Page 39

Chapter 1

For once in his life, Liam Carroll was fresh out of banter.

After twelve straight hours of pulling pints and playing shrink to what seemed half the population of Glasgow’s East End, he was now left with the headspace for exactly one person. Luckily, that person awaited him in his flat.

He waved goodbye to his boss and slipped out of Hannigan’s pub just as the last bus of the night pulled up to the stop with a groan of metal and a squeak of gears.

Liam gave a silent cheer as he hurried to board. No two-mile walk home for him tonight.

The bus was empty, apart from a pair of dodgy-looking neds in the rear row of seats. They eyed him from under the brims of their knockoff Burberry caps, then glanced out the window at Hannigan’s, which was clearly marked as a haven for fans of Celtic Football Club.

Just in case they were rival Rangers fans looking for a square go, Liam sat up front behind the driver.

“Good choice,” the driver told him. “Everyone’s on edge tonight, cos of Blue Monday.”

This was news to Liam. “Is that another fake holiday? Was I meant to buy a card for my ma?”

“Naw, mate, it’s based on science. They say the third Monday in January’s the most depressing day of the year. Weather’s shite, nights are long, and people are pure skint after spending too much on Christmas presents. Plus, everyone’s chucked their New Year’s resolutions.” The driver patted his stomach. “I’ve not been to the gym in a week.”

Liam gave a grunt of sympathy, then sank down in his seat to see the driver’s mirror so he could keep an eye on the hooligans behind him.

To his relief, they got off at the next stop, and less than ten minutes later, he was at his own flat.

When Liam opened the front door into his wee kitchen, holding his keys together to stop them jingling, he saw a dim light coming from the bedroom. He set his keys softly on the table and took off his coat.

The place was freezing. Liam turned on the heating, then tiptoed into the bedroom, where he found his boyfriend, Robert, asleep under the covers, leaning back against the wall with an open laptop on his thighs. His fingerless-gloved hands had dropped to his sides, palms up as if in supplication. A blue knit wooly cap pressed his nut-brown waves of hair upon his forehead, and his strong, square jaw bore what looked like a week’s worth of dark stubble, stark against his winter-fair skin.

Even sprawled there open-mouthed and snoring, Robert was the most gorgeous human being Liam had ever seen. And even after a fifteen-year friendship and a thirteen-month “romantic partnership,” Liam sometimes still couldn’t believe this man was real.

He picked up Robert’s laptop. The motion interrupted the Celtic F.C. floating-shamrock screensaver to reveal a screen full of code that Liam couldn’t begin to decipher. He gently set the computer on the floor. Then he stripped naked, doing a jittery shuffle to keep warm and suppressing a loud -aaaaaeeeeeeeee!- as the chilly air met his bare skin.

Finally he slid beneath the covers, which currently consisted of the usual pale-green duvet plus every tartan blanket from the couch. The heat from Robert’s body made him shiver, and it seemed he could feel his goose bumps smooth themselves out one by one.

Can we PLEASE go straight to sleep? asked Liam’s aching muscles. Celtic are playing tomorrow night, which means the pub will be jammed.

Ignoring the pleas of every body part but one, Liam wrapped himself round the sleeping form of his favorite person. Though it was technically Tuesday now, he wanted to banish Blue Monday back to the icy inferno whence it came.

Robert stirred, putting his hand under the cover to grasp Liam’s forearm. “What time is it?” he murmured without opening his eyes.

Liam nuzzled his neck. “It’s sex o’clock.”

“Thank God. I don’t need to get up until seven.” Robert turned away but tucked himself against Liam’s body. After a moment he added in a more-awake voice, “Did you say ‘six’ or ‘sex’?

“Oh no! Now it’s quarter past sex.” He threw a leg over Robert’s hip. “We’re late.”

Robert chuckled. “Aren’t you tired from work?”

“Exhausted. So I’ll just lie here while you pound me senseless. Good?” He took Robert’s hand and pulled it back to his own bare arse. “Good?”

Robert squeezed him hard, then rolled over. “Aye, good.”

They kissed, grasping, fumbling, barely breathing. Liam tugged off Robert’s cap. “Why are you so dressed?”

