Blowing It (15 page)

“What did you see in him?” Magnus asked
incredulously.

“Oh, he was gorgeous.” Funny, all the things I was
ashamed of, and I had no qualms admitting I could be shallow. “I mean
stunning-looking. And he said all the right things, knew the right people.
Being with Carl was exciting at first. By the time the cracks started to show,
I’d convinced myself I was in love with him.” I frowned. “That’s not true. I
was
in love with him. I’d convinced myself he felt the same way about me.”

“How long ago…?” He let the question trail off, but
I didn’t mind answering.

“Two years.”

Magnus whistled.

“Yeah. It took me a long time to trust anyone
again.”

“And you chose me?” He looked… touched. And a
little intimidated.

“I did.” I smiled and brushed his nose with mine. “I
didn’t trust my own judgment for the longest time, and I suppose I was scared
of getting hurt again, but I know you won’t be out picking up other men the
moment my back’s turned. You’re the complete opposite of him.”

Magnus pulled a face. “Are you saying I’m boring?”

“That’s not what I meant,” I said quickly. I took a
breath, choosing my next words carefully. I didn’t want to give Magnus the
wrong impression and ruin what I hoped we had. “Ryan and Sameer had been married
just under a year when I broke up with Carl. I hadn’t thought it affected me,
seeing my best friend settle down. I was thrilled for him, don’t get me wrong,
but I didn’t realise how much I wanted to know what it felt like for myself until
months after Carl and I were done. I’d been kidding myself he was husband
material, someone I could grow old with, because seeing how happy Ryan was, I
wanted it, too. I wanted the stability, the sort of relationship where we could
lounge around in jogging bottoms and slippers, watching bad TV, and not worry
what other people thought if we chose to stay in rather than go out on a Friday
night. I still want that. I want someone I’m comfortable with, not just who
looks good on my arm when we go to a club. I-I think that’s why Carl’s betrayal
hurt so much. I’d shown him who I was underneath the makeup and the polished
surface, and he didn’t want to know.”

I closed my eyes as Magnus cupped the back of my
head and kissed my temple.

“You know I don’t care about any of that?” he asked,
his brow furrowing with a small frown. “You don’t need to dress up to impress
me.”

I smiled and stroked the worry-lines away. “I knew
that weeks ago.”

He looked relieved, and when I kissed him, he met
my lips with fervour.

My grin turned impish. “Does this mean I don’t have
to wear my sexy underwear anymore?”

Magnus made a strangled sound. “That’s not fair,”
he protested. “You said you wear them for you!”

“I do,” I confirmed. “But I love that you love
them, too.”

He slid his hand down my spine and palmed my backside
through my tight jeans. His touch turned assessing as he traced the crease of
my arse cheek. “I don’t feel anything under here.” He arched an eyebrow.

Biting my lip, I ground into his hand. “You don’t?”
I asked, all wide-eyed innocence.

“No.” Magnus’s eyes darkened as he grabbed a
handful of flesh and squeezed. “Did you go commando to my niece’s birthday
party?”

Keeping up my coy act, I pretended to think. “I
can’t remember,” I said at length. “Perhaps you should find out.”

A low growl rumbling in his throat, Magnus grabbed
me with both hands, lifted me off his lap, and tossed me onto the bed beside
him. I landed on my back, bounced once, and reclined, stretching my arms over
my head so my T-shirt rode up, exposing a strip of stomach.

He rolled on top of me, enough of his weight
resting on my ribs to keep me aware of his size and strength, his sheer bulk,
without crushing me into the bed frame. He stroked my belly, sending a shiver
through me as he touched the sensitive skin beside my hip. Seeing me squirm, he
grinned wolfishly and twisted with surprising suddenness to blow a wet
raspberry into my bellybutton.

My alarmed, and decidedly un-manly, shriek subsided
into a long groan as he kissed the spot, his beard scratching in delicious
contrast to the softness of his lips. I removed my T-shirt while Magnus unbuttoned
my jeans, rising onto his knees to tug them off as I shimmied my hips to help. His
breath caught at what I was wearing underneath.

