Lovers Leap

by JL Merrow

  That night, Michael lay in bed, gave his dick a quick tug, and wondered whether to jerk off or try to make it across the hall to Rufus’s room. Which, yeah, would be much more fun, but was it worth the risk? His dick definitely thought so, but the rest of him wasn’t so sure. His feet were a bit tender after all the walking they’d done today, and he didn’t fancy getting any more bruises. Not to mention making a right tit of himself in front of Shelley and Gerald.

  Then his door opened, and Rufus slipped inside, looking like a fucking wet dream in boxer briefs and a T-shirt. He pulled the shirt over his head and chucked it on the floor before climbing into bed with Michael, who could hardly believe his luck.

  “Survived your dad’s booby traps, then?” he asked, grabbing handfuls of Rufus and pulling him close.

  Rufus nuzzled into Michael’s neck. “It was easy. I don’t think his heart was really in it tonight. Just a couple of trip wires and some drawing pins outside your door.”

  “You’re joking, right?” Christ, if Michael needed a pee in the night, he was doing it in the sink. “Hey, what happened to you insisting we’re not doing it with your parents in the house? Not that I’m complaining, mind.” He gave Rufus’s arse a good squeeze in happy anticipation.

  Rufus pushed himself up on his arms and stared down at Michael. “We’re still not doing it. I just thought it’d be nice to have a bit of a cuddle.”

  Well, shit. “What? I don’t cuddle, all right? Not with blokes.” It was true. None of the other blokes he’d been with had been into all that soft stuff.

  “What, cos cuddling a girl is more manly, somehow? That’s just daft. Anyway, we’ve cuddled loads already. What about in the Love Shack?”

  “It’s different if you’ve just shagged. It’s . . . I dunno. Natural. Hormones make you do it. And anyway, how am I s’posed to relax with this?” He ground his hard-on into Rufus’s side and gave him his best seductive smile for good measure.

  Result. He could see Rufus weakening.

  “C’mon,” he said in his lowest, roughest voice. “I’ll be quiet. And I’ll definitely make it worth your while.”

  Rufus bit his lip and looked over his shoulder at the door. Michael took the chance to get his hand down the front of those boxer briefs and give him a gentle squeeze where it’d do most good.

  Rufus whimpered. “I’m not gonna be able to keep quiet,” he moaned.

  “So? Door’s locked.” Michael gave Rufus a look. “You did lock the door behind you just now, yeah?”

  “Um. Probably not. Maybe I should . . .”

  “You’re staying right there.” Michael got out of bed and locked the door himself, cos with Rufus doing his scaredy-cat act again, Michael wouldn’t put it past him to get cold feet halfway there and use the door instead of locking it.

  Then he got back into bed, savouring the moment.

  “Um, I still don’t think we ought to . . . I don’t want them to hear,” Rufus whispered, his gaze firmly on Michael’s dick, which, to be fair, had chubbed up nicely and was now bobbing along in front of his eyes as Michael knelt up over him.

  Michael grinned. “You don’t need to worry about that. I’ve got just the thing to keep you quiet.”

  Later, well-shagged and happy with a passed-out Rufus making cute little snuffly noises in his arms, Michael tried to stop the voices in his head. It’d just been a practical solution to the noise problem, all right? Making sure neither of them got too loud when they got off. Sensible, even.

  Just cos he’d done sixty-nine with a bloke for the first time definitely didn’t mean he was gay.

  So that was all right. Michael drifted off to sleep, dreaming of him and Rufus having their own little love shack on the mainland. Preferably with four walls and zero risk of arrest, but hey, he wasn’t picky.

  Of course, Michael might have known that next morning it’d all go tits up. Not right away, mind—waking up with Rufus had been pretty fucking awesome, even if they hadn’t got up to much cos of Rufus getting another attack of paranoia. It was just nice, all right, waking up to that cute little face and fluffy-chick bed hair.

  Shut up.

  Michael could appreciate stuff, couldn’t he? It didn’t mean he was going soft or nothing.

