THE MAIN EVENT

Leslie Scott couldn’t keep a secret if his life depended on it...and, this one’s a doozy. After years of blissful co-habbing, Leslie plans to ask the love of his life, Oliver Brown, for his hand in marriage. Leslie agrees to help with the Kissmas Drag Stravaganza at his dear friend’s nightclub, Club Delish, which is also the site of the impending proposal. Every detail is planned with Swiss watch precision: enjoy the show, bring Oliver back to a private room, seduce him then pop the question. But, as with all things Leslie, his scheme goes tits up. Never one to shy away from drama and public displays of affection, this proposal turns out to be one for the books.

ALSO BY SUSAN MAC NICOL

THE STARLIGHT SERIES

Cassandra by Starlight

Together in Starlight

Forever in Starlight

THE MEN OF LONDON SERIES

Love You Senseless

Sight & Sinners

Suit Yourself

Feat of Clay

Cross to Bare

Flying Solo

Damaged Goods

Hard Climate

Survival Game

OTHER TITLES

Stripped Bare

Saving Alexander

Worth Keeping

Double Alchemy

Double Alchemy: Climax

Love and Punishment

Sight Unseen

Unlikely in Love

Living On Air

Soul of Discretion

Promises Kept

NOT SO SECRET SANTA

Susan Mac Nicol

www.BOROUGHSPUBLISHINGGROUP.com

PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Boroughs Publishing Group does not have any control over and does not assume responsibility for author or third-party websites, blogs or critiques or their content.

NOT SO SECRET SANTA

Copyright © 2018 Susan Elaine Mac Nicol

All rights reserved. Unless specifically noted, no part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Boroughs Publishing Group. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or by any other means without the permission of Boroughs Publishing Group is illegal and punishable by law. Participation in the piracy of copyrighted materials violates the author’s rights.

ISBN 978-1-948029-42-1

E-book formatting by Maureen Cutajar

www.gopublished.com

You wanted more Leslie, and since you love him the way I do – this story is for you

AUTHOR’S NOTE

There’s something about Leslie. He wormed his sassy way into our hearts and lingered there. Lately, he’s been murmuring in my ear, in that way he has, to write a soupçon more about his love for Oliver. After all, he adores the man. This story is a fitting tribute to Leslie’s warm heart and his ability to make anything into yet more drama, it’s a seasonal tale that had to be told…and, there’s no one else that deserves another happy ending more than this couple.

Not So Secret Santa features the best proposal of the year done in true Leslie fashion. Oliver and Leslie get so gooey mushy that you’ll end up needing a visit to your dentist. I make no apologies for that, so please don’t send me your dental bills for reimbursement.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

About the Author

NOT SO SECRET SANTA

Chapter 1

D-Day—three weeks and counting

I’m fucking stuck in here and I have no idea how to get myself out.

It wasn’t the first time Leslie had been in a pickle. Much like his predilection to put his foot in his mouth, his pickles were numerous. However, it was the first time in his life he’d been trapped in a roll of fabric, in a container, with his rear end (perky as it may be) jutting out of the roll for all the world to see.

It appeared his Gucci belt had snagged on something as he’d wriggled through the bolt of material trying to rescue the treasured Mont Blanc pen Oliver, his adored boyfriend, had given him.

Leslie had known today was going to be a bad day the minute he’d gotten out of bed. First, he’d found a nasty spot on his chin. Second, he’d managed to spill the sugar all over the kitchen floor in his haste to leave this morning. Because of that, he’d been late—again. And third, Laverne, damn her evil heart, had sent him on this stupid mission to deal with customs agents at the docks and to oversee the delivery of a large consignment from Hong Kong.

Of course, she’d insisted Leslie look in the container to make sure it was all there. “Darling,” she’d drawled, “you know these customs places. I order suit fabric and end up with a million years’ worth of fuzzy children’s bunnies. Or is that children’s fuzzy bunnies?” She’d waved a manicured hand. “Never mind. You simply must check it before you sign the acceptance form.”

Grudgingly, Leslie had done just that, trying to charm the grizzled veteran of the docks with little success (Leslie had nicknamed him Bear Growls) but had achieved his goal nonetheless. Then, as he’d bent down to check a tag on the bolt of cloth, his pen had fallen out of his shirt pocket, rolled into the wide damn cardboard tube that the fabric was wrapped around, and landed with a plink on the other side of the roll. With no way to get to the other side since the container was packed to the brim, Leslie had thought he was being clever slinking his way into the roll to rescue his pen.

Unfortunately, he’d not given a thought as to how he would get out. And now, here he was, snagged on something, he knew not what, unable to retreat or advance.

Leslie thanked all the Gods above he’d worn proper underwear today and not a thong.

When the time came for him to be found, desiccated and limp, looking for all the world like a mummy the world had forgotten, at least he’d be halfway decent.

“If there’s anyone behind me, could they please either pull me out, or give me a push?” he yelled, as a bead of sweat rolled into his eye. The eyeliner he wore rolled with it, and he swore at the sting. “Fucking poxy stupid belt, let me the fuck go,” he demanded.

The cardboard roll remained uncooperative, his belt didn’t budge, and Leslie remained stuck. His profanity didn’t appear to be working as a tactic. Perhaps, if he stretched out as far as he could, he’d be able to grab the end of the pen between his fingertips. He blew a lock of hair out of his face in irritation as he glowered at the pen lying innocently out of reach, unaware of its owner’s dilemma.

He reached out, bit by bit, and finally his index finger and thumb caught the nib of the pen and grasped it. “Got you,” he muttered. He pulled the item toward him and heaved a thankful sigh at having it back in his possession. Now all he had to do was extricate himself from the predicament he was in.

“Hello?” he shouted, hoping Bear Growls might have come back from making his tea. “I’m stuck. I need help.”

Behind him, someone cleared his throat. “Well, this is a fine sight,” the voice rasped. “You bit off a tad more than you could chew there, lad.”

Leslie breathed a sigh of relief on recognising Bear Growls’s distinctive, well, growl.

“Oh, thank God,” he muttered, “Saved by the bear. Could you pull me out please? My belt got stuck and I’m hoping a bit of force might shift it.”

“Well, I can,” Bear Growls drawled, “but I’m enjoying the scenery too much. Can I finish my tea first?”

Leslie’s jaw dropped. “No, you cannot finish your tea,” he snarled. “I’m sweating, my shirt is creased to hell, and my eyeliner is running. I really would like to get out of here, now.”

Part of him, the smug bit, was rather tickled that the burly docksman seemed to be enjoying the sight before him.

He’s looking at my arse? Well, I never. But the man does have great taste.

Bear gave a chuckle and Leslie felt two hands grab hold of his ankles.

“Mind the boots please,” he muttered. “They’re Jo Ghost, and I’d hate them to get scuffed.”

There was a loud snort behind him and hands like melons with fingers wrapped around his sock-clad ankles and pulled hard. “I’ll do my best, lad. Now you just lie there and let me do all the work.”

“Huh, like I haven’t heard that one before,” Leslie murmured sarcastically as he found himself being tugged backward. “You should be on the stage.” He yelped as his belt came free and he slid along the cardboard floor into the bright sunshine of the dockyard. He lay there for a minute, his belly to the asphalt, as Bear knelt beside him and peered into his face.

“You all right there, lad? I guess I could say I’ve pulled and all.” Bear sniggered.

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Leslie stood himself up and glared at the short, burly man who stood there, shaking with laughter. “Thank you very much for getting me out, but please, enough with the silly jokes.”

He frowned as he stared down at his shirt, all crumpled and creased around his stomach. He rearranged his suit jacket with as much dignity as he could, having been extricated from a cardboard roll by a bear with a sense of humour.

Bear Growls grinned at him. Leslie had to admit the man was quite a fine specimen, in his late thirties, with a short, dark beard and bright blue eyes. Underneath his open-necked shirt Leslie saw the start of a chest covered with thick, dark hair. He was only a few inches taller than Leslie and built like a bricklayer. There would have been a time, had Leslie met such a man in a club, he might have gone home with him.

Not now, of course. He had his sexy, adorable Oliver, who’d come a long way since being the reclusive former porn star with a nasty scar. In the past three years, Leslie had made it his mission to drag Oliver into the social circles Leslie lived and breathed in. The new Oliver, imbued with more confidence than before, was the by-product of Leslie’s tough love and owned Leslie’s heart like no other.

Bear Growls gestured at him. “I hope you found what you were looking for,” he said. “I have to say this was the most entertaining event I’ve participated in this week.”

Leslie grasped the recalcitrant pen tightly in his hand and nodded. “I did,” he acknowledged gracefully. After all, the man had rescued him from what could have been a living hell. What if the container had been closed, with him inside? What if it had been shipped to Outer Mongolia where there was no Internet, and people with no fashion sense?

He shuddered.

“So, was everything all right then, apart from the getting stuck bit?” Bear held out a clipboard and a pen with a chewed top. “I’ll need your signature, please, and I don’t mind if you give me your number either.” He winked.

Leslie shook his head regretfully. “Alas, I am spoken for,” he said. “However, if you give me your number, I do know of someone who might like to meet you.” His assistant Chester, who worked with him at Debussy, had been looking for someone like Bear Growls for a long time. Perhaps they could arrange a blind date together.

Bear shrugged. “Story of my life. All the best ones are taken or straight.” He squinted at Leslie, who took the board and signed it with a flourish. “This mate of yours, is he a nice bloke? I’m not looking for a fly-by-night. I’m not into one-night stands.”

Leslie rolled his eyes. “Chester is the picture boy for the whole ‘relationship’ scene. He’s a home and hearth man.”

Bear Growls’s eyes lit up. “He sounds like my type. Do you think he’d agree to go on a date with me?” His tone grew uncertain. “I mean, I’m nothing special, I work here at the London docks, and I’m not much to look at—”

Leslie reached over and placed a finger on Bear’s lips, effectively shutting him up. Leslie tut-tutted. “Oh no, no, we don’t do self-deprecation here. You seem like a nice man and while I can’t speak for Chester, there was a time when I might have considered a date with you.” He waved his hand. “Of course, I have my own man now and he’s perfect, thank you very much.”

He glanced at his watch. “As much as I love being matchmaker, I really do need to get back to work. My boss will have my balls if I don’t.”

He held up a warning finger as Bear’s lips parted. “No ball jokes, please. I don’t think I could take it.”

Bear smiled, and Leslie was taken aback by the way it transformed his face. Bear was stunning when he smiled. Chester was going to be so delighted. He felt it necessary to warn Bear who he was dealing with. “I will pass on your number to my friend, and if it works for you both, fine, but I’m warning you now, that if you harm a hair on his head or break his heart, I will hunt you down and beat you to death with my Jimmy Choos.” He tried to make his face as menacing as possible, but Oliver had always told him he looked adorably cute when he was trying to be mean, so he wasn’t sure if it worked.

Bear blinked and then gave one of his huge, beautiful smiles again. “Duly noted. I am shaking in my boots.”

Leslie took out his phone and quirked an eyebrow at Bear. “I can’t put Bear Growls in my phone, so you’ll need to tell me your real name.”

Bear hooted in laughter. “Oh, I like that one. You’re a cute bit of trouble, I can tell.” He looked a little sheepish. “I prefer that to my real names.”

Leslie’s curiosity was piqued. He leaned in and laid a hand on Bear’s impressive bicep. “Ooh do tell. What did your parents saddle you with?”

Bear cleared his throat. “My full names are Enoch Andrew Michael Jenkins.”

Leslie blinked. “That’s a lot of names. Enoch doesn’t sound so bad though?”

Bear snorted. “I’ve heard so many knock-knock jokes about my name, you can’t imagine. Oh, hi, Enoch, knock-knock, who’s there? I prefer to use Andrew. Or Andy.”

Leslie nodded sympathetically. “People can be tossers about names and teasing. Andy it is then.”

He took down the number then grinned at Andy. “Right, I’d better be off to work before I get stabbed with a letter opener by my boss. She doesn’t take kindly to me larking about.” He checked he had everything—including his pen, after all the trouble it had gotten him into—and with a final wave at Andy, Leslie departed the docks on route back to Debussy Fashion.

Chapter 2

“Well, well, well. Lovely of you to join us, chicken. I thought for one moment the universe had sucked you into a black hole, never to be seen again.”

Leslie stopped what he was doing, which was trying to sneak surreptitiously into his office. He had one now as he’d been promoted to senior buyer, but was still Laverne’s general factotum, a chore he bore with grumbling acceptance, even though he loved every minute. He turned to face Laverne Debussy-Smith, his boss, with a wide and brilliant smile.

“Laverne. You’re looking lovely. That suit looks amazing on you.” He waved a hand. “And you’ve done something to your hair?”

Laverne, known as Lenny James when she wasn’t dressed to kill, was as much of a friend to Leslie as Laverne, gazed down at her apparel and then back up at Leslie with a lazy smile.

“Fancy that. It looks equally as amazing as it did this morning when you saw me in it. And as for my hair, I suppose me running my hands through it, wondering where you were, concerned for one of my most valued employees, has given it that je ne sais quoi appearance.” She smiled evilly and prowled toward Leslie. “You have a good time at the docks?”

Leslie nodded fervently as he made his way behind his desk. He sat down in the chair and pulled his computer keyboard to him. “Yes, I managed to get the consignment sorted, and it will be here tomorrow morning.”

Laverne tapped her chin with a long fingernail in contemplation. “I’m glad to hear it. You’ll notice a few emails in your inbox, some marked ‘Urgent,’ so I’d appreciate it if you could handle them, especially the one from Robert Kingsman. He’s fretting about his exhibition tonight and has a few last-minute things he needs done. That will get him off my back. He’s been calling for you all afternoon.” She rolled her eyes and fanned herself. “The man is a complete tosser with everyone else but for some strange reason, he loves you. One has no clue why.” The sparkle of amusement in her eyes took the sting out of the comment.

Leslie smirked. Laverne loved Leslie too. Oliver told him everyone did. That he was a loveable sort of person. He nodded. “Of course, boss. I’m right on it.”

Laverne perched one linen-clad buttock on the corner of Leslie’s desk and regarded him thoughtfully. “What took so long? Was there a problem with the shipment?”

“Er, no, we had a bit of a logistical issue that needing resolving, so that took a while.” He crossed his fingers under the desk. “The dock person was a decent kind of guy, so he helped me sort everything.”

“Hmmm.” Laverne didn’t sound convinced. “Well, I’m glad about that because I need to finish up the new Christmas range. It’s only a few weeks away and we’ve still got a lot to do.” Her eyes grew dreamy. “That suit fabric is going to look fabulous on the finished product in the stores, and our Nutcracker range is going to be the talk of the town this season.”

