Parts 5 & 6
DeAnna Zankich
Sequel is | Dirty Laundry
Summary: As their intimacy grows, Stuart and Vince progress toward the "big step" of moving in together. Growing pains and fantastic discoveries abound.
Warnings: None
Author Notes:
Flinching in his sleep, Stuart's hand flicked at the itch on his back. For a moment it went away, then it came back--and even
worse. This scritch-scrathy feeling on the skin just above his tailbone was maddening as hell, but he was too warm and
comfortable to wake up all the way. He just wanted to keep sleeping . . . but that prickly scratching . . . DAMN! He rolled over
onto his side, glowering behind him to see what had caused that annoying sensation.
There was Vince, sitting on the mattress beside him dressed in a pair of bright red flannel trousers, a fluffy white jumper and a
fuzzy little Santa hat to match. In his fingers, he twirled a large sprig of mistletoe tied with a red ribbon. The slightly dry leaves of it
had been the source of the scratching.
"Well, if you want to kiss my bloody arse so badly, then do it," Stuart snapped. "I'm sleeping." He flopped back down and closed
his eyes, knowing full well that his lover would have none of that attitude on Christmas morning.
"All right," Vince said.
Stuart felt warm little kisses being placed on his lower back and his tailbone, then on his exposed cheeks, into the warm crevice
between, out onto the backs of his thighs, then all over his balls. A few wet licks against his pucker and his cock was hard. He
sighed, reluctantly, and spread his legs.
"That's lovely, but I'm still sore," he muttered against the pillow.
"I'm not fucking you, I'm just tasting you." Vince kissed the warm little ring of flesh, then dabbed his tongue at it again.
"No," Stuart said. "You can't rim me and not fuck me, Vince. That's in the rule book."
Vince chuckled softly. "Right, then. I WILL fuck you." He spread Stuart's cheeks with his fingers and licked the full length of the
warm crevice, kissing the sensitive rose bud as though it were a virginal mouth.
Still lying face down on the bed, Stuart's cock swelled and lengthened between his belly and the mattress and he moved his hips
up and down to create friction on it. Vince's tongue teasing his anus and the lovely pressure of the mattress threatened to send him
over the edge and he moaned into his pillow. His bladder was full, as well, which always added to the tingling sensations of
arousal, but could create a bit of a problem if not handled appropriately. Breathing a soft groan, he looked back over his
shoulder.
"Vince."
"What?" he said, his tongue spinning hot, wet circles on the surface of Stuart's anus.
"Wait. I have to go for a piss." He started to turn over but Vince held him down. He nipped at the warm opening with his front
teeth, then he tugged Stuart's cheeks apart even more, urging the tip of his tongue inside the ring of muscle.
"Oooh . . ." Stuart moaned, his cock kicking against his belly. He felt the warm moisture of his natural lubricant spill onto the
mattress under him. "No, wait. Really." He used a bit more force and got himself turned over. Holding Vince's chin, he leaned
forward and kissed him, tasting himself on his lover's lips. "It feels so fucking good, I'll wet the bed if I don't go for a piss. I'll be
right back. Don't move, my naughty little elf." He flicked the fuzzy white ball dangling from the end of Vince's hat as he scooted off
the bed and made for the loo.
After concentrating for a few seconds to coax down his erection he was able to relieve himself. As he stood there, Stuart's other
senses slowly woke up and he became aware of the warm smells of cinnamon and freshly made coffee. Something was baking.
All these things mingled with the crisp pine scent of the Christmas tree made him smile. His rather austere shagger's flat had
suddenly been transformed into a nice little home.
He came back to the bed, his naked skin feeling chilled in the morning air, and crawled on the mattress beside Vince. He grinned
at his lover, sitting there looking so adorable in that goofy hat.
"I think it's your turn to be fucked," he said.
"Oh, no. I am The Keeper of the Mistletoe," Vince said. "I decide who gets fucked and when."
"I thought mistletoe was for kissing, not for fucking." Stuart pushed him down on his back and straddled him, lifting his jumper to
expose his belly.
"Kissing always leads to fucking," Vince pointed out.
"It does with us, anyway." Stuart laughed, bending down to nibbled the warm skin just above Vince's navel.
Vince's fingers dove into Stuart's hair, tugging the sleep rumpled curls gently. "Since you're up there," he said, his voice straining
slightly from his quickly building arousal. "I have something for you in my trousers."
Stuart giggled. "I'll just bet you do . . ." He kissed his lover's hardening cock through the soft flannel fabric, rubbing his nose
against the fat, pulsating head.
"No . . . really. In my pocket." Vince's fingers stroked those black curls lovingly, with almost unconscious possessiveness. "Feel
it?"
Stuart looked down at the soft fabric of the trousers covering Vince's body and saw no raised parts or bulges other than the ones
caused by his balls and his growing erection.
"Feel for it," Vince breathed. "On the left there."
He stroked over the left side pocket with his palm and fingers, still feeling nothing.
"Lower," the prone one instructed. "A bit more to the right."
Finally, Stuart's fingers came across a small, hard cylinder shaped object down at the bottom of the pocket. It was clearly a ring
and he looked up at Vince with a sweet smile.
"Either this is some of hardware for the bathroom faucet or you've done something you didn't need to do," he said.
"Just take it out." Vince raised up on his elbows and sat forward a bit, making the pocket pooch out at its opening.
Stuart reached inside and all the way down to the bottom where his fingers connected with the warm metal of the ring. When he
took it out, his jaw dropped and he held the ring up to the light.
It was platinum, highly polished and very simply designed. A smooth, wide center band flanked by two tiny braids of rose gold.
The pinkish metal reflected onto the glossy platinum surface making it look like a glowing ember. The ring was elegant and fine
and must have cost a small fortune. It looked vaguely familiar and Stuart wondered where he might have seen it.
"Vince . . ." he sat up, shaking his head. "This is bloody gorgeous. How did you pay for it?"
"Oh, now THAT's romantic," Vince said, but he was smiling as though he'd expected Stuart to say exactly that. "Not that you
should be concerned with that, but I got my full deposit back on the flat when I moved out. Guess I must have been a good
tenant. Turned it right around into the ring. So, don't ask me again and don't think about it again. `Cos, if you think I'm going to let
a wild little beauty like YOU run `round without some sort of mark on you that says you're taken, well--you're mad."
Stuart smiled, feeling warm all over. He knew Vince would have liked to be much more slushy and sweet about giving him the
ring--in fact, he'd most likely changed a plan he already had in place in favor of this, much more playful delivery. Stuart knew his
lover was being sensitive to the fact that he'd already had enough emotional turmoil for one holiday season.
