Men of London 06 - Flying Solo (20 page)

They stood together in a fierce embrace, staring out at the windswept sea. Later in the night when Max slid inside him with a soft sigh and a kiss, offering Gibson everything he needed and wanted, Gibson wondered how he’d ever existed without this man.

The flight home a few days later was lonely, unwelcomed and too soon. Maxwell was glad he’d managed to organise that he worked on the return flight and it was hectically busy. It kept his mind off seeing Gibson’s slim figure and pale face standing at the gate as he’d waved goodbye to the taxi taking Maxwell to the airport. Laying himself raw and spilling his guts had unsettled Maxwell, but it had been a long time coming, and it had been time for Gibson to know more.

His feelings about Jamie being there instead of him were enough to make him a little bitter. He trusted Gibson but not Jamie. The situation rankled and burned in his gut. The only shining light was Jack and Beth were coming up to attend the funeral. Maxwell was confident they’d be there for Gibson when he couldn’t be.

Home
. When he walked in around eleven pm, his flat appeared empty. Gibson’s red and white jersey lay on the couch, no doubt left there after a frantic session making out when they’d divested themselves of clothes, eager to be with each other. A pair of Gibson’s worn trainers lay under the coffee table, the ones he used to go walking in when they decided to go down to the river and watch the container ships pass by. They bought fish and chips while sitting and imagining what the cargo was and where the ships were headed.

Everywhere Maxwell turned there was a reminder of Gibson. Crumpled up pieces of paper in the waste bin was evidence of perceived failed renderings of Gibson’s creativity, at least according to him. Maxwell though they were incredible. His lover had an artistic talent for drawing that blew Maxwell’s mind.

Books were stacked neatly on the sideboard, instead of being sprawled across the room. His possessions were tidied up and packed away and Maxwell simply hadn’t bothered to take them out again to their original position. The need to display the things he owned wasn’t as important to him anymore. He had something more valuable now than stuff.

He unpacked, had a shower, changed into comfortable clothes and made himself noodles. He pulled out his bed, switched on the television and watched Nigella creating some fabulous dish but he didn’t quite take it all in. His mind was still in Scotland with a man dealing with his father’s death and trying to be strong for his family.

He picked up his phone and sent Gibson a text.

Hey baby. Got home safely. How you doing? xxoo

He watched Nigella folding some concoction of meats into pastry as he waited impatiently for a reply. It came ten minutes later.

Glad you’re safe. Miss you already tho. I’m doing okay. xx

Wish I was there. I feel crap coming home without you. House is empty. No sexy Gibson driving me crazy.

Haha. Giving you a rest from my crazy.
There was an emoticon of a smiley face rolling his eyes.

I like your crazy. How’s your mum?
Maxwell wanted to ask about whether Jamie was still hanging around but he didn’t want to seem needy or insecure—even though he knew he was.

Holding up. She’s tough. Her friends are rallying around. My uncle is here. He flew in from Wales earlier today. We’re all good.

Maxwell experienced the familiar pang of longing to be there with a family that rallied around in tough times. His phone pinged again.

Got a message from Cruz. He’s still in Rio, not coming back still for a while. I think they’re planning on moving over there.

Maxwell knew Gibson missed his friend. He still hadn’t met the man properly other than at the club.

The next text lifted his spirits.

Jamie left today too. He’s gone back home, he’s going on holiday tomorrow with his brother to Ibiza.

Maxwell sighed with relief. He could afford to be magnanimous now.

Oh I wasn’t worried about him. Ibiza sounds cool. Maybe one day we’ll get there together? Partying, drinking cocktails, sex on the beach?

Firstly - liar with a capital L Secondly are you talking about the drink or something else?

Maxwell scowled. He’d been rumbled. He chose to ignore the liar remark.

Both of them.
He found a gif of someone—one of the Three Stooges, he thought—raising bushy eyebrows over and over again in a suggestive fashion and sent it.

Lol, I thought so. You are such a bad boy.

“You have no idea,” Maxwell murmured with a satisfied smile. He lay back on the couch and propped a cushion under his head as he got comfortable. Maybe a little sexting would take Gibson’s mind off things for a little while.

Are you in bed?

Yeah…?

What are you wearing?
Maxwell sniggered.

I wish it was you. Instead I’d have to say the little black thong you like.

Maxwell groaned. He did love Gibson’s little thong, which showed his pert arse to perfection but he doubted he was wearing it to bed. The little bastard was messing with him.

Oh? All I’m wearing is my hand on my cock.

It was no lie. Maxwell was already stroking himself as he arranged his phone on the pillow next to him, waiting for the next text. His dick was already hard and thinking of Gibson in the thong was making it harder.

There was a delay before his boyfriend replied.

Do you wish it was my hand on your cock instead? Like this?

Maxwell moaned as he released his cock to read the full text. It had been accompanied with a picture of a cherished item he recognised, a familiar hand wrapped around it teasingly.

He hastily sent a quick text back with hands sticky with his own pre-come. He’d have to clean his screen later.

God, you are sexy and such a bitch tease. Now I have to jerk off, so I’ll be a while.

Take your time. I’m busy this side too, thinking of you being inside me. Feeling you fill me with your gorgeous cock.

Maxwell closed his eyes and his back arched as he thrust upwards into his hand, thinking of Gibson doing the same thing miles away. He smelt Gibson on the pillows still, saw his green eyes in his memory, experienced the warmth of his skin against his as he trembled and bucked beneath him, needy and wanton, his muscles clenching around Maxwell’s cock as he orgasmed.

