Short Stack

by Lily Morton

  I follow Oz’s lithe form as he edges his way adeptly through the crowd, exchanging smiles and chatter as he walks behind the counter and crouches down to start filling the fridge with the juice.

  I crouch down to help him, and he grins at me. “Busy today, eh?” he says, his eyes sparkling with delight. He rubs his hands. “Lots of money,” he whispers.

  I snort. “You’re turning into Harry Enfield.”

  “That character would have been a hell of a lot louder if he’d had a bill to replace the windows in the east wing too.”

  Once we’re done, he rises from his crouch and goes over to check with Megan that they have everything they need. Leaning against the counter, I look around the room. I remember this as the stables and being full of horses when my grandfather was alive. The old bastard had died when a horse threw him, which Henry has always insisted was because the animal had got tired of our grandfather’s personality.

  Three tables have been pulled together, and the members of the book club are finishing their meeting. I grin at them. “What’s the book this week, Fred?”

  Fred, the old librarian from the village, holds up a book on which two men are entwined on the cover. I blink. “That doesn’t look like it’s from the Richard and Judy Book Club.”

  Philippa, the lady who runs the club, laughs. “Oh, we don’t read that shit. Far too tame.”

  I’m well aware of that. Oz is a member of the club and last week’s book of the week was an erotic story which he’d read to me while we were lying naked in bed. I’d been lying on my front nestling my head into my arms while he lay with his head pillowed on my arse. His Irish accent had drifted through the bedroom, spinning a spell of heat. I’m embarrassed to admit that we never even made it to page three. It was less erotic, however, when he’d picked it back up after we’d finished and had used funny accents for the next sex scene.

  Oz comes hurrying up to me and pulls me to one side. “Listen, they’ve got a backlog. Can you wait for a bit while I help?”

  I sigh. “How long?”

  He shoots me a surprised look, because it isn’t like me to whine.

  “Sorry,” I mutter. “I just really need some time with you.”

  He hugs me and steps back, looking conflicted. “I can’t leave them,” he whispers. “They’re snowed under.”

  “I’ll help you,” I say brightly. “If I do, we’ll get done quicker, and I can talk to you.”

  “You’re going to wait on tables?” he asks, humorous dismay crossing face.

  “Yes, if it gets the fucking food out quicker.”

  He stares at me for a second and then laughs. “Okay, then. At the very least, I’ll have loads to tell Henry when he rings.” He gestures. “Follow me.”

  I trail behind him and into the kitchen where Simon, the chef, is dishing up food quickly and adeptly. Plates are building up on the stainless steel counter. Oz picks up one of the tickets and gestures at two plates.

  “Take those,” he orders. “They’re for table ten. Warn them that the plates are hot and don’t forget to give them cutlery.”

  Simon looks utterly scandalized, and I grin. “Okay,” I say meekly.

  I edge into the dining area carrying the plates carefully over to table ten, where a middle-aged couple is hissing at each other. The man looks bored, and the woman looks querulous.

  “Good afternoon,” I say heartily. “Two Boursin Chicken.”

  She nods and gestures at the table. “On here, please,” she orders as if I was somehow contemplating putting them on the floor.

  My mouth quirks and I put the plates down obediently. “Please don’t touch the hot plates,” I say quickly and stare in amazement as the man immediately stretches out his fingers and touches the plate.

  “Ouch!” he shouts. “These plates are bloody hot.”

  “I did warn you,” I say and feel someone at my back. It’s Oz.

  “Everything okay?” he asks smoothly.

  “I burnt my finger on this plate. It’s hot.”

  Oz looks at me, and I shake my head. “I did tell you it was hot,” I say patiently. “Yet you still reached out and grabbed it.”

  Oz’s mouth quirks. “Your waiter will get you a bowl of cold water to put your hand in,” he says in a very lordly manner, and I make sure he sees me shake my head at him before I move off to obey the small tyrant.

  When I come back, the woman is eating her food with a moue of disgust. “Is everything okay?” I ask, alarmed. This is one of Simon’s best dishes, and it’s delicious.