  They’d got dressed and were leaning against the kitchen counters, mugs of tea in hand, discussing what to do for the day. Shelley was there too, sitting at the table with her nose in a magazine, and Gerald was off doing . . . old-man stuff, what the fuck ever, Michael had no clue.

  Michael, as always, was the voice of reason. “It’s an island, yeah? Surrounded by water. So we oughtta do something, you know, related to that.”

  “Yeah, but we did the beach yesterday,” Rufus said. “I think I pulled a muscle in my stone-throwing arm. We should—”

  “Not the beach,” Michael corrected him, scratching his armpit thoughtfully. “The water, right? We can do something on the water.”

  Rufus glanced at his stepmum, but she didn’t look up from the latest EastEnders cast scandal. “Um, right, yeah, but, see, there’s this castle, too? Carisbrooke. Right in the middle, and I read this book where someone tried to kill the hero by pushing him down the stairs there, so we should totally—”

  Jesus. Talk about people who didn’t listen. “I wanna do a boat trip, all right? Round the Needles or out to one of them forts they built to stop Napoleon. I know it’s off-season but come on, there’s more boats on this island than people. There’s gotta be someone who’ll take us out if we pay ’em.”

  “Oh, you won’t get Rufus on a boat,” Shelley butted in, putting down her magazine. “He’s got a phobia. Can’t even get on the Isle of Wight ferry without having a panic attack, poor love.” She half stood to reach for the biscuit tin, stopped, patted her hip with a grimace, and sat back down at the table to carry on with her morning fix of celebrity gossip.

  Michael was left staring at Rufus in disbelief. “You’re telling me you live on an island, and you’re scared of the water?”

  Rufus went pink. “I’m not scared of water. Water is fine, as long as it stays where it’s supposed to. I just don’t want to go out on it in a boat, that’s all.”

  Michael frowned. “So how do you cope when you have to go to the mainland?”

  Looked like Rufus really liked those Crocs of his, cos he just gazed down at them and didn’t say anything.

  Shit. “Are you trying to tell me you’ve never been off the Isle of Wight? Seriously?”

  “I’ve been off,” Rufus said defensively. “Just not that recently.”

  “How recently?”

  Rufus muttered something to his Crocs.

  “Oi, so I can hear it, yeah?”

  “Look, just don’t laugh, all right? Six years ago. I mean, I tried the following year, but that was when I got the panic attack.” He glanced over at Shelley.

  She smiled. “Yeah, that’s right. Your dad told me all about it. Speaking of which, I’d better take him his tea before it gets cold, the silly old bugger.” Shelley ambled out, her magazine under her arm and a mug in each hand.

  Michael wasn’t laughing. He’d never felt less like laughing. “So when I gave you my number, and said call me when you’re in Southampton, that was basically never gonna happen?”

  “Um . . .”

  “And all this, this ‘try having a boyfriend, see how you like it, we’re only a few miles apart as the crow flies,’ it was all a load of bollocks, wasn’t it? We might as well be fucking continents apart. You seriously expect me to hop on a fucking ferry every time I fancy a shag? When you’re never gonna meet me halfway?”

  Rufus gave an awkward little laugh. “That’d be the middle of the Solent. I don’t think it’d work.”

  “This isn’t a fucking joke!” Michael couldn’t believe it. He’d actually started to think maybe him and Rufus could work out, could have something . . .

  “Let’s go outside for a minute, yeah?” Rufus whispered.

  “Fuck that,” Michael said. “Look—�
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  He broke off as Gerald strode in, frowning. “I’ve just been having a very interesting telephone conversation with Judy from the Selsey Hotel,” he said, glaring straight at Michael. “Specifically, concerning the abysmal way you treated the young lady you came to the island with.”

  Jesus fucking Christ. He did not need this. No way. Not any time, but definitely not now. “Lemme guess. You’re chucking me out. Fine. I’ll save you the bother. I’m going. I’ll get my bag and I’ll be outta your way.” He slammed down his mug and stomped towards the stairs.

  “Michael—” Rufus made a move to follow him, but his dad held him back.

  Fine.

  Just fucking fine.

  It didn’t take long to shove the last of his crap in his bag, which still reeked of shampoo. Michael grabbed his jacket and stormed back down the stairs.

