Heart, page 13
Seb held him in place until he was done, tormenting him with his magical tongue until Dex begged him to stop.
Seb released him and maneuvered him like he weighed nothing. He laid Dex down and pulled him close. Dex felt him hard against his thigh.
Shit. You forgot about him.
Dex pulled away from Seb’s kiss. “You can fuck me if you want.”
Seb smirked. “What if I want you to fuck me?”
“Why would you want that?”
There was a beat of silence before Seb shrugged. “When I asked you ‘top or bottom’ back in Padstow, you hesitated. I thought you did both. It doesn’t matter.”
Top or bottom.
Dex thought back to the moment Seb had bent him over the counter in the kitchen of his Cornwall cottage and eased so gently inside him. The sensation had blown his mind… shattered it into a million pieces. Could he do that for Seb? Make him feel like that? Would he even know where to start?
Not a chance.
“Dex. It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” Seb shifted so Dex could no longer feel his dick, hard and waiting, and pushed Dex’s sweat-damp hair out of his face. “This only goes as far as you want it to, okay? It’s not why I asked you to come here.”
Dex finally regained sensation in his limbs and propped himself up on his elbows. He felt strange—disconnected from his body and the reality of the day. “What time is it?”
“Have a look.” Seb held out his phone so Dex could read the digits on the screen.
Dex squinted and let the numbers click into place. “Five o’clock? Really?”
“Yep. You’ve been in bed all day. Might as well stay here now. Want to get a pizza and watch a film?”
“Can we have mushrooms on it?”
Seb grinned. “Whatever you want.”
“MERRY CHRISTMAS, Dex.”
Dex’s hand trembled, threatening the neat line of whipped cream he was piping on the cake he’d baked for the special Christmas lunch service. He scowled at Seb. It was the third time he’d walked past him, brushed his fingertips across the base of his spine, and whispered in his ear, and the third time Dex had nearly fucked up his cake. Christmas Day meant little to him, but the simmering buzz of Seb beside him—every smile, wink, and loaded brush of skin—meant everything.
He finished up the chocolate cake and regarded it with a critical eye. It was the first recipe he’d devised and cooked all on his own, and Seb had picked a hell of a day to make him do it.
“You know how to bake a cake, Dex. You don’t need my help.”
Tosser. Still, all things considered, the cake didn’t look too bad. In fact, it looked pretty damn good, at least according to Rick, who’d brought him a glass of something pink and fizzy a little while earlier. Apparently, it was tradition for the kitchen staff to drink their way through the Christmas Day service, and Dex wasn’t going to argue with that. He liked drunk Seb. Drunk Seb was a lot of fun.
Service passed in a blur of laughter and fizzy wine. It was the most relaxed shift Dex had ever worked, and he felt deflated when it was over. Then he remembered he still had to write Seb’s name on his present.
He slipped away to the staff room and retrieved the paper bag containing the bandana from his locker. The bag was green, so he figured he didn’t have to find some wrapping paper, but there was no way he could get away with leaving the gift nameless.
He pulled his literacy book and a pencil from the locker and sat down on the floor, flicking through the book to find the right letters. The S and B were simple enough, but the E gave him a little more trouble. He held the finished result up to the light and glared at it with even more scrutiny than he had the cake. It was legible, just.
Bernie stuck her head round the door. “There you are. Do you have your present for the Secret Santa? We’re going to do it in a minute, before people start to go home.”
Dex stood and relinquished the green paper bag. Bernie knew without looking at his scrawl that it was intended for Seb, but she looked anyway and smiled.
“Would you look at that? He’ll be so proud of you when he sees it.”
“It’s supposed to be a secret.”
Bernie ruffled his hair. “Trust me, sweetie, he’ll know.”
Yeah, by the illiterate scribble.… “Are you giving it to him now?”
“Yep. Get changed and come down so you can get yours too.”
Dex opened and shut his mouth, words dying in his throat as Bernie left him to it. It hadn’t occurred to him someone had picked his name out of the tin.
