Chapter Fourteen

No, Non, Nein, Nah, Mate…Yes

“This is most definitely not what it looks like,” Mark stuttered, wiping his saliva-coated lips.

Bradley stepped away from grinding his erection against Mark’s leg and stifled a chuckle. Mark would have preferred he responded with something more confirmatory to Mark’s statement.

“No?” Macy folded her arms to underline her scepticism and shook out her fuzzy ginger hair that bunched around each ear in pigtails.

“No.” Mark shook his head, his own hair billowing wildly to rival Macy’s.

“No?” Bradley folded his arms across his iron chest that mere moments ago had been holding Mark up as if he were a falling building.

Mark could still feel the weight that had been pressed against him and he called out to be crushed again. To ground him. To complete him. But that would only exacerbate the current situation and provide ammunition for Macy not to believe a damn word he dared utter next.

“Well, no,” Mark stammered, confidence waning.

“You weren’t sucking face with my baby cousin?”

Mark raked his gaze over the Aussie. He did still find it rather hard to believe that he had had his tongue down Bradley’s throat, which did make it a tad easier to contest the accusation. He turned his attention to the friend he’d known a fair bit longer. Minus tongues. Thank goodness.

“Well, you see, there you go.” Mark waved a hand in the air and almost hit Bradley standing over him like a menacing threat of pure sex. “That statement most definitely can be answered with a no. I was not sucking face with a baby.”

“Thank goodness,” Macy replied. “But you were sucking my cousin?”

“Wh—what? No!” Mark shook his head furiously again.

He was nauseated, his brain spinning as though he was riding one of those godawful summer fairground contraptions. What was the name of the damn ride? He’d spent his youth trying to avoid it, no matter if the bigger kids and scrumptiously fit boys all used to hang out there every night of the school holidays. The teacups?

No. He probably would have remembered that.

“No?” Bradley repeated again, voice elevating, snapping Mark from his reminiscing.

Mark narrowed his eyes and, although Bradley stood there with that one blasted eyebrow crawling so far up his face it was in danger of joining his head of hair, he was sure Bradley was fucking with him. Or at least Mark hoped that he might still want to. Unable to sustain any more vowels, Mark pffft’d, snorted then grunted. And after that display, he was now fairly certain Bradley would be coming on board with all the nos.

“No,” Mark finally agreed. Or didn’t agree. He wasn’t sure at this point what meant no and what meant yes. So he’d stick to the nos, regardless.

“Shame.” Bradley breathed out, unfurling his arms and glancing away.

Mark opened his mouth, accepting that all the flies would set up camp in there for a nice overnight holiday, breed and he’d been spitting out maggots for the rest of his life like some late-night 1970s horror movie.

“I asked you to show him around town.” Macy slammed her hands on her hips. “I didn’t think you’d stop just at your house, Mark Johnson.”

Mark furiously shook his head and attempted to shuffle forward from the kitchen counter. But Bradley blocked his way, refusing to budge an inch. Could Mark slip under his spread legs, perhaps? Probably best not to.

“I did not stop at my house, Macy,” Mark declared, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll have you know, I did indeed show Bradley around town. We have also ventured as far as London.”

“Where Mark paid for us to stay in a hotel.” Bradley grinned and it was touch and go as to whether Mark would slap him to shut him up. Or kiss him. He was beginning to think those two things were interchangeable when it came to Bradley bloody Summers. “After he tried lap dancing for me.”

Slap him, definitely slap him.

“Mark Johnson!” Macy tutted, a smile forming.

“Don’t worry, Mace.” Bradley shot Mark a wink. “He only got as far as taking his jacket off then gouged some poor woman’s eye out.”

Mark closed his eyes and proceeded to count to a million in the hope this dramatization would come to an end.

“Sounds like Mark.”

He tried to find some vowels to go with the multitude of consonants spluttering out of his mouth, but it seemed they had vacated his memory bank along with his maths ability. How was he meant to explain all that had happened in Macy’s absence? Even he wasn’t quite sure what had happened, or what was going to happen. He’d spent his life avoiding moments like this. And here he was, slap-bang in the middle of some daytime soap opera. A man nearly hitting his forties, having been single and happy—pfft—for the most part of ten years and resigned himself to a life of carefree liaisons that were, frankly, limited to say the least—as in non-existent—cavorting in his kitchen with a stripper nearly half his age who was related, by blood, to his best friend!

