Work Text:
Part 1 Chasing Rainbows 🌈 here
Part 2 (Still) Chasing Rainbows 🌈 🌈 here
When it opened in 1877, York Railway Station was officially the largest train station in the entire world with its curved iron and glass roof towering high above the eleven platforms. Being the halfway point between Edinburgh in the north and London in the south, the huge structure is open at both ends which creates a wind-tunnel effect making it feel permanently cold, even in the height of summer.
So by late afternoon on the weekend before Christmas, it was frigging freezing! Timmy slung his backpack over his shoulder, fastened up his long black padded parka and stepped down onto the busy platform.
Coming from the stifling heat of the packed train into the icy air of the station made him a little lightheaded, although swapping New York for Old York was always going to feel slightly trippy after almost two months away, so it could just be that. He was expecting it - just as it had taken him a couple of days to re-adjust to the fast-paced vibe of his beloved hometown. But this time, coming back to Yorkshire already felt different somehow…
When he’d first moved to the north of England back in 2019 he literally thought he’d been dropped arse-first onto an alien planet where pudding wasn’t pudding at all but a whole other thing, and where a ‘cuppa tea’ was almost a religious experience. And even though he was quite sure if he lived here a decade people would still struggle to pronounce his name and tell him that he ‘talked funny’, and where Google translate was no use at all with deciphering such phrases as nar then cocker and cop od o that, this time it felt like – dare he say it - coming home.
If Armie still wanted him here that was. Things had been a little weird lately…
Hordes of already-shitfaced revellers, seemingly indifferent to the sub-zero temperatures wearing impossibly tight t-shirts and bum-skimming skirts, poured out of the Newcastle train and onto the opposite platform. Their deafening yet surprisingly melodious rendition of “Sweet Caroline, da-da-da-daaaa” echoed around the cavernous old building as they made their way out of the station and into the city centre. Timmy hung back and let them pass him by. According to Armie – who was much more acclimatised to the drinking rituals of Northern folk – this was an annual tradition on the weekend before Christmas. Yes, ‘Mad Friday’ in York was a thing to behold. God help the poor bar-tenders tonight!
Timmy yanked the zip of his coat right up to the top and followed the loud Geordies out into the street. He looked around for a few seconds and checked his phone again for the millionth time. Since he’d last checked it ten minutes ago there were several new notifications: a pop-up from the NHS to say he was due another covid booster jab; a bunch of likes on his Instagram app in response to his recent ‘I got the gig!’ post from the rehearsal room; and a text from his Mom demanding a 3-rings-so-I-know-you’re-not-dead message. A thumbs-up emoji would have to do for now.
And that was it. Hmm…
On the face of it, Armie had been very encouraging and supportive of Tim’s plan to combine a long-overdue visit to his folks with an audition for a part in a brand-new Broadway production of ‘Moonstruck’. He’d even video-called him way past his normal bedtime every night for a full week to help him learn his lines.
So despite the fact that Timmy’s take on the iconic character was nothing like Nicolas Cage’s ‘Ronny Cammareri’, because of Armie’s help, he’d gone into the audition feeling confident and well prepared. Although nothing could have prepared him for the nerves that kicked in when he saw the legend that was Mr John Shanley himself sat next to the casting agent! Tim had closed his eyes, taken several deep breaths, and conjured up Armie’s deep, reassuring words… You’re amazing baby. You’re gonna smash it…
And smash it he did - the call came two days later to say he’d got the part! And because the role of Ronny had been the last to be cast, could he be immediately available for six weeks of rehearsals, with a break for the holidays, then back again early-January ready for opening night on the 14th of February. He didn’t think twice and said yes Yes YES, then raced round to his beloved Grandma’s place to tell her in person. She was absolutely thrilled and they held hands and sang together in her bed ‘…when the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that’s amore…’ It was a memory he knew he would treasure forever.
Of course he'd called Armie pretty much straight away to tell him that he’d got the part - and that he’d be staying longer than expected in the US. He sensed an instant shift in the mood which didn’t exactly come as a surprise. “Are you happy for me Armie?”
