One Under

by JL Merrow

  “No, no, don’t stop . . . Ah!” His eyes flew open as Mal slid deeper.

  “Was that a bad ‘Ah’ or did I find the Holy Grail?” Mal asked, worried.

  “Grail. Definitely Grail.” Their eyes met, and suddenly they were laughing.

  “Oi, Galahad, is that King David’s sword in your scabbard or are you just pleased to see me?” Mal grinned.

  “Galahad was chaste,” Jory said with a glint in his eye. “I’m not.”

  He grabbed hold of Mal’s hips and pulled, and fuck, that was it, Mal was off again, sheathing himself in Jory over and over. Jory’s dick was leaking on his stomach. Mal dragged his fingers through the little puddle of clear liquid and put them to his lips, wanting more of that deep-sea flavour. Then he bent awkwardly to kiss Jory, passing it over with his tongue.

  Jory moaned and licked Mal’s lips, and that, that was not fair because then Mal had to break the kiss and just pound into him as hard and fast as he could, Jory giving him wordless cries of encouragement all the time.

  He was so bloody gorgeous. Mal couldn’t believe he’d nearly let this pass him by.

  “You’re mine, you got that?” he gasped, teetering on the edge.

  “Yours,” Jory panted, and came.

  White light exploded behind Mal’s eyes as his own orgasm slammed through him. He felt it in his balls, in his spine, in his fucking throat. Jory was still painting his stomach white with his spunk, and Mal could feel every pulse resonate with the clenching of his body.

  It seemed to go on forever, and even when he stopped moving, little aftershocks thrilled through him, his nerves jingling. Mal was blinking back his vision when Jory grabbed him and pulled him down for a lingering kiss.

  Mal drew away long enough to ask, “You’re gonna stay, right?”

  “Always,” Jory whispered, and kissed him again.

  Waking up with Jory in his bed was, like . . . Shit, Mal was useless at words this early in the morning, but it was good. Really, really good. He lay there, just watching Jory breathe. Was that romantic or creepy? Romantic, definitely. It was only creepy if you weren’t already shagging.

  He couldn’t resist leaning in to plant a kiss on Jory’s shoulder. Jory snuffled into the pillow but didn’t wake up. It was cute as fuck, so Mal did it again, and then again for good measure, by which time Jory was starting to stir. And, well, his mum was always telling him, Waste not, want not, so Mal rubbed his morning stiffy against Jory’s hip. Although that probably wasn’t the sort of thing she’d had in mind.

  “Morning,” Jory said, blinking and smiling.

  “Morning.” Mal ground against Jory’s hip, and Jory took the hint and rolled with it. Or, more precisely, he rolled with Mal, a nifty move that ended up with Jory on top and their dicks giving each other their own morning greetings.

  Mal’s dick thought it was fucking tremendous waking up with Jory’s dick. It didn’t take long before they’d made a right mess of each other.

  Cos he was a gentleman, Mal felt around under the bed for the tissues and wiped them both off so they could snuggle back down together. Once he had his head on Jory’s shoulder, he could feel Jory breathing, which was even better than watching him.

  “I suppose we’d better get up,” Jory said after a while, with a kiss to Mal’s head.

  “Don’t wanna.”

  “Realistically, how long do you think we’ve got before Tasha bangs on the door and yells something embarrassing at us?”

  “Fair point. But don’t move yet.” Mal reached over to the bedside table and grabbed his phone. Lucky for him, Jory was still all shagged out and dopey, so he didn’t realise what was happening until Mal had snapped a picture.

  Jory’s eyes widened, and he did flaily hands. “Okay, no. Seriously. I’m not feeling at all photogenic right now.”

  “Nah, you look fucking gorgeous. Bed hair and all.” Mal showed Jory the photo.

  Jory made a face like he’d just seen a pic of the prime minister, naked. “Well, if you can say that with a straight face, then at least I know you’re genuinely fond of me.”

  Mal flicked to the next, which had Jory with OMG-face.

  “Oh God. Please delete them.”

  “Nah, I was thinking Instagram. Or Facebook. Which one are most of the people you used to work with on?”

  “Give me that. Now.” Jory made a grab for the phone, but Mal was quicker, holding it out of reach until Jory, the bastard, started tickling him.

