Men of London 06 - Flying Solo (12 page)

Maxwell’s tummy squirmed in pleasant anticipation. His dick liked the idea too.

“I’m
not
looking to move fast, get married, adopt kids and move into a house together.” Gibson grimaced in distaste. His fingers played with a paper napkin on the bar. He looked nervous. “That’s a deal breaker. But if you’re happy to take a chance and be with me when you’re not gadding about the world up high, and see what happens between us, then that’s a plan.”

“I’m not looking for that either,” Maxwell murmured. He cleared his throat. “Let’s be clear. We see each other—exclusively—as and when we can?” He held his breath as he waited for the reply.

Gibson blinked. “Exclusive?” His hands stopped their fidgeting.

Maxwell’s heart sank. “Yes. I mean, that’s kind of how I think dating works.”

“Dating?” Gibson’s hands started playing with the napkin again.

Maxwell was out of his depth now. What the hell did this guy want? “Isn’t that what we’re going to do? Date?”

Had he completely misread the situation and made a fool of himself?

He knocked back his drink and waved to the bartender. He needed another. Gibson Henry was hard work. He gestured to their drinks. “Could we have a repeat please?”

The soft snicker from beside him made him glance round. Gibson had a grin on his face, a twinkle in his eye, and Maxwell had the distinct feeling he was missing something.

“What are you laughing at?” he muttered crossly.

“You are so gullible,” Gibson chuckled. “I was yanking your chain, sexy.” His hand reached up and caressed Maxwell’s cheek. “I might be a bit of a slut but when I agree to
see
a guy, I’m monogamous.” His eyes flashed. “Let’s not call it dating yet, though. That’s a big word. Let’s call it seeing each other.”

The warmth flooding his body was like treacle flowing through his veins and Maxwell loved it. He could live with that. For a while.

“Bitch,” he sniffed as he paid the bartender. “I think this is going to be a barrel of laughs, being with you.”

Gibson’s face shadowed. “I can’t say how it will all turn out,” he warned. “But I’m happy to take it day by day, let things develop slowly…”

Maxwell reached over and covered Gibson’s hand with his. “That’s all I need. My social life is crap at the best of times, with my shift patterns and days off. I’ll warn you it might not be ideal.”

“Meh. It’ll be fine. I have so much work to do I can keep myself busy twenty-four hours a day, so we’re in the same boat.” Gibson quirked an eyebrow. “Now can we leave the shit behind and do some serious drinking? Are you flying tomorrow?”

Maxwell shook his head. “Day off. We can get as crazy as you want…”

The evening passed in a blur of drinking, conversation and laughter and by the time the pair left Galileo’s to walk off some of the effects, Maxwell was horny, drunk and desperate to take Gibson home for the night. He wasn’t sure though if that’s what his ‘date’ had planned so he went with the flow. It was when they were walking—or rather staggering—past Soho Square Gardens that he had a thought.

He pulled Gibson against the railings and pointed him towards the park. “I’ve always wanted to make out in a public park,” he whispered. “How ’bout you?”

Gibson squinted through fogged glasses at the darkness beyond. “I’m not sure,” he said doubtfully. “Haven’t they got security, park keepers or whatever? And isn’t it locked up?”

Maxwell shook his swimming head. “Nothing we can’t handle,” he scoffed. “I’m used to sneaking into parks. I lived in them when I was on the streets, remember?” He’d meant it as a light-hearted remark, but the look of sympathy on Gibson’s face made him kick himself.

He’d managed to sidestep all Gibson’s veiled questions. Over drinks, the man had been like a puppy worrying a stuffed toy, trying to shake the stuffing out of it. Maxwell didn’t want to tell his new shiny toy about the rotten, shaming things he’d done as a homeless youth.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Maxwell murmured. “Those days are gone. Now come on. I can give you a leg up over the railings, and then climb over myself. If we keep to the shadows no one will see us. There’s this cool garden hut in the middle I’d like to show you.”

Gibson looked unconvinced. “Can’t we go back to your place?”