“Of course! That’s wonderful news. It’s what you’ve always wanted. Well done. Or break a leg or whatever the fuck it is that you lot say.”
“Us lot say that just as you’re about to go on stage, you divvy,” laughed Timmy.
“Divvy? You’ve spent too much time in Yorkshire. So will you be ho… er back here for Christmas?”
Timmy didn’t fail to notice that Armie had very nearly said ‘home’ and then stopped himself, but he couldn’t decide what that meant. He still sometimes felt like a lodger-with-benefits. It was a hard feeling to shake even after all this time.
“Sure! Rehearsals don’t start again until the 10th of January. So I’m afraid you’re gonna have to put up with me for three long weeks over the holidays. But on one condition… we do Christmas properly this year. Because last year was lame as fuck!”
“The country was still in lockdown for Christ’s sake. There were rules in place.”
“Yeah yeah yeah, whatevs. But the rules didn’t say you couldn’t have a tree or turkey or cheesy songs. So brace yourself Mr Scrooge, I want the full works this year. And I’m bringing mistletoe.”
“Bah humbug,” said Armie and they’d ended the call as usual with a laugh and ‘Mwah’.
So where was he now? They’d not made any definite arrangements to meet at the train station, but even so…
**************
Armie couldn’t shake the feeling that he was letting something precious slip through his fingers – but that there was nothing he could do about it.
Despite all the promises and reassurances, when he’d dropped Timmy off at Manchester airport several weeks earlier, he’d had to fight the urge to turn the car around and either follow him onto the plane or drag him back to York. Kicking and screaming if needs be.
Then when Tim had said he was staying not for just two weeks as originally planned, but for two months, Armie’s stomach had dropped and he’d been momentarily rendered mute – he felt hurt and worried. But also angry. Was that selfish of him? Yes. Arrogante? Oh abso-fucking-lutely. But what he felt was real and he couldn’t deny it. Landing a Broadway show – and Moonstruck no less - was Timmy’s dream, especially since Hamlet was now indefinitely postponed, and Armie felt so bad for secretly wishing he’d never got the part, but it was the truth. He hated it.
Of course, three decades of masking his emotions enabled him to quickly get his feelings under control and he congratulated him like a good boyfriend should – then proceeded to wallow in a pit of misery of his own making for weeks on end.
He was slumpy and depressed with a constant underlying panicky flutter in the pit of his stomach. He found himself obsessing over Timmy’s Instagram posts and scrutinising every picture – who was he with? Did he look happier back in the US? What was he drinking? Had he lost weight? Was he eating properly? Who was that sat next to him? Was Timmy’s hand touching his/hers/theirs?
The sensible, rational part of Armie’s brain knew that he was being ridiculous – Timmy had never given him a single reason to mistrust him in eighteen months and he didn’t doubt their love for a second. But somehow those posts from cool bars and busy parks and opulent theatres dredged up long buried feelings of loneliness and rejection and jealousy. They made him feel old and dull and not a part of Timmy’s ‘other life’ with his flamboyant friends with their purple hair and painted nails – and that was just the boys!
Once upon a time, for a brief moment in high school, Armie thought he might be a part of that colourful, exciting, theatrical world but his parents had soon put a lid on that and his life had gone in a whole other direction. It had been a good life – amazing in fact. A life of privilege and wealth, so he couldn’t – shouldn’t – complain. And boy, had volunteering at the Hammer Trust shown him just how lucky he was! But still… he felt deeply resentful that he was never allowed to be who he wanted to be. It was only since meeting Timmy that he truly felt he could be his authentic self.
So what would happen to him if Tim never came back?
Selfish, selfish, selfish!
He was deeply ashamed about how he felt. It gave him sleepless nights and he would wake up groggy and grumpy with dark shadows under his eyes. He couldn’t be bothered to cook – what was the point of making an effort for one – and would order in take-out crap which would then make him feel like crap after he’d eaten it, laid out like a slob on the sofa. He even lost interest in his telescope – there was only one celestial being he wanted to see. And one whole weekend was spent in bed with the dog, watching sad movies and nursing a bottle of bourbon. Tragic.
