Authors: Avery Cockburn
Colin began using his finger. “Don’t you want me to fuck you?”
“Not as much as you want it.” That might have been a lie, but out of the two of them, only one was riding wave after wave of ecstasy. “Okay, bonus round. You can fuck me if you sing ‘Rule Britannia.’” When Colin stopped dead, Andrew looked over his shoulder at him. “Just one verse.”
“I willnae,” Colin growled.
“I’ll sing ‘Flower of Scotland’ at the same time if you like.”
“No.” Colin sat back on his heels. “I’d rather come in my pants than sing a hymn of oppression.”
Andrew wanted to laugh. Instead he turned and got up onto his knees. “That can be arranged.” He palmed the bulge in Colin’s trousers and began to stroke.
Colin caressed Andrew’s cock in return. “I cannae believe we’re doing this.”
“Seems such a waste of privacy, doesn’t it?” He slipped his hand inside Colin’s trousers, reaching down, beneath the soft cotton briefs, until he felt the warm, velvet-sheathed hardness he was seeking. “I could do this to you in an alleyway, or at the cinema, or behind the fountain at my parents’ reeling party.”
“Shut up.” Colin kissed him hard. They stroked each other faster and faster, and then their hands stilled and their hips took over. They thrust together, fucking each other’s fists, mouths still melded in a bruising kiss. It was graceless and haphazard, and Andrew had never been so turned on.
“I’m gonnae come. You—” Colin’s grip tightened, and his mouth moved to Andrew’s neck.
Andrew felt it too, the pressure building within him, spiraling up. “Yes! God, yes!”
In the next moment, their cries were swamped by the crash of shattered glass.
C
OLIN
LEAPED
BACK
from the bed, every nerve snapping to attention. “What the fuck was that?”
“Sounded like glass breaking.” Andrew looked dazed, his pupils still dilated with desire. “Perhaps I left a wine glass near the edge of the table and—”
“It was bigger than that. Stay here.” Wincing as he fastened his trousers, Colin hurried out of the bedroom and down the hallway. He approached the reception room, sliding against the wall. The door was open, swaying slightly in the breeze.
The breeze?
The windows had been shut, but now he could hear the sounds of the street outside. Pulse thudding in his ears, he crept into the reception room, where the only lights shone from the aquarium and above the sink. He switched on the side-table lamp.
“What is it?” Andrew said behind him, startling Colin and thereby stealing the last vestiges of his erection.
“I told you to stay in your room,” he snapped. “You’re barefoot.”
“Then toss me my shoes. They’re under the coffee table. Oh, and my shirt while you’re at it.”
Colin moved forward, then stopped when he spied the spray of glass glinting on the floor beside the television. The shards surrounded a small, dark, solid object. “Wait there.” He grabbed a cloth napkin from the coffee table and crouched down to examine the projectile.
It was a rock, a black basalt-looking slab the size of Colin’s fist. On one side someone had scrawled a single word in bright red paint:
FASCIST
Using the napkin, he picked up the rock and turned it over.
The other side read
FAGGOT
.
“Fuck’s sake,” he whispered.
“What’s wrong?” Andrew was beside the sofa now, pulling his shirt over his head. “Besides the obvious.”
“Erm…this.” Colin got up and showed him the rock, turning it over to reveal both surfaces. “I’m sorry.”
At the sight of the words, Andrew turned to stone. For a moment, his only movement was the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. Then he drew in a single shaky breath and raised his eyes to the shattered window.
“Would you be so kind,” he said softly, “as to fix that for me? It’s just the one pane broken, so it shouldn’t be difficult to replace.”
“You want me to—” Colin wondered if he’d misheard. “Why would I fix it? And shouldn’t we be phoning the police?”
“There’s no need. Reggie will be ringing any moment. The silent alarm’s been triggered and the service has notified him.” Andrew’s voice was wooden. Colin couldn’t blame him for being in shock after such a violation.
“Maybe he can find the bastard who—”
“No.” Andrew kept staring at the window. “Reggie cannot know about this.”
Now Colin was definitely mishearing Andrew. “He’s your bodyguard. Isn’t it his job to protect you?”
“He’ll get the police involved.”
“Good.”
“Listen to me!” Andrew jolted out of his stupor and seized Colin’s shoulders. “If the police come, they’ll question you. Few people know my address. You’re the most recent.”