  “It’s chicken. I don’t like chicken.”

  I pause and look at Oz for direction. He’s biting his lips and obviously has none.

  “Why did you order Boursin Chicken, then?” I ask politely.

  “We were only trying to make life easy for you lot,” her husband says crossly.

  I open my mouth to try and find a diplomatic way of saying I couldn’t care less what they eat as long as they enjoy it, but Oz elbows me and sends me on my way. I busy myself with trying to get the food out as quickly as I can and when I next look over they’re laughing at something he’s said.

  He excuses himself and comes over with laughter brimming in his eyes.

  “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” I say crossly, and he snorts.

  “I apologised for your fumbling ineptitude, but he excused me because I shouldn’t expect the apprentice to know how to serve food correctly.”

  “Apprentice. Is that me?” I ask indignantly.

  He grins. “Yep. I told them it was your first day.”

  “First and last.”

  “Wow! Are they all caught up?” he asks, gazing around at the full tables.

  I nod and grab his arm to tow him out of the tea rooms. “Yes. Simon says they’re fine, so you’re all mine for a bit.”

  He follows me, laughing. “What’s lit a fire up your arse? Can’t you tell me what you want to talk about?” He looks around the empty courtyard. “We’re all alone.”

  I shake my head stubbornly. My father would probably have approved of saving time while proposing, but then this was the man who tried to propose once in a solicitor’s office while offering his potential bride a prenup to sign. He’d seen it as not having to waste time getting another appointment. The king of romance, he was not.

  “No,” I say firmly. “I want to be completely alone.”

  A gleam appears in his eyes. “Oh, I see now.”

  “Do you?” I ask nervously. “What do you see?”

  Grabbing my hand, he begins to tow me rather forcefully towards the house. Once we’re inside, he takes a quick look around and then leads me towards the study.

  “What are you doing?” I ask as he opens the door and pushes me through, following closely behind. I turn just in time to see him lock the door.

  He grins lasciviously at me and starts to unzip his jeans.

  “Oh," I say. "Oh. No, I didn’t need you for that.” I pause as he throws his polo shirt cavalierly over the sofa. “I don’t know whether to be scandalized or turned on,” I observe.

  “Can you be both and quickly?” he mutters as his jeans follow his shirt, leaving him clad in tight red briefs. They cup his cock lovingly and make his pale skin glow.

  “Okay, I’m caught up,” I say quickly as he comes towards me. “I don’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

  “What does that even mean?” he asks, the edge of my shirt in his hands. I look at him in confusion. “I mean, when in history has there ever been a horse who went around giving people presents. I’m sure I’d remember hearing about that at school.”

  I whip my shirt off myself as he’s obviously too busy contemplating the meaning of the universe. “Isn’t there a tour going on?” I ask, hoping to prod him into action.

  His eyes refocus on me. “Yes, but I think we’re fine. June does the Great Hall and the study first and then takes them upstairs.”

  “You think, or you’re sure?” I ask dubiously
.

  He grins, dragging my face down so he can kiss me. “About seventy percent sure,” he whispers against my lips.

  “It's the thirty percent that's causing me trouble.”

  He gives me a filthy grin and reaches down and nimbly opens my jeans. He fists my cock. “Not that much trouble, love. You seem to be rallying fast.”

  “That’s me,” I grunt, all my attention on his long fingers circling the ruddy length of my prick. “I’m a rallier.”

  Oz kisses me again, and before I can give any thought to the fact that we’re completely naked in a room that’s part of a tour, I’ve backed him up against the wall, and I’m kissing him as if Oz-kissing has been rationed for years. I strip off his briefs and throw them somewhere behind me. He winds his legs around my waist and groans into my mouth.

  “Yes,” he moans, pulling his head back for some much-needed air. “Fuck. I need you inside me. It’s been too long.”