  “You fucker,” Mal gasped through his laughter, as Jory wrenched the phone out of his grip. “Nah, don’t delete them. I’ll keep ’em to myself, I swear.”

  Jory sent him a deeply suspicious look, but handed the phone back. “But just for that, I’m taking one of you.” He grabbed his own phone, which had been snuggled up to Mal’s all night.

  “Sure thing, babe.” Mal lay back with his hands behind his head and pouted for the camera.

  Jory laughed. “Do you have any shame?”

  “Nope. None at all. Well, maybe a bit. I draw the line at dick pics. At least, not until Mr. Frisky’s feeling a bit more, well, frisky again.”

  “‘Mr. Frisky’?”

  “Shut it. I could have called it Excalibur, you know.”

  “Not if you ever wanted anyone to take you seriously in bed.”

  “Baby, any way you take me is fine by me.” Mal grinned, stretched, and sat up. “Hey, you gonna stay for breakfast? You’re welcome, but I ain’t gonna be hurt if you can’t face Tasha smirking at you over your cornflakes.”

  Jory rubbed his beard. “I’m more worried about Jago Andrewartha’s reaction if he finds out I spent the night here.”

  “Think he’s gonna go all medieval on you for sullying my virtue? Nah, he’d be cool with it. And not just cos he knows I ain’t no blushing damsel. He gave me a lift up to yours yesterday, didn’t he?”

  “Still, I’d rather not rub his face in it.” Jory cupped Mal’s face with his hand, which, yeah, if he was honest, made Mal feel pretty damsel-like, but fuck it, he liked it. “Will I see you later today?”

  “Yeah. Course. Uh, you’re not working, are you?”

  Jory shook his head. “It’s Monday. The museum’s closed. Fortunately, as I’d be a couple of hours late already.”

  “Then you should come and meet Dev. At the cottage.”

  “Are you sure? Maybe I should meet him somewhere more . . . neutral.”

  Mal frowned. “The cottage is neutral.”

  “No, I mean . . . he might prefer somewhere he can walk away from.”

  “He ain’t gonna walk away from you.”

  “He might. After all, what claim do I really have on him? I’m just the brother of the woman who rejected him.”

  “No, you ain’t. Well, you are, but the main thing is, you’re my bloke. So he ain’t gonna walk away.” He paused. Jory was smiling at him in a way that made his insides do weird somersaults. “What?”

  “I’m not sure who’s luckier, here—you, for having a friend like Dev, or me, for having met you.”

  Mal rolled his eyes, cos it was that or blub like a little girl. “Well, duh. It’s me, innit? Cos I got you too.”

  Jory’s euphoric haze lasted all the way from the Sea Bell, right up to when he got out of the car at Roscarrock House. That was when he got a text from Mal saying he’d spoken to Dev and arranged for them to go to the cottage at two.

  Then the nerves set in.

  The trouble was, Jory wasn’t only preparing to meet his long-lost nephew who had no reason to feel kindly towards anyone from his birth family. He was also about to meet one of the most important people in Mal’s life. And despite what Mal had said, Jory didn’t want Dev just to tolerate him for his friend’s sake.

  It was probably partly hunger that was making him feel queasy, he told himself, so after a quick shower, he rustled up a hearty brunch of bacon and beans on toast.

  Bran wandered into the kitchen as Jory sat down at the table to eat. “You were out last night.”
r />   “Yes.” There didn’t seem to be a lot else to say.

  Bran paused. “With . . . the boyfriend.”

  “Mal. Yes.” Jory wished Bran would get to the point and let him enjoy his bacon in peace.

  “You don’t have to move out,” Bran said abruptly.

  Jory put down his fork. He wasn’t quite sure how to take that. As an olive branch? That was most likely how Bran meant it. “Thanks. But would you be happy for me to have my boyfriend over for the night?”

  Bran’s jaw tightened. He didn’t say anything.

  “Then I do have to move out,” Jory said gently. Not that it was the only reason, but it was the easiest one to make Bran understand without it coming to a shouting match. Then, because he genuinely wanted to know, “Is it because he’s male? Or because I’m technically still married to Kirsty? Both?”

  Bran looked away. “I’ll draw up a list of properties that will be convenient for the school,” he said, and walked briskly out of the room.

