by J P Sayle
Dismissing everyone, he headed back to his own desk and dove straight in. He needed something to distract him from the lack of call from Joe. He pointedly avoided looking at the clock.
The chiming of his phone had him pause, and he saved the figures he’d been working on. He searched through his suit jacket pocket. He hoped it was an update on Stuart, and maybe someone else, but he felt a crushing disappointment.
Greg sagged against the chair when he saw the message was from Vic. His leg bounced in agitation as he opened the message and recalled his earlier anger at Vic.
Hey, wtf happened to you this morning? I was hoping for a quickie!
Greg barrelled out of his chair, gripping his phone. The desire to throw it at the wall made his fingers ache.
How fucking dare he! Really, is that how you talk to your boyfriend?
His smarting emotions failed to see why he was putting up with the crap. The nagging voice from this morning returned. The shouty voice told him in no uncertain terms, go, find some privacy and ring the dickwad. And make sure to tell him exactly where to get off.
Dark, fathomless eyes and an incredible hulk body have nothing to do with it at all. No, definitely not.
Shaking of that thought, instead, he used his driving conviction to motivate him across the room.
Nodding at no one in particular, he glanced at his wrist, checking the time, and went directly to Paul who was situated next to the large bay window that overlooked the street. Greg found himself preoccupied by the amount of racket filtering through the large, single-glazed windows.
How the hell could anyone get any work done with the amount of noise was beyond him.
Feeling the weight of responsibility, he relayed his plans before leaving.
As he stepped out onto Athol Street, he dodged the early lunch crowd that were scurrying along in the hopes of not getting caught in a downpour the darkening clouds threatened. Greg gripped the jacket lapels closer. His powder-blue suit jacket and thin, white shirt scarcely kept the winter chill away from his skin. He wished he’d taken time to grab his Kenneth Cole black wool winter coat. Heaving a put-upon sigh, he headed towards Prospect Hill and the traffic lights. He knew that if he went back for his coat, he would chicken out of the visit to Vic.
Scratching his head, he pondered where would be the quietest place to have a conversation with Vic. The coward inside him begged him to dump Vic via text, after his recent use of messaging. Whereas his good angel sat poking his nose up, telling him not to be that person everyone would hate if they ever found out what he’d done.
His shoulders dropped when he knew the good angel was winning. Greg’s steps slowed when he realised his feet seemed to have a mind of their own and headed directly to Barclays bank where Vic worked.
In person, it is then.
Greg dragged his weary arse through his front door, locking it. He dropped his keys on the hall table. He rubbed at his red-rimmed, gritty eyes and headed upstairs to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. Grabbing the paracetamol, he tossed two on to his tongue and stuck his mouth under the tap. He had no energy to go back down and get a glass. He swallowed, shuddered in disgust and coughed. He pulled back. Water splashed his shirt as he choked and spluttered, trying to dislodge the pill stuck in his throat. The awful lingering taste of dry tablet made him bawk. He leant back down and took another mouthful of cold water to rinse away the taste.
He flopped onto the toilet seat and placed his elbows on his knees before resting his chin in his hands. He stared in the mirror above the sink. Dark, hollowed, unhappy, red gritty eyes stared back at him as the pounding in his head beat harder than the drummer from AC/DC.
Not sure what he wanted, he got up, turning on the bath taps and dropping in one of his large Lush bath bombs. He listened to it fizz, watching the swirling patterns of colours merge. He waited for several minutes to see which one to be victorious. He stripped off his clothes and threw them in his washing basket when the vibrant tangerine colour and fruity scent of orange won the battle.
Moving to the floating shelves positioned above the large, pale pink bath, Greg lit several fat, scented candles. He sniffed the perfume of lavender, desperately needing something that would help relax his inner turmoil. The flicker of candlelight on his pale, smooth skin had him consider it was that time again for a coat of fake tan.
