Legal Page
Title Page
Book Description
Trademarks Acknowledgement
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
New Excerpt
About the Author
Publisher Page
Rent Mate
ISBN # 978-1-78651-547-6
©Copyright Ash Penn 2017
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright April 2017
Edited by Rebecca Scott
Pride Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Pride Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Pride Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2017 by Pride Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, UK
Pride Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
RENT MATE
Liam has principles, and sharing a home with a rent boy goes against every one of them. Even a rent boy as alluring as Martin.
Martin ‘Button’ Bailey is a twenty-one-year-old rent boy with an aversion to gay men. Liam West is his reluctant flatmate with an aversion to rent boys. Especially those who go by the name of Martin Bailey.
That suits Martin, because it means there’s no chance of Liam wanting anything more from him than the occasional argument. Sex is never going to be an issue between them because Liam is one hundred percent straight. He’s also in love with their third flatmate, Katie. Even if that love is painfully unrequited.
While it’s fair to say that Liam can’t stand Martin, he wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to the guy. So when Martin comes home one day covered in bruises, Liam can’t help but show concern. A concern that is quickly batted aside, until the next night when Martin shows up having been half-drowned in the river.
Reason enough to believe someone is out to get him.
As Liam becomes more embroiled in the mess that is Martin’s life, the two men find themselves drawing closer together. And other feelings begin to develop. Unexpected feelings that a budding friendship can’t quite cover.
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Fosters: Anheuser-Busch InBev NV
Weetabix: Weetabix Ltd
Breaking Bad: AMC Networks
The Woman in Black: Susan Hill, Momentum Pictures
Vaseline: Unilever
Hobnob: United Biscuits
Miss Havisham: Charles Dickens
Mars bar: Mars Incorporated
Martini: Martini & Rossi
Rolls-Royce: Rolls-Royce Motor Cars Limited, BMW
Coke: The Coca-Cola Company
Southern Comfort: Sazerac Company
Vauxhall: General Motors Company
Ford: Ford Motor Company
Citroën: Groupe PSA
B&Q: B&Q plc
Nike: Nike, Inc.
Fray Bentos: Baxters Food Group Ltd.
Lexus: Toyota Motor Corporation
Wi-Fi: The Wi-Fi Alliance
Prologue
The flat was small but relatively clean. Flimsy metal art sculptures and sepia city prints littered the magnolia walls. Further cheapness showed in the laminate flooring and flat-pack furniture, much of the latter mismatched for shade. A large flat-screen TV sat in one corner next to a tatty bookcase crowded with DVD boxsets and dog-eared paperbacks.
“Can I get you a drink?”
Roy switched his attention to the young man standing in the center of the room. “What do you have?” he asked, knowing full well his favorite twelve-year-old malt was out of the question.
Button lowered his head, as shy and awkward as if he were the visitor. “We have some vodka,” he said, sweetly unassuming. “And my flatmate also has some beer in the fridge. Fosters, I think.”
Lager. Roy suppressed a shudder. “What are you having?”
“Nothing for me. I’m not thirsty.”
In the four months since they’d met, Roy had never known Button to touch a drop of alcohol. He claimed to be teetotal, but Roy could never be certain how much of Button was real and how much an act. That was half the reason he’d insisted they spend their evening here. It was far more difficult to conceal one’s true self at home.
Nothing Roy had seen so far indicated that Button was anything other than how he appeared. A beautiful, innocent young man who sought affection in all the wrong places, often with the wrong kind of men.
Right there was the other reason Roy had forced this invitation, to save Button from such a dangerous existence. He planned to once again make the offer that had been turned down twice already in the past month. The offer of safety and financial security, in return for complete exclusivity. The reason Button was so resistant to the idea remained a mystery, but now was not the time to raise that particular topic. Not when Roy’s eagerness to please was raised enough already, albeit trapped within the confines of his underwear.
He cleared his throat. “Then perhaps just show me to your room.”
“Yes. Of course.”
Button led the way down the hall, trailing his fingers along the wall as the ragged hem of his jeans grazed the fake wooden floor. Every now and then, Roy caught a glimpse of faded pink soles. The shade reminded him of the boots his wife had recently bought their granddaughter.
A waft of shame brought him to an instant standstill. As he put out a steadying hand, his palm flattened against something smooth and waxy. A poster. Attached to a door. A picture of a naked man reclining in a barn, surrounded by hay. His slim, sinewy body gleamed in oil. His cock stood fat and erect as he lay on his back, propped up on his forearms, a flirtatious smile poised on his lips.
“Roy?” Button stood farther down the hall, lifting his pink soles one after the other in a nervous, stationary march. “My room’s this way.”
Roy gestured to the door. “Whose room is this?”
“Just my flatmate’s. Why?”
“He not home?”
“No. I told you, he’s out. All night.”
“Oh, yes.” Roy gripped the door handle. “That’s exactly what I thought you said.” A creature who displayed such filth in the presence of a naïve young man like Button definitely required further investigation.
“No!” As soon as Roy opened the door, Button rushed to his side and clawed at his arm. “Please don’t go in. He wouldn’t like it.”
Well, then. It was just as well Roy didn’t give the vaguest of shits what the owner of this room did or did not like. The door opened into shadows.
