Men of London 03 - Suit Yourself (16 page)

Oliver lifted his lips from Leslie’s and
frowned. “Who the hell can that be? It’s eleven a.m., for God’s
sake.” They waited with indrawn breath and the doorbell rang
again.

“Well, whoever it is, they aren’t going
away,” Leslie murmured as he settled back down on his pillow, with
no intention that Oliver could see of getting up to answer the
door. Since it was his house after all, he wasn’t surprised when
Leslie said, “I s’pose you’d better go see who it is.” He snuggled
back under the covers and closed his eyes.

Oliver muttered as he got out of bed and
pulled on his sweatpants. “Bloody rude of them coming at this time
of the morning.”

There was a snort from under the covers and
Oliver leaned over and swatted Leslie’s arse hard. The squeal that
followed made him smile. He wandered out of the bedroom, down the
hallway to the front door. He yawned and scratched his belly.

This had better be
something damned important.

He definitely wasn’t expecting what he found
on his doorstep. Packaged in a slender five-foot-seven frame with
styled dark hair, twinkling dark brown eyes, a cheeky grin and
bearing a McDonald’s bag, Maxwell Lewis was not someone Oliver
thought to see.

“Hi Ollie, long time no see. I come bearing
gifts. Can I come in? I only just got in from the flight from
Mexico and oh my God, worst ever. I had some woman trying to grope
my balls all the way back. And let me tell you, spending thirteen
or so hours in the air with some crazy chick feeling you up, that
is
so
not cool. Can I come in? Did I ask
that already?”

The complete diarrhoea that flowed from his
friend and sometimes-bed-partner’s mouth, coupled with the hated
diminutive of his name had Oliver reeling. Maxwell beamed at him
and pushed him out of the way to come inside and make his way to
the kitchen.

“You’re looking good, Ollie. Love the whole
sweaty bare top, sweatpants thing you’ve got going on there. Very
Brad Pitt. Très sexy. So who is he?”

Maxwell planted the McDonald’s bag on the
kitchen top, and turned to give Oliver a sly wink. “Can I meet him?
Or is that taboo—one fuck-buddy meeting another one?”

Oliver finally found his voice and the
welcome gap in Maxwell’s verbiage to actually talk. “Max, wow. I
didn’t know you were in town.” He glanced anxiously down the
hallway wondering if Leslie could hear. “I have to say I wasn’t
expecting you.”

“Oh, you know me.” Maxwell waved a hand
airily. “I like to keep people on their toes, surprise them.” His
eyes narrowed. “And you, my friend, have the freshly screwed look,
plus there’s dried come all over your chest. Is he here? Can I say
hi to him?” He made a move toward the hallway and Oliver knew that
Maxwell would have no hesitation in marching into Oliver’s bedroom
and introducing himself. He barred Maxwell’s way.

“Hold on a minute, Max. Dial down the
Duracell bunny a notch. You’re making my head spin.”

Max grinned at him. Truth be told, Oliver was
really pleased to see him. He’d missed his quirky friend and
part-time lover. Maxwell was one of those people who took every day
in his stride, faced it head-on like a relentless juggernaut and
didn’t do commitments. Apparently, he kept a spreadsheet detailing
the name of each of his conquests, with their height, age, weight,
telephone number, orientation (top, bottom or side), fuck ranking
from 1-5 (5 being the best) and dick size. That way, he’d told
Oliver smugly, he could use his pivot table to narrow down whether
he’d a) seen the guy before and b) wanted to see him again. The
latter occasion was rare. Maxwell had never told Oliver what his
ranking was, but he kept coming back for more so he supposed he
must be a 4 or 5.

“I’m on an unexpected layover. I picked up
some guy in a bar in Mexico City. It turned out he was the
married-to-a-woman son of some bigwig who like, almost owns the
airline I fly for, if you can believe that, and he’s ‘in the
closet
.’” He sighed. “The powers-that-be
have put me on a four-day leave while they assure the guy I won’t
be putting the pictures I have of him fucking me onto the net, or
the video on YouTube. I am hoping I still have my job though. It’d
be a bummer to lose it because of some dickwad who can’t admit he
likes men.” Maxwell gave Oliver a ferocious grin. “I told them if
they get rid of me, those pictures and the video will definitely be
getting airtime. So I think they saw my reasoning.” He stroked his
neatly trimmed goatee with a wicked glint in his eyes, looking for
all the world to Oliver like an old-time villain in a
black-and-white film.

