Men of London 06 - Flying Solo (19 page)

Gibson heaved a sigh of relief later that night when he and Max were finally alone in his room. It wasn’t late, only eight o’clock, but he’d seen his mother flagging, and Richard had wanted to get back to his own family a few miles down the road. They’d all been overwhelmed and decided an early night was the best idea. Tomorrow they’d go over the final funeral and cremation arrangements, the songs being sung and the eulogies and then hopefully things would be in place to say a final goodbye.

Gibson snickered when he opened his bedside drawer and saw the items in there. “Mum’s been busy.” He held up a string of about twelve condoms, large and medium sizes, and snorted again. “You’re only here three nights. What does she think we’re going to do—fuck like bunnies?” He held up the mid-size bottle of lube. “Bubble-gum flavoured. I’ve not tasted it before.” His face shadowed. “I’m not sure I’m up for much, though.”

Max leaned over and hugged him. “Being here by your side is enough for me. I want you to try to get some sleep tonight. You haven’t been lately.”

Gibson watched in fascination as Max laid out his clothes in piles. Underwear. Tee shirts. Jeans and sweatpants. Multi-coloured columns of varying sizes and textures making short stacks leaning like the Tower of Pisa.

“You know that’s a chest of drawers, right?” he remarked. “You can actually put the stuff
inside
the drawers.”

Max nodded. “I know. I like it this way.” He continued unpacking, one final short pile containing two thin pullovers. Warmth flooded Gibson as he observed his quirky man. He didn’t understand the need inside Max to have his things close to hand and on display, but he appreciated he needed to. Gibson stepped up and wrapped his arms around Max’s waist.

“Have I told you how much I’m thankful you’re here with me?” he whispered against Max’s tee shirt. Gibson pressed his ear to Max’s back, listening to the faint heartbeat.

Max’s arms reached backwards, encircling him as he leaned back into Gibson. “You have, but I like hearing it,” was the quiet reply.

“You ground me,” Gibson whispered as he closed his eyes to the steady throb of the heart beneath his ear. “Make me strong so I believe I can get through this. You help me forget for a while.”

And wasn’t that the truth. He’d gone from Gibson the Unbeliever to Gibson the Fallen with this man. The sense of belonging to someone, along with the knowledge he too possessed something he wanted and needed, was a revelation.

Max twisted around to face him. His eyes shone; whether it was moisture or the soft light in the room reflecting off his dark pupils, Gibson wasn’t sure. He didn’t care because Max was kissing him, sweet, gentle kisses with a warm wet tongue and lips tasting of tea and shortcake biscuits.

As they stood there, pressed against each other, mouths exploring and breaths feeding each other’s passion, Gibson wondered fleetingly if Max would ever be one hundred percent conscious and tell him again he loved him. He wanted to be sure; he didn’t want those words to have been fuelled only by fever and paracetamol.

Later, lying cuddled up beside Max after a satisfying session of nothing more than stroking each other to release, both of them breathless between moaning gasps uttered in the darkness of his bedroom, Gibson wondered if he’d ever say the words back if they were said to him.

*****

The next morning when Gibson and Max came downstairs at eight-thirty, there was a full cooked breakfast on the table. His mother looked tired and strained.

Gibson scolded her. “Mum, you didn’t have to get up early to make breakfast. Max and I would have had cereal or something.”

He poured coffee for him and tea for Maxwell as his boyfriend stood uncertainly at Gibson’s side

Doris flapped a dishtowel in their direction. “I couldn’t sleep, so I got up to cook. It gave me something useful to do.” She scurried around the kitchen putting bacon, fried tomato and eggs together with slices of fried bread onto white plates. “Sit, Maxwell. You’re a guest in my house. The least I can do is feed you boys.”

Breakfast was a sombre affair. Haggis scrounged scraps, which Gibson fed him guiltily off his plate, hoping his mother didn’t see, and Max ate his toast, not saying much. It was clear he was uncomfortable with the whole family environment. Gibson’s ex-fuck buddy Jamie knocked on the door as they were drying up dishes, and rushed in to embrace Gibson with a wet, smacking kiss with a hint of tongue then murmured with a soft Scottish lilt, “God, I’m so sorry about your dad.” Max didn’t look charmed. His eyes smouldered, his lips curled and the look of venom he threw Jamie’s way would have killed an entire army in their tracks.