  Christ, he was so bloody frustrating sometimes. Jory jabbed angrily at his bacon, then took a deep breath.

  If Bran needed to feel like he was doing something for him, well, maybe Jory should learn to live with it. He didn’t have to take any of the places his brother found. And . . . it was nice that Bran was trying to help, in his own way.

  Two o’clock seemed to take an age to arrive—until all at once Jory was panicking he’d be late. He hurried out of the house, only now questioning whether he should be taking a gift of some kind. Why the hell hadn’t he done some baking?

  He’d arranged to meet Mal outside the Zelley cottage, and when he half jogged down the cliff path, he saw a familiar lean figure already there. Mal was standing outside the little cottage garden, his phone in his hands. He lifted his head as Jory approached, and smiled. “Hey, I was just texting you.”

  “Sorry I’m late.”

  “Nah, you’re good. I was early.” Mal shoved his phone in his back pocket. “Didn’t wanna go in without you, though. So it’s lucky Kyle and Dev ain’t looked out the window.”

  They walked up to the house, which bore a slate plaque proclaiming it to be Mother Ivey’s Boudoir, and around to the front door. Jory had always thought it a rather saucy name for what was presumably merely a typical, well-kept Cornish cottage. Then again, he’d never been inside it before. Maybe it was all tarted up in red velvet like a Victorian brothel?

  “You nervous?” Mal asked.

  Jory gave him a twisted smile. “What do you think?”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  Oh. He hadn’t thought of that, but of course Mal would be nervous. Dev was his best friend. If this went badly . . . Jory made up his mind firmly that it wouldn’t go badly, and tried to be unobtrusive about wiping his palms on his jeans.

  Had the jeans been a step too far? Would Dev take them as they were intended, an attempt to be informal and relaxed, or would he think Jory was taking the piss?

  Oh God.

  The door opened. The slightly ethnic-looking young man Jory remembered from Mal’s photos stood there, his eyes narrowed—until they saw Mal. “Mal! My man.” They clasped hands and hugged, clearly at ease with showing physical affection for one another.

  “Dev? This is Jory. My bloke. Well, and your uncle.”

  “Yeah, kinda gathered that. Good to meet you.”

  Dev held out his hand, and Jory shook it cautiously, both relieved and disappointed when he wasn’t pulled into a hug.

  “It’s good to meet you too, Dev. Finally.”

  Dev nodded. “Yeah. But, oi, you don’t wanna stand on the doorstep all day. Come on in and say hi to Kyle.”

  They followed him through the disappointingly un-brothel-like cottage to where a tall, dark-haired man stood looking out of the window at a breathtaking view of the sea. When he turned, Jory recognised him immediately, and blurted out, “You’re the one I met last summer. Bran got it wrong.” One more thing to add to the list.

  Kyle’s expression, if Jory was any judge, was that of someone reminding himself firmly Bran was Jory’s brother and, therefore, any comments along the lines of Quelle surprise might not be appreciated. “Yes,” he said in the end. “We didn’t really speak. Jory? Good to meet you properly.”

  “And you. Um. I’m sorry—I don’t suppose I was very welcoming.”

  “Not to worry. No doubt you’d already been warned about my drinking problem.”

  “Which don’t exist, case you were wondering,” Dev put in forcefully. “Kyle’s got narcolepsy.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Jory said, because what else could you say? From what he’d heard, it was pretty horrible. It was probably all kinds of wrong to be proud of his nephew for not letting Kyle’s condition put him off. But Jory was finding it a struggle not to be.

  “If it helps,” Kyle was saying, “I took you for the sort who’d chuck me off the cliff if I caused any trouble.”

  Mal winced. “Uh, mate, you might wanna hold off on jokes about cliffs and stuff till you’ve heard about the family history.”

  “This something to do with all them pirates in the family tree?” Dev asked, looking interested.

  “Bit more recent than that.” Mal turned away, but not so far that Jory couldn’t see him mouthing, Shut up about it.

  “My father. Your grandfather. But it was a long time ago. Um. Best not to mention it to Bran or Bea . . .” Jory trailed off awkwardly.

  “Yeah, well, shouldn’t worry about that too much.” Dev seemed grimly amused.

