Archive of Our Own

Still Crazy After All These Years

~ January 1989 (Present Day) ~

Tom checked his watch, then looked around the living room to make sure it was presentable. It was, of course. He had spent the afternoon cleaning and tidying up, and the place had never been so spick and span. He was nervous, and Stu would undoubtedly be able to tell. But then no one made him as bloody nervous as Stu did.

He checked his watch again, then told himself to stop being so stupid. He was thirty-one years old and he was acting like a lovestruck teenager. It simply wouldn’t do.

When the doorbell rang, he jumped out of his skin, then considered smacking himself, and might have done, were it not for the fact that it would have meant greeting Stu with a red face. Or a redder one. He took a deep breath, then moved into the hallway. There was a flutter of excitement mixed in with the nerves, and he tried to focus on that as he opened the door and was greeted with Stu’s smiling face.

“Hi,” Stu said, and Tom’s heartbeat sped up at the simple word.

“Hi,” he echoed, mirroring Stu’s smile. “Come in,” he said, stepping back.

Stu moved into his space and proffered the bottle of wine he had brought with him. “You’ll note it isn’t chardonnay,” he said with a smirk that was reminiscent of his younger self.

“Amusing,” Tom said, before he directed Stu into the living room. “Take a seat. I’ll just go and fetch some glasses.”

He went into the kitchen and got a couple of wine glasses from the cupboard, his nerves still fluttering in his chest as he poured out the wine. Stu was in his home, at his invitation, and the air was thick with possibility, so thick he could almost taste it.

Stop waxing lyrical, he told himself, grabbing the glasses and heading back to the living room. Stu was sitting on the sofa, his head turned to peruse the books on the shelf above him, and Tom couldn’t help but smile to see how at home he looked.

He handed him a glass and took a seat beside him, then clinked his glass against Stu’s before he took a sip. “Mm. Not bad.”

“I know what you like, Tom,” Stu said, and it didn’t sound smug; it sounded fond, which was perhaps worse.

“Are you really flirting with me this early into the night?”

“Of course I am. It’s what we do.”

“It’s never played out well for us before,” Tom pointed out.

“No,” Stu conceded with a tilt of his head, “but this time’s different. We’re different.”

“Are we?” Tom asked, and he could tell that Stu had discerned the challenge in the question, although he wasn’t sure he had intended it to contain one.

Stu smiled – a truly genuine smile without the cockiness or the teasing it usually contained – and said, “Well, I can’t speak for you, Tom, but I’m not the same person I was when we first met. Which is a bloody good thing.”

“You weren’t that bad,” Tom said with a smile he couldn’t conceal.

“Yes I was. Hence why it’s taken us six years to get here.”

“And where exactly is ‘here’?” Tom asked.

“You tell me.”

“I’m not sure I know.”

“I need you to be sure, Tom. After all this time, all it’s taken to get us here, I need us both to be sure.”

“As easy as that?”

“I’m not sure I’d describe any of this as easy.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

~ November 1983 ~

A broken leg was not only painful, it was bloody inconvenient. The hospital staff weren’t much help, especially now Tom had been discharged and was officially off their hands, and so he was left to try and pack up his things while steadying himself precariously on his crutches. He had no idea how he was supposed to get home, but someone had mentioned a taxi rank a couple of streets over from the hospital, so he supposed that that was his best bet.

“Look at the state of you.”

Tom’s hand froze on its way to retrieve his book from the bedside locker, and he couldn’t decide whether he was happy or horrified to hear Dakin’s voice. He gingerly turned around and saw him leaning against the doorframe, arms folded, and the same cocksure expression on his face that Tom had come to expect.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, trying to ignore the quickening of his pulse, which always seemed to happen when Dakin was near.

“That’s not a very polite hello.”

“No,” Tom conceded. “Sorry. I just wasn’t expecting to see you. Here.”

“Well, where else would I be when you’re being discharged?”

“How did you know?” Tom asked, and Dakin gave him a self-satisfied smile.

“Friends on the inside,” he said, tapping the side of his nose. “So, shall we get you home?”

“Oh, there’s really no need. I can – ”

“What? Get the bus? Good luck with the crutches.”

“Someone mentioned a taxi rank.”

“There’s no need for that now, is there? I’m here. I’ve even borrowed a car for the occasion.”

“When you say ‘borrowed’ … ” Tom said, raising one dubious eyebrow.

“Do I look like a carjacker?” Dakin replied with an imperious tilt of his chin. “I’ve just got into Oxford, thank you very much.”

“As if I’d put anything past you.”

“You wound me. Now, come on. I don’t want to hang around here all day.” Dakin pushed himself off the doorframe and came to stand next to Tom’s bed. He grabbed the book that Tom had been about to pack and looked at it with a smile. “Well, I didn’t have you down for an Agatha Christie fan.”

Tom took it off him and slung it in his bag, saying, “We all need a little downtime sometimes.”

“I wasn’t judging. It’s very endearing. I like the thought of you curled up with a cup of tea and Miss Marple. Makes you human.”

“I thought I was human,” Tom said gruffly, embarrassed at being caught with comparatively lowbrow literature.

“Depends on the day,” Dakin said, before he leant over and zipped up the bag, then picked it up.

“I can manage,” Tom protested, but he knew it was pointless.

“Of course you can,” Dakin said, with a deliberately patronising smile. “Come on.”

He placed his hand in the small of Tom’s back and gave him a gentle push forward. Tom complied and limped out of the ward, unused to the crutches and feeling awkward and ungainly. To his surprise, Dakin kept his hand on his back as they made their slow and unsteady way out of the hospital. It was warm and firm, and it was equally as comforting as it was disconcerting.

They left the hospital and walked a couple of streets over to where Dakin had left the car he’d borrowed. Dakin slung Tom’s bag in the back, then carefully helped him to manoeuvre himself into the front seat, wedging his crutches in beside him. It was tight, but it was a damn sight better than the bus, and Tom was grateful, even though he was highly suspicious of Dakin’s motives.

“Where to, sir?” Dakin asked, sliding into the driver’s seat and starting up the car.

“Do you have to call me sir?” Tom asked, trying to get comfortable, which was a somewhat impossible task.

“What would you like me to call you?” Dakin asked, practically batting his eyelashes at him.

Tom sighed and said, “I live in Eccleshall. Dunkeld Road.”

“Ooh. Posh. Part-time teachers must earn more than I thought.”

“Just drive.”

It was a fifteen-minute drive from the hospital and they made it in silence. Tom had no idea why Dakin was there, why he had put himself to so much trouble, and yet again Tom found himself on the backfoot. It was a place he had been ever since he and Dakin had met, and he hated it. It always felt as though Dakin was one step ahead of him, and he constantly felt that he was somehow being mocked, which was horribly unsettling.

“This one here, at the end,” he said, as Dakin pulled onto his road.

“It’s bloody massive,” Dakin said, bringing the car to a stop.

“It’s subdivided into flats,” Tom said defensively. “As you pointed out, I am only a part-time teacher.”

“Well then, let’s get you inside.”

“You don’t have to – ”

“Let’s not argue,” Dakin said breezily, getting out of the car and retrieving Tom’s bag.

With a huff of resignation, Tom let himself be helped out of the car. There was no dissuading Dakin when he had his mind set on something, and Tom would only be wasting his breath if he tried. He limped up the path and spared a second to be grateful that his flat was on the ground floor before he extracted the keys from his pocket. He felt a flurry of nerves as he put the key in the lock and vaguely spared a moment to try and remember what state he had left the flat in.

He let them in and Dakin deposited his bag by the table by the front door. They both moved into the living room, and Tom levered himself down onto the sofa, his leg already aching, while Dakin wandered around with his hands in his pockets, and Tom felt horribly scrutinised.

“This place doesn’t feel much like you,” Dakin said eventually, picking up the newspaper that Tom had left on the coffee table.

“I’ve only been here for a few months.”

“Mm. It’s a bit dull.”

“Maybe it is like me then.”

Dakin tutted and said, “Hardly. You’re the very opposite of dull, sir. You didn’t get very far with this crossword, did you? Let’s see – fifteen across, ‘aggressive’, nine letters. Well, if your ‘livery’ is right, that must be ‘bellicose’. And – ”

“You’re not here to help me finish the Guardian crossword,” Tom said, quite unable to mask his discomfort.

