Stuart repeated the casualty details.

Ashley sat in the ambulance's front passenger seat. Each time he heard Stuart—this self-styled captain—repeating the radio dispatcher's words and rattling off a string of strangers' details, his expression grew slightly irritated. Not towards those poor souls, but unease. He hated this feeling that someone could slip from their grasp at any moment—yes, literally, from their hands, their palms. He'd braced himself for this dread when he first joined, but hadn't anticipated it would never fade with time or experience. He wouldn't openly show his sympathy; pride was too important to him. Ashley would say he'd rather be rolling around with some burly bloke from God knows where in a public toilet than sit all day in this van reeking of disinfectant. Yet here he was, still plugging away at this thankless job after all these years. Occasionally getting intimate with whoever, wherever. He had to admit, while he enjoyed it, he felt like a stray animal wandering the streets waiting to be fed. Sometimes people pitied him, but no one ever fed him twice, let alone took him home. He would never let anyone know what he thought, or rather, what he felt. He knew everyone around him pitied him, saying he just hadn't met the right person yet. Truth be told, Ashley found his current situation perfectly fine. He preferred the perks of taking advantage, seizing the moment without the burdens of a committed relationship. Whether this was another lie his subconscious spun to mask his loneliness remained unclear.

Stuart started the car, its body swaying as it pulled away from the neighbourhood. Ashley didn't know how to ease the dread that accompanied every call-out. He chose to avoid it, to ignore it, just as he always did. They never seemed to feel this job deserved to be taken seriously. To them, it was merely a means to put food on the table. That initial sense of purpose had evaporated long ago, the moment they encountered their second patient who didn't know to take paracetamol for a fever.

Fire scenes. Nothing unusual for paramedics.

But that firefighter was different. Emerging from the smoke-filled tunnel, he ensured no further casualties remained trapped inside. Removing his mask, his cheeks were blackened by soot – a clear indication he had previously taken it off to lend to someone else within the building. The man approached the fire engine and leaned against it as a colleague helped him out of his stifling fireproof suit. Beneath lay a crisp navy blue short-sleeved uniform, revealing part of a horse tattoo on his muscular left arm. Ashley had never seen him before. Perhaps they'd crossed paths previously, but he hadn't noticed? A man like this was impossible to overlook, he thought. He guessed the man was only about twenty. More a boy than a man, he was. Ashley admitted he was instantly drawn to those tattooed arms. Tattoos were like a badge of cool to him; he always liked calling fit, tattooed, tall blokes 'Daddy' – even when they were nowhere near his age. He watched every contraction and expansion of his muscles, silently tracing the contours of those arms in his mind, fantasising about those hands gripping his waist and hips.

Ashley knew this wasn't the right moment, but what exactly constituted the right moment? He'd never encountered one, at least.

"Tough job, eh?"

The boy glanced at Ashley, seemingly uninterested in his banter. Who'd want someone grinning at them after narrowly escaping death, especially a stranger in that green uniform?

"We just snatched that girl back from the grim reaper."

Ashley turned his head towards the girl wrapped in a blanket nearby, gesturing with his chin as he spoke teasingly. Perhaps he wanted to discuss his work, to let the boy know, 'Our missions are just as difficult. I think we have a lot in common. Let's have a chat.' . But more than that, he was begging, Please don't ignore me. He felt like a stray dog again, begging from passers-by who caught his interest. The boy recognised the girl. Seeing her safe and sound, he could finally relax. The prolonged tension had left him exhausted.

"I'm Ashley."

"Dennis."

Ashley extended his hand to the boy, but received no response.

"You did very well, you know. Very brave."

"Hey, Ashley, what are you saying to your fire boy?"

Stuart had never been particularly fond of firefighters, and Ashley knew it was because they were far more popular with the public than they were – with their chiselled physiques, handsome muscles, always hogging the limelight, while they were constantly fielding complaint calls. Ashley had also made it clear to Stuart that firefighters weren't his type, even though he'd once joked with Rashid about hitting on drunk firefighters. He claimed those perfectly sculpted bodies didn't even feature in his fantasies, that cowboys or Indians were preferable to firemen. In truth, he kept a charity fireman's calendar tucked away in his bedside drawer. Honestly, he couldn't fathom why he now felt compelled to connect with this man in fireproof gear standing before him. He was at it again, and even he was growing weary of it. But with Dennis, this time he wasn't flirting—at least, he didn't think so. He had a feeling this would be different. As he leaned in closer to the boy, perhaps out of mere sympathy, Ashley sensed Dennis needed a hug. But why from him—a random stranger? Why not Dennis's captain or a colleague? Or the person he'd been trying to save? He looked so utterly fragile, as if pausing his breath for a second would make him collapse. Ashley longed for someone to embrace him too, anyone would do.

"Good heavens, look at him—still just a child. You must have had a dreadful time."

"Shut up, Stuart."

"I apologise for my colleague. He didn’t mean it. He’s just a bloody idiot."

"It’s alright, mate."

