by Con Riley
For a moment, it’s overwhelming—taste and scent and restrained power that ripples under his hands where he braces over Jason’s stomach. His vision darkens at the edges when Jason’s cock shoves deeper.
Jason’s voice brings him back to the present. “Sorry. Sorry. You don’t have to try to take it.”
Vanya closes his eyes and ignores him.
This is a victory, at last.
It’s a triumph to get to do this without panic spoiling a single moment.
He hums in protest when Jason tugs at his shoulder.
“Or you can just keep doing that forever.” Jason’s hand moves from Vanya’s shoulder to his nape, his grip tightening for a split second as his hips lift.
Vanya’s caught between the stretch of cock in his mouth and the hand that firmly holds him. His eyes blur at the rocking motion that describes Jason’s pleasure. His chin is wet, his cheeks not much better when he finally pulls off, eyes streaming until he blinks away tears to see Jason grinning. “Come here,” Jason offers, lifting an arm. Vanya settles under it at his side. “Watch.”
Jason strokes himself off, and he talks the whole time. “That was so good. You were so good. Did you like it?”
“Yes.” Vanya touches the tip of his tongue to where his lips sting. “Was more than I’m expect.”
“Yeah?” Jason pants, and his hand flies. “I fucking loved it. Loved your mouth.” Each phrase sounds wrung out. “Loved—”
Vanya covers Jason’s hand with his own. “Let me.” It’s easier to do so from this position, even easier when he stops a couple of times to spit into his palm. “This is better?” he asks, adjusting his grip below the head of Jason’s cock. “Or this?” The flesh is sleek under his palm as he twists his grip.
Jason doesn’t answer.
He comes with a grunt, his body rigid until he slumps and shudders. Semen dots the hair on his belly, and a long white strand splits his navel. Jason lets out a chuckle, warm and deep and throaty. “Not bad.” His next move is fast. He rolls until Vanya’s pinned underneath him, fully dressed while Jason—sweaty now and sticky—kisses him stupid. It’s so easy to wrap his arms around him and hook an ankle behind each of his knees, even if that makes breathing tricky. Air is overrated, when he’s got all this to hold onto.
Jason nuzzles his neck before rolling off to sit up. He checks his watch and says, “Shit.” Then he looks down at Vanya. “You’re a wreck.”
“Speak for yourself.” That’s a bald lie. Jason looks great with a sex flush mottling his broad chest, his unbuttoned shirt creased beyond redemption.
Jason flops down again. “I’ll have to get changed.” His face is only inches from Vanya’s, nothing hiding his affection. “Think they’ll notice if I’m wearing something different when they get back?” He flails an arm in the direction of his bag. “Choose me something.”
“Can choose for yourself,” Vanya grumbles. “Think I’m servant?”
“No,” Jason’s eyes still twinkle. “But I do think you’re a professional.”
Time stands still for a moment.
It’s the perfect moment to explain that he’s no fashion expert.
Vanya sits up and then stands. “Listen,” he starts, but then he makes the mistake of glancing back at the bed.
Jason wears contentment like it’s made to measure.
Vanya hesitates for a moment too long, choosing to kiss him again instead of spoiling this perfect moment.
He’ll do it later, he promises as their mouths meet.
He must, when what they’ve started feels so authentic.
Chapter Twenty
Even though Chantel and Andrew left Riversmeet in high spirits, a strange unhappiness settles over the house when they return. Like fog, it pools in low places, especially in the kitchen where Jason finds Andrew. There’s nothing too unusual about the way he sits at the table, rifling through his briefcase. Jason’s seen him do the same during countless other visits, but somehow the set of his shoulders this time is different.
Jason takes time brewing some tea, not rushing to take a cup back to the bedroom for Vanya. Instead he takes his time, keeping an eye on his brother, as if watching him might make that fog lift. “Wasn’t he in?” he eventually asks, after a few more minutes of unusual silence. “Chantel’s father, I mean. I was expecting you two to be gone for longer.”
