| Exhausted after
creating their new strain of
red wine, Bernard and Manny trudged upstairs. The door to the master bedroom - Freddie's room, presumably - was locked, but the house had another five to choose from. The one next to the four-acre bathroom was obviously the best. Deep red carpet, king size, four-poster bed with velvet throw and satin sheets. Once they'd found it, neither of them were willing to give it up. "I saw it first," Manny declared, dragging his aching body to the bed and sitting down heavily. "You don't deserve it. It's your fault we've spent the last hour re-creating a wine good enough for the Pope!" "It's your fault too! Why didn't you say something about the Londis labels?" "I thought you knew what you were talking about? I thought you'd been paying attention? You're the professional!" "Professional? What's that supposed to mean?" "You were an accountant! You did my taxes! I assumed you were listening when Freddie told you about the wines." Flustered, Manny admitted, "I'm not very good at details." "Details? You're good with numbers! Fifty bottles we can drink, ten we can't. It's not that difficult." "I'm sorry!" "Accepted." He wondered out of the bedroom and went next door into the bathroom. Manny started to undress, rubbing his leg where it was still periodically cramping. He was naked by the time Bernard came back. "My room!" he declared with more confidence than he felt. "Mine." It wasn't even an argument, it was a stated fact. Manny hadn't known Bernard very long, but he knew him well enough not to bother disagreeing. No one won an argument with this Irishman unless they got physical. In Bernard's case he suspected that meant nothing more violent than tickling but he wasn't about to find out. Instead he crawled under the duvet and pulled it up around him, settling in on the far side of the bed, closing his eyes and taking a deep, calming breath. A couple of minutes later the light went out. He started when the bed dipped and Bernard joined him under the duvet. "What are you doing?" "What's wrong? You said you weren't gay. I'm not gay. Therefore we can both sleep in the same bed without fear of... any... you know." "What?" "Gay... stuff." "Oh. Right. Yes." "Good. Goodnight." "Goodnight." Manny lay completely still, eyes open, looking out of the window at the moon and after a couple of minutes, Bernard rolled over to face him. Silently, he reached out and gently took up a lock of Manny's hair, letting it fall through his fingers. "Why is your hair always so amazing?" he asked quietly. Manny rolled onto his side too, caught by Bernard's eyes, large and dark in the dim light. "Shampoo, probably." He didn't know what else to say. He had no idea what this was or where it was coming from. "It's been a long time since I've shared a bed with someone," the disembodied voice came to him in the darkness. "A very long time." There was a sadness in the tone that did things to Manny he couldn't believe. In the few weeks he'd been living at the shop he'd found that sometimes Bernard looked at him in a way that touched something inside him, something that until now had seemed indefinable. Until now. He didn't know what to say. Suddenly, he wanted to touch, more than anything he wanted to reach out and comb his fingers through the wild black hair, perhaps tame it a little. But touching lead to other things, things that would be impossible to sort out in the morning, things his and Bernard's relationship, such as it was, wouldn't survive. So the kiss startled him, crashing his train of thought into the walls of his rational mind. 'Kiss' might have been a little definitive. Bernard's mouth touched his in a drunk, fumbling search. Manny responded helpfully with a yelp and retreated a foot or so backwards before he'd even considered whether or not the contact was something he could maybe enjoy. "Sorry." The half-choked apology reached him and before Bernard could turn his back, Manny reached for him. Inching forward until certain parts of his body came into contact with Bernard's, he finally found the courage to stroke his hand over the thick, dark hair. "Do that again." This time, Manny angled his head as soon as he felt the other man's mouth searching for his. He touched lips to lips and waited, carding his fingers into Bernard's hair, until they both were brave enough to try for something more. The tip of a tongue touched his lips and he parted them invitingly. Bernard tasted of smoke and red wine, exactly as Manny had known he would. But the way he moved restlessly, the way he stretched himself the length of Manny's body while at the same time almost curling into him, that was a surprise. Manny made a sound embarrassingly close to a whimper and hooked one leg over Bernard's, keeping him close. It was insane. They kissed like starving men, Bernard's hands moving from Manny's hair to his shoulders and back. Manny tried to soothe some of the desperate tension from Bernard's body, stroking his neck and back, realising that despite him starting this, Bernard wasn't the one leading it. Drawing his hand firmly over one bare shoulder, Manny finally eased him away, hushing the soft, almost frantic protests. Nuzzling Bernard's stubbled jaw felt faintly ridiculous but at the same time he didn't want to break the contact completely. He could only guess what it must feel like having a beard accompanying gentle kisses on sensitive skin. Bernard didn't seem to mind. He was moving, still restless. Fingers threading through Manny's hair, catching and pulling. The sharp pain just made things worse. Manny boldly