I pushed myself higher on the bed, propping my head
on the pillows so I could watch every second of his reaction. The shorts I was
wearing were lavender silk, a lace cup sewn into the crotch to keep my cock and
balls under control, tucked up high and tight. The waistband was snug but the
legs were loose, almost like French knickers, which was why Magnus hadn’t felt
them through my jeans.

When he’d finished peeling my jeans down my legs
and I’d kicked them to the floor, he slid his hand up my thigh, through the
long, fine hairs which covered my legs, growing sparser as he ascended. At the
first swell where leg met arse, he slipped his fingers into the shorts, exploring
their design.

“Where do you even find these things?” he asked, a
little breathlessly.

“I know places,” I said, smirking.

My smirk soon fled as he stroked the smooth bump of
the crotch with his thumb, teasing my shaft and balls.

“They’re not made for this,” I protested,
breathless myself as my cock began to swell and strain against its tight
confines. There wasn’t an inch of give in the lace, and already I could feel
where soft flesh bulged between the tight strands of material.

Bowing his head, Magnus mouthed my shaft, cocooning
my genitals in the heat of his breaths while I whined frantically, fingers
scrabbling through the short hairs on the side of his head. When he lifted his
head and met my eyes, it was his turn to smirk.

I liked this side of him. I was a bossy and
domineering lover, and generally Magnus seemed content to let me have my head,
but I had to admit it was exciting, being tossed around like I weighed nothing.
Watching him take pleasure in exploring my body, even if it came at the expense
of being mercilessly tormented, was a thrill all its own.

 The contrast of his clothes against my nakedness felt
positively sinful: the way the hem on his slacks dragged across my skin, the
buttons on his shirt pressing against me, tiny pressure points leaving tiny red
rings in their wake.

He removed my shorts slowly, eyes fixed on my face
as he pulled them down my thighs. I lifted my legs, toes pointed to help him
take them off. Naked, I sprawled before him, legs parted, opening myself for
his pleasure.

A bubble of anxiety lodged in my throat as he held
my shaft and bowed his head, tongue out. While telling him what Carl had put me
through had relieved a burden, I didn’t feel ready yet to do away with condoms.

I needn’t have feared with Magnus. Cupping the head
in his hand, he licked slowly along the underside of my dick, stopping short of
the glans and the risk of fluid transfer. For a blinding second, I hated Carl
for making me so cautious, then Magnus dipped his head, sucked one of my balls
into his mouth, and my brain short-circuited.

Spreading my legs, I writhed shamelessly, thrusting
my hips to get some friction against my cock from his big, workman’s hands, then
grinding against his mouth until my sac was slick with drool, and I felt it
running over my taint and between the cheeks of my arse.

Magnus reared onto his knees, fumbling with the
buttons of his shirt. Only half undone, he released an exasperated snort and
pulled it over his head, unzipped his slacks and pushed pants and underwear
down his thighs, his cock immediately springing free.

I wrapped my arms around his neck as he lay over
me, thoughtfully supporting some of his weight so I didn’t have to bear it all.
Our lips met in a long, wet kiss, only broken when I groaned as he dragged his
erection over my balls and against my dick, the heat and silken softness of his
skin contrasting deliciously with the rough scrape of pubes.

“Like that?” he asked, and when I nodded
frantically, he did it again, wringing another appreciative moan from my throat.

He made to settle more fully, only to pull up short
with a grunt of annoyance.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Damn trousers. Hang on.”

He tried to rise off me, but I hung on to his
shoulders, preventing him from moving. Instead, I bent my legs and lay my feet
on his thighs, then slid them lower, trying to work his pants off. Realising
what I was doing, Magnus wriggled to help, and with much rocking and shoving,
he finally succeeded in getting one foot free and kicked them loose.

Laughing, he cradled my head, our faces close, exchanging
kisses as he rolled his hips, thrusting his cock against mine until the
friction made my toes curl with pleasure. I dug my nails into the meat of his
shoulders, scratched his back, bit his chest, and clung to him as he thrust
harder and faster, breaths panting between us, our lips never far from kissing.

