by J P Sayle
Agitated, Brody fidgeted. Raking his dark messy hair away from his face, he stared into empty space. Uncertainty coated the inside of his stomach.
What the fuck am I going to do now?
What he did know was that he’d had enough of all the crazy shit that was going on in Aaden’s home. The last couple of weeks, as far as he could see, it was worse than the only time he’d been talked into riding a roller coaster. The dips and drops were enough to send his body into a tailspin that caused him to wobble about for days feeling seasick. The world became all topsy-turvy while his mind and body tried to fathom out which way was up. Now he was back to feeling like that, and he had no bloody clue why or how to stop it. And he was certain that at the centre of it all was a ruddy blond imp.
The question was back, like an old nagging fishwife.
Do I want it to?
No.
He threw the plain green duvet off his legs, needing to move when the answer didn’t change, unnerving him further.
He ignored the cold varnished wood under his bare feet. He got his bearing in the dark room, walking the couple of steps to open the terracotta and cream curtains, letting in the wintery sunlight. Brody prowled to his suitcase lying on the floor. Crouching, he dragged out a few of the remaining clean clothes. As the bed was the only furniture in the room, he had been left with little option but to leave all his clothes packed. Not that he cared. It wasn’t as if he’d be partying or socialising, which would have required him to iron his stuff.
Brody’s lips quirked when he considered how dismayed Luke would be with the shit tip he was living in. He grabbed his forgotten phone, snapping a quick picture of the mess. Not overthinking it, he sent a Merry Christmas text with the view of his bedroom.
And maybe this picture would do the job for me?
He gave a self-deprecating laugh, knowing he was kidding himself. He’d have to deal with Luke when he got back home after New Year’s, whether he wanted to or not. He dropped his phone back on the bed, tucking Luke to the back of his mind for now.
He rubbed at his lips, considering the coming weeks. He’d organised his flight the night before. He would be returning to the Island in the middle of January. His original plan to lie on a beach for several weeks was kiboshed, and he had no one to blame but himself. The remaining holidays he’d left to take were now planned around his offer to assist Martin with Greg’s tampered spreadsheet. A spreadsheet of information which, he was informed, went to the government, and whatever was on it was then there for posterity. It seemed this was serious shit the person or persons wanted to create for Greg, and if Martin hadn’t checked, it could seriously have damaged his business and reputation. Whoever the malicious arsehole was they needed to be caught and punished. And he was going to do his best to make sure that happened.
Brody massaged his throbbing temples, ignoring thoughts of how pissed off his boss was at his insistence on taking his remaining holidays so quickly after his current leave. He’d argued his case, finally giving them an ultimatum: time off or his resignation.
He paced in front of the bed, trying hard not to think about how much he’d wanted them to take his offered resignation. He believed they thought he was bluffing, but once he’d voiced it, he found it wasn’t an idle threat. He really was considering his career choices.
With all that had been going on at work recently, the bombing and increased terror threats to the United Kingdom, he was starting to feel the pressure. Visiting Manchester after the concert bombing somehow pounded the last nail into his work coffin. Images were now ingrained into his brain matter, and he knew there was nothing that would remove them. And they were the main reason he suddenly was visiting Aaden.
He’d needed an escape and his friend. Aaden had been his sounding board for most of his life. Even his parents didn’t know the half of what he’d had to deal with. Aaden’s quirky nature and oddness somehow allowed for Brody to just be himself. Let him talk about all the things he couldn’t voice with others. And that oddness now it seemed was becoming more apparent with each day he spent with Aaden.
Brody knew that if he asked Aaden the questions plaguing him, he would be honest, but something held him back. Instead Brody listened and watched, letting the understanding that there was something special about Aaden fully sink in.
Brody also realised there was a big part of him not wanting to leave. There was something about the Island that tugged at him. The first view from the plane window had him shifting forward. His nose was glued to the tiny square as the swirling aquamarine sea ended, highlighting rugged cliffs and sandy beaches that seemed to stretch for miles. The moment he got off the plane he’d felt this strange affinity for the place. And he was sure that was part of the reason he’d jumped in with an offer to help Martin.