Oliver blinked. It was too early for the
likes of Maxwell. The man was a dynamo in bed and out. “Huh. Great
story. Well, yeah, I do have someone here, so now isn’t the best
time for a catch-up. Maybe we can meet at Fidalgo’s later…?”

“Oliver, is everything okay?” Leslie’s voice
echoed behind him and Oliver turned. Leslie stood there, eyes
sleepy, sheet wrapped around his waist. His hair was tousled, and
Oliver’s heart leapt at the sight. He looked so damn beautiful
standing there.

“Hi,” Maxwell bounded like a puppy over to
Leslie and held out a hand. “I’m Maxwell, occasional lover of this
guy and others, and full-time slut.” He grasped one of Leslie’s
hands and his boyfriend made a panicked grab at the sheet that
threatened to drop. “I just popped in to say hi, and wow, you are
really gorgeous. Are those eyes real or are they contacts?”

Maxwell leaned in to peer into Leslie’s eyes
in admiration. “I think they’re real. Oliver, what do you think?”
He turned back to Oliver with an expression of hope on his face.
“Is he, like, into threesomes? ’Cause I would so like to…”

Leslie’s eyes widened in sheer confusion and
Oliver jumped in to rescue him, cutting Maxwell’s words off with a
hand on his mouth.

“Maxwell, A, they are real, B, no, you can’t
have us both, and C, you really need to tone it down a bit. You’re
scaring my boyfriend.”

Now it was time for Maxwell’s eyes to bug
out. “Boyfriend?
He’s a stayer
? Oh my God,
Ollie, that’s awesome. You found someone. I love it. It’s about
time.” He reached over and hugged Leslie tightly, who clutched his
sheet for dear life. Then Maxwell reached out and did the same to
Oliver, who tried to give Leslie a reassuring look. His lover’s
lips twitched in amusement.

Leslie seemed to have found his composure
after being mauled and inspected like a slab of meat. “So you’re
Maxwell, huh?” He shuffled forward taking care not to catch his
feet in the sheet trailing behind him. “I’m Leslie. So nice to meet
you. Oliver’s told me…some stories about you. I have to say, it’s
great to meet the legend.”

Maxwell flushed in pleasure. “Legend? Oh how
kind.” He blew on his fingernails. “If somewhat true.” He glanced
slyly at Oliver. “I suppose this means that you and me are no
longer doing the
hide the sausage
thing?
Unless, as I said, maybe we could all…”

Oliver moved forward to stand next to Leslie.
“No. Just no, Max. Leslie isn’t into that sort of thing and we’re
exclusive.” He placed a possessive arm around Leslie’s shoulders.
“Leslie is mine. And I’m his. So no sausages are getting hidden
other than ours.” He grinned at Leslie who grinned back.

Oliver saw Maxwell’s face shadow, his eyes
darkening. It was only a fleeting expression, but he looked almost
sad, a little whimsical. Oliver wasn’t used to seeing anything
close to that expression on Maxwell before.

“Well, that’s put me in my place. I
understand. You make a stunning couple, by the way. Ollie, I love
what you’ve done with your hair. Suits you. Glad to see you getting
over that whole scar thing. You always looked just gorgeous to me.
And I heard you’re even getting out and about a bit more? I guess
that’s due to this lovely man next to you? Well done, is all I can
say.” He made a moue at Leslie. “I could never get him to go out
with me.”

“That’s because you wanted to drag me to
every gay club in town,” Oliver remarked dryly. “And every party
and social event in the London calendar, all in one night. I don’t
think I could have borne the excitement.” He kissed the top of
Leslie’s head. “And I’m actually attending my first event in a few
days’ time. A fashion show. I’m a bit nervous but with this one by
my side, I’ll be fine.”

He kissed Leslie’s forehead. Leslie smiled
softly and presented his face for a proper kiss.

When Oliver finished his boyfriendly duty and
looked back at a rather quiet Maxwell, he was surprised to see a
look of longing on his face. It was quickly replaced by the
mischievous grin he knew well, but he knew he hadn’t imagined the
other expression.

Was Maxwell growing up? Did he want a little
bit of stability in his life instead of just a string of lovers?
Someone to come home to instead of simply bang the daylights out
of? Oliver wasn’t sure, but he resolved to speak to him about
it.

“So…” He gestured to the bag on the counter.
“Are those for us then? I hope you bought enough of them because I
am damn hungry. And you know I love their breakfast muffins.”