All of it – the obsessing, the anxiety, the dredged-up past trauma, shit food, too much booze - was just not healthy. And besides, Tim was absolutely entitled to a life of his own without having to check in with his boring needy old boyfriend every day. So on week four, Armie gave himself a mental slap and initiated a self-preservation plan, not only to stop himself going doolally but to stop him potentially ruining the best thing he’d ever had.
First off, he ditched all forms of social media and cut the video calls down to just a couple a week with the excuse of being ‘horrendously busy’. It wasn’t a lie as such, just not the whole truth. He figured if he filled his every waking hour, he wouldn’t have the time or energy to obsess over his absent lover. Then he re-established his woefully lapsed exercise routine. Every morning before the sun rose, he was already out of the house pounding the dark earie streets of York before coming home to swim a punishing hundred laps of the pool. He tried to empty his brain and just push his body and count. The next ten hours were usually spent at his desk in the library doing the ‘day job’ for A H International, pausing only to eat and pee and walk the dog. And from early evening until late into the night he was dishing out food at the church hall, before collapsing in bed for a few hours, then doing it all again.
Eat, sleep, try-not-to-obsess-about-Tim, repeat.
It worked up to a point. His physical and mental health improved no end. But he still found himself moping around the awfully quiet house and subconsciously marking off the days until Timmy’s promised return on the weekend before Christmas. It didn’t help that the Theatre Royal right opposite his house had put up massive billboards to advertise this year’s pantomime. He could see them from his desk in the library. They were so cheery and colourful they made him want to puke! Dick fucking Whittingham. Horrible! He never understood the appeal of a pantomime and he closed the curtains to block out the view.
“You’re gonna ‘ave to snap out of it Mr Aitch” said Tracey one day while he was dusting the bookshelves. “The lad’s coming back soon. Stop nattering yer daft apeth.”
Armie swivelled around in his chair. “Am I that obvious?”
His house-keeper slash friend slash relationship-counsellor raised one newly tattooed eyebrow. It said ‘queer’ in elaborate cursive script and he’d had it done especially for his Christmas get-away to Gran Canaria with his husband Henry. “You ‘aving me on? You’ve ‘ad a face like a slapped arse since ‘ee left. Tell yer what, why don’t me n ‘Enry zhuzh the place up. I know you reckon not to like Crimbo and all that, but a few decs wouldn’t go amiss. Be all nice for when Timmy gets back next week. What d’ya rec boss?”
“Oh go on then. If you must. Don’t go mad though. It’ll give me a migraine.”
Clearly Tracey and Henry’s idea of ‘don’t go mad’ was very different to Armie’s. So when he returned home from a spontaneous - and possibly foolish - shopping trip down to Hatton Garden in London on the 12th of December, they were waiting for him in the hallway, hugely excited for the big switch-on. Henry pointed an elaborate looking remote control at a gigantic Norway spruce that was debatably bigger and better than the tree in St Helen’s Square in town. “Three, two, one… ta daaa!” he declared and pressed the button.
The entire house lit up like…well, a Christmas tree. Several dozen. Armie shook his head. “Fuck me! I need a drink. And Raybans.”
***********
Timmy stood under the huge clock which was their usual meeting point and looked over the heads of the hundreds of people pouring out of the train station. He dialled Armie’s number again. It went straight to voicemail - again. This time he left a message. “Hey babe, it’s me. Of course it’s me, doh! Anyway, I’m home! Well, I’m at the station. I wasn’t sure if you…er… were here but... are you here? I can’t see you. Its mental! Never mind…you’re probably busy. I’ll… er… ok, see you soon!”
He readjusted his back-pack and followed the path of the ancient city walls towards Lendal Bridge. It was only just gone five o’clock but the sky was already a deep inky blue-black. Twinkly festive lights from the riverside bars and restaurants reflected and glittered on the turbulent Ouse making it look like a watery undulating rainbow, and a wonderful mash-up of clashing cheesy tunes rang out across the small city. As he reached the top of the bridge, the magnificent York Minster, illuminated in a light-show of swirling purples and greens and golds for Christmas, came into view ahead of him. It was breath-taking and Timmy couldn’t help but smile as he hurried across to the other side of the river.
