“Wha?” Cullen goes from a hand and damn nearly a mouthful of dick to Jim in his arms saying no. No? Jim’s turning down a blowjob? Is the boy a total masochist?
Confused, he tries propping Jim up, tries going down on him again, only to end up getting dragged up by his jacket. The good feeling he had a few moments ago’s rapidly disappearing and, with a growl, he pins Jim back against the store and says, “What the fuck is going on here?”
“Safe. We gotta be safe,” groans James, miserable as fucking sin
cause all he wants in the whole damn world is to feel those lips back on him.
Cullen’s got him by the collar now and he’s angry and shit but he’s laughing same time he’s cussing him out as he pushes him back up to a standing position on legs that just don’t wanna work.
“Weren’t the HIV, Jim. Reckon I’ve gotta better chance of getting that travelin’,” Cullen’s saying, but James isn’t listening. It’s all words and numbers spilling out along with kisses and sucks and the soft slick of tongue that makes James feel weak as hell and sexy as fuck all at the same time. His hands are on Cullen’s shoulders and they’re right back to the predator’s stare that has James gulping and swallowing and begging his dick not to come too damn soon-
“Goddamn shit, yeah.”
Mouth swoops down and is sucking him hard one second then licking him like ice cream the next. Fingers are teasing his balls then jerking him off then pushing him back against that wall to keep him upright with such sheer strength that he thinks he might be pinned there forever.
Boy’d been worried about infecting him. It’s kinda sweet and just makes Cullen even more determined to get his mouth on that dick. Jim’s still not listening real well so Cullen goes with the direct approach, pinning him back and swallowing his dick whole.
Feels so damn good finally getting his mouth on Jim. The cussing coming from up above says Jim’s having a good time too. His hips are jumping like he’s trying not to come and that’s not want Cullen wants. After licking the boy up one side and down the other, Cullen settles in to suck him off proper.
Don’t take long before Jim’s whining, his hands dancing over Cullen’s shoulders and hair. Just touches like he’s scared of really grabbing on and that’s one fuck of a turn on by itself, knowing that Jim won’t push it even when he wants to come so damn bad.
Letting his mouth speak for itself, Cullen uses the hand that ain’t planted on Jim’s belly to tug on the boy’s balls, rolling the skin through his fingers and hearing Jim’s soft cries increasing in volume. Won’t take much more to push him over the edge, Cullen reckons as he does a bit more exploring. Jim jack-knifes, coming hard when Cullen presses up behind his balls. Cullen takes what he can in his mouth then carries on jacking him as he spits on the ground. He don’t swallow, never has.
Pretty soon Jim’s pushing him away, whimpering. Cullen stands up, his knees creaking in protest, and shoves Jim down onto the grass as he loosens his own pants. Not gonna take much to send him over the edge neither, he thinks as he jerks off. Jim’s staring up at him, mouth half-open, eyes kinda glazed, but it’s when that tongue flicks out that Cullen shoots, hitting Jim in the face.
The grass is cold and damp but it feels like fucking paradise. James licks his
lips then wipes a string of come off his cheek and sucks at his finger. He loves
the taste of spunk but he’ll never get clean that way. Leaning up on one
elbow he searches in his jacket pocket and finds a serviette from Burger King.
The waxy thin paper is useless but Cullen’s offering him a handkerchief
- a material one – and that pretty much sums up the difference between
them.
Wiping himself clean and shoving the damp material quickly into his pocket James takes Cullen’s hand and gets dragged forcefully to his feet. He throws the balled up piece of tissue into a nearby trash can hoping he’s not quite that disposable, but he doesn’t feel disposable when Cullen lays an arm across his shoulders and leans in to kiss him. In fact he feels like he’s still on one of the fucking rides. Talking of rides.
“What d’ you wanna do now?” he says, pulling the scrunched up map out of his pocket and ungluing it from the sticky handkerchief. “There’s Nemesis but you’re dangling and there’s lots of corners and then we got the teacup ride,” he grins at Cullen’s frown and looks back down at the leaflet. “There’s the log flume but I’m not sure you’d fit in the log and Vortex with a lot of spinning around. Tidal Wave’s straight up and down."
That he can do. Dangling and corners, not so much. Cullen leans over to wipe
the last of the come of Jim’s face with his thumb and says, “Sounds
doable. Where is it.”
