Men of London 06 - Flying Solo (16 page)

Maxwell stared at him, face flaming, horrified at the talk of his potentially non-performing bowels.

Gibson cracked up. “Oh my God, your face. It’s a perfectly natural thing, you know.”

Maxwell huffed haughtily. “Not in my book. That kind of talk gets relegated to conversations about lady ‘things’ blocking up the toilet and eyeless dolls roaming homes looking for someone to kill. I don’t like either of them.” He swung his legs out of bed, feeling lightheaded. “Whoa. I see what you mean. You might have to help me to the bathroom.”

Gibson helped him stand up and together they made their way to the shower. Gibson made Maxwell sit on the closed lid of the toilet while he brushed his teeth over the basin, then got the shower started, removed Maxwell’s boxers and helped him in over the side of the bath. Maxwell’s legs were wobbly, and his head a little fuzzy, but the sound of the water, its heat and the spicy smell of the shower gel as Gibson poured copious amounts over his shoulders was heaven.

“There,” Gibson said huskily, watching as Maxwell massaged his scalp with shampoo and water. “I’ll leave you to it. I bought fresh clothes and put them on the basin. Let me know if you need anything.” He moved to draw the shower curtain and Maxwell reached out a wet hand and gripped his hand.

“You can join me if you like. Make sure I don’t slip and fall down. That would be the boy-friendly thing to do.”

He watched desire flash in Gibson’s eyes as he bit his bottom lip. “I don’t know, you’ve not been well, maybe you shouldn’t overdo it.”

Maxwell growled. “Gibson, get your clothes off and get in here right now. I’m strong enough to do what I want to do to you.” He stroked himself softly and watched Gibson’s pupils dilate.

His lover swiftly shrugged off his tee shirt, slid his jeans down over his hips, together with his tight blue briefs and stepped into the shower. Water cascaded over them both in the enclosed space as Maxwell drew the curtain.

“That’s better,” he murmured as he pulled Gibson to him, his lover’s head fitting perfectly under his chin. Maxwell slid his hands down Gibson’s flanks, pressing their groins together. “Right where you belong.”

The soft groan leaving Gibson’s lips was taken by Maxwell’s mouth. Gibson tasted like spice and apple and Maxwell couldn’t get enough.

“Why do you taste so good?” he managed between frantic, long, open-mouthed kisses.

“It’s spicy chai tea,” Gibson murmured as his hand caressed Maxwell’s cock, teasing strokes threatening to blow Maxwell’s mind. “Now shut up and kiss me.”

To Maxwell, the slow, intimate sexual ballet taking place in a bathtub behind a faded shower curtain was worthy of a scene not out of a porn movie, but rather one of those sensual avant-garde films he’d watched in the past. He’d seen a few and never failed to get turned on by the slow, sensuous grinds of bodies against each other, tongues flicking softly then eating each other’s mouths with groins and cocks pressing together, slick skin against skin as two men made love slowly, lovingly as droplets of water caressed eager bodies.

He wished he had a film camera in here, so he could play it back because he was sure the sinuous strokes of Gibson’s firm torso against his and his hands encircling both of their cocks as he stroked them off was worthy of another watch…and another. His lover may have smaller hands than him but he knew how to use them to bring Maxwell to the peak.

When he finally cried out into Gibson’s open mouth, his body convulsing with pleasure and skin tingling with sensory overload as he orgasmed, he took satisfaction in seeing Gibson doing the same. Their combined essences dripped down bellies and legs to be washed away in the water. The two men stood together, panting and replete, Gibson’s slick wet head pressed into Maxwell’s shoulder as his hands gripped Maxwell’s arse, pulling him closer.

“That was what I needed,” Maxwell gasped as he brushed wet hair from his eyes. “
You
were all I needed to feel better.”

Gibson was quiet and Maxwell looked down at him. “You okay?”

