by Liam Livings
A few weeks later, there was a buzz of Sky’s intercom. I quickly did one last check around his flat. The curtains we had chosen together matched the sofa. The candles we’d bought together and placed along the huge windowsill on the longest wall cast a warm glow into the room. These little touches made the flat perfect, homely—things the relocation package never could have done.
I kissed Amy as she walked through the front door, took her coat, and offered to give her the grand tour. She was surprised at the size and how comfortable we’d made it in such a short time.
It was only a short while since I’d met Sky in Brighton today, just long enough for us to fancy up the flat and enough time for Amy to go slightly mad with anticipation about meeting him. She was the only person who had seen me at my lowest ebb in hospital when Bobby was in my flat. The only person to have visited me twice in hospital after I’d tried to kill myself. “I just want you to be happy,” she’d said when I first told her about Sky and the Brighton weekend. “Sky… Sky as in guardian angel Sky?”
I explained how he’d come to Earth as a man, and a pretty fit man at that.
She shrugged, then said, “Even for me, this is weird. You do know that, don’t you?” After a deep breath she added, “Be careful. I don’t want you to be hurt again. It was all moonlight and roses with Bobby at the start, and look where that ended up.”
I replied, “Please don’t mention him to me. I just can’t… I know this is different. I know Sky won’t do what Bobby did to me. Already it’s different. Trust me, please.”
And she had repeated how all she wanted was for me to be happy.
Now, she sat at the little table we had set opposite the sofa. “It’s lovely to meet you, finally,” she said, shaking Sky’s hand.
“And you too,” he replied, smiling, then leant forward and kissed her cheeks slightly awkwardly, catching my eye over her head.
She peered to either side of where he sat.
“Anything wrong?”
“I was just looking for your wings. I had a detailed description of the white feathery wings, and if I’m honest, I’m a bit disappointed.”
“I’m not a guardian angel anymore. I had to give all that up to be human. I miss the flying—that was fun—but the wing maintenance got a bit boring after a while. Hours of preening the feathers: cleaning them to keep them in good condition.”
“Is that why people sometimes find them here? The feathers?”
Sky looked at me, and I shrugged. He rolled his eyes, then said, “Not really. It’s more about us trying to get in touch with the human we’re looking after. A little sign.”
She pumped her fist in an I’ve-just-won-a-sport way. “Yes! I knew it. I was right. That’s bloody fantastic. Right, what are you spoiling me with tonight?”
I said, “We have a prawn cocktail starter with freshly made Marie Rose sauce—”
“—which is more than just ketchup and mayonnaise,” Sky interrupted. “I’m very keen for you to know that.”
Amy said, “Okay, what else?”
Sky said, “There’s a pavlova for dessert.”
“You made a pavlova?”
“There’s a bit of a story with that, actually. We couldn’t agree on what to make for dessert. We tried baking a cake, but I didn’t understand all the different bits, the white stuff.”
I said, “Flour.”
“And the round things that cracked.”
“Eggs.”
Sky shook his head. “From birds, that’s right, isn’t it?”
Amy nodded.
“Yes. I couldn’t believe it wasn’t a joke. Anyway, we made a cake and it was flat. It’s not meant to be flat, is it?”
Amy pursed her lips and shook her head.
“We threw it away. Reluctantly, because we wanted to make something for you, we agreed to buy a pavlova.” He looked at me. “Which has some bits from the eggs, but not all of it, is that right?”
I said, “The whites. That’s the white bit on the pavlova.”
“Exactly.” He pulled his notebook from his pocket and wrote something in it.
She smiled at Sky. “Who made the main course? Or did you do that together?”
I said, “I did the chicken wrapped in bacon, but he—”
“Who’s he, the cat’s father? I did the chips. Hand cut and fried in a pan of fat. I’ve risked life and limb for the chips, by the way.”
