Men of London 06 - Flying Solo (6 page)

“Yeah. I’m here, dressed like this, which isn’t my usual outfit by the way, dancing with Pete, to make
that
guy realise I’m not having it on with my gbf.” Gibson gestured towards a couple on the dance floor, a short, dark-skinned guy in his early twenties who was busy excavating the contents of the mouth of a broad-shouldered black guy dressed in leather.

“Gbf?” Maxwell said in bemusement.

“Gay best friend.” Gibson sucked at his drink through the straw and Maxwell was mesmerised by the sight of pink lips around a candy cane piece of plastic. “He’s the little guy. Craig is his ex-boyfriend, but from the looks of it, whatever I was doing with Pete worked. They look as if they’re enjoying themselves and hopefully Craig now realises I’m not into Cruz.”

They watched in companionable silence as the two dancing men’s groins undulated against each other, and as their kissing on the dance floor grew even hotter.

“Christ, I shouldn’t be watching them,” Gibson grumbled. “It’s making me hard and in these shorts that’s a bad idea. My dick might split the seams these things are so tight.”

At those careless words, Maxwell’s cock flagged to attention harder and more aching than before. A quick flick down towards Gibson’s groin confirmed he clearly didn’t have much room to manoeuvre.

“You got some time off from flying then?” Gibson cocked his head with a knowing grin, probably having seen the direction of Maxwell’s eyes.

“I have a whole three days off before my next shift. I heard about this place opening, decided to check it out. It’s pretty cool.”

“Yeah, lots of new talent.” Gibson gave a noisy slurp of his drink then peered at Maxwell over his glasses. Maxwell’s stomach clenched in appreciation.

“I don’t normally do this, but do you fancy a repeat? There’s a bathroom on the left we can slip into.”

Maxwell drew in a deep breath. He was
so
going to regret this, he knew it. He had to take a stand somewhere though in his search for everlasting love.

“Thanks, but no. You’re not the kind of guy to get involved, or so you said when you blew me off last time, so it wouldn’t solve any purpose except for a quick bit of pleasure. I wasn’t really in the mood for this tonight but I promised a friend.” He drank up what was left of his cocktail and put the empty glass on the bar.

Gibson looked shame faced. “Yeah, about that. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been such a git. I wanted to apologise to you on the plane afterwards but then things ran away with me and I got distracted.”

Maxwell was heartened by the apology. That took balls. “No problem. I understand. I’m at a bit of different path in my life. I’m tired of the fuck ’em and suck ’em. I want someone to come home to. Maybe it’s a stupid pipe dream but I have to start trying to find someone somewhere, right?”

He smiled at Gibson, who stared back at him with a strange expression.

I bet he isn’t used to being turned down. Maybe I’m being an idiot.

Maxwell wondered if his newfound principles were worth it. He might have to reconsider.

Someone shoved against Gibson, causing his drink to go flying all over the back of another man standing at the bar— a very big man in a shiny dress suit, flashy jewellery and what looked like a permanent scowl etched on his wide face. He turned around and grabbed Gibson’s wrist, causing him to cry out softly in pain.

“What the fuck? You’ve messed up my suit,” Shiny Suit growled.

Gibson tried to wrench his wrist free. “Hey, you ape, let go of me. I’m sorry, it was an accident. Someone knocked me.”

“Yeah? Fucking twinks. You think all you have to do is bat your girly eyelashes and a man will forgive you anything. I ought to—”

“Let him the fuck go,” Maxwell said evenly. His blood was heating up like lava in Pompeii at seeing Gibson being manhandled. His temper was slow to burn but when it did, oh boy. Maxwell was quick to go from slow denotation to supernova I’m-going-to-fuck-you-up-so-badly status. He controlled it—mostly. When he’d been on the streets, it had taken all his self-control not to become an animal like some of his friends had. And sometimes an animal had been what you needed to be to get by.

“What did you say to me?” Shiny Suit’s lips twisted. “Punk, you think you can take me on?” He let go of Gibson, who stood rubbing his wrist with a worried expression.

