Chapter Text
This is fine. Everything is absolutely fine.
Yes, it’s three pm and I’m already slightly drunk. Yes, the clothes on my back and the phone in my pocket are all I have in the world and yes, I’m technically homeless.
But it could be worse! At least I have—
“Richard!”
He opens the front door to his townhouse (after I’ve pounded on the door several times), but the moment he sees it’s me, he quickly comes out, pulling the door closed behind him and looking over my shoulder as if I’d been followed.
He practically hisses at me. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
I smile, I hope it doesn’t look as desperate as it feels. “I wanted to see you! I have fantastic news!”
He frowns, keeping his voice low. “And what news is that, Montague?”
“He kicked me out.” His brow furrows. “I know! Finally!”
“Your father kicks you out all the time…”
“Ah yes, but I think this time it’s rather more definitive.” I smile again. I’m starting to feel a little hysterical. “Wouldn’t even let me come home to get my things! Brilliant, isn’t it?”
Richard stares at me. “What did you do?”
“Nothing!” He blinks. “Nothing… worth mentioning! Look, can I just come in?”
He pauses, then folds his arms. “I don’t think you should.”
I frown. “Come on, darling. Bit cold out here.” I step closer to him, tilting my head and biting my bottom lip. “I’ll make it worth your while?”
He looks down at my lips, hesitating, then looking back up at me, shaking his head. “Darcy is here.”
I pull a face. “Who’s Darcy? Get rid of her.” I motion to myself. “I’m a free agent now, Richard. All yours.”
Just let me stay here and you can do whatever the fuck you want to me.
“Darcy is my girlfriend, Henry.”
I flinch. Both at that admission and at the use of my first name.
“Oh, her.” I shrug. “I’ll come back later then?”
“This isn’t getting through to you, is it?” He glances around again, before leaning closer to me and talking through gritted teeth. “This is over. I’m engaged.”
I swear my stomach actually sinks.
“Engaged?” Fuck, fuck, fuck. “Since when?”
“Since yesterday, actually.” He says, smugly. “I asked her. She said yes. It was all terribly romantic.”
“Yesterday? Was that before or after you had your lips wrapped around my co—“
“Fucking ssshh!” He looks backward, in case the door has somehow swung open of its own accord. “What my lips do is no longer any of your concern.”
My stomach somehow sinks even further.
“You’re ending this?”
“Oh come on, Monts…” He whispers, in his best ‘Now, now. Let’s not make a scene’ voice. “We were only messing about. It’s time to grow up.”
Oh fuck. Oh god. This was one of my last resorts and he’s— oh Jesus Christ I’m being dumped by Richard Peele. My self esteem has taken an absolute battering today already, but this?
The worst thing is I actually did want to see him. Yes, he’s a prick. But the thought of some mindless, no small-talk needed fucking right now was the only thing keeping me going. And now I can’t even have that.
“You know what?” I scowl, praying I look angry and not just gutted. “Fine. I have plenty of other options.”
He smiles. An unpleasant little smile that twists his (annoyingly) handsome face into something very ugly indeed.
“I’m sure you do, Henry.”
“Dick, darling!” A very delicate voice sounds from behind the door and Richard jumps out of his skin. “Who’s there?”
He hisses at me. “Shoo.”
He actually just shooed me.
He opens the door just enough to slip through and I hear him mumble, “Just someone trying to sell something, sweetheart. Don’t worry your pretty little head.”
Then the door closes and I’m standing on Richard Peele’s doorstep, with a pathetic look on my face and nowhere else to go.
No. There must be somewhere. Someone else that will at least let me crash for the night. I grab my phone, scrolling through my contacts and… ah! Sinjon! Lovely Sinjon with his lovely blue eyes and his lovely penchant for tying me to his headboard with his necktie. I mean, sure he told me he wanted something more serious, and sure I immediately ran for the hills, but he wouldn’t turn me away! He’s a good person!
I open my Uber app and punch in his address, when a message pops up.
Payment method not accepted.
Oh no. Noooo, no no no. He can’t have. Surely. Not this quickly.
I switch to my online banking app and my suspicions are confirmed when I try to log in and I’m faced with the following:
The owner of this account has revoked access. If you believe this is a mistake, please contact Customer Services on…
I sink to the floor, dropping arse-first onto the kerb with a thud. He did it. I’m cut off. No more empty threats.