“Roy, please!” Button’s fingers bit deep into his arm as Roy reached inside for the light switch. “Don’t.”
With a flick of his finger, a sickly yellow beam illuminated a single bed, unmade, and a chipped chest of drawers spilling clothes. Obscene posters served as wallpaper, a naked male featured in every one. Sometimes two or more together. Fondling, copulating. All in full, glossy color.
The vague scent of old, sweaty clothing hung in the air. A bottle of supermarket scotch sat on the chest of drawers. Roy headed toward the bottle with an aim to helping himself. Anything to help with the shock of this obscenity. And most certainly unbranded scotch would suit his palate better than lager.
“Don’t touch that.” Button tugged on his arm again. “He’ll—”
“He’ll what?” Roy picked up the scotch and examined the contents. Half empty.
“He’ll not like it. This is his private room.” Button leaned close. His breath whispered across Roy’s ear and cheek. “Please, let’s go to mine. I’ll definitely make it worth your while. I promise.”
Those two softly spoken words burned straight to Roy’s cock. He instantly let go of the bottle and Button was equally as quick in returning it to pride of place on top of the chest of drawers.
As Roy allowed himself to be gently coaxed from the room, he stepped over a grubby pair of jeans topped by a pair of skimpy underpants. Having held a mental image of Button’s male flatmate as a huge Neanderthal, dim and unwashed, the underwear suggested a man no bigger than Button himself. Not that size mattered here. Having perused the man’s bedroom, there was no way Button could continue living in the company of such a perverted specimen.
The next room Button took him to was not as he’d had envisioned, either. Pale pink walls, a double bed with a velour pink headboard and a dressing table littered with odd bits of cosmetics.
He picked up a lipstick. “Do you use this?”
“Sometimes.” Button claimed the lipstick back. “I like to dress up.” He flashed a perfectly innocent smile, though he’d never demonstrated the slightest hint of cross-dressing before. He dressed much the same as any other boy his age. Scruffily casual, except for those tatty pink–soled shoes. Perhaps they were the giveaway. Or perhaps the only reason he dressed up was on the instruction of clients. Further thought on exactly how many clients Button entertained was a mood-killer he’d rather not waste time contemplating.
Instead, he reached for his tie. “Take off your clothes.”
Button’s innocent smile fell away as he kicked off his shoes and unfastened his fly. He stripped quickly and efficiently, until he stood shivering in the center of the room with his clothing scattered around him.
Roy focused on the boy’s subdued penis and puckered scrotum. “Cold?”
“A little. We don’t have the heating on at night. It’s too expensive.” Button cast his lashes low in a blatant theatrical turn, then lifted them again along with his lips in the sweetest of dimpled smiles. “You’ll warm me up, though, Roy, won’t you?”
“I certainly will.” Roy closed the distance between them. His cock throbbed solid as a heartbeat in his pants. “You’re so beautiful.” He raised a finger to the curve of Button’s cheek. “So very vulnerable.”
The soft touch, or perhaps softer words, stole Button’s dimples. His smile fell away. “I’m not. I can take care of myself.”
Roy didn’t believe that. But he wouldn’t push the matter. Not yet. Instead, he leaned close and pressed a kiss to Button’s naked shoulder. The sweet-smelling skin twitched beneath his lips. Resisting the urge to bite and mark the flesh as his own, he pulled back and started unfastening his shirt. “Go lie down for me.”
Button scampered to the bed and settled down on top of the quilt.
“You do realize,” Roy said, discarding his shirt, “that despite your continual rejection, I still fully intend to have you all to myself.”
“No, Roy. I told you I—”
“I know what you said. And while this flat is more than I expected, the person with whom you share is less so.”
“I can handle him. You shouldn’t worry. I’m happy here. Really.”
“But if anything were to happen—”
“It won’t,” Button said quickly. “Even if it does, you’d soon forget about me with your wife and children and grand—”
Roy rushed forward. He pushed his hand over Button’s still-talking mouth. “Stop.” He’d made a mistake ever talking about his family, and never did so with any of the others. None made him feel as lazily content when they were lying in each other’s arms as Button. “That particular subject is closed. Understand?”
Button’s pupils shrank to pinpricks, but he nodded all the same.
“Good.” Roy let his touch fall away. “We’ll talk some more later.”
He trailed a fingertip down the boy’s narrow breastbone and smooth belly all the way to the deliciously half-erect cock. He wrapped a fist around the shaft, which obediently twitched and swelled further under his hand.
“Hmm.” Button raised both arms above his head in a languid stretch. His lips formed a thoroughly wicked smile. “Fuck me.”
Roy chuckled, allowing his irritation at Button’s vapid nature to fall away. “Ravenous nymph.” He indulged a few more languid lengths before reaching toward the bedside table. “Where do you keep the provisions? In here?” He pulled open the top drawer and reached in. His fingers brushed against something smooth and sleek, yet hard. It took a moment to realize what, exactly, he was touching. “What in the world is this doing here?”
Button instantly paled at the sight of the large sex toy thrust in front of his face. “It’s not mine.”
“Then to whom does it belong? And what’s it doing in your room?”
“Um…” Button flailed, evidently grasping for a lie. “I think someone must have put it there as a…a silly gift.”
“A silly gift from whom?”