Leslie breathed a sigh of relief. While Laverne was thinking about her fashion and clothing, he wouldn’t have to explain any further why he’d been late. The word Christmas made him starry-eyed as well. He had big plans this season. Big plans with his Oliver Brown. Leslie wondered dreamily how he could ever have thought that name was boring. Oliver was the moon, the stars, and the rainbow over the soft, wispy clouds. Oliver was the unicorn who regularly used his big, ever-so-tasty horn to—

His thoughts were caught short by a slap to the hand with a ruler. He glared at his boss, who flipped the ruler at him, narrowly missing his nose. Laverne’s face was creased in merriment, her blonde bangs swinging down over her face as she laughed.

“Do you mind?” Leslie snapped, moving out of range. “You could have broken my nose with that.”

Laverne winked. “The look on your face right then… That was a ‘thinking of Oliver’ look if ever there was one. I know when you have those sexy thoughts about him, chicken. Your face is an open book.” She gazed at him speculatively. “In fact, come to think of it, you’ve been rather secretive of late. Spending time with Chester—where is he, by the way—and scrounging more fabric in the recycling room. Have you both got a secret project I should know about?”

Leslie’s throat closed in panic. He did indeed have a secret project, but he wasn’t about to tell Laverne about it. The woman would make a sumptuous feast of his plan and before you knew it, his secret would be escalated to the likes of a Liberace show. Leslie wanted quiet and simple on this one.

The actual wedding- well, that was another thing entirely. A show by Liberace would look pale in comparison to what Leslie had planned.

“Uhmm, Chester was in The Arbour when I came in, checking stock. And you know me, I’m always on the lookout for bits and pieces to make my outfits pop. Nothing says ‘I’m trendy’ more than a well-placed piece of lace or leather.”

Or a whole bolt of red satin that just happened to fall into my arms when I was there last. Oh, and let’s not forget the white faux fur that somehow found its way into my man bag.

Laverne huffed. “Uh-huh. I’m on to you, chicken.” She pointed her fingers at her eyes then back at Leslie, who blinked as innocently as he could. “I know something’s up. And I intend to find out what in due course. You can’t fool me.” She stood up, and straightened her blouse, then her jacket, finally running her hands down her hips to smooth her trousers. “Now I have another one of those boring bank manager meetings, followed by a lengthy debate with Herbert Chessingham on exactly why I can’t make him a suit with PVC see-through butt cheeks.”

Leslie snorted a giggle. “Oh God, is he still going on about that? I thought you’d talked him out of it.”

Laverne sighed wearily. “So did I, chicken. But his lady friend thinks it’s sexy and I haven’t got the heart to tell him his scrawny backside will not do my suits any favours.” She flipped her hair back indignantly. “A Debussy will not be lowered to what appears to be a passing fantasy for some little gold digger. No way, José.” She made a moue with her raspberry-coloured lips. “He can go to fucking Tracy Trey for that pleasure.”

Leslie chuckled. There was no love lost between Laverne and her rival. During their last encounter, Tracy had come off second best when Laverne had kneed him in the balls.

“In fact,” Laverne said eagerly, her face lighting up, “I have had the most wonderful idea. I’ll refer him to Tracy, professional courtesy and all that. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that before.” She leaned over and kissed Leslie on the top of his head. “Always good shooting the breeze with you, sexiness. Now sort out Robert for me, will you? If he calls me one more time today, I will come in and shove that red satin you misappropriated down your lovely throat.” Laverne grinned wickedly as Leslie gaped at her. “I know everything. You should know that by now.” She waved a hand and disappeared into the main corridor with a swish.

I was so careful. How does she know? The woman is a witch, I swear. I need to find a charm that will stop her from reading my thoughts.

He thought smugly she didn’t seem to know about the faux fur. Leslie—1, Laverne—0. He wasn’t about to tempt fate though, and was a moment away from researching a local Wiccan shop on his computer for a spell or charm when someone slid in through his door and shut it swiftly behind him.

“Good, she’s gone. I waited ages.” Chester Romero winked at Leslie. “I have something for you.” Dark eyebrows over even darker eyes waggled as Chester reached down the front of his trousers and drew out a furry white and gold glitter pom-pom.

Leslie stared at him in horror. “That was down your pants? Yuck.”

Chester shrugged. “I am wearing underwear, and I couldn’t fit it in my shirt because of my suspenders, and my shirt is a bit tight.” He gestured down his lithe little body at the white long-sleeve shirt he wore rolled up to the elbows, and his dark green suspenders. “So down here was the best place.” He was only about five feet four in his boots and even Leslie towered over him.

Chester’s dark face wreathed in a grin, showing white teeth. His Cuban heritage was something Leslie envied—all that beautifully tanned skin and hair as black and thick as molasses. Leslie seemed to burn every time he tried tanning in the sun. Ah, the joys of being British.

“I thought this could go on top of the hat.” Chester gestured animatedly toward the pom-pom that sat on Leslie’s desk. “We can sew it on, and it will look fabuloso, yes?”

Leslie picked up the item with a slight grimace and held it up. “It is rather nifty,” he acknowledged, and flashed a smile at his friend. “Thank you so much, it’s perfect.” They smiled at each in their shared secret.

“We can finish cutting the fabric this weekend, and then I will start sewing it all together.” Chester made a scissoring motion with his fingers. “Oliver is going to be so surprised, mi amigo. He will love it.” As one of the trainee fashion designers and Leslie’s one and only direct report, Chester was well versed to take on the task of Leslie’s “secret project.”

Leslie sighed. “I hope so.”

Chester looked affronted. “Sure, he will love it. It’s not every boyfriend who gets to see his beautiful partner in a special Santa Claus outfit, designed by an up-and-coming young mover and shaker in the industry. This will be a Romero special. With the assistance of a Leslie, of course.”

“I’m not doing much,” Leslie confessed, “other than telling you what I want. You’re the one doing most of the work.” He had indeed been helping Chester with the pattern, and cutting the fabric, but Chester refused to let him sew. He’d said that was his job. Leslie thought Chester didn’t trust him enough not to make a mistake. Chester could be quite the perfectionist.

The Santa Claus outfit was going to be epic though. Leslie wanted this Christmas to be special for a lot of reasons, and creating the sexiest Santa outfit he could think of was part of his plan. This plan included tight red satin trousers and a form-hugging shirt, with white fur around the cuffs and collar, and a pointy soft velvet hat with the pom-pom adorned on the top.

Of course, it was all easy unfastening too. He already had the shoes, a pair of red patent leather Kurt Geiger stilettos he’d purchased specially for the occasion.

Leslie was going to rock Oliver’s world dressed in this outfit. And of course, there was the other thing as well…the thing that caused him sleepless nights and made his stomach gurgle in panic. He smiled back at Chester, who was eagerly explaining his plans for the intricate stitching across the back seams. Enough thinking about that, he remonstrated himself sharply.

It’s all under control and it’s going to be fine.

Chapter 3

Oliver understood having a boyfriend like Leslie Tiberius Scott meant life was often somewhat exhausting. As much as he adored Leslie, there were times he wished he could find his OFF switch and press it. He’d been busy creating websites all day, he had a bitch of a headache, a weird churning feeling in his belly, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up in his easy chair with a glass of wine and finish his book.

Then Leslie, gorgeous, sexy as fuck, but oh so excitable Leslie, had swooshed into the living room, and while Oliver’s world had gotten brighter, it had also shrunk with the power of his boyfriend’s presence. Thinking about it, ever since Leslie had moved into Oliver’s home in Wembley, the place seemed smaller.

And it wasn’t only because of Leslie’s clothes, shoes, and handbags. The man had a huge, sparkling personality and it seeped out of every window and doorframe. Oliver was sure the neighbours must have a touch of it in their own homes. He grinned at the old memory of making love on top of a pile of coats lying on the floor when they’d been trying to unpack when Leslie moved in. While Leslie had fussed over them afterward, the sight of his boyfriend riding his cock while clad only in a pair of dark blue heels had been spectacular.

“And I told her, well, you’ll have to put up with it, or risk having a face-lift in later life and looking like wrinkled old prune. Honestly, nowadays, who wouldn’t want to wear sunscreen?” Leslie huffed vexedly and leaned forward from the couch where he sat, his toned, tanned legs clad in denim shorts curled under him. “Oliver, baby, are you okay? You’ve hardly said anything since I got home.”

Oliver sighed wearily. “That’s because you haven’t let me, love. You seem a little more…” He paused. Like a squirrel on crack was what he wanted to say, but he didn’t dare.

“Enthusiastic than usual,” he finished lamely. “You must have really had a great day at work.”

Leslie’s eyes narrowed. “Well, I did, apart from getting stuck in a rather uncompromising position, and having to have Bear Growls pull me out, oh, and I managed to get a date for Chester with him, they’ve made contact and it’s all systems go. I told them about Galileo’s so they’ll give it whirl.” Galileo’s was the renowned Soho restaurant owned by the boyfriend of one of Leslie’s best mates, Eddie Tripp.

“Bear Growls,” Oliver said faintly. “Who is he? And stuck how?”

Leslie waved a hand. “Oh, it was a silly misunderstanding with me and my pen. Andy managed to extricate me.”

“Who the fuck is Andy?” Oliver’s headache grew worse and he reached up a hand and rubbed his forehead.

Leslie huffed in frustration. “He’s Bear Growls. Honestly, Oliver, have you not heard a word I’ve said?”

Oliver couldn’t reply. Instead, he leapt up from his chair and barely made it to the loo to kneel before upchucking his meagre lunch of marmite toast down into the porcelain bowl. He gripped the loo seat as everything spewed forth.

“Oh babe, hang on, I’ll get you a wet cloth to wipe your mouth.” Leslie’s warm fingers brushed the top of his head. “What the heck did you eat today? Oh God, there you go again. I’ll, uhm, wait here until you’ve finished.”

When Oliver finally thought he could be sick no more, he leaned back against the wall of the bathroom, legs splayed in front of him. Leslie crouched beside him, sapphire blue eyes filled with concern.

“Sweetie, let’s get you cleaned up and then it’s off to bed with you. I’ll get you some of that electrolyte stuff. You must have caught a bug or something.”

He helped Oliver to his feet. He was feeling decidedly dizzy, but a lot better now that he’d gotten what was bothering him out into the open, so to speak.

“I’ve been feeling a little shitty all week,” he husked out, throat still raw. “I thought I was over it, but obviously not.”

Leslie’s brow furrowed as he wiped a soft wet cloth over Oliver’s face and chin. His lips pursed in a classic Leslie indication of faint disapproval. His boyfriend squeezed toothpaste onto Oliver’s toothbrush and held it out. “There you go. Brush your teeth and I’ll go get that fluid replacement thingy.” Leslie walked out of the bathroom. Oliver finished brushing his teeth, then made his way wearily to the bedroom. He undressed, down to his wine-red briefs, and got between the covers with a sigh of relief.

No sooner had he pulled up the duvet, Leslie was there with a glass of something pink. He perched down on the side of the bed. “Drink,” he ordered.

Oliver did as he was told. Leslie’s eyes bore into him and Oliver had the feeling that even though he was sick, he wasn’t about to be let off the hook that easily. “So, all those times you told me you felt fine, you really weren’t?” Leslie asked pointedly. “Looks to me like you’ve got this stomach bug that’s doing the rounds.”

Oliver flapped a hand. “It was no big deal,” he protested. “I thought I was over it. I’ve been watching what I eat, nothing too rich.”

“Uh-huh.” Leslie’s lips tightened. “Oliver, when I ask how you’re feeling, I actually want to know. I don’t need you keeping the situation from me.”

Oliver closed his eyes and tried to look pathetic, which in all honesty wasn’t such a big stretch given the way he felt. “Baby, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to worry you. You’ve had a lot on your plate lately and I didn’t want to add to it. Really.”

Leslie nodded, eyes softening. “And now look at you, babe.” He reached down and stroked a lock of hair from Oliver’s forehead and those soft lips he loved so much kissed Oliver’s cheek. “Get some sleep. I’ve got a few things to sort out then I’ll come to bed.”

The room lapsed into silence when Leslie left and seemed to get that little bit darker as well. Oliver rolled over onto his side and closed his eyes. He’d make it up to Leslie in the morning. He’d take him for breakfast at that French place down the road. Then they’d come back and have a lazy Saturday afternoon together, doing nothing. Well, perhaps not nothing. Oliver’s face creased in a smile as he drifted off to oblivion.

***

Oliver chuckled sleepily when Leslie slid into bed beside him later and wrapped an arm around his waist. His boyfriend’s body was chilled, and Oliver heaved a sigh even as he flinched at the cool skin against his.

“Where the hell have you been that you’re so cold?” he asked groggily as Leslie planted a feather-light kiss to the nape of Oliver’s neck.

“I was sitting outside watching the stars.” Leslie wriggled and Oliver’s body responded pleasantly. “I had a few things on my mind.”

Oliver shifted. “What kind of things?” he murmured drowsily, enjoying the feel of Leslie’s firm body behind him, skin to skin.

“Secret things,” Leslie whispered. “Good things, though. Nothing to worry about.” His hand slid over Oliver’s stomach. “Are you feeling better?”

“Uh-huh. My stomach feels a little less as if it was a washing machine, and that nauseous feeling has gone. I think being sick got it all out.”

Leslie snuggled closer. “Would you like me to take care of this?”

His fingers slid around Oliver’s hardening length and he groaned, “I’ll never say no to your hands on my body.” He hitched a breath. “Yes, baby. That feels good.”

Leslie’s hardness prodded against Oliver’s backside and he closed his eyes as the strong, sure touch of the man he adored rocked his world. In the intimacy of their bedroom, with the clock ticking softly on the wall, marking down exquisite seconds, and the steady pull of Leslie’s hand on his cock, Oliver wanted for nothing more.

***

Sex with his boyfriend was always a pleasure. Waking up the morning after to a snarling Leslie, however, was not.

“Motherfucker. I am so going to kill him when I see him.”

Something hit the dresser top, causing bottles of aftershave, makeup, and Oliver’s treasured figure of Star Trek’s Spock—bought at the last comic con they’d gone to—to go crashing to the floor. He peered out from beneath the covers with one eye. “Babe, what’s got you all riled up?”

He noticed the offending item thrown at the dresser was one of Leslie’s favourite waistcoats, a vintage Gothic brocade one with chains on the pockets. Leslie turned to stare at him, one hand on a trouser-clad hip. Oliver had to admit he looked delicious standing there in his work clothes: tight tailored trousers, a pale blue shirt, and a tie that only Leslie could love, dark blue featuring yellow Minions.

He’d seen another tie at a local suit shop he thought Leslie would love—a grey one with penguins, another Leslie favourite—and had made a mental note to pop out and buy it today for him.

