by JL Merrow
Robin hoped he didn’t taste too strongly of pepperoni. Or pineapple. Even if he did, Archie didn’t seem to care, deepening the kiss and—yes—slipping in a bit of tongue.
Oh God. This was really happening. Robin could feel the kiss throughout his entire body, his skin tingling and yearning for more. He pressed closer to Archie. Why were they wearing so many clothes? The flat was definitely overheated. Robin scrabbled one-handed at his tweed jacket and managed to get it halfway off his shoulders, where it stuck. Bugger.
Archie saved him from his predicament by pushing it the rest of the way off, which was good, but there were still at least four layers of cloth between them. Steampunk, Robin realised, definitely had its downside. “We should . . .” he breathed.
“Yeah,” Archie agreed, and pulled back.
Robin could have cried. “I meant—”
“Me too,” Archie said, and unbuckled his shoulder harness.
Robin had a sudden, fervent wish to see Archie wearing that and nothing else, but it was probably a little soon to ask for that kind of thing. Instead, he fumbled at the buttons of his waistcoat—Archie’s waistcoat—and managed to get it undone.
“Oh, yeah,” Archie said, and undid his own waistcoat with far greater dexterity. Well, he had had more practice. Robin couldn’t wait any longer, and fell upon Archie’s shirt buttons. Every one that he undid revealed another tantalising few inches of a firm, muscular, tattooed chest. Had it hurt, when he’d had them done? Robin wanted to kiss every single inky boo-boo better.
“Honi soit qui mal y pense,” he read around Archie’s neck, and raised an eyebrow. “Does this mean you’re wearing a garter?”
“Wanna find out?” Archie’s mischievous grin, combined with the moustache, made him look like, if not the devil incarnate, definitely a close relation.
Robin shivered and dived back in.
“Wait,” Archie gasped.
Robin froze.
“Want to see you too.”
He unfroze. That? Not a problem. Robin slipped the waistcoat off his shoulders and pulled his shirt over his head.
“Oh, yeah,” Archie said again, and closed the distance between them as their mouths found each other once more.
It was incredible. Robin couldn’t remember ever feeling this good, pressed tight against Archie, skin to hot skin. Breathing the same air. “Do you want to . . .” he gasped, not even knowing how to end the sentence, but that was okay, because anything Archie wanted was okay. More than okay. Absolutely perfect and utterly essential.
“Can I . . .?”
Robin could only nod. “There’s . . . in my bedroom.”
“Right.” Archie looked momentarily nonplussed, as if the thought of relocating was a little too complex right now. “We could . . .?”
“Yes.” Robin nodded and scrambled to his feet, pulling Archie after him. “This way.”
Robin felt rather proud of himself for making it into the bedroom without tripping over his own feet, given how much of his blood supply had rushed south, leaving his brain high, dry, and incapable of any but the most basic thought processes. Such as trousers: off.
Well done, brain.
Archie got with the programme with impressive speed, and then they were there, on Robin’s bed, with only their underpants between them. Any minute now they’d both be naked, just as Robin had been dreaming of ever since he’d first seen Archie disembowelling a fridge.
It was . . . For a moment, Robin couldn’t believe it was happening. He flung out a hand to search his bedside drawer, coming out with a packet of sticking plasters, a weird massage gadget Azrah had given him one Christmas, and then, finally, condoms and lube.
Archie drew in a shaky breath. “You’re sure?”
“Oh God, yes.” Robin stripped off his boxer briefs to emphasise the point.
Above him, Archie still had his open shirt on, framing that incredible chest. It was heaving with ragged breaths. “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he said, and Robin glowed in every fibre of his being. It was almost too much. Except it wasn’t; it was very much not enough, because he needed Archie in him, preferably right now.
He opened his mouth to say so and without meaning to let out a needy, wordless whine.
Luckily, Archie seemed to be fluent in incoherence. He fell upon Robin, kissing him everywhere, touching him everywhere, until Robin was a senseless, writhing mass of pure want.
“Need you,” he managed, shoving his hand into Archie’s pants to tug on his cock just in case it wasn’t clear precisely what Robin needed.
