"All I'm saying is that we really should have beaten Queen's Park Rangers-"
"Rob, did you forget to switch off the lights before we left?" Quinn interrupts my rant on the inequities of the current goings-on at Upton Park.
I give him one of my special looks and launch into another tirade. "No and don't try to change the subject. I know your interest in football is purely superficial and to do with visual gratification, but we agreed to-"
"I'm not trying to change the subject Rob," Quinn cuts in before I can get properly started on the way down the road to bickering. "I think there's someone in the house."
"What?" I ask bewildered.
"The lights are on," Quinn says, pointing at the bedroom windows of the house in front of us.
"Are you sure that's ours?" I ask. "Isn't ours the next one over?"
"Look at the house number Rob," Quinn sighs. "Are you sure you didn't forget to switch off the lights?"
"Positive," I reply.
Quinn stops by the front gate to pick up one of the discarded bits of plywood left in the yard from moving day and starts tip-toeing to the front door while I do my best to hide behind him. Ordinarily I wouldn't be following him at all, but unfortunately he's totally failed to let go of my hand so far, so a strategic escape might not be possible.
"Where are you going?" I hiss.
"To look who's broken into our house," Quinn whispers back. "Be quiet, I want to surprise them."
"Shouldn't we call the old bill instead?" I suggest. "The burglars might be armed."
"So am I," Quinn murmurs lifting the plywood up to my face. "Besides, they'd be long gone by the time the coppers got here."
"Just so long as we're agreed that it'll be all your fault if one of us gets injured," I reply. "I knew we never should have moved to Hampstead. You know it's all riff-raff around here."
"Be quiet and stay behind me," Quinn whispers rather decisively. "Now, on the count of three, alright? One... two..."
In the time-honored tradition of warriors everywhere, I do not in fact wait for the 'three.' Just before Quinn gets around to it, I give him an almighty shove and hurl myself after him letting out a shriek that surely must count as a battle cry. Quinn yelps and then there's quite a few things—heavy things, by the sounds of it—falling to the floor in the bedroom, accompanied by rather creative curses.
"What did you have to go and do that for?" Quinn mutters brushing himself off for the look of the thing.
Before I can answer, Mairi sticks her head out the bedroom door and says quite matter of factly, "I hope you're happy, you made me drop the spanner."
Quinn buries his face in his hands. "Mairi, what in god's name are you doing here at," he checks his watch briefly, "at half past one in the morning?"
"Setting up the extra crib," she replies. "Now that the two of you are home you can help."
"At half past one in the morning?" Quinn groans.
She shrugs. "Well, I can hardly come over during the day when Nicky's at that piss-poor excuse for a job, can I? He's home watching Tina and getting up to feed her every couple of hours even so. Come on then, this shouldn't take too long if you're helping."
I'm about to step into the bedroom when Quinn interjects, "wait, how the hell did you get in?"
"Got a key, haven't I?" Mairi grins despite my frantic goldfish impressions in the background. "So are you going to help or what?"
Quinn looks surprised for a few moments until he puts two and two together and turns to me. "Rob, a word in the kitchen if you please," he says way too calmly for my liking.
He doesn't even wait for a response. Just takes hold of my shirt sleeve and drags me off down the hallway.
"What the hell were you thinking giving her a key and what the hell is that crib doing in our bedroom?" He thunders as soon as the kitchen door slams behind us.
"Shhhh, be quiet, she'll hear you!" I hiss in response.
Quinn's entire body tenses. "So fucking what?" He yells. "I want an explanation!"
"I'm going to watch Tina for her," I shrug.
"Since when?" He shouts. "Christ, I thought we moved out to get away from dirty nappies and crying babies."
"I thought we moved out because the flat was a bit crowded with newly-weds and a baby plus two queers, but maybe I imagined that bit," I retort.
"Whatever," he says a little bit more calmly but still high in the decibel range. "That doesn't explain why you've volunteered us for nannies."
"She's got to go back to work Quinn, at the very least part-time," I explain. "They can't afford her not working, what with what Nicky is earning and... they were talking about going back to Galway to stay with her parents."
"So this is the grand master plan to keep Nicky in London? Why can't she get a proper childminder or put her in the hospital creche?" He asks much more reasonably now.
"Because they haven't got any fucking money to pay for it and besides, she'd rather go and live with her parents than have a stranger watching Tina. I mean, anything could happen. You hear about it all the time, about childminders neglecting kids or molesting them or..."
"Fine, so you volunteered," Quinn mutters. "Right. Did you consider me at all in that little arrangement?"
"Come on, half the time you won't even be in while the baby's around and even when you are, nobody's asking you to help-"
"Too right you aren't!" He interrupts. "So what are you going to do? Quit your posh little gig in academia, the qualifications for which I financed?"
"Fuck you Quinn!" I shout enraged. "I'm paying you back every damn penny I borrowed."
"Not if you envision spending the next couple of years as an unpaid housewife, you aren't!" He shouts back.