As Dennis spoke, he glanced upwards and caught sight of the sky's colour—not that pure, deep azure, but rather a pale blue blending with the mist. His movement halted. Ashley, meanwhile, saw a grassy green, streaked with the orange-yellow of earth.

After a few seconds of staring, both men turned their heads to either side at the same instant.

——————

Dennis knew he was having a bloody awful time.

He knew full well. If being led astray by a childhood friend meant failing to rescue a neighbour's baby girl crying in the flames because of some so-called prank, watching helplessly as the cries were drowned out by the fire, leaving behind a despairing mother and a severely burned firefighter, while he himself was made the scapegoat—if that wasn't terrible enough, he didn't know what would be. What was even more terrifying was that he didn't know how to make amends for them. As if seeking redemption, he joined the local fire brigade, which felt somewhat more justifiable to himself. But things didn't improve. He still roamed the streets with Gog – his childhood friend – slashing the bottoms of tinned beers open with a knife to drink them, laughing loudly. To Dennis, Gog felt less like a friend and more like someone he'd merely known for years. Dennis found himself increasingly reluctant to acknowledge them as genuine friends. They weren't close; their only interactions were watching football together over beer or wandering the streets aimlessly. Dennis never confided in him either. He couldn't fathom Gog's inexplicable hatred for firefighters, nor understand how, as the brother of a girl, he could remain utterly indifferent and unapologetic towards the woman who lost her daughter because of him. He felt he was facing a beast. Dennis believed that one day Gog would too be reduced to charred bones in the flames, only to be greeted by demons from the inferno of hell. He often imagined such scenes. At the same time, he wasn't sure if the same fate might befall him. He was an accomplice, part of the gang, a criminal. His hands were stained with an indelible guilt. He had tried repeatedly to atone, to drag his soul from the depths of hell. But the notion that risking his life to save the lover of someone he had once harmed could earn forgiveness struck Dennis as laughable. Especially since, in the end, not only did he fail to find the person, but he himself collapsed unconscious first. Yet hearing it from some random paramedic had grated on him. Ashley was right about one thing: that bloke really was a complete idiot. Dennis resented anyone passing foolish judgement without knowing the full story.

But a stranger matter immediately seized his thoughts. He had to admit he'd felt rather nervous watching Ashley just now. Merely a handsome man approaching him, he thought, yet here he was, conscious of his own behaviour in his presence. Dennis was always composed. Even when he'd brought the captain into the house that had burned away his lower body, he'd shown no panic whatsoever, as if the accident truly had nothing to do with him, offering advice as if it were merely out of sympathy. If anything, this neighbourhood of the poor and the rough had taught him one thing: his approach to life. He never showed his emotions; he saw no point in doing so. But when he met Ashley's eyes, something rose from his chest and lodged in his throat. His body stiffened, immobilised before his brain could register what was happening. He had no idea why this was happening. Dennis kept glancing at Ashley, whose manner made his interest in the man unmistakable. He recalled all the homophobic slurs Gog had hurled at him, and the memory tightened his chest. Nausea followed, the heat rising from his stomach to his throat. Scorching. Fear gripped him. The terror of a secret buried deep within his heart being exposed in that instant. He loathed this "old friend" with a passion. Perhaps one reason he never confided in Gog was the fear that these knives might be turned on him.

"Are you alright?"

His ears began to ring. Dennis knew his feelings for men were undeniable. True, to better fit in with the boys during his school days, he'd had a few heterosexual relationships. Even then, he couldn't be sure if he genuinely liked those girls, or if that affection was simply what the other boys called love. He always felt uneasy around girls. He disliked the way they would peck at his cheeks with their lips, like little birds. He dared say he was certain this was absolutely not love. To avoid being labelled an outsider and spared the taunts of his peers, he never confided in anyone—not even his loving mother. He once witnessed a frail child beaten bloody in a school toilet cubicle by other boys, who shouted, "Faggot!"

"Mhm?"

Ashley's voice.

"What—oh, nothing. I'm fine."

"You seemed frozen."

Dennis found the phrase 'frozen' rather amusing; Ashley was quite entertaining. But he still didn't laugh.

"Yes, I was thinking."

"Thinking what?"

"Perhaps I could buy you a coffee or get you something to eat? Just tonight."

Dennis hadn't expected to blurt it out like that, but he didn't regret it, just felt a bit awkward. He felt it was time to face his true self, to listen to what his heart was saying. Go with the flow, he thought. Ashley seemed more startled than Dennis, which was entirely unexpected. He felt every ounce of tension in his body masking his wildly beating heart, every muscle taut. This is what I was thinking, he shouted inwardly. He pursed his lips, glancing at Dennis, and brushed a stray curl from his forehead. Before his brain could fully process the brief statement, he spoke.

"I'd be delighted."

Ashley and Dennis didn't even know if they'd be compatible. Ashley, for his part, was accustomed to people coming and going. And Dennis didn't reminisce about the past without reason. The only thing clear was that in that moment when their eyes met, they were both captivated by each other's gaze. He looked at Ashley, trying to memorise every detail of his face, noticing the stubble around his jawline. Dennis also wanted to remember his voice, with its Scottish accent, somewhat low and pleasantly familiar. But what he most dreaded forgetting were those misty blue eyes, narrowed against the glare of the sun, opened solely for him.

