UNDER THE LAW
J.P. Bowie
Dedication
For Phil
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following
wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Jockey:
Jockey International, Inc.
BBC:
The British Broadcasting Corporation
YMCA:
National Council of Young Men's Christian Associations of the United States of
America
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Chapter One
London, 1973
The dark haired, slender young man, dashing up one of London’s busy streets glanced
at his watch as he hurried. Peter Buchanan was late. His audition for a part in a new West
End musical had run longer than he’d anticipated. Dodging traffic on London’s busy streets,
he raced toward the pub where he was meeting his sister Janet for lunch. He hated the idea
of keeping her waiting. She’d sounded so distraught on the phone earlier in the day, and he
knew the reason—always the same reason—her damned husband, Rob.
The Salisbury on St. Martin’s Lane was a lively, busy pub at most times of the day, and
especially popular with tourists, but the food was good and the beer reasonable. Britain had
recently gone ‘decimal’, and while the Brits struggled to identify the strange new coins
they’d been lumbered with, some establishments had taken advantage of the situation, and
raised their prices alarmingly, but not the Salisbury.
Arriving slightly out of breath, Peter spotted Janet immediately, and his blood boiled
when he saw the bruised eye she was sporting. Damn Rob, he thought. Now, I’m really going to
lay him out. Tough thoughts, but Peter knew in a bout of fisticuffs he was nowhere in his
brother-in-law Rob’s class. The creep had been in the Royal Marines, an elite squad of tough
commandos whose reputation was without parallel. Still, Peter would love to land one on
that smug, supercilious face.
“Janet…” He sat beside her and pulled her into his arms. “Why do you put up with
this?”
“Because I’m pregnant,” she whispered against his cheek.
Peter looked at her, shocked. “You’re pregnant, and he’s hitting you? Why, that fucking
bastard—”
“He doesn’t know, yet.”
“Oh, like that’s an excuse? Janet, you have got to leave him. Go home. Mum and Dad
will take care of you until the baby’s born.”
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She nodded. “I know I have to. I want this baby, Peter, and I’m afraid that he’ll…” She
choked on the words Peter knew she was trying to say. He held her tightly pressed to him,
and kissed her cheek while she cried. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a couple, obviously
American, regarding him with some suspicion. Lord, he thought, am I the errant husband trying
to placate my wife after a secret affair has come to light, or the bastard boyfriend breaking it off? Either
way, I’m a shit, in their opinion.
Janet hiccupped and pulled back from his arms. “I need a drink,” she said, dabbing her
eyes.
“You’re not the only one,” Peter chuckled. “And while I’m getting them, perhaps you’ll
explain to the couple giving me the evil eye, that I’m your loving brother, come to give you
comfort in your hour of need.”
“You do go on,” she said, wiping her eyes and trying to smile. “I’ll have a white wine—
a large one. It’ll be the last ‘til after the baby’s born.”
When Peter returned with their drinks, he found Janet deep in conversation with the
American couple who, by the sounds of it, were encouraging her to go home to Scotland, that
beautiful country they had apparently just visited.
“And we were so lucky,” the wife gloated. “The weather was so much better than here
in London.”
“I’ll say you were lucky,” Peter said, plopping down beside Janet and handing over her
glass of wine. “Last time I was home, it snowed—in June!”
* * * *
Outside the Salisbury, Peter gave Janet his spare door key. “You can stay the night with
me—then, if you want to, we’ll find out about train times.”
“Won’t Scott mind my being there?”
Peter grimaced. “Scott moved out two months ago. I just haven’t got around to telling
you. You’ve had enough worries of your own.”
“Oh…I’m so sorry, Peter. I had no idea.”
“I know. I should have told you, but you know…”
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“I had worries of my own.” Janet sighed. “Now I feel even worse. You’re always there
for me, and where was I when you were all upset and lonely?”
“It wasn’t that bad really.” Peter gave her a hug. “Now, off you go. I’ll see you later,
when I’m done over at my audition.”
“Good luck,” she whispered. “If they don’t take you, they’re daft.”
But after his second audition that afternoon, Peter felt that he might be the daft one if he
accepted the producers’ offer. After trying to put some life into some of the most insipid
dialogue he’d ever read, Peter decided he could care less if he got the part or not. He was
quite convinced the show wouldn’t last a fortnight.
Peter had migrated to London from Aberdeen, his home town five years earlier with
ambitions to become an actor and singer on the West End stage. The first two or three years
had been rough, forcing him to temp in offices and wait tables while waiting for his ‘break’.
A couple of provincial tours in the chorus and acting as understudy to the leads had
garnered him good reviews and an agent who kept him busy in London’s night club scene.
Too busy, he sometimes thought, and he’d give it all up for a role in a West End musical or
play. Still the steady work was important, and had helped him get over the absence of his
boyfriend Scott.
Scott… How easily he had charmed Peter with his playful boyishness, and ultimately
seduced him with his sensuous kisses. But thinking of Scott now only brought back the
heartache of too many broken promises – “I’ll never leave you, Peter. You and I were meant
for one another…”
Well, now Scott was meant for another all right, and even though their parting had
been painful at the time, Peter had survived, and more often than not, actually relished his
newfound freedom.
* * * *
The Butterfly Bar, one of the two clubs where Peter sang on a nightly basis, was busier
than usual for a Friday night he noticed, as he made his way to the back of the bar where he
could change into his evening suit. He’d left Janet at his flat after bringing her an Indian take-
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away from the restaurant on the corner, and strict instructions not to give in to any of Rob’s
demands that she should come back to him.
He said hello to Pat, the resident piano player, who sat having a smoke in between sets.
“Busy night,” Peter remarked.
“Bunch of coppers,” Pat said, blowing smoke through his nose. “Celebrating a birthday
or something.”
“Policemen, eh? What’re they like?”
“They like jazz. Dinah’s going down a treat.”
“Hmm…better include Green Dolphin Street, I suppose.”
“Yes, that’s a good one for you…and maybe one with Dinah…you know like when you
and her scat a bit.”
“If she’s still sober by then,” Peter said, laughing.
“She’s behaving tonight. Only had a couple so far.”
Peter looked across the room to where a large group of men were seated. Nice looking
lot, he thought. Wonder what they look like in uniform? His eyes were met by one of the men
who smiled at him and raised his glass.
Well, well. Peter smiled back. Do you have the time, Mr. Policeman?
“Hello, Peter.” He turned at the sound of the girlish voice behind him. Dinah Sherman
had once been the toast of the West End and New York’s night life—even appearing with
Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald at the Blue Note—until the booze had shot her down.
The sweet lady with platinum blonde hair loved the gay boys, her two poodles and her bottle
of rum—not necessarily in that order.
“Hello, Dinah.” Peter gave her a peck on the cheek, trying to ignore the smell of rum.
“So, you had a good crowd tonight?”
“They loved me,” she crowed, flinging her arms round Peter’s neck. “We’ll duet after
your set, okay?”
“Okay.” Peter hoped she was still on her feet by then. He felt a tap on his shoulder and
turned to find one of the waiters standing behind him, a drink on a tray.
“The tall copper sent you this,” he said. “Says to join them for a drink later.”
“Tell him I’d be delighted, if he’ll let my mother out of jail.”
The waiter gaped at Peter. “Your mother’s in jail?”
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“No, that was a joke—but tell him that anyway.” Peter took the drink then headed back
to what was laughingly called ‘the dressing room’. It was a tiny storage room, filled to the
ceiling with boxes of restaurant supplies—no booze. That was kept under lock and key in
case any of the waiters or performers got a little light-fingered. An even tinier space had been
allocated for Peter and Dinah to hang their clothes and change. Peter was gentleman enough
to give the space to Dinah while she got ready, but the lady always managed to be in there
with him as soon as he dropped his trousers. Like just then…
“Hello again, Dinah.”
Her eyes lingered over Peter’s Jockey-clad bulge. “I was thinking we could do Lady is a
Tramp as our duet,” she cooed. “Do you know it?”
“Yes, I know it. We did it last week, remember?”
“Oh,” she giggled. “That’s right…silly of me.”
Peter sighed and pulled off his shirt. “You do know I’m gay, don’t you Dinah?”
She giggled again. “Of course, I know, but you can’t stop me from dreaming.”
The fact that she was old enough to be his mother didn’t seem to faze her either, but
Peter was too kind to mention that. He slipped on the bright red silk shirt he was wearing for
the show.
“What d’you think?” he asked.
“Honey, you’d look good in my father’s hand-me-downs—or even better, in nothing at
all.” She reached behind him and patted his bottom. “Oooh…” She shivered dramatically.
“Get your trousers on before I get the idea you’re trying to seduce me.”
Peter chuckled, zipping up his trousers. He gave himself a quick check in the mirror,
then followed Dinah across the club floor as she got ready to introduce him. Grabbing the
mike she cooed, “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for you to sit back and enjoy the vocal
stylings of the man with the golden voice—let’s hear it for Mr. Peter Buchanan!”
The group of police officers gave Peter a good hand as he walked on stage carrying his
microphone and the drink one of them had sent him. He raised the glass to the table.
“Cheers!” he exclaimed then launched into his opening number, For Once In My Life.
His set went well, and he couldn’t help but notice that the man who’d smiled at him earlier
seemed to be thoroughly enjoying every song, even going so far as to shush the other men if
they starting talking. Then Dinah arrived, a little unsteady on her dainty feet.
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“Isn’t he wonderful?” she gushed. “Let’s have a big hand for my favourite man, Peter
Buchanan!” The band played the intro for the duet, and off they went, Dinah leaning heavily
on Peter for physical and vocal support. He reckoned she must have played catch-up on her
drinking. Somehow, they got through it, even though he had to prompt Dinah on the lyrics
every now and then. To a smattering of applause, Peter helped Dinah off the stage and led
her to a corner table, where she slumped down, a dazed expression on her face. He found a
waiter and ordered her some strong coffee.
“Don’t leave without me,” Peter told her sternly. “I’ll see you home.” Then he walked
over to the ‘police table’. “Gentlemen,” he said, nodding politely. “I hope you’re enjoying
your evening.”
A chorus of “Very much,” “You were super,” and polite smiles greeted him.
“Sit and have a drink with us,” the one who’d smiled at him earlier said. “I’m John
Reed, this is Harry, Clive, Bob, Alan and Alaister. We’re from the Tottenham Court Road
station.” He waved a waiter over. “What’ll it be?”
“Vodka tonic, please. What’s the celebration?”
“John got promoted to Inspector,” the one called Harry explained.