I stare down at my phone screen, jumping when a teardrop hits the screen. I didn’t even know I was crying. Make sense, I suppose. As my entire life is ruined and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it.
I sniff, wiping my face and digging through my pockets. Surely I have a little cash. Something for a bus perhaps. Where do I even find a bus? Is there a number to call?
My fingers clasp around a note and I pull it out. A fifty. Yes. I can call a regular taxi, get to Sinjon. Have some left for dinner and—
I find a pub. After two more drinks I decide this was definitely the best decision I’ve ever made.
I’m sat at the bar, nursing my third gin and tonic (a double of course) as the pub slowly starts to fill up with the usual evening crowd. I glance around, assessing the scene.
There’s a group of women sat at a table, seemingly on a work night out as they’re all in office gear. They’re attractive, a couple of them particularly so. A blonde woman with deep red lips glances over at me, giving me a lingering look (who can blame her), and I tilt my head, considering it. It’s tempting. Buy her a drink. Sneak her into the back. Stick a hand up her skirt. It would certainly be a nice distraction.
I think I consider it for a few seconds too long however, as she gives me a slightly irritated look, before turning back to her friends and taking a big swig of her wine.
Fine. Not her. I think I’m in more of a boy mood anyway.
There’s a redhead at the other end of the bar. He’s freckled and bearded and muscled. He looks like a lumberjack, right down to his plaid shirt and clompy boots. I catch his eye and he immediately reddens, looking away again. Perfect.
I’m about to stand up and head over to him when someone slides into the stool next to mine.
“Can I get you another?”
Well that voice is rather… stirring. I turn to look and well— that voice pales in significance to the face it came from.
The man sitting next to me is brown-skinned, also freckled, in a far more subtle way. The freckles are most obvious under his eyes, which by the way are gorgeous— a deep, chocolate brown with golden specs. He has long, dark curls which are scraped into a bun at the back of his head.
He’s fucking beautiful. Lumberjack is instantly forgotten.
I manage to feign indifference, motioning to my drink. “I’ve barely started this one.”
He frowns. “Ah. Yes. Well—“
“But it’s always nice to have a back up?”
His face lights up slightly. “Absolutely.”
He leans over the bar, trying to get the barmaid’s attention and I take the opportunity to take in the rest of him. He’s wearing a dark green suit, and not just a standard run-of-the-mill, ‘boss says I have to look the part’ suit. It’s a three piece and by the way it clings to him so perfectly, I’d say it’s been tailored. He smells expensive too, like bergamot.
He orders me another of what I’m having, and a scotch for himself. I can tell he’s already had a couple— which is good. I hate being the only drunk one in a flirty conversation, makes me feel like a sleaze.
He sits back, sipping his drink and looking at me. I raise an eyebrow.
“Thank you. For the gin.”
“You’re welcome.” He smiles. It’s a very sweet smile. “Are you having a good night?”
“Fantastic. But my day has been so bloody awful, drinking alcohol was always going to be favourable in comparison.”
“Oh dear. That bad?” He puts the drink down and leans on his hand. I quickly look for a wedding ring (not that it would stop me), but there’s nothing on that finger, just a few decorative rings that are oddly attractive.
“Yes. But I don’t want to talk about it.” I grin. “Distract me.”
“I was hoping I was already doing that.” He straightens up, holding out his hand. “Percy.”
I shake it. “Monty.”
“Like Withnail and I?”
“Like Montague.”
“Ah.” There’s a glimmer of recognition at the name, which makes my heart sink slightly. My father is well known in these parts, and rarely for good reasons. “Nice to meet you, Monty.”
He holds my hand for just a smidgen too long, before he lets go and picks up his drink again.
“I’ve not been here before. Do you come often?”
“No. My uh— a friend lives nearby.” I don’t think Richard has ever been a friend. But ‘man I hate but I really enjoy sleeping with’ doesn’t quite have the same ring to it.
“Lucky them.”
He has a certain manner to him that’s making me feel a little fuzzy. Vaguely shy, yet confident in himself. Or perhaps the fuzziness is down to the gin.
“You look slightly out of place.”
He frowns at me.
“I don’t mean it in a bad way! You just look… too high-end for a place like this.”
He laughs. “High-end? That makes me sound like an escort.” He pauses. “Or an expensive television.”