His lover stood back, taking some shower gel to wash off the remains of their release from his body. “Yes, fine.” He sounded a little uncertain. “You were something. I like it when we go slowly.” His hands reached up and cupped Maxwell’s cheeks. “Now we should get washed up and get out of here. You need to eat something, get your strength back for another one of these.” He waved down in between their now clean bodies and grinned as he stepped out of the shower and took a towel off the rack. He wrapped it around his waist and left the bathroom.

Maxwell stayed where he was and shaved. Then, water wrinkled and feeling like a new man, he got dressed and went to find Gibson. He had something on his mind and Maxwell was determined to find out what.

He found Gibson on the couch, computer on his lap, surrounded by sketchpads, crumpled wads of paper in one neat pile at the foot of the couch and a coffee cup—one of the three Maxwell owned. An open container of Chinese food and what looked like the remains of three packs of sandwiches were stacked neatly side by side on the small side table.

Maxwell waved at the tidy debris. “This is what kept you going while you were here?” Something different caught his eye and he gasped. “You cleaned up some of my stuff.”

Some of his worldly possessions had either disappeared, or been packed neatly in piles on the rickety dining room table. Horror of horrors, they might even be stored in cupboards.

Gibson looked guilty. “Sorry. I can’t work in chaos, so I tidied up a bit. I’ll mess it up again before I go, I promise.” He cast a jaded eye around the now mostly empty room. “Although I have to say it looks better like this. I also threw out the dead plants.”

Maxwell opened his mouth then shut it again. “What? But they might have lived, gone through a birth of re-growth!”

Gibson shook his head in amusement “Max, they were dead. D-E-A-D. There was no coming back for those poor critters. Best to let them go in peace and with some dignity.”

Maxwell huffed. “I guess I’m lucky I didn’t have a fish. Poor thing might have found itself flushed down the toilet.”

He’d meant it as a joke but Gibson’s face shadowed. “I’m sorry if I overstepped the mark. I was trying to help.”

Maxwell’s stomach clenched. “No, I was joking. I don’t mind at all. God, I’m crap at this whole thing. My excuse is I was at death’s door and I’m still recovering.” He’d haul his stuff out when Gibson left.

He knelt down beside Gibson and peered at his laptop. “Whatcha doin’?” His fingers traced slow circles on Gibson’s leg.

“I’m doing some animation.” Gibson’s eyes lit up eagerly. “I’ve got Phoenix how I want him, I think, and now I’m playing around with movements and simulations.”

Maxwell stared at the complicated mess on the screen. It looked hellishly complicated to him but as he watched Gibson’s slim fingers fly over his keyboard, creating incredible actions on screen, he was awed.

“Wow, you’re a clever little fella, aren’t you? That is awesome.”

Gibson beamed. “I love it. I also do a lot of the design for the backgrounds and the environments.” His tongue stuck out the corner of his mouth as the rather stylish figure on screen—Maxwell presumed it was Phoenix—leapt over what looked like a sleeping toad princess on the ground then performed a double somersault.

“What the hell is the thing lying down?” Maxwell muttered as he peered at the screen.

Gibson smirked. “
She’s
called Rhea Lipstick. She’s a drag queen with a nasty temper. You don’t want to wake her up. She’ll literally cut your balls off.”

Maxwell gaped. “Hell, you’re making up Mrs Bobbitt games here?” He clutched his testicles in sympathy.

Gibson snickered. “Feeling a little tender, Max?” He reached out and brushed Maxwell’s crotch.

Maxwell wanted to purr in pleasure. “Keep that up and I’ll make sure you’re
more
than a little tender,” he murmured.

Gibson grinned. “Promises, promises,” he murmured, then went back to his game.

“What is the plan then with
Camp Queen
? How long do you think it will take you to finish it? You said something once about entering it into some competition?” Maxwell watched as Gibson blew a strand from his face and frowned.

“We’ve been working on this for the best part of two years, using every resource we have to help, and I’m hoping we have it finished by Christmas, for launch in about February next year. We might get entered in the Quasar or Gaymz Choice competition this year if someone nominates us. Then submissions for the Croesus Gaming Award take place next year in May.” He scowled. “We missed the Quasar win this year by a couple of points…we came second. Which was good, don’t get me wrong, but I want to be first.”