Colin’s stomach flipped over. “What?!” He jerked away from Andrew and brandished the rock. “You think I did this?”
“No! But others might.”
“Why would I call you a faggot?”
“To obfuscate your calling me a fascist.”
“But I was with you when it happened,” Colin said. “You can tell them that.”
“You could’ve shared my address with your comrades in the Yes campaign.”
Colin couldn’t believe his ears. “My
comrades
?”
Andrew winced. “I’m sorry, that was a poor choice of words. And I don’t believe you had anything to do with this. But given the threats I’ve had online from independence supporters, I know Reggie will suspect you simply because of your politics.”
Andrew’s phone rang.
“If I don’t answer right away with the password,” Andrew said, his eyes pleading, “the police will come even quicker. Now can. You. Help. Me?”
Colin looked at the window. It was only one pane, of a standard size. He’d never replaced one before—living on the fifteenth floor meant no one but Superman could chuck a rock through his window—but surely the folk at the hardware shop could instruct him, and there were always YouTube videos.
But why would Andrew want to hide his own death threat to protect Colin? It made no sense. And by covering it up, Colin could end up in more trouble than ever.
Andrew picked up his phone.
“Aye, I’ll do it,” Colin said, knowing he’d regret the impulse.
“Thank you,” Andrew whispered, then answered the call with one word. “Gretchen.” After a brief pause, he said, “Yes, it’s my own blasted fault. My mate and I were playing
Halo
on the Xbox, and he—well, long story, but anyway I threw my controller at his head. He ducked and it hit the window.”
Colin turned away from Andrew’s smoothly lying face and peered out onto the street, though he didn’t expect the stone thrower to still be there. All he saw was his own face reflected back at him.
Was it fear for Colin’s freedom that made Andrew want to cover up this crime? Or did he want to hide the fact he was with Colin to begin with?
No.
Andrew had invited him to his family’s reeling party, so he wasn’t ashamed of him. Right?
Andrew’s not the enemy
, he told himself as he lowered the blinds, shrouding them from the eyes of the city.
But someone out there is.
= = =
“Your brother wants you dead?”
“Not physiologically.” Andrew leaned back against the arm of the sofa, facing Colin. “Just metaphorically.”
Colin touched his pen to the yellow legal pad in his lap, wondering if he should add this entry to their list of rock-throwing suspects.
Andrew had collected loads of enemies in his twenty years of life. So far the roll included ditched lovers, jealous boyfriends and girlfriends of his conquests, his former bodyguard, and even a few pro football managers who would have kittens if the media found out Andrew had slept with one of their star players.
(Not Cristiano Ronaldo, though Andrew claimed to be the one who convinced the Ballon D’or-winning forward to frost his hair.)
“Shouldn’t it be the other way round?” Colin asked him. “Shouldn’t you want to bump off your brother so you can inherit the estate?”
“George’s sons are next in line, so even if I wanted Dad’s title—which I don’t—I’ll never have it.” Andrew sipped his glass of cognac, which shook almost imperceptibly. “Don’t put George on the list. I was kidding. Though he does hate me.”
“Because you’re gay?”
“Because our parents love me best,” Andrew said without a spot of irony.
“Parents always prefer the youngest. My sister Emma can do no wrong, the wee shit.” He smirked to show he was (mostly) joking, but under the circumstances, it was hard to laugh at anything. “So back to the rock. You said Reggie might think I had a friend do it, that he’d suspect me because of the abuse you get from Yessers online. If he’s right—not about me, but that someone’s after you because of your tweets—then why not just stop? Why put your safety at risk for the sake of venting your opinions?”
Andrew sniffed. “I can’t believe you of all people would ask that. John’s told me how the Warriors’ opponents and their fans call you all names, that sometimes they even threaten you. Why don’t you quit football?”
“Football and Twitter are not the same. Football, it’s what I am.”
“And Twitter is what
I
am, as pathetic as that sounds. I told you, I can’t live in fear.” Andrew shot a glance at the window and hunched his shoulders. “Anyway, I need to get used to abuse if I’m to run for office one day.”
So Andrew had ambitions beyond being King of Selfies. “You were serious, then, when you told me about wanting to be the first gay Prime Minister?”
“The Prime Minister bit was a joke—the Party would never elect an aristocrat as leader. It would reinforce the Tory toff stereotype.”