“No,” Dakin said, chucking the paper back down on the coffee table. He looked at Tom for a moment, and Tom braced himself, wondering what Dakin would throw at him this time. Nothing seemed to be forthcoming, and instead Dakin wandered over to the record player and began thumbing through his collection of vinyls. “Quite an eclectic mix,” he said, and Tom found himself wondering what the verdict would be, and why he cared what Dakin thought about his taste in music.

“I like a broad variety of things.”

“So I see. A fair bit of classical. Who’s your favourite?”

Unsure of the game they were playing, but certain that they were playing one, Tom said, “Saint-Saens.”

Dakin looked over his shoulder at him with a sly smile and said, “He would be. And your least favourite?”

“Haydn. Too much brass for me. It sets my teeth on edge.”

“Mm, that makes sense. You’re so … gentle; I can see you not liking the more showy stuff. Probably rules Handel out as well, eh?”

“Since when do you know so much about classical music?”

Dakin put the records down and turned back around to face Tom. He leant against the table and folded his arms, saying, “Hector made sure we knew much more than what we needed to pass exams. He insisted on a rounded education.”

Feeling a jumbled mix of fondness and sadness, coupled with a jolt of pain in his leg that he was sure was psychosomatic, Tom said, “He told me all about the films, about making you learn George Formby. He called it calculated silliness. Something to temper the loftiness of academics.”

“Whatever his faults as a man, he was a good teacher. The funeral’s next week. Posner’s convinced us all to sing. Will you be there?”

“Of course.”

“Maybe afterwards we could go for that drink.”

“So that’s why you’re here,” Tom said, strangely relieved now they’d stopped dancing around the subject.

“Is that such a bad thing?”

“Dakin – ”

“My name’s Stu, for fuck’s sake. We’re not in the classroom now.”

“I think we’ll always be in the classroom.”

“What does that mean?” Dakin asked with a frown, and Tom thought how little the expression suited his face.

“We’re teacher and student,” Tom said, directing the comment to the plaster on his leg.

“We were. We’re not anymore.”

“No, but … ”

“But what?”

“But you’re nineteen,” Tom said, forcing himself to look back up at Dakin.

“So fucking what?”

“So I’m not.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re only twenty-five. To hear you talk, you’d think you were bloody Hector’s age.”

“I might as well be.”

“Bollocks,” Dakin scoffed.

“It’s true.”

“You were up for this before the accident. You had your little black book out and everything. What’s changed?”

Tom saw for the first time what a fool he had truly been. He had let himself be swept up with Dakin’s irreverence and devil-may-care attitude, and let himself believe that he could be that person too. But that wasn’t who he was. It had never been who he was, and despite Dakin’s disapproval, he was a careful man. He always had been.

“You’re too young,” he said eventually. “You were my pupil, and I was in a position of authority over you.”

“We’ve established that that’s no longer an issue.”

“No, but your age is.”

“Anyone would think I was fucking twelve! I’m a legal adult, for Christ’s sake.”

“Maybe so, you’re not an adult in the true sense of the word,” Tom countered.

“What? I’m not bored, disillusioned, fed up, a good little cog in the machine?”

“That’s a bleak view of adulthood.”

“Well, what do you mean? You’re talking nonsense.”

“Christ, Dakin – ”

“Stu,” Dakin insisted peevishly.

“Stu,” Tom parroted irritably. “You’ve only ever known school, the little word you inhabit. You’ve never lived outside of it. You’ve never worked, or paid taxes, or – ”

“Right, so for someone to sleep with you, they have to be an accountant?” Dakin asked disdainfully.

“That’s another thing. You’ve never been with a man before.”

“Says who?” Dakin said, but Tom could see the false bravado beneath the words.

He gave Dakin a hard look and said, “Well, have you?”

Dakin returned the look with a defiant tilt of his chin, then said, with obvious reluctance, “No. I haven’t. So what? Is it above you to deflower someone? I didn’t have you down as someone with such extreme kinks you needed a man of experience to get the job done.”

Tom grabbed one of his crutches and steadied himself on it as he pushed himself up off the sofa. He didn’t much relish sitting down while Dakin was standing, and he wanted to put them on a more even footing, even though the whole conversation felt unbalanced.

“I don’t know what you want, Dakin. Stu. More to the point, I don’t think you do, either.”

“You condescending bastard.”

“You’re as straight as a line, then all of a sudden I come along and, what? A switch flips in your head?” Tom asked, suddenly feeling the need to push the issue, an impulse he was sure he would regret.

“I would have thought you of all people could recognise that sexuality isn’t as linear as that,” Dakin said, and he looked as close to offended as Tom had ever seen him.

“Perhaps. Or perhaps this is all just a game to you. Perhaps you want to see how far you can push this.”

“Fucking hell, the ego on you,” Dakin spat. “You think I’d go to bed with a man just to prove a point?”

“I wouldn’t put anything past you.”

“So, now I’m willing to whore myself out for a bet?”

“I don’t know!” Tom shouted. “I don’t understand you. I don’t understand what any of this is about. You’ve been pushing my buttons since the day I met you and I don’t know why.”

“Well, we’ve gone from an ego to an inferiority complex. You think you have so few charms, Tom?”

It was the first time Dakin had called him by his first name, and it brought him up short. He wasn’t stupid. He knew Dakin was doing it to try and prove that they were equals, but it still had a profound effect on him.

“Cat got your tongue?” Dakin pressed. “So, which is it? You’re such a catch that I’ve put my apparent straightness to one side for you, or you’re such a loser that the only reason I could be interested would be as some kind of joke?”

“I don’t know,” Tom admitted quietly. “But I do know that you need to grow up.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Yes, it bloody well is.”

“Well, so do you, Tom. Because do you know what you are? You’re a scared little boy. You wouldn’t know how to get what you wanted if your life depended on it.”

“And you’re what I want, are you?” Tom returned hotly, and regretted the words the second they left his lips.

“Well, I guess not,” Dakin said with a humourless laugh. He gave Tom a look that Tom couldn’t quite interpret, and said, “This could have been something, you know.”

Tom sighed, feeling a dull, dirty ache in his leg, and said, “All it would have been is a very ill-advised one-night-stand. You’ve have fucked off to Oxford, and I’d have been left feeling like an idiot.”

“How very fucking apt,” Dakin said, before he pushed past Tom, and Tom heard the front door slam seconds later.

He released a shaky, trembling breath, and wondered what the hell had just happened.

~*~*~*~*~

~ June 1985 ~

The pub was crowded and hot, and Tom had had to use his elbows to get to the bar, which wasn’t the easiest thing when he had to use his cane as well. He’d scanned the crowd a couple of times for his producer, but so far he hadn’t caught sight of him. He would have been perfectly happy to have gone straight back to his hotel room, but Rob had been the one to persuade him to round off filming with a drink. So, there he was, alone in a pub in Oxford, and feeling like an idiot.

A feeling he was far too familiar with.

He made his way to a table in the corner and settled himself down with his rather vinegary wine. He reached into his satchel and extracted his notebook and pen, then began making notes on the next segment they were due to film in a week’s time. He wasn’t sure if he was any more suited to the role of TV presenter than he had been to the role of teacher, but at least he didn’t have to deal with bloody adolescents. The pay was also substantially better, as was the workload, and there was a certain amount of spurious glamour to the whole thing that played to Tom’s vanity.

“Hello, Tom.”

It wasn’t Rob’s voice. Whose voice it was should have come as a surprise to him, and yet it didn’t. He had been expecting it, one way or another, since setting foot in Oxford.

He turned around in his seat and found himself looking up at Stuart Dakin. Ignoring the pounding of his heart in his chest, he stood up and said, “Hello, Stu.”

He proffered his hand and Stu took it with a smile, giving it a shake, before he said, “Can I join you?”

“Of course,” Tom said, gesturing to the empty seat on the other side of the table. They both sat down, and Tom wondered if Stu felt as nervous as he did. Probably not, judging by the lazy smile on his face. Tom cleared his throat and said, “I … um … I’m here filming.”

“I suspected as much.”

“Have you seen the show?” Tom asked, surprised.

