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“I’ve told you, Douglas, I’m not signing onto one of those dating websites. They’re terrible and a waste of time.”
“Normally, I agree. But given your lack of dating and current abundance of annoying me, I thought there might be nothing for you to lose.” Douglas responded, bringing up the page on his mobile. “Besides, it’s a good one. Supposedly designed specifically for busy professionals.”
“I’m sorry; the answer is still ‘no’ – I’m not interested in online dating.”
“Too bad, I’ve already started your profile.”
“You what?”
“I was bored and took the liberty of starting it for you. See, ‘Lonely Skipper Seeks Companion’.”
Martin sighed and looked at the small screen where Douglas had tapped out the text. “Your guess at my weight is off.”
“I was close. No bother, everyone lies on these anyway.”
“Which is why it’s a waste of time!”
“We’re stuck here for another four hours, Martin. Perhaps I should wake Arthur up from his naptime for a game of charades?”
Ugh, anything but that. Again. “Why did you file this under Male seeking Male?”
“That would be where you are most likely to find a suitable homosexual male.”
“I’m not… why would you have the impression that I’m gay?”
“Because you are. Let’s see… time for the assessment portion. ‘True or false. I couldn’t be in a long-term relationship with a person who I know doesn’t make enough money to help me live the lifestyle I need in order to be happy.’ Well, that’s a bit unfair of a question…”
“Did Carolyn tell you? It was none of her business to tell you.” Martin looked away, flustered. “It isn’t something that needs to be discussed. I simply am the way that I am and I shouldn’t have to explain myself to you or to anyone else.”
“Right.” Douglas tapped the ‘false’ button. “I’ll guess ‘false’ on that one.”
Martin was quiet a moment, and then replied. “You’re right.”
“I know.”
“You really don’t care, do you?”
“I always care that I am right. Thankfully it is almost always the case.”
“I mean that I’m gay, you don’t care.”
“Should I?” Douglas didn’t bother looking up as he read the next question; “If someone were struggling financially I’d feel bad for them but wouldn’t want to pursue a long-term relationship with them.’ True or false, Martin?”
“False.” Martin answered, “On the latter question. And no, I suppose you shouldn’t care…” He found his water and took a long drink, carefully considering the source of his annoyance. He’d actually rather hoped Douglas would be the last to know.
“Of course.”
“Right.”
“I like to buy really nice things and have often spent more money than I really can afford.” Douglas read aloud, “I’ll say ‘True’ on that.”
“False!”
“Really?”
“Well… not often.”
“There isn’t a sometimes option.”
“False, Douglas.”
“As you claim.” He continued on the questionnaire. “I haven’t saved much money and worry about money much more than I used to.”
“Those questions aren’t even related!”
“Very true.” Douglas clicked the ‘truth’ option quickly.
“Fair enough.”
They continued through the financial portion with somewhat moderate success and less quibbling than Martin had expected. Granted, it was rather short.
“Ahh, here we go. True or false, ‘I believe strongly in the right to individual freedoms and civil liberties. I would have trouble being with a partner who was strongly opposed to my views.’”
Martin considered the question, actually far more seriously than he probably should have. “Well, can’t be arguing the whole time… I would say, ‘true’.”
“Boring.” Douglas sighed, quickly finishing the remainder of the values portion with little actual effort.
“You’re just clicking things at random now, aren’t you?”
“They aren’t important.”
“Words my friends and family use to describe me.” He tilted the phone back towards Martin, “What do you think?”
Martin scanned over the short list, “I can only pick five?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem.”
“It is. I’m all…well, most of these things.”
“Well, we surely can’t check ‘modest,’ can we?”
“I am plenty modest.”
“Right, just like you are ‘easy-going,’ ‘a good listener,’ ‘happy,’ and ‘passionate.’”
“I can be any of those things.”
“And yet, you aren’t.”
“Okay, perhaps I’m not…” he scanned the list once more, attempting to find something that would be rather difficult to maintain long-term. “Maybe romantic, I’ve never been good at romantic gestures.”
“Really, I always pictured you quite the Casanova.”
“You have?”
“No.” Douglas selected the first five he thought could be stretched to fit Martin even somewhat. “How about those?”
“Caring, that’s good… Dependable, certainly.” He paused, “I think you missed here, you selected Passionate – I think you mean Perceptive.”
“How… passionate of you. No, I chose passionate because it will raise your chances of getting a match.”
“It will?”
“We can only hope.”
“Right.” Martin sighed, “Rational, very much so. Enjoy traveling? Has it occurred to you that I’m a pilot?”
“So? It doesn’t matter why you enjoy it.”
“Bit redundant, isn’t it? Of course pilots enjoy traveling.”
“Not always.”
“Name one. And don’t say yourself because I know for a fact you love travel.”
“I was simply stating that hypothetically, a love of travel isn’t a prerequisite for employment as a pilot.”
“Right, let’s just get this over with so I never have to look at it again.”
“Which things about me would a person have to like, or at least tolerate, in order to be a good match?” Douglas paused, “Pity, no option for ‘stick up the arse.’”
Martin ignored the remark and read over the list. “Three… let’s see. Well, we’ve established that as a pilot I am an avid traveller.”
“Right.”
“And financial stability is a little bit of an issue…”
“That would be my first choice.”
“I just don’t have that many negative traits.”
“Unfortunately ‘narcissist’ is also missing.”
Martin chose to ignore him yet again, “I suppose I do prefer to be alone, and that one will fit.”
“Right, let’s see now… boring statistical questions… got them… not religious…”
“How do you know?”
“Fine, Martin. Would you say you are religious?”
“Well, no.”
“Not political.”
“Right.”
“Don’t care about education.”
“I wouldn’t say that…”
“Now, your ‘Love Style.’”
“Why do I get the impression this is a horrible idea?” Martin sighed, leaning back into his seat.
“Because you’re adverse to anything fun.”
“I am not.”
“Back to true or false. ‘I need a lot of attention, calls, and time together with someone I love.’”
“That’s silly.”
“True.”
“No, no it isn’t.”
Douglas chuckled slightly and clicked on ‘true’ anyway, quickly darting to the next question. “I am private about physical affection.”
