Screwing the System (15 page)

No, he wasn’t closeted. Just…discreet.

“Okay, let’s go. The Hobgoblin do good grub. My treat,” Cosmo said, jolting Alasdair from his thoughts.

“Shepherd’s pie?” he asked hopefully. “I love a good shepherd’s pie with peas. Haven’t had one in ages.”

“Nothing that elaborate, I’m afraid, but they do great burgers and cheesy chips.”

“Sounds good to me.” He let Cosmo lead the way back through the shopping centre to the old High Street.

When a white-haired tramp coughed his way to a standstill on the pavement in front of them, Alasdair went to push past.

“Wait up,” Cosmo called, and Alasdair turned back to see him with his head bent towards the filthy old geezer, an affectionate smile lighting up his face. He watched while the two of them had a conversation he couldn’t quite hear and saw Cosmo reach into his pocket and press something into the bloke’s hand. Jesus, he was giving him money?

When Cosmo caught him up again, Alasdair meant to stay quiet, but he just couldn’t.

“What do you want to give him money for? He’ll only spend it on drugs or booze.” He’d spotted the open can sticking out of the tramp’s coat.

“Yeah, knowing Alf, he’ll probably just go and splurge the lot on Special Brew, but that’s his medication, innit?”

“His poison, more like.” Even in his biker days, Alasdair had never been able to stomach that cheap, extra-strength lager. “You know you’re just feeding his addiction by giving him money, don’t you?”

Cosmo shrugged. “He drinks because there’s a whole load of things he wants to forget. It’s not his fault he’s had a shitty life.”

“He can’t blame others for his lifestyle. He has a choice.”

“What? You think he chose his upbringing? You think you’d have done better spending your childhood in a care home instead of some fancy detached house?”

“You don’t know anything about my childhood.” It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Cosmo he’d grown up in a two-bedroom flat over his dad’s newsagents, but he wasn’t going to spill his guts here, in front of the lunchtime crowd.

“Yeah, but I bet you had it better than Alf did. Your folks must be loaded.”

“My folks aren’t around anymore.” He’d lost them both to cancer in the last five years, but relations had been pretty strained anyway after his return to Wycombe. It felt like he’d lost them years earlier.

“Yeah? Sorry. You never said.” Cosmo shot him a quick glance loaded with sympathy, but he was clearly still preoccupied with the tramp. “Least you had them to look out for you when you were a nipper, though. Alf told me once how he ended up on the streets. That care home he was in? Wasn’t named accurately. There was so little actual care taken, one of the staff got away with raping him from the age of seven until the time he finally managed to run away for good.”

Alasdair’s fists clenched at the thought of some sick fucker doing that to a child. Yes, he’d had it better than that, thank God. His father might have been a heartless bastard when he was alive, but he’d never have let anything like that happen to his son.

“So you see?” Cosmo was still talking, even as he pushed open the door to the pub. “Not everyone at the bottom of the pile can claw their way to the top. We don’t all have it in us to rise to your elevated level. What’s it like up there, by the way? Looking down on all us losers?”

The little shit. But as Alasdair stared at the swinging door, he had to concede Cosmo had it right. Maybe he had been looking down on Alf. It was hard not to when the guy stank worse than an overflowing bin and didn’t look any better, but he hadn’t always felt that way about the homeless.

There’d been Jon, for a start, who’d rolled into town with nothing more than the clothes on his back, the bike between his legs and enough spiky attitude to almost mask the pain in his eyes. Alasdair had seen right through it, though, and let that fucked-up lad steal his heart.

Dwelling on ancient history wouldn’t do him any good right now, though. He pushed open the door and headed after Cosmo.

Shadows swallowed the pub’s dimly lit, dark-wood interior, but Alasdair spotted Cosmo by the bar.

When he approached, Cosmo gave him a sheepish grin. “Think I might need you to treat me after all. I seem to be cleant out.”

He’d given away the twenty to a tramp? No wonder the lad was penniless himself. But Alasdair didn’t say anything else on the subject. Just ordered them both burgers and chips, cider for Cosmo, a juice for himself, and paid for the lot.

