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Robbie was just finishing up for the night when Laura poked her head into his office. “Go home,” she admonished him.
“I am, I am,” Robbie said, powering down the computer and pointing at the darkening screen. “See?”
She cocked her head. “I know you probably don't want to be reminded, but here.” She produced a bottle-shaped bag from behind her back. “Happy birthday.”
“Eh, you didn't have to do that,” Robbie said, standing and taking it from her.
“I’ve heard that the standard response is 'thanks,'” Laura told him dryly.
“Sorry, thanks,” Robbie said sheepishly.
“I know you don't usually celebrate, but I thought this year might be different.”
Robbie frowned at her. “Oh? And why would that be?”
Laura glanced behind her, then took a step into the office. “Because this year you have someone to celebrate it with,” she said, voice low.
Robbie could feel his cheeks heating. He briefly considered lying and then decided there was nothing for it. “How did you –”
Laura closed the door of the office before answering. “I noticed you'd been acting – more relaxed lately. Smiling more. Happier than I've known you to be in years,” she said softly. “A bit like a man in love. And then I realised James was acting much the same way. Didn't take a detective to figure out it was no coincidence.”
Robbie clamped down on the desire to explain – well, everything. He couldn't do it here, and in the end, she didn't really need, or likely want, to know. “I didn't know we were that – obvious.”
“You're not. In fact, if anything, you're less at ease. I notice you seem to distance yourself from one another more. A casual observer might think you were rowing.”
Robbie leaned back against the desk and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Bugger. I hate having to hide.”
Laura shook her head. “No reason you need to, unless you give a toss what some of the dimmer lights round the nick think.”
“I don't, but I also don't want anyone to think James – well, you know.”
“Shagged his way to the top?” Laura said sweetly. Robbie winced. “Oh, come on, Robbie. No one who is aware of the quality of his work would believe that. Beside, he's told you he's moving on as soon as you decide to retire; it's not as though he's worried about long-term career plans. And Jean knows better, and that's what matters.”
“Oh God,” Robbie said, “Innocent knows we –” Laura raised her eyebrows meaningfully. “You didn't actually discuss it with her?”
“I wouldn't call it a discussion. More a brief acknowledgment of how sickeningly adorable you both are.”
“Christ,” Robbie gusted.
“Cheer up, guv,” Laura said. “You're a lucky so and so, and you know it. He's quite a catch.”
“You're right,” Robbie said, rueful. “I still don't know what he sees in me.”
“I do,” Laura said. She smiled and nudged his shoulder. “Now go home to your awkward sod.”
“Do you have plans?” Robbie asked, as they left the office and began walking down the corridor.
“Franco's taking me out to dinner,” she said.
“Oh? Special occasion?”
“Not really,” Laura said. “Just something he does.” She stopped at the steps and kissed him on the cheek, then waved goodbye before heading to her car. Robbie held up the bottle and mouthed another silent thanks.
By the time he reached the flat, Robbie had worked himself into a bit of a state, his conversation with Laura running round and round in his head like a terrier chasing its tail. When they'd first discussed birthday plans, James had suggested taking him out to a restaurant, but Robbie had immediately quashed that idea. Of course, they ate together in pubs often enough, but a meal in a proper restaurant – well, that was as good as a declaration. For all its sophistication, Oxford was an extraordinarily small town, and it wasn't impossible that someone would spot them. Next thing you knew, James was the subject of locker room gossip about being his Detective Inspector's toy boy.
And yet, it seemed supremely unfair that he and James couldn't simply go out together of an evening the way Laura and Franco could. Robbie remembered the brief flash of disappointment that had crossed James' face when he'd been turned down, and Robbie hated that he'd been the one to hand James yet another disappointment in a young life that had been filled with them. Worse, the expression had swiftly given way to a look of resignation, as though he hadn't been expecting anything different, and Robbie hated that even more. The lad deserved someone who wasn't afraid to show him off, to stand in the midst of the high street and say this one's mine, and aren't I the luckiest bugger on the face of the earth?