"We've got it all worked out," I reply coldly. "I'll be just fine working and watching Tina. Now if you don't mind, I think I'll go and help Mairi finish setting up the crib and then I need to get some sleep."
"Hang on, we haven't finished discussing this yet," Quinn shouts.
"Oh yes we have," I reply walking out the door without turning around.
When I get to our bedroom Mairi is frantically trying to screw the crib together and not looking at me.
"Sorry about that," I mumble.
She doesn't say anything, just nods her head. It seems to me that her shoulders are shaking.
"Mairi please," I say totally out of my depth. Never know what to do around crying girls.
"You don't have to... there's always Galway Rob," she says with her voice much rougher than I've ever heard it before. "I wouldn't want to impose."
"You're not imposing Mairi," I sigh. "I already told you I want to watch her;, she's my goddaughter and this might be the only chance I get to..." my own throat is suddenly tightening.
"Quinn didn't seem too keen on-"
"Fuck him," I interrupt her. "He'll come around. He'll probably go and sulk and sleep on the sofa tonight, but he'll come around."
Her breath hitches. "What if he doesn't?"
"He will," I say and I'm certain I'm right. "He's mad because I didn't ask him, but he wouldn't... he's a good man Mairi."
She turns to me, her eyes red from crying, and wails, "I don't want to leave my baby."
It's gone half past two in the morning before Mairi rather tearfully bids me goodnight. I pause just long enough to lock up after her and then stumble off to bed, barely taking the time to shrug off my clothes before switching off the light. There's enough illumination from the streetlights outside that I can see the mobile spinning above the crib in the corner. I smile; I'm rather looking forward to minding Tina.
I am almost drifting off when the door opens and Quinn appears outlined by light. "Can I come in?" He asks.
"It's your bedroom too," I mumble already half-asleep.
"I'm sorry," he apologizes. "I shouldn't have said what I said, but you should have asked. It's my house too."
I turn my head to avoid the glare of the hallway light. "It's not me you should be apologizing to," I reply. "I didn't think you'd mind."
He grapples with the light switch for a moment and then the room is plunged into darkness. I can hear him moving about the room though, picking up my clothes from the floor and placing them on the chair by the door before taking off his own. Then his weight settles on the other side of the bed. There's something deeply reassuring about the sudden dip in the mattress but I resist the urge to roll over to the middle and press my body against his—I'm still angry, or should be at any rate.
I'm just closing my eyes again when he rolls over and spoons up against me, his hand stroking across my hip. It's an innocent enough touch—could almost be accidental—but I've been with Quinn long enough to know every movement, long enough to read him like a book. I don't say anything, just pretend I'm already asleep, which is just as bad I suppose because he can always tell whether I'm awake or not.
His hand drifts across my hip and down to my thigh a few times, still hesitant. No matter how hard I try not to react, I edge ever so slightly further onto my back, pressing a smidgen closer to him. Then his hand brushes across my balls and his lips are pressed to my neck and I guess that's that for pretending to be asleep.
"Forgive me?" He murmurs. "Don't want to go to sleep angry."
"Neither do I," I whisper. "Not really in the mood for fucking either."
"Don't need to fuck," he says, "just..."
His hands are stroking my thighs and his lips are leaving a damp trail down my back, nipping and kissing and lavishing attention. His hand exerts slight pressure to the small of my back until I'm lying there almost on my belly and his tongue traces my spine and down further until... so much for my self-control; I'm hard. I hardly notice that my legs are spreading of their own accord, hardly notice that his hands are kneading my arse while his tongue travels all the way down to my balls.
He lingers on my balls for moments and then gets straight down to business, starts tonguing my arse for all he's worth. I know I'm moaning because it's good and he doesn't do that nearly often enough for my liking and my hips have started humping the mattress, trying to build up friction, and–I should be stopping him, shouldn't I?
"Quinn, I meant it, I don't want to fuck," I mumble slightly out of breath from all the excitement.
He pauses, nips my thigh and replies, "I'm not asking you to, just thought I'd... I was being a prat earlier, alright?"
Now I'm angry again. "So you thought you'd eat my arse by way of apology? Are you planning on going down on Mairi to say you're sorry too?"
He squeaks a little and rolls over onto his back. "I can't believe you... that's disgusting!"
"Oh grow up, it's not that bad," I laugh. "I've been known to-"
"I don't want to know," he interrupts.
"Fine," I say turning over myself. "Wasn't really the point anyway. I thought we'd decided years ago that shagging doesn't actually solve any problems. In fact, if I recall correctly, it was you what pointed it out."
"I wasn't aware that there was a problem," he says in his utterly reasonable tone of voice.
"So the fact that you were yelling the roof down because I'd decided to babysit my goddaughter isn't a problem?" I ask quite heatedly.
Quinn's getting angry himself now. "I've nothing against watching her on occasion so long as you deal with the diapers, but, and correct me if I'm wrong here, that thing in the corner," he waves in the general direction of the crib, "indicates something slightly more frequent."
