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On My Knees

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Tristram La Roche

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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and
incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be
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Published By:
Etopia Press
P.O. Box 66
Medford, OR 97501
http://www.etopiapress.com

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All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or
reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission,
except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and
reviews.

First Etopia Press electronic publication: September 2011
http://www.etopia-press.net

~ Acknowledgements ~

My thanks to Julia Kavan for her friendship and help

during the writing of this novella. Also to my editor,

Annie Melton, for another great job and lots of

entertainment on the way.

~ Dedication ~

For Andy

Chapter One

Mike sat down on the crate and lowered his head

into his hands. He bit his bottom lip, but the tears
came. His shoulders heaved. An empty sickness
slithered around his stomach and gripped like a
clenched fist. How? How did this happen to me? It was
the same question he’d asked over and over again.
How, in such a short space of time, could things have
gone so wrong? He’d lost his business and his home

in what seemed like a snap of his fingers.

He cried until there were no tears left and his

throat felt like it had been throttled. He dried his eyes
on the heel of his hand and pushed himself onto his
feet. What a dump. He scanned the room, ignoring
the boxes and suitcases to scrutinize the dismal space.
What a fucking shit hole.

The fake fireplace riled him, standing there

against the wall pretending to be something it wasn’t.
The wood effect surround, dark and depressing,
screwed to the wall with brackets that stood out like a

boil on Mr. Gay UK’s face. And the laminate onyx-
pattern hearth just taunted him to take a hammer to
it. Jesus.

When he’d read in the details that the living room

had a wood floor, it had given him some hope that he
might find one or two redeeming features. But it
wasn’t wood, it was laminate, and in the darkest shit
brown he’d ever seen. As if to ram home just how far
he’d fallen, the ceiling was covered with the same

anaglypta paper his grandmother had favored, with
the same crappy polystyrene molding to round off the
edges. Even the molding had been badly fitted and a
missing section leered at him like a gap in a toothy
grin.

He stepped over a pile of bags to reach the

window and ran his finger down the side of the
frame. Not only was it PVC, which he despised, but it
hadn’t been cleaned for years. The filth was
ingrained, and probably no amount of scrubbing
would get it out. He couldn’t believe that the agent
had refused to have the house cleaned. When Mike

managed properties, every house was scrubbed from
top to bottom before a new tenant moved in. This was
a disgrace, made worse by the fact that he hadn’t had
the chance to clean it himself before taking up
residence.

Beyond the muck-splattered glass pane, a paved

yard stared back at him. Someone had done a bad do-
it-yourself job, and every concrete flag tilted in a
different direction as if there’d been an earthquake.

Waist high weeds, turning brown now, sprouted from
all the joints.

He picked his way through the clutter and went

to the kitchen. He would need hot water to start
cleaning. He planned to begin with the bedroom and
get his bed ready. At least with somewhere to sleep

he would feel that he’d made some progress.

He stared at the boiler and wondered how old it

was, then pulled out one of the kitchen drawers to
look for the instruction manual. When he’d been
through every drawer and cupboard without finding
any instructions, he lashed out and kicked the boiler.
The front panel fell off and hit him on the shin.
“Fuck!”

He set the panel aside and examined the knobs,

switches and dials. Nothing set off any alarm bells so
he switched the boiler on. A faint whirring sound was
followed by deadly silence. He repeated the process

several times, turning on the hot faucet in the sink but
nothing happened. Eventually, he had to accept that
whatever the boiler needed, he didn’t have it.

The last thing Mike wanted was to be seen by the

agency as a nuisance. He always hated bad clients
and knew how things looked from the other side of
the tracks. But it wasn’t right that they’d let him move
in without at least checking the boiler. He would
never have done that. Never did that.

Thank God the phone had been connected on

time, otherwise he would have had to get in the car
and drive the five miles to the agent’s office. He’d
discovered after signing the lease that the house sat in
a black spot with no cell signal. The secretary
promised to get someone out to him the following

morning, adding that she’d call again at some point to
confirm the time.

If Kurt had been there he would have had the hot

water flowing in no time. But Kurt wasn’t there. Kurt
hadn’t been with him for over six months, and Mike
was still coming to terms with the fact that he
wouldn’t be seeing him again.

Mike sighed and filled the kettle. He went to plug

it in and realized that it had a European two-pin plug
on it and the socket was, naturally, a three pin. He
banged the plug on the counter. “Shit!”

He went back into the living room and

rummaged among the boxes until he found a pan. He
took it back to the kitchen, filled it with water from
the faucet and slapped it onto the stove. He made
sure the pan was centered on the hotplate, then
opened the kitchen door.

Mike stood on the step and lit a cigarette. He’d

given up smoking four years earlier but the recent
stress had weakened him. At times he felt so low, so
despondent, that he’d find himself wishing that the
tobacco would send him to an early grave. He took a

deep drag on the cigarette, held the poison in his
lungs then blew it out noisily. He looked out at the
row of garages, all attached to each other in two long
rows, with the houses hiding behind them. All the
place lacked was a gate and some razor wire.

The sun was on its last legs and it would be dark

before too long. Very dark in fact, as the village had
no street lighting. No lighting, no shop, no post office,
no bus service, no mains gas and, of course, no cell
phone signal.

But it did have a pub.
By the time Mike had cleaned the bedroom as

best he could and assembled the bed base, it was all
he could do to drag the heavy mattress into position.
He could have murdered a pint, but the thought of
going out without a shower held him back. For a
moment he considered boiling pans of water to make
a bath but it was too depressing. If he could find the

corkscrew, he knew where to lay his hands on a bottle
of wine. As for food, at least he’d had the foresight to
stop for a decent lunch and buy some ready-made
sandwiches for the evening.

After ten minutes of rifling through boxes, he

withdrew the cork from a bottle of Fleury. The sofa
and chairs were still entombed in brown paper and
bubble wrap, but another packing case drawn up in
front of the one he’d been sitting on earlier sufficed as
a table. He took a big gulp of wine, set his glass down

in front of him, and ripped the wrapper off the
sandwich.

He’d forgotten how vile the pre-packed, gas-

station sandwiches tasted and grimaced as he rolled it
around his mouth. He peered at the sandwich, lifted a
corner of the bread, stuck it back down again and

tossed the sandwich onto the packing case. He wasn’t
very hungry anyway. In the bedroom he laid the
pillows on the bed. His on the left side, Kurt’s on the
right. He still hadn’t broken the habit after almost
seven months. More than once he’d almost thrown
Kurt’s pillows away but each time he put them back
in their place. He knew that clinging to the last
vestiges of hope was a mistake, but he just couldn’t
let go.

He undressed and dumped his clothes on Kurt’s

corner of the bed. The chill air made him shiver and
he rubbed the gooseflesh on his arms. If only the

fucking boiler worked. He did have a small electric
room heater but, like everything else, it had a
European plug.

He jumped into bed and pulled the duvet tight

round his neck. First night in a new home. The word
stung like a hornet. His home was gone forever. He
stared at the flat, white ceiling. In Provence he’d lived
in an old farmhouse with high, beamed ceilings. It
had character and charm. A far cry from this soulless
builder’s box. He reached out and switched off the

light. The intensity of the darkness smacked him in
the face. Not a glimmer came from any direction, and
if he hadn’t known the location of the window he
could have believed he’d been sealed up ready for
burial. The blackness seemed to press right up against
his nose, and he found it hard to breath. He inhaled

deeply, slow regular breaths to calm his nerves. It was
then that he noticed the smell. That unmistakable
fusty scent of damp and mildew.

Mike turned onto his left side and pulled one of

Kurt’s pillows to him. He buried his face in it and
inhaled. Kurt’s smell had faded but Mike could still
find it. With his eyes closed he imagined they were
lying there together, Kurt’s strong arms wrapped
around him and his breath wafting him gently to
sleep. Mike felt his cock moving, growing against his
leg. He remembered Kurt’s touch, how he could
always get Mike hard no matter what. Mike moved

one hand down his stomach until he felt the tip of his
cock brush against the side of his hand. He hadn’t
had sex since Kurt left, but this didn’t feel right. Not
here, not now.

He sat up and switched on the light. The room

looked even more miserable than before and Kurt’s
empty space filled him with sadness.

Mike had a novel stowed with his things, so he

nipped into the chilly living room to get it. A few
pages usually cured insomnia. When he got back into

bed he bunched up his pillows against the wall and
dug his shoulder into them. He tugged the duvet
round his neck and left one hand out to hold the
book. He fumbled the book open and began to read.

Then the light went out. Mike slammed the book

shut and hurled it into the darkness.

Chapter Two

Mike woke before his alarm went off. His eyes

snapped open and awareness hit him like a high-
speed train. This was his new life. Provence, the
business, the highlife had all gone. His stomach
churned.

The sun had risen, but the morning was as

gloomy as the waiting room in a funeral parlor. He
reached out and flicked the light switch up and down
several times. Nothing.

He found his clothes from the day before in a

heap on the floor at the foot of the bed. He climbed
into them and wandered into the hallway, scratching
his head. He opened the hall cupboard and peered
through the gloom at the dim glow on the face of the
electric meter. What the fuck? The girl at the agency
had assured him there was credit on the meter. As far
as he could see it was in debit by £10. He had never

lived anywhere with a pre-pay meter. They were for
poor people, for God’s sake. Now he had to find out
how to add credit to it. Something about a key, he

thought. Until he did, he’d have no heating and no
hot water. Even if the repairman did show up.

Unable to make even a cup of tea, Mike grabbed

his coat, checked that his wallet, cell phone and car
keys were in the pockets, and left the house by the
front door. When he’d crossed the threshold the

evening before he’d been fed up, but now he felt
lower than he could ever remember. It was too early
for the shops and far too early for the bloody agency,
but at least the car had heat and he might find a
greasy spoon serving tea or bad coffee if he headed
out to the A64. The main highway from the East
Coast had more than its fair share of trucks in the
early hours. And afterwards, he’d go buy some new
plugs for the appliances and some bleach. Lots of
bleach.

He started the engine and reversed out onto the

road. Then he remembered the electric meter key that

had to be charged up, so he turned back onto the
tarmac in front of the garage and ran back into the
house. He found the key hanging out of the meter,
and hurried back to the car.

He floored the accelerator and the car sped up the

hill towards the center of the village. He passed the
pub on his left and made a mental note that a public
phone box stood in the corner of the car park. So far
the boiler and the electricity had failed, who could tell
when the phone would pack up?

In no time at all he’d reached open countryside.

On the right, empty flat fields stretched out like a
muddy canvass, spattered here and there with
rambling farm buildings and stables. On the left, and
higher than the road, crop fields rose up to obliterate
the horizon. Ahead, in the distance, the Yorkshire

Wolds undulated like a heavy sea in the early light.
Even as low cloud scudded across the horizon, Mike
thought how stunning the landscape was and he
caught himself smiling. Once he got settled, he’d have
himself some outings.

At just before ten o’clock Mike unlocked the front

door and stepped back into the house. He stopped
and sniffed the air. He’d forgotten all about the musty
smell but now it hit him again. After inserting the
newly charged key in the electric meter he went
straight to the kitchen and set about changing plugs.

The place probably hadn’t been heated properly for
years. No wonder it was damp. He looked at the
boiler and sneered.

The boiler man arrived at eleven. He seemed

somehow familiar to Mike, a face he was sure he’d
seen before but couldn’t imagine where. His name
was Pete, and Mike assumed they were both about
the same age, but Pete was shorter and fitter than

Mike. He also had a full head of chestnut hair with no
gray. Maybe he had no worries.

Mike left Pete to work his magic on the boiler

while he set about cleaning and unpacking. At least
he had electricity, and with any luck, tonight the place
would be more like…be more comfortable. He might

even get up to the pub, which he now knew was
called The Plough, and have his first British pint in
years.

The thought of beer dried Mike’s tongue and he

went to make some tea. Pete was bent over with his
head deep in the boiler. His firm ass stuck out into the
kitchen and Mike scooted around it, sneaking a look
out of the corner of his eye.

“Will you have a cuppa?” asked Mike, switching

on the kettle.

“Thanks, I’d be glad of one.” Pete withdrew his

head from the boiler and stood up. His expression

foretold bad news.

“Oh, problem?”
“You need a new pump. I can fix most things, but

this is well and truly done for.”

“So, how long will it be? I have no hot water, you

see. There’s no back-up immersion heater.”

Pete shook his head and looked at the nameplate

on the top of the boiler. “I carry parts for most models
in the van, but this is old.”

Mike threw his hands in the air. “Don’t tell me it’s

obsolete.”

“Oh no, not at all. But it might take a couple of

days to get my hands on parts for it.”

Mike felt like he’d fallen through the floor. “A

couple of days? Aw, shit. What am I supposed to

do?”

“Hey, I’m sorry and all that, but it’s not my fault,

you know.”

Mike sighed and raised a palm. “I know. I’m

sorry. I’m just pissed off with that agency. They
should have had this checked before I got here.” He
passed a mug of tea to Pete.

“You’re a gentleman.” Pete slurped at the tea and

stared at Mike. His brown hair fell forwards to cover
his forehead.

“I’m sorry, do you need sugar?”
“It’s fine, thanks. Couldn’t be better. I gave up

sugar in tea years ago.” Pete slurped again without
taking his eyes off Mike. “It’s just that I have this idea
I know you from somewhere.”

“Really? I can’t imagine where. I’ve been abroad

for years.” Mike shifted from one foot to the other.

Pete’s eyes widened. “Mason. Mr. Mason the

agency said.”

Mike nodded. “And?”
“That’s it!” Pete’s face broke into a wide smile.

“Michael Mason. It is, isn’t it? Michael Mason.”

Mike almost spilled his tea, but now as he looked

more closely at Pete he began to understand that
earlier glimmer of recognition. The blue eyes were the
same. And if the hair were longer… “Peter
Bickerdyke? Peter?”

Chapter Three

Pete grasped Mike’s hand and pumped it up and

down. He had a grip like a vice. “Everyone calls me
Pete now, Michael.”

“Mike. Seems our names get shorter as we get

older.” Mike took his hand back and flexed his
fingers.

Of all the people to come and find him in these

reduced circumstances it had to be Pete. Despite his
effusiveness, he hadn’t exactly been a friend. Mike’s
family had always been a bit aloof, and ashamed as
he was to admit it, Mike had rather looked down on
Pete and his brother. Pete and Jack had not been
academic types and had languished in the lower
classes, while Mike had been a rising star destined for
dizzy heights. The man would no doubt be on his
phone as soon as he stepped out of the door, telling
everyone that he’d bumped into snobbish Michael

Mason living in a hovel.

“Fancy you turning up here,” Pete said. “The last

I heard you’d gone abroad to make your fortune. You
always had ambition, I remember that.”

Mike cleared his throat. “I did. I was in the South

of France for over ten years.”

Pete let out a low whistle and shook his head.

“South of France, eh? So what the hell are you doing
back in these parts?”

Mike wondered the same, several times an hour.

“Things change.” He stared at his feet as if he would
find inspiration written on his shoes.

“What were you doing down there? Something

exciting, if the old Michael’s anything to go by.”

“A bit of this and that. Some yacht charter, some

property management. Tourist stuff, you know.” He
looked up. Pete’s face was all curiosity, his blue eyes
sparkled like the Mediterranean on a sunny day.

“Well, you must have good reason to leave that

behind.” Pete paused, quite clearly hoping for a
revelation. “This must be quite a culture shock.”

That was an understatement if ever Mike heard

one and Pete’s appearance only added to the
confusion. For the life of him, Mike couldn’t
understand why Pete was being so friendly, almost as
if he was pleased to see him. His blue eyes shone
beneath the chestnut hair that flopped over his brow.

“It’s the cold I feel more than anything,” said

Mike, “so I need that boiler fixed as soon as you can.
Am I really going to have to wait two days?”

“I’ll tell you what.” Pete bent down, giving Mike

another view of his firm ass and broad shoulders, and
began tidying his tools into his toolbox. “Since it’s

you, I’ll drive over to the supplier in Manchester now
and get a pump. I’ll be back late afternoon and should
have you up and running for tea time.”

Mike felt a pang of guilt. “That seems a bit of a

trek—”

“Not at all. I can’t have my old mate Michael

freezing his balls off, can I?” He chuckled and
snapped the lid of his toolbox shut.

“But what about your other jobs?” Mike asked,

his eyes roaming over Pete’s athletic body.

