Page 47

Chapter 9

Hannigan’s was in its final throes of activity Sunday night when Robert entered at ten, an hour before closing. The trad band had already finished its set, and the musicians were gathered round a corner table with a few appreciative audience members.

Liam beamed at Robert from behind the taps. “I thought you’d be home having a good night’s sleep before your meeting tomorrow.”

“That’s not until noon.” Robert slid onto the corner barstool. “You done around midnight?” Hannigan’s closed at eleven, but there was usually at least an hour’s worth of tasks for Liam to see to, as he was now responsible for closing the pub on a Sunday.

“Aye, same as usual.” Liam goggled at the sight of the small brown paper bag in Robert’s hand. “Is that my challenge?”

Robert danced the bag in front of himself. “Can you take a wee break?”

“I think so.” Liam went to the other end of the bar to speak to his coworker Scarlett, who gave Robert a friendly wave. He returned promptly. “I’ve got five minutes. Come and show me my prezzie.”

Robert followed him to the quietest corner of the pub, opposite the band members. He handed Liam the bag. “Don’t pull it out.”

“I wouldnae. I assume it’s something sexy. Ooh, maybe I can guess what it is without looking.” Liam reached into the bag and fumbled about. “There’s two things. One of them’s small and squishy. A packet of lube? Or maybe ketchup?”

“Got it on the first guess. What’s the other thing?”

Liam’s gaze went distant. “It’s inside a zip bag. It’s solid. There’s a wee…handle, maybe? And…the other end’s kinda like a doorknob but pointier.” His face lit up. “A new butt plug?”

Robert was amazed his partner’s mind went there so fast. “Have a look.”

Liam turned toward the wall, blocking the view of the rest of the room and using the light from the brass sconce above them to see. Robert peered over his shoulder as he lifted the plug to the edge of the bag. The white handle bore a familiar symbol.

Liam gasped. “Rabbie, wherever did you find a Celtic Football Club anal toy?”

“It’s just a shamrock, not meant to be Celtic’s logo, as that would be a trademark infringement.”

“Can you imagine the faces of the old yins if there really were Celtic butt plugs?”

“Like if they sold them at the merch kiosks at Parkhead?” Robert could barely suppress a cackle. “So many heads would explode.”

“This is the best gift ever. Thank you.” Liam turned it over in his hand. “A wee bit smaller than I prefer, so I’m not sure what the challenge is.” He closed the bag and looked around. “Dunno where I can safely stash this. Want to hold onto it for me until later?”

Robert crossed his arms. “It’s not for later, and I know exactly where you can stash it.”

“What do you—” Liam froze, his eyes wide. “Oh.”

Robert took a mental snapshot of Liam’s rapidly reddening face.

“You want…” Liam leaned in close and whispered. “You want me to wear this now? At work?” His voice rose. “On a Sunday ?”

“That’s why it’s a wee bit smaller than you prefer—for all the moving about you need to do at your job.”

Liam drew in a quick breath, almost a squeak. “Oh my God. What if I need to change a keg? All that bending over…”

“Will be much more thrilling than normal. Obviously if you’re not comfortable with it, you can say no.” Robert tilted his head. “I mean, with it being Sunday and you being so pious.”

Liam rolled his eyes. “Shut it.” He palmed the paper sack and nodded to the men’s toilets. “Be right back.”

While he waited, Robert went to the bar and ordered a pint of Tennent’s from Scarlett. Settling onto the patchy green vinyl barstool, he could totally relate to the legions of people who’d slumped here after a demoralizing day at work.

The university researchers had emailed Robert an hour before, vetoing the idea of adding a social aspect to Glasgow Effect , claiming that any interaction between players might complicate the results. They were right—and the idea might be added to a later version—but the rejection had disheartened him. And with his funders’ meeting a little over twelve hours away, he needed new ideas fast.

