Free Country Mouse by Amy Lane Page A

“tsk.”
    Owen snickered, but Malcolm seemed oblivious. Either that, or he’d just recovered far more of his brashness than was healthy for him. “Not, mind, that there’s anything wrong with arse-fucking. Hey, if it was consensual and all.”
    “I imagine it was,” Owen said suggestively, enjoying Malcolm losing a beat, and then they walked down a busy street on the bank of the Thames.
    “There, Houses of Parliament coming into view. The place Guy Fawkes was trying to blow up?” Malcolm pointed ahead. “And that tower there is Big Ben. Of course, the tower isn’t called that, it’s the name of the bell in the tower.” He grinned, visibly proud of his city. “You know why Parliament is built right next to the water? I mean, there’s nothing between the water and the building, see?”
    Owen nodded, leaning his arms on the stone railing and looking at where the building practically rose out of the water. “Dunno? In case there’s a fire?”
    “Almost. They built it there so in case there’s a riot and people want to hang all these bastards, they can evacuate over the water. Pretty clever, huh? Don’t trust a good British lynch mob, is what I’m saying.” Malcolm grinned.
    “Better system than we have,” Owen muttered. “They keep trying to arrest our mobs back home.”
    Malcolm’s grin widened. “It’s because you people don’t mean it. That’s what I’m saying here—we want to hang a politician, we mean what we say! You just want to talk them to death.”
    Owen shot back a grin. “Well, you know. Sometimes talking’s hot.”
    And just that quickly Malcolm was flustered, and they were back in bed, Owen deep inside him, doing the things Malcolm wouldn’t ask for. “Right. Um, okay. On to the next bit, okay?”
    Owen smiled at him, letting his eyes hood over with lust, and Malcolm shot him an exasperated glare and continued the tour, delightfully huffy.
    He guided him across Parliament Square, Westminster Abbey (which was very impressive, but also closed to tourists), and then down the street toward Victoria (whatever that was), and they detoured into a strange building that looked like it belonged in the Middle East.
    “Strangest Cathedral Ever,” Malcolm said at the red-brick, uh, church with gold mosaics and oddly Byzantine look. “Westminster Cathedral. Smell the incense? This is one of the few real Catholic churches we have. It’s not really old, but quite pretty. Looks more like a mosque, right?”
    It did, but the quietness and the incense swept over him in a sweet, almost familiar feeling of peace. He paused for just a moment, eyes closed, a half-smile on his face. “I like this place very much,” he said after a moment, comfortable with the spirituality. “My mom was . . . well, you’d probably call her a hippie, but she’s not really. She’s got a computer and a job and if you didn’t know her, you’d think she’s totally normal. But she . . .” Owen kept his eyes closed and smiled again. “She would like a place like this. She’d say you could feel the Goddess here—which would probably freak out anyone who heard her because I don’t think that’s the point.” He opened his eyes again and looked around, then caught Malcolm’s entranced look and cleared his throat, suddenly embarrassed.
    “Sorry. Didn’t mean to go on.”
    “No worries. I take it you miss your mum?”
    “Text her every day,” Owen said without apology. This morning she’d warned him not to get too attached to whoever he had in bed. “What’s next?”
    They had a walk around the many small side altars and looked at the mosaics, but it was also really quite full and Owen was getting hungry. Malcolm ended up taking him to a quick Japanese restaurant down a side street.
    “It’s just a chain, but the food is okay. Mango Tree’s not far away in Grosvenor Gardens, but it’s maybe a touch formal . . .” Malcolm looked so worried over it that Owen had no choice but to grin and tell him he