  Rufus was standing at the bottom, wide-eyed, his dad hovering a few feet away. “Is it true? Judy told Dad you let your girlfriend bring you on a romantic holiday, and then you were a total shit to her. She said she actually asked you to marry her and you basically just told her to sod off.”

  He’d just fucking known she’d put the worst possible spin on it, and of course they’d believe her word over his. Bastards. “So? What gives you the right to get on my case about it, anyway? It’s not like we had a sodding relationship or anything, is it, Mr. Forgot-to-mention-I-never-leave-the-fucking-island. How the hell did you think that was gonna work?”

  That was the worst bit. He’d let Michael get all . . . whatever . . . without ever once telling him, Oh, by the way, us being together has got about as much chance of working out as a twenty-year-old refurbed Hotpoint has of winning an award for energy efficiency. The fact they were getting on his case now about Trix was just the rancid fucking cherry on top of . . . of . . . whatever the fuck people put cherries on top of, Christ, he didn’t know. And he didn’t fucking care, either.

  Rufus darted a glance over his shoulder at his dad. “I thought you could come over at weekends and stuff?” he said in a small voice.

  Michael snorted. “Yeah, cos the welcome around here’s so fucking warm. I’ll see you around. If you ever get the balls to get on a ferry.” He pushed past Rufus and went out the front door, slamming it behind him.

  Fury carried him halfway up the high street, where he hit pay dirt in the form of a taxi rank with a couple of cars in it. “Southampton ferry, yeah?” he said to the driver of the one in front, and slung his bag in the back.

  Michael had just . . . left. Rufus couldn’t believe what was happening. Had happened. Past tense. Done. Dusted.

  Fucked up beyond all hope of recovery.

  He stared at the front door. Was it his imagination or was it still vibrating from the force of Michael’s anger?

  Rufus just couldn’t believe his life had gone from positively perfect to fatally fucked up in, like, an instant. Less than an instant. A nano-instant. A pico-instant, even.

  “Dad?” he said in a voice that sounded like it could have belonged to any kid who’d just passed his fifth birthday.

  Dad pulled him into a one-armed hug. “There, there,” he said, sounding uncomfortable but determined. “I’m sure it’s all for the best. I don’t think he was the sort of person you could have been happy with.”

  “Oh, love.” Shelley came and hugged him on the other side. Rufus blinked rapidly. He was not going to cry.

  Shelley was still speaking. “I couldn’t believe it when Gerald told me what he’d done to that poor young woman. He seemed like such a nice young man.”

  “But . . .” Rufus struggled to make his voice work properly. “He said him and Trix had only been together a couple of weeks.”

  Dad shook his head. “I don’t think that can be true. Why would she propose after only a couple of weeks? Why would they even go on holiday together after so short a time?”

  “I don’t know! Maybe she’s the love-at-first-sight type? Or she, like, got to know him a bit and then just knew she didn’t want to risk him getting away. Ever? I mean, I know that happens.” Rufus’s face went hot, and he hurried on. “Maybe she’s always just really wanted to get married? You didn’t even give him a chance to explain!”

  “Now, that’s not true, love,” Shelley said, stroking Rufus’s hair. “It was him what stormed off like that. We’d of listened to him, wouldn’t we, love?”

  Dad coughed. “Yes, of course. Quite unreasonable of him, really. As if he was just looking for an excuse.”

  Oh god. So it was Rufus’s fault he’d gone. “It’s cos of me not wanting to leave the island,” he told his Crocs.

  “Think so, love.” Shelley put her head on his shoulder, which was at least less painful than the knife she’d just shoved in his heart. “Think he thought you’d be the one going to see him all the time. And that’s not fair, is it?”

  “Yeah, but . . . neither is me expecting him to come over here all the time, is it?” He’d been so stupid.

  “You can’t help having a phobia,” Shelley said angrily.

  Rufus’s insides felt all hot and prickly.

  “And the last thing you need,” Dad chimed in, “is someone who’s not prepared to show some basic understanding of your situation. Or hold a reasonable, balanced discussion on the matter.”