  I grunt as I rub against him, feeling moisture bead my cock, and my head swims. I want to point out that it was actually this morning, but my words have gone, as the blood flows quickly away from my brain. I hold my fingers up to his mouth, and he gives me a sultry look as he licks and sucks on them. I manoeuvre him slightly so I can reach his arse and he cries out as I rub my fingertip over his little hole. It’s pale pink, the same colour as his nipples, and he grunts as I gently insert the tip of my finger.

  “Do it,” he gasps. “I need you so bad.” The Irish lilt in his voice is heavy.

  I shake my head. “I am not using spit for lube. It’ll hurt.”

  “I don’t mind a bit of pain.”

  I grin at him, feeling love run through me suddenly. “During sex, you’re fine, darling, but it’s the after when you’re the biggest baby that I’ve ever met.”

  Oz laughs and then smiles slowly. “Lube’s in my jean pocket.”

  “Really? You’re like some sort of very strange scout.”

  He shakes his head. “I was never very good at group activities.”

  I put him down on the floor and dash over to his jeans, rifling through his pockets. I find what seems like twenty thousand lists and then exclaim in triumph when I find the gold packet. “Ta-da!”

  He pretends to clap, and I pace back to him, feeling his gaze run over me hotly and fix on my cock which is standing straight up, ready for action. I fist it and give myself a couple of strokes. “You want it?”

  He nods. “And now, so move quickly.”

  I grin and pounce on him, taking him down on the sofa which has embroidered cushions that my great-grandmother stitched. I wonder whether I should be bothered by this but then remember how Henry and I were convinced that she was a witch and dismiss the thought in favour of spreading my lover’s legs and nestling between them.

  I start to grind against him, feeling my pre-come slick the way. He groans and seizes my face between his callused palms. “I love you,” he gasps, kissing me feverishly.

  “I love you too.” I open the sachet and coat my fingers and send them flirting over his hole. He throws his head back and moans when I slowly insert my index finger. But then we both freeze as the door handle jiggles.

  “Oh, shit,” Oz whispers.

  “I’m so sorry,” I hear June say. “I can’t imagine why this door is locked.”

  “What the fuck?” I hiss. “I thought you were sure.”

  “Seventy percent,” he says, and grins. “Don’t worry. The door’s locked. Come back down here.”

  “Are you quite mental?” I ask, pulling back. “There are approximately fourteen old ladies outside the door. I know they can’t get in, but—”

  “Not to worry,” June’s voice comes cheerily through the door. “I have a key here, so I can let us in.”

  “Shit!” Oz says and shoves me away so quickly that I land with a thump on the rug. We both freeze but all we can hear are the jingle of keys and June’s assurances that she’s sure she’s found the key.

  “Oh, my God.” I jump to my feet. “Do something.”

  The next minute two things happen. June exclaims victoriously and a key slides into the lock, and Oz grabs me and pushes me into the stationery cupboard. He’s only just in time because as the door closes, we hear the study door open and the noise of excited OAP chatter.

  “Phew!” Oz whispers, grinning at me. “That was fucking close.”

  “You think? Oz, what are we missing?” He stares at me, so I elaborate in a whisper. “Are you a bit cold? What have we left outside?”

  “Oh my God,” he says, trying not to laugh. “Our clothes are out there.”

  “Yes. You’d better fucking pray that June doesn’t have a key for this door and no old lady has a burning fucking desire to see an earl’s stationery.”

  He chuckles and cups my package. “This is all mine. No one gets to see you when you’re stationary.”

  I try not to laugh but fail as always with him. “You know very well what I meant.”

  We both jump as a querulous voice comes from next to our hiding place. “Why are there clothes all over the room?”

  There’s a pause, and then June says hesitantly, “Well, the earl does use all these rooms. You’re seeing them as they are when they’re in use.”

  “Does he always have a pair of underpants hanging from the light fitting?”

  Oz snorts. Luckily it’s not loud, because I have my hand over his fucking mouth. His merry eyes sparkle at me, and I can’t help but smile back.