"So what do you care? You won't even be here half the time," I sigh. "You have a problem with me watching her while you're on night shifts?"
"What about when I'm home at night?" He asks petulantly.
"She's an infant! She'll be asleep most of that time," I groan. "For fuck's sake Quinn, get a grip."
"She'll be asleep except when she needs to be fed or have her diaper changed or... you realize you can pretty much kiss our sex life good-bye with a baby in the house, don't you?" He gripes. "Mind you, 's not as if I'd notice, what with you not being in the mood and all."
Well, that just takes the biscuit, doesn't it? I say I'm not in the mood once—once!—and he's bemoaning the loss of his sex life. What the hell am I around here anyway? His fucktoy? Come to think of it, that isn't a half-bad idea really. Quinn wants to get fucked, who the hell am I to deny him the pleasure? He's got his box of toys after all—rather, a drawer of toys now, we got rid of the box when we bought the bedroom set... oh god, we bought furniture together. The wily bastard somehow managed to slip that past me without my noticing...
I have to mentally snap myself back from panic to anger and I sit up abruptly to swing my legs over the side of the bed.
He actually has the audacity to ask, "where are you going?"
I pause by the dresser just long enough to take one of his more preposterous dildos from the top drawer and throw it carelessly in the general direction of the bed. "You want to get fucked Quinn? Go fuck yourself then, I'm going to kip on the sofa," I grind out before I can lose my temper completely and then I'm out the door.
*****
I'm lying in bed about to drift off with Tina peacefully sleeping on my chest, when Quinn pokes his head in the door still wearing his uniform. "Hey, how's it going?" He asks.
"Better now," I reply.
He quietly walks into the room and sits on the edge of the bed about level with my hips. "Didn't take the separation too well, did she?"
"Not half as bad as Mairi," I murmur. "I've never seen... for a while there I didn't think she was going to go through with it. She was hysterical."
"And Tina was fine?" He asks.
"A little cranky to start with but it didn't last too long," I shrug or try to shrug–I'm trying not to disturb the baby on my chest too much. "I fed her and she went to sleep soon after that. Should be up again in a bit for another feeding and then she'll probably sleep through until five or six. Mairi's going to be by after her shift ends to collect her."
"Alright, well, looks like you have everything under control here then," Quinn says sounding strangely disappointed. I suppose he half-expected to come home and find me in over my head, what with being an only child and having had close to zero practical experience with infants—just goes to show, doesn't it? I'm not half-bad at this.
He gets up off the bed while I'm still busy contemplating my unexpected success as a childminder and says, "I'll just get a drink before coming to bed, won't be a moment."
He's almost at the door when I remember the really important part I was supposed to tell him. "Quinn," I hiss, "whatever you do, don't touch the screw-top bottles in the fridge, that's Tina's milk."
"Not that I was going to, but that's just formula, perfectly fine for human consumption," he grins.
I think better of it than to correct him. I did warn him, if he still chooses to nick the baby's milk then... in the event, he catches on faster than I expected at any rate because of a little oversight on my part, which means that a few seconds later he's stood in the doorway holding up the breast-pump I accidentally left lying in the dish rack between thumb and forefinger like you would a piece of evidence.
"Care to explain that?" He grinds out.
"Well, Mairi was pumping before she left," I explain, "you know, breast milk being better for babies an' all. You being a nurse, I thought you'd be the first to-"
"So you're telling me you had a half-naked woman sitting in the kitchen?" Quinn interrupts.
I roll my eyes. "You're exaggerating a bit. She just popped the one tit out of her shirt and then after a while the other. Surely that doesn't qualify as half-naked? Anyway, 's not as if you can actually see them with that pump attached..."
"And that's supposed to be better?" He explodes sotto voce so as not to wake the baby. "The fact that you were watching her... with the swollen... and the..."
"Quinn?" I halt his diatribe. "Stop being a prat, would you? There was nothing sexual about it and besides, news flash here, I'm queer, remember?"
"That never stopped you chasing skirts and bedding chits until a few years ago though, did it?" He spits out as red blotches appear on his cheeks.
I really don't have the patience for this, not tonight–I was perfectly happy watching Tina sleep and feeling her breath against my chest intermingled with soft baby snores–so I just change the subject, hoping he'll let it slide. "Quinn stop being an idiot and switch off the light," I say softly. "We might even get some sleep before she needs to be fed again."
"Yeah, alright," he agrees a little too readily for my liking. "Don't you want to put her in her crib first though?"
I shake my head. "No, we're good here. Thank you."
He shrugs but doesn't say anything else, just switches off the lights and starts undressing in the dark. Then he's getting into bed next to me and looks up expectantly. "Well?"
"Well what?" I mumble.
"Well, put her in her crib so I can say good night to you properly," he sighs.
"You can say goodnight to me now," I chuckle.
He exhales dramatically. "I want to kiss you, you idiot."
I turn my head to offer him my lips. "Nothing stopping you from kissing me," I smile. "She's fast asleep; won't notice a thing."