“Yes, there’s a time and place.”
“Certainly. It is important that someone I love also loves and appreciates my friends and family.”
“Friends, perhaps. Family, less such.”
“Uh-huh.” Douglas muttered softly, hating himself for even starting the almost unending stream of useless questions. “When I am in love, private couple time is important to me, but I also need significant time to be with my close friends.”
“Not an issue.”
“I am not a possessive or jealous person.” He continued, but Martin didn’t answer right away, so Douglas immediately hit ‘false’ regardless of what utter nonsense Martin came back with.
“I wouldn’t say I’m jealous… not really…”
“Continuing on; ‘When I am in love I need to know my partner’s deepest feelings, fears, and thoughts.’”
“I’m gay, not a woman.” Martin quipped, instantly regretting it.
“Ahh, nothing like a bit of casual misogyny in the morning.”
“Shut up, you know what I mean.”
“Right, more statistical information…” Douglas clicked through several more selections of blatantly obvious information.
“I don’t trust you; show me what you’re saying…” Martin took the phone, “A visit to my home and you will find it…”
“I was at a loss as there’s no option for ‘a van.;” Douglas furrowed his brow.
“It isn’t much, but I do have a flat.” Martin licked his lower lip, actually considering his answer now that he’d invested a good deal of time in the futile exercise. “Fairly comfortable, I think. My futon, some books, card table, fold away chair…”
“Ah, a fan of the IKEA foldaway collection.”
“But I do try to keep it tidy, I’d say clean and orderly.”
“Right. Moving on.” Douglas took the phone back and continued at a quicker pace. “No wonder everyone hates these things, this is absolutely tedious. Nobody has this sort of stamina.”
“So, you’re giving up then?”
“Of course not. ‘My favourite romantic gestures’ – two of them.” He once more offered up the phone.”
“There’s nothing practical on this list. I mean, really? ‘Slow dancing in a romantic setting’ because I’m going to take my boyfriend to the grand ballroom.”
“I hate that word, ‘boyfriend.’” Douglas groaned, “Sounds so… teenage girl.”
Pointedly ignoring the fact that he mostly agreed, Martin took control of the profile. “I’m going to finish this; you can’t be trusted.” He read over the text fields Douglas had taken the liberty of entering; “Person you most admire in your life: Douglas Richardson.”
“Pre-emptively, of course. Once you find the love of your life and all.”
“Of course.” Martin sighed, deleting the field.
“If you’re planning on finishing that yourself, be sure you don’t include any references to the company.” Douglas took on a more serious tone, “I wouldn’t even mention you hold rank, honestly… best to ward off the unsavoury types that think you may have money.”
***
“I don’t believe this.” Martin stared incredulously at his inbox.
“Don’t tell me you’ve got another interview.”
“No, no.” Martin answered quietly, “No, I have a date.”
“A date? Surely you must be joking.”
“No, I do.” He read over the email once more, “I’ve been exchanging email with someone I got a match off on that profile you did.”
“In my defence, we did the profile together.”
“No, he seems absolutely brilliant. A bit forward, but I suppose that’s not always a bad thing.”
“And does Mr Not a Bad Thing have a name?”
“Oh, still screen names only.” Martin looked back to his inbox and muttered, “Calls himself… oh dear.” He sighed, refusing to look up, “Happy Bunny.”
Douglas made a loud noise that may or may not have been nearly choking to death. “Really, you don’t say? And you would be seen in public with a man who… willingly… calls himself Happy Bunny?”
“I didn’t notice it before we started emailing. Oh, god. You don't think he's going to be one of those... you know.... people who like to wear animal costumes to bed, do you?"
Holding back his laughter quite obviously, Douglas managed to splutter, “Oh, I doubt it… probably just the… effeminate sort. Who likes bunnies? Perhaps it’s meant to be ironic?” He paused, and then changed the subject, “So, when is this supposed date?”
“Tonight, we’re both working until late but he offered to meet me for coffee.”
“Ah, coffee… the built in segue to intimate relations if there ever was one.”
“Not sex ‘coffee,’ Martin responded, somewhat less confidently, “I get the impression he actually means coffee.”
“Of course, of course.” Douglas turned his head and shouted to the other room, “Carolyn, if you would please join us, I believe we need a second opinion.”
“Douglas!” Martin hissed, “Don’t bring anyone else into this. It’s bad enough having you in it.”
“Don’t worry, LonelySkipper. Your secret, be it ever so flimsy, is safe.”
“Still…”
“Yes, yes. What is it this time? I’ve told you, I will not referee another game of people that should be dead but aren’t.” Carolyn interjected herself, a fair bit sooner than expected.
“I was simply seeking your opinion as a woman who has had significant experience in the department…”
“What’re you playing at, Douglas?”
“When a man invites a woman out for coffee, do you think it would be safe to assume that he only intendeds to have coffee?” Douglas finished.
Carolyn appeared to think it over a moment before shaking her head, “That’s a silly question, Douglas. Of course they expect more than coffee, they always expect more than coffee.”
“No, no! That’s only if they invite you IN for coffee, after an otherwise successful date.” Martin said, “Just going for a coffee is a date.”
“Unless they then ask you in for coffee.” Douglas chuckled.
“I’m fairly certain that most dates with men are expected to end in something more than coffee.” Carolyn added, “Why ask me, you know how you lot are.”
“Just checking.” Douglas flashed a smile.
“Yes, well, Arthur is bringing in the coffee shortly – which I assure you in purely platonic.”
***
“You’re in an awful hurry tonight.” Carolyn took down her hair for a brushing before pinning it up for bed as her son rushed to scrub up in the sink.
“Sorry, Mum, thought I thought I mentioned earlier but you’ve got the house to yourself tonight.” Arthur picked up the shaver and considered it a moment, it had been a couple days… but it didn’t really show.
“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow in the mirror, peeking over his direction. “You’ve managed a date?”
“Yeah.” He grinned, chuckling under his breath, “I got a match on that profile we did for that dating site.”
“You’re joking… that profile was terrible…”
“No, I took your advice and just answered honestly and everything. I even put up a collage of photos of my favourite things.”
