Zain only had a small amount.
“Ready?” Roman asked and held out his hand.
“Ready.”
Zain wondered if Roman had any idea how excited he was. A bit nervous about wearing the collar and harness but if everyone else was dressed the same, why not?
They went first to a pub in the centre of Brighton.
“What would you like to drink?” Roman asked.
“A cocktail.”
“Which one?”
Zain shrugged. “I don’t know. Surprise me.”
“Do you prefer mint or pineapple?”
“Mint.”
Roman ordered himself a bottle of Corona and a mojito for Zain. Zain had sucked up a quarter of it by the time they’d found a spot to stand. All the tables were occupied.
“This is really nice. Oh God, was it expensive?” He sucked again at the straw. Minty and sweet and delicious. “I’m hot.” He started to unfasten the button at his neck and Roman caught his hand.
Zain shrugged. “I don’t care. I’m too hot.”
Roman leaned over and kissed him. “You’re cute, bratkin.”
“I’ve decided to collect all the words you call me. Zain, hot, cute, Gabe, zalupa and bratkin—whatever they mean.”
“Bratkin means little brother. It’s a term of affection, a bit like zalupa, which means dickhead.”
Zain laughed, went to suck again at his drink and didn’t try to keep the disappointment from his face. “It’s all gone.”
“Because you drank it so fast. Want another?”
“Please.”
Roman kept glancing back while he was waiting to be served. Zain saw a couple of guys eyeing Roman and a flare of jealousy hit his chest.
Zain beamed at Roman when he handed him the drink. “Thank you.”
“Drink it slowly.”
“It doesn’t taste alcoholic.”
“Well it is.”
Zain leaned against the wall and sucked at his drink. Roman tipped his to his mouth and Zain watched him swallow.
“Is there anything you’ve always had a burning ambition to do?” Zain asked.
“Such as?”
“Climb Everest? No, don’t do that. It’s too dangerous. Wingsuit flying? Don’t do that either. That’s probably more dangerous. Free climbing? Ice diving? Becoming a polar bear whisperer?”
Roman put his finger on Zain’s lips. “Do you want to go back to the room and lie down?”
“No!”
“Then don’t drink any more.”
“Am I talking too fast?”
“And drinking too fast.”
“I’m fine but don’t buy me any more. Even if I beg.”
Roman smiled. “Okay.”
“Please buy me another. Pleeeease.”
Roman laughed.
“It tastes so nice though. I feel really good.” He did. Happy and relaxed.
“Don’t drink any more. Let’s head for the club. You could do with some fresh air.”
“Okay.”
Roman led the way and Zain sucked up the rest of his drink before he followed. When they were on the street, Roman took his hand.
“I’m fine,” Zain said.
“The more you tell me you’re fine, the more I worry. Instead of going straight to the club, I think we’ll have a little walk.”
Zain pushed him into a shop doorway. “How about a little kiss instead?”
As Zain pressed his lips to Roman’s, Roman’s hands slipped to Zain’s throat and fingered the collar. Although Zain had initiated this, it was Roman who took control, Roman who slipped his tongue into Zain’s mouth and explored.
“Fuck, you taste good,” Roman whispered.
Then it was Zain with his back to the door and Roman sheltering him from the street. Zain wrapped his hand around the back of Roman’s neck, fingers playing with Roman’s ear then drifting down the line of his throat and all the time they kissed. When Roman pulled back panting, Zain licked the line of that perfect mouth, fluttered his tongue over Roman’s lips, kissed his cheek, kissed down his throat and sucked on his Adam’s apple. He couldn’t stop kissing him. He wanted… He wanted…
Roman tugged him in close and pressed his face into Zain’s hair. “Calm down or we’re going to get arrested.”
Zain struggled to get his breath back.
“That wasn’t a little kiss,” Roman whispered. “That was a big kiss.”
“I can’t control myself around you.”
“That was two mojitos speaking.”
It wasn’t. Well, maybe a half of one.
“I’m all right now.” Zain nudged him out of the doorway.
“We don’t need to go if you don’t want to.”
“You’re kidding. Course I want to go. This is our second date and you know what that means.”
“What?”
“The next one’s the third. I get a ring then, right?”
“You’re drunk.”
“But I can still count.” Oh God, what did I say?
Roman rubbed his knuckles in Zain’s hair.
The club was called Mezone and the sign outside said it was a themed night. Come and Get Leathered—men only.
The heavy beat of the music hit them before they’d even descended the stairs into the club, the sound loud and deep enough to make the walls and floor vibrate. It was a dark industrial-style venue with lots of brick, concrete and metal. They left their coats in the cloakroom and Roman tucked the tickets away in his trouser pocket.
Nerves seized Zain as they moved towards big metal doors framed by equally large, muscled bouncers.
“What if everyone is dressed as a pony?” Zain said in Roman’s ear.
Roman laughed. “Then we’ll leave.”
Zain grabbed his hand before they went into the main room. The lights were the first things to hit him, the way they washed the room and everyone in it with moving colours that spun and flashed to the thunderous rock beat.