"It's completely fantastic and I love it," he said. "It really is quite fine."
"Well," Vince blushed, sitting up and taking the ring out of Stuart's hand. "I had some help. Romey came with me to pick it out.
She said you were looking at one that was similar to this that day you bought me the Gucci watch."
"Nothing gets by that woman," he said, recalling the afternoon and their stop at the jewelry counter.
"She said you looked at it but didn't try it on. She thought you might be looking at it for me, but then she heard about the
Claddagh. So, she figured you were interested in it for yourself." Vince held the ring sideways into the light, tilting it so Stuart
could see the inside of the large band. "Can you see?"
Engraved there in tiny, delicate barely legible writing were the words: `in our kingdom by the sea'.
"Like it or not, we were meant to be from day one," Vince said, wistfully. "Shall I?" He held out his hand for Stuart's.
Before he let Vince put the ring on, Stuart kissed him, deep and sweet, holding his boyish face in both hands. "Thank you," he
said, meaning a thousand things with those two little words. He held out his left hand and chewed his bottom lip as Vince placed
the ring on his finger. Just as he had done with the Claddagh, Vince kissed the ring once it was in place, then he pulled Stuart into
a long, tight hug.
"You will wear it, right?" he said.
Stuart laughed softly. "Twat. Of COURSE I will. Not only is it lovely, but it's from you."
Grinning, Vince said, "You DO like it, then?"
"I love it. It's beautiful. That Romey . . . I was looking at it for myself. I just can't believe she saw that. She sees everything."
"Yeah," he said, looking down at the ring on Stuart's finger. "Such beautiful hands . . ." He touched their foreheads together and
sighed. "This is all a bit grown up, isn't it?"
"Well," Stuart said. "If we have to grow up, at least we can do it together. That way it won't feel like being grown up, at all. We
can feel fifteen forever if we like." He waited for Vince to look at him, knowing he would after that remark. Vince loved it when
Stuart mentioned the duration of their acquaintance. It seemed to make him puff up with pride. Managing to stay with Stuart for all
those years was no small accomplishment, and they both knew it. In many ways, it was unbelievable.
"Like Peter Pan," Vince said.
"Off to Never Never Land." Stuart kissed him again, tugging him close and intending to drag him down to the mattress and shag
him senseless, but they didn't get the chance.
The phone by the bed rang and they both groaned at it, unhappily.
"It is Christmas," Vince reminded. "And I've got cinnamon buns in the oven. You get the phone, I'll get the breakfast." He kissed
Stuart again, rolling off the bed and bounding down to the kitchen.
On the third ring, Stuart picked up the phone. "Yeah? I mean, Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, you bastard," Marie teased, cheerfully.
"Hey. Merry Christmas, Sis. Have the boys opened all their gifts?"
"Hours ago," she said. "You should see the lounge. It looks like a parade float exploded in there."
He chuckled. "Did they get everything they wanted?"
"Well, not yet. They haven't open your gifts--or mum and dad's. By the time they're done, they'll have everything they could ever
want."
"Until next week."
"Right," Marie said. "So, have you spoken to them today?"
"We just woke up," he said by way of explanation. "Have you?"
"Mm. Mum seems all right, actually. Considering. Are you bringing the baby `round today?"
"Dunno what Romey and Lisa are doing. I don't want to mess with their plans on such short notice."
"Stuart, they want to see him. I'm sure Romey would be happy to stop by the house just for a minute."
"Yeah," he said, frowning.
Marie sighed in the silence that followed.
"You did the right thing," she said after a bit.
He had no reply. He laid on his back looking at the glinting platinum ring on his hand, watching the way it caught the morning light.
"Stuart?"
"Vince gave me a ring," he told her, hoping to derail the other subject. "It's lovely. Platinum and rose gold."
"Sounds nice," Marie said. "Engraved?"
"Of course. A line from a poem called `Annabel Lee'. He was reciting it in school when I first walked into his class."
"Aw," she said. "That's so like Vince to remember something like that."
"I remembered it, too," he said defensively.
"I'm sure," his sister said. "After he reminded you."
"He didn't." Stuart's brow was knit and his belly tightened in frustration. Only Marie could make him feel that insecure--well,
Marie and his parents. "I remembered it and he didn't have to remind me. You know, I might not be the twat you think I am."
"You might not," she said, still sistering him. "But I doubt it. So, why don't you ring me later when you and Vince have a plan for
the day. All right?"
"Yeah," he grumbled. "Talk to you later. Tell the boys Merry Christmas. Oh, and--"
"What?"
"--thanks for coming with me yesterday."
"Well," she said. "You wouldn't have gone through with it, otherwise."
"Yes, I would have, Marie. Fuck off."
"Fuck off, yourself. Merry Christmas."
He could hear the smile in her voice but he hung up on her anyway, dropping the phone into its cradle. "Bloody Marie." He was frowning so hard, it was giving him a headache so he took a deep breath and got out of bed.
Grabbing some socks, sweats and a warm shirt, he dressed quickly then went down to the kitchen. Vince was dishing up cinnamon buns that smelled heavenly and placing them on plates beside poached eggs.
"Christ, look at you. You're a fanTAstic wife." He walked around behind Vince and pressed against him, arms wrapped around his lover's waist. He parked his chin on Vince's shoulder and smiled. "This is lovely. Thank you for doing all this."
"My pleasure," Vince said, kissing his nose. "Was that your sister I heard you swearing at first thing on Christmas morning?"
He laughed, bitterly. "She's such a cunt. I try to give her a compliment--to thank her--and all she can do is take the piss."
"Thank her for what?" Vince leaned over to put the dirty baking pan into the dishwasher.
"For being with me yesterday. When I told my parents," Stuart said. He leaned on the counter and picked at his thumbnail, knowing he would have to tell Vince what happened now that he'd mentioned his sister's involvement.
"Marie was there?" he said, right on cue.
"Yeah. I . . . asked her if she would come with me. I rang her after mum rang me at work about the Claddagh."
"Oh," Vince said, unable to conceal how wounded he felt. "I would have gone with you, Stuart."
"I know, luv. But . . . you see . . . I needed Marie's special brand of impatience and intolerance. If she hadn't been there to force me to tell them everything, I wouldn't have done it. I would have just walked out and never said anything. If you were there, you would have been thinking about me and you would have LET me walk out. That's why I needed her. Only my bloody sister can kick my arse like that. Well, and live to tell." He looked at his lover and smiled, sadly. "And don't ever tell her I said that--about not doing it if she weren't there. Stupid cunt. She'll never let me live that down."
