If It Fornicates (A Market Garden Tale) Read online

  “Well, that one’s easy to guess. I hardly look like an investment adviser.”

  The driver nodded. “Thank you for helping him deal with the pressure. He doesn’t have many . . . friends or allies. It’s very difficult at the top.”

  Nick frowned. Odd thing to say, but if the driver was grateful for Nick looking after his boss in that way, that was a good reason for the offered ride. Anything beyond that was none of Nick’s business.

  He drank the coffee, which revived him, though the anticipation of getting back home was an even bigger jolt than the caffeine. He wanted to be gone. Normally, he’d have tried to get the john to book another appointment, but considering he hadn’t done a great job—competent, but not great—taking the money and leaving was the best thing he could do.

  He set the mug down. “Ready when you are.”

  It was weird, going back into the city in the same car he’d arrived in last night. The seat seemed abnormally spacious and quiet without Red Tie and his frustration.

  The driver left the privacy screen up. Hard to tell if that was to give Nick space to collect his thoughts, or if he just didn’t want to run the risk of further conversation with his employer’s prostitute.

  Either way, the drive was silent, and the silence very nearly lulled Nick to sleep. Good thing he’d given the driver the address beforehand. When the car slowed to a gentle stop in Angel, Nick snapped out of a half-dreaming state, wondering how the hell they’d gotten here already.

  He slipped out of the car and exchanged brief, strictly business pleasantries with the driver, and then waited for the man to depart before he started home. Not that the driver would be interested in where he lived, but it was a habit on the rare occasion when a client—or a client’s employee—drove him back to his own neighbourhood.

  While he walked, he sent a brief text to the powers-that-be at Market Garden, letting them know he’d made it home and had been paid properly. When he returned to work on Tuesday, he’d give the boss the required cut; Nick had been with the Garden long enough and earned them enough money that Frank was willing to let him slide on the whole “we get paid before you go home” rule.

  He keyed himself into his flat and went straight into the bathroom for another shower. He’d just taken one at Red Tie’s house, in a shower three times the size of his entire bathroom, but that had just been to wake himself up. He always had to take another when he got home. He didn’t take his work to bed with him, and he wanted every last molecule off his skin before he crashed for the next few hours. It wasn’t that his job disgusted him; he just wanted it as far removed from his private life and his home as it could be.

  Except now my private life is creeping into my work life.

  He exhaled and let his head fall forward as the hot water rushed over him. This was just a temporary thing. Part of settling into the closest thing he’d had to a relationship since well before he’d started stripping, never mind topping, for a living.

  Spencer was on his mind a lot these days. When he was trying to sleep. When he did chores around the house or was supposed to be studying for uni. When he was on his way to and from work. During the lulls when he was waiting for someone like Red Tie to come strolling in through Market Garden’s front door.

  So was it really that surprising to have Spencer on his mind while he was working?

  Probably not. But it did make his job more difficult, that was for sure. A mate of his with an office job had told Nick that when he’d first started dating his now-fiancée, he’d get so distracted he couldn’t get a thing done. He’d even admitted he’d sometimes locked himself in the stationery room and jerked off just so he could relieve the tension in order to focus on his work.

  Great. Because Nick could totally do that and still be able to work. He cursed under his breath and turned away from the water so the warmth could work its magic on his tired back and shoulders. One way or another, he needed to get it together. Clients didn’t cough up that much cash for a half-arsed beating and a reluctant fucking.

  And quitting?

  Not after one bad night.

  I think we need to acknowledge the fact that it’s unhealthy, the amount of stress on both of us right now, Spencer had said. I don’t want this to be the reason for that. It means we need to take care of ourselves. And each other. And if it comes down to it, make some difficult decisions.

  Even now, just hearing that in the back of his mind was enough to make Nick’s gut clench. Spencer was right, of course. All this stress was unhealthy. Sooner or later, something would have to give.

  He rolled his shoulders under the hot shower, wishing he had Spencer’s hands on him right then.