Too tired to care at the moment about how his freckles stood out on his too pale skin, he quickly hid his body under the tangerine water, sliding down into the hot steaming bath. His moan of pleasure sounded pornographic to his own ears as the scented heat relaxed his tired body. Cushioning his head on the small towelling bath pillow, he felt all the small aches and pains slowly reside, and he allowed his mind to process his day.
He wasn’t entirely sure what had been the worst part. His fight with Louise, her flippant attitude, the breakup with Vic, finding Stuart, or lastly his argument with Joe about Aaden?
Rubbing his forehead and hoping the pills would take effect soon, he shut his tired eyes when he couldn’t make up his mind. How could he possibly choose between so many utter disasters? It was a tough call between his last conversation with Joe and his massive fight with Vic.
Vic, it seemed, didn’t comprehend what Greg’s problem was at being treated as a second-class citizen. Slamming his hand into the bath water, he ignored the wave that splashed all over his newly tiled red floor.
How the fuck could he not get that I didn’t want to be used as a convenient hole whenever he felt the urge, which it would seem was only once a week.
What the hell happened to Vic’s libido. He’s only bloody twenty-nine, for God’s sake?
Maybe it really was me that was the problem? Well, that fucking stinks.
His tired mind replayed the conversation.
“Hey, my lovely, is Vic about? I need a quick word.” He smiled at the girl on the front desk, forgetting what her name was, but she didn’t seem to care when he’d called her “my lovely.”
“Let me just go through to the back office and check. I haven’t seen him leave for lunch, so you may be in luck.”
Her happy sing-song voice had him want to tell her there was nothing lucky about dating Vic.
Two minutes later she came back, with an angry and scowling Vic behind her. Seeing the disaster already unfolding, Greg tried to offer up a smile he wasn’t feeling when Vic came round the desk, barely buzzing his cheek with his lips.
“Have you got five minutes, Vic, and do you have a place we can talk in private?”
He had hardly finished speaking when Vic threw an impatient glance at his watch.
“You’ve got five minutes. I’m meeting the boys for a liquid lunch before heading out this afternoon for a few rounds of golf.”
His nasal impatient response would normally have stung, especially with his lack of inclusion. But after last night and this morning, all it did was fuel his anger. Greg’s anger simmered as he stomped behind Vic’s retreating back.
Vic led them into one of the small offices located to the left of the main foyer. Shutting the door, he plonked himself down on the soft, padded seat leaving Greg the hard plastic chair.
Greg catalogued every slight the fucker had done to him. Building up a good head of steam, he let it rip. He didn’t care if he could be heard or not in the front entrance.
“This, you and me, it’s over.” Greg stabbed his finger between them as he stood by the door, legs shaking. “I no longer want to be used or treated like a fuck buddy. You may not think I’m worth more, but let me tell you, I am. And what you think is great sex, sucks big hairy balls and not in a good way. You need to invest in a map that shows you exactly where the prostate is because you are fucking clueless. Or else, invest in some glasses to give you better vision so you know when someone is actually enjoying what you’re doing to them. So, thank you, but no thanks. I won’t be seeing you around.”
Turning on his heel, he dragged open the door. He was inordinately pleased when Vic’s jaw was
still sitting on the floor as he sailed out the glass front doors, not acknowledging any of the patrons’ horror-filled faces.
Greg chewed his lower lip between his teeth and sunk deeper in the bath. His own words reverberated through his head, added to the pounding.
Am I the problem after all, and not Vic?
None of his other relationships seemed to last more than a few months, and he didn’t seem to elicit a passion that made you burn with desire. Sliding his hands teasingly over his wet, silky skin, he actively ignored the little voice that said Aaden would be different. His cock nudged out of the water as if wanting to have its say.
Greg groaned and inhaled the steamy, fragrant air, thinking the universe was truly trying to fuck him over. His earlier conversation with Joe came home to roost. He’d hardly stopped the car outside his house when his phone had rung. Answering, he hadn’t been surprised to hear Joe on the other end after the awful day he’d had.
