Men of London 04 - Feat of Clay (20 page)

Gideon grinned. “If I recall, it was a bit
like the Nicky Starr porn site in here that night.” He frowned.
“Talking about Oliver and Leslie, weren’t they supposed to be
here?”

Taylor nodded. “Yep. Something happened to
one of Leslie’s fish—again—so poor Oliver had to go around and
console him. They’ll be a bit late.”

Eddie laughed loudly. “If by
console
, you mean that Oliver had to go round and flush
the little fishy tyke down the toilet because Leslie was in
hysterics and couldn’t do it, you hit it on the head.” He grimaced.
“I don’t know what it is with that man and his pets. He has this
nasty habit of losing them.”

Draven shook his head in amusement. “I bet
that’s not all that’s getting
consoled
,” he
said slyly.

The table burst into raucous laughter. Clay
chuckled at the merriment and thought not for the first time what a
great bunch of people he had the pleasure of knowing. His
relationship with Tate and Draven had brought him into contact with
men he was really proud to call friends. The fact Tate had also
agreed to move in with him made it even better. There was quite a
bit to organise in terms of the move, but the fact that
his man
was going to be living with him
definitely made the evening better.

Tate raised his drink at him and the warmth
in those hazel eyes made Clay smile. His lover looked more relaxed
than he’d seen him in a long while. That was partially down to the
therapy he still underwent and Tate’s unburdening of himself to
Clay. He was so proud of Tate in coming to terms with his demons,
he could burst.

Draven leaned over and touched his arm. “Tate
is looking great,” he murmured softly. “I’m so pleased for you
both. I know you both went through a lot and to see him like
this—it’s pretty admirable. He’s one tough bastard, isn’t he?”

“That he is,” Clay remarked fondly, watching
and listening as Tate told some dirty joke about a penguin and a
dwarf nun. He winced at the punchline. “God, that was a bit sexist
even for him.”

“That’s what comes of working with
misogynistic bastards like Sonny Armerian,” Draven mused. “So big
on proving they don’t suck dick, they treat women like objects.” He
chuckled. “I guess in Tate’s case, you can take the man out of the
undercover cop—”

“But you can’t take the undercover cop out of
the man,” they finished together and laughed.

Clay leaned in toward Draven. “I wanted to
ask you how Taylor was,” he murmured quietly as he watched the
antics around the table. “You said he had a bit of a turn when we
were in that accident—is everything okay now?”

Draven nodded, eyes on his fiancé. “Yeah, he
was a bit under the weather for a while. Did the whole passing-out
thing and shit.” His lips twisted in a wry grin. “I guess it’s all
part of the fun of being involved with a psychic.”

“But you wouldn’t have it any other way,”
Clay said, nudging his friend’s shoulder. “I know the feeling.
Can’t live with ’em; can’t live without ’em.” He glanced at Draven
with a smirk. “I never thought I’d see the day Draven Samuels was
in love. And yet here we are.”

“Back atcha.” Draven shot back. “And you,
with Tate Williams? I never saw that one coming.”

“Yeah, well.” Clay shrugged. “We’ve known
each other forever. We still take it day by day, but yeah. He’ll be
fine. Especially now he’s moving in with me. I can keep an eye on
him.”

Both men shared a look that said they knew
what it meant to take care of someone, even if the other person
didn’t really think they needed it. In their profession, protective
instincts were a must.

A tornado in the form of Leslie Tiberius
Scott chose that moment to make his entrance. Leslie was adept at
making an entrance and Clay couldn’t help but feel a surge of
affection for the young man who’d manage to tame a former porn star
and bring him out of hiding.

Oliver Brown, aka Nicky Starr in porn circles
(and someone all of them had watched at some time or another)
smirked at Taylor and Eddie as he sat down. “Sorry we’re late,” he
announced, his hand reaching up and smoothing his hair over the
scar Clay knew was there on his face. “Glenda died and we had to
have the funeral there and then.” He rolled his eyes and glanced
fondly at his boyfriend.

Leslie pouted, brushing a stray lock of black
hair away behind his ear. Despite the fact Clay had Tate, Clay
thought Leslie was adorable.

“I wasn’t going to let her sit around and be
eaten by a cat or something,” Leslie sputtered indignantly. “That
damn tabby next door slipped into my flat the other day and ate all
the salami I’d left out for my sandwich and I had to make do with
boring ham. God knows what it would have done if it found Glenda
lying in state. She’d have been gobbled up like that.” He clicked
his fingers and sat down.