He passed the magical Museum Gardens on his left, rounded the corner onto St Leonard’s Place and unlocked the door to Number 1, his home since those surreal, scary days of the first lockdown. The house was in complete darkness which was a bit weird, and the strong smell of fresh pine hit him as he stepped into the hallway. “Hi! I’m back!”
He eased his heavy bag off his shoulders and felt around the wall for the light switch.
Wow! A huge real fir tree, easily twelve feet tall, bedecked in feathers and flowers and glass baubles of every colour of the rainbow stood in the centre of the room. There was a huge glitterball hanging from the ceiling, and a red and gold balloon arch curved over the bottom of the staircase. Timmy laughed out loud – someone had gotten the memo. And he suspected it wasn’t his grumpy grinchy boyfriend.
“Armie?” Nothing. Louder, “Arrrmieeeee!” His voice echoed around the five-storey town-house. Then silence. Well, not quite silence – there was the tippy-tap of little claws across the floor in the kitchen. Timmy carefully pushed open the door. “Archie! Oh I’ve missed you. Has he left you in the dark? Oh poor baby, come here…” and he picked up his little doggy companion and kissed him all over. His fur was soft and warm and biscuity-smelling, and he wagged his tail and licked Timmy’s face. “Where’s Daddy, eh? Where’s he gone?”
He put Archie down on the floor and went over to the fridge. He was starving! And as suspected, it was full - smoked salmon, a glazed ham joint, cheeses, grapes, chocolate mousse, cocoa-dusted truffles, orange-topped paté, a huge pork pie. His stomach rumbled. He plucked a few red grapes off the bunch and stuffed them in his mouth then grabbed a screw-top beer and chugged it down. That would have to do – they could eat together later. Because right now, he desperately needed to see his man. He had important things to say to him. And had a pretty good idea where he might be.
“Walkies? Let’s go find Daddy.” Archie trotted over to the cupboard where his leash was kept and gave a little ‘yes, yes’ bark as if to say, ‘hurry up then!’
“Ok. Let me take my bags up and have a quick pee and I’ll be right back.” Tim swore that little dog understood every word he said.
As he went upstairs, he saw that every hallway and staircase and room had been decorated for the holidays, even Archie’s room and the guest bedroom where no one ever hardly slept. Yep, this was definitely Tracey and Henry’s handiwork. There’s no way Bah-Humbug-Hammer would have come up with this. The fragrant smell of cinnamon and cloves was strong up here, but not overpowering. Just right.
He popped his head in the library and flicked on the light switch. Apart from the basement swimming pool – oh and maybe the master-bedroom but for different reasons entirely – this was his most favourite place in the house. Beautiful oak bookshelves rose up to the ceiling on three sides and a large desk dominated the middle of the room. They’d made love on that desk many times and Timmy trailed his hand over the soft green leather inlay as he walked across to the fireplace to get a better look at the tree on the hearth. It was a potted holly bush filled with red berries and hung with dozens of little ornaments that on closer inspection turned out to be tiny books and birds. How lovely.
He felt an almost child-like excitement growing inside of him, and he sang as he made his way up to the next floor… “Its beginning to look a lot like Christmas…”
He threw his bag into the walk-in closet of his old room which would be forever referred to as ‘The Dumping Ground’ - some habits were hard, if not impossible to break – then he used the bathroom, splashed his face with water and brushed his teeth. There was a coat cupboard by the front door and before they set off, he quickly fished out a lurid pink and green scarf that his sort-of mother-in-law had left on her last visit, a Hull FC bobble-hat belonging to Tracey, and two odd gloves. It would bug the shit out of Armie but he didn’t want to waste any more time searching for matching stuff. He wrestled Archie into his little red tartan doggy-coat and they set off in search of the person they both loved most in the whole world.