Leslie deserved presents and a little something special.

“That new apprentice at work agreed to take in my waistcoat, I wanted an extra pleat in the back. I don’t think he measured correctly. He’s made the damn thing too tight now. I can’t wear it today and I’m going to have get the whole thing unpicked and redone.”

Oliver didn’t think that issue merited a sonic Leslie meltdown but he daren’t say it. He certainly wasn’t going to suggest his lover might have picked up a teensy-weensy bit of weight since the waistcoat had been altered. That would be suicide. Instead, he made a noncommittal sound of comfort and snuggled back under the duvet. He was due up in half an hour, so he might as well make the most of it. He did, however, feel morally bound to help the poor unfortunate soul who may face Leslie’s wrath when he got into work.

Call it my good deed for the day.

“He is an apprentice, though. Perhaps you can teach him what he’s done wrong, make it a learning curve kind of thing. I mean, you are a manager now and that’s one of your responsibilities, isn’t it?”

Leslie hummed thoughtfully. “I suppose that’s true. Maybe I won’t castrate him after all.” He scowled adorably. “But he’s going to need to get his backside into gear and fix it. I want to wear it this weekend.” He nodded to himself. “It’ll go well with those new trousers I bought to wear to the event this Saturday night. You do remember we’re going to Taylor and Draven’s for dinner, right?”

Crisis averted, Oliver smiled. “I remember. It’s all you bloody Musketeers have been talking about for the last month and a half.” Taylor Abelard was another good friend of Leslie’s, and together with Eddie, the three friends were dubbed the Gay Musketeers.

Leslie rummaged through his cupboard, no doubt looking for another waistcoat. “We have so not. Well, maybe a bit. It is three years they’ve been engaged for after all, and it’s about time they started thinking about getting married.”

Something landed on Oliver’s feet. He stayed where he was, being used to having various items of clothing draped over him when Leslie was trying to find something.

Oliver sighed. “Leslie, not everyone wants to get married. Some people are quite happy being in a relationship without all the bells and whistles.”

The rummaging stopped and there was silence. Oliver hoped Leslie had found what he was looking for, so he could go back to sleep. Instead, Leslie sat down on the bed and Oliver moved the duvet to look at him. His boyfriend’s usually bright face looked shadowed, his lovely lips pursed together.

“What are you saying? That them being engaged isn’t a big thing and getting married isn’t something you want to do?”

Oliver sat up, covers falling to his waist, and he regarded Leslie with more scrutiny than usual.

I think I should give up on getting back to sleep.

“I’m saying plenty of people don’t need the pomp and ceremony to know they love someone and that they want to spend the rest of their lives together. That’s all.”

Leslie’s brow furrowed then he smiled, but it looked a little forced. “Oh, yeah. I get it. Is that the category we fall into then?” He stood up and started pushing the clothes apart, still looking for whatever he wanted, with a bit more force than before.

“Yes, no. God, I don’t know. I think sometimes people put too much faith in rings and ceremonies when all they need to do is love the other person and things will work out. I know I adore you. I hope you do the same back. What else do we need?”

Leslie finally found what he was looking for, another waistcoat of dark grey with yellow and white flowers on the lapels. “I s’pose. Hey, do you think this will go well with what I’m wearing?”

He held the waistcoat against himself and looked over at Oliver, who nodded and grinned, thankful the moment of awkwardness seemed to have passed. “Baby, you rock anything you wear. And absolutely, that looks good with your outfit.”

Ten minutes later, after one filthy kiss and a quick flounce of Leslie’s manicured hands, his boyfriend was out the bedroom door on his way to work. Oliver stood up, stretched, and regarded the chaos that was their bedroom with dismay. He certainly wasn’t picking up after Leslie. Oliver attempted to make the bed, artfully shifting aside the clothes that lay on top to make it look presentable, then made his way to the bathroom for a shower.

Might as well get to work. Those websites won’t build themselves.

Chapter 4

“What’s up, Leslie? You don’t seem yourself today.” Chester’s voice filtered into Leslie’s office. “You haven’t even eaten the doughnut I bought you.”

Leslie looked up from his paperwork and stared sadly at the yummy sprinkled and strawberry-cream-filled doughnut gracing his desk.

“I know. I don’t have the appetite right now.” He’d gotten to work and remonstrated with Kaden, the apprentice, about the too-small waistcoat, and while doing so, he’d had a horrific thought that had curled his toes and plummeted his spirits to the bottom of Mount Leslie.

What if I’ve put on weight and that’s why the waistcoat didn’t fit?

That thought had been too horrible to contemplate, and the calorie-laden doughnut sitting forlornly on his desk seemed to smirk at him like an evil temptress. The fact Oliver didn’t seem to believe in getting married had burst his happy bubble first thing this morning. Leslie’s heart ached at the thought that his plans for Christmas seemed to be falling apart.

Chester came inside the office and perched on the corner of the desk. “Mi amigo, everyone is talking. You have been shuttered inside this office all day and hardly said a word. Even Laverne threatened to come and drag you out into the cutting room to see for herself how sick you are.”

Leslie sighed and shook his head. “I’m not sick.” Heart sick, maybe. “It’s just—” He glanced at the door.

I have to tell someone, and Chester will keep the secret. I haven’t been able to tell Taylor or Eddie, because, honestly, those two and keeping secrets are like drag queens without makeup. Not going to happen.

“Close the door, will you? I need some advice.”

Chester jumped up, shut the door, then sat back down with a look of curiosity on his face. “Of course. Anything I can do to help.”

Leslie took a deep breath. “You know I’m making this outfit, but I haven’t told you the reason I’m making it.” He swallowed nervously.

What if he thinks it’s a stupid idea, like Oliver seems to?

Chester leaned in eagerly. “Oooh. I am all ears.”

“I’mgoingtoaskOlivertomarrymeatChristmasbutIdon’tthinkhewantstoandIdon’tknowwhattodo.” The words came out in panic-speak and no sooner had he said them, Leslie wished he could take them back. The secret he’d hugged to himself for so long, revelled in, taking joy in, was now out, and somehow, with Oliver’s reaction this morning, the words seemed—tainted.

Chester gazed at him, and for a minute Leslie thought the man hadn’t understood a word he’d said. Then Chester beamed, and it was like the window blinds had been opened and the sun was shining in.

Huh. I haven’t even opened the blinds yet. I suppose I should. No wonder everyone is worried about me.

“Oh my God,” Chester squealed, coming around the desk and wrapping sinewy arms around Leslie. “That is epic. Oh, Leslie, why would you think Oliver would say no?”

Leslie shrugged, feeling a little better at Chester’s reaction, and relayed the gist of this morning’s conversation to his friend. Chester stood up, cocked his head like a cute puppy and frowned. “I think perhaps you read too much into it,” he remarked wisely. Leslie nodded sagely, knowing he was prone to fly off the handle first, ask questions later. “You are talking about the man who rented a whole cinema for you so you could see a secret showing of The Birdcage again on the big screen for your anniversary.” He perched back on the desk, suggesting the image of a dark little bird. “And he arranged for thirty red roses to be delivered to your place of work the same day. Remember that lady in Accounting complained about the strong smell then you went all Amazonian on her arse. After that, and countless other displays, you think Oliver wouldn’t want to marry you when you ask him?”

Leslie picked up the doughnut and bit into it, sprinkles falling down his chin and onto his desk blotter. He smiled whimsically. That had indeed been a wonderful day. Oliver had made sure of it.

“I know he’s awesome, and I adore him. I suppose I’m worrying too much. We’ve been together nearly three years now and I really want to be able to call him my fiancé, then my husband.” Leslie took another bite of the half-eaten doughnut. “I’ve even chosen the ring. It’s beautiful. Simple but elegant, just like him.

“I thought I’d do it at Club Delish, in that little room Ryan has off the stage, under a Christmas tree—good food, wine, and Cher playing in the background.” He sighed dreamily. “It will be perfect.” He popped the last bit of doughnut into his mouth and scowled. “Then he spoiled my fantasy by saying he didn’t believe in it all. What kind of monster doesn’t believe in getting married?”

Chester tut-tutted. “From what you told me, he didn’t say he didn’t believe in it, but that you didn’t need it to prove two people love each other. That’s a big difference.”

Leslie regarded his sticky fingers glumly. “I s’pose. You think I’m overreacting then?” He put his fingers in his mouth and sucked off the doughnut glaze.

Chester cackled loudly. “Leslie, this is you we’re talking about. Of course, you are.” He stood and pulled at Leslie’s sleeve. “I know how to cheer you up. Come take a look at the progress I’ve made on your outfit. It’s starting to take shape.”

Leslie stood, wiping his hands on the donut napkin, his spirits lifting. Maybe Chester was right, and everything would go according to plan. “Lead away, MacDuff. Let me see how damn sexy I’m going to look so I can blow my future husband’s socks off.”

He followed Chester out of the room, keeping a sharp eye out for Laverne. He didn’t fancy being interrogated to within an inch of his life about his current mood. “By the way, Ches, did you organise your date with Bear?”

Chester nodded as they walked across the office. “I did. Saturday night. And his name is Andy, not Bear.”

Leslie huffed. “I found him, I get to call him what I want.” He looked slyly at his friend. “And believe me, when you see him, Bear is going to be the first thing you think of. He’s all muscly and growly and so you.”

Chester’s face pinked. “He does sound nice. He sent me a picture of himself.”

“A dick picture?” Leslie asked, and sniggered.

Chester turned to him crossly. “No, a real one of him all dressed up in jeans and tank top. Not all of us use Grindr as our personal spank bank photo gallery.”

“I have no need for that anymore,” Leslie declared loftily. “I have my own spank bank experience waiting for me at home, thank you very much.” That thought lifted his mood as he and Chester entered the back room where the secret project was being created (it was an old stockroom no one really used anymore), and he decided there and then not to worry about his Christmas proposal.

“Remember this is a secret,” he told Chester as they walked into the room. “No one else knows yet, so you have to promise me you’ll say nothing to anyone.”

They pinkie-swore and Chester solemnly assured Leslie that not a word about the exciting event would leave his lips. Leslie believed him. Chester was a pretty good egg.

It was all going to work out fine, exactly the way Leslie had planned.

***

“Sean Connery. Has to be. Anyone else is an absolute no.” Draven Samuels sat on the living room floor of the home he shared with his partner, Taylor Abelard. He leaned back against Taylor’s long, jeans-clad legs. “Don’t even get me started on Pierce Brosnan.”

Taylor, seated on the couch behind him, gasped in mock horror. “How the fuck can you say that? It’s Daniel Craig. Got to be him.” He ran a hand through his long, dark hair and nodded his head firmly.

“You would say that,” Draven smirked. “‘Cause he looks like me.” Taylor ruffled Draven’s hair, causing his fiancé to grasp his hand and growl, “Leave my fucking hair alone. You know I hate it when you do that.”

“Ooh, temper, temper, babe.” Taylor ruffled harder and yelped when Draven turned and dragged him down onto the floor beside him. The two men tussled like teenagers. The six friends were gathered together to celebrate Taylor and Draven’s third “being engaged” anniversary.

It wasn’t strictly their idea, to be fair. The couple couldn’t have cared less, but for some reason, Eddie and Leslie insisted that it was something worth celebrating each year, and they all ended up gathered together like tonight. Oliver wondered if it was some plan on Eddie and Leslie’s part to hurry the couple along to get married. The two of them were earmarked to be best men and Leslie already had the wedding’s fashion statement planned.

“God’s truth, do you two ever not argue?” Leslie leaned against Oliver’s shoulder as his body shook with mirth. “I swear, I don’t know how you two have been together this long without killing each other.”

Oliver looked around at the gathering of his friends and chuckled.

These guys are batshit crazy.

He glanced over at Gideon Kent, partner of Leslie’s other bestie, Eddie Tripp.

Gideon winked at him. “I’m with Draven on this one,” he declared loftily. “The best James Bond was Sean Connery. Period.”

Eddie turned his head slowly to stare at his boyfriend. Under his tousled red curls, green eyes regarded Gideon with disdain. “Sean might have been the best until Daniel came along. Come on, you can’t look at those steely blue eyes and strong jawline and not feel a little turned on when he goes all macho on the bad guys’ arses.”

Oliver felt honour bound to weigh in on this most important discussion. “So am I the only one who thinks Timothy Dalton made the best Bond?”

The room quieted as five pairs of eyes swivelled to regard him in disbelief.

“Timothy Dalton?” Leslie gasped. “Oliver, are you feeling okay? I could have sworn you just made the worst statement ever.” He flung a lock of black hair back from his face in true diva fashion, and not for the first time Oliver wondered how much more he could fall in love with this man.

Draven grunted. “He must have hit his head when we weren’t looking.” His fingers played idly with Taylor’s curls as they sat huddled together on the carpet.

Gideon nodded. “Or been transported to a parallel universe and returned as the village idiot.” Everyone turned to stare at Gideon, who flushed, and rubbed his dark chin stubble nervously. “What?”

Eddie sniggered. “That was a totally un-Gideon like thing to say. You’ve been playing too many medieval Xbox games, I think.”

“But still,” Taylor said doubtfully. “Timothy Dalton?”

Oliver laughed loudly. “Guys, I was joking. I happen to agree with Taylor. Daniel Craig was the best.” There were hoots and cheers around the table, and then Eddie turned to Taylor.

“So come on, Mr Psychic, who do you think the next Bond will be? Use your third eye and see the future.” He made the sound of the Twilight Zone theme music. “Idris, one of the Toms, or Luke Evans?”

Taylor’s eyes shadowed. “My Spidey senses aren’t quite working the way they used to, guys.” He tried to smile. “Anyway, you know it doesn’t work like that.”

Eddie gasped.

Leslie turned to look at Taylor with narrowed eyes. “What do you mean?” he asked suspiciously. “Have you lost your power for good or what? Spill the beans, Tay.”

Oliver felt sorry for Taylor. Having the “Power of Leslie” targeted against him was difficult to resist. Although having been friends for so long, he was sure Taylor was used to it.

Taylor shrugged uncomfortably. “Things have changed a bit, is all. I don’t feel stuff the same way I used to.” He stared down at his hands, lost in thought.

Draven leaned forward and rubbed a thumb against Taylor’s hand comfortingly. “Babe, it’s not all doom and gloom.” He looked around at the curious faces in the room. “Taylor doesn’t seem to be able to process stuff like he used to. Like when you were being hurt, Eddie? Remember how he felt it? Well now, that doesn’t happen anymore. Instead he only seems to be able to read things by touch.”

Oliver frowned. That didn’t sound so bad. Before, Taylor had been haunted by visions and sounds he’d been unable to suppress. It had caused him many sleepless nights and a lot of angst. “Taylor, I don’t mean to be ignorant or anything, but isn’t that better? Before you had no control over it. Now it seems like you do if touch is the main catalyst. It’s more your choice.”