“Of course I have. We never miss an episode.”

“We?”

“Me, Don, and David,” Stu clarified.

“You still see each other then?”

“We share a house. We’ve almost finished our second year.”

“Yes, you must have,” Tom said softly, wondering at how quickly the time had passed. “How’s it going?”

Stu shrugged and said, “It’s going.”

“Aren’t you enjoying it?” Tom asked with a frown.

“Oh, sure. Well enough. But I get bored with parroting other men’s words and constantly having to prove my merit. I thought getting in was the hard part, but it wasn’t. It’s all the shit that comes after.”

“I’m sorry it isn’t everything you hoped it would be.”

“I wouldn’t say that, but … I don’t know … it’s been a wake-up call, I guess.”

“How so?”

“You don’t want to hear all this,” Stu said with a dismissive shake of his head, and for the first time since he’d known him, Tom thought he could discern a faint hint of embarrassment.

“I do,” Tom insisted gently.

There was an awkwardness between them, which was only to be expected, given how they had left things last time, but Tom couldn’t deny that there was some remnant of feeling on his part, although he couldn’t quite put a name to it.

Stu sighed and said with a somewhat resigned smile, “You were right. All I’d ever known was the little world I’d inhabited, and I’d been the king of it. At Cutlers’, I was a big fish in a small pond. Cock of the walk. I was clever and interesting and special. Then I came here, and so was everyone else. They’d all been top of their class, all been told how intelligent they were, but on top of that, most of them are wealthy. They’ve lived privileged lives, they’ve been places and done things that a working-class oik like me can only dream of. Do you know what it feels like to be a grammar-school lad from Sheffield in a place where most of your classmates have families that run the country? So, as well as fighting to prove that I’m just as clever as these pricks, I have to try and prove that I’m not an ignorant pleb.”

“You’re far from an ignorant pleb, Stu,” Tom said, a little surprised to hear that Stuart Dakin, of all people, was having a crisis of confidence. It shook his worldview somewhat, and he found himself hoping it passed soon.

“Well, that’s enough about me,” Stu said breezily, and Tom could tell that he was uncomfortable to have confessed so much. “What’s life like as a celebrity?”

“I’d hardly call myself that. I doubt anyone here could tell me apart from Adam.”

“Don’t be so modest. The show’s a big hit.”

“In its own circles, perhaps. I don’t think I’m going to be invited on Parkinson anytime soon.”

“Well, I like it. You look very handsome on camera,” Stu said, and the cocky smile was back, although it was tempered by something a little warmer.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Tom asked with fond exasperation.

“What? I’m not allowed to tell you I think you’re handsome? As if this is news to you. I bet you have a whole host of admirers. Do you get fan mail?”

“No,” Tom said, trying very hard to stop himself from smiling.

“Well, maybe they’re just shy. What about the ones in real life?”

“How do you mean?”

“Are you seeing anyone?” Stu asked, and Tom should have been prepared for the question, but it still caught him off-guard.

He bought himself a little time by taking a sip of his wine, which was bloody awful, then pushed his glasses up his nose and said, “No. Not presently.”

“What a waste,” Stu said with a wicked glint in his eye. “No one in the crosshairs?”

“Why do you care?”

“Why do you think?” Stu asked, and there was an obvious challenge in the question.

“I doubt very much whether you’ve given me a second thought,” Tom said, although a larger part of himself than he would care to admit hoped that that wasn’t the case.

“You’re not that stupid, Tom,” Stu said softly, and Tom felt quite thrown.

He cleared his throat and said, “What about you? I suppose you haven’t been living like a monk?”

“That’s Don’s area, not mine. There have been people. No one special. No one permanent.” Stu took a long draw on his pint, then leant back in his chair and gave Tom an appraising look as he said, “Go on. Ask me.”

“Ask you what?” Tom asked, although he was perfectly aware of the gauntlet Stu was laying down in front of him.

“Ask me,” Stu repeated, clearly in no mood to give any quarter for mercy.

Tom considered changing the subject so he could escape being drawn into this little game of Stu’s, but he wanted to know. He forced himself to keep his eyes on Stu as he said, “Have there been any men?”

The corner of Stu’s mouth quirked upwards in a triumphant smile, one that made Tom’s teeth itch, then said, “Yes. There have.”

“Oh,” Tom said, not quite sure what else he could say.

“So you see, it wasn’t a bet. Or a passing fancy. Or just about you. There have been men and there have been women, and I’ve enjoyed my time with both.”

“Well … I’m happy for you.”

“Are you?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Me neither,” Stu said with a sigh, and the smile slipped off his face. He nodded to Tom’s wine and said, “Stay for another?”

Torn between wanting to escape the awkwardness of the situation and not wanting to relinquish Stu just yet, Tom said, “Why not? It doesn’t look like my producer’s going to turn up.”

“So you’ll settle for me, hm? Same again?”

“No, it’s bloody awful. I asked for the house white, but I didn’t realise it was chardonnay. I’ll have a sauvignon if they have one.”

“Coming right up.”

Stu disappeared back to the bar, and Tom let himself exhale. It felt as though no time had passed at all since he had last seen that handsome face, and yet everything was different. After they had parted so badly, they had only seen one another again at Hector’s funeral, and they hadn’t exchanged a single word. Stu had pointedly ignored him, and Tom had been too cowardly to try and initiate anything.

He had regretted the way things had been left between them, but, annoyingly, he believed that he’d done the right thing. Stu had been too young, and things had been unequal between them. For anything to have happened would have been extremely ill-advised, but it didn’t mean that Tom hadn’t devoted a fair amount of mental energy to thinking about Stu since they had parted.

No one had ever got beneath his skin the way Stu had, and although it made him uncomfortable to admit, he had never been as attracted to anyone the way he was to Stu. Although he despised the term, there was no doubt that there was chemistry between them, and he couldn’t deny, not even to himself, that he had never felt as alive as he did when Stu was near.

“It’s like bloody Mardi Gras in here,” Stu groused, as he made his way back to the table with their drinks. “I don’t know why it’s so damn busy.”

“Is this a regular haunt of yours?” Tom asked, as Stu sat back down opposite him.

“One of them. I’ve had a few good nights in here. Good nights with good endings,” Stu said with a pointed smirk, and Tom tried to stamp down the spark of jealousy he felt.

“You’ve made your point,” he said, trying to keep the bite from his voice.

“Have I?”

“I’m sure you have, if only I knew what point you were making.”

“Well, these are fun little circles we’re going around in, aren’t they?”

“Stu,” Tom said warningly.

Stu held up his hands in surrender and said, “Fine. I’ll be a good boy.”

“I very much doubt that.”

Stu gave him the kind of look that did things to him, things he would prefer not to acknowledge, then his eyes slid to the cane that Tom had propped against the table, and said, “How’s the old leg these days?”

Tom ran his fingers over the familiar brass handle of the cane and wet his lips with his tongue. His leg was something he found uncomfortable to talk about, for a number of reasons, and he hated that he so often needed to use a cane. He was only twenty-seven, and yet he felt like an old man, although, in fairness, he wasn’t sure he could blame that solely on the cane.

“The break wasn’t a clean one,” he said quietly. “It’s healed as well as it ever will, but some days it causes me pain.”

“You don’t use the cane on your show.”

“No. My team thinks it’s better without. Bloody aches by the end of filming, though.”

“‘My team’,” Stu repeated with a teasing smile. “And you say you’re not a celebrity.”

“I’m not,” Tom insisted.

“Whatever you say.” Stu gave him a considering look, then, without preamble, said, “Are you happy?”

“What kind of a question is that?” Tom asked, trying to mask his surprise.

“A perfectly valid one. What’s the matter? Can’t you answer it?”

“No,” Tom answered before he could stop himself. He gave a relenting sigh and added, “I mean … I don’t think it’s as easy as a simple yes or no.”

“Of course it is,” Stu rebutted, with the kind of arrogance that Tom always disliked so much in him.

“Well, I’m settled.”

“Is that the same thing as happy?”

“I don’t know,” Tom said with a frustrated huff. “Are you happy?”

“No,” Stu replied without pause. “But then I never expected to be.”

“Why not?” Tom asked with a frown.

