Playing for Keeps (Glasgow Lads Book 2) (12 page)

“Damn straight we are—oh, hey!” Katie tried to flag down their fedora-wearing waiter, who had already breezed past, descending the stairs. Deflated, she turned back to John. “So are you planning a big promo campaign to get the buzz going?”

“I’d love to, but the captain doesn’t want this match to be some sort of ‘sensation.’” He resisted the urge to make sarcastic air quotes. This week on the phone, each time John had suggested a creative new marketing idea, Fergus had demurred. Each time, John had backed off, not wanting this bone of contention to sully their budding relationship.

“How’ll you sell tickets if it’s not sensational?” Katie asked.

“Exactly! If we promote it as just another charity match between two amateur football clubs—God, I’m yawning at the thought. We cannae afford huge adverts, so we need the sort of free publicity that comes from making a story out of it.” He spread his hands, imagining the headlines. “A big gay story.”

“You need a celebrity endorsement.” Katie gasped and snapped her fingers. “You should ask that Lord Andrew dude.”

John gaped at her. “That ‘Lord Andrew dude’? You mean Lord Andrew Sunderland, second son of the Marquess of Kirkross?”

“He goes to Glasgow Uni, right?”

“He’s in my course. We’re not pals, but we’re friendly.”

“Well, then, duh! Listen.” She started ticking off reasons on her fingers. “Andrew is openly gay, gorgeous, and best of all, a social-media god. He has, like, a million followers on Twitter and Tumblr and Instagram. They all wake up holding their breath to see what kind of smoothie he’s having for breakfast.”

“Are you one of these million followers?”

She shrugged sheepishly. “Maybe.”

John considered her idea. Endorsement and promotion from Lord Andrew would give the charity match instant credibility. The flamboyant young aristocrat was a huge football fan, so there was a reasonable chance he’d agree.

But first John had to find him. For such a public person, Andrew was rabidly protective of his privacy. It would take persistence and blind luck to snare even a wee chat.

“So what’s this captain like?” Katie asked. “Is he nice?”

John couldn’t suppress a grin. “Aye, Fergus is…very nice.”

Katie’s eyes widened. “Oh my God, you’re so into him. Are you guys going out, or is this just a crush?”

“Our second date is in—” He turned over his phone to check the time. “—ninety-two minutes.”

She let out a squeak. “Have you ever even
had
a second date?”

“Technically, no.”

“So this guy has boyfriend potential?”

John’s face heated at the thought. Having a boyfriend was dangerous. But after the way Fergus had run to his side at the hospital, and the way they’d connected this week during their long nightly phone calls, what they had felt too real to walk away from.

“It’s a bit early for the
b
word. However…” John batted his lashes at Katie. “He said if Warriors could recruit you, he’d love me forever.”

She hooted. “Aww, Johnny, you’re a smitten kitten and you don’t even know it.”

He joined her laughter, but on the inside, he found it anything but funny.
I do know it, lass
, he thought.
I just don’t know what to do about it.

= = =

The moment John stepped into the architecture firm where Fergus worked, he knew something was wrong. He could almost smell the fear.

A young man hurried up to the slick black reception desk. “Sorry, we’re closed.”

“I’m not here for—I’m supposed to meet Fergus Taylor?” John cursed his voice for curling up at the end.

“One second.” The man picked up the reception phone.

“I’m a bit early, so—”

“Fergus, it’s Gavin. There’s a lad to see you out front.” Gavin hung up and leveled a laser gaze at John. “If you try to take him from this office, the entire firm will kill you. I might kill you twice.”

“John!” Fergus swept through an etched-glass door, looking harried. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t get away yet. Things have gone tits up here. We had a power outage from that fucking thunderstorm, and some of the files weren’t backed up. Files for that project due by end-of-business today? For our biggest client?” He dug into his pocket and pulled out his wallet and keys. “It’s my turn to buy our dinner, but restaurants might be closed by the time I’m finished here, so if you could pick it up? I know, it’s horrific etiquette for me to ask.”

“No, it’s…” John wasn’t sure exactly what Fergus wanted him to do.

“There’s a Thai place in St. George’s Road near my block. Their red curry’s the best. I’ll have it with chicken.” He gave John a pair of twenty-pound notes. “Abebi’s already left for work, so here’s the spare key for my flat.” He wrenched it off the key fob and placed it in John’s hand.

