Men of London 06 - Flying Solo (15 page)

Gibson moved forward and cupped Max’s cheek. “I’m sure. I’ve never taken anyone home before… so it means you’re special. I’m sorry I fucked up and hurt you.” He kissed Max’s jaw softly. “Did I tell you how sexy you look in the uniform?” He stepped back, appraising Max with a leer.

Max grinned. “You did. I’m even better out of it though.” He frowned a little. “Jack calls you
Gib
?” He winced as if the sound hurt him.

Gibson grinned. “He’s done it forever. It’s just his thing.”

Max sniffed. “Not
my
thing. It sounds like some sort of hideous monkey name.”

Gibson sniggered. “That’s a gibbon you’re thinking of, dummy.”

Max pulled him close. “Whatever it is, you’re my Gibson. I promise to always use your full name, unless of course I’m in the throes of passion and I call you something else. Like sexy stud-muffin.”

Gibson nodded slowly. “I can live with that. Now are we going to get busy here or not?”

Gibson pushed aside his personal deadline to get some stuff over to Everett to check. Making out and making up with Max right now was far more important.

Maxwell woke with a start, heart pounding and with a dry mouth. His head was foggy and aching and he needed desperately to pee. He climbed out of his lonely bed; he hadn’t seen Gibson for awhile. He’d only been back half a day from the last three days’ non-stop flight roster, taking on more hours to get a couple of extra days off. He shuffled to the bathroom and winced when he saw the sight that greeted him in the mirror.

His hair was in disarray, looking as if someone had taken a teasing comb to it. It stuck up all around his face, which was pale, and fuck, was that a spot? Maxwell peered through unfocused eyes at the beginnings of the blemish on his chin. His eyes looked hollow and there were dark shadows under them.

In truth, he’d not been feeling well for the past few days and the last flight to Madrid had done a number on him. It had been hectic, filled with needy, crotchety passengers, a lot of them blindingly ill and flu-like even as they tried to hide it, and he had a feeling he’d caught something off the kid in seat 18D. The child had been runny-nosed, whining and had actually sneezed in Maxwell’s face when he leaned down to take his food tray away.

Maxwell’s chest ached, feeling tight, and he was still struggling to breathe. He relieved himself, sloped back to bed and huddled, shivering, under the covers. He couldn’t sleep; ten minutes later, he was kicking the blankets off, burning up. He gazed blearily around for his mobile then remembered it was in the lounge. He couldn’t be bothered to get up and get it. He wanted to call Gibson but he didn’t have the energy.

“I need to hear his voice,” he mumbled as he buried back under the covers. “He’ll make me feel all better…” He coughed, his chest racked with pain and he held a hand to it, willing the spell to finish. When he could finally draw a breath, he lay there, exhausted.

This sickness reminded him of one of the times he’d gotten ill on the streets. Now at least he was in a bed with access to modern medicine. Maxwell didn’t have much in his cupboards because he was hardly ever sick, and he didn’t keep his medicine chest stocked up because he hated taking drugs, hence why he felt so shit now.

Back then, it had only been him and Levi; Levi feeding him water as Maxwell hacked up what was left of his lungs into a dirty piece of linen that had once been a restaurant cloth napkin. Neither of them had eaten for days, Maxwell too sick and Levi scared to leave him alone in case he died while he was gone.

“You never thought of me, though, when you died, you bastard,” Maxwell was delirious in a haze of fever and remaining vestiges of a long-held grief. “You made me find your cold, dead body stuffed with the crap you fed into your veins.” He remembered that part of his life as if it had only just happened.

He’d crawled into the corner of the doorway recess and lifted Levi’s head onto his lap as he stroked greasy hair and the cold planes of Levi’s face. Levi had been his world since Maxwell had been fourteen and yes, when they’d run away together he’d been legally underage for the sixteen-year-old Levi, but that hadn’t mattered to either of them. They’d been all each other had and Levi had taught him what sex was, and about caring.