Jim drags him off back into the thick of things, halfway across the park and up to this lake with some kind of fake wreckage thing going on. There’s a car getting dragged up the incline and Cullen’s all for stopping to watch ‘til Jim gets behind him and shoves him along so they’re waiting in line.
“Never said there was water,” Cullen says.
Jim gives him that ‘Christ you’re so dumb’ look and says, “Tidal Wave? What else’s it gonna be?”
“Don’t people get wet?” Not that Cullen’s bothered. Or at least not that much. He could get his suit dry-cleaned and anyhow it wasn’t like he’d end up soaked.
There’s no answer from Jim, just a lip lock that has the kids in the queue in front of them staring and muttering. Cullen glares at them and they look away, shuffling their feet. Then the barrier’s up and they’re all moving forwards.
“Wait,” yells James and sticks his palm out. “I need money.”
Cullen hands him a twenty and gives him this look – the patented affectionate frown with a hint of I’m gonna kill you when we’re not in public look. While James is racing off he thinks about what Cullen’s been giving him in public very recently and, Jesus, he’s stiffening up again just at the thought of it.
When he gets back Cullen’s standing, looking down at their designated row of seats. The carriage is half full of water and he’s not a happy man.
“Put one of these on,” says James handing Cullen a plastic cape complete with hood and very large Thorpe Park logo and the man just looks back at him totally horror stricken as James puts on his waterproof.
“No!” hisses Cullen, sliding across into the back row of seats and pulling a face as his suit pants get soaked.
“Okay,” says James shrugging.
The bar is locked down into position and they tip forward and “Shiiiiit,” he yells, because it’s part of the fun when they get to the bottom and he can’t see anything except this total whiteout.
“Fuck,” growls Cullen as the wall of water covers them, drenching them more thoroughly than if they’d been swimming fully dressed in the ocean.
When they get out onto the platform and head across to the bridge James risks his first good look to see how wet Cullen actually is. People are laughing. Maybe it’s the suit. More likely it’s the hangdog expression.
Laughing isn’t a good idea. Cullen’s stopped walking and he’s holding James by the arm and that’s not a good place to stand because…
“FUCK!”
This is the part of the bridge that the tidal wave hits full on.
Cullen turns just in time to get a face full of water. Cold, dirty water that
slaps into him at some fucking speed. He’s soaked, freezing cold, never
gonna dry before he gets back in the Audi and Jim’s gonna fucking die!
Spinning round, he lunges for Jim, who takes off like the hounds of hell are after him, which ain’t that far from the truth. The little shit’s whooping as he runs and stripping out of the damn stupid cape that saved him from the worst. The bridge shudders under their feet, thumping steps echoing round off the windows and roof.
Down off the bridge and Cullen’s gaining, no more than a couple of feet from that skinny rear end. Finally he tackles Jim, sending them both rolling over on the grass. Jim’s howling with laughter and Cullen’s starting to see the funny side of it. Or will when he’s done this.
Picking Jim up bodily off the ground, Cullen carries him the few steps needed and tosses him over the fence ‘round the lagoon. Jim slides ass first, landing with an almighty splash of muddy water. It’s not even a foot deep and he’s sitting there like some beached merman, complete with greenery in his hair.
Now Cullen laughs, ‘cause damn does Jim look funny.
Okay, James can take a joke good as most people but, “This is not fucking
funny,” he yells at the top of his voice. “And you guys can quit
laughing too,” he shouts at the crowd of teenagers who are gathered ‘round
grinning at him. “He’ll most likely throw you in too cause he’s
a mean son of a bitch.”
Getting to his feet and inching his way up the slope, pointedly ignoring Cullen’s hand, he finally makes it back on to dry land and stomps off towards the men’s room with Cullen following on behind still laughing like a fucking hyena. First time James has even heard a fucking snigger and it has to be over this -- the slapstick loving evil motherfucking bastard.
“I didn’t get you wet, you moron. It was the fucking ride that did it. And if you worn one of these,” he waves the plastic cape that’s screwed up in his hand, “Then you wouldn’t’ve got all soaked and be all riled up like a baby.”
Every single word seems to make Cullen laugh more and when they reach the bathroom he’s practically crawling, doubled over in agony. He fucking deserves to hurt.
James throws the waterproof cape in the trash and looks at himself in the mirror. He’s all brown and green, covered in pond slime and mud and his jacket, his newest prized possession, is dripping with weed. After washing the worst it off his face and hands, he looks behind him at the back of his pants that are soaked through with water and covered in mud.