“I see you had enough time for a change of clothes.” There’s a tightness in Andrew’s tone that only relents when Jason cocks an eyebrow his way. “Sorry if coming back early cramped your style.”
“It would take more than you coming home early to do that.” Jason still feels too good to take offence—far better than a first attempt at a clumsy blowjob should really warrant. “Besides, when your boyfriend is a personal shopper, you wear whatever you’re told.” He sets a cup down on a coaster next to Andrew’s elbow and then fetches milk and sugar.
“No sugar for me.”
“Since when?”
“Since I wore my interview suit. Don’t know how it could have shrunk so much.” His nose wrinkles after taking a sip. “Maybe half a spoon won’t matter.” Even the chink of his spoon against china sounds agitated.
Jason pours another cup and sits opposite. “You know, the last time I saw you all uptight like this, you gave me a black eye.”
Andrew sets down his cup. “I thought you accepted my apology for that.”
“I did. I do. It’s over. But the last time before that was when you found out I was seeing Garry again.” At least that prompts a wry smile.
“Can you blame me for being pissed off about that? It was bad enough when he stood you up back at school. How many years did he string you along after that?”
“Too many.”
“Exactly. You were on and off forever. Did you ever really think he’d come out of the closet for you?”
“I… no.” Someone smarter might have figured that out much sooner. “But I didn’t exactly expect him to get married and start a family either.”
“You’re better off without him.” Andrew rolls his shoulders. “Why are we talking about that wanker anyway?”
“Because you’re all het up. Someone’s riled you up like me getting back with Garry used to, so why don’t you tell me what happened with Chantel’s father?”
Andrew doesn’t answer. The tea in his cup must be compelling; he stares at it very fiercely.
“He was in when you got there, wasn’t he?” Jason persists. “He was in, but he said something to Chantel that’s really pissed you off.” He looks over his shoulder at the kitchen doorway. “Where is she, anyhow? I didn’t hear her come in.”
“She went straight to the stables.” He bows his head over his mug when he adds, “I knew he had a thing about me being older. I’ve known that from the start. But I thought he’d get over it when he saw that she was happy.”
“And that hasn’t happened? He’s not coming around to the idea at all?”
The snort Andrew lets out is far from amused. “He gave her an ultimatum when we first got together.”
“He threw her out?” Jason hadn’t known that. No wonder they’d moved in together so quickly.
“Well, he didn’t outright say, ‘it’s me or him,’ but he made life hard for her. Wouldn’t have my name mentioned at home.” He snorts again. “As if not mentioning a subject ever makes things better.” He lifts his head, and his expression’s candid. “He keeps banging on about the age difference. Can’t see that we’re good together when we really are.”
“I know.” Jason does have a better understanding lately of how attraction can bridge age gaps. “You know when something feels right.”
“He’s getting worse about us, not better.”
Jason sets his cup down. “What happened today?”
“We went to talk with him about the wedding. The invitations have been out for months, apart from the ones he insisted he’d deliver himself. Turns out he’s done nothing with them.”
So Jason wasn
’t the only one digging his heels in about replying.
“He doesn’t want to invite a single person—no friends, no old work colleagues, no family. He only agreed for us to go over there today because he had yet another ultimatum for her.”
“Which was?”
“He wants Lady back in his stable. Says he paid for her in the first place, so any foal she drops is his too. If Chantel wants to see the foal born, she’ll have to move back home.”
“Jesus. Can he do that?”
“No. It’s an empty threat, but that didn’t stop it from sounding awful. We didn’t make it past the front door. He kept the door chain on the whole time, like I’m some kind of petty thief about to steal the family silver.”
“Does he know what you do for living?”
“Oh, yes. You’d think being a corporate accountant was a respectable career choice, but he’s spun it into something horrendous. Thinks I cook the books for mobsters. Mind you, I have worked for lots of Russians, so….”