“Possibly… Oh. My flatmate?”
“Are you asking or telling me?”
“Telling.” Button bit his lip. “He must’ve put it there. As a joke.”
“And why would he do such a thing?”
Again, Button hesitated a touch too long. “Well. It’s probably his idea of a joke. I told him I was bringing someone home tonight. Someone special, I mean.” His cheeks flushed a delightful shade of rose. “He would have put it there while I was out. He doesn’t like queers.”
Roy raised an eyebrow. “Despite the odious posters on his walls?”
“Well, he’s self-hating. And he doesn’t like me because I’m too…too…”
“Feminine?”
As the word hit the air, Button’s face contracted. His skin flushed and his lips drew back from his teeth. “F—” He seemed to catch himself, and his expression smoothed. “What?”
Roy gestured around the room. “Judging by all your pretty things.”
“Yeah. I mean, yes. That is why he hates me.”
Roy rose from the bed and carried the dildo to the white wicker bin by the dressing table. “You wouldn’t have to concern yourself with such behavior if you’d allow me to take care of you. I’m even willing to negotiate on price.” After dropping the thing in the bin, he returned to the bedside table and opened the next drawer down. “All you’d have to do is remain exclusively mine for the duration of our agreement.” He pulled out a condom and some lubrication. “Prepare yourself for me.”
Button accepted the provisions without a word. He tore the packet of lubrication open with his teeth and squirted a generous amount onto his palm.
Roy finished removing his clothes then laid them on the chair by the dressing table that was littered with odd bits of makeup. Perhaps Button wore such greasepaint for other men. Perhaps they preferred him dressed like a doll. Until Button belonged to him, he wouldn’t stop wondering about the elusive others.
A lusty groan vibrated the air and Roy’s full attention sprang back to the bed. Button writhed on the mattress, working his tight little hole with ruthless vigor. His spine arched. His toes curled. His cock flared dark red, leaking dewy drops from the exposed head. Far too close.
“Enough.”
Button lowered his hips to the mattress and withdrew his fingers from his body. Raising both hands to bars of the headboard, he waited. Knees to his chest, wantonly irresistible.
Roy climbed onto the bed and plucked up the strip of condoms. They wouldn’t require such inconveniences when Button belonged to him. Indeed, when that day came to pass, the boy would spend the majority of his time awash with their spent passion.
For now, though, Roy tore a foil packet from the strip and rolled the latex over his erect cock in a ritual he preferred to take care of personally. The scent of the eager boy tingled up his nostrils, along with the clean wisp of laundry freshener from the sheets.
He clasped the backs of Button’s slender thighs and guided them over his shoulders. Going up on his knees, he ignored the arthritic crackle through his bones and speared deep into Button’s body.
“Ahh.” Button squeezed his eyes shut. “Please…slow down. You’re too big.”
In other whores, Roy would accept the request as part of the spiel. But Button was different. Genuine. He demonstrated a naivety that could not be faked, especially like this with the pain of entry frozen on his delectable face. As he bucked and squirmed and twisted, Roy clamped down on his hips to keep him still. A grip tight enough to leave marks for the next man who took his place.
* * * *
Afterward, with Button’s semen slicked between their bodies and his own tied off and discarded in a litter bin along with the sex toy, Roy slipped his fingers along Button’s breastbone then pressed the tips to Button’s slack lips. “Clean them,” he said, his voice a throaty whisper.
He watched, fascinated, as Button licked ticklish patterns over his flesh until not a trace of semen was left.
Only then did Roy relax back into the mattress. Button immediately curled into him, all sweaty and pink with exhaustion. Roy held him as he wished to hold him every morning. An impossible fantasy, even if his offer was accepted. He and his wife no longer shared a room, but she fully expected him to share their lives.
He gave the slick furrow of the boy’s spine a tentative caress. “I leave tomorrow.” With his business here concluded, he couldn’t extend his stay without invoking a certain kind of wrath from his wife.
Button snuggled closer. “Will you look me up when you’re back in town? Or just look up me, if you prefer.”
“I’ll call you.” Roy shifted position and rolled Button over. He leaned in to steal a forbidden kiss. As usual, when their mouths were close to making contact, Button snapped his head left. Keeping his lips well out of reach.
Anything else Roy requested was granted without hesitation, but their lips must never touch. No matter. He’d claim that plump mouth at his every whim, soon enough.
“There won’t be others inside you tonight?” he asked as Button squirmed beneath him.
“No. You’ve worn me out.” Button wriggled. Not in erotic encouragement, more in a determined effort to free himself. Roy held him until he stilled again. “I’ll just sleep when you’ve gone,” he said, face still turned aside.
“And tomorrow?”
Button slumped beneath him. “I am what I am, Roy. Can you please get off me now? I can’t breathe.”
Roy rolled away. A chill shivered over his skin. He left the bed and retrieved his jacket from the chair by the window. When he took out his wallet, his heart wilted at the sharp gleam brightening Button’s eyes.
“There’s an extra fifty here.” He counted out five tens. “It’s yours. On the condition you give some more thought to my offer. An apartment in the city, a generous monthly allowance and the odd bonus if you please me. Which I’m sure you will. All I ask from you in return is complete exclusivity.” He offered the cash, just beyond reach. “Think about it. Yes?”