“The rest of my day would be sitting in the office

doing the VAT returns.” He got to his feet and looked

directly at Mike’s eyes. “Don’t worry. I’m not a one-
man band, you know. If I want to look after my old
friend, I can and will.”

“OK. If you’re sure. Thanks very much. I owe you

one.” Mike thought of ways to repay Pete and
shocked himself. He realized that he was attracted to
the man whose torso and arms seemed to be made
from steel.

Pete headed for the door. “Just have the kettle on

when I get back.”

Mike returned to the kitchen and leaned on the

counter top. He gazed out of the window at the path.
His feelings of relief that the boiler would be fixed
before the day was out were tempered with
uneasiness. Pete had no need to make that offer, and

Mike was grateful, of course, but seeing his old school
acquaintance under these circumstances was not what
he really wanted.

Mike boiled water and set about cleaning. At least

Pete would be able to see that he had standards. As
he wrapped a cloth around a curtain pole he thought
of Jack, Pete’s brother, in the school showers after
games. He had a really fat cock that hung halfway
down to his knees and Mike had often had to hide a
burgeoning erection under his towel. Mike wondered
if Pete was hung the same as his brother. In other
respects he was much the same, with similar height

and coloring. After all these years their builds could
be different, but back then, they had been virtually
identical.

As Mike cleaned his way through the house, he

realized he was singing. He didn’t know when
exactly he’d started, but the more he thought about it,
the clearer it became that the gloom had lifted a bit.
Maybe the old saying about cleaning being
therapeutic was true.

He heated up some more water.

Considering the circumstances, Mike had made

good progress by the end of the afternoon when Pete
returned with the new boiler pump.

“It’s looking better already,” said Pete, making

for the kitchen. “Smells fresh, too.”

“I should hope so. I’ve been at it all afternoon.”
Pete turned and gave him a wink. “Have you,

indeed?” He chuckled quietly and began unpacking
the pump.

Mike leaned on the kitchen door and watched as

Pete began the repair. When he knelt on the floor
Pete’s waistband scooped down to reveal the crease
between his buttocks. He had pale skin with a light
down that formed a golden rivulet trickling down his
back to the crack between his buttocks. His narrow
waist tapered up to broad shoulders and his muscular
arms ended in great big hands.

“How’s your brother. Jack, wasn’t it?”
Pete seemed to work harder and didn’t turn

around. “Of course, you won’t have heard. Jack died.
Almost four years ago to the day.”

“Oh, no!” Mike felt more distressed than he

thought he should. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. These things happen. Life

has to go on. It comes to us all, one day.” Pete grunted
as he tightened a nut.

“You sound so bloody Yorkshire. Just like your

dad used to,” said Mike. He walked to the sink and
leaned against the counter, folding his arms across his
chest. “Mum and dad OK?” He hoped they hadn’t
died, too, or the conversation would grind to a halt.

“They’re fine. They live in Spain now. Have done

for…let’s see…nigh on seven years.”

Spain. It seemed just about right for Jean and John

Bickerdyke. Mike remembered they always took Pete
and Jack to Spain for their annual holidays.
“Whereabouts did they go to?”

“Benidorm. Well, just outside. You’ll remember

them, I’m sure,” Pete rummaged in his toolbox and
selected a long screwdriver, “always went to
Benidorm. Christ, me and Jack were so sick of it we
were glad when we were old enough to stay at
home.”

Mike laughed and uncrossed his arms. “I

remember.”

“Not like you. You lot always went to fancy

places like Egypt and stuff. God, I was so jealous of
you.”

“Jealous?”
“Yeah, you always seemed to have better things

than us. Any new gadget out and you had it first.
And when we did get anything, it was one for me and
Jack to share, and he always had first try, being the
elder.”

“That’s the advantage of being an only child, but

I’d have foregone all the holidays and presents to
have a brother.”

Pete chuckled and shook his head. “Never

satisfied with what we’ve got, are we?”

No, we’re not, thought Mike. He watched Pete fix

the boiler and then as he was clearing his tools away
Mike said, “It must have been hard on your parents,
losing Jack.”

“Not really. I think mum felt it a bit, but not dad.

Hard bastard.”

“Oh?” The shock left Mike without words.
“They’d drifted apart. Differences of opinion. By

the time they went to live in Spain Jack wasn’t even
on nodding terms with them.”

“But you two? You and Jack?”
“We were fine. We had things in common.”
“Well, you were close enough in age.” Mike

rubbed his chin. “Must have been tough for you.”

Pete closed his toolbox and bowed his head. “It

was. I miss having him around.” He looked up at
Mike. His eyes sparkled with moisture. “After he’d
gone I realized that I’d never bothered to make any
close friends. Plenty of acquaintances, if you know
what I mean, but no friends. That’s why I threw
myself into the business. It kept my mind occupied
and beat the boredom.”

“So, you didn’t marry? No kids?”

“I almost married.”
“Almost?”
“I got cold feet. Called it off at the last minute.

Such a bloody scene, I can’t tell you.”

After listening to Pete, Mike began to feel less

sorry for himself. Despite the way people often read

him as selfish and ambitious, he had a soft center and
caring for others came naturally to him. “And has the
business gone well for you?”

Pete was on his feet now, brushing off the knees

of his jeans. “Very. I’ve got thirty men working for me
and need to take on more. We’re worked off our feet,
despite the economic climate.”

A pang of jealousy lashed out at Mike. “Lucky

you.”

“Not really luck. I’ve worked damned hard.”
Mike had worked damned hard, too. “I’m sure

you have,” he said. “But this downturn has taken

hard workers with it.”

Pete’s eyes narrowed and his mouth formed a

thin horizontal line across his face. “Never got that
cuppa,” he said.

“I’m so sorry.” Mike reached for the kettle. “I’ll

make one now.”

“Never mind. I’m about done here. I just need to

test that it’s running well and I’ll be on my way.”

“But…if there’s no one waiting at home for you,

you can have a cup of tea, for heaven’s sake. It’s the

least I can do. No, listen; let me buy you something to
eat. I presume they do food up at the pub?”

“Really, Mike, another time.” Pete picked up his

toolbox and jangled his keys in his pocket.

“Do you anticipate me needing your services

again?”

“Never know with these old boilers.” He patted

the boiler lid. “Look. Take my card then you can call
me. The address is on there. If you’re in the area, drop
by.”

Mike studied the card. “I don’t know where that

is.”

“Just the other side of the A64. It’s on the map.”
Mike found a pen and paper and wrote down his

own telephone number. “I don’t have a card, sorry.”

Pete took the note and stuck it in his breast

pocket. “I’ll call you, Michael. It would be good to
chat over old times.”

Mike followed Pete to the front door. “Well, then.

I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”

Pete had already gone out into the yard. “I’ll just

take this to the van then I’ll come back and double
check it’s all working.” He carried on without
turning, but Mike detected a shakiness in Pete’s voice.

He hurried to the kitchen and set the kettle to

boil. By the time Pete returned, the tea was brewing in
the pot.

“Seems OK,” said Pete, calling from the hallway.

“The radiators are getting warm.” He arrived in the
kitchen and turned on the faucet. Water gushed into
the sink amid clouds of steam. “Looks like you’re in
business.”

“Thanks, Pete. I really appreciate you digging me

out of a hole. Now, this tea is ready so have one
before you go.” He rinsed the mugs under the tap and
set them on the counter.

Pete sighed. “OK.”
“We can take it through to the living room, if you

like. I’m afraid I can only offer a box to sit on, I
haven’t had chance to unpack the furniture yet.”

Pete took the mug of tea and went into the living

room. “Are you all on your own, Michael?”

Mike felt his stomach scrunch up into a ball. “At

the moment.”

“Ah. Wife joining you later, eh?” Pete slurped at

the tea.

“Not at all, no. I, um, never married.”
Pete raised an eyebrow and sat on a crate.

“Michael… Mike, sorry. I’ll get used to it—”

Mike dismissed him with a wave of his hand.
“It’s none of my business but…this doesn’t seem

right.”

“What do you mean?” Mike’s heart beat against

his ribs like a ball against a wall. He’d forgotten how

direct people could be in these parts. “What doesn’t
seem right?”

“You in this”—he swept an arm in wide

gesture—”place. Tell me to mind my own business if
you want, but is everything OK?”

Mike blew out a heavy sigh. “I knew coming back

here was a mistake.”

Pete frowned.
“I should have gone where no one knew me,

make a completely fresh start.”

“Fresh starts come after bad endings in my book.

Come on, Mike. What’s up? Maybe I can help.”

“I doubt it.” Mike sat on a crate opposite Pete and

scratched his head. “Look, I appreciate your concern,
but you really don’t need this.”

“Mike, listen to me. I know you didn’t ever

consider me a friend, not a real friend, but I had a soft
spot for you. I missed you when you went off without

so much as a goodbye.”

“Did you? I’m surprised to hear it. I thought you

were all glad to have rid of me.” So Pete was pleased
to see him. Mike shook his head in disbelief.

“I think most were, actually.” He smiled. “But not

me. Seeing you again has brought it all back. And the
mention of Jack…well, all I’ll say is, if I can be of any
help just ask.”

Mike thought about Pete’s offer. With Kurt gone,

Mike was well and truly on his own in every sense of

the word. Pete didn’t seem to be a bad chap. Just
because Mike hadn’t cared much for him when they
were young didn’t mean Pete hadn’t changed. Or that
Mike hadn’t changed, for that matter. It seemed
churlish to refuse a genuine kindness. And Mike
could feel himself being drawn to Pete. Maybe it was

just lust, seeing this gorgeous hunk within groping
distance, but Mike needed a friend.

Mike took a deep breath. “Shit, Pete. I can’t begin

to tell you.”

“One word after the other usually works.”
“Yeah, I know. But it’s a long story.” How much

could Mike reveal without sounding totally screwed
up? Pete seemed keen to help but at some point he’d
surely run for it.

“I’m in no hurry.” Pete got to his feet and

surveyed the clutter. “Look, do you need some help
in here, at least? All this unpacking?”

Mike looked at his sofa and chairs packaged up as

if they’d come from the saleroom. “Oh, God, that
would be fantastic. If you have time? The sofa is a
bugger to handle alone.”

“Come on, then,” Pete slapped Mike on the

shoulder. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Mike felt a shiver of excitement course through

his arm at Pete’s casual touch.

Pete worked like a Trojan, and in less than an

hour, all of Mike’s heavy items had been unpacked
and positioned as he wanted them.

“Thanks, Pete,” he said, flopping onto the sofa.

“I’d been dreading that.”

“Nothing to it. And I couldn’t leave you in that

mess, could I?”

“I really appreciate it.”
Pete stared at Mike with a half-smile on his face,

as if looking for something. A light stubble smudged
his square chin and lent him a tough, rugged look, yet
his eyes betrayed a sensitivity that seemed at odds
with Mike’s recollection of him. Pete had matured
like a decent wine and Mike wondered why on earth
there had been such a distance between them in the
past.

“Look, how about if you let me get dinner? We

can nip up to the pub—”

Pete did a policeman impression and raised a

hand. “No, really. Some other time. Look at the state
of me; I couldn’t go even in there dressed in these.”

Mike looked at Pete’s stained but clean work

clothes. “You can have a scrub up here. I can lend you
some clothes.” A vision of Pete in the shower flashed
across Mike’s mind.

Pete laughed. “You’re a head taller than me. I’d

look a proper sight.”

“Do you want to go home and change?”

Pete shook his head. “Thanks for the offer, but

some other time. I’ll get myself home and leave you in
peace. Now, is there anything else you need before I
go?”

“There is one thing. I couldn’t fix the headboard

on my bed. It needs two people.”

“So what are we waiting for? Bedroom through

here, I take it?”

Mike got to his feet, nodded and followed Pete to

the bedroom. A shiver of excitement ran down his
body.

“Oh, what a big one,” said Pete, running his hand

along the mattress.

Mike palpitated at the suggestiveness. He stood

the headboard vertically and gestured to the brackets
on the back. “We have to marry these with the bolts
on the edge of the base. But it’s heavy.”

Pete pulled the bed away from the wall then took

hold of the headboard. “Let me have it.” He lifted it in
one and, kneeling on the mattress, lowered it behind
the bed. The muscles in his arms bulged with the
effort. “Okay, now if you come behind me and hold it
steady…”

Mike clambered into position behind Pete and

reached over the other’s shoulders. As he strained to
grip the top of the headboard his groin pressed into
Pete’s ass. Mike felt giddy but also guilty. Pete had

given no indication that he was gay. And Mike knew
his cock had stiffened. What if Pete felt it?

“Now, you hang on there and I’ll just go round

the back and tighten the nuts,” said Pete, slipping
under Mike’s arms.

The double entendres had Mike’s head reeling,

but Pete gave no intention of carrying any of them
out. Pete’s scent lingered in the air, a trace of
expensive cologne, putty and a hint of a day’s sweat.
Mike pictured Pete back where he’d been, ass pressed
against Mike’s groin, clinging to the headboard. If
only he knew Pete was gay he’d have him there and
then.

“There we are,” said Pete, getting to his feet,

spanner in hand. “All done. Anything else I can help
you with?”

Yes, thought Mike. Oh, yes. He could see them

right there in the bedroom, hungry and desperate,

ripping at each other’s clothes. It had been so long
since Mike had been with another man that he would
fuck Pete’s face too briefly before spraying his cum all
over that stubbled chin. He swallowed. “No, that’s
great. Thanks.” Yet as Pete helped him move the bed
back into position, Mike’s eyes traced the outline of
something impressive at the front of Pete’s pants.

Mike sat in bed propped against the pillows. The

book had been open at the same page for half an
hour, and he’d read the same paragraph a dozen
times. Although Pete had left hours ago, his presence
somehow remained. Of course, it was nothing more
than a memory spinning a web inside Mike’s head

like a mischievous spider, but it was real enough to
ruin his concentration. Pete had turned out to be a
handsome man. Mike had to work hard at the gym to
keep his body in shape, but he suspected Pete owed
his physique to his work. And if Pete did have a cock
like his brother… Mike slammed his book shut and
shook his head. Poor Jack.

Mike realized as he’d gotten older that he’d had a

crush on Jack. There’d been times when he regretted
not making advances, but they were poles apart in
every way. Even if Jack had been a girl, Mike’s
parents would have been outraged at his gallivanting

with someone “beneath” him. God, they thought they
were better than everyone, and Mike knew that
superior air had rubbed off on him. But now he’d
been brought down to size. He no longer had
anything to feel superior about.

He turned off the lamp and settled down under

the duvet. Pete’s ass looked great in those scruffy
jeans and when he’d knelt on the bed to reach down
and secure the headboard Mike had felt his own cock
rising to the bait. He slid his hand down his stomach

until his little finger brushed against the head of his
cock, and he wondered again just what Pete had
between his legs.

Chapter Four

By the end of the week Mike had cleaned until his

joints ached and his fingers were sore. The house
would never be a palace, and certainly fell short of his
usual standards, but it would do. For the time being.
The important thing now was to start building a new
life. Over the last few days as he’d scrubbed and

polished his way through the house, he’d finally
accepted the futility and destructiveness of dwelling
on the past. What was that saying? Never look back,
the past is a wasteland of horrors. Wherever he’d
heard it, it was true. The more he clung to what had
gone, the harder it would be to move forwards.

Mike had learned to cook long before he moved

to France, but his skills had blossomed during his
years there. As he hadn’t heard from Pete since that
night he fixed the boiler, Mike decided to call him and
invite him for dinner over the weekend. He found

Pete’s card and dialed the cell number.

“Pete Bickerdyke.” The voice was curt, as if the

speaker had been interrupted.

“Pete, it’s Mike. Mike Mason.”
“Mike.” Pete’s voice lifted. “I was going to call

you. How are you getting on?”

“Fine, thanks. I reckon this place is about as spic

and span as it’s been since it was built.”

“I’m glad to hear it, I really am.” Pete made a

sound as if he were chewing a piece of leather. “You
know, I felt terrible leaving you there the other
night.”

“You don’t need to worry about me. I’m a

survivor.” Mike laughed, but wondered why Pete
hadn’t called if he was so worried. “It takes more than
a bit of muck and a few cobwebs to keep me down.”

“I bet it does,” said Pete with a chuckle. “Listen

—

”

Mike broke in. “Pete?”
“Yes?”
“How about coming over sometime this

weekend? I’m a good cook and I reckon I owe you a

decent meal.”