“That’s what I was talking about.”
“Oh.” Arthur shrugged and grabbed for a towel before washing his face. “Either way, I thought you might want to know the person I’m out with tonight is… uh… well, it’s a man, Mum.”
“I see, and this is because?” Carolyn raised an eyebrow, setting down the hairbrush to make quick work of her pins.
“I’m trying new things, like we talked about.” He smiled, splashing the warm sudsy water into his face. “Sort of like at those parties where everyone brings a dish and you get to pick and choose and maybe you think you might like the globby green thing but then you take a bite and maybe you don’t like it so much so you try the runny red thing instead.”
“And this date is the runny red thing?”
“Exactly!” Arthur smiled through the wash, and then towelled off.
“Mmm, no matter.” Carolyn shook her head, ensuring the pins were just as secure as always. “I suppose if you do fancy gents that does mean I won’t have to worry about little Arthurs running around.” She shuddered slightly under her dressing gown; a bit glad Arthur didn’t seem to catch on.
“We’ll just have to see, right? Isn’t it exciting?”
“Sure, Arthur. Exciting.” She sighed, “So, what is your Romeo’s name?”
“Not Romeo,” Arthur grinned, shouldering into his shirt before answering, “Lonely, LonelySkipper.” He paused, and added, “I think he may have one of those fancy yachts.”
“Mmm, just what you need… some fancy pants who thinks he’s better than everyone else.”
“He sounded really quite nice in his emails.”
“I bet he did.”
“Right then, how do I look? Should I wear my dinner jacket, you think?”
“Going for dinner at this hour?”
“No, just coffee.”
Carolyn raised an eyebrow. “I see, and what have those disgusting pilots been telling you about going for coffee?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Arthur smiled innocently, actually quite innocent on the matter. “Don’t wait up for me!”
“Of course not, dear. I’ll leave the kettle on.”
***
Martin arrived at the small café half eight; later than he had expected but well within the hour they had agreed to meet in. He’d dressed down, jeans with a polo and a hastily thrown on tweed jacket that had never fit right but seemed to make him look distinguished. HappyBunny’s last message had only given him the name and the location, apparently assuming they’d be able to distinguish who they were looking for despite the lack of knowledge as to the other’s appearance. He hadn’t thought about it at the time, but it turned out to be quite a misstep.
He approached the barista with a smile, “The small one, please. Nothing in it.”
A familiar voice popped up from down the counter, “Hey there, Skip! Wasn’t expecting to see you out and about after hours!”
“Oh, Christ.” Martin sighed under his breath, and then forced a smile. “Arthur! I hadn’t seen you there. I thought you didn’t take caffeine after seven?”
“I don’t normally, no, but it’s a special occasion.” Arthur grinned, patting the stool beside him. “I have a date!” He announced proudly. “A real date this time, not the sort that I tell Mum I have so I can go to the movies alone.”
“Ah, very good.” Martin nodded to himself, scanning the room for any single men sitting alone that may possibly dress as a rabbit.
“It is, isn’t it?” He practically beamed, taking a long sip off a tall caramel coloured iced drink that may or may not actually have coffee in it. “You out alone tonight?”
“Erm, no… actually.” Martin craned his neck, double checking the dimmer side of the café. “I’m also waiting for an engagement.”
“Brilliant! Perhaps we can double? That’d be a delightful time…” Arthur shrugged slightly, rocking on his stool. “Can’t be lonely all the time, right Skip?”
“Lonely, no.” Martin sighed, feeling a rather dreadful weight building in his stomach. No, it couldn’t be. “Did you, erm… have you been dating long? I haven’t heard of a new girlfriend.”
Arthur shook his head, the gentle rocking turning to taps of the thumb against the padded leather. “No, first one – actually. I’m starting to think that maybe he’s running a bit late, or you know… might not show up at all.”
“Yes.” Martin nodded, the realisation hitting him all too hard. It really would figure, Douglas had to have arranged the whole thing. “Late, yes.”
A long pause settled between them before Arthur sighed and softly said, “It’s alright if you want to go, Skip. I don’t mind… not the first time a blind date ran for the hills.” He slurped his drink, and then added. “I won’t tell anyone, promise.”
“Arthur…” Martin’s voice dropped to an almost shamed murmur. “HappyBunny, I presume?”
“Of course.”
“I should have known.” Martin groaned, sitting heavily on the stool.
“I mean it, though. You don’t have to stay. I can just finish up my drink and go see a film or something.”
Martin inhaled sharply, letting it out with another sigh. He was out, and having coffee. “No, may as well make the best of it, right? There’s a table free, if you like?”
“Right.” Arthur smiled slowly, waiting for Martin to wander towards the table before following him. “Do you need more coffee?”
“No, just got this.” Martin sat down nearest the window, looking everywhere but where he knew he likely should be.
“Yeah.” Arthur nodded, folding his hands on the table as he attempted to get comfortable. “This is quite strange, isn’t it?”
“I think that’s the understatement of the year.”
“Funny, though. We matched right up, just like proper socks.”
“So we did.” Martin looked down into his coffee, “Did Douglas put you up to this, Arthur? It’s all right if he did, I won’t hold it against you – I know he can be quite horrible when he wants to get his way.”
“No.” Arthur stifled a nervous chuckle. “Suppose it just turns out you’re exactly the sort I’ve been looking for.” He took another sip, the ice clattering against the plastic cup. “Goes to figure, doesn’t it? Person of my dreams ends up being my Captain.” He let the chuckle slip, “Should have assumed as much.”
Ouch. “I’m not what you want, Arthur.” Martin forced himself to glance up, looking back down as he caught his gaze. “I’m not really what anybody wants. I was sort of hoping to be the person someone thinks they want when they really want something much better.”
Arthur was quiet a long moment, “Maybe… maybe… perhaps… assuming you don’t think it’s a terrible idea…”
“Don’t say what I think you’re going to say, please.”
“I was going to ask if you maybe wanted to sort of try. Just once. I have wine.” He could hear the smile in Arthur’s voice. “Might not be so bad.”
Martin shook his head slowly, “No… no…” He whispered, clearing his throat and forcing a proper look. “You’re… you’re you and I’m, well… I’m me. It wouldn’t be right.”