Stu gave a one-shouldered shrug and said, “The story’s not over yet. Can’t have a happy ending without the ending.” Tom was about to ask what on earth that meant when Stu said, “So, where are you living now?”

Blinking at the break-neck speed of the conversation, and rather annoyed that Stu was in control of it, Tom righted himself and said, “Islington. It’s handy for work, and it’s nice to be able to get to the theatres and museums so easily. It’s where I grew up, so I suppose it’s just what I know.”

“Sounds nice.”

“Do you get back up to Sheffield much?”

Stu shook his head and said, “Not much point. The only people I ever cared about are down here with me.”

Deciding to sidestep that little glimpse into Stu’s world, Tom asked, “Will you stay here after you graduate?”

“I don’t know. Don’s on about moving to London – he’s got it into his head that he wants to be a journalist – so I might go with him. If Don goes, so will Davey, so I guess we’ll all stick together.”

“So, Posner got over his infatuation with you, then?”

Stu grinned and said, “Yes, thank fuck. You’d be surprised how sharing living quarters can dim a fellow’s passions.” His smile turned fonder and he said, “We get on pretty well now. Now that things are equal.”

There was no escaping how pointed the comment was, and perhaps it was best to confront things head-on, now that so much time had passed. Tom took a fairly large swig of his wine, pleased to find that it was much better than the previous glass, and said, “Stu, about what happened – ”

“You know, I should probably be on my way,” Stu said, once again taking Tom completely by surprise.

“Really?”

“Mm. I’ve got about three essays that are all overdue, and I said I’d meet a friend as well.”

“A friend?” Tom asked.

Stu gave him one of those horribly knowing looks that had always made him feel hideously exposed, then said with a lazy smile, “Yeah. A friend.”

Tom swallowed and said, “Well, have a nice night.”

“I will. So, how about you give me your details and we can stay in touch?”

“Oh. Um … Yes. Why not?”

Tom grabbed his notebook and flipped it to the back page, then scribbled down his phone number. After a moment’s consideration, he wrote his address too, then tore the page out and handed it to Stu.

Stu looked at it with a smile, then tucked it in his back pocket and said, “I’ve never been to Islington. I’ll have to come and give it the once-over.”

“Don’t get your hopes up. It’s pretty average.”

“It’s got one point of interest that other places don’t,” Stu said, before he downed the rest of his drink and stood up. “Well, it was good to see you again, Tom. Really.”

Tom looked up at him and felt the sudden desperate urge to ask him to stay. It had been two years since he had last seen him, and who knew when they would cross paths again? He found himself trying to commit every last detail of Stu’s face to his memory, even though it was a face he knew better than anyone’s.

“It was good to see you, too,” he said. “Good luck with everything.”

“Same to you, Tom.”

Stu gave him one last smile, then turned and made his way through the crowds and out of the pub. Tom watched him go and felt an ache settle squarely in his chest. He wanted to call him back, to ask him to spend the evening with him … To ask him to spend the night …

But he was too much of a coward, and once again one of life’s opportunities had passed him by. He wondered how many more he would squander before he grew a backbone.

~*~*~*~*~*~

~ July 1987 ~

“More wine?”

Tom internally winced at the thought of drinking any more of the paint stripper masquerading as wine, but smiled at Richard and said, “Lovely, thanks.”

Richard topped up both their glasses and said, “This chicken is delicious. You’re an excellent cook.”

“I can cobble a decent enough meal together.”

“You’re a man of many talents, Mr Irwin.”

Tom smiled and took a mouthful of the disgusting wine, trying not to flinch at the taste. The whole date had been awkward and uncomfortable, and he regretted inviting Richard over to his place, because there was no escape. Richard seemed oblivious to the discomfort, which somehow made it worse, and Tom found himself hoping the house would catch on fire, just so he would have a reason to bring the whole thing to an end.

Richard was a researcher on his show, and they’d always got along well enough, but Tom had never really seen him in any kind of romantic light. Still, his love life, if so it could be called, which was extremely doubtful, had been so pathetic that Tom thought it wise to accept the offer of a date when Richard had made it, just in case he never received such an offer again.

He was now regretting that particular impulse. Richard was perfectly nice, but they had nothing in common and he was a rather dull conversationalist. There wasn’t the smallest spark of attraction, not on Tom’s side, anyway, and he had never felt so little chemistry with another person. Of course, when it came to chemistry, there was only one person Tom could say he had experienced that with, although God help him, he really didn’t need to be thinking about Stuart bloody Dakin now.

“So, do you have family around here?” Richard asked.

“My parents are over in Notting Hill, and I have an older brother who lives in Surrey.”

“Do you see them often?”

“Often enough,” Tom replied, not trying to be deliberately opaque, but not much wanting to talk about his family. Not on a first date, anyway.

Only date, Tom amended. God forbid there be a repeat of this evening.

He cleared his throat and said, “What about you?”

“Oh, my lot are all out west. Bit of a trek, but we make the effort for Christmas and birthdays. I’d go back more often, but the rail service in this country is a joke.”

Tom listened as Richard then launched into a very detached and lengthy critique of British Rail. Tom nodded along to the monologue, not necessarily disagreeing with Richard’s points, but finding them rather dry when it came to a topic to discuss over chicken and (hideous) wine. He had hoped, as Richard was a researcher on his show, that they might at least have a shared love of History, but Richard had put the kibosh on that when he’d mentioned at the start of the meal that he wasn’t particularly interested in History and had taken the job as a way to get into television.

Richard’s spiel about the railways segued into yet another monologue, this time about Thatcher’s government. Alarmingly, he seemed to have a great deal of affection and admiration for the old witch, and Tom was more convinced than ever that this whole thing was one huge mistake. He was wondering if perhaps he could fake a sudden illness when the doorbell rang, followed by someone giving the door an almighty thump.

“Gosh. Someone’s eager to see you,” Richard said with an amused smile.

“Excuse me one minute,” Tom said, getting up from the table and moving out into the hallway. There was only one person who would bang on his door like that, and he felt no surprise when he opened it to find Stu standing on his doorstep.

“About bloody time. I was beginning to think your doorbell was broken,” Stu said, pushing past him into the house. His speech was slurred and his movements unsteady, and even at a distance he smelt like a damned brewery.

“Stu, this isn’t a good time,” Tom said, trying to shepherd him back towards the door.

“No? Smells like an excellent time. What are we having? I’m bloody starving.”

“Can we talk tomorrow? I … There’s someone here.”

“Oh, is there?” Stu asked, and his slightly unfocused eyes narrowed at Tom. “Well, you know how much I just love meeting new people.”

“Stu – ” Tom tried, but Stu had already stumbled off into the living room, knocking into the doorframe as he went.

“Well, well, well,” Stu said, as Tom followed him in. “What do we have here, then? Tom, have you been cooking?”

“I – ”

“Where are your manners? Introduce me to your friend,” Stu said, leaning on the table and getting far too close to Richard.

Knowing when he was beaten, Tom sighed and said, “Stu, this is Richard. Richard, this is Stu.”

“Delighted, Rich!” Stu said, giving Richard a rather hard slap on the back.

“Ah … yes. Nice to meet you too. How do you know Tom?”

“He was my teacher,” Stu said gleefully, and Tom glared at him.

“I tutored him for his Oxbridge exams,” he clarified.

“Don’t worry, there was no funny business,” Stu said in a stage whisper. “Now, if I’m not very much mistaken, this looks like a date. Is that what this is, Rich?”

“Well, Tom and I are colleagues – ” Richard attempted.

“Pfft,” Stu said disdainfully, managing to spatter Richard’s cheek with spit in the process. “Fancy chicken, candles, music – although, what’s that I hear?” He listened, then sucked the air in through his teeth and said, “Ooh, is that Haydn?”

“Yes,” Richard confirmed. “He’s one of my favourites.”

“Oh dear. Tom absolutely detests him, don’t you, Tom?”

“He’s fine,” Tom said, giving Richard an apologetic look and feeling horribly embarrassed.

“Don’t lie. You can’t stand him. If there’s a second date, I’d recommend Saint-Saens. He’s Tom’s favourite.”

“You seem to know Tom very well,” Richard said, and Tom wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

“Well,” Stu said, picking up the wine bottle and examining it, “I know him well enough not to bring a chardonnay to dinner. He hates this stuff almost as much as he hates Haydn.”