Button pushed out his bottom lip. “Fine.”
“Good.” Roy edged closer.
Button snatched the money and slipped the notes under his pillow. With his money safety tucked away, he watched with keen eyes as Roy dressed.
Once settled into his jacket, Roy approached the bed with every intention of indulging his final wish for this evening. Bowing close, as if to utter a quiet goodbye, he grasped Button’s exposed upper arms and pinned them to the bed.
Button opened his mouth.
Roy plugged it with his tongue.
He tasted wonderful. No traces of alcohol or cigarette tainted his breath. Just mellow clean flavors to explore. Roy thoroughly probed every delectable inch of that alluring—if uncooperative—mouth and, when he drew back, the depth of the kiss continued to tingle over his lips.
He might even have risked another had he not looked up and met the sudden toxic clouds shrouding Button’s eyes. So thick and dark, his own reflection resembled a slathering predator leering right back.
With a blink, the predator dissolved to the distorted but still rugged features he greeted in the mirror each morning.
As the boy’s eyes once again steadied to their usual clear transparent blue, Roy stepped back rather more quickly than was appropriate. “I’ll contact you shortly for my answer.” He forced a casual stride to the door. “If that’s all right with you.”
“No.”
Roy opened the door. “What did you say?”
“I said no. My answer will always be no.” Button drew the covers over his head and disappeared into their depths.
With one final look at the boy hunched naked under the duvet, Roy flipped out the light and closed the door. Rather than head outside, he retraced his steps to the flatmate’s door. He tore the obscene poster in two before discarding the pieces on the floor.
Chapter One
Liam West had just finished a ten-hour stint at the hospital and wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and cocoon himself under the duvet for the next week. But first he had to speak with Katie. What had happened between them yesterday afternoon had nagged at him all the way through the night shift. So much so, he’d lost his temper at a couple of drunken revelers who’d turned up at A&E bruised and bloodied as a result of a fight. Prior to that, he’d had to wheel a twenty-year-old girl to the morgue.
After putting the kettle on, he went to Katie’s door and tapped rather than knocked. Anything to avoid the wrath of Martin, who hated to be woken before ten. Woe betide anyone who interrupted his beauty sleep. Not that he needed much, the vain little shit.
“Katie? Can we talk?”
No answer.
It occurred to him then that when she’d stormed out yesterday afternoon she might not have come back. She’d already stayed out four of the last five nights, so one more wouldn’t make any difference. He knocked again, harder. “Katie? You awake?”
Silence.
Liam opened the door.
Sunlight seeped around the partially open blinds and threw a sharp beam across the bed. Highlighted in this radiant glow was the flutter of golden eyelashes spread upon a pale cheek. Beneath a button nose, full lips rested together and formed a petulant pout that may or may not have been the result of collagen injections.
Wait a minute.
What was he doing staring at Martin Bailey’s lips? Especially when those lips were pouting in his best friend’s bed. Liam forged inside the room, ready to eject the bastard short shrift. Then the golden lashes flickered open.
Martin lifted his arms in a lazy stretch. The move elongated his torso, displaying the fine arc of his ribs and the smooth dip of his taut belly. From there Liam’s attention was drawn to where the covers met his groin.
Wait another minute.
Was he naked under that quilt?
“Liam?” Martin slurred, suggesting he’d been in the midst of a deep sleep. “What’re you doing here?”
“You’re starkers in Katie’s bed, and you ask me what I’m doing here?”
“Katie’s…” Martin looked blearily around. “Oh. Hell.” He pushed the quilt aside and swung his legs out of the far side of the bed.
Liam flipped on the light.
Martin threw an arm across his eyes. “Man. You have to do that?”
“Yes.” Liam clenched his teeth. “Why are you in here? What’s wrong with your own bed? And where’s Katie?”
Ignoring every question, Martin stood and stretched both arms high above his head. As he did so, Liam’s gaze fell to the small, pert peach of his backside. Dark patches bloomed on the pale skin, harsh blobs that looked very much like finger-shaped bruises. “Have you had someone here?” he asked the bruises. “A…” What were they called? Customers? Clients? Johns? “A punter?” Liam clung to the word with both hands. “You had a punter in here?”
Martin didn’t laugh at the term, but neither did he offer up an answer. Instead, he bent to pick up his clothing as if Liam had ceased to exist. As he did so he let out a pained groan and pressed a palm to his belly.
“What’s wrong?” Liam asked, knowing he shouldn’t give a shit. Especially after finding the bastard in his best friend’s bed. But he couldn’t ignore the fact Martin was in pain. And considering those bruises, and what he did for a living, Martin’s pain must get pretty bad at times.
“Nothing.” Martin straightened, using the bed post as support. “It’s just the bloke from last night.” His blue eyes shimmered from under a mop of tousled hair.
Liam’s rage dissolved. What the hell had gone on in here? “What happened, Martin? You can tell me.” He edged another step closer. “Did he hurt you? Or…?” Or worse?
“He…” Martin sucked in another sharp breath. “God, Liam. He…” His plump lower lip trembled, then parted from his equally plump top lip to form a manic grin. “He’s got a cracking great knob on him. Knows how to make thorough use of it, too. My arse is flaming like a Catherine wheel on bonfire night.”