“You owe me nothing. I told you. Old pals and all

that…”

Mike felt his spirits dampen. Just because Pete

wasn’t married didn’t mean he had no one in his life.
Mike had jumped to a conclusion; he could see that
now.

“But I’d be glad to come. I’ll bring some wine.”
Mike’s sparkle returned. “Oh, great! Saturday’s

good for you?”

“Tomorrow? That’s fine. What time do you want

me?”

Anytime of the day or night, Pete, thought Mike.

“Anytime. It’s not that I have a full diary.” Mike
found a notepad and began scratching a shopping list.

“How about six?”

“Six is fine. If the weather’s good we can eat

outside. I’ve even done some improvements on the
back yard.”

“I wouldn’t count on it. When you’ve been back a

while you’ll realize just how wet it can be here, and
usually at weekends and public holidays.”

“Well, either way, I’ll see you about six. Just tell

me, is there anything you don’t eat?”

“Curry. Can’t stand it, but otherwise I’m an

omnivore.” Pete made his chuckling noise again.

“So you’ve not gone vegetarian?”
“You must be joking. There’s nothing I like better

than a decent piece of meat.”

Mike smiled to himself. Was Pete playing with

him? It wasn’t the first potentially cheeky comment
he’d made. “Well, that’s fine. I’ll let you get on with
your work. See you Saturday…tomorrow evening.”

“Looking forward to it, Mike. See ya.”
Mike held the receiver to his chest and tapped his

chin with the pen. Pete certainly seemed in good
spirits, but those double entendres he kept coming
out with were the kind of things school kids said. Was

it innocent banter, or was Pete trying to tell him
something?

At five thirty on Saturday evening Mike opened

the kitchen door and looked out. Coal black clouds
hung just above the rooftops and the rain hammered

down in vertical rods. Pete had been right. He went
back inside and started to set the table. When he’d
finished, he placed a small vase of flowers to one side
of the candlesticks. He stepped back to admire his
work.

Too romantic.
He snatched the vase off the table and put it on

the credenza against the far wall. Although his mind
had toyed with getting into Pete’s pants once or twice
over the last couple of days, he didn’t want to come
over all soppy. If anything did happen between them,
it would be more of a quick blowjob than anything

else, something a bit rough and ready. Nothing
flowery.

There he was letting his thoughts run wild. What

chance was there that Pete was gay?

As he turned away from the credenza, he caught

sight of himself in the mirror and paused to preen.
His blond hair had begun to thin on top, a trait that
ran in the family, but grew as thick as ever around the
back and sides. He kept it closely cropped and the

little gray that had developed over the last year barely
showed. His tanned skin looked even darker against
his sun-bleached hair. He pulled at the corner of his
eye with a finger. At least the sun hadn’t dried him
out and turned his skin into a road map. He had to
admit he was in pretty good shape.

Mike went back to the kitchen with a spring in his

step. He poured himself a glass of white wine from
the fridge and went out of the door to smoke. The
rain drummed on the corrugated plastic canopy and
cascaded over the edge to join a river gushing along
the path and under the gate. He felt as if he were
inside a waterfall. He swallowed half the glass of
wine in one gulp and inhaled deeply on the cigarette.
At last he began to relax, and after all the turmoil of
the last few months, the old Mike began to surface. A
few days earlier he’d been at rock bottom, but now he
could tell he’d lifted a little. Now there was only one

way to go, and he was ready.

Chapter Five

Pete’s mouth fell open and his eyebrows arched.

“Good God, Mike. You’ve transformed the place.”

Mike smiled. “Thanks.”
“If you ever want a cleaning job, just let me know.

My place is more than I can cope with, what with
work.”

Mike handed him a glass of wine. “You’re alone,

too? A good-looking chap like you should have
plenty of offers.” Pete looked even sexier in his navy
Chinos and white Ralph Lauren shirt. The cuffs were
turned back to reveal solid forearms. His hair had
been ruffled and lightly gelled; it shaved a few years
off him. He cut a rather distinguished figure, like the
son of a country gentleman. “Cheers.”

Pete raised his glass and took a sip. “Offers are

one thing. They’re no use if they come from the
wrong quarter, though.”

“True enough.” Mike gestured towards the sofa.

“Have a seat. We’ll eat in half an hour, if that’s OK
with you?”

Pete sat on the edge of the sofa and took a potato

chip from a bowl on the coffee table. “Suits me. Gives
us chance for a relaxant or two.” He munched, then
continued. “Smells great, whatever it is. I hope you
haven’t gone to too little trouble?” He chuckled.

Mike laughed and sat beside his guest. “I’ve

missed the British sense of humor. If you said that in
France they’d never invite you again. You were right
about the weather, by the way.”

“Never fails. Round here, barbecues are held on a

stand-by basis. And with plenty of umbrellas. I guess
you’re used to the outdoor life now?”

Mike sipped at his wine. Thoughts of balmy

summer evenings in the garden with the cicadas
chirruping in the trees fluttered through his head. He
at the barbecue while Kurt sorted the drinks. “It’s all
in the past, now. I need to live with it.”

Pete rested a hand on Mike’s knee. “Do you want

to talk about it?”

Mike looked at Pete’s hand out of the corner of

his eye, trying to hide his surprise at the intimacy.
“Probably not.”

Pete removed his hand. “I just thought…you

know…sometimes helps.”

“I know. Thanks. But it’s all still a bit raw.”
“I don’t know what you’ve been through, but

time is a healer. I know it sounds clichéd, but it’s true.
Believe me, I know.”

“It sounds like you’ve had a rough time, what

with Jack and all.”

“I always say I’ve been to hell and back. There

isn’t much left the world can throw at me now that
would be worse.” Pete shook his head. “When I broke
up with my fiancée, people round here ostracized me.

It took over a year before they began to bother with
me again. I guess they just needed to realize that I
was the same old Pete, that I hadn’t changed.”

“Now that I hate. What’s it got to do with them?”

Mike got to his feet and went for the wine bottle.
When he returned, Pete was standing by the window
looking out at the puddled yard.

“It’s like a sodding graveyard, isn’t it?”
Pete spoke without turning. “A graveyard for our

pasts.”

Mike handed over a glass. “Sounds a bit deep and

gloomy.”

“Not at all. If our pasts are laid to rest, it leaves

the road ahead clear.”

They stood side by side, watching the rain

explode on the paving slabs, drinking their wine in
silence amid a growing tension. Finally, Pete turned
to him. “I want to tell you something.”

Mike nodded. “If you want. Whatever it is, it

stays between us. I’m no gossip, not that I know
anyone to gossip to even if I wanted.”

“They all know,” Pete said, making a wide

gesture with his arm. “But you don’t, and I don’t
want to get off on the wrong footing.”

“Pete, we barely know each other. You don’t need

to tell me anything.”

“I’m glad you’re back. I told you that the other

day. When we were growing up I wanted so much to
be your friend, for you to treat me as an equal. You
never let me in at all. You’ve no idea how rejected I
felt—”

“Pete, I…”
“Please, let me finish.” Pete began pacing, staring

at the floor. “God, even after all this time it gets no
easier.” He filled his wine glass from the bottle on the
table and took a gulp. His hands shook.

“Pete? What on earth is it?” Mike wondered if

Pete had been in trouble with the police or something.
Maybe he’d murdered his fiancée! No, couldn’t be

that, he’d still be locked up. “What?”

Pete ran a hand over his head. “I broke off the

engagement because I realized I preferred men.”He
grinned and shrugged his shoulders.

A wave of relief washed over Mike and he let out

a long breath. “Ah.”

“If it’s going to be a problem between us, I’d

rather know now. I don’t want to become friends only
to be shunned, like you did before.”

So he was gay. The cheeky quips were his way of

dropping a hint, no doubt. Bit of a shame he hadn’t
come out with it sooner. He resisted the urge to put
an arm around Pete’s shoulders. “Don’t worry. It’s
not a problem for me at all.”

Pete’s face lit up and his shoulders straightened.

“Really? Oh, Mike, thanks. I appreciate it. I know not
everyone is as liberal as they might be, even these
days.”

“Come on, Pete! Surely you must have worked

me out long ago.”

“What do you mean?” Pete frowned.
“Don’t tell me you had no suspicions at all.”
“You’re gay?”
“As a Christmas fairy. You had no idea?”
Pete shook his head. “None. Oh my God. And to

think how I’ve been all worked up these last days,
worrying about telling you.” He smiled and shrugged

his shoulders.

“I never got entangled with women, though,”

said Mike, turning towards the kitchen. “That must
have been a real nightmare, the fiancée thing.”

“I still feel guilty for what I did to Sara. It wasn’t

her fault that she fell in love with a gay.”

Mike stopped at the door. “Did you know when

you proposed to her?”

“I’ve gone over that a million times in my head. I

think the only answer is that consciously I didn’t, but

subconsciously I did. I’d never been with a man at
that point, but I’d had more than my fair share of
women. I never gave it a thought, just followed the
well-trodden path.” Pete laughed. “It was down a
country path where I had my first taste of a man.”

“Hmm, I think that’s the case for so many of us.”

Mike smiled.

“It only became clear after I came out.”
“What did?”
“Back at school. My yearning for you to accept

me into your circle of friends. It was more than that. I
had a bloody great crush on you.”

Mike stood and headed for the kitchen, his cock

swelling with each step. “I think the meat might be
just about ready.”

Chapter Six

Pete laid his knife and fork side by side on the

plate and leaned back against his chair. “That was
bloody good. You were certainly right when you said
you could cook.”

“Thanks.” Mike collected the plates and took

them to the kitchen. He felt Pete’s eyes bore into his

back.

“So, how come you’re on your own? You haven’t

lost your looks. I would have thought you were
spoiled for choice in the south of France.”

Mike took a deep breath. He’d have to explain at

some time, so why not now? Get it out of the way.
Clear the decks. “I wasn’t alone down there. We split
up, just over six months ago.”

“Sorry to hear it. Had you been together long.?”
“Yes, quite long.” Mike set dessert on the table.

“Just a little Pavlova. It was Kurt’s favorite.”

“Kurt? German?”
“Yes.”

“Very organized, the Germans.” Pete scooped

meringue into his mouth.

“It was one of the things I loved about him. His

practicality, my creativity.”

“Hmm. I take it you’re not the practical sort. Not

much good at DIY?”

“DIY stands for destroy it yourself in my book.”
Pete laughed crumbs. “I guessed.”
“We had a good business going, mostly

managing holiday homes. There are lots of houses
and apartments down there belonging to foreigners
or Parisians.”

“So you kept an eye on the properties, saw in

renters and the like?”

“Yes. Some of the owners had yachts and we

managed those for them, too.”

“And what happened?” Pete finished his dessert.

“This is bloody excellent, by the way.”

Mike smiled and toyed with his fork. “The day

Lehman Brothers collapsed I knew it was the end.
We’d been for a couple of days away in Carcassonne
and heard the news on the radio driving back. I went
cold.”

“You’ll have to forgive me, but how did Lehman

goose you? Your clients were rich, no?”

“Business dried up as if someone had turned off

the tap. Some of them lost everything in the financial
crisis. Others took drastic action to try to avoid

calamity. The result was that we had insufficient
income to keep going.”

“Couldn’t you have hung on? I mean, if you’d

been doing well before—”

“We tried.” Mike got another bottle of wine from

the fridge. “We poured money back in, convinced

things would turn around within a year or so. It was
the worst thing we could have done.” He picked up
the plates and took them to the sink.

Pete got to his feet and headed for the sofa.

“Business didn’t pick up, then?”

“Not a jot. I know people down there, obviously,

and they tell me it still hasn’t. It’s a commercial
wasteland, at least in our sector. We should have
packed up a year sooner.” Mike sat down next to Pete
and sighed. “I’ve just about lost everything, Pete. The
house, cash…”

“And Kurt?” Pete’s eyes softened under his brow.

“And Kurt. It was all the pressure. We’d never

rowed, but in the last months we did nothing else.”
Mike bit his bottom lip, emotion welling up like an
internal blister.

Pete’s hand made its way back to Mike’s knee.

“I’m sorry. Relationships can suffer when money gets
tight.”

“I know I’m not the only one,” Mike said, “but it’s

no consolation.”

“I know, I know.” Pete patted Mike’s knee.

“Anyway. That’s why I’m living here. It’s all I can

afford, and unless I find some sort of work to bring
money in, I won’t even be able to afford this.”

Pete shuffled along the sofa until their hips

touched. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but if I can
help in that quarter, you only need to ask.”

“I don’t want charity.”
“It wouldn’t be. Can you fix anything electric?”
Mike turned to look directly at Pete. “The way I

fixed my boiler?”

“Right. Useless with tools. Good with numbers

though, I bet? You’ve had your own business, I’m
sure you can do admin. I spend most of my time
doing admin and accounts. I hate it. Absolutely hate
it. I’d much rather be out doing what I do best, fixing
things. And keeping an eye on the lads.”

Mike nodded. He hated administrative work, too,

compared to being outdoors, showing tourists the

eauty of renting a hundred-foot yacht in the
Mediterranean. But he was good at it. The idea of
working for Pete, though, seemed somehow
dangerous. They barely knew each other. They were
both gay, single and, if Mike read the signs correctly,
Pete fancied him. It could all get rather complicated
rather quickly, and Mike couldn’t face another round
of turmoil.

“So, what do you say?” Pete’s eyes sparkled with

excitement.

“You’re too kind. But I don’t know if it’s a good

idea.”

“Rubbish! Why ever not? I’d rather take you on,

someone I can trust, than take pot luck with what the
Job Center sends me.”

“And if it didn’t work out?”

“If it doesn’t work out, then you can go wash

dishes at the pub. But it will work out, Mike. There is
no reason why it shouldn’t. Be positive.” Pete stood
up and his groin came level with Mike’s eyes.

Pete either had a rare package or a stonking hard-

on.

Mike had to interlock his fingers to stop himself

from having a feel. His own cock swelled
uncomfortably. “I’m not over Kurt, yet. Not fully,” he
said, tugging at the crotch of his pants as discretely as
he could, “I don’t want things to get messy.”

Pete held out his hands. “I’m talking about a job,

Mike, not a marriage. Can’t we at least try?”

Electricity surged between them and Mike broke

out in gooseflesh. He desperately needed the touch of
another man. Half a year was too long to make do
with the only DIY he’d ever been good at. Mixing
business with pleasure rarely worked, and Pete’s offer
was clearly not restricted to work. Fifty-fifty this
would end in tears.

Not bad odds, from where Mike was sitting. He

unlocked his fingers and put them in Pete’s open
palms. A shudder coursed through him.

Pete’s hands closed around Mike’s and pulled

him to his feet. Pete’s eyes widened and his face
radiated tenderness. “Michael Mason. If it’s the last

thing I do, I’m going to make you glad you came
back.”

“That’s a tough call. I’m pretty broken.”
Pete chuckled. “Around these parts, I’m known

as the Fixer.” He pulled Mike closer. “How about if I
make a start now?” He leaned towards Mike and their
lips brushed together.

Mike’s knees trembled, like the first time he’d

kissed. He wrapped his arms around Pete and pulled
him tight. He felt Pete’s hard on against his own.

“Since you helped put it together, how about

trying the bed?” asked Mike.

“I thought you’d never ask.”
Mike hurried to the bedroom, towing Pete behind

him. Already his cock made the front of his pants
damp and he knew this was going to be quick and
intense.

Pete spun him around and pushed him back on

the bed. Mike raised his buttocks and struggled out of
his pants. Pete was already out of his, lunging at
Mike. As Pete went down on his knees, Mike strained
to catch a glimpse of Pete’s cock, but all he saw was a

swollen head the size of a small apple. Enough to
know it was a beauty.

Pete’s lips engulfed Mike’s cock as soon as it

sprang free.

“Oh, Pete. It’s been so long… I’m afraid… that…”
Mike let out a long moan as he erupted, thrusting

forwards with each spurt, making Pete gag, watching
as his cock slid in and out. As he slowed, Pete let
Mike’s cock slip free and slapped onto Mike’s
stomach in a soufflé of cum and saliva.

Before Mike could move, Pete straddled him.

Mike gasped in awe at the huge dick swinging over
his face. He reached up and tried to wrap his fingers
round it. Pete made a stuttering sound, as if he were
crying, and then shouted, spraying cum like a water
cannon. It was hot on Mike’s face and smelled of
happy times.

Chapter Seven

Once Pete left, Mike showered and went to bed.

