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Chapter 8

An excellent question, Liam thought. But he had a ready answer.

“Maybe I’m waiting for you to fuck me like one.” Hmm, that seemed ambiguous. He’d have to show Robert what he meant.

Liam eased back until only his slick tip was inside. “Go on, then.”

Robert propped himself up on his elbows, arched his spine, and began to move. Liam held still, barely, while his boyfriend thrust his arse in a beautiful ripple of muscle and skin and purple silk. Looking down, the sight of Robert consuming his cock again and again nearly brought Liam to his knees.

“You’re amazing,” Liam gasped out, though it was an understatement.

“It’s only the knickers,” Robert replied with a smirk in his voice.

“They don’t hurt.” He shook his head. “Actually, they are chafing me a bit. Hold still.” Liam seized the material in both hands and pulled outward. There was a satisfying rip as the slit lengthened all the way to the waistband. Liam was impressed the lace and elastic held fast—the garment was surprisingly well-manufactured considering its price.

“That was a very hot sound,” Robert said.

“Wasn’t it just? Wish I could do it again, but it’s fully torn. Unless you’d like me to do the front, too. It’d free you up.”

“Nah, I kinda like the idea of coming inside it.”

“I like it too.” Liam reached around until he felt Robert’s thick shaft beneath the silk. Robert gave a soft whimper, then thrust against his hand, nearly separating them down below.

“Don’t move.” Liam pressed Robert’s shoulders down until his chest met the desk. “Let me take you.”

“Do it.” Robert spread his arms to the side, once again embracing the piece of furniture. “Take what you need.”

“What I need is to make you come.” He gripped Robert’s cock through the knickers and began to thrust again, this time with the sort of quick, shallow strokes he knew could send his partner over the top in no time.

“Yessssss.” Robert’s neck arched as he pressed his forehead to the desk. “Don’t stop.”

“You’re gonnae come in my hand.”

“Aye.” His voice pitched up. “Liam…”

The desk beneath them shook, its joints creaking and the keys rattling on Robert’s weird ergonomic split keyboard—the one Liam couldn’t type on without looking at each letter.

Robert’s knees buckled. Liam went faster, urging him on, feeling his own balls tighten and lift. He fought to hold off his orgasm, but the feel of Robert’s cock in his hand and the sound of his rhythmic, rising cries…

“Ohhh fuuuuuck…” Robert clawed at the desk as he came inside his knickers, soaking the silky cloth against Liam’s palm.

Knowing how sensitive Robert got directly after orgasm, Liam pulled out to finish himself off with his hand. It took but a few strokes before he was showering hot come all over Robert’s hole—as well as his back, the desk, and a few other areas before he got the aim right.

Robert writhed on the wooden surface. “Put it back in.”

“Put it…?”

“Yes.”

“But won’t it?—”

“Just the tip. I want to feel it.”

Liam did as he asked, carefully sliding back inside Robert on a stream of come. “Oh my God.” His own words sounded muffled under the blood pounding in his ears.

He held himself there, letting Robert milk him of every last drop. Their legs were shaking now, but he didn’t want to budge from this place of perfection.

Liam set his trembling hands on Robert’s lower back. “Have I screamed out in pure ecstasy lately that I love you?”

“I think so.” Robert let out a heavy sigh and let his limp arms hang off the sides of the desk. “Even if you didn’t, I still heard you.”

* * *

After a much-needed shower, Robert restored his desk to its pre-sex state, setting his monitor in the precise location and angle to maximize ergonomics—and theoretically productivity. Then he took a minute to examine his and Ben’s ideas on how to incorporate a social element into Glasgow Effect . He hoped it would be enough to soothe his funders’ fears at Monday’s meeting.

“I meant to ask,” Liam said as he entered Robert’s room with a green-and-white-striped towel round his waist, “did the pink knickers fit as well?”

“Too big. I knew they’d be bunching up during the match. But I could still wear them for other purposes.” He smiled at his partner. “Or you could wear them.”

Liam just laughed, a response Robert couldn’t interpret as a yes or a no.

He shut down his computer before he could be chided for working. “Now we’re on to Part 3—my turn to challenge you.”

“Unless it involves competitive eating,” Liam said, “I’m not up for it the night.”

“Nae bother. I cannae get what I need for you until tomorrow.” At least, he hoped the sort of shop which sold it would be open on a Sunday. Though fewer and fewer Scots were religious these days, sometimes his compatriots could still be funny about such things.

They consumed their respective pizzas while watching Robert’s recording of Celtic F.C.’s victory over St. Johnstone earlier that afternoon.

“I know this is blasphemy,” Liam said after the start of the second half, “but sometimes I wish Rangers were still in the Scottish Premiership. It’s pure dull watching Celtic romp all over our opponents every week.” Then he crossed himself as though in penitence.

“Rangers’ll be back next season,” Robert said. Celtic’s crosstown rivals had been sent down to the league’s lowest division due to liquidation, but they were steadily working their way back up to the top flight. “Still won’t be as good as us.”

“They’d at least make things interesting.” Liam gestured to the wall-mounted TV. “Our boys are never challenged within Scotland, so when we play in the European competitions, we get fucking annihilated. It’s like trying to study at Oxford after a remedial secondary education.”

Sinking deep into the black pleather couch, Robert opened his third beer—which he swore would be his last despite his exhausted body’s craving for calories—and thought about the relationship between challenge and performance.

