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Skating

This was written for my Facebook readers’ group as part of a group celebration. It’s set just after Rule Breaker .

Gabe

“Why are we doing this again?” I ask as Dylan kneels at my feet. I want to say it’s for raunchy reasons, but unfortunately, it’s very far from that.

“Because you’ve never done this before, and life is all about new experiences,” he says as he ties the laces on my ice skates.

“I’ve never vomited until I passed out, but I’m not heartbroken about that either.”

“Maybe we could kill two items off your bucket list today,” Jude says, standing with perfect balance on the ice and leaning against the barrier as if he’s at the bar in a pub. “You can fall, get a concussion, and then vomit to your heart’s content.”

“ Jude !” Dylan snaps. “Gabe is not going to be concussed.”

“And how do you know that?” I ask, which, in my opinion, is a reasonable question.

He grins up at me. “Because I’m here, of course.”

“So, I can fall on you? You’re the crash mattress.”

“I’m sure that’s been written on a toilet wall in one of our old stomping grounds,” Jude muses.

Dylan rolls his eyes. “Well, not by any of your conquests. Most of them couldn’t remember their own names by closing time.”

Jude looks contemplative. “That’s true. Do you remember the Brighton weekend? I wouldn’t want to repeat that experience in this lifetime.”

They both shudder, and I clear my throat. “I hate to interrupt this charming trip down memory lane, but do you think we can concentrate on my imminent death by ice skates?” I waggle my feet. “And why are you doing up my laces? I’ve been doing that perfectly well for a number of years.” I grimace. “But rarely with skates that have been worn by most of North London.”

“We’re going to have a good time,” Dylan says, standing up with an evangelical look on his face.

“I’m sure you will. I will either be concussed, have a vein slit open by a passing ice skate blade, or develop a verruca caught from one of the many occupants of these skates.”

“How do you live with this positivity all the time?” Jude marvels.

Dylan points a finger at me. It’s bossy and always, without fail, makes my cock twitch. “You will be fine. I’ve never lost a man yet. So, I’m going out on the ice with you, and I’m coming back with you intact.”

“Wow!” Jude breathes. “That was like an Oscar-winning film moment.”

Dylan grins. “Really?” The idiot who calls himself Dylan’s best friend nods, and my boyfriend preens. “Who would play me, Jude? I think probably Tom Hardy.”

“Only if his career had crashed and burned beyond recognition. The two of you would be better with Laurel and Hardy,” I say, and he shoves me, laughing.

“I’m giving Asa a run for his money. He’ll be making me his acting coach.”

“Why am I hearing my name mentioned, and why do I feel so wary?” Asa enquires after skating up to us and coming to a rather flashy stop. Some girls nearby nearly come off their skates staring at him.

“Experience,” I inform him. “Why are you so fucking good on skates? You’re tall. Surely it sets off your balance?”

He shrugs. “I had to do it for a part in a film.”

“Were you playing an ice skate?” Jude enquires, and he and Asa snort like a couple of twats.

“ Why did I ignore the option of becoming an actor and choose to be a lawyer?” I gripe. “The only thing I have to show for it is being an actual lawyer.”

“Well, it pays the bills,” Dylan says with a very pragmatic air.

“Where are Henry and Ivo?” I ask. “Why aren’t they here to see my humiliation?”

“Henry said there’s more chance of him snogging King Charles than wearing someone else’s skates.”

“Exactly,” I say triumphantly.

“And Ivo said he’d rather cut his ankles off with a butter knife than have to do this.”

“Why does he get away with saying no to you and meaning it?”

“Because I don’t shag Ivo. I don’t have any leverage,” Dylan says patiently.

I consider that and grimace. “Fair point.”

“We’ll be fine. I’ve done this with loads of old boyfriends, and they were okay.”

“What about that time Neil fell in the hot dog stand?” Jude asks.

“That wasn’t on the ice. He just couldn’t balance on his skates.” Dylan shakes his head. “That tomato sauce gave me quite a turn, though.”

“I’m stepping onto the ice,” I announce. “I’d like you to know that I accept my oncoming death peacefully. It’s got to be better than listening to this story.”

I step onto the ice, and my feet promptly move away from each other in a manner that brings tears to my eyes, and I fall to the hard and freezing ice. “Ouch,” I say plaintively.

I look up. Dylan and Asa are at least attempting to look sympathetic, while Jude has tears in his eyes. I check for any signs of deep emotion, but I can only see hysterical laughter.

“Like Bambi,” Jude snorts. “Fucking hell, I wish I had my camera.”

“I wish you had it too, and then I could insert it up your rectum,” I say from my seat on the ice.

He breaks into merry laughter. “I always knew you were kinky.”

“Dylan,” I snap.

He waves his hand frantically. “I never told him anything,” he protests. “That was between you and me, Gabe. No judgement.”

I sigh. “Not that , you twat. I need a hand up.”

“Oh.” He looks at Jude. “Let’s forget about that, shall we?”

“Well, you can.”

Asa laughs. “Come on. Let’s do a round of the ice before the rink closes.”

They zip off, moving fluidly over the ice and closely pursued by Asa’s teenage fans.

Dylan smiles down at me. “Come on,” he coaxes. “Remember what I always say?”

“Pick up your underwear because this isn’t Downton Abbey .”

He chuckles. “Besides that.”

I let him pull me up and immediately grab onto the side of the rink. “We try things, and if they work, it’s brilliant, but if they don’t, we laugh about it, and it becomes a funny story we’ll tell years from now.” I say all this in a robot voice, but I’m unable to stop my smile.

He nudges me and then grabs me when it sets my balance out, and I start to slide over. “Sorry,” he says and reaches up to kiss me. His lips are warm, his nose cold, and his scent weaves around me. He pulls back and rubs his nose against mine affectionately. “The fun is that we’re doing it together.”

I sigh. “Okay, but I’m picking the next activity.”

“Will it involve nakedness?”

“Yes, but also rather a lot of filing,” I say in a repressive tone.

His laughter makes me feel warm inside, and I know he’s right. I might never be the next Adam Rippon, but who cares? Adam doesn’t have Dylan.