Vince laughed in spite of his lingering sadness. "We should eat before the eggs get cold. Do you want juice?"
"Sure." He took the plates off the counter and walked them over to the dining room table where Vince had set two places with some fancy silver cutlery that Stuart had never seen. "Where did this come from?"
"It's mine," Vince said. "My father gave it to me ages ago. Said it was his mother's. I never thought I'd have the chance to use it, but I figured today was as good a time as any."
"Have you seen him lately? Your father?"
"I spoke to him just yesterday," Vince said. "He said Judith's engaged. You know, my half-sister."
"Right, I know. That's nice." He sat down and slid the pretty silver holder off the red linen napkin beside his plate. "When's the wedding?"
"In the summer. August, I think." Vince walked over to the table and sat down. "Anyway, it was nice to talk to him. He said congratulations to us for all this."
Stuart smiled. "I'm glad you get on with him. It's unusual, him being around your whole life."
"Yeah," Vince said, picking up his fork and prodding his eggs. "So, are you going to tell me what happened yesterday, or not?"
Stuart tore off a soft chunk of his steaming cinnamon bun and blew on it. He knew he had to tell Vince what happened, he was just hoping he could wait until it wasn't quite so raw and painful inside him. As he sat there, he decided it was best to just get it over with. Dump the tale and move on. Vince should know what happened, anyway, before they went out into all the family obligations ahead of them that day.
"Well, you know that Mum left here after seeing you and that she rang me at work."
"Right?" Vince said.
Stuart frowned as the recollection came back, in full glaring detail.
Sandra had buzzed him on the intercom and said his mother was on line one, sounding frantic. Stuart had picked up the line straight away, fearing the worst.
"Mum? What's wrong?" he'd said.
Margaret Jones had been crying. She wailed down the line, babbling on about how could he give that ring away, it was a family heirloom, etc., etc. It actually took him a moment to figure out what she on about. Then, he realized and tried to calm her down--trying to explain, but not REALLY explain why Vince was wearing her great-great- great grandfather's ring.
"Mum," he'd said, trying to cut her off in mid-rant. It took him a moment before she stopped for a breath and then he cut in again. "Mum, listen to me. It's not what you think--"
"THEN WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS IT, STUART ALLAN?????" she screamed. "You get that ring back this instant!! I know he's your best mate and all, but you can't just give that ring away!!! It belongs in our family, for Christ's sake!!!"
"It IS in our family," he'd said, quietly.
It took Margaret a minute before what he'd said registered, but when it did, she fell silent.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she'd said after a moment of crackling static on the phone.
Stuart had taken a deep breath and let it out slowly. "The ring is still in our family, Mum," he'd repeated, slower that time.
Margaret was just not hearing him. "Vince is your best friend, Stuart, and I understand that you feel deeply bonded to him, but that ring is meant to be worn by a family member. A spouse or a child. When Marie told me she'd given it to you, I was hoping to see it on your finger. I just don't understand you. Vince is an angel, he'll understand why you have to take it back."
Stuart had sighed, covering his face with his hands. He'd looked at his watch and known he was going to be very late getting home to Vince, but he'd also known this confrontation would no longer wait. "Listen, Mum, I have to speak to you. I'd like to come `round right now, if I can."
Only slightly flustered by his request, Margaret had forged on. "Of course. That's fine. Come `round now." She'd hung up and left her son with a dead phone line in his ear, feeling doomed in the face of the daunting task ahead of him.
The next call he'd made was from his car. It had been 4:10pm and he was about two miles from Marie's house. He'd quickly explained what happened with Vince and the ring and gave her a rundown of the conversation he'd had with their mother. He told her he was going to tell their parents everything.
"You have to come with me," he'd said. "I need you there."
"Stuart, what am I meant to do with the boys?"
"I don't know, Marie. Sort it out. It won't take more than an hour. I'm coming to get you now."
He hadn't given her any choice in the matter and by some stroke of luck, when he'd arrived at her place, she was in her coat and ready to go. Marie locked the door behind her and came out to the jeep, climbing into the passenger seat without one single word of protest.
At their parents' house, Stuart had sat in the car for a moment, breathing. Marie got out and walked around to the driver's side window, knocking on it relentlessly with her glove-covered knuckle until her brother got out of the car. Together, they walked up to the house and she rang the bell. Clive came to the door, standing aside to let his children in, his eyes finding and holding Stuart's. What Stuart saw there had surprised him. Clive's eyes had been full of support and a gentle, mild concern. He'd put a hand on his son's shoulder as he passed in the walkway, but Stuart had been unable to meet his gaze. If he'd looked at his father then, he would have run screaming from the house and never come back.
Margaret had been sitting in the living room, her arms folded sternly over her waist. An untouched cup of tea sat on the coffee table in front of her and she wouldn't look at them as they sat in chairs across from her. Her husband sat beside her with his arm around her shoulders.
Marie had sat within reach of her brother intentionally--just in case he'd tried to bolt. She could either trip him or grab him from where she was sitting and that was all just as well. She offered Stuart a weak, but encouraging smile and it had been enough to get him started.
Seeing no other way to do it, Stuart simply opened his mouth and started talking. He'd had no plan, no organized thoughts--he hadn't time. This was a conversation he had never intended to be having in his life.
"Vince has moved in with me," he had begun. "He's been living there about a week now and we've been exclusively involved for just over three months."
His mother had interjected then with some defiantly ignorant remark about them having been friends for sixteen years, what was this `three month' business about, and Stuart had looked at her then for the first time since he'd walked in.
Marie had spoken up and she'd kept her voice quite, low- impact. "Mum, please listen," she'd said. "You're not paying attention to what Stuart's saying."
Margaret had scowled defensively at her daughter, but she'd allowed Stuart to continue.
Shaking all over, he'd gone on. "Vince is my lover. Yes, we've been friends for sixteen years, but our friendship evolved recently into a romantic relationship. I gave him the ring because he is my partner and I want him to wear it. He's already said that if anything happens and it doesn't work out between us, he will give the ring back. He knows how important it is to your family, Mum. Don't worry about the ring. It's perfectly safe." He'd had to take a breath then because he felt like his lungs were completely empty.
Margaret hadn't said anything. She had just sat there and stared at him for almost a full two minutes with her mouth hanging open. Then, when she did decide to speak, her voice had been barely audible. "Are . . . are you saying . . ?"
"He's gay," Marie said, gently. "Mum, it's not the end of the world."