Gibson hadn’t been prepared for the welcome and he hastily extricated himself from the body pressed against his, determinedly removed the groping hands on his arse and glared at Jamie.

“Shit, Jamie, stop mauling me in front of my boyfriend.”

Jamie’s not-so-innocent blue eyes under his droopy fringe of brown hair widened as he looked comically at Gibson then at the snarling Max. Gibson shivered in delight seeing possessiveness in Max’s eyes. He knew he shouldn’t feel this way but it turned him on.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Gibson. I didn’t know.”

“Yes you did,” Doris Henry said. “I told you about him, Jamie. You’re taking a chance.” She smiled faintly as she turned to the sink and plunged her hands into the soapy bubbles.

“Well, I forgot.” Jamie’s lips pursed into a moue of displeasure as he stared appraisingly at Max. “This is the new guy? Huh.” He didn’t sound impressed.

Gibson suddenly wanted to snort in laughter at the look crossing Max’s face, a look of indignation and dislike. Gibson needed to head this off at the pass. He crossed to Max and rose on his toes, reaching up to place a soft kiss on Max’s tight lips.

“Max, this is Jamie. He’s an—” He struggled for the right word. Ex didn’t seem the right word for mutual blowjobs and jerk-offs. Fuck buddy would be frowned upon by his mother, although technically it was the right term.

“Friend,” he said lamely. “Jamie, this is Max. My
boyfriend
.” He made sure to enunciate the words. Max’s face relaxed a little but he still looked at Jamie as if he was dog dirt on his shoe. Gibson held tightly to Max’s hand.

“Whatever.” Jamie waved a dismissive hand in Max’s direction. “Gibson, I’m so sorry about your dad, my lovely. Is there anything I can do?”

Gibson shook his head, his throat clenching at the concern in Jamie’s voice. “No, but thank you. Not unless you can bring him back.”

The younger man’s round face softened. “I wish I could, baby. I wish I could.” Gibson winced as Max’s hand tightened around his at the endearment.

Jamie looked at Doris. “Mrs H, you look tired. Can I do the washing up for you? You take a seat and I’ll finish up while these guys dry up.” He gently pushed her out of the way and took over. Doris rolled her eyes at Gibson and moved away to sit at the kitchen table. Gibson wondered how much of a visitor Jamie had been to his home while he’d been gone. He and his mother appeared comfortable with each other. The same couldn’t be said about Max. He finished drying up in silence then muttered something about having a phone call to make and disappeared out into the garden.

Gibson glared at Jamie. “You’ve upset him,” he accused. His heart was already heavy with grief and the last thing he wanted was his rock rolling away downhill. “You shouldn’t have kissed me. We’re not an item anymore, remember?”

Jamie stared at him wide eyed. “I’m sorry, Gibson. I suppose I got carried away. He seems a little…standoffish. Are you sure he’s right for you?”

Gibson scowled at him fiercely. “He’s perfect for me.” And how true were those words. Gibson had never expected to say them, especially not so soon after starting a relationship. “He’s not used to family; he’s been on his own fending for himself since he was fourteen years old and he’s learnt to hide himself away from people.”

Gibson’s mother drew in a horrified breath. “Alone since he was fourteen? What happened?”

He had no desire to tell anything of what he knew of Mooch’s dark tale. That was Max’s story to tell should he ever want to, and even Gibson was waiting for it. “He lost his whole family and went to foster care. But he’s amazing, Mum. He’s warm, he’s funny and he looks after me. I lo—like him. And he likes me.”

He loves me in fact.
Gibson held the thought close to him.

Jamie looked shame faced. “Okay, well, I’m sorry. I miss you. But I guess I need to get over it.”

Gibson nodded. “He’s special, Jamie. I need to go see how he’s doing. Mum, you okay?”

