Men of London 05 - Cross to Bare (22 page)

His head swimming, Brook perked up at realising where they were heading. “But you’ll forgive me? I hate it when you’re mad at me.”

Lenny pushed him down onto his bed with a snort. “I’ll think about it. First you need to get your drunken arse into bed and sleep it off.” He set about removing Brook’s shoes and socks and then pulling his trousers off. Brook was only too happy to oblige even as his head ached. When his shirt was off, and he was clad only in his boxers, he gave what he thought was a sexy smile at his lover, but from the grin on Lenny’s face, it didn’t quite make the sexy scale he was aiming for.

“Honestly,” Lenny muttered as he draped covers over Brook and got into bed beside him. “Sexy leers are so not your thing when you’re drunk.”

Lenny got settled beside Brook and his soft chuckle against Brook’s ear was a sound wave serenading Brook’s groin, even though he didn’t really think he’d manage much tonight. He really was feeling ill.

“In a way, it’s quite a turn-on seeing you get all jealous,” Lenny whispered as his lips brushed his boyfriend’s ear. “My sexy, hot lover getting all alpha male on my arse—there are worse things to fight about I guess.” His teeth nipped Brook’s earlobe and he flinched.

“Stop the seduction technique because I don’t think I can get it up,” Brook muttered, going for a determined tone but instead sounding sinuously like,
Don’t stop. Ever.

“Sure?” Lenny’s breath ghosted his cheek as he pulled away, eyes mischievous. “You should be damned lucky I’m being so accommodating seeing as how you were awfully rude to my best friend.”

Brook was feeling much better now that his lover’s hands were all over him and creeping stealthily down his flanks. “I’ll apologise to Ryan tomorrow,” he muttered, closing his eyes as Lenny’s hands stroked the small of his back.

“Good,” his lover whispered then moved away to his side of the bed, leaving Brook with a sense of loss. His eyes were heavy, the room spun and he closed them.

That soft whisper was the last thing he remembered.

Chapter 16

Staring at his pale face in the bathroom mirror, Lenny now knew how Brook had felt the other night when he’d vomited copious amounts of liquid and doner kebab into the white porcelain bowl of Lenny’s toilet. Lenny wanted to throw up too. The nervousness that currently plagued him was causing his stomach to churn. He tried to calm himself, closing his eyes to focus on his breathing.
In, out. In, out.

When he opened his eyes, nothing had changed. He hadn’t been transported to Lenny Land, his happy place, to a world of buff, sexy, bare-chested men wearing nothing but tailored (but tight) suit pants and a world with trees and leaves made of Belgian truffles. He was still in front of the mirror, staring into panicked eyes in a pale, set face. His blond hair stuck up from where he’d run his hands through it, hands that were slightly sticky from the mousse he’d applied to keep it in place.

“Lenny? Babe, we need to go. Are you coming out of there?” Brook’s impatient voice interrupted his musings, and Lenny started.

“Yeah, in a minute. I’m fixing my hair.” With shaking hands, he reached for more mousse and squirted some into his hair, smoothing down the unruly strands and scowling at the cowlick that seemed to plague him. Perhaps this hair-growing business wasn’t for him. It was at that stage when it was too long to keep it in check and too short to do anything else with it. It curled around his ears, fell over his forehead and was generally a damn nuisance.

Brook loved it. Loved winding his hands in it when Lenny blew him, loved stroking it back from Lenny’s face. He especially loved it when those soft strands trailed over his hardened dick as he was sucked dry. Brook had gasped out once that the sight of Lenny’s eyes looking up between the blond strands was one of sexiest things he’d ever seen, and then promptly blown his load into Lenny’s mouth. It was a move guaranteed to make his boyfriend come with force.

“Lenny.” Brook’s voice held fond affection. “It’s my parents you’re going to meet. Not the King and Queen of England.”

“I’d be less neurotic if it was fucking royalty,” Lenny muttered to himself as he dragged more mousse through his hair and checked his face, turning it this way and that in the dim bathroom light to see no stray hairs peeked out of his orifices. “I’ve never met anyone’s folks before. What the hell possessed me to say yes to this?”

He knew why he’d said yes of course. It has been the day after his argument with Brook. The following morning, Brook had been hung over, bleary-eyed and reeking a little of vomit after spending time in the toilet. Brook’s mother had called him and left a message. His boyfriend had been on the phone apologising to Ryan at the time so had returned the call.