——————

Ashley dashed home the moment his shift ended. He was beside himself with excitement. When had he last felt this thrilled about a date? When had he last met another man without the sole intention of rolling around in bed and then promptly taking off? He couldn't recall. Had such a thing ever truly happened to him? He felt nothing but pure joy at the prospect of seeing someone.

Dennis, however, had stayed behind after his shift ended. He’d said his goodbyes to every colleague and team leader, tidied his locker in the changing room, and only then made his way home. Normally, he’d bolt straight out of the headquarters the moment his shift ended or his work was done. For Dennis not to do that was highly unusual for everyone. Even little Al could tell he was in a good mood. Dennis wasn't one to smile often, but when he was pleased, it showed in his manner towards others, and in that inexplicable drive. Even though no one could fathom why Dennis was so cheerful, especially after what had happened today, they all agreed there was no reason for such a good mood. It simply couldn't be.

Yet for Dennis, the prospect of going out with Ashley after such events had indeed stirred him deeply. He refused to wallow in self-pity and guilt over the coming days, rendering himself incapable of action. Tonight's date offered a temporary respite from work, though the guilt wouldn't vanish entirely. One might call it escapism, yet he was simultaneously confronting other issues.

He chose a lightweight Adidas hoodie paired with white trainers from the same sports brand, selecting them after freshening up back in his bedroom. Like Ashley, he made decisions decisively. Tucking his wallet, keys, and mobile into his jeans pockets, he kissed his mother on the cheek before heading out again.

The meeting spot with Ashley was an Italian restaurant he often passed but never felt inclined to enter. Its décor intrigued him; Dennis inexplicably favoured this slightly intricate yet understated aesthetic. He wondered what dishes such a complex yet unpretentious establishment might offer, and how they'd differ from the pizzas at his usual fast-food haunts. Would they agree to let me smother my pizza in mayonnaise? Dennis wondered. He didn't think it would be improper.

"Who knows? Perhaps I should slip another bottle of mayonnaise into my trouser pocket," he muttered to himself.

"What was that for?"

Dennis jumped, swerving away as he turned to see who'd spoken. It was Ashley. He'd slowed his bike to match Dennis's walking pace, leaning sideways to watch him with a grin.

"You gave me a fright!" Dennis couldn't help but laugh.

"My bad."

"Hey, you still haven't told me about that bottle of mayonnaise."

"Just a little joke. Very little."

"Right."

The restaurant sign grew closer overhead. Dennis waited for Ashley to park his bicycle by the pavement before walking into the restaurant together. They chose a booth against the wall, clearly neither wanting to sit too close to others. Immediately, a waiter handed them two menus. Dennis ordered spaghetti with meatballs and a pizza. Ashley chose lamb chops, adding two portions of tiramisu with ice cream scoops.

"So, tell me about yourself?"

"Well, I already know you like mayonnaise."

Dennis chuckled.

"I live with my mum... I became a firefighter last year... Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"I'll listen to whatever you say."

"Right... I became a firefighter last year—you already knew that seconds ago—I didn't become a firefighter for no reason, um... I suppose nobody becomes a firefighter for no reason... but anyway, I..."

Dennis recounted to Ashley what had transpired in the months before he became Kev's subordinate—including, of course, the events of a year prior.

"Blimey."

"I wanted to tell you before everything happened. I mean, before it was too late to stop it. If you want to get up and leave this restaurant right now, I won't mind."

He was nervous. The guilt of thinking he was a bad person hadn't completely faded, and he didn't believe time would wash it away. Since he'd decided to face himself, he felt this confession was necessary.

"No, I won't. This isn't your fault at all. I have no reason to blame you."

Dennis nodded. "Now it's your turn. Tell me about yourself."

While they spoke, the starters, main courses, and even dessert arrived all at once. The speed of service was suspiciously brisk, though Dennis and Ashley would soon discover why. Ashley's lamb chops were tough as old boots, Dennis's pasta contained strands that hadn't been cooked through, and even the dessert was laced with ice crystals. The only passable item was the pizza, though it bore little distinction from fast-food fare. Dennis remained dissatisfied, as not a single drop of mayonnaise was visible on his pizza. This also explained why the prices on the menu were so pleasingly low. The clock ticked on, the restaurant's intricate yet understated décor had lost its appeal, and the music playing inside was soporific. Ashley's movements with his knife and fork visibly slowed.

Dennis began to regret choosing such a dreadful spot for his first date with Ashley,

(indeed, his first proper date.)

This momentous occasion should have been beautiful and unforgettable,

(though now it seemed destined to be unforgettable for all the wrong reasons.)

If Ashley didn't call him again after tonight, he wouldn't blame him.

(Had they even exchanged numbers?)

Dennis had given up all hope. He bowed his head, covering his face with his hands, perhaps still blaming himself. Ashley certainly didn't want to see Dennis like this. He knew Dennis hadn't deliberately invited him to such a dreadful restaurant; it wasn't his fault. Both men knew neither would be heading home early tonight. They'd even arranged for colleagues to cover their shifts tomorrow. Neither wanted to ruin what should have been a night of celebration for the two of them.