“Congratulations, Inspector Reed,” Peter said, smiling at the man and liking what he
saw. John Reed was handsome, with close-cropped fair hair, twinkling blue eyes, and a ready
smile. Peter guessed he was about thirty, thirty-one. He found himself gazing at John’s lower
lip. It was full, and inviting. Peter gave himself a little shake and grabbed for the drink the
waiter held out to him.
“Cheers,” he said. “And congratulations again.”
Everyone raised their glasses and another round was ordered.
“You’re Scottish,” John observed, looking at Peter with unabashed admiration in his
eyes.
“Mmhmm…from Aberdeen.”
“Nice town. How long have you been living in London?”
“Six years. Are you a Londoner?”
“Born and bred in Wimbledon.”
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“So, what’s your Mum in jail for?” Harry asked, interrupting their conversation. Peter
laughed, and the others joined in. “I knew he was joking,” Harry mumbled, going red in the
face.
“Do you have another show tonight?” John asked.
“Yes, but not here, I’m afraid. It’s over at the Lido in Soho, and…” He looked across the
room to where Dinah sat propping up her head in her hands. “…I have to see Dinah home
first. She’s a little in her cups, and I don’t want her wandering about at this time of night. I’ll
get a taxi to take her home, then I’ll go on to the club.”
John’s eyes met Peter’s in a look of admiration. “That’s very nice of you, Peter.” He
leaned in closer, and murmured, “But how will you get home?”
“That’s easy. I live just round the corner from the club—on Charing Cross Road.”
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Chapter Two
Lord, Peter thought, as he leaned back against the taxi seat with some relief after
dropping off Dinah. What a day—and night. The only bright spot so far had been in meeting
Inspector John Reed. He hadn’t missed the obvious message in the policeman’s eyes, and he
hoped John had seen that Peter liked him, too. Still, a copper. Problems there, for sure. Better
put that one right out of your little head, he told himself. But I wouldn’t mind giving him a little
head.
It was a dead night at the Lido Club. Located on Frith Street, just off Old Compton
Street, it was generally a lively spot, picking up some patrons from Ronnie Scott’s jazz club
after they’d closed for the night. But for some reason, there were few people about as Peter
got out of the taxi and ran down the long flight of stairs that took him into the dimly lit,
smoky club. He’d been performing there for over a year, and he didn’t mind the place since it
happened to be within walking distance from his flat. Even late at night, he’d never had a
problem getting home from this notoriously seedy part of the West End.
After saying hello to the trio, he ran to the men’s room and tidied up. Some of Dinah’s
face powder was evident on his jacket lapel, and his hair needed combing. He sighed as he
gazed at his reflection in the pockmarked mirror and hummed a few bars of There’s Gotta Be
Something Better Than This! Denny Forbes, the comedian who preceded him, had seen him
come in and was starting to introduce him, eager to get away from the non-receptive
audience.
“No peace for the wicked,” Peter muttered, straightening his jacket and walking
onstage, all smiles. Grabbing the mike from Denny, he was about to start his first song when
he spotted John Reed sitting by himself at a corner table. Well, well…maybe there would be
something better than this, after all.
His set finished, he wandered over to where John sat, a big smile on his face.
“Hello again,” Peter said, sitting opposite him. “This is a nice surprise.”
John’s smile got even bigger. “I think I’m becoming your number one fan. You’re really
very good, you know.”
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“Thank you.” Peter returned his smile with a shy one of his own. “I’m trying not to
blush.” Their eyes met, and to Peter’s amazement, John covered his hand with his own.
“I wouldn’t have thought you guilty of false modesty.” He squeezed Peter’s hand
gently, and Peter did blush as his cock hardened at the other man’s touch. John’s hand was
dry and warm. Strong.
Peter shivered as a sudden vision of John’s naked body pressed to his flashed into his
mind.
Oh, my god, control yourself.
“I ordered you a drink,” John said, still holding Peter’s hand.
“You don’t have to get me drunk, you know.”
“That’s good.” He looked up and released Peter’s hand as the waiter arrived with the
drink.
“But I think I need one right about now.” Peter chuckled then took a long sip. He
winked at John. “You’re a man of many surprises, aren’t you?”
“How so?”
“Well, sending me drinks, showing up here alone, holding my hand—which by the
way, felt very nice.”
“Yes, it did.” John’s smile was slow and sexy. “Can I surprise you some more with a
confession?”
“I can’t wait.”
“I think you are the most attractive man I have ever met.”
“Now I really am blushing,” Peter said, laughing.
“I mean it. Those green eyes of yours are a distinct turn on.”
“Well, thank you…” Peter reached across the table and touched John’s fingers. “So,
what happens now?”
“Don’t you live just around the corner?”
“Inspector!” Peter laughed. “What are you suggesting?”
John grinned at him and ran his fingertips over the back of Peter’s hand, sending
shivers all through the young man’s body.
“I think you’re not that naïve.”
“No, I’m not.” Then his smile faded as he remembered. “Damn.”
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“What’s wrong?”
“My sister…oh, shit…she’s staying the night. Her bastard husband has been smacking
her around. She’s pregnant, and—”
“Wait.” John leaned across the table, staring into Peter’s eyes, his own now hard and
cold. “Has she reported this to the police? Beating up a pregnant woman, any woman for
that matter, is a criminal offence.”
“Believe me, John, I’ve tried to get her to go to the police. She won’t hear of it. The sad
thing is she still loves the oaf.”
John shook his head. “The times I’ve heard that one.”
“And now that I’ve remembered her—and feeling like a complete shit for not doing so
earlier—I have to go.” Peter rose from the table. “I’m sorry about this, John.”
“I’ll walk you home.”
“Oh, there’s no need.”
“Yes, there is.” He gave Peter a quick smile. “And don’t ever argue with the law.”
“Sorry ossifer,” Peter joked.
John threw some pound notes onto the table. “Let’s go.”
Peter had to admit it felt good having John’s tall, wide-shouldered presence striding
along at his side as they made their way through the darkened streets. He stole occasional
glances at the handsome man and smiled to himself. Damn, but John was attractive.
“So, you walk this every night?” John asked.
“Uh huh. I’ve never had an escort before.” That wasn’t exactly true as Scott used to
sometimes meet him at the Lido and walk back home with him—in the days when Scott
cared enough to do that.
“These streets can get rowdy some nights.”
“Yes. I’ve been lucky, I suppose,” Peter remarked. “A friend of mine was chased up
Charing Cross Road one night by a knife-waving thug.”
John chuckled. “And what d’you suppose your friend did to deserve that kind of
attention?”
“Ah well, he wouldn’t say exactly. But knowing Terry, it was probably something quite
outrageous. Here we are,” Peter said as they stopped at an imposing oak door with Victorian
carvings. He pulled his door key from his jacket pocket. “I’m sorry I can’t ask you up.”
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“So am I.” John produced a notepad from inside his coat. “What’s your phone
number?” He scribbled down the number Peter gave him then stowed the pad back in his
pocket. “Can we step inside for a moment or two? I’d like to say goodnight properly.”
Peter’s hand trembled from anticipation as he inserted the key into the lock. A
goodnight kiss. John’s lips on his. That plump, full, lower lip to nibble on. He was hard
again. He pushed open the door, and suddenly, he was wrapped in John’s arms, his mouth
covered by a moist, sexy warmth that brought him an instant brain meltdown. He was dimly
aware of the door slamming shut behind them, then it was all John and only John he could
hear, and feel and smell.
Peter’s long drawn out gasp of pure pleasure was trapped when John’s tongue slipped
into his mouth, sliding over and caressing every part it could reach. Peter wound his arms
tightly around John’s neck, holding him a willing prisoner while their tongues tussled inside
each other’s mouths. Peter shivered with delight as John reached inside his shirt, stroking
and caressing his bare skin. His body bucked as John’s hand then slipped inside his fly,
holding his erect cock in his warm grasp, slowly pumping it with a sure, steady stroke. Peter
buried his face against John’s neck, inhaling his maleness overlain with a faint touch of
cologne.
His hands roamed over the taller man’s body, finding that part of him that throbbed
and pushed against its confinement. Feverishly, Peter pulled at John’s belt and opened his
fly, releasing his impressive erection. His breath quickened as he grasped the hot, hard flesh.
Both men groaned as their orgasms tugged at their balls.
“Wait, oh, wait,” Peter murmured, unwilling to let this exquisite feeling go.
“Don’t hold back,” John whispered into his ear. “Let me feel you come.”
They came together, their bodies shuddering as their orgasms surged through them,
their semen coating each other’s hands in creamy warmth. Their mouths joined again in a
long and rapturous kiss, then John brought his fingers, glistening with Peter’s semen to his
mouth and slowly licked at the opaque essence of their union. Peter watched, feeling a
sensuous charge flit through his body, then he too raised his hand to his lips and licked at
John’s semen.
“That was beautiful,” he whispered. “Tell me I’ll see you again.”
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“You will.” John smiled into Peter’s eyes. “But not in a draughty doorway!” They
chuckled together, then John had produced a large white handkerchief which they used to
clean up. They straightened their clothes, zipped up then kissed again. They could taste one
another in that kiss, and it caused a spark of desire to rekindle in both of them.
“Dear God,” Peter murmured. “I feel like I can’t let you go.”
“Hold on to that feeling,” John said, his voice smoky with desire. “’Til the next time.”
After another, even longer kiss, he whispered, “Goodnight, Peter.”
“Goodnight, John. Thank you. For everything.”
Just before he moved away, John gripped Peter’s arm. “If your sister needs any help,”
he said, gruffly, “you know where I am.”
Peter nodded. “Thank you.”
He closed the door quietly behind John’s tall figure then made his way up the winding
staircase leading to his second floor flat. Once inside, he peeked into the bedroom, happy
that Janet was fast asleep. He made his way into the kitchen and saw the note she’d left him.
Dear Peter,
Thank you for letting me stay here tonight. Rob phoned and was his usual petty self,
blaming me for everything and you for listening to my lies! I have decided to leave him and
go home to Mum and Dad, at least until I have the baby. I called King’s Cross and reserved a
seat on the eleven AM train. Perhaps you could go with me to the station if you haven’t got
appointments? See you in the morning.
Love,
Janet
“Thank goodness,” he muttered, pouring himself a glass of water. He carried it and the
note into the living room and sat on the couch, staring into space, remembering what had
just passed between him and Inspector John Reed.
Who would have guessed that such a shitty day could have such a wonderful ending?
He could still feel the warmth of John’s skin, taste him on his tongue, and he hesitated before
drinking his water. Sorry to wash away a part of the grand time you gave me, he thought. But you
made me very thirsty!
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* * * *
The days that followed his sister’s departure were hectic ones for Peter. His agent,
Morrie, phoned to say another West End club was interested in having him appear there
three nights a week and could he manage to fit it in?