Bradley grinned, and Mark was unsure whether Macy’s clucking of her tongue was out of true disappointment for Mark, or if she also found this whole scenario amusing. Mark could quite use a nice cup of tea. Is it rude to ask everyone to bugger off?

“Brad?” Macy said, eyes wide.

“G’day, cuz,” Bradley replied. “How was the trip?”

“Awful.” Macy sighed. “I begged to get off at the nearest port and managed to get an early flight home. Mum found an even older geriatric to keep her company and after I was locked out of the cabin on the second night with a sock hanging on the handle, I decided it was time to come home.”

“Good-o.” Bradley still hadn’t made any further steps back and it was taking all Mark’s strength not to push him away, which would never work as Mark wouldn’t be able to move the tank of the man, so he’d settle for a stern lecture on personal space. Or his other option was to ignore Macy and continue where they’d left off when she broke into his house. Which reminded him…

“Er, Macy, you realise this is my house? That you let yourself into my place of domicile?”

“Yes, Mark.” Macy nodded. “Good thing, really, eh? Lord knows what would have happened, had I not. You can pretend your tongue wasn’t in my baby cousin’s mouth, but it would be harder to explain where you were hiding your dick.”

“Macy!” Mark exploded and he wouldn’t have been surprised if his ears blew steam like the kettle.

Bradley cracked out a laugh.

“You’re not helping!” Mark prodded an aggravated finger in Bradley’s chest and covered the ricocheting pain it caused.

“Sorry.” Bradley smiled, all sweetness and light. “But this isn’t a big deal.”

“Isn’t it?” Mark rubbed his brow. He needed an aspirin. Quick.

Bradley shrugged. “Why would it be?”

Mark couldn’t answer. Not without reaffirming all the complications that had had Mark keeping Bradley at arm’s length for the last few days. Gosh, has it only been days? Bradley was young. Too young. And too good-looking. And too flighty.

Mark was old. Too old to be flouncing around with Bradley. He might have let his inhibitions fly away a moment ago, but now Macy was here, reminding Mark of who he really was. And how everyone and everything had a use-by date.

“Brad?” Macy’s calming, soothing tone floated along the silent kitchen.

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t you go back to the shop? I brought some stuff from my trip and stashed them there to make some cakes for tomorrow. I need a word with Mark.”

Bradley narrowed his eyes. “What about?”

“That’s private.”

Bradley whipped his gaze from Macy to Mark, playfulness dissipating with each passing look.

“Don’t make him feel bad. None of this is his fault. It’s no one’s fault.” Bradley smiled. “If you want to blame anyone, blame Gran. Or the stars. This is fate.”

“Gran?” Macy rolled her eyes. “Bat-shit crazy Gran? What did she predict this time? That you and Mark are a match made in heaven?”

“In tea leaves, more like.” Bradley’s whole body radiated pride.

Mark shrank, in stature and in confidence.

“Bradley,” Macy sighed. “I know you believe in that stuff, but she got it wrong last time, didn’t she?”

“No.” Bradley shook his head. “No. I got it wrong. This is right.” He waved a hand between himself and Mark.

What? Mark should probably attempt to ask that out loud if he was hoping for an answer to his question.

“Okay, okay, look.” Macy held up her hands in defence. “Just let me talk to Mark, please?”

Bradley paused in front of Mark and, dare Mark think it, there was a distinct demise in confidence from his stance. Mark wasn’t sure what to make of that. Bradley exuded confidence. Was Macy making him realise his mistake?

Then, he was caught completely off guard when Bradley leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. A sweet, delicate peck that tingled along Mark’s spine and his lips left a lingering, teasing patch of moisture that Mark never wanted to wash off.

“Listen to your heart, not her,” Bradley whispered into Mark’s ear before gliding over to his cousin, offering a less romantic kiss to her cheek and leaving the house.