  “Oh, erm.” June hesitates. “Young men,” she finally says in a tone of voice which contains condemnation and weary exasperation.

  There’s a chorus of agreement and then she hurries them out of the room. When the door closes, we both sag into each other and Oz starts to laugh. Usually, I love his laugh. It’s merry and intoxicating, like him. Today I’d like to shove him out of the French windows.

  “Oh my God, that's killed my hard-on,” he groans.

  “I’m glad we’ve found something that manages it,” I say primly. “I was beginning to wonder if you suffered from priapism.”

  “Oh, shut up and pick up your underwear,” he grouses and shoves me out of the cupboard.

  He pulls on his own underwear and pauses to watch me as I try to untangle my jeans. “What?” I ask.

  He smiles affectionately. “If I forget to tell you later how happy you make me, will you remind me?”

  I swallow hard. “I’ll remember.”

  He nods simply and bends to find his shirt amongst the heap of clothing. I’ve learnt that about my Oz. He can level you with the simplicity and honesty of his love, but he never drags it out. He tells you plainly and moves on. It’s a fresh and open way of loving that I’ve never experienced before.

  “I’m sorry we didn’t get to fuck, though,” he says mournfully. “Especially as you came home early for it.”

  “I didn’t come home early for that,” I start to say and then jerk as the fire alarm shrills seemingly from beside my fucking ear.

  “Oh, my God,” Oz exclaims. “The house is on fire.”

  Worry seizes me. The fucking house. Then I look at Oz’s face and breathe in.

  “Don’t panic,” I say and then pause. “But maybe get dressed quickly.”

  He nods and flings his shirt on, rooting around for his shoes. I’ve just put one leg in my jeans when there’s the sound of running footsteps and someone bangs loudly on the door.

  “Get fucking dressed, you pair of degenerates,” comes Niall’s voice. It startles me, and I miss putting my foot in the other leg. Caught off balance, I teeter and crash to the floor. My head rebounds off a table and sparks ping across my vision.

  “Fuck!” I groan.

  Oz drops to his knees beside me. “Oh, my God. A ghrá geal. Are you okay, sweetheart?”

  I shake my head, regretting it as pain crashes through my skull. “Oh, God, that hurts.”

  He looks wildly around. “Come on,” he urges. “We need to get outside. Let me help you.”

>   I obey his urging and bring myself to my feet, adrenaline making me move. I zip my jeans and stamp into my shoes as he buttons my shirt for me. When I’m done, he grabs my hand and pulls me out through the French windows.

  I look around anxiously now that Oz is safe. “Come on,” I urge. “We need to go round to the assembly point and make sure Boris and Chewwy are out.”

  Holding tight to his hand, I pull him along, shepherding some stragglers who have paused in the knot garden to admire the lavender. All the while, I’m frantically checking the house for any sign of smoke. I can’t bear the idea of my home being damaged.

  We round the corner and Niall comes rushing up. “Where are the dogs?” I ask anxiously but before he can speak a huge shape bangs into Oz, nearly knocking him over.

  “Chewwy,” he exclaims, bending so the dog can give him wet kisses.

  I put out my hand to Boris, who is dancing around me. “What’s happening?” I demand.

  Niall puts his hand up. “It’s all fine,” he says quickly.

  “Where’s the fire?” I say wildly.

  He grabs my shoulders. “There is no fire. An old lady lit a cigarette in the toilet, and it set off the alarm.”

  Relief makes me sag slightly, and Oz slides his arm around my back. Then he stiffens.

  “Wait. Did you ring the fire brigade and tell them that it’s okay?”

  Niall looks bewildered. “No. Why?”

  Oz shakes his head. “Shit. You weren’t at the staff meeting when they rang and announced that the emergency link was up. If a fire alarm goes off, the fire engine and an ambulance will be here in—” An ambulance and a fire engine screech into the forecourt. Oz grimaces. “Five minutes,” he finishes lamely. “Shit!”

  Niall nods. “Okay, I’ll go and tell them they’re not needed, if you can get the people organised.”