Every bit of sympathy Liam held in his body boiled away. “You are a sick, fucking…”
Martin let out a cackle of ear-grating laughter then reached under the pillow. He spun around, waving a shock of notes in the air. “Not bad for half an hour’s graft, eh?”
Half an hour? The steam from Liam’s anger thinned to disbelief. There was as much there as he earned in a week. How fair was that? Then again, thinking back to the bruises, the money wasn’t so great.
“Where is she?” Liam asked as his temperature once again set to simmer.
“Who?”
“Katie. Who’d you think?”
“I reckon she spent the night with her boyfriend. Her well fit boyfriend, from what I saw.”
“You’ve met him?” That Katie had broken her promise to stay home last night was bad enough, but paled into insignificance when contrasted with the fact that Martin had met this elusive new bloke of hers.
“Yeah.” Martin idly flicked through his takings. “Why?”
Liam paused. He refused to show just how much of a slap in the face that was. “So while she’s out you thought you’d, what? Take advantage of her absence? You really are pathetic.” Liam itched to shake a sense of decency into the little shit. But there wasn’t much to grab a hold of except his half-erect cock, and Liam was keeping well out of the way of that thing. “I want you out of here. Now!”
“All right, big man.” Martin raised a dismissive palm. “No need for the ‘tude.” He set about gathering the rest of his clothing from the floor, then paused in the doorway on his way out. “You reckon you could give the sheets a rinse through? They’re a little…crusty.”
Liam surged toward him, fists clenched, but being twice Martin’s size meant an unfair advantage right from the off. And since Liam despised violence more than he despised Martin, he stood there and seethed instead while Martin continued down the hall like nothing was up other than his dick.
“And I mean out,” Liam yelled, trying not to stare at the pert cheeks of that perfect, if bruised, arse. Out of the flat and out of their lives. For good.
“Then have a word with Katie.” Martin flashed another exaggerated grin from over his shoulder. “It’s got to be unanimous, or I’m going nowhere.” He disappeared into his room then, and slammed the door behind him.
Martin placed his earnings into his night-table drawer then lowered himself gingerly to the bed. Falling asleep in Katie’s bed had been a mistake, a big one. He’d only used her room because pink suited his alter-ego’s personality. Feminine, chic fairy lights and a patchwork quilt beat wallpaper made of porn stills and the half bottle of whiskey sitting on his chest of drawers.
As he made to rise from the bed, he caught his reflection in the full-length mirror hanging on the door. Martin Bailey—all bedhead and bloodshot eyes. But if he fluffed up his blond hair and lowered his lashes, if he parted his lips and licked them until they glistened, then there was Button. The sweetly innocent sap hardly clued in about sex, and forever oblivious of the effect his young body had on the men who were willing to pay to explore it. The kid Roy wanted to buy and keep purely for pleasure.
Like that was going to happen. He couldn’t play the naïve piece of fluff twenty-four-seven. Mainly because his pathetic alter-ego’s saccharine willingness to please pissed him off no end. He’d taken his frustration out on Liam this morning and now would have to heal the atmosphere. He liked living here, more than most of the other places he’d stayed. But before he did anything else today, he needed that shower.
Standing under the hot water jets, he cleansed the grime of his job with a generous slather of Katie’s strawberry shower gel. She never minded him using her things, unlike Liam staring daggers across the Weetabix of a morning. Liam minded he dare breathe half the time. Granted, breakfast was usually dinner time for them both, but, no matter what time of the day or night, the sad fact was he and Liam would never become friends.
He’d grown to appreciate the big guy over the past few months of living here, despite the constant complaints and not-so-subtle digs about his job. However hard he tried, he wouldn’t be able to wear an eternal grin for minimum wage in a supermarket. He could smile for a two hundred quid shag, no problem. He could please any man on a fifty quid blow job. He’d perfected the art in cheap hotel rooms and narrow alleyways for going on almost three years now, and before then in the privacy of his home.
Not all his punters were totally undesirable, either. Roy had his good points. He was never violent or overtly kinky. He insisted on bringing Button to orgasm every single time. A lot of others weren’t so generous. Even so, last night Roy had become extra pushy, extra keen to claim Button’s flesh as his own.
After switching off the water, Martin wrapped a towel around his waist. Bath rather than hand. Usually he’d deliberately parade around in a much smaller towel just to flaunt himself in Liam’s company. Irritating the big guy had proven to be quite the leisure pursuit lately. Precisely the reason he’d not-so-casually dropped meeting Katie’s latest boyfriend into the conversation. In reality, their introduction had been little more than a brief hi and bye when passing in the hall, but Liam didn’t need to know that.
Martin grabbed his toothbrush and scrubbed the remnants of Roy’s taste from his mouth, then made his way through to the kitchen. Liam was sitting at the table nursing a coffee. He might be fuming like a midsummer’s dung heap, but he smelled much nicer. Sweaty but clean, with a frisson of some ocean-themed aftershave. Aesthetically, he wasn’t too bad on the eye, either. Tall, broad and black-haired, he exuded a soothing presence. A quiet, underlying strength, a protective presence that Martin liked. A lot. Mainly because Liam was totally straight and remained so even when wasted. Every now and then, though, Martin liked to wobble the boundaries to see how safe his walls were. The reason he found Liam’s smoldering presence quite so warming was best pondered another day.