Just as Robert’s lager arrived, his phone bleeped with a text message. He pulled it out, intending to shut it off so he could pay full attention to his boyfriend tonight regardless of work pressures.

The screen contained a one-word message from Liam:

help

Robert replied,

omw

then walked toward the toilets as casually as possible.

Of course, the room wasn’t empty. Another customer stood at one of the urinals, swaying drunkenly and humming the melody of “The Wild Rover.”

So Robert unzipped his jeans to attempt a pish—no easy feat, as he was sporting a semi-erection from the mere thought of what Liam was doing in that cubicle behind him.

“And it’s no, nay, neverrrrrr...” The gent next to him slapped the black tile wall four times at the end of the chorus’s first line. “No, nay, never, no mooooore…”

Robert grimaced, glad the man had had the presence of mind not to clap his hands.

“…will I plaaaaay the wild roverrrr

No neverrrrr, no more.”

By the time the guy finished the third of his off-key, ever-crescendoing choruses, Robert’s excitement had flagged enough that he could relieve himself, which in turn restored him to a normal state.

Once the “singer” had departed, Robert went to Liam’s cubicle door. “What’s wrong?” he whispered through it.

“It won’t go in.”

“Did you use the lube?”

“Of course I used the fucking lube, ya rocket. Cannae get the angle right or something. Maybe my arms are too short.”

“I can’t do it for you. Someone could walk in.” He eyed the exit nervously. “This isn’t the sort of place where they understand these things.”

“I know.” It sounded like Liam was gritting his teeth. “Just…talk about football. Maybe that’ll relax me. But not about Warriors. Too personal.”

Robert drew a blank as he tried to remember today’s transfer news. He pulled out his phone, which still displayed his messaging app. “Okay. Duncan texted me this afternoon to say Sunderland are close to signing Lamine Koné from Lorient.”

“Who?”

“He’s an Ivorian center-back. Duncan’s over the moon about it, says John O’Shea’s been lost without a decent partner in the back line.”

“Ah. That’s interesting, but not too interesting. Go on.“

Robert continued, musing how Sunderland’s recent signings could help them avoid relegation. Liam didn’t give much of a toss about English football, so perhaps the subject would be just distracting enough to do the trick.

Soon there came a soft “Och” from within the cubicle, a sound he knew well. A good sound. A very good sound.

“Is it in?” he asked Liam, feeling turned on already.

Liam pulled in a long, deep breath through his nose, then let it out. “Oh aye. It’s in.” There was a rustle of plastic bag, then a quick zip, then the clink of a belt buckle. Finally the door opened.

“All right?” Robert asked.

“Better than all right.” Liam blinked rapidly, his pupils already a bit dilated. He brushed his lips over Robert’s. “Thanks for the assist.”

* * *

This was destined to be the longest two hours of Liam’s career at Hannigan’s pub. But probably—definitely—also the best.

With every step he took, he could feel the plug rocking within him, brushing his prostate with wee teasing taps. The base was small enough to be comfortable but big enough to slide against his ever-more-sensitive perineum and provide ample security—which meant no emergency hospital trips to extract a lost toy.

“Are my eyes sparkling?” he asked Robert after he’d endured this sublime torture for forty minutes. “Feels like they’re sparkling.”

“No, but your face is red.”

“How red? Beetroot red? Do I look like I’m having a heart attack?”

“Not quite beetroot.” Robert waggled his palm back and forth. “More like apple. Maybe cherry.”

Liam wiped his forehead with a bar napkin. “Have you ever done this yourself?”

“No, but by the way you look, I’m dying to try.”

“I recommend it to anyone.” Liam reconsidered. “Though perhaps not an airline pilot.” He picked up Robert’s empty glass. “Another Tennent’s?”

Robert started to nod, then held up a finger. “Actually, let me try one of the new Belgian ales. Whichever you think I’d like.”

“Ooh, we are getting out of our ruts this weekend, aren’t we?”

