Free Men of London 02 - Sight and Sinners by Susan Mac Nicol

was woken what seemed just like a few minutes later by a soft voice in his ear.
    “Taylor, we’re here. Come on. Let’s get inside.”
    Taylor yawned and stretched and clambered sleepily out of the car. They were in a quiet neighbourhood among a row of pretty terraced houses, and Draven climbed the few stairs to one at the end. He rattled some keys and the door opened.
    “Come on in. Welcome to Chez Samuels.” He disappeared inside as Taylor followed into the dimly lit hallway. A light was switched on and he winced as the brightness hit his eyes. He looked around. It was small, cosy, masculine. Minimally furnished, with a lounge at one side, a kitchen on the other and what looked like a cloakroom. Decorated in deep shades of aubergine, white and bronze, the whole house looked elegant and classic. Very unlike Taylor’s little bedroom with peeling wallpaper, a broken faucet at the small basin and frayed carpets covered in various stains. He loved his home with Leslie but this one was in a whole new league. He groaned at that thought. Leslie . He hadn’t called him to let him know he wasn’t coming home tonight. Leslie would have a full diva queen strop if Taylor didn’t let him know. He pulled out his mobile and sent off a quick text.
    Won’t be home tonight. Pulled and ready to rock and roll.
    That should please his roommate–even if it wasn’t strictly true. He had no intention anymore of putting out for the man in the next room despite the hot and heavy breathing action in the restaurant. The vomiting and making a fool of himself yet again had put paid to that idea.
    He went into the kitchen and Draven turned to him and passed him a toothbrush still in the packaging.
    “Here, the bigger bathroom is upstairs if you want to brush your teeth. Feel free to shower if you fancy. I can give you a pair of sweats and a tee shirt. I’ll leave them in the upstairs bathroom.”
    “Way to tell me my breath smells,” Taylor muttered sulkily.
    Draven grinned. “Wow, aren’t you just a ball of sunshine.” He turned to the large pink pig cookie jar on his counter top. “Freud, what do you think? Shall we adopt him?”
    Taylor looked at the pig jar in suspicion. “You named your biscuit jar after a psychoanalyst who was obsessed with sex? And really, who names their containers like that?”
    Draven frowned. “Freud wasn’t obsessed with it. He was an advocate of psychosexual development.”
    Taylor looked at him blankly. “There’s a difference?” He chuckled as Draven stared him down. “Okay. I’m off to give these stinky teeth a brush. Uhm, I don’t suppose you have any cigarettes here, do you? I’d love a smoke later…” His voice tailed as Draven raised an eyebrow. Taylor sighed in resignation. “Fine,” he huffed. “I’ll do without. Just don’t blame me if I get all cranky.”
    That poxy eyebrow lifted even further and Taylor wanted to smack the face that owned it. But that was what had got him here in the first place.
    Upstairs in the bathroom, after seeing the luxurious wet room, Taylor decided to have a shower. He was sticky and sweaty and noticed he had spots of sick down his front.
    “Way to go, Tay,” he muttered as he shed his clothes and started the shower. “How can any man resist you in this state?”
    He brushed his teeth, stepped into the shower and lathered himself up. Hot, steaming water had always had a restorative effect on him, making him feel better, washing away the emotions of the day and making his soul cleaner. He revelled in the smell of warm, orangey citrus shower gel, and hummed to himself as he washed his hair. He thought he heard a noise behind him and peeked out the curtain, but all he saw was fresh clothes laid out on the chair on the other side of the bathroom. Despite his resolve not to put out, Taylor felt a slight sense of pique that Draven hadn’t even attempted to get in the shower with him.
    Finally he turned off the water, wrapped a towel around his waist and