Maxwell gave a cry of release as his own fluids spilled over his hands onto the cover, leaving him gasping and spent. For a few minutes he lay there, drowsy and replete. His phone beeped again.

God. I wish you were here. I came like a freight train thinking of you.

Maxwell wiped his hands on his ever-available wet wipes and picked up his phone.

Me too. Want you here so badly to fall asleep beside. Miss you so much already.

He wanted so badly to write the words he wanted to say but it wasn’t fair to do that to Gibson right now. He had enough going on in his life without an ‘I love you’ being sprung on him when he was at his most vulnerable.

His phone beeped again.

Knackered now. Need to sleep. Me and mum going to the funeral home tomorrow to finalise arrangements. I’ll call you tomorrow night xx

K. Sleep tight lover. Speak tomorrow. Can’t wait. ♥

Maxwell put down his phone and sighed ruefully as he regarded the sticky mess across his belly and duvet. Time to clean up then hit the sack and dream about tender green eyes staring into his.

*****

A week later, Maxwell went into work—he’d been putting in as many hours as he could while Gibson was away—but Maxwell wasn’t flying this time. He had an interview with the manager of the ground crew at London City. He was a little nervous.

Benjamin Sibonga had a body built like a rugby forward and was reputed to be a hardnosed, tough, but fair man. He was well respected by both his crew and the airport personnel alike, and his cheery Ugandan visage was always apparent as he wandered the airport like a man on a mission to ensure everything was running well. Maxwell left the interview nearly two hours later, drained, sweating and feeling as if he was one of the unfortunates at the bottom of the scrum in Benjamin’s rugby team. The
interrogation
, as Maxwell grumpily called it, had been gruelling and tiring. The walk around the airport in his guided tour had been a fast-paced, no-holds-barred look at what went on down on the ground.

Maxwell knew working as ground crew would be vastly different to being in the air— helping to guide the aircraft into the gate, loading and unloading luggage from the plane, preparing the paperwork and fuel requirements for the pilot, and embarking and disembarking passengers onto the aircraft. It was all hectic, physical work. But it was more stable and less hours than flying, and he got to go home each day with no lengthy stay-overs or days away from home. Despite his love of being in the air, Maxwell loved the idea of coming home to Gibson, being able to spend more time with him, perhaps even plan a trip to Ibiza or somewhere else.

He had to wait a few days for the rest of the interviews to be concluded then Benjamin had promised to call him to let him know one way or another. Gibson would be home in a week’s time and Maxwell hoped to be able to give him some good news. At least, he hoped Gibson would see it as good news.

Before he’d left for Scotland, worried he’d made the wrong call about changing jobs, Maxwell had called Oliver about it. His friend had been supportive.

“Max, you care about this guy. Being together a bit more can only be good for your relationship. Besides, the money’s better too, isn’t it?”

Maxwell sighed as he held his mobile phone to his ear with one hand. “Yeah, a little better. But what if he doesn’t want to see me more? I mean, Gibson is used to so much more. He’s actually
going
places, and here I am working at an airport and eking out a living.”

I was a homeless rent boy with a deceased drug addict for a partner. Could he accept that?

“Stop it.” Oliver’s voice was fierce. “You had a tough time and you dragged yourself up. You’ve never told me exactly what happened when you were a kid and I don’t need to know. The man I know now is not a nobody, Max. He’s a tough, strong man who deserves more. Don’t for fuck’s sake be like me and try to push away the best thing that ever happened to you. It’ll make you miserable. Gibson makes you happy. Stick with him.”

“I know,” Maxwell had whispered. “But when I finally tell him all the things I did back then, to keep alive, what if he hates me for it? What if I disgust him, Ollie?” It was the closest he’d ever come to telling anyone else what he’d been all that time ago. He closed his eyes as he’d waited for Oliver’s reply.

When it came his friend’s voice was heavy with compassion. “Baby, whatever you did to survive when you were a kid, he’ll understand. From what I’ve seen, Gibson is very into you. I doubt he’ll be put off by your sordid stories of days past. Trust me.”

Maxwell was humbled by Oliver’s understanding. “I hope so.” He took a deep breath. “I love him, Oliver. I never thought I’d say that to anyone.”
Not since Levi.

Oliver’s voice had a smile in it when he next spoke. “I’d never have guessed from the goo-goo eyes you made at him when we had dinner together. Leslie said he was already planning which wedding suit to wear to the Big Day. A Debussy of course.”

Maxwell scowled. “Bite me, buster. I do so not make goo-goo eyes at people.”

His friend laughed loudly. “You keep telling yourself that. I know what I saw.”

Maxwell smiled as he rung off as he remembered the dinner conversation. Oliver had been right.

Maxwell took another sip of his tea then his eyes were drawn to a news story on the television about drugs. He turned up the volume.

“The young woman who was arrested in Indonesia a month ago on charges of drug trafficking is now facing the death penalty. She was allegedly found with over ten pounds of heroin in her possession when she was searched at the airport. Her parents have started a campaign to get her freed but at this stage it is unlikely that will happen.”

He turned down the volume as he muttered angrily. “People go into countries known for having the death penalty for drugs, taking their stuff in and then when they get caught they expect to be treated differently? Don’t do that kind of thing in the first place, lady. Can’t do the time, don’t do the crime.”

When Levi had died, the post mortem that had been done had discovered he’d been subjected to some
very bad shit
. Shit that had been cut with every nasty thing imaginable and caused Levi’s heart to stop, his throat to swell up and vomit to gush from his mouth. It was why Maxwell hated the smell and look of puke even now.