“Going to take such good care of you,” Archie breathed, and it was so him Robin melted.
Archie grabbed the lube and slithered down the bed, farther than he needed to unless— Oh God, yes. Robin moaned as warm lips engulfed him while a finger teased his entrance. Archie sucked him as he prepped him, until Robin had to push him away because no way was he coming until Archie was inside him.
As Robin squirmed out from underneath, Archie scrambled back up the bed to kiss him. The salty taste of himself on Archie’s lips made Robin hunger for more, and he pulled down Archie’s boxers with shaking hands. When Archie’s cock sprang free, Robin wanted to punch the air, to high-five the world, because he’d wanted this for so, so long. Somehow he managed to fumble the condom onto Archie, forgetting what he was doing half the time because this was his hands on Archie’s cock. Long, thick . . . and oh Christ, Robin was going to come if he didn’t distract himself.
Archie was making that very, very hard. Pun not intended. He kissed his way down Robin’s chest, taking his gorgeous cock out of Robin’s reach again, but that was okay, because he pushed Robin onto his back and eased his legs up and—oh God—Archie was going to be inside him any minute now. Robin gave a manly whimper at the thought.
Archie froze. “Okay?”
“Yes, God, don’t stop. I mean, carry on.” Robin hooked his hands under his thighs as a visual aid, because communication didn’t seem to be his strong point at this present moment.
Chuckling, Archie lubed himself up—why hadn’t Robin done that? He should totally have done that.
Apparently thinking wasn’t his strong point right now either.
“Ready?” Archie breathed, and lined himself up.
He pushed in, so gently Robin could have cried. It felt as though this wasn’t for Archie, it was all for Robin, and he wanted to say, No, it’s for you, but his tongue couldn’t form the words. Archie was filling him, inch by inch, and it was so much better than anything Robin had imagined. He felt cared for, treasured.
Loved.
It was too much, so he moved before he was ready, snapping his hips up to meet Archie’s. Archie gasped, then started to thrust in and out. The burn eased and Robin was lost, submerged in a sea of ecstasy. Was he holding on to Archie’s hips, urging him deeper? He couldn’t have said. All he knew was Archie, in him, driving him closer and closer to the brink.
Robin tried to hold it off, but it was no good. His orgasm rushed upon him like a tide, and he bucked helplessly, out of control and loving it. Hot come spurted between them, coating both their bellies.
Archie thrust once, twice, until Robin almost couldn’t take it anymore—and then he groaned, low and heartfelt, and collapsed, panting, on Robin’s chest. “God, you’re incredible.”
“Same,” Robin breathed, because there were no words for how he felt right now. He relaxed into Archie’s arms, basking in the warmth and the love.
Archie lay there, on top of Robin, breathing heavily. That had been amazing. Was sex usually this good? Archie couldn’t remember it ever being this good.
He’d desperately wanted to kiss Robin all day. To touch him. It almost felt unreal, now, that he’d been granted his wish. The bliss was bone-deep, his skin still fizzing where they touched, and he never wanted to leave this bed.
Why the hell couldn’t it be a Saturday night? Then they could sleep late, waking up to make love once more.
Did he say once? Make t
hat several times. Hell, they could go for the record.
If it’d been a Saturday night. He sighed.
“Y’okay?” Robin asked drowsily.
Archie sat up reluctantly. “I’d better go. Work tomorrow.”
“Oh—yeah. Forgot about that.” Robin’s lips formed an adorably childish pout.
“I’ll take that as a compliment. But I’ll see you soon, yeah?” His heart full, he bent down to kiss Robin one last time.
Walking the short distance back home, Archie could’ve danced. Christ, if he’d had an umbrella and a handy thunderstorm, he could have reenacted the whole iconic sequence from Singin’ in the Rain. He and Robin were together, and everything was right in the world. He was whistling the tune as he opened the front door, but cut himself off so he could listen for any signs COC was still in session.
Lyddie’s voice rang out in the silence. “It’s all right, love, they’ve buggered off now. Want some cold pizza?”