“Come, on, spoil sport. It’ll be fun.” Gibson hardly had time to protest before Maxwell knelt down on the path on all fours and gestured to Gibson to climb on his back. “Up you go, leg over and onto the other side.” He smirked. “Be careful of your crown jewels. I don’t want them getting damaged before I’ve had a chance to have them in my mouth.”

“Oh God,” Gibson whispered as he clambered onto Maxwell’s crouching form. “This is such a bad idea. I’m not used to this sort of physical activity—oomph. Fuck.” The dull sound of a body hitting the ground had Maxwell standing up and peering over the fence.

“Gibson, are you okay?”

There was a rustling and an annoyed voice muttered, “Yeah, I lost my balance and fell over the fence. Tell me again this was a good idea?”

Maxwell hopped nimbly over, clearing the top with inches to spare between his groin and the spiked railing. “It was a good idea. Are you okay?”

Gibson was sucking on his hand, his face scrunched up. “No. I tore my damn hand on some bush or something. I’m injured. Carry on without me, Captain. I’ll stay behind.”

Maxwell laughed softly. “Give it here. Let me see.”

He took Gibson’s hand and peered at it. There was a nasty gash on the side of his hand, oozing blood. Maxwell reached into his back pocket and drew out a handkerchief. He wet it with spit and then applied it to the cut.

Gibson’s mouth gaped open. “You carry a handkerchief? And then spit on it? What are you, my dad?”

Maxwell frowned as he dabbed at the blood. “You don’t? And please, girlfriend. Enough of the dad comments. Not conducive to making out.”

Gibson sniggered as he pushed his glasses up with one finger. “Maybe I have a daddy fixation.”

Maxwell stopped what he was doing and stared at Gibson. “I can be your daddy,” he said huskily. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Gibson swallowed. “Not really, but when you say it—wow. It does sound sexy.”

Maxwell grinned in the darkness as he finished his doctor duties. The cut had stopped bleeding. “There you go. I’ll take another look at it when we get home—mmphh.”

His words were muffled by lips finding his as Gibson’s tongue slid into his mouth while the Lacoste Red-scented bundle of warm man dragged Maxwell by the shirt and pulled him closer. The handkerchief was dropped to the ground as his hands found Gibson’s hips. Hardness pressed against the lower part of Maxwell’s groin and he gasped with need into the mouth currently excavating his with enthusiasm.

“You drive me crazy,” Gibson groaned in between kissing the crap out of him. “I love the feeling of your stubble against my skin. I don’t know what it is about you that makes me feel this way. You’ve been in my damn head for weeks.”

“I know exactly what it is about you,” Maxwell managed to get out. “You’re as sexy as fuck. And ditto on the head games.”

Gibson’s husky chuckle turned Maxwell on more and he hefted Gibson up. Slim, strong legs wrapped around his hips as Gibson rocked against him, climbed him and attacked his mouth with renewed fervour. It took some doing avoiding knocking Gibson’s glasses off his face but with some practice, and some creative angling, they found out how to manage it without injury.

A bang from the street brought them both to their senses and they jumped, unlocking their mouths.

“What was that?” Gibson whispered, tightening his clutch around Maxwell’s neck, his dick pressing against Maxwell’s harder than before.

“Probably a car backfiring,” Maxwell managed to gasp out in between heaving breaths. “We need to get out of sight of the road. I thought we’d make out a bit, not go into full-flown grinding the minute we got in here.” He plucked Gibson away from him reluctantly. Gibson got his feet back on the ground.

“Come with me.” Maxwell took Gibson’s hand and together they walked quickly towards the old black-and-white building in the middle of the park. “Let’s stand under here. It’s dark, more private than where we were and hopefully no one can see us.” He cast a quick glance around the park. He could hear voices coming from the far side of the park, but they didn’t sound close enough to be a problem.

“You know we could have gone back to your place or mine.” Gibson’s fingers idly traced a path down Maxwell’s chest, and for the first time, looking down at Gibson’s lazy finger, Maxwell noticed his shirt was half undone. The touch of Gibson’s fingers against his bare skin inflamed his senses and Maxwell drew in a deep breath.