Then there were the men. The room was encircled by them, the middle filled by them. There was a raised platform opposite the bar where guys wrapped themselves around poles, while overhead, three guys wearing only leather masks danced in cages. Zain found himself holding more tightly to Roman’s hand. Roman moved behind him, still holding Zain’s hand while the fingers of his other hand caressed Zain’s collar. Zain leaned back against him, the press of Roman’s skin and the harness reassuring.
Guys of all ages and sizes, wearing a lot or a little, were moving and shaking to the hard pulse of music pouring from the speakers. He watched guys bump and grind, twist and sway, sweat dripping down their faces and glistening on their skin. Hands caressed faces, fondled backsides, and rubbed groins. Zain swallowed hard. This is amazing.
“I’m going to buy us a drink,” Zain said. “What would you like?”
“Corona.”
They were served almost instantly. The young barman, dressed only in tight leather shorts and a collar—no lock—smiled at Zain, then at Roman. “What can I get you?”
“Corona and a mojito,” Zain said.
The barman moved away and Roman nipped Zain’s ear. “Try to make it last more than three minutes.”
Zain winced when the barman told him how much the drinks were. There wasn’t much change from fifteen pounds. He’d need to get some money from a cashpoint, though he wasn’t sure Roman would think that a good idea. They took their drinks to the other side of the room and leaned against the wall. Roman had one ankle hooked over the other. He looked smooth and cool whatever he did.
Those dancing sometimes moved out to the edge and postured in front of those watching from the sidelines, including him and Roman, trying to lure them to join them in the centre. They succeeded more than failed. But Roman didn’t move and Zain was happy about that.
“What do you think?” Roman had pressed his mouth to Zain’s ear otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to hear.
“Let’s dance.” Zain finished the mojito and stepped forward.
<
br /> Chapter Nineteen
Zain jerked awake with a gasp. He wasn’t sure what had come first, the waking up or the gasp. He reached for Roman, found him lying next to him and relaxed.
“How are you feeling?” Roman rolled over to face him.
“Fine.” Terrible.
“Sure?”
“Yep.” No.
“Know where you are?”
“In bed with you. Naked. Not on top of you though. Did you move?”
“Hmm. How much do you remember about last night?”
“Mojitos.”
Roman dragged his fingers through Zain’s hair then let them drift over Zain’s cheek. “Too many.”
“I remember…dancing. I like dancing with you. You looked good.”
“So did you. I was…amazed. I couldn’t drag you away from the pole.”
Zain tensed. “I danced with another guy?”
Roman’s eyes darkened. “Like that was going to happen. There was a competition. You climbed up and wrapped yourself around a pole.”
“Oh yeah, I did. I won, didn’t I?”
Roman rolled over him. “Free mojitos for the rest of the evening. I’ll have to remember that you don’t listen when you’re drunk. I gave up arguing and had to more or less carry you back. I can’t believe you don’t have a hangover.”
“Nope. I’m fine. Er…” Zain’s stomach violently objected to that lie. He wriggled out from under Roman and raced for the bathroom.
When there was nothing left inside him, not even his stomach, which presumably he’d flushed down the toilet, he turned to see Roman holding out a glass of water. Zain drank it all.
“I never want another mojito as long as I live.”
Roman laughed. “The feeling will pass.”
“I always wondered what it felt like to be drunk, and now I know.” He crawled from the toilet to curl up under the shower head. “Drown me.”
Roman turned the knob and Zain yelped as cold water rained down. By the time it warmed up, he was feeling better. He let Roman wash him, let Roman help him get dressed, let Roman talk him into going down for breakfast and by the time he’d eaten, he really did feel better.
Zain hadn’t managed the full English breakfast that Roman had devoured but poached eggs on toast accompanied by a bowl of fruit settled his stomach.
Roman poured them both another cup of coffee. “Do you want to stay here tonight or shall we drive along the coast and find somewhere else?”
“Let’s stay here.” Let’s stay in bed all day.
“Okay. I’ll just go and check we can keep the room.”
Zain watched Roman go. They had to talk about what was going to happen after the UCAT on Monday, though Zain had the feeling it was a subject they were both avoiding.
Roman came back several minutes later. “We can have the room until twelve on Sunday. Slightly later checkout. Whereabouts are you taking the UCAT?”
“Mile End. Thomas Road.”
Roman sighed. “Two miles from my place.” He sipped his coffee and furrowed his brow.
“Wondering whether we can risk staying the night there?”
“Yeah. I’ll think about it. You up for a rather spectacular walk along the coast?”
Zain nodded. He was up for something else but that could wait.
“Great. We’ll get our coats and head off.” Roman slid his hand onto Zain’s knee under the table and rubbed his thigh. “I spoke to the guy at the desk and he told me where to catch the bus to the best starting point. The hotel offered to make us a picnic.”
“Have you done the walk before?”
“No but I’ve thought about it. You asked about things I want to do. This is one of them.”
It was a day Zain would never forget. But then all the days with Roman had been like that. This was a clifftop walk in the sun with rural views rolling out on one side, an endless blue sea on the other. However, the spectacle was really the white cliffs of the Seven Sisters and Beachy Head. Zain thought he knew quite a lot about the geography of the UK. It had been one of his A levels, but Roman knew a lot more than him. How the Seven Sisters were formed by glacial meltwater at the end of the last ice age, that what had started as steep-sided valleys had been carved by the sea into the cliffs they could see now.
