Men of London 06 - Flying Solo (4 page)

Gibson shrugged. “Practice.” He leaned forward and took Maxwell deep, lips brushing his shaven pubes. Maxwell surrendered to the sensations and closed his eyes, chest heaving as he was thoroughly blown.

He’d no idea how much time had passed but the feeling of his swollen cock head brushing the back of Gibson’s throat as he took him deeper was the last straw.

“Going to blow,” he gasped. Gibson gave one list lick then removed his mouth. He stood up as his fingers squeezed Maxwell’s dick, stroking it roughly. With a noise resembling a grunting moose in heat, Maxwell unloaded white ropes of come onto them both. Gibson gave a much manlier grunt and fisted his cock fiercely before pressing against Maxwell and unloading warm, musky fluid onto Maxwell’s once pristine uniform.

They stood pressed together, gasping as bodies came down from the orgasm high. Maxwell nearly had another one on the spot as Gibson raised his fingers to his rosebud mouth and sucked off what was on them, eyes never leaving his.

“God, you are one dirty boy,” Maxwell managed to get out. “You look sexy as fuck.”

Gibson grinned, eyes dark and hooded. “Yes, I’ve been told.” He pulled one finger out of his mouth with an obscene, popping sound. Maxwell couldn’t even move to zip himself back up. He was boneless and on such a high, he didn’t think he’d ever come down.

Gibson laughed. “Let me help you.” His fingers deftly tucked Maxwell’s half-hard dick back into his trousers and zipped him up. He then sorted himself out and patted Maxwell’s cheek.

“Thanks. See ya.”

He opened the door and was gone before Maxwell could say anything else. His jaw dropped and he stared at the empty cubicle.

What the fuck? How rude was that?

What they’d done was nothing too drastic but surely there should be some banter exchanged, perhaps even a lingering kiss—Maxwell liked kissing—before they disappeared? Maxwell had at least hoped to exchange a phone number and see if they could meet outside of being in the air. And seeing as how he was looking for something more permanent, he’d hoped…Maxwell sighed at the loss of said hope.

“I don’t simply zip myself up and say ‘see ya.’ I have manners,’” Maxwell grumbled as he cleaned the spunk off his clothing and wiped his jacket clean with a handful of paper towel. He squinted in dissatisfaction at the papery speckled trail left behind on the fabric. His feelings were still hurt at the speed at which Gibson had left.

“I was right the first time. You
are
a rude bitch,” he muttered as he left the bathroom. He took a quick glance around to see whether any of the passengers had noticed anything but they all looked much the same as when he’d gone into the bathroom—he checked his watch—ten minutes ago. It had been a record blowjob indeed. He normally took a little longer to get his rocks off.

He passed Gibson, back in his seat, earphones on, captivated once again by his laptop screen, and oblivious to Maxwell. He wondered spitefully whether he could get away with spilling a drink on the man’s computer.
That
might make him sit up and take notice, especially if his balls had a chance of being fried.

Sadly, Maxwell didn’t follow up on his pipedream because he valued his job. Instead, for the rest of the flight, he took to watching Gibson out of the corner of his eye, and trying not to show his in-flight sex partner he was pissed off.

Before the flight was due to land and Maxwell was on rubbish duty, he stared hard at Gibson as he packed up his laptop bag.

“Should I slip him my number or not?” he muttered. “After all, Canning Town isn’t too far away from me. It’s conceivable we could meet up again. Perhaps it might all work out.”

Deciding on the affirmative, Maxwell wrote his number on a scrap of paper with the words ‘Love to meet up again for a drink’ and as he neared Gibson, he slid the folded scrap onto his lap as nonchalantly as he could. Gibson frowned, looked down at the paper, back up at Maxwell then casually pushed it back into the black bag Maxwell sported.

“Thanks but I don’t do repeats,” Gibson said with a shrug. “It’s kind of a one-off thing, you know? Thanks anyway.”

Maxwell’s jaw dropped at such blatant rudeness as Gibson turned to look out of the window. Trying to hide the embarrassment of rejection, he carried on and kept the hurt off his face to show Gibson he didn’t give a fuck.