  “She’s not so bad,” Jory found himself saying in a rush. “I mean, I know what she did to you was—”

  “’S okay. She’s your sister. Don’t worry. I ain’t gonna slag her off to you.” Dev cocked his head. “What’s she think about you meeting up with me? Or don’t she know?”

  “She knows.” Jory hesitated. “I don’t think it’s going to change anything for her. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I got used to it now.”

  Looking at the tense line of Dev’s jaw, Jory wasn’t sure how true that was.

  “I’ll put the kettle on,” Kyle said. Dev seemed to take it as a timely reminder they’d leap-frogged all the social niceties and invited them to sit down, put their feet up, and call the dog a bastard.

  Jory hadn’t even noticed the dog, until she trotted out of the room at Kyle’s heels. She was a chocolate Labrador and seemed a lot less excitable than most dogs of Jory’s acquaintance. Was she a service dog? He didn’t like to ask.

  Dev cleared his throat. “So, uh, Mal said you work at the museum?”

  “Oh. Yes. But it’s only temporary—after the summer, I’ll be teaching English at a local secondary school.”

  Mal leaned forward. “Yeah, Jory used to teach at university. But he packed it in cos he wanted to be near his kid.”

  It was nice of Mal to speak up for him, but . . . “I should have done it a long time ago,” Jory admitted.

  Dev’s sharp gaze flickered over to Mal, then back again. Jory had the impression he’d been about to speak but decided against it.

  “And you’re a mechanic?” Jory asked, desperate to break the awkward silence.

  “Yeah. Never was academic.” Dev’s gaze was challenging.

  Jory almost laughed. “You mean, you prefer to do something that’s actually useful. One thing I shan’t miss about my former career is the intellectual snobbery.” He hoped it came across as sincerely as he had meant it. He’d hate Dev to think Jory was patronising him.

  It seemed to have gone okay, as Dev leaned back in his chair just as Kyle arrived back with their tea. “So go on,” he said, taking a mug with a smile that betrayed his affection, “what have you two been up to around here? Got any tips for a couple of tourists?”

  And somehow the conversation seemed to flow, after that. Mal had a gift for retelling their misadventures in a manner that made them seem far more comical than they had been at the time. Jory’s attempts to keep him on the straight and narrow of fa
ctual accuracy were, apparently, even funnier.

  Jory realised, after the dregs of their tea had long since gone cold, that he was enjoying himself here. There was so much obvious love in the room—between Kyle and Dev, and Dev and Mal, in particular. If the former relationship hadn’t clearly been so strong, Jory might have been jealous of the latter, but as it was, Mal seemed to be going out of his way to make him feel secure.

  Jory had thought he was just gaining a boyfriend. Apparently he was getting a whole lot more. And he genuinely liked Dev. There was a wary air about him, certainly, but once he relaxed, he was a good man to be around.

  He couldn’t help wishing Bea and Bran knew what they were missing out on. But then, perhaps they did and didn’t care.

  Jory wasn’t sure he’d ever understand his family.

  Dev’s boyfriend was, in some ways, the easier of the two to get to know, although there was another unfortunate moment right at the start. Jory had been trying to bring him into the conversation. “Mal tells me you’re an artist—you work in ceramics?”

  Kyle had looked pleased. “Yes. You might even have seen some of my work on sale, if you’ve been to the pottery—although they’re stretching the definition of ‘local artist’ to the breaking point there. But this place seems to inspire people. I saw some very good driftwood sculptures by a local woman last time I was here. Kirsty Fisher—have you heard of her?”

  Jory was horribly aware of Mal stiffening by his side. “Ah. Yes.”

  “She’s Jory’s ex,” Mal said, all in a rush.

  Dev had raised his eyebrows—then whistled a few bars of a song Jory recognised but couldn’t quite identify.

  Mal clearly had no such problem, as he broke into a smile and called Dev a wanker.

  “What did I miss?” Jory asked.

  Kyle made a sympathetic face. “It’s a song by The Saturdays. Called ‘Issues.’ Sorry to bring up an uncomfortable subject. Again.”

  “No, it’s . . .” Jory gave Mal a rueful look. “It’s a little awkward right now, but we’re going to get over it. She’s the mother of my son, Gawen.”

  “He’s a great kid,” Mal put in. He nudged Jory. “Show ’em a pic. I know you got like zillions on your phone.”