“Well, I didn’t mean to imply either. It was a compliment.”
“Well, in that case… thank you.” He smirks. “You don’t really fit in here, either.”
“Oh, really?” I smirk back. “Too high-end?”
“Too beautiful.”
Are fainting couches still a thing? If so, fetch me one. For I almost swoon.
I stare at him and he blushes slightly. “Sorry. That was so cheesy.”
“I’ve heard cheesier. And either way, it totally worked on me.”
He blushes even harder. “That’s good news.”
I stare at him for a while longer, seeing if I can get that blush to deepen another level, then I grin.
“Do you fancy some shots?”
Someone is finally smiling down on me today. I came into this pub hoping for a distraction and this is what I was presented with— a beautiful man with a gold American Express card and seemingly no qualms about using it.
He buys us shots of Patron, then the most expensive bottle of champagne on the menu. We’re halfway through that when things start to feel a little blurry around the edges, in an entirely pleasant way.
We’ve gradually moved closer together, and now my knees are slotted in between his. When he speaks, I feel his breath against my cheek.
“What brought you here tonight, Monty?”
“I told you. I had a bad day.”
“Have I improved it?”
“Immeasurably. But I know a way it could get even better.”
He raises an eyebrow at me, looking slightly flustered. I smirk, before leaning back.
“Another round of tequila?”
He laughs, knocking his knee against mine. “Absolutely not. You’ll keel over.”
“I am still very much upright, thank you very much.” I take a sip of my champagne. “I have a very strong constitution.”
“Evidently.”
He hesitates, then leans in closer to me. I can’t help but do the same, it feels almost involuntary, like we’re magnetised.
“May I kiss you?”
And Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I nearly fall off of my stool. I don’t think anyone’s ever asked to kiss me before. I’m so taken aback that for a moment I just blink. His face falls, and he pulls back, but I shake it off just in time to reach out and grab his chin.
“Yes. Please do.”
He looks relieved. Then he kisses me.
He’s as good of a kisser as I’ve been imagining for the last couple of hours. It’s a soft, but deep kiss. His hand makes its way onto my thigh and I melt, leaning into him. Suddenly I can’t remember what it was I came in here to forget. It seems my distraction plan has been a great success.
He pulls away and to my slight embarrassment, I whimper slightly. He takes a breath, looking as flustered as I feel.
“Come home with me.”
It’s not a question this time. All of the blood immediately leaves my head.
God. Yes. Absolutely. Take me home. Absolutely ruin me. I’m begging you.
I give what I hope is a nonchalant shrug. “Okay.”
Percy makes a call and within five minutes, a car arrives outside the pub. It’s most definitely not an Uber. In fact, I can’t entirely tell in the dark, and with this much alcohol in my system, but I’m eighty percent sure it’s a bloody Rolls Royce.
Percy opens the door for me, and I immediately find myself hoping that he’s less of a gentleman in bed.
I climb in, and he follows me. I look up and realise the driver can’t see us, and the moment we pull away, Percy pounces. He pins me against the door of the car by the lapels of my jacket and kisses me. Hard.
I’m drunk. But so is he. And god, I need this. Judging by the way he’s pulling my shirt out from the belt of my trousers and sliding his hands up to my bare chest already, making me gasp— he needs this too.
We don’t go any further than kissing and groping in the car, but by the time the car stops ten minutes later, we’re both half-hard and panting slightly. He begrudgingly pulls himself away, wiping his mouth and trying to fix his clothes before sliding back over and opening the door on his side.
If it wasn’t for the telltale sign in his trousers, (that he’s trying and failing to conceal) you’d barely been able to tell anything happened. He steps out and I slide out after him, running a hand through my hair, but I know it’s already beyond saving. I close the door and stand on the pavement, watching as he leans into the front window.
“Thank you, Alistair. I’ll see you tomorrow at one.” He says, as casually as he can muster, to the driver who smirks at him, before nodding and driving away.
“Nice.” I say, and he turns to me. “Very James Bond.”
“James Bond can drive,” he responds with a sheepish smile. “I never bothered to learn.”
“I’m sure you were busy learning other skills.”
He shrugs. “I guess you’re about to find out.”
