My Prince (27 page)

“Okay,” Alex said, trying not to let his despair show. This was everything. George’s whole life. And it fit into this horrible, dank, damp box room in a smelly former student house in Leith. “I’ll put the TV in the back seat of my car so I can strap in in. Do you want to put the boxes in your car? We should be able to fit the rest of it in and around.”

“Sounds like a plan,” George said. He took another pull on his coffee, then set the cup down on the desk. Alex watched as he hoisted one of the boxes up onto his shoulder and stomped off down the hallway.

It took maybe twenty minutes to load up the two cars with George’s things. Alex went back inside first, to do a final check of the space for stray socks or misplaced charger cables. Those were a bitch to lose.

That’s how George found him: on his hands and knees, head under the bed.

“I already checked under there,” George said, sounding amused.

“Doesn’t hurt to double-check.” He stood up and brushed his hands on his knees. “You ready to say good-bye?”

“God, yes. Since the day after I moved in.”

The sun was out now, streaming in through the grimy window and falling on George’s profile. Alex couldn’t be sure how much could be attributed to his influence, but George’s fashion sense had definitely got better over the past few months. He wore ripped jeans this morning and a light knit jumper that stretched over his broad chest. The cherry red color was perfect for his skin tone, making his light eyes look even more ethereal.

Alex stepped in close, put his hand on George’s cheek, and kissed him. George’s arms wrapped around his waist, bringing him closer still. Alex tilted his head and flicked his tongue out softly, drawing their kiss deeper, sweeter, communicating something he wasn’t sure how to speak aloud. Alex folded his arms around George’s neck and swayed from side to side, enjoying this easy kissing that wouldn’t—couldn’t—go any further.

George broke away first, rubbing their noses together.

“Ready,” he said with a smile.

A
LEX
WALKED
out of the bathroom naked, his body still glisteningly damp from the shower. His hair was wet too, but in the June heat they’d been experiencing, it was cool against his neck. When he got to the bedroom, George was sitting on the bed with one of Alex’s dildos.

Oops.

They’d been living together for two whole weeks now. For a few days they’d tiptoed around each other, careful of habits and routines that developed when you lived alone. They often cooked together after work, and Alex had quickly decided this was one of his favorite times of day. It gave them time to talk to each other with no pressure to communicate. The whole activity was domestic, without feeling like they were trying too hard to make it work.

They had to eat, they might as well do it together.

The sex was good too. It mostly happened on the weekend, since this was when they had the chance to stay in bed together and spend time on each other’s bodies. There was something incredibly hot about being woken up on a dull Tuesday with a blow job, though. Or reciprocating later that night—something slow and easy to send George off to sleep.

The topic of sex toys was yet to be discussed.

Alex guessed that conversation was about to happen. Especially because George didn’t look best pleased.

“So you found Mr. Happy?” Alex said, aiming for easy lightness at first.

George scowled. “Is that what you call it?”

“That one, yeah.”

“Oh, I already found his friends. Let me guess… Mr. Buzzy, Mr. Butt Plug, Mr. Oh Holy Shit, How The Fuck Does That Thing Fit In Your Ass?”

Alex rolled his eyes and went to the chest of drawers to grab a pair of boxers. He pulled them on, then went back to the bed and sat facing George, cross-legged.

“I guess we need to talk about this, huh?”

“Yes, please. Because I’m not going to lie—these things are fairly terrifying, Alex.”

He took Mr. Happy out of George’s hands and set it down on the bedside table. It wasn’t
that
big. At least, he didn’t think so. But he’d been playing with dildos for about five years, and he did prefer them on the larger side.

“I’d been single for a while,” he started, hoping another joke might break some of this tension.

“Alex….”

“Okay, why don’t you tell me what you’re thinking right now? Because I’m usually pretty good at reading people, but I can’t decide if you’re insanely pissed off with me or upset.”

George did the jaw-twitching, not-making-eye-contact thing that usually meant he was thinking. Alex tried to be patient and to not fidget. He was almost annoying himself.