"Fancy heading somewhere a bit more interesting?"

"What?" Dennis murmured, lifting his head. Ashley saw the corners of his eyes redden.

"I'd like to take you somewhere more fun than this."

He paused, covering half his face with his fingertips pressed together, then continued:

"The hottest club in London is—"

"Oh—shut up." Dennis chuckled.

Fortunately, Ashley's bike had a rear seat, and Dennis wasn't exactly a hulk. He straddled the back, awkwardly wrapping an arm around Ashley's waist. Ashley laughed again.

In summer, there were no colourful neon lights adorning the buildings lining the streets, nor were there festive illuminations strung across scaffolding in all manner of intricate shapes. All they could rely on was the warm glow emanating from shop windows, the dimmed neon signs of a few establishments, and of course the street lamps casting their light upon them at regular intervals. Ashley pedalled swiftly. The air after sunset had lost its stifling heat, and a cool breeze ruffled his long, curly hair. Dennis sat in the backseat, his gaze fixed intently on Ashley, curious about the feel of his hair. The back of his coat flapped in the wind. When the lamppost light washed over their faces, it was as if a camera's flash had gone off, capturing them against a backdrop of pitch-black darkness, their pale faces overexposed. They spoke little. Ashley hadn't told Dennis where they were headed, only occasionally glancing back at him, to which Dennis would return a more cheerful smile. He was clearly less tense than before. No longer stiffly clutching Ashley's waist while trying to grab the bike's seat, he now wrapped his arm around her waist (applying a bit of pressure) and leaned against her back. Dennis felt he could let his guard down. Ashley was someone he could trust, and he wanted to trust him.

"We're here."

Dennis felt a bit groggy, only coming to his senses after Ashley braked to a stop. He must have dozed off leaning against Ashley's back earlier; today had been a tough day indeed. He blinked, dismounted, and stretched his legs.

"Glory?" Dennis looked up and read the bar's name aloud. It was formed from dazzling blue neon tubes, curved and twisted into letters.

"A gay bar," Ashley said with a smile, as familiar as if describing his own home or workplace. "Come on."

Inside, the lighting was dim, yet the flickering, high-saturation coloured beams were jarringly bright. Rhythmic pop music pulsed through the air, its lyrics invariably leaving Dennis feeling rather mortified once he grasped their meaning. Friday night crowds were thick; the entrance alone was already occupied by several drinkers clutching glasses, as if the place couldn't possibly fit two more souls inside. As they entered, Dennis instinctively clasped Ashley's hand. Ashley guided him to a seat at the bar, where Dennis could now see the crowd dancing on the central dance floor. This was entirely unlike the bars he usually frequented: not a single scantily clad woman in sight, replaced instead by shirtless, muscular men, women in masculine attire, and people decked out in all manner of flamboyant, extravagant clothing. Amidst the clamorous music, he could faintly make out Ashley greeting the barman.

"Scotch whisky, please." He was practically shouting.

"I'll have a martini," Dennis chimed in, his tone slightly flustered. "Thank you."

"New toy boy?" The bartender didn't pause his work.

"Don't be like that," Ashley replied teasingly.

Dennis felt a pang of awkwardness. Unlike Ashley, everything around him felt alien. It wouldn't take long before he realised he simply couldn't blend in with these people like him: he made no secret of his utter disinterest in the deafening songs blaring from the speakers, nor was he adept at singing or dancing with a crowd of strangers. He edged closer to Ashley. (He wanted to lean on Ashley's shoulder, but ultimately held back.) He dared not make a move in such unfamiliar surroundings; waiting for Ashley's next lead felt safer. He frowned and smiled at Ashley, who gestured for him to relax. Taking the glasses handed to him by the bartender with both hands, he offered the martini to Dennis while raising his own glass with the other.

"To work?"

"To life."

To life.

The glasses clinked sharply, a brief sound. Some of the liquid spilled over the rim as they tilted and collided, splashing into the other's glass. Dennis downed his martini in one gulp, then ordered several more in quick succession. His cheeks and earlobes flushed red. He'd always been rather impatient. After finishing, he took Ashley's hand and invited him onto the dance floor to dance to music he fundamentally disliked. He no longer wished to hold back. He detested his perpetual state of boredom, hesitation, and bewilderment. He was sick of always being passive when pursuing what he wanted. Ashley readily agreed, though he too disliked dancing in front of others. He suspected Dennis’s motive was simply to break through the self-imposed constraints he’d built, to seize a fleeting sense of freedom. Even if it felt uncomfortable, it needed to be done; he was building confidence in this aspect of himself. They both needed to face it.

Ashley downed his whisky in quick gulps until only large ice cubes clinked against the glass remained.