He set five crisp ten-pound notes on the table then pulled out a chair. Perhaps he should have dressed first, but this bad atmosphere needed tackling sooner rather than later.
Liam eyed the notes. “What’s this?”
“An apology.” Martin fixed on his brightest grin. “I shouldn’t have taken Katie’s bed, and this is my way of saying sorry.”
“Fifty quid’s worth of sorry?” Liam swept the cash to the floor. “I’m not your pimp, Martin. You can’t pay me to keep my mouth shut, either.” He powered to his feet. Fists pushed to the table, knuckles big as bolts. “In fact, I’ve got a good mind to show you exactly what I think of you.”
“Go ahead.” Martin pushed back his chair and stood, too. “I can take a fist. Just be aware I charge an extra hundred for the privilege.” He stuck out his chin and readied for the glancing blow he probably deserved. Not that he believed Liam would cave his face in, bolt knuckles or no bolt knuckles. Liam just wasn’t the violent type. His gamble paid off when Liam slumped in his chair and picked up his mug.
“Will you tell Katie?” Martin resumed his seat. His adrenaline fizzled to a sickly slither of nerves. Katie wouldn’t want him to leave, would she? She was an easy-going girl, but there had to be a limit to even her level of acceptance. Using her bed to entertain his clients wouldn’t go down well, no matter how close their friendship.
Liam hunched his shoulders. “Depends.”
“On what?”
“The reason you did it.”
Like that’s any of Liam’s business. “One of my regulars wanted to see where I live. He’s been hassling me for exclusive use, and I—”
“Exclusive use? What does that mean?”
“Just that he wants to buy me. Like, full-time. So I’d get to be with him and no one else.”
“You mean he wants to own you?”
“No way. I ain’t nobody’s slave.” Martin scowled. “I just thought if he could see that I don’t live in squalor with a bunch of junkies and rapists, he’d stop worrying about my living conditions and—”
“You could’ve used your room for that. You could’ve made do with a single. In the past I’ve had to…” Liam shut his mouth.
“You’ve had to what?”
“Nothing.” Liam dragged his mug closer. “We’re talking about your bedroom habits here, not mine.”
Only because Liam probably didn’t even have any bedroom habits. Not past his right hand, anyway. For as long as they’d known each other, Liam had never brought anyone back to shag. He’d never brought anyone back, ever.
“Roy—that’s my punter—he clocked the naked meat pinned to my door and wasn’t impressed. So I had to tell him my room was my flatmate’s, AKA, yours.”
Liam spluttered a mouthful of coffee halfway across the table. “You told your trick that porn infested hell-hole was mine?”
“You mind?”
“Of course I mind, dipshit.” Liam pushed out of the chair and fetched some kitchen towel from the roll on the wall. “Like anyone is going to believe you kip in a pink fairy grotto, anyway.” He swiped the towel across the puddle but only succeeded in spreading it further. “You’re not that camp.”
“I ain’t camp, full stop.” Martin bit down on his anger. Trying to communicate with Liam was a total waste of time, as always. But he owed an explanation. Wouldn’t be an acceptable one, but it would be the truth. “I’m not. But Button is.”
Liam paused his mopping. “Who’s Button?”
“Me. Sort of. He’s, like, a persona. Button’s seventeen. A dumb twink who swaps bum fun for cash ’cause he’s too thick to work a proper job.”
“Sounds like you, never mind this Button character.” He deposited the soggy towel in the bin. “Apart from you being twenty-one and a long way from dumb, that is.”
He’d take that as a compliment, even if dumb probably referred to his mouth rather than his intelligence. “Yeah, well, in my line of work, the younger and more inexperienced you appear the more you can charge and the more the blokes are willing to pay. They lap it up, trust me.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Liam shot him another disapproving look before sitting back down. “How old are they, then? These blokes who pay fake seventeen-year-olds for sex. What about him last night?”
“Dunno. Sixtyish.”
“Sixtyish?” Liam’s disgust flared again, in full uniform regalia of the likes not seen since some passing neighbor had thrown up in the hall directly outside their front door. “You bring sick old fucks who like teenage boys to mine and Katie’s home, then give them what they want in Katie’s bed?”
The earlier compliment meant absolutely nothing if Liam thought this of him now. “I only brought Roy back, and he ain’t even that sick a fuck.” Roy treated him with respect. Roy also fucked hard enough to bruise, but the bruises were of the energetic, not the violent, variety. “Seventeen is legal. I could play younger if I wanted, but I got my principles, too.”
Liam snorted out a laugh.
Martin chose to ignore it. “Roy’s harmless enough and he tips well.”
“Yeah, well. Whatever he is or isn’t”—Liam stabbed a finger down on the table—“you bring any more of your desperado perverts here, and I will throw you out myself. Personally. Rental agreement or no rental agreement. Understood?”
“Sure. I get it.” Martin slipped from the chair to the floor and set about gathering his money together. He stuffed the cash into his pocket then levered himself upright. A fresh spark of fire seared through his pelvis and he couldn’t prevent a whimper that made Liam’s upper lip curl in distaste. Now there was an expression he’d caught on a variety of different faces over the years, and was more than used to ignoring. “Time I was going, anyway. There’s a half price breakfast down the pub with my name on it.”