He still had misgivings about the developing
situation, but what was he supposed to do? Pete had
wanted sex, and wanted Mike to take up his offer of
work. Mike needed sex and work. Here they were on
a plate. He knew things had to move at a pace if he

was ever to get back on his feet, but Pete had
swooped like a starving hawk. Still, Pete hadn’t
mentioned that other four-letter word and Mike was
just fine with that. Sex was just sex.

He smiled and turned on his side. Pete did have a

cock to rival Jack’s. Long and thick. And it shot like a
Smith and Wesson. Good job the headboard was
leather. Mike reached out for Kurt’s pillow. Kurt had
been a heavy comer, too. Mike called him his fountain
of love. He stuck his nose into the pillow, searching
for Kurt’s scent. It was there, but mingled with the

smell of fresh spunk. He cast the pillow aside, and
with it a little more of Kurt.

Mike had avoided the temptation to phone Pete

during Sunday. He’d awoken remorseful and
regretted what they’d done the night before. Pete had
been good enough to offer him work and their
relationship really ought to rest at that. The problem
was that Pete wanted more; he’d been the one to push

it. If Mike’s balls hadn’t been so full he’d have
resisted, or tried to. As he drove to work on Monday
morning, he steeled himself for a firm word with his
new boss. Yet, at the same time, he felt a twinge of
disappointment that Pete hadn’t called him. Was he
having second thoughts? If he was, maybe the job was
already in jeopardy. He turned into the driveway of
Pete’s house, his hands trembling on the steering
wheel. He was clearly insane.

Mike rang the doorbell and waited. After a

minute passed without a response, he rang again and

pressed his ear to the glass pane in the door. Not a
sound of life. He was about to knock on the door
when footsteps crunched on the gravel behind him.

“Mike, over here.” Pete grinned from the corner

of the house, his right hand held out.

Mike walked across the drive and shook Pete’s

hand. “Morning. All OK?” He plumbed Pete’s eyes
for clues.

“Couldn’t be better.” Pete put an arm round

Mike’s shoulders. “Come and see the office. I had it
built a couple of years ago to keep work out of the
house.”

At the back of the red brick house, at the far end

of a long garden, a timber structure with plate glass

windows seemed to hover above a manicured lawn.

“Is that it?”
Pete smiled. “Like it?”
“Good grief. It’s very…striking.”
“Very ecological. That’s how I got planning

permission.”

“I did wonder,” said Mike, walking across the

grass towards the new building.

“German prefab. They shipped it over on the

back of a lorry and a gang of men had it up within the
same day.”

“Yes, I’ve heard about them.”

“Anyway, this is where you’ll be working, so I’m

glad you approve. At least you’ll be warm in winter—
the insulation is brilliant.” Pete held the door open.

The office appeared to comprise one large room

with two desks, each with a computer and filing
cabinets, and a large Ordnance Survey map on the far
wall.

“Stylish,” said Mike, taking in the white décor

and lack of clutter.

“We’re supposed to be, aren’t we?” Pete said with

a chuckle.

Pete clearly didn’t suffer the remorse or

misgivings that Mike did. “Pete, I need to get
something cleared up.”

“Sure. Why not have a seat. That’s yours.” Pete

nodded to the desk and chair by the map, and sat
down behind the other desk. “What’s up? I hope
you’re not having second thoughts?”

“Just the other night—”
“Great, wasn’t it?” Pete grinned.
“Look, I just think that it’s a bad idea to be

involved with each other if I’m going to work here. I
can’t see anything but trouble.”

Pete shook his head and he seemed to look for

something in the air.

“We hardly know each other, Pete. Even without

the job, I’m not ready to get involved.”

“But we’re not involved, are we? It was just a bit

of relief between two mates.”

“So, you’ve no problem if it doesn’t happen

again?”

“Not if you don’t want it to.”
Mike wasn’t so sure he didn’t want it to. The Pete

he’d rediscovered was fun to be with, as well as
having a fine cock and good body. Under better
circumstances he could see them together. “I would
like to cool it, at least for the time being.”

Pete rose from his chair and walked across the

room to rest with his buttocks on Mike’s desk.
“Okeydokey. My apologies if I’ve offended you.”

“Oh, you haven’t offended me. No way. I’m

rather flattered, actually. And I did enjoy it.”

“I noticed,” said Mike, chuckling. “Nearly choked

me.”

Mike felt his cheeks flush. “It’s just—”
“I know. Kurt.”
“Yeah. I loved him. Letting go has been hard. I’m

getting there, day by day.”

“Just promise me one thing. When you are there,

will you tell me?”

Mike tried to read the expression on Pete’s face.

Not sad, but melancholy. “God, I’ve upset you now.
That’s the last thing I wanted. You see? It’s already a
quagmire.”

“I’m not upset. I’m disappointed, but I’m a grown

man. I can cope.” Pete got off the desk. “Best cure is
work. Now let me show you the ropes.”

Mike’s job involved keeping the accounts in order

and coordinating the thirty tradesmen and their
various jobs. He soon discovered that most of the
work came from out of the area, hence the map to
help keep tabs on who was where. It was easy work

for a man with his experience, and in no time at all he
carried on as if it were second nature.

At the end of the month, Pete paid him a bonus

on top of the salary they’d agreed.

“What for?” asked Mike.
“The men are doing ten per cent more work,

thanks to your logistical planning. You deserve it. At
this rate I won’t need to take on anyone new. That
saves me thousands.”

As the days and weeks went by, Pete didn’t once

make an advance towards Mike or come out with any
of his wise cracks. He behaved professionally and
fairly. Not once did he invite Mike into the house or
out for a drink, and Mike kept to himself after work.
France and Kurt were fading. It was almost as if they
had been part of a dream, still there but intangible.
There was one thing still to resolve, however, and as
the winter approached, Mike began to think about it

more and more.

One dark afternoon as the rain slid down the

outside of the windows, he sat at his desk looking at a
photograph that lived in his wallet when Pete
stopped by unexpectedly.

“Hey, what’s that?” asked Pete, catching sight of

the photograph.

“My car. My other car, I should say.”
“Wow! A Citroen SM. What year is it?”
“Seventy one.”

“You kept that a secret. Where is it?”
“That’s the problem.” Mike took the photo back

and slipped it into his wallet. “I left it with friends
near Avignon. I ought really to fetch it over before the
bad weather sets in, but it won’t fit in my garage.”

“Well, you can’t leave it outside, not here, not

over the winter.” Pete took a set of keys from a
drawer in his desk and grabbed an umbrella from
beside the door. “Come here, let me show you
something.”

Mike followed Pete into the garden and huddled

under the umbrella. They went through a gate in a tall
hedge and towards a huge, low barn than Mike
hadn’t noticed before.

“There aren’t many SMs about in the UK,” said

Pete, unlocking the door.

“Nor in France. I had it restored before things

went tits up. Rather wish I hadn’t now.”

“At least you’ve got it. It’s a damned good

investment. Now, what do you think of this…” Pete
threw the light switch and revealed five gleaming
classic cars.

“Jesus!”
Pete chuckled. “I don’t boast about them, you

never know who’s listening. Beauties, eh?”

Mike made a quick tour round all the cars: an

early Citroen DS, an E-Type Jaguar, a Jensen

Interceptor, a Mercedes Pagoda and a BMW 635.
“They’re immaculate. My compliments.”

Pete smiled and nodded.
“Do you take them out much?”
“Couple of times a year. I turn the engines over

once a month. They’re all taxed and insured, so if you

want to take one for a spin anytime—”

“I couldn’t possibly. Thanks, but I really wouldn’t

feel comfortable.”

Pete drew up close and put a hand on Mike’s

shoulder. It was the first physical contact since Mike
had started his job. He tingled at the touch.

“Relax, Mike. Enjoy yourself. Don’t be so polite.”

Pete squeezed Mike’s shoulder and smiled. “Anyway,
as you can see, there’s bags of room in here. Your
Citroen Maserati won’t be in the way.”

Mike felt his mouth fall open.
“And don’t even think of refusing.”

Mike shook his head. “You’re too generous.

Thanks. Thanks, Pete.”

“There is one condition.”
Mike raised his eyebrows.
“I’m coming with you to help drive it back.”

Chapter Eight

Never before had Mike welcomed getting-up time

like he did that morning on the ferry. It had seemed
perfectly reasonable to share a cabin with Pete on the
overnight crossing from Hull to Zeebrugge. It saved a
lot of money, for one thing, and Pete would probably
have been offended if Mike had refused.

Pete had immediately grabbed the upper bunk

and that suited Mike. He had a fear of falling out in a
high sea and breaking his neck. Mike had jumped into
bed first and lay on his back with his hands under his
head. This gave him a clear view of the bathroom
door as Pete came out completely naked. His huge
cock sported a semi and the foreskin had partially
retracted. Perhaps he’d been fiddling with himself in
the bathroom, or maybe he had high hopes. Mike
hadn’t been able to look away, despite knowing he
should, and as Pete climbed the ladder his cock

waved at Mike on its way to bed. His own cock
solidified like quick drying cement.

Try as he might, Mike couldn’t get the image of

Pete’s cock out of his mind, and in the end he gave in
to the frustration and jerked off under the quilt. To
avoid making additional noise in the cramped space
he spread his cum all over his stomach and chest with
his hand and waited for it to dry. Then he pulled the

quilt up to his neck and tried to get to sleep. It was
then that Pete started snoring. It had continued all
night, a sound like someone being sawn in half, and
only stopped now as the alarm on Mike’s phone went
off.

The upper bunk creaked and Pete’s feet came into

view at the top of the ladder.

“You slept well,” said Mike, slipping his phone

back onto the counter.

“I always sleep like a log. Lucky for you I don’t

snore.”

Mike opened his mouth to answer but thought

the better of it.

“Who’s going first?” asked Pete.
“You can.” Mike would enjoy ten minutes peace

and quiet while Pete showered. He pulled the quilt
over his face as Pete slipped down the ladder, fireman
style. The last thing he needed was sight of Pete’s
morning wood before setting out on the road.

Driving down in Pete’s old DS, fun as it was, had

one drawback as far as Mike was concerned. Speed,
or lack of it. Not that the DS couldn’t break the speed
limit, but it was always a bad idea to thrash vehicles
of this age. Avignon lay over six hundred miles south
of the ferry port and a midway stopover beckoned.

Another shared room. Pete had wanted to go via
Paris, but Mike had travelled the route numerous
times and persuaded him that avoiding the French
capital’s ring road would win them valuable time.

The car hummed along, the soggy ride of the

pneumatic suspension lulling Mike to sleep. Every
time his head lolled back, he jerked awake with a
sharp intake of breath and grabbed at the falling map
on his knees.

“Hey, Mike. Didn’t you sleep?”
“Could have been better.”
“Just as well I’m driving then.”

“It would have been quicker to fly down, you

know.”

“But no fun.”
“But we’d have had two drivers for the run home

with my car. Now we both have to drive all the way
up.”

“So what? One night extra on the way back, that’s

all it is.” Pete glanced at Mike and chuckled. “You
worried about your boss?”

“Actually, it’s two extra nights if you include

tonight.” And yes, he was a bit worried about his
boss, but not in the way Pete meant. The night on the
ferry had been testing. That little fling with Pete had
only served to pique his desires and his attraction to
Pete grew by the hour. More than once, as they sped

down the autoroute, he had found himself peeking at
the bulge in Pete’s pants. It looked like a child’s
bicycle helmet stuffed under the cloth. He knew, of
course, that Pete would be only too happy to indulge
him and, as the miles flew by, his own resistance
began to falter.

Just north of Reims, Pete slowed the car and

pulled into a rest area. “I’m bursting for a piss. Maybe
you should take advantage yourself?”

Mike’s bladder had been complaining for about

twenty miles and he needed no encouragement. To
his dismay, the very thought of standing next to Pete

in a urinal, cocks out side by side, made his own cock
spring to life. He battled with his thoughts to try to
reduce the swelling before they reached the toilet
block.

“I’ll wait with the car while you go.”
“That will waste time,” said Pete, climbing out of

the car. “Come on. Nobody’s going to nick it in two
minutes.”

Mike glanced at the Dutch truck parked at the

side of them. The six digit yellow plates always

reminded him of children’s alphabet blocks. The
blond driver stared down on the DS, his fingers
tapping the truck’s steering wheel. Mike sighed,
tugged at his crotch and followed Pete up the path
towards a grim concrete shed with a stylized picture
of a man on the door. The stench of urine reached

halfway down the path.

As Pete disappeared behind the door, Mike

turned to look at the car. Beside the DS, the truck’s
door had opened. Mike smiled to himself.

Mike drew up alongside Pete. He didn’t need to

glance down to catch sight of Pete’s cock; its
dimensions intruded into his peripheral vision. Pete
stood with his hands on his hips, swinging his cock
side to side, hosing down the stainless steel urinal
with a yellow jet. Mike struggled to release his own
rapidly growing cock. He heard footsteps
approaching and shuddered with anticipation.

“Can’t pee?” asked Pete, nodding at Mike’s cock

and smiling.

“I think we’re about to have company.”
The door opened and the truck driver squeezed

himself in between Mike and Pete, elbowing himself
into the space. Mike savored the moment, that point
when it could turn out to be a pick up or something
dangerous. Deep down he knew, seasoned as he was
in the arts of the European rest stop. The driver
tugged at his zip and jiggled up and down. Mike’s

eyes slid down. The driver’s cock protruded, curving
upwards like a pink banana. The slit glistened with
precum. The driver winked at Mike before turning to
Pete; he let out a gasp and said, “Shit.”

The driver turned his back to Mike, and from the

way his shoulders twisted he’d reached down for

Pete’s cock. Mike stood back to get a good look. The
concrete floor glistened with splashes from the urinal
but the driver fell to his knees and stuffed Pete’s
cockhead into his mouth. Pete groaned and thrust his
hips forwards, reaching out with his right hand for
Mike’s cock. Mike shuffled forwards and Pete took it
in his firm grip. As Mike’s foreskin rolled back and
forth over the edge of his nob, he felt his balls tighten.

Mike put his hand on the back of the driver’s

head, digging his fingers into the thick blond locks.
The driver released Pete’s cock and turned his
attention to Mike’s, sucking it right in until his nose

pressed into Mike’s pubic bone. The pressure on
Mike’s cockhead as it plunged down the driver’s
throat made his prostate effervesce and he knew he
was about to come. He pulled his cock out of the wet
mouth and rubbed it, spurts of white cum painted the
drive’s face and head, sticky garlands clinging to his
hair. Mike’s legs threatened to give way and his body
tingled. The driver leaned forwards and sucked him
in again, sliding his lips over the glistening head until
the hypersensitivity forced Mike to withdraw.

Pete’s cock shone in the sunlight that sloped

across it from the high window above the urinal and
he pushed it into the driver’s face. “My turn, mate.”

Once again Pete’s cockhead disappeared into the

hungry mouth, but then all of it vanished as the
driver made a gurgling sound. Heavy breaths

escaped the driver’s nostrils as he pumped Pete’s cock
all the way in and all the way out. Precum and saliva
bubbled around the driver’s mouth and on Pete’s
shaft. “I’m gonna come, Dutch boy. Do you want this
English spunk?”

The driver grunted and picked up speed, gobs of

glistening fluid streaking down his chin. Pete thrust
forward, put a hand on the driver’s head and hissed.

Mike could see Pete’s urethra pulsing under his

cock, shooting his come into the willing mouth.
Silvery froth gathered on the driver’s lips until finally
he pulled back to leave Pete’s hose dangling and

dripping ropes of semen.

The driver’s blue eyes sparkled like amethyst. He

swallowed hard and wiped his mouth on the back of
his hand. “And now,” he said in English, “it’s my
turn.” He got to his feet and forced Mike and Pete to
their knees, pulling their faces into his groin so that
they faced each other with his cock between them. He
smelled sweaty and oily, and Mike detected the scent
of stale spunk in the bush of honey-colored pubic
hair. He’d always loved a bit of rough and the smell

of real man. His own cock began to stiffen again. He
looked at Pete, and those blue eyes stared back at him
over the driver’s throbbing shaft. Mike hesitated. Pete
seemed to be seeking approval.

Well, they could back off and leave one seriously

disgruntled truck driver to take care of himself. Or

Mike could leave Pete to it. But Mike wanted this, and
he knew Pete did, too. It was just sex, after all. It
meant nothing and changed nothing. He smiled and
nodded gently, lowering his eyelids.

