never asked. Cass seems to like it well enough, though.” Nero cut across the lock. “Come on.”

  Lenny frowned. “I thought the Dragonfly was on the high street?”

  “It is.”

  “So why are we headed in the opposite direction?”

  “How do you know what direction the high street is? You’ve never been here.”

  Lenny inclined his head at a nearby sign. “Can read, though, innit? And isn’t this where the bosses live?”

  Balls. Oh well. Nero pointed down the street. “The house is down there. They wanted to see you on your birthday, so I said we’d drop in.”

  “Drop in?”

  “For fuck’s sake!” Nero finally lost patience with the daft secret that had been forced on him by a mischievous Cass. “There’s a few people there, okay? From work. They wanted to surprise you, if you’d just do what you’re fucking told and get in there.”

  Lenny burst out laughing. “I knew you’d crack. Do you honestly think I didn’t know you were up to something? Man, I thought you’d at least hold out until we got to the doorstep.”

  “You knew?”

  “Course I knew. Why else would you voluntarily take a Saturday night off work?”

  “Because it’s your birthday?”

  “I already told you I don’t give a fuck about shit like that any more than you do.”

  “Yeah, but I really don’t give a fuck about my birthday. I saw your face when Spanks came in with that cake this morning. Made your day.”

  “That’s ’cause I like cake.”

  “Whatever. I heard a rumour that there’s cake in that house too, if you want to go in and have a look? You’ll have to act surprised though.”

  Lenny sighed. “You’re an arsehole, you know that?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I love you. You know that too, right?”

  Nero pulled Lenny close and kissed the tip of his nose. “Yes, and that’s why I took tonight off, ’cause there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

  Lenny admitted defeat and they walked, hand in hand as always, into the big Victorian house that Tom, Cass, and Jake called home. The house had changed a lot since Nero had first visited eight long years
ago, and the small reception rooms had been knocked through into a space large enough to hold the two dozen friends and colleagues who’d taken Lenny in as one of their own. Lenny’s faux surprise was flawless, and it wasn’t long before he was stolen from Nero’s side and dragged to the ad hoc dance floor in the middle of the room.

  Nero let him go and retreated to the sidelines, rum in hand, and watched, awed as ever, as Lenny owned the room, dancing up a storm like Nero had never seen until Lenny had turned his world upside down. Damn, the boy could move. Was that shit even legal?

  “Your boy’s got stones.” Cass appeared at Nero’s side, echoing Nero’s thoughts as Jake joined Lenny: “They look good together.”

  “Hands off. You’ve got two of your own.”

  Cass chuckled. “Don’t I know it? They’re more than I deserve.”

  “No, they ain’t.”

  “If you say so.”

  Cass flashed Nero a wink, reminding him of their shared past, as if Nero could forget. And he didn’t want to forget. His mind drifted to a dull winter morning a few weeks ago, when he’d found himself in Hackney, staring at the new-build block of maisonettes that had replaced the house he’d burned down. The sight of it had nearly brought him to his knees, but Lenny had pulled him back. Lenny always pulled him back.

  The night went on. Drinks flowed, camaraderie and friendship solidified. It was the early hours of the morning by the time things quieted enough for Nero to drag Lenny outside to show him the real reason he’d let Cass talk him into the party.

  “Where are we going?” Lenny stumbled tipsily behind Nero, swigging from a bottle of vodka, and clutching a bowl of Hackney-brown-biscuit ice cream. “You taking me down the garden for a quickie?”

  The idea was tempting, but for once there was something far more pressing than fucking around. Nero led Lenny to the garage at the bottom of the garden and unlocked the sliding doors. “Are you ready for your present?”

  Lenny shoved the last of his ice cream in his beautiful mouth. “Not a lawn mower, is it?”

  “Not quite. Close your eyes.” Lenny obeyed while Nero turned the lights on in the garage and dragged the dustsheets off the present he hoped would make Lenny smile that blinding smile Nero liked to pretend was just for him. “Okay, you can open them.”

  Lenny opened his eyes. Blinked. Opened them again. “What the fuck? Oh my God, is this . . . Shit, it can’t be. Is this that rusty old bus you found in Vauxhall?”

  “The very same.” Nero grinned hard enough make his face ache and gestured with both arms to the once-dilapidated bus that was now a shiny, refurbished mobile kitchen. “Me and Tom struck a deal. He funded the conversion on the condition that we—me and you—make it pay by showing the world what Urban Soul’s about.”

  Lenny moved closer, apparently transfixed by the crazy unicorn-themed logo Jake had taken from Lenny’s rough designs all those months ago, and painted on the bonnet. “The Urban Vegan?”

  “Yup. Fancied a challenge. Up for it?”

  “You’re not giving up meat.”

