Stuff (The Bristol Collection) (17 page)

Perry took another look around. “It might be girly, but I love it,” Perry said firmly.

“Yes!” Mas launched himself across the room, and Perry fell into a rack of jackets as he attempted to stay upright under the force of Mas’s embrace. “I’m going to work on the back room tomorrow, as much as I can manage with the customers coming in too. That one’s going to be more blokey. Saw some good stuff upstairs I could use.”

Perry mumbled something into Mas’s hair, acutely aware of the scent of him and his body pressed up against his own. Dear God, this wasn’t making his predicament any easier. He gently extricated himself from Mas’s grip. “You’ve worked awfully hard today. Is there anything you need a hand with?”

Mas raised an eyebrow and gave him a cheeky smile but then toned it down. “I could do with some of your sculptures to hang from the ceiling. Thought the fairies might go well in here. We can put the animals in the back room. Give it more of a gentleman’s study kind of feel.”

“Or a billiards room,” Perry muttered, remembering his favourite room at Farnsleigh House.

“Ooh, proper posh. What the fuck is billiards, anyway? Snooker or pool? No, wait, don’t answer that. We don’t have room for one of those tables anyway, although I like your thinking. Hey, you reckon there are any of those old stags’ heads up there we could use? That kind of thing would look awesome. You’ve got a couple you’ve er, modified, haven’t you?”

“You’re welcome to display those if you really think people will be interested. And I’m sure there are more where those came from. I’ve probably got some in my workshop.”

“Let’s go have a look, then, shall we?” Mas grinned, and Perry had to lodge his fists firmly in his pockets to help him resist the urge to grab Mas’s hand. Holding hands like lovestruck teenagers definitely trampled all over the employer/employee acceptable relationship boundaries.

Chapter Nineteen

Two hours later, and the front room of the shop was finished to Mas’s satisfaction.

“Is that everything?” Perry asked hopefully. Probably wanted to get off back to his weirdy sculptures again.

“I still want to get price tags on everything, but that can wait. Besides, they won’t get here till tomorrow.”

“You ordered some? How are you paying for them? You do know I’m in debt, don’t you?”

Mas raised his eyebrows. Oh hell. Perry hadn’t meant to share that nugget of information, but Mas didn’t look shocked. Instead, Perry was surprised to see a flare of interest. “In debt? What, like gambling debts? Did you bet your inheritance on a rigged game of poker or something? Has some ganster been sending round his heavies to demand money with menaces?”

Perry snorted, and all of a sudden his financial woes didn’t seem quite so overwhelming. “Nothing so glamorous or dangerous. It’s just the gas board. I neglected to pay my bills for a while, and they cut me off six months ago. That’s why there’s no heating or hot water down here. At least the top floor all runs off electricity.”

“Ah. I see. Well don’t worry about the price tags. They’re all of a fraction of a penny each, so I splashed out. My treat. You can pay me back when we’ve made some more sales. I’ve kept the receipt.”

“You think of everything, don’t you?” Perry sounded surprised.

“Shock. Horror. Front page news: I’m not as much of a brainless himbo as I look. And I think not being hungover definitely helps. Oh, and having a whole bunch of pent-up sexual frustration. Turns out that’s brilliant for getting you going. I suppose that’s how come you’ve managed to get all those amazing sculptures finished.”

“I am not sexually frustrated.”

Ha! Now that was a man who was talking out of his arse. “Nah, don’t stress about it. I’m not judging you or nothing. I’m just saying celibacy might have its uses. I’d never believed that before.”

Perry looked like he wanted to say something else, but his inhibitions were holding him back again. Fuck. Should Mas try touching him again? He responded to touch with an initial stiffness—and not the good kind of stiffness—but when he’d got used to it, you could see him lapping it up, like he’d been deprived of basic human contact for way too long.

