by J P Sayle
Greg’s pupils blew wide open, making the pale irises disappear as candied puffs of breath forced their way out of his gaping mouth. Greg seemed at a total loss, his lips moving, but no words came out.
Feeling a little sorry for being an ass, Stuart pulled back. The unimpressed glower he received from Martin had him hunching into his suit jacket. Martin had warned him, no fraternising with the staff. It was the only rule he had so Stuart had kept to it. As tempted as he was to break it for Greg that wasn’t what stopped him, it was the long-term commitment vibe that Greg wore that made him wary.
Observing him now, he wasn’t tall at five foot six, though he had long, gangly limbs. His legs just seemed endless; long, toned, and slender. His pale skin, almost transparent, showed off the blue of his veins. Stuart was intrigued, wondering if his whole body would be the same. His pale blue eyes almost looked colourless when Greg was concentrating or black when his pupils blew like they just had. The red hair added to his overall cuteness factor, adding in the sprinkle of freckles across his pert nose. Again, Stuart wondered if his freckles were on any other part of his lithe body.
Greg’s lack of confidence and submissive nature had him wanting to take him in hand, if only for a while, just to see what would happen in Stuart’s very capable hands.
Stuart wondered how much of his thoughts he’d let slip when Greg gathered himself up, ensuring he didn’t touch any part of Stuart. Greg’s gaze seemed firmly fixed on Martin.
Martin beckoned Greg to sit in the chair Stuart had vacated, stretching across the desk to take the files Greg had brought in to discuss. Stuart felt sorry for him as he hunched into the chair, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop.
It took a second for Stuart to notice Greg was holding his breath, until Martin spoke softly. “Greg. Greg, breathe for me.” His loud gusty breaths filled the office when he obeyed Martin’s command.
“Greg, can I ask you a question? Are you happy here?” Martin’s questions surprised Stuart, unsure where the conversation was leading.
Stuart lazed back against the wall and waited for Greg to respond. Greg’s quick head bob, his initial response. Martin though, seemed to expect more when he remained silent. Stuart could see the panic build in Greg’s face before he took a fortifying breath.
“Yes sir, err, Martin, I love working here. And since Stuart gave me the opportunity to do more, I feel I’ve improved, but I know I could do better. I know I’m a little clumsy but I’m trying to learn to be a bit more controlled. My limbs seem to have a mind of their own so I have taken up yoga at Brad’s insistence, and it appears to be helping me. If you’re not happy with my work or me, I’ll just get my stuff and go. You know I’m sorry if I’ve caused any trouble.”
Stuart rubbed his temples, struggling to keep up with Greg’s prattle. Jerking his head at Martin, asking silently how the hell they could reassure his insecurities. The work he did was exceptional, he would be a big loss if he left. The office was running like a well-oiled machine because of him.
Stuart dropped his hands onto Greg’s shoulders, holding him in place. Greg’s muscles bunched under him. Attempting to sooth, Stuart massaged at the rigidness. He felt Greg shy away seconds before Martin glared, giving him a back off look.
Holding his hands up in surrender Stuart stalked out of the room, his temper increasing. I was only trying to bloody help for God sake, feeling fed up, he headed for the kitchen. Slamming cups down he set about making drinks for all of them, hoping Greg and Martin sorted things out.
He gave a half-hearted sigh, knowing he would need to apologise to Greg. Accepting it was his fault Greg got skittish around him. Stuart had an uneasy thought cross his mind. Could his behaviour be construed as sexual harassment? Was Greg right now telling Martin he was harassed by Stuart? A feeling of dread sat in his stomach as he headed back with the tray, hopefully a peace offering and apology would help settle things for Greg.
Words slammed into his gut as he reached the open door, making his earlier thoughts a reality.
“I don’t like the way he flirts with me all the time, it flusters me. I know he is not interested, because why would he be, look at me. I am a complete klutz, plain, and not very attractive. I love my job, but I’m worried that if I piss you both off, then I’m going to be out on my ear.” Greg’s pleading tone made his heart sink into his shoes.