“But, hey, it’s your Audi’s gonna suffer the worst I guess. All that leather upholstery,” he says with a huge grin as he pees, shakes, washes his hands and looks back at a wet and decidedly grim faced Cullen.
“Never were getting in the Audi like this, anyhow,” Cullen says. “Reckon there’s gotta be somewhere ‘round here we can pick up something dry.”
He’d been having fun and it’s kind of annoying that Jim’s not taking the joke well. Boy looked funny sat in the water like that and his stomping off like a petulant teenager just made it funnier.
Grabbing a handful of paper towels, Cullen tugs Jim over to him, turns him round and scrubs at his jeans. It’s mud more than anything and ain’t coming out easy.
“Take off the jacket and hang it on the door,” he says, tossing the towels in the trash. “Then take this,” Cullen extracts a few damp bills out of his wallet and hands them over, “and go buy clean shirts, pants, anything you can find.”
When Jim takes the money, raising an enquiring eyebrow, Cullen adds, “Gonna try cleaning up the jacket. Reckon it’s too nice not to.”
It’s just water. And mud. And some pond scum. Ain’t the fucking
end of the world, unless you’re an anally retentive Cullen. James manages
to light a soggy cigarette from a damp box of matches and wanders off towards
the big dome thing. Once he’s finished his smoke he goes inside and looks
around the shops. Yeah, they have pants and swim shorts - if you’re a
kid and he may be small but he’s not that fucking small. Picking out a
couple of black T’s and two sweatshirts, he pays for them and then finds
some candy and a toy bear that growls when you press his belly. He has to buy
that. Not often you find a mini Cullen.
No pants anywhere in adult sizes but he does discover a stack of fleece blankets. What the hell they’re for he has no idea, but then they sell Thorpe Park flashlights and Thorpe Park cigarette lighters and Thorpe Park baby bottles and pillows…
Loaded up like a packhorse with carrier bags, he struggles back to the bathroom where he left Cullen. The big guy’s still trying to rescue his jacket and doing a damn good job of it too.
“No pants anywhere but I got you this,” he says, handing Cullen the toy bear in mid growl.
It’s a bear. A small brown bear with a heart on it’s chest saying
<I>I survived Colossus.</I> Was Jim making a point?
Cullen stares at the bear and then at Jim, trying to work out what it means. When nothing comes to him, he sits the toy on the side of the sink and says, “What else d’you find?”
Jim produces a couple of T-shirts and some blankets that might do the trick for the Audi. They both change, stripping out of their wet shirts and using one of the blankets to towel off before putting on the dry ones. The wet stuff packed up, Cullen shoves it all away, leaving the bear ‘til last. He still can’t fathom it and spares it and Jim another glance before slipping it carefully into the top of the bag with the dry blankets.
It’s a cold walk back to the car and once they’re there, Cullen pops the trunk and puts the bag of wet stuff inside. The bear he places in a pocket in the side so it don’t get lost or wet.
Jim’s hovering by the passenger door, a cigarette hanging out the corner of his mouth. He looks pale and he’s shivering, but then there’s not enough flesh on him to keep out the cold.
“Come ’ere,” Cullen says, and once Jim’s come round the back of the car, Cullen hauls one of the blankets out, points at Jim’s wet pants and says, “Take ‘em off.”
“Fuck off.” James almost drops his smoke. “I am not driving
through London half naked. No. Get the fuck off me. No.”
Cullen has like eight arms wrapped around him and ten legs and James’ cigarette is stamped out and the top button of his jeans is open already.
“Hey, fucktard, there are people looking.” James points wildly in the direction of a car way way in the distance that’s getting further out of sight by the second. He’s trapped between a layer of soft blanket and firm man and fuck, if his cock isn’t thinking that this is a fun idea.
“No. No.”
Great. Now he’s dangling over Cullen’s shoulder and his pants are descending and so are his freaking boxers.
“Hey,” he squeaks as his Nikes are pulled off and his clothing, which was at thigh level, is now in a fucking bag in the trunk.
“Your shorts were muddy,” grins Cullen, putting him down and wrapping the blanket ‘round his shoulders. James is kind of stunned and his mouth is opening but there just aren’t words. Right now he’s feeling as if he should have bought one of those Thorpe Park pacifiers that were on sale in the gift shop.