“The money’s good, Peter,” Morrie said to encourage him. “And you know they play
host to Princess Margaret and her crowd. Good prestige for you, my boy.”
Peter groaned mentally. Nightclubs were not where he wanted be—good money or
not.
“Nothing in the theatre?’ he asked.
“Not yet, but I’m still keeping my ear to the ground for you.”
“All right. I’ll do it, but try and get me a rehearsal with the musicians. I hate going in
cold.”
“Will do, my boy, will do.”
But of course, he didn’t, and the first night at the new club was less than stellar. Peter
left there in a bad mood, blaming himself more than anyone else, but nevertheless
disappointed that it had not gone better.
He had to admit, too, that part of his bad mood was due to the fact that he had not had
the promised phone call from John. He’d tried to tell himself a policeman’s life was a busy
one, particularly for John as he’d just been promoted. He’d get around to phoning
eventually. Still…
Peter’s mood got progressively worse as he turned onto Old Compton Street and saw
Rob, his brother-in-law, standing on the corner of Frith Street, obviously waiting for him.
“Oh no,” he groaned. “Just what I don’t need tonight.”
“Peter!” Rob marched straight at him, his face a scowling mask.
“Sorry, Rob, I’m late for my set at the Lido—”
“Too fucking bad,” Rob snarled, catching Peter by the arm. “You’re going to call that
sister of yours and tell her to come back where she belongs. Your mother won’t let me talk to
her.”
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“I’ll do no such thing,” Peter seethed, twisting from Rob’s grip. “She’s better off without
you.” Peter glared at the other man for a moment. “You know, I should punch your lights
out for what you’ve done to Janet. She’s pregnant, you bastard, and you were still slapping
her around!”
“You’re threatening me?” Rob laughed in Peter’s face. “You little poufter. You think I’m
scared of you? What are you going to do? Hit me with your handbag?”
“No, with this.” Peter punched Rob squarely on his chin, sending the other man reeling
backwards, more from surprise than the force of the blow. Peter held his fist with his other
hand. “Ow! That hurt.”
“Not as much as this will,” Rob said through gritted teeth and punched Peter in the
face. Peter went down on his bottom, wincing from the blow then from the vicious kicks Rob
delivered to his ribs.
“Hey, stop that!” Peter was aware of a woman’s voice raised in anger. “You bloody
bully!” He looked up to see Dinah flailing away at Rob with her fists and feet.
“Get off me, you old bag!” Rob yelled, but by then, a group of people had gathered and
started shouting at Rob to leave the poor old lady alone.
“Old lady? Old lady?” Dinah screeched her outrage and delivered another kick,
narrowly missing Rob’s balls.
“Piss off,” he roared, taking to his heels amid laughter from the crowd.
“You can all piss off, too,” Dinah told them, bending over to help Peter to his feet. “You
all right, love? Ooh, you’re going to have a nasty bruise on your cheek.”
“I’ll have to borrow some of your pan-stick,” Peter joked, trying to sound better than he
felt. That bastard had really hurt his ribs.
“Who is he, anyway?” Dinah asked as they walked slowly towards the Lido Club.
“My brother-in-law, believe it or not. Janet left him last week, and he wanted me to
phone her and tell her to go back to him. Stupid arsehole. As if I would, after what he’s
done.”
“He’s a bad egg,” Dinah muttered. “I’ll buy you a drink when we get inside, love.”
Peter felt completely deflated as he sat listening to Denny the comedian vainly trying to
amuse a crowd of mostly retired school teachers out for their annual ‘night out on the town’.
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His less than clean jokes just weren’t doing it for the ladies who sat thin-lipped and
disapproving through his entire set.
“Take my wife…please!”
Silence.
“If she lived in India, she’d be sacred!” he declared gamely. Once more, silence reigned
supreme. Cutting his losses, Denny, quickly introduced Dinah, rolling his eyes at her as he
handed her the mike.
Poor Dinah didn’t fair much better. Her platinum hair and sparkly dress drew sniffs of
displeasure from the frosty crones. Dinah did not help matters by asking at one point if she
should phone for the undertakers.
“Thanks, Dinah,” Peter groaned as he prepared to go on. His face and ribs were still
throbbing from Rob’s vicious attack, his head ached and he felt more like puking than
singing. Who the hell said the show must go on?
As he took the mike from Dinah, his head buzzed, and he staggered, dizzied for the
moment by the pain. He fell to his knees, holding his side.
“Oh, how disgusting,” he heard one old biddy say. “He’s drunk!”
“He’s not drunk,” Dinah yelled at the startled women. “He got beaten up outside!”
“I’ll take care of this.”
The strong deep voice at his side made Peter look up through pain-filled eyes.
“John,” he gasped.
“Come on, let me help you up, Peter.”
Before the amazed eyes of everyone in the room, John lifted Peter into his arms and
carried him off the stage.
“Bet you’ve never seen anything like that before in your miserable old lives,” Dinah
taunted the women’s group. “Old bitches!” she added under her breath. The band quickly
launched into a rendition of There’s No Business Like Show Business.
John carried Peter to a deserted corner of the room and laid him down on a bench. He
called over a waiter and asked for some ice and a damp cloth—and a large brandy. Gently,
he smoothed back Peter’s hair from his forehead and gazed into his eyes with a worried look.
“Who did this to you?”
“My brother-in-law. But I punched him first.”
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“The swine kicked him when he was down,” Dinah said, peering over John’s shoulder.
“Got him in the ribs.”
John frowned. “You should be at the hospital, Peter. He could’ve cracked a couple of
your ribs.”
“I’ll be fine…but thanks for what you did. I really don’t think I could’ve got up by
myself.”
“You shouldn’t have even tried to go on.” He took the cloth and ice from the waiter and
laid it on Peter’s cheekbone. “We need to have your ribs x-rayed.”
“No, really, I’ll be all right.”
“Please don’t argue. I’m taking you over to Charing Cross Hospital as soon as you can
stand up.” He smiled down at Peter. “My car’s outside—at your disposal.”
“Ooh, Peter!” Dinah exclaimed as John lifted him to his feet. “Fancy, you being taken
away by the police!”
* * * *
Three hours later, John and Peter left the hospital, Peter’s ribs securely strapped up, but
with the good news that only one had a hairline crack and would heal quickly if he was
careful and rested.
“Well,” John said ruefully as he helped Peter into the car. “There go my carnal
intentions of ravaging your body tonight.”
“Oh?” Peter gave him a cheeky grin. “And just who was going to give you permission
to sully my honour, Inspector Reed?”
“I was hoping you would. Come on now,” he added, as he settled himself beside Peter.
“You know you want it.”
Peter laughed then winced as his ribs reminded him of what had happened to them.
“Ouch,” he mumbled, holding his side. “Okay, no more jokes.”
“Jokes?” John looked at him with mock affront. “Jokes?”
“Stop it,” Peter choked. “You’re killing me.”
“Sorry.” He pulled away from the kerb and drove towards Peter’s flat. “I’ll just see you
safely indoors.”
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“Safe with you?” Peter teased him. “How safe is that?”
John gave him a look that was at once both tender and serious. “Very safe, Peter.”
Peter covered John’s hand with his own. “Thank you. I’ve missed you since our too-
short time together. I’ve thought of you often.”
“Yes, things have been rough since I took over at the station. There’s a lot of catching up
to do, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been thinking of you.”
“You said you’d phone.”
"That’s why I came to the club tonight. It seemed a better idea than just phoning to say,
sorry I haven’t phoned.”
“I’m glad you did.”
There was no parking allowed outside Peter’s flat, so they drove around for a bit until
they found an empty space two streets away.
“I could carry you,” John offered.
Peter chuckled. “As much as I would love that—and for all my jealous friends to see
it—I really think I should walk. I’ll be fine.”
He did let John help him up the stairs as the climb proved difficult. “You need to take
those pain-killers as soon as you get inside,” John said, his arm around Peter.
“No argument there,” Peter said, panting slightly. “Come on in.”
“Nice place,” John said, looking around. “How’s your sister by the way?”
“Better, now that she’s away from that arsehole of a husband.”
“I’ll get you some water, so you can take those tablets.”
Peter carefully eased himself onto the couch as John disappeared into the kitchen. He
smiled up at John as he came back with a glass of water. John knelt at his feet as Peter
popped the tablets into his mouth and took a long drink of water, then he leaned forward
and kissed Peter’s moist lips.
“Don’t worry, I won’t get you all worked up this time.”
“More’s the pity,” Peter murmured, savouring the touch of John’s lips on his. He put
his hand behind John’s head and pulled him in for another long, sweet kiss. As their tongues
meshed, desire rose in his blood, but when Peter tried to put his arms around John, a knife-
like pain in his side caused him to wince. John pulled back, concern etched on his handsome
face.
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“We’ll have to wait ‘til you’re better,” he said, his voice low and husky with emotion.
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Peter agreed with regret.
“So tell me, where I can find your brother-in-law?”
“Earl’s Court, but don’t arrest him, please. He’ll just whine to my sister about how I’m
trying to break them up, which of course, I am.”
“That wouldn’t be a bad thing, surely?”
“No, but it has to be her decision. For some reason, she still loves the bastard.”
“Good looking?”
“Very. A Royal Marine. All muscles and butch bullshit. If only he lived up to the image
he presents. When I first met him, he was Mr. Charming, trying to impress Janet’s big
brother. Ugh. If only I’d known then what he was really like. Anyway…” Peter stroked
John’s face gently. “Thank you again for looking after me. I think you must be the knight in
shining armour every gay boy dreams of meeting.”
John’s eyes clouded for a moment. “Don’t put me up on a pedestal, Peter. I might not
live up to your expectations.”
“You’ve already exceeded them,” Peter said, smiling through sleepy eyes. “Oh, those
pain killers are making me woozy.”
“Come on then. Let’s put you to bed.” Gently, John lifted Peter from the couch and
carried him into the bedroom. He lowered him onto the bed then stripped him of his shoes,
socks, shirt and trousers.
“Are you going to have your way with me?” Peter mumbled, only half awake.
“Not tonight, although seeing you lying there, naked and defenceless, the temptation is
almost too much to resist.”
John smiled as Peter closed his eyes and began to snore softly. He covered Peter with
the sheet, then bent to kiss his lips. “Sleep tight, sweet prince,” he murmured. “I think I love
you.”
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Chapter Three
Peter woke the next morning, feeling like he’d been hit by a ten-ton lorry. After he’d
come to terms with the knowledge any movement, like sitting up, was going to cause him
exquisite pain, he managed to carefully manoeuvre himself out of bed and, wrapping his
arms around his ribs, made it to the bathroom to relieve himself. Looking in the mirror, he
grimaced at his bruised face.
