by Allan, S. H.
“Are you still upset about turning thirty?” Ethan asked, tracing Jeff’s arm with his fingertip.
Jeff considered it for a moment, then shook his head. “Well. I mean, maybe a little.” He laced his fingers through Ethan’s. “But I think if I’ve got you with me, I can deal with it.” He kissed Ethan’s nose, then his chin, then his lips.
“Well, if you can deal with having me, then you’ve got me,” Ethan promised.
Jeff snuggled closer to him. “I think I can.” He rubbed his leg against Ethan’s. “We fit each other really well.”
ELIZABELLA GOLD has enjoyed reading and writing since she was young. She is passionate about literature, history (with a particular affection for the medieval and Victorian eras), and exploring the many ways human beings communicate. She loves learning new things and finds excuses to do research whenever she can.
Elizabella Gold can be found at:
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Change of Heart
Rhidian Brenig Jones
“HE’S been flirting with him all night, the slimy little prick.”
Charlie Langridge felt around in his pocket for a tissue. Someone had poured cement into his skull, and his lungs were on fire. He leaned back against the seat, wondering why he’d agreed to go out, longing to be home, wishing to Christ she’d shut the fuck up. His eyes began to water again. “I don’t think so,” he croaked, mopping.
“Think what you like. I’m telling you, he’s all over him like a rash. If he didn’t have that stupid ponytail, he’d be twirling a finger through his hair. And Finn isn’t exactly beating him off with a stick, either.”
“Keep your voice down, for God’s sake. They’re just friendly, Steph. What d’you expect? Finn’s his mentor; they’re bound to be close—”
“Close? They’re bloody close now. Just look at them.”
Stephanie was a good friend, but Charlie felt a sudden wave of dislike for her. With the greatest reluctance, he swiveled around in his seat. Finn and Alex were leaning on the bar, elbow to elbow, waiting to be served. “What? What am I supposed to be seeing?”
“Are you serious? Just look at them, you idiot. You wait,” she said, eyes cold above her glass. “I bet you he’ll touch him. Any second now, he’ll touch him.”
As he stared, it struck him how similar the two were—both dark-haired, slender, taller than average. Finn couldn’t claim classic good looks, but the edgy, fine-boned angularity of his face had its own low-key attractiveness. Alex was simply and straightforwardly breathtaking. He said something that made Finn incline his head to listen for a moment, then slowly straighten, seemingly pleased. He was still smiling when Alex held his wrist to glance at his watch.
“Told you,” Stephanie said with sour satisfaction.
“Leave it now,” Charlie muttered anxiously. “They’re coming back.”
She smiled brightly at the approaching beers. “Oh, Charlie,” she said through her teeth.
“SURE you’ve got everything you need? You warm enough?”
“Yeah, think so.”
“Right, then.” Finn took a last glance around the bedroom, rubbing his hand over his chest. “Call me if you need anything—you know, oxygen tent, iron lung.” He blew Charlie a kiss as he reached for the light switch. “All you’re getting, Typhoid Mary. Night.”
Quite right, Charlie told himself stoutly, only sensible. But he couldn’t quite dismiss the thought that at one time Finn wouldn’t have left him. Flattening Charlie’s protests, he’d have climbed into bed, worried and fussing, no matter what shitty virus had laid him low; he’d have stayed if Charlie had had Ebola. But that was then. Five years; things changed. By its very nature, the euphoria of new love was transitory, a blaze of glory subsiding to a warm and comfortable glow. Love faded into the background, its presence taken for granted. It just… was. And yet an odd sense of having been abandoned persisted. Charlie pushed his pillow onto the floor and dragged one of Finn’s across. Too high, too firm, but blessedly cool under his boiling cheek. Little ticks and creaks as the old house settled itself for the night. No other sounds from the room next door. Charlie lay in his clammy sheets and wondered what Finn was doing, alone and unobserved on the other side of the wall. What was filling his mind, there in the dark? Whom did he see as he reached down under the covers? A slim young man, the rack of his ribs visible under smooth muscle. Long hair, loosed from its ponytail, slipping forward, concealing. At Finn’s hoarse command, the quick tuck behind an ear. The dark head rising and falling, rising and falling. The glossy wing of hair, dislodged again, caught in Finn’s fist, held tightly at Alex’s nape. The first gasping moan, then another and another and another.
