by Zack
“Chris works at De Lane Lea,” Trevor said quietly.
Gil acknowledged this with a nod. Chris seemed eager to amplify.
“I’m a trainee, actually, learning the art of sound mixing in the dubbing theaters.”
“And I,” declared the girl firmly, “am an assistant film editor.”
“What are you working on?” Gil asked, ever polite.
She gave a disparaging laugh, more of a snort. “Pro-celebrity golf matches for the Beeb. We’ve got cutting rooms at Rex.”
“Nola’s one of my best friends,” Trevor confided with no trace of irony in his voice, but a smirk which he seemed to share with her.
“Trevor is an extremely naughty boy,” Nola said in a strong, confident voice.
Gil thought her quite mannish, but compulsive. He immediately liked her and the evil glint in her flinty eyes which hinted at a sense of ironic humor. “Is that what they say?” he said lightly, unable to keep a smug grin off his face.
“Oh yes.” She glanced across at Dave, deep in conversation with Chris and the other table, and then leaned forward conspiratorially and lowered her voice dramatically. “He can’t keep his hands off a good looker.” She fixed Gil, who had instinctively leaned forward as well. “Like you, my dear. I say this in warning.” Nola wagged her index finger, and then sat back and loosed a series of deep throated chuckles.
Trevor shuffled uncomfortably in his chair. Gil thought he had never seen the boy discombobulated, but then, he hadn’t seen him with his boyfriend around before. And then Gil revised his opinion when he felt Trevor’s hand on his knee and the slow, gentle rub of his fingers and palm over the patella. The action, although completely hidden from Dave, still froze Gil in fear of it being seen. Nola’s narrowed eyes radiated amusement.
Trevor leaned slightly sideways so their shoulders pressed together and spoke quietly. “Gil. I … you know.”
“It’s okay, Trevor. Mike put me straight when he came out to L.A.”
A rueful little smile played on the left corner of Trevor’s lips. “Put you straight, did he? Pity.” He didn’t wait for any response. “Am I forgiven?”
For an answer Gil dropped his right hand down, covered Trevor’s on his knee, and squeezed. Trevor bumped his knee against Gil’s and gave him his kitten-got-the-cream Cheshire cat smile. “Bastard,” Gil breathed. “You know what that does to my insides.”
“And what do you do, Gil?”
From the tone, Gil understood the warning in Nola’s question, and let Trevor’s hand go as Dave turned around.
“Anyone for another?” Dave stood, glass in hand. “Another pint Chris? Nola?”
“Gin and tonic, please,” Trevor said.
Dave gave him a sardonic look. “I know what you want, treasure. What about you … Gil? Another …?”
“Heineken.” Gil didn’t really want any more, but he felt it would be rude to refuse. Dave threaded his way through the press of drinkers and Chris returned to his over-the-shoulder conversation with the next table. Gil looked across at Nola and realized she had meant the question. “Uh, not much at the moment. I’m working on some script ideas, and could really use a job in the meantime.”
With Dave safely feet away, elbowed in among those standing at the crowded bar, Nola took the opportunity to return to the attack and leaned in again with a predatory expression. “There’s definitely a job here. Trevor needs someone who can screw him hard—”
Trevor reared back. “Nola! Don’t be a diesel—”
“Don’t dyke me,” she cut him off with a wide grin. “You know you do.” She turned on Gil. “By the way, just so you know, I know you, at least by reputation, from”—head nod at Trevor—“this one. I’d love to have been a fly on the wall when you two got it together.”
Gil didn’t know where to look, so he stared at the table top and drew his index fingertip through a puddle of condensation.
But Trevor started laughing quietly, trying not to show too much. “Nola, you’re a bitch, and you’re embarrassing Gil. And me, actually.”
“That’ll be the day … treasure!”
Gil turned to look directly at Trevor and dropped his raised eyebrows in amused resignation. “It’s okay. I don’t think of you as an incorrigible gossip, Trev. I shall know in future to trust you with my innermost secrets.”