“I know. But I’ve never made out in a park, and it was on my bucket list, and I want to do it with you.”

Gibson’s smile lit up the darkness. “
You
are a romantic, Maxwell Lewis. A big soft romantic.” This kiss was softer, sweeter and Maxwell thought his legs were going to buckle beneath him. All he could do was hold Gibson, kiss him back with all the feeling he had in his soul and fall deeper into the silky web being spun around him by Gibson Henry.

Maxwell knew he was in the middle of busy London, where city noises—backfiring cars, house alarms, trundling buses, people’s conversation—were paramount, yet all he could hear was the rushing in his ears and the singing in his heart as he held the man in his arms.

I am in so much trouble with this one. God help me.

Gibson finally stopped causing mayhem on Maxwell’s mind and body and stepped back, face flushed, bee-stung lips wet and a look of desire on his face.

“I don’t want our first real time to be in a public park.” Gibson huffed and adjusted himself. “Can we go home and get into a bed? I’m pretty sticky in my underwear already.”

Maxwell found his voice. “Of course, sure. Uhmm, your place or mine?”

Gibson considered. “We can go to mine if you like. Jack will probably be there but he’s cool when I bring guys home.”

“You do that a lot then?” Maxwell cleared his throat. “I mean, I can’t judge, I’ve had a bit of a revolving door in my place myself.”

Gibson’s face was unreadable. “There’ve been a few. Do you want the actual number?” His voice was even.

Maxwell shook his head, panicking he’d stuffed things up. “No, of course not. Doesn’t matter. Let’s go to your place, then. We’ll get a taxi because it’s quite a trek from here back to…” his voice trailed off as he realised he
knew
where Gibson lived but didn’t want him to know he knew. That information had not been gainfully come by and he didn’t want to admit he’d stalked him using the passenger manifest.

“Canning Town,” Gibson offered helpfully and Maxwell smiled.
Result.

He glanced at his watch. “It’s still early enough to get a taxi. Come on, let’s go.”

They slipped quietly along the path towards the exit and once again, Maxwell got down on his knees and Gibson once again went over, this time with no injury.

By the time they stepped out of the taxi and into the rather swanky flat Gibson and Jack shared—Maxwell admitted it was a cut above his messy place—there was a sense of awkwardness between them. The passion was still there; the sexual tension in the taxi on the drive over had been unbearable, but entering the quiet of the flat, and Gibson taking his hand and guiding him to what Maxwell presumed was his bedroom was too much like other times a man had led Maxwell to a sexual encounter.

One that hadn’t meant as much to him.

Maxwell wanted this to be different.

He stopped outside Gibson’s bedroom and the other man turned to him with a question in his eyes. “Are you okay? Did you change your mind?”

Maxwell shook his head. “No, of course not. I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with me. I guess I’m nervous?” His insides
were
jellied.

Gibson chuckled. “Nervous? Don’t be daft. What is there to be nervous about?” He opened his door and beckoned Maxwell in. Gibson closed the door, switched on a bedside light, and Maxwell looked around, admiring the room, trying to get himself back in sync.

“This is trendy. Very you. Cool and classic. I especially like the picture of the muscly dude in leather and the chick in Lycra. Are they from your game—?”

Gibson reached over a soft finger and pressed it against Maxwell’s lips. “Yes they are. Now shut up. You’re blabbering. I think someone needs to get their clothes off.” He grinned and started tugging at Maxwell’s trousers.

Maxwell reached a hand down and grasped Gibson, stopping him. “Wait.”

Gibson blew a strand of hair from his forehead, his expression uncertain. “What? You
are
having second thoughts, aren’t you? Maybe we should have gone to your place.”

Maxwell shook his head. “No, not that. Just…”

He removed Gibson’s glasses, setting them down on the nearest surface, and pulled him closer, gripping his tight, round arse in hungry hands. He took his mouth in a kiss.
That
was better, he thought happily. Kissing Gibson was his favourite thing to do. The stirrings in his chinos bore testament to the fact.