Saturday 07 August - At a hotel in Birmingham
Charlie woke, just after eight the next morning, to the sound of someone's suitcase being wheeled noisily down the hotel corridor. He was sleepy and listless, and he had absolutely no interest in getting up in the next few hours. He went to roll over, but he couldn't move - he was pinned down by a heavy weight. He opened his eyes to investigate this unusual phenomenon and found that McManus was curled up over his left shoulder and, more disturbingly, his own arm was wrapped around McManus's back.
Well, that was a bit of a surprise.
He made a couple of half-hearted attempts to push him away, but he simply moved a little closer. Any further effort was likely to wake him, and that was not a prospect that Charlie viewed with any enthusiasm. McManus was grumpy enough in the mornings as it was (well, the mornings Charlie had shared, anyway), and what he would say about waking up in Charlie's arms just didn't bear thinking about. Not to mention the fact that he'd undoubtedly twist it around so that it was all Charlie's fault.
Charlie sighed, then relaxed into the pillow and resigned himself to a few more minutes of inactivity. He stared at the ceiling, his eyes tracing the ornate plaster decorations, and listened to the soft whuffle of McManus's breath.
It didn't feel too bad, actually. Almost... cosy.
He recoiled at the thought. "Cosy" and "Rory McManus" in the same context was simply wrong. Charlie grimaced and promised himself it wouldn't happen again. Still, it felt warm, and comfortable, and peaceful, and it had been a long, long time since Charlie had woken up with someone in his arms, so he figured he'd better enjoy it while he could... even if it was Rory. McManus, not Rory. He mustn't forget that. Charlie sighed again, softly, noting how the soft brown hair on McManus's head stirred in the gentle turbulence of his breath. With every glimpse that Charlie had of the man beneath the mask, it was getting more and more difficult to think of him as McManus, easier to use the simple Christian name. It was a nice name, Rory, he thought. Not at all threatening, not harsh or tough; a name more suited to whispered endearments than curses and insults.
The last man he'd held like this was Richard, over a year ago. They'd only been together a year, and it had been the most wonderful year of his life, until Richard had told him that he had to join his uncle's firm after finishing at Uni. Charlie had honestly thought he'd never get over it. Well, he still wasn't over it, not really. He'd had a few one-night stands since then, but hadn't actually slept - slept through to morning - next to any man until now. He pondered that for a moment. Did that make McManus a lover, or not? It was an odd question to ponder at eight thirty on a Saturday morning in Birmingham, and he couldn't really answer it.
He wished he knew more about what made the man tick. He was so difficult to predict - one moment he would be as cold and as sharp as a stiletto blade, and then at he'd be warm and... well, not quite affectionate, perhaps, but considerate. Sometimes he treated Charlie like a favourite pet, and sometimes like a slave. He was an enigma, alternately fascinating and frustrating. Charlie wondered if he'd get the chance to understand him better before the month was up, or if he'd go back to his family as confused as he was now.
The soft susurration of McManus's breath was fanning over his chest every few seconds. He'd barely noticed it at first, but now the regular whisper of breath was teasing him, brushing over his skin and the scanty chest hairs, and causing a definite reaction in another part of his body. He smiled to himself. It wasn't as if a morning erection was an unknown in Charlie's experience - in fact, it featured heavily in most of the mornings in his life - but it was a little awkward to have a morning erection that was being made more... prominent with every minute, and not able to do anything about it.
He wriggled a bit, trying to move McManus's head so that he wasn't breathing over that patch of skin anymore, but McManus simply shifted his head a little, nuzzled into Charlie's neck and settled down again, with his breath now passing directly over Charlie's left nipple. It wasn't exactly an improvement.
Oh, well, he wasn't keen to move, anyway, not with his arse beginning to throb. It wasn't that McManus had been rough, but the KY jelly they'd bought at the chemist (the only lubricant available, unfortunately) wasn't as good as the stuff they usually used, with the result that he was a bit sore. He'd had worse, though, and survived it. And if he was lucky he'd be able talk McManus into accepting blow-jobs for the next couple of days.