He’d tried to convince himself it was nothing to do with the newfound feelings for Nick. Or with how he’d found out Nick was going to be staying with Aaden for several months. Nope, it has nothing to do with that.
He disregarded the mocking voice; instead he tried to figure out why it had shocked him. He gave a disparaging laugh, knowing exactly why it surprised him. He had neither measured how deep the water was or how fast the currents were before jumping in with both feet. Now he was in over his head, being dragged by the currents he’d found, unable to find his feet as he was hauled along by his feelings.
Had it given him pause? Yes, it fucking had. Especially when he knew he’d failed miserably to convince himself it had everything to do with helping Aaden, Martin, and Greg and nothing to do with Nick. Nick, who was going to have to stay longer because of an injury.
Brody felt the guilt slide greasily around his gut, thinking about Nick and his broken foot. A foot that was delaying the progress of the kitchen, and he was solely to blame. If he hadn’t been trying to get a reaction out of Nick, then he wouldn’t, Brody was sure, have lost his grip on the door and dropped it onto his foot.
His lips quivered slightly at finally getting under Nick’s skin and the mask Nick slipped into place since Sunday night after their little incident in the car.
Kissing, it was kissing, and you can stop fooling yourself.
Brody scrunched up his nose at the annoying voice. Fuck. He’d lost control and given in to his urges. Urges that had been building for days and to his dismay, resulted in a blistering kiss that could have peeled the skin right off his body, it was so hot.
Bloodystinkinghell!
Brody clenched his sweaty hands at his sides, and blindly looking out the window, he stewed. He tried not to think about the imprint of Nick’s soft, lush mouth on his, the sweet taste of him, which had blown his mind.
Nick’s stoic behaviour and pretending he didn’t exist caused Brody to fight dirty, using everything in his armoury to get a response. He chewed his lip, regretting the pain he’d caused Nick when he’d got close, making sure he could feel the heat of his body. He just wished he’d done it when Nick’s hands weren’t holding the stupid door. He couldn’t find it in himself to regret Nick’s reaction or even Aaden’s twenty questions wanting to know what the fuck he was up to. His adamant denial there was anything between them and then subsequent confession about Luke made him wonder if Aaden had believed him.
Because I sure as hell don’t!
He ignored these thoughts when something nagged its way to the front of his mind.
Brody’s brows pinched together, his eyes narrowing in concentration.
Where had Nick been when I confessed about Luke to Aaden? Had Nick been on the stairs the whole time I’d been talking to Aaden?
The questions were derailed faster than a train coming off the tracks when a picture popped up from after his confession to Aaden: Nick surrounded by all the colours of the rainbow. A rainbow of silk, satin, and lace. Fuckity fuck!
It had floored him. His body had tingled by the shockwaves of fire along his skin.
Brody wet his lips, remembering how it rendered him speechless, his mind totally shutting down, t
hough it would seem not his body. His cock reminded him how much it enjoyed the possibilities by nudging at the fabric of his briefs.
He’d cursed his shell shock as it gave Nick time to escape and Aaden time to follow, leaving Brody gawking up the stairs like a teenager with his first crush. Then to top it off, last night his overactive imagination got more than it bargained for when he’d found Nick in a heap looking hotter than hot in a flimsy scrap of white lace and silk. His golden hairless skin and corded body offered the perfect showcase for the delicate fabrics.
His fingers tingled, and his body hummed from the memory of the fleeting touch he’d got of those gorgeous manties.
Holyfuckinghell.
Brody dragged in a deep breath, hoping it would calm his sudden pounding heart. He tightened his fists even more at his stupidity. His mind had been blown to smithereens at seeing Nick wearing those scraps of lace. And wasn’t that the problem? He’d been so lost in his desire to feel, to touch, that after they’d accidentally banged heads, he’d needed a minute and left Nick. He’d hoped to collect himself enough that he wouldn’t scare Nick with what he’d wanted to do to him.