“It’s cold.”

“You could’ve turned on the heating, ya numpty.”

“I know.” Robert sat up to remove his tops. “I was trying to save you money.” His voice was muffled inside the long-sleeved T-shirt and heavy maroon University of Glasgow hoodie he was yanking over his head.

“It’d be worth a few quid to find you naked in my bed. Of course, then I wouldn’t get to watch you strip for me.”

Robert’s mouth curved into a lazy grin as he stood up and reached for the waistband of his dusky-gray tracksuit pants.

But when he went to step out of them, he staggered a bit.

Liam steadied him. “Whoa, all right?”

“Aye, I’m just shattered from work.”

“How? You’ve been sitting at a computer all day.”

“ Mentally shattered.”

“Well, luckily I don’t need your brain just now.” Liam tugged down Robert’s trousers and boxers so he could step out of them.

Robert opened the drawer of Liam’s bedside table, pulled out the lube, then hesitated. “I wonder if I should use a condom.” He scratched the side of his neck. “It’s been a few days since I came, and I want to last more than five minutes.”

They’d stopped using condoms quite a while ago, having been thoroughly tested and completely exclusive for over a year now. But sometimes stamina was an issue, and neither of them were big fans of cock rings, so they kept a box of condoms on hand for extra-excitable times.

“If you come first,” Liam said, “you can just suck me off.”

“I know, but I like when you?—”

“Rab, it’s nearly one o’clock.” Liam flopped over onto his pillow. “Just make it hard and fast.”

Robert looked at him. “How hard?” he asked in a low voice that curled Liam’s toes.

“Well…has it been a frustrating day of work?”

“Very.”

“Then take it out on me.”

The drawer slammed shut, and Robert was upon him before Liam could pull in another breath. They crashed together in a writhing rut of limbs and hips and clinging heels.

Robert grabbed Liam’s wrists and pressed them into the pillow beside his head. “You smell like pub.”

“I know.”

“I love pubs.”

“I know.” Liam linked his ankles behind Robert’s thighs. “And you love me.”

“I do.” Robert went still. “I should say it more.”

“You say it all the time.”

“I should say it every time I think it.”

“Nah, that’d be tedious.”

Robert’s midnight-blue eyes flashed wide, then he laughed. “Oh, mate, you’re gonnae get it.”

“Counting on it.” Liam freed one of his hands and pushed against Robert’s shoulder. Robert caught it and pressed it down again, twice as hard as before.

Liam gave a deep, throaty laugh. He loved their pseudo-wrestling matches, and especially loved losing.

After another long, plundering kiss, Robert scooped him up, one hand beneath his back and the other behind his knees.

“Och, what are you doing?” Not that Liam was complaining—he quite fancied having someone who could manhandle him. He was a big guy, but Robert matched him in size and exceeded him in strength.

“Putting us sideways on the bed,” Robert said, “so your head won’t hit the wall.”

Ooh . Liam wriggled in anticipation. He was about to get rammed within an inch of his life.

First Robert bent over and took Liam’s cock in his mouth, none too gently but still masterfully. Liam held his face as he sucked, caressing his soft stubble. He still marveled that this was really happening: Robert McKenzie, Liam’s own sweet Rabbie, was no longer just his lifelong best mate but also his lover—his attentive, passionate, brilliantly improvisational lover, who had the sort of skills no one who’d spent scarcely a year sleeping with men should possess.

Then again, Robert had a good teacher.

Liam closed his eyes when he felt a slick, probing finger at the edge of his hole. He bore down, greedy for everything.

Though Liam no longer feared losing him as a friend—if Robert was going to outgrow him, he’d have done it while at university—a lifetime of popping in and out of poverty had taught Liam that nothing was permanent.

But this soul-deep understanding just made each moment with Robert more precious. Liam savored every kiss and caress like a fine glass of whisky, the sort he could never afford on his own but would sample at work so he could recommend it to customers.

Robert got into position, knees spread, urging Liam’s hips to tilt up. “Put your feet here.” He placed one on his broad, smooth chest, and Liam followed suit with the other, admiring how his arches fit over the curves of Robert’s pecs.