He’d managed to be
compos mentis
long enough to find out why his mother was calling—it was to invite them to lunch the following week. His lover’s bumbling attempts to try and find out whether Lenny was prepared to meet them had been pathetic. Lenny had taken pity on him and simply said yes. It was a decision he’d regretted ever since. His weekend away with Ryan in Paris had been a bit of shambles as they had both got drunk and ended up hung over for most of the weekend. They had, however, managed to make some worthy fabric purchases.

It was apparently a rare treat to get both parents together in the Hunter household and they desperately wanted to see their son. They knew all about Lenny, as Brook spent time on phone calls and Skype and wasn’t one to keep something like a having a boyfriend from them. From what Lenny had seen, they were a close-knit family unit. They even knew about Laverne.

He checked himself one last time and then decided he couldn’t delay any longer. He unlocked the bathroom door and stepped out into the hallway. Brook leaned against the wall, impeccably dressed in charcoal grey chinos, a pair of black, shiny loafers, and a charcoal button-down shirt that clung tightly to his body and made Lenny want to rip it off despite his anxiety. Brook raised one eyebrow when he saw Lenny appear.

“Are you quite finished primping?” he asked lazily, a quirk to his lips. “I mean, you look tasty enough for me to drag you through into there”—he gestured to his bedroom on the side—“and ravish that gorgeous body of yours, but that’ll have to wait for later. We’re already cutting it fine because of your hair.” The knowing look on Brook’s face unsettled Lenny. They both knew the delay had nothing to do with his hair. It was unnerving having someone know him so well.

Lenny scowled. “Bite me for wanting to look my best. You’re lucky I’m going at all.” No sooner had he said the words, he wanted to take them back. “Brook, sorry. I’m nervous-”

Brook sighed. “Honey, I really don’t know why. My parents are ordinary people who want to meet my sexy, incredibly talented fashion designer of a boyfriend and spend some time with us.”

Lenny huffed moodily. “Yeah, your cross-dressing transvestite of a lover, who’s older than you and spends his day as a woman. I mean, maybe you should go without me, I don’t really feel—”

His half-hearted ‘I really want to get out of it’ plea was effectively stopped by a pair of lips taking his, forcing his lips open so a warm tongue could gain entry and shut him the fuck up. Lenny had to say it worked. He moaned, feeling Brook’s mouth claiming his, owning him, and wrapped his arms around Brook’s neck, pulling him closer. Senses on override at Brook’s fragrance, his hard body pressed against his, all Lenny could do was duel his way into the kiss and keep the battle raging. He pulled away reluctantly so he could speak. It was his very own Custer’s Last Stand.

“Maybe we should stay here like this and bang each other’s brains out—” Again he was silenced, barely having time to take in air. When he was released, he took a huge gulp of life-giving breath.

“Stop it,” Brook murmured in his ear. “They’re going to love you as much as I do. They won’t be able to help themselves.” With a final fierce kiss, he moved away. Lenny’s eyes were drawn to his bulging crotch.

“But
that
is a damn waste,” Lenny whined as he gestured to Brook’s visibly hardened cock. “And what about this?” He palmed his dick and hissed when that made it worse.

Brook grinned wickedly. “I know. I need a few minutes now to calm down before we go out in public. I’d hate to be arrested for sporting a weapon of mass destruction.” He smirked as he made himself comfortable. “I’m going to get the bag with the wine and the presents. You sort yourself out and we’ll leave in a minute.” He walked down the hall toward his kitchen, and it was only then as Lenny pushed his dick around trying to get comfy in his tight briefs, that he realised what Brook had said to him.

They’re going to love you as much as I do
.

Thank you, Brook. Now, instead of feeling sick with nerves, Lenny was hyperventilating.

“What the hell does that actually mean?” he whispered to himself. “Brook
loves
me? Or was it a figure of speech?”

They’d not used the L-word in their few months-plus of seeing each other. Lenny thought he might have fallen arse-over-heels in love with the man. However, his natural reticence stopped him from saying it first or even truly accepting it. People you loved didn’t always love you back. And people you should love, like your father, didn’t deserve it. In Lenny’s jaded perception, love could be a never-ending quagmire of emotions that could turn around and stab you in the back then dance on your cooling corpse with pointy shoes.