“Right.” Another long sequence drifted between them as Arthur finished his coffee. “I’m, uh… gonna go to the cinema, if you want to come along - I’ve got an extra ticket.”
“Arthur…”
“Just as mates.” Arthur replied quickly, “Couple of blokes who had a bad evening going to see a Stallone film.”
He shifted in his seat and nodded, quickly drinking the remainder of his coffee. “I didn’t drive.”
“I did.”
“Right.” Martin gave himself a last chance to duck out, but figured he may as well do something entertaining if he wasn’t going to be doing what he’d hoped to be doing. “Guess we should go, then.”
***
The film was actually fairly awful, but not bad for an escape. Getting away from his bedsit without being trapped at the airfield was a welcome change of routine, if not exactly what he had planned on.
Arthur smiled as he unlocked the doors, “That was brilliant, the way they just blew up everything and gunfights and Stallone and Arnold came back!”
“Keep your trousers on, Arthur. I admit… it was a veritable orgy of action film cliché.” Martin slung himself into the small car, stretching his back against the seat. “Not bad, though.”
“Sorry, I just get a bit excited. It was just so amazingly… BOOM!”
Martin laughed softly, leaning back against the seat. “Right, I did rather have a good time.”
“I told you so!” Arthur beamed, “Getting out, doing something… having fun. For a not-a-date it has probably been the most successful date I’ve had in ages.”
“Oh, come on, I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
“No, it pretty much is.” Arthur forced a nervous laugh, patting his hands on the wheel before starting up the car. “No bother, though. There’ll be other matches I’m sure.”
Martin echoed Arthur’s cold laugh. “Your optimism is infectious, Arthur. I only wish I could muster the same sort of enthusiasm.”
Thankfully, Arthur switched the topic. “So, your flat then? I’ve still got the wine I nicked off Mum’s cupboard.”
“I don’t know, it’s getting rather late…”
“I could stay over at your flat; it’d be just like when we stay over on duty, but without the hotel or flying. Or Mum and Douglas. Or tetchy clients. Or galley coffee. Or those bottles of shampoo in the morning.”
“I like the little shampoos.” Martin shrugged, actually considering the option. It wasn’t as though he could send the lad home so late, let alone with a glass of wine or two in him. It wouldn’t be safe.
“Oh! Or separate beds.” He finished with a slight grin.
“I don’t know, Arthur… that might…”
Arthur bowled over him as he picked up speed on the side roads. “It’ll be brilliant! Why didn’t we think of this sooner?”
“Because your mother will kill me with a spoon when she finds out.”
“Don’t be daft, Skip. Not like we’re doing anything naughty – I am an adult.”
“Right… well…” Martin attempted to find a way out of the thought, but came up lacking. Instead, he ran his hand over the console and found the rounded bottle between them. “Wine, then?”
“Red even. And it’s got fancy gold lettering on the label so it must be good.”
“Of course.”
“So, we’re on then?”
“Just keep driving, Arthur.”
***
“You live here? Looks like a brilliant place to lie in… right above the grocers even…” Arthur shoved his hands into his pockets as Martin lead him to the small door at the side of the shop and up a tall set of stairs.
“It’s, uh… it’s not much.” Martin tucked the bottle of wine under his elbow and dug the keys out of his jeans pocket. “Just a bedsit, really… but, you know… I’m not really home much.”
“Yeah, I imagine not – always flying about…”
Martin opened the door and stepped inside his tiny living space. “I, eh…” he turned around, trying not to give off that what he liked to call a flat was really little more than a glorified cupboard with a window. “It’s a bit small, mostly just my futon and little telly and I’ve got a table that folds out when I bring something up from the kitchen or take away, you know…”
“No, it’s brilliant!” Arthur grinned, taking three steps to the middle of the small room, “Reminds me of when I was a boy and used to hide in Mum’s closet when they had company over.”
“That’s terrible…”
“Oh, no! I rather liked it, never did like the stuffy business sort they’d have so I spent hours dressing up like movie stars.” Arthur turned a full circle, and then invited himself to the end of Martin’s well used futon nearest the window, the metal frame giving a slight squeak of disapproval.
Martin couldn’t help but smile at the mental image of Arthur in one of his Mum’s flowery frocks and pearls with a great big hat. “Somehow I can see that… a little too vividly.” He locked the door behind them and stood at the opposite end of the futon.
Arthur chuckled and nodded, “She told me once that she had expected I’d turn out to be one of those trannies like Eddie Izzard.”
“Well, except I believe he’s strictly heterosexual.” Martin shrugged, fondling the seal off the wine bottle. “And, I… uh… I suppose you’re not.”
He didn’t respond right away, actually considering the thought. After a long pause he shook his head with a gentle smile. “I guess I’d be a bit closer to undecided.”
“Really?” Martin raised an eyebrow and turned away, going to the small cart with a hot plate that served as his kitchen to retrieve a corkscrew from a drawer.
“Not anything, really.” Arthur let out a soft laugh, leaning back with another loud squeal of the frame. “Suppose it isn’t really right to say I like the green stuff or the red stuff when I haven’t really actually tried either so much as looked at them and maybe touched them a bit before being told to go away.”
“I… I don’t follow you.”
Arthur watched intently as Martin added a pair of wine glasses from the cart and opened the bottle. “Oh, right. Erm, for me I guess it’s kind of like one of those parties you go to where everyone brings something with and you know how it is, you try a little bit of everything to figure out what you like.”
“I don’t go to many parties.” Martin licked his lower lip, taking the open bottle and empty glasses over with him. He sat down, groaning before ending his thought. “I guess in your metaphor I’m not invited but really only interested in eating one particular thing.”
Arthur accepted his glass with an odd sort of look, “It’s strange, you know… you’re the one pouring drinks.” He chuckled, “Usually I’m the one who does that.”
“I know.”
“Right, I suppose you do.” Another long pause lingered between them and Martin drank deeply from his glass. Arthur had been right, it was decent wine even at room temperature – light for a red wine and much better than the box he had on his shelf in the communal kitchen. “So, uh… you are, then? Gay, I mean.”