Bloody Rob. The bastard had put him out work for several days by the looks of things.
Not only that, he had completely wrecked his chance of making love to John last night.
The phone rang, making him jump then wince as pain spiked his ribcage.
“Damn,” he muttered, limping across the bedroom to pick up his phone. “Hello?”
“It’s John. How are you feeling?”
“Better, thanks.”
“Liar.” John chuckled. “I know the day after is nearly always the worst. How’re the
ribs?”
“Sore. Thanks for seeing me home last night. And sorry you didn’t get to ravish me like
you wanted to.”
“You mean, like you wanted me to.”
“Touché, Inspector. Where are you?”
“At the police station. We had an IRA alert early this morning. Turned out to be a false
alarm, but it got the boys out of bed faster than they like.”
“Why don’t you stop by when you get off duty? Looks like I’ll be flat-bound for the
next couple of days or so.”
“Uh…I’d like to, but I have some things I have to take care of.”
“Oh.” Peter tried not to sound too disappointed. “Well, when you can.”
“Maybe tomorrow…but I’ll phone you first.”
Peter put down the phone, a strange empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. He really
would have liked to have seen John. There was something so secure about him. Something
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that made Peter feel safe…and wanted. A wanted man. Isn’t that what policemen went after?
Smiling a little at his silly joke, he padded into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea.
Later, he phoned home to see how Janet was doing up in Aberdeen.
“She’s pining for that idiot she married,” his father told him. Jim Buchanan was a man
who did not mince his words. “Your mother’s taken her out shopping for baby clothes. Take
her mind off him hopefully, for a wee bit anyway. How are you, son?”
“I had a run in with Rob last night. Don’t tell Janet or Mum. He wanted me to tell her to
come back to London. Of course, I refused, and we got into a bit of a barney.”
“He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
Peter chuckled, not about to tell his father about his visit to the hospital. “Don’t fancy
my chances against the commando, eh? As a matter of fact I got in the first punch.”
“Peter! How’d it go?”
“Not for the full ten rounds,” Peter said. “I went down in the first.”
“That bastard. I’d like to get my hands on him.”
“Wouldn’t we all. Anyway, Dinah—remember her? The blonde bombshell who tried to
steal you away from Mum that time you came down on holiday?”
“Oh aye, I remember. What about her?”
“She’s my new bodyguard. Fairly gave Rob what for. Almost kicked his balls off.”
His father laughed then turned serious. “Peter, be careful. There’s no telling what that
nasty piece of work is capable of.”
“We know what he’s capable of, Dad. Smacking Janet around, the coward.”
“Aye…well, she’s not going back to him if I have anything to do about it.”
Peter wasn’t so sure, but he spared his father his thoughts on Janet’s seeming fixation
on a man who treated her so badly. He’d read about the ‘battered wife syndrome’ and all the
reasons for it, but he didn’t understand it. No way would he put up with physical abuse
from anyone. He and Scott had had their problems—slanging matches galore—but they’d
never resorted to hitting one another. Slapping each other’s bare bottoms was as far as they’d
ever gone. And that had been for enjoyment.
He wondered what it would be like to slap John’s bare bottom. A nice bottom, he
remembered. It had felt round and smooth under his hands. He groaned aloud, feeling the
start of an imminent erection. This was going to be a long day.
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* * * *
Around six o’clock, he turned on the TV to watch the news. His interest was
immediately sparked by the report of an IRA threat that had the London Metropolitan Police
on full alert. But John had said it was a false alarm.
And suddenly there he was, his handsome face filling Peter’s television screen as he
talked with a BBC reporter. Peter turned up the volume.
“So Inspector, one of the terrorists relayed a message to you. What did he say?”
“Oh, the usual stuff,” John replied, his voice calm and unruffled despite the press of
people around him, jostling and thrusting microphones in his face. “Chap with an Irish
accent gave us a list of locations of possible bomb sites. Of course, we checked out all of them
immediately and found nothing. However, we are maintaining our highest alert level, just in
case this was some kind of diversionary tactic.”
So, that’s why he couldn’t come by, Peter thought as John’s image faded from the screen.
God, but he looked so damned fine there.
He kept watching as a studio newsreader took over. “That was Patrick Johnson
interviewing Inspector John Reed only two hours before the Inspector and two other police
officers were injured in a bomb blast near Goodge Street Tube Station. All three men were
admitted to Charing Cross Hospital, but so far, no report of their condition has been released.
In other news…”
“No!” Peter leaped to his feet, then doubled over from the pain that shot through his
ribs like a knife. “Oh Jesus, John,” he moaned, falling to his knees. His eyes filled with tears
of pain, he staggered to the phone and dialled ‘O’.
“The number for Charing Cross Hospital, please.” He jotted the number down, then
quickly dialled. An engaged signal. He tried again. Still engaged. Of course, everyone would
be trying to find out the condition of the officers. Oh, please let him be all right, he prayed
silently. He could go over there, but what could he do? There was no chance that he would
get to see John. There would be police swarming all over the place. It would be chaos. Maybe
there would be some news later.
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His ribs ached from his sudden leap from the couch, so he downed two pain tablets
along with a shot of brandy then lay down on the couch, his eyes glued to the TV screen.
He awoke to the flickering light of the television screen casting a half light into the
room. Groggily, he peered at his watch. Three AM. My God, he thought. I’ve been asleep for
hours.
John. Would there be news of his condition by now? Gingerly, holding his ribs, he
raised himself from the couch. Not too bad. He picked up the phone and dialled the number
for the hospital.
“Charing Cross Hospital.”
“Hello. I’m calling to enquire about Inspector John Reed.”
“Are you a family member?”
“Yes,” Peter lied. “His cousin Peter, from…uh, Lancashire.” Lancashire? He started to
laugh then thought better of it.
“Hang on, please.”
After what seemed an eternity, the operator was back. “Inspector Reed is in stable
condition.”
Peter breathed a sigh of relief. “And what about—?”
Click. The operator had hung up.
“That’s all?” Peter asked the static on the line. “But will he be…all right?” He was alive,
that was the main thing. Lord, how had this man, whom he didn’t even know a week ago,
suddenly become so important in his life?
He let his thoughts drift back to those minutes at the bottom of the stairs when they had
held each other, when their lips had met in a kiss so powerfully erotic, that it had seared
itself in his memory forever. He closed his eyes and relived that moment when he had first
felt John’s warm skin under his hands, the hidden strength in the lean muscles of his torso,
and the comforting power in his arms when he’d lifted Peter so effortlessly from the stage at
the Lido.
He shuddered at the thought of what the bomb blast might have done to that beautiful
body. He couldn’t bear to think of John, lying there, maimed for life, maybe missing a limb or
an eye.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “Stop that now. He’s going to be fine, just fine.”
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After several cups of tea, another pain killer and a hot bath, Peter began to feel much
better. Those exercises at the YMCA must have paid off, he thought, struggling into a clean shirt,
careful not to irritate his ribs too much. He’d made up his mind to attempt visiting John in
the hospital. He could take the Underground down there and walk the short distance
without too much trouble. If he couldn’t see him, then at least, he might be able to leave a
message saying he’d popped by, just to say hello.
His ribs ached slightly as he got off the Tube and walked across the street to the
hospital entrance. As he had expected, there were police and reporters mingled with the
regular stream of out-patients and visitors swarming in and out of the doors. He let himself
be caught in the crowd and was soon inside the cavernous, people-packed registration hall.
He decided it was probably better if he didn’t risk being told he couldn’t see John, so he
wandered over to the ward directory and scanned the list of options.
‘Special Unit’ had the right sound to it, and it was on the top floor. He could start there
anyway, and if he got lost, he’d ask a policeman. There were plenty of them around. He took
the lift to the top floor and started looking in each door he passed. After twenty or so doors,
he was about to give up when he heard low voices coming from one of the rooms. One deep
voice had a familiar ring to it. He pushed the door slightly open and peeked in.
His breath caught in his throat as he saw John, propped up in bed, his hand being held
by a very attractive, dark-haired woman, who gazed lovingly into his eyes. Peter stepped
back quickly before he could be seen. Oh, shit. It had never, not for one moment, occurred to
him that John might be married. But, why not? Loads of gay guys got married—and in the
police force, it was probably expected. Fool around in your own time, as long as you go back
to the little woman at the end of the day.
Peter’s shoulders slumped with despair and disappointment.
That’s the end of that, he thought. At least, I know he’s okay.
“Hello! Peter, isn’t it?”
Peter looked into the room from where the voice emanated. At first he didn’t recognise
the man in the bed, then he remembered. He was one of the policemen sitting with John in
the Butterfly Bat the night they’d first met. What was his name again?
“Hello…” Peter entered the room slowly.
“Harry…”
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“Right, Harry.” He approached the bed and held out his hand. “So you were in that
bombing too?”
“Yes,” Harry said, accepting Peter’s handshake. “Good of you to come by to see us.
Expect you’ve seen John?”
“I looked in…but he already had a visitor.”
“Joan, probably.”
Joan. So that was his wife’s name. John and Joan…sweet. Peter felt his throat constrict
and he coughed into his hand.
“So, how are you, Harry?”
“Oh, not too bad really. Could have been worse for all of us. They’ve already released
Clive…”
“That’s good…” He looked behind him as a smiling faced woman bustled in carrying a
fruit tray.
“Here’s the trouble and strife,” Harry said, beaming. “Gladys, this is Peter. He
serenaded us the night we took John out on the town.”
“Oh, lovely.” Gladys bent to give her husband a kiss. “Ever so nice of you to visit the
lads,” she told Peter.
“Least I could do,” Peter murmured. “Well, I’d best be off. Get better soon, Harry. Nice
meeting you…Gladys.”
A chorus of “Byes” followed him through the door.
He dragged his feet to the lift and went back down to the milling crowd that still
streamed in and out of the hospital. Maybe I’ll walk back home, he thought. Give me time to put
all this in perspective. He walked slowly past Trafalgar Square then headed up St. Martin’s
Lane, taking his time, stopping occasionally to look in some shop windows and catch his
breath. His ribs throbbed now. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea. But he was nearly
there. There was pub at the corner up ahead. He could stop there, have a half…get his breath
back.
It was quiet in The King’s Arms. The barman gave him a quizzical look. “You all right,
mate? You look a bit green around the gills.”
“Cracked rib,” Peter said, holding his side for effect. “I’ll just have a half of Red Barrel.”