He stared up at the ceiling as he remembered the night before, in the night club. All right, so he'd been teasing a little, he accepted that, but he still couldn't work out why McManus had got so riled up about it. All he'd done was ask him to dance, it wasn't as if he'd tried to kiss him or hug him or anything, and instead he'd had had a hissy fit and dragged Charlie off to the toilets for a quick and dirty blowjob.
But then, when they'd got back to the hotel, Charlie had given McManus the promised neck rub, and that had improved things considerably. McManus had responded like a kitten being petted - not that Charlie would ever tell him that, of course. But the sight of the fierce, snarky Scot rubbing his cheek against the bed sheet and making small sounds in his throat as Charlie kneaded the knots out of his muscles... that had been very appealing. He smiled at the thought, and hugged McManus a little tighter. And after that McManus had wanted to fuck him slowly, which had felt really nice at the time, but that bloody lube had started to dry out, and now he was going to be sore for a couple of days. McManus wasn't going to like that, and never mind that it was basically his own fault, so Charlie was going to have to improvise. Adapt and overcome, that's what his Dad always said.
At that moment, McManus stirred and rolled over onto his back, relieving Charlie of one problem, at least. He drew his arm out slowly and massaged the sore tendons. Odd how his skin felt suddenly cold without McManus's body heat. Still, it meant he could get up and get himself sorted without worrying about keeping anyone waiting. That had to be an improvement.
He eased his way out of the bed and padded into the bathroom. He decided to forego the shave for this morning, and turned on the shower instead. He washed himself quickly, wanked himself slowly (the thought of McManus sucking his cock was just as powerful an image this morning as a few days ago) then rinsed and stepped out, grabbing one of the soft fluffy towels.
The hotel toiletries included a toothbrush, which he used with enthusiasm, then regarded with some consternation when he realised that there was only the one brush provided. Not that it bothered him, precisely - he'd ingested McManus's body fluids quite a few times now, so a bit of saliva wouldn't bother him - but he wasn't sure how McManus would view the same situation. After all, they hadn't exactly swapped spit yet.
Yet?
He rinsed the toothbrush thoroughly under the tap and left it to dry. If McManus wanted a brand new one, they'd ring for room service.
He stepped out of the bathroom and found McManus awake, sitting up in bed and yawning. "Sorry," he said automatically, "I didn't mean to wake you."
"That's OK. Have to get up anyway." McManus got out of bed and stretched. Charlie tried to suppress a smile at the obvious tentage in the navy-blue boxers, but McManus saw it anyway, grabbing the towel around his waist and pushing him back on the bed. Charlie drew his knees up, letting them fall outwards so that he was on display for all the world to see.
McManus certainly appreciated the view, judging from the predatory smile that came over his face. "Grab that lube, lad, and roll over," he said, dropping the towel on the floor and stepping out of his underwear, revealing a healthily-restored morning erection.
Charlie looked at McManus's cock - he swore it was larger than yesterday - and remembered why he wasn't so keen on this right now.
"Umm," he mumbled, sitting up but making no move for the lubricant. "Would you let me suck you off instead?" he asked. "You see... the thing is... I'm still a bit sore from last night. That lube isn't as good as the one you have at home. And we've got a couple of hours in the car yet, so I'm just not so keen on being fucked this morning."
"Are you telling me what to do?" That dangerous note was back in McManus's voice.
"No, not at all," Charlie answered, hurriedly. "Just asking, and explaining why. Your choice."
McManus cocked his head to one side as he thought about it, but nodded and sat down on the bed, his knees splayed. "Aye, all right, then. But make it a good one."
"I will," promised Charlie, getting up and moving to stand in front of McManus. His own erection was at a right-angle from his body and was not too far from McManus's face. He firmly put aside the thought that McManus might one day suck his cock (Oh, please!) and sank to his knees, gracefully.