I press him against the door, and, bless him, he tries his absolute best to unlock it without taking his lips away from mine. Unfortunately it seems to be some sort of overly complex security system— all key codes and fingerprint ID— and he has to give up, huffing and turning away so he can see it properly. I step up against his back, gently nipping at the skin exposed on his neck and he shivers, finally getting the door open.
We stumble inside, and I briefly glance around at my surroundings. Is this… a hotel? I gathered we were going back to his house, but this place is huge. The entrance hall is almost as big as the pub we just left.
I don’t have time to think about it for much longer, as Percy is on me again— kissing me, sucking on my bottom lip until I groan, and wrapping his arms around my waist.
He speaks against my mouth. “Tell me what you want.”
I frown. “I… whatever you’re up for, darling.”
“No.” He moves his hands to my hair, pulling away to give me a serious look. “Tell me. What do you like?”
Well—shit. This is new. I like… sex? Orgasms? What am I even meant to say here?
“I’d…” I shrug. “I could blow you?”
From the look on his face, that wasn’t the answer he was expecting. But he has momentarily stopped breathing. So I guess he’s pretty up for it.
“Okay. Yes. Let’s… you can do that.”
I grin. “Lovely.”
I back him into the nearest surface, which in this case is an antique table displaying several plants in expensive looking vases. He briefly glances down at where we’ve ended up, frowning, but then I slide a hand between his legs and he closes his eyes, sighing and immediately forgetting about the expensive damage we're potentially about to cause.
I start to stroke him through his trousers, watching the muscles in his cheek start to twitch. I stop to undo his belt and he bites down on his lip to stifle a petulant whine at the loss of contact. I get the belt undone, then his flies, then his zipper, and I slowly pull down his trousers, bringing his boxers down with them.
He finally opens his eyes, looking at me. His pupils are completely blown, and his breath is coming out in short, irregular puffs. I lock eyes with him as I go to my knees, and he slides his hands into my hair. I take him into my mouth and he groans, his fingers tightening in my hair so hard that I feel my scalp tingle. I work him slowly, deeply, my hands gripping his hips.
He moans, and I look up at him. He’s biting his lip, looking flushed. It's a gorgeous sight, and I hum contentedly, taking him even deeper, making him gasp.
“Fuck. Monty. Your mouth.” He strokes my hair, more gently this time. “You’re amazing.”
I frown slightly, suddenly wondering if he wants me to stop and thank him for the compliment. I shake it off, starting to pick up my pace, then he gently taps on my shoulder. I pull off, wiping my mouth and looking up at him.
“What is it?”
He pulls me up so that we’re face to face. He looks wrecked, but he kisses me gently. “I was…. I was too close. I don’t want to finish yet. I want to make you feel good, too.”
I smile. This man is ridiculous.
“We can always go again after, you know.”
“Yes, but…” He swallows, staring at me.
I slide my hands up his chest, leaning my head against his and smirking. “Tell me what you want.”
He hesitates, then kisses me. Hard. I gasp as he picks me up, and I immediately wrap my legs around his waist, almost involuntarily.
He carries me, effortlessly, and fuck, it’s so hot. Being carried around like I weigh nothing at all. We keep kissing, and I grind against him, suddenly feeling needy and so turned on I can barely keep it together.
Before I know it, he’s carried me into another room and with a thud, I’m dropped onto a couch (an extremely comfortable one). A pillow falls into my face and I toss it out of the way immediately so that I can look up at him.
He looks at me with an intense focus. His lips are red and swollen, his cheeks are flushed. He pulls his trousers and boxers the rest of the way off, then his jacket, and starts clumsily undoing the buttons on his waistcoat.
I laugh. “Not as sexy when you actually have to get it off, is it?”
He pouts, finally shedding the waistcoat, then impatiently ripping off his shirt. I stop laughing. He’s a fucking adonis. V-cut. Abs. Perfectly sculpted arms. I want to eat him.
He’s looking at me like the feeling may be mutual.
I pull off my shirt too, tossing it onto the floor. I’m certainly not as chiselled as he is, but I’ve never had any complaints. He drags his eyes across my body, and I feel a tingle up my spine.
“Well?” I say, raising an eyebrow. “You still haven’t told me what you want.”
He takes a deep breath, then climbs on top of me.
My trousers don’t stay on for long. Within minutes my legs are hitched over his shoulders, he’s grabbed a bottle of lube from the cabinet next to us and he’s working me open. We’re both drunk, but he’s careful. So careful. And every touch and kiss is making my skin tingle.