When he opened the door to the flat, he was immediately struck by the smell of cooking. Robbie stopped dead in his tracks, unexpectedly overwhelmed by everything that meant, by everything he'd lost a long time ago and everything he'd gained recently. It happened to him now and then, though usually not quite with this much force.
Taking a few calming breaths to dispel the feeling, he kicked off his shoes and padded down the hall to the kitchen, where James was standing facing the hob, his back to Robbie. That was too tempting a target, so Robbie crept up on him. He made it halfway before James said, “It's no good your sneaking up on me; I saw the car drive up.”
Robbie wrapped his arms around James from behind, marveling for the hundredth time at how someone so tall could be so bloody skinny. “You should be a detective, peering out of windows waiting for the suspect to arrive.”
James set down the fish slice he'd been using, then turned in his arms and kissed him. “Happy birthday.” He'd whispered it in Robbie's ear this morning when they'd woken up together, but Robbie had still been mostly unconscious. “Steaks will be ready in five minutes; dinner's in ten. Sorry I didn't give you more time, but I'm starving and I imagined you'd be hungry, too.”
“I am,” Robbie said, surprising himself by nipping at James' chin.
James chuckled and kissed him more deeply, then drew back and gave him a gentle shove. “Out. Go take off that bloody tie and stop distracting the cook.”
“Yes, sir,” Robbie said smartly. James' mouth quirked in response, and he turned back to the hob.
After a truly delicious meal, James produced a small cake with one enormous, fat candle sitting in the middle of it, his eyes dancing as much as the flame atop it. Robbie shot him a dirty look before blowing it out.
“Don't tell me you baked that, too,” Robbie said, as James set it down in the middle of the coffee table.
“No,” James admitted, pouring a mug of tea for Robbie and handing it over. “I got it from that new little pastry shop down the street from the station.”
Robbie nodded, remembering Innocent waxing rhapsodic about their éclairs the other day. Opening a sweet shop near a nick was a guaranteed recipe for success. Studying the cake more closely, Robbie realised there was no writing on it. He wondered if James had been careful in this as well, anticipating Robbie's reaction if someone at the station had seen James picking up a cake only big enough for two to celebrate Robbie's birthday.
Robbie's gut churned unpleasantly, and he laid a hand on James' as the lad picked up the knife. “D'you think we might – erm, wait a little while? I'm still full up from dinner,” he lied.
James looked at him closely. “Sure,” he said softly, laying down the knife. “Would you like to open your presents?”
“There's more than one?” Robbie asked, as James got up to fetch the bag lying in the corner.
“Well, it's sort of a set,” James admitted. He drew out two long, flat boxes and placed them on Robbie's lap.
Robbie stared at the boxes for a moment or two, then shook himself and began ripping into them. Mark had emailed him this year, and Lyn had sent a card and a framed photo of him, James and Maddie taken last month when they’d come down from Manchester for a visit. Over the last four months, James had fallen completely in love with Robbie’s granddaughter, and both parents called him Maddie’s third granddad, which made James blush and smile every time he heard it. Robbie privately thought that bashful was one of his favourite looks on James.
The wrapping destroyed, Robbie lifted the lid of the cardboard box that was revealed, and saw a shirt. It wasn’t like any of the ones he owned, though, being of a heavier material with dark stripes. As he lifted it out, he balked at the tailoring. “It’s lovely, lad, but I’ll never fit into this,” he murmured.
“You will,” James insisted. “I measured.”
“When did you…” Robbie trailed off when James raised his eyebrows at him. “Never mind; I don’t want to know.” Setting the box aside, he unwrapped the next box and found a pair of jeans, much darker and more form-fitting than the single old, battered pair he owned. He supposed fashion had moved on a bit since then.
“Would you –” James cut himself off, bit his lip.
“What?”
James’ gaze flickered over the jeans and shirt, back up to Robbie’s face. “Put them on for me? Please?”
“Now?”
“I want to see if they fit,” James said defensively, but he was blushing.
“You said you measured.” James ducked his head, flushing more. “All right,” he added hastily, rising to his feet. “Be back in a tick.”