Then Robert tucked his hands inside Liam’s thighs and spread them wider. Now Liam’s body was locked into his, utterly under his control.

“Nice,” Liam said.

“Saw it in a porno clip. Bookmarked it to show you, but in person is better.”

“Oh aye, it’s—ohhhh.” Liam’s words twisted into a moan as Robert entered him, slowly but confidently. “Fuck, I fucking love you so fucking much.” He punched the mattress beside him to emphasize his point.

“Do you?” Robert rocked his hips, insinuating his thickness another inch, then another.

“Yeahhhurghohmyguh…” And then Liam was out of words as Robert leaned forward, bearing down on him, forcing Liam’s knees to his shoulders and spreading his arse wider.

“Okay?” Robert asked, already panting. At Liam’s shaky nod, he began, first with short, shallow strokes to gain his rhythm and open Liam down below.

“Yeah…more…now,” Liam managed to say, but Robert had already sensed it. His thrusts went deeper, and faster still.

Electric pleasure hummed beneath Liam’s skin. He threw back his head, relishing the feeling of fullness within him, the warmth of Robert’s chest against the soles of his feet, and the bruising grip of Robert’s fingers on his inner thighs. He could already feel the edge of the bed beneath his skull as their bodies shifted over the sheets.

Robert leaned back, looping Liam’s legs over his elbows. Then he lifted Liam’s hips and held him in place at the perfect angle.

Liam couldn’t stifle his cries as Robert began to fuck him hard and fast, just the way he needed it. His feet flailed and his body buckled, shuddering with the orgasm approaching at full speed. His hands found Robert’s thighs and held on tight.

Through it all, Liam’s bed remained steady, and he was more grateful than ever that Robert had bought him a new one for Christmas. The old bed, which had squeaked and squealed like a train pulling into a station, had broken during a particularly wild November night.

Robert increased his pace, at jackhammer speed now. It was almost too intense, this journey too head-swimmingly fast. But Liam kept begging without words for this to never stop, never stop until?—

A long, rising wail burst from him as he came. Robert groaned and pushed deeper, his body jerking with each throb of his cock.

Liam fell limp, his neck now bending back over the edge of the mattress. Robert had been right: If they’d been at the head of the bed, there would’ve been serious risk of concussion.

Robert slumped over and pressed his forehead to Liam’s chin. “God, how do you always know what I need?”

Liam fought for enough breath to speak. “I live to serve. It’s why I’m such a good barman.”

Robert’s chest rumbled with a low laugh. “And why you’ll be an even better massage therapist,” he said as he rolled off and sat up.

Liam made a pouty noise. The last thing he wanted to think about now was further education. Robert had already reminded him twice this month that applications for massage college opened the first of February, now less than two weeks away. He’d been putting it off for nearly a year, claiming indecision over which of three Glasgow colleges to attend.

But Liam knew Robert saw through him. They both knew Liam’s reluctance to change his life went a lot deeper than convenience of location or schedule.

He got up and went to the loo, aware that if he lay down on his pillow for even a second, he’d fall fast asleep and wake up far stickier than he preferred.

Upon returning to the bedroom, he found Robert sitting up with his laptop, once again fully dressed—minus the gloves and knit cap. “Are you rating our bonk on Sex Yelp?”

“Aye, five stars,” Robert said without looking up. “Action-packed, a howling good time, literally.”

Liam had long ago stopped protesting he didn’t howl during sex, after witnessing video evidence to the contrary. “Seriously, what are you typing this time of night?” he asked, trying to keep the bite out of his tone.

“Had a wee breakthrough just now. Want to record my thoughts before they go away.”

“Did you get inspired whilst fucking me?”

“After. But I’m sure it helped clear my head.”

“Ooh, my arse is your muse.”

“It is amusing,” Robert said.

“Nice one. I’ll allow it.” Liam opened his wardrobe and withdrew his sleepwear, which was chilly to the touch, having sat in the cold flat for hours. He shivered anew as he put on the long-sleeved T-shirt, flannel trousers, and wool socks.

The bed was warm, though. Liam snuggled close under the mass of blankets, slinging an arm over Robert’s waist—without interfering with the computer, of course, because heaven forfend.

