Back in his teenage days he used to tell himself he was a late bloomer; his classmates always made a point of boasting about their sexual conquests, so he simply assumed that was how it was supposed to be done. He liked the sex just fine – once he relaxed enough to try it – and he definitely enjoyed the way it seemed to attract romantic partners like honey did with flies; by the time he dropped out of university the habit of exaggerating the extent of his liaisons was so ingrained that he was starting to believe his own lies, the vague discomfort arising from intimate encounters fading back to a background noise and nearly forgotten.

For all that he didn't really have a preference for either women or men, he decided to stick with the fairer sex – if only because most of them were slightly less demanding in the bedroom department. The attention he got from the better part of the female staff when he joined Air England was flattering indeed, and he did his best to live up to his reputation of an incorrigible Casanova.

Before he realised what had happened he was married with a child on the way, and there was nothing he could do but go along with people's expectations and play the part of the devoted husband and father. However, there was only so much he could cope with, and the marriage was over before Verity started primary school – much to his chagrin, for he genuinely loved his daughter and was utterly heartbroken at the prospect of barely seeing her again.

Nevertheless, he assumed it was just a matter of finding the right person, the one who'd be able to 'fix' him; he desperately hoped for his second wife to be that person, though in the end the one good thing he got out of that disaster of a marriage was a beautiful little girl. It really came as no surprise when Emily's mother walked away on him, even more so since he'd developed a drinking habit as a last-ditch attempt to forget his problems.

With Helena things seemed to work, at least for a while; he'd got rather good at faking it, and his history of alcohol abuse came in handy as a way to excuse himself when he couldn't take it anymore. However, she still had needs like any other woman, and it was only a matter of time before she started seeking her fulfilment in someone else's arms; the worst part of it being the fact that she blamed her husband for it, and Douglas couldn't quite bring himself to disagree with her.

After the divorce he promised himself he would never put himself through this again. It wasn't worth it when he clearly was broken beyond repair, so he might as well give up any hope of finding a romantic partner who would accept him for who he was.

That was, until he caved in to Martin's clumsy attempts at flirting with him.

xxx

As prissy as he always was whilst flying dear old G-ERTI, Captain Crieff could be unexpectedly affectionate in the privacy of Douglas' flat. What had started as an innocent way to pass the time – and take his mind off the temptation of alcohol – turned soon enough into some sort of domestic arrangement where they had dinner together and spent the evenings curled up on the sofa sharing nothing but chaste touches and kisses.

A month into their relationship Douglas bowed to the inevitable and invited Martin to stay the night; he was determined to get over his skittishness and give his partner what he deserved, no matter how much it would cost him. Just lie back and think of England, that was what he told himself over and over again; he was struggling so hard to hide his nerves that he failed to notice how anxious Martin was – until the man clasped his hands, effectively stopping him from unbuttoning his pristine shirt.

"Douglas, we have to talk," his friend murmured in a low voice, and he braced himself for yet another lecture on how a real man was supposed to want sex rather than endure it.

Martin, however, didn't sound angry or anything; he ran a soothing hand along his partner's forearm, willing him to make eye contact and holding his gaze for a silent moment.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you don't seem particularly happy about any of this."

He let out a huff of frustration and began to pull back. "All right, no need to rub it in. I know how disappointing this is, thank you very much."

"Oh, you clot," Martin laughed, reaching for his hand and squeezing it fondly. "You got it the wrong way round, didn't you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm a grey asexual," the younger man pointed out, as if that explained everything. "It means I rarely experience sexual attraction, and even if I do it's not actually strong enough for me to want to act on it."

Douglas furrowed his brow, struggling to wrap his head around the notion. "I never knew there was such a thing."

"Few people do," Martin smiled encouragingly. "Some of them would only make fun of it – but if there's one thing I've learnt from my school years is that it's okay to be different, even if the rest of the world can't seem to understand it."

Laughter bubbled up inside of him, and he enveloped his partner in a warm embrace. This – this felt right, and he wasn't going to let him go any time soon.

And for once in his life, he was deeply grateful that he'd been wrong all along.