“Sounds delicious.” Amy caught my eye and smiled. “Sounds like you’ve got it all worked out between the two of you.”
And we had. With the odd little disagreement but no huge rows, slamming doors, or histrionics. Nothing like that at all.
Over dessert, Amy asked what our story would be when people asked us how we met. “You can hardly tell them the truth can you? They’ll be back on to your mum to have you sectioned again as soon as you can say ‘feathery wings.’ You thought about that, you two, in your perfect making-dinner-together life?”
Sky put his hand on my shoulder. “He said a lie should always be based on some element of the truth, so we thought we’d say we met on the beach in Brighton. The Kemp Town bit. You know, the gay bit.”
“I am aware of what goes on at that end of the beach. So is Richard, if I remember correctly.” She shot me a look that said, I know where the bodies are buried, then continued, “So love blossomed in the bushes, did it? You grabbed a whole relationship, not just a stranger’s cock in those bushes. You… I could go on.”
“Don’t, please.” I shot her a look that said, You might know where the bodies are buried, but there are limits.
She smiled back at me. “Stranger things have happened at sea. I think it’s a perfect story. Certainly more plausible than what actually happened. Who’s for seconds? This pavlova is amazing. I can feel myself developing early-onset diabetes, but it’s worth it for another slice.” She reached forward and helped herself. “Has Richard said I want help contacting my guardian angel? Could you help me with that at all, do you think?”
I shook my head. “I said no, Amy.”
“Oh, well, can’t blame a girl for trying.”
As I walked Amy to the door, she hugged me and whispered into my ear, “This one looks like a keeper. Love you.”
“I’ll call you,” I replied as she closed the door.
Chapter 35
I explained to Sky about clubs and bars and the concept of socialising with other people, and asked, “Do you have any friends at work?”
Sky thought for a moment. “What would I do with these people if they were my friends?”
“Are they kind to you? Do you see them outside of work, when you don’t have to see them? People you only see when you’re at work don’t really count, in my book anyway.”
“There’s a book about this. Oh, I think that would be great if you could let me have it. I’ll read it, and it will be so helpful.”
“How long have you been there now?”
“A month.”
He’d walked into the temping agency he’d researched himself, handed his CV over, and by the following week had a six-month contract to project-manage the customer-relationship-management thingy for a small food-related membership organisation on a road just off the seafront.
“And are you any good at it?” I asked.
“I don’t know how I know, but when they ask me questions, I know the answer. Shame they weren’t so thorough with all the everyday stuff, eh?”
“Now, where would be the fun in that?”
“I suppose me having to learn about project scoping and customer data would have taken longer than learning about buses and the Internet.”
“No flies on the Higher Ones, eh?”
“We don’t have flies up there. Buzzy things that fly about, don’t you?”
“Don’t worry, it’s an expression.” I folded the club flyer in my hand. “Any friends at work?”
“Sometimes people ask me to go for a drink after work, but I’m not thirsty, so I say no. I tell them I’ll see them tomorrow and
we can both have tea then, when we meet in the kitchen.”
Bless. As I explained the difference between those two types of drinking, he took out his little notebook and scribbled frantically.
A few days later, we were all set for clubbing. A quick tutorial about music and dancing—which he’d got very quickly, and had soon been dancing about the flat to various songs on the Internet—we were ready for Revenge, a large gay nightclub under the arches on the seafront, only ten yards from Brighton’s pebbly beach. It had taken a bit longer to explain the concept of doing things because they felt good, rather than for a purpose in themselves, but I used sex as an example, and he soon understood.
We stood at the bar. I felt Sky behind me, as he wanted to watch what I did there: ordering drinks, chatting to the barman, things like that. I got us two bottles of weak Spanish lager with a lime slice stuffed in the bottle.
“Drink it slowly.” I handed him a bottle.
“Now what?” he asked, looking at it from a few different angles.
“We drink, have a look around, find somewhere to watch people, and then we can dance.”