Stuart had been grateful that his sister was there--Marie with all her brutal honesty was exactly what the conversation needed to keep moving.
Then, Clive had cleared his throat and looked at his son with that same expression he'd been wearing when they first arrived. "I, for one, am not surprised. If that makes any difference."
Margaret had turned to him in a slow daze, staring at her husband as though she'd never laid eyes on him before. "What? You're saying you KNEW?"
"I had an inkling, yes. But, it's not something you just blurt out at the dinner table or anything. At least . . . not in this house. Clearly." His expression changed a bit to one of sad shyness. Stuart had felt badly for him.
"That's not all," Stuart said, hating the thick quality of his own voice. He had looked at Marie again for support and she'd nodded to him.
"Go on," she'd said.
Looking down at his hands, Stuart had licked his dry lips and taken a deep breath. "Remember I told you that Romey and her partner had a baby? Well, the child is mine. It was my sperm they used. The baby-- Alfred--is my son. Your grandson."
Then it had been Clive's turn to pipe up. He sat forward on the couch, looking at Stuart with wide, blue eyes. "I have another grandson?" he'd said. "You've got to be joking! How old is the child?"
"Three and half months," Stuart had answered.
"And you waited this long to tell us he was even alive?!" Clive had nearly been yelling, but not quite. He was simply surprised and overjoyed at the same moment as he was reeling with the emotional strain of his son proclaiming his homosexuality--whether he'd known about it himself or not.
"Dad, I . . ." Stuart had spread his hands, helplessly, not knowing what to say in response.
"Well, then," Margaret had said, suddenly standing up and clasping her hands together as though she'd just thought of some excellent outing they should all go on. "You will have to bring the baby around on Christmas Day so we can meet him. What's his name?"
"Alfred," Stuart had said, staring at her with concern. She seemed hysterical.
"Alfred! Lovely. Bring him `round on Christmas. It would be lovely to see Romey again," Margaret had said and then she turned around and started off toward the kitchen, still talking. "Why, we haven't seen her since . . . you two were in college. I mean, we've always exchanged Christmas cards and everything, and I've spoken to her a few times on the phone--funny, I always rather thought you two would end up together, and then you said about her lady friend and all and I figured, well, that's that. I would love to see her. And her lady friend, as well. Unless they have other plans. A grandson . . . how nice. That's so nice."
All three of them had stood up at once, intending to see to Margaret who was clearly having a meltdown. Clive had stopped his children by holding up his hands.
"I'll look after her," he had said. He put his hands on his son's shoulders and squeezed him gently. "You look a bit pale, yourself, lad. It's going to be all right. I promise. You just go home to Vince. I'll look after your mother." He'd reached over to give his daughter a hug and then he'd turned and gone back to the kitchen.
Stuart and Marie left them alone and drove back to Marie's house without saying a word. In the driveway in front of her place, Stuart had suddenly started to cry. He wouldn't let her touch him or console him, he had just kept shaking his head and swiping angrily at the tears. After repeating over and over that he had done the right thing, Marie finally left him and went back inside.
Stuart had driven straight home, driving like a madman because he knew he was going to throw up at any second.
"And then I came in, and . . . you know the rest."
They were finishing the last of the coffee as they sat on the couch by the tree. Breakfast had been eaten and the dishes cleaned up in the time it took to reiterate the tale. Stuart was feeling fortified-- both by the food and by letting Vince in on the events of that most pivotal day in his life.
"So, my parents know about everything and Marie said this morning that Mum was all right when they spoke earlier. I guess we won't have lock her up, after all." He drained his cup and set it on the coffee table.
"Thank God for you dad," Vince said.
"Yeah. Old Clive is pretty bright. All his lights are on and everyone's home." Stuart smiled thinking of how well his father handled everything. Even down to ringing Romey about the baby. Yes, Clive had been quite the champion.
"Now, you have to go through the introduction," Vince said. "Baby Alfred, these are your third set of grandparents. That kid is going to have so many presents at Christmas and his birthdays! He'll be spoiled to death."
"Fourth set," Stuart said. "Kid's got four, including Hazel and Bernie."
They laughed and Vince set his cup down next to Stuart's. "We've got more presents to open."
"Let's do it later," he said, smiling seductively at his lover. "The Keeper of the Mistletoe still owes me my Christmas morning shag."
Vince grinned and lifted his eyebrows up and down salaciously. "I want you to open one present, then. Just one."
"Has it got something to do with shaggin'?"
"Yes."
"Then, bring it on."
Gleefully, Vince bounced off the couch and went to kneel by the tree, peeking at all the gifts there, moving some of the packages aside and searching until he found what he was after. He took out a box about the size of his hand wrapped in shiny green paper and tied with a red ribbon. He gave it to Stuart then sat on the couch very close to him.
"What have you done here?" Stuart asked, shaking the small package gently. He could hear liquid moving inside. "Is it . . ? What is it?"
"Open it." Vince could hardly contain his excitement as he watched his lover peel the paper away from the box.
When Stuart saw the label, he laughed, deep in his throat. Kama Sutra Oil of Love. "You naughty little elf, you." He kissed Vince's lips firmly, with intention, then he wrestled him down onto his back on the couch. Setting the bottle aside momentarily, he dispensed with his lover's clothing--but he left the little red and white hat on.
Stuart stripped down slowly, climbing on top of Vince and straddling his waist. He picked up the bottle of oil and worked the little cork stopper free, smelling the spicy contents in a deep breath. "Lovely," he said, holding it down so Vince could smell it.
"Smells like sex."
"It's meant to." He grinned, playfully, tipping the bottle just enough to wet his fingers with the fragrant oil. "Do you know what this does on your skin?"
Vince nodded, smiling like a shy little boy about to do something terribly bad.
"Ooohhh," Stuart said, actually a bit surprised. "My little Vince has been up to no good when I wasn't looking, hasn't he?"
"It's just oil . . ." he said, his cheeks flushed darkly.
"Right." Stuart circled Vince's nipple repeatedly until he felt the flesh heat up under his slick fingers. The oil worked its magic and warmed on contact and Vince lifted his chest up into the touch, sighing with pleasure.
"Blimey . . ."
He switched to the other nipple and gave it the same attention, then he trailed his oily fingers down the center of Vince's belly, slicking the fine line of hair that led to his hardening cock. Stuart scooted back enough to have full access to his lover's erection, then he tipped the little bottle and let out a generous drop of the oil right onto the head of Vince's cock. The oil slid slowly in a clear line down the edge of that big vein, making its way to the soft light brown curls of his pubic hair. Vince shuddered as the liquid heated on his skin.