Martin nodded slowly, his eyes half lidded as he let himself adjust to the warm flush of alcohol as he finished the first glass much more quickly than he should have. “Good guess.” He sighed.
“I guess you’re not out, then?”
“Ugh, not this again.”
“What?”
“I’m not out, no. I was never in.” Martin sighed, picking up the bottle from where he’d sat it on the floor and pouring another. “In order to be out, one does have to at some point be in.”
“But you are in.”
“I’m not. Just because you didn’t know doesn’t mean I’m hiding something. I don’t talk about it because it’s nobody’s business, but if you had asked I’d have told you.”
“But you didn’t tell me.”
“You didn’t ask!” Martin sighed loudly, hoping to dissuade the line of assault by once more nursing his glass. “It’s not like I go around shouting it.”
“I would!” Arthur raised his arms, getting just a bit excited, “I’d throw a big party with confetti and everything.”
Martin considered the source as Arthur managed to slosh wine onto his own trousers, but didn’t miss a beat. “You would.”
“I would!” Arthur echoed, “Everyone should know.”
“Nobody needs to know, would you throw a party if you came out as straight?”
“I like parties.” He grinned, taking a small sip before setting his mostly full glass on the floor. “Just to let people know who I am, you know?”
“The people that need to know get told when the time is right.”
“Well, yeah… but when is the time right, Skip? I mean, you never told me – if you can’t tell the people you spend weeks with at a time, who can you tell?” He shrugged to himself, “I suppose at least I was the first to know, seems fitting given the internet thinks we’d be keen on each other.”
“The internet isn’t exactly a good gauge for relationship success.”
“But the programme, it’s very complex…”
“The programme is a marketing tool designed to make them money.”
Arthur sighed, giving up on the line of thought entirely. “But you had fun tonight, though.”
“I suppose, but it’s not like it was a proper date.”
“It isn’t? I mean, we had coffee and wet to a movie. You invited me in for a drink…”
“I invited you in because I was having a good time and thought maybe we could drink some wine and I don’t know…”
“Come on, you got to admit the thought has occurred to you.”
“What thought?”
“You know, do the sort of thing that people normally do at the end of the evening after a couple glasses of wine?”
Martin sighed again, letting out a soft groan as he sorted out exactly what he wanted to say – knowing full and well he’d regret it no matter what he actually said. “Fine, Arthur. Would you like to know what normally happens at the end of my dates?”
“Yeah, actually…”
“We go somewhere, have a glass or two of something or other, pretend that things aren’t going to end up leading to sex and then inevitably end up partially nude ready to have at it.”
Arthur squirmed a bit in his seat and let out a slight murmur; “Mmm, yes… that!”
“And then it doesn’t happen.”
“Nothing happens?”
“No, I wouldn’t say nothing. I would say that should I attempt to do anything useful with my penis I immediately begin to think about what I’m about to do horribly wrong and can’t do anything with it at all.”
“You mean…”
“Yes, Arthur.”
“So you’ve never actually…”
“No.” Martin finished his second drink only slightly slower than the first in awkward silence.
After what seemed like ages, Arthur shifted forward, closing most of the distance between them. “Martin?” He asked softly.
The name actually sounded strange; even in the familiar voice… it occurred to him that he’d never actually heard Arthur call him directly by name. “Yes?” He looked up, licking the stray drops of wine from his lips, shocked when Arthur’s fingers grasped his polo shirt and pulled hard.
“This.” Arthur finished, kissing him quite unexpectedly. Martin froze, still mid-thought, as Arthur’s tongue parted his lips – attempting to push through the defences. Slowly, Arthur let go of the shirt only to slide both palms down around Martin’s waist and nuzzled up into the kiss.
Managing to break away, Martin blurted, “What was that?”
Arthur blushed around the ears and responded innocently, “A kiss?”
“I know it was a kiss, Arthur… are you already drunk?”
“No, not at all.”
“Are you sure?” Martin licked his lips, mostly certain he was at least a little impaired.
“Yeah.” He grinned, looking Martin directly in the face, “Martin.”
Ahh, right. There it was again, the tricky little buzzing in the back of his mind coupled with strong hands trying to act like they weren’t ready to spring into action near his waist. “Arthur…”
Arthur kissed him again, harder than before as he slid up knee to knee on the narrow futon. This time, he didn’t allow time for hesitation.
“Arthur…” Martin repeated himself in a soft whisper.
“Yeah, Skip?”
Martin’s brain balked suddenly at the reminder of who Arthur was, who he was. Of course, the kiss had been nice… both in fact had been rather nice. And it had been quite a while since he’d had the chance to even try. Nobody had to know, surely Arthur could keep his mouth shut about one simple little thing. “For fuck’s sake.” He sighed, setting down his wine. “Call me Martin.” He cupped Arthur’s cheek with one hand, feeling it warm as the man nuzzled back into the touch. “Please.”
“Right.” Arthur grinned, pressing a kiss against the curve of Martin’s thumb. “Martin.”
It was enough. Not much, but enough to reassure the part of his brain that couldn’t help but feel like Arthur had no idea what he was asking for. He tried taking the lead and offered a soft kiss against the corner of Arthur’s mouth, only to once more have the younger man wrest away control and bruise his lips enthusiastically.
Apparently bolder with the implicit permission, Arthur pulled Martin’s shirt out of his jeans, murmuring against his parted lips.
Martin shouldered off his tweed jacket, letting it catch on the futon’s arm and drop to the floor without notice. “Mmm…” He considered saying something, but forced himself to just enjoy what was happening.
“There you go.” Arthur murmured between kisses with a hint of playfulness in his voice, “Now we’ve got bare, sexy elbows.” He kissed the hard line of Martin’s jaw, and then against the exposed flesh above his collar. “Now, let’s just get this shirt off you.”
“Arthur…” Martin groaned, nerves already welling up in the pit of his stomach. “Don’t you think we should…”
“Yes.”
“Let me finish.” He groaned again, feeling the shirt lift up and expose his back.
“Oh, you’ll finish.” Arthur chuckled slightly, letting his mouth explore Martin’s shoulder even before tossing aside the shirt.