Archie grinned, kicked off his shoes, and went to join her. “No, thanks. Had pizza round at Robin’s.”
Lyddie was sitting on the floor again, this time surrounded by photos from a shoebox by her side, and she looked up to give him a sly smile. “Bet that wasn’t all you had.”
“Nope. Had a glass of water too. And that’s all I’m going to tell you.” Archie lowered himself down to sit cross-legged beside her, and picked up a photo of himself as a toddler covered in chocolate. “I hope you’re not getting these out to embarrass me in front of my new bloke.”
She squealed and hugged him. “I’m so happy for you, love. He’s a lovely boy, your Robin. You need to bring him round more often. Anytime he wants to stay over for breakfast is fine by me. He needs feeding up a bit, and he likes my cooking. You sure you don’t want any pizza?”
“Sure. So what are all the photos out for, if it’s not embarrassing me?”
“I wanted one of you when you were Jerrick’s age. To show Bridge. What do you think about this one?” She held out a picture of a round-faced baby Archie, clutched precariously in a teenaged Lyddie’s arms. Just as in the photo, she was beaming fit to burst as she handed it to him.
Archie’s heart clenched as he took it. It wasn’t one he remembered seeing before. It was rare to find Lyddie in a nostalgic mood, and it could easily have been years since she’d had this particular shoebox of photos out. There weren’t that many pictures of her from when he’d been a kid. She’d always been the one taking the photos. He’d known all his life she’d been young when she’d had him, but seeing that picture really brought it home. He’d had schoolkids visiting the museum who looked older than that. Who were older than that.
“Isn’t he just like you? Jerrick, I mean, cos that little one is you. Duh.” Lyddie laughed.
It was infectious. “Yeah, I assumed if you’d had any other kids, I’d have found out about it by now.”
“Bit hard to keep a kid a secret. Especially if you’re crap at it, like me.” Lyddie frowned. “I meant at keeping secrets, but love, was I crap at having kids? I never—”
Archie cut her off with a hug. “You’re the best mum a kid could ask for. And Bridge is going to love that photo. Now, do you want a cup of tea?”
She glanced around vaguely. “Gonna head up to bed. Now you’re home. Bit knackered from earlier. Some of those women can’t half talk. I’ll just pack these up first. Oh, and the pizza boxes. Can’t leave them out all night. We’ll get mice. Archie, love, do you think we should get a cat?”
Archie gave her a squeeze. “I think I’ll tidy things away. You head on up.”
It didn’t take long to wrap up the leftovers. Archie put the photos away, promising himself a proper look at them another time, and then headed to bed himself. As he slipped between the sheets, he couldn’t help remembering Robin’s bed, and the gorgeous, warm man he’d left inside it. Yeah, he was definitely going to have Robin stay the night soon. Archie wanted to go to sleep with him, and wake up with him in the morning.
He wondered if Robin had stayed there, or if he’d got up for a bit after Archie had left. Maybe made a cup of tea, sorted his clothes out for the morning, that kind of stuff. Alone in the darkness, Archie smiled to think about it. Then he turned over. Time to go to sleep. His dreams should be pretty sweet tonight, anyway. Robin was his, and everything was good.
No more helpless longing, and no more secrets.
The next morning, Robin woke up late, luxuriating in his nice, warm bed that still smelled faintly of Archie. The only thing that could’ve improved on the perfection of last night would have been if Archie had stayed.
Except, if he’d stayed, he probably couldn’t have failed to notice Robin not getting up for work. Which would have meant more lies . . . Suddenly the bed didn’t feel so comfortable anymore. Robin groaned aloud, because who was there to hear him?
He was sick of all this. Well, no, he actually very much liked most of this, but he was sick of the deception. He needed to come clean and admit to Archie that he worked at Willoughbys. Archie could then break it to Lyddie, preferably while Robin was far, far away and she didn’t have a knife in her hand.
His stomach roiled uneasily as he thought about telling Archie he’d lied about his job. Maybe he could make a joke about it? Would Archie find it funny?
No. No, he really wouldn’t.