“I could do this in the living room,” Robert offered.

Liam growled. “Gonnae no move from this bed.”

“Won’t the screen light keep you awake?”

“Nothing will keep me awake. Lie down more.”

Still typing, Robert slid down, his knees rising to support the laptop.

Liam closed his eyes. “Talking of massage, shall I put you in my diary for shoulder rehab next Wednesday?”

“Why? Are you planning to injure me at Tuesday night’s football practice?”

“Tuesday is when the new Assassin’s Creed comes out. You’ll have your usual twenty-four-hour gaming binge and need a thorough rubdown to release all the angry trigger points.”

“Mm, okay.” Robert stopped typing. “Wait—there’s a new Assassin’s Creed ? How did I miss that?”

“Dunno.” Without opening his eyes, Liam reached out and closed the laptop. “Maybe you’ve had your head up your arse for weeks?”

“Aye, cos of work.” Robert tried to lift the screen. “Whatever. I’ve nae time to play games just now anyway.”

“Okay, this is serious.” Liam sat up. “It’s one thing to ignore me because of your workaholism, but to miss a new video-game release?” He snatched the laptop and tucked it under his arm. “Who are you and what have you done with Robert McKenzie?”

* * *

Robert stared at his partner, a sudden twist of horror in his gut. “I’ve been ignoring you?”

“Kinda.” Liam rubbed the back of his head, where his short red hair was still a bit sex-mussed. “As much as I’ll let you.”

“God, I’m so sorry.” What an eejit he’d been. “How can I make it up to you?”

Liam looked surprised. Perhaps he’d been expecting an argument. “For starters, right now I need cuddled.”

Robert smiled. His partner was a snuggling fanatic, a fact no one would have guessed from his six-foot-two height and three-foot-thick wall of cynicism. “I can manage that.” He reached for his laptop. “Let me just?—”

“No, that’s you done work for the night.”

“I need to plug it in so the battery doesn’t go flat.”

With a suspicious glare, Liam handed over the computer.

Robert turned away to connect the adapter. “Also, I need to write down?—”

“Och, I knew it!” Liam slapped him with a pillow.

“—one more thing.” Robert added two short lines of code, plus a quick comment so he’d remember his place in the morning. Nearly every word was misspelled, due to the pillow pummeling his back. “Okay, okay.” He set the laptop in his computer bag, which he zipped shut to keep out drafts.

Finally he switched off the lamp, then scooted under the covers. “Sorry about all that.” He found Liam’s face in the dark and kissed his nose. “I got horribly behind schedule during the holidays and now I’m trying to catch up.”

“But you were like this before the holidays.”

“Like what?”

“Like…off kilter. You’ve always been a hard worker, but back at university you had this amazing ability to balance your courses and football and me.” Liam ran his finger over the zip on Robert’s hoodie, sending a soothing warmth over his breastbone. “But now, there’s nae ceiling to how much you work. If it wasn’t for me, I don’t think you’d sleep or eat. When was the last time—apart from Christmas—you had a whole day off?”

“Dunno.” The mere thought of such a long break gave Robert’s stomach an anxious twinge. He actually had worked a wee bit on Christmas, pretending to relax with a football magazine, which had concealed a recent research paper on rewards and motivation in video gaming. “It’s only because we’ve just launched the app’s alpha version and there’s a million improvements to get it ready for beta testing. Things’ll be better after this deadline.”

“Aye, and unless your funding evaporates, there’ll be another deadline after that, and another after that. You cannae live your whole life this way.” Liam tapped a fingertip against Robert’s chin. “You’ve got to pace yourself, mate, or you’ll burn out.“

“But my work?—”

“Is important. I know. That’s why I’ve not said anything till now. I totally support your crusade to make Glasgow be less shite.”

“Thanks.” Be Less Shite was Liam’s nickname for Robert’s current project, a life-simulation mobile game where players could create and control their very own Glaswegians, leading them through life in this challenging city. He’d built it with input from university researchers and money he’d obtained through crowdfunding and a grant from the city itself, but the labor so far was largely his own.