Under the flickering red and blue lights, they reached the dance floor's centre. Shoulders and arms brushed against the swaying crowd as the floor pulsed beneath their feet like a heartbeat, and they moved to their own rhythm. Ashley knew Dennis was drawing closer. He could see the rise and fall of his chest, his breath mingling tension and fear with a hint of pleasure. They didn't know what they feared, yet they were exhilarated by it. Perfect timing, Ashley thought. He leaned in, his forehead nearly touching Dennis', his nose repeatedly grazing the bridge of his nose. The man before him lifted his chin slightly, eyes still lowered, glancing up occasionally. His warm breath dissipated on Ashley's chin. It was Dennis who parted his lips first, as if craving. His eyes opened slightly beneath his lashes, still fixed on that lower half of the face. Ashley leaned down to answer his plea.

Ashley's lips were warm and soft as pillows. Dennis sank into them completely, only remembering to breathe when his own mouth felt nearly vacuum-sealed. He felt like a lovesick child. Alcohol, breath-holding, and Ashley's combined effect seemed to make the blood surge to his face, his cheeks and nose almost crimson. He craved touch, and he knew Ashley did too. Instantly, they became feverish. Dennis's ten fingers dug into Ashley's deep brown curls as he greedily licked, nibbled, and felt Ashley's palm rubbing against his cheek. After enduring a long night, he finally tasted the lips and tongue of the man he desired. Ashley's hands clasped either side of Dennis's neck, his thumbs tracing the curve of his jawline as he let the man nibble at the lower half of his face like a puppy.

By the time Ashley came to his senses, he and Dennis had already crashed through the door of the bar's men's toilet, still locked in a passionate kiss. Couples were making out by the sinks and urinals. Dennis would have felt embarrassed, but he pushed open the door to the first cubicle.

"Lock's broken, sorry mate. Try somewhere else."

Ashley caught a glimpse of a short man behind the flung-shut cubicle door. One hand pressed against his mouth, his green eyes darted awkwardly towards the entrance, his tousled black hair drawing attention. He recalled an obstetrician he'd encountered several times at the hospital.

Ashley pushed open the door to the second cubicle, leading Dennis inside by the hand. Dennis locked the door before turning and throwing himself against Ashley once more. He savoured Ashley's neck, then his collarbone. Meanwhile, his hands slipped beneath Ashley's short-sleeved top, palms pressed against his skin as he lifted the fabric. He braced his thumbs against Ashley's lifted shirt, clasping his hands firmly under his armpits as he leaned down to kiss the skin of his chest. Then he worked his way down, shifting from a half-crouch to kneeling, his hands now cupping Ashley's hips. Dennis drew his face close, feeling the faint friction of his nose against the waistband, his lips against the fabric of the trousers. He wanted it desperately.

"Wait, Denny."

"Hmm?" Dennis liked that nickname. It felt like a term of endearment belonging only to him and Ashley, as if he belonged to Ashley. I'm your boy, he thought, looking at Ashley.

"Why don't we go back to my place?" Ashley finally felt awkward, what Stuart would call "a miracle happening." Perhaps he didn't want to keep doing this anywhere. Yes, this time it wasn't just about getting it done.

"Sounds good." Dennis shrugged with a smile, his eyebrows rising and falling with his shoulders.

——————

On the way to Ashley's place, Dennis called his mother to tell her he'd be staying at a friend's tonight.

"A friend, eh?"

"She doesn't know yet."

"Sorry. Do you plan to tell her?"

"Truth be told, I hadn't even figured it out myself until today."

"Ha, ha."

"No, really."

"Right then, Denny."

A pause.

"She'll be pleased I'm meeting new people."

——————

Dennis rested against Ashley's chest, his fingers tracing the soft, curled fur across her stomach. Ashley's arm lay behind his head.

"When did you realise?"

"Realise what?"

"Well, you know—that you like men."

Dennis lifted his gaze to meet his misty blue eyes.

"I suppose it was when I was very young, around eleven, still at primary school."

It was a primary school in some Scottish town, where eleven-year-old Ashley lived nearby with his sister and parents. The nineties had only just ended, and most folk in the town were working class. Ashley's family life, however, was fairly comfortable. His mother was a teacher, his father a fireman, he had a sister in secondary school, and his younger sister hadn't been born yet. Ashley was a simple soul back then, spending his days either studying at school or running about the neighbourhood like the other lads in town. He probably hadn't even heard of paramedics; ambulances were a rare sight in this remote village, and his future felt a long way off.

He still remembers the boy who attended the same primary school as him. (After all, there was only one school in the town back then, catering for pupils from primary through to secondary school.) That boy with blond hair and green eyes. Ashley recalls how introverted he was as a child, and that boy was his only friend. Yet the boy's name has grown increasingly hazy over time. Ashley spent much of his pre-adolescence with that boy. They would play together in some corner of the town, little Ashley always giggling. He felt life was utterly wonderful simply being near that boy. He’d even brought the boy home once, before his parents returned from work and his sister came home from school. He would secretly slip on his sister's dresses and his mother's high heels, smearing lipstick from the dressing table onto both his and the boy's lips, dotting it on their cheeks before smudging it out with his fingers. Once dressed, Little Ashley would mimic the dancers on television programmes, lip-syncing to the latest hits playing on the CD player connected to the stereo. He looked like a pop singer with a beautiful voice, and the boy would always be amused into giggles. For the boy, it might have been just a game, but Little Ashley didn't seem to think so.