“I want to sit in the garden so I can smoke. That okay with you?”

It wasn’t, but Alasdair nodded anyway. He could put up with the cancer sticks for an hour, couldn’t he?

He leant on the bar, watching Cosmo make his way through the pub, stopping to chat to people on the way. People who could easily take advantage of his good nature. Cosmo was gullible, that much was clear to Alasdair. He’d swallowed whatever line the tramp had given him in hope of a handout. And he believed the best in everyone. Except in Alasdair, it would seem.

That stung, he realised. He might have Cosmo’s respect in a scene, but the lad wasn’t giving him any outside of one. Commanding it wouldn’t work, he could see that. The rebelliousness was too deeply ingrained.

But maybe he could earn it. Maybe with enough time and effort, he could get one of those kind, sweet smiles for himself. Longing surged through Alasdair’s body. He wanted that. Oh yes, he wanted that even more than he wanted to sink his cock into Cosmo’s tight little arse.

Shit. He needed a new plan.

Chapter Twelve

“All right, Cos?” an unwelcome voice called from the depths of one of the booths. “Wanna join us?”

Cosmo’s shoulders tensed as he turned to give a fake smile in Rizzo’s direction. “I’m with someone, thanks.” He waved his free hand at Alasdair, who was still paying for their drinks. “We’re sitting outside.”

“Oh yeah. Is that Mr. Mercedes? Bit posh for you, isn’t he?” Rizzo exchanged a knowing look with the goth chick hanging on to his arm. Just another in his endless parade of groupies, no doubt. “Don’t tell me you’re getting too stuck up for your old mates, now. That’s not very friendly, is it?”

Mates. That was rich, as Rizzo had never been a mate. “Just want a bit of privacy, that’s all.”

“Yeah, and you wouldn’t want your corporate suit meeting the likes of me, now, would you?”

Cosmo wanted to slap the sneer right off Rizzo’s way-too-pretty face, but he turned away and headed towards the beer garden. He was going to get a load of stick later, now Rizzo had seen Alasdair in his suit. Bugger. If only Alasdair was in the leather gear. He’d fit right in and put the fear into jumped-up little tosspots like Rizzo.

The tiny pub garden was more of a patio, shaded by the vast brick wall of the theatre behind, and Cosmo was relieved to find it nearly empty. He picked the table farthest from the pub, in the hope they’d be left in peace. But when Alasdair joined him across the scarred picnic table, all the irritation evaporated away. Why did Alasdair have to smile like that, looking at him like only his nan ever did, all kindly and caring. Made it impossible to be grumpy when someone did that.

“A friend of yours?” Alasdair asked. “That lad with the dreadlocks?”

“Not exactly. More of a bandmate-stroke-housemate-stroke-general thorn in my side.”

“I see.”

“See what?”

Alasdair just took a sip of his drink, which looked suspiciously non-alcoholic, and fixed Cosmo with those unnerving eyes.

Cosmo was going to wait him out, bugger it. Make sure Alasdair caved first. But the untold grievances bubbled up inside him until they burst out of his mouth. “Rizzo reckons he’s this shit-hot guitarist, and he ain’t bad, but he ain’t that good. He’s got the rest of them hanging on his every word, though. Convinced them my songs aren’t worth the paper they’re written on, just because they haven’t got some wanky solo in the middle for him. Just pisses me off, that’s all. Wish I had my own place sometimes.”

“How did you all end up living together in the first place?”

“You really want to know?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

No, he wouldn’t, would he? That was one thing Cosmo felt fairly sure he could rely on. Alasdair wouldn’t humour him just for the sake of it. So he related the story of how he’d grown up just down the road from Nasher and how they’d met up with Brett in the White Horse one night. Then there was the whole sorry business of them auditioning Rizzo and him finding them the house so they’d have somewhere to practise. “Should never have let him do that. He’s way too up himself now. Bastard thinks we all owe him something now, doesn’t he?”

