Page 17

Chapter 1

The best thing Fergus Taylor could say about late October in Glasgow was that it gave him no danger of sunburn. Particularly since his morning run now took place before dawn.

Though he wasn’t a fan of the steady rain, he welcomed the autumn chill. It gave his limbs the energy to last ninety minutes on the football pitch, or thirty minutes running through the city, with the rumbling River Kelvin keeping pace beside him.

Running on his other side, not quite keeping pace, was his best mate, Liam Carroll.

“Slow down now?” Liam said, puffing out one word with each heaving breath.

“Not my call.” Fergus savored the burn of his legs and lungs, the rapid slap of his shoes against the wet tarmac, and the orange blur of the Kelvin Walkway streetlights whizzing by, glowing against the falling rain.

Ten seconds later, the running app beeped in his ear, and a female computer voice chirped, “Final sprint is complete. Begin cool down now.” Fergus eased his pace to a light jog.

“YAS!” Liam swept past, raising his arms in mock victory. Then he returned to run circles around Fergus—literally. “Done already, mate? I’m just getting started.” He bounced on his toes a few times, then let his shoulders sag as he came to a complete stop. “God, I’m so fucking knackered.”

Fergus slowed to a brisk walk and took out his earphones, feeling a tug of sympathy. Liam had never been a morning person. But ever since Fergus’s boyfriend, John, had moved in, and ever since Liam had picked up more shifts at the pub, they rarely saw each other one-on-one. Liam had Wednesday nights off, so this Thursday dawn run together had become their new tradition.

“I’m tired too.” Fergus frowned at the sky, which was only now lightening in the east—sunrise wasn’t until after eight o’clock these days. “At least you can go home and sleep the rest of the morning.”

“Aw, ya poor lad, stuck in your dead-end job as a junior partner at Glasgow’s top architectural firm.”

“Fair point.” Fergus had precisely zero complaints about his life at the moment.

“Also, I know I’m not the only one back in bed after this run. Thursday’s John’s early day, aye?

“It is,” Fergus said with a grin. His boyfriend had a nine o’clock lecture at University of Glasgow, which meant he would just be waking when Fergus returned home for a shower. And since their flatmate, Abebi, didn’t get back from her night shift at the hospital until nine, the morning held very promising possibilities.

“Same start every Thursday,” Liam said. “Run, shower, fuck John. Don’t you ever get bored?”

“It’s not the exact same. Sometimes we shower after. And sometimes there’s only time for oral.”

“Ah, well, in that case…”

Fergus smiled again as they passed under the subway station bridge, whose curved green iron struts reminded him of a dragon’s rib cage. Life with John was anything but boring. They had different schedules, different lifestyles, different…well, standards of housekeeping. But they made it work.

On the other side of the bridge, Fergus and Liam climbed the stairs to Great Western Road, where morning traffic was already near a standstill. As they reached the top, Fergus felt a tug on his hood.

“It’s stopped raining for two minutes,” Liam said. “Gonnae let’s enjoy it.”

Fergus pushed back his hood, prompting a coo from a trio of passing university-age girls. “Look, Mara,” said the tall one. “There’s your ginger sandwich.” The other two laughed, one of them hiding her face behind her bag.

“Sorry, doll, we’re taken.” Liam slung an arm around Fergus’s shoulders, ruffling his hair. “With each other.” He pressed his own fair-skinned, freckled face against Fergus’s, then gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek.

The lasses laughed again, one of them uttering, “Tragic,” on their way into the coffee shop.

The Number 6 Bus approached with a wheeze of its engine. “There’s my chariot.” Liam patted Fergus on the arse. “See you Saturday.”

“Thanks for the protection!” Fergus called after him. He wasn’t joking—it was dangerous for a solitary person (even a man) to run through Glasgow (even the West End) when it was dark out.

Ten minutes later, Fergus opened his flat’s front door and paused just inside to listen. Sure enough, the shower was running.