Nola sat back in some satisfaction. “Well, just send me the invite for your next tryst.”
A bit more seriously, Gil said, “I really need time with Mike. We have a lot of catching up still to do.”
“Even after so many weeks?” Trevor seemed genuinely interested in the answer.
“It’s not that many. I only got here on the eighth.”
“Only a week left,” Nola said cheerily. “Are you all ready for Christmas, Gil?”
“Herrm … probably not. I’ve a long shopping list Mike’s given me which I’ll have to deal with before I get home today. Are you?”
“Hah! I leave all that up to my better half. She’s the organizer of the home.”
“You can do a lot of catching up over Christmas, then,” Trevor said in what Gil thought of as a wistful tone. Trevor squeezed his knee again, but removed his hand smartly when Dave came up with the first of the drinks. “You don’t need to worry about me,” he said as soon as Dave went back to the bar to fetch the other two glasses. “Whatever Nola over there says. She’s just a dirty-minded diesel dyke, who you wouldn’t know has the prettiest girl friend and just happens to be one of my best friends. I sometimes think she should have been born a boy, cos she wants it off with a boy, but not as a girl. That wouldn’t be gay. Does that make sense?”
Nola took a swig from her refreshed glass and peered at Gil over the rim.” I know if I were a bloke I’d want to fuck with you.”
For the second time in a few minutes, Gil didn’t know where to look.
CHAPTER FIVE
Crisp, Deep, and Even
With frozen fingers he tried the key a third time, and it slipped in firmly. Damn the cold! And not helped with both hands full of shopping bags—“placky bags,” as they called them here. Gil pushed the front door with his knee and stepped into the warm hall gratefully. He placed the sole of his left boot on the inside of the door and pushed it shut. At the far end of the hall, the door to the living room was closed, which he thought odd. Unless they were both in there it was usually left ajar. The low sounds of Away In A Manger were even weirder.
Gil paused at the door and saw it had been pushed to, not actually shut. So he shouldered it open. The heavy old timbers swung easily inward and …
“Oh!”
“Happy Christmas!” the whirlwind shouted as it descended on him, all legs, arms, and grasping fingers. Gil, laden like a pack animal with groceries and stuff, could not defend himself from the assault, in which his lips were grasped between nibbling teeth, and hands explored his ass and crotch unmercifully. He was vaguely aware of the blur of unexpected color around the tall walls and the strong scent of pine. And as suddenly as it began, the attack ceased. “Give here.” Mike relieved Gil of two Waitrose plastic carrier bags and sailed out to the kitchen.
Gil followed, gulping in amazement, and almost fell over the single step down to the bathroom and kitchen level. He took in the massive Christmas tree which filled the far corner and stretched out to cover a good portion of the French window and the space between it and the raised section with sofa and television. Sparkling tinsel cascaded down its dark green boughs and in between silver balls danced in the light of numerous winking mini-lights.
“Mike, when did you do all this?”
“You’re lost for words …”
“I’m lost for words.”
Mike parked the bags on the work surface. “I had a bit of help from Will, but with you out the morning and shopping this afternoon, I thought I could get it done in time. It was my last day after yesterday’s wrap, just a couple of hours in the production office and I was done and came home via the Christmas tree market in
Kilburn.”
“You got that thing on the top of Horny?”
“Uh-uh, no. They delivered. The market’s only just the other side of the Edgware Road.”
Gil helped Mike unpack the groceries and put things away on the cupboard shelves, and in the freezer and refrigerator. As Mike straightened up from putting some cans in a low cupboard, Gil circled his waist and pulled his butt against his lap. “You’ve even got some carols.”
“Hmm, it’s a cassette I’ve had since I was thirteen and singing in the school choir—”
“That’s you singing?”
“Don’t sound so amazed. Yeah, and twenty others.”
“You had a beautiful voice.” He kissed Mike behind the ear.
“You can’t possibly tell which one’s me.”
“The one with the beautiful voice, of course.”
