Lovers Leap

by JL Merrow

  Rufus knew just what that felt like. He was sinking fast in a sea of hopeless need. What was worse, he didn’t just want to shag Michael. He wanted to hold him afterwards. And before. And during. Which, based on past experience, would be received about as well as, say, a leftover limpet from Michael’s dip in Sandown Bay.

  Liz was rocking a Western shirt today, with a shoelace tie and a black suit jacket on top. Her light-brown hair was freshly shaved on the sides and gelled straight up on top, bringing her height almost to Rufus’s shoulder level. Rufus had always thought she looked, from the neck up, a lot like the eggshell with a face drawn on he’d grown cress in when he was in primary school. Of course, he’d never dream of actually telling her so. Although once, in one of his bitchier moments, he had tried to persuade her to dye her hair green in honour of St. Patrick’s Day so as to make the resemblance complete.

  “Happy birthday, sausage jockey. Oi, what do you call a gay dinosaur?” Liz grinned. “Mega-sore-arse.”

  Rufus beamed at her. “All right, todger dodger? What did the first lesbian vampire say to the second lesbian vampire?” He paused for dramatic effect. “See you next month.”

  “Hey, I got one,” Michael butted in. “What’s the difference between a lesbian and a bowling ball?”

  They both turned to glare at him, Rufus hoping he’d get the hint this was a private in-joke, not a dyke-bashing free-for-all.

  Huh. Michael, get a hint? Maybe if Rufus had whacked him over the head with a sledgehammer with HINT embossed in the head, while a squad of naked cheerleaders with strategically placed pom-poms danced around shouting H-I-N-T. “You can only get three fingers in a bowling ball,” Michael finished, and grinned expectantly.

  Embarrassed, Rufus turned his back on Michael just as Liz did, in an unplanned display of synchronised shunning. “Who’s that?” Liz hissed in Rufus’s ear.

  “Michael,” he whispered back. “He’s staying with us. Um. Also, we shagged.”

  She laughed. “Yeah, right. So go on, who is he?”

  “I told you. I found him on Sandown beach earlier today, and he was all wet so I brought him home. And we shagged. And then he left, but he came back, so now Dad and Shelley think he’s just an ordinary guest.”

  Michael’s voice broke in. “I can hear you, you know. And oi, you said she was bringing a baby. This sprog’s gotta be what, two and half? Three?”

  “Twenty-seven months,” Liz said proudly. “But he’s big for his age, ain’t you, little man? Already potty-trained, and he knows loads of words.”

  Kieran hid his curly head in his mum’s shoulder.

  “Yeah?” Michael smirked. “I know a few and all. Want me to teach you?” Okay, it was less of a smirk and more of a leer.

  Liz’s lip curled, and Rufus cringed just a little bit.

  “There you are.” Shelley’s voice cut through the tense silence like a hot knife through Sachertorte. “Come and give your Auntie Shelley a cuddle, honey bun.” Kieran looked round and started struggling, and when Liz put him down, he toddled into Auntie Shelley’s arms with squeals of delight only slightly louder than Shelley’s.

  Rufus’s heart clenched. He hoped she wasn’t going to cry after they’d left, like she had last time.

  “Michael,” Shelley asked, “why don’t you come and sit down with me and Kieran, and leave the experts to get on with it?”

  “Uh, yeah. Sure.” Michael turned to Kieran. “Come on, squirt, I’ll race you.”

  Rufus didn’t get to watch him pretending to run at toddler speed, cos Liz grabbed his arm and wrenched him round to face her. “You shagged that?”

  “What, you think I can’t pull someone that good-looking?”

  “No, but I thought you had standards. Lemme guess, he’s the sort who reckons there’s no such thing as a lesbian, only a woman who hasn’t been lucky enough to get up close and personal with his awesome ten-foot penis? And what do you mean, you found him on the beach? Someone throw him off the ferry?”

  “Potatoes are burning,” Rufus lied, and dashed back to the cooker.

  Liz followed him. Bugger. “What do you mean, shagged, anyhow? You blew him, he blew you, anyone get their kit off, what?”

  “The full monty,” Rufus said smugly. “Both of us totally naked, in my bed, his dick in my arse. Orgasms everywhere.”

  “Aw, bless. Little Roo’s all grown up now.”