The cobbled streets were heaving with tourists. Getting anywhere in a hurry was impossible, like trying to swim upstream. Archie didn’t seem the least bit phased by the crowds and the lights and the loud music from the vintage carousel, but Timmy was terrified that the little pooch was going to get trampled on! So he took a short-cut across the market, which was closed for the night, through the narrow in-and-out snickleways of The Shambles and down Whip-Ma-Whop-Ma-Gate towards the Holy Trinity Church.
What had started as a temporary food-bank during the first lockdown had quickly become an essential resource providing clothes, hygiene products, advice, sleeping bags and now a nightly hot meal to those in desperate need. Of which there were many. And growing.
Timmy stood in the draughty foyer, peeled off his hat and shook out his hair. A ‘no pets allowed inside the church hall’ policy had been implemented two months earlier following an incident involving Hooky’s pet ferret, Lars, and a three-legged pit-bull called Spot belonging to an elderly homeless lady. Lars had won, and no humans or animals were hurt in the melee but a huge cooking pot had been accidentally overturned and stray, dried-up baked beans were still turning up in odd places every now and then.
Armie was bent over a low trestle table spooning out generous portions of pie-and-peas into plastic bowls. He had a York Hammer Trust pinny tied around his waist and a tea towel slung over one shoulder. His face shone from the heat of the ovens and there was a big blob of gravy down the front of his tight pink T-shirt. Tim watched him from the doorway – oh he was so in love with that wonderful man! And incredibly proud of him too for organising all of this in such little time. He pulled off a glove and wiped away sudden and unexpected tears with the back of his hand.
Izzy spotted him and waved over. “Hey Timo! Welcome back,” she shouted across the crowded hall. “Fancy getting stuck in? We’re having our own bloody Mad Friday in here I can tell you!”
Armie’s head jerked up, and their eyes met – and Tim’s heart literally skipped a beat. Such a cliché but it did. Good god, how had he forgotten how utterly drop dead gorgeous he was in the flesh? That lovely smile. And those muscles! Had he been working out for the whole two months? Holy fuck! Tim had all on not drooling down Dru’s fluffy scarf.
He gestured to Izzy that he had Archie with him and mouthed ‘tomorrow’ then stepped back behind the door and waited for Armie – who was there two seconds later, wiping his hands on the towel before pulling Timmy into a rib-crushing hug. He must have shoved pensioners out of the way to get to him so quickly!
“Oh god, I’m so sorry baby! What time is it? I’ve been here for hours. Honestly, I planned to meet you at the train station. I even bought flowers, look…” He pointed over to a sad looking bunch of wilted red roses laid on a plastic chair by the door. “…but it’s been manic in here and I just lost track of…”
Timmy pushed him backwards into the corner near the store cupboard and stopped his words with a deep, open-mouthed kiss. And then another. Their tongues swirled together and they were both breathless in seconds. “Fuck Armie, I’ve been gagging for that. Come here…” and he dropped Archie’s leash and held Armie’s face with both hands and went in for a third. “I’ve missed this. And you.”
“Me too,” said Armie, his lips plump with the onslaught of Timmy’s and his eyes shining. “Like you wouldn’t believe. It’s been… oh never mind. I’m just so glad you’re back.” He crouched down to pet Archie and did his back-of-the-neck nervous rub thing.
Timmy frowned. “What? What’s wrong?” A blast of icy air whooshed into the foyer as the outside door opened and three more people dashed in for food before the place closed for the night. He reached and grabbed Archie’s leash - he’d lost him once before and wasn’t taking any chances. It still gave him nightmares.
“Nothing,” said Armie with a shake of his head as he stood up. “It’s just that… forget it. We can talk later when I get home. I won’t be too much longer. Izzy and the others can finish up for once. Maybe another hour or so?” He ran his hand down the side of Timmy’s face and stroked his cheek, his lips, his jaw, his neck. “I’m sorry. We’re just so busy. Is that ok?”