Robert gave a coy shrug. “You’ve inspired me to expand my horizons.”

Liam grinned as he set the glass beside the sink. But his smile vanished when he turned to fetch the ale.

The Belgians were in a small, temperature-controlled refrigerator on the floor beneath the bar—which meant Liam would have to bend over to retrieve one.

“Ahhhh!” he couldn’t help exclaiming as he crouched down. The pleasure was so bone-rattlingly intense, he swore he could feel pre-come leaking from his swollen cock.

Scarlett’s green high-tops appeared beside him. “All right, lad?” she asked. “You hurt yourself down there?”

“No, I’m just—” Perilously close to orgasm. He grabbed a white ale from the fridge and stood up, making sure the bar apron worn over the front of his jeans was still hiding his erection. “I tweaked my knee in yesterday’s match. It’s been fine until just now.”

His voice sounded far away inside his own head. How was he even forming words, much less complete sentences? It reminded him of the time when he was fifteen and he’d come home absolutely hammered and had to feign sobriety in front of his mum.

Scarlett looked worried. “Want to sit down and put some ice on it?”

“No!” The mere thought of adding pressure to the plug—especially if he put a foot on a chair to elevate his “tweaked” knee—was giving Liam a hot flush. “I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.”

He had to stop talking, and-and looking at people, and-and existing like this, or soon everyone would surely know.

Liam opened the bottle, then grabbed one of the specially designed glasses for the fancy ales and returned to Robert. “Now I know why you ordered a Belgian.” He started pouring. “You wanted to watch me bend over.”

Robert’s eyes gleamed. “Worth the extra three pound.”

Liam leaned in, his fingers forming a death grip on the edge of the bar. “I’m literally a bawhair away from coming in my pants.”

“I can tell.” With a serene smile, Robert raised his pint in a toast. “Here’s to the next hour, and to what comes after.”

“I’ll never make it back to my flat in this state. You’ll need to fuck me limbless in a nearby alleyway.”

Robert shifted on his stool, no doubt adjusting for his own stauner. “Too dangerous. Besides, I’m looking forward to the walk home, when you describe to me how it feels as we go.”

Taking a deep breath, Liam looked at the clock above the bar. Thank God. “Time for last orders. Enjoy your drink, mate.” He punctuated the last word with a hard T .

Liam picked up a bar tray and headed for the big group at the corner table, the one with the band. “A final round?” he asked as he collected the empty glasses.

“Aye, and this one’s my shout,” said old Billy O’Brien. His offer was greeted with sarcastic astonishment, as he wasn’t exactly known for his generosity.

“So make it the cheap stuff?” Liam asked.

Billy winked at him. “These lads are too steaming to taste the difference.”

Liam’s laughter sounded unusually loud—and unusually gay, in both senses of the word—because he’d just bent far over the table to retrieve a glass.

He turned away from the small crowd and made his way to the bar, trying to keep his smile from twisting all lopsided and maniacal. He could feel Scarlett’s eyes on him.

She swooped in as he set the tray of glasses beside the sink. “What’s got you looking so doolally?” she demanded.

“What? Nothing?” Liam cleared his throat. “I mean, nothing. What?”

“Your eyes are shining.” Scarlett grabbed his shoulders and peered up into his face. “Are you high?”

“No!” He looked away, though it was the most suspicious response.

“I saw you and Rab going into the toilets,” she whispered. “Were youse doing drugs in there?”

“Scarlett, you know me better than that. I’m not a junkie.”

“I never said you was a junkie. But you could become one if you’re not careful.” She shook a finger at him. “Even if you are careful.”

Scarlett wasn’t totally off-base. Liam could definitely get addicted to this feeling of fullness within his body, and to this secret naughty place within his mind, as he went about his tasks with no one but Robert knowing, no one guessing he was blooming ever brighter with each step. It was like working undercover, without all the life-risking danger.

