London Calling: Up the Creek

by GioGio

"It's raining men! Hallelujah! It's raining men!" Quinn croons happily.

"Shhhhhhh," I hiss, "it's going to rain neighbor's fists in a moment if you're not quiet."

I'm still fumbling wildly for my keys to the flat when the door is unbolted and Nicky stands there, his eyebrows somewhere around his hairline. "Disco? He's singing disco? Why?"

We went out for a few drinks," I explain pushing past him and pulling Quinn into the flat with me. "I think I've worked out why he usually doesn't have more than one or two drinks... it's been like this the entire way home."

Nicky moves to shut the door only to be stopped by Quinn's enraged shout, "Hang on! Let Dumbo in."

"He's right here Quinn," I sigh, "come on, let's have a little sit-down on the sofa and Nicky'll make you a nice strong cup of tea."

I look at Nicky pleadingly and he nods. "Who's Dumbo?"

"That would be Quinn's new imaginary friends," I stage-whisper. "A little pink elephant that's been following him all the way from the Westend."

"Dumbo's not imaginary!" Quinn shouts—bugger, he wasn't supposed to hear that bit—and falls heavily down on the sofa giggling madly. "Dumbo's my vewy pretty vewy pink little elephant. Everybody should have a Dumbo to call their own."

"Yes dear," I reply.

Nicky, trying hard not to laugh too much in light of the poisonous looks I'm giving him, asks, "what the hell were you celebrating anyway that would make him drink like that?"

Quinn perks up at that, chest thrust out. "We was celebrating that I've got the smartest, most beautiful, most perfect lover in all of London," he says with pride, the results only slightly marred by the onset of hiccups.

I roll my eyes. "We were celebrating this," I say, handing Nicky a much-folded letter. "It arrived this morning."

Nicky takes the letter gingerly and unfolds it, smoothing it out a bit before reading for a moment. "LSE? The hardest one out of the lot of them. Congratulations! So you'll be going back in October?"

"I knew he would get in," Quinn pipes up from the sidelines. "He's the smartest, most clever, most beautiful man I know. And he's got the cutest arse in London. And he's all mine, so you can't have any!"

"He wouldn't want any Quinn," I humor him. "Remember, Nicky likes girls. He likes girls a lot... in fact I do believe you promised to bring a few of your nurse friends around for him... Nicky, how about that nice cup of very strong tea we were talking about..."

"Yeah, think I'll do that before he starts singing again," Nicky smirks.

"Oh man you shouldn't have said that," I groan as he walks off into the kitchen and Quinn starts grinning impishly at me.

"I can get no... I can get no satisfaction... I can get no boy in action..." he sings.

There's muffled laughter from the kitchen. I'm almost entirely sure that Nicky is standing just inside the door biting onto a balled-up tea-towel to stiffle the laughter, but it's all good really. I got into the London School of Economics for my masters, something even I'm not arrogant enough to take for granted, and Quinn's ecstatic. Pink elephants and catchy pop tunes aside, I think I'm going to be a very, very happy man later on. Provided Quinn sobers up some.

Quinn's still happily humming to himself when Nicky emerges from the kitchen carrying a tray of tea and hands Quinn a cup. "Be careful though, it's hot and it's so strong it might just get out of the cup and punch you in the face," he warns.

Quinn grabs the cup and holds on to Nicky's hand while he's at it. "You've got beautiful eyes Nicky," he drawls. "Rob's beautiful and I love him and I'll stay with him forever, but you've got beautiful eyes."

"Thank you I guess," Nicky says blushing furiously.

"I still sometimes remember what it was like to kiss you," Quinn continues drunkenly. "You've really nice lips as well. Made me want to fuck you."

Nicky's bright red now and throwing me worried looks. "Uhm, yeah," he stutters. "That's very flattering I guess, but, uhm, Rob's right there..."

"Oh, Rob knows I love him. Never felt like that about anyone else," Quinn sighs contentedly. "I'm hard for him, look," he grabs the rather noticeable bulge in his trousers. "Doesn't mean I can't fantasize about anyone else occasionally..."

It really doesn't help that I'm getting there too. It might be the alcohol, but the idea of Nicky fucking Quinn... well, apart from healthy doses of jealousy, it's also causing some serious physical reactions. Oh bugger. He's drunk. "Quinn, you're going to make Nicky really uncomfortable, stop it!"

"Don't want to," he pouts. "Want a kiss. From Nicky."

I grab his face and kiss him hard, try to meld myself into his bones. Thank god Nicky has the presence of mind to grab the cup of tea before it spills all over the carpet, because it takes hardly any time at all before Quinn's lying back on the couch and I am on top of him, furiously rubbing our hard dicks together. It's a good place to be.

"Please, want to snog Nicky," Quinn gasps when I have to break off for air. "Love you Rob. Never going to cheat on you, but I want..."

"I know, Quinn, I know," I sigh. "If you really, really have to, we can go clubbing this weekend, find you someone to... play with..." and that just feels like somebody thrust a red-hot poker through my belly, "but you can't just go kissing Nicky because he's here and he's convenient... he's straight, remember?"

Nicky clears his throat. "I... I don't mind. I'll kiss him."

"Yer what?" I stammer.

"It's just a kiss, right?" Nicky asks looking nervous. "You'll be doing the actual screwing him into the mattress bit, right?"

"Count on it," I reply and from the way Quinn's dick is twitching against my thigh he rather likes the idea too.

"Fine," Nicky says kneeling on the floor besides the head of the sofa. "You've got a really good man there Quinn, remember that. I'll kiss you because you're drunk and getting ideas, but if I ever hear that you've hurt him in any way—and that includes forcing him to agree to let you fuck somebody else because you've got the itch—I'll kill you with my bare hands. Are we clear on that? No playing around while you're with him."

Quinn nods mutely.

Nicky leans down some and kisses him softly on the lips, just a peck, then he stands up and says, "you better take him to bed and remind him of why he's with you in the first place Rob."

I nod and pull Quinn up with me, start pushing him towards the bedroom.

"And try to keep the bloody noise down, would you?"

Everything should be alright now, shouldn't it? I mean, Nicky practically gave us his blessing—again—just adding the usual caveat about keeping the noise down, and I'm lying in bed with a very enthusiastic Quinn on top of me, trying to extract my tongue with his own by the feel of it, and everything should be just great. Except it isn't. Parts of me are definitely not doing great right now. Shit. That's a first.

"Er, Quinn, uhm, wanna just cuddle for a bit?" I ask casually, trying not to let on.

"No, wanna fuck," he replies.

Shit. "Er, Quinn, don't think I can."

"Wha— oh..." he says, hands brushing across the parts of me that aren't doing so great right now.

"Yeah, think I had a little bit too much to drink," I say blushing—always blush when I'm lying, that's how mum could always tell.

"You didn't have that much," he giggles. "Think I had more. Let's see if vacuum-mouth can fix it, huh?"

"Yeah, alright," I sigh. Not going to help—I know I'm not drunk—but this is embarrassing enough as it is without going into the details of it. Have I mentioned god has a cheap sense of humor? I'm not that old either! There's absolutely no reason why I shouldn't be able to, er, perform as requested. Well, almost no reason.

So Quinn disappears below the duvet and gives it a good go. He does really have a vacuum mouth, but even so, after five minutes, while certainly stiffer, there's nothing hard about my dick. Bugger. Not that that deters him, he just tries harder. This time there's something of a reaction right until I think—oh well, I almost had a hard-on there.

"What the hell happened?" Quinn asks appearing from underneath the sheets and looking ever so slightly ruffled.

"I..." Ah fuck, might as well try the truth, mightn't I? "How long have you fancied Nicky?"

"I don't fancy Nicky," he replies angrily.

"Quinn..."

He sighs and plops down on the pillow besides me. "I don't think I fancy him specifically."

"So that's why you were begging him for a snog in there?"

"I was drunk. Still am really," Quinn mutters. "Doesn't mean anything."

"Yeah it does. I saw your eyes when I said if you really needed to we could go out and find you somebody to play with this weekend," I say with what even I have to admit is a hysterical note to my voice. "Your pupils dilated when I said that Quinn. You were so turned on."

"I... Christ, you're going to make a big deal out of this no matter what I say, aren't you?" He sighs. "Yeah, I fantasize about other people, doesn't mean I'm going to do anything about it unless you agree. Come on Rob, everybody does."

"I don't."

He looks at me with an almost comical expression of shock on his face. "Never? You've never walked down the street and thought 'oi, that's a lovely arse there, wonder what it would be like to shag the pants off of him'?"

I shake my head.

"How about girls?" Quinn asks almost desperately. "I know you fancy girls. You never look at one and fantasize about her?"

"No, not since..." I bite down on my lip before I say the name. He still twitches every time it comes up. "Haven't wanted anyone else but you."

"I... I'm flattered I guess," he stammers, "and ever so slightly terrified."

"You asked for forever Quinn," I mumble. "Don't know about your definition of forever, but mine kind of includes monogamy or something like it. I don't think... I don't know that I could deal with you-"

"I won't. I've some self-control."

I'm chewing on my lip something rotten now. "But you want to."

"No," he says just a little too forcefully and a little too quickly.

"Don't lie to me," I reply.

"I... hell Rob, it's been what? A year? 'Course I think about it sometimes, but I've told you before I don't cheat," he explains. "Don't want anyone else as much as I want you."

"But you do want them," I press on.

"Sometimes," he admits. "Doesn't mean I'll do anything about it."

"How long?" I ask.

"How long what?" he replies.

I swallow hard and force the question past my vocal chords. "How long've you fancied Nicky?"

He sighs and turns to the wall before answering. "Since I saw him toss off while he watched you fucking me."

Heh. Look at that, my dick just tried to crawl back into my body when he said that. Whatever random sucking-induced stiffness there was is gone for good. It'll be a miracle if it'll still be there by morning. Wonder whether I can open my mouth without actually starting to howl. "It's all my fault..."

"No," he says quietly. "All mine. I never should have agreed to it in the first place. Never should have kissed him either."

And isn't it useful how I seem to have absorbed that very feminine trait of crying without making a single sound? Comes in ever so handy for not letting on. I squeeze my eyes shut and try not to move, try to not give myself away. All my fault. All my fault.

I must have cried myself to sleep at some point because I come around to that sound that every male on the face of the planet recognizes immediately; the slap-slap-slap of palms against slick hard flesh. I also come around because there are two cold fingers pushing into my body.

So that's how it's going to be then.

I don't move; try to keep on breathing regularly. Quinn really wants to fuck and who am I to stop him? Not as if I can help him out any—things are still more than dead down there.

The fingers disappear and I clench my teeth together bracing myself for... and there it is. Got to give him credit for going slowly. His back is pressed against mine and he's kissing my shoulders and one hand snakes around to... still nothing happening there. If anything, my dick is trying to crawl back into my body. 's not too bad though because he's going slowly and taking care to brush across my prostate on every thrust.

He's starting to pull me off—or at least trying to get me hard, it's an upward struggle—and it's working some; I do get at least half-stiff. Nothing more. I really have to keep on pretending I'm asleep now because there ain't no way in hell I'll be coming tonight. God knows, it'll be a miracle if I manage to get hard at all.

His breathing is getting harder and more frantic and he's having trouble with the whole going slow business. Hope he finishes soon.

Couple of minutes more and he shudders and shakes and that's that. He pulls out and turns back to the wall and a few minutes later his breathing evens out and it's as good a guess as any he's gone to sleep.

I wait another five minutes or so, just in case. Then I slowly, carefully, slide out of bed and hobble across the room. I just about make it out of the room before I start shaking again. Shit. Don't want to cry. Please don't make me cry again.

I somehow stumble on to Nicky's room and I don't even bother to knock. He jerks up out of bed when the door shuts behind me. "Jesus suffering fuck! What the... Rob, what's wrong?"

And he's out of the bed and coming towards me. I'm shivering. Don't know if it's the cold or...

"Rob, what the hell happened? You're naked!"

Trust Nicky to state the bleeding obvious. Yeah, I'm naked and a mess and I'm pretty sure I've got... something... ah hell, I know perfectly well that that's come running down my thigh. Who am I trying to fool?

"Nicky..."

He's so close and I don't know what possesses me, but my impulse control is shot it seems. I just take a little step forward and then I can wrap myself around him, can start rubbing my body against his and... yeah, he really is a good kisser, gotta hand it to Quinn; I'd probably start fancying him if I kissed him some more.

He's too taken aback to actually do anything except kiss me back for a moment. It's not until I try to get my hand into his pyjama bottoms that he pushes me away—more or less gently—and says, "no."

I get no. Should have said no, shouldn't I? Should have pushed Quinn away the minute I woke up and said no. But I didn't. "Why?"

"Because I don't sleep with men Rob. We covered that a while ago, didn't we?" He replies softly.

"You're..." I randomly wave my hand in the direction of the bulge in his pyjamas.

"Yeah, you were kissing me," he sighs. "You were kissing me fairly well and you were... Hell Rob, I'm not made of wood. You know how to touch a bloke to get him all hot and bothered. Doesn't mean I want to sleep with you."

"Please," I sob this time—no use lying to myself, is there? "Please. Gotta know if I can... fuck me?"

"No."

"Please?"

"Jesus H. Christ, what happened Rob?" He asks. He picks up his discarded robe and wraps it around my shoulders before pushing me down to sit on the bed. "Please tell me what happened."

"Quinn fancies you," I manage to hiccup between sobs.

"Kind of figured that," he replies. "I don't fancy him though. Nothing to worry about."

"I... we went to bed and I couldn't..." I close my eyes, try to take in as much air as possible. "I couldn't get it up."

"Happens to the best of us after a few drinks Rob," Nicky sighs. "No reason to get hysterical."

"He... he really wanted to fuck. He..."