Charlie turned the pillow over and closed his eyes against the night.
“OFF your feed? Not like you, Charlie. Cassoulet not up to scratch?”
“It’s fine. Just don’t seem to have much of an appetite today.”
Martin Goddard patted his mouth with his napkin. “A state of being with which I am happily unfamiliar.” He tilted his head appraisingly. “You’ve lost weight. Not on a diet, are you, dear? God forbid.”
“No, I’m just not hungry.” He speared a bean but then thought better of it and laid his fork down.
“Hmm. Old joie de vivre’s conspicuous by its absence. Out with it. What’s up?”
Not for the first time, Charlie thought how unnerving it must be for some hapless defendant to face Martin across a courtroom floor. The cultivated drawl, the jolly fat man persona thrown off, and the predator revealed in that pale, forensic stare. “I, uh… I’m not sure anything’s up. That’s the point, I suppose. I feel a bit stupid even saying it.”
“I don’t make my money from intelligent clients, dear.”
“Is that what I am? A client?”
“For now.”
“Just between us, then.”
Martin waved a dismissive hand.
Still Charlie hesitated. Once said, it could never be unsaid. Once said, it would become real. And if it was real, he would have to do something about it. But do something about what? A suspicion? A feeling? When all was said and done, it wasn’t as if he’d walked in and found them with their cocks out. In all probability he was doing Finn an injustice. And yet, and yet… Stephanie had seen something too. He dotted a fingertip over the tablecloth, sticking breadcrumbs. Martin watched him, content to let the silence stretch to shrieking point if necessary; they always cracked in the end.
Charlie raised his head and looked miserably at his friend. “I think Finn’s fallen for a guy he works with.”
Folding his hands on his gargantuan belly, Martin asked, “And what makes you think this?”
“Something Stephanie said.”
Martin considered this, keeping his eyes on Charlie as he turned the matter over in his mind. Ah, Stephanie. One wonders about women like Stephanie. Do they hope to turn us, to get us to appreciate the exotic pleasures of the vagina? Hardly; it’s our being homosexual that excites them, poor things. And of course, the thrill of fancying themselves in love. How blind you can be, Charlie. “I should take what Stephanie says with a pinch of salt. She might well exaggerate what she would perceive as a threat.”
“A threat?”
“Undoubtedly. To her relationship with you two. If there’s any possibility of a third pillow, Stephanie would want it for herself.”
Charlie’s lip curled in distaste. He shook his head. “It wasn’t just Steph. I saw it too. The way they were flirting.”
“Flirting? One frequently flirts. Hardly a hanging offense.”
“It’s not only that. It’s the way he’s been lately, with me. Kind of… off.”
“Off?”
“I’m not explaining this very well.”
“Make an effort.”
“He�
��s distant, as if his mind’s on other things. Well, not so much distant, although he is distant. It’s more that he’s preoccupied, as if he has some massive secret that he’s hugging to himself.”
“And you think it’s to do with this…?”
He forced the name out. “Alex. He’s a new graduate trainee at Finn’s firm. Finn’s a grad mentor, and this year he’s got him and another kid, Keir or Kyle or something, can’t remember. Doesn’t matter. He’s from Leicester, Alex is—doesn’t know anyone in this part of the country. Finn’s been looking after him. Or so he says.”
“Tell me about him.”
“He’s young, twenty-one, twenty-two. Superbright, got a starred First from Oxford, by all accounts. Good-looking. He’s cool, full of himself, totally up his own arse. He’ll be there Saturday—you can see for yourself.” Charlie moved his wineglass back and forth, tracing invisible tracks on the cloth as he struggled to find words to convey his meaning. “It’s the way they are when they’re together. You know when two people are…. You can tell. It’s the way they stand, the way they look at each other. Or don’t look at each other. There’s this…. It’s like a magnetic field. It’s hard to describe, but you can’t mistake it when you see it.”