"Rub it in," he begged, urging his hips up and lifting Stuart slightly on the couch.
Setting the bottle on the table beside their cups, Stuart reached down with his hand and spread the warming oil all over Vince's thick shaft, cupping the hot flesh in his fist and massaging it firmly and quickly, like masturbating. The head leaked and grew, adding Vince's own moisture to the mix. He arched his back and moaned, helplessly, so close to coming right then. Stuart could feel the heat from the oil in his hand and he could only imagine how amazing it felt on his lover's cock.
"Careful, now . . ." he warned, softly. "Don't you dare come yet."
"Stop, then . . . stop." Vince was gasping and he flopped down on the couch when Stuart let go of his erection. "Christ, that feels so fucking good. I can't believe it! It's so HOT!"
"You didn't try it before you gave it to me?" Stuart teased.
"It was wrapped up."
Giggling, he moved down on the couch and lifted Vince's legs, placing one over the back of the cushions and the other over his own shoulder. He teased Vince's balls with his oil covered hand, rubbing them, rolling them and tugging them very gently, giving them a generous coating of the heating liquid. Then he oiled his lover's anus with slow, seductive strokes, tickling the tender opening in little circles before he slid his fingers inside.
Vince held his breath and his fingers dug into the brown leather of the couch. His eyes opened wide and he sat up slightly, staring at his lover. "OH. MY. GOD. You have to get in there, NOW. Right now, Stuart, I swear . . . fuck me now."
Sliding his fingers out quickly, he figured he'd best heed the urgent request. He tilted his hips just slightly and slid his cock inside his lover's body, pushing all the way in. The heat from the oil made contact with his own bare erection, almost burning it with tingling, spreading warmth.
Sitting forward as much as he could, Vince touched his finger to his own cock and gathered some of the oil there. Reaching his hand behind Stuart, he rubbed the oil down the vulnerable crevice of his lover's ass, sliding his fingertip inside him. The heat from the liquid was almost unbearable at both ends like that and Stuart heard himself crying out as his cock throbbed inside Vince. They kissed roughly, feasting on each other's mouths but they remained virtually motionless, just reeling from the sensations caused by the oil.
Then Vince moved back and laid down, lifting his hips, offering himself. Stuart stared at him, locked eyes with him and then slowly he began to rub his cock inside Vince's body. He thought he might die from the pleasure the oil was adding to that already intensely pleasurable activity, but he kept breathing and concentrating, wanting to make it last as long as possible.
Vince reached for his hand and brought it to his cock, his light blue eyes wanton and desperate. "You have to wank me, Stuart . . . I don't need it, but it feels so incredible with the oil . . . touch me . . ."
He grabbed Vince's cock lovingly and fisted it in slow, tight strokes. He could still feel the heat from the oil that had been on Vince's fingers inside him and he clenched his muscles and felt his prostate tingle. He was moaning loudly by then, knowing the neighbors could hear them clearly out in the living room like that. He couldn't have cared less if he tried.
Vince opened his legs as wide as he could and tossed his head back, closing his eyes. The little elf hat finally slipped off and landed on the floor beside the couch, but he didn't notice. He bucked into Stuart's hand, coming like mad, splattering his belly and chest with semen. He trembled violently, squeezing Stuart's cock inside him and Stuart felt himself let go--shooting, spurting all the way up into Vince's body. He cried out and gasped for air but the orgasm was possessive and wasn't about to give up control until it had run its course.
Finally, he collapsed forward on Vince's body, struggling to breathe and spinning from the intense pleasure he'd just experienced.
"Christ!" he said. "Now THAT was fun."
Vince laughed, breathlessly, wrapping his arms around Stuart's back. "Well," he said. "Glad you liked the oil."
Stuart giggled, sitting up with some effort so they could kiss. His limbs were heavy and warm and all he wanted to do was sleep, but he knew he couldn't. They had visiting to do, a new baby to introduce and a bit more music to face before the day was through.
**********
Mailboxes and Mistletoe (Part Six)
Stuart:
He had to admit Lisa looked lovely in her red dress. She stood there with the baby in her arms, cooing softly to him as Romey gathered his things into the diaper bag.
"Now, are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" Romey asked. "I can just bring Alfred and then leave."
"No," Stuart said. "I need to have a way out. If you're with me I won't be able to say that I have to get him back to you. This way, I can just be in and out."
"Right," she said, looking at him with sweet concern. "Are you all right? Really?"
"Yeah. Vince is looking after me." He winked at his lover as he stood leaning against the wall in the entry hallway.
"Well, I for one think it was brave of you," Lisa said, reticently. "I mean, not that you shouldn't have done it ages ago, but having to do it when you weren't prepared must have been incredibly jarring." She walked over to him and handed him the baby. "You seem to be holding up terribly well in spite of your awful self."
He smiled at her thinly, taking the child and holding him close. "I'll be back in about an hour, then," he said. "I'm not holding you up too badly, am I?"
"Not at all," Romey said. "We're not expected at my mother's until after three. Take your time if you like."
Stuart crossed the room and kissed Romey's cheek. "Thanks. See ya in a bit." He picked up the bag and Vince got Alfred's car seat and they headed out the door.
* * *
Vince:
He hadn't been to the Jones' house in almost six years but it looked exactly the same. Seemed smaller, though. More narrow. They got out of the jeep and gathered all of Alfred's gear, then Stuart stood beside the locked car taking deep breaths.
"Christ, just thinking about going in there is making me want to puke again," he muttered.
Vince walked up to him and stood right in his face, their bodies flush. "Then, think about this," he said and he brushed his finger tip against Stuart's nose, knowing the spicy scent of the oil still lingered on his skin. It had been difficult to wash off in the shower and they both still smelled faintly of it, but neither of them minded. It was a quite little secret between them.
The beautiful brunette grinned, his dark blue eyes flashing. "What have I done to you, Vince? You're so bloody BAD." They kissed lingeringly, just with their lips, but with a great deal of heat. "Can't we just go home and shag all day?"
"That's all you ever want to do, Stuart."
"I warned you, didn't I?"
Vince grinned, then he hoisted Alfred up onto his hip in the carrier and made a silly face at the child that got him laughing. "Well? Shall we go in?"
"Yeah," Stuart groaned. "Let's do it. I'll come back out for the gifts in a minute."
"Right." Vince glanced at the packages loaded into the back of the jeep, then he turned and started toward the house. His heart was really racing and he felt a bit ill, himself, but he knew he couldn't show that.
