Men of London 06 - Flying Solo (25 page)

A day later Gibson was ready to climb the walls. Beth had assured him she’d left the envelope in his letterbox, yet Max still hadn’t called him. Now Gibson sat in the dark, again under his treasured duvet, the soft strains of classical gaming music playing on the sound dock on the sideboard and wondered if it was finally over. He’d even called Max to ask him if he got his comic. Nothing. It had gone straight to voice mail. Texts remained unanswered.

Gibson hadn’t been sleeping. He’d cried himself to sleep more than once, and he was beginning to doubt he’d ever hear from Max again.

Beth and Jack had gone out an hour ago to a film première and Gibson was alone. He fingered the healing scar on his temple and winced. It was still livid and tender, and his eye was a little swollen with some yellow bruising. He reached across to the side table and picked up his well- worn copy of the extra comic he’d made for himself. It was an unhealthy obsession, flicking through the pages, reminding himself of past events.

He’d done some further work on
Camp Queen
but his heart wasn’t in it. That irked him; his passion for something had been relegated to an activity he did because he had to. Max had replaced Gibson’s love for his art and it both thrilled and frustrated him. He was a lover first and an artist second now. He hadn’t even told his mother or brother yet about Max not speaking to him. If his mother thought he was heartbroken she’d never give up bugging him, especially so soon after his father’s death.

There was a soft knock on the door. His heart leapt but he daren’t hope. After all, it could simply be the neighbour who kept coming around asking for all manner of things to borrow—a screwdriver, a cup of ice, a triple-A battery. Gibson pushed the duvet off and padded to the door in his socks. His dress sense lately ran to warm tee shirts and baggy sweatpants and he didn’t care what he looked like right now. Cruz would have a hissy fit at the current state of affairs. But Cruz was now in Rio de Janeiro with Craig, living the good life.

He slipped the safety chain on in case a serial killer stood outside then opened the door. He lost his breath.

Max stood there, hair mussed and curly, dark shadows under eyes, which were dull and lifeless. His face was pinched, his usual cheery demeanour lacking, but it was the hesitancy and wariness in those brown eyes that made Gibson want to cry. Max looked as if he never expected anything good to happen to him ever again.

“Max.” Gibson closed the door briefly and took off the chain. When he opened it again, Max’s eyes were drawn to the bruise around his eye and he paled, visibly upset.

“God, your face. I never meant to hurt you—please believe me. I got scared and pushed you away, but I didn’t do it to hurt you.”

“I know it was an accident,” Gibson said quietly. He gestured inside. “Do you want to come in?”

Max nodded and hitched his rucksack tighter onto his shoulder. Gibson stood aside as Max entered, then closed the door and padded back into the lounge, sitting down on the couch and drawing his duvet around him like a safety blanket.

Max stared around the room nervously, then sat down in the easy chair, his rucksack on his lap. His fingers fidgeted with the straps.

“Jack’s not here,” Gibson said tiredly. “He and Beth went out. You’re not going to get beaten up. I wouldn’t let him touch you anyway.”

“That’s more than I deserve,” Max said quietly.

“Bullshit,” snapped Gibson angrily. “Where the hell have you been? Wallowing in self-pity? It hasn’t been a picnic for me either, you know.”

Max sagged down in the chair and closed his eyes as he passed a hand over his hair. “I know. God help me, I know. Jack told me what I’d done to you, your beautiful face and I was ashamed. I couldn’t bring myself to face you.”

Gibson snorted. “And you thought by ignoring me it would make things better?”

There was silence.

“I hated myself for losing control like that,” Max said finally. “It took me back to the time I was on the streets, trying to stay alive and out of trouble.” He laughed harshly. “I thought it was all behind me until I saw LouLou again. Finding out it was her who gave Levi the drugs sparked something inside and I lost it.” He gulped. “And I hurt you too. I—” he took a deep shuddering breath, the anguish on his face breaking Gibson’s heart. “I hurt the one person that means the most to me.”

