Page 40 of Revive
“With Luthor?”
“Were you expecting a different answer? Paul maybe, considering what a ginormous softie he is, or Mr Bush?”
Well, yes, in so much as he’d considered any options other than her exodus. “I didn’t think her and Luthor had even spoken much.”
“Ha! She has his number, buster.” Xane jostled him. “Don’t look so distraught. They’re bonding over trash TV.”
He’d practically forgotten what that was. When was the last time he’d actually watched something?
“How bad?”
“Love Metal Island,” Xane replied, at which they both winced.
“Who the fuck even came up with that shit?” Bad enough sticking the usual array of wannabes on an island and seeing who got kissy. Whichever bright spark had decided that mixing it up by adding a moderately well-known metal band member into the mix needed their nose busting. Every one of them had experienced at least one nightmare about being invited to participate, and PR guys putting the thumbscrews on.
“How is Ronnie not with them?”
There was not a universe in existence where Love Metal Island wasn’t Ronnie’s favourite show.
“I think he was for a while, until Paul suggested they head into St Ives for the night. Then he took off.”
“St Ives, the ultimate evening destination,” Spook drawled and rolled his eyes. Sure, the place was a prime south-west holiday destination, but it was February and even at the height of the holiday season it was a haven for middle class families and grandparents.
“There’s bars and a beach, which is all you need for a shagfest,” Xane replied.
“There’s booze and a beach here.” Spook spread his arms apart to indicate all around them. “Shag hunting in St Ives smacks of desperation. They could’ve stayed put and shagged each other with more guarantee of satisfaction.”
He hadn’t necessarily meant it to be funny, but it made Xane laugh. Hell knows why the notion tickled him so much, but he was still chortling about it when they reached the cottages, occasionally huffing, “Paul… Ronnie…fuck… oh, God!”
The cottage Xane and Luthor were sharing sat slightly back from the others and was clearly a former barn. The front door opened into an open plan living area, from which a central honey-coloured wooden staircase led up to a mezzanine level where the main bed and bathroom were situated. There were no obvious lights on inside as they approached, and only the glow of the giant TV screen hanging on the wall illuminating the interior when Xane let them in. As he’d said, Luthor and Alle were curled up together on the leather sofa. The sight made Spook’s heart clench unexpectedly. It was so cosy and familiar. The sort of domesticity he’d never experienced with anyone.
Xane shed his boots, and made his way over to Luthor, dropping a kiss on his lips, when his lover tilted his head. “Still watching this shit?”
“The heart likes what the heart likes,” Luthor muttered, or something sentimental and slushy along those lines.
Spook tugged off his hi-tops, trying to ignore the prickles over his skin raised by the sight of Luthor’s arm around Alle’s shoulders, and the spun copper of her hair clinging like fiery strands to his black T-shirt.
“Gonna rustle up some food.” Xane sashayed off to the kitchen like he was on a quest to cook a dragon, leaving Spook adrift, unsure of whether to follow or linger. Having shed his jacket along with his footwear, he headed towards the sofa. Even if he was joining Xane on his adventure quest, he’d still have to pass the princess on the coach. Turned out, said princess was Sleeping Beauty.
Her face was serene, eyelashes dusting her cheeks and the network of freckles there. The sight brought the shock prickle of tears to his eyes.
“She dozed off about forty minutes ago, having worn herself out fretting.” Luthor observed him from under the shroud of his hair, only his green eye visible. “Guessing you probably didn’t want to know that, but it’s reality. She’s worried about you. It’s taken an entire rock band and two seasons of Love Metal Island to keep her here. Tears have been shed, hearts flayed open, confidences exchanged.”
It took him a moment to realise Luthor wasn’t just talking about the program.
“Sorry.” He wanted to say that it hadn’t been necessary. That he loved Alle and wouldn’t have minded her being in his space or seeing him at his worst, but only some of that was true. Honestly, he’d been grateful for her absence, for not having to deal with her emotions on top of his own. Of course, they were now situated on the horizon. He perched on the opposite side of her, thankful that it was a proper sofa, and not one of those dinky ones designed for snuggling. Silence stretched out. Still uncertain of his capacity to deal with people, Spook didn’t try to fill it, while Luthor kept his focus on the screen. The volume was muted, so it was just an ever-changing montage of pretty people doing pretty people things, and some metal head with a leather fetish and more ink than hair looking like he’d be way happier at home eating Sunday dinner with his gran.
He so did not comprehend the appeal.
Xane arrived back from his mission, plates in hand. He’d somehow contrived to make a truck stop staple into something that wouldn’t have been amiss in a Fortnum and Mason picnic hamper. Posh boy genes at work again. Did any of them ever escape their pasts?
The eight artfully arranged triangles not only looked amazing, and smelled like heaven, they made decision-making practically obsolete. He could eat a bit of fish finger and a bit of egg, without wondering if he’d made the wrong choice. As it was, he ended up inhaling the whole of both offerings, a fact that made Xane’s eyes gleam. The man was practically developing a fetish about feeding him.
Alle stirred as he was licking the lemon-flavoured mayo from his fingers. “Zrarghalflorgh,” she said, which if it had a meaning, he couldn’t translate.
Luthor let out an indulgent yawn.
“Bedtime,” Xane suggested.