Taylor and Eddie burst into loud fits of
laughter.

“Leslie, did you just say a cat ate your
salami? Oh my God, there has to be a joke in there somewhere.”
Taylor howled. He could always be counted on for a laugh, and Eddie
wasn’t much better. They nudged each other in mirth. Draven rolled
his eyes and Gideon just shook his head. The two men shared a
sympathetic glance at their respective partners’ schoolboy
humour.

Leslie glared at them, blue eyes flashing
dangerously. “Ha-ha. You two are like dirty little kids, you know
that?” He gave a smug grin. “Besides, my
salami’s
too big to be eaten by a cat.”

Eddie laughed louder. “Oh, please don’t start
on the whole eight-inches thing again.”

Oliver leaned over the table with a grin.
“Lads, my boyfriend’s dick size is classed as need-to-know
information. And you don’t need to know.” He smiled fondly at
Leslie who batted his eyelashes back as he imperiously ordered his
drink from the waitress.

The juvenile banter caused Clay a slight
sense of insecurity. At the ripe age of thirty-six he was almost
the daddy of the group. The thought irritated him and he
scowled.

Tate leaned over and ran a hand down his
jawline, warm eyes assessing him shrewdly. “Everything okay?” he
murmured as his other hand caressed Clay’s thigh under the
table.

Clay sighed. “Just feeling like old Father
Time,” he admitted softly. “Look at this lot. I have about ten
years on them all.”

Tate snorted. “So do I when it comes to some
of them. We’re a right pair.” His hand travelled further up Clay’s
leg and palmed his groin suggestively. “You are definitely sexy for
an old bloke though.” He squeezed hard and Clay tried not to make a
noise as his dick hardened. He reached down and pushed Tate’s hand
off his crotch.

“Stop it,” he hissed. “You start something
and Gideon will throw us out.” He cast a quick glance at the man in
question but he was too busy kissing Eddie to hear them.

Tate chuckled and removed his hand. “Easy
now, old-timer,” he said, putting on a twang. “Don’t go getting
your panties in a bunch.”

Clay snarled softly and reached across to
grip Tate’s jaw, loving the spark of lust and desire that flared
there. “I’ll show you who’s not so damn old.” He took Tate’s mouth
in a bruising kiss, owning him and forgetting for a moment just
where they were. When they finally came up for air, both men
realised the lack of conversation at the table.

“Oh. My. God,” Leslie said, fanning himself
with a menu. “That was so fucking hot!”

“Er, yeah, just a bit.” Eddie’s face was pink
and he threw a heated glance at Gideon. “Pretty much a
scorcher.”

Both Gideon and Draven nodded in agreement.
Taylor was too busy sitting with his mouth open to say anything,
but from the dangerous look he flashed Draven, he had
something
on his mind.

Clay’s face flamed. He’d never expected to be
the centre of attention like this although it seemed they might
just have contributed to everybody else’s getting lucky later. For
an
old-timer
, he was quite proud of
that.

“Yeah, sorry,” he said sheepishly as Tate
snickered again and his hand crept up Clay’s leg to the dick that
was trying to punch its way out of his trousers. Clay gripped that
wandering hand tightly.

God, my man is being such
a prick tease tonight. I need to keep him away from alcohol when
we’re out. It does something to him, especially here at
Galileo’s.

Oliver grinned wolfishly. “If you guys fancy
the idea, my old studio Vanguard is always looking for guys to
perform for the more mature audience. I can give them a call if you
like?”

The gleam in his eyes and the wicked twitch
on his lips forestalled Clay’s ‘fuck you,’ at that comment. Since
meeting Leslie, Oliver had definitely come out of his hermit’s
shell. He’d proven to have a wicked sense of humour, a really dirty
mind and knew every porn star in the business and their secrets,
which kept them all entertained.

He was also clearly besotted with Leslie, but
Clay didn’t see how anyone could resist the blue-eyed minx.
Everyone around the table had a great affection for him. He was the
warm and fuzzy team mascot that got under your skin and you
couldn’t get him out.

Leslie gave a shriek of horror. “Babe, you
can’t say things like that to Clay and Tate.” He smacked Oliver
across the head with a menu. “Sorry, guys, Oliver sometimes has a
big mouth.”