  “Why would you want to be going over to the mainland all the time, anyway? You’re happy here, aren’t you, love?” Shelley asked.

  Rufus nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

  “Of course you are,” Dad said. “I know we both hoped you’d have a career as a chef, but, well, perhaps things have turned out for the best. You know I’d have struggled to manage without you since your poor mum died. She’d be so proud, you know, if she could see you now.”

  Rufus bit his lip. “Think . . . think I wanna be alone for a bit,” he managed.

  “Course, love,” Shelley said, giving him a squeeze. “You take all the time you want.”

  Of course, by the time Michael had got to the ferry terminal, bought a ticket—cos his original return ticket had already left the island when Trix did—and made it through the ferry journey—which seemed to take forever, Christ, how slow could these bloody tin tubs go?—the anger had all gone and left him feeling flat as the surface of the Solent on a still day.

  He got a cab back home, suffering through the driver’s terminal cheerfulness and chatter, yap yap yap, Christ, was the bloke related to Trix or something? Michael paid him back by giving him the world’s stingiest tip. Then he trudged slowly up the garden path and let himself into the boxy council semi he shared with his mum.

  She came bustling into the hallway, drying her hands on a tea towel. “Michael? But you’re home early.”

  Michael squirmed, but let her give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek, which she had to stand on tiptoe for. Her hair was its usual red-brown colour, but her roots were showing pure white at her parting. How come he’d never noticed that before?

  She really was the same age as Rufus’s dad, he realised. He’d just never thought of her as so old.

  “It’s good to see you back,” Mum went on, brushing his hair off his forehead. Michael batted her hand away with a muttered Mu-um. “Have you had your lunch? I can make you a bacon sandwich if you like.”

  “Nah, ’s okay. I had some chips on the ferry.” It’d been something to do to stop him thinking about Rufus.

  “Well, if you’re sure you’re not hungry? I haven’t got a thing in for tea,” she said, frowning. “I’ll pop to the shops, and then I can make steak and kidney pudding tonight.”

  “With cheesy mashed potatoes?” Michael asked hopefully. Mum’s cheesy mashed potatoes were the best.

  Rufus probably had a fancy French version he did too . . . But Michael wasn’t gonna think about Rufus.

  “Of course. Do I ever not?”

  Well, there had been that one time, but that was when they’d run out of cheese cos he’d got hungry earlier and made cheese on toast and forgotten to tel
l her he’d used it all up. “Course not, Mum.”

  “Now, tell me all about your trip. Did you and Trix not have a good time?”

  “Uh, not exactly.” Michael grimaced in memory. “We split up.”

  “Oh, what a shame. Come on into the kitchen and I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

  Mum bustled around with the kettle, limping a bit from the hip she wouldn’t go to see the doctor about because she didn’t like a fuss. “Still, I’m not sure it’s not all for the best,” she went on. “I was talking to Di Griffin—you know, from the Co-op?—and she told me she’d seen that girl holding hands with another young woman. In Marks and Spencer’s, of all places! Now, maybe it was all perfectly innocent, but well, I must say, she certainly looks like a lesbian. You’re not telling me it’s natural for a girl to have all those muscles. And so tall!”

  Okay, that wasn’t fair. “She can’t help how tall she is, Mum. That’s just genetics.”

  “You say that, but I’ve heard some of these women take male hormones. And you can’t tell me there’s anything natural about that.”

  “Mum, what you’re talking about, it’s totally different, yeah? And it’s all right, anyway. Trix told me she was bi.”

  “It is not all right, Michael O’Grady! I have every sympathy for those poor souls the Lord sees fit to make homosexual—they say it’s not a choice, so we have to make allowances for them. But these bisexuals”—she pronounced it buy-sex-you-alls, with an emphasis on the sex—“have no excuse for that sort of behaviour, do they? Now don’t you look at me like that. I’m glad your Trix was trying to do the right thing and find a nice young man to settle down with, but I can’t say I’m sorry it’s not going to be you. She seemed nice enough”—from Mum, that meant I knew she was no good, the minute I laid eyes on her, the trollop—“but, well, with a girl like that, how do you know she won’t slip, and go back to her old ways?”