On his way to the kitchen for a quick drink, Fergus was dismayed to see John’s laptop, notebooks, and coffee mug on the floor at the far end of the L-shaped sofa, where he’d apparently sat tucked up against the wall in his latest attempt to find refuge.

He sighed, knowing John was still struggling to study comfortably in this flat. When he’d lived at home with his father, John had had his own room, with a door to shut out distractions. Though Fergus did his best to give John the peace and privacy he needed to focus, there was only so much he could do without disappearing entirely.

After checking they were in fact alone in the flat, Fergus knocked on the bathroom door.

“Who is it?” sang John’s deep, sonorous voice, slightly garbled by water.

Fergus slid inside the bathroom, blinking at the onrush of steam. “Good morning.”

John pushed open the shower stall door. “It will be.”

At the sight of John’s wet, naked form, Fergus could barely wait to yank off his clothes, nearly stepping into the shower fully dressed.

The scalding water made Fergus gasp. “Ah! Hot! Hot!”

“Sorry.” John adjusted the tap. “Better?”

“Aye.” Fergus checked to see his skin was still on his body. “How do you stand it like that?”

“It’s cold this morning.” John slid his hands around Fergus’s waist, then grasped his arse to bring their bodies tight together. “Or it was , rather.”

John’s skin was slick and smooth under Fergus’s hands, his arm and chest muscles bulging as he tightened his grip. Fergus felt his own cock turn solid as an iron girder.

John broke away for a moment and handed Fergus the bottle of shampoo. “Wash your hair while I get you sorted.” Then he slicked his hands with soap and took Fergus’s cock between his palms.

Groaning, Fergus tried to squeeze out a reasonable amount of shampoo, but the pressure down below caused him to spurt a large dollop of the milky-white substance.

John smirked at the sight. “Ooh, that looks filthy.”

Laughing, Fergus stooped to fit his six-foot-four frame beneath the showerhead. The tiny stall made it awkward, especially combined with John’s five-foot-eight height.

John stroked him slowly, keeping him hard but not catapulting him toward orgasm. Clearly he wanted more than a quick mutual wank, and Fergus was happy to oblige. He shampooed, rinsed, then reluctantly conditioned, wishing his hair wouldn’t turn into a frizzy auburn disaster without that second, time-consuming step. He needed to leave for work, but he needed something else first.

Fergus leaned over and murmured in John’s ear. “Can I fuck you this morning?”

“You’d better.” He turned away from Fergus and pressed back against him. “I wish we could do it right here.”

“Me too.” Fergus bent his knees to slide his aching cock in the valley between John’s arse cheeks. John flexed his glutes to clutch at him, and Fergus could wait no longer. He turned off the water and pushed open the glass door. They grabbed towels on the way out, hurrying toward the bedroom.

Their bedroom. Even after three months of cohabitation, Fergus was still elated to wake up beside John every morning and fall asleep beside him every night. Not to mention all the moments in between—watching telly, cooking dinner, or just having a whinge-fest about work or uni over a cup of tea.

And of course there was the sex.

They made their way toward the bed, stepping over John’s scattered clothes, shoes, and university books.

“Sorry about the mess.” John sat on the bed and ran the towel over his hair. “I was looking for my wallet.”

“Did you find it?”

“Aye, at the bottom of the wardrobe.” John gestured over his shoulder to the oaken container where the two of them crammed all their clothes. “I’d left it in my jeans pocket and when I hung them, it fell out.” He grinned at Fergus. “That’s what I get for putting my things away like a civilized person for a change.”

Fergus returned the smile as he finishing drying off. This bedroom had seemed so spacious back when he’d slept in it alone. Now, with John’s clutter occupying every horizontal surface, the room often felt cramped. But one look at John in their bed reminded Fergus that cramped really meant cozy , because spacious had really meant lonely .

With a single swipe of fingers, John’s hair settled perfectly against his scalp and forehead. Fergus loved the feel of those silky, espresso-colored strands against his hands, stomach, and thighs. Watching him dry it was one of those everyday actions that doubled as a massive turn-on.