Mark was a little weak at the knees. Was it from Macy’s death glare or left over from that chaste kiss of Bradley’s? As his gaze met Macy’s, Mark swallowed and believed it was the former.

“You owe me an explanation, Mark.”

“I need tea, Macy.” Mark fell back onto the counter to steady himself. “Quite badly.”

“First, you talk to me.” Macy grabbed Mark’s arm and yanked him into the living room. She collapsed with a huff onto the sofa and Mark lowered into the seat next to her, far more delicately and a tad more cautiously. “You like Brad?”

Mark shrugged. Macy slapped him.

“Ouch!” Mark rubbed his arm with a pout.

“If I find out you have used his faith in astrology, tasseography and whatever the hell his hippyish Byron Bay upbringing and our gran’s influence has him believing in next, as a chance for a little slap and tickle, I will…I will…urg! I will refuse you service at my Tea Shoppe!”

Mark gasped. “That’s totally unjust!”

“Yes. So be careful what you say here.” Macy folded her arms.

“Hang on, you told me he could look after himself.”

“He can. He does. But he’s got that look in his eye.”

“What look?”

Macy lowered her chin, peering up at Mark with sultry eyes. “Love.”

“Absurd,” Mark mumbled.

“Why?” Macy folded her arms, curled her legs under her bottom and draped her long skirt over the edge of the sofa. “Are you saying a good-looking man like my cousin can’t fall in love? Because he’s a stripper he doesn’t have feelings? Is that it?”

“What? No.” Mark firmed his lips. “He just doesn’t have them for me. He’s here in town for a short time—turns out the man who’s been sent to make him feel welcome is also a homosexual and he’s using the opportunity to pass the time. I could be anyone. And, sorry, but maybe there was a brief momentary lapse in judgement, there, because, well”—Mark waved a hand in the air—“he’s the dictionary definition of ‘sex’. They may as well forget the words on the entry and insert a photograph of him. But I can’t let myself go there.”

“Why not?” Macy drew in concerned eyebrows. “We’ve been friends for a fair few years now and I haven’t seen you with anyone.”

“I like my life like that.”

“Give over.” Macy slapped him on the leg. “I think you’re about ready to get back on the horse, as they say.”

“Bradley is most certainly not a horse.” Mark folded his arms. “He is, for all intents and purposes, a stallion.”

“Got that close while I was away, did we?”

“No.” Mark shook his head. “No, no, no.”

“Did you want to?”

Mark met with her gaze and sighed. “It isn’t worth the inevitable heartbreak.”

“Oh, you are an absolute waste of a gay man, Mark Johnson!”

Macy’s lips hadn’t moved to say that, and the voice had dropped a few decibels too. On realising it hadn’t been Macy uttering it at all, Mark flipped around on the sofa. Damian stood at the entrance doorway, hands on his hips.

“Have you ditched the almighty Australian fuck-god, already?”

Mark pinched the bridge of his nose. This morning had just got a whole lot worse.

“Firstly, the fuck-god is my baby cousin.” Macy glared at Damian

Damian held his hands up in apology, with minimal wincing.

“Secondly, Mark is most definitely not having rampant sex with an Australian.” Macy turned back to Mark. “Or any other man of any nationality.”

“What’s new?” Damian perched on the edge of the arm rest next to Macy and kissed her cheek.

“Just a little enquiry, if I may?” Mark asked.

Both Macy and Damian stopped their sniggering to address Mark with their similar sets of raised eyebrows.

“If you’re both so eager for me to be finally getting my end away, why have you both let yourself into my house? I’ll be having those spare keys back, thank you very much.”

“Ah!” Damian hacked out with an accusatory point of his finger. “So you do plan on getting all Will Smith behind closed doors, then?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, come on.” Damian huffed. “Getting jiggy with it?” He wiggled on the edge of the sofa, rotating his arms in a dance move to rival Bradley’s Adonis Cabaret. “Na, na, na, nana, nanana.”

“No,” Mark replied a little exasperated. “No, no, no.”

“She doth protest too much,” Damian said with another eyebrow waggle.

“Actually, I’ve decided to have a real-life friend cull, rather than just on Facebook. So I am sorry, lady and gent, you didn’t make the cut.”