  Maybe all he needed was a holiday. He could afford it, both money- and time-wise. He still felt guilty for telling Spencer he’d gone to Spain a few weeks ago, back when he’d freaked out over the connection that had developed between them. A few days in Spain with a friend had seemed like a better explanation than what he’d actually done, which was throw himself into his job and put in more hours than ever at Market Garden, all in a feeble effort to convince himself he was absolutely not getting attached to one of his clients.

  Maybe he and Spencer needed to go on holiday together. They both certainly needed it, and they could use the time to really get to know each other. Nick could think about everything while Spencer was in the same room. Hell, the same bed.

  After his shower, Nick wrapped himself in a towel and went back into the bedroom, checked the phone, and smiled when he saw a text from Spencer.

  Thinking of you. A DVD, wine, food, my place this evening?

  For once, Nick didn’t hesitate.

  Sure, he texted back. I’ll bring whips and chains.

  He grinned when Spencer didn’t immediately respond. He could picture him, zoned out with anticipation, and he decided to let him stew in that. He lay down on the bed, plotting what he wanted to do to Spencer, the responses he wanted, the surrender. What it would feel like, and taste like, and sound like. He jerked himself off with those images in his head—but not just to be able to sleep, like he sometimes did. It was the alternative to jumping into a cab and showing up way too early and way too undignified.

  A few hours later, he grumbled and stumbled out of bed. Well-rested, yes, but in need of caffeine, food, and yes, another shower. If he ever lived in a place plagued by drought, he’d be fucked.

  As he slowly caffeinated and fed himself, coming out of the haze of sleepiness, his phone buzzed unobtrusively on top of his dresser.

  So help me, he thought as he reached for it, if they think I’m coming in tonight after I—

  Oh. Spencer.

  He couldn’t help smiling as he opened the message.

  Looking forward to it.

  At least Spencer wasn’t the type to send follow-up messages. Poke, poke. Hello? You there? Why aren’t you talking to me? Because that shit could go straight to hell. Spencer wasn’t clingy like that. Yet another one of his endearing qualities.

  Still smiling like an idiot, Nick texted back, Give me an hour or so. It was still a little early yet—just past three thirty in the afternoon—but . . . oh well. Spencer wouldn’t mind, and Nick wanted to see him sooner than later. Win for everyone.

  He finished his coffee, then got dressed and shaved. Though he loved the leather he wore for his clients, it was nice to dress down for once. Jeans, a faded Muse T-shirt, trainers. Spencer must feel the same way when he had a day off and didn’t have to bother with suits and all that bullshit. Even if the suits did look good on him. Like, really good.

  On his way out the door, he glanced at the wardrobe where he kept the bag he usually took with him. All the toys and fun torture implements. Just the thought of carrying it made him tired, though. Maybe Spencer would understand if, in spite of the playful text he’d sent earlier, Nick left the bag of tricks at home for an evening. He could always improvise or use the few things he’d left at Spencer’s place, a bit like leaving a toothbrush and a comb. Also
, Spencer did have a few toys of his own.

  An image flickered through his mind of the first night at Spencer’s place, when Nick had just been a prostitute and Spencer had just been his john. He’d ordered Spencer to fuck himself with one of his own dildos. Nick shivered at the memory. Good God, that had been hot. Maybe he’d tell Spencer to do it again.

  With that thought in mind and the bag of toys still in the wardrobe, Nick left for Spencer’s flat.

  “DVD” turned out to be Breaking Bad, which, for whatever reason, was hilariously funny. If anybody had told Nick four months ago he’d be sitting on a couch in front of the TV with a boyfriend who was a high-powered corporate lawyer and also an inspired (and inspiring) sub, he’d have strongly recommended laying off the drugs.

  And sitting beside said lawyer, watching the exploits of a meth dealer and every few minutes exchanging he didn’t really just do that, did he? glances, made Nick feel almost normal. As if they had a normal relationship, like other people had.