Mas laid a hand on Perry’s arm, but just then his stomach growled in protest. “Bloody hell, that was a loud one.” Mas chuckled, relieved to see Perry smile, even while pulling his arm out of reach. “That’ll learn me for skipping lunch. Think I’m going to need something more filling than beans on toast. Fancy joining me for a bite to eat? Reckon we could both do with a bit of a treat.” Mas mentally scanned through his list of nearby eateries. There were a couple of gay pubs that did halfway decent nosh, but maybe Lewis was right about breaking Perry in to it gradually. He didn’t much fancy any of the swanky places Mr. Married took him to, which left… “I know a place that does amazing pies. And excellent beer, so I’m told, if you like that kind of thing.”

“I don’t know.”

“C’mon. You don’t get out enough. And it’s just round the corner on Stokes Croft. I promise you, they do the best gravy and mash you’ve ever tasted.”

“Mashed potato?” Perry’s eyes lit up. “I used to love that at school.”

“Really? The stuff they made at our school was minging. Mind you, I reckon you probably went somewhere a bit posher than I did, speaking the way you do.”

Perry’s face fell. “Is it really that obvious?”

“Nah, you’re all right. It’s not like you’re some fancy-pants Lord acting all hoity-toity or anything. It’s just, well, you don’t sound like you grew up round these parts, that’s all.”

“I didn’t. I grew up in Kent. Tunbridge Wells.”

“Oh yeah. Like where lots of these clothes come from? Got a good rag trade going there, have they? Maybe we should head back there for a buying trip sometime. Gonna need to get some new stock at some point. I mean, there’s a whole load of stuff upstairs, but we can’t keep going forever on what you’ve got. If trade picks up the way I think it will, we’ll be running short in a few months.” Mas manoeuvred round Perry, heading over to the rail of jackets. “Mind if I wear this out? I could go and get changed into my glad rags, but I think you can trust me not to spill gravy all over it. I’ll use a napkin and everything.”

“Uh, no, that’s fine. It suits you.”

Mas watched the interest flare up in Perry’s eyes. Yep, a dinner date. That was exactly what the two of them needed right now. Like Lewis had said, give Perry a chance to relax and get to know him before jumping his bones. Mas could behave himself for a couple of hours. After all, how hard could it be?

It turned out that watching Perry eat was an exercise in self-restraint. He ate tidily, just as Mas would have expected from the neat way he did everything else, but there was an unabashed enjoyment of his food that was a delight to watch.

“Mmmm, you’re right. This pastry is heavenly.” Perry speared some more with his fork and loaded the rest up with mashed potato and gravy. “And the venison! I had no idea there was somewhere with food this good just around the corner.”

They were in Pieminister, a local pie shop with global ambitions, if the awards up on the wall were anything to go by. Mas hadn’t been sure how Perry would react to the distressed industrial aesthetic of the place with its weathered woodwork, open kitchen and low-hanging, brushed-metal light fixtures, but he’d just looked around with wide eyes and proclaimed it fascinating.

Mas had held up both ends of the conversation while they waited for their food, but a half pint of local ale and a plateful of good food seemed to be loosening Perry’s tongue.

He had to stop thinking about Perry’s tongue, but it was impossible not to with the way the man kept licking the oily gravy sheen off his lips. “So, what’s Tunbridge Wells like? Not great, I’m guessing, if you buggered off to Bristol.”

“It’s nice enough,” Perry said. It seemed like he was going to leave it at that, but then he added, “If you like that whole genteel, middle-England thing.”

“I’d have thought you loved all that. You know. What with you being a bit posh and all the stuff you collect.”

“Do I really come across as posh?”

“Yeah, but there’s no need to get your knickers in a twist about it. You’re not like one of those pompous old gits in the House of Lords. Or that Boris Johnson fella. Nah, you’re just regular posh. Upper middle class or something. I’ve always liked men with a bit of class.”

“I thought you said you liked a bit of rough.” It came out casually enough, but then Perry’s eyes widened as if he’d just realised what he’d said.

“Yep, but that’s just in the bedroom. I’m not actually all that attracted to hulking great meatheads or petty thugs. I think that’s what might have got Walter so wound up.”

“Walter? Who’s he?”