Doris waved a hand. “Go find your fella, Gibson. We’ll be fine.” She grinned faintly. “Jamie, have I told you about that young man at the youth centre, who thinks you’re cute? His name is Dennis…”

As his mother did her gay matchmaking, Gibson left Jamie expressing horror at the thought of dating a man called Dennis and hurried off to find Max. He found him leaning on the old white picket fence, staring out across the grey expanse of the sea, as the wind blew his hair across his face and turned his cheeks ruddy. Gibson thought he’d never seen a more heart-stopping sight.

“You okay?” Gibson asked softly. “I’m sorry about Jamie. He can get a bit much.”

Max shrugged. “Not your fault. This is your home, your family and your past. I’m a guest.”

A pang snapped through Gibson’s chest like a rubber band being launched inside him. “Max, you’re my boyfriend. My family is yours. What’s wrong?”

Max cleared his throat. “I guess I’m not used to family things. It’s been such a long time I don’t know how to act. Like offering to do the dishes for your mum. Jamie didn’t even hesitate about it, but it didn’t even occur to me…”

Gibson reached up and framed Max’s face in his hands. “Stop it. No one expects anything of you. Being here for me is enough.” He pulled him closer, feeling Max’s body respond to his closeness as they stood together in the garden trading tender, gentle kisses.

Max sighed into his mouth, whispers of tea-scented breath and toothpaste. Part of Gibson wanted to hear Max say those words again, those ones he’d uttered in the dim, medicinal depths of his bedroom. The other part of him still worried about what might happen if he did.

They drew apart, mouths swollen, eyes darkened with the knowledge that perhaps later they’d be able to fulfil their need for each other again in the privacy of Gibson’s room.

“Are you doing okay?” Max reached and brushed a strand of hair from Gibson’s face. “This is about you, not me. I want to try and make you feel better, not the other way around.”

Gibson nodded at the reminder of why he was home. “I feel pretty raw inside, but I need to be strong for my mum. She might look strong but she’s fragile, I can tell. She and my dad were close. They were married thirty years, and now he’s gone.”

Max drew him closer, a comforting, strong presence he fell into, closing his eyes as he breathed in Max’s scent. They stood for a while, simply feeding each other with spoonfuls of solidarity and familiarity.

“I’m sorry I can’t talk about my past much,” Max murmured sadly. “It’s not something I want to share. It’s sordid.”

Gibson snuggled in. “I don’t know much about it either,” he said gently. “I know you were on the streets with someone called Levi who you obviously loved, and he died. I know how you ended up there and I’ve picked up things here and there. That’s about it.”

Max drew a deep breath. “I don’t want to tell you about the stuff I did then,” he muttered. “I don’t want to see disgust in your eyes.”

Gibson hugged him. Max had said as much when he’d been fevered and sick. “I could never be that man. I wouldn’t judge you. I
want
to hear it. Max, baby, that’s what boyfriends do. They listen.”

There was silence. When Max spoke again his voice was pained. “Levi and I were lovers. He showed me the ropes. We ran away together because he told me it would be better. And for a while it was. Then he got hooked on drugs, and it spiralled down from there. Sometimes he was so out of it, I had to find the money to help us survive.” Max shuddered. “I found I could get easy money for food and shelter being a rent boy on the streets.”

Gibson moved and looked up into shadowed eyes. “I suspected as much,” he said, lifting a hand to touch Max’s cheek. “And listen when I tell you I don’t care. You did what you needed to do. To keep you and Levi alive.”

Max laughed harshly. “I was lucky I didn’t pick up any diseases, but I always insisted on condoms. I guess it paid off.” His eyes grew distant. “I sat down next to Levi for over an hour before I realised he was dead.” His voice choked. “I even kicked him to try wake him up for fuck’s sakes. The cops arrived and carted us both off, to a shelter. I was dehydrated, starving, malnourished and full of lice. At the shelter they sorted me out.” His tone grew soft. “There was this policeman, the one who found us. He was so damn kind. He had a sixteen-year-old kid at home so he could empathise, I guess. I fell apart, and he was there for me. It kills that I never knew his name, to say thank you afterwards. I tried to track him down but couldn’t find him.” He sighed heavily. “I buried Levi and then turned my life around.”

Gibson traced the lone tear trickling down Max’s cheek. “I don’t care what you did back then. I think you did good, babe. I mean look at you now.” His own eyes stung. “I’m so glad you made it through. I can’t imagine not having you in this world.”