“What do you get if you win?” Maxwell asked, fascinated. This was a side of a business he’d never thought about before. To him, the games were simply there to be played.

His lover smiled. “Monetary value-wise it’s not great. Winner gets 5,000 pounds.” Maxwell thought that was a damn good amount in his estimation. He could do a lot with that kind of money.

Gibson’s eyes gleamed. “But the year after we launch, we want to enter the British Academy Game Awards. That’s going to be the big one. And winning the Croesus next year will give us some respectability.” He sighed. “The current games we have going bring in enough money for Jack and me to run our business and pay for the development of the new games.” He looked uncomfortable. “Jack put quite a bit of money into Anomaly when we started up and he’s virtually paid back but I want him back where he started.

“We’re neither of us rich, but we earn a salary and the revenues pay for our flat and living expenses. Winning a big award will give us the boost we need to fund other games, pay for the freelancers we use and allow us to run the company.” He grimaced. “I don’t even want to think about not making it and having to go back to a nine-to-five job selling suit shirts or burgers. I’m over all that having–a-boss shit.”

Maxwell had spent his entire life managing every single penny he earned to best advantage. He lived on a diet of canned food, soups, noodles, one-pound ready meals and didn’t smoke or drink unless he was out socialising. Cabin crew wasn’t the best-paid job in the world, although it had other perks. To him, being able to work where you lived and answer to no one sounded like a dream. A pipe dream for him though. He couldn’t write, draw, was not musical and although he wasn’t bad on the technology side—being able to fix things and understand how they worked—he had no transferable skills he could use to start his own business. He was a little in awe of Gibson and his obvious intelligence and creativity.

“How did you get into doing this anyway?” He watched as Gibson’s fingers did miraculous things to the character on his screen.

Gibson didn’t answer for a while and Maxwell sat patiently. He knew first-hand how his lover got so absorbed in what he was doing to the exclusion of everything else—even him. Gibson was entranced, busily typing something into one of the online forums he was always chatting in. Something to do with networking and problem-solving.

He stroked Gibson’s thigh, but it still didn’t seem to detract his boyfriend from his steadfast concentration. Maxwell sighed, a deep, heavy sigh echoing in the room. When it didn’t get the reaction he wanted, he did it again, squeezing Gibson’s leg tightly. This time Gibson glanced at him.

“Sorry, did you say something?”

Maxwell wanted to roll his eyes but refrained. “I asked how you got into this line of work.”

Gibson shrugged. “I’ve been doing it since I was a kid. I was a geek at school and did all the computer science and IT things I possibly could. When I left school, I took a gap year, worked here and there then did a BA Hons in game design for three years in Manchester. Jack and I started Anomaly Media while we were at uni together and it evolved to what it is now.”

“You lived in Manchester? Where, at the university?”

Gibson shook his head, brow furrowed as he studied something back on his screen. “No, we lived in Manchester not far from the University. I didn’t need uni digs, and I was able to live at home. Mum and Dad paid my tuition so I didn’t have student loans when I left. They only moved to Cramond after I finished my degree. I moved down to London then with Jack.”

Maxwell couldn’t help feeling a little narked even though he knew it was daft. While he’d been living on the streets turning tricks then clawing his way back into civilisation through a series of deadbeat jobs to support himself until he’d finally found his niche in becoming a flight attendant, Gibson had his own life all planned out, with a supportive family and loving parents.

What the hell do
I
have to show for my life? What do I have to offer someone like him who’s going places? I couldn’t even save Levi. He loved his drug dealer more than he loved me. How can
this
man ever want someone like me?

He moved away from interrupting Gibson as he worked, to sit cross-legged on the floor beside him, staring absently out of the window at the sky outside. His throat ached a bit as he thought about what he’d missed out on. He thought he’d grown content with his lot, but this new relationship had thrown things his way he believed he’d gotten over. He hunched forward, wrapping his arms around his knees as he tried to suppress the welling of emotion inside. He blamed the fact he’d been sick and his resistance was low for his present state of mind.