“I… I have to leave.” Martin pulled away, managing to stumble up to his feet without knocking over his mostly empty wine glass. “I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t go anywhere.”
“You sure you’ll come back?” Arthur sighed, clearly frustrated with the unexpected change of events.
“Of course.” Martin flashed a hesitant smile, scrambling for the door without even bothering to grab for his shirt. “Just, uh… you know...”
“Right then.” Arthur nodded, catching a deep breath before leaning against the mattress.
“Right.” Martin echoed, nearly falling out into the narrow passage. With the door secured between then he muttered to himself, walking towards the shared bathroom. “Oh Martin, what are you doing? This is quite possibly the worst idea you’ve ever had.” He stepped inside; quite glad there wasn’t a wait that time of evening. “Maybe, I could phone Carolyn and if she doesn’t care then it’s smooth sailing.” He looked at himself in the mirror; pink cheeked and just the good side of haggard. “Fucking hell, that’s most definitely the worst idea anyone has ever had in the history of time, Martin. She would gut you with a spoon.”
He leaned heavily against the vanity and closed his eyes. “Man up, Martin. You don’t have to ask anyone’s permission. He’s a full grown adult man who just happens to be the first decent prospect since the lady-boy in Yamagata the first week you were flying.” He sighed. “I can’t do this. There’s no way I can go through with this.”
Martin looked down at his jeans where his cock still nudged encouragingly at his pants. “And you, you’re no bloody help at all. Teasing me, acting like you’ll be good when I know as soon as I need you you’ll just run and hide.” The absurdity not lost on him, he let slip a soft chuckle, looking back to the mirror. “You’re insane. Yes, insane and horribly dreadfully ready to go and have way with someone who was quite readily throwing himself at you. You can do this, you are Martin Crieff. He wants you, you Martin. And if you don’t get in there right now he’ll think you’re being a pathetic little man and trying to get him to go away so you don’t have to muster the courage to tell him you aren’t interested when you bloody well are.” He paused a moment, losing his own rambling train of thought. “I can do this. I can do this.” He muttered, forcing himself to leave.
Much to Martin’s horror, his man-bear of a neighbour beamed a smile at him as he left. “You go get him, tiger!”
“I can do this.” Martin whined, quickly pacing down the hall only to pause in front of his own door. “It’s just Arthur, probably sitting there getting all tipsy and he’ll smile and laugh it off and the whole thing will be a bit joke. No big issue, just go in there.” He whispered, then opened to door – not really at all ready for what he did find.
“Allo Martin!” Arthur grinned, rolling onto his side to face the door. “Was hoping you’d come back.”
Martin blinked, slamming the door much harder than expected. “Arthur, you’re… erm… you’re quite naked.”
“Yeah.” Arthur grinned wider, rocking his hips slightly as he stretched out across the full length.
“You’re naked on my futon.”
“Should I have pulled it out first? I couldn’t get the handly bit to work for me…”
“No, it’s quite difficult, half the time I don’t even bother.” Martin shook his head, still a bit shocked. “But you’re naked. I’ve never even been naked on my futon.”
“First time for everything, right?” He grinned, running his palm over his hip before taking a rather lewd grasp of his partially hard length. “I was really hoping you’d come back.”
“Yes, well... I do live here.”
“Perhaps you could join me?”
“Erm, no.” Martin shook his head, stepping up to the edge of the mattress, “Maybe I should unfold it?”
“You don’t have to, look…” Arthur took hold of the belt loops on Martin’s jeans and pulled him down to join him. “See, I can quite easily hold on to you well enough.”
“Right.” Martin chuckled under his breath; certain were he to actually move he’d end up on the floor.
“This got right awkward, didn’t it?” Arthur chuckled, pressing a kiss against Martin’s collarbone. “No matter.”
Martin wedged one hand between Arthur and the back of the seat, not entirely sure what to do with the opposite. “Arthur…” He sighed, letting himself settle against Arthur’s chest. “This whole thing is awful and awkward and we should probably stop before we end up even more embarrassed than before.”
Arthur shook his head, and then kissed him again, wiggling a palm between them – flat against Martin’s belly. “I’m not embarrassed.” He grinned, “Or nervous.”
“I see…”
“Relax.” He gave a gentle tug on Martin’s button – fumbling open the zip, “I’m pretty sure I know what I’m doing. I’ve seen it done lots of times.”
“That’s not particularly helpful, Arthur.”
“Not in actual real person life.” Arthur laughed unexpectedly, rocking his hips to grind himself against the worn denim. “Mmm, just… you know… pornography.”
“Right.” Martin echoed the laugh with a much more nervous tilt to his voice. “I’m not much for it myself…”
“Of course, you know, except the magazines I may have seen attempting to pull out the futon.” Arthur grinned, “Just relax.” He repeated himself, his voice dropping to the softest tone Martin had ever heard out of him.
“Trying.” Martin sighed, “Trying.” He concentrated a moment, and then wiggled down on his side – sandwiching himself tightly between the folded mattress and his partner. “Should I pull it out, you think?”
“No, it’s good.” Arthur smiled, not faltering when Martin’s hand rested on the curve of his belly. “But I can’t reach you all tucked in like that.”
“Don’t worry about me.” Martin muttered, tentatively rubbing his palm downward toward the crease of Arthur’s thighs. “Just let me do this.”
“Right, sure, yeah…” Arthur nodded against the pad, rocking his hips when Martin’s fingers gently touched his cock – barely brushing against the skin. “Of course. Anything you want… anything… anything at all.”
Martin tried to focus on his task, it was most definitely not his first time handling equipment that didn’t belong to him and he was determined to make a proper go of it. “It’s… harder than I expected.”
Arthur laughed under his breath, draping his leg over the edge to give Martin unhindered access. “It likes you.” He groaned, Martin’s fingers wrapping easily around his hard shaft and squeezing tight. “It likes you an awful lot.”
Martin shook his head, unable to stop himself from grinning at the thought. “Arthur, you’re talking.”