I crossed my ankles at the small of his back,
riding the roll of his hips, pulling him tighter against me. He pushed the sweaty
hair off my forehead and I held his face in my hands, his beard grazing my
palms. I’d have a rash on my chin in the morning, but it would be totally worth
it.

He looked into my eyes, and I watched him fight his
climax, the muscles in his arms and legs and abdomen pulling taut, veins and
tendons rising to the surface. I tucked my arm between us and scratched his
chest with my blunt nails, found his nipple and pinched, twisting.

His response was electric. His dick lurched against
me, his movements stuttered, and he captured my mouth in a kiss made
devastating by need and desperation. Two more thrusts and he was coming so
beautifully, it took my breath away. I ran my fingers over the back of his
scalp, and felt his shiver all the way down to my toes as a puddle of heat
bloomed across my belly. The thought that I was marked, my dick painted in his
come, appealed to some feral part of my soul which still craved a caveman, and
I finished myself off in a matter of seconds while Magnus struggled to keep
from collapsing on top of me and crushing me into the mattress.

He landed in an ungainly heap at my side, his head
on my shoulder and his body half over mine. He watched from one eye as I
twisted to face him, burrowed under his arm, and settled with our noses almost
touching. His breaths were open-mouthed, falling fast and light across my face.
I stroked his cheek, and a slow, satisfied smile spread across his face. It was
the perfect end to a wonderful day.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The following morning, Magnus sheepishly admitted
over coffee and croissants that he did have work to do before Monday.

“It’s only a handful of reports,” he said when my
face fell. “Shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours.”

“I can leave, if you like.” I’d been looking
forward to spending the day with him, but I didn’t want to get in the way of
his work. I knew what I was like when I was on a deadline.

“That wasn’t a hint for you to go.” He placed his
cup on a coaster and looked at me. “I like having you here.”

“And I like being here.” I smiled, reassuring him.
“But if you need to work, I don’t want to get under your feet.”

“You could watch telly,” he suggested.

I shook my head reluctantly. “I’ve got work to do
myself. I should really be getting back.”

“Why don’t I drive you? I can bring my laptop, and
we can work at your place, how’s that?”

“That sounds good.” I brightened. I’m not one of
those diva writers who needs absolute silence while they work, so Magnus
tapping away at his keyboard beside me would be no distraction, certainly not
while I was only outlining the plot of the third novel. Having Magnus there as
a sounding board might even be advantageous. I had a tendency to get too close
to my stories, which left me blind to obvious plot holes. “You’re sure I won’t
distract you, though?”

Magnus grinned. “No more than you usually do.”

Decision made, we took our time finishing
breakfast, our socked feet touching under the table. Whenever our eyes caught
over the rim of my coffee cup, or Magnus took a healthy bite of croissant,
sending flakes of buttery pastry floating to his plate, a small bubble of
excitement burst in my belly. The previous night had been revelatory. It wasn’t
just our sexual chemistry holding us together anymore. I’d made myself
vulnerable, shared with Magnus my deepest shame, and his calm reaction had been
just what I needed to let go of the last hold Carl had over me. Magnus was
prepared to accept me for who I was, as I was. It was profoundly liberating.

We arrived at my flat a little after noon. The day
was warm and sunny, the traffic light, the pavements bustling with pedestrians
looking for their own little corner of London’s numerous green spaces in which
to lay a blanket, open a bottle of wine, maybe play music from a speaker
connected to an iPod, the tinny melodies twining and mingling, creating their
very own summer symphony while their audience laughed and chatted and canoodled
with lovers.

I opened the sliding doors which led onto my small
balcony to air the space, clearing out the musty cobwebs of a cold winter and
wet spring. Through the summer, I’d have the doors open practically all the
time, letting the light breeze blowing off the Thames circulate through my
rooms, passing an idle hand over the papers scattered across my desk. I
collected them into a neat pile again, told Magnus to make himself comfortable,
and gave the milk in the fridge a quick sniff to ensure it was still fresh.