He’d heard that some people wore butt plugs all day on a regular basis. Obviously, he wouldn’t leave one in whilst playing football or visiting his mum, but it would definitely make his job more exciting. He could text updates to Robert. Even tonight, a good portion of the fun lay in imagining Robert imagining him with a plug up his arse.

Red-varnished fingernails flashed in front of his eyes. “Liam!”

He jerked his attention back to his coworker. “Sorry, Scarlett. I know I seem…off, but it’s not drugs. Robert just gave me…” He couldn’t tell her the truth, but he could lead her away from it. “He gave me some good news, is all.”

Her dark eyes widened. “Are youse engaged?”

“What? No! How would that be news to me?”

“You’re moving in together?”

“It’s nothing to do with us as a couple. It’s about Rab.” He lowered his voice. “But it’s a secret. I promised not to tell until it’s time.”

He solemnly crossed his heart, hoping there’d be actual good news to share within a few weeks, because Scarlett would never forget he’d mentioned it.

Liam set about preparing the order for the musicians’ table, one small part of his mind focused on the drinks while the larger part luxuriated in the waves of pleasure down below. Even the slightest turn of his body would cause a wiggle inside him, sending another hot pulse of energy to his cock. He could feel sweat collecting at his temples and along his spine.

No wonder Scarlett thought he was on drugs.

* * *

Liam shut the front door after the final customer, taking care to lock all the bolts and double-check they were secure.

Then he returned to Robert sitting at the now-empty bar. “I am so fucking desperate I can barely walk.” He seized Robert’s shirt with both hands. “So either you help me out here or I’m gonnae go to the gents’ and wank into a wad of bog roll. Your choice.”

“But—”

“I guarantee I’ll be ready for round two by the time we’re at my flat.”

“Okay, okay. Where do you want to?—”

“Downstairs, in case someone comes in after hours, like the cleaners.” Or God forbid, Mr. Hannigan himself. “I need to check the barrels before leaving anyway.”

Walking on a flat floor had been stimulating enough, but it hadn’t prepared Liam for the stairs. With each step, he let out a little moan as the plug reached uncharted territory. Halfway down, he unfastened his jeans just so he could keep moving.

At the bottom of the stairs, Robert shifted in front of him. “Sit.” He gave Liam’s chest a gentle push.

“You’re cruel and amazing.” Holding onto the banister, Liam eased himself down onto the third stair. Upon his arse’s impact, his throat released a strangled noise.

Then Robert was between his thighs, guiding his cock into his greedy wet mouth. Liam came in an instant—violently, volcanically, vociferously. Surely the entire East End could hear him babbling as he emptied himself down Robert’s throat.

Finally Robert sat back on his heels and wiped his mouth. “Can you move now?”

“I may never move again.” Liam stared up at the pipeworks on the ceiling, every cell in his body singing a hundred heavenly anthems. “I may, however, have another orgasm in about ninety seconds.”

Robert gestured to the kegs lined up behind him. “I could do your closing-up tasks for you.”

“No, I’m all right.” His head spinning, Liam slowly sat up. How could he have come so hard and still be turned on? “I’ll give you the checklist, though, cos I don’t want to forget anything, as this part up here”—he tapped his temple—“is a bit muddled just now.”

Robert stood up. “Talking of things not to forget, we should add a bit of lube at this point. I can help with that.”

“Such a gentleman.” Liam retrieved the bag with the squishy packet from his pocket, handed it to Robert, then somehow managed to turn over so he was kneeling on the stairs, arse out.

Robert tugged down Liam’s briefs and let out a hard breath. “Fuck, that’s hot…and hilarious.”

“Take a picture so I can see.”

“Good idea. Hold still.” A few moments later, Robert handed over his phone.

“Wow.” Liam zoomed in on the image. “Wait, it’s not a shamrock, it’s a four-leaf clover. So it is like Celtic’s logo.”

“And good luck, to boot.”