And Nicky gets it. Thank Christ. Don't have to spell it out for him. He's up like lightning shouting blue murder. "The bastard! I'll kill the fucking tosser!"

Then he's out the room and I'm stumbling blindly after him. The hallway lights go on and then the lights to our bedroom and by the time I reach the doorway Quinn's sitting up in bed blinking and Nicky is launching himself at him.

"You fucking bastard!" He shouts, his right fist striking Quinn full in the face. "Feel like a man now, do you?"

He's got hold of Quinn's arm and is swinging his fist around for another punch—fuck, gotta stop him before he kills him. "Nicky, no!" I howl from the doorway doubling over from lack of air—I'm hyperventilating dangerously.

Nicky turns and his fists fall down and then I'm seeing spots in front of my eyes and next thing I know he's picking me up from the floor and half-carrying me back to his room. He settles me down on the bed and my breathing is starting to even out some, though I'm still taking in those great big gulps of air you need while crying noiselessly.

"Shhhh Rob, it's alright," he whispers lying down next to me. "Come on, calm down please. Can't stand to see blokes crying, it's just... please?"

He's wrapping his arms around my shoulders and holding on. He doesn't stop me when I start to kiss him again, just pets and coos and makes faint shushing noises inbetween kissing my face and occasionally my lips. I know he isn't going to let me do anything else, isn't going to let me touch any other part of his body, but it doesn't matter because he's kissing me—letting me kiss him—and that's more than Quinn'll ever get.

When I wake up I'm not sure where I am for a moment and then I see Nicky propped up on his elbow on the other side of the bed and I remember. I also notice that my body seems to be quite serious about needing a piss and I blush a bit, hoping like hell it isn't showing underneath the blankets.

"Morning," Nicky grins. "Feeling better?"

I nod trying to shift over some for better concealment.

"Don't be an arse Rob," Nicky laughs. "I'm still male despite my preference for the bustier end of the spectrum. That means I know all about waking up in the morning hard as a board."

"Sorry," I mumble.

"Nothing to be sorry about, like I said," he shrugs. "Now, do you want me to ring work for you? I figure I could tell them you've got laryngitis and you could go and stay at your mum's for a few days until I've booted the bastard out."

"No."

"It'll be much easier getting him to leave if you aren't here, on both of you," Nicky sighs.

"No. We can work it out," I say. "Couple of days and we'll be back to normal."

"You can't be serious!" Nicky exclaims. "Rob, he r-"

"Don't say it!" I interrupt. "It wasn't... look, we've spent every night together for a year. We've been shagging every night for a year... I've been shagging him almost every night for a year, 's only right that he..."

Nicky flops back down on his pillow with a groan. "Not against your will! He's no right to do that to you no matter how long you've been shagging him. Jesus suffering fuck Rob, that means he..."

"I love him," I say quietly. "He wants me Nicky. 's not as if there's been many who've done that. 's not as if there's been many who've wanted to stay."

"I did."

"I know. You realize it's been ten years, don't you?" I smile. "Ten years through hell and high water and I'm grateful for that, believe me, wouldn't change it for the world, but I don't see you starting to shag me any time soon."

"Can't give you that," he says.

I don't know what hurts worse, the fact that there's no way I can really see Quinn and me getting back to normal, no matter what I'm telling Nicky, or the fact that Nicky says he wants me, just not like that. I collect all my reserves of courage—this time I won't have the excuse of drunkenness on my side—and lean over to kiss him; try to give him the best goddamn snog of his entire life.

Can't have been half-bad because he moans into my mouth before pulling away, his palms flat to my chest, exerting gentle pressure. "You have to stop doing that Rob," he murmurs.

"'m trying to change your mind," I sigh.

"Rob, please..."

"It wouldn't be all that different for you," I press on. "You won't even have to touch me there. I'll bring myself off."

He leans back with his eyes firmly shut. "No."

"Almost like fucking a chit Nicky."

"No it isn't," he replies. "The really important things'd be different. You ever look at the girls I go home with Rob? Do you ever really look at them?"

"What's that got to do with it?" I ask petulantly.

"Everything," he explains. "I like them soft, alright? I like curves Rob. I like hips and tits and tummies. I want soft full thighs wrapped around my waist. I want a soft arse to hold on to and I want big full breasts to look at and to touch and to... shit. I better stop right there before I get the boner of the century and give you even more ideas."

"I could suck you off much better than any chit's ever going to," I mumble.

"Yeah you could," he sighs. "But it wouldn't be because you really wanted to, it'd be because you want to get one over on Quinn."

"That's not true, I-"

Yeah it's true Rob," he interrupts. "You know he fancies me and you know there's no way in hell he'll ever get anywhere, especially not after last night. But you... I reckon if you really tried eventually I'd let you, because it's you and then... look, you wanna have a pissing contest with Quinn that's fine by me but leave me out of it."

"I... I'm sorry," I say.

"I know," he replies. "So what's the plan?"

"Don't have one," I mutter. "Short of standing my ground and somehow fixing things with Quinn."

"You might not be able to Rob," he says.

I shrug. "I have to try. He's the best thing that's ever happened to me. You understand that, don't you?"

"No," he replies. "No I don't, but it's your life."

By rights Quinn should have gone to work hours ago—that's the only reason I follow Nicky into the kitchen. Big mistake. Quinn's sitting there at the table nursing a pint of Orange Squash and sporting a black eye—probably the reason he called in sick; it wouldn't do for a nurse to walk around looking like he's been in a pub brawl now, would it?

I'd just as soon be walking out of the room again, but that would be childish and silly and besides, if the grand plan is to work out our problems, I really don't see how running is going to help any.

"Where... You weren't on the sofa. Where did you sleep?" Quinn asks barely looking up from his glass.

"With me," Nicky replies.

Quinn winces and turns his head to look at me properly while studiously avoiding Nicky. "Did he fuck you?"

I gasp. Of all the questions I expected, that wasn't one of them. But I'm too taken aback to say anything besides shaking my head.

"He would've if you'd asked him properly," Quinn shrugs. "Ain't nothing he wouldn't do for you."

"Got a nice shiner there Quinn," Nicky snarls. "Are you asking for another one? Because that could be arranged..."

"Yeah, so I've noticed," Quinn replies angrily. "You're awfully quick with your fists these days. Sure you don't want to take him back to your bed?"

"Jealous Quinn?" Nicky smirks.

"He can suck you off good and proper, get rid of some of that tension between the two of you," Quinn jeers.

Nicky leans back against the kitchen counter and gives Quinn a calculating look. "Unlike some others around here Quinn, I'm not in the habit of raping people."

"You... Jesus, I don't have to listen to that sort of talk," Quinn shouts.

He gets up from the table to leave but Nicky takes a quick step forward to block his way. "Oh I think you've got to listen alright Quinn. I was all for booting you out but for some reason Rob here thinks he still needs you."

"I didn't... what the hell is your problem anyway?" Quinn yells.

Nicky stands his ground, straight in Quinn's face. "My problem is that no matter how much you try to pretty it up and no matter how much Rob is denying it, you raped him."

I did not!" Quinn shouts, quite alarmed this time. "We had sex. We do that quite frequently as well you know, considering the amount of time you spend banging on our wall."

"Did he ask you to sleep with him?" Nicky asks.

Quinn shakes his head. "Not in so many words, no, but that doesn't mean-"

"Did he get off on it?" Nicky interrupts.

Quinn shakes his head again, not saying anything this time.

"Did he even get hard Quinn?" Nicky presses on.

Quinn shakes his head again. "I... Jesus, Nicky, I..."

"Don't know about you Quinn," Nicky continues unabashed, "but where I come from, we've got a name for that sort of thing."

"But, he couldn't... and he said he was drunk and..." Quinn stutters.

"That just makes it worse," Nicky hisses, then adds smuggly, "besides, he managed to get it up alright for me a few minutes later."

Quinn's face just falls. Don't think I've ever seen him looking so dejected. The entire time in the room there I wanted to interrupt, wanted to shout, 'hey, I'm still here, quit talking about me,' but my vocal chords weren't cooperating and is anyone surprised by that little development? Rob the village idiot, who never manages to say anything worthwhile when he should. Not even 'no.' It's such a small word, innit?

"Rob I..." Quinn starts and I note somewhat absently that there are tears in his eyes.

I hope, god, I hope he doesn't start crying, because, you know, I've never seen him do that before and I'm not at all certain I could handle it. He's just stood there for a few seconds, shoulders slumping, mouth slightly open, looking at me. Then he slips to the floor in front of me, down to his knees. He locks his elbows around my legs, presses his face against my thighs, and starts shaking noiselessly.

I turn around to Nicky for support but he's gone. Nothing but empty space where he was standing a minute ago and I don't think I can do this—don't know how to do this on my own.

Quinn's holding on to my legs as though his life were depending on it, shaking silently. Not a sob, not a whisper; nothing except the shaking and occasional hitches in his breathing that tell me, yeah, he is sobbing, albeit much more gracefully than I've ever managed.

And I don't think I can do this.

*****

It's been three days and Nicky and Quinn are barely on speaking terms. Their conversations are limited to such gems as, "could you pass the salt please?" and I'm sure they're both adding a silent 'tosser' while they're at it.

Nicky is doing his usual emotional upheaval thing, going out and getting smashed and coming home stinking of sex—think he's shagged every chit in Islington by now—and Quinn, Quinn has been sleeping on the sofa without comment. Not that I've asked him to or anything, he just has been. He got a pillow and blanket the first night and made up a bed, barely looking at me. I'm surprised he hasn't asked whether I want him to leave yet.

On second thoughts, I'm not that surprised. He's hardly said more than two words to me since... well, he can't even look me in the face most the time, why would I expect him to talk to me? And in a way I'm glad of it because I don't know what to do or what to say, don't know how to fix things. I've got to though, haven't I? When things are broken you've got to fix them.

He's setting up his bed on the sofa again and it's now or never. I've got to make him come back now because if I don't, I'm not sure he ever will. I want him to come back; even now.

"Quinn, you don't have to..." I start.

"Yeah I do," he replies looking stoically at the floor. "Don't trust myself, how the hell could I expect you to trust me?"

"I trust you," I mumble.

"Well you shouldn't, not after what I did," he shouts punching the wall for good measure.

"Quinn, I want you to come to bed with me," I say quickly, so quickly I won't be able to change my mind again. "I can't—I don't want to sleep with you, but I want you there. Please?"

He turns away. "I..."

"Please Quinn, don't make me beg," I plead.

He nods not looking at me and then wordlessly picks up his pillow and blanket and starts walking down the hall towards our room. I don't know whether I should be relieved or terrified.

He strips down equally silently and puts on a pair of pyjamas. I almost laugh at that. Quinn hasn't worn pyjamas once the entire time we've been together. But then, he's never... not going to think about that. It's in the past, right? No need crying of spilled milk.

Just so we're evenly matched, I dig around the wardrobe until I find an old pair of pyjama bottoms myself and put them on before climbing into bed with him. We lie there for a few minutes in the dark, Quinn taking pains to ensure that our bodies aren't touching, and I don't think I've ever seen him this tense before. It occurs to me that I want him to touch me and that surprises me.

"Quinn, would you kiss me if I asked you?" I ask.

"Do you want me to?" He replies.

"I think so," I sigh. "Not sure about anything else."

"As you wish," he says softly and then his lips are on mine. He's still keeping himself at a distance though, careful not to touch me anywhere else and I suppose that's just as well, because while I'd usually be grinding against him by now, rubbing my dick against his belly just to let him know I like being kissed, there's nothing happening in that department this evening.

Nothing.

I kiss him back harder. Need to make sure my dick is still working, don't I? Wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer, try to swallow his tongue.

Still nothing.

I come up gasping for air and pant, "touch me please."

He hesitates for a moment but complies; moves closer so his body is flush against my side and I can tell Quinn at least is reacting normally to my rather desperate kisses. He's got one hand at my neck now, cradling my head, and the other is running across my shoulders and my bare chest, lingering over nipples that aren't getting harder no matter how much I want them to.

My dick isn't getting hard either.

Is it time to panic yet? I'm too young for this to happen. Got a few more months yet before the big three-oh and this really shouldn't be happening. This can't be happening to me. It's never happened before.

Quinn's noticed. Well, he was going to sooner or later, wasn't he? He pulls back and plops down on the pillow beside me. "Sorry, didn't mean to get pushy there," he mumbles.

"Asked you to kiss me, didn't I?" I reply petulantly.

"Yeah, but you..." he stops and I've a feeling that if the lights were actually on he'd be blushing right now.

"I... shit, I don't know why, alright?" I exclaim, somewhere between a shout and a sob. "It's not as if I don't want to..."

"Maybe it's a little too soon, eh?" Quinn says soothingly. "Let's just go to sleep. We've plenty of time for that later."

"Fine," I mutter and roll on over to my side of the bed.

"Rob, I... look, I just don't want to do anything you don't want to do, alright?" Quinn says quite miserably.

"Then try not to fuck me again while I'm asleep," I snap before I realize what I'm saying.

There is a long moment of silence and then Quinn is moving quickly and scrambling out of the bed. He doesn't say a word, just grabs the pillow and the blanket from the chair he left them on earlier and leaves the room. I wait for a few minutes hoping he'll come back. When I realize he's gone for the night, I shrug out of the pyjamas and reach for the oil on the bedside table. Have to do a little field work to find out whether my dick's still working at all.

It's completely dark but I close my eyes anyway. I haven't done this since Quinn left after that whole Maggie-business; at least I haven't done it other than as a performance for Quinn. Feels odd. The oil is cold. It's strange too, because I don't think I've ever had concrete fantasies while tossing off. They were always vague and mostly ruled by the thought 'I'm horny and I need to get off,' not this time though.