Pete ran his tongue along one side of the driver’s

shaft, and Mike copied him. As they approached the
head, the cock twitched and jolted upwards. With its
curved shaft, the head almost pointed back at the
driver’s stomach, and Mike pulled it down with a
firm finger round the root. The resistance to his touch
betrayed the intensity of the erection; this cock was
filled with concrete.

The driver began to rock his hips back and forth,

sliding his shaft between the two mouths. Mike
looked up at him and saw those eyes glaring down,
his lips pursed: a sight of pure horniness with the
remnants of Pete’s come on his chin.

Pete took the cockhead first, his cheeks hollowing

as he sucked the precum from the slit. Mike pushed
him out of the way and took the cock right in to his
tonsils. They shared it, one then the other, until the
driver began to tremble and pulled away from them.

Mike leaped back as the white anti-aircraft fire flew
through the air, catching the sun’s rays in a gelatinous
firework display before hitting the ground and
adding to the puddles.

In an instant, the truck driver had packed his cock

back in his jeans. “Thanks,” he said and left.

Chapter Nine

Fifteen minutes after pulling out of the rest area,

Mike needed to pee. A road sign announced a Total
station three miles ahead. “Pull into this filling
station, will you?”

“We’ve plenty of fuel,” said Pete. “We can get a

bit further on.”

“I need to piss.”
“But—”
“I didn’t back there.” Mike shuffled in his seat.
Pete chuckled. “Pretty hot stuff, eh? I can see why

you chose to live in France.”

“We were lucky it’s not high season. If we’d been

caught…” Mike shifted in his seat and looked out of
the side window. That spur of the moment mess
about hadn’t been a problem for him, so why was
getting involved with Pete still an issue? It could be
just sex, couldn’t it? Pete had certainly behaved

impeccably since Mike put the brakes on things that
first day at work. Maybe it was time, as Pete kept
telling him, to loosen up a bit.

They travelled in silence until Pete turned off

onto the slip road for the service station.

“This time you stay in the car,” said Mike.
“Hey, don’t make out it was all my doing. I seem

to remember you having a good time.”

“I need to empty my bladder. Just keep that

monster of yours out of my sight, OK?”

Pete chuckled. “OK. Don’t be too long, though, or

I’ll come looking.”

“Come anywhere near me, and I’ll wrap it round

your neck and strangle you with it.”

Mike woke with a jolt and a sharp intake of

breath. He must have been sleeping with his mouth
open because his tongue felt like a nail file. “Where
are we?” He rubbed the side of his head where it had
been pressed against the window.

“Almost in Troy,” said Pete, pronouncing it like

the ancient city.

“It’s not Troy. It’s Troyes.”
“Sounds like Twat, the way you say it.”
“Never mind.” Mike took a slog of Evian. “Will

that GPS find the hotel?” He nodded towards the
TomTom suckered to the windscreen

“Should do. It’s new, and top of the range. So

long as you gave me the right address.”

“I gave you the right address. Did you enter it

correctly?”

Pete laughed. “We sound like an old married

couple.”

“As long as we don’t look like one.” Mike

thought about what they’d done with the Dutch truck

driver.

Mike checked his watch. “We’ll be there quite

early. Maybe we can take a walk around town and
then find a nice restaurant for dinner?”

“Suits me. Having a French speaker with me

might mean I get something edible this time.”

“What do you mean?”
“I’ve never been able to get meat cooked properly

in France. Why is it always swimming in blood?”

“That’s the way they like it. The way it should

be.”

“Yeah, well I don’t want to hear my steak

mooing, thank you very much.”

“Now you’re being Yorkshire again. I know—”

Mike put on a broad Yorkshire accent. “I’m payin’ for
it. I’ll ’ave it as I want it.”

The bossy woman on the GPS drowned Pete’s

chuckle.

Pete jumped onto the bed and lay spread eagled

on his back. “I’m bushed.”

“You should’ve let me share the driving,” said

Mike, hanging his jacket in the wardrobe. “And not
drunk so much wine.”

“It was bloody good. Would’ve been a shame not

to finish it.”

Mike looked at him spread across the bed, one

arm now over his eyes. Mike’s heart had almost
thrown in the towel when the receptionist announced
that the only room they had came with a double bed.
It seemed that events conspired to get them together.
With almost a bottle of Brouilly inside him, Mike’s
defenses were weakened. If Pete launched an assault,
would he have the strength to fight him off? Would
he want to? He stripped off to his underwear and put
his clothes away, glanced at his prostrate roommate
and sighed.

Mike took longer to brush his teeth than usual.

His mind went walk about as he spat and watched

the pasty water spiral down the plughole. So much
had changed in such a short time, he couldn’t be
expected to adjust just like that. But during these last
few weeks he’d taken great strides. He no longer
pined for Kurt and there were days when he didn’t
even think of him. Mike was a free man, and the best
thing he could do was take Pete’s advice and enjoy
life. He turned off the tap and shook his toothbrush.
He’d really enjoyed the rest stop sex. He laughed. If
Pete was up for it tonight, Mike would let it happen.

He jabbed his toothbrush into the mug by the mirror,
grinned at himself to check his cleaning job, and
opened the door.

The magician was already at work with his saw.

Pete snored with his mouth agape, his Adam’s apple
jumping up and down like a fisherman’s float. Mike

poked a finger into Pete’s ribs. “Pete. Pete. Wake up.”

Pete chewed the air and rolled on his side without

waking.

Mike slipped under the duvet on the free patch of

bed and turned off the light. How typical that now he
wanted to have sex, Pete was dead to the world.

Anemic sunlight streaked in through the gap in

the curtains. Mike blinked and checked his watch.
Already nine fifteen. He groaned, remembering he’d
left Pete asleep and fully dressed on top of the bed.
He turned, but Pete was gone.

Mike propped himself up on his elbows and

listened. Either it rained, or Pete was showering. He
turned his head from side to side, checking for any
sign of a hangover. No headache. His stomach felt
watery, but that was hunger. He was ravenous.

“Pete?” Mike tapped on the bathroom door.

“Pete, will you be long?”

The door opened, revealing a naked Pete, rubbing

his chestnut hair with a towel. The water flattened

fine hairs to his muscular chest. His brown nipples
stood out hard against the pale skin. “You’re up.”

“How are you? You were a gonner last night.”

Mike fought with his eyes but they insisted on
drifting towards Pete’s groin. His cock stood at half-
mast and Mike’s own twitched in response.

“I’m great. Looks like you are, too.” Pete smiled

and nodded at Mike’s bulging underwear. “How
about a little fiddle before we have breakfast?” Pete
dropped the towel to the bathroom floor and reached
out to squeeze Mike’s cock through the cotton of his
underwear. Mike’s ass shot into reverse. “I’m
starving.”

“We’ll have breakfast later.” Pete stepped

forward.

“Let’s have it first.”
“Why? Isn’t my sausage enough for you?” Pete

wagged his cock from side to side.

“Pete, last night…”
“Yes, Michael?” Pete cupped Mike’s balls in one

hand and pinched his nipple with the fingers of the
other.

Mike winced. “Ow, not so hard.”
Pete bent forwards and licked Mike’s nipple.
“Last night I was ready for you, but you were

unconscious. Now I need to eat, just look at you.”

Pete lifted his head. “I have an idea.” He reached

down and tugged Mike’s underwear free so that they
fell to the floor.

Mike raised an eyebrow. His cock rubbed against

Pete’s stomach. “Yes?”

Pete dashed across to the nightstand. “I’ll get

room service to fetch breakfast up.”

A vision flashed through Mike’s mind of the two

men on the bed, naked and hard, as a black-and-
white-clad maid walked in with a tray. “We may as
well just go down.”

“Oh, that’s my intention.” Pete chuckled and

picked up the phone. “Get yourself on that bed,
Michael Mason.”

“We really ought to be getting on—” said Mike,

stepping out of his underwear.

“Hello? Yes, can we have breakfast in room 96

please?” Pete’s cock bounced up and down like the

head of a toy dog in the back of a car as he nodded his
instructions down the phone. “Yes, two people.
Thank you.” He put the phone down and pounced on
Mike, his huge cock stabbing Mike’s chest like a blunt
sword. Mike fell back against the bed and Pete lifted
Mike’s legs up and tucked his own shoulders under
them, lowering his head to take Mike’s cock into his
mouth.

Mike’s cock seemed to melt and a tingle ran from

the root to the head. “But…” He tried to speak

between gasps of pleasure. “What about…the…the
maid?”

With a plop, Pete let Mike’s cock slip from his

mouth and slap back onto his stomach. Pete ran to the
door and unlocked it.

Mike tried to get up. “But—”

Pete pushed him flat on the bed. “When she

knocks, I’ll run into the bathroom and you get under
the covers. Now, feed me your meat. That piece last
night wasn’t enough for a fly.” Pete knelt over Mike,
one hand either side on the mattress, and lowered his
head.

Mike felt Pete’s breath on his cock and he tensed

with anticipation. But then that doubt sneaked into
his head again. What was he doing getting involved
with his boss? “Pete.”

“Mmm?”
“Maybe this is a bad idea.” He shuddered as

Pete’s tongue traced a line up the underside of his
cock. He reached down and clamped Pete’s head in
his hands. “Pete!”

“So blowing a truck driver between us is fine, and

this isn’t?” Pete grasped Mike’s wrists and shook his
head free.

“It’s different. That was just sex.”
“And this isn’t? What are you saying Mike?”

Pete’s tongue went back into action, licking Mike’s
balls.

Mike didn’t know what he was saying, but it was

different. He knew Pete. He worked for him. They’d
known each other for years. If they did this now, they
couldn’t just walk away and drive in opposite
directions. Things would never be the same again and
that scared him. His scrotum tightened from Pete’s

attention, the root of his cock hard and burning with
desire.

“I thought you said you wanted it last night?”

Pete said, releasing Mike’s wrists and taking Mike’s
cock in his hands.

“I did. I thought I did. Maybe it was just the…”

The pleasure took his breath away as Pete’s fingers
found the precum and massaged it into Mike’s
cockhead.

“You like that?”
“Yes. Oh, yes.”
“And you want me to stop?” Pete’s fingers halted.

Mike forced blood into his cock to make the head

swell. “For God’s sake, Pete. Do it before I change my
mind.”

Mike sighed with delight as his cock entered

Pete’s mouth. The soft, warm wetness around his
ultra-sensitive head sent his mind spinning like a
merry-go-round. Pete took him all the way, forcing
his cock down the tight hole of his throat. Mike
fucked Pete’s face, thrusting his cock in and out with
an ever-increasing hunger. When Pete cupped Mike’s

tightened balls in one hand and slid a finger down to
press Mike’s anus, Mike could take no more. He
raised his hips and his cock erupted.

A loud tap at the door coincided with Mike’s final

spasm. “Monsieur. Your breakfast, Monsieur.”

It seemed terribly Bacchanalian, lying naked on

the bed with a tray of croissants and jam, cheese and
ham between them. Mike hadn’t had such a good
time since…God, he could barely remember. Pete was
as much an eye opener as a mouth opener. Mike
realized how old-fashioned he must seem to Pete. He
finished a croissant and put his plate on the tray. “I’m
sorry.”

“Whaffor?” Pete had just stuffed cheese and ham

into his mouth.

“For being so…stiff.”
Pete chuckled as he chewed. “Never need to

apologize for that. Never.”

“You know what I mean.” Mike threw a foil-

wrapped pat of butter across the bed and hit Pete on
the shoulder. “You just seem so…relaxed…carefree. I
didn’t expect… I’m not used to it.”

“But,” said Pete, wiping his mouth with a napkin,

“are you enjoying it?”

Mike nodded and smiled. “I never know what

you’re going to do next. It’s weird, but it’s growing on
me.”

Pete chose a small container of jam and got to his

knees. He pushed the tray to the corner of the bed.
“Turn over.”

“What?”
“Turn. Over.”
Mike rolled over onto his stomach and craned his

neck to look back at Mike over his shoulder. “What’s
that?”

“Apple preserve. I’m making apple turnover.” He

chuckled and dug his fingers into the container.
“Now, lie down, for God’s sake.”

Mike gave in and lay flat, resting his chin on the

back of his hands. The jam was cold against his anus
and his muscles tensed. “Pete, what the—”

“Lie still. Relax.”

Mike took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. His

hole gave to Pete’s fingers as they massaged the
sugary confection into his passage. The sting rippled
through Mike’s body, turning to pleasure.

“Now for the best bit,” said Pete, slowly

withdrawing. “I’m going to lick you clean.”

Chapter Ten

South of Lyon the weather improved further.

From an almost cloudless sky the sun baked the
interior of the car through the glass. “Shame this
doesn’t have air conditioning,” said Mike, winding
the window down and putting it straight back up
again. “It’s too noisy with the window open.” He

jiggled a finger in his ear.

“I didn’t really expect it to be this warm,” said

Pete, adjusting the vents. “How much longer do you
reckon? Is she right?” He nodded at the GPS. The
display predicted an hour and forty-five minutes.

“A bit more, I’d say. Sue and Brian live just to the

south of the town in Saint Remy.”

“I must say I don’t know the area.”
“Saint Remy is lovely. Princess Diana bought a

place there and Van Gogh was banged up in the
asylum for a time.”

“So, I take it Sue and Brian aren’t short of a bob or

two?”

“Hardly. The house cost them three million

euros.”

“Blimey.” Pete shuffled in the driver’s seat. When

he’d gotten comfortable, he continued. “If they’re
typical of your old customers, you must have
acquired a taste for the good life.”

“Yeah.” Mike looked at his hands and turned

them over. “Just a bit.”

“I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, Mike.

But look at it this way, you’ve got your health, you’ve
got your old Citroen and it brought us back together.”

“Yeah.” Mike stared out of the side window at the

modern cars speeding by. “Pete?” he said after a few
minutes.

“Hmm?”
“Thanks for…well, you know.”
“No need for thanks. I’m glad to be able to help.”
“I am getting better, I think. Loosening up.”

“I can see it. About time, too.”
“I do enjoy being with you, you know. I just don’t

want to rush into things, to spoil things.”

Pete reached over and took hold of Mike’s hand.

“We’re blokes, not girls. Right now we’re enjoying
each other’s company, and cocks from time to time.”
He chuckled and took his hand back. “I’m not
pressuring you, not at all, but I would like to think
that this is the start of something.”

Mike knew that, and Pete had grown on him. His

silly chuckle that would normally have got right up
Mike’s nose, his schoolboy quips, his brown hair that
flowed like liquid chocolate, the way his eyes crinkled
at the corners when he laughed. And his big cock.
Mike smiled. “You’ll like Sue and Brian, they’re good

fun.”

In the late afternoon sun the old stone farmhouse

looked as if it had been built out of chunks of cinder
toffee. Once vibrant creepers clung to a trellis around
the front door, their colors washed away by the
autumn storms that swept through with regularity.

A slender woman in a bluish floral frock, fuchsia

fleece and green gum boots waded across the lawn
towards them, brandishing a garden rake. “Mike,”
she called. “Over here.”

“Sue?” said Pete.

Mike nodded. “She always dresses like that.”
“OK.”
“Don’t worry, she’s a pussycat.” Mike rushed

across the lawn and threw his arms wide. “Sue,
darling. How are you?”

Sue dropped the rake and hugged Mike. “Same as

always. How about you?” She stood back and eyed
him up and down. “Are you sure you’re eating
properly? Are you getting enough meat?”

Mike heard Pete chuckle behind him. “This is

Pete,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder.

“Pete, welcome,” Sue held out a hand. “I hope

you’re looking after Mike, he’s very precious to us,
you know.”

“I’m giving him the best I’ve got, Sue.”

Mike groaned silently.
“Good. Well, let’s go inside and have some wine,

shall we? The rest of the damned leaves can wait until
you’ve gone.” She linked arms with the two men and
dragged them into the house.

In the middle of a kitchen as big as Mike’s rented

house, an antique pine table had been set for a dinner
party of four. Enough glasses for a wine tasting
huddled around two enormous ecclesiastical
candlesticks at the center of the table.

“Grab some glasses off the table, I’ll just fill a

carafe,” said Sue, disappearing behind a door that
looked older than the house.

“I can see why it cost so much,” said Pete behind

a hand. He skimmed the toe of his shoe over the brick
floor. “This terracotta floor must be worth fifty
grand.”

“Just about spot on, if my memory serves me

right. And whatever you do,” said Mike, handing a
wine glass to Pete, “don’t break this.”