We stationed ourselves at the balcony overlooking the large dance floor. I took in the sight beneath me: a dance floor filled mostly with men, gyrating and kissing together. The lights flashed, and the music was loud enough to make it difficult to have a full conversation.
I finished my drink as Sky was waving his empty bottle above his head, dancing a few feet away from me.
“You’re having lemonade next.” I shouted into his ear.
“It’s great. Get me another one, please.” He handed me the empty bottle.
“Stay here, don’t move.”
He nodded and closed his eyes. I left him dancing on his own.
“What’s this?” He took the lemonade from me, rotating the glass in his hands.
“It’s what you’re getting, and no more for the moment. I remember the first time I got pissed, and it didn’t end well. You might be my age, but in drinking years you’re not even sixteen, so watch it.”
“Oh, please. Only a little sip of yours, please.” He gave me the twinkly, sad little-boy-lost eyes I was by now familiar with.
I caved and handed him my bottle.
Sky took an enormous glug and finished the bottle in a few swallows.
His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down his neck, which was dusted with a light speckling of dark stubble from when I’d explained the concept of designer stubble to him, and he’d decided to leave it there for the night. I wanted to rip off his crisp white T-shirt and well-fitted dark jeans, and jump on my very own muscley bouncy castle there and then. In the simple clothes I’d picked for him, he looked like an advert for Levi’s 501s. “With a body like yours, you don’t need any fancy clothes, just something to show if off. Like a frame for a beautiful painting.”
Sky put the bottle down and said, “Let’s dance. I know this one!” He pumped his fists into the air as the chorus from one of the songs we’d heard in his flat played.
Who’d have thunk it? He’s a proper clubbing bunny.
He led me by the waistband of my jeans to the dance floor. I was enjoying this new, bolder Sky. I smiled as others saw us pass, first noticing where he was towing me from, then taking in Sky’s impressive bulk.
We stood opposite one another on the dance floor and let ourselves go, moving in time with the flashing lights and music, sometimes dancing close to one another, hugging, kissing, biting each other’s necks, sometimes apart at arm’s length, sharing a cheeky wink or a smile. A few times Sky moved to the opposite end of the dance floor, caught my eye, then danced back towards me, not breaking eye contact until we were touching, kissing, holding each other once again.
I pulled back from Sky and noticed a man in top-to-toe dark denim, a black cowboy hat, a silver chain round his neck, and light brown cowboy boots. Yee-haw! Is this a line-dancing club?
The cowboy grabbed us both by the arm and pulled us towards him. He shouted in our ears, “You are such a cute couple. Don’t suppose you’re looking for a friend for the night?”
His dark blond stubble brushed against my cheek and sent a signal south. I pulled back, and his light blue eyes twinkled as much as his megawatt white smile.
Sky said, “He seems friendly. He could be a friend. Shall we have a drink with him?”
To the innocent, all is innocent. “He wants to go home with us.”
“To have a drink. That is friendly.”
“To have sex.”
Sky screwed his face up at me.
“It’s called a threesome. Did you see that time with Bobby, Alex, and me?” I felt a shiver down my spine, my stomach tightened, and I deflated down below—all at once. Quite a reaction from that particular memory. I held my breath as I waited for his response, knowing how disastrously wrong it could all go in a situation like this.
“Why would we want him as well when we have each other? I don’t want to share you in that way with anyone else. Do people really do that, and it works out fine?”
“Some people do, I’m told.”
“I don’t think I’m one of those people.” He smiled, then pulled me closer to him and kissed me.
I opened my eyes after the kiss and said, “Neither am I.”
The cowboy had taken his hands off our arms. “Looks like you don’t need me. Can’t blame me for trying—you’re adorable together.” He waved, then leant forward, kissed our cheeks in turn, and said, “Give each other a good fuck for me, will you?” And he was gone, disappeared into the sea of dancing men around us.