“You need us, Mark Johnson,” Macy shoved his arm and Mark was beginning to feel like a ragdoll with all the manhandling. “We’re the ones who are here to support your foray into uncharted territory.”

“It’s not quite uncharted.”

“They’ve changed all the rules since you last did it.” Damian tutted. “Did they even have lube back then?”

“I’m getting confused.” Mark scrubbed a hand over his face. “I thought you, Macy, didn’t want me…cavorting with your baby cousin. Now it’s all, go on, Mark, get jiggly with it.”

“I just want to know it’s consensual on both sides. And that you both know what you’re letting yourself in for.” Macy shrugged.

“And I came here for a nice cup of tea and to find out all the details of last night.” Damian rubbed his hands together with glee.

“I don’t have any bags,” Mark admitted with a sullen sulk.

Their gasps said it all. And while Mark listened to the cackling from the other two on his sofa, his mind flickered to what Bradley had said he should listen to—his heart. What was his heart telling him? What was the ultimate pull? Where were the stars guiding him?

Satisfied that the stars were aligning in some sort of order, Mark hefted up from the sofa. “I’ll go get the tea.”

 

* * * *

 

The bell tinkled its welcome and Mark pushed through the door. His hands trembled as he closed it and twisted the lock. Was this a very bad idea? Glancing around Macy’s Tea Shoppe, he paused at its stillness. He thought about calling out, but should he allow his mouth to speak, it might not shut up. So instead he cleared his throat, threw his jacket over one of the tables and forced his jelly legs to get him around the counter and into the back kitchen.

Bradley had his back to him, shoving various items from a crate into the large industrial fridge. He had headphones in, which could have been the reason he hadn’t heard the entrance bell or Mark’s shoes slapping on the floor as he edged closer. Mark lost his nerve. The contours of Bradley’s muscles through his thin vest top was enough to give Mark second, third—hell even a bazillion thoughts. None of which were rational. So he abandoned them to enjoy the view of Bradley reaching for each item and shoving it onto a shelf.

Bradley was perfect. If Mark had been told to draw the ideal man, he would forever be sketching Bradley from memory. The fact he couldn’t actually draw was neither here nor there. Mark would know who it was.

But Bradley was young. Far too young for this not to feel just a mite icky.

Bradley twisted and stared.

“G’day, Mark.” His face erupted into a grin and he flicked out his headphones.

Mark didn’t have the first clue who Bradley was listening to, or even what type of music category it would come under. There had only been four genres when Mark had been an avid listener of popular music—rock, pop, classic and heavy metal. Now it seemed there were a multitude of subgenres—and subgenres within subgenres—to explain what type of music any one band played. All bands were now unique and not bunched together under the simple category of popular music.

Mark sighed. And told his brain to shut the fuck up.

“You want a tea?” Bradley asked, turning off the phone and shunting the kitchen into anticipatory silence.

Mark shook his head. “No.”

“Right-o.” Bradley waved a hand to the delights cluttering the kitchen surface. “Cake? Macy brought some cool choccie muffins back. Sure she won’t mind if you fancied a nibble?”

“No. Thank you.”

“Okay.” Bradley elongated the word and glanced around the kitchen. “You want a coffee?”

Mark snorted. “No.”

Bradley chuckled, but was soon rendered to a halt when Mark found his confidence and edged closer.

Bradley straightened. “Do you want”—he cocked his head—“me?”

“Oh, fucking God, yes.” Mark surprised himself with how loud that came out. The words ricocheted off the stainless-steel counters and echoed in resigned confirmation.

Bradley smiled. Beamed. Radiated an illuminating glow that sizzled Mark’s skin. He leaned forward, brushing his lips against Mark’s with enticing fortitude. Mark didn’t move. He allowed the warm breath against his lips and waited for Bradley to take over. Bradley would want it that way. Mark was happy to give it to him. Allow him to lead all this nonsense. That way, Mark could plead ignorance to any seduction techniques that he clearly didn’t have in his arsenal.

“Come on, then, Mark,” Bradley whispered against Mark’s lips. He licked his own and wiped his tongue across Mark’s teasingly. “Take me.”