Crap. He’d met his match in the flesh.
Obviously he’s a tosser of note, a cocksucker, a player and in short, a douche. He is so going on Sexcella at a two rating. Great BJ. Post-coital—bleh.

Hours later, as he tossed and turned in the bed in his hotel room on the overnight layover, the ignominy of the careless gesture still stung. He’d also decided not to participate in any more anonymous sexual escapades in the air. It was time to start thinking about his future and find someone steady he could come home to. It’d be better than a damn fish.

“Fucking useless piece of shit!” Gibson threw the tablet he was using against the wall of his dining room and watched as it fell apart. It made him feel a little better.

His best friend Jack Cunningham rolled his eyes and took a sip of his beer. “You’re a twat, Gib. What the fuck did you do that for?”

Gibson stormed over to the pieces on the floor and kicked them. “It’s so bloody slow, and keeps freezing on me. I can’t even get my mail up on it. What good is it to me?”

Jack pursed his lips and inclined his head thoughtfully. His long, brown hair swung down the sides of his face like swathes of faded velvet. “That’s why I don’t do tablets. Give me a laptop or a desktop any day. I mean, you can hardly even watch porn on those damn things the time they take to buffer. By the time the guy’s giving it to the big tits dolly bird, it’s like watching it in slow motion.” He mimicked the action, making a circle of his fingers and driving another finger in and out in an exaggeratedly slow and filthy gesture. “Not worth it.”

“My laptop’s busy rendering some images and my desktop is downloading some new software.” Gibson snapped as he paced around. “All I wanted to do was check my mail and see if Everett had got in touch.” He picked up a slice of carrot from the veggie platter and bit it savagely.

“Everett the Egghead.” Jack chortled. “The big, hairy, fuck buddy from Canada.”

“Fuck. You.” Gibson spat. “He’s not that hairy. And does Beth know you make disgusting gestures like that whole finger thing you had going on?” Beth was Jack’s long-time girlfriend.

Well, maybe Ev is a little hairy-like but he has a great dick and he knows what to do with it.

Everett Talbot was one of the few people Gibson fucked more than once, which was usually only once a year anyway when they attended the Gamez Geek Ultra event in Brighton. The GGU was the prestige event for game developers and designers and one Gibson never missed. Everett was also a master at coding and programming and both Gibson and Jack relied on him as one of the many freelancers they used for the development of their games.

Jack snorted. “Beth knows she’s the only one for me. Doesn’t mean I can’t watch porn. And dude, Everett is like the epitome of a bear. Have you seen the two of you shimmying it up on the dance floor? It’s like Chewbacca and Peter Pan going at it. Scary.” He shivered theatrically.

Gibson narrowed his eyes. “He has a nice pelt on his chest, and a beard. What about the bird I saw you with once PB”—PB was code for Pre-Beth—–“who had a damn moustache and looked as if she’d got a pair of udders on her front? No, fuck that. Double udders.”

“Hey, her name was Annie, she was cool,” Jack threw a disgruntled look at Gibson who stared back fiercely. “And she was a real sweetie. She had a few hormone problems at the time.”

Now it was Gibson’s turn to roll his eyes. “She nearly poked my eyes out when she tried to hug me. I could have died from suffocation.”

The two friends glared at each other then as smiles curved their mouths, they fell into peals of laughter.

“Oh my God,” Gibson managed, eyes streaming. “We had Chewy and the Pneumatic Bearded Lady as dates…”

Gibson’s bad mood dissipated. Jack was always able to get him out of hissy fits by distracting him. They’d been friends forever, since secondary school. They now worked as a team in a game design company they’d formed called Anomaly Media. Jack was the writer and also a technical whizz kid at programming and code and picking out bugs. Gibson was the creative one, drawing, designing and developing the game characters and the worlds they lived in as well as coding. It was a partnership that worked well and they’d built two successful games so far,
Blockshock
and
Dust and Souls
.
Camp Queen
was Gibson’s dream, his concept.

They shared the flat in Canning Town and used the spare room as their office. Jack had money behind him from a gaming business his father had owned, which saw them through the lean times—although those were not often, as their games sold well. Jack was built like a linebacker and he’d saved Gibson’s arse more times than he cared to remember.