Draven looked at him, gratitude written all over his face. “Exactly what I’ve been trying to tell him. The nights of waking up screaming after seeing stuff have disappeared. Tay’s sleeping better and he’s able to choose whether he wants to get involved with his Spidey senses. That doesn’t sound like a bad compromise to me. But Tay feels different about it…” His words trailed off.

Taylor heaved a huge sigh and finally looked up. “I know you guys mean well, but it’s something I was born with and now it’s gone. I spoke to an auntie in Mauritius about it and she says it’s not unusual. I’m not the first in the family line to have this happen to them.”

Leslie rushed over to hug his friend and Oliver’s heart warmed at the sight. His boyfriend was one of the most caring people he knew. “Sweetie, I know you think you’ve lost something. And we could never even understand how that feels. But look on the bright side.” Oliver bit back a chuckle. That sentiment was so Leslie. “You’ve got your sleep back. You don’t have this grumpy fiancé of yours complaining he was woken up in the middle of the night with your nightmares, and…you still get to help people because it’s still there, your gift, only different.”

Taylor nodded wearily. “I know. You make a good case. I suppose I need to get used to the idea. I’m still doing police work, and it seems to be going along fine, but there’s a little bit of me that feels empty inside.”

Eddie laughed evilly. “Well, Draven can make up for that—” He broke off, going bright red. “Christ, I’m sorry. Wrong time for a joke?”

Everyone was chuckling now, and Gideon rolled over and rumpled Eddie’s unruly red hair in affection. “You always know how to choose your moments, love. That mouth of yours knows no boundaries.”

The room erupted into sniggers and dirty one-liners and Taylor seemed more at ease now that he’d told his friends about his dilemma.

Oliver decided it was time for pudding. He stood up. “Now that we’ve sorted the world out, do you think we can have dessert? I’m dying to tuck into that delicious celebration cake over there.” He waved toward the mouth-watering profiterole layered extravagance sitting on the kitchen top that had been taken out to defrost a while ago and had probably melted by now.

Taylor stood up and ambled over to the open-plan kitchen. “Shit, I forgot about this.” He clattered around between the counters and Draven got up to help.

Oliver took the lull in conversation to pull Leslie tighter against him and kiss him softly. “Our friends are insane, you know that?”

Leslie grinned. “Aren’t they just? They are so cray-cray, but I love them madly.”

Oliver frowned. “Talking of cray-cray, what’s this I hear about some big event going down at Club Delish over Christmas? Some sort of dancing show Lenny and Ryan are putting on?”

Leslie sat up, eyes sparkling with excitement. “You heard right, lover. We’re doing this whole Kissmas Drag Stravaganza on Christmas Eve, with go-go dancers and drag queens, and a whole load of other entertainment. It’s the first time the club has done something like this, so it will be epic. And I get to be part of the fashion team for the event.” He smirked. “You will be there, too, I’ve already bought the tickets.”

“Huh.” Oliver sat back against the couch. “Sounds like fun. Going to keep you busy then, I imagine.”

Leslie smiled enigmatically. “You have no idea. I have plans. Lots of plans….” His voice trailed off and he got that faraway Leslie look Oliver knew so well. He felt a tinge of misgiving.

“What kind of plans?” he asked.

Leslie leaned forward. “Don’t you worry that handsome head about it. Let’s just say it will be a Christmas to remember and leave it at that, shall we?” His eyes widened. “Ooh, look, Taylor’s brought out the chocolate wine, I need to get me some of that. I’ll get you a glass too, babe.” He bounded off the couch over to the kitchen counter and Oliver watched his pert arse disappear.

Oliver wasn’t sure about the whole Christmas event, and less about whatever surprise Leslie might have up his sleeve. God help him if Leslie had organised any form of karaoke and expected Oliver to make a fool of himself. That simply wasn’t going to happen. He hated karaoke. With Leslie though, anything was possible. And, Oliver admitted, that was part of his charm.

Later that evening they all sat replete and comfortable as soft music played, and the warmth of the room soaked into Oliver’s bones. He watched Leslie talk, entranced by the way his hands waved away animatedly, and his long eyelashes batted at his friends when he was trying to make a point about something.

“What do you think, Oliver?”

“Huh?” He was interrupted in his sappy contemplation of his boyfriend and brought back to the present.

Draven laughed loudly. “Leslie, your man was looking all gaga there, watching you.” He grinned. “You looked away with the fairies there, Olly.”

His words were teasing, and Oliver grinned shamefacedly. “Sorry, guys, I zoned out a bit.”

“We were discussing the fact Draven and Taylor can’t get married in church,” Leslie said firmly. “Not that they want to, but that shouldn’t be the point. How sucky is that? I thought we were moving forward with the whole gay rights thing here in England.”

Oliver puffed out his cheeks. “I agree they should be able to, of course. But attitudes take time to change, and we’re slowly chipping away at them.”

“Not fast enough,” Leslie huffed. “I know some religions allow same-sex marriages, but that’s so not the point. They all should.”

“Meh.” Taylor waved a lazy hand. “I’m not fussed. I’m an atheist anyway. A civil partnership will do me when we decide it’s time. It’s not the piece of paper that makes the marriage. It’s the two people involved.”

Oliver nodded. “I think that too. It’s wonderful to be able to have the whole shebang, and we need to keep fighting for it so people who do want it can have it, but I’ve got Leslie and that’s all I need. Anything else is irrelevant.”

A shadow crossed Leslie’s beautiful face.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Oliver asked. “Something else on your mind?”

Leslie crossed his arms across his chest. “What about if something happens to you?

You hear all these stories about someone’s boyfriend going to hospital and then the same-sex partner isn’t recognised so he can’t visit. Surely even a civil partnership will make sure both people have the same rights to be there for each other the same way heterosexual couples do?”

Oliver blinked as the room went quiet. “I hear you, sweetheart. And I agree with you. It would break my heart if I couldn’t be with you when you were sick or hurt. It’s something we should think about, definitely.”

Eddie stared at Leslie with concern. “Hopefully people are more open to it nowadays, at least, I’d like to think so. If not, we’ll take a pair of your heels and make our point known.” He cackled. “Get it, make our point—”

Gideon reached over and laid a large finger on his lips. “We get it, babe. You’re such a funny man.” He flicked Eddie’s ear and his lover yowled in pain.

“God, would you stop doing that? My ears are big enough as they are, I don’t need them any more noticeable.”

Once again, the room exploded into chaos as Gideon teased Eddie about his ears and

Taylor fed Draven chocolate profiteroles, in a manner that made Oliver want to tell them to get a room. As it was their house, he thought that would be wasted, or worst, they’d take him up on it. Instead, he watched Leslie try to join in the horsing about by trying to protect Eddie’s poor ears from Gideon’s unrelenting attention.

Oliver sighed as he picked up his glass of wine and tried to avoid being jostled by the horseplay of grown men. Deep down inside, he acknowledged that Leslie had a point about their relationship.

It would certainly be something to discuss at a later stage, to ensure that they both had some say over each other’s lives should it ever come to the worst.

I’ll do anything to make you happy, he thought as he watched Leslie joking with his friends.

And in truth, it would probably make Oliver feel better too.

Chapter 5

D-Day—two weeks and counting

Leslie sat in The Arbour at work, eating his lunchtime BLT as he contemplated life and the strange being that was Oliver Brown.

“I’d like to know,” he said to no one in particular, waving his sandwich in the air, “whether I’m being stupid with my plan. Am I old-fashioned wanting a proper commitment to the man I love? Am I being unreasonable hoping that one day we’ll get married and I’ll be able to call Oliver my husband?”

He bit down fiercely on his sandwich. As he chewed, he scowled at the people passing in the busy lunchtime street crowd below. He wondered ungraciously how many of them had a recalcitrant boyfriend at home who didn’t seem to think a ring and a wedding ceremony were all that important.

“Leslie, are you all right?” Laverne’s worried voice cut through his dark musings.

“Someone said you’d chosen to sit here alone and I told them surely not. Leslie Scott would never choose to do that unless something was really bothering him.”

She entered and sat down next to him at the staff table, regarding him with an amused gaze.

Leslie snorted. “I have a few things on my mind.” He stared down moodily at the remains of his sandwich. “I wanted to be alone and think.”

Laverne chuckled. “I can leave if you want.” Her hand came across the table and covered his. “Then again, they always say a problem shared is a problem halved. Want to talk about it?”

That soft touch on his hand seemed to be the catalyst for Leslie to unleash the word devil that dwelt within him, together with the fact he couldn’t keep a burning secret to himself any more than he could give up wearing heels or sexy lingerie. Truth be told, he had no idea how he’d lasted so long not telling Taylor and Eddie. It had to be a world record for him.

“I’mgoingtoaskOlivertomarrymeatChristmasandIdon’tthinkhe’llsayyes,” Leslie wailed.

“Honestly, I’m dying here. Oliver doesn’t seem so keen, and I have all these fucking plans, and I’m not even sure I should do it anymore.”

He sat back in his chair, staring down miserably at his feet. Laverne tapped one manicured fingernail on the table, her head cocked to one side as she regarded him with interest. A smile played around her full lips. Leslie had expected more of a verbal reaction, so he was a little miffed when she didn’t say anything.

“Some reassurance would be nice,” he finally muttered, looking up to stare darkly at Laverne’s thoughtful face. “Why, Leslie, the man adores you, of course he’ll say yes. Oh, Leslie, just because he isn’t over the moon about it now doesn’t mean he won’t be when you ask him.”

He was nonplussed when Laverne simply smiled mysteriously and stood up. “I do believe, chicken, that you’ve just single-handedly reassured yourself.” She sighed and squeezed Leslie’s shoulder. “That man would do anything to make you happy.”

Leslie’s heart sank. “But that’s just it,” he said quietly. “I don’t want him to do it because it makes me happy. I want him to do it because it will make him happy.”

“I put that badly,” Laverne said hastily. “Leslie, chicken, not all of us go around thinking of getting married one day, or even getting engaged. Look at Brook and me. We’re perfectly happy right now, and neither one of us is chomping at the bit to take things further.

“But, darling, if he turned around tonight and pressed a ring in my hand and asked me to marry him, I’d say yes in a heartbeat. And you,” she leaned in and kissed the top of Leslie’s head, “you’ll be asking something right from that beautiful heart of yours, and in that moment ,Oliver will only see your gesture for what it is. Love for him. No man can resist that.”

She patted Leslie’s shoulder. “And we are talking about the Oliver Brown who took you to the fair and spent a fortune on the shooting stall so he could win you the fuzzy bunny you wanted.” She chuckled. “If I recall, the man finally gave it to him because he couldn’t bear to leech any more money out of poor, dear Oliver. And, too, there was a queue of sticky-fingered kids getting restless because they wanted a turn.”

Leslie nodded, thinking of the ginormous purple bunny he’d called Rags sitting on his bed at home. “He was such a bad shot,” he murmured fondly. He felt marginally better as he pushed his half-eaten sandwich away and stood to give Laverne a hug.

“Thank you,” he murmured into Laverne’s fragranced wig. He frowned and squeezed Laverne’s bicep. “My, what a big arm you have. Have you been working out with Brook?”

Laverne moved away and grinned. “I have. Like my new muscles? Brook always tells me they’re all the better to fu—”

“I don’t want to hear any more,” Leslie stated firmly, making a shooing motion to Laverne, who chuckled wickedly. “It’s like hearing my parents have sex in the room next door to me.” He grimaced. “That used to happen often. My mum and dad were like bloody rabbits.”

Laverne laughed. “The vision that conjures up as to how you were created makes more sense about who you are. The mind boggles.” Her face grew serious. “I’m so excited about you proposing to Oliver. Stop worrying about it and go with your heart. It’s what you do best.” She glanced at her watch. “Fuck, I’m late. I’m having lunch with Brook and you know how that man gets when people are late. He’s got such a stick up his arse about things like that.” She gave Leslie another quick hug and hurried out the door.

He looked down at the remains of his unappetising, dry sandwich and sighed. He hadn’t had a chance to swear Laverne to secrecy but he thought her nature was such that she’d keep it anyway. He had to admit he’d been surprised about the ease with which she’d accepted the news without any grand plans being made. Laverne was clearly mellowing in her approach, probably the influence of the easy-going Brook.

Leslie heaved a huge sigh and stared out of the window dreamily.

God, why can’t Christmas hurry up and get here already? All this secret keeping is killing me.

***

“Honey? I’m home.” Oliver walked into the hallway around eight pm and raised an eyebrow when there was no resultant squeal of delight. Normally he could count on a Leslie whirlwind to welcome him home. The last two days he’d been working at a customer’s home in Surrey, taking a train in the early hours and arriving back in the evenings much later than he’d expected. His business as a website designer had grown, and he was now doing corporate websites for multinational companies who expected to at least see the man who was responsible for creating their outlet to the digital world once or twice.

Being with Leslie had certainly broadened Oliver’s horizons—extended them even. No longer was he hidden away, scared to show his scarred face to the world.

He’d even been tempted onto the stage at Club Delish a few times to be part of a drag act that Delilah and Laverne had performed. If Oliver was honest, it had been fun being in the spotlight again, having people cheer and clap when as his alter ego, Nicky Starr, former porn actor, had been part of the act for a few dirty, raunchy minutes. Before Leslie, or BL as he thought of it, he would never have been able to face doing that.

Oliver thanked God each day that Leslie had found him and dragged him into the world again. Oliver attributed his flourishing website business due to his ability to get out and meet people. And that success was all because of Leslie.

That said, his last customer had been a nightmare. Livia Alcott was a self-made businesswoman in her late sixties who needed the personal touch when being shown around her new website. The business she’d built, a global Plc, selling custom-made wigs made with real hair, had been a fascinating study for Oliver. He’d enjoyed researching and creating the website and using Leslie as a guinea pig to wear the wigs and create images for use on the site.

Oliver dropped his briefcase onto the floor and made his way into the bedroom. Perhaps Leslie was catnapping. Oliver would often come home and find his lover curled up on the bed, book in hand. Frequently he fell asleep reading.

The bedroom was empty.

Oliver pulled his phone out and squinted down at the messages. There was nothing new there so Leslie hadn’t contacted him to say he’d be late. Oliver rolled his shoulders and decided to take a shower. Perhaps his missing boyfriend would turn up soon. He might have stayed for a drink at work or been asked to help at a fashion show. Still, Oliver felt a twinge of misgiving. It wasn’t like Leslie not to message him to tell him he’d be late.