stroked his palm over the flat planes and stark curves of Bernard's body. It was a surprise just how slim he was. His clothes never gave anything away about his shape and Manny found a pronounced rib cage and rounded hips. Bernard's touches were less certain but Manny didn't mind. He didn't care. Just to hold someone was enough. Never in a million years would he have expected have this with Bernard. This was as about as surreal as it got. He couldn't believe they were actually lying here, touching one another in a huge bed in a guest room in a large house belonging to a guy they'd just robbed of seven thousand pound's worth of wine. They were bastards for sure. Stupid, drunk, gloriously naked bastards in bed together for the first time. "Bernard...." "Please." The Irish tones were hushed, almost pained. Definitely frightened. "Just... I need this." How could he ever deny him? Manny kissed him, blindly finding his mouth and sweeping his tongue over the dry lips, forcing himself between them to sample again the unique taste he knew would never change. And for a moment he could feel Bernard's automatic resistance, a defence against violence, an innate response to someone doing what Manny had just done. Bernard overrode it easily, arching up into Manny's mouth, hands in his hair, on his back, clutching at his shoulders. But it was reassuring to know that defence was there. He couldn't imagine anyone wanting to hurt Bernard by using this against him, couldn't imagine Bernard going down without one hell of a fight. It was a fight that even drunk out of his skull he would probably win. Pure Irish blood. It was what Manny loved about him. It was strange not to be talking, not to hear Bernard muttering at him about something or other. The breathy moans were definitely out of character. And the soft pleas were something he knew he'd never be able to mention in the cold light of day. Manny brought them together carefully, rubbing the length of his dick against Bernard's, frankly impressed that despite the almost constant drinking and smoking, his friend's erection was standing tall alongside his own. He found a rhythm and kept to it, soothing Bernard as he was swept along. He rode the peaks, almost painfully aware of the fingernails in his shoulders. But it was worth it to have Bernard wrapped so tight around him, moving with him, reaching for a climax that for so long seemed just out of reach. Then unexpectedly they both exploded together, filling the air with hard cries and the sweaty scent of sex. Manny expected Bernard to pull away from him almost immediately, but instead he snuggled closer and seemed to settle against him with a happily sated sigh. As they lay there, Manny wondered how long it had been, if Bernard's love life had been as barren as his own for as long. Fran had said she didn't think he'd ever be able to cope with having a girlfriend. Too much pressure to perform, too many demands on his time. He had very simple needs - a book, a glass of wine, a cigarette and a peaceful life. Not a lot to ask for really. Manny knew that at least he could satisfy those basic needs. And maybe one or two more as well, on the odd occasion when Bernard let him. He had no illusions that this was anything other than the reaction between alcohol and adrenaline. He dozed for a while, warm and comfortable. Sure, they were sticky but it didn't seem to be bothering Bernard who was plastered around him. But eventually Manny's bladder insisted he go for a pee and he had to ease himself out from Bernard's welcome weight. With a weak, incoherent protest, Bernard rolled over onto his side and that was how Manny found him a couple of minutes later. Unsure, he crawled back into bed, leaving a couple of inches between them. "Bernard," he whispered, "I don't...." The answer wasn't verbal. Without a word being uttered, he got an armful of sleepy Irishman. It was good. It was great in fact. As Bernard sank into sleep, Manny held him close, just enjoying the sensation of another human being warm and naked curled trustingly against him. This was something way beyond surprise. Attraction he knew was in the eye of the beholder but you really had to push the boundaries of definition with Bernard. Foul-mouthed, often foul-smelling. He drank, smoked, swore, but now Manny came to think about it, he couldn't remember any actual burping or farting. Still, his idea of a shower involved being fully clothed at the time and although he shaved regularly and daily subjected his hair to a wash, he always looked as if he'd slept in his clothes in a hedge. So why was it that at this moment Bernard was the most wonderful, incredible thing on the planet? It wasn't as if he hadn't known from day one that working in Bernard's bookshop wasn't going to be just another job. And living under his roof wasn't going to be like living in the flat in Soho with Peter the chartered accountant. Only a couple of weeks ago, Manny's first day at the shop, they'd both declared adamantly that they weren't gay and they were definitely interested in women. Well, actually Bernard hadn't said that. He'd said he'd thought he was gay for a while. It was Manny himself who'd waxed lyrical on the joys of women as well as standard lamps. Not that it mattered. Gay, straight, bi, lesbian... whatever. It hadn't made a shred of difference twenty minutes ago. His mind touched on the morning and he found he didn't want to think about it. God alone knew how Bernard was going to react. Badly, more than likely. Eventually Manny fell asleep surrounded by the scent of wine and smoke and sex. |