Chapter Two
The bloke wouldn’t quit staring. Martin sat at a table with a full English but couldn’t get comfortable under such keen attention. His audience of one was dressed in a sweater and an unflattering tan jacket that looked as though it had been dragged kicking and screaming from a charity shop skip. He also had a habit of staring at people within his direct line of sight.
Martin sawed into an overcooked sausage and raised the fork. Again, he met with the stranger’s steady stare. Enough was enough. He picked up his plate and shifted to a booth.
With the weight of the unwelcome attention gone, he coaxed his mind to where he’d spend the rest of the morning. He’d take roses today. A bouquet made up from the fancy florist in town. Thanks to Roy, there’d be extra money in the bank this week. Enough to take tonight off, even. With the dull yet constant ache in his arse, even one night off sounded like heaven. And he could use the time to try to make up with Liam. If such a thing were possible. Offering money in exchange for silence had been his second mistake of the morning, especially after flouting his ill-gotten gains not ten minutes before. Liam had morals. It was easy to forget there were people around who did, especially when he fitted in so much more easily with those who didn’t.
He finished his breakfast in peace then checked his watch. Nine-thirty. If he ordered the roses now, he could pick them up before catching the bus.
First things first. He needed a wazz.
When the bathroom door banged open then shut behind him, he didn’t think anything of it until he’d zipped up and turned around.
Tan jacket guy stood directly between him and the exit, dragging the ugly taint of nicotine closer with each step.
“How much?” the guy asked, his voice rough and as cracked as his jacket.
Martin inched back. Playing innocent was his best bet. He clenched his right hand into a fist, though, just in case. “How much what?”
“Twenty now. Twenty after.” Tan Jacket drew out his wallet and extracted a note. He nodded toward a stall.
Martin moved to the sink to wash his hands. A craggy face glared beyond his in the mirror. “Got no idea what you’re talking about, mate.” Did he exude ‘rent boy’ like a cheap aftershave?
“Then how much will it cost?” Tan Jacket’s stare was cold and harsh. Not the look you gave to someone you wanted to fuck. Or pay to fuck. He’d seen that exact expression before. Mainly as a kid, on various ‘uncles’ before they’d smacked him one. The guy laid the money down on the counter beside the sink then added another couple of twenties. “Eighty enough?”
Martin’s hands were wet, but he didn’t fancy showing his back again to use the dryer. “Enough for what?”
“A blow job.”
Straight to the point. That was positive. If this guy was a cop, that line would be taken as entrapment for sure. The money sat on the counter, and since he could rarely afford to turn down ready cash he decided to play along. On his terms. “One hundred.”
“Just for getting my cock sucked?” The guy let out dry chuckle. “You’re having a laugh, kid, aren’t you?”
Martin drew back his shoulders. “Before ten on Wednesday morning it’s a hundred. If you can’t afford me, you know what you can do.” He nodded toward the exit.
“Right. One hundred it is.” Tan Jacket once again drew out his wallet. He muttered something that might’ve been ‘you greedy little sod’, but Martin couldn’t be sure so let the comment pass.
He took the money and replaced the notes with a condom. Sometimes he didn’t bother for a blow job but didn’t want to spill his breakfast by gulping cum right on top. For a hundred quid, he’d usually be expected to swallow.
Tan Jacket gave the condom a wary look before gesturing to a cubicle. “In there.”
Martin slipped the cash into his pocket then headed inside. Sideways, so he could keep an eye on his latest punter. He didn’t trust the bloke any more than he’d trust a starving dog with a plate of freshly cooked sausages. Although, in this situation, he remained very much in charge of the sausages.
Tan Jacket followed him in and locked the door. As the confined space filled with the stench of stale nicotine, Martin checked the floor. Clean and dry, so at least he wouldn’t ruin his last decent pair of jeans by kneeling in a puddle of piss.
When he reached for the man’s fly, long gnarled fingers clamped around his wrist.
“What’d you want me to do, mate?” He looked up. “Suck it through a straw?”
“For what I’m paying, I just decided I want more.”
“Not for a lousy hundred you don’t.” Martin tugged back on his wrist. A full fuck was double and he wouldn’t risk it here at this time of day. “Let me go, shithead. Or you’ll be sorry.”
The grip on his wrist tightened. “Will I?” The guy rammed a bony forearm hard across his chest, and drove him up against the cubicle wall. Nicotine breath seared his skin, fogged his nostrils. “Teetering on the edge of the gutter? Like hell. You dived in head first a long time ago. Didn’t you, skank?”
“What?” Martin focused on the face in front of him. Lean but haggard. Like a lean slice of bacon left out of the fridge too long. Had they met before? He tended to remember smells better than faces, but there were so many smells, and so many faces in his past, sometimes he couldn’t pick one out from the masses.
“No, kid, you don’t know me.” Tan Jacket leered closer, apparently having read his mind. “I don’t know you, either, but I know what you are. And that’s enough.”
“Enough for what?” Martin bit his tongue. He already regretted the first time he’d asked, so why ask it again?
“Enough for what’s coming.”