I'm working myself up a little and, yeah, I'm getting a stiffy, so I guess my dick's still working after all, which is a relief really, but when I try to visualize Quinn, when I try to picture his perfect vacuum mouth sucking, I start going soft again. Shit. Maybe I should just stick with the non-specific fantasies, huh?

Except that isn't working either and I know full-well whose lips I see wrapped around my dick that are making me harder than I ever though possible. Oh fuck, oh shit, oh shit. I'm coming.

And hello guilt, my good old friend. Haven't seen you around in at least a couple of days or so. Nice you could stop by. Sarcastic? Who? Me? I'm just reveling in the irony is all and it's nice to know I haven't lost my sense for the absurd. This is how it all started after all, innit? Here I was getting terribly upset because Quinn was fantasizing about other people, getting the chain of events going so to speak, and then a scant few days later I manage to make myself guilty of the same crime. Ah! Irony!

Christ, why can't my dick work the way I want it to?

I suppose I had better go and apologize to Quinn before it's too late. I've been a real prat. I sigh and use a discarded t-shirt to wipe off the evidence and then swing my legs out of bed, searching blindly for the pyjama bottoms I threw to the floor a few minutes ago. Once dressed, I traipse on off to the sitting room in the dark.

"Quinn, are you awake?" I whisper hoarsely.

"It's still working then, is it?" He states coldly.

"What?" I ask perplexed.

"Don't play the fool Rob, stupidity doesn't become you and you reek of sex. I asked you a question," he replies.

"Yeah," I sigh, "it's working."

"Just not for me," Quinn says bitterly. "Fine, I can take a hint. I can leave in the morning, go stay with Terry until I find somewhere."

"What, so's you can go out and shag all those blokes you've been fantasizing about?" I blurt out before I can stop myself.

Oh, that's just brilliant, that is! Hi, my name is Rob, I am the picture of hypocrisy. Not half an hour ago I was tossing off to visions of my best (straight!) friend sucking my dick—and doing it ever so well, I might add—and I'm getting medievally jealous because my lover's admitted to having had similar thoughts.

"No, so's you can be happily shacked up with Nicky," he snaps. "Who knows, if the two of you console each other long enough and you beg hard enough he might even consent to fucking you some time, which is what you want, isn't it? Well, far be it from me to stand in your way."

"He turned me down," I say quietly. "The other night. I tried it on and he turned me down."

Quinn's laughter is bordering on hysterical. "Well, never mind, there's always next time," he laughs. "Nobody can be that straight."

"Pardon?" I ask.

"You heard me," he says still laughing, "I don't care how straight he is, he'd have to be made of stone not to want you."

"Why?"

"Because I want you so badly it hurts," Quinn replies. "I want you so badly, most days I walk around terrified that it's all a dream that I'm going to wake up from eventually. I want you so badly, I'd rather leave in the morning and never see you again than stick around long enough so's you can start hating me."

Now is definitely not the time for my vocal chords to give up the ghost. Now is definitely not the time for my throat to tie itself into a knot. I've got to say something—anything—to make it all better. "No."

"No what?" he asks.

"Don't want you to leave. Please don't leave me."

There's just enough light shining into the room from the street outside for me to see Quinn sitting up on the sofa. "What would you have me do then Rob?"

"Love me?" I ask faintly.

He sighs. "You know I do. Doesn't change the fact that your dick hasn't so much as twitched when I touch you. If anything, it's been doing the opposite."

"I'm sorry."

"You probably are at that," he says. "Doesn't change the fact that you can get it up for Nicky or for... for whatever your wanking fantasy is; just not for me."

"Don't you think I know that?" I shout. "It's not as if I were doing this deliberately. I'm not going around saying to myself, 'let's see how far I can wind Quinn up by not getting a hard-on when he touches me...' I'm not just being malicious and petty here. I just... fuck, my body isn't cooperating, alright?"

"I know, it's my fault for thinking that..." he's sounding crushed now. "I never meant to hurt you Rob, you've got to believe that at least. I... look, how many times have you woken me like that? If you'd said something, anything..."

"I shouldn't have to!" I shout.

"No, you're right," he replies quietly. "You shouldn't have to and you've no idea how sorry I am... I just... I've no idea what to do Rob."

"Just make it stop, please, stop it hurting," I beg. "Please make it stop."

"I don't know how to Rob," he mutters. "If I did, if I knew how to do that, don't you think I'd have done it by now?"

"Probably," I concede. "I'm scared Quinn."

"Yeah, me too," he replies.

"Please don't leave me," I plead.

"I won't leave, I promise, not unless we can't find another way," he says solemnly. "Look, we're both tired and upset, let's get some shut-eye, yeah? It'll be much easier talking in the morning."

I nod—not that he can see it in the dark. "Come to bed with me?"

I can just about see him shaking his head. "I don't think that's a good idea Rob, not after... give it some time, yeah?"

I didn't really expect any different, but it still hurts. I stand around for a few moments, hoping he'll change his mind, and when it becomes apparent that he won't, I make up my own. I don't know what possesses me, but I reckon I've got nothing to lose and everything to gain, so I lie down on the floor next to the sofa and try not to shiver too much. It's bloody cold.

After ten minutes or so my teeth start chattering and Quinn sighs dramatically. "You're bloody-minded enough to stay on the floor all night, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Fine, move over," he says and slides down to the floor next to me, pulling the blanket down on top of us.

I wake up with a crick in my neck and Quinn's legs and arms tangled with mine. Well, yeah, I might just be lying sort of on top of him—alright, a lot on top of him—and there's other... things happening as well. That is an interesting development, innit? Wonder whether it's just a morning thing or whether it is... sustainable.

"Morning," Quinn mumbles absently stroking his hand up and down my side. "Sleep well?"

"Would have slept better if you'd agreed to come to bed with me," I pout. "I'm getting too old to go dossing about on floors and such."

"You're younger than me Rob," he grins, "besides, from down here it feels like you had good dreams..."

I blush a little and try to shift over some so the evidence of my dreams isn't poking Quinn in the belly quite as much, but he grabs my waist and stops me from moving. "No, don't," he sighs. "That's just about the nicest thing I've felt all week. Need a piss?"

"Possibly," I reply.

"Do you want to get up?" he asks.

"Not particularly, no," I mumble nuzzling his neck. "Unless you really want me to."

I rub myself against his belly for good measure, just to drive the point well and truly home, and it might be my imagination, but it sounds to me like his breathing is getting just a tiny bit erratic—I can already feel his accelerating heartbeat thumping underneath my chest.

"Rob?"

"Hmmm?"

"Can I touch you?" He asks a little breathlessly. "Nothing else. Just want to touch you."

"You're already touching me," I quip. "In fact, it feels like full body contact from where I'm lying."

"Yeah, you're still clingy as fuck," he laughs. "Not what I meant though. Want to touch your dick if you'll let me."

"Do I have to move?" I ask lazily.

He chuckles. "Let me put it this way, I won't be able to reach it from where I'm lying. There's eleven stone of very clingy lover all over my pyjamas that's in the way. Do you think it'll come out at the cleaners?"

"Ten and a half stone," I reply without thinking.

"You're such a poof sometimes Rob, it scares me," he laughs. "Fine, ten and a half stone."

"Hey! Who're you calling a poof?" I grunt indignantly.

"Anyone who makes a fuss about a seven-pound difference in body mass, thank you very much. That automatically wins you this year's award for outstanding flamboyance," he snickers. "Now are you going to shift?"

"Suppose so," I mumble and roll off of him onto the floor.

Then his hand's inside my pyjama bottoms and stroking me softly. Feels good. Christ I've missed this. Please god, please let me stay hard. I don't know if it's a self-fulfilling prophesy, my thinking I've got to stay hard, that does it. It could be because Quinn, trying to get a better grip, uses his other hand to grab my arse, which makes me twitch noticeable. Even though he lets go immediately as if scalded, my dick's still starting to flag.

Shit. He's bound to notice that.

He pauses his hand and looks up at me barely hiding the hurt in his eyes.

"Don't stop," I grind out between clenched teeth. "Please."

He raises an eyebrow but resumes the stroking motions of his hand while I try my damndest to concentrate on staying at least half-hard.

After a minute his other hand gets busy pushing the pyjama bottoms down my legs. "Not going to do anything you don't want," he whispers softly over my feeble protests. "Just trying to get better access is all."

I stop struggling—well, I wasn't struggling too hard, just batting at his hand really—and close my eyes. I really want this. I really want to get hard and stay that way until he brings me off. Why the hell do I have to keep on telling myself that?

With the pyjama bottoms around my ankles, his hand stops working my half-erect dick for a second and I almost panic. My mind is swirling, chock-full of thoughts I don't want to contemplate; thoughts like, now he's got my pants down what's he going to do? Is he... he's bigger than me. If he really wanted to, he could push my legs up and... not going to think about that. I try to concentrate on getting hard again.

And somewhere there, amid the rising tides of panic, wet heat surrounds my flagging dick. He swallows me down whole. Starts sucking as if his life depended on it—well, his sex-life probably does. My dick's taking an interest all of a sudden too; goes from semi-erect to harder than steel in fifteen seconds flat—that must be a new record of sorts.

He's holding on to my hips almost painfully and just keeps on swallowing and sucking and slurping away. Christ, I don't think I'll last much longer. Isn't it strange how you can experience a complete turnabout in less than a minute? I think I'm moaning—is that me moaning? I certainly am panting rather harshly.

Eyes tightly shut and head thrown back, back arching off the floor and groin grinding hard against Quinn's face, I come. It isn't the best orgasm he's ever caused—not by a long shot—but I don't think I've ever been so happy just coming before. My dick's still working! Fucking hell, it's still working!

"I did not need to see that!" A rather disgruntled sounding Nicky voices from the doorway. "Can't you two get a room?"

"You're just jealous," Quinn pants rather good-naturedly. I believe that might have been the longest exchange between those two since... no need to dwell on that now.

I'm gasping for air, trying to calm down, and Quinn's panting hard too now that he's let go off my dick and is lying down beside me. I finally hazard to open my eyes and his face is there, a scant few inches away from me, grinning widely.

"Uh, sorry," I stutter, "did you want me to... I mean, did you..."

"It'll keep Rob," he says lightly. "There's enough time for that later. Do you want to cling for a bit?"

Yeah, this is post-orgasmic Rob, remember? I specialize in inappropriate clinginess, me. No need to tell me twice. Quinn turns until he's flat on his back and then I climb on top of him and get comfortable. I think I've missed that part most of all.

Once we manage to pick ourselves up off the floor, Quinn actually trudges into the kitchen to cook breakfast for Nicky—butter him up a bit—and, what with the fried sausage and bacon and eggs, Nicky is being downright civil. So Quinn, trying to mend a few fences, mentions a party we're invited to that night and asks Nicky whether he'd like to come.

"What kind of party," Nicky asks suspiciously. "I've heard about your kind of parties..."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean Nicky?" Quinn says pursing his lips. "Our kind of parties? You mean the kind a bunch of queers go to?"

"No... yes... hell, you know what I mean," Nicky stutters. "The kind of party where Rob ties you up and gives you a good trashing in front of everyone."

"You're more into the private viewing, aren't you?" Quinn sneers.

Nicky blushes furiously.

"No, not that kind of party. There'll be girls there," Quinn sighs. "It's just a party Nicky, you don't have to come if you don't want to."

Nicky turns to me questioningly. "You're sure there are going to be girls there?"

"Positive," I laugh.

He shrugs. "Alright, why not? I'm coming."

"Oooooh, kinky," Quinn grins winking at me.

"Oh piss off," Nicky laughs, "and pass the salt."

So far so good I think, and that must be tantamount to tempting fate because it all goes downhill from thereon out. I suppose I had better start at the beginning, hadn't I? Very well, we get to the party, up in Hampstead somewhere, and Nicky starts running off after some skirt pretty much immediately while Quinn and I mingle some. Well, Quinn mingles, I'm mostly there for decorative purposes—mind you, it's all people he knows from the hospital as far as I can tell.

Remember how Quinn kept on gabbing about how he could tell whether someone was queer or not? I didn't believe him at the time, but I'm starting to change my mind, because I've a sneaking suspicion I'm starting to learn how to do it myself. Quinn's chatting to some bloke now—Peter or Paul or something—and I'm almost entirely certain whatever-his-name is coming onto Quinn.

It's nothing specific; just the way he holds his head and reacts when Quinn is saying something that isn't quite as funny as he would like to think. The way he accidentally manages to brush against Quinn's arm a few times. The way he's utterly and completely ignoring me... alright, I admit, I'm jealous. I'd like nothing more than to pounce on Quinn right there in front of the pretentious tosser—stake my claim so to speak—and it's only the thought that Quinn's got to work with these people come Monday morning that's preventing me from acting on my instincts.

At any rate. It's fairly safe to say that I don't like the bloke and I've no idea why Quinn persists in talking to him—well, other than making moon-eyes and preening some —so before I can lose my temper any, I make a discreet exit and wander off to chat to some girl I vaguely know on account of her working with Quinn. Can't see Nicky anywhere.

I'm talking to Kathleen, trying to keep an eye on Quinn at the same time, and it's quite obvious now that he's flirting with what's-his-name the bastard. I'm not entirely stupid. 's not as if there's anything I can do about it though. So I nod and smile and chat with Kathleen, trying not to think about it for fear of losing my temper.

It must be about an hour before Quinn magically appears at my side—and I can't help noticing that Kathleen is looking mightily relieved at that—and says, "I'm knackered Rob, didn't sleep too well last night. Shall we go home?"

"Yeah, I guess," I reply, looking around for Nicky one more time and not having any luck. Well, he's a big boy, I'm sure he'll manage on his own.

We take our leave and start walking towards the tube station. After a while Quinn lays a hand on my shoulder and says, "alright, out with it, what is it now."

I shrug. "Nothing."

"Rob..." Quinn needles.

