by M. C. Adams
‘You mean the Natural History Museum,’ I correct him, noticing that my speech is slurred. ‘And actually, you’re wrong again, because that building there is not a museum. It’s my house.’
Hunter does a double-take. ‘No way! Your house is epically big.’
‘It’s not bad,’ I say, grinning, searching my pockets for my keys.
I’m not surprised Hunter is impressed, really. I mean, this place is the culmination of many, many years of work. It looks so different to all the fancy, white Victorian terraces either side of us. Which are lovely, of course — I mean, this is Kensington, one of the most desirable postcodes in the city.
But my house is something rather special. Epic, as Hunter just said. It’s an old, listed building, that took all manner of planning permission applications in order to be able to refurbish. What was once a slightly dilapidated boarding house has been returned to its former grandeur with a contemporary twist. I’ve had the front sandblasted and completely restored, and I’ve added on a modern glass porch, and planted a row of fruit trees leading up to the front door. Mine’s the only house that’s set back from the road, giving it extra privacy, making it look even better. Yes. Even when I’m feeling drunk as a skunk I can still appreciate my own home.
‘Wait until you see the rest,’ I say, as I hold my key fob up to the gates. It beeps and flashes blue, letting me know I can push the gates open and we can enter.
‘You’re not exactly the humble type, are you?’ Hunter asks, as we walk up to the front door.
‘Why should I be?’ I say. ‘I designed this whole place. From the roof all the way down to the foundations.’
‘You designed it?’
‘Yes. I’m an architect.’ I push open the front door. ‘Welcome to my home.’
Hunter walks into the foyer and spins around, looking up at the ceiling, at the skylight I’ve installed in the dome ceiling. It took a lot of work, but I’ve got the lighting just right here so that you can still see the stars beyond the glass. Not too many of them are visible, what with this being London, and all the air pollution… but I’m working on that too. Designing affordable eco-homes to try and reduce humanity’s carbon footprint before it’s too late. I would explain all that to Hunter right now, but I feel a bit too tipsy to go into it.
‘So, do I get a grand tour then, or what?’ asks Hunter, grinning.
Oh god. It suddenly hits me that he’s actually going to be living here. A guest in my home. What if he doesn’t treat my residence with respect? What if he’s messy, or a hoarder, or has loud parties at night, or weird habits like, I don’t know… sleepwalking? I really do know almost nothing about him.
‘What is it? Why are you looking like that?’ Hunter asks. ‘You gonna puke?’
‘No,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘I’m drunk, but not that drunk, thankfully. Come on. Let me grab a glass of water and then I’ll show you around. We can start in the kitchen, in any case.’ I lead him through one of the many doorways leading off the main hallway, and introduce him to what’s actually my favourite room in the whole house.
‘Porcelain tiles with underfloor heating,’ I say, ‘marble counter tops and gold-plated taps.’ I point to the huge glass extension at the back of the kitchen, looking out onto a large garden. The extension contains my piècederésistance: a swimming pool.
‘Fuck me,’ marvels Hunter. ‘You’ve got a pool? Are you, like, a billionaire or something?’
Now, if I wasn’t drunk, I might try and be more modest about this, but the fact is, my inhibitions are low and I don’t care right now. ‘Uh, yeah,’ I say. ‘I made it onto the Sunday Times Rich List this year. I actually gained wealth after kicking my wife out of the house. Isn’t that wonderful?’
‘You’re kidding me, right? You’re a billionaire? Is that even a real thing? Do we even have billionaires in England?’
I laugh. ‘You’re a silly boy, Hunter,’ I say, downing my glass of water, and then taking him by the hand. ‘Come on. Let me show you the other rooms.’
‘This is fucking mad,’ says Hunter, when we enter the first living room. ‘You have a home cinema? Like, as in, an actual movie theatre in your house?’
‘It only seats twenty-five,’ I say, ‘but yes. I have my own cinema. I enjoy watching films now and then to unwind.’
‘Hey, me too,’ says Hunter, ‘I just go to the Odeon like the other ninety-nine percent.’