He changed and made his way downstairs. It seemed everyone and his dog had crowded into the bar. Dex slipped in unnoticed and took a seat in the corner beside Damon. Seb joined them a few minutes later with a tray of drinks, and then it was time for Rick to do his much talked-about impression of Father Christmas.
It wasn’t as funny as Dex had been led to believe, and he didn’t pay much attention to the festivities until his name was called. He got up and accepted the floppy silver-wrapped parcel and took it back to his seat.
Seb nudged him. “Open it.”
Oh. Carefully, Dex peeled away the shiny wrapping paper. A gray beanie hat and matching gloves fell into his lap. He turned the gloves over in his hands. They were thick and warm and lined with fleece. The sort of gloves he’d dreamed about when he’d slept on the streets of London all those months ago. The sort of gloves he’d dreamed of his whole life.
“Do you like them?”
Dex nodded. “They’re like blankets.”
Seb smiled, but said no more and headed up to the bar to retrieve his own gift. He returned with the green paper bag a few minutes later and set it, unopened, on the table beside Dex’s hat and gloves.
Damon eyed it curiously. “Not going to open it? Can’t be any worse than the set of teacups some knobhead got me.”
“Later. I want to get pissed while Rick’s paying.”
It seemed a sensible plan, given the way Rick was handing out drinks. Dex sat back in his seat, absorbed the warmth of Seb beside him, and took it all in. He was tired, and before long, more than a little drunk, but beneath it all lurked an emotion he wasn’t familiar with. He felt content and safe… happy, maybe, and as the night wore on, the sensation became more at home in his bones. Like it belonged. Like he belonged.
Later that evening, he found himself outside with Rick while he smoked a cigarette. Seb was inside, talking to his family in Spain on his phone, except he wasn’t talking to them in a way that made sense to Dex. He’d gotten the shock of his life when Seb’s sister appeared on the screen and called him by name. It had scared the shit out of him, and after a quick, hesitant wave, he’d made an excuse and followed Rick outside.
“Don’t blame yer, son,” Rick said gruffly through a lungful of smoke. “Leave them to that bloody bollocks.”
Dex reached for the broom leaning against the storage shed and absently swept a few spent cigarette ends into a neat little pile.
Rick’s chuckle rumbled through the frosty night air. “Leave it, kid. It’s Christmas Day. All this’ll still be here tomorrow.”
Dex set the broom aside and hoisted himself up on a disused wooden table. A companionable silence fell over them, but Dex wasn’t fazed. He often found himself alone with Rick, and the burly chef was a man of few words.
Not tonight, though. Tonight it seemed a whole day of drinking on the job had gone to Rick’s head. “So, how’re you doing, lad? Getting on okay?”
Dex nodded and tucked his hands under his arms, wishing he’d brought his new gloves outside. “I’m good.”
“That you are. Bit of luck for both of us you just so happened to be passing by that day, eh? Kitchen would feel bloody strange without you now. How’s the literacy going?”
“Good… I think. I can write some stuff now.”
Rick smiled and looked up at the sky. “So I saw.”
On cue, Seb appeared at the back door, the green paper bag in his left hand. Rick shot him a knowing look and shuffled back inside.
“So….” Seb let the word hang.
Dex stared at him, entranced by the reflection of the shimmering stars in his eyes. “So.”
Seb held up the paper-concealed bandana. “You wrote my name.”
“Did I?”
“Yeah, you did, and I’m so proud of you I could squeeze the bloody life out of you.”
“You’re drunk.” Dex glanced at the open back door, but there was little need. Most of the staff had gone home, and all evening, Rick and Bernie had seemed to know there was something between him and Seb.
“Can I open it?”
Dex shrugged. “That’s the point, isn’t it?”
“Touché.” Seb unfolded the bag and peeked inside. “Oh wow. Is this what I think it is?”
“Maybe.” Dex watched, nervous as Seb shook out the bandana and held it up to the soft orange haze of the streetlight illuminating the bin yard. He’d never bought a present before. What if Seb hated it?
Seb moved, his large frame a blur of shadows. He put his hands on Dex and tilted his face until their eyes met. “I love it. It’s perfect. Thank you.”
Dex’s response was cut off by a kiss, a lighter kiss than he’d grown used to of late, but his head swam nonetheless.
