Free Boats in the night by Josephine Myles Page B

following day in a tiny pharmacy, but
    they’d remained hidden in his suitcase, unopened. Fabian wouldn’t risk Giles’s health, would he? He hadn’t dared raise the matter again in case he found out otherwise.
    Not until that last, terrible row the night Fabian walked out on him.
    Strangely, the memory of that night didn’t seem to sting like it had done even
    yesterday. Must have been the effect of going to see Fabian again. Of realising that maybe he hadn’t lost quite as much as he’d imagined. Fabian was like an exquisite porcelain vase: smooth and beautiful to look at, but hollow inside.
    Giles tucked the supplies into his trouser pocket and had only a moment’s twinge of
    regret to see the mess he’d made of his clothing, kneeling in that mouldering old greenhouse.
    It had been worth it. He’d happily ruin a whole rack of Savile Row’s finest to see that ecstasy light up Smutty’s face as he came, and know that it was Giles making him feel that way.
    But that wasn’t helping quell his priapic state. Bugger it. He’d just have to get
    downstairs first and hide his obvious arousal by sitting at the table. That table. Damn, this wasn’t going to get any easier, was it?
    Giles was just easing himself down into a comfortable position when Smutty bounded
    through the back door with an armful of weeds.
    “What on earth is that lot?”
    Smutty spread them onto the table top in front of him, and Giles tried not to wince at the idea of all the bugs that must be falling onto his nice clean furniture.
    “Jack by the hedge, wild garlic, chickweed, hawthorn buds and bittercress. All edible and all good.”
    “They look like weeds to me.” Giles’s nose screwed up despite his best efforts to
    resist. “Are you sure they’re all safe to eat?”
    Smutty huffed and gathered the greenery up again. “I suppose you’d rather have your
    chlorine-rinsed, plastic pack of baby leaf salad air-freighted in from South America then, would you? C’mon Giles, trust me. These are perfectly safe and what’s more, they’re organic and local, and they haven’t been picked by slave labour either.”
    Giles stared in mute disbelief, which Smutty seemed to take as assent as he dumped
    the leaves in the sink and gave them a quick rinse. Giles opted not to make any disparaging comments, and set about slicing bread and ham while Smutty prepared the weed salad.
    However, it was difficult not to react when Smutty plonked the dripping weeds on
    Giles plate then peeled the ham off his own with a look of distaste.
    “Thanks, but I don’t eat dead animals.”
    “Really? You don’t know what you’re missing. This is delicious.”
    Smutty glared at him, and Giles’s dick finally softened enough to be comfortable. He sighed into his weed and Parma ham sandwich. It shouldn’t matter, should it? Smutty wasn’t going to be around for long, so it wasn’t like a few differences of opinion over diet should be an issue.
    But the food stuck like glue in his mouth, and he set his sandwich down. What he
    needed was a glass of wine to wash the taste away.
    And then maybe another one after that, to commiserate himself for having raised his
    hopes up about something that was clearly never going to be more than a brief fling.
    “Penny for ‘em?” Smutty eventually asked.
    Giles snapped to attention, ransacking his brain for an acceptable answer. He wasn’t about to admit to the urge for a drink, and still less to the reason why. What had he been thinking about earlier? Oh yes, table sex. That wasn’t a subject he wanted to raise right now either. Just thinking about it was making his cheeks heat, and he still wasn’t sure if it had just been a flippant remark.
    “Have you ever eaten meat?” It wasn’t a topic of conversation he particularly wanted to resurrect, but he couldn’t sit there any longer looking like a gormless fool.
    Smutty’s lips twisted into a filthy grin. “Oh yeah, I love a good bit of meat in my
    mouth. I’m