He did his best to make it a good one, and McManus seemed more than satisfied when, after nearly fifteen minutes of teasing and skilful use of Charlie's mouth and fingers, he gave a deep groan and climaxed.
It was a full minute before McManus even moved, and even then it was only to look at his watch. "What time's check-out?" he asked.
"Ten, I think." Charlie replied, pulling on his trousers.
"Ach, we'd better get a move on." He made an abortive attempt to rise, then flopped back onto the bed. "I don't think I can get up, though." He held an arm out and Charlie pulled him to his feet, laughing as McManus overbalanced a little and had to be steadied in Charlie's arms. Charlie felt the laughter fading as they stood in an embrace more intimate than anything they had yet shared - chest to chest, their faces only a bare inch apart. For several seconds neither of them could move, and Charlie had a sudden desire, just for a moment, to kiss McManus on the lips. Then McManus turned away, murmuring, "I'll have a shower and get dressed, then," and the opportunity was lost.
Charlie stood in the middle of the room for a few seconds longer, thinking about the moment just past. Could he have kissed McManus? What would his reaction have been? Would he have pushed him away? Would he have kissed him back? Would he have slid his arms around Charlie and pulled him close? Would he...?
He wrenched his thoughts away from the dangerous path they were heading down, and set about retrieving his clothes. He was getting quite good at not thinking about things lately.
When McManus returned from his shower there was a fresh cup of tea waiting for him, complete with milk and sugar. Charlie was standing by the window, looking down into the streets of Birmingham. It wasn't a very enticing prospect, and Charlie was glad they'd be leaving soon.
McManus swallowed the tea with enthusiasm, but no thanks, which Charlie thought was pretty typical. He deliberately didn't watch as McManus got dressed, though he did catch a glimpse or two in the large wall mirror. Dangerous or not, the man was still pretty fit, still very easy on the eyes.
A few minutes later they made their way down to the reception desk. There was a different clerk on this morning, and he asked if they had any luggage to be taken care of.
"No, thanks, it's already in the car," said McManus quickly, not wanting to go through potentially-embarrassing explanations again.
"That's fine." The clerk quickly printed out the receipt. "I hope you enjoyed your time here and will stay with us again the next time you're in Birmingham."
"We’ll do that."
McManus went to put his credit card back in his wallet, but dropped it. Charlie knelt down immediately and picked it up, then offered it up with a flourish of the wrist, and a knowing grin, still on one knee. He knew he looked ridiculous, but he couldn't help it. And it had nothing to do with wanting to please McManus - it was just common courtesy, that was all.
McManus couldn't help smiling. He took the card from Charlie's hand, shaking his head and muttering, "Get up, ye eejit." He put the card away before turning to the exit. "Come on then, or I'll leave you behind," he called out as he walked away.
Charlie brushed a little dust off his trousers and smiled winningly at the bemused clerk before following McManus out of the door.
* * *
With McManus at the wheel and Charlie holding the street map, it wasn't long before they'd negotiated their way back to the main road and soon after that they were on the M6 heading back north.
"So... what are the plans for the rest of the weekend?" asked Charlie as they passed Junction 10.
McManus shrugged. "Haven't really thought about it. I'll have to go into the office for a while when we get back, then... don't know. Might go for a run. Haven't been out for a while."
"Wouldn't have figured you for a runner."
"Oh aye?
"I don't know... I guess it's just not something you think of gangst- I mean... people like you... doing-" Too late, Charlie realised that he'd said the wrong thing again. "Oh fuck."
McManus nearly exploded. He pulled over to the side of the road, swerving to avoid a flashy red Saab which tried to sideswipe him, and stopped the car.
"Now listen here, Charlie P-pace. I may do things that are on the shady side of the law, but I'm not a g-gangster. I've never been in a fucking g-gang and nor has my Da. Got that?"