The Warriors were well-matched in their division and always finished in the top half of the table, though never high enough to be promoted to the premier division. Promotion was a perennial Warriors goal, and Robert often wondered what would happen in that event. Would the Warriors feel literally “out of their league” and fall right back down to the second division, discouraged by the new challenge? Or would they rise to the occasion and be better than ever?

Either way, the publicity and pressure of being the first LGBTQ team to compete week in, week out against the nation’s best “straight” amateur teams would utterly change their lives.

Robert’s eyelids drooped, weighed down by such heavy thoughts after the day’s exertions. He hoped Liam didn’t want to go clubbing tonight: Robert was too tired to dance but too ashamed to admit it.

“Hey.” Liam poked his leg with his toe, having apparently stretched out on his side while Robert was dozing off.

“Hey what?”

After a long hesitation—during which Robert nearly fell back to sleep—Liam asked, “What if I became a physiotherapy assistant instead of a massage therapist?”

Robert blinked himself to full alertness. This was brand new. “I think you’d be brilliant at either job.”

“Maybe a physio’s practice would be a better, you know, environment.” Liam bit his lip. “Like, busier and all.”

“I can see that.” Robert shifted to face him. “But you’re uniquely gifted at massage.”

“Och.” Liam let his head drop against the back of the couch. “I’m also uniquely gifted at football and fucking, but I cannae make a living at those things.”

“Well…”

“Do not offer to pay me for sex, cos I will totally accept it if it means keeping the heating on.”

Robert met Liam’s half joke with one of his own. “Then can I pay you for a massage? It’s been ages since you gave me one.”

“I know.” Liam looked away, a frown creasing his freckled forehead. “I stopped because every time I did it, you’d tell me I should go professional, and it was too much pressure.”

Robert felt terrible. “I’m sorry. I just wanted you to know how incredible you are.” He squeezed Liam’s foot. “If it makes you anxious, I’ll never fawn all over your massages again. I’ll simply say, ‘Ah, thanks, love’ and leave it at that.”

“I’m not anxious, I’m just…” Liam rested his elbow on the couch arm and put a fist to his mouth. “Scared.”

Robert felt a pang in his heart at the word. Liam was normally so good at feigning okay-ness. For him to admit his fear meant it had grown to the point he could no longer hide it.

Or maybe it meant he was ready to face it, with a wee bit of help. “Scared of what?” Robert asked.

“Of ruining a good thing.”

“What good thing?”

“My life.” Liam kept his eyes on the TV. “I know it could be better. But it could also be a lot worse. Moneywise, I mean.”

Robert couldn’t promise him that everything would be okay, because there was a chance it wouldn’t be. Sometimes he still couldn’t believe he lived in a flat where all the appliances worked every time—not to mention in a lovely location like St. Andrew’s Square. Ben seemed to take the relative luxury of this place for granted, but Robert doubted he’d ever get used to this middle-class existence.

“You know I’ll be with you no matter what, right?”

“That’s the thing.” Liam’s lashes lowered, their tips glinting gold in the lamplight. “I don’t want to drag you down. I don’t want to depend on you—or anyone.”

Robert understood this instinct. No one in Liam’s life had been reliable. He’d been only four when his father had taken off, and in the years since, his mother had bounced from one dickhead boyfriend to another, rarely staying in a job for long, thanks to the demands of her ever-growing family.

“We can depend on each other.” Robert tugged the hem of Liam’s black trackpants. “You think I’m not scared?”

“No, I don’t think you are.” Liam finally met his eyes. “If you were, how did you have the guts to start your own business?”

“I had plenty of fear,” Robert said. “I just didn’t let it stop me.”

Liam scoffed. “Because you’re not a coward like me.”

“You’re not a coward, you’re just canny. If I were more careful like you, maybe I’d make better business decisions. Maybe I could do with some of your so-called cowardice.” He was ready to pose the question he’d been afraid to utter for months, even now bracing himself for the answer. “If my work goes pear-shaped and I end up with nothing, you’d be there for me, right? Like, if I couldn’t pay rent here?”

“Of course.” Liam stared at him. “Rab, did you think I’d say no?”

“I know you value your independence.”

“Not enough to watch you live in the street. But that’s all the more reason for me to stay in a secure job, so I can be your safety net.”

Robert stopped himself saying, Eight pounds an hour isn’t much of a safety net . The last thing Liam needed was him running down his job at the pub, the job that had granted him the dignity of providing for himself and helping his family.

“You should see about the physiotherapy thing,” Robert said. “Maybe ask one of the physios about it after our next match. That one who treated Katie today seemed cool.”

“Tamara, aye.” Liam chewed his bottom lip. “Maybe.”

A roar came from the crowd on the television as Celtic went up 3-1. Robert shared a high-five with Liam, then rewound the last few minutes so they could watch the buildup. Their conversation turned to analyzing the defensive mistakes leading to the goal, abandoning the heavy topic of Life and How to Live It.

But that night, Robert lay awake again, replaying their discussion. Liam’s declaration of fear had laid bare Robert’s own selfishness these last few months. It wasn’t merely time he was withholding from Liam, but also security . By devoting himself to such an uncertain venture, Robert was risking a lot more than his partner’s annoyance. He was jeopardizing their very survival.

Maybe it wasn’t too late to fix things.

In the meantime, though, he had a challenge to present, something that would take their minds off all these monumental choices, at least for one night.