It’s a weak attempt at a joke Jason can’t even rouse a smile at. “Not all London Russians are in the mafia.” But plenty are very wealthy, snapping up the high-end properties Dom sells just as fast as Jason can renovate them. That would actually explain a lot about Vanya not needing to work full-time or at all lately. And if his landlord has shady connections, that would account for Vanya not wanting to rock the boat about his hot water issues.
He pulls his chair in a few more inches, his ankles knocking with Andrew’s under the table. “So her dad laid down the law, and that was it? Come home or else? He wouldn’t let you in to talk about it?”
“Nope. He wouldn’t even speak directly to Chantel when she offered to come in alone.” A sharp flare of anger brightens his next glance across the table. “I wouldn’t have wanted her to go in there without me.”
“Why? Is he violent?”
Andrew’s passionate when he spits out, “No!” His brow furrows when anger wars with sadness. “I wouldn’t want her to because he doesn’t deserve her.” Then his head drops. “But I wouldn’t have stopped her either. Not if that’s what she truly wanted. I wouldn’t ever stand in her way, but I’d be there to defend her, because that’s what you do when you love someone. You support them when they make their own decisions. It took me two divorces to learn that, but I think I’ve got it, this time.”
“So that’s why you’re back so early? Because he wouldn’t let her in?”
“No.” Andrew scrubs at his face. “We’re back because she finally told him no.” His gaze lands on the window, the stables a few hundred yards beyond it. “I’ll tell you something else I learned today.” His sigh is weary and drawn out. “It’s very hard to feel like I’ve won when she’s heartbroken.”
The atmosphere isn’t much lighter when Chantel comes in from the stables, hay in her hair and her face pinched. She tries to make conversation like she hasn’t just faced a confrontation, but her smile is still weak and watery when they’re in the sitting room later.
It comes to a head when she knocks over her drink. “I’m so clumsy.” She mops the spill with a hanky that’s damp already. Her voice comes out more choked than Jason’s ever heard it. “I ruin everything. This wedding’s going to be a disaster.”
“No,” Andrew promises. “You don’t ruin anything, sweetheart. You make everything better.” They’re two very simple sentences, that’s all, but they loosen her composure. It comes undone completely, snapping like a flag in a brisk wind when Andrew adds, “I’m sorry he can’t see that.”
She barely makes it into his arms before letting out a loud sob.
Vanya sits wide-eyed on an armchair, caught between them and escape. It could be intensely awkward, but instead of inching away, he asks a quiet question. “What happened?”
There’s something about having to keep things simple for a new-to-English speaker—Jason cuts to the chase. “Her dad isn’t happy about the wedding.” He pauses when Chantel pulls herself together.
“That’s an understatement.” She pulls a tissue from the box Jason offers with a muffled, “Thank you.”
“Why?” It’s a simple question, but all three of them hesitate so long that Vanya asks another. “He isn’t happy that husband is successful?” His eyes narrow a little. “Or he doesn’t like that husband is few years older?” He tilts his head like twenty years is nothing. “Hearts can’t count numbers.” He glances at Jason like he’s speaking directly to him, then his gaze flicks to Andrew. “Should think he is lucky. He gets to have a new son as well as keeping his daughter.” Vanya makes statements like they’re an absolute truth rather than his perception. “And wedding will be perfect because you have very experienced best man. One who will help make it happen.” He speaks directly to Chantel. “So maybe you should stop crying. Let best man fix your problems.”
“Th-that’s not how it works,” Chantel stutters, some colour back in her cheeks now. Perhaps it’s the heat of the wood stove—too warm in this small room this early in the season—or maybe it’s Vanya’s certainty lending her a blush that’s pretty. Andrew’s tight embrace loosens as she explains. “The best man doesn’t have to fix the bride’s problems. He only has to makes sure the groom turns up on time, take care of the wedding rings, and make a speech at the reception, that’s all.”
“Hmm.” Vanya sounds dismissive. “Think groom will turn up early.” His gaze Jason’s way is appraising. “So I’m think best man could work harder for you.”