  And Nick hadn’t felt anything close to normal in a long time. Few of his friends and none of his family knew he was a prostitute, and when he was around them, he was always keenly aware of his secret. It reminded him a bit of the time before he’d come out, when every social function and family gathering had included a constant cadence of I’m gay, I’m gay, I’m gay repeating in the back of his mind. Not that he wanted them to know he was a prostitute, but just being around people who didn’t know made him hyperaware of the card he had tucked in his sleeve. Of that unspoken thing that made him different from everyone else in the room.

  With Spencer, the cards were all out on the table. Even some of the uncomfortable ones they’d discussed over dinner the other night. There were no secrets, at least none that Nick was aware of. Spencer knew Nick was a rentboy, and he was well aware of what that entailed, and yet he put his arm around Nick’s shoulders like he would have with any other boyfriend. He touched Nick in all those affectionate little ways Nick hadn’t realised he was missing: a finger playing with the edge of his T-shirt sleeve, the occasional random kiss on the cheek or the top of his head, his bare foot sliding back and forth along Nick’s.

  Even when he shifted to get comfortable after being still for too long, he never made an effort to put more space between them. Every time Spencer moved and didn’t let Nick go, a quiet voice whispered in Nick’s mind, And you’d better not let him go, either.

  “Another one?” Spencer asked when the credits rolled after the third or fourth episode.

  Nick rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “I might fall asleep if we do.”

  Spencer gently kneaded the back of Nick’s neck. “You all right tonight? You’ve been quiet.”

  “We were watching something.”

  “Mm-hmm. You know what I mean.”

  Nick closed his eyes and lowered his head, giving Spencer more access to his neck. “Last night was a little . . . rough.”

  “How so?” His fingers faltered. “Did something happen? Did—”

  “No, nothing bad.”

  “Okay.” Spencer resumed his smooth, gentle motions. “So, was it just tiring, or what?”

  Nick sighed, rubbing his eyes again. “I was distracted. Preoccupied. Not good for a Dom.”

  Spencer was quiet for a moment. “Something on your mind?”

  Nick supposed there was no point in lying, and he’d feel guilty if he did anyway. “Us.”

  “What about us?”

  “That’s just it,” Nick said. “It wasn’t anything specific. Just . . . us. Which made it hard to focus on him.”

  “I would imagine so.” Spencer’s hand lifted away from Nick’s neck. “But you’re okay? After last night?”

  “I’m okay, of course.” Nick rolled his stiff shoulders. “I just need to focus, that’s all.”

  “You need to de-stress.”

  Nick nodded, but didn’t answer.

  “Between us, your studies, and your job,” Spencer said quietly, “you’re running yourself into the ground.”

  Nick still said nothing. What could he say? He certainly couldn’t argue.

  “I worry about you,” Spencer went on. “I don’t want to see you carrying the weight of the world around on your shoulders like this. I mean, you just had a holiday recently, and you’re still—”

  “I didn’t.”

  “What?”

  Nick swallowed. “I didn’t have a holiday. The trip to Spain, it . . . it never happened.”

  Spencer was silent.

  Nick took a deep breath. “I told you that because I was freaking out. I kind of, I guess, just lost it for a while. We were getting so close, and I didn’t know what to make of it. So it was just a convenient excuse.”

  “I see.” Spencer’s tone offered nothing. Hurt? Angry? Concerned? Nothing.

  “I’m sorry I lied about it,” Nick said. “I don’t . . . that’s not something I usually do. I just panicked, and needed to buy myself some time to figure out what was going on.”

  “You don’t have to apologise,” Spencer said softly, and squeezed Nick’s hand. “What did you do during that time, though?”

  “I worked.” Nick turned his hand over under Spencer’s. “A lot. More than I have in a long time. Which is, I’m sure, part of why I’m so exhausted now.”

  “I have no doubt. And now I really think you need that holiday.”

  Nick said nothing.

  “I mean it, Nick. I don’t like seeing you this way. Promise me you’ll think about doing something, giving something up so you can be happy.”

  “I will,” Nick whispered. He stretched his neck, muscles even stiffer after this conversation.

  Good sub that he was, Spencer immediately picked up on it. “You want me to work on that shoulder?”