The front door opened as they stepped up to the porch and Clive stood there, smiling brightly and holding his arms out to the baby.
"Oh, would you look at this?" he cooed. "Vince, how are you? Merry Christmas, lad."
Vince smiled. "Merry Christmas, Clive. It's lovely to see you." He still had the carrier propped on his hip and he handed it off to Stuart's father.
Clive smiled in at Alfred, murmuring in soft tones as adults will do in the presence of babies. They all walked into the house and started down the hallway behind Clive, the heavy scents of cooking food in the air.
Vince looked back at his lover who was trailing behind, quietly. Stuart was pale but he looked reasonable all right and Vince offered him a smile.
Marie came up next, putting her arms around Vince and wishing him merry Christmas. She helped her father get the baby out of the carrier and then Clive stood holding the child in the middle of the lounge. Marie kissed his smooth, little cheek.
"God, he's beautiful," she said. "Looks like you already." She grinned at her brother who still hadn't said anything, but he smiled, weakly.
Marie walked over to him, holding out her hand. "Let me see, then."
Stuart held up his left hand and showed off the platinum ring.
"Lovely," she said, examining it closely. "You have wonderful taste, Vince."
"Well," he said shyly. "Stuart picked it out. I just bought it."
Marie lifted Vince's left hand and looked at the Claddagh there. After a moment, she smiled. "It's nice on you. Look after it."
"I most certainly will," he said.
Clive walked over to his son and stood beside him holding the baby. "Are you all right, then?"
Stuart nodded unconvincingly, then spoke for the first time since they'd walked in. "How's Mum?"
"Surprisingly well," Clive said. "I told you she'd be all right."
"She's been cooking up a storm," Marie whispered. "Enough food to feed six families."
Stuart shrugged. "Whatever it takes."
Clive handed the baby to his son. "Why don't you go in and see her? She's in the kitchen."
Taking in a shaky breath, Stuart clutched Alfred and started toward the kitchen. He glanced at Vince doubtfully and Vince smiled into his eyes, trying to send encouragement telepathically. Stuart took the baby and disappeared around the corner into the kitchen.
"Well," Clive said. "I'm sure you didn't come empty handed. Is there stuff in the car?"
"Yes," Vince said, brightly, glad to have something to do. "I'm sure I could use some help."
The two of them went back out into the crisp day, closing the door to keep the heat inside. Marie kept an eye on them through the window so she would know when to let them back in.
Vince unlocked the jeep's boot and he and Clive began unloading the cheerfully wrapped packages--most of which were for Stuart's nephews.
"Christ," Clive muttered. "He always over does it. Spoils those boys rotten." He made a stack of large boxes near the back tire, then reached back in for more. "Are these all ours?"
"Yeah," Vince said. "We had so much that we're delivering in shifts. All the gifts for my mother are still at the flat."
"And how is your mother?" Clive asked.
"Well, thanks. She's keeping herself busy."
"I always liked her. Such a joyful person."
Vince smiled at the description, thinking that it fit very well.
"Vince," Clive said seriously, turning to him in the driveway. "How was he last night? Really? Was he all right?"
Sighing, Vince put his chilled hands in the pockets of his jacket. His breath made a white puff in the cold air. "He . . . was all right after he threw up."
They both laughed, looking down at the ground and shifting uncomfortably.
"I think he's glad it's all out in the open now."
Clive nodded, speculatively. "Well, I just wanted to say that . . . um, well . . . I'm glad it's you. That he chose you to be with. You're a good lad, Vince. And I know you'll love him and look after him. Lord knows that boy needs looking after."
"Oh, he does all right."
Suddenly, Stuart's father stepped forward and put his arms around Vince, hugging him tightly. Vince hugged him back as hard as he dared.
Against his shoulder, Clive said, "in a few months, all this awkwardness will be behind us and everything will be settled. We just have to be patient and let it sort itself out."
"Yeah," Vince agreed, feeling his eyes welling up and knowing it didn't matter. He reckoned Clive would be teary, as well.
"Right," the older man said, patting Vince's shoulders as he stepped back. His dark blue eyes were glassy with moisture but he didn't seem to mind, either. He bent down to pick up the stack of boxes at his feet. "Let's go and make sure my wife hasn't gone round the bend or anything."
Taking the rest of the gifts, Vince closed the boot and followed Clive back up to the house.
* * *
Stuart:
Margaret stood at the counter in the kitchen with her arms folded, just like she'd been the night before. She wasn't cooking or doing anything with the food, she was standing there. Apparently she'd been waiting for him to come in.
He tried a smile but it felt wrong, so he abandoned it. Walking over to her slowly, Stuart turned Alfred around so he was facing her. Stuart cleared his throat. "This is Alfred," he said.
Margaret's eyes softened immediately and she smiled at the baby as only a grandmother can. "Oh," she sighed, reaching for him. "You beautiful thing. Come here." As she took the child from her son, she must have noticed the ring on his finger. "That's new," she said.
Stuart held it up so she could get a better look. "Yeah. Vince gave it to me this morning."
"Is it silver?"
"Platinum. Rose gold around." He took another shaky breath and folded his arms over his chest, feeling slightly chilled now that Alfred was no longer against him.
"Right serious stuff, all this," Margaret said. "Babies and commitments and all."
"Yep."
She smiled at the baby and kissed his forehead. Alfred seemed quite happy to be near her and he touched her fuzzy Christmas sweater with his tiny hand. The pattern was of reindeer running before Santa's sleigh and the reindeer had puffs of fur of them. Must have been soft because Alfred kept petting it. Stuart laughed as he watched, thinking about that fantastic black cashmere sweater he gave Vince. A passion for soft, fuzzy jumpers must run in their family.
She grinned at her son. "You used to do that whenever I wore this top. Do you remember? Even when you were almost nine years old you would rush up to me and touch the reindeer whenever I wore this."
"It's held up pretty well all these years," he said.
"Well, I only get it out once a year. Can't get too battered." She walked over to the kitchen table and sat down in one of the chairs, balancing Alfred on her knee. "He's lovely, Stuart. Has your eyes."
"I think Romey's hoping he'll get my hair. The rest of it he'd be better off without."
Margaret looked up at him. "That isn't true," she said. "You've grown into a fine man. Of course, you can be a handful, but so can all of us. I think if your son inherits your strength of will, he'll be lucky." She offered a sweet smile. "And your hair, as well."
He smiled at her, cautiously. "So, are you all right, then? With all this?"