Timmy did an exaggerated eye-roll. He was fully supportive of the cause and would normally be here alongside the other volunteers with his sleeves rolled up, elbow-deep in mushy peas. But he was also pretty damn hungry himself. And not just for food - his cock throbbed already from a ten-second snog! “An hour, tops. No more or I’ll die! Come on Archie.” He stretched up for one last kiss. “Later Hornpot! Oh and I’m taking these with me,” he said, grabbing the flowers on his way out.
Armie laughed and called out after him. “By the way, where’s that lovely matching cashmere hat, scarf and glove set I bought you last Christmas?”
“It doesn’t have to match,” Tim shouted back over his shoulder as he dashed off. He had an idea.
***********
Armie saw the glow from Number 1 as he biked across Exhibition Square. He grimaced and shook his head – how embarrassing. Henry had assured him that all of the lights were energy efficient ones, but, Christ alive – it was lit up brighter than the fucking Home Alone house! And he was pretty sure his uptight neighbours must hate it. But since his company owned the entire street which technically made him their landlord, they were unlikely to complain. But still. Mortifying.
He locked his bike in the small shed at the side of the house and went in through the front door. For fucks sake!
‘Feliz Navidad’ was blaring out of the speakers in the ceiling, and the lights on the ridiculously large tree seemed to be stuck on some sort of fit-inducing flash-mode. Awful! He’d had to endure hours of horrendous Christmas songs on repeat all day at the church hall so he was buggered if he was going to put up with them in his own home. If only he could burst all those damn tacky balloons without upsetting Tracey he would. And take great pleasure in doing so… pop, pop, pop.
As he searched around for the elusive remote control to switch everything off, he slipped on the tiled floor - what the hell was that stuck to the bottom of his shoe? He lifted his foot up. It was a clump of squashed red rose petals.
He looked down and saw a half-trampled trail of them leading from the front door into the kitchen - and he instantly felt like the world’s biggest wanker. The love of his life was somewhere in this house, most likely at the end of that trail, so why the fuck was he being such a miserable bastard? He was exhausted, yes, but that wasn’t the real reason – it was his old go-to self-sabotage thing, mixed with a generous sprinkling of nerves. He’d done something very impulsive last week and was sort-of regretting it now.
Snap out of it Hammer. He came back didn’t he?
On the kitchen counter there were more petals scattered in the shape of a heart around a pink post-it note:
Get naked & meet me outside. Bring booze! T
Armie smiled and his bad mood instantly evaporated. He knew exactly where Timmy would be and could think of worse places to spend Mad Friday. And maybe if he could just grow a pair and stop trying to fuck things up, he might spring a little surprise of his own.
Or not. Best to wait and see how tonight pans out first…
He dashed downstairs to the basement, ditched his clothes and grabbed two white fluffy robes from the laundry room and a bottle of the good champagne from the state-of-the-art wine cooler built into the staircase. After a quick pit-stop to retrieve a couple of things from the kitchen random-shit-drawer, he went out through the French windows and into the garden. Here goes nothing…
It looked beautiful. Dozens of soft-glowing lanterns hung from the trees, a fire roared in the green ceramic chiminea on the patio, and tiny fairy lights twinkled around the pergola over the day-beds.
But the most beautiful thing of all was floating star-fished and completely naked in the large hot-tub under the shelter - and privacy - of the wooden gazebo in the corner. The submerged lights in the pool had been switched to a pretty pale pink, and the jets were on the lowest setting so the water barely moved. Clouds of steam swirled in the cold air.
Timmy looked almost ethereal bathed in the rose-coloured light, his pale perfect skin shimmering under the gentle bubbles. Armie just stood there for a few seconds holding the bottle and the glasses and took it all in. Took him all in. How had he gotten so lucky? And why the fuck was he trying to ruin it?
Timmy’s eyes popped open and he sat up and grinned. “Oh hey, you’re home! Come on, get in. I’ve cranked her up to max temp.”
“Where’s my dog?” said Armie as he walked over. “You haven’t lost him again have you?”