The howl of laughter and Leslie’s rapidly
reddening cheeks at the dirty comments that followed, once again
about the size of Leslie’s cock, took the heat off Clay and Tate
for a while.

When they finally left the restaurant, with
the promise to all to arrange another ‘Dirty Dinner’ night, as
Eddie had dubbed it, it was close to midnight. Clay definitely
wanted to put the heat back into the bedroom. Tate had been a tease
all night and now it was time for payback. And from the dangerous
look in Tate’s eyes, his lover was ready to pay the price.

****

Moving was a bitch but the results were worth
it. Tate stared around the bedroom he now shared with Clay with a
sense of accomplishment. He gave a nod of satisfaction and made his
way to the patio. The French doors were open and a light, warm
breeze blew in, caressing his face with tendrils of its warm
breath. He stared out at the tangled garden with its overgrown
foliage and unclipped greenery. It had been a hot and heavy weekend
moving all his stuff out of his flat in Kentish Town into Clay’s
place, and putting some things into storage.

The past three weeks had been hectic to say
the least. Organising removals, ensuring the utilities were
stopped, changing his address, fobbing off his sister Lucy’s offer
of casseroles and stews (something Tate hated but Clay loved) and
cleaning out the flat; it had taken a considerable amount of
time.

Now he was firmly ensconced in a house he’d
always considered home anyway. He loved Clay’s huge Victorian house
with its vineyard and peaceful garden. It bore so much of his
partner—the classic wooden and leather study, with wall-to-wall
books. The comfortable, old-style Quaker kitchen with its pale wood
and centre island just perfect for eating around in the evenings.
The ornate wrought-iron table and chairs on the private cobbled
patio were perfect for warm summer evenings. It all spoke of
warmth, safety and Clay.

Warm arms encircled him, pulling him against
a strong, familiar body. Tate closed his eyes and breathed in
Clay’s beloved scent. Now, he
really
felt
he was home.

“I’m wondering why the hell it took so long
for us to get to this point,” Clay whispered in his ear. “What the
hell was I thinking—we could have done this a long time ago.” He
kissed the back of Tate’s neck. “It was my fault, I know that. Me
being all Daddy Bear and not wanting to risk you being hurt.”

Tate reached back and pulled Clay’s mouth
down for a kiss. “You still make me laugh when you say that. Not to
mention when I read ‘Goldilocks’ now I shall have really dirty
thoughts.” He turned and wrapped his arms around Clay’s neck,
laying his forehead against his. “Thank you for believing in me and
staying with me after all the shit I’ve put you through.” He
pressed a finger to Clay’s lips as he tried to speak. “Nope, be
quiet. This is my turn to say important stuff.” He smoothed a stray
strand of Clay’s hair from his cheek. “You inviting me into your
home like this—it means everything to me. You once told me I was
your world, your everything. Well, I need you to know I feel the
same way. I love you, Clay Mortimer. To quote Mr Darren Hayes,
‘Truly, Madly, Deeply.’” He grinned and saw Clay’s eyes soften.
“And the mind-blowing sex is good too.”

Clay’s chest rumbled as he laughed. “Good to
know,” he murmured as his hands slid around Tate’s waist and found
the warm skin under his polo shirt. “I’m really glad you’re here
too. Waking up every day with you—that’s all I need.”

“That, and a good gardener,” Tate remarked
drily. “I’m pretty sure I saw an orang-utan earlier in that tree.”
He pointed to a giant tree in the garden laden with some sort of
pink bloom. Clay chuckled and kissed the smirk off Tate’s face with
his usual thoroughness. His hands gripped the back of Tate’s head
as he pressed his lips against Tate’s. Clay’s tongue made slow,
sensual swirls in his mouth, on his lips, teeth clicking together.
Tate had the sense of being emotionally branded and owned and he
fucking loved it. Loved that someone like Clay would make him his
over and over again.

Clay’s hard body pressed against his in a
wanton display of possession. His cock pressed against Tate’s
groin, which was already aflame, and Tate moaned as Clay bit his
bottom lip then sucked it into his mouth.

“I need to be inside you,” Clay said huskily.
“Want to christen the fact you’re living here with me by making
love to you until you forget who you are. ’Til I forget who I am.”
He chuckled. “I can feel you’re up to it, so maybe we should take
this inside?”