Even in the dark I can see his expression change. "Damn you Rob, put the baby in the bloody crib and stop messing about," he groans. "She's occupying my space."
"Don't want to," I mumble. "I'm comfortable and she's had a traumatic day. I don't want her to wake up all by herself in a strange crib."
"I've had a long and traumatic day too," he whines petulantly, "and I want to finish it off by spending some quality time with my lover, blowjobs optional."
I run my hand softly across Tina's back and she moves a little, seems to snuggle in closer between my pecs. "I'm not in the mood Quinn, alright?" I whisper.
He doesn't say a word, just rolls on over to his side facing away from me. I loosely wrap my arms around the bundle of little human on my chest, taking infinite care not to wake her, and close my eyes. I've got another hour or so before I need to heat up the milk and feed and change her. Might as well get a little sleep while I can.
*****
I'm about to give up marking papers for the day and seriously consider options for dinner when the front door closes and Quinn walks past the open hallway door en route to the bedroom. That probably means it's really time to stop working. A minute later water starts running in the bathroom and I wander off into the kitchen to consider the options for tea. By the time Quinn turns up in the doorway, freshly showered and shaven, I'm putting the finishing touches on the casserole.
"Tea'll be ready in twenty minutes," I say.
Then I catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye and promptly forget how to breathe let alone speak. I spin around to have a good look and he's... Christ, he's still the sexiest bloke I've ever laid eyes on and I think that casserole will be in trouble before too long because I'll be taking him over the kitchen table in about thirty seconds.
"Like what you see?" He smirks.
"You know I do," I reply—is that my voice? It's gone all hoarse of a sudden.
I step up to him, run my hands down his chest—it really should be illegal for Quinn to wear skin-tight crushed velvet like that because it sends my system into overload—and sigh, "the color matches your eyes..."
And that's pretty much where the brain stops working indefinitely in favor of other body parts and I've got one arm wrapped tightly around his waist, another cradling his head, and my tongue in his mouth. I wouldn't be at all surprised if I started humping his leg right about... here we go. It's all going sideways somehow.
He's kissing me back just right for a few long minutes and I surreptitiously start moving us back towards the kitchen table, just in case, and then he draws back and grins at me:, "how about tea first, I'm absolutely starving and then I'll take you dancing."
"Oh, sure, tea first," I reply trying hard to mask the disappointment. "Can't go dancing though... babysitting duties and whatnot."
"Tonight?" He asks. "It's Saturday!"
I laugh. "You of all people should know that nurses get to work on Saturday nights too."
"Yeah, but Nicky-" he starts.
"Nicky's taken on some part-time bar work on the weekends," I interrupt before he can launch into a full-scale rant.
"Fine, so you're babysitting. Perfect," he mutters.
I bite my lip. "I'm sorry."
"Not half as sorry as I am, but I doubt you'd notice," he snaps back petulantly, "too busy changing diapers and heating up milk, I'll warrant."
"Quinn, please don't turn this into an argument," I sigh. "I really don't want to argue."
"Fine, neither do I. I do, however, want to go dancing. Don't wait up on my account," he says already half-way to the door.
"What about tea?" I call after him.
He pauses for a second, hand on the door handle, and shouts, "why don't you feed it to the goddamn baby?"
Then the door slams and a few minutes later the front door follows suit and I'm sat in the kitchen thinking thank Christ we ended up buying the big freezer—oh fuckityfuckfuckfuck, we bought appliances together too.
It's well past Tina's 2 a.m. feeding when I am woken by the front door shutting silently. I sit up in bed expecting him to come in, but he walks straight past the bedroom door and then the shower starts running.
The next time I wake up is when he gets into bed next to me. "Hey," I mumble. "Had fun?"
"Yeah, wasn't bad at all," he replies gruffly. "Ran into Timothy and Tony and a few other friends. Baby doing alright?"
"Yeah, she's not as fussy as she used to be," I say while rolling over to spoon up against him. "I think she's getting used to being here, might even sleep through 'til morning."
He doesn't say anything, so I experimentally run my hand down his back and over his hips. He leans back further towards me, which I guess means he's not cross anymore. My hand moves to his groin of its own accord really and I suddenly realize I'm half-hard already. Well, it's been a while, longer than I'd usually go without.
I start stroking him tentatively, increasing the pressure slightly when he doesn't respond immediately, until his hand settles on my wrist and stops me.
"I'm good Rob," he whispers, "and tired."
"You don't..." I let that one hang in the air for a moment.
He sighs. "Not really, no. If it's all the same to you I'd rather just go to sleep. It's going to be a long day tomorrow."
I move my hand away hurriedly and move back over to my side of the bed. It seems like only seconds until Quinn's breathing evens out and he is fast asleep while I am wide awake. It really shouldn't bother me all that much, I mean, I've said that frequently enough, right? But Quinn...