We stood on the dance floor, rocking side to side gently, arms around each other, hugging ourselves tightly together. My feet ached. The music stopped, I opened my eyes, and the lights came on, revealing a black floor covered in water bottles and plastic cups. Other couples stood holding on to one another around us. People stood round the edges of the room, sipping drinks and holding piles of coats they’d collected for their less able friends, while jangling car keys unsubtly.
“What happened?” Sky asked, looking around the room.
“It’s closing. Chucking-out time.”
“What happens now?”
We stood outside the club, wrapped in our coats, and walked to the beach. It wasn’t quite light, but not quite dark still.
Sky pointed to the slightly orange horizon. “What’s that?”
“Dawn.”
“What does it mean?” He got his notebook from his pocket and prepared to write.
“It’s the time between night and morning, just as the sun’s coming up.” I watched him writing it down and smiled to myself. “Fancy a walk along the beach?”
He nodded, took my hand, and we walked along the pebbly beach, with the sun gradually coming up and a gentle breeze blowing through us.
After a while, we sat with our backs to a wooden groyne, sheltered from the wind. It was still half-light, and I felt warm, secure, and content. I was at that stage of drunkenness where you’re not too lairy and loud or out of control, but everything seems a bit smoother and happier than stone-cold sober.
Sky was at about the same stage, but he’d reached it with far less alcohol. He turned to me, squeezing my hand, then kissed me. He explored my mouth with his tongue, and his stubble brushed against my relatively smooth face. Then he reached into my jeans and grabbed my cock as I rapidly expanded, giving it a little squeeze and kissing me at the same time, he put my hand inside his jeans where he’d more than caught up with me.
I gave his erection a tug in response to his a few moments earlier.
He let out a high-pitched yelp.
We both continued exploring the contents of each other’s jeans, both of us straining to escape our trousers.
I pulled back from the kiss and nodded, with a smile.
Sky undid my trousers, and I was free, in the cool air, his hand firmly around my stiff cock.
I did the same for him. We stopped kissing and both enjoyed the view before us as we stood
proud, pointing skywards, our trousers open and underwear bunched around our thighs. I wanted to burst free further, but didn’t want a bum full of pebbles, so I released Sky from my grip and adjusted myself slightly. I checked no one was walking along the beach, pushed aside my worry, and enjoyed the view of Sky’s erection pointing towards the sky.
Sky released my cock and made himself comfortable. We quickly kissed, and he bit my neck, then whispered in my ear, “I’m so fucking horny, I’m about to burst. I’ve wanted to do this all night with you.”
We grabbed each other’s stiff cocks in our fists and pulled, pulled, pulled, watching each other’s faces and hands, alternating between the two areas of interest. I felt myself tensing and nodded at Sky. “Not far, you?”
He nodded back with a smile.
I continued squeezing his balls and pulling his cock, and with a gasp and some kicking of his legs, Sky was done. After a brief pause to get his breath, he used both hands to grip around me tightly, moving up and down my cock for a few more strokes until I finished too. He kissed me as we both pulled up our trousers.
He said, “This T-shirt’s filthy. Look what you made me do to it.”
“At least it’s white. Look at my shirt—it was black!”
We walked back to his flat, holding hands along the beach as the sun finally came up. We had turned our tops inside out to disguise the mess we’d made of them.
After a bit of a joking argument about who got the taps end, we shared a bath. Sky lay back with his feet by the taps, and I sat with my back to his chest, leaning against his big muscles soaped in bubbles.
“You asleep?” Sky asked, gently tweaking my left nipple.
I woke with a start. “No. Why?”
“Can I shave you?”
I turned to see if he had any little nicks on his face. He didn’t. In fact he looked pretty spectacular, actually, with designer stubble covering his face and neck. “I shaved yesterday. I don’t need to shave.” Really, I didn’t want him to shave me. It felt like an intimacy too far, for whatever reason I couldn’t quite explain.