Oliver was in the shower washing his hair in a stream of steaming hot water when he heard the bathroom door open. He half turned to check it was Leslie and not some crazy serial killer about to slice and dice him, but was stopped from clubbing an intruder with his favourite crème rinse when a warm, sinewy body pressed itself against Oliver’s back and long fingers ran down his soapy sides. He grinned, his body responding to the familiar scent of his lover in its usual, predictable way.

With his dick.

With Leslie, the only way was up.

“I think we’ll have to be quick,” he murmured as he rinsed soap out of his eyes. “My boyfriend will be home soon and he’s not going to like me having a sexy creature like you in my shower.”

“Oh really?” Leslie purred behind him, nimble fingers skimming Oliver’s flat stomach. “Is he the jealous type then?”

Oliver drew a breath as soft lips nibbled at the nape of his neck, then slid round to softly bite his earlobe. “He’s been known to pitch a fit when he thinks someone is trying to make out with me,” he murmured, enjoying the feel of Leslie’s hard-on against his backside. “Last time someone did that, they ended up with hot chocolate in their lap, scalding their privates.”

Leslie’s sultry chuckle made Oliver’s groin heat level increase even more. “That guy was an arsehole, and he was less than subtle with the eye winks and head tilts toward the bathroom and the ‘My name is Jed Steele but you can call me Stainless’ comment. I mean, how tacky was that?”

Oliver hitched a breath as his cock was grasped tightly and Leslie began his long, slow pulls. Behind him, Leslie slid his dick against Oliver’s arse. It was something his lover had down to an art, being able push and pull at the same time. Oliver tended to go off stroke when he tried it.

“God, you feel good,” Oliver gasped as he veered between pushing his dick farther into Leslie’s hands, which were skillfully causing mayhem, and pushing backward to feel Leslie’s cock slip in between his cheeks. “So damn good. Yes, like that, please. Harder, baby.”

Leslie gripped him tighter as he drove Oliver into that space where time seemed to disappear, and the only sensation was the primal need to climax. To feel his balls tighten and the rush of heat and pleasure fill his groin.

Leslie’s soft pants and moans behind him as he rubbed against Oliver’s wet skin indicated he was close to climaxing too. Three years of amazing sex together had taught them to read each other’s signals and know them intimately. Tonight was no exception.

Water ran into Oliver’s eyes, and he fluttered his eyelashes in pleasure, lost in the sensation of the hard tugging of his aching and straining cock, and the insistent feel of Leslie’s cock across his hole. If they’d been in the bedroom, Oliver would have begged Leslie to take him right then, to fill him and make love to him the way only Leslie could. He would have spread his legs like a slut and watched Leslie enter him as that long, beautiful cock of his disappeared inside.

But now he was too close to erupting and from the sounds of it, Leslie was too. The low keening sound that emanated from his beautiful lips as he came was something Oliver treasured. That he could drive this sexy, sassy, beautiful human being to this was something he was proud of.

He clenched his backside tighter, and Leslie swore softly, filthy words getting lost beneath the sounds of water and Oliver’s own cries as he spilt over Leslie’s hand, body shaking and jerking until he was spent and boneless pressed against the shower wall.

Leslie’s body tightened and with a sudden rush of heat between his arse cheeks, and then a shudder that Oliver felt right down to his core, Leslie orgasmed and then slumped against Oliver with a satisfied grunt. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Oliver turned around and cradled Leslie’s face in his hands.

“I love you, you know that,” he murmured softly. “This is all I ever need. Only you.”

Leslie’s blue eyes were barely visible between his half-shut lids, his lips parted in a soft smile. His black hair was plastered to his head, stray strands against his cheeks and forehead. “I love you too. I’m so glad I was the one to deliver that suit that day.”

Oliver reached over and turned off the water as it was now tepid, and then pulled his lover to him. His lips found Leslie’s as he gave a happy sigh and surrendered his mouth to be plundered by Oliver’s questing tongue.

It was only when Oliver became aware that Leslie was shivering that he broke the kiss. “Babe, you’re cold. Come on. Let’s get out of here. There’s a warm towel with your name on it.” Twenty minutes later, warm and cozy, Oliver dressed in boxers and a tee shirt, Leslie in a set of royal blue silk pyjamas, they sat snuggled together on the couch, with tea and biscuits, idly watching the latest news.

“Laverne keep you late tonight?” Oliver asked as he munched on another chocolate biscuit. “I was a little worried when you weren’t home.”

The locks of dark hair resting on his chest moved as Leslie shook his head sleepily. “No, I have a special project I’m working on and I stayed behind to finish up. Sorry I didn’t text. I didn’t really think I’d be as late as I was.”

“Special project? Sounds interesting. What are you doing?” Oliver filched another biscuit and dipped it into his tea.

Leslie stilled. “I, uh, can’t tell you about it. It’s a secret.”

Oliver ran fingers through Leslie’s soft hair, and his lover purred with satisfaction.

He’s like a damn cat, Oliver thought in amusement. An exotic, beautiful Siamese cat. The Christmas present he’d had custom made for Leslie would be perfect. It was a white gold choker with a pearl set in the middle. Leslie had seen a picture of one in a magazine and talked about it for days.

Oliver couldn’t wait to see the look in his man’s eyes when Leslie saw his present.

“Do I get to find out what this special secret project is at any stage?” Olive enquired.

Leslie nodded and shifted on the couch, his strong legs stretching to top the couch arm. “Uh-huh. You will, soon enough.”

“Is it a new suit for me?” Oliver enquired.

Leslie sat up and perched cross-legged on the couch. He raised one eyebrow. “What makes you think the surprise is for you? And just because last Christmas you got a bit of fancy tat to wear doesn’t mean I’m doing it again this year.” He huffed. “Perhaps it’s a secret project for someone else.”

Oliver reached over and tickled Leslie’s side, where Oliver knew Leslie was most susceptible. “I bet it’s for me and I bet I can tickle it out of you.”

Leslie squealed and tried to evade Oliver’s searching fingers. “Bastard, don’t do that. And I will not be tortured into spilling the beans by tickling.”

Leslie’s squeals turned to helpless giggles as Oliver proceeded to tickle him unmercifully, and when Oliver ended up with a lap of warm, fragrant man trying to distract the not-so-torture torture by kissing him, all thoughts of the Christmas secret were forgotten.

Chapter 6

D-Day—one week and counting

Eddie and Taylor stared at the item on the table in horror. “You did what?” they chorused.

Leslie smiled smugly. “Don’t look so surprised,” he chided. “You knew it was going to happen someday. I’ve always said I wanted another one.”

Eddie looked a little green around the gills. “But, Leslie, you don’t have the best luck with them. I mean, remember what happened to Glenda, and then little Rollo. Do you really want to go through that heartbreak again?”

Leslie’s face fell. “I really don’t. I loved those fish. But I’m older now and I feel I can deal with anything that happens. But it won’t. Nothing bad, I mean.”

Taylor cleared his throat. “Not being bitchy or anything but, Leslie, you know your track record with pets. It’s not exactly been…successful. Look at poor Monty.”

All three of them turned to look at the small fish tank on the dining room table of Leslie’s home.

“I know,” Leslie muttered. “But these looked so cute in the window and I couldn’t resist.”

It was his day off and he’d gone and picked them up from the pet shop down the road. Now he was proud to show his new pets to his two best friends, who had the same day off due to a little creative juggling. Oliver was having lunch with his old friend and former fuck-buddy Maxwell Lewis, while Max’s boyfriend Gibson was off at some gaming seminar in Bristol.

Inside the tank, three fish swam in circles, one a clown fish, the other ones Leslie wasn’t sure of. The pet shop man, whose name was Reggie, had seemed knowledgeable enough, and he’d promised that even Leslie couldn’t kill these fish. He’d also promised they wouldn’t eat each other.

Eddie peered into the tank, which was lovely enough, with a castle in the corner, lots of green fronds, and even a sunken ship. “Huh. Oliver will be surprised,” he said with a laugh in his voice.

“Pffftt.” Leslie waved an elegant hand. “Oliver will come to love Sushi, Finn, and Gill as much as I do.” He regarded the fish fondly as Taylor and Eddie gawked at each other.

“Besides, Monty only escaped because the stupid dog next door bounded in while the cage was on the floor, getting some sunshine.” He scowled. “That woman needs to learn to control her stupid poodle. If she hadn’t knocked the cage door open, poor Monty would still be with us.”

Leslie’s heart ached still for the loss of his dwarf guinea pig. He hoped Monty was somewhere enjoying a fruitful life with another guinea pig and having loads of sex and babies.

“Still,” Taylor muttered. “I don’t want to be here when he finds out he has new family members.”

Leslie laughed. “Oh, I’m sure he’ll be okay with it,” he murmured. “I’ll initiate mind-blowing sex and make him feel good about it.”

Eddie guffawed. “Is that your answer to everything? Because I try it with Gideon and it doesn’t always work out. He sees right through me.”

Taylor nodded. “Draven too. He’s happy to take advantage of it but after he’s gotten what he wanted, he still doesn’t change his mind. Wily fucker.”

Leslie sauntered over to the kitchen to fetch the half-empty wine bottle. “Apparently, you boys don’t know how to do it.”

His jaw dropped when he spotted the red satin ribbon on the kitchen top, together with a sketch of his Christmas suit, and his to-do list. He’d forgotten to tuck it away before company arrived. He slid a hand across the counter, hoping to snag it, and screamed in panic when a deep voice said, “Whatcha doing?” in his ear.

“Jesus, Ed, do you have to creep up on someone like that?” Leslie tried to hide the items under his hand, but part of the ribbon and sketch peeked out. “I swear, you almost gave me a heart attack.”

Taylor had joined them and he stared in interest at the bit of the sketch showing.

“What’s that, some new drag costume or something? Looks very Christmassy. Is it for the Drag Stravaganza?”

Eddie pushed some hair from his face and behind his ears as he bent down to look. “Looks pretty sexy to me. Come on, Leslie, let’s have a peek.”

Leslie swallowed, trying to stop the panic from bubbling up as he struggled to keep his secret. If word got out to these two, there would be no surprise for Oliver. The whole of London would know by the time they’d hopped on the tube to go to their respective homes.

“It’s a secret,” he hissed, “so stop being so fucking nosy. You’ll learn about it in good time.” He scooped up the items and turned to walk away to hide them in the sideboard drawer where he kept all his fashion articles and cuttings. The old secret of stashing private stuff in an underwear drawer didn’t work with Oliver. His boyfriend took too much pleasure in finding items for Leslie to wear when he was in “the mood.”

Leslie stashed the ribbon and sketch away, and as he closed the drawer he frowned. Wasn’t there supposed to be something else with it? The lack of noise should have been his first clue that all was not right. He turned slowly to see Taylor sheepishly holding out a piece of paper. “You dropped this,” he said awkwardly, with a quick glance at Eddie.

It was Leslie’s to-do list, with the number one action being “Ask Oliver to marry me on Christmas Eve.” They had to have seen it. It was written in bright pink, with hearts and the initials LTSB written all down the side. Leslie had been practicing his signature as a Scott-Brown, which sounded so much better than Brown-Scott, which sounded like some fungal disease a Highlander might have had.

Both men stared at Leslie, and Leslie had no idea how they were restraining themselves from asking him what the fuck was going on. He rolled his eyes. Perhaps he could tell them what he planned and invoke some mid-earth demon to promise to rot their penises off if they spilled the beans too soon.

“Fine. Here’s the thing.” He took a deep breath and continued, “I’m going to ask Oliver to marry me and you’re not allowed to tell anyone or else your penises will fall off.”

Eddie and Taylor gawped at him, then, as understanding of the garbled Leslie-speak became clear, their faces burst into sunny smiles. Both men bounded over to him and enveloped him in bear hugs that threatened to break his ribs.

“Oh my God, that’s so cool,” Eddie gushed. “How exciting. When are you going to do it?” His eyes grew dreamy. “Are you going away to Venice, and you’ll propose on a gondola as you pass under the Bridge of Sighs?”

Both Taylor and Leslie undid their embrace and turned to stare at Eddie.

“Wow,” Leslie murmured. “That’s pretty specific. Think about it much then?”

Taylor sniggered. “I think we know how dear Ed wants to be asked to tie the knot.”

Eddie was beet red, flushing to the tips of his fiery red hair. “I might have given it some thought.” He scowled. “Anyway, we’re not to here to talk about me. This is Leslie’s moment. And what do you mean, our penises will fall off?”

Leslie sank down exhausted onto the couch and his friends followed suit. “I’m going to ask him on Christmas Eve at the club. I mean, it’s supposed to be a secret, but I seem to make a habit of blurting it out to people.” He reached over and took both of their hands. “Chaps, you two are my besties, but if you breathe a word of this to anyone, I will summon a demon from hell and I will ask him to rot your extremities until there’s nothing left.”

“We can’t even tell our other halves?” Eddie asked, aghast. “It will kill me knowing this and not telling Gideon I know.”

Leslie sighed. “Fine, tell them but please, please, don’t let Oliver find out about it. I’ve been planning this for months.”

Taylor nodded solemnly. “We promise.” He chuckled. “Draven is the world’s best at keeping secrets, so he’s no problem. Gideon’s the same, I think.”

“It’s not as much them as you two flibbertigibbets,” Leslie remarked drily.

Eddie and Taylor shared a look, then turned to regard Leslie in earnest. “We promise we won’t say a word,” Eddie muttered. “Pinkie-swear.” He held out his pinkie and Leslie clasped it with his in silent agreement.

Taylor agreed. “I rather fancy my dick right where it is, thank you very much.” He smirked. “And Draven will no doubt agree.”

By the time they’d left later that afternoon, once again promising to keep their lips sealed, Leslie was ready to tackle the worrying sentiment that perhaps Oliver might not be as happy with their new house additions as he was. He decided to tackle the problem head on, Leslie-style. The new lacy underwear he’d bought, together with a pair of high heels and a bottle of bubbly might do the trick to distract his lover so he could make his argument for his fish.

After all, a relationship was all about negotiation and compromise.

***

Oliver sprinkled more fish food into the tank and closed the top. He sat down in his chair at the dining room table and watched as the fish darted to the top to eat. The tank resided on the sideboard, having forced out a glass lamp and a small photo of him and Leslie. Those pieces had now been relegated to other places in their home.

Oliver admitted he’d been worried about having more fish given Leslie’s tender heart and the fact that when something bad happened to them, he’d be inconsolable for days. Oliver hated seeing him upset.

So far, Gill, Finn, and Sushi seemed to be doing well. And, of course, the plan Leslie had come up with to convince him the fish were acceptable new family members had been fun too. Being greeted by his sexy boyfriend dressed in little more than lace, bearing champagne and then proceeding to screw his brains out had certainly made him feel better about it. Of course, that had been Leslie’s plan all along, and Oliver adored how his lover didn’t seem to realise that he was on to him.