Robert and his colleagues hoped this game would help diagnose and maybe even solve the “Glasgow Effect,” a mysterious phenomenon in which people of this city tended to die twenty years younger than their counterparts in the rest of the UK—including areas with more severe poverty and higher rates of heart disease. Something about Glasgow was sending its citizens to an early grave.

It was especially bad in his and Liam’s home district of Shettleston. Here in this section of the East End, men died on average at age fifty-five. Since graduating from uni last summer, Robert had made it his life’s work to reverse that trend—and hopefully show people a good time while he was at it.

“In five years we’ll be twenty-seven,” Robert said. “I don’t want that to be middle age.”

“Naw, we’re all right. We’re pure healthy footballers.”

“My dad was a footballer at my age. My mum ran marathons.” His chest tightened like someone had turned a bolt in its center. “Sport didn’t stop them drinking and smoking themselves to death once their youth was over.”

“I know.” Liam brushed his toes over Robert’s foot in a comforting caress. “Like I said, your work’s important, but…” He tensed as his voice trailed off.

“But what?” Robert felt a rising unease. It wasn’t like Liam to hold back. Usually he uttered every thought that came into his head, as well as thoughts that seemed to have skipped his head entirely.

“Well…work can kill people too, right? I mean, what was the point of us quitting smoking if you end up dying of a heart attack from something way less fun?”

Dying? “You think I’m that bad?”

“I think you’ve got a serious case of the Protestant work ethic—which makes you a crap Catholic.”

“We’re already crap Catholics.” Robert slid a hand up under Liam’s shirt. “Proved that a few minutes ago.”

“If you think changing the subject back to sex will stop me telling you off, you’re absolutely right. But you need telling. Not just for your sake and mine, but for the team’s. It’s only a matter of time before you let football slide too.”

Robert felt a knot form in his stomach. The last thing he wanted was to let down Liam—not to mention the Warriors, their all-LGBTQ amateur football club. “What do you suggest?”

“Hmm…” Liam turned onto his back, and in the dim light leaking through the blinds, Robert could see his eyes scan the ceiling as he thought. “There’s nae point telling you to simply work fewer hours. You’ll be bored ball-less unless you replace a bit of work with something else challenging and important. Something new.”

“Like what?”

“That’s for you to figure out, mate.” He stretched to kiss Robert’s cheek. “But not in the middle of the night. Sleep now, aye?”

“Aye.” They rolled over onto their right sides (as always) in perfect sync (as always). Robert slid his arm round his partner’s waist and held him tight, burying his nose in the back of his neck and inhaling the deliciously familiar combination of ale and sweat and ineffable Liam-ness.

Thirty minutes later, Robert was still awake, opening a browser on his phone.

The Workaholics Anonymous website contained a list of unhelpful questions:

Do you take work with you to bed?

Of course. Liam’s living room was freezing.

Do you avoid intimacy with others and/or yourself?

Robert smirked at the memory of what he and Liam had just done. That was a definite no.

Do you fear success, failure, criticism, burnout, financial insecurity, or not having enough time?

So it was basically asking, “Are you a human or a robot?”

Do you feel like a slave to your email, texts, or other technology?

Seriously? Had this group even met people of the twenty-first century?

Robert switched off his phone with a sigh. Based on these questions, nearly everyone he knew was a workaholic.

Not Liam, though. For him, work was a means to an end. He was good at his job—the customers at Hannigan’s loved him, and he rarely got rattled when the pub was crammed out during a Celtic match—but he never worked a minute longer than necessary, though he desperately needed the money. As for Liam’s potential career as a massage therapist, Robert often wondered which of them was more excited about the idea: Liam or himself.

For Robert, as an entrepreneur, work was life. He was his work. If he couldn’t make the Glasgow Effect app a success and he had to take a job with some random company, he’d…well, he probably wouldn’t be bringing his laptop to bed. But he also wouldn’t be happy.

It mattered that his work served a higher purpose. Being devoted to it couldn’t be a bad thing, right?

Still, he could do better, he admitted as he returned his phone to the bedside table, then nestled against his softly snoring boyfriend. Work could so easily take over his life, crowding out his two great loves: Liam and football. They would slip from his grasp unnoticed, and before he knew it, they’d be gone.