“Max, leave him. He’s not worth it. He’s a douche bag in a suit. Let’s get out of here—” Gibson’s voice was cut off as the other man reached out and slapped him on the cheek, the flat sound echoing in Maxwell’s ears like the knell of doom. Behind the bar, Dan motioned to the bouncers across the room to come over.

The rushing blood in Maxwell’s ears grew to rock-concert crescendo and he moved forward in front of Shiny Suit, standing between him and Gibson. At the sight of a red handprint on Gibson’s fair skin, and the look of shock on his face, Maxwell now wanted to hit someone. He took a deep, centred breath to calm himself down. The last thing he wanted to do was scare Gibson away.

“I might look all soft and cuddly,” Maxwell murmured, “but beneath this gorgeous and drool-worthy exterior lies the heart and soul of a primal beast.”

Shiny Suit’s eyes widened in confusion and Maxwell thanked the gods he seemed to have a dumb one here. Brawn and no brains were always so much easier to bring down. Years of fighting his own battles against bullies at school, hanging out with street gangs and learning to fight dirty had often proven his salvation at times like these.

And there was one way he’d found to distract a bully and calm himself down that was almost fool proof.

He adopted his
Karate Kid
stance—the Crane Kick. He stepped back, curling his arms and hands into position. Gibson’s face was a picture in astonishment and Shiny Suit looked confused. Maxwell lifted his one leg and gave a blood-curdling screech. The bully stepped back with a look of panic.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dan the bartender was laughing like a loon. Maxwell had no idea where the bouncers were but hoped they’d get here soon before he had to kick arse. Immediately around him, the crowd had hushed and faces stared at him in anticipation.

“What the hell, are you fucking crazy?” Shiny Suit looked around the bar as if asking for someone else to agree with him.

Maxwell did. “Why yes indeed, kind of you to notice. I’m the baddest motherfucker you ever laid eyes on and if you don’t apologise to my friend for hitting him, right now, I’m going to kick the ever-mighty shit out of you.”

Gibson’s eyes were like green dinner plates. “Maxwell, are you sure you’re okay? Did you take something?”

“No I bloody didn’t,” Maxwell huffed, straining to keep his position. His upraised leg ached and he was sure his signed Andrew Christians were showing under the tunic. “I want this arsehole to say he’s sorry for being such a dickhead. Quickly. Before my foot finds his knackers and pushes them into his throat.”

Shiny Suit looked down at his groin and winced.

The man next to him, a slim, older man, clutched his arm. “Chris, apologise and forget it. The guy didn’t do it on purpose and I can clean your suit, baby.” He tugged at Chris’s arm and Chris scowled.

“Running out of patience, people,” Maxwell growled. In reality, his leg was aching. “Either say sorry to my buddy here or face the wrath who is Maxwell Unleashed.”

Gibson’s mouth framed the words, ‘Maxwell Unleashed.’

The sight of his name on those beautiful lips and the adorable look of stupefaction on Gibson’s face made Maxwell determined to follow through his threat. He gave another yowl and kicked out his foot, narrowly missing Chris’s groin. “Next time I connect,” he yelled.

Chris was yanked back by his seemingly irate partner. “For God’s sake, let’s go. I want a drink and a dance, say the fuck you’re sorry already, you buffoon.”

Chris stared at Maxwell then at Gibson then at the bouncers who now stood beside him, arms folded, waiting to see what happened next. Chris seemed to know when he was beaten.

“Fine,” he spat, turning to Gibson. “I’m sorry I hit you. Take your crazy friend away from me, and let’s call it a night, right?”

He turned and was pushed through the crowd by his partner who mouthed a ‘Sorry, guys’ as he left.

Maxwell put his leg down and watched them go with a smirk. Around him, people started clapping and cheering, and he grinned and took a bow. He stood up quickly as he realised doing that showed his arse to the world. “Thanks, my esteemed audience. Glad I could entertain you.”