“Sorry.” Arthur breathed hard, his bare toes curling and catching on the futon cover as the unfamiliar grasp slowly stroked him with an upward curve. “Feels brilliant though, god…”
Without even considering it, Martin let his head rest on Arthur’s chest – kissing the soft skin. “I… um… I don’t mind, actually.” He chuckled, feeling Arthur’s body warming easily to his slow strokes.
“Brilliant!” He groaned low in his throat, lifting his hips to meet the bottom of Martin’s fist with each pump, driving it even faster. “God that’s amazing… don’t stop!”
“Wasn’t planning on it.” Martin kissed his chest again, his mouth finding an excellent ridge of soft flesh to nibble.
Arthur let out a sudden low pitched whine as Martin’s speed increased again, one hand grasping the back of Martin’s head. “Oh god… oh god… that is…” He moaned loudly, “absolutely amazing, fantastically…” His knees locked, free hand groping blindly for Martin’s a little too late. “Ugh, ah… Martin!”
Martin groaned as Arthur gasped, giving a series of drawn out strokes even as the other man came, gripping his wrist tightly. With an accomplished smile, he lifted his head slightly to watch the few sticky strands directed onto his lover’s belly.
“I’m sorry, Martin… it’s never done that before… not so quickly I mean.” Arthur mumbled quietly, letting out a shaking moan, “That’s pretty pathetic…”
“It’s all right.” Martin looked up at him with a smile, not shocked to be returned a shy grin. “Happens, you got a bit excited.”
“A bit? It was the most amazing thing I’ve ever been privy to…”
“Arthur.” Martin caught his attention, bringing him back again. “I’m…”
Arthur interrupted him, “You are awfully hard for someone who claims to have problems in that general area.” He grinned wide, letting go of Martin’s wrist.
He was at a loss for words, that was a very valid and true point… one that he had actually completely forgotten to consider as by that point in the evening he was usually on his way out the door with a sticky t-shirt and even more sexual frustration than an hour before.
“You know what you need?” Arthur continued without pause, “You need a blow job.”
“What? I… Arthur… I…”
“Come on, I you know what that is.” He grinned wider, sliding off the futon and onto the floor – snatching up Martin’s polo to wipe himself up quickly. “Come on then, over here.”
“You can’t…”
“I’m pretty sure I can, I’ve seen it done a thousand times.”
“Really Arthur, a thousand? Do you spend much time at the Turkish baths?”
“That’s a myth, actually.” Arthur grinned up at him, shaking his head. “I’m just very curious about the whole thing – I’ve always want to, you know… seems like the perfect sort of intimate thing…”
“Porn, right.” Martin interjected before Arthur could fully take off on his flight of thought. “Are you sure you want to do this?” He sat up, slowly working his jeans and jockeys off as he scooted his way to the edge of the futon – the frame giving a squeal of protest when he was as far forward as he could take it.
Arthur nodded, licking his lips. “I really do.” He slid on his knees to better position himself between Martin’s calves – sitting back on his heels. “And I’m glad it’s you.”
Martin blushed and tried not to close his eyes. Oral sex was awkward enough without Arthur and his… Arthur-ness… to complicate matters. “Right, okay… now, don’t be offended if… you know…”
“It won’t.” Arthur chuckled softly, patting his palms on the insides of Martin’s thighs. “Gonna make good friends! Allo there, lil’ Martin… pleasure to meet you under such auspicious circumstances…”
“Arthur!” Martin sighed loudly, “Do you even know what auspicious means?”
“Not the same as suspicious.” Arthur grinned, not one bit put off by Martin’s frustration. Gently, he nuzzled up against the hard member, inhaling deeply. “We’re gonna be good friends, I can already tell.”
“Please, Arthur… for the love of god… stop talking to my penis.”
“Oh, don’t mind him… he’s just nervous ‘bout this being his first time and all…”
“Arthur, I swear on the last shred of honour I have after this, if you do not stop talking to it like that I… I… I won’t let you.”
“You won’t let me?” Arthur chuckled, rolling his tongue over the tip for a proper taste.
“No. I won’t.”
“Of course.” Arthur chuckled, following it with another teasing roll – eliciting a low moan from Martin. “Sorry Martin, I couldn’t resist.”
Martin groaned, not entirely sure what to do with his hands but ultimately settling on letting them rest on Arthur’s shoulders. “Just don’t… this is difficult enough as it is.”
“Right, then.” Arthur gave one last soft laugh, and then began pressing soft kisses against the base.
The sensations were equally amazing and terrifying, Martin’s body seemed to throb with the heat of Arthur’s breath – the anticipation of what was ultimately to come if he wanted it to or not. Not that he didn’t, of course… just that it wasn’t exactly his typical date. Nor, his typical Arthur Shappey. He moaned loudly at the unexpected warmth of Arthur’s mouth taking him in fully, the butterfly kisses suddenly replaced with his tongue doing things that Martin wasn’t quite sure he wanted to know the specifics of.
Arthur squeezed Martin’s thighs encouragingly, letting out a choked but clearly positive groan.
Nerves be damned, Martin began to stroke his fingers through Martin’s hair – teasing out a stray curl and blatantly ignoring the fevered whimper that could only be his own. “Oh god… there… there…” He murmured, his voice coming out more ragged than he’d intended. “Arthur, right there… don’t please, don’t move... just do that. Don’t stop doing whatever the hell it is you’re doing right this very second…”
With a hard swallow, Arthur obliged – gently bobbing his head as he ran his tongue up and down the underside of Martin’s cock. The gentle tug of Martin’s fingers knotting in his hair telling him even more than the soft pleading tone of his voice. He looked up and smiled, offering another hard swallow.
It was too much, just the absolute last thing he needed to see if he’d intended to keep his composure more than a couple minutes. Martin caught his gaze just long enough for the shadows of Arthur’s long eyelashes to flutter open before he swallowed, drawing him over the edge hard and fast.
He hadn’t exactly expected it to go quite so fast… or really anticipated the obvious conclusion, but Arthur adapted fast, only a stray smudge across his lips to even evidence that Martin had come at all. “Oh Martin, that was brilliant… you just sort of…”
Martin hooked both hands under Arthur’s arms and hauled him up onto the futon – not even flinching when the precarious frame groaned under their combined weight balanced on the metal bar. “Shut up, Arthur.”