Stuart waited for Greg to finish, he’d already fucked up enough. The reality that his flirting had made Greg uncomfortable when all he’d seen it as was a bit of fun, was a stark realism. Fuck, Greg could have taken him to court and handed his ass back to him in a basket. But no, instead he was trying hard to keep it together so he could keep his job.
Stuart’s hands clenched the tray hesitating for just a second, before steeling himself for what was coming. Stepping into the office, Greg’s alarmed stare had his neutral mask slipping into place. Laying the tray down, Stuart carefully handed out the drinks. Stepping back, making sure not to touch Greg, Martin’s raised brows indicated for him to start.
Crap, crap, crap, here goes nothing, his internal litany not helping his fraying nerves.
“Greg, look at me please.” Stuart’s voice came out harsher than he’d intended but his nerves were kicking in. He attempted to tone it down when Martin shot him daggers.
Stuart was convinced Greg’s eyes only reached his chin, so he purposefully lowered to his knees. His knees cracked before popping at the movement. Stuart felt the heat hit his chest a second too late, he scrambled back screeching, “arghhhhhh.” He wrenched the scalding hot drenched shirt from his chest, cursing.
Martin’s howling laughter added insult to injury. Stuart glared down at both of them, when he caught Greg trying to hide his sniggers behind his hand, while the other carefully placed the half empty cup down out of harm’s way.
Stuart held up his hands in defeat, letting go of his now coffee soaked shirt, courtesy of Greg’s clumsiness. “Okay, I asked for that. Listen, Greg. I’m sorry, okay? I was only messing, I didn’t realise it was affecting you so badly. That, believe it or not, was not my intention. You know the official rule about fraternising. It’s the only reason I haven’t taken it any further.” Stuart scrutinized Greg as heat infused his face, seeing his disbelief.
He crouched, careful of any sudden movements, his wet shirt temporarily forgotten. “I mean it, you are very attractive, and I would be very interested. But grouchy over there is very strict on office relationships, so can we be friends? I promise to behave.” Stuart offered Greg his hand. Pleased when he accepted, and a little disappointed there couldn’t be more when warm, soft skin rubbed gently against his roughened palm. He tightened his grip for a second before pulling back, pleased they seemed to have cleared the air.
His smugness satisfaction lasted all of two seconds before his soggy shirt plastered itself to his chest, creating goosebumps. The heated room offered little warmth against his soaking wet shirt. Stuart headed for the door, pausing when Martin spoke.
“Where do you think you’re going? We need to finish up here. Man up, Stuart, it’s only a little spilt coffee.”
Stuart’s teeth ground together as he spun on his heel, plonking down in the only other vacant seat next to the blowing air con. His words ground out, when the cool air caused him to shudder. “Come on then. I have to get home and sort the house for your visitor, unless you’re going to do it?”
Martin’s ‘fuck you’ smirk had Greg releasing a chuckle next to him. He pretended interest in his lap when Stuart turned his steely gaze on him. Stuart settled back, ignoring the wetness and smell of stale coffee as his shirt dried. Wishing the whole time they would hurry up and conclude the meeting so he could get home and end this day.
Stuart sighed in pleasure, slamming the door behind him, and pulling his tie off. He fist pumped the air when his stomach growled in appreciation of the rich aroma coming from the kitchen. Brad must have paid him a little visit, leaving behind a gift. He hurried into the kitchen, eager to see what s
urprise was waiting in the oven. His thoughts of going straight for a shower were forgotten under his greed. Saliva pooled in his mouth when he opened the oven. The rich, cheesy tomato sauce bubbled on top of the homemade lasagne. He beamed at the thought of Brad’s homemade garlic bread, checking the fridge, he wasn’t disappointed.
He checked to see if Brad had left him any instructions, grinning as he read.
“Hey, babe, there is lasagne in the oven ready when you are, the bread only needs ten minutes, don’t forget to share, though, with Joe. I’ll be checking just to make sure.”
His pleasure diminished, forgetting Joe was coming later. How that had slipped his mind, he’d never know. He supposed it would be nicer to eat with his new housemate when he arrived. Checking the time, he racked his brain trying to remember what time the boat docked. He considered if he had time for a shower first, the stench of stale coffee reminding him of the state of his shirt.