Only Nick, the fucker, had locked him out. He didn’t even want to consider how long he had waited for Nick to open his bedroom door while he’d sat on the stairs booking his return flights.
Brody forced his aching fingers to relax, shaking out his arms. He took a breath, exhaling, trying to calm down. He looked down at the clothes laid in front of him. He gave himself a mental shake, and ignoring his aching cock, he changed his briefs and shrugged on his loose Levi 501 jeans, hoping they’d conceal his problem. He donned a clean grey T-shirt, leaving it hanging over his pelvis.
He picked up his dirty underwear, gazing at the ever-growing pile of washing on the floor he had nowhere to sort. He gave a disgruntled snort. Pretending it wasn’t there, he searched for his trainers. He bent, slipping them on. He grabbed the phone off the bed, quickly shoving it into his pocket.
He stood, ruffling his untidy hair before walking out of the bedroom into the empty hall.
Brody
Brody paused in the hall, listening carefully to hear if anyone else was up. He quirked his lips in pleasure at the total silence in the house, happy he didn’t have to face Aaden with all the weirdness floating around in his head. He wasn’t convinced he’d be able to keep his thoughts to himself right then, and Aaden had an uncanny knack of reading him.
He glanced at the other two closed bedroom doors with mixed emotions. His feet moved without his permission as he stepped towards Nick’s door. Brody forced himself to stop. His hand hesitated, hovering over the pewter handle.
Would it still be locked?
The question had his palm twitch as he was tempted to try the handle to find out. The problem was, what will I do if it’s open? He snatched his hand back as if that handle was on fire, burning him.
I don’t have a fucking clue!
Yes, you do, you big fucking liar!
He disregarded the voice that continued to sound way too much like Aaden when it called him a liar repeatedly.
He went to the bathroom, taking care of his morning ritual before silently walking down the wooden stairs. He headed straight to the half-done kitchen, where his rumbling stomach sent him to the tiny fridge housed on the counter. He grinned when he found the makings for a fry-up. His smile wavered when he eyed the two-ring hob that sat on a wooden workbench in the corner of the kitchen.
He gave a heartfelt sigh at the makeshift kitchen area, and he remembered why he never went camping. He hated roughing it.
It was bad enough with all the dirt and dust Aaden and he had made over the last few weeks, sanding. Thankfully they’d finished that, along with the varnishing of the remaining floors and staircase. They then spent several hours damp dusting in an attempt to remove as much of the grime that they’d created. And yes, it looked great now, but it still seemed to him there was grit covering everything he’d brought with him.
Chuckling, he glanced at the half-done kitchen, that looked like a bomb had hit it. The half-demolished side mocked the pristine side. It was as if someone had put an invisible demarcation line through the kitchen, making sure the bomb split the kitchen into two parts. He stilled, his thoughts pulling him up short when he worried his lip. Was that like me, split in two; the part which fancied Luke and now another part that fancied Nick?
He grumbled, snorting at his own stupid questions.
His eyes rolled to the ceiling when it hit how much he didn’t find Luke’s type attractive anymore. He didn’t like where that thought was going. “Stupid arsehole,” Brody muttered to himself.
He pulled out the plastic plates they’d bought to use while the kitchen had been put on hold. Getting busy, he prepared breakfast. His mind drifted again towards a certain blond imp. Brody glared at the empty kitchen. No matter how hard he tried to will away last night’s pictures, his head appeared to be having none of it.
Brody rested his chin on his chest, closing his eyes. He took a deep breath of dusty air, coughing, but carried on when his body wouldn’t behave. He’d avoided contact with his rock-hard cock in the quick shower he’d had last night for that very reason. He didn’t want to be having these feelings and thoughts about his best friend’s brother.
Again, a voice that sounded too much like Aaden shouted, “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”
Fuck it. It’s Squirt, for Pete’s sake!
We’ve known each other for twenty years, for fuck’s sake, and never once have I had this problem. Why now?