Quinn's never turned down sex before. He won't initiate it if he's tired or grumpy or just feeling off, but he's never ever said no before when I've expressed an interest. Mind you, he's not gone out dancing half the night away on his own since... I catch myself before I can think it, but the memory comes unbidden to my mind at any rate. Something Timothy said, years ago now, when we split up for those horrible few weeks after the Maggie-business, something about Quinn's patterns when he's...
No, I can't allow myself to think that. He wouldn't... he couldn't... it's not an option. He just went out dancing the night away and probably drank too much and that's that. Nothing to worry about.
*****
Another Friday night, another night of heating milk and changing diapers and Quinn is... Christ, I have no clue where he is; Soho I'd expect. Not that he actually asked me to come along this time or anything. Well, it would have been difficult, what with him not having said more than five words to me since last week—we might as well be living apart with the amount of time we spend in the same room these days.
Tina's been kind of fussy tonight too, so when I finally get her to settle down, I lay down on the sofa with her on my chest because she seems to like that; probably something to do with feeling another heartbeat or something... and despite the fact that I am lying there with an infant on my chest while my lover is out god only knows where, I can't say that I'm unhappy about it. I'm rather content having someone to take care of, someone who needs me.
I've got the volume on the telly turned all the way down, listening instead to Tina's tiny little snores, when the front door opens rather noisily and a voice shouts, "anybody home?"
I almost fall off the sofa in surprise. Then I'm up, baby cradled against my chest, and heading out into the hallway.
"Timothy! Jesus suffering fuck, you..." I hiss.
He waves me into silence. "I know, I know, I should have rung, but what with it being dark and me trying to keep sleeping beauty here upright, I really wasn't going to go searching for the door bell when his keys were hanging off of his wallet chain... I'll just drop him down on the bed, shall I?"
I nod, too taken aback to say anything, and Timothy walks past me, one arm around Quinn's waist and one of Quinn's arms draped over his shoulder, while Quinn's head is lolling somewhat and his feet are definitely dragging along the floor. It's going to be a rough morning all around I think. I sigh and step back into the sitting room.
There's some banging and cursing from the general direction of the bedroom for a few minutes and then Timothy appears in the doorway and I notice the leather and the... ah shit! might be time to start apologizing profusely on Quinn's behalf. "I'm sorry if he ruined your... well, thank you for bringing him home at any rate," I sputter.
Timothy purses his lips and nods slowly. "Rob, shut up and put the baby down."
"I can't. She was fussing all night and she needs holding and..."
"Put the fucking baby down and come into the kitchen!" Timothy orders in the sort of tone of voice I probably shouldn't disobey; at least I've a feeling that if I wish to keep my testicles I'd better not disobey it.
"Alright, alright," I mutter. "Just a second."
I spread the baby blanket down on the floor with one hand while Tina is still sleeping peacefully cradled in my other arm and lay her down on it. Once I'm sure she's settled and warm enough, I turn to follow Timothy who's already stalking—there's no other word for that walk—into the kitchen ahead of me. I'm feeling more than a little apprehensive by now.
"Look," I say, "I said I was sorry he ruined your night, but-"
"Sit," Timothy interrupts.
To my eternal shame my body does as he says, even while my mind is still protesting that I shouldn't really let him order me around like that. "I-"
"You'll sit there and be quiet and listen to what I have to say, because there's no way in hell I'll be dragging 'im all the way back to Hampstead again next weekend, clear?"
I nod. "Crystal."
"Good. Since that's settled, here's a bit of advice: sit down and talk. And I don't just mean 'what are we having for dinner, luv,' I mean sit down and talk about that baby and what it means and what happens once the baby's gone again," Timothy says.
I wince. "Look, I know he isn't happy about her being here, but it's only temporary. Once she's gone everything will be back to normal-"
"If you last that long," Timothy interjects gloomily. "And I wouldn't put my money on it. Right now I give you a week, two on the outside."
"But she's just a baby!" I exclaim.
His eyes are practically nailing me to the wall behind at this point. "You really don't get it, do you?" He sighs. "It ain't the baby he's worried about."
"Pardon?"
He rolls his eyes. "Use your brain for Pete's sake! Here you are, spending every available second of your time with the one thing he can never ever give you..."
"Oh shit," I mutter.
"Quite," he agrees coldly.
"He thinks I'm going to leave him because..."
He shrugs. "It's been known to happen. Blokes going off and getting married because they want to do the family thing and then just sneaking out for the odd encounter in the park or... well, you get the picture."
"But I wouldn't... I mean, yeah, I love having a baby here, but I wouldn't... not for that," I stutter.
"Then you'd better tell him as much," Timothy shrugs.
I nod. "Anything else?"
"Yeah, he's been fucking Tony," Timothy says.
It takes me a minute to process that. I reckon I'm either going to lose it completely or else I'm going to knock Timothy arse over tit, no telling which. Either which way the immediate future is looking everything but rosy.
"Get out!" I say deceptively calmly.
"I take it that that wasn't part of your arrangement then, was it?" He smirks. "Well, if you feel like getting your own back... my night was cut short just a tad by having to cart sleeping beauty on home..."