In the bedroom, Robbie hastily discarded his work clothes and donned the shirt and jeans, which true to James’ word fit him perfectly, if much more snugly than he was used to. He was certainly thicker round the middle than he’d been thirty years ago, though he made a point of exercising; still, it was surprising to see just how much better he looked. Not younger, but less like someone who didn’t give a toss. He’d never really thought much about what he wore at any stage of his life, and Val had bought him simple, practical clothes because they'd been on a budget and he wouldn't wear anything else.
“I knew you’d look fantastic.”
Robbie jumped at the sound of James’ voice; he spun round to see him watching Robbie from the doorway, one shoulder leaning against the frame. “Thanks,” he said, “it’s a very thoughtful – mmmph,” he finished, because James had crossed the room in two big strides, seized him by the shoulders and kissed him. He stiffened for a moment, then relaxed into the kiss, sliding his hands into James’ hair. Robbie still found it disconcerting when his body responded to being manhandled, especially by someone taller and marginally stronger; he wasn’t sure what that said about him, but he was gradually learning to let it go and enjoy it.
Angling his head, he deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing the seam of James’ lower lip. James’ response to that was to groan and grab two handfuls of Robbie’s jeans-clad arse. “Christ,” Robbie gusted, breaking away from James’ mouth, “you really like these clothes, don’t you?”
“I really like you in them,” James said, sucking a kiss on Robbie’s neck. He pulled back and began unbuttoning Robbie’s shirt while Robbie gaped at him.
“What are you – I just put this on!” Robbie exclaimed, outraged.
James raised an eyebrow at him as if to say, what’s your point?
Robbie sighed. “This is like when the bloke buys the fancy knickers for his girlfriend just so he can get her out of them, isn’t it?”
James grinned as if proud of a clever pupil, his nimble fingers continuing their work.
“I feel objectified.”
James freed the last of the buttons and paused with his hands on Robbie’s waist. “Should I stop, then?”
“Hell, no,” Robbie growled, grabbing hold and proceeding to do a little manhandling of his own.
“I’ve been thinking,” Robbie said later.
“Mmmmmmmm,” James said, nuzzling lazily at Robbie’s left nipple.
“This weekend,” Robbie began, heart racing as a small part of his brain still rebelled at what he was about to say, “I want to take you out.”
James froze for a long moment. “You what?” he said finally, head still resting on Robbie’s chest.
“To a proper restaurant,” Robbie clarified. “You and me.”
“Someone might see us.”
“I know,” Robbie said, “and I don’t care.”
James lifted his head slowly, gaze searching Robbie’s face. “Are you sure?”
“No, I’m not,” Robbie admitted. “I still don’t think it’s best for you.” James opened his mouth; Robbie laid his fingers across his lips before he could speak. “But you’re an adult, and I’ve realised you can make your own decisions about that.”
James kissed Robbie’s fingers as he took them away. “I’ve decided I’d like to go out to dinner with you,” he said softly. “And if I had my way, everyone would see us. I want them all to know you’re mine, and I’m yours.”
“James, lad,” Robbie breathed, leaning in to kiss him. The words should have terrified him, but they only made him feel warm, awed, loved.
Breaking away after a long minute, Robbie murmured, “At least I have something fashionable to wear now. I won’t have to worry about embarrassing you.”
“I’ll buy you a pair of trousers,” James said. “If you wear those jeans, I won’t be fit for public display.” He leaned in and whispered in Robbie’s ear. “They make your arse look spectacular.”
“Oh, go on with you,” Robbie huffed, squirming when James licked his earlobe before drawing back and looking into Robbie’s eyes.
“What did you think of your birthday, then?” James asked, expression serious and hesitant and dear.
Robbie brushed James’ cheek with his fingertips. “Best I’ve had in a very long time, love,” he said softly.
James stared at him for a moment, then beamed at him and buried his face in Robbie’s neck, hugging him close. Robbie hugged back, and found that James’ slim frame fit the circle of his arms perfectly.