Seb broke away with a grin. “Funny how that worked out, eh? Do you really like that hat? I didn’t know what to get you. You’re an awkward little sod.”
“You bought my present?”
“Yeah. I think Bernie engineered it that way, but I’m not complaining. I know you wouldn’t let me buy you anything otherwise.”
Dex rolled his eyes. “I don’t need you to buy me things. I can buy my own.”
“So why don’t you? You need a coat, and something to sleep in.”
Dex tilted his head, enjoying the sensation of Seb nuzzling his neck. “What’s wrong with my coat?”
“It’s too thin. Like you.”
“How’dya know I’m too thin? Maybe God made me this way.”
Seb smirked, and pursed his lips like he was trying to contain himself.
“What?” Dex scowled and squirmed in his arms. “Say it.”
Seb shrugged. “I’ve seen your dick, Dex. You’ll have to eat a lot more cake to grow into that.”
Dex should’ve been annoyed, but he wasn’t. He turned in Seb’s arms and reached up to kiss him, hard, until he pulled away and said, “I can buy my own stuff.”
“Do it, then.” Seb kissed him again, once, twice, and once more. “Monday. Let’s go shopping.”
Twenty
DEX WOKE first. It was Monday morning, New Year’s Eve, and the first of two whole days he and Seb had to themselves. Rick had relatives descending from the north, and he’d shut the restaurant to host a rowdy family party. Dex rolled over with a wry grin. He’d seen Bernie’s sisters arriving on a minibus from Liverpool. That party was going to be loud.
He sat up and rubbed his eyes, oddly alert given the hour he’d crawled into bed the night before, and especially considering the amount of time he’d spent exploring Seb’s naked body before they’d gone to sleep. He peeked under the duvet. Yep. Seb was still naked. Happy days.
Shame Dex’s bladder wasn’t man enough to let him appreciate the sight for long. He slipped from the bed, pulled on some clothes, and slid down the swirly metal banister like a kid in a play park. He relieved himself, and washed up before padding barefoot into Seb’s kitchen. Waking up before Seb was a rare thing, and he’d never made him breakfast before. In fact, he’d never seen anyone cook for Seb.
He considered the contents of Seb’s fridge. Beer, milk, eggs, and, bizarrely, raspberries. Pancakes—the thick ones with fruit and syrup. He could make those, right? He knew Seb well enough to know his cupboards were well stocked with a gazillion varieties of flour and sugar.
It didn’t take long. A cup of flour, the same of milk, and an egg. The raspberries crushed with a teaspoon of golden sugar. Drenched in syrup from the squeezy bottle, the whole dish looked pretty good. Dex set it aside and quickly cleaned the kitchen, washed the pans in the sink, and loaded the dishwasher. Then, armed with a cup of tea, he took his loot back to bed.
He found Seb still asleep, sprawled on his back with his arm flung over his head. He’d kicked the covers away, and his torso was bare right down to the duvet bunched at his waist. The scene stopped Dex in his tracks. Seb was amazing to look at when he was awake—animated and beautiful… passionate—but asleep? Dex couldn’t look away.
He set the plate on the bedside table and crawled back into bed, casting his gaze down Seb’s body. He took in his solid chest and rippled abdomen. Closer inspection revealed the small scar on his belly from a burst appendix a few years back… a tiny blemish that, when traced with Dex’s tongue, made Seb curl his toes and shiver all over.
“What are you staring at?”
Dex started.
Seb chuckled and squeezed his leg, his eyes bright and laughing. “You’re dressed. Did I sleep through my alarm?”
“You don’t need your alarm today, remember? And I got up early… earlier than you, at least.”
Seb rolled over and put his head in Dex’s lap. “That’s not like you. Couldn’t sleep?”
“No, I was just awake.” Dex pushed his fingers into Seb’s silky hair, enjoying the sensation of Seb leaning on him. “I made you breakfast.”
“Breakfast?” Seb cracked an eye open. “I’ve been trying to get you in my kitchen for weeks. What changed your mind?”