  Rufus rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Kanga.”

  Liz ignored him. “So are you going out with him, or was it just a one-time thing?”

  “Um. We should start plating up now.”

  Liz gave him a look, but as it was actually true this time, she just started serving out.

  When Rufus went into the dining room with the first of the plates, he found Michael on all fours, being a horsey with Kieran on his back.

  “What?” he said defensively at Rufus’s wide-eyed look. “I got nephews and nieces.”

  “Ooh, how many?” Shelley asked as he turfed a giggling Kieran off and stood up, arms folded, back in full-on macho mode.

  Rufus gazed at him adoringly at this glimpse of the sweet, creamy ganache beneath that hard, bitter chocolate shell.

  “Uh, seven, at the mo. Faith and Hope have got three each. Charity’s just got the one right now, but a set of twins on the way.”

  “Faith, Hope, and Charity?” Shelley asked. “Are they triplets?”

  “Nah, but they’re only a year apart. Well, you know. Two years altogether.”

  “Christ, your poor mum,” Liz said, setting a couple more dinners on the table. “And then she had you.”

  She didn’t actually say that must have been like adding insult to injury, but the implication was definitely there if you knew where to look.

  “Yeah, but she had to wait ten years for me to come along—first boy in the family.” Michael pulled out a chair and sat down at the corner of the table nearest the door, a smug expression on his face as if that Y chromosome had been all his own work.

  “Aw, I bet you got spoilt rotten,” Shelley was saying as Rufus headed back to the kitchen for the last couple of plates, only to find Liz had got there already.

  “What would everyone like to drink?” Dad asked as Rufus sat down next to him, opposite Michael.

  “Have you got any cherry pop?” Liz asked not very innocently, sitting between Michael and Kieran’s booster seat.

  Rufus kicked her under the table. At least, he thought he had, but Michael was now glaring at him with a what the bloody hell was that for? expression on his face.

  “I don’t think so, I’m afraid,” Dad said, oblivious. “But there might be some lemonade.”

  “Never mind. I’ll have a glass of the Pinot, please. But only one, cos I’m driving.” Liz turned to Michael. “So, you been to the island before? Or is it all virgin territory for you?”

  Rufus gave her a hard stare.

  Michael looked puzzled. “Nah, I’m only in Southampton. We used to come here for holidays when I was a kid.” He took a forkful of duck, while Rufus watched anxiously. Michael’s reaction didn’t disappoint. “Bloody hell, this is amazing. Where’d you learn to cook like this?”

  Rufus beamed. “Books, mostly, and the telly. And a catering course. That’s where I met Liz.”

  “He’s so clever, in’t he?” Shelley gave him a fond smile. “I can’t even boil an egg.”

  “Funny choice for a winter holiday.” Liz carried on with the interrogation, which Rufus was a bit miffed at. He’d been hoping to bask in the praise a little longer.

  “Nah, it was my g—I mean, it was just a spur of the moment thing.”

  “What do you do for a living?” Dad asked.

  Rufus had been wondering that.

  “Service engineer. You know—if your washer or your dryer breaks down, I’m the bloke who comes to fix it.”

  Liz snorted. “Might have known it’d be something traditionally male.”

  Michael narrowed his eyes at her. “What do you do, then? PE teacher
? Cop?”

  “Full-time mum at the mo, actually. But I want to get into the hotel business, if I can manage to find childcare I can afford without selling both kidneys. Oh, sorry, is that not stereotypical enough for you?”

  Dad coughed. “More wine, Michael?”

  “Cheers.” He ate another forkful of food. “Oi, Rufus, what’s your career plan? You gotta be training as a chef because seriously, this shi—food’s awesome. My middle sis, Hope, yeah, she goes on all these gourmet cooking evening classes, but she’s never cooked me anything half this good. So what, are you gonna go off and be the next Marco Pierre Whatsisface?”

  Well, they said to be careful what you wished for. Rufus glanced at Dad and Shelley. “Too busy with the B&B.”

  Michael frowned. “Yeah, but—”

  “I’d like to propose a toast,” Dad said over him. “To Rufus. Happy fifth birthday, and many happy returns.”

  “Yeah, to Rufus,” Shelley agreed, raising her glass. “Best stepson ever.”