While I made coffee, Magnus unpacked his laptop and
set it up on the table in the living room. I liked that he didn’t stand on
ceremony, didn’t wait to be waited on. He settled comfortably in the corner of
the sofa, kicked off his shoes, and put his feet up on the low table, balancing
the laptop on his legs. I placed a cup of coffee beside him and took mine to my
desk, a small space with a comfortable leather office chair set up between the
end of the TV housing unit and the French doors. I was probably the last person
in England who actually used paperweights, various glass orbs with twisting
coloured centres in complementary shades of purple and blue holding down my
assorted papers.

“You want music or anything?” I asked, turning the
chair to look at Magnus.

“I’m good, unless you do?”

I shook my head and spun my chair back around. I had
pages of notes, which I was in the process of transferring onto my laptop. When
I’d started the series, I’d developed the overall concept: human teenagers
living hundreds of years in the future, in a world where aliens were known and
lived amongst them. My world-building owed a lot to classic sci-fi like
Star
Trek
and
Star Wars
, with Asimovian twists thrown in. I loved how he
could take something simple, like the sight of stars in the sky, and turn it on
its head, forcing us to look at a familiar world in an entirely different
light.

Writing sci-fi also allowed me to play with my
world in other ways. My aliens were the underclass, knowledge of their
existence having united humans as a single species, racism and sexism and old
phobias eradicated in the moment of discovery of extraterrestrial life. It was
us and them, and in my books the old guard wanted to keep it that way. There
were obvious parallels drawn between the treatment of my non-human races and genocides
and discrimination in our world, and while I wondered at first if I’d been too
heavy-handed in drawing my metaphors, the critics had lapped it up.

The endgame was for my characters—my heroic boy,
his geeky best friend, and the kick-ass girl—to overthrow the system, turn their
world on its head and destroy the two-tier hierarchy which kept the aliens
second-class citizens. The twist, if it wasn’t too obvious to be called so, was
that the geeky best friend would turn out to be an alien, a fact my hero was to
learn in the third book. I’d played the scene where he found out over and over
in my head, but I still wasn’t sure exactly how I was going to go about writing
it. Every time I plotted it, it sounded like he was coming out—the similarities
were too clear to be ignored—and that’s what I’d planned, that’s what I’d
wanted to do all along, but with Max breathing down my neck, and Squire’s
confidence in the series wavering, was it really wise to make my story so
obviously…
gay
?

Putting the matter aside, because there was no
ready solution and I had half a book to write before I even got to that point,
I continued fleshing out the rough draft, breaking the novel down scene by
scene, chasing the logic of my plot and character development, the scrawl of my
pen across paper and the steady
tap-tapping
of Magnus’s keyboard the
only sounds in the room.

“What are you doing?”

I jumped at Magnus’s words, spoken close to my ear.
I hadn’t even noticed when he’d stopped writing, or when he’d got off the sofa to
stand behind me.

“Sorry.” He backed up a step. “I didn’t mean to
startle you. I’ve been watching you for the past twenty minutes.”

I set down my pen, swivelling my chair to face him.
“I get carried away,” I said apologetically. “Are you finished?”

Magnus nodded. “Don’t let me stop you working,
though. I was just curious. I’ve never seen a book being written before.”

I laughed. “It’s not very exciting. I’m only
plotting right now, anyway.”

“Is that how you write? You know in advance what’s
going to happen?”

I nodded. “I tried pantsing it, but I kept writing
myself into corners. And now I’ve got the series contracted, Squire wants an
outline for each novel before I start. Their editorial team will look it over
when I’m done and decide if they want to make any changes.”

“They can do that?” Magnus frowned.

“Of course. They’re paying for it.”

“You think they’ll ask you to change anything?”

I glanced at the black-on-white scrawl of my notes.
“I don’t know.”

He grinned. “That means yes. What are you
planning?”

“You want me to spoil the plot?” I raised my
eyebrow. “You sure?”

Sitting on the edge of the sofa, Magnus rested his
elbows on his knees and leant forward, a broad smile on his handsome face. “Yes,
do it. Spoil me!”