"Alright," I mutter. "That bloke you were talking to..."

"Patrick? Yes, what about him?" Quinn asks.

"He's..." my voice trails off. I could be wrong and I've no intention of looking like a complete idiot in front of Quinn—I manage that quite often enough unintentionally, thank you very much.

"Yes, he's queer Rob," Quinn chuckles. "Congratulations! You're learning."

"It weren't too difficult," I mumble underneath my breath. "The way the two of you were carrying on..."

"And how was that Rob," Quinn snaps.

"Like you'd have liked nothing better than for him to get on his knees and-"

"Thank you, that's quite enough," Quinn interrupts. "Jesus Rob, can you try and bridle the jealousy some there? All we were doing was talking."

"His tongues was hanging out Quinn," I whine.

"Don't be overly dramatic," he sighs.

"So was yours," I press on. "You were..."

"Attracted to him, yes," Quinn replies. "Doesn't matter. I'm still coming home with you, aren't I?"

I suppose he's got a point; that doesn't stop me from being in a lousy temper though. We don't talk any more the entire way home.

We get home and I gloomily follow Quinn to the bedroom. He starts undressing pretty much immediately, not talking much, so I start undressing too. I contemplate putting on a t-shirt and some old pyjama bottoms but decide against it when I see Quinn standing there in the altogether flashing a 100-watt smile at me. Alright, fine, if he's going to get into bed naked, I sure as hell won't be getting in fully dressed.

So I shuck off the last of my clothes and climb into bed next to him, turning away pretty much immediately and switching the lights off with what I hope is finality. Quinn completely fails to notice though and presses up close to me, kissing my shoulders.

"Rob?"

"What?"

"You know that thing we started this morning?" he asks innocently. "I never got to finish."

"I know," I reply succinctly. I think he's finally lost his marbles. He can't seriously be thinking about sex now, can he?

"I miss you. Want you to fuck me. Please?" Quinn says.

Fine. He's lost his marbles. "Hell, no!"

He sighs dramatically, but moves away some and rolls over to his back. I should have seen the next bit coming, shouldn't I? I mean, I could feel his hard-on pressing into the small of my back and it's been several days since he got off, which is longer than he's gone in a good long while, and... alright, I just should have seen it coming, but I didn't.

The first clue I get as to what's going on are the rather rhythmic movements of the mattress.

"Quinn!"

"Yeah?" Rather strained.

"Are you doing what I think you are doing?" I ask incredulously.

"What? Tossing off? Yeah I am," he replies hoarsely.

"Fine," I mutter and scramble out of the bed, pausing only long enough to put on some jeans, before I stride out of the room. No way in hell am I sticking around for that. I pause in front of Nicky's room and knock on the door.

"What?" Comes a strained shout.

"Nicky, can I come in?"

"No," he shouts.

"Nicky please, it's important," I plead.

Muffled cursing, then, "hang on a second, I'll be right with you."

Some activity behind the door and more muffled cursing is followed by Nicky opening the door just wide enough to slip out, looking quite dishevelled. He closes it again immediately. "What now?"

"I... Quinn and I argued and now he's in there tossing off and... can I sleep in your room tonight? Please?" I ask.

Nicky rolls his eyes. "Oh for god's sake Rob, what am I? A hotel room? What did you argue about anyway?"

"He was flirting with someone else," I explain petulantly.

"Jesus, I don't have time for this," Nicky mutters. "Alright, hold on just a second."

He open the door a crack and says, "be right back sweetling, don't move. I just have to take care of Romeo and Juliet next door."

"Oh." I say. "You've got... company."

"Yeah, so kindly get a move on so I can get back to my company, would you?" Nicky snaps, grabbing my hand and dragging me back to my room. He opens the door without knocking and switches on the lights.

Quinn yelps in surprise at being caught in the act of stroking himself, which Nicky ignores quite blatantly. He grabs a pair of handcuffs from the dressing table and says, "don't waste that hard-on just yet Quinn. Get up off the bed, would you?"

Quinn does as he's told for once in his life, too surprised by Nicky's sudden appearance to say anything.

Nicky tabs the bedpost with the cuffs and Quinn takes the hint and gets into position. I can't help noticing his dick twitching some as Nicky snaps one cuff around his unresisting left wrist and the other around the bedpost.

"See, the thing you gotta understand about Rob," Nicky explains while picking up some leather restraints from the dresser, "is that he's got this irrational fear that he isn't good enough in bed because that was that bury-me-in-a-y-shaped-coffin-bitch's Patti's excuse for shagging half of North London while she was supposed to be shagging him. She actually straight up and said, 'I wouldn't have needed to shag anyone else if you'd known how to use your dick properly.' Could have bashed her from here to Southwark for saying that."

One restraint is pulled tight around Quinn's right wrist and I notice his dick is flagging a little at what Nicky is saying.

"Now, I happen to have seen you two in action as it were," Nicky continues unabashed while fastening the other restraint around the bedpost, "and I am quite certain that as far as you're concerned Rob's dick is just about the best thing since sliced bread, only, he doesn't know that. He gets terribly upset when you come onto anyone else because he's scared shitless of you leaving him because he ain't good enough for you."

"Wouldn't," Quinn mumbles. "Best shag I've ever had."

"Yeah, I believe you," Nicky replies cheerfully, "but it i'n't me that needs convincing. So I reckon what the two of you need right now is for Rob to give you a right good rogering, fuck you so hard you're hanging up by those cuffs alone, and you should do plenty of screaming about how good a fuck he is."

"Will do," Quinn says weakly.

"Good, well I'm glad that's sorted out then," Nicky says. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've found myself a nice little nurse who's anxiously waiting for me next door. Rob, he's all yours."

I nod mutely and watch Nicky saunter over to the door.

Oh, and Quinn," Nicky says turning around in the doorway.

"Yeah," Quinn answers in a strained voice.

"Don't even think about touching his arse unless he asks you to. Are we clear on that?"

"Crystal," Quinn replies.

"Good," Nicky says pulling the door shut behind him.

"Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

"What just happened?" I ask perplexed.

"Not entirely sure," he replies, "but I think he just told you to fuck me. Hard."

"Oh."

There's a lengthy pause and then Quinn asks in a rather shaky tone of voice, "so are you?"

"Pardon?" I ask absentmindedly. "Am I what?"

Quinn takes a deep breath. "Rob, I am stood here naked, tied to the bed, with a raging hard-on, what do you think I want you to do?"

"Oh, that, I guess, yeah," I reply.

"Oh do try to contain your enthusiasm there Rob, wouldn't want you to do yourself an injury by overdoing it," Quinn says drily. "Yes, that!"

"Yeah alright, just give me a minute," I mutter, starting to unbutton my jeans. "Do you think there's something wrong with Nicky?"

"Why? Because he's actually enthusiastic about having sex?" Quinn asks exasperated.

"No, because he brought her home," I explain. "Nicky never brings girls home—prefers to go to their places so's he can leave any time he wants to... and he wants you to scream while I'm fucking you. I mean, how many times has he told us to shut the fuck up and now he's asking you to scream... I think he might be sick Quinn."

"Yes, sick of being the middleman every time we have a tiff, I've no doubt," Quinn sighs. "Rob, unless you get a move on, what's left of my hard-on won't stay that way much longer."

"Oh, er, right, probably should shut up, shouldn't I?" I say, slightly embarrassed.

"That would be brill, yes," Quinn replies with false brightness, "and if you could see your way to fucking me before my arms go to sleep..."

I whack him hard across his bare arse before he can say any more because I've suddenly realized something:; Nicky handed that scene to me. He tied Quinn up, left me in control and told me to make him scream. He left me in control. I don't have to take any lip from Quinn—he's helpless, relying on me to bring him off and let him down from the bed at my pleasure—and I shouldn't be stuttering or apologizing or doing what Quinn says or wants because this is my scene.

I feel a shiver of anticipation climb up my spine because this is really the first time since what happened happened that I am in power. I get to choose how this plays out. I silently thank Nicky because he's not just some pretty face after all—he knew what he was doing; handed me Quinn on a silver platter to deal with as I wish. I am surprised to find I suddenly want to play.

"You've been a very bad boy Quinn," I whisper. "Anybody who's been as bad as you really shouldn't tempt fate by getting all demanding or else they might find themselves on the wrong end of my belt. Got that Quinn?"

He whimpers and I note with satisfaction that his dick is once again rock-hard and twitching.

"What was that Quinn?" I ask.

"Yes Rob," he says hoarsely.

I whack him again. Hard. "Yes what?"

He moans and I think he's finally catching on. "Yes sir," he groans. "Please fuck me."

"I'd love to Quinn," I reply brightly, "but I think my dick's kind of distracted right now, what with all the shite that's been going on around here... I reckon it'll take some special attention to get ready."

Quinn moans some more. I push my jeans down my thighs and climb onto the bed in front of him. I stand up on the mattress, bracing my arms against the same bedposts he's cuffed to, and wave my groin in his face. "Get sucking."

He makes a strangled noise in his throat and then obediently takes my half-hard dick in his mouth and starts sucking and licking in earnest. No hands; at my mercy. Yeah, I've missed that part. It takes no time at all and I am fucking his face, thrusting my dick hard into his throat. I'm rock-hard now and Quinn is whimpering around my dick. God, I've missed that mouth.

"Such a pretty mouth," I coo playfully. "You love it when I fuck your face, don't you?"

He can't really say anything, what with his mouth being full and all, but his eyes are looking up at me, pupils fully dilated, and out of the corner of my eye I can see his own dick twitching and painting a trail of pre-come across the sheets. It may just be my imagination, but it seems to me that he is sucking harder. I have to pull back slightly, slip half-way out of his mouth, to keep myself from coming.

"Lick my balls Quinn," I order.

He complies without hesitation. He starts lapping and sucking and tasting and—god that feels good! I want to fuck him so badly I've got trouble staying upright, but I don't want to give in too quickly, want to make him work for it.

I don't want to end this show before it's really begun, so after a few minutes, when I can feel my balls starting to draw up tightly to my body, I step back some and break contact. I know what I want now; something he doesn't do nearly often enough anymore.

I turn away from him, lean forward as far as I can while clinging to the railings of the bed, and wave my arse in his face. "Rim me."

He makes a noise somewhere between a gurgle and a moan, but hastens to do as he's told. He runs his tongue down from the small of my back all the way to the my balls and I whimper.

"More," I grunt. "Fuck me with your tongue."

So he does; probably knows that this is the closest he'll come to fucking me for a good long while. He spends a few seconds running his tongue over my hole again and again and nibbling around the edges and then without any further warning he plunges his tongue into my body. I scream. He just goes right on thrusting his tongue into my hole. I can live with that.

All too soon though I feel the encroaching orgasm trying to work its way up my spine again and I have to move away to stop myself from coming. My dick is twitching and dripping pre-come all over the place and I carefully spread it around some to lubricate myself. Time to give Quinn a fuck he's not going to forget in a hurry.

I hop off the bed and walk around behind him. "Still want me to fuck you?" I ask.

"Yes," he hisses.

"Yes!" A female voice screams elsewhere in the flat.

"Christ, don't tell me I have to start listening to women fucking now," Quinn mutters slipping out of character.

I whack him hard across his arse. "Less talking, more begging, and lean forward as far as you can," I grunt as I line up my dick with his hole.

I'm too desperate to go find the lube I haven't seen since some time last week, but he's taken me on spit before. He should be able to take me on pre-come, right? I take a deep breath and go for it, plunge right in; better to do it fast than dawdle when it's going to be a bit of a rough ride.

He yelps a bit. It feels a lot tighter than I remember. I pause for a moment to give him time to adjust.

"Oh yes, fuck me hard!" The disembodied female voice screams. I think she might be Irish or possibly Scottish. It's hard to tell with the shouts muffled by walls like that, but there's a definite accent to that voice.

Quinn groans. "Rob, start fucking me please."

"Sure you're ready?" I ask.

"No, but if it's all the same to you, I'd rather start screaming before I have to listen to any more of that," he groans.

"Oh, sweet virgin Mary, mother of god, Nicky, you're going to split my snatch in half with that," comes the inordinately loud voice from the other room. Definitely Irish.

Quinn groans again. "Why me?"

"Well, she's got a point," I say momentarily forgetting all about my dick. "Nicky's rather well-endowed. One might go as far as to say he's huge."

Quinn forcefully shoves himself back on my dick as far as the restraints will allow and grunts, "not as big as you, now get a move on!"

"You think?" I ask.

"That's right, suck my titties!" The voice screams.

"Rob, now please!" Quinn begs and he is begging this time, much more so than he would in role-playing—there's real desperation behind it.

So I start fucking him with long hard thrusts, pull out almost completely before lunging back in, and he's soon panting and moaning something wicked. The girl in the other room is still screaming obscenities, but I do my best to ignore them, concentrate instead on Quinn's hard breathing and the occasional whimper.

I've got his hips in an iron grip and I'm fucking and god, how I've missed that! That tight hot arse of his pushing back onto my dick for all its worth, trying to climb further up my shaft. His shoulders are straining, the muscles in his arms and back quivering with exertion. He tries to move back further, get closer to me, get me deeper inside himself, but the restraints won't let him.

He's starting to shake in earnest now. His arse is contracting around me and he shouting nonsense and I know he's coming all over the bed and that sets me off to. With a howl I trust forward one more time and come clinging to his shaking back. I'm shaking too.

It takes me long minutes to gather enough strength in my wobbly legs to think that maybe I could let go of him and not fall over. When I finally release my iron hold on his hips and take a step back, slipping from his body, he moans softly.

"Before you untie me there's something important I need you to do," he says weakly.

"Huh?" I ask. My brain's still in a state of post-coital mush.

He takes a deep breath and says, "go and pound on that wall some, would you?"