Gibson closed his eyes briefly, his throat clenching as the ache in his chest magnified. “I’m not so sure about that.” He shifted and clutched the duvet. “I can’t compete with a dead man, Max. I can’t. I know it was a long time ago but you have these memories I can’t replace and I doubt I ever will.”

Max stared at him wide eyed. “What?” He put his rucksack down on the floor and knelt down in front of Gibson, as if in supplication. “Baby, you aren’t competition for Levi. You never were. There is no comparison. I never loved Levi like I do you.” He raised his hands helplessly. “I realised something these past few days. Levi and I only had each other. We protected one other, looked out for each other. It was a relationship born of necessity. I loved him and I always will. But it wasn’t like what I have with you.”

“What do you mean?” Gibson asked, hope flaring in his chest that perhaps things weren’t too late to be fixed.

“I mean I have this amazing guy, this clever, funny, sexy man who makes me feel indestructible, who loves me for everything I am and never judges. I have this man who makes me feel like I’m the most special person in the world, and I fucked it up. And do you know what he still did?”

Gibson waited, not sure what he was supposed to say. Max reached inside his bag and brought out a now tattered copy of the comic.

“He made me this. He drew all the places we’d been, all the things we’d done, good and bad, and he sent it to me with a note saying he loved me.” Max’s eyes shone with tears and Gibson was ready to bawl too. “It was the singular most incredible moment of my life when I saw this gift and knew he still loved me despite me being a prick. I cried for a whole day, every time I saw it. I even took it to bed with me because I couldn’t bear being parted from it. It made me feel close to you.”

“I thought you didn’t like it,” Gibson whispered. “It took you so long to get here.”

Max reached up and cupped his face in shaking hands. “I needed to pull myself together so I could come here tonight and tell you this. I needed a little time to get my head straight.” His voice choked up. “I love you so much, baby. I thought I’d lost you.” He stood up and motioned to Gibson to lift the duvet. He sat down next to him and pulled it back over them both.

“I thought I’d failed Levi when he died. I’d always looked out for him, kept him safe, even though he was the older one. Finding out I couldn’t have saved him—it hurt. These past few days I realised he died because of the drugs he took, not because I let him down. The feelings I have for you are more than anything I felt for him. You are my world, Gibson Henry, and I’m going to spend my time proving it to you, if you’ll still have me.”

He leaned in and removed Gibson’s glasses, laying them gently on the side table. He kissed Gibson’s swollen eye, then the ugly gash on his temple. “Battle scars
I
put there,” he murmured sadly. “I’m so sorry. What can I do to make it up to you?”

Gibson stared into those brown eyes he loved, falling into their depths, and whispered, “Kiss me, you idiot. It’s been ages.”

The words had hardly left his lips when he was pushed back against the couch arm and Max’s mouth found his. He’d expected frantic, frenzied kissing born of need but instead found himself subjected to a tender and loving embrace as Max worshipped his mouth. Halfway through the kiss, Gibson felt wetness on Max’s cheek and opened his eyes to see a solitary tear trickling down Max’s face. His heart stuttered, tightening with emotion, and he pulled away and softly traced the stain on Max’s skin.

“It’s okay, Max. We’re fine, I promise.”

Max nodded and slid his hands beneath Gibson’s baggy tee shirt. “Take me to bed, Gibson.” He gave a watery smile. “I’d hate Jack to come home and find us naked together, it’ll blow his mind. And I don’t need any excuse for him to kick me out.”

Gibson chuckled softly. “Yeah, that would drive him over the edge. And he won’t be kicking you out. Come on then.” He pushed Max away and struggled to his feet, dragging the duvet off and trailing it behind him as he walked to the bedroom. He switched on the light and threw a stray red shirt over the top to create a sexy ambience. It didn’t take him long throw the cover back on the bed and start undressing. Luckily his room was toasty warm thanks to the central heating. Max followed him and stood in the doorway.

Gibson looked at him as he took his glasses off, then his shirt and plonked it on the chair. “You okay?”

Max stared at him from shadowed eyes. “I want you to undress me.”