His cock however ain’t half as moody as he is and it’s pressed up tight against his belly and, even though he’s freezing cold and his feet are sore from all the little stones that are sticking in them, he’s almost smiling, however hard he’s trying not to.
Jesus, that is not gonna help him feel less horny. Cullen is untying his laces, pulling off his shoes and his suit pants are coming off like a freaking stripper act. James is almost glad that the shorts are staying on because too much excitement has gotta be bad for your health when you’re sex mad and over forty.
Cullen finishes undressing then wraps the blanket around himself sarong style.
It’s not exactly a fashion statement, but it’s better than getting
crap on the Audi’s seats. Jim’s standing there like a lemon, staring,
so Cullen turns him round and gives him a gentle push in the direction of the
passenger side.
“Go get warm,” he says. “Reckon you’ll end up with pneumonia if you keep on standing out here.”
Jim goes without argument and, after making sure everything’s packed down right, Cullen follows him. The blankets and the Audi’s heater warm them right up but, once they get moving, Cullen has to pull the blanket off so he doesn’t get his legs caught up while he’s driving. That leaves him sitting in just his boxers, not a problem, ‘til he’s minding his own business, weaving through traffic up the M25, and a hand slides up his thigh.
“Jim,” he says warningly.
The hand vanishes for all of a second. Then it’s back, this time with a pal and they’re holding something. Cullen takes his eyes off the road for a second to glance down and then glare at Jim.
“What the fuck are you gonna do with that,” he asks.
James unwraps the lollipop and runs it over Cullen’s boxer shorts, teasing
the soft bulge with that rough ridge of candy. When Cullen’s cock twitches
James grins and removes his hand, pushing the lollipop between his lips, sucking
it hard then running his tongue over the strawberry flavoured sweet. Cullen
glances over a couple of times as James is busy fellating the hell out of that
little red sucker and he shifts in his seat adjusting the lie of his dick which
forcing it’s way out of the slit in his shorts.
Cullen frowns down at his erection as it pumps itself so full of blood that the foreskin peels back of its own accord. The expression mutates into one of disappointment as if his prick is letting him down in some way. The thought makes James grin and he leans over and runs the wet red head of his lollipop over the wet red head of Cullen’s cock.
Dribbles of red stain the white cotton material but Cullen keeps his eyes glued ahead of him and is apparently oblivious to everything. James rips open a paper packet of sherbet and tips some of powder into his mouth then bends down and swallows as much of Cullen’s cock as he can manage, enjoying the hisses and groans and variations of every type of expletive known to man.
James doesn’t bother with any more of the candy games - he’s too busy sucking and licking and letting the head of Cullen’s cock rub itself against the back of his throat. The vibration and slight movement of the car do all the work for him and all he has to do is lay there with his eyes closed, warm at last from the blanket and the hot air and the heat from Cullen’s body.
He’s so tired.
It’s a damn good job Cullen’s got good control else the Audi woulda
been off the road when Jim started blowing him. Then Jim woulda been out of
the car when he fell asleep.
Pulling the car over, Cullen eases Jim off his lap and over to his own side. Jim’s head lands heavy against the window but he don’t stir. Must be exhausted. The lolly’s stuck to Cullen’s thigh and he winces as he pulls it off, getting a fair few hairs at the same time. There ain’t much he can do about the stickiness, ‘cept wait ‘til he gets back for a shower.
The rest of the trip goes by quickly and an hour later, Cullen pulls into the underground parking lot. Jim’s snoring quietly, head still resting against the window, and Cullen shakes him.
“Upstairs,” he says. “Bed.” It’s been one fuck of a day and Jim didn’t sleep last night. Cullen reckons he’s better off sleeping now and eating come morning.
Together they get up to the apartment, Jim using Cullen as a leaning post as he wavers on his feet. Then it’s into the shower where Jim stands, head down and lets himself get washed. Once he’s in bed Cullen waits for bit, checking he’s settled before heading for the living room and his papers. Needs to get everything up to date for tomorrow when Astley’ll be calling in at the office.
There’s a mug of coffee on the nightstand and James half sits, reaching
out for the cup and swilling down the drink with a grimace of disgust. What
time is it? He looks over at the clock. Hell, it’s past eleven already
- no wonder the coffee’s cold.