*****

The next morning Quinn and I are sitting at the kitchen table. Well, Quinn is sitting at the kitchen table, I'm sitting on Quinn—no, not like that! On his lap if you must know. Hang on, that didn't sound right either; suffice it to say that there is nothing remotely sexual about where I am sitting—er, apart from the fact that Quinn is nibbling my throat inbetween feeding me bits of fried bread and extra-crispy bacon... look, perhaps I'd better start over.

We are sitting in the kitchen having breakfast when Nicky comes in, grin the size of a minor continent on his face, closely followed by a rather sheepish-looking girl with raven hair, green eyes, and milky skin. Nicky's looking a bit the worse for wear too; his hair is ruffled, he's got a huge lovebite on his throat, and—there's no polite way of saying this—his naked torso looks a lot like it's been assaulted by a rosebush—or maybe a pack of feral cats.

"Morning lads," he says still grinning like a Cheshire cat, "like you to meet my girlfriend."

"I am?" She says.

"She is?" Quinn and I ask in unison.

Nicky rolls his eyes. "Not letting that one get away," he says with almost fanatical fervor. "Mairi, Rob and Quinn; Rob and Quinn, Mairi."

"Hello, I feel like I've already met you," I say barely managing to pull myself together enough not to break out in hysterical laughter.

Quinn swats my thigh underneath the table and gives me his you-had-better-behave look. "Mairi," he nods, "you're on lates this week?"

"Quinn," she grins. "That the new bit on the side?"

"That's the lover, thank you very much," Quinn replies tightening his grip around my waist. "Nothing on the side. Not any more."

She raises her eyebrows high enough to almost touch her hairline. "If you say so," she smirks. "He's cute, I'll give you that."

I growl.

Quinn tightens his grip on my waist some more. "Er, Mairi, if I were you, I wouldn't use the 'c' word around Rob, he's got... issues."

"Have not, and anyway, what were you really going to say? It wasn't 'issues,' I know that," I grumble.

"Shut your trap and eat your bacon," Quinn quips.

"Quiiiiiiiinn."

He sighs. "Alright, alright, if you must know, I was going to say you've got a bug up your arse about being called cute."

"'s only when you call me cute," I pout. "She can, 'cause she's a girl an' all."

"So Nicky, had an interesting night, did you?" Quinn says brightly, changing the subject.

Nicky looks at him suspiciously. "It were alright, yeah."

"Hmm," Quinn continues. "We gathered as much, what from the full stereo we got."

Nicky at least has the decency to blush, while Mairi remains totally unphased and pours herself a cup of tea. "You two weren't too quiet either," she smirks.

"Oh yeah?" Quinn asks pursing his lips.

"Yeah. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go back for a little nap, all that shagging takes a lot out of you," Mairi says completely unabashed. "Coming Nicky?"

"Hell yeah," Nicky answers turning in the doorway to mouth 'score!' at me.

We wait until we hear Nicky's door close, then we both burst out laughing.

"Oh, he's found himself a right piece of work there," Quinn wheezes. "Mairi's a handful at the best of times."

I can't help snorting. "More than a handful, if you ask me."

"She's... feminine I believe is the correct term," Quinn chuckles.

"Fat you mean."

He grins. "Shame on you Rob! She's just... curvy and wholesome and apparently a tiger in the bedroom. Well, she'd have to be, otherwise she wouldn't be pulling as much."

"It certainly looked like he was attacked by a tiger," I chuckle. "Hey, what did she mean by bit on the side?"

"Nothing at all," Quinn says suddenly much more serious.

His ears are turning red.

"Quinn..."

"Just... look, remember how I told you that before I met you I was seeing some bloke who didn't let me shag him once the entire time we were together," he starts cautiously.

"Yeah," I reply.

"Well, I did get to shag blokes during that time, just not him," he says quietly.

I suppress the sudden surge in jealousy. "Thought you didn't cheat."

"I don't," he sighs.

"Sounds like cheating to me if you were fucking other men while being with him," I say quietly.

"Wasn't. It wasn't Rob because he was alright with it, he was aware of it, he met the men in some cases, he... we had rules Rob," Quinn explains growing more and more uncomfortable.

And I probably shouldn't ask—let sleeping dogs lie, right?—but I can't help it, I ask anyway. "What kind of rules Quinn?"

"Nobody else got to shag me, no shagging anyone behind each other's backs, and always coming home at night," Quinn sighs. "That was all."

"Do you miss it?" I ask with a lump in my throat.

"Rob... look, I'm happy with what we've got..."

I pull together all my reserves of will power. "Do you miss it Quinn?"

"Yes."

I insisted on asking and I insisted on knowing and if I were to be truthful with myself—and let's face it, lying to oneself has never accomplished much—I had a fair idea of what the answer was going to be even before I asked the question. More than that, I should be thankful because Quinn told the truth—he might just as easily have lied. Oh, I would have known of course, but there would have been so much less fallout from the lie even then.

Doesn't really matter that I know all the should haves though, because when all is said and done it still feels like a full-out swing in the gut. You've made your bed Rob, now go and lie in it, I chide myself. Easier said than done.

I know the proper—the adult—thing to do right now would be to sit down and discuss it calmly; after all, how often does a lover bare his soul to you? That's easier said than done too.

I get up more or less calmly and start walking out of the kitchen.

"Stay. Please." Quinn's voice is barely audible.

Can't bear to look at him right now because I'm not entirely sure I'd be able to keep it together if I did. Don't know whether I want to lay into him for daring to want anyone besides me or whether I want to cry because he wants somebody besides me. Come to think of it, getting down on my knees and begging him not to want anyone else is looking like a viable option too. And that's a crock of piss.

"Can't. I need to think," I say through clenched teeth not turning around.

"Please Rob, we need to talk about this," he says quietly.

"Yes," I agree. "But not now. I need to think first."

"When?"

"Tonight. After I get in from work. I promise," I say and then I'm walking out the door.

To his credit he doesn't push it; stays in the kitchen while I get dressed as fast as humanly possible—I want to be out of there before Nicky and the girl get back to fucking, as I'm sure they will any second now—and head out. I go to watch the ducks in Hyde Park before heading to work.

It's a quiet day at the pub. My shift doesn't start until after the lunch rush is over and it's a weekday, so there's only pensioners and drunks about the place for the first few hours. Not that it matters; I've been pumping beer for so long I can do it in my sleep if necessary. 'Course I won't be pumping it much longer. Only a few more weeks and I'll be back at uni...

I'll be back at uni because Quinn pushed me. I'll be back at uni because Quinn believed in me. I'll be back at uni because Quinn offered to take on considerable financial hardship out of love and... that's the point, isn't it? He's in it for the long-haul, planning a future together, why should I care if he wants to shag somebody else on occasion?

Doesn't quite work like that though, does it? Except... Except, I muse as I pull a pint of Guinness—can't hurry a good pint of Guinness so there's plenty of musing time involved—sticking with the whole being honest with myself theme for a moment, there are some bits of 'other' I don't mind. Some bits of 'other' I'm quite turned on by even.

I got off on all the other blokes watching at the party at Timothy's house. I got off on Nicky watching. I was turned on by blokes at the club watching us making out on the dancefloor... I was turned on by the thought of somebody else sucking me off. The idea of anybody else fucking Quinn may send the bile rising in my throat, but...

Trouble is, I don't know whether I'm deluding myself for Quinn's sake. I know he wants to play, but I also know he'd never do so without my permission. The question is, am I rationalizing that I'm not completely opposed to the idea for fear of losing him—I've no doubt he'd rather leave than go behind my back—or am I rationalizing because somewhere deep down—in my trousers most like—I'm not entirely turned off by the idea?

I finish my shift and can't quite face going home yet, so instead I head down to Soho and to the clubs. I want to have a drink or two and maybe dance a little, get it out of my system. Alright, maybe I want to check out the wares a little too; see if I can imagine fucking any of them and then returning home to Quinn.

The club is pretty packed already and I head straight for the dance floor. Christ, I hate that new-fangled new wave shit or whatever they're calling it this week. What the fuck happened to punk anyway? Stuck a knife in its own chest, that's what, when it wasn't OD-ing on smack. I'm getting old. There's plenty of pretty boys around though, which more than compensates for the shite music and I think I understand why Quinn likes to come down here of a night.

One of them, some kid who must be five years my junior if he's a day, dances up close to me, starts grinding his hips against mine. He's lush and I'm getting hard. So not entirely opposed to the idea of playing then, am I? At least my dick seems to have made up its mind on that account.

I can feel the reciprocating hardness pushing against me, long slim arms draping themselves around my shoulders and waist as we move to the music which isn't so bad after all. Given time I could come to like it. The pretty boy's face is inching closer to mine and soon he's nuzzling my neck, trying to work his way to my mouth, so I kiss him.

Feels nice even with the bitter taste of cheating attached—well, it is cheating as far as Quinn is concerned, because we haven't agreed to it. I let go for a moment though; let myself be drawn into a dance of kissing and grinding rock-hard dicks together. I like that dance, I decide, and I'm not bothered by the fact that it isn't Quinn.

The pretty boy breaks the kiss and rests his chin on my shoulder. "Back room?" He whispers seductively.

That jolts me back into reality. The back room. Of course. I know there's a back room, might even have been in there with Quinn once or twice and part of me wants to... Part of me wants to follow the pretty boy into the back and fuck him five ways from Sunday, but that really would be cheating.

I take a step back. "Can't. I'm with someone," I say apologetically.

"So am I," the pretty boy smiles. "He's not here though. Your lover..."

"Home," I say.

"So what's the problem?" Pretty boy asks, the confusion plainly visible in his eyes.

"I don't cheat," I reply calmly and start walking out of the club.

"Wanker!" Pretty boy shouts after me.

I don't care. The only thing I care about is going home and fucking Quinn long and hard and thoroughly, and talking, in that order.

When I get back to the flat just after two in the morning Quinn is fast asleep in bed. Well, alright, that's a bit of a no-brainer, innit? It's only us twenty-somethings—gotta milk it while I still can, it's only a few more months!—who've the stamina to stay up into the wee hours of the morning. Mind you, some twenty-somethings, Nicky for instance comes to mind, only think they've the energy, but pass out in front of the flickering telly. Could be because he was shagging all morning though, so I don't feel too sorry for him.

I make my way into the bedroom in darkness and start shrugging off my clothes. My dick's still half-hard, like it's been all the way back from Soho. Then I crawl into bed next to Quinn—well, more on top of Quinn really—and start snogging him. It's bound to wake him up sooner or later. After a few seconds he starts responding, opens his lips some and lets me slip him a bit of tongue, and that's good, means I don't have to feel guilty about humping his hip.

"Rob?" He ventures.

As if he has to ask. "You're expecting anybody else?" I tease.

"What time is it?" He mumbles.

"Just gone two," I reply.

"Had enough time to think then, did you?" He asks.

"Yes and no," I say.

"Rob..."

"Don't say anything Quinn," I implore almost desperately, "just don't say anything and it might be alright."

He pulls my face back down to his and kisses me hard. More kissing, less talking. Good. Need something else though. "Need to fuck you Quinn," I whisper against his mouth.

He doesn't say anything—well, I did tell him not to, didn't I?—but he wiggles about underneath me and spreads his legs out until I'm lying between them. That must be a yes then.

I grab the lube from the table with shaking hands and make short work of it. Couple of fingers thrust into his body, once, twice, while my other hand is desperately lubing up my throbbing dick and my mouth is assaulting Quinn's again. He's moaning. That must be enough. Can't wait any longer.

I enter him with one quick movement and start thrusting immediately; no patience tonight. Can't wait for him to get used to it. Can't hold it back. Need to fuck him hard and rough and thoroughly, make sure he knows he's mine. Need to come. Fuck, I've been needing to come ever since I kissed pretty boy at the club; been needing to come ever since I pictured Quinn kissing pretty boy at the club.

I don't think I'm the most considerate lover right now but he's grunting, so I must be doing something right. I'm bracing myself against the mattress, trying to suck face and fuck and get off at the same time and I hope he's got the presence of mind to pull himself off because I've got trouble enough with doing both the fucking and snogging simultaneously.

He's incredibly hot inside. Have I ever mentioned that? He's incredibly hot and tight and all mine. Got his legs wrapped around my waist now, using his heels to press down on the small of my back and that determines the rhythm. I can't pull back as far as I'd like now, can't thrust as fast and hard as I'd intended. Instead I'm settling for long and hard and deep, lifting his hips up off the bed every time I'm all the way in. Mine.

He's making soft almost-sobbing noises. Christ, I hope I'm not hurting him. Even if I am though, I doubt I could stop myself, I'm so close. Harder, deeper, more. My balls are drawing up to my body and my legs are tingling. My shoulders are aching with the effort of holding myself up all this time—should probably start doing press-ups occasionally—and every part of my body feels like it is on fire.

Quinn's arse is convulsing around my dick. He's come; I let go. Let myself fall onto his chest and just breathe—pant, at any rate. He's shaking. I'm sobbing. Then his palms start drawing lazy circles on my back, trying to soothe me.

Once I've actually calmed down enough to be half-way coherent he pulls me up closer, his arms now firmly settled around my shoulders and asks, "what was that all about?"

"I went to the club after work," I mumble. "Had been thinking about things all day and I wanted to... to test a few theories; empirical research and all that rot."

"What happened?" He asks.

"Danced with some kid who can't have been more than twenty-five, but he was real pretty," I take a shaky breath. Better to get all the cards out on the table, innit? "Then he kissed me and I kissed him back."

"Then what happened?" Quinn asks calmly.

I'm a little thrown by that. I figured there'd be tantrums and accusations and hurt looks and a thoroughly Maggie-like scene, but there isn't. "You... you're not upset?" I ask bewildered.

"A little," he replies, "but you said it was research; hard data, right?"