Oh dear. My shoulders slump a little. Hunter’s talking about the ninety-nine percent, which emphasises the fact that clearly I’m the one percent. I’m well aware how unfair the division of wealth is in this country. I bet Hunter thinks I don’t give anything back to the world, that I hog all those billions all to myself. Never mind. He’ll learn more about me in due course, I suppose. If I was to start listing all the ways I’m not a bad person to him right now it’d only sound disingenuous.
‘I have another living room across the hall,’ I say, letting Hunter take a peek inside. Mid-century furniture, chandeliers, LED perimeter lighting, an HEOS sound system. It’s elegant, classic, and modern, all at once.
‘There’s also a gym. And a games room,’ I say. ‘My wife was into snooker, so I incorporated a room for her into the design. I don’t really go in there any more.’
‘Well… I’m gob-smacked,’ says Hunter. ‘I could tell you were posh the second I met you, but this is some next level shit.’
Again, it feels like there’s an element of criticism in his voice.
‘I have a green energy provider,’ I offer defensively.
‘Okay,’ says Hunter. ‘That’s great. Well, it sounds like you’re proud of this place, and why shouldn’t you be? You designed the fucking thing. That’s… well… it’s the stuff of dreams, frankly. Although if I designed a house it’d probably fall down in a week.’
‘That’s what architectural degrees are for,’ I say, leading him up the stairs. ‘It’s one of the first things you learn at university: how to design houses that don’t fall down.’ This is meant to be a joke, but Hunter doesn’t laugh. Instead, he yawns.
‘Listen, I’m knackered, mate. Mind if we postpone the rest of the tour for now? You just let me know where I can crash, on the sofa or whatever.’
‘Goodness me, you’re not sleeping on the sofa. It’s a Darlings of Chelsea calfskin couch,’ I say, opening a door in the upstairs corridor. ‘This is where you’ll stay. It’s one of the guest bedrooms. The nicest one, I think, because it looks over the garden. And it has an en-suite.’
‘Of course it does,’ says Hunter.
I rub my eyes, feeling exhausted myself, and wonder if I’m reading too much into Hunter’s change of mood. I hope he’s not regretting our arrangement. I wanted him to like my place, and yes, I’ll admit, I was hoping he’d be impressed by it, but the more I’ve shown him, the more aloof he’s seemed. It’s disappointing, because I felt like we had a real connection tonight… until I let him into my world.
‘There’s a spare toothbrush in the bathroom cabinet,’ I say, hovering at the door. ‘Do you need anything else? Pyjamas?’
‘I sleep naked,’ he says with a shrug. He looks at me blankly, his green eyes no longer sparkling, and I take this as my cue to leave.
‘Well… goodnight,’ I say.
I pull the door shut and head for my own room.
I love this house. Maybe Hunter doesn’t love it, but what does that matter? He’s just here to protect me. And in protecting me, he’ll be protecting the house too. Not in the way I was intending when I went out to the club tonight. I completely bottled it when I tried to tell Hunter about my mission.
I wasn’t supposed to ask him to be my bodyguard. I was meant to ask him to be my husband…
But when push came to shove, I couldn’t do it. How could I? It’s completely ridiculous.
No. I asked Hunter to be my bodyguard instead, after he told me that he was a bouncer, and that will have to do.
I get ready for bed, and when I get under the covers, I noti
ce that the room is spinning slightly. I really shouldn’t have had so much to drink tonight, but it did feel good to let go for a while. I normally find that so hard to do. Earlier, at the club with Hunter, it felt natural. And when I pulled his thick body close to mine, I felt alive in a way I haven’t done for ages. I felt… a whole range of emotions. Emotions I’m not sure I understand yet.
I’ve spent too long being the spurned husband. It’s not like Charlotte and I even had a sexual relationship anyway. It was basically non-existent by the end. And I wouldn’t say I ever really loved her. I married her because I was at a stage in my life where it felt like that was the right thing to do. I’d dated and dated for years, and I’d never found the right person. I figured, in the end, that I was just that kind of person. Unable to fully give myself to someone. Unable to fall madly in love. Charlotte and I had been dating for a while, so when she asked me to marry her, I figured: why not? I might as well learn to be happy with what I’ve got. Plus, the way she framed it was more like a business arrangement, which appealed to me hugely.