Until one day the boy told little Ashley he was leaving the town. It was pouring with rain that day. Little Ashley asked where he was going and when he would leave. The boy said London. He was going there to study and would depart once the summer holidays ended. Little Ashley didn't know how to react at first. He didn't want the boy to leave. He understood it wasn't just that he feared having no one to play with every day once the boy was gone. He wished they could stay together forever, making this summer eternal. He imagined the sky would always be that blue, the dazzlingly green leaves forever rustling in the breeze, the apples picked from the tree always that sweet, and the one he loved never leaving him. Yet now he could only hear the rain beating against his ears, the drops falling so thickly there was scarcely a pause between them. He couldn't make out the boy's words, nor discern the expression on his face. The rain separated him from everything. He longed to close his eyes, letting it all slip through his fingers like rainwater gathered in his palms. Instead, he stepped forward and clasped the boy's hands, like a child trying to hold back a stream slipping through pebble crevices. Their fingers touched, and little Ashley felt the warmth within the other's fingertips. The boy startled, but did not pull away. They remained in this peculiar posture, young Ashley utterly silent, his gaze utterly unable to tear itself away from those pale green eyes. After a while longer, he bowed his head and wept, tears sliding down his cheeks and falling to the ground. Thankfully, no downpour lasts forever. The wind would cease, and the damp, stifling air would soon dissipate.

Ashley eventually arrived in London, never to see that boy again.

"Then, when I hit puberty, it all became crystal clear."

"That's good."

"You still haven't told me how old you are."

"I'll be twenty in November." Dennis smiled at Ashley, winking.

Richard smiles softly and unzips Taron’s jacket, giving in to his request. "Of course. I'll just put our dinner into the oven. I'll be with you in a moment"

Taron nods and makes his way to the bathroom upstairs after kissing him on the cheek. He opens the door and his mouth falls open in surprise. The bathtub is filled with water at the perfect temperature, bubbles and color added. Candles illuminated the room with a warm hue and a soothing lavender scent lulls him in. What was be occasion? Had Richard already planned for this?

"Baabee?" he asks, walking back downstairs to Richard. "What's with the candles and lavender?" he questions and sees the already set table with some wine glasses and everything. Once again, his mouth falls open in shock at the gesture. He looks at his boyfriend with eyebrows raised. Did he miss his own birthday again?

Richard closes the oven and walks over to him, a slight chuckle leaving his lips. "Well first off, it's Valentine’s Day and you had to leave and be on set before I woke up. So we can continue the celebrations now."

Taron nods and gently takes his hand. "And?" That couldn’t just be the only thing.

"And you've been working so much lately that you come home all exhausted. It breaks my heart a little." Richard gently wraps his arms around his waist. "Which is why I wanna pamper you a bit, ease the stress a little at a time." His lips curl into a small smile as he looks into his lover’s eyes.

Taron's face softens hearing that. "Aren't you the sweetest?" he breathes out and wraps his arms around his neck. He has been working really hard days with this new film, but it was worth it coming home to the person he loved every day. Seeing Richard’s smile and holding him tight every night made it all bearable.

Rich smiles and leans down, kissing him lovingly. The two savor the kiss for just a moment and enjoy each other’s warm embrace. They make their way upstairs to the bathroom and remove their clothes, getting into the water. Taron takes his chance to cuddle up against Richard, his back on his chest, and closes his eyes. He relaxes into his soothing touch as Richard takes cares of washing his body gently. He lets him rest a little while he shampoos his hair lovingly. Once finished with Taron, Richard cleans himself up and the pair carefully get out of the tub. Richard dries Taron off after wrapping his own towel around his body.

Taron insists on wearing some of Richard's clothes when they leave the bathroom, as he always does when he is exhausted. It provides a great comfort to him, whether Richard is there or not. They decide to have their dinner in the living room tonight. T is sitting on Richard's lap, a plate for both of them on his own lap as they eat carefully. "Mm I needed this." T hums happily as he digs into the lasagna Richard made. He could never get over how great of a cook he is.

"I hoped so." Rich chuckles softly and kisses his cheek.

-

Taron groans softly and turns onto his back, looking up at Rich with a frustrated pout. "I can't fall asleep." he says annoyed. They had finished their dinner almost a half hour ago and Richard told Taron to rest. So Taron repositioned himself on the couch and tried just that.

Richard gently runs his hand through Taron's hair, who's head is resting on his lap. "Got too much on your mind?" he asks and T hums, answering his question.

He grumbles and rubs his eyes. "I can't stop thinking about all the stuff I have to do and-." Stopping mid sentence, he sits up and huffs tiredly.

"Taron, tonight starts your week off from working so hard. Okay, there's nothing you have to do." he says softly, but firmly. "I'm home for a few days as well, so we can actually do nothing all day." he smiles.

Taron smirks and straddles his lap, wrapping his arms around his neck. "That sounds almost too perfect. Am I dreaming?"

Rich chuckles softly and pulls him into a loving kiss. "You're adorable."