“What are you waiting on Ev for, anyway? Anything special?” Jack wiped his eyes and picked up a desiccated sandwich from the plate between them. Gibson winced as Jack munched away on dried ham and hard cheese between what looked two pieces of brown cardboard.

“Yeah. There was this bit I couldn’t get right in the animation for Phoenix and he said he thought he knew what the problem was. I sent details over to him to take a look.” Gibson checked his watch. “He said he’d get back to me by three pm and it’s already half past.”

Jack thrust the whole half sandwich in his mouth. “Well, now you’re going to have to check your damn email on my computer. Seeing as how you threw yours against the wall. Like you did with your phone the other week.” His voice was non-judgmental.

Gibson sighed. He did have a tendency to get pissy when his gadgets didn’t work for him. “Sorry. I’m not sure I need a tablet anyway.” They smirked at each other. “I suppose I could do without for a while and use my smart phone. It’s the screen is a bit small sometimes to see anything, especially all the techy stuff and I don’t want to strain my eyes any more than I have to.” “Whatever.” Jack took a swallow of his beer, finishing it off and gave a burp as he set the empty bottle down on the table. He grinned. “Of course you could stop fucking breaking stuff, you impatient arse.”

Gibson stuck a tongue out at him and Jack lunged, trying to catch it. Gibson skipped away nimbly.

“One of these days,” Jack growled. “I’m gonna catch that little pink thing, rip it out and pickle it.”

“Ooh, bloodthirsty,” Gibson teased as he picked up the shattered pieces of his tablet. “How am I supposed to rim guys if you rip out my tongue?”

Jack’s face went green. “Shit, don’t put those images in my head, you bastard. I don’t want to know…” his voice tailed off and he scowled and put his earphones in. A few minutes later he was swaying to what Gibson imagined was the sound of Alex Clare and the concentration on his face meant he was probably checking code.

Gibson poked him on the shoulder. “Oi. I thought you said I could check my emails?”

Jack ignored him and Gibson gave a deep sigh. It looked like he’d be relegated to using his phone to see whether Ev had sorted his problem. He wanted the issue fixed before his next flight out to Dublin to meet with an investor who was interested in promoting
Camp Queen
in his gaming boutiques and online. The demonstration needed to go well.

Thoughts of the impending flight in a week’s time made him recall the brown-eyed, sexy guy called Maxwell he’d blown in the toilet on his New York flight. Gibson had to change his flight back to another airline because of a delay in NY and hadn’t seen the guy again. He’d been cute and decent; Gibson had some deep-rooted guilt at blowing the guy off—no pun intended—when he’d tried to give him his number. In hindsight, it had been a shitty thing to do. The hurt in the guy’s eyes had rankled a bit. Gibson might be a slut but he wasn’t a cruel tosser. He’d meant to find the guy and apologise, but then he’d got sucked back into his game and that had been that.

Shoving aside his regret, he was overjoyed to find the answers he sought from Ev on his mobile, with a laconic, ‘Miss you buddy, I’ll be in UK in a few months and maybe we can get together’ message. Gibson grinned. He’d make sure there were more Chewy and Peter Pan antics at the club to piss Jack off. Maybe a little half-naked grinding and wet bear kissing. That was sure to give his friend the heebie-jeebies.

*****

Gibson stared at his friend Cruz Castillo with growing trepidation. “Let me get this right. You want me to wear this outfit and drape myself all over your buddy Pete to make Craig prove I’m not interested in you. Is that my instruction for tonight? And how far do you want me to take it? Pete knows about this plan, yeah?” Cruz’s boyfriend Craig had some crazy idea Gibson and Cruz were doing the horizontal mambo and Cruz had a plan to convince him otherwise. Pete was Cruz’s friend from the gift shop where he worked as a sales assistant, and was joining them tonight at the opening of a new gay club in Soho called Innuendo.

Gibson stared at the outfit laid out on his bed and then back at his other best friend with jaundiced eyes. Cruz stared back at him, big doe eyes dark and serious, his full lips pursed.