Be near me Lord Jesus I ask you to stay / Close by me for ever, and love me, I pray. / Bless all the dear children in your tender care, / And fit us for heaven, to live with you there.
“I can’t believe I’m hearing you singing this. Never heard a religious word out of you.” Gil switched ears and blew in the other one gently.
“Then think of the boy standing in the front row, angelic face gazing into heaven as he sings, hands chastely folded behind him and fingers stroking my dick.”
“That I can believe.” Gil slid his hands down Mike’s front and cupped his bunched cock and balls.
Mike crooned quietly. “We three kings of Orient are, / One in a taxi, one in a car, / One on a scooter, beeping his hooter, / Following yonder star.”
* * *
“We wish you a Merry Christmas, we wish you a Merry Christmas, we wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!”
“And that’s it, guys, is it?”
Gil hid a smile behind his hands at Mike’s scandalized tone and the cocky glare of seasonal defiance the taller of the three boys and two girls threw back.
“What you want? A bloody simfunny!”
The kid couldn’t be more than twelve, Gil thought, but he managed a perfect air of menace, while his fellow wassailers shuffled shyly or glowered ferociously in imitation.
Mike appealed to Gil, half turned in the cold doorway. “That’s it? That’s all we get? Not even a Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer?” He whipped around on the lead singer. “Don’t they teach you kids any proper carols these days? I’m not paying for four lines like that.”
“Aw, c’mon, mate. It’s the season of goodwill …”
Gil stepped up beside Mike and handed over a coin. The boy grabbed it, examined it with a scowl. “Well for that you certainly ain’t getting’ anything more,” he complained. The coin vanished in his jeans pocket. “Right. Let’s get on.” Gil slipped an arm around Mike’s waist as they watched the five carol singers push through the front gate. Their leader paused to swing on the gate for a moment, looking back. “Fuckin’ poofters!”
“And a Merry Christmas to you, too,” Mike shouted after him with a broad grin. “And what are you laughing at?”
“Oh, you’re so masterful, Michael Smith.”
Mike growled, closed the heavy door, and turned to kiss Gil on the mouth. “Shut up, Gil Graham. Happy Christmas Eve, Gil. This time … really happy.”
They had just started down the hall when there came a second banging on the glass of the front door accompanied by the bell chiming. A pale, vaguely human face wavered through the randomly rippled door glass. Gil looked at Mike “If that’s Will, he’s a bit early.”
Mike walked back and flung the door open. Will and his friend Ben stood on the step, their combined breaths misting in the freezing air. Without a word, Will pushed past Mike and Ben ducked in after him with a shy smile of apology aimed at Mike.
“You’re early.”
“Don’t blame me, brother dearest. It’s his fault.” Will jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at his friend as he came up to Gil and slapped his arm familiarly. “How’s it going, you old Yanker wanker?”
“So nice to see you, William,” Gil drawled. As Will went past him into the sitting room with a gasp and a burst of laughter at the decorations, Gil examined Ben. Mike had hinted that there had been a “bit of malarkey” with the boy and Gil could see why Mike wouldn’t have minded. A little fuller in build than Will and perhaps an inch or so shorter, he had an attractive and mobile face with a naturally humorous mouth, although as he regarded Gil his expression was slightly apprehensive. His stubby nose only added to a generally friendly looking disposition. His startlingly red hair, which looked as though it would like to spring into tight curls if it were ever allowed to grow more than a quarter inch, was his greatest asset. That and the long sideburns.
“That’s Ben,” Will shouted helpfully from within the sitting room.
Gil held out his hand and Ben almost bowed as he took it in a firm grip. Mike came up behind, having closed the door again, and patted Ben on the shoulder. “Go on in.”
Ben swayed past Gil, giving him a shy look from under long sandy-red eye lashes. Gil felt the appraisal and Mike winked at him. “Why’s it Ben’s fault?” he asked his brother as they all settled on the sofa and two arm chairs.
“He’s so excited to be going to Paradise—”
“I’m not, so!”
Will gave Gil a world-weary look. “Hasn’t talked about anything else for days.”
“You never been, Ben?”