“No I haven’t lost… aw shut the fuck up and get in. He’s in his room growling at the panto crowd from his window seat, obviously. Oh and hurry up and pop that plonk. I didn’t want to start until you got back. I know you worry about me boozing in the tub by myself. Although I’ve not been in here long because all this lot…” he waved his arm around. “…took me frigging ages to set up. The lights, the petals, the tunes. I even had to YouTube how to make a fire in the whatchamacallit thingy. Nearly frazzled my damn hair off!”
“I’m impressed. But I hope you don’t mind, I switched off the music. If I hear Last Christmas one more time today I won’t be responsible for my actions.” Armie let his robe drop to the floor, climbed in and sunk into the water. “Ahhh…” It was bliss. There was just something so nice about being completely starkers in a hot pool on a cold night. Having his perfect boyfriend back home with him wasn’t bad either.
“Cheers!” He leaned over and kissed Timmy as they clinked their glasses together. “Welcome back. And here’s to you getting the job. Well done baby. I’m so proud. You know I want front row tickets for every night on the opening week, right?”
Tim frowned and took a large gulp of his champagne. “Really?” He coughed as the bubbles fizzed up his nose. “You’re really coming to see it?”
“Of course! I just need to shuffle my February schedule around a bit. What? Did you think I wouldn’t come? I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”
“I didn’t know… anyway, let’s not talk about me going back right now. I want to hear all about you. What have you been up to?” He reached over and squeezed Armie’s shoulder. “Besides working out that is! Have I missed any gossip?”
“Well… let me think…” The last thing Armie wanted to let slip was how fucking miserable and paranoid he’d been for the previous two months. What a total turn-off that would be. “Ok, so Tracey got a new tattoo. Wait till you see it. Horrendous and marvellous at the same time. Hooky has reconnected with his family and is spending the holidays with them up in Scotland. Izzy has the hots for one of the pretend Vikings at the Jorvik centre. Oh and my mother has invited us both to her birthday party at a golf resort in Tulsa next year.” Armie pulled a face. “Feel free to decline the invitation. I won’t be offended.”
“I like your mom now. We have a mutual understanding… she doesn’t mention the holy spirit and I don’t mention my unholy thoughts about her first born son. It’s a win-win situation.” He chuckled.
Armie huffed. “If she could see us now I reckon she’d want to refill the fucking tub with holy water. And drown us in it. Or baptise us. One or the other.” Things were a hundred times better than they had been but Armie still didn’t particularly like talking about his family, so he changed the subject. “What do you make of the house? The decorations I mean. You know none of it was my doing, right?”
Timmy eye-rolled. “You don’t say! I had to call Tracey on his vacation to find out how the hell to switch it all on! He was waiting in line with Henry outside somewhere called Tom’s Cruising Bar in the Yumbo Centre apparently. Sounded interesting. But God knows how they talked you into making the hallway party-central. I could have sworn you said…” Timmy closed his eyes for a second, then opened them – and did the most amazingly accurate impression of his boyfriend… “I don’t do Christmas if I can help it. All the tacky tinsel and needless gift swapping is just a load of commercialised bullshit.”
Armie threw his head back and laughed. “Ok, you’ve got me. Come here you.” He put his champagne glass on the side, swivelled Timmy around in the water, and hauled him against him, back to chest. Oh god, holding him again like this was just…everything. “The only Christmas gift I want is this…” He ran both hands right from Tim’s silky smooth inner thighs, up past his groin, skimming over his soft balls with his fingertips, over his taught flat stomach, his tiny pebble nipples and around his throat – and back down again. They were both hard in seconds.
Tim leaned his head back. “Kiss me Armie. Bite me,” he breathed, his mouth open and panting, his legs spread under the water. “Armie, I want…
Armie’s kryptonite was the way Timmy said his name, almost rolling it around his tongue and elongating the ‘arrr’ sound. So fucking sexy...
“You want what?” Armie said, up close and into his ear. “This?” He grabbed a fist-full of Tim’s damp curls and pulled his head back, exposing his long slender throat. He put his other hand around his long, rigid cock and squeezed. “What if the gazebo wasn’t here and the neighbours could see you now? Would you like that? People watching me do this…” he pumped up and down with his fist. “…and this…” then reached underneath and rubbed at the sensitive spot with his long middle finger. “I bet you’d fucking love that, wouldn’t you? Them seeing you come?”