Margaret bounced the baby gently and he giggled, squeezing her fingers in his tiny hands. "If you tell me you're happy, I'll be just fine."
Stuart walked over to them and placed his hand on Alfred's small back. "I've got to get him back to Romey," he said, his voice sounding tense and thick.
She stared into his eyes for a long moment. "Tell me," she said.
Looking down, Stuart frowned. "It . . . makes me anxious being happy. I . . . I'm afraid of becoming complacent. But, if I were to stop and think about it, then I would have to say yes. I'm happy, Mum. I like my job, I've got plenty of money. I've got him. Vince. My family and friends are all well." He nodded but inside he felt terribly sad. "It's good. It's all good."
Margaret Jones scowled at her son. "Happiness is meant to be good, Stuart. Complacency doesn't have to get into it. You could call it being content. It's a nicer word."
"Complacent, content. It's all the same thing," he said. "It all means being settled."
She sighed, her brow wrinkling with concern. "You've always had that-- that dangerous wanderlust."
"Why is it dangerous?"
"Because it will keep you from ever really being happy. That's why. You'll never allow it for yourself."
He looked away from her, his heart beating way too hard. "I've really got to get him back. Romey's waiting to take him to her mother's."
"All right. Can we see him next week?"
"Course, yeah. I'll bring him `round for a couple hours." Stuart reached for the baby and picked him up, quickly kissing his mother's cheek.
She put her arms around his neck and held him there for a moment, pressing her forehead against his. "I'm sorry I'm having so much trouble with this. I promise I'll get passed it."
"It's all right, Mum. It's . . . a lot all at once." He kissed her again, then stood up, cradling the baby against his chest. "I've got to go. I'll ring you later in the week."
"You're not coming back for dinner?"
"No," he said. "Sorry. I'm . . . going to Hazel's. I just . . . need some time."
With tears rimming her eyes, Margaret mustered a smile. "Merry Christmas, then. I love you."
"I love you." Stuart said then he turned to go.
* * *
Hazel:
"Hope you don't mind the extra mouth to feed," Vince said as he helped his mother set another place at the table.
"I always have enough food for Stuart," she said. "But Nathan's going to be here, so there's THAT."
"Where is he now?" Vince asked.
"At home. Janis asked him to come for lunch--promised him he didn't have to stay. His father is being particularly thorny these last few days. Christmas always brings out the best in people." She glanced out into the back garden where Stuart stood on his own. He'd said he needed some fresh air and had gone outside for a breather. "Is he all right?"
"Yeah," Vince said. "It's just a lot, you know? It's so emotional."
"Hm. He liked the ring, then?"
"Loved it. Did you see it on him? Looks nice."
She pinched his cheek playfully. "You are disgustingly in love."
Blushing madly, Vince laughed. "I need a drink. What have you got?"
"Plenty of wine and a bit of brandy for later. If you want something else, you're either going to the offy or you're outta luck."
"Wine sounds nice, actually." He opened the fridge and took out a bottle of Chardonnay, tugging out the tightly placed cork.
Hazel brought him two glasses. "Is the Irish brat drinking?"
"I think he might need to."
She got another glass. "I think I'll go prod him a bit. He'll catch his death out there." Hazel grabbed her coat off the wall and slipped into it, lighting a cigarette as she stepped out the back door.
Stuart turned to her as she approached, holding out his arm to put around her. "I'm coming in. Don't freeze your arse off."
"You going to live, then, kid?" she said.
He shook his head, letting out a bitter laugh. "The whole thing with Alfred was just . . . way more intense then I'd bargained for."
"Yeah. Vinnie said he had a MOMENT with your father, as well." She took a hit from her cigarette and blew the smoke into the cool late afternoon air. "No flies on him, your dad," she said. "Smart man."
Stuart nodded, holding Hazel close to him.
"I'm glad you did it," she said. "Aren't you?"
He shrugged and wriggled like he did when he had nothing coherent to say. "I . . . ask me that in a week."
She laughed at him gently. "Stuart Allan Jones. You're like a novel. It's non-stop with you."
"Let's go in," he said, tugging her toward the house.
Hazel took one last puff of her smoke, then stepped on the butt. "Nathan's coming, you know?"
"So?"
She eyed him with her left eyebrow raised. "Should I call in a watchdog?"
Stuart laughed, shaking his head. "First of all, woman, your son shagged me within an inch of my life this morning."
"Ah! Good for him!" She clapped her hands proudly.
"And even if he hadn't, after the days I've had . . ." he sighed wearily. "You've got nothing to worry about. Nathan Maloney won't affect me one bit."
Taking his arm, Hazel lead the handsome young Irishman back into the house. But no matter what he said, there was always that niggling specter hanging around whenever he and Nathan were together. In all her infinite wisdom, Hazel Tyler still knew Stuart Jones better than he knew himself.
* * *
Stuart:
Stretched out on the couch with a very full tummy, he toyed with his lover's fingers. Vince sat in a chair beside the couch sipping brandy and smoking a cigarette. He always smoked too much when he was around Hazel, but that night Stuart didn't mind. The meal had been wonderful and he'd eaten like a horse, finding himself suddenly famished as soon as she set the plate in front of him.
He listened in quiet amusement as Hazel and Bernie bantered back and forth about something that occurred at Via Fossa several nights before. They disagreed on the order of events and were arguing loudly about it as only best friends with too much wine in their bellies will.
Stuart sat up and leaned in close, whispering in Vince's ear. "Would you like to have your cock sucked?"
He lowered his chin in mock disapproval. "Stuart . . ." he warned. "Behave."
Whispering even quieter, Stuart kissed Vince's ear. "Let's go upstairs . . . I'll take down your trousers and suck you into my mouth really slowly . . ."
"I can hear you!" Hazel said, her hands on her full hips.
Stuart stared at her in disbelief. "Fuck off, you can not!"
Hazel burst out laughing. "You're right, I can't. I'm just teasing." She walked over to refill his wine glass. "But I figured if you were whispering, you must be suggesting something lewd to my little boy." She grinned at Stuart. "Was I wrong?"
"Nope."
"You see? And it must have been something good and juicy because he was blushin' nineteen shades of crimson over here." She ruffled Vince's hair and he groaned, miserably.
"Mum . . ."
A gust of cold night air burst down the hallway as the front door flung open. Nathan stepped in and closed the door quickly, shaking off the light drizzle that had accumulated on his overcoat. He hung it up and carded his fingers through his soft blonde hair, then he turned and started down the hall.
As the couch was flush with the hallway wall, Stuart was the first person Nathan saw. They looked at each other for a long, tense moment as Nathan continued toward the kitchen, then young Nathan smiled, brightly.