Richard looked at Tom and said, “You should have said something.”

“I really don’t mind it that much,” Tom said, wishing he could drown himself in the bloody stuff. Or better yet, drown Stu.

“That’s another lie,” Stu said, shaking an admonishing finger at him. “Not very good for a teacher.”

“I’m not a bloody teacher,” Tom growled.

“You’ll always be a teacher to me,” Stu said, batting his eyelashes at him. “Do you know, Rich, he wouldn’t shag me because I was his student!”

“For fuck’s sake, Stu.”

“I think I’d better go,” Richard said, putting his napkin on the table and standing up.

“Oh, what a shame,” Stu said with an exaggerated pout. “We were having such a nice time.”

“Richard – ”

“Thank you for a delicious dinner, Tom. “I’ll see you at work.”

“Toodles, Dick,” Stu said, and Tom shot him a withering look as he stepped aside to let Richard past.

He waited until he heard the front door open and shut before he spat, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Stu snorted and sauntered over to the sofa with the bottle of wine and said, “You look me in the eyes and tell me you were having a good time, and I’ll go streaking down the street.” He took a large swig from the bottle and winced, saying, “That stuff’s bloody awful.”

“Whether I was having a good time or not is immaterial; you have no right to come barging into my home and making a show of me like this.”

“You’ll get over it,” Stu said, propping his feet up on the coffee table and taking another gulp of the wine, then pulling a face.

“Why are you here, Stu?” Tom asked with a sigh.

Stu affected a look of hurt and said, “Can’t I pop round for a chat?”

“At this time of night? Without calling first?”

“Since when do I need to call?”

“Stu – ”

“Bloody hell, Tom, you can never finish a crossword,” Stu said, grabbing the newspaper off the coffee table. “Every time I’m here, I have to finish it for you.”

“Every time you’re here, you take it upon yourself,” Tom pointed out, although that old familiar feeling of fondness was creeping in and doing battle with his annoyance.

“You’d be lost without me. Look, 12 across is Andorra. And 13 down is receptacle. Now – ”

“For God’s sake, you’re not here to do the crossword,” Tom said, and he was trying his best to ignore the fact that even drunk and belligerent, Stu was better company than Richard had been.

“It’s our tradition, Tom.”

“I haven’t seen you in six months. I haven’t heard a peep from you, then out of the blue you show up drunk and insult my date.”

“I didn’t insult him. I just pointed out that he had terrible taste.”

“Stu – ”

“Don’t forget how well I know you, Tom. I’d bet every last penny I have that you were having a rotten time tonight, and you’re actually thrilled that I came along and saved you.”

Stu looked up at him with that bizarre mix of self-satisfied smugness and feigned wide-eyed innocence that only he could pull off. Tom put his hands on his hips and tried to keep a remonstrative look on his face, but he could feel his lip twitching. He clearly wasn’t fooling Stu, who placed his hands behind his head and leant back on the sofa, then waggled his eyebrows at him.

“For fuck’s sake, Stu,” Tom said with a reluctant laugh. Deciding that he had no option but to capitulate, he sat down beside Stu on the sofa and said, “Why are you here?”

Stu downed the remainder of the bottle and handed it to Tom, saying, “Come to see my good friend, haven’t I?”

“Try again. You may know me, but don’t forget that I know you just as well.”

Stu patted down the pockets of his jacket and extracted his cigarettes and lighter. It didn’t matter how many times Stu had been over and Tom had told him not to smoke in the house, Stu ignored him and did it anyway. He lit a cigarette and took a long drag then blew out the smoke and said, “I had a date as well tonight.”

“Was yours crashed by an obnoxious drunk too?” Tom asked, trying to stamp down the spark of jealousy he felt.

Stu gave a humourless laugh and said, “It didn’t need to be. It was a dud right from the start.”

“They didn’t measure up to your exacting standards?”

“Oh, no. She was wonderful. It was me who was the dud.”

“How’s that?”

“She told me I was blank.”

“Beg pardon?” Tom asked with a frown.

Stu took another draw on the cigarette, then rested his head on the back of the sofa and looked up at the ceiling, saying, “She said that I was blank. She said that I was handsome and clever and charming, but that I had no substance.”

“That’s hardly fair.”

“No? Because I’ve been wandering the streets, thinking that she had a point,” Stu said morosely.

“Come on. You know you’re not blank.”

“I’ve always coasted by on my looks,” Stu continued, as if Tom hadn’t spoken. “People have fallen at my feet and fawned all over me. I’m clever enough to impress and so I’ve never needed to try. I’ve never needed to work on myself as a person.”

“This isn’t you speaking. You’re tired and drunk, and – ”

“And nothing. It’s the truth. She was right – there’s no substance to me. No depth. Everything you see is surface-level. Did you know that I’m taking articles in a law firm?”

“You mentioned it the last time I saw you.”

“For a tax law firm, Tom. How much more clichéd can you get? I’ll make a lot of people pots of money and get filthy rich myself in the process.”

“Sounds awful,” Tom said dryly.

“It is bloody awful. I’ll have money and looks, but nothing else. Do you have any idea how fucking empty my life is? I have no family. No partner. The only friends I have are Don and Davey, and they get pretty sick of me, let me tell you.”

“Stu – ”

“And looks fade, Tom,” Stu said, finishing his cigarette and dropping the stub in the empty wine bottle. “I’ll be some sad and lonely has-been, counting his money and remembering the glory days when people used to fancy me.”

“You know, self-pity really doesn’t suit you,” Tom said, beginning to get a little fed up with Stu’s attitude.

“Oh, fuck you, Tom. I’m here pouring my heart out and all you can do is be glib about it.”

“I’m not being glib.”

“Yes, you are. I’m sorry if this is boring to you. I’m sorry if I’ve ruined your boring little date with the lovechild of Cliff Richard and Ronnie Corbett.”

“There’s no need to be cruel. Richard’s a decent bloke and he doesn’t deserve your vitriol.”

“Sorry, sir,” Stu said grumpily, and Tom felt the very strong urge to kick him.

“You know your trouble, Stu?”

“No, but I bet I’m about to.”

“You’ve never grown up. If you’re blank, it’s because you’re still an immature brat who thinks he can get his own way by batting his eyelashes.”

“Well, I didn’t get you, did I?” Stu said hotly, and Tom felt as though he’d been slapped.

“You don’t want me,” he said, and he could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

“You don’t have the first fucking clue what I want, Tom. You know what? This was a waste of time.”

He pushed himself up off the sofa and walked unsteadily towards the door. Tom rolled his eyes and said, “You’re not going anywhere in that state.”

“What do you care?”

“Of course I care,” Tom said, getting up and grabbing the back of Stu’s jacket and pulling him back into the living room.

“Get off me,” Stu said gruffly, shaking himself out of Tom’s hold. “I may be an immature brat, but I’m an adult and I can do whatever I bloody well want.”

“You go out there like that, you’ll either get lost or mugged, and I’m not having either of those on my conscience.”

“Like you’d miss me,” Stu scoffed.

“Of course I’d miss you, you bloody idiot.”

Stu looked at him with unfocused eyes and said, “Would you? Really?”

There were things that Tom wanted to say; things that probably needed to be said, but not when Stu was drunk and when things were so fraught between them. “I’ll get you a blanket and you can sleep on the sofa,” he said, and he didn’t think he was imagining the look of disappointment in Stu’s eyes.

Stu walked back to the sofa and sat back down. He kicked off his shoes and took his jacket off, then turned to lie facing away from Tom, covering himself with his jacket.

When Tom awoke the next morning, Stu was gone. He had tidied up the living room and had left a note on the coffee table. It contained only one word – Sorry.

~*~*~*~*~*~

~ December 1988 ~

“Hello?”

“Hi. It’s me.”

Tom paused in the middle of the notes he had been making and sat back in his chair. “Stu?” he said, feeling a complicated mix of emotions at hearing his voice again.

“Yeah, it’s me. Is now a good time? I don’t want to impose.”

“Since when?” Tom asked before he could stop himself.