And I was happy, to an extent. I was happy because Charlotte didn’t stop me from living the life I wanted to live: from designing houses, being ambitious and independent. Some wives like to squash those qualities in their husbands. Charlotte was an easy woman to marry because she left no mark on who I was. I was just me, and I happened to have her as a wife. It was simple. Until I found out she was cheating on me.
What I resent the most is losing myself in all this.
Meeting Hunter tonight made me realise that I haven’t really been ‘me’ for years. There’s the work me, yes, that’s always been there. Klein MacArthur, architect extraordinaire. But what about the rest of the time? Who am I? I haven’t really given myself the time to find out.
Now that Hunter’s here to watch over me, that’s something I can begin working on. Finding out what makes me tick. Starting tomorrow morning. It’s a Sunday, thank goodness, so I don’t have to go to work. Normally, I’d spend the day doing some work anyway — that’s how I got where I am today. My hobby for the past decade has been work, work, and more of the same. Well, as Hunter would say: fuck that!
Tomorrow is all about Klein.
Whoever he really is.
Funny thing, though… Even while I’m trying to figure out who I am, and what I really want, it’s not myself I keep thinking of. It’s Hunter. In fact, the last thing I see, just before I drift off, is Hunter’s face, and those sparkling green eyes looking at me, really looking at me, looking deep into my soul.
And then, it’s just blackness.
Then: somewhere in the blackness, there’s a rustle. And the sound of someone breathing.
My eyes snap open.
There’s the black outline of a person standing over me.
‘Hunter?’ I croak drowsily. ‘Is that you?’
‘You’re not safe here,’ whispers a hoarse voice. It’s the voice of a man I don’t know.
‘Help!’ I scream. ‘Help me!’
‘There’s no-one here to help you,’ whispers the stranger. ‘It’s just you and me.’
At that moment, I hear my door burst open, and footsteps rush into the room. I hear two mouths breathing heavily now, and a scuffle on the carpet, and then I hear flesh being punched, hard.
‘Hunter!’ I cry out.
‘On my way,’ he yells, and I feel the weight of a body jumping onto the bed, pressing down on me.
‘Fuck,’ he pants, ‘is that just you in the bed? I thought someone else was here.’
He’s crouching over me, on all fours. It’s very dark, but I can make out his outline now.
‘It’s just me,’ I say, reaching out for him, expecting to pat him on the arm, but what I feel underneath my fingers is smooth, bare skin.
‘Oh my god!’ I gasp. ‘Are you naked?’
‘Uh-huh,’ says Hunter. I don’t need to see his face clearly to know that he’s grinning. ‘Told you I sleep naked… I just knocked a guy unconscious on your bedroom floor wearing nothing but my birthday suit.’
This situation is so intense, so bizarre, I can’t help but giggle. Hunter begins to laugh too, collapsing over me in a heap and laughing so hard now that I can feel his hot breath on my neck, feel the weight of his nude, muscular body pressing down on me.
‘Are you okay?’ he whispers into my ear.
‘I’m better now you’re here,’ I whisper back.
We stay like this for a moment, with him lying on top of me, as we feel each other’s breath on our skin, panting from the adrenaline and the fear and the sudden strangeness of the situation.
I hear Hunter swallow, and then feel his face move so that it’s right over mine.
I can smell him again now. White jasmine, and something else — mint, maybe. It’s a shockingly alluring scent for such a scruffy, down-to-earth bloke. I like that juxtaposition. Makes me realise that there’s more to him than the way he looks on the surface. I get the feeling that this young man is full of secrets.
‘Thank you, Hunter,’ I say. ‘I think you might have just saved my life.’
‘Nah,’ he says, looking down at me through the dim darkness. ‘He didn’t have a weapon on him. Reckon he was just sent here to scare you.’
‘Well, he certainly did that.’
Hunter hasn’t moved off the bed. He’s still lying on me. I can feel the weight of his crotch pushing against mine, even though there’s a duvet between us.
‘You, uh, you must be cold…’ I murmur.
‘I’m a warm person,’ he replies. ‘Always have been.’
‘That’s funny, because, uh, I’m a cold person.’