"Yeah," I mumble. "Nothing else. He asked me to come to the back room and I wanted to.; I wanted to fuck that kid five ways from Sunday, but I didn't. I just came home as fast as I could."

"So I got the kid's fuck? Charming," Quinn remarks drily.

"Wasn't the kid's fuck Quinn," I sigh. "I'd just have taken him there in the dark bent over a table or something. Wouldn't have made the effort to see his face. Wouldn't have made the effort to hold out until he'd done his bit... wanted to make sure you knew where you belonged."

"Where do I belong Rob?" Quinn asks.

"In my bed, at my table, in my life. Messing about with anyone else won't change that," I say much more confidently than I really feel.

"Are you saying we can... play with others?" He ask.

"No, I'm saying I'm open to the idea so long's there's rules and you answer a whole bunch of questions before I make up my mind," I mumble.

Then I turn my face to the nook between his throat and shoulder and close my eyes. I'm home. I'm where I want to be.

I wake up still spread out on top of Quinn.

"Oh good, you're awake," he grins.

"That wouldn't have anything to do with you now, would it?" I grumble.

"Don't know what you're talking about," he replies cheerfully, giving my dick another squeeze.

"Yeah, right," I reply. "Ready for more shagging?"

"Always ready Rob," he grins. "But I think not. You had questions?"

"I think I'd rather shag," I say blushing.

"I'm sure you would, but we've got to do the talking bit sooner or later," Quinn smiles. "Come on, you know we do."

"Fine," I pout lifting myself off of his chest. "Don't really know where to start though."

"How about you tell me what exactly, apart from kissing some cute kid, changed your mind," Quinn sighs.

I must be bright crimson by now. "I was... I started off thinking that I kind of liked it when people were watching..." I stammer. "I really got off on Nicky tossing off while we were-"

"That just means you're into semi-public sex Rob," Quinn interjects.

"Even if I wanted to touch?"

"There's a twist," Quinn snorts. "Look, just because we both happen to have a crush on the flatmate, the very straight flatmate who goes around shagging very loud nurses, as you keep on pointing out ever so dutifully-"

"You're really not helping your cause any Quinn," I interrupt. "Besides, you're a pretty loud nurse."

"And you love it!" He exclaims.

"Would you stop changing the subject?" I ask exasperated.

"I am not changing the subject," he replies angrily. "You're the one who brought up wanting to fuck Nicky."

"Quinn, pot, kettle, black!"

Quinn buries his head in his hands. "Alright, let's start over here, shall we? If it was anyone besides Nicky, would you still want to touch?"

"Yes I think so," I reply without hesitation.

He nods. "Would you want the other bloke to touch me?"

I have to think harder about this one; think back to last night, to kissing the pretty lad and closing my eyes and imagining Quinn kissing the pretty lad instead. My dick twitches. "Yes."

"Alright, I guess we're cleared for threesomes then," Quinn remarks drily. "What about going and playing separately? Could you cope with me going out and fucking someone else?"

"Maybe," I reply hesitantly.

"It's either yes or no Rob," he sighs. "Maybe really doesn't work in this case."

"I...," I bang my head back against the wall in frustration. "I really don't know. I know that there are things I definitely couldn't cope with, but the rest... I just don't know."

Quinn grabs my shoulder and pulls and nudges until my head is resting on his chest again. "Calm down, 'ey?"

"Sorry, this really isn't the easiest conversation I've ever had," I mumble.

"Yeah, I know," Quinn murmurs kissing my hair. "Why don't you start by telling me what you consider definitely out of the question then?"

"I... I don't want anyone else to fuck you," I mutter.

"Done."

"And I don't want you to spend the night away," I say more confidently this time.

"Done."

"And...," this is the really difficult bit, "I'm worried... I mean, there are bugs and..."

"Yeah, gonorrhea of the throat, nasty business," he grins.

"I'm deadly serious, don't tease!" I grind out between clenched teeth.

"So'm I," he replies. "It's really rather uncomfortable."

"You... never mind, I don't want to know," I sputter.

He pats my back. "Welcome to the real world Rob. It happens."

"Yeah, well, I'd rather not catch anything because you feel the urge to fuck around," I grouse.

He winces at that. "Likewise."

"So..."

"So you use rubbers," he says quietly.

"Come on Quinn, how many blokes do you know what use rubbers? We never did," I sigh.

"Doesn't matter," he explains. "We'll make it one of the rules, alright? No fucking without rubbers, there's worse things than gonorrhea making the rounds now."

"I know," I say glumly. "Watch the news, don't I? Have you... I mean, at the hospital, have you..."

"Yeah, infectious diseases ward," he replies grimly.

I take a deep breath. "Is it true what they say, that it's only..."

"A lot of them, yeah, but not all Rob. 's not just us."

Don't know what to say to that—don't know that there is anything I can say—so I don't, just hold on to Quinn in silence.

"We don't have to decide today," he whispers. "We don't have to decide at all, can just forget it ever came up..."

"But I thought you wanted..." I mumble into his chest.

"Already told you I don't need to. I'm not going to do anything unless you're one hundred percent sure you want it too," he replies softly.

"I'd like... I'd like to try having someone else with us," I say nervously. "Don't know how far I want it to go and don't know that I can see it through, don't even know that I'd ever want to do anything more after that, but I'd like to try."

He pulls me closer, tightens the embrace that is already holding me in a steel-like vise, and says, "once you're absolutely sure—and I mean absolutely sure, not sort of intrigued or possibly interested—let me know and we'll try, not before."

"I don't know that I'll ever be that sure, Quinn," I say part protest part sigh of relief.

"Doesn't matter, I won't agree to it any other way," he replies quietly. "I can wait. If it happens it happens, if not, I can live with that too."

*****

I'm standing in the middle of our room feeling uncomfortable. Alright, that is probably the understatement of the year. I don't think I've ever wanted to disappear in a puff of green smoke quite as much as I do right now. Of course I have no one to blame but myself for my current predicament, oh no! after all it was me what turned to Quinn over breakfast and said, "I think we should have a party and invite every queer bloke you know and see if I fancy having a threesome with any of them."

Quinn gave me a look somewhere between utter terror and a grin but didn't say anything. Well, he didn't get around to it because the peanut gallery was making plenty of noise. Nicky choked on his bacon and Quinn ended up having to administer first aid and perform the Heimlich maneuver and Mairi was laughing so hard I was seriously worried she'd do herself an injury quite apart from falling off of her chair. She eventually got a hold on herself though and gasped, "if you do, can I watch?"

This time Quinn's eyes were shooting daggers and Nicky, still struggling for air, was whimpering a little.

"How about we discuss this in private where it should have been brought up in the first place Rob?" Quinn said through clenched teeth.

"Oh, don't pay us any mind," Mairi quipped. "I'm rather enjoying this."

Nicky merely closed his eyes and whimpered some more.

"Rob, our room now!" Quinn almost shouted and started striding out of the kitchen.

So I followed him and now I'm stood here in the middle of the room sending up silent prayers to be swallowed up whole by the flat below—or, at a pinch, being turned into a pillar of salt would do me just fine—while Quinn's eyes are nailing me to the wall behind me. I wouldn't mind so much if it weren't his eyes doing the nailing... Er, right, thinking about sex, really not helping right now.

"Was that really necessary?" He finally asks with a sigh.

"Sorry, it just sort of came out," I mumble.

"You really want to do this?" He asks.

"Yeah, I'm fairly sure," I reply. "So long's we... you know, find somebody that I want to do it with and, well, a party seems like a good idea..."

"So you figure you'd invite every queer bloke I know to a party, find one you like and then what?" Quinn asks quite exasperated. "Are you going to ask, 'excuse me, feel like joining me and the lover for a quick shag and the rest of you can just sod off'?"

"Hadn't really thought that far ahead," I mumble.

"I thought as much," he sighs. "Look, isn't there anyone you fancy that wouldn't necessitate inviting all my former lovers and passing acquaintances over for evaluation?"

I swallow hard. "Well, there's Timothy, I got the idea he fancied me-"

"Yeah he does," Quinn interrupts, "but—and I'm just guessing wildly here, you understand—but I reckon that that one wouldn't work out, not unless you want to get fucked by him or change your mind about anyone else fucking me, because he tops exclusively."

"He doesn't look it," I hazard.

"What, because he's tall and lanky and prettier than most chits?" Quinn asks. "Oh Jesus Christ Rob, use your much-lauded brain! He's at least five years younger than you and his metabolism hasn't slowed down yet. He may be tall and lanky, but he's got a body like steel underneath that medic's uniform—and I know because I've seen it, before you ask. Give him ten years and he'll still be tall, but instead of looking like some waif he'll be a little rougher 'round the edges with an army of boys ready to roll over and spread their legs for him without a second glance and he knows it too." He takes a deep breath, tries to pull himself together some, and continues, "looks don't mean shit Rob and you should know that."

"I'm sorry, I just figured..."

"Yeah, well, maybe you should get over figuring because if you went by looks alone I should be the one fucking you and not the other way around," Quinn points out rather bluntly.

"Quinn, if you don't like the idea of us having a threesome you can just up and tell me," I shout getting quite pissy myself.

"What make you think I don't like the idea?" He shouts back.

I roll my eyes. "Oh nothing much except the fact that you're standing there bitching about something not worth bitching about," I reply. "I mean, Jesus suffering fuck, who cares what he looks like?"

"Apparently you do," Quinn grumbles. "And anyway, that's not the point. I'm just sick to death of everybody trying to pigeon-hole us into a corner somewhere, alright?"

"What's this really about Quinn?" I ask sitting down on the floor.

"Doesn't matter," he mutters sitting down on the bed. "Just thinking too much is all."

"About what?" I ask. Yes, I can be a persistent little bugger when I feel like it—and I did not just say that. Talk about bad puns!

"What you said this morning," he replies. "About whether it was just us."

"I was only asking for chrissakes," I explain. "What, I'm just reading the papers, same as everyone else and I-"

"Yeah, they all read the papers Rob and that's the problem," Quinn interrupts. "So what do think will happen once anybody in upper management at the hospital works out that there's a bunch of queer nurses and medics treating the patients Rob? Care to tell me that?" He's shouting again now. "Because they're not going to care that we're healthy and shacked up with the same people we've been shacked up with for the past god knows how many years. All they're going to see is big flashing neon tabloids screaming 'gay plague' and a public relations disaster in the making. That's all they're going to care about; if the shoe fits..."

"But... you're fine! There's nothing wrong with you," I protest.

"Yeah and Timothy looks like he'd happily roll over as far as you are concerned," Quinn says sarcastically.

I wince. "They can't just-"

"Yeah they can. Nothing stopping them from simply barring every gay man from ever working in any NHS Trust again. They just haven't thought that far ahead yet," Quinn mutters.

"But that's just wrong," I say quietly.

"The first time I fucked another man I was breaking the law Rob," he shouts.

I don't really know what to say. Is there anything I can say? "I... look, if you want to think about it some more, it was just an idea..."

"No, I'm not saying I don't want to... hell, I don't know what I'm saying, alright?" He says. "I've just been thinking too much and I don't even know why I'm getting a bee in my bonnet about this all of a sudden because I want to if you want to, I just... do you want to have a party then?"

"If you want to," I say carefully.

"Yeah, I want to," he replies rather sheepishly, "but let's just start off with the party, alright? You can meet all the men you want and we can talk about possibly asking one of them, but don't... let's just have the party and then we can talk about it afterwards. Don't need to decide right there and then. Agreed?"

"Fine, that's all I wanted anyway," I shrug.

"And Rob, one more thing?" He grins.

"Yeah?"

"Mairi most definitely will not get to watch. Deal?" He asks.

"Deal," I say already getting up off the floor and pouncing on the bed. "You through with the ranting so we can make some noise?"

*****

So we have the party. Took a couple of weeks to organize it all, but right now the flat is brimming with half of Soho. Mairi wouldn't take no for an answer and arrived a half hour ago followed by a gaggle of giggling nurses and they've made themselves comfortable running the bar. I think I saw them spike the punch just now for the fifth time—not that it needed it—and it's fairly safe to assume that the lot of them have ulterior motives if the way they're handing out the alcohol is any indication. Can't think why a bunch of girls would want to see a couple of blokes get it on, but then, I've never understood women, have I?

Nicky's been hiding in his room; hasn't come out once though we've knocked. He keeps on muttering something about not wanting to wade into the fumes of testosterone around the place. Spoilsport.

Quinn's been leading me around the room introducing me to people—they are mostly his friends after all, though I've met a few of them before—and generally having a grand old time of it. I've been trying to check out the wares without letting on. Well, I'm allowed. Quinn's all behind me finding somebody I fancy, isn't he? I'm still nervous though, so inbetween chatting and trying my best not to notice that a good proportion of the assembled blokes are flirting with me—I'm having a drinkie.

To tell the truth, I'm a little confused and a lot embarrassed. I mean, I don't see why they'd all want to flirt with me, 's not like I'm that good-looking or anything. I could understand them flirting with Quinn because he's hot and everything, but me? 'Course he's just grinning inanely, giving me these 'I told you so looks', so I fetch another drink or two. Three on the outside.

And then suddenly it's morning and I'm lying fully dressed on top of the bed and my head feels like somebody took a sledgehammer to it. I know it's morning because it's light outside and it wasn't last time I made my way to the bar and listened to Mairi making lewd comments while re-filling my drink. Speaking of which, I suddenly realize why I woke up in the first place.

"Gods yeah Nicky, harder!" Mairi's disembodied voice is screaming somewhere inside my head. At least it feels like she's screaming inside my head and possibly tap dancing on my temples as well.

I groan and my jaw starts to throb. I briefly consider pulling the pillow out from under my head and over my ears but that would require movement.

"Ohgodohgodohgodohgod!" Mairi screams.