“Ready?” Brook appeared, looking calm and collected with no idea of the raging turmoil of Lenny’s emotions. “Good. Let’s get off then.”

Without waiting for any acknowledgement, he turned and virtually sprinted down the hallway towards the front door. Lenny rolled his eyes and followed.

Grant me strength to get through this. Don’t have them look at me as if I’m freak. If his mother asks me for makeup advice and whether I’m considering gender assignment surgery, I might pitch a hissy fit. Fashion—that I can do, I mean, it’s my raison d’être after all.

“Lenny, get your arse over here, babe. Come on.” Brook’s tone was both amused and bossy. In another situation Lenny might have really enjoyed that. Like the one he’d proposed and been turned down for in favour of meeting the parents.

Scowling, Lenny ambled down the hallway, not wanting to appear as if he was obeying that demanding summons from his hot boyfriend.

“Yeah, yeah, keep your pants on,” he muttered as he picked up his man bag off the table in the entrance. “I’m coming. Not.” He sniggered at that as he joined Brook at the doorway and pushed past him into the corridor.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Lenny said airily as he walked towards the lift. “Spit spot now.”

*****

An hour later he was seated in the airy expanse of a house that was probably a country all on its own. When he and Brook had walked up to the huge dwelling in the middle of Fitzrovia in the West End, Lenny’s jaw had dropped. He thought his spacious property was a decent size, but compared to this house, it was nothing more than a broom closet. Brook had shrugged apologetically when he’d rung the buzzer at the huge wrought-iron gates.

“Because my folks are diplomats and need security, protection and the like, the Consulate insists on putting them in high-end places like this. They don’t own it, it’s owned by the government. Honestly, my folks would rather have had a small brownstone somewhere. My dad’s been trying to get them to relocate him and Mum forever.”

Not only was the house a palace but the security to enter the abode was nerve wracking. Lenny was patted down by quite a cute young security guard with a winning smile but a deadly expression in his eyes that said he’d as soon as shoot Lenny if he put one finger wrong. Brook was searched too, despite being the son of the people living there. He’d shrugged philosophically.

“It’s to keep my folks safe so I do it. The security team insist even though I’ve been coming here for years.”

Now, as Lenny sat awkwardly nibbling at the unlikely combination of savoury pastries and whisky—he’d eschewed tea for something stronger to get him through the afternoon—he really, really wished he was any place other than here waiting for his boyfriend to bring his parents into the room. Lenny inspected the contents of the pastry he held. He wasn’t a particularly fussy eater but he did like to know what he was putting in his mouth.

He didn’t realise the room had fallen silent and when he looked up, he found three pairs of eyes regarding him curiously, one more amused than the others. Brook’s eyes sparkled and Lenny cleared his throat awkwardly and stood up.

He held the pastry up apologetically and waved it. “Good afternoon. I was having a look to see what was going in my mouth. I mean, I know what it is but I wasn’t sure what was in it and I’m not a fan of fishy stuff…” His voice tailed off as the beautiful woman in a multi-coloured kaftan walked towards him with a warm smile on her face. She was statuesque, round faced and dark skinned, with a wide smile. Brook was the spitting image of his father. The man stood about six foot seven, regally attired in a pair of chinos and a golf shirt and a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles, and was looking at Lenny with a questioning expression on his face.

Lenny found himself hauled into a substantial bosom—far more than his own when he was sporting breasts—and hugged within an inch of his life. He met Brook’s eyes over the top of his mother’s head and was sure his lover read the panic in Lenny’s eyes because Brook winked at him. The bastard
actually
winked as if he found this whole smothering thing hilarious.

“Lovely to meet you at last, Lenny. I’m Dianne Hunter, Brook’s mum, and this man over here is my husband, Harold. Harry we call him. We’ve been looking forward to meeting the man who has my son all in a tither.” She released Lenny with a beaming smile. “And it’s cream cheese, chives and bacon chips that you’re putting in your mouth.” She grinned and winked.

Lenny flushed. Despite his embarrassment, his ears pricked up. Brook was all in a
tither
over him? He stared over at Brook, his eyebrow raised, and his boyfriend fidgeted uncomfortably and ignored it. Harold ‘Harry’ Hunter moved gracefully over to Lenny, hand outstretched. He was no longer frowning.