It takes all my will power to lock every muscle in place. "Get the hell out of our house, Timothy!"
"Fine, fine, I'm going. Your loss anyway," he shrugs and walks out of the room.
I don't dare move until I hear the front door closing and even then I don't dare get up. I just stay there staring holes into the refrigerator until Tina's mewling from the other room jolts me out of my misery.
I stumble into the sitting room and pick her up. She immediately settles into my arms and is asleep again minutes later. I lie down on the sofa, Tina on my chest, and close my eyes. Everything else can wait until morning.
Mairi arrives punctually at 7:45 in the morning to pick up Tina and I take just long enough to throw on some decent shoes before heading out of the house, door slamming behind me, for a run on the heath in the absence of any handy punching bags. Well, it's either that or doing some serious damage to the soft furnishings and I paid for half of those. Shit. I paid for half of those.
By the time I return forty-five minutes later, pulse pounding, sides aching, and out of breath, I am marginally less likely to do something I'll regret, but only marginally. I pause in the hallway to catch my breath some and lean against the cool wall to calm myself, but if anything my heart starts beating faster and there's only one thing I can think to do. Something I need to do.
I barge into the bedroom where Quinn is still spread out on top of the duvet in last night's clothes and draw back the curtains with a deceptively cheerful shout of, "time to get up Quinn."
He opens his eyes, tries to focus on me for a second, and immediately starts whitening. Moments later he's off the bed and making a wild dash for the bathroom. I can hear him retch while I shrug off my sweat-drenched shirt, can hear the tap starting to run while I unbutton my pants, can hear him rinsing out his mouth while I'm coaxing my dick into full hardness. There's something I need to tell him and I'm not quite sure I can do it with words.
He appears in the doorway looking slightly less green and I'm right there with him, pushing him up against the bedroom wall. I'm thrusting my tongue into his mouth with its sickly sweet taste of bile and fermented alcohol, which doesn't repel me, quite the opposite; makes me kiss him deeper and harder to see whether I can detect any trace of... and I'm not letting myself think about it. That way lies madness.
My hands are already busy tearing his clothes from his body. He's smelling of stale smoke and spilt whiskey and just underneath it all a touch of... I pull my mind back from that thought, focus instead on unbuttoning his fly with one hand while thrusting another hand down the back of his jeans. He moans into my mouth. "Rob... I..."
"Don't say anything," I hiss, "don't say anything, just..."
He nods mutely, his hands starting to push down his jeans while his lips are glued back to mine, and then I'm pushing him towards the bed, knocking over the clothes drying rack in the process. He stumbles backwards, jeans around his ankles, falling on the mattress and pulling me along with him.
I pause just long enough to pull off his trousers completely and then his legs are on my shoulders and... and that's the only way we've ever managed to communicate without it dissolving into bickering and misunderstandings somehow.
A mouthful of spit on my hand and my dick and that's going to have to do for the moment, no patience for messing about:; if I stopped now I might start to think about things again and thinking always gets me in trouble sooner or later. Instead I line my dick up just so and push. Quinn winces some, but doesn't pull away as I sink into him, just pulls his thighs back farther.
I start off slow to give him time to adjust, but he's already egging me on, clawing at my back and biting my lips. He's trying to pull me deeper and closer, trying to fuse our bodies together, moaning and begging and... I should have done this weeks ago. Should have put the frigging baby down in her crib and paid attention. Should have fucked him to kingdom come and beyond.
Almost certain he's drawing blood on my back, I pull his arms down and lock my hands around his wrists never losing my rhythm. I pin them behind his head, thrusting steadily, and he totally loses it, starts thrashing about the bed like a man possessed—or as much as he can thrash considering the position he's in—and then his come hits me somewhere under my chin and everything is well again. Two more thrusts and I'm home and shaking with release. His legs drop off my shoulders down to the bed and I collapse on his chest and decide to cling for a while.
There's things I should say though while I'm still mostly stupid from the waist on up. "Not going to leave you for a girl," I mumble into his chest. "Don't want kids that badly."
"I never..." he stutters.
"Yeah you did," I sigh. "And it's not even a possibility so can the jealousy, alright? I'm not going to run away to make babies with some random skirt and Tina will grow up soon enough as it is... she's no threat to you."
His arms tighten around my chest.
I take a deep breath and continue, "I will leave you if you ever so much as look at Tony again."
"I didn't..."
I quirk an eyebrow but I doubt he'd able to see it with the angle my face is at. "Timothy brought you home last night. He was miffed to say the least and a tad on the horny side, seeing as you interrupted whatever-"
His body tenses underneath mine. "What did he say?"
Now is probably not the right time to economize with the truth since we've only just fucked our way back to being on talking terms. I raise my head to look him in the eye and say, "tThat you were scared shitless of my leaving you to make babies and that you were fucking Tony. Oh, and that he'd be more than happy to assist me in... getting my own back."
He pales noticeably. "Did you..."
"I threw him out," I shrug.
"I... thank you," he mumbles, relief written all over his face.