"Can we go and cuddle in bed?" Taron asks sweetly. Of course he truly wanted to cuddle, but there’s an underlying ulterior motive to the cuddle session.

"Of course." he nods and they get up from the couch. Richard folds the blankets they were using, and Taron couldn’t resist. Rich is caught by surprise when Taron kisses him again, a soft moan escaping the Scottish man’s chest.

Taron wraps his arms around his neck and stumbles back a few steps, his back hitting the wall behind him. He stops and looks up at him with lust momentarily gleaming in his eyes.

Richard grabs his waist and pins him to the wall, looking down at him. The sudden need in Taron’s eyes catches him by surprise, and slightly overwhelms him. "I think I know exactly what you need to put you to sleep." Rich chuckles softly.

"Maybe." he says, a blush quickly coating his cheeks and ears.

Richard smiles at the reaction and gently caresses his cheek. "I love you."

"I love you too." Taron smiles softly.

He leans down, connecting their lips. They share a passionate kiss and Taron pulls him closer to his frame. Holding each other close and slightly tighter with each movement.

Taron smiles and a quiet moan falls from him as their lips touch. He kisses him passionately, breath hitching as Richard's hands caress his sides.

Richard notices the change and gently grabs his hips. "Maybe I know what you'll need to relieve the tension, darling."

T raises his eyebrows at him, holding back a grin. "I'm all ears."

"You want me to take care of you?" he asks and lets his hands slip under Taron's sweater, gently touching his skin. His touch felt like fore, but send goosebumps all over at the same time. Taron yearned for more, ached for it even.

"Please." Taron answers quickly and buries his face in Richard's shoulder, blushing at how desperate he sounds. He truly did need to get the tension out of his body from the long nights. But he wouldn’t dare turn down an offer to have it handled by Richard.

He chuckles softly and kisses his head. "I love you, darling."

"Love you too" he says softly, feeling his lips curl into a smile. He lets out a giggle as Richard guides them away from the wall and onto their big sofa, lying Taron down and hovering over him.

-

He couldn't fully believe how good it feels. Though they have done this multiple times now, Richard seems to know every little thing that drives him crazy and pushes him closer to the edge. Somehow, they had moved upstairs after a very steamy make out session. And now here Taron was lying on their bed, clothes gone, legs open, and Richard moving towards where he needed him most. His hands are gripping the sheets, trying to steady himself before he lost his mind. He can’t muffle the sounds leaving his throat as Richard kissed his body, and usually he would have been flustered about it. Taron was always vocal in bed, but for them to be barely starting, it’s almost embarrassing. But this time, he doesn't even have the time to think about it, and Rich doesn't seem to mind. His whimpers are needy as Richard's lips wander up his inner thigh again. He takes one hand and rakes his fingers through Richard’s dark hair, gently tugging on his scalp. "Rich... Babe...Pleasee."

"Patience, darling." he mumbles against his skin and places a delicate kiss onto his hip bone. "We haven't even started yet." A devious smirk flashes over his lips as he sneaks a glance in Taron’s direction.

Taron chuckles weakly at that, but moans softly as Richard's lips wander down his thigh, teeth gently grazing his skin. Then, he finally feels Richard's fingers pulling down his boxers. Only seconds later, his hands are wrapped around Taron’s thighs, spreading his legs open wide. All he can see are Richard's dark curls when looking down. He takes the opportunity to run a hand through them once he feels his tongue push against his hole. "Fuckin' hell..." he sighs deeply and his eyes flutter close at the feeling.

Richard's tongue works wonders along the area and the sounds coming from his lover are music to his ears. Taron writhes underneath his hold on his thighs as Richard’s tongue laps at his entrance. Richard takes a second to place two fingers in his mouth, preparing them with as much spit as he could, before slowly sliding them into Taron one at a time, opening him up just right. A groan erupts from Taron at the sudden again, but it’s pure bliss as his boyfriend slowly works his fingers inside him. But he doesn't stop there as he wraps his lips around his length, sucking softly at the tip. Taron melts as he is taken into Richard’s mouth. The warm and wet sensation is not foreign to him, but it comes as a relief as Richard slowly moves his head lower and lower with each dip of his head.

Taron gasps at the feeling and arches into his touch. Richard's fingers curl up against his prostate whilst his mouth works wonders on him at a steady pace. Already being worked up, Taron is struggling to keep his release at bay. He’s feeling every sensation Richard is giving him. Every tongue flick on his needy length, every time he hits the back of Richard’s throat, every curl of his fingers, every time Richard hallows his cheeks. Every action bringing him closer to the edge and building up that fire in his body. It quickly becomes too much for him to bear and all he can do is gasp and moan louder than before. Unable to warn him of what’s to come, his eyes flutter closed as his orgasm washes over him, leaving him whimpering his name and pulling at his hair. Hot ropes of cum paint the inside of Richard’s mouth and he moans around his length at the feeling. Once he finished, he swallows and slowly pulls away from his lover, giving the tip one last playful lick. Taron comes down from his high, panting softly and a crimson blush settling on his face. "God, I'm sorry." he apologizes breathlessly. His mind was so clouded in pleasure that he couldn’t focus on speaking.