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He found a small table and sat at it, resting his elbows on the well-worn surface and
pondering life in general. What a fuck-up. Just when he’d thought he’d found Mr. Right, he’d
turned out to be Inspector Wrong. Well, at least he’d found out before he was head over
heels in love with the man.
“Who’re you kidding?” he muttered into his beer. “You’re already head over heels in
love with the man. Damn him.”
Married, no less. And he’d seemed so sincere, so genuinely caring.
“How safe am I with you?” Peter had asked him, teasingly.
John had answered with such seriousness, “Very safe, Peter.”
And later, when Peter had thought of that moment, he’d believed it to be true. That his
heart would be safe in John’s keeping. But then he’d thought the same about Scott—and look
where that had got him. And when he really thought about it, it wasn’t their fault, but his, for
believing the lies.
Next time, if there was a next time, he’d be much more cynical and not so damned
ready to fall in love. Just over a week and his heart was broken. What an idiot you are, Peter
Buchanan, he thought. Maybe you should go home to Aberdeen, too. Let Mummy and Daddy look
after you, along with your sister. You could share your sob-stories.
He threw back the last of his beer and got up, pushing his way out of the bar as he felt
impotent anger build inside him—anger at his own gullibility and his inability to stop the
feeling of desolation that had swept over him. Life was so fucking unfair. And as if to
compound his feelings of abject misery, it started to rain.
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Chapter Four
It took another two days for Peter to feel like he wanted to go back to the clubs. He
didn’t really want to go back at all, but his agent had been on the phone telling him they
would replace him if he didn’t show up soon. So he went back to the nightly grind, trying to
look and sound like his heart was in it, when of course, it was not.
Didn’t We Almost Make It? a song in his repertoire now took on an extra bitterness, and
he told the trio leader to take it out of his set. Of course, invariably, someone just had to ask
for the damned song most every night.
Most mornings, his phone would ring around nine o’clock, and intuitively, he knew it
was John. He didn’t dare answer it. If he heard that deep sexy voice on the line, he’d cave
and agree to see him if that’s what he was calling about. Peter hadn’t phoned the hospital
again. What was the point? he reasoned. The man was married. There was no future in their
relationship—their very brief relationship. Best they both get on with their lives—John with
his wife, and Peter…well, with whatever lay ahead.
He was thankful that Rob seemed to have given up badgering him. He’d stopped
calling Peter’s parent’s home trying to talk to Janet, and his threats of knocking on their door
and dragging her back to London had come to naught. Still, Peter was always wary as he
approached the Lido Club on Frith Street. There was no telling what the sneak might be up to
next.
Then, one night, what Peter had dreaded, and at the same time secretly longed for,
happened. He was halfway through Spinning Wheel when he saw John’s tall figure being
ushered to a nearby table. Peter was so startled, he almost lost track of the lyrics but,
thankfully, pulled himself together and continued with his set, despite his nerves jangling in
the pit of his stomach.
There was no avoiding the inevitable meeting, so squaring his shoulders, he jumped off
the stage and, with a big fixed smile on his face, marched over to where John sat, two drinks
in front of him on the table.
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Peter held out his hand. “Good to see you up and about, Inspector Reed,” he said, just a
shade too loudly.
“You too, Peter.” John’s hand was as warm and strong as Peter remembered, and he felt
a shiver of desire pass through his body at the man’s touch. Peter sat opposite him, and John
pushed a drink towards him.
“Vodka and tonic,” he said, smiling.
“Thanks.” Peter took a long sip on it. “So, you look well. No bad effects from the
bomb?”
“No, thank goodness. I was lucky. How are the ribs?”
“Better.” Peter rubbed his side. “As good as new.”
“Peter.” John studied him for a moment, then said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t come to see
you sooner. The doctor wouldn’t release me until yesterday. But I’ve phoned you almost
every day. I thought you might have come to visit me in the hospital.”
Peter coloured, and looked away. “I…I tried, but they wouldn’t let me see you. I did
phone, and they said you were stable and all that, so I let it go.”
“You let it go? What does that mean?”
“Um…I’m not sure.” For some reason, he just couldn’t bring up the fact he knew John
was a married man. Fortunate that Harry must not have mentioned seeing him in the
hospital.
“What’s wrong, Peter?” John was asking. “You’re acting strangely.”
“I’ve missed you, John,” Peter blurted. “I hardly know you, but I’ve missed you,
terribly.”
“And I’ve missed you. I couldn’t wait to see you again.”
“Really? Even though you—” He broke off, the words dying in his throat.
“Even though I what? What’s wrong?” John reached over and took Peter’s hand. “Tell
me.”
Peter’s breath shuddered in his chest from John’s touch. Oh God, but he wanted this
man. Wanted to feel his arms hold him again, wanted those warm, full lips on his—and if he
said now what was troubling him, none of that would ever happen again.
“I…I just want you so much,” he mumbled.
“Are you finished here?” John asked.
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Peter nodded. John stood up, and held out his hand.
“Then, let’s go.”
* * * *
For a long moment after Peter had closed the door to his flat behind them, he and John
simply stood gazing into one another’s eyes. Then, tentatively, Peter reached out and
touched John’s face, gently stroking the smooth skin with his fingertips.
“I’ve longed for this moment,” he murmured. “You have no idea how much I have
longed for this. Just to be alone with you, here.” He slipped John’s jacket over his shoulders
and flung it to one side. “And without a cracked rib.”
John smiled and pulled Peter into his arms. His lips on Peter’s were warm and soft,
grazing lightly across Peter’s mouth, the tip of his tongue licking at Peter’s lower lip before
seeking entrance to his moist heat. Peter gasped as John’s tongue slid inside his mouth,
probing every corner, swirling across his own, bringing with it an erotic charge that caused
his body to buck and stiffen with desire.
Peter moaned, and John pulled back slightly. “You even moan musically,” he said,
grinning.
“I was blessed with rhythm, too,” Peter whispered.
“Mmm…” John kissed him again, his hand on Peter’s rump, pulling him in close. “I
want to feel that.”
Their arms around one another, they hurried to the bedroom and fell across the bed in a
tangle of arms and legs, tugging at each other’s clothes. Peter felt the hardness of John’s
naked arousal pressed against his own. He grasped it by the base, squeezing gently, then
brought the hard shaft to his lips. He ran his tongue over the moist head, licking and teasing
it with urgent flicks that had John groaning with pleasure.
“Wait.” Peter gave him an anxious look. “Are you injured anywhere? I don’t want to
press where I shouldn’t…if you know what I mean.”
“Just a couple of burns on my shoulder. Here.” He pointed to a reddish area on his skin,
then gave Peter a shy smile. “You can kiss it better if you like.”
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“I like…” Peter touched John’s shoulder gently with his lips. “Thank God you weren’t
badly injured. When I heard the news report, I was devastated.”
“Well, let’s forget about that, shall we?” John murmured. “The best moments of my day
are happening right now. You’re all I care about.”
His lips found Peter’s, his tongue gliding sensuously over Peter’s soft palette. Peter’s
breath quickened in his chest, and his heart raced from the sheer eroticism of John’s kiss. His
hand grasped John’s erection, and he scooted down so that he could take it back into his
mouth.
John shifted position, his lips tracing a path over Peter’s torso until, with an audible
sigh of pleasure, his took Peter’s hard cock into his mouth. Peter’s body spasmed as he felt
John’s lips close around his erection. John’s hands cupping Peter’s bottom, pulled him in
closer, deeper into his mouth. Peter could taste the juice that spilled from John’s cock, and it
sent his senses on fire. He wanted it all in his mouth; he wanted to feel John come over his
tongue, to taste his essence. He sucked harder, stronger as he heard John moan, and at the
same time felt his own orgasm surge through his balls
Their arms tightened about one another, their hips bucked and thrust as they fucked
each other’s mouths, then with a sudden rush, their cum flooded over each other’s tongues,
and with gasping cries of joy, they clung to one another, elated by the rapturous moment of
belonging and of owning.
Peter held John in his mouth, savouring his taste and scent, reluctant to release him
until he felt his erection begin to soften. He wanted time to stand still, to hold this man in his
arms forever and never let him go. And even though he knew that was impossible, even
though he knew John had another life away from him, he wanted to hold onto this incredible
moment and keep the memory of it for the rest of his life. For sadly, that’s what it would
become—only a memory. The thought of that brought a soft moan of despair to his lips.
John moved under him, rolling him over onto his back, his strong hands stroking his
face with the gentlest of touches.
“What’s wrong, love?” John whispered.
“Nothing.” Peter gazed up into the blue eyes above him and brought John’s face close
to his own. “Except, that I’m falling love with you.”
“And what’s wrong with that?”
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Peter felt his chest tighten with emotion. He wanted to yell, “Because you’re married to
a woman, and I can never have you all to myself!” Instead, he smiled, kissed John’s soft lips
and said, “You haven’t said you love me.”
“Then let me say it now. I love you, Peter.” His lips closed over Peter’s in a kiss that left
him in no doubt that he meant it, at least for now…
He held John tightly in his arms. “I’d like to feel you inside me,” he murmured, his lips
pressed to John’s ear. If this was to be their only time together, he wanted it all. He reached
over to the bedside table and pulled a tube of lubricant jelly from the drawer.
“Let me do that.” John took the tube from him and coated his fingers with the slick
substance. Gently, he inserted one then two fingers into Peter’s anus. Peter flinched slightly
at this cold invasion, then as John probed deeper and warmth stole through him, Peter bore
down, his sphincter muscles clenching tightly around John’s fingers.
“Fuck me, John.”
Peter’s eyes were locked on John’s as he raised his legs and wound them around the
taller man’s waist. He gasped as the head of John’s cock pushed against his resistance. Oh, he
was so big. Peter bit his bottom lip as he strained to take John in.
John held back a little, his eyes searching Peter’s face. “All right?’ he whispered.
“Yes.” Peter lifted his hips to meet the downward thrust of John’s pelvis. Then, oh yes,
glorious. John’s cock, so hard and hot slid all the way into him, gliding over his prostrate,
sending electric jolts of pleasure throughout his body. He reached up, pulling John’s face to
his own, laving his jaw and mouth with sweet, moist kisses.
“I love you, John. I love you,” he cried as John pounded into him. His cock slid in and
out with such force, Peter was sure he wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week. At that
moment, he couldn’t have cared less. This was what he wanted, what he would remember
forever, even after—he didn’t want to think of that now. John was here, was fucking him,
and was his. He raised himself up in John’s arms, meeting every thrust with a buck of his
hips, his lips fastened onto John’s right nipple, sucking, licking, nibbling.
“I’m coming,” John groaned, and Peter exulted, grabbing his own hard cock and
bringing himself to the brink. As he felt John’s hot semen surge into him, he cried out,
hugging the bigger man to him and writhing beneath him as his own orgasm overtook him.