Now the tap dancer appears to have moved to my shoulder. I close my eyes and pretend I'm dead; maybe he'll leave me in peace then.

"I know you're awake," Quinn murmurs somewhere behind me. He's being far too loud. Why couldn't I have found myself a nice mute lover?

"They shouldn't be much longer," he says. "They've been at it for a couple of hours and he's bound to come at some point. Simple rule of biology, right?"

I grunt very very quietly, trying not to move my head in the process.

"I checked your pulse several times when you didn't wake up when they first started fucking," Quinn continues conversationally. "I'd have thought you'd have to be dead before sleeping through that."

"'sprin," I manage to mumble.

"Pardon?" He asks.

My tongue feels like a dirty carpet and is only marginally under my control, still, this is the important bit, innit? I pull up all my reserves and moan, "aspirin."

"Oh yeah, sure, give us a minute," Quinn says climbing over me.

He pads out of the room, wearing only his underwear and returns a few minutes later with a handful of pills and a pint glass of something suspiciously purple.

"Whassat?" I croak.

He waves the glass under my nose. "Ribena. You need to get a little bit of blood back into your alcohol stream."

"Gonna spew," I grunt.

"Naw you're not," he grins, "nothing to bring up. It's been way too long since you've had the last drink. Just take the pills and drink the juice and you'll feel better."

I grab the pills and the glass and spill about half of the juice on the bed while trying to down it without raising my head. It tastes like shite, but it does lubricate the vocal chords a bit. "I hate you, you know that, right?" I mumble. "Why d'you always have to be right?"

"'Cause I'm a nurse and I know how long it takes your body to absorb each drink," Quinn replies nonchalantly.

"Still hate you," I mumble and then add pitifully, "'m cold. Come and warm me up."

Quinn pouts. "Thought you hated me."

"Quiiiiiiiinn."

"Alright, alright," he says, "I'm coming, aren't I? More importantly, so did Nicky I think. Thank Christ!"

Now that he mentions it, I notice the marked absence of further screaming from the other room and I breathe a sigh of relief. Then I've got a hot body pressed against me and I'm starting to feel almost human again.

"So?" Quinn asks after a while.

"So what?" I reply testily.

"Well, fancy any of them?" He asks.

I get my brain into gear and try to remember all the blokes that came to the party last night. I fail miserably. Mind you, I do remember one or two of them.

"How about Paul?" I ask.

"Top," Quinn says.

"Alright, how about Malc?" I hazard.

"Warts."

I shrug. "Well, you know, nobody's perfect, I myself have this-"

"Not that kind of warts Rob," Quinn interrupts.

"Oh." I blush. It's nice to know that the small Caribbean island's worth of alcohol I had last night in no way affected my ability to blush, innit?

"Well?" He asks.

"Well, I don't know," I whine. "Who were you thinking of?"

"There's Dermot," he says.

"Too hairy," I object.

"I kind of like that," Quinn sighs. "Still, if it's not your thing... how about Gary?"

"Gary... Gary? Can't remember a Gary," I admit.

"You know, Gary," Quinn says, "was wearing that little black number..."

"What? The bloke what came in a cocktail dress?" I sputter.

"Yeah, him. I promise you there's not a hair on his body," Quinn chuckles. "He waxes all over. Got the smoothest body-"

I shudder. "I'll thank you for not finishing that sentence,"I protest, though quietly because my head still hurts. "I am not having sex with a bloke who wears more make-up than me mum."

"Alright, alright, don't get your knickers in a twist," Quinn says quickly. "How about Nigel?"

I shake my head and it doesn't fall off, much to my surprise. "Nah, wouldn't work. Can't see myself shouting 'oh Nigel' in the throes of passion. How about Tony?"

"Hmm, it's a possibility," Quinn replies.

"Nice eyes," I muse. "Like steel. I kind of like that."

"And hell of an arse," Quinn says dreamily. "Did you watch him move? Those trousers must have been glued to him."

I sigh. "Yeah, nice. And those pecs. It was all I could do not to try and suck his nipples in the middle of the room..."

"Rob?"

"Yeah?"

"Think you could possibly see your way to fucking me? Nowish?"

"Can't," I reply. "Afraid my head might explode if I move it."

"Oh," Quinn says trying hard to mask the disappointment in his voice.

"Yeah, hangover from hell," I explain. "Have you ever noticed that they get worse with every year?"

Quinn shrugs and unostentatiously tries to rearrange his hard dick without my noticing. "Can't say I have but I don't drink much."

"Don't look so disappointed," I sigh. "I've got an idea."

I start undoing my fly and I'm already half-hard. At least my dick's on the same page as Quinn, even if the rest of my body isn't. I take it out and stroke it a few times, watching Quinn's eyes grow darker and hungrier with each touch. "Get out your toybox Quinn and ditch the underwear."

Quinn scrambles off the bed in a heartbeat, already pulling his pants down, and kneels on the floor grappling for the toybox under the bed, waving his naked arse in the air. It's quite a view really. My dick's completely hard now.

I struggle out of my clothes while Quinn pulls the box out and opens it. He looks at me expectantly. "What now?"

"Pick out the largest dildo you have," I smile wickedly, though the effect is slightly spoiled by my starting to pant a little. "Then get up on the bed down where I can see you good without moving and give me a show."

Quinn moans. He does as he's told though. Picks out the monster of all fake monster dicks and only stops to pick up a bottle of lotion before scrambling back onto the bed and settling between my legs. He grabs a couple of pillows and shoves them under his butt before lying back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. His dick is dripping pre-come like an obscene basting syringe.

"That good?" He rasps.

"Yeah," I reply breathlessly. "Now start preparing yourself. One finger at a time. Make it good."

He whimpers slightly, but does as he's told and I watch as first one, then two, then three slick fingers push into his body slow as treacle. I watch his arse opening up to take it all, watch his dick bobbing hard and red in the air. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, but I may be biased on that account and I'm stroking my own dick pretty steadily by now, so I'm probably not thinking with the head on top of my shoulders anymore.

I am brought back to the present by his voice asking, no purring, "tell me what to do."

"Grease up the dildo with your other hand. Don't take your fingers out of your arse yet and don't touch your dick. Don't want you to come until I tell you to," I instruct.

Can't see his face, not the way he's arranged there because his head's lower than his the rest of him with all those pillows under his arse, but I'd wager he's grinning right now, inbetween the moaning that is. 'Course I'm not exactly miserable either, so it all evens out in the end.

It takes him a while—he's no use with his left hand—but eventually the dildo's all shiny and slick and fuck! do I want to see it in him!

I swallow hard. "Now take out your fingers and shove the dildo up your arse," I say voice slightly shaky. "Don't touch your dick until I tell you though."

He hastily withdraws his fingers from his hole and lines up the head of the fake dick in their place. Then he pushes, fast and hard and without hesitation. Pushes it all the way in in one go. This time I think it's me what whimpers.

He's just lying there—waiting—and I realize I haven't told him what to do next. "Start fucking yourself," I groan grabbing the base of my own dick hard to stop myself from coming.

So he does. Hard and fast and god, I have to get him to do this more often. He's panting and groaning and mewling and I can see it all in excruciating detail. See him pull out that big piece and then thrust it back in so hard and fast, I'm sure he must be hurting himself, but he's only moaning in pleasure, not pain. Can see his arse spew it out and then swallow it up whole again, getting redder and puffier, like a mouth that's been kissed too much.

"Are you close?" I manage to pant.

"Yes," he replies. "Won't take much."

So I start tossing off in earnest. Start pulling my own dick for all it's worth and I can feel the orgasm building somewhere in my toes, my eyes firmly fixed on Quinn's arse and the dildo that is moving in and out of his hole faster and harder with each thrust.

"Touch yourself. Now!" I half-shout.

His hand moves up like lightning. Spreads pre-come all over his dick with the first stroke down and then starts moving fast, almost as fast as the other hand does—the hand that's holding the fake dick he's fucking himself on.

I don't know who comes first, maybe we both do at the same time. The orgasm slams through my body like a three-car-pile-up on the M25 and I'm coming, hitting my chest and face. At about the same time his come flies in an arc through the air and then splatters all over my thighs to the sounds of his harsh breathing.

"Don't take it out," I order when I catch my breath. "Leave it there."

"Yes," he says meekly.

"Lick me clean," I say.

And then he's up kneeling between my legs and lapping at my skin starting with the thighs, licking up every bit of our come and even though I can't see it while he is facing me, I know he's still got that enormous piece of plastic up his arse, is still stretched so wide my dick'd probably drown in there and that makes me hard again.

"Fuck the headache," I say, my dick twitching and filling with blood. "Gonna screw you into the mattress."

Yeah, well, so maybe I got carried away by pure unadulterated lust there, because as it turns out my head's quite good at letting me know just how much I drank last night by sending searing arrows of pain from my temples down to the base of my skull whenever I try to move too quickly and—as I'm finding out much to my dismay—that does tend to affect the other head just a bit.

In my defense, I do make a valiant attempt, though more out of embarrassment than anything else, clench my teeth together and try to rise to the occasion. Quinn manages to watch it all with a ludicrously straight face and then comes to my rescue—knight in shining armor and all that—by saying, "I'd love to Rob, but I don't think... you know, I'm a few years older than you. It takes me a little longer to recover, so maybe..."

It's a relief and a half, I tell you. I sink back down on the pillow, thanking my lucky stars that I've got the best damn lover in the whole of the Thames Valley, and he settles in with his head on my chest, just lying there for a while.

"So?" I finally ask.

"So what?"

"How are you going to ask Tony? I mean, you can't just straight up and ask, can you?" I stammer.

"Don't see why not," Quinn replies. "All he can do is say either yes or no."

"But... you can't just... I mean..." I stutter some more.

Quinn sighs. "Trust me, I can."

"But... won't he... I mean, he's bound to..." I'm totally hopeless at this. You'd think that after a year of shagging Quinn five ways from Sunday I'd be reasonably comfortable with the talking, wouldn't you?

Quinn lifts his head up from my chest and crawls up the bed so his head is level with mine. "Time for another installment of the queer sex talk Rob," he grins.

Fuck. "Do we have to?" I whine. Yes, I still don't like those much either.

"Yeah we do, just as soon as I get rid of the dildo; it's starting to get a smidgen uncomfortable. If you'll excuse me for a second," he grins and I blush bright crimson. I'd forgotten about that little detail.

He rolls onto his back and pulls his knees up to his shoulders. I try not to look at what he's doing—well, I figure there are some things a man needs some privacy for, right?—and I try my hardest not to hear that little noise when he pulls it out. 'Course Quinn totally ruins my moment of selective seeing and hearing by then hurling that huge fake dick at the wall he shares with Nicky. It hits it with a satisfying thump and then bounces off and lands somewhere in the middle of the floor.

Seconds later Nicky barges in with the words, "what the fuck? Mairi and I weren't even..."

Then he sees us. Me naked and just a little the worse for wear stretched out on the bed, and Quinn with his legs parted and still drawn up high enough to expose just about everything, waggling his eyebrows at Nicky. Nicky courageously tries to save himself further embarrassment by turning his head away, but that only results in him catching an eyeful of the fucking enormous—did I mention it was purple?—dildo in the middle of the floor.

Nicky turns on his heels and leaves the room muttering, "you are sick and depraved, the both of you."

Once my ears stop ringing from the slammed door, I turn my head a fraction of an inch towards Quinn. "Was that really necessary?"

"Yes it was," he replies. "One, I like to get up Nicky's nose occasionally just to remind him what's what around here, and two, it was a valuable object lesson. You heard what he said, yeah?"

"Yeah, don't blame him though," I shrug. "I mean, what would you say if you saw that sitting on Nicky's floor?"

"Either that Mairi's got bigger balls than I thought, or that there's some hope yet that one of us will get to shag Nicky at some point," he quips.

"Quinn..."

"Yeah, alright," he sighs. "Bad joke, I know. The point I was trying to make is that we've got a different set of rules Rob. When you spend half your life being told you're sick and depraved and that you're going to burn in hell for doing what comes naturally, you change the rules to suit you after a while. We're bent Rob, that means we fuck other men, everything else is just details."

"But there's a difference between... I mean, a threesome's kind of different from..." I flounder.

He shakes his head. "No it's not. I can call Tony and ask him whether he's interested and if he is, good, and if he isn't he's not going to think any the worse of me. It's just sex Rob, so long's everybody's agreed to whatever's happening, it's all good and there's no shame in asking for what you want."

That's almost a challenge, innit? I mean, I have to call him on a statement like that, because no matter what he says about there being different rules for queers, we're still British, right? Can you imagine a real Englishman, queer or straight, not being offended at being asked to be part of a threesome out of the blue?

"Are you?" I ask.

"Am I what?"

"Are you going to call him?" I ask.

"Want me to? Now?" Quinn grins.

"Sure, if it's as easy as that," I needle him, because I can't believe it's as easy as he makes it sound.

He shrugs and gets up off the bed. "Just going to get the phone," he says grabbing his trousers. "Need to get decent in case Mairi's up and about because she's not getting a free floor show, I can tell you that much."

"Sure, take your time," I reply and lie back to close my eyes for a few minutes. I'm pretty sure he's having me on.

I hear him leave the room and a couple of minutes later he's back carrying the phone. He throws his battered address book—a little black book, how quaint!—at me and it hits me square in the chest. "There you go, make yourself useful and read out Tony's number, would you?" He asks totally unabashed.

Well, there's not much I can do now, is there? So I do as he asks, though probably bright crimson again.

"Ta," he says, and then he's talking to someone else entirely. "Tony, yeah, it's Quinn. Enjoyed the party, did you? Good... Got a question for you; would you be interested in a threesome?"