“Some stereotypes are true.”
“Yes.” Andrew sighed. “But I do plan to run for Scottish Parliament one day, and perhaps even the UK Parliament after that.”
For a flash of a moment, Colin wondered whether he would vote for Andrew.
God, of course not. Being clever and charming doesn’t make him not wrong about, well,
everything
.
“And your family’s cool with that?”
“They’re ecstatic. But some of them want me to jump into this referendum mess in an official capacity. Like appear with the Better Together campaign.”
Colin couldn’t help laughing. “Och, those wanks?”
“I agree with those wanks, obviously, but their messaging is so repellant. This whole Project Fear campaign—predicting the sky will fall in the event of independence—will end up backfiring. No one likes being told they can’t succeed.”
“Do you hear yourself?” Colin said. “That’s exactly what you were doing in our debate. Playing the fear card.”
Andrew blanched. “You’re right. I should do better. I need to stop talking Scotland
down
and start talking the Union
up
.”
“Hm.” Colin had met several people from the No campaign, and they all seemed to be of one mind, as though they’d had blind spots surgically implanted in their brains. As arrogant as Andrew could be, at least he seemed to understand human nature.
He noticed how pale and drawn his lover’s face had become. “Gonnae sleep now?”
“Yes.” Andrew stood slowly, using the arm of the couch to steady himself. He’d done a fair job of hiding his fear. He hadn’t screamed or yelled or cowered in one of the back rooms. He’d remained utterly calm.
But Colin saw how Andrew’s gaze kept darting to the window, how he’d downed three glasses of water standing at the refrigerator, refilling his glass again and again from the dispenser. How even the brandy hadn’t stilled the trembling of his hands.
“You go on to bed,” he told Andrew. “I’ll stay here and keep watch.”
“Keep watch for what?”
Colin gestured to the window. “Grenades. Bombs. SCUD missiles.”
Andrew smiled for the first time since the rock had smashed the window. “Hang on.” He hurried out of the reception room into the hallway.
Colin took their empty brandy glasses to the sink, where he washed and dried them carefully. He’d never felt such smooth, delicate glass, nor seen such a design. Instead of stems, these “rocking glasses” had small nubs on their bottom surface, so that they rolled about, exposing the brandy to the oxygen or whatever, along with encouraging the drinker to keep it in one’s hand to warm it.
Then Colin went to the aquarium, picking out Cristiano, the big gold-and-white fish with the inky eye-spot on its tail. “We were talking about you,” he said to the fish. “Well, not you, but your gorgeous namesake, Ronaldo.”
Andrew walked in then, carrying a pillow and a green-and-blue tartan fleece blanket. Colin stepped back from the tank, embarrassed.
“Don’t worry,” Andrew said, “I talk to the fish all the time. I hope they like it, because I’ve no plans to stop.” Now dressed in a T-shirt and a pair of dark-gray flannel sleep shorts, he handed the same to Colin. “These should fit you. We’re about the same size.”
“Thanks.” He held up the clothes. “You sure I can take off my trousers now? It’s not against the rules?”
“The games are over.” Andrew tossed the bedding onto the sofa. “At least for tonight.”
Colin went to the bathroom to brush his teeth and change his clothes. Even with the blinds down—which did make the flat seem smaller—he felt exposed out there, as if some malevolent force were hovering just beyond the window.
He returned to find Andrew on the sofa, huddled beneath the blanket.
“I hope this is okay,” Andrew said. “There’s room for us both if we lie on our sides.”
“I don’t mind.”
Understatement of the century.
Colin slipped beneath the blanket, facing Andrew. It was a nice flat sofa, good for sleeping. And probably for other things.
They lay on their shared pillow, examining each other in the aquarium’s soft silver light. Then Andrew touched Colin’s bare arm. “Thank you for helping me.”
“Nae bother.” He put his hand over Andrew’s. “You all right? Your skin’s pure freezing.” Just like after they’d dived into that rave crowd, but this was a different sort of fear.
“I know, I’m sorry.” He pressed both palms to Colin’s chest, then kissed him softly.
With a sigh, Colin returned the kiss without increasing its intensity. Beneath the blanket, he pressed his warm, bare feet against Andrew’s cold ones. The moment felt as fragile as those brandy glasses.