Thirty-nine years Mark had been in his own body and mind. He thought he knew himself infinitely well. He’d spent years coming to terms with who he was—a bumbling fool consumed by misfortune. He was fairly certain he could pinpoint his immediate reactions to any given situation and they usually ended in some comedic slapstick fallout.

But this, this was new.

And so Mark decided to forgo his usual reserved reactions and do what Bradley said. To hell with all consequences.

He rammed his mouth on top of Bradley’s and kissed him—consumed him—no holds barred. This time, he had no desire to stop. He didn’t even care if anyone wandered into the kitchen asking for tea—they could watch if they were so inclined.

Mark was a new man.

He sliced into Bradley’s mouth with his tongue, entwining it with Bradley’s and tasting all the juicy orangey bits still remaining on the roof of his mouth. So that’s why Bradley always has such sweet breath! Bradley staggered back, falling into the open fridge. He glided his hands onto Mark’s hips, whether to steady himself or to tug him closer being debatable. But Mark crushed his body forth regardless. Bradley trailed his fingertips inside Mark’s shirt and Mark whimpered. Bradley’s hands were cold and Mark’s skin erupted with goosepimples rivalling the plucked chicken sitting on the shelf of Macy’s fridge.

Bradley tucked his arms up into the sides of Mark’s shirt and stretched with such force that the buttons ripped off in one smooth movement and pinged around the kitchen. Luckily, Mark had his eyes closed or there could have been another eye incident to add to his growing list.

Slipping Mark’s shirt free, Bradley hummed from the pit of his stomach and floated the shirt to the floor. Mark should have been feeling all kinds of self-conscious then, standing there in Macy’s Tea Shoppe kitchen with his skinny body on display for a man who stripped for a living. But for once his conscience switched off. And especially more so when Bradley freed his mouth from Mark’s and kissed, sucked and licked down Mark’s neck, over his collarbone and to his chest. Mark grappled with Bradley’s hair, sliding his fingers in and watching Bradley sink lower. Bradley was devouring him, lapping up every inch of Mark’s skin. It wasn’t rushed, either—he was taking his time over it. Enjoying it.

Bradley licked over Mark’s hardened, protruding dark nipple. He nipped a bit, too, which Mark thought was a little uncalled for, but he discovered it wasn’t exactly painful and enjoyed the sensation, nonetheless.

Slipping his cold hands down inside the waistband of Mark’s jeans, Bradley stood to grin and lick his lips. “I don’t feel no taking, Mark.”

“God, I hate that grin,” Mark purred in a way completely opposed to his words.

“Come get me, Mark.” Bradley stretched out his arms in invitation.

Mark cocked his head, holding Bradley’s challenging gaze. He’d take that dare. Tucking his fingers into the top of Bradley’s jeans, he attempted to unfasten the button. Mark had a lot of experience opening and fastening his own jeans fly, so he would have thought that ripping open Bradley’s would be second nature. He flicked his thumb and finger once more around the circular metal and came to the conclusion that Bradley’s jeans were clearly secured together by super glue. He had no choice but to drop his seductive eye contact to give his full attention to the bloody task at hand.

Choosing to go in with two hands, he attempted to tuck the metal through the hole. He grimaced, his tongue poking out in concentration. Not a good look for the current moment.

“How on earth do you get these things off so easily on stage?” Mark asked, flapping out his thumb that had dented from the metal.

Bradley chuckled. “Velcro.”

Mark glanced up. “Couldn’t think about wearing that next time?”

“If this is on the cards, then yeah, sure thing.”

Mark’s stomach fluttered, which soon turned into curdling mush leaping up his throat. Was there a next time? Would there ever even be a this time if basic clothing mechanics were beyond his capabilities? Bradley’s increasing hardness beneath his hands wasn’t helping him focus. He blew out a puff of air to waft his hair back from his perspiring forehead, but before he threw in the towel completely and chalked this up to fate, the stars, lack of tea, Bradley wrapped a meaty hand around his and with a quick flick had his jeans open and the head of his cock popped out with an eager hello.

Or rather a g’day.

“Thanks,” Mark said.