He could tell as soon as he opened his eyes that Cullen was out. Not from the quiet atmosphere in the apartment because the man’s silent most of the time anyway but he has this presence about him and, swear to god, James can feel when he’s nearby.
Stretching and immediately regretting it, he drags himself out of the bed. Every muscle and bone is creaking and aching and he feels all of his forty-two years, plus at least another ten on top. Padding into the bathroom he yawns, pees, brushes his teeth and turns on the shower, standing under the chrome head and letting the jets of water wake him.
And then it hits him all over again. He’s clean. He’s got someone who cares enough to help him. He’s got a future. He’s gotta start doing something with it.
Astley’s late, which isn’t like him at all. Worse still Cullen had
plans. He was gonna take Jim to lunch, but now he’s stuck in the office
‘til Astley arrives.
On the desk in front of him sits a copy of the paperwork from Friar. The original’s are with Astley, couriered over to him Monday afternoon along with the suggestion of giving Jim a job. Is that what’s causing the hold-up? That’s not a thought that appeals, so Cullen gets back to his email, weeding out the spam and marking up ones that need follow ups.
There’s a message from Ryan giving the all clear on the New York Times job. The boys’ll be out of touch for about two weeks, unless there’s a problem. He’s just about to shut his inbox when another mail pops up marked urgent.
Opening it, Cullen stares for a moment then grabs the phone and stabs in Astley’s direct line.
“What have you got,” he snaps when it’s picked up.
“And a good morning to you too, Malcolm.”
“Not in the mood, Astley. Tell me what you’ve got and why the hell you sent that email.”
There’s a pained sigh from the other end and the sound of papers rustling. “I saw Friar’s report, which makes for very interesting reading, I must say, and decided that a little more digging might be in order. Malcolm, how much do you know about James’ background?”
Cullen thinks about it. Precious little, really, just odds and ends Jim had let drop. He doesn’t say anything though, ‘cause Astley’s bound to have that covered.
“Did you know your toy used to be a card carrying member of the communist party and has an FBI file that would set off alarm bells in the most broadminded of people. Not to mention his history of dealing drugs, which granted, no one was ever able to prove, but still, he had regular contact with the type of people many of our clients would prefer to avoid. Honestly Malcolm, are you sure he isn’t a mole of some description?”
Cullen barks out a laugh. If Astley had seen Jim those first couple of days he wouldn’t be talking this way. “Sure as I was last time you ran him down,” he says.
“That’s what I feared.”
“Reckon that means you’ll not be offering him a job then,” Cullen continues. Which sucks, big time, since he’d kinda promised Jim a job.
“Frankly, Malcolm, I wouldn’t let that man near our files if he was the last typist left in the world. Perhaps, in time, he may prove that he’s changed, but for now I think it better if we keep everything secure.”
Cullen grunts. He’s far from happy, but Astley ain’t gonna change his mind easily.
“And I’d rather you didn’t discuss business with him, if there is any possibility that the information may get passed on.”
There’s no point protesting. Cullen finishes the call and hangs up, then sits staring at the phone. He should call Jim and tell him. Apologise for bringing him here on false pretences. On the job front, anyhow.
Miserably, he dials home and to his surprise gets number busy. Probably a cold caller. When he tries again five minutes later and gets the same thing, it gets him uneasy. After a coffee, when it’s still the same, Cullen’s out of the office before the secretary’s said goodbye.
It’s all this big mystery that's the size of Mount Everest. The first
thing he needs to do is to get some respect back and the best way he can do
that is by getting a job. He’s thinking after his initial meeting with
Astley that the chances of working for Storm Force are slim to none and, well,
that’s not so bad because there’s a lot of things that he’d
prefer to be doing - not that he’d dare tell Malcolm that.
On the kitchen counter are a set of house keys and a list of instructions on how to lock the place up and arm the nuclear deterrent alarm system. Fuck that. Throwing on his leather jacket, which has mostly dried out by now, he searches for yesterday’s dirty clothes that are all bagged up for the laundry service and fishes some money out of his jeans pocket.
Time to find work. How hard can that be?
Fifteen minutes later he’s trying to remember his way to the shops, past the construction site where Cullen got himself arrested -- he’s still having problems trying to figure out what happened with Friar -- then he’s walking through this little park and wandering aimlessly ‘til he finds the shopping mall he’s been to once before. Holy fucking shit, they actually have a store here that sells newspapers. Life would be so much fucking easier if they had news-stands.