John tossed the towel aside, then turned to kneel on the bed, gripping the wooden headboard with both hands. He gave Fergus the look over his shoulder, a look that needed no words.

Wasting not a moment, Fergus knelt on the bed behind John. “Mind the headboard.”

“Oops.” John stretched up to plant his hands on the wall. “Don’t want to break it in half this time.”

Fergus chuckled, remembering how they’d put a hairline fracture in the restored-driftwood headboard two nights ago when they were in a similar position with roles reversed.

He reached around to grasp John’s cock, provoking an Och of longing. Fergus kissed his way down, stroking all the while, and by the time he made it to John’s arse, his boyfriend was trembling with need.

Though they’d not much time for teasing, Fergus did it anyway, swirling his tongue around the outside of John’s smooth, clean hole, feeling John’s cock jerk with each swipe.

“Fergus…” he whimpered. “If you don’t fuck me this instant, I’m gonnae die.”

“Always so dramatic, you.” Fergus reached over to retrieve the lube and the box of condoms from the bedside-table drawer. Though John was still usually the top, he always seemed eager to have Fergus inside him.

“You love my drama,” John said.

“I do. I love—” Fergus looked inside the condom box, then sighed. “Really, John? Again?”

“What?”

Fergus shook the box upside down to demonstrate its emptiness.

John’s face crumpled. “Fuck! I knew I was forgetting something at the Tesco yesterday.” He turned and sat on the bed. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right.” Fergus got up and went to the wardrobe, hiding his frustration at John’s forgetfulness. “You’ve got a lot on your mind with your studies.” Having finished a master’s degree less than a year ago, Fergus recalled how most days he’d have lost his own head were it not attached to his neck.

“It’s not all right,” John said. “I’ll buy more tonight, I promise.”

“Okay, but for now…” Fergus reached to the back of the upper shelf, searching for the emergency spare condom he’d hoarded after the last time John had forgotten to buy a new box.

“It’s not there,” John said.

“What do you mean it’s—” Fergus peered into the wooden compartment. “Where’d it go?”

“I found it last week, then just before bedtime the other night I remembered we’d no condoms, so I took the backup, which we then used.” He gave Fergus a hopeful smile. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a backup for the backup?”

“John!” Fergus clutched his own hair in frustration. “If you’d told me, I would’ve bought them.”

“I’m sorry. Truly.” He tilted his head at the pillow. “Let me make it up to you?”

Fergus sighed and glanced at the clock. There was still time to salvage their morning.

He lay on the bed beside John, who wasted no time kissing his way down Fergus’s chest and abs until he arrived at his cock. With one hand, John gave a long, slow upward stroke, sliding Fergus’s foreskin up so he could work his tongue inside it. There he made tiny, rapid flicks over Fergus’s head, sending a thousand shivers of pleasure racing through him.

Fergus gasped, fingernails scraping the sheets. He wanted to thrust upward, deep into John’s throat, but more than that, he wanted to savor this delirious teasing.

John shifted a little, switching hands so his other one could reach down and cup Fergus’s balls. His warm palm and softly stroking thumb made Fergus squirm, his toes spreading, then curling.

Then John slid Fergus’s sheath down, revealing his swollen, straining head. Gazing at Fergus with utter adoration, he began to feast.

Fergus fixed his gaze on those full lips, how they curved around his cock with such hunger, like they’d been made to consume him. And that tongue, working its way up and down his shaft, then circling his head, delivering so much wetness.

When their eyes met again, John smiled. “I love your cock.”

A wave of heat rolled up Fergus’s spine. “Yeah?” he panted. “Tell me.”

“I love how long it is.” John kept stroking him as he talked, interspersing his words with swipes of lips and tongue. “Even when you’re not hard, I cannae take my eyes off it.”

Fergus closed his own eyes, letting John’s voice wash over him.

“I love how slim it is,” John said. “It fits inside me, and even though it sends me to the moon and back, I can still walk the next day.”

Fergus smiled at the thought of John’s thick girth, which sometimes left him a wee bit wobbly.

“But the thing I love most,” John said, “is that it’s all mine.”