Perhaps you’re not as blind as I thought. “Quite so. Very well, let’s assume for the sake of argument that the threat is real. What do you intend to do about it?”
“That’s the point. What can I do? If he wants out of our relationship, he wants out. Nothing I can do about it. “
You could try growing a pair, for a start. Picking his words with care, Martin asked, “Apart from this recent… wobble, how have things been between you?”
“Fine. Ordinary.”
“Ordinary?”
“Ordinary.”
“What does that mean?”
Charlie frowned. “You know what ordinary means, Mart. Normal life. We go to work. We go to the pub. We do stuff. Just… get on with things.”
Martin pursed his lips. “And sexually?”
Giving the lie to his reply, Charlie’s eyes flickered momentarily. “Fine. No problems there.”
“I see. When did you fuck him last?”
“Christ.” A stain of color crept from his shirt collar, which Martin ignored; he’d asked worse questions in his time. “We, uh, don’t…. We’ve never been into doing that.”
“Let’s try another tack. When did you last buy him flowers?”
For the first time in the conversation, Charlie grinned, imagining the look on Finn’s face if he walked in with a dozen red roses. “Give me a break—hang on, are you serious?”
“Perfectly serious.”
“What, you buy Luke flowers?”
“I do, yes.”
Their glasses were empty. Martin poured more wine and set the bottle down. Evenly, he said, “Let’s see if I can summarize the situation accurately. A relatively long-standing relationship. If not connubial bliss, then quiet contentment. Happy enough, thank you very much. Ordinary. Small surprise gestures of affection no longer feature, but then again, why should they at this mature stage in the relationship? Sex occurs, probably less frequently than hitherto, stuck at the adolescent stage, but pleasant nonetheless. On the whole, life is nicely arranged. Such a relief after the hurly-burly of the chase to have caught one’s man, to be able to settle back, put one’s feet up, loosen one’s corsets, and have a damn good scratch.” He took a sip of wine. “Into this exemplar of domestic harmony strolls a young man. Good-looking, clever, ambitious. Probably sexually voracious, as these young things so often are. Certainly with an eye on the main chance.”
“What are you suggesting? It’s all my fault because I’ve stopped trying?”
Ten thick fingers spread themselves carefully on the tablecloth. “One surmises, dear; one merely surmises.”
Charlie stared into his wineglass. Okay, yes, maybe I’ve taken him for granted. But isn’t that what being in a relationship means? Being able to take it for granted? Beneath his indigo cotton Boden sweater, fear crawled up Charlie’s spine, cold and ripplingly unpleasant. Finn’s bored. He’s bored with us. He’s bored with me. A picture flashed into his mind: two dark-haired men, fiercely erect, sinewy arms around each other, rooted, motionless except for their mouths, their sliding, fluid tongues. “Oh God,” he whispered.
WHISTLING tunelessly, Finn stood at the mirror raking his fingers through his hair. He turned his head this way and that, checking it. The towel around his waist slipped, and he rewrapped it, pulling it tightly. Don’t. Let it fall. With a sinking sense of unhappiness, Charlie realized that not so very long ago, Finn would have walked from the bathroom naked, his pale skin damp and rosily flushed from the heat of the shower. He would have sauntered across to the bed and waited, hands on slim hips, smiling down at the sudden ferocious hunger in Charlie’s eyes. And because he adored the sensation of Finn stiffening in his mouth, Charlie would have taken his cock quickly, before it was fully hard. Finn would have leaned back a little so he could see the thrusting length of it and watch his lover’s, reared rigid in response.
“Does this shirt need ironing?” he asked, holding up a hanger.
“No point. Linen, it’ll crease to buggery in two minutes.”
“You bought shares in poly-cotton or something?”
Charlie got off the bed. “I’m going down. Don’t be long—they’ll be here any minute.”