  Rufus went pink with squirmy pleasure. “Um. Can I make one too? To Dad and Shelley, for being really great, and to Mum. Wish she could be here too. Um. No offence, Shelley.” He took a big gulp of Pinot and stared down at his plate.

  Dad put his arm around Rufus and gave him a hug. Then he coughed and did the Pinot-drinking-and-plate-staring thing himself.

  “Right, well, I got a toast too,” Michael said into the awkwardly emotional silence. “No, two toasts. First, here’s to the best meal I ever had, and second, here’s to my mum never finding out I said that.”

  Rufus beamed at him.

  Yes. Definitely his best birthday since Mum had died.

  Technically his only birthday, but still.

  “We’ll clear up,” Liz said after they’d all finished. “I bet Kieran would like Auntie Shelley to read him a story.”

  “Are you sure, love?” Shelley asked.

  Liz nodded. “Yep. We’ll be fine. Michael’s gonna help,” she added slyly.

  “Oh, but he’s a guest . . .”

  Liz smiled sweetly, ignoring Michael’s furious oi, wait a minute look. “He insisted.”

  Shelley looked pleased. “Ah, bless. You’re a treasure. Your mum must be so proud of you.”

  Michael smiled at her. He saved the glare for Liz and Rufus when they got back in the kitchen with the dirty dishes. Which Rufus thought was a bit unfair. He hadn’t been the one to make Michael help out.

  “So your mum and dad. Do they ever do anything around here?” he asked, grabbing a tea towel, presumably as a statement that he wasn’t gonna be the one getting his hands wet washing the dishes.

  Although fair dues, he had had them in water once already today.

  “Yes,” Rufus said defensively, getting going on loading the dishwasher while Liz collected pans from the stove. “I don’t like anyone but me to clean my equipment, though.”

  Michael leered. “You can clean my equipment any time.”

  Liz made gagging noises. Michael turned to her. “You’re just jealous. How’d it work, anyway, with you and the sprog’s dad?”

  Liz gave him an unimpressed look. “Well, when two people love each other very much . . .”

  “Nah, I mean, I don’t get it.” Michael’s face was screwed up like he was trying really hard to understand.

  Bless. Rufus felt all warm and fuzzy towards him.

  “You’re a dyke cos you don’t like dick, right? But then you go and shag a chick with a dick.”

  Okay, now Rufus felt slightly cooler and as if he’d been forcibly defuzzed.

  Liz got right up in Michael’s face, her eyes narrowed to little slits like a snake’s. “I’ve got no problem with dicks. Well, not actual dicks, anyway. It’s the man on the other end I’ve got a problem with.”

  “Why?”

  “Jesus, do I have to spell it out? Lesbian.”

  “Yeah, but . . . Girls are great, yeah, don’t get me wrong. But blokes are too. And if it’s not the actual tackle you’re objecting to, what is it?” He whirled to face Rufus. “Come to that, what you got against tits?”

  Rufus hesitated, put on the spot. “Um, they wobble?”

  “Mine don’t,” Liz snapped.

  Michael frowned. “That’s the best bit. Well, that, or when you grab a handful and squeeze.” He made gropey-hand gestures.

  Rufus stared at him, fascinated and, strangely, a little bit turned on. Probably because he was remembering those hands grabbing onto bits of him and squeezing . . . Yep, definitely turned on now. He adjusted his jeans, which had become somewhat uncomfortable in the crotch area.

  “Argh!” Liz threw down her dishcloth in disgust. “That’s it. If you two are gonna hump each other in the kitchen, I’m out of here.”

  She stomped out in the direction of the living room, leaving Rufus and Michael alone.

  Baffled, Michael watched her storm out. Women. “Christ, what’s her problem? I was only trying to have a conversation. No one’s humping anyone. I’m not even near you.” He turned to Rufus, and noticed for the first time what was happening in his kecks.

  Rufus blushed and held a saucepan in front of his groin.

  Michael gave a slow, appreciative smile. “Then again, seeing as we’re alone now, what’s stopping us? Bet I could make you come in your pans.”

  Rufus’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “I’m pretty sure that’s against hygiene regulations,” he said shakily. “And you know how I wasn’t happy about us doing anything upstairs while my parents are downstairs? Really not any happier with them in the next room. With my best mate. And her child.”