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“John,” he shouted, before his lips were taken in a kiss that seared itself into his brain
and left him spent, breathless… and completely in love.
“Oh, John,” he murmured, kissing the hard, warm shoulder pressed to his chest. John’s
weight on him was like a welcome shelter, and he stroked and caressed the smooth skin
under his hands.
“Beautiful,” John murmured, raising his head to look at Peter.
“Yes, you are.”
“You, silly. You have the most beautiful green eyes I’ve seen on any man.” He stroked
Peter’s dark hair, and kissed the tip of his nose, smiling as Peter snuggled into his arms. For a
while, they were content to simply lie there quietly together, each man basking in the sweet
afterglow of their lovemaking.
“Will you stay?” Peter asked, after a while.
“Sorry, can’t. Duty calls, my boy.”
“At this time of night?”
“At any time of night or day.” He tapped Peter on the chin. “Something you’ll have to
get used to, if you know what I mean.”
If only that was all it was, Peter thought, I could get very used to it. Aloud he said, “Will I
see you tomorrow?”
John smiled down at him. “What’s it worth, then?”
Peter stared up into John’s blue eyes. “Everything I’ve got.”
“Then I’ll be here.”
They kissed again and again and soon desire overtook them once more. Duty called,
but right then, John’s duty was to keep Peter happy.
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Chapter Five
Next morning, Peter awoke to the sound of the phone ringing.
“Damn,” he muttered and almost ignored it. He wanted to lie there in the warmth of his
bed and relive those wonderful hours he’d spent with John. But better answer it. It might be
John.
“Peter.” It was his agent Morrie. “There’s a new show going into the Palace,” he said, in
his usual vague way. “Something about Victorians. They want a baritone voice for one of the
parts. Not sure which one. You interested?”
“Of course,” Peter replied with some impatience. Hadn’t he told him to send him any
West End shows?
“All right. I’ll let them know you’ll be there. Oh, it’s this morning at ten thirty.”
“What? Ye gods, Morrie. A little notice would’ve been good!”
“Well, it’s just down the street from you. Good luck.”
“Damn again,” Peter muttered, banging down the phone. He hurried to the bathroom
and started to fill the tub. An hour to get himself ready and warmed up. He’d wanted to
have a leisurely morning, basking in the glow of his evening with John. After he’d left, Peter
had thought through all the possibilities for keeping their relationship going. So John was
married. He obviously wasn’t happy or he wouldn’t be looking for sex elsewhere, would he?
But his wife had looked lovely, and there had been love between them. Peter had been able
to see that, even at a distance.
As he sank into the tub, he asked himself if he really wanted to get between John and
his wife. Figuratively speaking, of course. There were enough problems in most relationships
without the added tension of having to lurk about in the shadows—not going places together
in case they were seen, never meeting each other’s friends. But their time together had been
so wonderful, and even though it would be better if he nipped this in the bud and told John
he couldn’t see him anymore, he just didn’t know if he would ever find the strength to go
through with it.
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* * * *
When Peter arrived at the theatre slightly out of breath from the gallop down Charing
Cross Road, he was surprised to see very few people waiting to audition.
“Not much of a turn out,” he remarked to the stage manager as he gave him his name.
“Private only this morning,” the man told him, with a friendly grin. “The peons will be
here this afternoon. What are you singing, by the way? I overheard them saying they want to
hear up-tempo numbers.”
“Oh, thanks. I won’t do Some Enchanted Evening then. I don’t want them falling asleep.”
He pulled out his music for Show Me from My Fair Lady. “This might be the ticket.”
“They’re calling names alphabetically, so you’re on first. Off you go…and good luck.”
“You’re Peter Buchanan?” a disembodied voice from the stalls asked.
“That’s me,” Peter replied, smiling and handing his music to the pianist. It wasn’t Brian,
more’s the pity. He could rely on Brian to play anything well. He walked downstage as the
pianist fumbled through the introduction. Fortunately, Peter knew the song well enough to
go it alone if he had to, so he launched into the chorus ignoring all the wrong chords behind
him.
“Nice, Peter,” the voice called out when he’d finished with a resounding, ‘Show me,
now’ taking the last note, high and clear. “Do you have a ballad?”
“Uh, yes… Is Some Enchanted Evening all right?”
“Lovely.”
The pianist managed a passable intro for the verse, and Peter gave the song everything
he had.
“Very nice, Peter. Can you stay behind?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Good. We’ll talk to you after we’ve heard the others.”
“Thanks.” Peter walked offstage, and the stage manager announced the next hopeful.
Peter wandered backstage and found a step to sit on while he listened to his competition,
some good, some not very good. By the end of the morning, the producers had only asked
five singers to stay behind, then they called them all onstage.
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“Gentlemen, thank you for waiting.” The producer climbed up on to the stage and
smiled at them. “What we’re looking for is a good blend of four voices.”
Peter left the theatre in fair spirits. He could tell the producer liked him, and although
he’d have to wait a couple days for their decision, he felt quite confident that they would
choose him. Then he could only hope for a long run and good money so he could give up
some of the club work.
He wondered if John had phoned him while he’d auditioned. He’d said they would get
together at some point in the day, but he wasn’t sure what his schedule would be. Peter told
himself to be patient, and make the most of what they could have together, if only for the
short time he knew they had.
“Peter!” He turned to see Don Hamilton, an actor he’d worked with in a show a few
years ago, waving from the other side of the street. “Fancy a coffee?”
“Love to,” Peter said, smiling. He liked Don. They had gotten along famously during
the show’s run and had kept in touch ever since.
“Come on then. Stockpot’s round the corner.”
Peter darted across the busy street and found himself enveloped in Don’s arms. “Long
time, no see,” Don said, laughing. “Saw you coming out of the Palace. You up for something,
then?”
“I auditioned for a new show. Something Victorian. No title yet. They’re still working
on the book.”
“Oh, one of those, eh? Don’t hold your breath. The town’s full of these would-be
producers these days.”
“It sounded promising.”
“Well, good. Here we are.” They entered the tiny café and sat at a table by the window.
“Watch the world go by,” Don said, as they sat down. “So, how have you been?”
“Just fine. Yourself?”
“Busy. My agent’s got me doing some television commercials. I didn’t want to at first, a
bit tacky, I thought. But if old Larry Olivier can do it, why shouldn’t I? And the money’s
damned good, I must say. You still nightclubbing it?”
“Yes. Five shows a night. It’s getting to be a bit wearing, I have to admit. But like you, I
only do it for the money.”
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Don waited for the waiter to deliver their coffee, then he said, “I saw Scott the other
day.”
“Oh yes?”
“He told me you two had split up. I can’t say I was surprised. Never did think he was
for you. Bit of a sneak, I always thought.”
Peter laughed. “A sneak?”
“Yes. Always fingering the dancing boys’ bums…”
“Don!”
“It’s true, Peter. Saw him myself when we were doing that panto at the Palladium. I
always thought it showed a lack of respect for you.”
“Not to mention the ‘dancing boys’.”
“Oh, one or two of them quite enjoyed it.”
“I’m sure they did. That’s why we broke up, as a matter of fact. He was just too lavish
with his affection—for other men.”
“Cad.” Don sipped his coffee and winked at Peter. “So, are you bonking someone else?”
“Of course,” Peter said, chuckling. “And that’s all you get to hear, for the moment.”
“Married man, is he?”
Peter almost choked on his coffee. “What on earth made you ask that?” he spluttered.
“Well, there’s a lot of them about, isn’t there?”
“Is there—I mean are there?”
“Oh yes. Had one myself a year or so ago. Lasted a few months ‘til his old lady found
out, then all hell broke loose. They got into a right barney, and the poor bugger had a black
eye to prove it.”
* * * *
As Peter made his way back to his flat, he couldn’t help but think on what Don had
said. He didn’t quite know if he found it humorous or sad. Of course, he knew there were
many men who had affairs outside their marriage, sometimes with women, sometimes men.
He’d just never been faced with this kind of situation before, and he wasn’t sure he wanted it
now.
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He loved John—there was no doubt in his mind about that—but he couldn’t agree to be
the ‘little bit on the side’. That just was not his style at all, and somehow, he didn’t think it
was John’s either. He couldn’t imagine John saying, “Well, if it’s all right with you, I can
come over Tuesday afternoons, and we can fuck to our heart’s content.” He sighed as he
contemplated the moment when he would tell John about seeing him and his wife together at
the hospital.
How would John react? Would he be angry at being found out, or was it something he
thought they could both overlook? No, he couldn’t believe John could be that callous—or
unfaithful. But he had already been unfaithful, hadn’t he? With him…
He heard the phone ringing as he opened the door to his flat, and he ran to answer it,
thinking and hoping it might be John.
“Hello?”
“Peter, it’s Janet.”
“Oh, hello Janet. Something wrong?”
“It’s Rob.” She sounded close to tears. “He was on the phone reading Dad the riot act,
saying he had rights and was going to come up to Aberdeen and take me back to London.
And if Mum or Dad tried to stop him, he’d call the police. The law is on his side, he said.”
“What a bastard,” Peter muttered.
“I just don’t know what to do. I don’t want Mum and Dad mixed up in any trouble.”
“Well, they’re certainly not going to stand by and see you dragged out of their house by
that arsehole. Wait, I have a friend in the police force here. I’ll see if I can get a hold of him,
and ask him what we can do. I’ll ring you as soon as I’ve talked to him.”
“Oh, would you? I knew you’d know what to do.”
“Well, hopefully he’ll come up with the right answers. I’ll speak to you soon.”
“Thanks, Peter. I love you.”
“Love you too, sister mine.”
Peter put the phone down with a curse. That damnable Rob was determined to make
Janet’s life a misery. After hesitating for a moment, he dialled Rob’s number.
“Rob?” he barked as soon as his brother-in-law picked up. “What d’you mean by
threatening my family?”
“Fuck off, Peter,” Rob growled. “This is none of your business. She’s my wife and—”
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“What? That means you can knock her around whenever you feel like it? She’s not
coming back to you, so just lay off, and forget about going up to Aberdeen. My Dad will set
the police on you if you dare come near his house.”
“Listen, you little queer. I’ve talked to the police, and they say I have every right to
request my wife comes back with me—”
“But, I’m guessing you didn’t tell them you blackened her eye and smacked her around
before she left, now did you? I have a friend with the police in London, Rob, and he told me
beating a woman, regardless of who she is, is a criminal offence. You could go to jail.”
“Oh, shut it,” Rob yelled. “If you don’t keep your fuckin’ nose out of my business, I
might go to jail for cutting your balls off. They’re no good to you anyway, you fuckin’
poufter.”