"Don't take this as... Quinn, I threw him out because I wasn't interested, not out of any sense of... loyalty," I sigh. "If it'd have been Tony bringing you home..."
"Please don't," he says. "I don't want to hear it."
"And I don't want you to... that was completely outside the arrangement Quinn, and you know it. It's either both of us or... and I don't think I can play with Tony again after this." I'm struggling for words. "I wouldn't be able to... not without imagining-"
"It won't happen again," he interrupts. "I promise."
"That's good,"I murmur with my eyes firmly closed and my face pressed to his neck. Everything else can wait until later.
'Course I do know that frantic and desperate fucking doesn't actually solve anything, give me some credit here. I've been with Quinn long enough now to know that he's just pig-headed enough not to let sleeping dogs lie as it were, and fucking isn't going to solve any of that, never did. So as soon as I've got him out of my hair for a day I set plan B into motion and the cavalry arrives on the commuter express from Southend on Friday afternoon just a couple of hours before Quinn is due home and Mairi's due to drop off the baby.
"Hiya mum," I say taking her overnight bag as she meets me at the end of the platform. "Thanks for coming."
She gives me the once-over and purses her lips just so. "You're looking a bit thin Rob, is that—lover? I'm never quite sure what to call him seeing as the two of you are practically joined at the hip—is he feeding you alright?"
"I can cook, you know," I grumble half-heartedly.
"Yeah, beans on toast or a quick trip down the chippies I'll warrant," Mum says rather flippantly. "You need to eat your greens Rob."
Ahhhh. Thirty-two years old and my mother can still make me feel like a school boy! "Yes mum. Quinn taught me the cooking, I'm not half-bad at it these days," I mumble.
"A man who can cook! Now there's a rare breed," mum sighs. "Well, if we can't fix it all with me there to whap both of you upside the head when needed, I think we might be able to ship 'im off to your Uncle Ernie's... I've always had my suspicions about Ernie. Not that I ever would have said anything, we were raised better than that in my day–taught not to see what wasn't decent to see–but I've always wondered, more so since you and Quinn-"
"Yes mum, the car's just over there," I interrupt the continuous flow of words.
"You have a car? When did you buy a car?" She asks baffled.
"Same time we bought the house," I shrug. "We got a bargain, thanks to what Mrs. Thatcher's been doing to the country, and we used the left-over money to buy a car. It's not new or anything, but it's a car. Over there."
"And that's another thing, you bought a house together and apparently a car and you're practically..." she blushes.
"Married, yeah, except on paper," I say gloomily unlocking the passenger door. "You knew that though, you knew from the moment I brought him home that he was for keeps."
She turns around and does that thing I hate, the reaching up to take my face in her hands and pinching my cheeks. "And I'm glad you've found someone Rob, I really am, but, well, what do I call him?"
"My heart?" I whisper.
She smiles at that and lets go of my face. "Let's go and win your heart back then."
On the drive from Liverpool Street Station to Hampstead she carries on about relatives I haven't seen in ten years or more and could care less about in a constant stream of gossip while I guiltily remember that I have been neglecting her as of late. What with buying the house and minding the baby I haven't been to see her in much longer than I should, not since Quinn and I went to Southend for Christmas. I'll have to invite her up to London more often now that we have the space.
We get to the house and she does the requisite ooh-ing and ah-ing over every room and the furniture we picked and the garden. I think she quite likes the garden even though it's small and overgrown with weeds. When we get back inside she lingers by the kitchen door and muses, "I'll have to come back and visit you when the weather is better. I can start you a little vegetable patch in there."
"I'd like that," I reply.
She turns to look at me properly and says, "well, why don't you tell me what happened? The whole story this time."
"Mum..."
"Rob, I'm not stupid," she snips. "You call me up here to babysit Nicky's child for you so you and Quinn can go out and talk about some issues you don't care to specify and you look like you haven't been eating or sleeping properly and... what happened son?"
I sit down by the kitchen table and start playing with the salt and pepper shakers so I don't have to meet her eyes. "It was stupid, alright? He was being a prat and I thought it was because he was jealous of the baby and I didn't realize it was because he was afraid I would... we fought like cats and dogs for a while and then we stopped fighting and that just made things worse and... we just have to spend some time together, just the two of us and-"
"Would you?" She interrupts.
"Would I what?"
"Would you leave him to have children? Because if there's the slightest chance that you would, it would be kinder to do so now, not five years from now," she explains.
"I'm queer mum," I snap much harsher than I intended to.
She shrugs. "You've have girlfriends before."
"None that were..." I am saved from completing that sentence—I wouldn't know how to at any rate—by the front door opening.
"Rob, are you home?" Quinn hollers.
"In the kitchen," I shout back.
"You wouldn't believe the kind of day I've had," he gripes from the hallway. "Seems half of London's kids under five have been stricken with... Nora! Hello! What brings you down to London?"
Quinn, nice to see you," mum smiles offering her cheek for him to kiss. "I'm the designated grandmother for the weekend."