He stared at his computer screen, reviewing the images he’d uploaded. Rubbing a hand over his tired eyes, Oliver contemplated going down to Debussy’s to take Leslie to lunch. It had been while since he’d been there.

Decision made, he showered, dressed into one of his favourite casual suits, and journeyed down to Hackney to surprise his boyfriend. The new receptionist—he thought her name was Frederika—greeted him warmly when he arrived.

“Oliver.” Her accented German voice purred out over the hub and bub of the reception area. “How nice to see you here. We haven’t seen you for a long time.”

He nodded and grinned. “I know. Bad me. I think the last time I was here was for a suit fitting when Leslie and I went to that film premiere of Totally Thomas.”

Her eyes widened. “That was a great film. I adored it.” She gave him a huge grin.

“I’m so glad you decided to go. I remember you being unsure about it when it was first mentioned.”

Oliver shrugged. “Leslie can be convincing.” With Leslie’s guidance, and to be honest, forcefulness, in the past two years Oliver had revisited his past and gradually got back in touch with men he’d worked with in his adult film career. He’d been flabbergasted that a lot of them had remembered him, and was even more gobstruck by the fact none of them cared about the scar on his face. Indeed, some of them thought it had given him a certain bad boy panache.

He sniggered to himself at the memory of one unfortunate incident involving an actor who’d dared to grab Oliver’s crotch uninvited. Leslie had staked his claim, declaring in a loud voice (showing his teeth in a menacing smile that crocodiles would have envied) that he was so glad Luke Thighwalker’s terrible case of gonorrhea had cleared up and wasn’t modern medicine miraculous.

After that, people had been less handsy with Oliver. When he’d been invited to the one film Leslie had been dying to see, he’d felt honour bound to attend. Totally Thomas was a gay erotic film, being screened by a small, exclusive theatre in the heart of Soho. His old working buddy, Chris Lancaster, had landed the lead in his first role outside of the porn industry.

Frederika chuckled. “Your young man could charm a snake into giving him their last skin,” she murmured. “Anyway, please go on down to his office. He should be there.”

Oliver smiled at her, even as he wondered at her comment, because, ugh, snakes. He shuddered then sauntered down to the small office at the end of the corridor. Despite the fact it was his boyfriend’s office, Oliver still felt it was only good manners to knock on the door before he walked in. Leslie might be on the phone with a customer. He knocked and twisted the door handle. It didn’t open. He frowned. “Leslie? Babe, are you in there? Why’s the door locked?”

There was a deathly silence from within. He knocked again. This time, he heard frantic whispers and scuffling as if someone was moving around in a hurry.

“Leslie, you in there? I thought I’d take you for lunch.” He stared at the door, waiting for a response. There was more muttered whispers and the sound of what appeared to be a door slamming and then Leslie’s panicked voice confirmed he was indeed in his office.

“Oh, hi there. Give me a minute. I’ll open the door in a second.”

Oliver waited patiently, his curiosity growing.

He’s up to something in there. Wonder if it has anything to do with my Christmas suit?

Finally, the door opened to reveal a pink-faced and flustered Leslie, hair suspiciously out of shape and with silver glitter on his face. He beamed at Oliver. “I’ll get my jacket, and my man bag and be with you in a mo.”

The door shut in Oliver’s face and he stared at it in disbelief.

What the hell is going on in there?

He opened the door and entered. Leslie looked up with a start and Oliver couldn’t help but notice another man bent over in the corner, covering something with a piece of fabric. A man who had a nice arse, and when he finally stood up to face him, looked like a Latin wet dream. The man was petite and utterly gorgeous. And looked as guilty as hell.

“What’s up, sweetheart?” Oliver strode over to his boyfriend and pulled him close for a kiss. Leslie melted against him and returned the kiss with fervour. When they finally drew apart, Leslie seemed to realise someone else was in the room with them.

“Uh, honey, this is Chester. He works here with me. Chester, my boyfriend Oliver, if you hadn’t already guessed by that kiss. That yummy possessive kiss.” Leslie’s eyes glinted dangerously and he brushed a strand of glittered hair back from his face. Oliver didn’t care if he’d overstepped the mark. He wasn’t a jealous man and trusted Leslie, but this situation was a little weird. If Leslie could embarrass porn stars on his behalf, Oliver could stake a claim.

He held out his hand to Chester. “Nice to meet you.” Huh. So this gorgeous man was the talented Chester, who Leslie chatted about nonstop and thought was the next best thing to hit fashion design since men’s lace underwear had been invented.

“Good to meet you too,” Chester stuttered. “Leslie has told me a lot about you.” He cleared his throat. “I really enjoyed your films back in the day. You were incredible. The industry is not the same since you left.”

Oliver’s chest warmed at the words. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

Leslie sniffed, stalked over to his desk, retrieved his bag, and picked up his jacket with a flounce. “I didn’t know you were coming. You should have texted me.”

Oliver blinked. “It was a split-second decision. I wanted to see you, thought we could go for a bite to eat.”

Leslie patted Oliver’s cheek as he walked past him into the corridor. “I know I’m irresistible, darling, but that door was locked for a reason.” He smirked. “And not the reason you might have thought. Chester and I are working on something together and we’d rather no one saw it until it’s ready.”

Ohhhhh, Oliver thought in satisfaction. They must be working together on my new suit. That’s why they look so put out. Chester was still staring at Oliver with a “deer in the headlights” look. Perhaps he was in awe of meeting one of his favourite former porn stars who would get to wear a suit to which Chester had contributed.

“No worries,” he said magnanimously. “I’m sorry if I interrupted anything. Come on, tiger, let’s get you fed then perhaps we can come back here, and you can show me some of your, er, designs?” Oliver grinned. “Chester, enjoy the rest of your afternoon. Great to meet you.”

It was only much later, after he’d given his boyfriend an after-lunch blowjob in the confines of Leslie’s once-again-locked office, that he wondered what the potential significance of glitter might have to do with his Christmas present.

Chapter 7

D-Day—and a Leslie meltdown

“I can’t fucking do this. It was a fucking stupid idea and I’ve changed my mind.” Leslie paced around the dressing room at the nightclub, hands furling and unfurling at his sides. His feet hurt from all the pacing he’d done, and for once, his designer boots didn’t feel quite as comfortable as they usually were.

What the fuck was I thinking? And I’m getting a fucking blister on my toe. Life sucks.

Christmas Eve had snuck up on him sooner than he’d expected, and the thought of what he was going to do tonight made his stomach churn and his throat dry. Lenny, standing in the dressing room with him as he checked his own costume for the show tonight, rolled his eyes and sighed. His bright blue eyes lit with amusement as he ran a hand through his mid-length blond hair. “Leslie, you’re driving yourself crazy. Sit down and I’ll get you some chamomile tea.”

He went over to the small kitchen station on which sat a kettle, some faded white canisters, and assorted mugs. As he busied himself making Leslie his favourite go-to pacifying drink, Leslie continued to pace.

“I don’t know what came over me, thinking I could do this. Of course, the costume will look delectable, I’ll be in it, but the thought of actually proposing…” His throat dried up. “I don’t think I can do it, Len.”

Lenny turned and motioned Leslie toward the dilapidated couch in the corner. “Sit down, for God’s sake. If Ryan has to replace this damn carpet again, he’s going to pitch a hissy fit. That man does diva like no one else.”

“This is what you do when I’m not around? Complain and gossip about me? Well, bitches, I can tell you a few things about yourselves.” The low, modulated, and husky tone made them turn around.

Ryan Bishop, owner of the club in whose break room they sat in, Club Delish, and famed drag queen Delilah Delish, glared at them with fire in his blue eyes. “And as for this carpet, Mr High and Mighty Know It All,” he hissed at a smiling Lenny, “I think you contributed to the last refurb when you spilt not one, but two bottles of nail polish on the former carpet then proceeded to vomit like a geyser all over it.” He shuddered. “I couldn’t get the smell of rancid sea bass puke out for love or money.”

Ryan was slim and toned with dark auburn hair and the cutest ears Leslie had ever seen. He often wanted to ask the man whether he ever wanted to be an extra on the set of Lord of the Rings, but Lenny had laughed hard and told him never to broach the subject. Apparently, Ryan was sensitive about his slightly pointy ears and Leslie didn’t quite fancy being on the other end of that spitfire tongue. He’d seen Mango Munroe, Ryan’s significant other, quake when Ryan got going. And Mango was six feet and then some of rangy, hard-arse eco-warrior.

“I wasn’t gossiping, Lenny was,” Leslie proclaimed. He’d throw his friend to the wolves anytime when it came to Ryan. Lenny came over, bearing hot tea, and set it down on the table next to the couch.

“Thanks,” he said drily. “Way to drop your buddies in the shit.”

Leslie sank down exhausted on the couch and sipped his drink. “You’re bigger than I am. And thanks for the tea.” He sighed.

Ryan slumped into the other easy chair, long jeans-clad legs draping over the armchair’s sides. “So, Leslie, how are things going? Is the venue to your satisfaction?” He bit at a fingernail as Leslie narrowed his eyes and stared at Lenny. Lenny stared back, a slight tic in his jaw. Leslie had reserved the plush dining room for dinner tonight but hadn’t told Ryan the whole story.

“It’s all beautifully done, thank you,” he acknowledged. “The Christmas bouquet looks amazing. Oliver loves orchids.”

“This is a special Christmas Eve dinner then, is it?” Ryan proclaimed silkily. “You’d know, given you’ve made sure his favourite flowers are there.”

“Ryan,” Lenny hissed, rubbing his chin nervously. “What did I tell you?”

Ryan’s eyes widened guilelessly. “What? I’m a concerned host, trying to ascertain whether my customer is happy with the service.”

Leslie closed his eyes in resignation. Ryan knew. Lenny had spilled the beans. When he opened them again, both men were staring at him, Ryan with a distinct smug air, Lenny in trepidation.

“This really isn’t going how I planned,” Leslie murmured sadly. “It was supposed to be fun, something I’d dreamed about, and now it’s all going to pot. Is there anyone left who doesn’t know what I was going to do tonight?”

Ryan sat up. “Sweetie, there is no ‘was going to do’ about this. You are going to do it.” He sniffed. “I didn’t have my people bring out the best cutlery, order you the best bottles of champagne and deck the fucking halls with boughs of holly so you can wuss out.”

Lenny cleared his throat. “Sorry, Leslie, but Ryan is like a damn bloodhound. He could smell the secret on me. He made me tell him.”

Ryan waved a hand. “Bitch, it didn’t take much doing. And I know—I have mad skills.” He smirked. “So, Leslie darling, you are going to do your thing this afternoon before the show starts, put your big boy panties on, and later tonight you’ll have the happiest man alive at your beck and call.” His face softened as he reached over and clasped Leslie’s hand. “The room looks incredible. You’ll look as sexy as anything, and it’s all going to go like clockwork. We queens,” he gestured to Lenny then himself, “will make sure of it. Tonight’s show is going to be the best Kissmas Drag Stravaganza ever, and you are going to be part of it.”

Lenny nodded in agreement. “Chicken, when I get dressed for the show and stand with this be-atch here, believe me, Laverne and Delilah will support you on that stage in any way we can. All you have to do is pop the question.”

Leslie sighed. “I s’pose.” He brightened up a little. “You are going to love my costume. I can’t wait for you to see it. Chester did such a fabulous job.”

Lenny regarded him in amusement. “I can’t wait to see what your stockroom pilfering has turned into.” He batted his eyes. “And your use of employee time to make this masterpiece.” His tone was dry but fond.

Leslie had the grace to blush, but only for a moment. “Well, at least you know it contributed to a good cause. To make one of your favourite employees happy.” He frowned. “Oh, wait, I mean your all-time favourite employee happy.”

He scuttled out of the room before the other men could even comment on that.

***

An hour later, Leslie was feeling much better. He stood with Chester on the stage at Club Delish and gazed in wonder at himself in the full-length mirror.

“Wow,” he breathed. “I look fantabulous.” He turned and regarded his skin-tight costume with delight. “Chester, this is utterly perfect.”

Chester nodded in excitement. “Sí, it is stunning. And you are so going to entrance that man of yours tonight when you wear it.”

Leslie swanned around the stage, getting used to the feel of the fabric and feeling the give and take. He had to admit there was very little give. His red heels added inches to his height and the Santa hat perched on his head with its glittery pom-pom added a distinctly cheerful air.

“The other day when Oliver came to see you so unexpectedly, I thought we would be caught. Thank God you locked the door when we did that fitting.” Chester walked over and examined his work with critical eyes. “It would have spoilt the surprise.”

“I’m shocked we’d managed to get me out of this so quickly.” Leslie blew up a puff of air to move a strand of hair from his eyes, all the better to see himself with. “I think he thought we were, you know….” He flapped his hand meaningfully.

Chester let out a peal of laughter. “I think so too. He had this crazy look in his eye that said he would break me in two if I was doing something naughty.”

“Do you think?” Leslie asked, a warm glow suffusing his body. “That’s so hot.” He fanned himself. “Talking of hot, I’d better get this off. The show is in a few hours and there’s still loads of drag queens to boss around.”

Laverne had commandeered Leslie for the event to help dress and primp the queens for the show tonight. He and Chester began peeling the slinky suit off Leslie’s slightly sweaty body. He’d have to shower before tonight’s big event.

“What is the plan?” Chester enquired as he helped peel the top over Leslie’s head. “The show starts at eight pm, yes? There are drinks and your friends will be here?”

Leslie nodded underneath the top, which was proving decidedly stubborn in its removal. “Yes,” he said, his words muffled beneath the red satin. “I’m helping out in the dressing room. Those queens need some attention. Then we’ll all be having cocktails and watching the show. Before it finishes, around ten thirty, I’m going back to the dressing room. I’ll get changed into my sexy suit, and go check to make sure everything is good in the proposal room.”

The top came off with a slither and Leslie was finally free. He breathed a sigh of relief as Chester folded and packed the clothes away with reverence. “Delilah will make an announcement for Oliver to make his way to the room after the show, and then…” Leslie blinked. “Well, then he’ll see me in my costume, I’ll pretend I’m his present, we’ll have dinner, and then I’ll propose.”

He swallowed. “And then we’ll come on out and everything will be as it should be.” His face brightened. “I wanted to show you the ring. It’s in my man bag.” He tottered his way across the stage to his bag, retrieved the small velvet box, and tottered back to Chester, who held his hand to his chest over his heart.

“I get to see the ring? Me siento honrado, Leslie.” Leslie opened the box and Chester gasped. “Oh Dios mío. Eso es hermoso.”

The ring sparkled against the blue velvet, and once again Leslie’s eyes prickled at the sight of something he intended to give to the man he loved, along with his heart, which Oliver had already, but this time it would be formal.