He sensed a comforting presence in his room, feeling a shadow falling over him and he smiled, imagining it was his Gibson here, watching over him. Dream Gibson took hold of his heart and stroked it softly, comforting him.

“I did some terrible things on the streets for money, Gibson,” Maxwell whispered as he drifted in and out of reality. “I don’t want to tell you about them, because you’d hate me. I’m not proud of them but they’re part of me. And I lied to you.” Feverish whispers echoed in the still room as tears trickled out of his swollen eyes. “I told you Levi was only a friend. But he wasn’t. He was much more than that.”

Soft hands stroked his hair. “I know, baby,” Gibson whispered, his voice choked.

Maxwell tried to focus on the blurred figure sitting on the side of bed. “Gibson? I’m hallucinating, aren’t I?”

Something foul tasting was forced into his mouth, medicinal and disgusting. “Drink this, it’ll help break your fever,” was the soft reply. “I’m going to get some washcloths and try and get your temperature down. You’re burning up.” Warm fingers brushed away the tears on his cheek.

Maxwell smiled dreamily. Everything was all right now. Gibson was here even if he wasn’t. “I like this dream,” he murmured as he fell into sleep. “And I think I love you.” He snorted in laughter. “No, I
know
I love you. Don’t tell the real Gibson, Dream Gibson, because I don’t want to scare him away.”

There was the sound of a soft gasp then a light kiss was pressed to his sweating brow. He revelled in the touch.

“Sleep now,” came the whisper. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“’Kay,” Maxwell muttered sleepily. “Please don’t go away. I don’t want you to leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Dream Gibson said. “I need you to get better. Go to sleep.”

Maxwell fell into slumber with the vision of his boyfriend, his blond halo of hair shining in the dimness of the room and green eyes looking down at him with some indefinable emotion.

*****

When Maxwell woke again, it was to daylight streaming into the room through half-open curtains. He blinked and struggled up to peer around him. The bedside table was cluttered with medicines and face towels and—was that a humidifier blowing steam into the air? He stared at it in bemusement. He didn’t own a humidifier. The machine hissed and billowed scented clouds of eucalyptus. The time on his Lego Darth Maul clock said one pm.

“I must have been further gone than I thought,” he croaked. His chest didn’t feel as congested so he imagined whatever he’d been doing in his fever-driven haze had worked. He looked at the humidifier again. “Huh, even in a stupor, I’m the man.”

“I doubt that,” was the dry retort and Maxwell gave himself whiplash turning his head to see Gibson standing in the bedroom doorway, shoulder resting against the jamb, arms folded across his chest. When Maxwell’s chest constricted this time it wasn’t because he had some dreaded disease. The joy flaring through his body like strands of lightning filled it with emotion and flooded his senses.

“Gibson? When did you get here?”

Gibson came into the room and checked the humidifier water level. He added a couple more drops of oil to the heated water and swore as it spilled over onto his fingers. “About three days ago.” He wrinkled his nose, wiped his hands absently on his jeans and stretched. His tee shirt rose above his waist to reveal a faint treasure trail and toned tummy. The belly bar wasn’t there and Maxwell was disappointed.

Maxwell’s jaw dropped. “Three days ago? I don’t remember seeing you. Was this all your doing then?” He waved a hand at the bedside table and his happily steaming appliance.

Gibson nodded. “You’ve had a bad bout of bronchitis. I got stuff from the pharmacy, borrowed the humidifier from Jack’s girlfriend Beth—he dropped it off for me—and I kept forcing medicine down you. You had nothing in your medicine cupboard.” He cast an accusing stare at Maxwell. “I mean
nothing,
apart from a couple of expired condoms, an old empty tube of lube, a broken thermometer and a shower cap.” He grinned. “With ducks on it.”

Maxwell’s face flushed beet red. “Sometimes I don’t want my hair to get wet when I’m showering. Wet hair on the flight isn’t something the passengers want to see.”

“Yeah but ducks? Little yellow-lello ducks?” Gibson’s face shone with mirth. “You must look so cute. I was tempted to put it on while you slept and take a picture. Jack was all for it too. He wanted to share it on Facebook.”