Still delirious, Liam waggled his arse. “Don’t you mean ‘good luck to booty’?”

* * *

Westmuir Street was deserted, its shops shuttered and dark, as Robert walked with Liam at a leisurely pace toward his flat. They’d missed the last bus, but it was a fairly warm night for late January, and anyway, Liam had said he couldn’t handle the rattle and vibration of a moving vehicle.

“Tell me everything,” Robert said, dying to know.

“It feels kinda how you’d imagine.” Liam gave a soft hum, swaying his shoulders. “Only…more. You know?”

“Not really.” Robert’s experience with this sort of toy dated back to even before he’d been with Liam—he’d used them, in fact, to help prepare himself for their first penetrative sex. But he’d had one inside him only in private, and for brief periods. “Could you be a bit less vague?”

“So I’m, like, hyperaware of everything my body does, and also everything nearby. See, anything that might come into contact with me could make me move, which makes it move, which makes me…” Liam broke off with a sigh, his gaze lifting far above the steeple of the sandy-brick church on their left.

“It makes you what?”

“Transported,” he murmured.

Robert was intrigued. Usually he was the abstract thinker, whilst Liam spoke in concrete terms. He’d expected Liam to say something like, it makes my prostate feel all big and hot .

“Sometimes for a few minutes,” Liam continued, “I’d start to get used to it. I guess my brain couldn’t handle the intensity without numbing a wee bit, just to be able to carry on with life. So I’d start floating on top of all that pleasure instead of diving into it. But then I’d bend over or stop and change direction, and it would hit me in a new place in a new way. And it was all I could do not to sploodge out screaming in the middle of the fucking pub.”

“Maybe we should’ve used a smaller toy.”

“No.” Liam shook his head, his eyes dreamy. Then his voice dropped an octave. “No.”

They fell silent, nodding hello to an old fellow closing up a pub for the night, securing the painted brown steel door with a pair of padlocks the size of his fists.

When they’d moved on and were alone again, Robert asked, “So what’s it like now after you’ve come?”

“Pretty much the same as before. I thought I’d feel less edgy, but it’s back to where it was.” He swept his hands in a great arc in front of him, palms out. “Everything is, like, crystal clear and hazy at the same time. Does that make sense?”

Not really. “Maybe it will once I’ve tried it.”

“It’s probably different for everyone. You might not fancy it. Or you might fancy it even more.”

“I wouldn’t have the same constraints at my job,” Robert said. “Since I’m my own boss, I could just take the day off and play with myself for hours.”

“Get to fuck.” Liam gave him a glare of mock resentment. “Like you’d ever take a day off even for that.”

“I would do it.” Robert reconsidered. “Maybe a half day. And I’d feel pure guilty after. Probably work overtime to make it up. Not that ‘overtime’ has any meaning when you don’t get paid by the hour.”

His foot hit a discarded cigarette packet on the pavement. He picked it up and moved to chuck it into the rubbish bin outside the bookies shop, where a window advert shouted, Treble Odds . Out of old habit, his fingers pressed the packet to see whether it was truly empty.

They turned onto Shettleston Road, and Liam spoke in a low voice. “You said yesterday you were scared too.”

“I’ll always worry about money,” Robert said. “Too many memories of living in these parts. But in the short term, my finances are okay.”

Robert looked ahead as they approached the Shettleston Giraffe, a mural painted on the gable end of a four-story tenement, conceived a few years ago by pupils at his and Liam’s secondary school, Eastbank Academy. The grand and cheeky piece of public art was now the first thing people saw upon entering Shettleston, having replaced a tumbledown derelict building Robert had always been ashamed of.

“What about long term?” Liam asked.

“If I think about long term, I get paralyzed. Most businesses fail, I’m always aware of that in the back of my head. But day to day I have to operate as though I’m successful.”