  Relieved to be inching back onto more comfortable ground with Spencer, Nick nodded. But then he grimaced as he pressed his fingers into his neck. “I shouldn’t be this sore. Something must be wrong with my technique. My muscles shouldn’t tighten up like that.”

  “They shouldn’t, but they obviously do. I can try to help.”

  Nick’s stubborn Damn it, I’m fine side tried to protest, but what the hell. Regardless of why he was tense and stiff, the fact was his boyfriend was offering a massage.

  He smiled at Spencer. “Okay.”

  “It’ll be best if you lie down.”

  Nick arched an eyebrow. “Bed?”

  Spencer swallowed. “That would be best. I’ll get some oil and towels.”

  “How far do you want me stripped?”

  “Want? All the way. Need . . . I’d start in the small of your back.”

  “For my shoulder?”

  “It’s all connected. Sometimes the tension’s not all where it hurts.”

  “As good an excuse to get your hands on my arse as I’ve ever heard,” Nick teased and headed to the bedroom. He stripped completely, largely for Spencer’s benefit, and lay flat on his belly, then supported himself on his elbows. That made a vertebra in his upper back pop, and he groaned.

  Spencer came in from the bathroom, two large towels in one hand, and a bottle of massage oil in the other. He paused briefly, eyes trailing over Nick, and Nick smiled, flattered that the view could stop Spencer dead in his tracks.

  “Okay.” Spencer shook himself and toed off his shoes before he climbed on the bed, too. “Lift up, please.” He slid one of the towels underneath Nick, and placed the other to the side, then opened the bottle and poured some oil into his palm. It smelled of herbs and almonds, an unusual combination, but oddly soothing. “It might hurt a bit,” Spencer said, “but if it hurts bad, let me know.”

  “You bet.” Nick placed his forehead on his folded arms. “I don’t like pain.”

  Spencer’s hands touched him in the middle of his back, the oil skin-warm. He shifted on the bed, and Nick realised Spencer was straddling him. He didn’t like the feeling of being trapped or immobilized, or really any kind of restraints, but Spencer wasn’t p
utting any weight on him, so Nick closed his eyes, slowly released his breath, and made himself relax. He trusted Spencer. If this got uncomfortable or he started to freak out because he thought he was being held down, Spencer would let him up without a second’s hesitation. Nick would be fine.

  Spencer’s hands slid from Nick’s shoulder down towards his arse. Nick tensed, but Spencer stopped before he actually reached the glutes, pressing both palms in left and right of the spine. Sliding them up, his fingers splayed along Nick’s sides, moving and squeezing and pressing upwards. The touch was soothing and tender, yet Nick felt the strength in Spencer’s hands and arms, and he groaned with pleasure when slowly, some of Spencer’s warmth transferred to him. It was just blood flow, but within a few minutes, he felt hot and flushed, and at the same time, calm and boneless.

  Once Nick’s body had relaxed a bit, Spencer moved up, sitting over Nick’s hips while he slid his hands higher.

  “I’ll look into your shoulders now.”

  “Okay.”

  Both hands moved left, framing Nick’s shoulder, and then Spencer pulled it back a little with one hand while he dug in with the other. Something inside rubbed together like dry bones.

  “There’s your knot. Well, knots.”

  “Don’t ask me to make cogent conversation.”

  Spencer chuckled. “Relax and think of England?”

  Nick laughed softly. “Whatever.”

  “Just keep breathing.”

  Through gritted teeth, Nick said, “You giving orders now?”

  “No.” Spencer pressed a little harder, sending an eye-watering bolt of red pain through Nick’s shoulder. “Just offering suggestions so you stay conscious.”

  “Not sure I want to at this point.” Eyes shut tight, Nick pushed out a breath through his parted lips. “Fuck . . .”

  “Quit fighting it.”

  Nick started to protest, the Dom rearing his head and wondering just who the fuck Spencer thought he was, ordering Nick around, but Spencer’s comment drew his attention to where hands met shoulder, and he realised he was fighting him. Pulling back when Spencer pushed, stiffening muscles Spencer was trying to release.