“Hi, Greg, I hope you don’t mind Stuart gave me your number to call. I firstly just wanted to say thank you for helping this morning. I will forever be in your debt, and if there is ever anything I can do to help you, you only have to ask.”
As Joe paused to clear his throat, Greg thought he heard a choked sob. Greg’s earlier guilt flooded back, overshadowing Joe’s heartfelt thanks and offer. He felt like slime for wishing he hadn’t left the house that morning.
“Stuart is going to be okay, just so you know. There is no permanent damage. He will have a couple of follow-up appointments, but they assure me he will be fine. So, I’ve decided to bring him home. If you need to speak with him tomorrow, call the house, or better still, come and see him when he is more alert. I’m sure he will want to thank you personally. Anyway, the other reason I called for was to ask did you say anything to anyone about this morning? If you didn’t, please don’t mention it.”
Greg trembled as butterflies danced around inside him at the quiet plea.
Had something happened to Aaden?
Why wouldn’t they want him to mention anything?
Greg yanked his hair in frustration at his first thought being about the Hulk.
“Greg, are you still there? Hello, hello.”
Joe’s frantic voice in his ear hauled him away from the circulating problems his mind was conjuring.
“Yes, I’m still here, and I didn’t mention anything to anyone nor at work. I just told them Stuart had been in an accident because I wasn’t sure what had actually happened.” He left the sentence unfinished, not sure he wanted to know exactly what had transpired.
“That’s great. I don’t know everything myself, but the long and the short of it is, Joel was an ex-partner of mine. He stalked me for months. I got evidence to show what he was doing, thinking that would solve my issues. Anyway, it didn’t, and he came and took Stuart, and you saw the result of that. But you’ll be pleased to know it’s over now.”
The lack of confidence in Joe’s rushed explanation had Greg tugging at his tie, hoping it would let him breathe a little easier, while he tried to figure out how to phrase his question about Aaden when Joe hadn’t offered anything about his friend.
“Emm, well, err, what about Aaden? Is he all right?” Greg held his breath as soon as the question left his dry lips.
“Yes, the stoic bastard is fine, or so he tells me. I haven’t seen him since this morning, but we spoke on the phone briefly, and he tells me everything is sorted.”
Joe’s tentative response gave the impression he was holding back from saying more. Greg heaved a disappointed sigh before he could think better of it. Hearing the quiet chuckle down the phone before Joe spoke didn’t stop the wariness form on top of a really shitty day.
“Listen, Aaden can take care of himself. You do not need to worry about him. Anyway, I’ll let you go. Thank you again for everything. If you want to pop round tomorrow, I’ll text you the address.”
The call ended far too soon for Greg. He didn’t have all the answers, but what could he expect when he hadn’t asked any questions?
Sinking even lower into the water, he watched the bright orange water make his skin glow. He felt the headache pills kicking in.
“Why does life have to be so bloody complicated?”
Greg rolled his eyes up to the white-tiled ceiling when he couldn’t answer his own question. The pesky voice that hadn’t left him alone all day told him he didn’t yet know what complicated meant. Dunking under the water, he blocked out everything and let the surrounding soundlessness help clear out his negative thoughts.
Tomorrow had to be a better day, surely?
Aaden
The beating throb behind his eyes worsened at the sight of the pale blue Skoda parked at the curb as Aaden steeped out his front door. The unsettling feeling he’d lived with for the past five weeks increased, twisting his gut into knots. Blowing the hair out of his eyes, he scrubbed at his temples. The car all but taunted him into running back into the house, locking himself away from temptation.
The last visit Greg had paid him two weeks earlier was still too fresh in his memory. He shifted uncomfortably as his pants tightened at the recollection of Greg’s feisty temper.
The ringing doorbell had him rushing to open it. Wiping the crap off his dirty hands, he froze the door halfway open. His smile died when instead of a delivery driver, he was greeted by Greg hopping from one foot to another, fidgeting. His repeated tugging at the sleeves of his bold green jumper pulled Aaden’s attention to how vibrant it made his hair and his eyes stand out. And God forbid the fake tan that glowed brighter than Saturn.