The ring was a Ogham Le Chéile Faith Ring, in white and yellow gold, two halves in different colours, representing Oliver and Leslie. He’d been entranced with the colouring and the beautiful Le Chéile design, together with an inscription from the ancient Ogham alphabet. The jeweller had told him Le Chéile was Gaelic for “together” and had been used in many ancient Irish texts, the Book of Kells being the most famous.

Neither he nor Oliver had any Irish roots, but it had been love at first sight for Leslie, and the intention of the ring was all about them.

“It is pretty, isn’t it?” Leslie sighed dreamily as he struggled out of the tight trousers and heels, and back into his work clothes. The pair of them sighed in unison and gazed at the sparkling item in Leslie’s hand. Their admiration was rudely interrupted by a panicked shout from side stage.

“Leslie,” Ryan was whisper shouting. “Oliver is here. He’s right here, coming to see you.” Ryan turned back to face the stage wings. “Hi Oliver, long time no see. Can I interest you in a drink first?” Ryan was obviously aware Leslie and Chester were in dress rehearsal and was trying to head Oliver off at the pass.

Chester looked around in desperation as he stuffed the costume into a dress bag. “What is it with that man and his untimely appearances? He should have a bell around his neck.”

Leslie snorted in laughter at the image of Oliver with a cat or cow bell around his neck.

Chester stared at him. “You are laughing. This is an emergency,” he hissed.

“Leslie?” Oliver’s voice grew nearer. “You forgot your phone at home, sweetheart. I thought I’d drop it over, in case anyone needed to get hold of you for tonight.”

Leslie had indeed forgotten his phone this morning, only realising once he’d gotten to the club. He’d meant to borrow someone’s phone earlier to text Oliver to ask him to bring it with him tonight.

“Blast him being my white knight,” he muttered as he slipped his feet back into his socks and shoes.

“The ring,” Chester spluttered. “We must hide it. Here, let me do it.” Before Leslie could protest, Chester snatched the ring box from the floor beside Leslie and scampered over to the fake fireplace at the back of the stage. The scene from the Nutcracker—drag queen style—was all set up. Chester reached into the recess of the fireplace and the box disappeared.

“There is a little shelf in here, the box fits nicely. We can get it later.”

Leslie was left wondering why it couldn’t have been put back in his man bag, or tucked into his suit pocket, but he’d no time to argue. He’d only barely got his jacket on—no tie—and was busy running a hand over his hair when Oliver appeared, Ryan close on his heels.

“Uhmm, thanks for the sightseeing tour, Ryan. You do know I’ve been backstage in the club before?” Oliver looked perplexed, but his face lit up when he saw Leslie. It darkened when he saw Chester. “Hi, babe. Oh, and you again, Chester. Wow, you two really have taken working together to a new art form, haven’t you?” He laughed, but Leslie thought it sounded a little false.

He refrained from giving his patented eye roll, but a small part of him revelled in the fact his boyfriend seemed a tad jealous.

Ryan grimaced and mouthed, “I tried to distract him, but he was a man on a mission.”

Leslie hugged Oliver tightly. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t all that bothered about it, because I’ve been really busy here, but thank you for bringing it down.”

“No problem. I know tonight is a big deal for you, so I wanted to make sure you didn’t miss out on anything. I was in the area for a meeting with a new customer.” Oliver looked around the stage with interest, his gaze focusing on the faux fireplace and the cut-outs surrounding it. “Huh. That’s different. I’ve never seen the Nutcracker performed with naked full-frontal soldiers before. And what the hell are they holding?”

“Leslie? Are you here?” Laverne’s strident tones echoed across the stage. “The ladies require your services, tout suite.”

“Fuck me, it’s like London Liverpool Station here.” Leslie swore as he moved out of Oliver’s arms. “Why don’t we invite the cast of Dr Who. I heard they’re shooting an episode a block away.” He cast a desperate glance at the faux fireplace.

I need to get that damn ring back.

Laverne strode over, splendid in a dark blue dress, ruched in the front and showing off her toned legs in four-inch heels. She leaned in and flicked Leslie’s ear, casting a beady eye around her. “Chicken, those damn queens are chomping at the bit to get dressed, and you’re the person to make it happen. Now shoo, off with you. Chester, don’t you be sidling out that side door. I see you. Go give Leslie a hand. It will keep the two of you out of mischief.” She drew a deep breath. “Everyone else, follow me. It’s time for a Pimm’s.”

She swept off the stage in a flourish of exuberance. Ryan shrugged and followed her. “Pimm’s works for me.”

Leslie watched them go and sighed. “I suppose we’d better get down to the dressing rooms and help the ladies. Babe, I’ll see you later when the show starts. Love you.” He cast another sneaky peek at the ring’s hiding place.

Damn it. I’ll have to sneak back later after the show and get it. I hope nobody finds it.

He beckoned to Chester and they left a bewildered-looking Oliver alone on the stage still marvelling at the grinning, naked Nutcracker soldiers with their blue and red dildos held before them like swords.

Chapter 8

D Day—and an unexpected performance

“Ladies, gentlemen, people of indiscriminate gender, and those who remain in a state of flux, may I present The Nutcracker—Club Delish style.”

Oliver had never seen a glam of drag queens doing Psy’s “Gangnam Style” dance before, set to lyrics and with lewd gestures that certainly weren’t suitable for minors. As the queens sashayed and shimmered across the stage, he turned to Gideon, who sat beside him, looking equally fascinated.

“It’s pretty disturbing,” Gideon muttered. “That I’m enjoying this. I mean, it’s so camp we should pitch a tent. But I love it.”

On Gideon’s other side, Eddie chuckled as he too enjoyed the onstage antics. “It’s something all right. Tay, what do you think?”

Taylor was watching the show with morbid fascination. “It’s like a bunch of crazed loonies have escaped from a Victorian asylum and swallowed crack. Strangely mesmerising.”

The table they sat at was crowded, and the club was packed to the rafters.

“Christ, I’m thinking a riot of brightly dressed puppets have escaped from a circus and are trying to St Vitus dance their way out of the place,” Draven growled. “But what Taylor said. I can’t stop watching.”

Oliver chuckled and sipped his drink as he waited for Leslie to come back from the bathroom. His boyfriend had been strangely in need of many pees tonight, and he seemed nervous. “Wait ‘til you see what they have planned for later, when it gets to the scene under the Christmas tree. Whoever designed this set had to be on something, I swear.” He smiled as Leslie appeared and sat down next to him. “Everything okay, love?”

Leslie nodded distractedly. “Fine, fine. I think the wine is going right through me.”

Oliver noticed the quick glances the others all gave each other. He had no time to ponder it as Brook, the dark god who was Lenny’s boyfriend, sat down across the table and set his bottle of beer down.

“Evening, all.” Brook sounded like velvet chocolate, if such a thing existed. “I see my other half has outdone herself this evening with this show of extreme sass. Only Laverne and Delilah could come up with such a spectacle.”

“Oh, it gets better,” Leslie murmured. “Depending on your definition of better.” He sniggered, then his eyes widened. “Oh my God, Mango is coming across. I didn’t think he’d join us. He’s normally all, ‘I’m a strong silent type and I’ll just stand here in this corner and glower.’”

Oliver rather liked Mango Munro. He was indeed the quiet man, the complete opposite to the excitable Ryan, but Mango had a sardonic humour and a jaded outlook on life that spoke to Oliver. And there was no doubt Mango adored Ryan Bishop.

Mango reached their table and nodded. “Evening,” he said and sat down in the one remaining chair, still gripping his bottle of beer. Leslie visibly gulped, and Oliver had to bite back a smile. Leslie wasn’t in awe of many people, but Mango was one of them. There was a chorus of “hellos” and “‘evening” around the table.

Brook inclined his head toward Mango. “Looks like our respective SOs have set up a fine performance tonight.” He gave a deep belly laugh. “I hate to think what else is planned.”

Mango squinted at the stage. “If I know mine, it won’t be pretty.” A faint smile crossed his face. “But it will be fun.” He leaned back, stretching his long legs out in front of him like a rangy cowboy and drank from his bottle.

Oliver leaned into Leslie. “Where’s your friend Chester tonight, then?” he asked. “I thought he’d be here too, seeing as how you two have been working so closely together.” He couldn’t help the faint tinge of green that slipped into his tone.

Leslie smiled. “Honestly, you have nothing to worry about from Chester. He’s my friend. And he’s not sitting with us because he has a second date with Bear Growls. There they are, over there.” He indicated to another table where Chester sat with a man older than him, and rather hirsute. Oliver thought they made a cute couple.

“I didn’t think anything,” he lied mildly. “I know you’re mine.”

“You were a little jealous.” Leslie pursed his lips. Oliver wanted to kiss them so he did, to the catcalls around the table of, “Get a room, you two.”

“Oh, no doubt that’ll happen later, afterwards,” Eddie murmured wickedly. Gideon reached out and tweaked his ear.

“Ow, what was that for?” Eddie rubbed his ear. Gideon scowled.

“Reminding you of your obligation,” he muttered. “You and that mouth of yours are trouble.”

Eddie grinned. “I thought you liked my mouth.”

Taylor added, “He does. But not when it might, you know.” He winked at Eddie and waved his hand. Eddie nodded in understanding.

Draven shook his head. “Give me strength,” he growled. “Can you two musketeers behave yourselves and enjoy the show, please? Or do I have to take out my gun and shoot you?”

Brook chortled loudly. “This is better than the show.”

Oliver blinked. He wasn’t sure what the hell was going down, and beside him, Leslie was fidgeting.

“Excuse me,” his boyfriend whispered faintly. “I need to pee again.” He stood up and left the table, leaving Oliver staring at his retreating arse. After whispered consultation, Taylor and Eddie stood up and followed him.

“What the fuck is going on?” Oliver asked faintly. “I feel like the only man at the table who isn’t in the loop. Whatever the hell the loop is.” Panic flashed across Brook’s, Gideon’s, and Draven’s faces. Mango remained impervious, but a grin traced the corners of his full lips. He pulled out his phone and started scrolling through it.

“You know what those three are like,” Gideon offered. “They have this secret code none of us get, and sometimes it makes them do crazy things.”

“Amen,” Draven agreed. “Like the time I came home from abroad and found them all paralytic on the floor after holding their own fashion show.” He shuddered. “I don’t even want to tell you what my eyeballs saw that night. There’s a reason I call them the Unholy Trinity.”

Oliver laughed. “Amen indeed. I think we can all drink to that.” He raised his wineglass in a toast.

They continued to watch the show and Oliver was about to get up to find Leslie when he saw him navigating across the dance floor with his two friends beside him. As Leslie sat down, Oliver reached over to take his hands.

“You okay? I feel as if I should know something, but don’t.”

Leslie’s blue eyes stared into his. “I’m fine. I think I must have eaten something bad at lunchtime. It’s making my stomach feel a little upset.” He leaned in and kissed Oliver’s cheek. “Honest, everything’s good.”

Oliver picked up his wine and took a sip. He wasn’t convinced.

Something else is going on. And I need to find out what.

“Well, hello there, darlings. My name is Sass Parilla.” Her Southern accent, unmistakably from the US, sounded sweet, like overly sugared lemonade. “You all looked lonely, so I thought I’d bring my gorgeous self over here to keep you all company.” Sass Parilla placed a hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “And you, my hunk of male goodness, look as if you could use a little Sass in your life.”

Oliver looked up at the six-foot-plus woman towering over him, with long blonde hair and eyelashes that could put Dumbo to shame. He waved at Leslie. “Madam, I have all the sass I need right there. But thank you.”

Sass draped a hand along his unscarred cheek. “Darling, you can never have too much sass. And oh my. Madam. Such a gentleman.” Her fingers ruffled his hair as her eyes glinted wickedly. “I’d love to put a little Sass in you and hear you scream my name.” She gestured to her groin and made a lewd gesture.

Oliver grinned, leaned back in his chair, spread his legs so his package was on full display, and grabbed his crotch. “Sweetheart, you couldn’t handle this,” the Nicky Starr in him drawled. “Many a good man and drag queen has tried and failed. Come back when you’ve been around the block a few more times.”

The table exploded into laughter. The easy transition from Oliver Brown, reclusive website designer, to his alter ego Nicky Starr, man of porn moments in many films, rose to the surface like an easy second skin. Oliver was surprised to have Nicky emerge after so long. He blamed the alcohol, and mostly, nestled in his heart like a secret weapon, a certain wonderful human being named Leslie Tiberius Scott.

Sass shrieked loudly and slapped his shoulder. “Now who’s the sassy one?” She simpered at Leslie. “Darling, you are one lucky man. I guess you can handle him quite fine.”

Leslie was staring at Oliver with such heat and lust in his eyes that Oliver thought the table might catch fire. They’d role-played to Nicky Starr’s films more than once before and Oliver had the feeling this would become another firm favourite.

Oh God. He’s giving me such a chubby right here. What he does to me is criminal.

Sass Parilla turned her attention to Taylor, who was grinning widely. “And who’s this handsome fellow? Love what you’ve done to the hair, sweetheart. Very Renaissance.” She levelled her gaze at Mango, who saluted her with his beer bottle. “As for you, sexy, I know better than to poach on Delilah’s belongings. She says hello, and there’s a blowjob waiting for you after the show.” She winked.

Mango chuckled. “Tell her I’ll be there.”

Sass Parilla motioned to Eddie. “Pull me up a chair, honey. I’m going to entertain you boys tonight.”

Eddie blushed but pulled up a chair with alacrity. Over the next hour, between the show and Sass’s flirting with them all, treating them to dirty jokes and innuendo, Oliver had no time to think about Leslie’s strange behaviour. His boyfriend seemed more relaxed though, and Oliver thought he must have imagined that there was something else going on.

***

Oh. My. Fucking God. Oliver is so going to get it tonight. I want to do such filthy things to him. Leslie pushed down on his aching dick, willing it to settle down. The sight of Oliver, eyes dark, mouth twisted in that easy grin, had sent his senses reeling and his body tingling. His man was without doubt the sexiest person on the planet. Once Leslie got his breath back and calmed his racing heart, he acknowledged he’d never been so pleased to see a drag queen invade his small party of friends. Sass was doing a wonderful job of keeping them all entertained, and Leslie couldn’t help feeling that had been the plan all along.

Whoever had orchestrated the welcome distraction was a hero. He glanced around the table. Mango caught his eye and mock saluted with his beer bottle. Then he winked. He really is a superhero, Leslie thought in awe. I don’t care how he did it, but I know it was him. He raised his wineglass back and mouthed his thanks.

His frequent trips to the bathroom to perform a few deep breaths of meditation and focus his core on what was going to happen tonight had helped.