Stu laughed softly and said, “Fair enough. I deserve that.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, it’s just … it’s been eighteen months, Stu. I haven’t seen you since – ”

“Since the night I crashed your date and behaved like a complete moron. I know. I’m really sorry about that, Tom.”

“It was no great loss.”

“You and Richard didn’t go skipping off into the sunset together then?”

“I think you know we didn’t.”

There was a long pause, then Stu took a breath and said, “I know I don’t have any right to ask, but would you come for dinner at mine? There are some things I’d like to say. Some things I need to say.”

Tom’s first instinct was to say yes immediately. Although he had tried not to, he had missed Stu in the intervening time they had been apart, and his mind had wandered to him often. He wasn’t sure how many times they could go on opening and closing this door, though, and he was worried that if he let it continue, he and Stu would be locked in this dance forever.

“I’m not sure,” he said, but even as the words left him, he knew that he would relent by the end of the phone call.

“Please, Tom. I hate how we left things. How I left things. Just give me a proper chance to say sorry.”

“I’m filming all week.”

“Fine. How about next Saturday?”

Tom considered making some sort of show of checking his diary, but he knew his fate was sealed. “Alright then,” he said, and fancied he could hear Stu’s triumphant grin.

“Brilliant. I’m over in Lambeth. Let me give you the address.”

And so the following Saturday, Tom found himself driving over to Lambeth with a heady mix of trepidation and excitement. It had been so long since he’d seen Stu, and the thought of spending the evening with him was an intoxicating one. Stu had a hold on him that seemed impossible to break, although Tom wasn’t even sure he wanted to.

He parked a couple of streets over, like Stu had told him to to avoid being clamped, then walked over to Stu’s. He stood on the doorstep and took a few fortifying breaths before he knocked.

The door opened and he was greeted with Stu’s smiling face. “Tom,” he said warmly. “It’s so good to see you.”

“And you, Stu.”

“Come in, come in. You’ll freeze your knackers off out there.”

“Still the same old Stu,” Tom said, as he handed Stu the bottle of wine he had brought.

“Not quite,” Stu replied with an enigmatic sort of smile. “Not chardonnay then?” he said, and Tom couldn’t help but laugh. “Come on, come through and I’ll pour us both a glass.”

Tom followed Stu into the living room and took off his jacket and draped it over the back of the sofa. It was a pleasant room, and there was a small table and chairs set up beneath the bay window, with places laid for dinner. Stu poured them both a glass of wine from the bottle Tom had brought, then handed Tom one.

“Thank you for coming,” Stu said, and he seemed somehow uncertain. It was disconcerting not to see the usual swagger and self-confidence, and Tom considered that perhaps this wasn’t the same old Stu.

“Dinner smells good.”

“It’s almost done.”

“How long have you been living here?” Tom asked, well aware that they were engaging in small talk, which they both detested, but also aware that it needed to be done before they jumped into the big topics.

“Almost a year. It’s basic, but the rent’s cheap.”

“I didn’t think that rent was a problem for tax lawyers.”

Stu smiled and said, “We have a lot to catch up on. Take a seat and I’ll go and dish up dinner.”

Tom did as instructed and took a seat at the table while Stu disappeared into the kitchen. Tom looked around as he waited, taking in all the little details of the flat. It had Stu’s stamp all over it; from the books that were his favourites (and which he had spent many an evening chewing Tom’s ear off over) to the framed prints of David Wojnarowicz on the walls. There weren’t many personal photos, but there was a nice one of Stu, Scripps, and Posner on one of the bookshelves that told of a deep and enduring friendship.

“Here we go,” Stu said, coming back into the living room, bearing two plates of food. “I know how fond you are of curry, so I’ve knocked up a Madras.”

“Since when were you so handy in the kitchen?” Tom asked, as Stu sat down opposite him.

“Do you remember I told you about that disastrous date I’d had the last time we saw one another?” Stu asked, looking a little shame-faced.

“The one who said you were blank?” Tom asked, feeling a little dubious about raking over those particular old bones.

“That’s the one - Priya. Well, we actually ended up being very good friends. She’s Indian, and her family owns a restaurant. She taught me how to make quite a few dishes.”

“You stayed friends with her?” Tom asked, intrigued.

“I was at her wedding last month,” Stu said with a grin. “I owe her a lot. She gave me the kick up the arse I really needed.”

“She sounds like a remarkable woman.”

“She is. I’d love you to meet her. I think you’d really hit it off. She knows all about you, of course.”

“I dread to think,” Tom said, perturbed and pleased in equal measure that Stu had been discussing him with a stranger.

“All good, I promise. After all, you’re not the one who’s behaved like an idiot so much over the past few years.”

“This is a self-reflective side to you I’m not familiar with.”

Stu laughed and said, “I’ve done a lot of growing up in the last eighteen months. It’s been uncomfortable and difficult at times, and I’m not saying I’ve achieved inner peace and enlightenment, but I’m happier than I was. It’s still a work in progress, I’m still a work in progress, but I’ve asked myself some hard questions and I think I have the answers now.”

“I’m impressed,” Tom said softly. “Although you don’t need my approval.”

“No, but I’d still like it.” Stu took a sip of his wine and added, “I gave up the whole tax lawyer thing, by the way.”

“Oh?” Tom asked, not sure how many surprises he could take.

“I saw my whole future stretching out and I hated it. The whole point of going to Oxford, or being pushed into going to Oxford, was to have the kind of future a lad from a council estate in Sheffield would never have a chance at. But what would be the point if I was still miserable, just miserable and rich? So, I joined a law firm that specialises in humanitarian law. The pay’s terrible, but I’m so proud of the work that I do. I think, for the first time in a long time, I can’t be accused of being blank.”

“For what it’s worth, you were never blank to me,” Tom insisted, “but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so comfortable with yourself. I’ve never seen you so confident without the … well … the arrogance.”

“Like I said – I’ve done a lot of growing up.” Stu smiled, then said, “Let’s not make this all about me. Tell me what’s new with you.”

They ate and chatted, and it was as though the eighteen-month gap in their relationship didn’t exist. Despite the fact that, at the beginning of their relationship, Stu had made Tom feel discomfited and unsettled, there was still no one that he had ever truly been himself with as much as he was with Stu. Conversation was easy and natural, and Tom was reminded how much he had missed Stu.

The changes in him were stark. He seemed calmer, less frenetic in his energy. He didn’t seem to have any need to prove himself, and although he was still sarcastic and took pleasure in teasing Tom, there was no edge to it in the way there had been in the past.

They migrated to the sofa after their meal was finished, and Tom couldn’t help but compare it to the (admittedly few) dates he had had in the interim. He hadn’t been as attracted to any of them as he was to Stu, and he could practically feel his blood heating in his veins every time Stu looked at him. It had been the same since the first moment their lives had collided, but the guilt that had been associated with that time had fizzled away now that the playing field was more even.

“So, Scripps and Posner are a proper item?” Tom asked, as they settled down with a coffee.

“Absolutely. It took them both a while to pull their heads out of their backsides, but they got there in the end. It was hell sharing a house with them and watching them make cow eyes at one another over their breakfast.”

“Well, good luck to them.”

“Fair play to anyone who manages not to be an idiot when it comes to these things,” Stu said softly, and Tom felt a frisson of excitement and anticipation tingle between them as the implication of Stu’s words settled over them.

“Relationships aren’t always easy,” Tom said, his voice matching Stu’s as though neither of them wanted to break the solemnity of the moment.

“We can’t dance around this anymore, can we?” Stu asked, and there was something so sweetly shy in his expression that Tom felt a fresh surge of affection for him.

“I suppose not.”

Stu sighed, then raked a hand through his hair and said, “Look, Tom, I owe you an apology.”

“What for?”

“For bloody everything. I was an idiot. You know, back then, back when we were still at Cutlers’, Don told me off for being a complacent fuck. I just laughed him off because I was only having fun, after all. Why did I need to take it seriously? But it was serious, Tom. It was your life I was playing with, and I had no business treating it like a game.”

“Is that all it was then?” Tom asked, feeling his heart sink to have his worst fears confirmed.

Stu gave him a considered, measured look, and Tom waited for the axe to fall. “It was in the beginning,” Stu said eventually. “You were new and interesting, and you presented me with a challenge. I was a teenager with a crush, and I just wanted to get your attention. I didn’t think about what I was doing or the effect it would have on you. I was complacent because I didn’t realise what was at stake.”