“My God.” Peter’s voice trembled with rage as he spoke. “To think that my sister has
had to put up with rubbish like you. To have suffered your filthy hands and mouth on her
person—it makes me want to puke, you disgusting piece of shit!”
There was a long, loaded silence on the line and then came a screaming garble of
expletives, half of which Peter didn’t even understand. He started to laugh, and that brought
even louder cursing. He put the phone down then picked it up again quickly and dialled the
operator.
“Can you give the number for the Tottenham Court Road Police Station, please?”
“One moment please…”
Peter wrote the number down, then dialled it. “Is Inspector Reed there?”
“Who may I say is calling?”
“Peter Buchanan.”
“One moment. Putting you through, sir.”
“Peter…” John’s deep voice was slightly coloured by concern. “I called you earlier.”
“Yes, sorry. I had to run to an audition. My agent sprung it on me at the last minute.”
“Oh. How’d it go?”
“All right I think. Listen John, I need some advice.”
“Go on.”
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“My brother-in-law is threatening to force Janet into coming back to London with him.
He says he talked to the police here, and they told him he had every right to insist she goes
with him. Is that right?”
“Well, he does have certain conjugal rights as her legal spouse, but his history of abuse
would nullify that, if she filed a complaint against him.”
“And of course, he didn’t tell them that part of it. I just got off the phone with him, and
he went bananas when I told him he was a piece of shit.”
John chuckled. “He probably didn’t know you cared for him that much.”
“I’d like to lay him out. Well, okay, thanks for the information. I’ll let Janet know she
has to file a complaint.”
“And she should do it right away. If you like, I’ll call the Aberdeen Police and make
them aware of the situation, just in case he gets nasty.”
“Oh, would you? That would be nice of you, John.”
“Anything for you. What’re you doing later?”
“Hoping a policeman comes a’calling.”
“That’s what I hoped you’d say. I get off at six.”
“See you then. I’ll make supper.”
“I’ll bring dessert.”
“You are the dessert!”
They both laughed, then John said, softly, “I can’t wait to see you again.”
“That’s what I hoped you’d say,” Peter said, smiling. “See you at six.”
Peter glanced at his watch. Half past four. He just had time to run to the market for
some wine and groceries then back for a quick bath…then John. Not such a bad day after all.
* * * *
Peter was splashing about in the bathtub when he heard the door bell ring. He’s early, he
thought, standing up and grabbing a towel. Well, there’s nothing like an eager beau.
Wrapping the towel around himself, he hurried to the door and flung it open. His eyes
widened with shock as his brother-in-law’s scowling face was revealed.
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“Rob! What the hell are you doing here?” His instinct to slam the door on Rob’s
snarling face was thwarted when the big man threw his shoulder against the door panel,
sending Peter crashing into the wall behind him. Peter slumped to the floor, the wind
knocked out of him.
“Get up, you little shit,” Rob yelled. “Get up!” He reached for Peter, jerking him to his
feet. “You think you’re so much better than me, don’t you? You and your snobby parents,
always trying to make me look bad!”
“You do a fair job of that yourself, Rob,” Peter said, pulling himself free of Rob’s grip.
He tightened the towel around his waist as he glared at the other man. “You have some
nerve coming here. You think this is going to endear you to Janet, when I tell her you came
barging into my flat like some bloody maniac?”
“Shut up, you fucking pouf. You make me sick with your fa-la-la ways.”
“Fa-la-la ways?” Peter laughed out loud. “Where did you hear that one? You really
must get out more, Rob.”
“I said, shut up.” He took a step towards Peter and swung at him. Just in the nick of
time, Peter ducked out of the way, losing his towel in the process. “Well, well,” Rob sneered.
“The little man’s not so little.”
“I didn’t know you were into cock, Rob.” Peter danced out of the way as Rob tried to
grab him. “But this is one you’ll never have!” Too late, Peter realised he’d backed himself
into the corner by the window. “So, what’re you going to do? Beat the shit out of me? Prove
to yourself you’re a man by beating me up? I’m not my sister, Rob. I’ll fight back, and—”
Roaring with rage, Rob launched himself at Peter. Peter went down under the other
man’s weight, his head bouncing painfully on the parquet floor—and then, just as quickly
the weight of Rob’s body was gone, and Peter’s eyes grew big as he saw Rob struggling to
get out of the fierce-looking headlock a tall, fair-haired man was inflicting on him.
“Ow…ow…let go of me you bloody sod,” Rob wailed as John applied even more
pressure to his neck.
“Who is this blighter?” John panted, straining to keep Rob locked up.
“My brother-in-law.”
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“Oh, the one who smacks pregnant ladies around, eh?” John squeezed harder, and Rob
began to bellow with pain. “There’s a pair of handcuffs in my back pocket, Peter. Get them
will you?” He eyed Peter as he stood up. “And where are your trousers?”
“I was taking a bath,” Peter said, grinning at him. He picked up his towel and wrapped
it around his waist, then he pulled the handcuffs from John’s back pocket.
“Slip them on this bugger, while I hold him.”
“With pleasure.” Peter grabbed Rob’s wrists and after a bit of struggle got the cuffs on
him.
“Now then.” John released Rob from the headlock. “Would you mind explaining why
you were attacking this young man?”
“He was coming on to me,” Rob yelled. “Look at him, all naked, bloody poufter…”
John and Peter looked at one another, then burst out laughing.
“You’ll have to do better than that, I’m afraid,” John drawled. “The way I see it, it’s a
case of forced entry, assaulting the occupant of the flat, resisting arrest…”
Rob, gaped at him. “You’re a bleeding copper?”
“’Fraid so, and you, young man, are nicked.”
“What d’you mean?” Rob snarled.
“I mean, I did a little background check on you, Robert McLeod, recently moved to
London from East Lothian. You have a probation officer who has been looking for you for
several weeks.”
“What?” Peter gasped.
John nodded. “Seems your errant brother-in-law got into a little scrape with the law a
few months ago—receiving stolen goods was the charge. Lucky bugger got probation in lieu
of a jail sentence. But he hasn’t been keeping his end of the bargain, so its back behind bars
you go. This time we’ll add attempted bodily harm to your charges, Mr. McLeod.”
Rob glared at Peter. “Janet’s going to love you for this. When I get through telling her
what you are, what you did—”
“Oh shut up, Rob,” Peter snapped. “With any luck, she’ll never want to talk to you
again. Not when she finds out, that on top of all the other heinous things you are, you’re a
damned petty thief, as well.”
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“Come on, chum.” John took Rob by the arm and marched him from the room. He
turned and winked at Peter, then mouthed, “See you later.”
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Chapter Six
After John left with Rob in tow, Peter finished his bath, slipped on his dressing gown,
then called home to tell his sister what had happened. She cried as he related the fact that
Rob had been charged with receiving stolen goods and avoiding his visits with his probation
officer.
“Did you know what he was up to, Janet?” he asked, gently.
“Not right away,” she replied, gulping back her sobs. “He told me he was going to
make a pile of money. I knew it had to be something illegal, but I just kept hoping it would
all go away.”
“Well, he’s going away for some time, I’m afraid. You really mustn’t think of going
back to him. The man is dangerous—to himself, as well as others.”
“I know, I know…” Her voice shook as she continued to cry. “I just wish I could get
over him. It’s hell to love a man too much, Peter.”
“But now you have the baby to think of.”
“Yes, and if I am completely honest with myself, I know Rob would make a terrible
father. It’s just that…well, I know you would never understand this, Peter…”
“Janet, believe me, I do understand—well, perhaps not as far as Rob is concerned—but I
do understand about loving the wrong person.”
“You mean Scott?”
“Uh…yes. That’s what I meant. Anyway, love, you take care. I’ll talk to you soon.”
Peter put down the phone, and with a sigh, pressed his forehead against the window
pane. He looked at the bustling crowds below him, at the surge of traffic speeding up
towards Tottenham Court Road, and wondered why life had to be so damned difficult at
times. He didn’t want to equate what was going on in his life with Janet’s more serious
problems, but nevertheless, he just wished at least one of them was having a better go at
things.
John had said he’d be back after taking care of Rob, and Peter had promised him
supper. He wandered into the kitchen and started preparing a casserole that took little effort
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and was delicious. Got to feed my man—if only he could be my man, he thought grimly,
chopping at some carrots and onions. Perhaps it was time to bring things out into the open
and tell John what he knew. But only after they had made love again.
God, but he was so wonderful in bed. Peter wiped at his eyes. Damned onions…
A little after seven, John phoned to say he was on his way. “Your brother-in-law won’t
be coming to call anytime soon,” he said, chuckling. “But I’ll fill you in on all that when I see
you.”
“I can’t wait,” Peter murmured. “To see you, that is.”
“Be right there.”
Peter set the table and opened the bottle of claret he’d bought at the market. He lit some
candles then turned on the stereo, filling the room with the soft sounds of mellow jazz. This
might just be the last time he’d ever get to do this for John, and he wanted it to be perfect.
That thought filled him with despair, but he was determined not to give in to the depression
he could feel welling up inside him. The chime of the doorbell sent him running to answer it,
and when he saw John standing there, looking so handsome in his dark suit and holding a
bouquet of flowers, he almost lost it.
The flowers got crushed as they embraced, holding each other without speaking, for a
long time. John’s lips on Peter’s had both men trembling with desire, and everything was
forgotten, but their need for one another. The flowers fell to the floor as John picked up Peter
in his arms and carried him into the bedroom. Clothes were stripped off, and naked bodies
were pressed together as carnal urges overtook them. Peter gasped with a sensual pleasure
as John’s lips travelled over his torso, pausing over each nipple, his tongue lapping at each
tiny nub, bringing them both to small, stiff points.
John gazed down at his lover, his hands massaging Peter’s chest in slow sensuous
movements. Their eyes were locked on one another, small smiles of implicit desire curling
their lips. John moved his hands down each side of Peter’s body, over his hips, his thighs,
stroking and caressing. He grasped Peter’s pulsing erection, pumping it slowly, visibly
exulting in the effect it was having on Peter and loving the soft moans of delight that escaped
his lips.
“You are so adorable,” he whispered, lowering his face to Peter’s and kissing him,
gently at first, then with a demanding hunger that had them both panting with desire.