“Hey, crazy guy. These are on the house.” Two huge cocktails stood on the bar. Dan was chuckling fit to bust a gut. “Your boyfriend is one lucky guy. That was some crazy shit you pulled there for him.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Maxwell said, a little longingly. “He’s a—” He didn’t even have time to decide whether he was going to say friend or fuck buddy when he found his lips being claimed by a soft, searching pair. Gibson framed Maxwell’s face in long fingers and kissed the crap out of him. Maxwell yielded—he was only human after all—and all sound ceased until there was only the scent and feel of the man pressed against him. His glasses dug into Maxwell’s cheek but he didn’t give a fig.

He tried not to get too handsy; Gibson did have boots on, after all, and wasn’t scared to use them. But the feel of the smaller man in his arms, his lean torso and kissable lips and the hardness pressed against his groin led to a memorable moment indeed.

When he was released and Gibson stepped back, lips swollen and wet, Maxwell tried to gather his brains back into his head from his crotch so he could form a sentence. He was still trying to when Gibson spoke.

“What you did for me back there…no one’s ever done something like that for me before. Well, apart from Jack. He’s my sbf.”

“Sbf?” Maxwell was proud he’d managed to speak three whole letters. And what was it with this guy and all the acronyms?

“My straight best friend. You are one insane dude. That guy could have hurt you.”

Maxwell shrugged. “When you’ve lived on the streets, you learn how to take care of yourself.”

Gibson drew a shocked breath. “You were on the streets?”

Crap. I didn’t mean to let that out. Best gloss over it.

“Yeah. So, you kissed me.”

Gibson smiled slowly. Maxwell’s heart gave a ping and beat faster.

Gibson grinned. “Yes. Problem?”

“Hell no. Best kiss I’ve ever had.”

Gibson looked shy. “Thanks. I like kissing.”

“It’s one of my favourite things to do too.” Maxwell leaned over and gently kissed Gibson’s cheek where the pale pink of the slap still showed.

Gibson drew in a soft breath and Maxwell was sure as they looked at each other in the clamour of the club, and only having eyes for each other, that they’d had ‘a moment.’ From the uncertain look on Gibson’s face, Maxwell wondered if he was mistaken.

He’d be upgrading Gibson to a resounding four and three quarters on his spreadsheet, based on his kissing skills alone. The small deduction was because he needed to leave some room for improvement and maybe, with time, he might get there. If Gibson was into a repeat performance and wasn’t going to break his heart. Because Maxwell knew now, after
that
kiss, if Gibson asked for a visit to the loo, despite what Maxwell’s brain said, his heart and little head would say ‘Hell yeah.’

He picked up the cocktail, passed one to Gibson then picked up his own and took a sip. “Here’s to crazy men doing crazy things in nightclubs.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Gibson smiled and they toasted each other. The pang in Maxwell’s chest morphed into something larger, an ache making him want to bottle Gibson in a fairy jar and never let him go. The man, with his pale green eyes, freckled nose and wavy blond curls, had crept into his heart. For a while they stood at the bar observing the activity around them.

Gibson shot him a shy smile. “I know it’s late but I’ve got nowhere to be in the morning. You said no already but that was before you went all Mr Miyagi. Do you want to go somewhere quieter with me, we could talk, get to know each other a bit more?” He fidgeted as Maxwell gazed at him.

Maxwell’s brain was adamant.
He’s going to break your heart. You should say no. Say no. Just like that. It’s easy.

He nodded without even realising it. His heart and little head were all too convincing.

I don’t care anymore about finding ‘the one.’ I want
him
. Even if it’s only for tonight.

“Sure. We can go to my place if you like. It’s not too far.” Maxwell’s inner common sense hung its head in shame and despair.

Gibson beamed brightly as he took out his mobile from his waist bag. “I need to let my friends know I’m leaving. They’ll be rabid they missed all the fun.” He finished his drink. “They’re probably in the bathroom. I think I saw them disappear before this all kicked off.” He hesitated. “While I have my phone out, do you want to give me your number again? I promise I’ll keep it.”

Maxwell recited his number and watched Gibson key it in, all the time studying how his face scrunched up in concentration. The guy was adorable, sweet under that glossy exterior and not as confident as he looked. And he was all Maxwell’s for one night.