His decision made he headed upstairs, shrugging off the sudden urge to look his best. Stuart threw his ruined shirt onto his bed before going to check the spare room next to his. He gave the sheets a quick sniff. Pleased when the flowery bouquet affirmed his mother had washed them, he straightened the disturbed covers.
He liked the colour scheme, brown and cream bedding blended with soft taupe walls, accented by thick cream carpets. The queen-sized bed dominated the room. Oak posts mimicked totem poles, carved designs different on each post. He had found them in a shop in London, instantly falling in love with the unique designs; he bought one for each of the bedrooms in his flat. When he had agreed to purchase the house, Martin had agreed to let him move in some of his furniture out of the storage unit in Crosby.
The room seemed to fit his things perfectly. He trailed his hand down the wooden dresser, checking for dust. When his hand came away clean, he went to check the en-suite. The white bathroom too plain for his tastes, the bath seemed to take up most of the space leaving no room for a shower. He considered that might be the first change he made, not that he would be using it, but he wanted his guests to have a choice of bath or shower, and currently this room only offered a bath. Getting the fresh towels out of the airing cupboard, he placed the deep red towels on the warming rack, putting fresh soap in the dish by the sink.
Feeling he’d done everything he could for now, Stuart headed to his own room. His dark mahogany bed sat squarely in the middle of the large room, as impressive as its counterpart in the spare room. With one exception, his posts were taller, offering considerably more carvings etched into the wood.
Stuart had spent weeks trying to figure out what each carving meant. It had become an obsession for a while. His bed, it would appear, was all about fertility, which in hindsight was completely wasted on him.
Going to the large window, he looked out towards the deep green and purple hills coated in fading sunlight. Opening the window, a soft breeze teased his naked, hairless chest. Butterfly soft against his skin, he could just smell the hint of freshly cut grass. He lingered for a few seconds, feeling the roots he’d started to put down months ago on this small island, sink deeper, giving him a sense of peace he hadn’t felt since his father had died. He let the sadness settle, its weight lighter with each passing year, even when the ache still lingered.
Stuart pulled the curtains open as far as they would go, to let the lowering sun fill the room. The flickering light casted shadows over the gleaming wood, giving the room a dreamy feel. The warmth inside his chest affirming what he already knew, this was his place, his home.
He crossed his fingers that his visitor would feel the homeliness as he did. His sudden thought peculiar under the circumstances, made him pause. Stuart chuckled at why he’d worry about what a stranger would think about his home. He brushed aside the strange feeling in the pit of his stomach the thought had given him. He headed to the shower before he ran out of time.
Stuart launched his dripping body down the stairs, attempting to hold the towel in place as it tried to slip through his wet hands. He managed to secure it, just as the bell pealed again. “Fuck, fuck, Christ, I knew this would happen.” Sulking at being caught unprepared, he pushed his dripping hair out of his eyes as the other yanked the door open.
The chilly evening breeze rippled across his wet skin making goosebumps dance. His nipples stiffened, bracing against the coolness of the air. Stuart’s mind was completely oblivious to his body’s reaction. The clashing reality of past and present colliding had everything else fade away.
A pair of melted chocolate eyes pulled him back ten years, eradicating all sense of time. Rapidly blinking, he prayed those eyes wouldn’t disappear, that it wasn’t some cosmic joke, that he hadn’t fallen asleep and was dreaming again.
Stuart stepped forward, his legs moving before his mind could fully comprehend. He felt his hands itch to touch, making sure it wasn’t a dream. Had he slipped into some dual reality where his dreams came to life? The gusting wind lifted his towel making his balls shrivel up into his body.
“Shit.” Stuart automatically pushed his hand down, going to their aid when reality invaded.
The motionless man stood there, almost as if he was devouring Stuart’s semi naked body. Hot melted chocolate eyes seemed to sear Stuart’s skin, taking away the chill. The heated gaze following Stuart’s every move, he appeared to miss nothing. Stuart was astounded as he fought with the urge to pull his towel off and show the man exactly what he had to offer and feel those chocolate eyes caress him.