Sue returned with a carafe of anemic rosé wine in

one hand and a gigantic pair of Bart Simpson slippers
on her feet. She filled their glasses. “Bottoms up.”

“Where’s Brian?” asked Mike, wincing at the tart

wine.

“Went to town to get bread. You know this

French bread doesn’t last a day.”

“There was no need—” said Pete.
“Not for you, maybe, but my husband won’t have

his dinner without his petit pain. Now, let’s go sit
down and you can tell me all your news.” She led
them into a conservatory at the far end of the kitchen
and sat down on a sofa of wrought iron and thick
cushions. “Tell me, Pete, how did you two meet? I’ll
never get to know if I wait for Mike to tell me.”

Mike said, “He came to fix my boiler—”
“And I recognized him straight away,” said Pete.
“Recognized?”

“We went to school together. Mike was too posh

for me then, but I knew it was him all right.”

“Well, that’s marvelous. Friends reunited.” Sue

held out an empty wine glass. “We should drink to
that. Pete, the wine is in the big fridge near the inner
door.” As soon as Pete had gone, she pulled Mike
onto the sofa and said into his ear, “He’s lovely. Just
right for you. I hope you’re not letting the grass grow
under your feet?”

“Sue, stop matchmaking. I hardly know him—”

“But he said you went to the same school.”
“Yes, but we weren’t friends. I just knew him, you

know.”

“You like him, though, don’t you?” She raised an

eyebrow.

“Not the way you mean.”

“Oh. And I put you in a double room. The one at

the far end.”

“That’s fine.”
“Ah, I can see I won’t need the lawnmower then.”
Pete returned with a full glass and handed it to

Sue. “Why would you need a lawnmower at this time
of year?”

Sue giggled. “I was just checking that grass

wasn’t growing under Mike’s feet.” She sipped her
wine and checked her watch. “Brian will be here
soon. Do you want to freshen up before supper?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” said Pete. “It was hot in that

old car and I keep getting the smell of apples.”

Mike kicked Pete’s shin as he passed him to lead

the way.

Mike leaned back in the chair and patted his

stomach. “That was great. Thanks.”

“Best food I’ve ever had in France,” said Pete

with a chuckle.

Brian crossed his arms on the table, showing the

holes in the elbows of his Marks and Spencer
cardigan. “Are you two sure you won’t stay a bit
longer? You don’t have to rush off in the morning on
our account.”

“Pete’s left his business—”

“Oh, do stay,” said Sue, resting a hand on Mike’s

arm. “At least for a little while. It would be such fun.”

“Well, I suppose we could,” said Pete, glancing at

Mike.

“But what about work? With neither of us

there

—”

“It’ll be fine for a few days. I only need call Jason

and he’ll see the lads are OK.”

Mike frowned. “Are you sure it’s a good idea?”
“Worried you’ll get into trouble with the boss?”

Pete laughed. “It’s a great idea.” He looked at Brian.
“If you’re sure about it, we’d love to stay.”

Brian nodded. “That’s settled then. Sue will be

glad to have someone to talk to other than me. After
nearly fifty years of marriage she must be bored to
death with my conversation.”

Sue slapped Brian with her napkin. “You can

show Pete around the area, Mike, maybe have a trip
to the coast. It can be lovely at this time of year
without all those beastly tourists.”

Pete’s eyes widened and he sat to attention.

“That’s a great idea. How far are we from Monte
Carlo?”

“That’s a bit of trek,” said Brian, pouring himself

some more Bandol and passing the bottle to Pete. “At
least three hours, on a good day.”

“That’s not too far.”
“Pete—”
“Mike, don’t be such a cold fish. I’ve never been

and it seems a pity not to go since we’re so close. We
can easily do a day trip.”

“Or you could overnight, come back the next

day,” said Sue.

Mike gave her a friendly punch on the shoulder.

“Don’t encourage him.”

“She’s right. Oh, we could go to the casino!”
Mike groaned. “Do we have to? I hate casinos and

gambling. Anyway, we didn’t bring decent clothes.”

“We’ll buy some.”
Sue laughed. “Oh, Pete! You are super. Just what

Mike needs.” She turned to Brian and touched his

wrist. “Don’t you have a tux or two they could
borrow?”

Brian eyed Pete across the table. “Mike’s about

the same size as me, but I doubt I can help Pete.”

“It really doesn’t matter. We can go shopping

tomorrow. I need a new dinner jacket anyway.” Pete
rested a hand on Mike’s thigh. “What do you say?”

Mike sighed. “Is there any point in me arguing?”
Pete shook his head.

“Splendid, splendid,” said Sue, holding out her

glass. “Now, I’ll have some more of that lovely wine.”

Pete gazed out of the SM window with his mouth

gaping as Mike navigated the twists and turns of
Monaco. It felt good to have his old car back, to be

behind the wheel. The old pneumatic suspension and
power steering had a completely luxurious feel
compared to modern cars.

“Amazing,” Pete said. “I mean, I never imagined

it would have so many skyscrapers.”

“Officially, it’s the most densely populated

country on the planet. All because there’s no income
tax.” Mike cast a glance at the Mediterranean in the
distance, a sheet of blue sprinkled with flashing
diamonds. “This is the rainy season. We’re lucky.”

“It’ll do me. Must be seventy degrees.” Pete

powered his window down and felt the air with his

hand. “Ah, this is the life.” He leaned back in his seat
and closed his eyes.

Mike’s stomach sank as fast and hard as an

elevator in free fall. Panic burst in his chest like a
cloud of poisonous gas. He sucked in air.

“You OK?”
Mike nodded.
“You’ve gone white.”

Mike gripped the steering wheel. “I’m OK. Really,

I’m OK.” He concentrated on the road but was aware
of Pete scrutinizing him. He hadn’t had an attack like
this for a while. Pete’s contented remark had brought
it all back. This is the life. This was the life, and now it
had all gone. What the hell had happened? How did

it all go so wrong?

Pete would never be able to understand how

Mike felt. Sure, Pete was generous, but Mike couldn’t
take charity. He’d accepted the job, and Pete had
insisted on paying for the trip, but Mike didn’t want
to be a kept man. All his life he’d stood on his own
feet and held his head high. Now, he knew, he
walked with his shoulders hunched and his head
tucked into his chest. He wanted to crawl into a dark
place and never come out.

Pete meant well, and Mike grew fonder of him by

the day, but it just couldn’t work. The difference

between them was too much. As soon as they got
back home, he’d have a talk with Pete. There was no
point in putting a dampener on Pete’s obvious
enjoyment of the life.

Chapter Eleven

Pete looked stunning in his black tuxedo. Mike

had persuaded him to buy the red bowtie and it
worked perfectly. So as not to look like twins, Mike
wore a cream jacket and blue bowtie.

Pete chuckled and turned from the mirror,

grasping Mike by the biceps. “Ready?”

“Do we really have to go to the Casino? Can’t we

just have a quiet dinner?” Mike didn’t simply hate
gambling, he didn’t have the money to throw away
and he knew that Pete would insist on paying.

Pete threw his arms in the air. “Give me some

slack, Mike. Can’t you see I’m like a kid with a new
toy? I’m having fun, real fun, for the first time in
years.” He pouted. “Don’t spoil it, eh?”

Mike sighed. “OK. But please, let’s keep it

sensible.”

“I’m from Yorkshire. As if I’d be otherwise.”Pete

chuckled and opened the bedroom door. “We’ll take
the car. I want to arrive at the Casino de Monte Carlo
in your SM.”

Mike checked his wallet for his one unused credit

card, gritted his teeth and followed.

Pete reminded Mike of a child on Christmas

morning, wide eyed and full of excitement as they
slipped between the parked Bentleys and Ferraris to

mount the famous steps of the Casino. They entered
through the central door, the glass panes and brass
handles glistening as if oiled. Lush carpets as thick as
duvets contrasted with gleaming marble floors. Pete
stared up the ornate Beaux Arts ceiling and chuckled.
It served only to deepen Mike’s sense of foreboding.
Pete had been so good to him that he must maintain a
façade of normality.

“What a fantastic building,” said Pete, his eyes

scanning the opulent decoration. “Scrambled egg
everywhere you look. I can’t believe the entrance fee
is only ten euros.”

“Don’t worry. They have other ways of getting

your money off you.”

“Mike, I told you. I feel lucky.”
How many times had Mike heard that? How

many fortunes could he count that had been lost
here? Without trying, a dozen former clients sprang
into his mind. All had felt lucky. “How much are you
going buy?”

“I thought a thousand euro.”
Mike felt his eyes bulge. “You’re not serious?”

Pete nodded.
“What are you going to play?”
“Roulette. I’ve always wanted to play roulette,

just like James Bond. A thousand is nothing, people
bet hundreds of thousands.”

Pete had done well, but he wasn’t in that league.

“Pete, roulette is the quickest way to lose money—”

“A thousand, OK? When it’s gone, it’s gone. But

I’m telling you, tonight’s the night.”

“Just remember Robert Maxwell. He lost one and

a half million pounds in three minutes playing
roulette.”

“I’d rather not.”
Pete had found the cashier’s desk and hurried

towards it. Mike watched him nod his head at the
cashier and remove his wallet. Pete turned from the
desk and held out his hand to Mike.

Mike stared at the chips. “No, Pete. I’ll buy my

own. Just imagine if I won.”

“You win, it’s yours. Just pay me back the value

of these.”

“Thanks, but no. I’ll get some of my own.” Mike

handed over his credit card to the cashier. “Fifty
euros, please.”

Mike guided Pete to one of the public tables and

they took seats next to each other. In their formal

attire they were overdressed and attracted attention.
Mike shifted uncomfortably on his chair, wishing he
could blend into the background.

“So, how do you play?” asked Pete, surveying the

table like a greedy child eyeing a candy shop
window.

Mike nearly fell off his chair. “You mean you

can’t play?”

“Nope. First time. But how hard can it be?”
“Jesus.” Mike ran a hand over his head. “Look,

why don’t we just go find something else?”

“Not on your Nelly!”
Mike blew out a stream of air. “I’m no expert, I

can tell you, but wait until the croupier spins the
wheel, stick your bet on a numbered square and hold
your breath.”

“That all there is to it?”
“Of course not, but I don’t play either. Other than

that, watch the others.”

Pete arranged his chips in front of him. “You got

a lucky number?”

The croupier spun the wheel, sending the ball

bouncing and rattling across the pockets.

Mike lowered his voice. “I find it hard to believe

in luck, these days.” He reached over and put the
minimum bet on the table, calling out seventeen, his
birthday.

“Rien ne va plus,” said the croupier. No more bets.

“Red 16 is mine,” said Pete. “Lucky number and

color.” He rubbed his hands together as the wheel
slowed and the ball steadied. “Come on, come on.”

Mike wasn’t even watching the wheel; he found

the gamblers around the table far more interesting, so
he was taken aback when all eyes turned on him.

Pete punched him on the shoulder. “You jammy

sod, you won.”

“I what?” Mike had never won anything in his

life. He couldn’t even win prizes he didn’t want. He
couldn’t take in all the shuffling of chips and chairs.

“Put it back on,” said Pete. “What have you got to

lose?”

Mike, too flummoxed to object, let the winnings

ride again. This time he changed to number eight, the
number of the house he’d been brought up in. It
seemed the wheel would never stop spinning, the ball
never stop bouncing and rattling across the numbered

pockets. Then silence before the croupier announced
the winner.

“Huit. Number eight.”

You could have cut the air with a knife as the

roulette wheel spun. Sitting in the private salon ten
minutes later, the focus of everyone’s attention, Mike
regretted allowing Pete to bully him into one last
game. The forty thousand euros he’d won wouldn’t

change his life, but they would have made things a lot
easier. They would have bought him time, at the very
least. But as the wheel slowed, he could feel it in his
stomach—he was going to leave without them.

He closed his eyes as the ball found its pocket.
“Dix-sept. Seventeen.”

A roar went up and the players burst into

applause. He felt Pete’s slap on the back and opened
his eyes. The ball confirmed it.

“You’ve done it, you bugger. You’ve done it.”

Pete was on his feet jigging up and down like a
Morris dancer.

Mike couldn’t breathe, his throat tightened and

his palms oozed sweat. Others came to congratulate
him as the table cleared. He’d done the rough
calculation before placing the bet—three hundred and
ninety thousand euros.

“Pete,” Mike said, gasping for air. “I think we

should go. I think I’m going to be sick.”

Chapter Twelve

The cork popped satisfyingly out of the bottle of

Bollinger and Brian filled the flutes to the brim.

“To Mike,” said Brian. “Couldn’t happen to

anyone better.”

“And he didn’t want to go at all,” said Pete,

clinking his glass with each in turn. “Cheers!”

Mike still had to absorb it all. He just wasn’t the

lucky type. He’d always had to strive for every
penny. He felt sure that it would all turn out to be a
huge mistake and he’d be back down at the bottom
again come morning.

“You’re not carrying it on you, are you?” asked

Sue with a worried look on her face.

“God, no. They’re transferring it to my bank

account.” No doubt it would never arrive. Some sort
of electronic banking error was something he could
certainly bet on.

“Look at him,” said Pete. “You’d think he’d lost a

dollar and found a dime. Cheer up, for God’s sake.
Your troubles are over.”

Mike forced a smile and sipped his champagne.

He didn’t know how to feel. He simply could not
believe it. If the money did come through, it would
buy a decent house with a bit left over, and was
enough to make a vast difference to his
circumstances. He’d have time to sort himself out. He

wouldn’t have to feel that he was taking handouts
from Pete. “I’m fine. Just a bit shocked, that’s all.”

“Of course you are,” said Sue, “anyone would be.

I almost need a lie down myself.”

“What are you going to do with it?” asked Brian,

sitting down at the table.

“Nothing immediately. I need to take stock. But it

will certainly take the pressure off. I can take my time
and decide what I want to do and where I want to
be.”

The money did change some things. For one,

Mike no longer had to stay in the area. Yorkshire had

never been his first choice. Circumstances had forced
him there.

He detected a look of disappointment on Pete’s

face. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to think about it.

That evening, Pete climbed into bed and lay on

his back. Mike could almost hear Pete’s mind
formulating questions.

“What’s up? You seemed a bit quiet over supper.”

Mike turned on his side to face Pete, resting his head
on one hand.

“Oh, nothing.”
“Come on. Tell me.”
Pete sucked in a deep breath, held it, then blew it

out. “It was just something you said, about deciding
where you want to be.”

“Ah. I knew it.”

“I know you’ve only been back a few weeks and I

know it wasn’t your choice, but I thought
maybe…look, forget it. I’m being daft.”

Mike reached out and laid a hand on Pete’s chest.

His fingertips tingled at the touch of the firm but soft
skin. It surprised him. “I have a lot to thank you for.
I’ll never forget that. And I’m not saying I’m going to
up sticks straight away. In these last few weeks I’ve
grown fond of you.”

“I don’t want your gratitude, Mike. And I don’t

want you to be just fond of me. People are fond of
small furry animals.”

“I can’t give you more than that. Not just now.

Let’s see how things pan out. Can’t we do that?”

“It looks like I have no choice, but I’m scared that

you’ll leave.” Pete turned to face Mike. His eyes
glistened with moisture. “I know you don’t love me,
but I can feel myself drawn to you in a way I’ve never
experienced before.” He took hold of Mike’s hand
and kissed it.

Mike shivered with pleasure. “Oh, Pete. I don’t

want to hurt you.” He leaned forwards and kissed

Pete’s lips. At first, Pete didn’t respond, but then he
put one hand behind Mike’s head and pulled him
close, pressing their mouths together. Pete slipped his
tongue between Mike’s lips, dancing it over them and
sending shock waves through Mike’s body. Mike felt
his cock spring to life and he sucked on the probing

tongue, twisting his own around it.

Pete pulled back. “I want you, Mike.” He threw

back the duvet. His fat cock stood proud as a totem
pole. “I really want you.”

Mike shifted onto his stomach and shuffled down

until Pete’s cock was in his face. Mike cupped Pete’s
balls in one hand and they immediately tightened.
With the other hand he grasped Pete’s cock and
guided it into his mouth. He felt the tremors pulse
down the shaft and Pete moaned. Mike took care not
to catch the swollen head with his teeth, but at the
size of a small apple, it left him little room for

maneuver. He took Pete’s cock deep until the tip
touched the back of his throat. He still had a hand
wrapped around the shaft between his lips and the
pubic bone. That thought made him tremble with
excitement and he felt his own precum lubricate his
thigh. He forced Pete’s cock against the back of his
throat, trying to take it further, deeper, but he was out
of practice and the gag reflex kicked in. He released
Pete’s cock with splutter, tears filling his eyes.
“Sorry.”