Richard watches him, eyes darkened with lust, and smiles softly. "Nothing to be sorry for." he tells him and wraps his hand around his own cock, stroking himself and moaning at the much needed friction. "I’m gonna make you feel so good. Just like you want, darling." he promises, a devilish grin coming across his features. Taron’s eyes enlarged at his words, and a blush paints itself on his face, his ears hot to the touch. His boyfriend instructs him to move up towards the headboard and he complies. As he settles comfortably on the bed, Richard makes his way towards him, hovering a bit. He reaches into the bedside table and retrieves a bottle of lube. He squirts some into his hand and spreads it over his length, smirking because he catches Taron watching his hand work. The younger man licks his lip, biting down softly after. Richard applies more to his fingers and rubs them over his boyfriend’s entrance, slowly pushing in to coat his walls as best as he can. Taron holds his own legs open with a groan, patiently waiting for more than just his lover’s fingers inside of him.

Richard gently removes his fingers and positions himself over the younger man, holding his length in his hand. Slowly, he begins to make his way inside. Taron whines as Richard pushes into him, finally connecting their bodies. He arches into the movement and groans satisfied when Richard sinks in deep. One hand rests on his shoulder, the other is tangled in his hair, trying to steady himself. Richard gives him time to adjust, spreading kisses all over his neck.

Richard pushes in deep and slow, really relishing the fact that they have all the time in the world for this. It's just them and their love. Something about this slow, loving pace makes the atmosphere soo much more intimate. Makes their moans sound sweeter with each thrust.

Sure, rough sex was amazing too. Dominating your partner in bed while they submitted to your will, all in part to both getting the pleasure desired. The sucks, bites, and slaps that encompassed the moment. Hearing your partner beg for a release after holding out for as long as they could, or that was allowed.

But this moment, this slow and steady rhythm heightens both men’s senses in a way like no other. Their touched gentle and warm as their bodies are engulfed in warm embraces. Kisses so passionate and soft, it left them craving for more with each separation. Bodies intertwined in the most blissful of ways, while swallowing earned moans from the other. It makes goosebumps rise on their skin, but sweat slowly build and trickle down exposed areas. Their bodies move perfectly together and neither wants to stop anytime soon.

They share sweet kisses, muffling each others moans. Tears of pleasure run down Taron's face as Richard's length massages his prostate in a steady rhythm. His next moan is so broken up it makes Richard glance at him a little alarmed.

"Are you okay?" he asks gently and slows down the pace. He gently caresses his face and kisses his jaw.

"Mmm so good..don't stop, Rich." he nods quickly and closes his eyes, mouth falling open with a moan. Taking his word for it, he continues on, matching the speed of his previous pace. "More, pleasee" he begs a little.

Richard decides to change positions, knowing his boyfriend all too well. He pulls out and giggles at the protesting sound that leaves Taron's lips. He sits on his knees and hold his hands out for Taron. "Come here, my love."

Taron gets the hint and takes his hands, sitting up and moving onto his lap, easing him in slowly. He wraps his arms around his neck, legs around his waist, and moans deliciously as he sinks down onto his cock. Moving his hips, he starts riding him in a steady pace. He kisses Richard passionately, nipping and biting at each other’s lips until he slides his tongue into his mouth. Their tongues dancing aggressively with one another.

Richard's hands caress down his sides, settling on his hips to steady him as he thrusts up into him. He moans loudly as Taron rolls his hips down to meet him. It’s pure ecstasy in the air, as both of them had been waiting for this moment for a couple days. Their skin electrifying the other with touches, grips, and tight embraces. Every kiss and bites sending goosebumps. The moans, groans, and whimpers becoming music to their ears, and they will do anything to keep the song going. If only they had been recording this to look back on later. It’s only about them in this moment, which makes it all the more passionate and sultry. It doesn't take long for Taron to find his rhythm and bounce faster on him, moaning obscenely loud as he chases his high. His release had been building steadily. But now, it’s right there, ready to be let go. "Oh God, ohh I'm gonna-." he doesn't finish his sentence as a gasp replaces his words. Richard wraps his arms around him and sends him over the edge with only a few strokes.

Taron groans out his name and cums all over their chests, sloppily moving his hips as he rides through his orgasm. The thick, white ropes painting a picture on their skin. His head sinks onto his shoulder once it washes over and he whimpers a little at the overstimulation.

Now, its Richard’s turn. "Come on, darling. Cum for me." Taron says soft and breathlessly, lovingly fondles through his hair. "My beautiful, handsome, love." he praises him. Richard was very close and all it takes is for Taron to clench around him. The action sends Richard over the edge, a low gutteral groan leaving his swollen lips as he coats his walls with his cum. Taron moans softly at the sound, kissing his neck and jaw as he rides out his orgasm.

They collapse onto the matress together and pant softly. "Tired now?" he asks laughing breathlessly. He looks over at him lazily.

"Absolutely." T smirks and lazily grabs his hand, squeezing it. "Happy Valentine's day." he says softly after a moment.