"Hiya! Happy Christmas and all. Hi, Vince."
"Hiya," Vince said, smiling in that mature, polite way of his.
"Sit yourself down," Hazel said, holding out a glass of wine for him. "Celebrate with us." She touched her glass to Nathan's and they toasted each other's health, then he sat down at the table across from Vince.
"So, I hear you came out to your parents," he said.
Stuart frowned. "What, was it on the fucking news?"
"If Hazel knew about it, it might as well have been," Bernie grumbled.
"Oh, piss off," she said. "Nathan, you little shit. You have no tact."
"Sorry." He looked down shyly for a moment--but only for a moment. "So, are you all right?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. And I don't want to talk about it."
He held up his hands, surrendering. "Okay, okay."
Stuart glowered at him. "How's your father?"
The boy lowered his chin and scowled. "Fine and I don't want to talk about that, either."
"Now, now, girls," Bernie said, grinning.
Stuart took a sip of his fresh wine, then set the glass on the table. He stood up. "I'm going for a piss."
"You, stay put," Hazel said, laying her hand on Nathan's shoulder.
"What?" he said, innocently. "I'm sure Stuart doesn't need help having a piss."
He chuckled softly as he walked down the hall and up the stairs to the bathroom. He took his time doing his business up there, washing his hands and primping in the mirror. He was quite buzzed from all the wine he'd had with the meal and he was feeling just a bit mischievous. Nothing too much . . . but he needed something.
Stuart peeked into Vince's old bedroom before he went back down. He could smell Nathan in there, in the sheets. Stuart licked his lips. He didn't turn on the light, but he could make out the shapes of the furniture and the shadow of the curtains on the window. He remembered sleeping with Vince in that room when they were kids, talking themselves hoarse and falling asleep in a tangle of limbs. That was still his favorite thing about being with Vince--sleeping together. The press of Vince's body next to his under the warm blankets. Even with all the erotic fireworks between them, Stuart always looked forward to the quiet intimacy of snuggling together in bed.
As he started down the stairs, Nathan started up. The stairwell was dark save for the light reaching down the hall from the kitchen. They both slowed their pace as they approached each other, neither one bothering to step aside to make room for the other. Their legs hooked each other as they connected, Stuart one step above the boy. His heart hammered in his chest. Oh, yes. He could smell Nathan so clearly . . . the honey sweet skin and all that ripe sexuality. He cupped the boy's balls in his left hand and held on with just enough firmness to make his young cock swell in his trousers.
Grinning coldly, Stuart squeezed Nathan's balls. "Merry Christmas, you little fucker," he purred. "These still belong to me?"
Nathan glared at him, but he also smiled, coldly. "Twat. I can feel your fucking wedding ring on my balls. Piss off, Mrs. Tyler," he hissed jealously and stomped up the stairs.
Stuart chuckled wickedly and headed back to the kitchen. He was still laughing when he came back to the table and Vince sat there watching him, his handsome face mildly disgusted.
"What did you do?" he said.
"Nothin'." Stuart picked up his glass and drained it.
"What?" Vince insisted, but he was smiling.
"I didn't do anything!"
Vince looked at his watch. "I'm missing two and half seconds here between when Nathan left the table and when you came down. Now, what the hell did you do?"
Stuart laughed and climbed into Vince's lap. "You're such a twat. I didn't do anything."
"So, you're cackling like that just for the fun of it?" Hazel said. She walked over and smacked the back of Stuart's head. "What did you do, you little bastard? I told you I should have got a watchdog."
He stared in Vince's eyes, wiggling on his lover's lap. Vince stared back, then he pointed to his ear, indicated that Stuart should whisper his evil deed to him.
He placed a feathery kiss on Vince's earlobe before he spoke. "I grabbed his balls and he told me to piss off. Nathan refused me. That's all."
Vince looked at him with comic sternness, then whispered in his ear. "Did he get a hard-on?"
Stuart shook his head. "Barely," he mouthed. "Not enough time."
"You are an incorrigible bastard," Vince said playfully, his fingers slipping under Stuart's shirt and tickling his naked ribs. "I'm taking you home NOW before you do anything I'll have to leave you over."
"Vince," Stuart said, seriously. "I love you." He held Vince's head in his hands and kissed him, deeply.
"Oh, Christ, do you have to?" Bernie complained. "I thought we were going to have a scrap!"
Hazel walked over and smacked him in the back of the head. "Shut your face. This is all necessary," she said. "The only way to keep a wolf as a pet is to let him tug at his lead once in a while."
Stuart looked at her across the kitchen and she looked back. Hazel held his gaze for a long time.
* * *
Vince:
After carrying up all the gifts they'd received, they flopped on the couch and turned on the telly.
"At least THAT's over," Stuart said.
"Finally." He flipped channels looking for anything at all that wasn't `holiday programming' but there was nothing. Well, nothing save for a very serious program about knitting. He handed the remote to Stuart, then turned to him. "Why did you do that?"
Stuart turned back, meeting his gaze openly. "I dunno. I had to. Why did you let him come up?"
"I'm not his bloody mother."
He rolled his eyes. "Right, then. Why did HAZEL let him come up?"
Vince smirked. "She was still arguing with Bernie about the other night at Via Fossa. I don't even think she noticed."
Stuart shook his head. "Oh, she noticed. She misses nothing, your mother."
"I think I know why you did it," Vince offered.
Stuart turned to him again, shutting off the television. "Give over."
"I think you'll go mad if you don't keep squirming a bit. Every once in a while, you just have to wiggle."
"Squirming and wiggling are not straying, though."
Vince nodded, agreeing. "True."
Stuart was watching him, closely. "Are you angry?"
Smiling, Vince said, "strangely, no. I'm not the least bit angry."
"Still want to shag me tonight?"
"Oh, yes." Vince winked at him.
"Then, you know what that means, don't you?" Stuart said, grinning.
Vince shook his head. "Wha'?"
"It means . . . that you are starting to trust me."
Vince did not reply right away. He just let the words sit there for a moment while he thought about them. "Hm. Might be. And then again, maybe I don't want to trust you completely. Maybe if you were to be completely domesticated, I'd just die of boredom and have to leave."
Stuart giggled, biting his bottom lip. "All right. I can accept that." He got up and reached back, dragging Vince to his feet. "Let's go to bed, lover. I think I need another shafting."
"Such a naughty boy," Vince said, following Stuart to the bedroom.
(aren't you glad it's over???? lol.)
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