  It wasn’t a question, but Nero shook his head anyway. “Fuck no, but Tom wants to save the world, and I don’t mind helping him.”

  “You like helping him.”

  If you say so. Nero just smiled. “Cass wants us to take it to some festivals this summer, if we can get organised in time. The bus is good to go, we just need a menu . . . and I’ll need you to help me cook.”

  “Cook? At a bunch of hippie festivals? Fuck yeah. This is the best present ever.”

  “Seriously?” Nero dangled the keys for Lenny to snatch. “I was kinda worried it was a bit like buying your wife a Hoover.”

  “It’s perfect . . . and it’s fucking green. I love it!”

  Lenny unlocked the passenger door and climbed in. Nero followed him and shoved him over to the driver’s side. “I ain’t suggesting you take it for a spin now, but you’re insured to drive it home in the morning.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. Sorted it this afternoon.”

  “Wow.” Lenny put his hands on the steering wheel. “What gear have we got in the back?”

  “A flat grill, a fryer . . . a bread oven. A gas hob we can boil with. It’s small, but we can make it work.”

  “We can make anything work, can’t we?”

  The double meaning wasn’t lost on Nero. He leaned across and scooped Lenny into the kind of embrace that Lenny would be lucky to escape from intact. “I love you.”

  Lenny didn’t say it back. Didn’t need to. His fingers tangled in the leather cord around Nero’s neck said enough.

  Nero absorbed the moment, and then drew back a little, inclining his head at the driver’s-side sun visor. “Pull that down. Jake said he left something in it for you.”

  Lenny flipped the sun visor. An envelope fell into his lap. He opened it and peered inside, retrieving another smaller envelope. “What’s this?”

  Nero shrugged. “No idea.”

  “Liar.”

  Whatever. Nero watched as Lenny tore the envelope open and whooped at what he found inside.

  “Glastonbury tickets? Oh, wow . . . they’re vendor tickets, for the bus. Access all areas. Oh, man.” Lenny laid his head on the steering wheel. “What did I do to deserve all this?”

  “The impossible,” Nero said. “Cass told me just yesterday that you’ve made me a much nicer person.”

  “Bollocks. You’re the nicest person I’ve ever met underneath that grumpy façade . . . Ooh, hang on, there’s more.” Lenny withdrew yet another envelope from inside the first. “It’s got your name on it.”

  “What?”

  Lenny handed it over. “It’s not for me. It’s for you.”

  Frowning, Nero opened the envelope and revealed a stapled legal document with the Urban Soul logo on the front. “What the fuck?”

  “Read it,” Lenny said, his voice muffled as he bent double to peer at who knew what under his seat. “Maybe it’s a new contract or something. You’re due a pay rise.”

  Nero hardly heard him as the first page of the document began to sink in. He flipped quickly through the pages, scanning for any sign that he’d misunderstood, but there was none. Cass had done the unthinkable, and Nero could barely believe it.

  “What is it?”

  “Cass signed TST over to me . . . I think.”

  “What?”

  Nero shook his head and read the document again. “I don’t understand.”

  Lenny pried the paperwork from Nero’s hands. “The brand name remains with Urban Soul, but the business—the bakery and the restaurant—belong to you. It’s yours. He’s giving it to you.”

  “Fucking bastard.” Nero started to get out of the bus.

  Lenny grabbed him. “Don’t you dare.”

  “Dare what?”

  “Go in there and throw it back in his face. He’s giving it to you because you’ve earned it, and because who he is, who they are. Don’t hustle in there and disrespect what they stand for, what you stand for.”

  “I don’t stand for getting shit for nothing.”

  “It’s not for nothing, Nero. It’s for you . . . for eight years of hard work and loyalty. Did you honestly think they were going to let you set up a dozen businesses for them and not give you anything in return?”

  “They pay me, don’t they?” But the fight in Nero faded as he realised that this was a fight he’d never win. A fight that Jake had lost too. “Fucking bastards.”

  “Uh-huh. Same bastards who gave me a bus for my birthday, eh?”

  “Fuck off.”

  Lenny laughed and laughed and laughed, until Nero pounced on him and kissed the hell out of him to shut him up.

  They parted, eventually, flushed and breathless, but the mirth in Lenny’s eyes remained, and Nero couldn’t contain his own grin. “I’m going to take the summer off.”

  Lenny blinked. “Am I dreaming?”

  “Maybe, are your dreams good or bad?”

  “If you’re implying t
hat we can take this van around the world this summer, Nero, then my dreams are everything I’ve ever wanted. How about you?”

  Nero smiled. “You are my dreams. I just never knew it.”

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  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for reading Garrett Leigh’s Strays!

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  Thanks, as always, to my wonderful editor, Caz. Your patience and kindness knows no bounds. And to Alex, for wading through the British slang with enough hilarity for copy edits to be one of my favourite things.

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