Charlie nodded, a little frightened by the ferocity in McManus's eyes and the return of the stutter, which he hadn't heard for several days.
"I'm sorry. Was a stupid thing to say."
"But you think it, don't you, eh, lad?"
Charlie nodded, reluctantly, looking down.
McManus grabbed his chin and forced Charlie to look at him while he spoke.
"I'm not a gangster. I'm a m-moneylender, got it?"
Charlie tried to nod, but couldn't move.
McManus continued, spitting the words out with all the venom of an angry cobra. "Yes, I beat people up when they default on their debts. Sometimes I have to be a bit creative when people don't want to pay me back." He smiled that mirthless, shark-like grin and Charlie felt cold all over. "I don't want to have to show you how creative I can be, Charlie. Do you want that?"
Wordlessly, Charlie shook his head as far as he could, while still imprisoned in McManus's steel-like grip.
"Then I take it I can trust you to keep a better watch on your mouth, eh?"
Charlie attempted another nod, wincing as McManus's fingers tightened. McManus was staring straight into his eyes, so close he could see every detail of his irises, see all the different colours that made up that incredible green.
"Can I trust you, Charlie?"
"Yes," he whispered, the pressure around his jaw making it difficult for him to speak.
"Good."
Finally, McManus let him go, and Charlie gasped for breath, gingerly rubbing the tender spots on his jaw.
McManus straightened up and leaned back into the car seat, his eyes closed. His hands had returned to the steering wheel, and his fingers were curled around the plastic. Even so, Charlie could discern the faint tremor in the whitened knuckles, and he cleared his throat. "Do you want me to drive?" he asked, trying not to let his voice sound too croaky.
"No, I'm fine." He started the car and revved it angrily.
Charlie waited for McManus to put the car in gear and drive off, but he was just sitting there, staring through the windscreen, not moving.
"Are you sure?" Charlie asked a little hesitantly, not knowing how McManus would react.
After a long silence, McManus said "I'm fine." He certainly sounded a little calmer, and Charlie wondered if he'd been doing some sort of meditation exercise in the silence. He put the car in gear and started rolling down the road, until he could ease the car into a gap in the traffic.
There were no further arguments during the trip - mainly because McManus turned the CD player on and turned the volume up, effectively removing any chance of conversation. Charlie concentrated on the countryside that he hadn't really seen the previous evening.
The journey home was a lot faster than the trip south, and they made it to the Manchester city centre by eleven fifteen. McManus pulled up outside the office and they got out of the car. Charlie caught McManus's eyes flickering to the marks on his chin and throat.
"So..." Charlie said casually. "You going to be in the office for a while?" He stuck his hands in his pockets, wondering if McManus had forgotten the outburst in the car.
McManus looked up at the office building with distaste. "No, not today. I'll sort it all out on Monday." He looked at Charlie's shirt with its mismatched buttons, and sighed. "You look a right mess, lad."
Charlie looked down at his clothes. The shirt was a bit crumpled, but that could hardly be helped since last night's trip hadn't exactly been planned. "I'll go home and change, if you want."
"Do you have anything better at home?"
Charlie shook his head slowly. "Not what you'd call better, anyway." He shuffled his feet on the pavement as he waited for McManus's decision.
McManus looked at his watch, then ran a hand through what little hair he had.
"Come on," he said, as he strode off towards Piccadilly. "I can't stand looking at that shirt any more."
Ten minutes later, they walked into Debenham's and headed for the menswear section.
"You don't have to do this for me, you know," Charlie said, in a low voice. "It's not like I'm your boyfriend, or anything. You don't have to buy me clothes."
McManus scowled. "You're not my boyfriend. You're..." he hesitated for a moment, "you're an associate. And I don't associate with people who look like they dress out of Oxfam shops."
"I don't -" Charlie tried to object.