Bugger. Mas hadn’t meant to mention him again. Best just let Perry forget all about him, as the real explanation as to why he was being hunted by a security guard wouldn’t reflect all that well on him. Not if Perry’s over-the-top reaction to shoplifting was anything to go by. “Just some bloke who tried to pick me up last week. But not my type at all. I mean, I like a man to be a bit toppy and all, but that doesn’t mean I want a full time caveman. A bit of sophistication never goes amiss, does it? I want a bloke I can discuss stuff with. You know, like what I’m reading.” It was kind of an awkward way to bring it up, but what the hell. “Just started
The Portrait of Dorian Grey
. You ever read it?”

Perry’s face lit up. “Oh, I didn’t know you were interested in literature. Wilde is a wonderful writer. I was brought up with his fairy tales.”

“Yeah, well, just coz I failed most of my GCSEs doesn’t mean I’m thick, does it? I was always all right with art and English. ’Cept when Mrs. Henderson made us read bloody
Richard the Turd
. What the hell was all that about? I mean, good story and all, but really, could he have stopped waffling on and got to the point?”

“You’re not a Shakespeare fan, then?” Perry looked like he was stifling a smile while he took another sip of his beer.

“I like the funny stuff and the sexy ones.
Midsummer Night’s Dream
is pretty cool. Saw this gay film kind of based around that this one time. They were doing a school play of it, and there was this fairy dust stuff and everyone in the town started going gay. Wish I’d had me some of that when I was at school.” Or right now, in fact. Would make this whole softly-softly-catchee-monkey seduction go so much easier.

“I don’t think I’ve seen that one.”

“You wouldn’t have. Not unless you make a habit of watching low-budget gay cinema. Most of it’s pretty dire, but one of my mates is a major film buff, and he keeps making us all watch stuff. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m all for gay actors getting gay roles, but I wish someone would teach them how to act first. It’s bloody painful sometimes. They’re so wooden, and not in the good way.”

“There’s a good way to be wooden?”

“There’s a good way to have wood.” Mas winked and stretched his leg out under the table, resting it against Perry’s so their calf muscles touched.

Perry’s cheeks coloured, but he didn’t move his leg. In fact, if anything he let it relax slightly so it was leaning more heavily against Mas’s. Interesting.

“I’m surprised you’re not into acting yourself,” Perry said, kind of distractedly if Mas was any judge.

“Yeah, I know. You’re not the first person to suggest that. Jasper keeps bugging me to join Lewis’s am dram group so we can bond, but I dunno. I reckon I’d probably be all right at the getting-up-on-stage-and-fannying-around part, but then there’s all these lines to learn and… Well, this might sound kinda weird, but I don’t think I want to spend my time pretending to be someone else. It’s like, it takes all the balls I’ve got to be me. Why’d I want to then go and playact all straight and normal? What, have I got gravy running down my chin or something?” Perry was staring at him like he was in shock.

“Sorry, I just… I know just what you mean. About the not-wanting-to-pretend part. It’s just difficult sometimes, when your friends and family try to force you to fit a mould.”

“Yeah, I’ve had blokes like that before. They want their pet twink to sit around and look pretty. And I reckon it would be even worse if you were an actor. Everyone would expect you to be a certain way. I was thinking about getting into pornos at one point—not many lines to learn there—but the only stuff round here is really amateur, and they pay peanuts for what they want you to do. Plus I kind of like being able to choose who I fuck. Not have some arsehole director ordering me to bend over. And I might prefer to bottom, but I didn’t wanna get typecast as one.”

Perry’s face had gone as white as the tiles in the kitchen behind him. “You’ve acted in an adult film?”

“Nah, not unless you count the odd video on someone’s mobile. I know I’ve been in a few of those. But there was this one bloke who kept trying to hook me up with this director he knew. Had to dump him in the end. I mean, he was good at doing the whole sugar daddy thing, but it felt like he wanted me to fit this perfect boyfriend template he had in his head. I reckon he thought all his mates would be jealous if he was going out with a genuine porn star. In the end, I told him he should bugger off to LA if he wanted that. Bet they’d all have gone nuts for him over there. They’d probably have thought he was dead posh, what with the English accent. Never mind that he was as ordinary as you or me.”