I gasp in astonishment but he just goes right on talking. "Yeah, that cute little number I had on my arm last night, that's the lover... he wants to fuck you... well, no, but if I'm lucky he'll let me suck you for a while... Oh shut up Tony, nobody's called me that in years... alright, that'd work... yeah, see you then. Looking forward to it."

And that's that. He's hanging up the phone. Jesus fucking Christ, he really did straight up and ask! I'm having trouble believing that. Maybe I'm hallucinating. Maybe there was something very very wrong with the punch last night and this is all happening inside my head. "Called you what?" I ask weakly.

Quinn grimaces. "Motormouth Matheson if you must know."

I can't help myself, I start laughing uncontrollably at that. I mean, it's a pretty accurate description, innit, in more ways than one. Plus, you know, releasing the tension and all that.

Quinn gives me one of his patented looks and says sweet as sugar, "glad you're feeling better."

"'m not," I gasp. "But that's just-" I can't finish the sentence, I'm laughing too hard.

"Yeah, well, you had better recover by this afternoon because Tony's invited us over for cocktails at five and I reckon that if the cocktails are a success, there'll be much more to look forward to this evening."

That shuts me up good and proper because it means it's probably time for me to start panicking again. Christ! I'm going to have a threesome in a few hours. I'm not sure I'm ready for this. Is it too late to change my mind?

Quinn's noticed the look of utter terror on my face too, because he puts the phone down and crawls up on the bed beside me, placing his head on my chest once more. "It'll be alright," he says. "Trust me. It'll be fine once we get there and if it isn't, we'll just leave again. No hard feelings, I promise."

I spend most of the tube ride to Tony's place out in Ealing with my head between my legs. Literally. If I didn't, I think I'd be hurling all over the train. I'm so nervous. Have I mentioned the hyperventilating? No? Well, Quinn's offering to get off the train and find me a paper bag inbetween the concerned noises he's making... Christ, I should never have asked for this!

By the time we make it to Tony's place I'm shaking and Quinn's starting to look more than just a little put out. "You know, you don't have to do this. We can turn right around and go home," he sighs.

"No, I want to do this," I grind out.

"Are you sure? Only, most people aren't quite so green in the face when they're thinking about sex," Quinn explains patiently. "I wouldn't think any the less of you."

I clench my teeth together and hiss, "shut up and ring the fucking door bell Quinn."

So he shrugs and rings the door bell and then Tony's stood there, steel-grey eyes staring holes into my skull and that body and... I'm getting weak in the knees for entirely different reasons now. Quinn says hello while I'm still stood there mouth hanging open like some idiot and then Tony's winking at me and kissing Quinn square on the lips and I make some sort of noise in my throat that sounds an awful lot like a cat in heat and then Tony's face is moving closer and, oh fuck!

"Nice to meet you," Tony grins, or at least I think he does. He's got that grinning sort of tone to his voice.

Quinn's elbowing me none-too-gently and whispering, "open your eyes Rob, you're going to bump into the furniture if you don't open your eyes at least until we're inside."

It's an effort. It takes quite staggering amounts of willpower to wrench my eyes open and I still haven't actually said anything at all, because quite frankly my brain can't cope with both operating the eyelids and the vocal chords at the same time right now. I do give it a try though. Sounds an awful lot like 'uhn.'

"Sorry Tony, this is kinda new territory for him in case you hadn't guessed," Quinn says apologetically. "Keep your eyes open Rob and one foot in front of the other, good boy!"

Tony's smiling, which is good I suppose. Means he doesn't think I'm a complete idiot, or does it?

We make it into the sitting room, which is right posh–a step up from our flat at any rate–and Quinn pushes me down on the settee. Next thing I know I've got a Martini thrust into my hand and I'm still grinning like some goddamn idiot. Fuck. He thinks I'm a complete and utter prat, doesn't he? Help?

Tony sits down on the couch opposite and smiles. "So Rob, Quinn tells me you want to fuck me."

I blush bright scarlet. "I... I mean, I...," I stutter and give up.

"'s alright," Tony says. "You're a handsome bloke and Quinn and I, well, we go way back. I mean, not that we ever fucked, because we could never agree as to who'd have to do the fucking in that case, but I got a taste of his mouth a few years ago and I wouldn't mind repeating the experience."

"You... he... uhn," I reply. On the whole that might have been the most coherent thing I've said all afternoon.

Thankfully Tony goes right on talking. "And I'm thinking you're a pretty good fuck too. I mean, I reckon if you've managed to keep Motormouth Matheson over there occupied for a year... he used to be a right slut, you know."

"Thanks a lot Tony," Quinn groans.

Tony grins. "Hey, I'm only telling the truth. Used to be you'd be walking around bow-legged come Monday morning."

"Tony, I think he got the general idea," Quinn sighs. "Kindly try not to ruin what's left of my reputation."

"You... bow-legged?" I squeak rather undignified.

"Only from your cock since the day I met you Rob," Quinn murmurs. "Never behind your back."

"I know."

Oh look! A complete sentence! Do I win the brightest ape of the year award for that? And it helps too, in a way, because I am now reasonably certain I haven't turned mute all of a sudden. Still got butterflies riding Triumphs inside my belly, but it proves that I can talk, sort of.

I turn to Tony. "I... Quinn and I, we, if we do this, there's..." I flounder again.

"He tops, no sex without a rubber, and we're a package, those are the rules," Quinn says quite matter-of-factly. "There's another one, but I don't think it'd ever be an issue for you: nobody fucks me but him. That sound alright to you?"

Tony thinks about it for a second, then nods. "Yeah, I can live with that. Bedroom?"

Fuck, was it me who just yelped?

I'm not entirely sure how we make it to the bedroom, except that there are hands involved—four hands having a pretty good go at ripping my clothes of—and I think that's about when my brain decides to go on vacation permanently. Not that it's bad as such, I mean, stands to reason, don't it? Four hand's gotta be better than two, right? It's just, I think I might be suffering a case of sensory overload and the system's not adjusting quite as quickly as expected.

Somewhere in there between the sitting room and the bedroom Quinn is kissing me and I know it's Quinn; I'd recognize his taste anywhere. Hell, even if that weren't the case, I'd still recognize his kisses; he's so wanton—and there's a word one would never think to apply to a man. Got his tongue pressing into my mouth, insistent and strong and oh-so-very-Quinn and if that makes me a soft tosser, well, then I'm a soft tosser, screw you!

Almost want him to fuck me. Almost. Not quite there yet though. Haven't... well, it hasn't exactly been on the cards since what happened happened and he hasn't pushed the envelope any, hasn't asked for it. And then Quinn-tongue melts seamlessly into Tony-tongue, who tastes and kisses differently—much less aggressively but no less insistent—and then I'm naked and we're there.

He has a big four-poster, much bigger than our bed at home, which is good I suppose, there's going to be more of us. Christ I can't believe I'm doing this! To keep myself from blushing I say the first thing that comes to mind. "Get naked. Both of you."

Quinn starts shucking off his clothes instantly. Tony quirks an eyebrow at me and then turns to Quinn, grinning like a loon while he unsnaps his jeans. "My word, you've found yourself the most innocent little dom on the face of the planet," he laughs. "Well done Matheson!"

"Shut up and get naked," I growl. "Now!"

Jesus fucking Christ, where did that come from? Little bit of moderation might be a good idea here, what with Tony being about three times my size and well-looked-after. Shouldn't go around messing with the big blokes now, should I? But he's not decking me or throwing me out of his house; instead he's turning to me, with a facial expression somewhere between barely-contained lust and a smirk. He just stands there for a few seconds, then slowly, torturously, he starts unfastening his dress shirt one button at a time, lingering on each for what seems like centuries.

Quinn's leaning against the bedpost and grinning. Don't know whether it's because I look a right idiot standing there with the hard-on of the century bobbing out in front of me, my eyes following Tony's every move and my mouth hanging open—am I drooling? God, I hope I'm not drooling!—or whether it's because I've met my match, met somebody who won't blindly follow my orders. As my eyes follow Tony's hand down, I catch a glimpse of Quinn's hand slowly stroking his own dick—he's enjoying this even more than I am.

Finally Tony slides his shirt down his shoulders and he's about to push his jeans down his hips when Quinn says, "no, not yet. Kiss him."

Next thing I know Tony's got two hands in my hair—if I'd still be wearing one, he'd be holding me up by my shirt lapels—and is thrusting his tongue into my mouth. Hope that's not me whimpering there.

"Now, scratch down his shoulder blades, he likes that," Quinn says rather hoarsely.

I'm definitely whimpering now.

Tony's pushing me towards the bed until the frame hits me right below the knees and I fall down on it and then he's on top of me, his whole weight pressed to my body, kissing me fiercely. I can feel his hard shaft rubbing against my belly through the denim and Tony's hand impatiently trying to pull his jeans down without much luck.

I'm almost starting to panic again for a while there because I can't wrap my mind around the concept of someone as aggressive as Tony wanting to get fucked rather than fucking, but I pull myself together and remember each one of Quinn's many lectures and besides, I'm a little bit too busy, what with Tony's tongue in my mouth and Quinn's hands trying to squeeze between our bodies, to give it too much consideration.

I guess Tony eventually realizes that if those jeans are going to come off he's going to have to move and rolls over to the other side of the bed, his body seamlessly replaced by Quinn's hands, which are stroking all over my body. He's kissing me and touching me, all the while evading my attempts to dry-hump his thigh—probably knows that I'd go off at the slightest bit of friction right now—and when I look back over in Tony's direction, he's squatting there atop the bed, thighs spread and thrusting slick fingers into his own body.

I moan.

Tony grins and flicks over a rubber which hits me square in the chest. I lie there blinking for a second and then Quinn, bless him, takes the package and rips it open. He starts unrolling the rubber on my dick and god am I grateful for that! It's been years since I've even seen one of those things and let's just say I've never really mastered the art of using one... well, I've never had to, what with my grand history of about three sexual conquests prior to Quinn. 'Course, I probably should have used one with Quinn, but... and that's all water down under the bridge by now anyway.

Then it's on and Tony gets into position kneeling on the bed, bracing himself against the wall by the headboard, and Quinn's nodding at me encouragingly. Guess that means it's my big entrance. Fuck! Er, quite, fuck, yes, and try to make it at least reasonably memorable while you're at it Rob.

The next bit happens almost mechanically. My body knows what to do even if the rest of me is panicking and silently running through all the worst-case scenarios I can think off inside my head. I line my dick up with Tony's arse and just kind of push. Since Tony's groaning something wicked, I reckon I must be doing it right.

I've got my eyes closed those first few thrusts; just try to concentrate on what I am doing, hands firmly locked on Tony's hips. When I finally dare to open my eyes again I see Quinn and what Quinn's doing, and maybe Tony wasn't groaning on my account.

"Is... are you..." the powers of speech seem to have deserted me once again.

"Oh yeah, couldn't be better," Tony grunts. "Just keep going nice and hard and... fuck! How does he do that with his mouth?"

"Search me," I pant. "Nice though, innit?"

Tony's reply is completely unintelligible, just a collection of grunts and moans and hard breathing. I sympathize; being blown by Quinn is an experience out of this world, there's few things quite as good. 'Course I'm not complaining, not at all! I'm quite happy thrusting in and out of that hard, hot body, feeling ever muscle under my hands and around my dick and... alright, time to think of something a little less erotic... Dennis Thatcher having sex with the missus. Careful now, not quite that unerotic! And thank Christ no one's ever come up with a way of recording my thoughts while I'm shagging!

There's something else though. Watching Quinn—or at least the bits of Quinn I can see—knowing what he's doing to Tony, knowing what I am doing to Tony...

"Quinn, stop sucking his dick and get yourself over here," I say hoarsely.

Tony mumbles some token protests, but Quinn's face appears flushed and heated around the side of Tony's body. He leans up with slightly swollen lips and kisses me fiercely while I'm still pistoning in and out of Tony... shit, I could get used to that whole threesome business, you know.

Then he's nuzzling neck, urging my hips on with his hands, and I act on impulse, turn my head so my lips are brushing his earlobe and whisper, "want you to fuck me."

He twitches a little. "You don't..."

"I know. Want you to. Really want you to," I reply.

He moves fast. Really, really fast, while I slow the movement of my hips: I don't want to come until he's inside me. I run my hands up Tony's back, my tongue up Tony's spine and say, "hope you don't mind Tony, but I'll be pulling you off, my lover's required elsewhere."

Tony just grunts his agreement. Then Quinn's fingers are pushing against my hole and I freeze up for just a second—it's been a while—but I forget all about that once his fingertips are brushing across my gland. I think this time it's me what groans.

"Ready?" He whispers.

I don't have the presence of mind to reply, just nod my head, and then the fingers are replaced by the head of his dick and I just kind of impale myself on it, fingernails leaving long red welts in Tony's skin as they scratch down his torso.

We let out a collective sigh and then things happen very fast indeed. Quinn starts thrusting into me, holding my hips in an iron grip, and I'm thrusting into Tony in tandem, picking up speed again. I reach around and start pulling Tony off. It's the most mind-blowing thing I've ever done; my dick surrounded by hot tight heat and my arse filled with Quinn—this must be what heaven is made of.

Tony goes off first, his whole body shuddering as he comes into my hand with a shout. He doesn't wait to come down, but moves fast, slips off my dick and spins around and then he's ripping off the rubber and swallowing my dick. His throat contracts, two, three times and then I am coming, watching his Adam's apple bob, his cheeks hollow, as he swallows every drop I've got. It's one of the hottest things I've ever seen.

Seconds later Quinn thrust hard and deep and I can feel his dick jerking inside me and he's shaking, biting down hard on my shoulder. When his jaw unclenches a few seconds later, he brushes his lips across the bitemark he's left and wraps his arms tightly around my chest.

"Thank you," he whispers so quietly only I can hear. "I love you Rob."

I smile. "I know."

On to London Calling: Interlude Six

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