"Yer what?" Quinn asks bewildered.
"She's here to mind the baby so's we can go out for a night or two on the town," I explain. "Go on, kiss my mother Quinn."
"Think I'd rather kiss you," he grins shrugging off his coat, and then he's pushing me back against the kitchen wall, his hands in my hair, kissing me so hard I think I might just suffocate.
A few hours later, with Tina being cooed over by mum, Quinn and I are in Soho making our way through the front door of a club. I let him choose the club too, which just goes to show how badly I want everything back to normal 'cause his taste in music is just slightly better than his taste in films. For the sake of domestic peace I'm willing to brave Cyndi Lauper and Patsy Kensit and Kim Wilde though.
'Course I must be the only man left standing in London with decent taste in music if that club is anything to go by, because it's packed. In fact, packed might not be an adequate word to describe the sheer volume of swaying bodies in there. We squeeze our way through to the bar and Quinn tries to get the bartender's attention. I spot Timothy a few paces over and growl at him in passing while he nods curtly. Guess he's not going to try it on again.
Then Quinn shoves a bottle of Woodpecker's in my hand and pulls me through to the back where there might be some space on the dancefloor, but only just. Never mind the nauseating strains of girly-pop, slow-dancing it'll be for lack of space, which, come to think of it, suits me just fine. It doesn't take Quinn's hand down the back of my trousers to convince me of that though I'm certainly not going to complain about it.
So Quinn's feeling me up and I'm grinning inanely and he's starting to nibble on my ear and all is good with the world for about five seconds, give or take. Then a hand lands on my shoulder and an all-too-familiar voice says, "hiya Rob, haven't seen you in weeks."
Three things happen at once. Quinn's grip around my waist tightens, I swing around by 180 degrees, and my balled fist lands somewhere on Tony's chest.
"Get out!"I hiss through clenched teeth.
"What the..." he starts rubbing his shoulder and doing his best to look wounded.
"Get out of my sight!" I shout properly this time, while Quinn's other arm locks around my chest.
Then Timothy appears out of nowhere and steps up between Tony and myself. "It's alright, he was just leaving," he says calmly. "Weren't you Tony?"
"No I wasn't," Tony replies. "Would somebody please explain to me what's going on?"
Quinn's doing a rather thorough job of holding me back by now and it's still touch and go, even though he's the bigger of the two of us by far, and Timothy's kind of occupied trying to keep himself between me and Tony who's just stupid enough to try and get around Timothy's bulk.
"You fucked my man!" I shout. "Let the fuck go of me Quinn, I'm going to smash his face in."
"Over my dead body," Quinn pants. "Do you really want to get nicked because of him?"
"I didn't fuck him, he fucked me," Tony yells, which really isn't helping his case any.
"Same fucking difference," I holler back, then turn my head to Quinn, "yes, you can get me out on remand in the morning."
"Fuck you! I'm not letting go," Quinn replies. "Timothy, get Tony out of here now. I'll only be able to hold him back so long; he's much stronger than he looks."
Timothy does an about turn, picks Tony up by the scruff of his neck—almost effortlessly, looks like—says, "time to go Tony," and then starts marching him out towards the exit.
Quinn's still holding on fast, won't let me go though I'm struggling and probably spitting venom. "Let me go, I'm going to kill the bastard!" I scream.
"No you're not," Quinn replies evenly. "You're going to let him leave and drop it right there or, so help me god, I'm going to leave with him."
"You wouldn't..."
"Want to test that theory, do you?" He asks. "I would; I will."
"You..."
"Rob, look at me," he says with one arm still firmly wrapped around my waist but using the other to turn my face. "We're going round the back now and you can fuck me raw to work off some of that excess energy if you like, but if you go all Sid on me again I'm out. Understood?"
"Yeah," I grind out. "Understood. Won't happen again."
"Good," he says with the trace of a smile on his face this time. He loosens his grip around my waist but doesn't let go of my arm. "Come on."
"No wait," I say. "Not like that."
Quinn raises an eyebrow questioningly.
"Not in front of everybody... later. At home. I promised you a night out, didn't I?"
He smiles properly this time. "So you did."
"Well, want to make me suffer through that racket some more?"
"Yeah, I'd like that," he replies. "It's not as bad as that. Could be worse. Could be Sam Fox..."
"What? The page three girl? That'd be the death of British music," I laugh, pulling him into the throng of swaying bodies.1
He gets up behind me, his body flush to mine, one arm around my waist, and starts to move. Suddenly Patsy Kensit seems bearable. So's Madonna a few minutes later.
"Rob?"
"What?"
You think we could possibly get your mum to babysit a little bit more often? Say every other weekend or so?" He asks.
I pull him closer, lean my head back until it rests on his shoulder. "Yeah, I think she'd like that. She'd love being a nan."
Then he's got his hands in my hair and raises my head to brush his lips across my temple before whispering, "that's good. I don't think I much mind playing uncle with a nan around."
*****
© KJB 2002-2003.