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“Oh, John…John,” Peter breathed, holding the man tight in his arms and squirming
with ecstasy beneath him. The sensation of having John’s hard, powerful body pressed to his
own was enough to bring Peter to the edge almost too quickly. The danger was increased as
John moved south, taking Peter’s erection into his mouth, laving the underside of the head
with his tongue and sending jolts of pleasure through Peter’s body. John’s mouth engulfed
Peter’s cock, his lips sliding up and down the length of hard flesh, bringing moans and
whimpers of bliss from his lover. He fondled Peter’s balls, caressing the soft, velvety skin,
then let his fingers stray into the tight puckered hole, so tantalisingly near. Still with his
mouth on Peter, John reached for the tube of lubricant, smeared some over his fingers then
probed gently into the depths of Peter’s core.
Peter moaned and arched his pelvis, the sweet sensation of John’s mouth on his cock,
and his fingers caressing his prostrate sending him heavenwards. He sighed happily as John
withdrew his fingers and replaced them with the head of his cock, pushing slowly forward
past Peter’s brief resistance.
John thrust himself deep inside Peter. He lowered his face to Peter’s and kissed him
gently on the mouth. Peter wound his arms around John’s neck and pulled him in for a long,
languorous kiss that had both men moaning into each other’s mouths. They started a slow
and sensual rhythm, their bodies moving together in unison, their mouths joined in deep
sensuous kisses. Peter cupped John’s bottom, pulling him in even deeper, while his fingers
stroked the puckered hole he could feel deep in the cleft between John’s buttocks. He pushed
gently, and John moaned into Peter’s mouth at this added sensation. His body stiffened, his
hips thrust harder, faster, carrying Peter into an almost overwhelming tumult of emotion.
His legs tightened round John’s torso, his pelvis arched upward, giving John even
greater access to the silky heat within him. A deeper thrust, and Peter felt his orgasm rush
through him. Thick white cum shot from him, coating both their bodies and splashing onto
his chin. John groaned as his own climax neared. Peter clung to him, covering his mouth and
face with kisses as his body shuddered and bucked under the force of his ejaculation. Both
men cried out as he came, Peter writhing in rapture as he felt John’s hot seed pour into him.
“Ah, Jesus.” John fell gently on top of Peter, covering the smaller man’s body with his
own, holding him as if he would never let him go—which was exactly what Peter yearned
for.
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“I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you, too,” John replied, and at that moment, Peter believed it to be true.
He lay in John’s arms, sheltered in the warm glow of what had just passed between
them. John’s lips touched his cheek, and he turned to smile at the man who had made love to
him so sweetly and passionately.
“You’re wonderful,” Peter whispered, snuggling into John’s arms. He loved this
moment almost as much as when they were making love. To lie here in this warm shelter
was something that had been missing from his relationship with Scott. After sex, Scott would
give out a satisfied grunt and roll away, leaving Peter with an empty feeling of wanting
more. But John fulfilled him in ways he would always remember as sweet and wonderful.
If only things were different. If only they had met before John had married, before Peter
had met Scott, before all the circumstances that now would take John away from him. Trying
to dispel the feeling of sadness that had suddenly enveloped him, he pushed himself deeper
into John’s arms.
“Mmm, that feels nice,” John murmured. “You’re quite the cuddler, aren’t you?”
“My favourite thing.”
“Really?” John chuckled. “Now, I would have thought it was something else.”
“Well, almost my favourite thing,” Peter conceded, laughing lightly. “I hope I didn’t
wear you out.”
“Well, you certainly know how to work up a man’s appetite,” John replied, smiling.
“Ah, you’re hungry—for food this time. Come on then…” Peter slipped out of John’s
arms, and ran to the bathroom to fetch a wash cloth for them to clean up. As he pulled on his
clothes he said, “You can tell me all about my bastard brother-in-law while I pour you some
wine.”
“That’s the way to ruin a very pleasant evening, all right.”
Peter watched as John stretched his long, leanly muscled body before pulling on his
shirt. Lord, but he was going to miss this man more than he really wanted to admit.
John looked at him, a question in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I was just admiring your rather lovely body.”
John grinned at him. “And it’s all yours, young man.”
UNDER THE LAW
J.P. Bowie
181
Peter turned away before he was tempted to challenge that remark. “Come on, copper.
Let’s have some wine.” He practically fled from the bedroom, leaving a puzzled John staring
after him.
“Something’s bothering you,” John said, watching Peter pick up the bouquet of crushed
flowers from the floor.
“Oh, it’s just this thing with Rob and Janet.” He fluffed the flowers up a little before
pushing them into a bowl of water. “How’d it go with him anyway?”
“He never stopped whining. Wanted to call his wife, he said. She’d explain everything.
That it was worrying about her that got him into all this trouble.”
“What a liar,” Peter sneered, pouring out two glasses of wine. “He’s never worried
about her one day in his life. I just hope and pray that Janet tells him to fuck off—but I know
she won’t. She’s in love with him, and even though she knows he’s all wrong for her, she
can’t let him go.”
“Well, he’s in custody for a few days ‘til we get a court date. D’you want to press
charges?”
“I’d love to,” Peter said with some vehemence. “But, I don’t know if Janet would
appreciate that.”
“It is a bit sticky,” John agreed. “But if you want to get him out of the way for a time…”
Peter nodded. “I’ll think about it, if that’s all right? Well…” He clinked his glass against
John’s. “Cheers, anyway.”
“Cheers.” John sipped his wine then leaned in to kiss Peter gently on the lips. “Or
should I say, cheer up?”
“Sorry. I just get upset when I think about the way that sod has treated Janet.”
They ate the meal Peter had prepared, and John murmured his approval. “Delicious,”
he said, raising his glass. “Almost as delicious as the chef.”
Peter smiled then gritted his teeth. As much as he wanted nothing more than to
complete this perfect evening by whisking John back into bed for another round of hot sex,
he knew what had to be done. It was going to kill him to let John go, but…
“John, there’s something we have to talk about.”
John’s smile faded as he put down his wine glass. “I knew there was something
troubling you—something more than just the situation with your brother-in-law.”
UNDER THE LAW
J.P. Bowie
182
“Yes, I’m afraid I lied to you when I said they wouldn’t let me see you when you were
in the hospital. Actually, I didn’t ask, I just went in search of you, and I saw
you…and…and…”
“And?”
“There was a woman with you. A very lovely woman…your wife. I just felt like I
shouldn’t interfere, so I left. But John, I was so worried about you, I just had to make sure
you were all right, so it was good that I saw you, you know, sitting up and
looking…well…even though I couldn’t come in and sit with you and…I wanted you so
much, that even when I found out you were married I just couldn’t break it off…but now I
feel that, well…it’s wrong of us to do this…so—”
“I’m not married, Peter.”
“So you see—” Peter looked up, his mouth slack, as John’s words sank in.
“But, the woman with you…”
“Was my sister, Joan.”
“You…your sister?” Peter croaked, his face flushing with colour. “Oh…then you’re not
married.”
“That’s what I said. I’m not married.”
Peter covered his face with his hands. “I feel like such an idiot. All this time…”
John reached across the table and took Peter’s hands in his own warm grasp. “But the
most wonderful idiot I’ve ever met.”
“Even though I didn’t come to visit you when your were languishing on that hospital
bed? Oh, I could kick myself for being such a fool!”
John stood, and pulled Peter into his arms. “Let’s turn that kick into a kiss, shall we?”
Their lips met, and Peter felt he might really swoon with happiness. John wasn’t married
after all. They were both free to see one another as much as they wanted—and oh, he wanted
that so much.
“John?”
“Mmm?”
“What are you doing the rest of your life?”
“Spending it with you—if you’ll let me.”
UNDER THE LAW
J.P. Bowie
183
“Well…” Peter teased John’s lower lip with his tongue. “I might be an idiot in some
things, but I’m far too clever to let you get away, Inspector Reed.”
John’s chuckle came from deep inside his chest. “Actually, I brought along some
preventative measures, just in case you tried.”
“What measures?”
“Reach inside my jacket pocket.”
Peter did as instructed and laughed as he pulled out a set of handcuffs. “Oh, Lord. I
hadn’t taken you for the kinky type.”
“Well, you did tell me once that I was a man of many surprises.” John grinned at him.
“Here’s one more.”
* * * *
Six months later
Sometimes, life can most definitely take a turn for the better, Peter thought as he listened to
his sister chattering on and extolling the beauty of her newborn child.
“She’s adorable, Peter. Just perfect in every way.”
“She must take after her uncle then,” Peter said, laughing.
“There is a faint resemblance,” Janet conceded.
“What’re you going to call her?”
“I was thinking Catherine, after Grandma.”
“Mmm, that’s nice.”
“So when are you coming up to see her?”
“Very soon. John and I are working on getting some time off together…I’ve got a week
off from the show before we go on tour, and John has masses of holiday time he’s never
used.”
“I can’t wait to meet him. Mum said he sounded lovely on the phone.”
Peter chuckled. “I can assure you he’s even lovelier in person.” He hesitated for a
moment, before saying, “I hope that husband of yours has been keeping his distance.”
UNDER THE LAW
J.P. Bowie
184
“Don’t worry,” Janet said. “I haven’t heard from him since he got out, and I’ve started
divorce procedures. The solicitor said it should be fairly easy, considering everything.”
Peter could hear the sadness in her voice. “Things will get better,” he said softly. “I
know they will. You’ll meet some bloke who’s worthy of you, one of these days.”
“Just like you did?”
“Yes…although I sometimes wonder if I’m worthy of him.”
After he put down the phone, Peter peeked into the bedroom, where John was still
asleep after pulling an all night shift. He’d said to wake him before nine, so they could spend
some time together before he went back to work.
Peter sat on the edge of the bed and smiled down at his lover, his face smooth and
untroubled in repose, a faint shadow of blond stubble outlining his jaw. Gently, he traced
John’s jaw line with his forefinger, then bent to kiss his lips.
“’Morning.”
John opened one bleary eye then rolled over onto his back, pulling Peter into his arms.
“No rest for the wicked with you around,” he mumbled, holding Peter pressed tight against
his body.
“Hey, I was being quiet as a mouse,” Peter chuckled, kissing John’s neck. His hand slid
down John’s long torso to find and hold his hard arousal. “You, on the other hand, are as
rampant as ever.”
“Aren’t you the lucky one, then?”
“Yes…” Peter kissed him, long and lovingly. “Yes, Inspector Reed. I am the lucky one.”
About the Author
J.P. Bowie was born in Scotland and toured British theatres in numerous musical
shows including Stephen Sondheim’s Company.
Emigrated to the States and worked in Las Vegas, Nevada for the magicians Siegfried
and Roy as their Head of Wardrobe at the Mirage Hotel. Currently living in
Henderson, Nevada.
Email:
J.P. loves to hear from readers. You can find his contact information, website and
author biography at
Also by J.P. Bowie
My Vampire and I
My Vampire Lover
The Set Up
Summer Bliss
Ride ‘Em Cowboy
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