“You’re welcome.”

Mark licked his lips on seeing the glistening head poking out of Bradley’s now open flies. No underwear. Beautiful. Before his feet could catch up with his wrenching gut and leg it out of there, Mark sunk to his knees and yanked Bradley’s jeans down with him. Bradley attempted to step out of them, but his trainers caught on the foot holes and Mark had to help him slip out of them by undoing his laces for him. Those were the parts in porn they didn’t show. And for good reason.

Mark slung the trainers somewhere in the kitchen that he would no doubt trip over later, and ripped Bradley free of his jeans. Bradley’s cock didn’t falter and pointed at Mark’s face with a blatant come-hither. Mark, for once, obliged and went and hithered with gusto. Gripping the root of Bradley’s shaft, he licked up the full length and wiped the sprinkled tip. It tasted a darn sight better than anything he had ever licked in this shop before, including the iced fingers.

Opening his mouth for more, he dived in and Bradley toppled back into the fridge. A few items from the shelves were knocked off and fell to the floor with thick splats. Chocolate custard glooped along the tile ridges, but Mark knew which he would rather be lapping up right then. He trailed a hand behind Bradley to grip at his taut, muscular arse cheek and squeezed him out of the fridge and deeper into his mouth.

“Mark Johnson!” Bradley breathed out, scratching fingernails through Mark’s scalp. “You are dirty.”

Mark let that statement whittle down to its core meaning and continued to prove that, yes, he could be as filthy as the next bloke. Especially when kneeling on a kitchen floor amongst discarded food items and with another man’s dick in his gob. Mark couldn’t remember the last time he had done this. It had been quite some time ago, and he desperately tried not to allow his mind to linger too long on the whens, wheres and how fors to focus solely on the one he was currently enjoying filling up his mouth. Just like riding a bike, this! He could remember how to get a man off with his tongue alone, and swiped it around Bradley’s cockhead, trailing the veins and poking it into the slit all to the tune of Bradley’s low encouraging moans above him.

“Mark!” Bradley called out. Yelled out. Groaned out.

Mark glanced up to catch the pure joy on the man’s face above him. It made his toes curl, and he still had his covered by socks and shoes. Poor Bradley’s perfectly rounded pedicured digits were seeping into the brown custard globules on the floor as he clung to the fridge with one desperate hand and Mark’s hair with the other. Mark didn’t stop. He was on a roll. He sucked furiously and pumped faster with the hand curled around the root.

Excitement, anticipation and curiosity all merged into one as Mark wondered how far he could take this. Should take this. He needed to test the waters, see what he was dealing with there. He glided the hand clutching Bradley’s arse to slide into his crack. Would Bradley buck, or tense? Would he even be expecting it?

He did neither. He leaned forward, away from within the fridge, giving Mark better access. Intriguing. Bradley, bent double, watched his dick slide in and out of Mark’s keen mouth, allowed, no encouraged, Mark to poke inside him deeper.

“That’s it, Mark. That’s it. There. Oh, yeah!” In between his babbling grunts of gripping pleasure, Bradley let go of the fridge door and it bashed against Mark’s back, kicking in his gag reflex.

Bradley’s cock fell from his mouth and Mark’s legs trembled, trying to keep him steady in his crouch. He peered up and Bradley looked down, both gazes both wondering what to do next.

Should they ask the stars?

“You know what this means, now, right, Mark?” Bradley panted as Mark licked his lips.

“That we owe Macy a new fridge?”

Bradley chuckled. “That you’re going to have to finish this. Properly.”

“Right, well, let me just—” He went to heft himself up, mentally crossing his fingers his knees didn’t crack and remind him no forty-year-old gent should be kneeling down for that long, but Bradley hauled him up and kissed him.

“Fuck me, Mark. I want you inside me. Now. All of you.”

Mark swallowed. Hard. And it was a crying shame he wasn’t gulping down Bradley’s juicy bits whilst he did it.

Bradley cocked his head. “If you want to, that is?”

“Want to? I’d beg to.”

Bradley smiled. “So, that’s a yes then?”