  Michael stepped forward, eyes on the prize. “Like Liz is gonna let the kid come toddling in here. C’mon. One little hump.” He grabbed the saucepan from Rufus’s unresisting fingers and chucked it in the sink, hoping there was nothing breakable in there already. “You won’t even have to get your kit off.”

  He grabbed a couple of handfuls of Rufus’s arse and pulled him close. Oh yeah. Their dicks met through layers of denim, and were very happy to say hi to each other again. Rufus’s mouth, his lips plump and slightly parted, was so fucking perfect it would’ve been a crime not to kiss it, and Michael was feeling particularly law-abiding this evening.

  Rufus moaned as their lips met. Michael was nearly blown away. Forget what he’d said about Rufus’s food being the best thing he’d ever tasted—the man himself deserved a whole fucking galaxy of Michelin stars. He deepened the kiss, letting his tongue rove Rufus’s mouth. Fuck, yeah. All he needed to do now was unzip—

  There was a cough. “I, ah, came to see if I could lend a hand,” Gerald’s voice said politely enough, but with a hint of steel.

  Michael had no idea how he did it, but suddenly Rufus, instead of being nicely squished between him and the kitchen counter, was three feet away. “Dad!” he yelped. “Um. I can explain?”

  Michael was glad he could. He braced himself for a parental explosion. Christ, another place was gonna kick him out on his ear. At least he’d got a good meal out of it. And all his clothes washed. Actually, come to think of it, he wasn’t doing too badly, especially as they probably wouldn’t remember to ask him for any money.

  Gerald just smiled faintly. Weird. “No need for that,” he said. “But I think perhaps I’ll stay and dry up?”

  Huh. They really were okay with Rufus being a poof.

  Shit. Now Michael felt like he oughtta say something. “Um, sorry about . . .” He trailed off, not sure how to end that sentence. Corrupting Gerald’s only child? He was still hoping the bloke didn’t know about that.

  “Not to worry,” Gerald said. “How long did you say you’d be staying?”

  “Um, until Saturday?” That was what he’d planned with Trix. And yeah, maybe he’d been thinking before about going home early and surprising his mum, but he’d changed his mind, all right?

  “And what are your plans while you’re here?”

  “Dad,” Rufus interrupted, still looking red-faced and as jumpy as Charity’s
rescue cat, which had once leapt three feet in the air when Michael had petted it without warning. “You can’t interrogate him like that.”

  Gerald raised an eyebrow. “Can’t I? He’s staying in my house. I think I’ve got a perfect right to find out what his intentions are.” His tone was still mild, but Michael did not like the look in his eye.

  “DAD! You can’t say that, all right? Nothing about intentions! You sound like some Victorian father trying to protect his daughter’s virtue.”

  “Uh, ’s all right,” Michael muttered, feeling guilty. “Haven’t really got any plans. Just thought I’d see the sights, you know?” An idea hit him, and he turned to Gerald. “Maybe Rufus could show me around, yeah? Not like you’re busy here, is it?”

  Gerald gazed at him for a mo, somehow coming over a lot more threatening than an old bloke in a saggy cardi had any right to do. “I don’t see why not,” he said, managing to imply that if he ever did see why not, Michael would be booted out of there so hard he wouldn’t need a ferry to get back to Southampton.

  Yep, that guilty conscience was really starting to bite now.

  They didn’t get another moment alone all evening. Michael had to admire the old bastard’s persistence, even as he wondered how long Rufus was gonna have to wait before his dad let him get up to anything in the house. Till he was twenty-five? Thirty? Over his dad’s dead body?

  Heh. Kinky.

  Or was it just Michael he didn’t want getting frisky with any of his family members? Shit. Michael knew he should’ve dialled back the flirting with Shelley. Maybe Liz had said something to him? Like Rufus and Michael are about to break all kinds of hygiene regulations in the kitchen. Huh. If only.

  Michael wondered how he could get back in the old bloke’s good books. Then he wondered why he cared. It wasn’t like he was gonna ask for Gerald’s blessing on him and Rufus getting married, was it? Still, if Rufus knew his old man was happy about them being together, Michael might actually stand a chance of getting some before his dick dropped off due to lack of use.