Gibson’s body thrummed with delight.
That
thought sent a rush of blood to his dick. In the past, Max had always ripped his own clothes off in haste and the thought of slowly disrobing the man in front of him was heady.

“Sounds good to me.” He pushed his trousers off his hips and stepped out of his briefs, leaving him nude and evidently ready for action. Max looked at his groin and licked his lips. The little movement sent Gibson into a tailspin.

“Christ, Max, stop looking at me like that,” he said breathily. “You’re going to make me come.”

“Not before you take off my clothes and make love to me,” Max murmured softly. “Make me yours completely. I need this.”

Gibson walked over to him as Max regarded him with eyes shaded chocolate with desire, biting his bottom lip.

There was no need for words as Gibson lovingly, gently disrobed Max. First to go was the polo shirt. Max lifted his arms and blew out a soft exhalation of breath as the shirt was pulled over his head. Gibson sucked on the rosy nipples left bare and smiled around them at Max’s moan.

Next, while still sucking on the needy buds of flesh, Gibson unzipped Max’s jeans and pushed them down over his hips. Gibson teasingly caressed the erection beneath the silk of Max’s boxers.

“God, Gibson, you are killing me.” Max’s body was tense, his hands wrapped around Gibson’s waist.

Gibson ignored him, simply went down on his knees and mouthed the thick cock he found, revelling in his lover’s hiss of need. The silk fabric was spotted with wetness and Gibson took great delight in slowly sliding them down Max’s legs to fall in a whispery heap on the floor.

Max’s cock sprung up, and Gibson hummed a happy sound as he took it in. Max gave a stifled cry and grasped Gibson’s head, winding his fingers through his hair. Gibson had no problem being pushed down or further onto what he had in his mouth. He rather enjoyed it, loved the rough treatment and a man fucking his mouth. Especially if that man was Max.

“Not too much,” Max gasped. “Want to come when you’re inside me, not like this.”

Gibson finished licking a long swathe up the outside of Maxwell’s dick then looked up. “You want me to fuck you?”

“No,” Max said, sounding a bit irritated. “I want you to make love to me. I need to be yours completely tonight.”

Gibson’s own cock perked up. “Get onto the bed.” Gibson kissed the tip of Max’s prick and stood up, going over to the side table to take out condoms and lube. Max moved onto the bed and watched as Gibson bounded onto the mattress and slid in beside him.

Gibson waved the lube mischievously. “I guess lube is your friend, then? It’s been a while since I’ve been in you.”

Maxwell nodded, eyes heated. His fingers closed around Gibson’s cock, squeezing it and Gibson let out a squeak.

“Shut up and do this.” Max lay back and widened his legs in invitation.

Gibson didn’t need further urging. He picked up the lube, opened the tube and dribbled it onto his fingers. He covered Max’s body with his own, finding his lips, and as they ravaged each other’s mouths, he slid slick fingers inside Max. He loved the fact he had a squirming, moaning man underneath him as he opened him up, making sure to find the spot inside that made his man buck beneath him and cry out.

And when the time came to slide inside Max, cock sheathed and gasping at the perfect fit of them together, Gibson was ready. Max’s hoarse entreaties to go deeper, to move, to take him spurred him on to obedience and soon there was nothing but the perfect rhythm of two men moving together.

Sweat, wet, heated skin, scented musk and fevered kisses was all it took for Gibson to reach his peak and explode inside the hot, tight channel of his lover. Max’s strong legs were wrapped around Gibson’s waist as Max stared up at Gibson with swollen lips and hooded eyes. Max pumped his own cock a few times and then he too was climaxing in a spill of sticky essence, coating their bellies and chests.

Gibson slumped on top of Max with a groan. “Oh, God, that was incredible. We are
so
doing that again soon. I don’t know why I don’t do it more.” He slid off to lie beside Max on the bed, as he tried to draw a breath. He plucked the filled condom off his dick, tied a knot in it then placed it on the bedside table. Normally he’d throw spent ones on the ground but if Max stood on it in the middle of the night, he’d never hear the end of it.

Max was quiet and Gibson turned, propping himself up on one elbow, and gazed at him. “Are you okay?”