"You do. And don't tell me you don't like to dress up when you can afford it - those leather trousers must have cost you a quid or two."
"Yeah, they did - that was last summer. We did six gigs in two weeks - it was awesome. I'd been wanting them for-"
McManus waved away the details. "I won't be spending that much on you today, so don't go thinking I'm going to spoil you. It's not going to be Armani, just something that looks a little better than T-shirt and jeans."
They wandered around the racks of clothing. Charlie noted, with relief, that McManus steered clear of pinstripes and formal trousers, concentrating on plain button-down shirts and dark-coloured slacks that could be dressed up or down.
"Do you know what size you are?" McManus asked, holding up two pairs of navy slacks.
Charlie looked down at himself. "Not sure. Seems to change every time I buy something. I think I'm still growing."
McManus held up a couple of pairs of trousers against Charlie's back and muttered to himself. He made a few more selections from the shirts and slacks on display and headed for the fitting rooms.
"Are you going to come in with me?" Charlie asked, feeling a little nervous.
"Don't be daft. Put on one of the shirts and a pair of trousers and then come out so I can have a look."
"OK."
In fact, it turned out to be surprisingly easy. Charlie tried the clothes on and came out of the cubicle, whereupon McManus would pronounce judgement, and Charlie would go and change. It took a mere fifteen minutes for McManus to choose the ones he liked, and, to Charlie's relief, none of them were totally repulsive. The shirts were a bit plain, but with the sleeves rolled up and buttons undone, they weren't bad. At least he didn't look like a corporate lackey, like Liam did in his cheap pinstripe suit.
They walked out of the store a few minutes later, Charlie carrying two large bags with the new purchases. He was still reeling from the way McManus had calmly paid out over two hundred pounds in cash for three shirts, two pairs of slacks, a belt, and a three-pack of briefs he'd thrown in at the last minute. To Charlie, that was five weeks'-worth of dole money, or as much as the whole band made on a good night, and McManus handed it over as if it were pocket change.
The day had turned quite warm and McManus insisted on stopping for an ice-cream on the way back (pistachio for him, double chocolate chip for Charlie). They wandered through the streets in a companionable silence, looking at the shop windows and listening to the voices around them. Charlie finished his ice-cream first and was looking around for a rubbish-bin when McManus's phone rang. He took the half-eaten cone that McManus was holding out to him and stood patiently while McManus took out his mobile.
"Rory McManus... Aye, David, what can I do for you?" McManus's tone was brisk and business-like. "Is that right? Oh, it's no bother. These things happen... aye, I could. About four?... Aye, I'd like that. OK, I’ll see you there." He put the phone away, retrieved his ice-cream, and started walking down the street. "Looks like I'll be in the office this afternoon after all," he sighed.
"What do you want me to do?" asked Charlie.
"Oh, you can go home, if you want," said McManus, carelessly. "I'll be busy this evening."
"What about tomorrow?"
"I'll give you a ring. Oh," he added, obviously having just remembered, "it's Sunday isn't it? Lunchtime with the family Pace."
Charlie flushed. "You don't have to make fun of it."
"Don't get your panties in a twist, kid. Family's important."
Charlie nodded, but didn't say anything.
McManus considered his weekend plans for a few more minutes then said, "I'll expect you at the flat at seven o'clock tomorrow evening."
Charlie nodded while he tried to remember the various permutations of bus and train timetables. "I'll be there."
"Don't be late."
"I won't."
They reached the office block a couple of minute later and parted ways: McManus went into the building and Charlie continued on to the bus stop, swinging the bags in his hands and humming a tune under his breath.
Things had definitely changed overnight, he mused. He wasn't going to kid himself that the rest of the month was going to be a piece of cake - he knew McManus would have a few unpleasant surprises for him - but on the other hand, he could tell that McManus was interested in him - Charlie Pace - in who he was and what he did and what he looked like and what he thought about things. That was more than could be said for some of the people he knew.