As would he. Charlie ran a cloth over the kitchen counters and tried to quell the queasy churning in the pit of his stomach. Cool as fuck, a smirk on his face, looking around with interest at Finn’s home, their home, the arrogant piece of shit. Later, when all eyes were turned, brushing his fingers against the back of Finn’s hand, his arse. Waiting, maneuvering. Seizing any opportunity to be alone with him. Cupping Finn’s balls. A swift check over the shoulder. A squeeze, a gleeful grin, and a final hasty kiss before reluctantly rejoining the party.
With a perfunctory rap on the door, Louisa and Simon came into the kitchen.
“Hello, darling. God, what a wonderful smell. What is it?”
“Garlic and rosemary. I’m doing crushed potatoes,” he said, pecking her cheek.
“Oh yum, I’m starving. Anyone else here? Are we the first?”
“Someone has to be.”
“I’d have paid good money to get here after breakfast.” Simon handed Charlie a bottle of Australian Shiraz. “Some lesbian ever asks you to donate sperm, remember my words: kids are hell.”
Louisa slapped his arm. “Isabella’s teething, poor thing. So where’s the birthday boy?”
“Just getting dressed. He’ll be down in a sec.”
“Here he is!” Circling her hips in a salacious bump and grind, she gave a throaty little purr. “Happy birthday, sexy! Give me a big sloppy kiss, with tongue.”
Finn strode forward and hoisted her a foot into the air, growling and nuzzling into her cleavage as she squealed.
Lanky and fair, her husband peered at them like an inquisitive heron. “Don’t start something someone else’ll have to finish. I’ve got a bad back, remember.”
Finn swung her around in a circle. “Look and learn, boy, look and learn.”
Visions of loveliness in eyeliner and Shalimar, Ned and Jake sashayed through the door. “A barbecue and an orgy? Divine!”
Charlie looked around for the corkscrew. If the Dolly Sisters had arrived, the party was underway.
NEAR midnight, and Finn was Baker’s Man for the latest round of Pat-a-Cake. The Dollies, consistent losers in any game that required a degree of bodily coordination, flopped and giggled, neither quite able to work out who belonged to which arm, let alone which was right and which left. Catching sight of Charlie, Finn waggled an empty Finlandia bottle in the air. Stonily sober, Charlie walked back into the kitchen and took another from the freezer.
“Don’t drop it,” he told Stephanie, handing it to her. “Mart, maybe you should take it.”
“Give it here. I’m not that drunk. You coming? W
e’re going to play Knees.” They watched her veer across the lawn until she arrived at the patio to table thumping and cheers.
Martin asked, “Shall we?”
“I just need to finish this.” A ziggurat of walnut brownies stood on the table, awaiting its candles. Charlie shook them out of the box and began to fix them in place, counting.
“Different,” Martin remarked, eyeing it doubtfully.
“A lot of people don’t like birthday cake.” He took a cigarette lighter from a drawer and flicked it once, twice, studying the flame. “What’s he doing now?”
“Alex? Talking to Luke.”
Charlie took off his glasses and polished them on the hem of his shirt. When he replaced them, his hands were shaking slightly but his jaw was set. “I’m going to have it out with Finn tonight.”
Martin’s face creased with concern. “Is that wise? On his birthday? And he’s had a lot to drink.”
“In vino veritas, isn’t that what they say?” He leaned heavily on the table. “I was talking to him earlier. Alex. Thought I’d better make an effort. I mentioned we’re going to London next month, just a few days, nothing spectacular. There’s a Manet exhibition on at the Royal Academy that Finn wants to see. The look on his face, like I’d said I’d arranged a tour of a fucking tractor factory. He gave this kind of superior smile and said he knew—Finn had already told him. I wanted to punch his lights out. I can’t go on like this, Mart. Okay, okay, maybe not tonight. Definitely tomorrow.” He picked up the lighter and the plate of brownies. Grimly, he muttered, “Happy birthday, Finn.”
TOUSLED and bleary-eyed, Finn padded into the kitchen, barefoot in a pair of faded orange board shorts. He took a bottle of water from the fridge and swigged thirstily, squinting into the reflecting glass of a cupboard. “Christ, talk about piss holes in the snow.”
Charlie asked, “Feeling rough?”
He ran his tongue over his teeth. “Nah, I’m all right. Why are you up so early?