“Tell me if I hurt you,” he says between kisses.
I groan, digging my fingers into his shoulders. Why is he being so considerate?
“Just fuck me.”
He blinks, surprised. “Yes?”
“Yes. Please.”
If I have to beg, I will.
I don’t have to beg. He scrambles around on the floor for his trousers, finding a condom in his pocket. After some brief drunken fumbling with the packet, he lowers himself back in between my legs and—
Oh my fucking god.
I moan. Embarrassingly loud. He looks at me in wonder, like I’m something special. Not just some drunken mess he picked up at a bar. I can’t stand it, so I kiss him.
He moves inside me slowly at first, both of us gasping. I nudge him, hinting for him to go faster, and he does, reaching for my hand and linking his fingers between mine, somehow keeping the moment tender even as things get more wonderfully rough.
“Is this—“
“Fuck.” He hits a spot inside me that makes my back arch up from the couch. I see spots.
“Is this good?”
Are you fucking kidding me?
“Percy—“ I choke out. “Don’t— mmm. Stop asking me just— just don’t stop.”
He doesn’t stop. I don’t want this to ever stop. I don’t want real life, just this gorgeous man fucking me forever until I’m not even capable of thinking.
He moves against me— steady and hard and focused, and I know I’m close. I curl my toes into the back of his thighs and he presses his mouth against my neck, kissing, sucking gently and then—
“God.” He mumbles breathlessly, muffled against my skin. “You’re gorgeous.”
I come with a loud gasp, my legs clenching around his waist so tightly that I’m momentarily worried I might be hurting him, but the pleasure is so intense I can’t bring myself to stop.
I needn’t have worried, as a couple of seconds later he follows me over the edge, his movements getting harsher and less controlled, his teeth scraping against my neck as he lets out a long moan and I—
Well.
Everything after that becomes somewhat of a blur. A wonderful, sweaty blur.
I wake up and it feels like my face is stuck to the pillow. With a start, I realise I have actually drooled. I pull my slightly crusty mouth off of the pillow and squint (my head is throbbing) as I lift my head up and look around the room.
The first thing I notice is the size of said room. I’ve slept in many strange places during my life, but this is a first— is that a…. a free standing bath tub? I didn’t even know that was a thing? Christ. This bedroom is the size of some of the bigger apartments I’ve woken up in. Who in the world did I go home with last night?
With a sigh, I manage to roll myself over and I notice that it’s not just my head that’s throbbing. I have muscles aching in places I didn’t even know I had muscles. I feel like I’ve partaken in an epic training session at the gym, whilst also downing ten tequila shots in quick succession. The latter may indeed be true, but the specifics of what I actually consumed last night is somewhat of a blur.
What I do remember is a man. Bergamot. The taste of champagne on his tongue. Of cocoa butter on his skin. And being piled onto a very comfortable couch for a frankly marvellous, albeit drunken, shag.
(I remember two marvellous shags in fact. Once we got to bed, where I thought we were going to have a casual spoon and a much-needed snooze— he ended up propping me up against the headboard, climbing into my lap and riding me until his eyes rolled back in his head. We didn’t stay awake long after that.)
I can hear the distinct sound of kitchen noises, and as the scent of something sweet hits my nostrils, my stomach churns. That sensation that’s completely unique to hangovers— desperate to eat but also knowing nothing will stay down for longer than thirty seconds.
I slowly drag myself up, then I notice that my boxers, or indeed any of my clothes, are nowhere in sight. Shit. Can’t very well roll up to breakfast at a stranger’s house completely billy bollocks, no matter what we got up to last night.
I wander over to what appears to be a huge wardrobe, although I can’t figure out how to get in it. I see what looks like a large switch, so I press it, and to my surprise, the doors slide slowly and silently open. Inside is the biggest collection of suits I’ve ever seen, all of them carefully wrapped up in separate bags to avoid damage. There’s a section of more “casual” wear (designer slacks and t-shirts) and then, thank God, some pyjamas. I grab what looks like the least delicate of a selection of robes, and pull it on. The sleeves hang over my hands but at least I’m covered up.
I press the button again and the wardrobe closes. This is…. well. I’ve seen wealth. I grew up around it. But my family’s is the old-fashioned kind of wealth. The traditional kind, where a sci-fi wardrobe would be considered “showy”. This place is, for want of a better word, cool. It has the kind of unique, elegant design that has probably been on the front page of a hundred design magazines.