Timmy groaned out loud and arched his back and rubbed his crease on Armie’s equally hard cock. “Pack it in! I’m gonna jizz in the water if you carry on.”
“Well don’t,” Armie scolded. “You need to be patient.” He sucked on his neck and whispered, “I want to fuck you properly in bed tonight. I want you to come with me inside you. Wanna watch your face. Feel you on my cock.”
“Stop then!” Timmy whined. His erection throbbed and bobbed in the gently moving, pink glowing bubbles as he wiggled himself out of Armie’s grip. “Do you know I’ve nearly wanked myself blind in my old room back home. It’s been a bloody nightmare with my parents right next door. My Mom looks for signs everywhere. I’ve had to spunk in my socks then smuggle them straight in the laundry.”
Armie chuckled and reached over to dry his hands on his robe - putting the brakes on wasn’t a bad idea. They did have a tendency to go from zero to eleven within seconds when it came to sex. He fished a single cigarette and a lighter out of one of the pockets, lit up, and said as casually as he could, “No hook-ups then? I saw your Instagram once or twice.” He inhaled deeply. “Interesting bunch you’ve been partying with. Looked like you were having fun.”
Timmy stood up and turned around to face him. “You can be such a dick-head sometimes, d’you know that? I didn’t even notice anyone let alone hook up. You must know by now that I fancy the fucking pants off you. And only you. Don’t you? None of them were even my type.”
“Well, before you met me I seem to recall you weren’t all that fussy.”
“Right, that’s it!” said Timmy and he jumped up in the water and ducked Armie right under, lit cigarette and all.
“What the fuck!” Armie came up coughing and spluttering.
Timmy bent over laughing, his hands on his hips. “You’ve only got yourself to blame.” He scooped the soggy cigarette out of the tub and tossed it on the grass. Then he stepped forward and, using both hands, smoothed Armie’s dripping wet hair off his face. Their cocks brushed together under the water. “You shouldn’t be smoking anyway,” he said with a smile, and leaned in for a soft wet kiss. “It’s a very bad habit Mr Hammer.” He kissed him again.
“You’re a bad habit,” said Armie, in his best impression of being grumpy.
Tim was suddenly very serious. He stared deep into Armie’s eyes. “I need to tell you something.”
Armie’s heart was in his mouth. Oh god, was this it? Was this what he had been expecting since the day they met. The ‘thanks for the good times but I’m moving on’ speech. He could hardly breathe and his thoughts jumped straight to the other thing in the robe pocket. “Ok, I’m listening.”
Timmy took hold of Armie’s hands. “You make me so happy. I don’t think you even realise what you mean to me. So when you say shit like, have I hooked-up with anyone, it’s…” He shook his head in frustration. “Look, we both went through a lot before we met, right? But we ripped off the band-aids of our past lives. I showed you my wounds and you showed me yours, and neither of us backed away. It made us stronger… closer. To me, that’s what real love is. The freedom just to be fucking honest and real and vulnerable with someone, and yet still feel safe and loved. And I think I’ve found that with you, and I... I…”
Tim breathed heavily and pressed his lips tightly closed as if the words were fighting to get out, but that he wasn’t quite ready to release them.
Armie felt like he was standing on the precipice of something. “Say it Tim. Please. Just say it.”
“I… sort of want us to be… forever?” His mouth twisted into a tiny smile and he raised his eyebrows.
Armie stared at him for a decade. Or maybe it was just a couple of seconds, it was hard to tell. He swallowed and kissed the back of his hands, left then right. “You know the very first time we made love… remember? On the sofa with the almost out-of-date condom?” Tim gave a tiny nod. “Well, just before I touched you, I said a little prayer that you would be forever. And I don’t want to pressure you, or make you regret anything but… my divorce finally came through last week. So…”
He reached over and took a small box out of the pocket of his robe.