“Yes,” Fergus whispered. “All yours.”

“It belongs in my hands.” John wrapped both palms around Fergus’s shaft. “It belongs in my mouth.” He folded his lips around Fergus’s head for a moment, tonguing just beneath the ridge. “It belongs inside me.” He tightened his grip and pumped faster. “I want to feel it everywhere.”

“Yes…” With quaking thighs, Fergus thrust upward into John’s grasp, every nerve catching fire in an unstoppable chain reaction.

“All of it.”

“Yes.” Fergus’s breath came in short gasps. God, he was getting so close, so fast…

“Right now.”

“Yes!” Fergus thrust again, then stopped when he realized what John had just said. Wait, what?

John stopped too, staring at Fergus. “Really?” He glanced at the empty box of condoms on the bed beside them, then nodded and reached for the lube. “Aye, why not?”

A surge of panic shot through Fergus, swamping his desire. He blocked John’s hand. “What are you doing?”

* * *

John caught his breath at Fergus’s foreboding tone. He hadn’t really been asking to go bareback—it was more of a heat-of-the-moment utterance. But he’d been meaning to ask for it since the end of their previous box of condoms. “Don’t you think it’s time?”

“I don’t—I don’t know.” Fergus curled his legs up, his knees forming a barrier between himself and John. “Is this why you didn’t buy condoms? Because you wanted to stop using them?”

“Of course not.” The accusation stung—perhaps because it wasn’t completely absurd. “You think I’d do that?”

“Not on purpose,” Fergus said, but turned his face away as if he had his doubts.

John fidgeted with the edge of the fleece football blanket, the one their flatmate had made for them, stitching together the blankets John and Fergus had each owned for over a decade, dedicated to their archrival football clubs. Every time he touched the blanket, John thought of all he and Fergus had overcome to be together. Nothing would ever come between them again. Not family, not ex-lovers—not even football.

Now he wanted the last barrier between them gone for good.

John shifted up to lie beside Fergus. “Can we talk about it, though?” He hated to leave his boyfriend unsatisfied, but finishing him off now might seem manipulative. So instead he put a tentative arm over Fergus’s chest. “Please?”

Fergus turned over with a sigh and rested a hand on John’s hip. “Go on, then. Talk.”

John took a deep breath. “We’ve been together five months, living together for three. We’re as committed as we can be.” For now, at least—Scottish same-sex marriages wouldn’t start for nine weeks, on New Year’s Eve.

“That doesn’t mean it’s safe.” Fergus drifted his thumb over John’s waist. “Loads of committed people give each other HIV. I read somewhere that it’s the most common source of new infections these days—allegedly monogamous couples where one person’s cheating.”

John felt like he’d been stabbed in the heart. “You think I’ll cheat on you?”

“No.”

“You think you’ll cheat on me?”

“No!” Fergus repeated—but with much more conviction, which told John all he needed to know.

This was about Evan. Fergus’s ex-boyfriend had ditched him last spring after a four-year relationship, leaving the country with another man he’d been seeing for months. Evan had returned in July, repentant, and was once again playing for their all-LGBT football club, the Woodstoun Warriors.

Despite the team’s reconciliation, the name “Evan Hollister” was still never mentioned in a non-football context. Not between Fergus and John. Not even amongst their friends.

Which meant John dared not bring up Evan now, when Fergus was already edgy.

“I’m sorry,” Fergus whispered, then gave John a soft kiss. “I must seem a complete loon.”

“It’s all right. Really.” John let his hand drift forward over Fergus’s abs, wanting to demonstrate, in the most concrete way possible, how much he loved and accepted his neurotic boyfriend.

Fergus jerked and coughed out a laugh. “That tickles.” He took John’s hand off his waist, then kissed it. “I need to head to work.”

John lay his head on Fergus’s pillow and watched him dress. He considered dropping the condom matter, but knew if they ended the conversation on a negative note, it would be twice as hard to raise the topic again later. He felt bad enough for ruining their Thursday morning come-fest by introducing the sensitive subject.