I laughed. “Okay, you asked for this. Fabien is an
alien.”

“I knew it!” Magnus’s eyes lit up. “I knew one of
them had to be!”

“From what I’ve seen online, I think most people
expect it to be Adam,” I said, referring to my main character. “But I still
want him to be relatable, y’know? He’s the everyman. So yeah, Fabien’s the
alien.”

“And they find out in the third book?”

I nodded.

Magnus frowned. “You think your publisher is going
to make you change that?”

“Not the fact he’s an alien, but I don’t think
they’re going to like the way Adam finds out.”

“Why not?” Magnus scooted forward, hanging so far
off the edge of the sofa cushion, I didn’t know how he hadn’t slipped to the
floor.

“It reads like he’s coming out,” I admitted.

Magnus’s eyes widened. “Please tell me you’re
putting Fabien and Adam together.”

And wasn’t that what I’d planned all along?

“I don’t know,” I said at length. “I want to—I
always wanted to. But I don’t know that Squire will accept the hero of their YA
bestseller being gay.”

“Why not?” Magnus demanded. “Someone’s got to do it
eventually. Why not you?”

“I want it to be me,” I admitted. “Can you imagine?
It would be so groundbreaking. And kids these days, they know. They’ve got gay
uncles and aunts or even parents. They’re coming out younger and younger, and
don’t they need representation, the same as the rest? I knew I was gay when I
was ten—although I don’t think I had a word for it then—and just the idea that
I could read a popular book and see someone in it who was like me….” I sighed.
“I know every author wants to be the one to do something remarkable, write the
novel they’re going to study in schools in fifty years’ time, but I’ve actually
got the chance here. I just don’t know if I’ve got the balls to do it.”

“Nonsense.” Magnus crouched before me and took my
hand. “You’re brilliant, Owen. Your books are brilliant. Even if your current
publisher wouldn’t like it,
someone
will take the story as you want to
write it.”

“It’s not that simple,” I said gently. “I’ve got a
contract. I’m bound to them now. I can’t afford to break it.”

Magnus twisted his lips, his expression
reproachful. “How will you feel, looking back, if you don’t at least try?”

I made a strangled sound. “That’s not fair!”

“Isn’t it?” He squeezed my fingers. “This is your
big break, Owen. You keep telling me how rare it is, how you might never get
another contract after this. And no, for the record, I don’t believe that, but
what if you’re right? What if this is your only chance, and you don’t take it?”

I groaned. “I know, I know. You think I don’t tell
myself the same thing?”

“So write it. Or at least give them the outline and
see what they say. They might be fine with it.”

“That’s if it gets past Max,” I grumbled.

“Max doesn’t get to decide what you write,” Magnus
said firmly. “Doesn’t he work for you?”

“Yes, technically.” I grimaced. “He doesn’t act
like it, though.”

“So remind him. Write the book you want to write,
and tell him it’s his job to sell it.”

I grinned. “Since when did you get so forceful?”

Magnus returned my smile. “You haven’t seen me
onsite.”

“Oh?” I pulled him closer, until he was kneeling on
the floor between my legs, my voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Do you put
all the builders in their place? Remind them who’s boss?”

Magnus chuckled. “Sometimes. When they fuck up.”

“Mmhm.” I inclined my head, near enough we were
almost kissing. “I think I’d like to see that.”

We kissed, a soft peck of lips, and when we parted,
I was amused to see an embarrassed flush staining his cheeks.

“What?” I asked, laughing. “Don’t tell me you’re
shy?”

He didn’t meet my eyes as he responded. “You know
I’m not really like that.”

I cupped his face, brushing my thumb through his
short beard. “I like you just the way you are,” I said seriously. “Besides,” I
grinned, determined to lighten the mood, “I’m bossy enough for the both of us.”

Magnus laughed. “Yes, you are!”

I gave him my best wounded expression, all puppy-dog
eyes and pouting lower lip.

Shaking his head in fond exasperation, Magnus
kissed me again. “I wouldn’t change you for anything, either.”