Also, the carpet feels bloody amazing beneath my feet. Like it’s made of mink (although, for ethical reasons, I hope it isn’t).
I walk out of the bedroom, following the sounds and smells of the kitchen, and eventually, after what feels like miles of walking, I find it. This place really is huge.
He’s in there. He’s making pancakes. And he’s as handsome as I remember. All long limbs and curly hair that’s falling over his shoulders. He’s more dressed than I am, wearing actual pyjamas, which of course look unspeakably soft and luxurious.
I perch on a stool against the kitchen island and watch him, until he turns and notices I’m there with a start, dropping his whisk on the floor. “Shit!”
We both wince at the sound, then he gingerly bends down to pick it up.
“Hello.” He immediately blushes, avoiding eye contact. “I didn’t know you were up.”
“Yes, I think the smell of pancakes woke me. I thought that might have been your intention.”
“Not really. I just… fancied them. Plenty to go around though. There’s a fresh pot of coffee, too.” He looks at me again, frowning. “Is that my robe?”
“Oh. Yes. Sorry.” I gesture to myself. “I was a little bit naked, so I thought…”
“No, it’s fine!” He blushes, looking away again. It seems the confidence from last night was mostly alcohol-induced. This awkwardness, however, is no less enchanting.
I watch as he finishes the pancakes, grabbing some plates from a cupboard and laying them out for us. I pour myself a cup of coffee from the pot that’s been put on the counter and I cringe as he drops a fork. He’s very jumpy.
“You don’t…” He turns to me. “You don’t do this often, do you?”
He blanches. “Make pancakes?”
“No. Well… yes. But I meant this. Bring strangers home.”
“Oh.”
He turns away, dishing up the food and turning around, putting a plate down in front of me, then putting one down for himself. He pulls up a stool, sitting opposite me.
“I uh— I’m very busy. So I don’t really have time for… relationships. But sometimes I...” He trails off, eating a forkful of pancake.
“...need to get your leg over?” I suggest.
He chokes slightly. “That’s— that’s not how I was going to word it.”
“Well, don’t be embarrassed, darling! You needed to get laid, I needed a distraction, we both got what we were after. No harm done!”
“Yes. I suppose. I think I just… got a little drunker than usual. A little carried away. I’m sorry if I was a bit—”
“Oh, you weren’t a bit anything.” I happily shove some pancakes in my mouth, talking around it. “It was bloody fantastic.”
There’s the blush again. “Oh. It’s just… not like me.” He grimaces. “I don’t think I even told you my full name.”
I can’t even remember your first one, darling.
“Well. Now’s as good a time as any.”
“Newton.”
“Newton. Right.” I wait. “And that’s your…”
He glares slightly. “Last name. My first name is Percy.”
“I knew that! I didn’t know if Newton was just… a nickname. Percy Newton. Lovely to meet you.”
“I think we’ve very much already met…”
He has me there. After that, we sit in silence for a while, awkwardly eating (the pancakes are of course fantastic) and sipping our coffees. Eventually, Percy clears his throat.
“You never did tell me what happened yesterday that you needed distracting from.”
“Oh.” I poke at the rest of my food, suddenly feeling more nauseous than hungry again. “It’s uhm… you probably don’t want to hear about it.”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”
I pause, then nod. “I… did something. And as a result, my father has thrown me out. And it seems, has cut me off.” I push my plate away. “I’m going to guess my inheritance is pretty much off the table now, too.”
“Oh. Right. Montague. Your father is Henri?”
I nod. He grimaces.
“What was it that— what did you do, exactly?”
“Nothing. Really.” Nothing I’m willing to tell you about, beautiful stranger. “Silly stuff. Point is… I’m fucked.”
“I’m sure you’re not completely…”
“Oh no. I am. I have no money. I can’t even go home to get my things. My bank account has been shut down. I’ve never worked a day in my life so I don’t even know where to start with that.” I hesitate slightly. “And my… well. I thought he was verging on being a boyfriend. Anyway, he dumped me because he got engaged to a society girl. So I can’t even stay with him.”
Percy looks concerned. I hate it. “So you’re…”
“Homeless? Just a tad.”