Instead of changing said subject, he shifted it in a more positive direction. “I’ve never not used condoms. Is it very different without them?”

Fergus gave a crooked smile, to John’s relief. “I’ll not lie, it’s quite a bit better, especially for whoever’s the top.” Fergus drew a cream-colored dress shirt from the wardrobe and slipped his arms into the sleeves. “But even bottoming it’s different. It makes you feel…closer.”

Fergus’s eyes clouded over as he buttoned his shirt, no doubt at the illusion of feeling close to someone who’d been cheating on him for months—and apparently putting his life and health at risk as well.

John tamped down his anger at Evan and gave the topic another micro-adjustment. “I bet stamina can be a bit of an issue at first, aye?”

“Hah, definitely,” Fergus said. “The first few times, it lasts about a minute and a half.”

John gasped. “Even for you, the marathon man?”

Fergus’s ears turned even redder than his hair. “Aye. It’s like being sixteen again, but without instant erection resurrection.” He stepped into a pair of briefs with perfect grace, not even needing to lean against the wardrobe for balance. “Eventually you get used to it. You learn to recalibrate.”

John slid an arm beneath his own pillow and gazed at Fergus. “So how ’bout it, then? We could go and get tested together. Then you’d not have to take my word for it I’m negative.”

“I believe you,” Fergus said, but he’d already turned away from John to choose a pair of trousers.

“This way it’d be official. Ooh, we could make a date of it!” John slapped his palm upon the mattress. “Go to our favorite restaurant afterward to celebrate, maybe order champagne. It’ll be fun.”

“Hmph.” Fergus stepped into his trousers.

“You’re right, champagne’s horrible. We’ll do bourbon. You love bourbon.”

This time Fergus said nothing, not even a grunt. John watched him fasten his trousers, then take a pair of ties from the hook on the wardrobe door. He held up each in turn as he examined himself in the mirror beside the hooks.

“The olive-green,” John said, knowing Fergus was only pretending to be preoccupied with the choice. As an architect/artist, he was far too color-aware to consider the alternative.

“Thanks.” Fergus hung the yellow tie back on its hook.

John gazed at his boyfriend’s image in the mirror as he put on the tie. Watching him dress turned John on almost as much as watching him un dress. There was something so assured, so masculine, about the way Fergus tied a necktie, his hands moving deftly around each other, twisting, tugging, fine-tuning.

Fergus gave one final adjustment, then his eyes flicked down to meet John’s in the mirror. His gaze was filled with tenderness but etched with pain.

John slid out of bed. In two steps he was at Fergus’s side, taking his hand. “I won’t cheat on you.”

Fergus’s face softened. “I know. It’s not that I don’t trust you.”

“Aye, it’s that you don’t trust men, and I’m a man.”

Fergus sighed and pulled away to retrieve his shoes, which already contained a pair of dark-brown socks, tucked there the night before. “Aren’t things fine the way they are?” he asked as he sat on the bed. “Aren’t we happy?”

“Of course.”

“Then why mess with it? Why fix what’s not broken?” He pulled on his left sock, giving the toe seam more attention than it warranted.

“You’re right.” John fought to keep his voice calm and light as he turned to the wardrobe and pulled out his own clothes. “Forget I mentioned it.” His jeans caught on the inside edge of the hanger, but he didn’t yank them free like he wanted to.

“John—”

“Seriously, it’s fine. Go or you’ll be late for work. There’s a smoothie for you in the fridge to drink on the way. I hope banana with frozen raspberries is all right?”

“It’s wonderful. Thanks for making it.” Fergus stood and gave John’s temple a lingering kiss. “I love you.”

John wanted to lift his chin to meet Fergus’s mouth, but he knew his face would reveal his fear. So he wrapped his arms around Fergus’s waist and buried his face against his collarbone. “I love you, too, ya big numpty.”

Later, during his damp, dreary walk to university, John tried to turn his thoughts toward his nine o’clock History of Political Thought lecture. But all he could think about was how Evan—that treacherous bastard—was coming between him and Fergus again.