“Syria doesn’t have high enough mountains or the right climatic conditions for glaciers to form.”
“There are plenty of glaciers in Russia.”
“These cliffs are so white.”
“Because the sea gave them and the sea is taking them back.”
“Chalk’s formed from what?” He knew but he liked to hear Roman talk.
“Remains of marine algae, which died and dropped to the bottom of the sea to be reworked by burrowing animals and currents. It also contains marine fossils like ammonites and sea urchins. Sure you’re really interested?”
Zain squeezed Roman’s fingers. “I’m fascinated.”
“The cliffs took between 20 and 30 million years to form.”
“Wow.”
“I like rocks.” Roman shrugged.
“What is it that you like about them?”
“They’re amazing. So many different ways they can be created. So many varieties. They’re mostly hard to destroy. Even if they’re broken into pieces, they’re still rocks. And then there are rocks holding fossils—like a magic trick when they’re opened up.”
“Something might look ordinary on the outside, but what you find inside could rock your world.”
Roman groaned. “I collected rocks when I was a boy. I gradually learnt what they were, which were worth keeping. I put some in the garden at Arkady’s house. I’ve often wondered if anyone found them. They might even be still there. A geologist’s enigma.”
“Are you likely to go back and look?”
“No. Shall we stop for lunch?”
They picked a sheltered spot for their picnic and settled on the grass.
“Did you start another collection?” Zain asked.
“At school in Canterbury but Dima found it and threw the stones somewhere. I pretended not to care, but I did. I gave up after that. Though I still have one rock, always kept in my pencil case. A meteorite fragment found by me and my father. Mostly my father but we always pretended we’d spotted it at the same time. I think I was always looking for a diamond, something to make us fabulously wealthy. I remember my father telling me that the meteorite was far more interesting, more valuable and might even contain diamonds.”
“Like the space dust I saw in the museum. Oh, fuck. I bet you’ve seen it, haven’t you?”
Roman smiled.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I liked listening to you. You were so excited. Though I have noticed you’re easily excited.”
Roman cupped Zain’s crotch and Zain stuffed a couple of grapes into Roman’s mouth.
“Too many people. Too many greedy birds hovering,” Zain said. “Tell me about your piece of meteorite.”
“You know how they’re formed, right?”
“Yep. From dust or particles entering the Earth’s atmosphere at high speed. They rub against air particles, the friction creates heat and while most dust vaporises, some gets through to the Earth’s surface.”
“My piece is the size of grape. Full of microscopic diamonds that will never make it into jewellery.”
“Still very cool.”
“Yep.”
“I bet you’d never sell it, no matter how much you were offered.”
“You’re right. I never would.”
Zain loved hearing Roman talk like this. It was like peeling an onion layer after layer. “What were the rocks you left behind in Russia?”
“Most were fairly common ones like dolomite, granite, limestone tuff, chalk, marl. But I had a piece of serphinite, which looks as though it’s full of feathers, and a piece of alexandrite, which changes colour depending on how you hold it. I wish I still had them.”
Roman lay on his side staring at Zain
. “You have tiny amber flecks in your eyes.”
“Like my mother. I used to worry that it upset my father to look at me because everyone always said I had my mother’s eyes. But he told me it was a blessing, that it made him feel she was still with us.”
“I miss…” Roman broke off and Zain reached for his hand.
They said nothing for a long while, just lay holding hands.
Roman sat next to Zain on the bus back to Brighton and closed his eyes. The day had been brilliant but at the same time wrong. That was true from the moment they’d arrived. From the moment they’d fucking set off. He’d thought he could keep Zain safe, get him to this test on Monday, then put him on a train. The last part of that stuck in Roman’s throat, making it hard to swallow, hard to breathe.
He was so tempted to switch on his phone and call Helen and Arkady, but what did he expect them to say? Nothing that would sort all this out and make him happy. Zain made him happy. He thought he made Zain happy too but how long would that last? When Zain had made that comment about them going to live in another country, Roman knew what he was offering to give up. For me. He couldn’t let him do it.
Currently, Roman was being the selfish bastard he’d eventually grown into. A better man wouldn’t be with Zain now making him think they had something that would last. A better man wouldn’t have introduced him to BDSM. A better man wouldn’t have taken him out last night, or today or be contemplating playing crazy golf on the sea front followed by a meal, followed by bed. But Roman needed this time to hold him up when Zain was gone from his life.
Yet just as quickly as he’d convinced himself they had no future, he swung in entirely the opposite direction. Helen would arrest Dima, Qash and Arkady and everyone else she could get her hands on. If they were in prison, they wouldn’t be able to touch Roman. If the three believed that Roman was in prison too, or maybe dead… Because if any of Arkady’s clients discovered Roman’s role in the collapse of his business, the loss of their money, then dying would be the least of his problems. He’d be begging for death.
When they got off the bus, Zain caught hold of his sleeve. “Have you made up your mind?”
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