Page 35 of The Naked Cleaner

“You don’t love me, you’ve only just met me and I’m still a grumpy rude bastard with a prostate massager under his pillow, and I can’t keep my flat clean to save my life, and I will die an early death from dehydration and living off cereal and coffee. Jonas tells me every day. You don’t love me.”

He’s waving his hands around in the air, almost looking angry. At least he’s talking to me and not pushing me out the front door.

“That doesn’t mean that we can’t make each other happy?” I try. I don’t dare to say the love word again. Apparently, that freaks him out. I can tell, because he’s stomping around again.

“Stop jumping around like a Duracell bunny, and come here.” Gotta do what a man’s gotta do. And I have things to do.

“Why?”

“Because I need to know where I stand!” I shout.

Fuck. Desperate Louis is out in full swing. Tears due any second.

“You are standing in my kitchen.” He deadpans.

I would laugh. I kind of try to and end up just pathetically spitting saliva out of my mouth.

And the bastard he is? He just smiles.

“I need to go see clients and cook and see Mum and do her Mindfulness class at four. After that I want to come back here and have dinner with you, and then I want to cuddle and go to lie in your bed. With you. And I want you to fuck me until I lose my mind and then we should sleep. That’s what I want...”

“We can do that?” He says. Like I’ve asked him to perform some mundane task. Like clean the stove.

“I wasn’t finished.” I huff. I’m nowhere near finished. “Then tomorrow I want to get up and blow you before breakfast, and then I want to come back after work and you can blow me. Like in return. Then we should go for a walk and chill. Have a beer somewhere, and then go home and fuck. Like bunny rabbits. Then sleep. Next morning, rinse and repeat. Saturday you should come for dinner…”

“I get the idea Louis.” Pontus says, almost too calm, whilst I am panting for breath. I think I forgot to breathe in-between sentences.

“You don’t. I want this. I want the whole shebang. The fairy-tale. I want to be your boyfriend and I want it all.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” He laughs. “I kind of got that bit.”

Fuck he drives me crazy. So bloody dry. Yet he just stands there with his arms crossed and an almost triumphant smile on his face.

“Say something!” I shout. Again. I need to stop shouting, but he’s so bloody frustrating.

“Porridge is fucked. The bottom of the pan is burning.” He says calmly, nodding towards the cloud of smoke rising from the pan.

I lean over and turn the heat off.

“Fuck the bloody porridge.”

“No thanks, but I’ll gladly fuck you tonight, with my dick, if the offer still stands?”

Bloody Pontus. Now I am laughing. Coughing a little from the smoke. Damn. Damn, damn, damn.

“Cornflakes?” He laughs and hands me the box.

“Okay?” I say weakly. Fuck. What is he doing to me?

“And by the way, you can come and sleep here every night. I don’t mind. I want you here as much as you can, just come and hang out. I need to work until six most days, but I would love it if you were here. Keeping me company. Having a cup of coffee now and then, and giving me kisses.”

“I can do that? I could even offer a say, twice-daily coffee break with a blowjob thrown in? Just to kind of relax you. You know?”

He laughs. I’m fist bumping in my head. Cheering silently.

“You are so weird, Louis.”

“I hate you.”

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