“These things are… really big, Alex.”

“Well—okay. Yeah.”

“They’re bigger than me,” he mumbled.

Ah.
Lightbulb moment.

“George,” Alex said, reaching out and squeezing his knee. “I’m guessing less than half a percent of the world’s population have cocks of that dimension. I don’t use them instead of being with you. It’s a… a kink, if you like.”

“You have a big-dick kink?”

“No,” Alex said confidently. “I have a big
dildo
kink.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Tell me about how you get yourself off,” Alex said.

“What?”

Alex watched George’s cheeks flush with color.

“When you have a wank. I know you have a routine, every guy does.”

George cleared his throat. “Well, you know I sometimes have to do it in the mornings. When I wake up with a massive hard-on.”

“Mhmm.”

“If I do it at night it was usually after everyone else had gone to bed.”

“Headphones and Internet porn?”

“Yeah,” George mumbled.

“Dark room, sometimes a bit of lube if you’re feeling fancy?”

That made him laugh—at last.

“Yeah.”

“See, for me it’s different,” Alex said and shuffled forward again. He was practically sitting in George’s lap now, and neither of them seemed to mind. “Yeah, I turn the lights off, load up something sexy to watch. But sometimes I don’t want it to be all about my dick. I sit on one of those things and let it poke at my prostate until I scream. And it got to a point where the more of a challenge it was to take that monster cock, the more turned-on I got. So, yeah, I like those things. But compared to when I’m with you….

“When we have sex, I want all of you. Your cock is only part of the equation. It’s about the way you kiss me and touch me.” He leaned in and kissed George’s neck. “It’s about the way you taste and smell, and those little noises you make that drive me fucking insane. I don’t get that with a plastic imitation cock.”

“Oh,” George said.

“It’s different, but I know what I prefer.”

“So if I asked you to throw them away, would you?”

“No,” Alex told him, smiling widely as he bumped their noses together.

“Really?”

“I don’t want to throw them away. Some of them were expensive. And, unless you’re planning on never masturbating again, then I think I’m entitled to enjoy the things that get me off just as much as you are.”

Alex waited while George processed this. At least these days George could multitask, so while he thought he skimmed his hands up and down Alex’s back. Alex hooked his wrists over George’s shoulders and looked at him: his big, strong, handsome man.

“Okay,” George said eventually, just like Alex knew he would.

“Great.”

“I do have one question, though.”

“Shoot.”

“Can I watch you use one?”

Alex’s smirk grew wicked. “Absolutely.”

B
Y
THE
time George stumbled in from work, he was exhausted.

It had been one of those weeks, the ones that were characterized by late nights and early mornings, taking his laptop home and staying up long after Alex had fallen asleep next to him, working by the little reading light until his eyeballs itched with tiredness.

But his design had been submitted to the prototype team by midday, beating his deadline by two precious hours, and all of his paperwork had been done and filed in time to get him home by six in the evening, which felt extraordinarily early.

Alex was on the sofa, stretched out on his back with his head on a cushion, turned to watch the evening news.

“Hi,” he said softly.

For the past week, Alex had been everything George needed in a partner. He was quiet and supportive and had made George’s packed lunches because he knew George wasn’t going to get the opportunity to leave his desk, not even for ten minutes to run out and get a sandwich. Alex had made sure there was clean underwear in the drawer they shared and had cleaned and done all of the chores George had vowed to split between them when he’d moved in.

George said nothing, just toed off his shoes and crawled on top of Alex. He found the little nook between Alex’s neck and shoulder and buried his face in there, sighing in bone-deep contentment. Alex’s arms circled his torso and all through the rest of the news and weather, they lay together like that—quiet, contemplative, complete.

Alex had to reach for the remote to change the channel when the news finished and the familiar opening strain of
EastEnders
started—they were united in their distaste for soap operas. He flicked the channel over, then started a soothing, rhythmical stroking over George’s head.

