“Okay. Let’s do this,” Alec said, climbing to his feet. “Help me get these into bags to keep them clean. However much I dust this place, it settles again within seconds. And the ladies in the shop said they’d seen mice. If I have to put these in store, I don’t want them chewed to pieces before next winter.”
I helped willingly—but I also knew that storage was never gonna be a problem.
Every sample he’d shown on the vlog last evening had been immediately bought. I’d had to open him an online payment account, to cope with the cash coming in. I mean, I’d slipped into the pair of shorts I liked the best—with the transport motifs, just to be comfy while I dashed around like a blue-arsed fly as his assistant—and six of his fans got into a bidding war for them. And that was after we muted the four who admitted they were more interested in seeing my naked bum than in actually owning the shorts.
Hm. That was an interesting thought. I filed the idea away of an auction process, for future reference. Not for my bum, for fuck’s sake, but for the clothes!
In the end, we were so busy that the broadcast time arrived while we were still matching up the woolly socks into pairs. I wore my sarong tonight—so sue me, I can be as fashionable as the next guy, okay?—and fetched an example of each item as soon as Alec logged on.
It went as well as yesterday. Maybe even better, because he had more to show off. And, although I didn’t crow about it—much—my suggestion of the candy cane design proved to be a masterstroke. They were snapped up by both girls and guys, either to wear themselves or to gift. Then someone made a comment about who had the biggest one, and that set off a flurry of comments and lmfao/whoa/wtf? emojis that had Alec in peals of laughter.
I loved hearing that.
He’d never make his million before Christmas, of course. He explained we’d started too late for the peak shopping days—though not sure what his experience had been, as I usually did all my shopping at three o’clock onwards on Christmas Eve—but it was pretty obvious he wasn’t selling “must-have-essentials” gifts. He was selling “oh-my-god-no-one-else-will-have-this” and “that’s-perfect-for-my-tricky-cousin-dad-gay-best-mate” items.
And that sort of thing was good all year round.
I took over the comments at one stage, when Alec pushed back his chair, his eyes wild and the bags under them looking a bit too dark.
“Delivery by Christmas, yes, for these special sneak peek items, no problem,” I said rashly. Even if I had to drive them myself to Scotland, it’d happen. “And yes, we’ll have a website up in the new year.”
“We will?” Alec mouthed at me, eyebrows raised.
“Of course it’s his own work.” I nodded at another typed query. “I agree, he’s brilliant, right? Tell all your mates, too.” Then I frowned. “For fu—heaven’ sake. No, we don’t play dress-up when the podcast’s over, I have no intention of telling you my inside leg measurement, and yes, all my hair is my own. And regarding that last comment from BlingTastic? I’m here to help out on logistics, we’re not officially business partners. And if we were, I’m pretty sure what you’re suggesting would come under gross sexual harassment.”
Alec chuckled, and I felt his hand slide up under my sarong to cup my arse cheek.
“Ten minutes left, you lot!” I snapped quickly at the screen, eternally grateful my lap was well under the table, because the sarong was coming apart under intolerable strain again.
We drank beer and treated ourselves to a full pizza meal afterwards, with garlic bread and Greek salad. It seemed most comfy to snuggle together under a blanket on the sofa. It didn’t seem as cold tonight as it had been before. Alec stripped down to boxers and one of his tiny snippet-of-fabric t-shirts with a bejewelled I Give Sleepy Head on the front, and I… well, I gave up on the sarong some time before that.
I was hoping he’d deliver on that t-shirt slogan before the night was out.
“In the new year,” I muttered through a mouthful of pepperoni, “I hope you’ll consider working from my apartment instead of this crappy room. I’ve got a spare room I keep my bicycle and toolbox in, but I can move all that. The light’s good and there’s space for all the gear. You know… your podcasting kit, your sewing machines.” God, was I moving too fast? Assuming too much…
Then he snuggled closer and I forgot about worrying.
“Maybe I’ll be able to pay you a wage as my partner, Gray,” he said softly.
“I don’t need that. And there are plenty of offers of help on your channel.” I laughed. Then double-checked his expression. “Oh. You mean us…? Do you mean it? I said that about us not being in business together to keep those lunatics off your back. Those fans of yours can get pretty fucking personal, you know.”
“No, I’d like to be in business with you, Gray. This is your inspiration, as well as my clothes. We make a good team, right?” His cheeks were more pink than the pepperoni plus jalapenos warranted, I thought, as he held me closer, spoke more huskily. “And I’d really like to get pretty fucking personal with you tonight.”
Oh. Fuck. I couldn’t get the empty pizza box off the sofa fast enough. Thank God we both tasted the same when the kissing started, because I’d have hated to turn him off with garlic breath. He peeled off the silly t-shirt—though I was planning on reminding him of the slogan later on—and the boxers. My underwear followed rapidly. He was wonderful, all wriggly and lithe, his hair full of that strawberry scent I’d caught before, which I guessed was his shampoo. He huffed into my throat, nipped each of my four earrings in turn, nibbled at my ear lobes. It was heaven to be pressed against his skin, bare together at last, with no excuse of modelling the damn sponsor’s clothes. Alec’s soft laughter in my ear, his needy breath on my throat, his thighs smooth and warm. When he slung his leg over mine and straddled my hips, I just about swallowed my tongue with excitement.
“Gray.” He kissed my face, my neck. “I’m so glad I met you. You’ve brought me a whole new kind of Christmas. I’m looking forward to it like I never did before. It’s special—you’re special. I can’t tell you how good you make me feel.”
“Don’t worry about all that.” I sighed. “It’s totally mutual. Have you got—”
“—got a condom?” he asked breathlessly, at the same time.
We laughed, then stopped laughing and started breathing heavily. It had been a long time since I had sex, to be honest, and I had a suspicion it had been for Alec too. But you don’t forget that kind of logistics, do you? We got ourselves sorted with condom and lube—we may not have been Boy Scouts, but we discovered both of us were prepared—then he raised himself above me, and eased down onto my cock. A few tentative, then more determined attempts, and then… then, I was in him.
As we moved together, I wanted to say I loved him. Oh, hell. Too early, maybe? It wasn’t just because of the sex, but we’d only known each other five, though glorious, days.
“I love you, Gray,” he whispered. His eyes were very big, the pupils very dark. “Is that too soon? Too much for you?”