“And what was at stake, Stu?”

To Tom’s surprise, Stu’s face flushed, and he dipped his head as he said, “My heart, Tom.”

“What?” Tom breathed, his voice little more than a whisper.

“I was too young and too stupid to realise it at the time, but my feelings for you, even back then, were real. They’ve only grown over the years, despite the fact that we’ve been in and out of each other’s lives, and although it’s taken me a long time to get here, I finally have the courage to admit that I’m in love with you. That I’ve always been in love with you.”

Tom was so stunned that he couldn’t formulate a response. There had been many things he thought Stu might have felt for him over the years, but love had never been one of them. Even if he’d secretly hoped for it, even if he’d only ever let himself acknowledge that hope once in all the time he’d known Stu, he’d never imagined that Stu would ever say it.

“For the love of God, please say something,” Stu said, his voice strained. “Anything. Even if it’s to tell me to sling my hook.”

“That’s not what I want to say.”

Stu looked back up at him uncertainly and ventured, “No?”

“Of course not. Stu, our history is long and complicated, and – ”

“Aren’t you sick of history?” Stu asked with a sigh, and Tom had to spare a moment to appreciate the irony of the question. “Don’t you want to give the future a try?”

“What does that mean?”

“What do you think it means, Tom? Look, I know I’ve sprung this on you, and I know I probably should have given you more of a chance to get used to the new and improved me, but I’m just so tired of dancing around this.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just a little stunned. I’m not trying to – ”

“It’s ok. I wasn’t expecting an answer straight away. I want you to take some time and consider this. Why don’t we get Christmas out of the way, and then you can tell me what your decision is in the new year.”

“My decision?”

Stu smiled at him and said, “Yeah. Your decision about whether you want to give this a go. Whether you want to give us a go. I think … I think we could have something really special, but I don’t want to push you into something you’re not ready for.”

“Stu, I don’t know what to say. I truly never thought that I’d hear you say all of this, and now that you have, my head’s spinning.”

“But you’re not horrified?” Stu asked tentatively.

“No. Christ, no. Of course not.”

“Good. Glad to hear it. Then … call me when you’ve decided, eh?”

It took Tom less than a minute after he had closed the door behind himself when he arrived home to pick up the phone and call Stu. They agreed to meet the day after New Year’s Day, and Tom had never wished for Christmas to be over and done with quite so much in his whole life.

~*~*~*~*~

~ January 1989 (Present Day) ~

“So,” Stu said, putting his wine to one side, “don’t keep a fella in suspense. I’m here for your verdict, aren’t I?”

Tom felt a flurry of nerves and excitement within his chest. He had known, from the moment he had made that phone call to Stu, exactly what he wanted to say, but now that they were here, face to face, the prospect felt hugely overwhelming. Still, they had spent six years dancing around this, and Tom didn’t want to waste any more time.

“Part of me thinks that we should have had this conversation a couple of weeks ago, but no, you were right to make us wait. If this thing is to go the distance, we needed to take the time to properly consider it. To be rational about it.”

“So, you want it to go the distance?” Stu ventured carefully.

“Of course I do. Christ, Stu, I’ve been gone for you since the first moment I met you.”

Stu was fighting a very boyish grin, which Tom found painfully endearing, then tilted his chin and said imperiously, “I’m sorry, Mr Irwin, but I’m afraid that’s just not good enough. I bared my soul to you, and I’m going to have to ask you to do the same.”

“You’re really going to make me say it?”

“Of course I fucking am. Aren’t you supposed to know me better than anyone?”

“Fine,” Tom said with a put-upon sigh, but he’d known he was going to have to do this. He wanted to. He just needed to find his courage. “Stu,” he said, and he hadn’t realised that his voice could ever be that soft, that loving. “I’m in love with you. I can’t pinpoint exactly when it started, but I’ve never felt for anyone the way I feel for you. I want to give this a go. I think we owe it to ourselves. Does that declaration meet with your approval?”

Stu’s smile threatened to split his face as he stood up and said, “I’m going to have to ask you to take me to the bedroom now, but be warned – if you take me up there, you’re agreeing to never be rid of me.”

Tom stood up beside him and said, “That sounds like a condition I can agree to.”

He took Stu’s hand and led him out of the living room and up the stairs, as a hundred different emotions did battle within him, each one vying for attention. He led Stu into the bedroom and spared a moment to be grateful that he had tidied it up beforehand, which of course had nothing to do with the fact that he had been hoping they would end the night there.

Tied in with that hope, with the elation of finally getting what he wanted for so long, was a certain sense of nervousness. He had experience, but he was no lothario, and he didn’t want Stu to find him wanting. Tom turned to face him, and he was surprised to see his own nerves reflected back at him in Stu’s expression.

“Alright?” Tom asked softly, stepping closer, still keeping hold of Stu’s hand.

“Yes,” Stu said, his voice a little breathless, and Tom had never seen this side to him before. “It’s just … I haven’t done this before.”

Tom blinked, then frowned, sure he must have heard wrong. “I’m going to have to ask you to say that again.”

Stu huffed and averted his eyes as he repeated, “I haven’t done this before.”

“But you told me there had been men. You made me ask!”

“I know, I know, and there have been, but not … not like this. Hand-jobs, mostly. The occasional blowjob. But I’ve never been fucked by another man.”

Several different things crossed Tom’s mind all at once, but there was an outright winner, which had him asking, “You want me to top?”

“Fuck yes,” Stu said in a needy whisper that went straight to Tom’s cock. “Always have done. I always wanted it to be you.” He frowned, then added quickly, “But if you don’t want that, then – ”

“Of course I want it,” Tom interjected emphatically. “Christ, Stu, it’s been the stuff of many a late-night wanking session, but I want you to be sure. We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

Stu’s expression turned mischievous, which suited him far better than the nervous one had done, and he closed what distance remained between them and said, “Oh, believe me, I’m more than ready. This has been a long time coming, Tom.”

“Too true. But, Mr Dakin, we’re going to do this properly. Slowly. None of your bullish running headfirst into it. I’m going to make sure that this is a first you never forget.”

“Yes, sir,” Stu said devilishly, and Tom had to fight to hold his resolve.

“Impossible brat,” he murmured, before he leant forward and finally claimed what was rightfully his.

They melted into one another, both flooded with relief; relief born from six years’ worth of desperate longing finally being rewarded. Despite Tom’s assertion that they were going to take things slowly, their clothes were disposed of with a speed Tom hadn’t known he possessed, especially when his leg was aching with the cold. His damned leg was the furthest thing from his mind at that point though, especially when Stu’s lips moved to his throat and his hand moved in a gentle caress down Tom’s body until it ghosted over his cock.

“I hope you know how long I’ve wanted this. How long I’ve wanted you,” Stu whispered, as he increased the pressure with his hand only a fraction, never able, it seemed, to refrain from teasing Tom.

Tom curled his hand around Stu’s neck and said softly, “You’ve got me.”

He pulled him gently towards the bed and collapsed them both down on it. He covered Stu’s ridiculously glorious body with his own, aware that his was a little less glorious, but Stu seemed to have no issue with it, and so Tom decided his own hang-ups could be pushed to one side for now.

“How many men have put their mouths on you, Stu?” he asked, as he let his hand make a slow path across Stu’s chest and down his stomach.

“Only a couple,” Stu replied, his voice gratifyingly shaky.

“And have any of them fucked you with their fingers?”

“No,” Stu gasped, his body arching up as Tom’s hand moved lower.

“Looks like you’re all mine then,” Tom said, as he lowered his head and let his tongue follow the path his hand had made.

“I’ve always been all yours, Tom,” Stu said softly, and Tom had to reel off the monarchs of England in his head to keep himself from coming on the spot.

He kissed a path down Stu’s body, sparing a moment to fumble the lube and a condom from the bedside table as he went. Excitement coursed through him, but he was determined to take this slowly, to make the other men who had done this for Stu pale into insignificance. He wanted to make sure that Stu had no regrets in waiting for Tom to be the first man to fuck him, and he was all too aware that this would be the most important night of his life.