Martin’s heart lurched. He’d been in this situation before but never in such a confined space. Didn’t mean he’d make for a willing punch bag, though. Focusing his strength in his right thigh, he brought up his knee. Usually this worked a treat, and the threat went down like a cold bucket of piss. This threat, however, had somehow known what was coming and twisted, deflecting the blow to his hip rather than the squidgy sac of his scrotum.
“Nice try.” The guy’s rancid breath scoured Martin’s face. “Let’s see if I can go one better.”
Martin squeezed his eyes shut. Braced for a set of hard knuckles slamming into his cheekbone. When nothing happened, he cracked open an eye. The predicted fist hovered in front of his nose, threatening to forge forward and make a mess of it. Or worse, his teeth. A nose could be fixed on the NHS. Teeth were another, more expensive, matter.
“Wait.” He bit down on the harsh blade of a coward’s way out. “A fuck is two hundred. Cash up front.” Despite his earlier bravado, he couldn’t afford to damage his looks. “Just leave off with the physical crap.”
“Hmm.” The guy’s voice softened. “That’s better. Except…oh, yeah. I just remembered. I’m no faggot after all.”
Before Martin could think about sighing with relief, a flesh-colored blur powered into his stomach and he went down chasing the bile spewing out of his mouth.
A loud bang echoed around his brain, followed by a waft of cool air. The cubicle swam. Nausea seared the back of his throat. The stench of puke hung heavy in the air, flavored with grease and the acrid tang of tinned tomatoes. He forced open his eyes in time to see a retreating set of denim clad legs and a tatty tan jacket bearing an image of a pistol in silhouette, smoke puffing thickly as if the barrel was a cigar.
Martin lowered his cheek back to the floor. What a dumb fuck. Why chase an extra few quid when he’d already made enough for the week? Greed was a dangerous regret, and contempt had rolled off that wanker in waves. He inched into a sitting position and probed his ribs. His chest burned when he took in anything but the shallowest of breaths.
Crawling from the cubicle, he gritted his teeth against the flames burning up his ribcage. After using the nearest basin to haul himself upright, he checked his face in the mirror. Thankfully he found no evidence of injury. Just a trail of puke from lips to chin, easily washed away. Nothing for Sandra to worry about when she saw him. He’d have to go home first, though, and change before ordering those flow…
Shit.
With his heart thrashing in his already aching ribcage, he patted down his pockets. His wallet was still there. A quick check confirmed every note was accounted for. Why hadn’t the guy snatched the cash back? Unless he got off on bashing queers for fun and preferred to pay in order to ease his conscience. Weirder things had happened. One thing was for sure. There had never been the slightest possibility of sex. This was purely about getting bashed.
The main door swung open. Martin almost dropped his wallet. But the man who inched through had to be seventy if he was a day. He glanced at Martin, noted the wad of cash and the sick-stained sweater, and shuffled to a cubicle. The bolt snapped across.
Martin pushed his wallet into his pocket then splashed his face with clean water. He might stink like a bad Saturday night, but he’d walk out of here with his head high even if pain pulsed from his ribs to his pelvis and dictated he should limp most of the way home.
Chapter Three
Liam opened his eyes, startled awake by the finishing ding of the dryer. He’d fallen asleep at the kitchen table. Unwashed dishes sat piled high in the sink and the light on the washer-stroke-dryer glowed green.
Rousing enough to stand, he decided to put the sheets on the bed before Katie came home. Then he’d wash and go to bed. His spine ached. As did the crick in his neck. Not to the mention the proverbial pain in the arse that had to go. But Martin Bailey wasn’t going to take up any more of his thought processes this morning. He had more productive tasks planned.
He’d just reached Katie’s room with an armful of clean linen when the front door flew open. Martin staggered in, backed up until the door closed again, then leaned heavily against the wood.
“What’s the matter this time?”
“Nothing.” Martin pushed off the door, trying for casual, but Liam had caught the discomfort in his breath. The bitter stink of puke drifted down the hall, which even the potent fragrance of the fabric conditioner couldn’t mask.
“Have you been working?”
“Mind your own fucking business.” He stepped inside his room and slammed the door behind him.
Great. If that was what he wanted, forgotten already. Liam returned to Katie’s room and set about remaking her bed and tidying whatever had been disturbed. Before he left he glanced into her litter bin to see if it needed emptying. It did. Of a used condom and a sex toy. A dildo, if he wasn’t mistaken. Once again, rage tightened his chest. Another line had been crossed, and this one he wasn’t prepared to ignore.
Bin in hand, he strode down the hall to Martin’s door. The wanker inside had lost all rights to a cursory knock. He pushed the door open. Martin immediately fell back onto the bed. Bare-chested, another bruise shadowed his ribs. A bruise he hadn’t had that morning. A bruise he’d probably been studying in the mirror on the back of his door.
“What happened now?” Liam asked, eyeing the discolored skin.
“Nothing.” Martin sprung up off the bed and went to his chest of drawers. “You can’t just barge in here.” He brought out a clean sweater and yanked it down over his head. “I pay rent. This is my private space.”
“You mean like Katie’s room is her private space?” Even as Liam asked the question, he became distracted by Martin’s slender back. Prominent shoulder blades flexed beneath a fine layer of creamy skin. Such a contrast to the bruises blooming across his lower spine and arse. “Why’d you let them do that to you?”