“Kay…” Arthur managed to respond before Martin wrapped his arms around Arthur’s middle and holding him as tightly as he could.
Martin let out a shaky breath, feeling his body slowly return back to normal as he held the man in his lap uncharacteristically close, resting his forehead against Arthur’s shoulder. He didn’t even know why he’d wanted Arthur on his lap in the first place, only that a moment before it had seemed like a good idea… even if it did mean being a bit squished under him.
“It’s okay.” Arthur whispered as Martin lifted his head up from his chest, “You can cry if you need to.”
“No… no…” Martin shook his head roughly only to find it captured in Arthur’s hands. “Stop right there, what are you doing?”
“Erm… a bit of a snog?”
“Absolutely not!” Martin lifted an eyebrow. “In my toiletry bag there is a spare toothbrush…”
***
By the time Arthur returned with a newly fresh mouth in his rumpled shirt and trousers, Martin had taken the liberty of pulling out the futon and pouring a fresh round of wine. He was sitting cross-legged on the mattress in his pants – his back to the door. “There, better now?”
“Don’t take that tone. I told you, it’s foul.”
“It was your penis!”
“Come on then, I take it you’ll be bunking with me tonight?”
“Can I?” Arthur’s face softened at the offer as he dropped the overnight bag from his car beside the bed. “It’s a brilliant idea; we can ride in together in the morning!”
“Not unless you plan on explaining it to your mother.” Martin huffed when the frame threatened to buckle and dip under the new and unexpected guest, but ultimately gave in.
“I was sort of thinking maybe we could tell her together…”
“Oh, that would go on well, ‘Morning Mum, by the way I had one off with the Captain and here he is tell you all about it!’ right before she turns me to a fine paste.”
Arthur paused a moment, Martin’s though hitting him hard. “So it’s just a one off then?”
“What?” Martin raised an eyebrow, gesturing with his half empty glass.
“This, erm… us, I mean. Just this one time and nothing else?” Arthur looked down at his hands, lacing his fingers together.
“There is no ‘us’, Arthur… we had one date that was only technically a date.”
“Well, yeah but in a way we’ve had lots of time together and we know each other well enough… better now than before.” He shrugged, “I think we could work it out, you know… give it a shot at least. We matched ninety-five per-cent!”
“Yes, and the other five per-cent is the fact that you are who you are and I am who I am.”
Arthur tried to put it all together, but just couldn’t find Martin’s logic. It didn’t make sense that they wouldn’t work it out eventually. “Well… what else would it be, I… I can’t be anyone but myself!”
“Precisely.” Martin sighed.
“What’s wrong with me being me?” Arthur asked quietly, daring to look up only to find Martin staring the opposite direction. “I like being me.”
Martin sighed, closing his eyes for a long moment before answering. He could say a lot of things, a good many of them hurtful and not at all Arthur’s fault. Arthur just didn’t understand… didn’t know what he was so blindly assuming. “You just don’t get it. We’re not in a relationship because we had sex. Sex happens, Arthur… anyone can do it!”
"But it's never worked like that for either of us, you said it yourself... I'm the first person it worked out with." Arthur sighed, reaching out and grabbing Martin's elbow to turn him by force, "So, maybe it means we can even do it again. Not right now, I mean. But maybe later? And now we won't be so bored when Mum makes us share a room!" He gave a gentle tug, pulling his attention fully; “You’re the first person that hasn’t gone for the frying pan when I kissed them.”
He was ready to come back, to say something utterly devastating and just have the whole uncomfortable thing over with. It wasn’t fair to have sweet eyes trying to derail his perfect logic. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” He felt the smile already tugging at his lips, impossible to hold back. “Nobody uses a frying pan for self-defence.”
“I have a permanent scar on my left hip that says a whole other story.” Arthur finally smiled, seeing the twitch at the corners of Martin’s mouth. “But I’m being serious, Martin… we should maybe try it out for a bit, it wouldn’t hurt anybody. Not like we’ve got anything better to do.”
He’d never fully admit it, but Arthur had a point. A frighteningly aware and valid point at that. “I don’t know, Arthur. Carolyn’s going to kill me when she finds out… probably kill both of us.”
“We talked about this already. I’m a grown man, you may be Skipper but you’re also a grown man of equal standing in the whole man age thing.”
“Really, and when were you supposed to call her?”
“I don’t usually check in until 10:30.”
“Right. Well… it is now…” Martin checked his watch with an arrogant ease, “Half eleven.”
“Not it isn’t…” Arthur dug into his pocket for his mobile, “It is…” he peered at the screen and sighed, “Half eleven.”
“Call your mother.”
“Not until we know what’s going on with ‘us’ or ‘not us’ or whatever it is that you’ve decided is going to be going on or not.”
Martin finished his wine and let the glass down on the floor again, “You’re staying here tonight, telling your mother you’re with a friend after your blind date didn’t show up. If she asks for a name, tell her it’s someone she doesn’t know. We’re not a couple, but I am considering possibly having sex with you again.”
“Tonight?”
“Of course not, I can barely make once a night work out.”
“Right.” Arthur held down the speed dial, hoping there would be no response. “Oh, Mum! Sorry I’m late…” He paused, interrupted. “Well, no… no, I haven’t been drinking. My blind date didn’t play out as expected. No, Mum, I haven’t been kidnapped.” He sighed, closing his eyes as Martin watched on, ready to pounce at the first sign of trouble.
“I’m with a friend. No, you wouldn’t know him… he’s uh… he’s a stranger. No, to you… I know him. He’s nice, I’m on his futon.
“He hasn’t got anywhere else for us to sleep; it’s a very small flat…” He let out a strangled sigh, seeing Martin waving his arms frantically only to grab away the phone, snapping it shut.
“Oops, dropped call. Happens all the time here. What in the bloody hell were you thinking?” Martin grumbled, “Of course, you weren’t thinking… expecting you to piece together a lie is like expecting Douglas not to.”
“Martin.” Arthur stated softly, “Its fine. It was under control.”
Martin sighed, looking at Arthur a long moment before gently kissing the corner of his mouth. “What are we going to tell Carolyn tomorrow?”