His gaze transfixed.
Aaden tried to comprehend why someone would paint their lovely pale skin with that kinda shit.
“What do you want, Greg. I’m really busy, and I’m expecting a delivery any minute. I don’t have time for chit-chat, and as I told you last week and the week before, I’ll ask for help when I need it.” Aaden was disgruntled at the raspy huskiness in his voice.
Why the hell am I using my sexy voice? I am most definitely not for flirting with Greg, Goddammit!
He couldn’t fail to miss Greg’s shudder or the determined gleam light his eyes when he puffed out his chest and pushed past him.
“I want to have a word with you, please.”
Aaden snapped his mouth shut, hoping Greg hadn’t noticed how flustered that assertive move had made him. He watched with uncertainty as Greg strolled through his home as if he owned the place. Knots formed in his gut when the feeling of rightness settled in the centre of his chest, just as it always did when Greg was anywhere near him.
Exhaling, Aaden quickly sucked in a deep breath only to be overwhelmed by the aroma of lemongrass. His shoulders sagged in defeat as he slammed the door shut. His booted feet thudded across the bare floorboards as he followed the tightly encased swaying hips that tempted him beyond reason.
Aaden paused in surprise at Greg knowing which room he spent most of his time in. Though the back room was devoid of decoration or furniture, bar two rickety chairs, it was his favourite space because it overlooked the large back garden. He had plans to renovate this room and remodel the back wall to include large bifolding doors so he could encompass the garden into his space when they were open.
Aaden could clearly see in his mind’s eye exactly what it would look like when he’d finished. What he didn’t expect was to see Greg in that picture, sitting in front of the fire stretched out across his chest while they lazed in front of the telly or sat in large wooden chairs on the deck watching the sunset while having a sundowner, discussing their day.
Shaking off the vivid pictures his mind conjured to torture him further, he growled at Greg.
“What is it you want, Greg? As I said, I’m busy, and I can’t stand around gossiping with you all day.” His brows drew together. Averting his gaze, he attempted to rein in his temper when the edge of his anger had Greg scowling back.
Aaden realised he might have overstepped when Greg’s spine snapped straight.
His cheeks bloomed fire engine red as his arms started to jiggle at his sides.
“What is your problem? What have I ever done to you to make you think it’s okay to speak to me like I’m some errant child, or worse, something you would scrape off the bottom of your shoe? I know you don’t want to talk about what happened on the mountain. And okay, I get it, but for fuck’s sake, what have I ever done to you to warrant this kind of treatment? I only wanted to be your friend.” If possible his face got redder at the mention of friendship.
Aaden knew if Greg was feeling half the emotions he was, then friendship was the last thing on his mind. The biggest problem was Aaden wanted so much more than just friendship—and wasn’t that a total shocker—when he’d spent his time thinking he wanted the exact opposite from Greg.
Aaden lowered his eyelids, keeping his shock hidden while Greg’s anger sparked the air between them. Aaden opened his mouth, then shut it, trying to figure out how to respond.
Lips flapping aimlessly, Aaden watched in fascination as Greg stalked to him. The angry flush deepened with each step. A small finger came up to drill into Aaden’s massive chest. He barely resisted the urge to shudder under the small touch when his skin became far too tight for his body, making Aaden itch to remove the digit, along with his clothes.
His mind raced with possibilities as he registered how small Greg’s fingers looked dwarfed against his massive chest. Images of those same small fingers wrapped around his cock had him shaking off both Greg and the thought.
Swallowing past the urge, he licked his lips, preparing to speak only to be shouted down.
“I’m not finished. The way you avoid me. It’s like I have some contagious disease like… Ebola. Well, I’m fed up. I haven’t done anything to you except be nice and offer to help, which you have repeatedly thrown back in my face. I do know a little about house renovations, and when you can accept my generous offer of help, you better hope I’m still feeling in a giving mood.”