John stared at the key in his palm, struck speechless at Fergus’s trust. Not in a million years would he let anyone, even Fergus—no,
especially
Fergus—enter his house without him. “Are you sure?”

“It’s either that or reschedule.” Fergus stepped closer and spoke lower. “I want to see you tonight. In the worst way.”

“Me too.” He hooked his finger through one of Fergus’s belt loops. “In the best way.”

= = =

F.T. 07-2013

Standing on a chair in Fergus’s kitchen, John gave a low whistle of awe at the initials etched upon the artwork’s metal mounting board. Then he rehung it among its three companions on the wall above the cupboards.

In a striking series of quirky metallic pieces, four trees represented the year’s seasons. The summer tree he’d just been examining featured branches made of strips of green copper that reminded John of his mum’s antique flower pots. Rusted springs comprised the autumn tree’s branches, and the winter tree was made of sterling-silver fork tines.

The spring tree, which must have taken days to assemble, consisted of tiny brown and green glass shards forming the bark and buds. In the glint of the ceiling light, it looked freshly rain-drenched.
 

Judging by the initials, Fergus had made all these with his own hands.

John found more examples of Fergus’s salvage art in the living room. On the three-level corner shelf—which was itself formed from pieces of driftwood and old piping—sat a menagerie of animals made of scrap wood, metal, and glass. The tarnished-silver art deco wall clock had clearly been originally designed to sit on a shelf. And then there was the coffee table made from a refurbished wooden door, with the knob still attached and shined to brass perfection.

Fergus had looked past the surface of all this rubbish and seen something beautiful.
What does he see when he looks at me?
John wondered.
Am I the opposite—rubbish beneath an illusory surface?

It was just as well they’d not gone to dinner tonight. How could John have sat across a table from Fergus for hours, gazed into those eyes, and not felt sickened at the thought of doing the Orange Walk?

Things were easier in bed, where their bodies could empty his mind.

In fact, John realized, that would be the perfect place to wait. He returned to the kitchen, put the Thai takeaway into the fridge, then headed for Fergus’s room.

“F
INALLY
.”

J
OHN
WOKE
at the sound of Fergus’s voice. He rolled over to see him standing just inside the bedroom door. His purple-and-black-striped tie hung loose around his neck, and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone, but he was otherwise fully dressed.

Fergus ambled over to his bed. “For years I’ve wished for naked-man delivery service. That and my own personal jetpack.” He toed off his shoes. “Or a flying car, I can’t decide. But definitely the naked-man delivery service.”

John reached for him. “The future is now, lad.”

Fergus climbed onto the bed—which did
not
feature the Celtic fleece tonight—straddling John atop the blankets. “I’ve missed you,” he said before bending down for a kiss.

As John filled his hands with Fergus’s hair, every cell in his body seemed to sigh with relief, as if it had barely survived these last four days. The sudden, overwhelming
rightness
of their reunion stole whatever silly joke he was about to make.

Fergus nuzzled John’s temple. “Mm, you smell like my shampoo.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Aye, besides the fact I was tragically not showering with you.” He kissed John again quickly. “Also, now I feel all manky next to your clean body, so I’ll go and have my own quick shower.” He rolled off the bed with the grace of a gymnast, then headed for the door.

“Good,” John said, “cos tonight I plan to tongue-fuck you till you go blind.”

Fergus stopped so suddenly, he nearly tripped. He turned and gaped at John. “Do you always speak every thought that comes into your head?”

“Only when I’m with you.”

John managed to maintain his smile until Fergus had shut the bathroom door. Then his face fell as he replayed his last sentence. How could he profess absolute candor after lying about his plans for the fifth of July?

Well, he’d just have to mitigate his guilt by giving Fergus the rim job of his life. Like the blueberry pancakes, it was a poor substitute for honesty, but it was the best he could offer at the moment.

Fergus returned soon with glowing skin, damp hair, and a stauner the size of a skyscraper. As he joined John under the covers, he glanced at the murmuring white-noise machine on the bedside table. “Ocean waves?”