“Mate, listen.” Liam took his arm and brought them to a stop beside the giraffe. “No matter what happens, you’re a success to me.” He squeezed Robert’s elbow. “I know my belief’s not enough, but I hope it’s not nothing.”

Robert’s chest hurt at the idea that Liam thought so little of his own importance. “Your belief in me is everything.” When Liam raised a skeptical brow, Robert added, “Not ‘everything’ as in the only thing. It’s ‘everything’ as in, without it, nothing else matters.”

Liam’s eyes softened. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I cannae be happy if you’re un happy.” Robert wished he could take Liam in his arms, but it wasn’t safe on this street and probably never would be. “If you need more of me, if you truly feel my work is coming between us, then I’ll do something else.”

Liam frowned, twisting the zip of his jacket. “You can’t abandon Be Less Shite . People are depending on you.”

“I wouldn’t abandon the project. But once Glasgow Effect is done, I could hand it over to others who can manage it. I could use the experience I’ve gained to find a regular job in an office.” He tried not to let his lip curl as he uttered the O word. “A job I can leave behind at the end of the day and just forget about. Forget about everything but you.”

A swarm of emotions battled it out on Liam’s face: sadness, frustration, hope, and a hundred indefinable others.

“Robert,” he said, using the full name he never, ever called him by. “This world is shite. This city is even more shite. But I love it anyway, and I want someone to make it better.” He slowly raised his hand and poked his first two fingers against the center of Robert’s chest. “I want you to make it better, cos I know you’re one of the few people who won’t make it more shite by trying.”

“How do you know that?” Robert whispered, his voice barely working. “How do you know I won’t fail?”

“Cos I know this thing here.” Liam poked him again, this time slightly to the left of his breastbone. “I know it better than anyone in the world does. I’ve known it for sixteen years, since that day at the swing park when for some bizarre reason you wanted to be my friend even though I’d just got sent to the headmaster for being a wee twat. This thing here”—he pressed harder against Robert’s heart—“is so much purer than anything that grew out of these streets has a right to hope to be. And it’s too fierce to be chained to a desk serving someone else’s ideas. I cannae tell you exactly how you’ll succeed, cos I don’t do computer stuff, but you’ll figure out a way to make things better. You cannae help it, because of this.” He gave one final, gentle poke.

Robert tried to swallow past the tightness in his throat. “But what about you?”

“I’ll, erm…” Liam pulled his hand back and fidgeted with the cuff of his glove. “I’ll follow your example. You’re doing the thing which makes you feel most alive. I need to find the thing which makes me feel most alive.” He shrugged. “Apart from shoving solid objects up my bum, as I’m not hot enough to do that for a living.”

“Once again, I beg to differ.”

Liam turned toward his flat. “That’s not all you’ll be begging to do when we—” He stopped short, wide-eyed. “Aw no.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I think…” Liam took another step, then stopped again. “Yep. That’s it fallen right out of me.”

“You mean the?—”

“Aye.”

“Oh my God.” Robert put his hands to his cheeks. “I must’ve added too much lube back at the pub. I wanted you to be comfortable.”

Liam shifted his weight. “Well, this is not comfortable.”

“Sorry. Does it hurt?”

“No,” Liam said, drawing out the syllable for a few seconds. “Not exactly.”

“Can I do anything?”

Liam shook his head. “This is one of those keep-calm-and-carry-on situations I’ve heard talk about.” He started walking again, taking shorter steps, his face twisting into a comical grimace. “It’s a good job I wear briefs instead of boxers, or my new toy would be lying on the pavement just now.”

Robert followed, his jaw aching with the effort not to laugh.

Ten minutes later, they arrived at Liam’s flat. He locked the door behind them and said, “Want to switch on the heating while I tidy myself up? Feels like a double serving of Jelly Jubilee in my pants.” He stopped on the threshold to the bathroom. “Wait for me on the couch. And be ready.”

“By ‘ready’ you mean…”

Liam grinned at him. “I mean ready.”