“You don’t mind to… You’re a…bottom?” Mark couldn’t even begin to fathom the miracle of that. He’d been preparing to give himself over to Bradley. Breaking in the old heave-ho. Something that he hadn’t done in… Once, he’d done it once. Many years ago, at the request of—

“Yes.” Bradley kissed Mark’s nose, cutting off any images slapping Mark in the face. “Told you, Mark, this is fate.”

Even with the freezing temperatures bursting out from the fridge behind him, the heat oozing off Bradley’s body seeped across into Mark and relaxed those dastardly goose pimples to create a glistening sheen of sweat over his skin. Whether or not he believed in fate or in whatever Bradley believed in, Mark was ready to give this a go. To test the theory for real. To see if they did fit. Could fit. And he hoped not just in the literal sense.

Bradley smiled and kissed him, heating Mark exponentially. Mark stumbled back and grappled to tear the remaining clothes from Bradley’s impressive body. For a man he’d only known a few days, Mark had seen him naked more than he’d seen him with his clothes on. From the computer screen, to on stage, to lying in a bed next to him, but now Mark could allow himself to properly feast upon the sight. And not just by looking. He was no longer another spectator tuning in to see the Geek God, or standing in a queue to cop a load of the Aussie Adonis. Mark wasn’t there for Bradley’s alter ego. He was there for Bradley. Brad.

Nope, Bradley was still much, much better.

“This needs seeing to.” Bradley stroked up and down Mark’s released dick with a delectable glint in his eye.

Huh, when did Bradley unzip my jeans?

Mark fluttered his eyes to a close, thinking no more of the magic trick Bradley must have performed on his outerwear. It had been oh so long since another set of fingers had fondled his dick that Mark had forgotten just how marvellous it truly was. And Bradley’s hand was thick, and firm and slid up and down with agonisingly gradual strokes. His movements were a lot slower than Mark would have done on himself, and that just added to the thrill of it all. To know that he wasn’t in control of his own…faculties? No, no, wait, my destiny!

Cripes, I’m a new-age hippy!

With a sensual swipe of his thumb across Mark’s cockhead, Bradley drove Mark to newfound dizzy heights. Far worse than those he had ever encountered on the tea cup ride thing—

“Waltzer!” Mark blurted through a grunt.

“What?” Bradley’s grip tightened around Mark’s flesh at the sudden outburst. And that felt excruciatingly magnificent.

“Nothing, nothing.” Mark shook his head. “Just an old fairground ride.”

“You calling me a ride, Mark?”

“Oh, God, yes. I can pretty much guarantee this will be the ride of my life.”

Bradley chuckled. “You better strap on, then.” He nodded down to Mark’s unsheathed penis battling its way out of his pants.

“Right.” Mark stepped back and tucked a hand into his back jeans pocket. He could kiss Damian right then for slipping him a condom as he’d left for London last night.

As he fished out the packet, he waved it in triumph in front of Bradley, brandishing it like a trophy. That wasn’t the prize though. The man in front of him was, the condom a mere certificate that would be discarded and forgotten, whereas Bradley would remain forever a gleaming beauty to brighten up his dull and, currently bare, mantlepiece. Wouldn’t he? Better not think about that now. Let’s at least finish the game.

Nodding in approval, Bradley snatched the packet from Mark and tore it open with his teeth. Mark lost all train of any type of thought when Bradley unrolled the sheath over Mark’s eager cock and sent a distinct aroma of chocolate wafting from the rubber—or was that just the floor? He stared deep into Mark’s eyes, as if he was reading his mind, and tugged down Mark’s jeans and boxers to his ankles.

Would anyone ever believe this? That Mark, old has-been Mark, was going to fuck a stallion? God, that did things to his balls he couldn’t put a name to. Or wouldn’t want to. What were words, anyway?

Bradley offered a long, tantalising kiss, sucking in Mark’s bottom lip before whipping around and leaning over the counter. That perfectly rounded arse stuck out in an invitation that Mark wouldn’t ever decline. He was pretty much ready to self-combust at the view alone and had no idea how he was going to manage the task of sticking his dick inside and pushing in and out long enough to make this rigmarole worth all the hassle.

Oh, God, don’t let this be an in, out, done!