Any response from Alasdair was curtailed by their burgers arriving, and Cosmo gladly took the chance to tuck in to the food. Grease melted over his tongue and coated his mouth, and he hummed in appreciation of the fries.

Alasdair, it appeared, couldn’t keep his eyes off Cosmo’s mouth. Sweet. Cosmo made the most of it, licking his fingers lavishly, reminding Alasdair just what was in store if he chose to invite him round again.

When he’d finished every last scrap of food, Cosmo took a long draught of cider and burped. Alasdair’s mouth twitched, although whether it was from amusement or disapproval, Cosmo couldn’t tell. Alasdair wiped his hands fastidiously on his paper napkin and turned those laserbeam eyes on him again.

“Have you reconsidered my offer yet?”

Cosmo was going to bluff, say,
what offer?
, but the thrills shivering through his nerves distracted him. “I…I’ve given it some thought.” Had thought of little else, truth be told, although he wasn’t giving Alasdair the satisfaction of knowing that.

“And?” Alasdair prompted.

Cosmo took a deep breath. Honesty. Right, he could do this. “Look, I could do with a change of scenery, and I’d be more than happy to shack up with you for a while, but I don’t know about all those rules and things you mentioned before. I mean, just coz it flips my switch in bed, doesn’t mean I want to be some kind of full-time slave. And I’m not becoming your houseboy either. No cooking and no cleaning.”

“You think that’s what I want?”

“I dunno. You talked about disciplining me. What does that mean, exactly? I’m not going to bend over for a smack or lick your boots whenever I’ve done something you consider naughty.”

Alasdair steepled his fingers and stared intently. “I think you need some structure and order in your life, but I don’t want to do anything you’re not happy with. The rules need to be something we negotiate.”

“Okaaay. Sounds fair enough. Want to give me an example of what kind of thing you had in mind?”

Alasdair looked around the garden. “You sure you don’t want to continue this discussion later, somewhere private?” Their end of the garden was empty apart from a drunk geezer sitting on the next table, but Cosmo didn’t give a fuck if he overheard their conversation.

“Here. Now. Come on. I need to know.”

“Rule number one, you follow a routine designed to keep you fit, healthy and productive. I’ll design a workout programme with you, and your days will be structured into sessions of physical and creative activity.”

“A timetable?”

“If you like. But we can design it together so that it suits you.”

“Okay, maybe. Not sure about that one, but maybe. What’s next?”

“Two. You respect my property, and you don’t invite anyone around without my permission.”

Sounded fair enough. “But how will I see my friends?”

“I’m not going to stop you going out and having a life. You’ll work your band practice and your socialising into the schedule.”

“Fuck’s sake. Are you going to schedule the blowjobs as well? Get it all programmed into your phone so it pings you when it’s time to shove your cock down my throat?”

“There’s no need to be vulgar.”

“It’s not vulgar. It’s fucking awesome, but I don’t want to have it all written on a timetable. I make my own choices about what I do and when.”

“Right, then we’re negotiating. Sex is not something that gets scheduled. We’ll fit it in when we feel like it. Does that work for you?”

Damn, he hadn’t been expecting that. Alasdair’s ready capitulation obliterated all his self-righteous indignation. Bastard. Cosmo pulled out his baccy and began rolling a cigarette, knowing it was going to piss Alasdair off.

“Rule number three, no smoking in the house and no drinking during the day. I want you to look into ways you can cut down on the smoking too.”

“I don’t mind cutting back on the drink, but I’m not giving up my post-shag smoke. I really enjoy that one.” Cosmo lit his rollie and took a deep drag.

Alasdair’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t have them every time we have sex.”

“Not when you fuck me senseless, no.”

“I’ll just have to remember to do that more often, then.”

“You do that.” They shared a smile and Cosmo blew a textbook smoke ring, pleased to see even Alasdair looked impressed.

“Rule number four, you don’t sign on or claim any benefits while you’re living at mine. I’ll give you enough cash to keep you in skimpy clothes, MP3s and guitar strings, okay?”

“And how much would that be, exactly?”