“We can pretend we’re on our own private beach. Unless you’re an exhibitionist, in which case you can pretend we’re on a public beach.”

Fergus’s eyes lit up. “We should go to a real beach! I’ve not been to the sea yet this summer.”

“Then we’ll go tomorrow.”

“Good. Hey, listen.” Fergus drew his fingers forward through John’s hair, letting the dark strands flop over his forehead. “If I ask you a question, do you promise to answer honestly?”

A cold spike went down John’s spine. He cleared his throat. “Aye.”

“Did you have a wank in my shower?”

“What?” John was swept with relief, then surprise, then confusion. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t.” Fergus’s lips contorted. “But now I do.”

“Och, get to fuck!” He shoved Fergus’s chest. “That’s entrapment, you know.”

“I was joking! I didn’t think you really had.” He laughed harder as John grabbed him, then wrestled him face down on the bed. “Couldn’t wait another two hours, ya wee perv?”

“Shut. Up.”

“Shut me up.” Fergus craned his neck to offer his mouth, which John greedily took. As they kissed, John slid his cock over the small of Fergus’s back, the skin there silky smooth from his shower.

I could fuck him tonight
, John thought.
But I won’t.
If they’d not done it on their first date, there was no hurry to do it on their second. Clearly this thing between them would last a while.

Besides
, he thought as he kissed a path down Fergus’s spine,
a lot of fun can be had taking things slow.

He ran his hands over Fergus’s sculpted glutes, down the taut hamstrings and back up again, massaging away the workday tension. Fergus was as fit a man as John had ever been with, and he wanted to absorb this first close-up sight and feel of him from behind.

As John lifted Fergus’s arse, Fergus wrapped his arms around the pillow and let out a sigh that said
Oh yes, this man will send me to the moon again
. John vowed not to disappoint.

He spread Fergus’s cheeks, licking the inside curve of the left one, then the right. As John circled closer and closer to his ultimate destination, Fergus’s thighs began to shake, and his sighs gained a note of pleading.

Finally John paused, savoring their anticipation for just one…more…moment. Then he extended his tongue, the tip rigid as he could make it, and let it dance upon Fergus’s hole.

“Ahhh…” Fergus murmured. “Yes.” The smile in his voice provoked one of John’s own.

He began long, sweeping licks, giving Fergus’s arse the worship it deserved. Soon Fergus was moaning against his pillow, clawing at the sheets. The sound, the taste, and the feel of him made John’s prick throb with need. Again he was tempted to reach for the lube and condoms in the bedside table drawer. Again his instinct told him tonight was not the night.

He reached between Fergus’s legs to take his cock in hand. As he began to stroke, John slid his tongue down over the base of Fergus’s balls, then back up to caress and curl over every delectable contour of his hole.

“Oh!” Fergus arched his neck and slammed his palm against the bed. “Yes. Don’t stop. John. Please. Yes.”

John pumped with a quickening rhythm until Fergus’s cries merged into a barely coherent stream of “OhGodyesI’mcomingohGodyesyesohfuckyes!” He wrapped his hand around John’s, and together they held his cock as it released jet after jet, his arse spasming with each surge. John almost came himself at the feel of it all.

With a final deep, satisfied sigh, Fergus rolled onto the other side of the bed, where he propped his head up using a pair of pillows. “You.” He gazed at John, glassy-eyed. “Come here.”

“Come where?”

Fergus smiled and pointed to his mouth. “Here.”

John crawled over Fergus to straddle his chest, then guided the tip of his cock to Fergus’s lips. As Fergus’s tongue played around, over, and under his foreskin, John grew dizzy with the sudden surge of blood from his brain. He grabbed the top edge of the wooden headboard to steady himself. That impulsive wank in the shower seemed ages ago.

Fergus looked up into his eyes. “Would you like to fuck my mouth, John? Fuck it hard and deep?”

“Aye,” he panted. “I would like that…very much.”

Fergus cupped John’s arse and pulled him all the way inside. John clutched the headboard as his cock met the smooth, slick wall of Fergus’s throat. He started with short, careful thrusts, but, encouraged by Fergus, he gradually drove harder, faster. John looked down to watch himself slide in and out between those gorgeously flushed lips. Then he lifted himself higher, tilting back Fergus’s head so their eyes could meet again.