Stuart struggled to suck in a breath, who the hell had stolen all the oxygen?
Joe felt his nerves jangle, grateful he’d not eaten something before the boat set sail. The rocking and rolling Ben-My-Chree made it difficult to control his queasiness. The last thing he wanted to do was throw up on some poor unsuspecting holidaymaker. He sat himself out of the way on the top deck, hoping if he focused on the horizon it would help.
The bright blue sky was full of light wispy clouds that allowed the sun to warm his exposed face. The bracing salty breeze ruffled his hair, flicking it around his face. His skin tightened when the sun dried the salty spray coating his skin. Joe sucked the salty taste off his lips into his mouth, letting it replace the bitter taste of bile he’d lived with since his confrontation with Joel. Tilting his face, his eyes drifted shut feeling the sun’s balminess lull him.
He focused on the warmth, pushing the lump of dread he always got when travelling on boats away. Never a great traveller, he’d normally take seasickness pills, but as this had been a last minute booking, he’d not had chance to get any and now he was paying the price.
He let out a whimper when his stomach pitched and rolled with the boat. He tried not to let his internal pity party take hold. He had no one to blame but himself for making this last minute decision. He knew Martin wouldn’t refuse him, even with such short notice, so he’d called him from the sea terminal just before he’d boarded. The relief at Martin’s pleased agreement hardly registered under the weight of his stress.
Joe hugged into the warmth of his jacket, pulling it protectively around him. He tried to take comfort from the heat, but the ice inside persisted. His broken spirit didn’t seem to want to play ball anymore.
Aaden may have worked his magic, or in other words every pressure point in Joel’s body, making him sing like a canary. Joe on the other hand, struggled to get past the waking nightmares Joel’s screams of agony had given him. His initial thoughts of wanting Joel to suffer had died after thirty minutes of listening to him scream blue murder. Incoherent begging sobs had eventually given way to a confession. Aaden’s methods had been barbaric in the cold light of day. Joe was pretty positive Joel’s body would still, days later, be crying in agony.
Joe felt the trembles take hold when he couldn’t stop the images. He’d spent days trying to avoid them only to be bombarded when he least expected it. It was as if the universe wanted him to share Joel’s suffering. Joe’s eyes blurred with the effort to fight past the rioting movie in his mind.
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How wrong had he been thinking Aaden’s way would resolve everything and give him back what he had lost along the way, himself. He could still hear the base commanding officer’s disdain, looking down his superior nose at Joe as if he was dog shit he might have trodden in. It was a mental blow he hadn’t prepared for, thinking he’d be exonerated and yes he had been, but at what cost.
Joel’s confinement to quarters before his court-martial seemed tame after everything he’d suffered. Aaden’s statement had sealed Joel’s fate but to what end? The disgust towards him had been evident, Christ he was positive that the commanding officer had felt sorry for Joel.
As a civilian employee, the army’s official business, it would appear, wasn’t up for discussion with him. Initially he’d been pissed to be excluded from the hearing, now all he felt was relief he wouldn’t have to face Joel again. They had his statement and that, it appeared, was enough.
Joe felt gutted by the whole debacle. The rawness had him wanting to escape, leaving before the final outcome. Aaden’s promise to keep him updated allowed him to run.
Days past, and still the weight dragged at him. Where was his light at the end of the tunnel, why didn’t he at least feel safe? Driven to try and seek some solace, he’d found himself packing the van and driving for five hours to get to Heysham, praying there would be space to travel. After speaking to Martin he’d boarded the boat, praying the island had the answers his battered soul needed.
His earlier feeling of being lucky to get on the boat maybe was an overestimation, groaning he gripped tightly to the guardrail. He felt the boat slam into another large wave, nearly dislodging him from his position at the railing. His belly roiled, matching the boat’s motion perfectly, making him breathe through his mouth, sucking in great greedy gulps of salty air, fighting the nausea. He glued his eyes to the blueness of the horizon, not daring to take his hands of the rail to check how much longer.