Oh God. Robin needed to pull his finger out and talk to Gail. Try to get something done for the homeless. Then, if Archie was mad at him for working for the enemy, Robin would be able to point at how he’d made things better by working there.
Yes. That was a plan. A good plan. And today, he’d go and visit that shelter.
Ten minutes later he was sitting at his laptop with a slice of toast in hand, trying mostly without success not to get crumbs in his keyboard. There was a lot of information online about the Queen Street shelter, which in defiance of the whole county’s landlocked state was known as the Anchorage. Robin had had a vague idea that hostels for the homeless provided a bed for the night and presumably a meal or two, but in fact the Anchorage offered laundry services, counselling, and a computer suite as well, to name but a few of the amenities. And they were definitely open in the daytime, as they served lunch.
You couldn’t, however, just roll up there and expect a bed, which was fair enough as space was limited. You had to be referred by someone official like a doctor or a social worker or probation officer. The website seemed to be saying that the hostel was there to cater for people who didn’t fall under the local authority’s duty of care, which was kind of horrifying. Shouldn’t the local authority have a duty to care for everyone? But then, probably they had limited space too, and had to prioritise the most vulnerable people.
So . . . if you were an able-bodied adult without children, the hostel, or another like it, was your only hope. It was a frightening thought, in a there-but-for-the-grace-of-God way. And even if you did qualify for help, you could still slip through the cracks, couldn’t you? Archie had.
Robin considered carefully what he was going to wear to the shelter. Should he put on a suit, so as to be taken seriously? But it wasn’t as though he was actually going as a representative of Willoughbys, and he didn’t want to raise false expectations. Or look like he thought he was better than the residents and wanted everyone to know it.
In the end he pulled on an old, comfortable pair of jeans and Mum’s sweater, and gave himself a critical once-over in the mirror. Yep, that would do. No one could accuse him of thinking too much of himself in that.
Weird to think that this time yesterday he’d been staring at a very different image: bowler hat, waistcoat, goggles . . . Robin missed them already. They’d been quirky, and different, and more to the point, they’d been Archie’s. Warmth flooded through him at the memory. It’d been a fantastic day, every second of it. Well, not every second. The ten or so he’d spent getting peed on by little Jerrick wouldn’t exactly count as the best of his life. Still, it’d definitely been an experience. Robin huffed a
quiet laugh at the thought of telling Azrah about it. She’d probably pee herself too.
Right. Time to focus. Robin gave his reflection a confident smile, and set off for the bus stop.
There was no one on reception when Robin got to the shelter, and while there was a bell to attract attention, he always felt it was impolite to actually use those things. A stint on customer service at Willoughbys had left him with a Pavlovian response of bracing for verbal evisceration every time he heard a bell ring, and he didn’t want to spread the misery. So he dawdled in the narrow hallway, reading notices about claiming housing benefit and getting off drugs. You never knew when a bit of knowledge might come in handy.
“All right there?” A bearded figure had appeared and was peering at him with friendly concern.
“Oh—hi. I’m, um, Robin.”
The man was casually dressed in a sweater, and unlike Archie’s, his facial hair was less the dapper and debonair sort, and more of the oops-I’m-going-bald-better-grow-a-beard variety. “Good to meet you, Robin. I’m Dave. I’m afraid we’re full at the moment, but I can put you onto youth services?”
Robin coloured. “Um, thanks, but I’m not a customer. A client? I mean I’m not homeless. I just wanted to ask about things local businesses can do to help.”
“Oh, school project, is it?”
On reflection, perhaps putting on Mum’s sweater hadn’t been the best idea Robin had had this morning. “No—I’m, um, I work at a local shop? With a café?” He couldn’t seem to stop it all coming out with a questioning tone, as if he were in dire need of reassurance. “I wondered if you accepted donations of food at the end of the day?”
“Oh yes. Obviously food safety standards have to be adhered to, and certain things we wouldn’t be able to take, but we’d be very grateful, if it’s on a regular basis and we can rely on it. Can you give me an idea of the sort of items and quantities that’d be involved?”