You’ve had me in your kitchen…. Dex ducked his head, his cheeks heating up as an image of that bloody summer flashed into his mind again. Fuck. Would it ever stop? “Thought you might be hungry after last night. We forgot to eat dinner.”
“What did you make?”
“Pancakes. Like the banana ones you made last week, but, um, without the bananas.” Dex handed Seb the plate and chewed on his lip. Seb inspected his cooking all the time at work, but this felt different… like the world would end if Seb didn’t like it.
Seb took a bite of his breakfast. “Wow. These are great. I’ve got a recipe for sticky toffee pancakes with dates and caramel sauce. Not for breakfast, though. After dinner with ice cream. We can make them tomorrow, if you want.”
Relieved, Dex rolled his eyes. Seb and his damn cooking. The man seemed to think of little else.
Dex burrowed back into the bed and curled into Seb’s side while he inhaled his breakfast. Awake he may have been, but being in bed with Seb—with naked Seb—was the best thing ever.
“Are you still up for shopping today?”
Dex groaned. “I thought you were joking about that.”
“Nope.” Seb wiped his mouth and set his empty plate aside. “It’s Kelly’s birthday next week, and I want to buy some books in the sales. I was going to go to Oxford Street, but you don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”
“Want” was a very strong word, but Dex didn’t fancy spending the day alone. He arched his back, stretched, and tried his best to look enthusiastic. “I’ll come.”
“You look like a snake when you do that.” Seb smiled and kissed Dex’s T-shirt-covered chest. “Come on. Let’s go.”
OXFORD STREET. Dex stared at the sign, reading the words and letting them sink into his brain. He’d been here before. To the left was a shop doorway where he’d laid his head, and somewhere below his feet was the Underground station where he’d turned his first trick without Braden’s guiding iron fist.
Oblivious, Seb tugged on his elbow. “This way. I need to go to Monsoon for Kelly’s present, then I want to go to the big H&M. You’ll like the stuff in there. It’s cheap and cool.”
Yeah, ’cause that’s me. “You don’t have to pull me everywhere.”
Seb protested with a roll of his eyes and yanked on Dex’s hand until he fell into step beside him.
The streets were as crowded and terrifying as Dex remembered them. He kept his head down as he walked along, catching the eye of the occasional vagrant begging at the side of the road. Most of them didn’t connect—too far gone from whatever had driven them to live on the streets—but from time to time, the hollow stare of one would linger, would penetrate his soul and remind him his place by Seb’s side wasn’t really his place at all. “… dirty whore….”
“What are you buying Kelly?”
“A handbag or something.” Seb pulled a crumpled magazine page from his pocket. “Think she figures being gay means I give a shit.” He stopped outside a shop. “This is the place. Are you coming in?”
Dex wanted to refuse. The shop was high class, refined, and teeming with women—all things that terrified him—but Seb was holding his hand, and he didn’t want to let go.
He stuck close to Seb as they wove their way to the back of the shop. Seb was taller than him, heavier and wider, and it was easy to take shelter behind his broad back. If he didn’t look up, he could forget where he was.
Until Seb came to an abrupt halt and thrust the magazine page in his face. “Which one is it? They all look the same to me.”
“Hmm? Oh, I don’t know. Let me look.” Dex studied the page and compared it to the racks of weird-looking bags in front of him. Seb was right: they all looked the same, but he kept searching, and eventually his gaze fell on a bag that looked at least similar to the one on the page. “That one?”
“Good enough for me.” Seb grabbed the bag without looking at the price, though his eyes did widen slightly when the girl by the till held out her hand. He paid with a card—a concept that boggled Dex’s mind—and then all but dragged Dex out of the shop. “Let’s get some lunch. I’m starving.”
“Already? You just ate.”
“Bite me.”
Later. And so it went on. Seb bought hot doughnuts from a cart by a bus stop, and they ate them between torturous ordeals in big, horrible shops. Dex didn’t want to spend the money in his pocket, but Seb was persuasive. The argument “if you don’t buy it, I’ll buy it for you” worked for a while, and before Dex knew it, he’d spent fifty quid on new clothes: a coat, some jeans, and some soft trousers to sleep in.