“Are you growing your hair out?”

George made some unintelligible noise.

“Try that again?”

“I look stupid with long hair. But I don’t want to look like a thug if someone takes pictures of us again, so I’m going to try and let it get a bit longer on top.”

“You don’t look like a thug.”

“I do. That was the point, for a while.”

Alex
humphed
. “I’ll order something in for dinner. From that Italian place around the corner?”

“Okay.”

“It’s all over and done with now?”

“Yep. Until the next time.”

Alex laughed softly and stopped the stroking, instead peppering kisses all over George’s head. “How often does this happen?”

George sighed and tried to roll onto his side. They tussled, George complaining that he was squashing Alex, Alex insisting it was fine. In the end, George stayed where he was, but propped himself up on his hands so he could look at Alex while they talked.

“It gets insane like this every time I submit a new patent. Which, realistically, is about once every eighteen months or so. If I’m doing a new version of an existing model it’s not quite so bad.”

“This is for the football helmet thing, right?”

“Right. It’s all to do with shock absorption and comfort fit. The prototype was well received… and I’m boring myself now. Can we please not talk about this? I swear this fucking helmet has taken over my life.”

“That’s what he said.”

“Har har. Alex?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for putting up with me this week. I know I’ve been a pain in the arse. But I’m really glad I was here instead of back at my old place.”

“I’m glad you’re here too.”

“Tell me about your coursework?”

Alex pressed a quick, gentle kiss to George’s lips. “Let me order dinner first. We can talk while we eat.”

“Okay. I’m going to go have a shower.”

“Good plan. You stink.”

“Oi,” George complained. When they were both on their feet he pounced on Alex and gave him a noogie, then ran away before Alex could reciprocate. George wasn’t too worried. He was bigger than Alex and usually won these little tussles.

As he stripped off and tossed his work clothes into the washing basket, George gave a familiar prayer of thanks for this bathroom. There were other, more important reasons why he’d decided to move, of course, but this bathroom? Compared to the old, moldy, paint-flaking, taps-rusting bathroom in his old house, this was
paradise.

The shower cubicle itself was a dark little nook, meaning no matter the time of day, it was cozy and steamy and almost womb-like in its comfort. George tilted his face up to meet the heavy pour of water and tried to let it wash away some of the stress of the past few days.

At this point, he was beyond exhaustion. He’d caught a second wind somewhere around Thursday midmorning and was still riding that rush of endorphins. The thought of a decent meal tonight, a bottle of wine, and crashing on the sofa with his boyfriend was the most perfect thing he could imagine.

And that’s how you know you’re getting old
, George’s subconscious reminded him.

After an unusually long shower, George dressed in a pair of pajama bottoms and one of his old, ratty uni hoodies.

He looked around the room and frowned. Nothing was immediately
wrong
with his bedroom, it was just… not right. In a way he couldn’t put his finger on.

“Alex?”

“Food will be about another ten minutes,” Alex said from the living room. “I was about to come down there, thought you might be trying to drown yourself.”

“Do we have a cleaner?”

Alex popped up from the sofa, looking over the back of it with his most innocent
who, me?
expression.

“No.”

“We so do,” George said, fighting down his amusement. “You little shit.”

“I am exceptionally good at household chores,” Alex said. He kept his face poker straight and sat up a little taller. “I cook and clean and raise the children, George. I’m the perfect housewife. Mary Poppins.”

“Mary Poppins my fucking arse. I can’t believe you. Do you get them to make my lunch too?”

“Of course not.” Alex looked offended now. “I make your lunch for you because I love you.”

“But you don’t love me enough to scrub the toilet.”

Alex seemed to realize he’d been rumbled. “Shit,” he muttered.

George laughed and took his usual corner of the sofa, opening his arm so Alex could snuggle into his side. “It’s fine, princess. I can’t believe I actually thought you did the cleaning, anyway.”

“I do some of it,” Alex protested. “I wash up after we have dinner. I
make
dinner. And I do laundry.”