Percy chews on his lip slightly, and I suddenly realise how this must sound.
“Oh god. I hope you don’t think last night was just…. fucking for roof.”
His eyes widen. “I’ve never heard that term. And that’s not what I was thinking.”
“Because I really did want to shag you. It’s just a bonus you live in a bloody… deluxe penthouse.” I sit back, sighing. “It’s fine. I have… marketable skills. I could start an Only Fans! I had considered it in the past. Just for fun. I take excellent nudes. I may as well monetise that skill.”
“Or… you could just sleep here?”
I laugh. “Okay. Sure.”
“I mean it. I’m not going to have you… sleeping on the streets. Or ‘fucking for roof’. When there’s a perfectly decent solution.”
I frown. “You’re serious? You want me to— you want me to stay here? Like… stay stay here?”
“Yes? I mean… I work a lot, so it’s often empty. And it’s a big place so you may as well— I mean there’s plenty of room. And I don’t need any money from you.”
I gawp at him, trying to get my head around this. “You don’t even know me.”
“You’re just a lad. A reasonably nice lad. Having a rubbish time. It’s not a big deal.” He laughs slightly. “It’s not like you’re going to rob me.”
I pause, looking around the room. Christ I bet that painting just on its own is worth hundreds of thous—
“Oh god, are you going to rob me?”
I quickly look back at him. “Do I look like someone who shags people and then robs them?”
He pauses. “How offended will you be if I say yes?”
“Very, Percy.”
“Then… no. You don’t give off that impression at all.”
I narrow my eyes, then sit back, tapping my fingers on the counter.
He sips at his coffee.
“Percy… are you offering to be my sugar daddy?”
He spits out his coffee.
“No! Jesus!” He wipes the spilled coffee from his chin, regaining his composure. “I’m merely… I’m merely offering you an alternative to— to prostitution!”
“Prostitu—“ I laugh. “Darling! You have a very conservative view of OnlyFans. It would be dick pics at most.”
He stares at me. Like I’m some kind of particularly interesting piece of art he wants to bid on. Or like he’s deeply regretting the last twelve hours.
“Right. Well. Either way. I am not offering to… be that. I’m just trying to help you.”
“And I appreciate that. I do. But it’s— it does seem a little bit sleazy, doesn’t it? Considering we just…”
“Monty— I’m not offering you a place to stay in exchange for sex. I want to make that very clear. In fact…” He clears his throat. “If you do decide to stay, I’m taking that possibility off the table. You sleep in the guest room. No funny business. Otherwise it does begin to sound rather...unsavoury.”
Oh. I raise my eyebrows. “No funny business?”
He nods. “No funny business.”
“Then what’s in it for you?”
He thinks for a while. Then shrugs. “You could water my plants.”
“Do you often hire your one night stands as housekeepers?”
He scowls. It’s rather cute. “You know, I think this is a very kind offer. And you’re making me regret it.”
I pause, then smile. A big smile. I notice his eyes briefly shoot to my dimples.
“Okay. Yes. Thank you. But just for a couple of nights. Until I sort my… mess of a life out.”
“There’s no hurry. Really. You can stay until you find work. Or you find a friend to stay with. Or your father—”
“Oh no. Absolutely not. My father has washed his hands of me and honestly… I’m relieved.”
“Right. Well. However long it takes.”
I nod, trying to look serious. “Yes. Thank you, Percy.”
He stares at me as if he’s trying to figure me out. Then takes a breath, standing up.
“I’m going to take a shower.”
“Do you want company, or has the ‘no funny business’ rule started already?”
He pauses for a moment, considering, then nods. “Yes. It’s started already.”
Damn. A shower handjob is usually a good hangover cure. “Probably the right decision.”
He gives me a look, putting his plate by the sink, then takes a deep breath before walking out of the kitchen. I take the opportunity to check him out as he walks away, then as soon as he’s gone, I jump up, going into the living room and trying to find the trousers I was in last night.
I find them thrown over a side table and I dig my hand into the pockets, pulling out my phone, which thankfully still has ten percent battery. I pull up my browser and quickly type—
Percy Newton London
— into Google. I mumble as I read the first result to myself. “Percival Newton is a twenty-three-year-old property developer, originally from Brixton. His net worth is said to be approximately—” My jaw drops as I sit down on the sofa. “Jesus fuck.”