“Hey,” Pete said, lifting Mike’s chin with a finger.

“No need for sorry. No one’s managed that, yet.” Pete
got to his knees and grasped Mike by the shoulders.
“Turn over.”

Mike lay on his back, looking up at Pete who

kneeled between his legs. Pete’s eyes twinkled like

dark stars beneath a wave of chestnut hair. He’d
caught the sun over the last couple of days and his
skin glowed like English strawberries.

Pete lowered his head and took Mike’s cock in his

hands. He peeled the foreskin back and peered at the
head. “You have a lovely cock. Very…suckable.”

Mike arched his back off the mattress as Pete

swallowed his cock all the way down in one silken
movement. He felt Mike’s throat open up around his
swollen cockhead, the firm but smooth walls of the
cavity pressing against his nerve endings. Mike raised
his hips and thrust back and forth. Pete worked with

him, taking Mike’s cock as far down as the root
would allow, then sliding it out until just the tip was
between his lips.

Mike felt the sap rising and knew he would come

soon. He grabbed Pete’s face in his hands and lifted
him off. “Don’t make me come, not yet.”

Pete lowered himself on bent arms until his cock

collided with Mike’s and his chest hovered over
Mike’s own.

Mike felt a charge between them, as if their torsos

were magnetic. He looked into Pete’s eyes at the
dilated pupils, the soft crinkles at the corners. How
could he resist this man who wanted him so badly?
This beautiful man? “Did you bring condoms?”

Pete nodded. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”
Pete dropped down and kissed Mike on the lips.

“Don’t go anywhere.” He slipped off the bed and ran
to the bathroom.

Mike quaked with anticipation and fear all at the

same time. He wanted to feel Pete inside him, but it
had been so long since he’d been penetrated except by
his own finger. And he’d never taken anyone as big
as Pete. He hoped he could do it.

Pete returned with lube and a couple of condoms

in foil.

Mike sniggered. “You came prepared, you sod!”

“Aren’t you glad?” said Pete, opening the lube.

“We’ll go steady with it. Wait until it hurts a bit, then
just give me the nod.” He slapped Mike on the thigh.
“Right, turn over.”

Mike turned onto his stomach and dragged a

pillow under his neck.

Pete parted Mike’s buttocks with expert fingers

and drizzled lube onto his rosebud. Pete had such
patience that his first finger drove home without any
pain, but the second burned and Mike winced.

Pete’s gentleness relaxed Mike to the point where

he felt as if he was floating on a cloud somewhere
close to heaven. After each finger entered, Pete took
time to let Mike’s muscles adjust, moving his fingers
in an almost imperceptible caress to loosen and relax
Mike’s cavity. In the moments that his fingers

remained still, Pete gently stroked Mike’s buttocks,
legs and back with his free hand, a feather light touch
that raised goose bumps in its wake.

“OK. That’s all four, baby. You ready?”
“Yeah. Take me, Pete.”
Pete’s fingers deserted Mike one by one and Mike

felt air rush into his gaping hole. He heard the click
click sound of a condom being unrolled and he
sniggered. “I guess they’re extra large?”

“You bet. Now, shh! Relax.”
The head of Pete’s cock pressed against Mike’s

opening and he felt his muscles give. Pete applied

more pressure and Mike’s cavity opened around
Pete’s cockhead with a sharp burn.

“Ouch! Ooh, ooh!” Mike sucked in air.
“You OK? Shall I stop?”
“No, don’t. Just…one sec…OK…slowly.” Mike

pulled the pillow from under his neck and bit on the
corner of it. “Go for it.”

Pete pushed and Mike opened for him. It burned

like a hot poker but Mike knew it would pass. He bit
hard on the pillow and breathed deeply. Pete’s cock

slid gently back and forth, lubricating and widening.
With each thrust the pain lessened to discomfort, then
all melted into pleasure. Mike felt Pete’s balls up
against his perineum and knew Pete was in all the
way.

“You OK?” Pete’s voice was barely a whisper.

“Yeah. Show me, now. Let me have it.”
Pete thrust in and out, his firm stomach beat

against Mike’s buttocks, and his breathing became
louder. Mike felt Pete deep inside, as if he were
squeezing the air out of his lungs from below. Mike’s
skin tingled and his cock began to harden again.

Pete slowed, then withdrew. “Turn over.”
Mike rolled onto his back and Pete lifted Mike’s

legs in the air. Pete fell forwards and rested above
Mike on outstretched arms. Mike rested his legs on
Pete’s shoulders as Pete entered Mike again, all the
way in one smooth thrust. As Pete hit home, he kissed

Mike on the lips. Mike opened his mouth and took
Pete’s tongue. As Pete matched the rhythm of his cock
with his hungry tongue, his breathing intensified.
Mike had never felt so full, so happy, so horny. He
reached down and felt his cock, the head wet and
slippery.

“I can’t hold it,” said Mike.
“I’ll come with you.”
Mike stroked his cock and felt the orgasm ferment

at the base of his cock, building like trapped bubbles

in a shaken bottle of champagne. As it rose, he let out
a grunt. Pete followed him, raised his eyes to the
ceiling and whimpered.

A thunderbolt shot through Mike’s urethra and

his chest was suddenly soaked. Pete’s cock pulsed
and throbbed, alive inside Mike as it delivered its

load.

“So good,” said Pete, a broad smile across his

face. He looked down at Mike and grinned, then
lowered his head and licked Mike’s chest.

When they kissed, Mike tasted himself in Pete’s

mouth. He wrapped his arms around Pete and
hugged him tight. Right then, he felt as if he could
never let him go.

Chapter Thirteen

Why Pete wanted to lead the way Mike didn’t

understand. Mike knew the route like the back of his
hand, but Pete seemed determined to test his GPS to
the limits. Cruising along behind the DS, Mike
contemplated the odds against him finding someone
else with a penchant for old cars, let alone another

Citroen. Odds. What were the odds of a total novice
with no luck winning at roulette? He felt a smile creep
across his face. Tonight he would pay for supper.
Tomorrow, well, he’d see.

As they approached Lyon, the skies darkened and

a brisk wind blew up. The temperature inside the car
plummeted and Mike turned up the heat. He couldn’t
remember the last time he’d used the heater in this
car. When the heavens opened, the rain came down in
sheets and washed across the surface of the autoroute,
making it shine like polished slate. The screen vent

struggled to clear the glass and Mike reached for the
chamois leather in the door pocket. He rubbed at the
windshield, clearing the mist to reveal spray off the

road that would have competed with the fountains of
Versailles. The taillights of Pete’s DS blurred up
ahead, streaking like smudged lipstick when the wind
blew it off course.

Mike found himself worrying about Pete. He

didn’t have experience with French roads and drivers,

not to mention in this weather. And France had some
of the highest number of road deaths in Europe.
Should he call him on the cell phone and warn him,
tell him to slow down? No, that could be dangerous
in itself. He’d wait for the next rest stop and flash his
headlights, their agreed signal to pull over.

Why was he worrying? Pete was a grown man,

and he’d survived this long without Mike to
mollycoddle him.

Mike glanced in his rear view mirror. A truck

bore down on him, flashing its headlights. He
checked the speedometer. Sixty miles per hour in a

forty-year-old car in this weather was as fast he
wanted to go, faster even. Fucking lorry drivers!

The blare of the truck’s horn jolted Mike in his

seat. The truck disappeared out of the mirror, only to
creep up alongside the car. He was passing. He was
actually overtaking, in this weather!

Spray from the truck’s tires engulfed the car and

tested the windshield wipers to the limit. Mike felt he
was in a car wash. He gripped the wheel and fought
against the fist of air as the truck thundered by. He

slowed, hoping it would pass and be gone, but as it
cleared his car he saw Pete’s brake lights. The truck,
instead of carrying on, jerked sideways to fill the
narrowing gap between the two Citroens. There isn’t
room!

Mike checked the rear view mirror and hit the

brake pedal, hoping to create space, but the truck
must have clipped the back of Pete’s car. The truck
swung into the outside lane, horn bellowing.

Pete’s car swerved towards the hard shoulder,

skittering left and right before catching the crash
barrier. A tail of sparks followed it, the side scraping
along the barrier until it came to a stop.

Mike brought his car to a halt thirty yards ahead

of Pete’s. The truck driver had carried on, either
oblivious to what he’d done or simply not caring.

All Mike could think about was Pete. Tears

pricked his eyes as he jumped out of the car. The

wind tore into him, hurling needles of rain at his face
and head. Traffic hummed by, spraying him with
surface water.

He tugged Pete’s car door open. Pete’s head hung

over his chest, his arms limp by his sides. The seat
belt kept him upright.

“Pete?” Mike shook him by the shoulder. “Pete?

Are you OK?”

Pete made no sound.

Mike bent into the car and lifted Pete’s head with

one hand, feeling for a pulse with the other. Blood
seeped from a cut above Pete’s eyebrow. “Pete!” The
pulse seemed normal, but Mike was no doctor. He
shook Pete again. “Pete, speak to me.”

Pete’s eyelids trembled, then flickered and

opened. “What the…”

Thank God! “OK. You sit tight, I’m calling an

ambulance.”

“What? No, I’m fine. I’m…f…” and then his chin

fell back to his chest once more.

Mike paced up and down the hospital corridor,

chewing the inside of his mouth until he tasted blood.
Although his worst fear was over, he now toyed with
all the other possibilities. Would Pete make a full
recovery? Maybe he’d sustain brain damage, or not be
able to walk. Or he could even be totally paralyzed.

Mike couldn’t bear to think of how Pete, so fit and
active, would cope with it.

Mike remembered how he’d felt as Pete’s car

skidded off the road and hit the barrier. The tears
sprang to his eyes again and he hid his face behind a
hand. Such emotion took him by surprise, and he
realized that he’d grown more fond… No, not fond, it
was something deeper and more meaningful than
that. The shock, the idea that he might lose Pete jarred

him to his senses. He loved him. The realization made
him glow with pleasure, then shiver with anxiety. He
shoved it aside. Right now, Pete needed him, and that
was all that mattered.

“Monsieur Mason?”
Mike lowered his hand to see a young Moroccan

doctor in a white coat smiling at him.

“Is he OK?”
“Oui. He’s fine—”
“Thank God!” Mike exhaled noisily and his hands

trembled.

“Please to come with me, you may see your

friend.” The doctor gestured down the corridor with
an outstretched arm. “S’il vous plait.”

“And he is going to be OK? You’re sure?” Mike

pressed the young man as he walked by his side.

“Yes, perfectly. He has the little concussion. The

cut on the ’ead is superficial. You can take him

home.”

Mike’s heart pounded and his head whirled.

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” The doctor smiled and pushed open

a door. “Please.”

“Mike!” Pete sat on the edge of the bed dangling

his legs. Blood stained his white shirt. His toothy
smile mirrored the pristine bandage above his eye.
“Good thing you were behind me.” He chuckled.

“I can tell you’re back to your old self.” Mike

turned to the doctor. “Thank you.”

The doctor bowed his head. “Nothing. If you will

allow me, I must to go.”

“Of course. Does Pete need any paperwork from

you?”

“I have it, Mike. All done and dusted. Thanks,

doc.”

“Take it easy for a while, Mr. Bicker…Bick…Mr.

Pete. Au revoir.”

“Seems very pleasant,” said Mike after the door

had closed.

“I bet he’s hung. I was once in Tangier and—”
“Enough! I don’t want to know.”
“He said he couldn’t wear shorts—”
“Stop it, Pete, for God’s sake.” Mike shot Pete a

cold stare but the cheeky look on Pete’s face melted it.
“I was so worried about you.” For the third time in as

many hours, tears stung Mike’s eyes.

Pete slipped off the bed and wrapped his arms

around Mike. “Hey, is this you being soft? I didn’t
know you could be.”

Mike looked down into Pete’s blue eyes. He

wanted to dive into the sapphire pools and bathe in
them. “I just couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.
When your car…”

“It’s OK.” Pete ran a hand over Mike’s head. “I’m

fine.”

Mike nodded and sniffed. “Come on. Let’s get

you home.”

Chapter Fourteen

Mike had started to believe the winnings from the

casino would materialize, and once they’d boarded
The Pride of Hull, he went straight to reception to see
if there was chance to upgrade the cabin. With the key
for a club suite in hand he returned to Pete at the
bank of elevators.

“The advantages of travelling out of season,” said

Mike, picking up the bags. “Come on, follow me.”

The club cabins occupied the front corners of the

huge ferry with windows on two sides. Instead of
bunks, they had twin beds, room to move around and
a spacious shower. He sat Pete on the sofa and set
about unpacking the overnight things.

“Gee, Mike. I never even knew cabins like this

existed.” Pete patted the sofa cushion.

“You haven’t lived.”
“Know what? There’s truth in that, but I’m going

to. This trip has been an eye opener and I have you to
thank for it.”

“You have nothing to thank me for. It’s the other

way round.”

“If you hadn’t been with me—”
“If you hadn’t been with me you’d never have got

into the accident in the first place. It’s my fault. I don’t
know why you’re not pissed off with me.” Mike took

their toiletries into the bathroom.

“Mike, come here and sit down.”
Mike faffed with the razors and toothbrushes. He

didn’t want Pete to go all soppy on him. Pete’d had a
near miss and might not be thinking straight. He’d
taken the damage to his precious car almost too
casually, and once he got home, his feelings might
change.

“Mike?”
Mike looked up at the mirror and saw Pete

standing behind him in the doorway. The sight of the
bandage and the yellow bruise that had begun to

appear around his eye made Mike wince. He turned
around. “I thought I told you to sit down.”

“And I thought I asked you to come and sit with

me?”

“I was just arranging things. Sorry.”
“Stop worrying over things that don’t matter.

You’re worse than a woman sometimes.”

“I just like to have things nice. It’s the way I am.”
“I know. And, to be honest, it’s one of your

qualities I like.”

“Oh, so there are some you don’t?” Mike tossed

his head and tutted.

Pete reached out and took Mike’s hand. “Even the

drama queen has her attractions.”

Mike slapped him playfully on the shoulder.

“Watch it.”

“I’m watching you. I’ve watched you all the way

up the autoroute. I can’t take my eyes off you, Mike.”

“Pete, don’t. Let’s get home, let the dust settle.”
“I don’t understand your reluctance. I saw the

look on your face when you came into the room at the
hospital.”

“Surely it’s natural to worry about a friend?

When I found you slumped in the car I thought you
might be dead.”

Pete chuckled and sat down on the edge of one of

the beds. “It was more than that, Mike. I know what I
saw in those eyes, and I remember what you said. Do

you?”

Mike remembered. “No, not really,” he lied.
Pete shook his head and took hold of Mike’s hand

again. “You said you couldn’t bear the thought of
losing me. Well, you haven’t. And you won’t. But
give a little, eh?”

Give a little. Loosen up. Pete’s constant instructions.

Mike could feel it happening, little by little and,
despite what he said to Pete, he knew he wanted to
try to make this work. In a short time they’d been

through a lot. The last days with Kurt had faded, and
along with them, the feelings. One chapter had ended,
now another would begin. That was life. All Mike had
to do was turn the page.

Chapter Fifteen

Over the next few weeks, life settled into a

routine. Mike stuck the fruits of his one and only
night of gambling into a deposit account and spent
just a little of it making his rented home more
bearable. At least now he did call it home. Monday to
Friday, he turned in for work at Pete’s place, though

he saw little of the man himself during office hours as
Pete left early to do his calls and came back late. On
the weekends Mike caught up with reading and went
out for drives in the countryside. Sometimes Pete
would join him and they’d go over the North
Yorkshire Moors to Whitby for fish and chips.

As December approached, the countryside

succumbed to winter’s grip. Pleasure trips became
fewer as ice turned the twisting roads into death
traps. Pete’s 4x4 proved invaluable and he began
more and more to visit Mike at home in the evenings.

One night as they lay huddled under the duvet,

their bodies glued together by their sweaty skin, Pete
said, “Mike? I’ve been thinking.”

“Hmm?”
“How long have you got on this lease?”
“Until April. But the agent said the owner would

renew for another six months.”

“Wouldn’t it make sense to move in with me?”
Mike pulled loose from Pete’s arms and sat up.