“Come on, Mark.” Bradley waggled his hips.

“Right, yes.” Mark needed to remember the basic functions of sex. Shit. “Lube?”

“Jesus, Mark, you not bring lube?” Bradley shot a concerning look over his shoulder.

“I didn’t realise I would have a need for it.” Mark swiped a hand across his forehead. “I came for tea!”

“Bullshit, Mark. You came here for me!” Bradley’s once-confident voice wavered a little.

“No.” Mark waved a hand in protest. “No, no, no.”

Bradley slapped his hands on the edge of the counter, looking like he might just get up and forget all this.

“All right, yes,” Mark admitted, and lowered to drape himself over Bradley’s back and kissed the man’s razor-sharp shoulder blade. “Yes, I did. Yes, I do want you. Yes, yes, fucking, yes.” He finished off a statement with a bite, just in case anything was lost in translation.

“Get creative, then.” Bradley’s growl was rather demanding. So, no submissive bottom, then. “’Cause I need this. I need you. I gotta know, Mark.”

He couldn’t just use spit, could he? No, no, that’s never a good idea. He wanted this to be at least a decent try. What could one use within the confines of a tearoom’s back kitchen? This was absurd! But one look at Bradley’s waggling bare bottom, enticing and inviting, was enough for Mark to use his noggin for once.

Hurrying over to the fridge, he nearly slipped in the custard spilled on the floor but regained composure enough to find the only thing he could think to use. He shoved his fingers into the nearest tub of margarine-style spread that proclaimed itself Better than Butter, shrugged and slicked up his condom-clad dick, battling with his subconscious as to whether he wanted to ever recall this moment or not.

He’d remember. Just with gaps in its entirety.

“Come on, Mark.” Bradley’s desperate plea thrummed off the stainless steel and through to Mark’s raging cock.

“Give a fellow a moment. I’m not as agile as I was.” Mark stepped up to Bradley, cupping his greased-up dick and lining it up with Bradley’s hole.

Mark, being Mark, paused.

“Get in me, Mark.” Bradley growled. “Now!”

“You’re rather bossy.” Mark avoided the tut that would vaguely resemble his mother’s to slide a hand up Bradley’s back, grip his shoulder and push through the resistance.

Except there was no resistance. Mark slid in, thanks to the Better than Butter mimicking both butter and absent bodily excretions, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head at the heat engulfing his cock.

Bradley grunted. “Oh, Christ, Mark! That feels fucking fantastic!” He backed his arse into Mark, gripping the side of the counter, giving Mark the courage to get really into it.

He slipped out, enjoying the sensation, then teased back in. Merely watching his dick dip in and out of Bradley’s perfectly sculpted arse was enough to send Mark over the edge. How had he gone so bloody long without doing this? He’d been kidding himself all this time that he could go without. Why hadn’t he dusted off the cobwebs some time ago and been like Damian?

Mark slammed in and out of Bradley with renewed vigour, fearing Bradley might be getting burn marks from the steel counter on his bare skin with the pace of Mark’s thrusts. Bradley didn’t complain and Mark chose to deal with that after. Now, though, now he needed to feel…every…single…earthshattering…sensation.

“Bradley!” Mark yelled into the aether, once all the ooos and ahhhs and uuuhs had been used up, then grunted through his climax as it rushed around his entire quivering body and exploded into Bradley.

“Oh, God, Mark!” Bradley raised Mark’s orgasm with one of his own that spurted from his dick and landed with a splat to the floor. He hadn’t even needed a hand to shimmy that along. He’s one of those!

Collapsing onto Bradley’s back, Mark gave one last thrust and vowed to remain there until he died, or got his breath back. Whichever came first. That had been amazing. No, better than amazing. Perfect. Beautiful. And Mark’s head floated in a cloud of hazy euphoria that he had no desire to come back down from. Had it ever been that way? Had he ever felt this way before? Like he belonged? Like they both belonged…together?

No. No it hadn’t.

Mark inhaled. Time had evidently passed and he was still sprawled over Bradley’s back.

“Tea?” Bradley offered over his shoulder.

“Yes.” Mark nodded. “Please.”