Maxwell nodded. “I bought six of each. Bacon
and sausage.” He rattled about in the bag and laid the muffins out
on the counter. “Put the kettle on, Ollie. I need black coffee.
I’ll have mine then get out of your hair. I’m sure you’ve got
better things to do rather than entertain me.” He smirked at
them.

“Ollie?” Leslie murmured with a quizzical
glance at his boyfriend. “I thought you didn’t like that name?”

Oliver scowled. “I don’t. But he”—he waved
his muffin at Maxwell who was happily chasing a random bit of
sausage falling out of his breakfast bun—“insists on it. It drives
me crazy.”

Maxwell pulled a tongue at him then went back
to devouring his muffin. Oliver shook his head as he headed over to
make coffee.

Two of my favourite men in
one room. This is a turn-up for the books. I never thought I’d see
the day. My now ex-lover with my current one.

He watched as Leslie and Maxwell chatted,
enjoying the sight of the two together.

I could get used to this
domesticity. It scares the crap out of me, but I want it so
badly.

Oliver just hoped his insecurities and demons
stayed away long enough to make that happen.

Chapter 13

The night before the fashion show, Leslie was taking
a well-earned night off. He had a myriad of things to do—wash his
hair, manscape and make sure his outfit was ready for tomorrow
night. He was feeding his fish when his mobile rang. Hoping it was
Oliver, he rushed to answer and he grinned when he confirmed it was
indeed his boyfriend. Sprinkling a few more flakes of Golden
Delicious Fish Food on the top of his tank, and hoping that his
fish wouldn’t explode from eating too much, he answered.

“Hiya, sexy. It’s late, nearly midnight. What
are you doing up?”

“Now
there’s
a
leading question,” Oliver purred, his voice sending shivers down
Leslie’s spine and inflating his cock. His voice was husky and
slightly slurred. “I was enjoying some wine, and thinking of you.
Thinking of you led to a hard-on and I decided I really needed a
hand with it.” The sound of rustling clothing filtered down the
phone.

Leslie’s dick liked that idea. He chuckled
and put the now-sealed fish food container back on the table. “Is
this like, a phone sex call, or something?”

“Or something,” Oliver said silkily and
Leslie swallowed at the incredibly seductive tone. He made his way
over to the bed. If he was having sex now, he wanted to be
comfortable.

“What are you wearing?” Oliver growled.

Leslie looked down at his dark blue Andrew
Christians and comfy white tee-shirt. “My blue high-heeled pumps
and a thong.”

He was damned if he was going to tell Oliver
the truth and be
bleh.

His boyfriend’s indrawn breath and moan of
desire went straight to Leslie’s groin.

“You’re wearing that around the house? Jesus.
You are one sexy fucker.” Now Leslie heard the sound of flesh
against flesh and he swallowed, his cock inflating.

“Have you got Skype?” Oliver murmured.

Leslie’s groin flamed as if he’d suddenly
rubbed Deep Heat into his nether regions. “Yes,” he squeaked. “I
use it to speak to my folks. Oliver, are you beating off?”

His lover laughed softly and Leslie could see
how this man had become a world-famous porn star. It was the Nicky
Starr sound Leslie had heard so often in his films, a sound so
dirty, so tantalising, so damned lust-inducing that Leslie thought
he might self-combust.

“Oh honey, you do
not
want your folks in on this show,” Oliver murmured.
“The things I want you to do for me…”

Leslie looked around for a paper bag, sure he
was hyperventilating from the feeling of breathlessness in his
chest. His dick was already wetting the front of his underwear,
pushing out like the Queen Mary about to set sail. “You want Skype
sex? Oh fuck, Oliver. That is so hot. I haven’t done that
before.”

“Good. Your first time can be with me. I can
say I popped your c2c cherry.”

“c2c?” Leslie fiddled with his laptop as he
clicked on the Skype programme to open it. The familiar opening
sound made him realise he was definitely doing this. He was going
to have sex on camera. The penny dropped. “Oh. You mean camera to
camera. I’m just getting it open now. Skype I mean. Hold on a
minute.”

“Send me an invite. StarrSex69. Hurry up. I’m
all set up and ready to go…” There was a low groan and a sudden
intake of breath from the other side of the phone.

“Yes, give me a minute. The connection isn’t
very good. I’ll be with you in a sec. I’m going to put the phone
off now. Buh-bye. Speak in a sec.” Leslie terminated the call and
sent the invite and within seconds, it was accepted. He put the
call on hold and got to work. He’d never stripped and re-dressed as
quick before in his life. He rooted through his underwear drawer
for his blue silk thong, slipped it on and then slid his feet into
his heels.