Now all I have to do is go get changed, wait for the show to finish, and grab the ring from that stupid place Chester hid it. Then I can propose to my boyfriend and hope he doesn’t say no.

Leslie finished his wine, checked his watch, and then nudged Oliver, who was enraptured by something on stage. “The show’s nearly finished,” Leslie spoke loud enough to make sure Oliver heard over the caterwauling and jeers of the audience. “I need to go check on the supplies for the dressing room, make sure they have bottled water, and that Miss Kiki Heavens has her fruit smoothie, and Misty Faithful has her packets of Skittles.” He was aware that he was blathering. He stood up and planted a kiss on Oliver’s head. “I’ll be back soon.”

Please don’t let anyone say anything. Please make Tyler and Eddie hold their wicked tongues.

He was amazed they’d gotten this far without one or both of them having taken out an ad in The Times. It seemed when it came to the important things, Leslie could count on his two besties. He didn’t have to worry anyway. Gideon’s tongue was stuck so far down Eddie’s throat, they could have been conjoined twins. Taylor appeared merry as Draven patted his back and told him to breathe. That extra tequila Taylor had enjoyed appeared to be causing him some issues. Brook and Mango watched him go, and Leslie saw a glimmer of support in their eyes for what he was about to do. He hurried to the dressing room and sought out his costume. It would be tough but he’d assured Chester he’d get into it on his own with no problem.

The Santa suit was cleverly designed with easy zippers and Velcro (Leslie had insisted the trousers could be ripped off at a moment’s notice to reveal his red thong underneath). It took ten minutes of huffing and puffing, and a calisthenics workout better suited to a gym, but finally Leslie was almost ready. As he perched the jaunty Christmas hat on his black curls and arranged them artfully to frame his face, he heard the closing number of the show, a raucous medley of show tunes mixed with Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker Suite. As the last bars played, he dashed out of the dressing room as fast as he could, given he was in heels.

I’ll wait here until it’s over and then it’s my showtime. Despite his nervousness, Leslie’s heart beat with excitement.

He lingered behind the side curtain as the queens came off the stage, chattering and joking as they made their way to the open enclosure behind him which held bottled water and the stronger stuff. Leslie thought they’d probably grab a drink then be off to their changing rooms.

As the stage curtains closed, Leslie breathed a sigh of relief. He slinked across to the fireplace and reached up, looking for the alcove that held the box. His fingers couldn’t find what he was looking for and he swore.

“Damn thing. Where are you?” He stretched up farther, even as he thought logically that Chester wasn’t taller than him, so it was unlikely to be higher up, Leslie still felt around to find nothing there. Leslie’s throat went dry and he was sure the whole world could hear the hammering of his heart as it sped up in panic. He lowered his arm and tried rummaging around again. Finally, his fingers hit something square and solid, and he grasped hold of it with a victorious exclamation.

“And now, sit yourselves down and grab another drink, darlings, because the ladies are coming back with that encore you know you want.”

Behind him, Leslie heard the familiar swish of the curtains as they began to open.

His body went cold.

Encore? What the hell were they doing an encore for? Club Delish didn’t do encores. It was a nightclub for fuck’s sake, not a theatre. All he could do was stand there, close his eyes and wish the earth would swallow him whole. The nightclub erupted in catcalls, and shouts of encouragement and Leslie was sure he heard Eddie calling out, a little drunkenly, “Way to go, you sexy thing. Shake that booty.”

Oh, he would so kill Eddie later for that comment.

“Leslie, what are you doing out there?” Laverne’s panicked whisper echoed across the stage. There was a heated discussion between what appeared to be her and Delilah and then

Delilah’s voice rang out. “Before the ladies come back on stage, we are thrilled to announce that our very own Leslie Scott has graced us with his delightful presence, and in an even more delightful piece of sexy apparel. He’ll be performing a short number for us. Leslie, darling, sashay away. The floor is yours.”

There were more calls to shake his arse and show them what he’d got. Leslie closed his eyes, trying not to hyperventilate. There was an element of hysteria in Delilah’s voice and it made him waaay nervous.

“Dance, chicken,” hissed Laverne from the shadows. “Christ, Leslie, do something before your plan is completely fucked.”

It was when he heard someone singing drunkenly, “When Santa got stuck in the chimney”—he thought it might have been Taylor—that Leslie knew he had to act quickly before it all became a little too farcical and not the truly romantic moment he’d wanted.

He drew in a deep breath. He was Leslie fucking Tiberius damn Scott, and if anything, he knew how to entertain an audience. Grasping the box tightly in his hand, he wiggled his bum seductively. Twice. The audience cheered, and he was encouraged with ribald calls to do a lot more. Then he heard Oliver’s voice carrying above the crowd, and he knew that he had this.

“Go, Leslie. Show these people what’s mine. Love you, baby.”

Leslie bit his lower lip in determination and wriggled his bum a bit more as he extricated himself from the chimney. The crowd seemed to love it and, his confidence growing, he turned around. As he did, the glorious tones of his favourite diva, Cher, rang out stridently, encouraging him to turn back time.

Leslie glanced to the wings where Laverne stood, holding a thumb up. She knew what tunes he liked, and by God, he was going to make this dance count before he figured out what the hell he was going to do next. For the next few minutes, Leslie sashayed and danced his way across the stage as if he’d been born to do it. His dancing skills weren’t bad, and in his time he’d had plenty of chance to perfect them on the club dance floors and at various karaoke bars.

The audience clapped and sang along, and all the time he was aware of the little blue box in his hand. There’d been no time to put it down, and in all honesty, with the chorus girl kicking he was doing, the last thing he wanted was to send it hurtling into the crowd.

As he kicked and minced across the stage, Leslie gave silent thanks to the fashion god that was Chester for making his costume seams tight and sturdy enough to cope with Leslie’s shenanigans.

Oliver was up front, closer to the stage, his face beaming as he stomped and cheered to Leslie’s performance. Their friends stood beside him, rocking away too, and Leslie’s heart stuttered at seeing his brilliantly supportive close-knit group of friends together. Even Chester and Bear were there, and if Leslie wasn’t mistaken, Bear had Chester’s hand in his.

When the final strains of music faded away, Leslie, gasping and no doubt pink-faced, took his bow and stood trembling. Crap, his legs were wobbly, and his feet hurt like hell.

But he’d Cher’d on stage, and fuck, it had felt good.

“That’s my boyfriend,” Oliver called out, shining with pride. “Eat your heart out, everyone, because he’s going home with me.”

Laverne and Delilah flounced onstage as Delilah addressed the crowd on her penis mic. “Wasn’t that fabulous? This young man has a future in construction, because I know for a fact something’s been erected in my basement.”

The crowd erupted once again with cheers and entreaties for “More, more.” Leslie huffed and puffed trying to gain his breath back—he really needed to do more cardiovascular at the gym—as Laverne stage-whispered, “That was a good save but what the hell are you going to do now?”

She looked meaningfully down at the box Leslie still clutched in sweaty fingers. He made one of those split-second decisions and hoped like hell Oliver would understand. He grabbed the microphone from Delilah, who looked at him, startled. He held it up to his lips and started to speak.

“Oliver—” His voice sounded soft, and nothing else came out.

Laverne leaned over with a roll of her perfectly mascaraed eyes and pressed her finger to his lips. “Hold the button when you speak, chicken.” She stroked his hand softly and whispered, “You can do this.”

Leslie gulped and pressed down on the switch. Before he could say anything, Oliver shouted out again. “I knew you were hiding something, sweetheart, and now I know what it was. That was amazing, fantastically amazing.”

Leslie switched on the microphone. “Uhmm, babe, that wasn’t really the surprise, but thanks. Could you come onto the stage please?” He had to smile when he noticed Oliver didn’t have a choice. Leslie’s friends began pushing his boyfriend toward the stage, then shoved him up the narrow side staircase to the top.

“Oliver. Oliver,” the crowd chanted.

Oliver was grinning but looked a little apprehensive. Leslie sashayed over to where Oliver stood and held out a hand. “Come on,” he murmured. “I promise this will be good, sweetie.”

Oliver took Leslie’s hand and let himself be led to the centre. He waved at the audience and gave a short bow. Leslie’s heart warmed at the sight and he leaned in and pressed his lips to Oliver’s in a soothing kiss.

God, you have come so far, my beautiful man. There was a time when I wouldn’t have dared to do this to you.

“Thank you for doing this,” he whispered. Then he knelt on one knee, wincing a little because the trousers were tight and were almost bisecting his balls.

“Blowjob, blowjob, blowjob,” was the rousing cry he heard, and he’d had enough. He raised the microphone to his lips as Oliver gazed down mystified.

“Shut the fuck up, you randy bunch of perverts. I’m trying to propose to my boyfriend.”

The entire club went silent. Leslie nodded in satisfaction and opened his hand to reveal the box. He looked back up at Oliver, whose mouth was open, a look of pure astonishment on his face.

“Oliver, we’ve been together three years now, and I know you’re the man for me. I hope I’m the man for you, because if I’m not, that will really suck big hairy donkey balls. I know you don’t feel that rings and marriage are important if two people love each other and, baby, I get that.” Leslie’s throat clogged up and he sniffed. His eyes were starting to prickle. “But I believe in those things, and there’s no one else I’d want to make a commitment to, so I’m asking you, Oliver Brown, will you be my husband one day?” he finished then whispered softly, “Please say yes.”

Leslie stood up, wincing at hearing his one knee crackle. He couldn’t look into Oliver’s eyes. He didn’t want to see the answer until it was spoken. Speaking words gave them the power. They gave promise, and oh God, Leslie wanted promise so much.

Beside him, Laverne was blowing her nose and Delilah was making noises that sounded suspiciously like goose honks. There was a small moment of agony as Leslie waited for Oliver’s reply. The crowd was so still they might not have been there. Then Oliver’s fingers reached out and lifted Leslie’s chin. The microphone was removed from his trembling hands and there was a dull click as it went live.

“Leslie, sweetheart, look at me. Let me see those gorgeous blues,” Oliver whispered reverently. Leslie took a chance and glanced up. Oliver’s face was wreathed in a smile, his dark eyes loving and joyful, and the look of adoration Leslie saw there made him want to sink to his knees and pray.

“My incredible, sassy, lovable, and adorable man, how could you even think I’d ever say no? I know you think I’m not interested in this stuff but, sweetheart, this is you.” The room erupted in cheering and somewhere party hooters went off. There was full-on sobbing now from somewhere on the dance floor below.

Oliver’s eyes shone with love. “I might talk the talk about not having to have anything formal between two people who adore each other but, babe, the fact you’ve asked me?” Oliver swallowed, his throat working. “I can’t tell you how honoured I feel.” His eyes shone with something else now, a tiny teardrop at one corner giving credence to his words.

Leslie felt a bit like crying himself, the relief was so great. A niggle of doubt wormed its way into his head. Wait. Oliver hadn’t actually said yes.

“Is that a yes?” He sniffled. “Because I really need to hear you say the word.”

Oliver reached over and drew him into a kiss that held every promise Leslie had ever wanted. When he was released, Leslie felt trembly for a whole different reason. “That’s a big yes.”

Leslie collapsed into his boyfriend’s arms. “Oh thank God,” he said fervently.

“Oh, thank the fuck,” Delilah and Laverne said simultaneously, fanning themselves with manicured talons. Oliver smiled at Leslie, love radiating in rainbow waves as the coloured strobe lights flickered above.

“You know me, I’m not good at public stuff.” He reached out and caressed Leslie’s cheek. “Three years ago, you came into my life to bring me a suit, and I’m a lucky man—you never left.”

Leslie swallowed, his eyes filling with tears at the love in Oliver’s voice as he continued. “You took a reclusive, scared man and gave him nothing but your unconditional love. You gave me back something I’d lost. My life. And now,” Oliver’s voice broke and he moved closer, “I am as privileged as hell that you’ve asked me to be your husband. I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than marry you.”

Finally. Leslie kissed his fiancé to the clapping and cheering from the watching crowd.

“Give him the bloody ring then,” came the roar from the watching crowd. Leslie remembered the thing that had caused all the trouble in the first place as he opened the box and lifted out the ring. He took Oliver’s hand, a hand that was also trembling, and slid the ring home.

“Oh my God, Leslie. It’s stunning,” Oliver whispered. “I’ve only ever seen something as beautiful as this once before.” He smiled so sweetly, Leslie thought his heart would break free and float into the air above. “Only that was a certain someone I’d really love to kiss right now.”

He pulled Leslie over to him and any noise the crowd made, or music that played, or drag queens that danced, were forgotten in the warmth of Oliver’s embrace and the taste of his mouth against Leslie’s.

Oliver’s mouth left his and Leslie huffed his displeasure.

“You know,” Oliver murmured with a smile, “I thought I was getting a new suit for Christmas. I thought that was your secret. But this,” he gestured around him, “this was so much better.”

Leslie reached out a hand and smirked. “Sweetie, the next suit I have made for you is going to be a special one,” he purred, loving the shine of the light as it played on Oliver’s ring. “I’m thinking white tuxedos, perhaps a splash of teal—and peacocks.” He sighed. “I’m seeing peacocks at our wedding.”

Oliver’s answer to that was to pull Leslie in for another mind-bending kiss, and as his fiancé’s arms kept him tight in a warm embrace, all Leslie could do was hold on for the ride.

This Kissmas Drag Stravaganza has been the best event ever, he thought dreamily.

They’d have to do it next year.

This time, it could be Taylor and Draven’s turn.

Leslie would make sure of it.

The Men of London thank you for living their love.

Don’t worry, chickens, you’ll see them again.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

The ‘Official’ stuff

Susan writes steamy, sexy and fun contemporary romance, some suspenseful, some gritty and dark, almost all M/M, and some stories that she hopes makes you think. She’s also Editor in Chief at Divine Magazine, an online LGBTQ e-zine, and a Charity Board trustee at The Being Me Campaign in London.

Susan attained PAN status with the Romance Writers of America with her first M/M book, Stripped Bare. She’s currently a member of The Society of Authors in the UK, and the Authors Guild in the US. She enjoys being a member of Queer Romance Ink, All Author, Book + Main Bites and the Paranormal Romance Guild.

The ‘Unofficial’ stuff

She loves going to the theatre, live music concerts (especially if it’s her man crush Adam Lambert) walks in the countryside, a good G &T, lazing away afternoons reading a good book, and watching re-runs of Silent Witness.

Her chequered past includes being mistaken for a prostitute in the city of Johannesburg, being chased by a rhino on a dusty Kenyan road, getting kicked out of a youth club for being a ‘bad influence’ (she encourages free thinking), and having an aunt who was engaged to Cliff Richard.

website: authorsusanmacnicol.com

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