Eventually discovering a copy of The Stage, which he figures must be the UK equivalent of Variety, he buys that and yesterday’s Standard and he pays for them plus a pack of smokes and a can of Pepsi.
Shit, nearly five pounds for a packet of Marlboro? He needs to quit.
Feeling kinda like a kid sneaking off without his parents' permission James ambles through the mall, ignoring the fact that everyone else is rushing around at top speed. Shopping however ain’t much fun when you have no cash and no plastic so he finds his way back home and sits out on the balcony drinking his cola, smoking one of those gold fucking plated cigarettes and circling all the possible auditions and job vacancies in both newspapers. Time to make some phone calls.
Forty five minutes, two coffees and one depression later he slams his fist down in annoyance and then, just to make him feel even better, he’s treated to the sight of one majorly pissed Cullen glaring at him.
Astley’s accusations hang round the back of Cullen’s mind, poisoning
everything. Seeing Jim sitting there, flushed, his jacket slung over the back
of the chair, Cullen’s torn between stripping off the rest of Jim’s
clothes and ripping him a new one for going out without asking. But that ain’t
right. Much as he’d like to, Cullen knows he can’t keep Jim locked
up here. Why else give him a key? It’s not like Jim went out to start
dealing or whoring himself out. Is it?
“Where you been?” he demands before he can stop himself.
Jim gives him one of his totally pissed looks and stalks out onto the balcony, leaving Cullen to follow if he wants to carry on talking. He does. And wouldn’t mind trying again, maybe from the point he walked in and got ansty about Jim having been out. But that ain’t gonna happen. There’s times when Cullen wonders why he bothers talking at all.
Through the cloud of smoke Jim’s breathing out Cullen says, “I tried calling. Kept getting the busy signal. You been busy?”
Resisting the urge to make his usual fuck up and yell at Cullen that he was
trying to score some dope, James paces the balcony figuring stuff out in his
head.
“Been trying to get work,” he says, but he’s feeling paranoid and that sounds kinda skewed. “A job -- acting, bartending, anything. I need something to do to pay for these babies,” he says waving the Marlboro in Cullen’s face. “Cost way more than fucking heroin does back home.”
Cullen looks nervous. Any mention of drugs sets off the alarm bells and James can hear them chiming away behind that mask that's getting more and more transparent every day.
“So I’ve been calling up about the vacancies but thing is I need a work permit to get a job and I need a job to get a work permit. And that fucking sucks.”
There must be jobs that just pay cash with no questions asked but how the fuck is he supposed to find them? He can’t even be an extra in a film without the fucking permit. Maybe he should go back to porno. Dammit, he’s tired and he’s frustrated and if every day’s gonna be like this he’s not gonna bother getting out of bed anymore.
Bed sounds good but he can’t even think of way to get them there without it looking like he’s wanting to pay his way with a blow job.
Work permit. Damn. Cullen thinks long and hard about ways he might be able to
help and comes up blank. If Astley had gone for the job thing then Jim woulda
had a work permit straight up. You don’t have contacts like Astley’s
without having a few strings to pull too.
“Reckon my news ain’t gonna help any then,” he says, and when Jim raises a eyebrow, continues, “Astley given the secretary thing a big negatory.” He doesn’t want to go in to details, Jim’s jumpy enough as it is and anything that smacks of distrust ain’t gonna help. “And flipping burger’s ain’t the kinda job people’ll do the paperwork for.”
Jim just looks more miserable, so Cullen reaches out and lays a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t have to worry about the cost of those,” he says indicating the cigarette in Jim’s hand. “Got that covered. Plus anything else you’ll be needing.” And he really needs to set up an account. Keeps forgetting to do that.
“Other option is you ain’t working. Live together long enough and you can stay anyhow, seeing as how I’ve already gotten my dual citizenship.” It’s not what Jim wants, Cullen’s certain of it, but at least he won’t have to worry about getting tossed out. “Not easy, but it’s doable.”
James gets this stupid fucking lump in his throat. Maybe working’s not
gonna be as easy as he thought and, yeah, it’s something that he needs
to do for himself, but he don’t have to worry about it. Cullen really
fucking meant it when he said he was gonna look after him.
“What time you gotta be back?” he asks, throwing his cigarette over the balcony and looping his arms ‘round Cullen’s neck. “Cause I’m feeling really needy right now.”
For all the right reasons.