“What?”

“Look at it this way. I’m here five nights out of

seven as it is. My house is stood empty, and here we
are in this rented dump.”

“Um—”
“Don’t take it the wrong way. You’ve done

wonders with it, but it’s still not yours and I know it’s
not you. That aside, why pay the rent when my house
is paid for?”

“Jesus, Pete.” Mike ran one hand over his head

and pulled his sticky scrotum with the other.

“Just say yes.”

“It’s not that simple. I mean, I’m grateful for the

offer but—”

“So what’s stopping you? In fact, why wait until

April?”

Mike reached over and switched on his bedside

lamp. Pete sat up and they squinted at each other.
Mike’s eyes adjusted to the light and he saw Pete’s
smile.

“I don’t know, Pete.”
“Why not?”

“It’s a big step and I guess…I guess I’m scared it

will spoil things.”

“Why would it spoil things?”
Mike shook his head and stared at the ceiling.
“Look.” Pete took Mike’s hands in his own. “It

makes sense to do it. And if you’re worried about

being on top of each other, you can have your own
room. We don’t have to live in each other’s pockets if
you don’t want.”

“But you do want that, don’t you? You’re ready.”
“Yes, I’ve made it plain. I want to make this work

and the sooner we get on with it the better. We’re
wasting time, losing time. Why?”

Mike got off the bed and slipped into his robe. “I

don’t know. I just don’t feel…ready. When you raise
the subject, when you put it right there in front of
me,” he held a hand in front of his face, “I get the
jitters.”

“I thought it was the charity issue, that you didn’t

want to feel you were scrounging off me.”

“It was an issue.”
“Exactly. Was an issue. You have money now,

we’re equal partners. Why doesn’t that change
things?”

Mike chewed on his lip. He couldn’t answer

because he knew the real reason was illogical. From
one day to the next Kurt never entered Mike’s head,

but as soon as Pete got all serious and tried to draw
nearer, then the bugs in Mike’s brain started to nibble.

“Mike, talk to me.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“What the fuck is there to think about?”
“My head’s all mixed up. I didn’t expect you to

spring this on me.”

Pete swung his legs out of the bed and reached

for his clothes.

“What are you doing?”
“I think it’s best if I leave you alone tonight,

seeing as you have so much thinking to do.”

Mike’s heart turned leaden and his stomach

knotted. “Please don’t.”

“It’s for the best.”
“But—”
“Mike, I’m a patient man but I can’t wait forever.

There’s a limit.”

“It’s hardly forever.”
“We’re not teenagers any more. Every day

counts.”

Of course, seeing a brother die young would

likely give Pete a different perspective. Mike chewed
his nails and picked the shards off his tongue. “I’d
really prefer you to stay. It’s past midnight and the
roads are sheets of ice.”

“I’m used to it.” Pete pulled on his sweater and

opened the bedroom door.

Mike rushed after him. “Pete!”
Pete slipped his arms into his coat sleeves and

unlocked the front door. The cold air fell in and sliced
across Mike’s ankles like a blade.

“I’ll expect an answer from you soon,” said Pete,

stepping outside. “Have a good think.”

Mike couldn’t sleep. He made endless cups of

herbal tea and smoked almost a pack of cigarettes in
the kitchen, blowing the smoke out the extractor fan.
He could see the logic in Pete’s proposal, but his
problem wasn’t logical.

Yet, as he paced the house, he understood that

this time he had to cope with it. There was nothing
else for it. Life didn’t come in a neat package like he
thought it did when he was younger. Life was
complicated and imperfect. If he was really going to
do something with his future, could he hope to have

anyone better than Pete by his side?

As dawn approached, Mike’s decision became

clear. He could neither risk losing Pete nor risk
hurting him. It was time for Mike to take a chance.
Maybe the gamble would pay off, just as it had in
Monte Carlo? He hadn’t wanted to go there, had he?
Pete had persuaded him. Yes, that was the answer.
Pete had persuaded him again. As soon as the sun

was up, he’d drive over to Pete’s and tell him face to
face.

“What the…” Mike awoke and sat bolt upright,

blinking at the daylight. The clatter of the letterbox
had disturbed him. “Shit!” He glanced at the clock.

Ten fifteen. Shit! Pete would be out on his rounds
now. He rubbed his eyes and ran a hand over his
head, then curiosity got the better of him and he went
to see what the postman had delivered.

He recognized the German stamp and Kurt’s

handwriting on the envelope before he even bent to
lift it from the mat.

For a moment he leaned against the wall, staring

at the envelope. His stomach churned like a tumble
dryer and his heart raced. After all these months of
silence, what on earth could Kurt have to say to him?

Mike took a deep breath and picked up the

envelope. He turned it over in his hands,
remembering the way Kurt always wrote letters by
hand with a fountain pen. So unusual for a young
man. But then, Kurt was nothing if not full of
surprises.

He tore into the paper flap, his hands shaking like

pennants in the wind. What did he want to find? That
Kurt was coming back to him? The final goodbye that
would both sadden and release him? He didn’t know

what he wanted anymore. He slipped the single sheet
of paper from the envelope and unfolded it.

Chapter Sixteen

Halfway to Pete’s, the first snowflakes of winter

began to fall like frozen blossoms. The gray slab of
sky threatened a heavy downfall. Mike didn’t care.
On the seat beside him sat a bag with enough clothes
for three days and some decent wine. A cool box—he
laughed at the thought, but old habits and all that—

sat in the foot well packed with food. It could snow
all it liked as far as he was concerned. Just so long as
Pete made it back from his rounds before the roads
became impassable.

Mike remembered Kurt’s letter word for word.
“Forgive me for not writing sooner. It took me a long

time to recover from our break up and only now am I
realizing what a fool I’ve been. My life is completely empty
without you. All those years we had together, such fun we
had. I can’t bear to think that it has all gone forever.

I am sure we can do it all again if we try, but it will

take us both. Just like before.

What I’m saying is, will you forgive me and have me

back? All I need is for you to say you will and I’ll be there
with you.”

Mike read it twice. He’d longed for this letter. For

months, he’d imagined reading these words, longed
for them, begged for them. He’d read them once

more, tracing Kurt’s small, neat hand with his finger.
Then he’d headed off for the shower and had
dropped the letter in the bin on his way.

The snow intensified, turning the country lanes

white with a thin dusting, and Mike breathed a sigh
of relief when he turned into Pete’s driveway.
Tension turned to excitement when he saw Pete’s 4x4
sitting by the front door of the house.

Mike rang the doorbell and waited, suitcase in

one hand, cool box in the other. After a few seconds
Pete opened the door, a burgundy bathrobe pulled

around him. His hair stuck out as if he’d been
electrocuted.

“Forget your key?” Pete asked, standing aside to

let Mike enter.

“No. I just thought it wouldn’t be right, what

with you being in.”

Pete chuckled. “Hey. Nothing’s changed. I’m

sorry about last night.”

Mike shook his head and set the bags on the floor.

“Something has changed, Pete.”

Pete’s eyebrows arched. “What?”
“Don’t worry.” Mike threw his arms around Pete

and hugged him tight. “Let me fix you some breakfast
and I’ll explain it all.”

“Bit late for breakfast.”
Mike stood back and looked him in the eye. “Are

you telling me you’ve eaten?”

Pete shook his head.
“Thought not.” He picked up the cool box and

headed for the kitchen “I knew when I saw the car.
Why didn’t you go to work?”

“Haven’t you seen the weather forecast?” Pete

pulled out a chair and sat with his elbows on the
kitchen table.

“Can’t say I have.”
“No point going out only to be stranded. I called

the men and told them all to take the day off.”

Mike glanced out of the window as he stashed the

food he’d brought into the fridge and rummaged for
bacon and eggs. The bottom of the garden had
disappeared behind a cascade of white. Snowflakes
the size of communion hosts raced to the ground.
Soon the grass would be indistinguishable from the
brick paths.

“I haven’t seen snow like this for ages.”
“Come on, it snows in France.”

“Sure, but not like this where I lived, and I’ve

never been one for winter holidays.”

“And I had you down as a skier.”
Mike laid bacon rashers in the grill pan. “Never

tried it.”

“Maybe I’ll show you, one day.”

Mike turned. “You ski?”
Pete nodded and chuckled.
“I’d like that.”
Pete sighed. “So?”
“So what?”
“I’m about to burst. Are you going to tell me

what’s changed and why you’ve pitched up with a
suitcase and enough food for a weekend camping
trip?”

“Don’t worry. It’s good news.”
“Well, I rather assume so. Enlighten me, though,

for God’s sake.”

“I’ve made a decision.” Mike checked the bacon

and walked over to Pete. He stroked Pete’s spiky hair
flat to his head. “I’m ready, Pete. If you still want me
after last night.”

Pete looked up into Mike’s eyes. “Of course I

want you. I’ve wanted you all my life.” Tears pooled
in his eyes and he cupped Mike’s buttocks in his
hands. “One little argument isn’t going to change
that.”

Mike bent down and kissed him on the forehead.

“Thanks.”

“You make it sound like a business transaction.”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to. It’s just that…” Mike

looked for the right words. He couldn’t risk putting
his foot in it again. “I am still wary, about falling in

love. But I want to try. You’re a good man, Pete.”

“I can’t ask for more. I know in my heart we can

make this work and I’m willing to bend over
backwards for you.” His chuckle turned into a laugh.

“Shut up!” Mike slapped him playfully on the

back and went to check the bacon. “Eggs?”

“No. It’ll take too long.” He turned off the stove.

“I’ve got plans.”

Chapter Seventeen

Pete opened his bedroom door and pulled Mike

in behind him. He turned and began unbuttoning
Mike’s shirt. Mike felt Pete’s cock against his own and
looked down to see it poking out of Pete’s open robe
like a knight’s lance. He reached down and wrapped
his fingers around it, trembling with pleasure.

“Oh, Pete.” He flicked his thumb over the tip,

slicking the head with the precum that dripped from
the slit.

Pete moaned and unbuckled Mike’s belt,

unhooked the pants button and tugged the zipper
down. Pete fell to his knees, dragging Mike’s pants
and CKs down in one swift movement. His cock,
already horizontal, ached for attention. Pete
supported Mike’s balls in one hand and used the
other to guide Mike’s cock into his mouth. He
groaned and thrust his hips forwards. Pete deep

throated him straight away and caressed his
perineum with his thumb while his fingers kneaded
Mike’s balls. Fingers circled Mike’s anus, sending

spasms of pleasure through his body to the top of his
head. No one had ever made Mike feel this good.

Still sucking on Mike’s cock, Pete pushed

forwards until Mike backed up against the wall. Pete
released him and turned him around.

“Spread your legs,” said Pete, “like your being

searched.”

Mike obliged. “What are you looking for?” He

asked, glancing over his shoulder.

Pete chuckled. Mike felt Pete’s stubble scratch the

skin on his buttocks as Pete’s tongue slipped into the
crease. With his hands Pete pried Mike’s buttocks
apart. When his tongue found its mark Mike hissed
with pleasure.

“Take me like this, Pete. Please.”
Pete pulled back. “You sure? Sure you won’t fall

over?”

“Not if you nail me to the wall.” Mike laughed.

Pete reached over to a drawer in the nearby

dressing table and took out a condom and lube.

Mike watched in the mirror as Pete stretched the

rubber over his engorged cock. How it ever fit inside
Mike was a miracle.

Pete opened the lube and slid a greasy finger

inside Mike. Since France, it had become easier. Mike
braced himself against the wall, arms outstretched
and palms flat on the plaster. He counted the fingers
in, and counted them out again. Pete’s cock felt as

wide and hard as a post as it parted Mike’s buttocks.
Mike gritted his teeth as Pete leaned into him. The
pain made him shout, then he sucked in air and
hissed as Pete seared his way between the walls of
Mike’s passage.

“OK?”

“Yeah. Just fuck me. Fuck me senseless.”
Pete’s balls slapped into Mike’s as he drove his

cock in to the hilt. Mike felt him in his chest, his lungs
almost unable to contain his breath. The burn
subsided with each thrust and Mike began to match
Pete’s rhythm. Slow at first, then building until the
floorboards creaked and the door rattled on its
hinges. Pete plunged Mike’s depths and Mike pushed
his buttocks against Pete with each thrust, their
bodies clapping together louder and louder, Mike
jammed against the wall each time Pete drove home.

Pete groaned. “I’m gonna come soon.”

“Come for me. Let me feel you.”
Pete gasped and pounded harder, crushing

Mike’s face into the wall. Pete’s cock pulsed and Mike
knew he was there.

“Fuck!” Pete cried out and held himself still

inside Mike, his cock pumping and throbbing.

Mike felt the tingle in his own cockhead and new

he was coming too, hands free. He moved his hips
and the feel of the wall against him was enough. He
tilted his head down and saw his come spray against

the plaster, running down towards the floor like hot
wax. Sealing wax, he thought, sealing their
commitment in the most intimate way. Flashes of the
last few months rushed in and out of his thoughts.
How he’d been so uptight when Pete first showed up
at the house. The way he’d be reluctant to get

involved. The moments of joy, like the drive down to
Provence – he’d never looked at an apple turnover in
the same way since. The sheer luck that seemed to
have stuck to him with Pete around. He knew this
was the start of something good and he relished what
lay ahead. The past was done with.

Mike lay on the bed, his eyes fixed beyond the

window at the falling snow. He didn’t care if they got
blocked in for a month. He heard the shower being
turned off and moved onto his other side, awaiting
Pete’s appearance. He felt the corners of his mouth

turn up. He couldn’t really believe this was
happening to him. His life had turned around again,
this time for the better. This time he was determined
it would last.

Pete came from the bathroom toweling his hair

dry, his cock hanging like a stunted leg. “What was
the defining moment, then?”

“Come again?”

“I’d love to, but after that you might have to wait

an hour or two.” Pete chuckled. “I mean, what
brought you to your senses? Last night you weren’t
ready, now…” He grinned and shrugged.

“I had a letter from Kurt—”
“Oh?” Pete’s grin vanished and he frowned.

“Don’t worry. It was what he said that made me

realize what a fool I’ve been and what a fool I would
be to throw us, you and me, away before we’ve even
started.”

Pete sat on the bed, his back to Mike. “So he

dumped you good and proper. He’s found someone
else.” His voice rose to a shout. “You only want me
because Kurt finally slammed the outside door and
bolted it? Is that it?”

“No, Pete, no!” Mike clamber across the mattress

and put his arms around Pete’s shoulders.

“What then?”

“He wanted me to take him back.”
“But—”
“He said he was sorry, that he regretted

everything.”

“But—”
“But I want you, Pete.” Mike hugged him tight.

“Don’t you see? Once the offer was in my hand, I
couldn’t accept it. I didn’t want to accept it. I could
not leave you.”

Pete twisted around and Mike looked into his

blue eyes.

“You chose me? Little old me?”
“Of course I did. I do love you, Pete. I know it’s

been a while dawning on me but now I know it. I
want to be with you, only you. And you know what?

All the pain Kurt put me through, I’m glad.”

“Glad?”
“Because it was my wake up call. If life hadn’t

taken a dive when it did, I may never have found you
again.”

Pete just stared at him, apparently speechless.
“We’re going to make this work, Pete. I finally

woke up to the fact that you wanted me when I had
nothing, when I was at my lowest with zero to give
except myself. If you wanted me then, how can I
doubt your feelings for me?”

Pete grasped Mike’s hand. “You silly thing. I

want you for what you are. I always did, but never in
a thousand years did I expect it to happen.”

“Remember that day you came to fix my boiler?”
“How can I forget?”
“And you told me that they call you the Fixer?”
Pete chuckled. “That’s me. Fix anything.”
“When you met me that day it wasn’t just the

boiler needed fixing. I was broken, a wreck—”

“I know, Mike. I know.”

“But it doesn’t matter.” He grabbed Pete and ran

his tongue lightly over his lips. “I’m fixed.”

~ End ~

~ About the Author ~

Tristram La Roche was born in London and spent
much of his childhood in Europe. His career has
included tourism and yacht charter, as well as a brief
period working as a freelance journalist. His interests

include travel, art, theatre, cinema, books and current
affairs, and he is passionate about the rights of the
GLBT community. Tristram lives in London with his
husband.

You can find out more about Tristram La Roche here:

http://tristramlaroche.com
http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1000022761
72449
http://twitter.com/#!/TristramLaRoche

~ Coming Soon ~

The Hun And The General

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