Ben glanced at Gil, thankfully. “No.”
“We’re too young to get in on our own, but with you two in tow it should be a doddle.” Will turned to Mike. “I told Wendoline to meet me here.”
Mike raised an eyebrow. “Wendoline? She a new one?”
“Since last week,” Will replied airily.
“Sounds like a glass cleaner.”
“Har bloody har. I call her Wendy, anyway.”
Gil thought Ben looked uncomfortable at the mention of … Wendy, and wondered why.
“You said tonight is a mixed night, so it’s okay her coming along isn’t it?”
Mike nodded. “Mixed, yeah.” He turned to Ben. “You bringing a girlfriend along?”
The boy blushed a bright beetroot, something Gil suspected he did a lot. It was kind of sweet-sexy. He just shook his head and looked miserably at Will, but there was no comfort from that quarter. Ben tucked his legs under him where he perched on the edge of the armchair and Gil was again aware of the boy’s guarded appraisal.
“Since you’re here,” Mike said to Will as he turned to Gil, “I suppose we might as well get ready to go, huh?”
“Sure.”
Mike swung back to his brother. “You got shorts and singlets with you?”
In answer Will pulled out some silky looking blue and white running shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt from his jacket’s big outside pocket. “Ta-daaa!”
Ben squeezed his lips together anxiously and nodded. “Yeah, I got some stuff as well. It gets that hot?”
Gil noticed how red his lips looked against the cool skin of his cheeks. “It gets hot when you’re dancing. You like dancing, Ben?”
“It’s okay.”
Mike went out to the bedroom and reappeared a few minutes later carrying a holdall. “I’ve got your things, Gil.”
The door bell chimed and Will jumped up. “That’ll be Wendy.”
“So, let’s go,” Mike said.
“That’s Saint Peter at the door, checking on everyone’s age,” Gil heard Mike saying to Ben as they waited impatiently with the throng to get through the doors.
“Sorry,” Ben shouted back over the din. “His name’s Peter, you said?”
Mike shook his head. “I don’t know, I’ve never asked, but he stands at the Gates of Paradise.”
To Gil it felt more like lining up to enter Hell, and he was glad to be stripped down like almost everyone around to lightweight sports gear, even though his new gay sensibility still made him uncomfortable to be so in the presence of quite a lot of women. Christmas Eve at Paradise �
� Will and his Wendy, who had just returned from the improvised ladies cloakroom (Mike said the club had to accommodate since the new owners had introduced the mixed nights) were making a big thing of snogging, which Gil could see made Ben uneasy. As it turned out, Will and Wendy practically vanished a few minutes after actually getting down the stairs into the belly of the beast, which threw Ben into his and Mike’s hands—literally, once they started to dance. And the absence of his friend actually seemed to lighten Ben up. That and the pounding beat and pulsating lights.
Gil caught Mike’s glances whenever his head passed through a dazzling beam, his knowing smile as their bodies touched, hips, chests, hands, thighs, revolving in complex rhythms of dirty dancing, sinuous and sexy, and there was Ben beside them and sometimes sandwiched. When Mike slipped him some poppers, his wide eyes opened even further and his inhibitions slipped away. Gil experimentally bumped their bulges together and Ben responded wantonly. He clearly wanted to do it again, and Gil obliged. He pulled the boy hard against him with hands wrapped behind on his buttocks. Mike instinctively closed in and they swayed on the dance floor, locked together in a sweaty embrace.
Over Ben’s head Mike hissed in Gil’s ear. “Want to go to the backroom?”
“On a mixed night?”
“Hell yeah, you can’t keep the gay boys down because there are a few curious straights and their girlies in.”
Gil dipped his eyes at Ben’s head and smiled at Mike’s clear-cut what-the-hell look. Gil nodded. He was semi-hard and suspected Ben was too. Mike broke the hold first and took Ben’s hand. Gil slipped hands around the boy’s hips from behind and sway-danced him through the packed go-goers toward the side wall and the corridor leading to the sex rooms.