He trailed his hand over the head of Stu’s cock, and Stu’s sharp intake of breath made him smile. He pressed his lips to the shaft at the same moment he let his fingers dance over Stu’s balls, then slowly dip backwards. He flipped the cap off the lube and coated his fingers before he lowered his head and took Stu all the way to the back of his throat, just as he circled Stu’s entrance with his slick fingers.

“Jesus Christ, Tom,” Stu breathed, gripping the duvet and pushing himself into Tom’s mouth.

Tom hummed around him and used his tongue to torment him as little as he teased Stu’s hole. “Just relax and let me take care of you,” he whispered. “Tell me to stop if you need me to.”

“If you stop, I’ll bite your balls off,” Stu growled, and Tom laughed before he resumed his task with purpose.

He lapped and tongued at Stu’s cock a few times before he took him all the way to the root again before he gently pressed his forefinger into Stu’s entrance. It went easily, and he gave Stu some time to adjust, distracting him with his tongue before he began to move his finger in and out. He repeated the action with a second finger, and by the third, Stu was writhing against the mattress, pushing down to impale himself.

“Fuck,” he rasped, as his hand gripped Tom’s hair, his fingers digging into the scalp. “Christ, I had no idea it could be this good.”

Tom moved his mouth from Stu’s cock with a self-satisfied smile, and pressed his fingers deep inside Stu, hitting that sweet spot and making Stu moan in a way that Tom had once believed he would only ever hear in his imaginings.

“If you don’t get inside me soon, I swear to God I will bite your balls,” Stu threatened, but the impact of it was somewhat lessened by the fact that it came out as a sob.

Tom considered tormenting him for a little longer, but his own cock was painfully hard and desperate for attention. He removed his fingers, smirking a little at the soft whine from Stu, then grabbed the condom. He went to open it, but Stu’s hand reached out to stop him.

“Let me,” Stu said with a smile.

Tom watched as he tore the wrapper and removed the condom. He slowly rolled it down over Tom’s waiting prick, and Tom couldn’t have suppressed the moan that followed if his life depended on it. Stu teased Tom with his hand, the pressure perfect, the motion smooth and practiced. Stu might not have been with many men, but he was talented enough at this, and Tom was rather looking forward to seeing what that mouth of his could do.

“Enough,” he said breathlessly. “Or I’ll never get inside you.”

“Can’t have that, sir,” Stu said with a wicked smile, leaning back on his elbows, a delicious offering for the taking.

“Do you have to call me that?”

Stu spread his legs and looked at Tom with an expression that should have been illegal, and said, “Yes, sir. Yes, I do.”

“I always knew you’d be the death of me, Stuart Dakin,” Tom groaned, as he settled between Stu’s legs.

“Not for a while yet, sir,” Stu said, curling his hand around the back of Tom’s neck and biting his lip as he tilted his hips and brought his backside in line with Tom’s cock.

Tom had never felt so wanted in his entire life, and his own need for Stu was thoroughly unparalleled. He swallowed and braced himself on his hands before he slowly pushed forward and breached Stu. Stu emitted a low, soft moan, and the noise went straight to Tom’s cock. He pressed in all the way to the hilt, and he felt Stu’s fingers tighten their hold on him.

“Ok?” Tom asked in a whisper, forcing himself to stay still for a moment to let Stu’s body get used to the intrusion.

"More than fucking ok,” Stu managed to force out. “That feels so fucking good.” He rolled his hips and wrapped his legs around Tom’s waist, holding onto his neck as he rasped, “I want to feel you move.”

“So needy,” Tom teased, but he was thrilled to find Stu so responsive.

He began to move and Stu sighed with pleasure. He let his head fall back against the pillows and moved his hands to Tom’s shoulders as he rocked against Tom’s slow and deep thrusts. He made the most delicious sounds, and Tom had never had such a vocal lover before. It was ridiculously arousing, and every nerve in Tom’s body was alive with pleasure.

Neither of them was going to last long, but Tom consoled himself with the thought that they’d be doing this many more times and in many different ways. He pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses to Stu’s neck as he pushed hard and deep inside him, and Stu was so hot and tight around him that it was almost too much to bear.

“Fuck, Tom. I knew it would be like this,” Stu keened as he pressed every inch of himself against Tom, drawing him in as deep as he could possibly go. “I’ve been waiting for this for so long.”

Tom was lost. Lost in pleasure, lost in Stu, lost in getting what he had wanted. Stu’s hands on his skin, his gorgeous body beneath him, his breath skittering over his senses, all conspired to send him mad, to tip him over the edge. He reached a hand down and wrapped it around Stu’s straining cock, and Stu let out a low groan as he tightened his legs around Tom’s waist.

“Not going to last,” Stu gasped, and his hand slid into Tom’s hair, gripping it hard.

“Me neither,” Tom whispered, feeling pleasure coiling hotly in the pit of his stomach.

He rolled his palm over the head of Stu’s cock, and Stu came with a strangled cry. Tom followed immediately after, pushing deep inside Stu’s sated body one more time until he finally stilled. He kept his face buried against Stu’s shoulder as their breathing mingled in the quiet of the room. He felt Stu’s hand stroke the back of his neck gently, and the pleasure began to subside, replaced with something softer.

“We could have been doing that for the last six years, you know,” Stu murmured in his ear, and Tom laughed as he lifted his head.

“You really are a brat, Dakin.”

“Yeah, well I’m your brat, sir,” Stu said with a grin, and Tom’s chest swelled with affection for him.

He withdrew from Stu’s body carefully and deposited the condom in the bin, then handed Stu some tissue to clean up. He lay beside him, feeling content and quiet in the afterglow. He reached over and rested his hand on Stu’s chest, and said, “I hope it’s unnecessary to ask if you’ll stay the night.”

“The night?” Stu echoed. “I thought I’d made it perfectly clear that I was your problem for good now.”

“Are you inviting yourself to move in?”

“Of course I am. We’ve wasted enough time, don’t you think?”

“I think I should have walked straight back out of Hector’s classroom when I saw you standing there with no trousers on, pretending you were in a brothel.”

Stu laughed, and Tom was reminded just how much he loved being the cause of that wonderful sound. They spend the rest of the night lying beside one another, limbs entwined, while they talked about nothing and everything. It came as no surprise to Tom that nothing had ever felt so right in his entire life, and now that they’d finally managed to stop being twats about the whole thing, there was no way he was going to mess it up.

He slept better than he had slept in months, but woke to find himself alone. He glanced around the room and saw Stu’s clothes still strewn all over the floor, so unless he had gone walking through Islington in January, bollock-naked, Tom didn’t think he had too much to worry about.

He stretched with a smile and allowed his mind to drift to the events of the previous night and how bloody perfect it had all been. Part of his brain was trying to tell him that it couldn’t be this easy, while the other part was responding furiously, Who the fuck would call the last six years easy? No, they had both paid their dues, and now it was time to reap the rewards.

He shuffled into his pyjamas and made his way downstairs, stopping in the kitchen doorway to find Stu pottering around, looking as if he owned the place. “That’s my dressing gown,” Tom pointed out as he crossed the threshold, and Stu turned to face him with a grin.

“Mine now. I’ve taken ownership of it. Besides, I thought you’d prefer it to me making breakfast in the nude.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Tom said, snaking an arm around Stu’s waist and pulling him in close. “I quite like the thought of you serving me naked.”

“That’s because you’re a pervert,” Stu said, as he wound his arms around Tom’s neck. “Spitting hot fat and genitals do not mix, and I’m not risking mine now that I’ve finally got you doing naughty things to me.”

“You’ll never grow up, will you?” Tom asked fondly, letting his hand caress Stu’s back gently.

“Nah. Someone’s got to keep you young. Now, take a seat. Breakfast won’t be long.” Stu gave him a cheeky peck, then pushed him towards the dining table before he returned to the cooker and the various different pots and pans he had on the go. “Oh,” he said over his shoulder, as he turned the bacon down, “I finished your crossword for you.”

“You little shit.”

“Not my fault you never finish one.”

“I’ve changed my mind. Last night was just a one-night-stand.”

“No chance, Mr Irwin. You’re stuck with me.”

Tom reached for the paper and looked at the finished crossword with a smile, deciding that being stuck with Stu was something he could live with.