‘I could use someone like you to keep me cool in the summer,’ says Hunter softly.
Am I really about to say this? Never mind. Who cares? It’s the middle of the night, some guy is lying unconscious on my bedroom floor, and I’m still a little drunk, so… So what? ‘Well, Hunter,’ I say, ‘I could do with someone like you to keep me warm in the winter.’
‘Oh yeah?’ he asks. ‘You need warming up right now?’ I feel him push down a little harder on me, his groin pressing down on mine, and the blood rushes to my head. It rushes somewhere else, too.
‘I, uh, I, uh…’
‘Spit it out, mate,’ says that eerie male voice behind us. ‘Tell him you want to fuck and then we can all get on with the show.’
‘Fuck you!’ bellows Hunter, leaping off me. ‘You weren’t meant to come round yet, you piece of shit. Take that!’ I hear flesh against flesh now, and then another scuffle on the carpet. I grope for my phone on my bedside table, punching in the numbers 999. But by the time that I’m done, Hunter’s chased the intruder out of my bedroom and down the stairs.
I leap out of bed, grabbing a heavy decorative candlestick on a plinth in the hallway, and running down after Hunter.
But then I hear the door shut, and see Hunter peering out of the peephole.
‘That’s it! Run, you bastard!’ he calls, then he turns to look at me. And he bursts out laughing. ‘You planning on killing someone with that?’ he asks. ‘This isn’t a game of Cluedo, you know.’
My cheeks redden. I’m not just blushing because of the candlestick I’ve got raised in the air like some kind of caveman’s club, though. I’m blushing because down here, in the moonlight, I can see Hunter stark naked.
His body is so smooth, so massive. He has a wide, strong chest, with dark nipples — darker than mine — and skinny, angular hip bones. There’s not an ounce of fat on him, but there’s a soft solidness to him that makes me want to reach out and take hold of him. And then, hanging between his legs, below a mound of deep black hair, is a thick, heavy cock that swings gently as he rocks from side to side. He’s so manly, so masculine, and he looks totally comfortable in his lean body, not at all ashamed of standing there naked — and why should he?
One of the most striking things about him is his tattoos, which curve around his biceps, across his tight chest, elegant yet brutal all at onc
e.
‘I, uh…’ I stammer. ‘I should go… back upstairs… to bed. Do you think we’re safe now?’
‘Yeah, I think we’re safe. Looks like you forgot to lock up properly when we came in tonight. I’ve sorted it now.’
‘Oh gosh, that was stupid of me,’ I say. I’m breathing heavily. I feel as though there’s something I want to ask Hunter, but I can’t let myself do it.
Whatever it is I’m feeling, it’s probably down to the fact that Hunter just saved me from a horrible fate. I’m experiencing so many emotions right now — how do I know which ones to trust?
Besides… I think I’m still tipsy. I should keep my lips sealed shut. Now isn’t the time for doing anything rash.
‘No problem,’ says Hunter. ‘You get some rest. I’m gonna call the cops and let them know what happened. That jerk was wearing gloves so there’s no point taking fingerprints, but it’s a good idea to report it. They might still want to come over and check the place out anyway.’
‘Yes, of course,’ I say. ‘You sure you don’t want me to stay up with you?’
Hunter walks over to me, and I try not to stare at his pendulous cock, swinging from side to side as he approaches. ‘Get some rest, okay? I’ll be close by if you need me.’
He lays an arm on my shoulder, and reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. ‘Great pyjamas, by the way.’
I laugh. All my pyjamas are ridiculously nerdy. These are red and blue, check-pattern pyjamas from Bonsoir of London. An extravagant purchase, but I love the feeling of linen on my skin when I’m in bed. Or any time, come to think of it.
‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘And uh… great… body.’
Hunter arches a brow at me, and then runs his fingers through his hair. He looks as though he’s about to say something, but then crosses his arms, and says: ‘Go on. Try to get some sleep. You’re safe now.’
I nod, and turn to walk up the stairs. Then, I look back at Hunter, and say: ‘Don’t forget to put some clothes on before the police get here.’
Hunter gives me a cheeky smile, and says: ‘Don’t worry. This body’s for your eyes only.’