As that thought registered, a distant memory tried to surface of when he’d first met Nick. He searched his brain, but he came up blank.
He shook off the odd feeling something was blocking him when his head started to pound thinking about that time in his life. He felt his muscles tense, and for some reason, his body readied itself for a fight. His pulse started to spike; his hands balled at his sides while his breath became choppy.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Brody lifted his head and opened his eyes, focusing on the kitchen, trying to pull himself together. He bent and stretched to reach for the frying pan tucked under the completed cupboards under the brown-flecked marble top. Brody found his hand caressing the smooth British elm wood door before pulling out the pan. He allowed himself to be distracted by the artistry.
He noted the dark brown and gold-flecked marble made the wood glow like warm honey. The craftsmanship was evident in every dip and undulation carved into the wood. The Celtic knot design, though simple, allowed the strength of the wood to shine through. Brody could admit he’d had his doubts about Nick’s skills when Aaden had bragged about how talented he was. He’d viewed Nick’s tiny stature, not seeing how he could manage to build and create using such big pieces of wood.
Nick wasn’t small or weak.
He attempted to stop his mind from going there, even as his arms remembered how perfect Nick had felt wrapped in them. Or how right he’d felt when Nick clung to him briefly before they’d butted heads and he’d foolishly left the room.
He paused, inhaling.
He lessened his tight grip on the frying pan when he felt the metal ridge dig into his palm. He carefully placed the pan down, closing off his mind. He focused on making breakfast and shutting off the jumbled opinions his brain wanted to throw at him.
Brody sorted through everything, wiping down the side, ridding it of any dust. Spying his phone he’d dropped on the wooden bench, he grabbed it. Searching through his music to distract himself, he sighed in pleasure as Ray Lamontagne sang about “Trouble.”
Not letting his mind wander to why the words were ringing a bell of truth, he focused on the smell of frying bacon. It lifted his mood as he hummed along with the music. He worked quickly, putting the small grill on to keep the food hot on the metal platter he’d found in a box. He worked efficiently, commandeering the put-up table that Nick was using to cut wood. He set it up for four people before finish
ing off the eggs.
He stalked out the kitchen, hurrying up the stairs. He listened outside Aaden’s room. Hearing the low hum of voices, he knocked hard. He waited a beat, but when no one answered, he shouted,
“Get your lazy backsides out of bed. Come on. I made a big Christmas breakfast for us all on the poxy two-ringed cooker. So the least you can do is come and eat it.”
Aaden’s shouted they’d be with him in five. Brody gave Nick’s door a wary glance, knowing Aaden would probably drag Nick out of bed, which was perhaps the safest thing, considering his mixed emotions.
Brody headed to his bedroom to grab the presents he’d bought. As he rummaged through the bags on the floor, it took a second to register Aaden’s shout.
“Nick. Nick. You all right in there?”
He hesitated, releasing his teeth when he found himself clenching his jaw. He heard a key rattle and then a door open in the hall.
Aaden’s angry growl, “fuck, Nick. What are you trying to do?” Reached him. Brody dropped his parcels and hurried out into the hall. His heart jackrabbited in his chest. His ears buzzed when Nick’s musical voice answered.
“Christina fixed it. See, it’s as good as new.”
Brody rushed through the open door, just in time to watch Nick bounce on his foot. Brody ignored Aaden’s loud curse. His mouth opened then shut. His eyes widened.
What the fuck is this?
But more importantly, who the hell is Christina?
Brody heard rather than saw Greg charge into the bedroom behind him. His eyes were fixed on a very healthy bare left leg, that Nick was currently standing on without a problem.
His mind whirring, the words were out before he could stop them. “What the fuck is going on here? Can someone explain to me who Christina is and how the hell she can fix broken bones?” His question, though softly spoken, was filled with steel. He aimed his furious glare at Aaden, too frightened to look at Nick for fear he’d go over and force the answers out of him with his bare hands wrapped around his neck.