That’s something Jason’s thought to himself already, a challenge he brings up later as they get ready for bed.
In the quiet of the room he’s known since childhood, he leans back against plump pillows, watching as Vanya stops folding his clothes to stifle a yawn that goes on forever.
Maybe it’s sleepiness that makes him slow to answer when Jason asks, “Will you help me?”
“Help with what?”
“With the wedding.” He sits up, wishing Vanya would hurry up and come to bed instead of folding his shirt so very slowly. “What are you doing with your time if you aren’t taking any more personal shopping clients?” He backtracks when Vanya’s movements still completely. “I mean, of course if you’ve got another job—”
“No.” Vanya’s quick to discount that. “Not working.”
Jason holds in a smile at Andrew being so right about London’s wealthy Russians. “If you’ve got the time, you could help me make her day perfect. I’ll pay—”
“No.” Vanya does turn then. “No more money from you. Besides, British weddings must be different to Russian.”
“Well it’s a good thing I met you in a wedding department. Anyone who works there must have some idea of what they’re doing, like your friend Kaspar.”
Vanya turns away suddenly again when Jason continues.
“Maybe I could pay him.”
Chapter Twenty-One
After a weekend’s respite, London grabs Vanya by the scruff of the neck and shakes him. Even late on Sunday evening, the station concourse bustles. People tug wheeled suitcases along crowded platforms with no regard for others’ ankles, or they grip the hands of grizzling children, awake far past their usual bedtime. It’s loud and brash and strident, like the city beyond the ticket barriers—such a contrast to Moreton-in-Marsh where he woke to the sound of birdsong and to a sleepy morning hand job.
More of that life is what he wants most.
His pace slows while others around him hurry.
But more of that life depends on being truthful.
The journey home has only proven that, Vanya’s conscience coiling like a hangman’s noose, demanding a decision.
Should he tell the truth right now, or should he prolong Jason’s belief that he can help Chantel for a little longer?
The fact that she has no family, like him, plucks hard at Vanya’s heartstrings.
Another train arrives while he mentally scrambles, its brakes emitting a squeal sharp enough to jolt him. He blinks and finds Jason watching, waiting f
or Vanya to catch up, standing steady while travellers stream around him, unmoved as he’s jostled. He holds out a hand and asks, “Where’s your ticket, slowcoach?”
“Slowcoach? Oh.” Vanya fumbles in his back pocket, fingers numb as if his heart requires a buffer, drawing all of his blood inward. It throbs hard for some reason as he clumsily flips his wallet open. It’s empty apart from the ticket, Oyster card, and a single five-pound note. When he looks up, Jason’s smile is reserved for the first time during the whole weekend. Whatever he says is lost as a loud announcement echoes. “I’m didn’t hear,” Vanya admits. “Say again, please?”
Jason guides him away from the busy ticket barrier. “I said, do you have enough cash to get home? If you didn’t bring your bank card, I can top up your Oyster card for you.” Jason’s hand on his arm mirrors the grip London has on him. He’s trapped between truth and fiction until the government decides whether to keep or deport him. Being cash strapped in this city is an awful spot to be in, but Jason doesn’t know that. He only asks the most reasonable of questions. “Or were you planning on getting the bus? If you need some more cash until you get home—” He reaches for his own wallet.
“No.” Vanya shakes his head. There’s no way in hell he’s taking another penny for himself from this man under false pretences. “Have enough to get home.” He’ll walk if he has to. “Have plenty.”
“We could share a cab, then,” Jason offers. “I could drop you on the way.”
And see exactly where Vanya calls home? “No.” His headshake is emphatic. “Live in opposite direction. Would be waste of your time.”
“Maybe I just want to put off saying goodbye.” Jason almost seems embarrassed. “This weekend….” It’s his turn to shake his head. “I can’t get over how being at Riversmeet with you was so easy. It was the best weekend in ages.” He shrugs. “I don’t want it to end yet.”
It would be easy to keep it going.
So easy.