Maxwell gasped. “You didn’t, did you? Because that would be the height of cruelty…”

Gibson sat down on the bed and reached out and brushed sweaty hair from Maxwell’s forehead. “No, I didn’t. And I threw out the old condoms and crap. Hope you don’t mind. I didn’t want you taking risks.”

“You fed me medicines? I hate taking that stuff. That’s why I don’t have it at home. What did you give me?”

“It was only paracetamol and some Day Nurse. You needed to break your fever, Max.”

Maxwell narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been here all the time? Did I say anything stupid when I was so out of it?”

Gibson’s eyes darkened. “Nah, nothing. Do you feel better?”

Maxwell might have just woken up but he wasn’t stupid. He
had
said something, obviously, from the quick change of subject and the wary look on Gibson’s face. But for the life of him he could hardly recall anything of the last three days apart from some memories of Levi still lingering in his brain and a vague recollection of Dream Gibson being in the room.

“I smell rank otherwise I’d hug you and give you a kiss for looking after me,” he said. “I don’t believe you’ve been here three days and done all this.” He gestured at the room. “Thanks.”

Gibson shrugged. “That’s what boyfriends are for. I took the ravish key and opened up.” He grinned. The ‘ravish key’ was the spare key Maxwell kept hidden in a secret place outside his front door in case Gibson got the yen to come over and ‘ravish’ him in the middle of the night. It was a fantasy of Maxwell’s and not one Gibson had played into yet although he hoped one day it would come to fruition. “I brought my laptop over and worked when you were sleeping. The joys of being my own boss and being able to work from anywhere.”

“Crap. I don’t suppose I called work to tell them I was ill.”

“No, I did. I remember you mentioned Grant was your boss so I found his number in your phone and called him. He said get better and don’t come back until you’re well because he can’t have you spreading the germs to the passengers and crew. Nice guy though. He was worried about you.”

Maxwell frowned. “You found his name in my phone? It’s password protected.”

Gibson rolled his eyes. “It’s swipe protected and honestly, an L swipe to unlock? It took me two tries and I was in.”

Maxwell narrowed his eyes. “You’re a bloody computer hacker.” He grinned. “Can you top up my bank account for me?”

Gibson sighed. “I’m not a hacker. Not much anyway. A ten-year-old could get in your phone. You’re not the most security conscious of people, babe. Remember I got into your
Sexcella
sheet? The unprotected one, which should have some sort of password on it, given what was in there. I mean, a man’s dick size is personal
and
confidential information.” He shivered theatrically and cast Maxwell a sly glance.

A frisson of discomfort slid down Maxwell’s spine. “You looked at it again?” He realised Gibson had called him ‘babe’ a moment ago and it threw his train of thought. He liked the endearment. He thought Gibson might have called him it before but his memory was fuzzy.

Gibson glared at him. “No, idiot. You asked me not to, didn’t you? I don’t break my promises.” His beautiful lips curled in a kitten snarl and Maxwell wanted to kiss him. For being there when he’d been sick, for taking care of him like no else ever had since Levi had died, for being the best boyfriend a man could be. But he could taste his own breath and he had no desire to inflict it upon Gibson.

“Let me get up, have a shower and brush my teeth then I can apologise properly to you for that remark,” Maxwell promised and was gratified when Gibson’s face creased in a smile.

“Fine. Be careful when you stand up. Last time I took you to the loo you nearly fell down.”

Maxwell blinked. “What? You’ve been taking me to the toilet?” He started to hyperventilate. “Fuck, how embarrassing. For what, number ones, number twos? Oh crap, this is bad.”

By now Gibson was giggling and Maxwell’s heart reached out and sucked the man deeper into it than he thought possible.

“Crass, Max. No number twos. I did have to hold it while you peed because you couldn’t see straight and I didn’t fancy cleaning piss off the walls.” His face grew thoughtful. “You might need to take a laxative. You haven’t
been
since I got here. But then you’ve hardly been eating anything other than those energy drinks I’ve been giving you. And soup.”