Thanks for reviews and thanks to my beta Clarkey! x


I reach for the box of leftover pizza and briefly consider shoving it forcibly into the bin, but instead I put it in the fridge, in case Syed is hungry when he gets home.

Laying down on the sofa, I stretch myself out along its full length, taking up as much space as possible, I have a cold beer in one hand and sole possession of the remote in the other. I let out an exaggerated sigh as I sink into its softness, the kind of sigh you want to make obvious to someone else, but of course there is no one else here to hear it. I might as well make the most of being able to do what I want while I can, I think to myself, flicking through the TV channels for the programmes Syed hates.

Except this isn't what I want. I push the thought away, no, it's good having a bit of time to myself to relax in the evening, enjoy a cold beer in peace. I take a swig from the bottle as if to emphasize the fact, then look at my watch. Approximately 32 minutes until Syed will be home. Probably.

Stop checking your bleedin' watch, Christian. Cool, really cool. What's wrong with you? Two hours, it was two pitiful hours, for fuck's sake, you've been without him a whole day, another 2 hours isn't going to kill you.

I've been without him a lot longer than a day before, but I don't like to think about that, that's the past.

This is now. This is now and I want him here with me, sat on the sofa with me, telling me to go easy on the beer, groaning at my choice of TV show, nudging me painfully in the ribs and wrestling the remote control off me, delicately putting the last of the pizza into his mouth and teasingly licking the tomato sauce off his finger tips. I want him here. I am being childish, I know, petulant. What is the matter with me? He's working, like normal people do. Working, that's all. At the salon, massaging… him.

Unwanted images flash unbridled in my mind. Syed's hands sliding over bare skin, his knuckles kneading into flesh and muscle. Syed leaning over an expanse of back, lowering himself down. Syed's lips parting, his mouth finding another mouth, tongue seeking tongue. The naked skin of Syed's chest pressing against the body below. A body that isn't mine.

Shit. I sit bolt upright on the sofa. He wouldn't, would he?

What the fuck am I thinking? This is Sy, of course he wouldn't, the idea is laughable. Except I'm not laughing. What is wrong me? I've never been this insecure before, well… not about something like this anyway. This is me, Christian Clarke, after all. I'm fine, I tell myself. Everything's fine. I just… I just… love him so much.

I take a deep breath, trying to clear the fog and the images from my mind, but it doesn't work. I can feel the tension in my shoulders spread through my body and a gnawing ache in my gut, that only seems to intensify as the seconds tick by. I look at my watch and wonder what Syed is doing at exactly this moment as I sit alone in our flat. Is he thinking of me, as I am thinking of him? Or is he distracted by other things? Another voice laughing with him, other eyes looking at him, somebody else's fingers touching him.

The images take over and all rational thought deserts me. I can't think or see anything else, only them. I can't stand it anymore. What am I doing sitting here like some pathetic, gullible lovesick idiot while they, they…. No! No-one is going to make a fool out of me! I stand up abruptly and make a grab for my keys before charging out the door, my face like thunder.

I can see a light on at Booty's as I approach. I am vaguely aware of a little voice in my head trying to speak, trying to be heard, but I'm not listening. There is something in me, something dark, something that has the power to control me and make me vulnerable. I know what it is. Fear. But I dare not admit it or dwell on its cause, so I let the anger build and bury it. Not a blazing rage that burns brightly and clearly before fizzling out, but a seething, brooding resentment and discord, a slow burning heat that seems to ooze out of my every pore.

I reach the salon door and a moment of doubt makes me pause. The little voice tells me I am being a prize idiot, what would Syed think of my behaviour? He'd be hurt, he'd expect me to trust him, I do trust him. I was letting him down, my own stupid… No. I feel the blood rushing through my body, my nerve endings alight. I have to see it for myself, see them. Suddenly images of Syed fill my head again. Syed, his naked body hot and flushed, a fine layer of sweat making his skin glisten as he moves, muscles rippling and tensing with the strain, his eyes dark and languid, lips full and parted, a single breath escaping. I feel myself grow hard. Shit. What the fuck is the matter with me?

I take a deep breath and barge through the door, not caring how much noise I make. I want to make my presence felt. Or… maybe I want them to hear me come in because I don't want to walk in on them having…

"Christian!"

Syed is behind the counter, looking in the appointments diary… alone. He is alone. I glance quickly up the stairs towards his treatment room, is Craig still up there? Looking back at Syed I can't help but register his prim and pristine white masseur's jacket, buttoned up to his neck, his hair relatively smooth, at least for him, tendrils curling gently at his neck. So very far from the images I'd had in my head. He has that tired and dejected look of someone who has spent too long at work, but it is now coupled with a look of surprise.

"What are you doing here?" he says quizzically, adding "Are you alright? Has something happened?" when he notices my tense demeanour.

"Your… client?" I ask boldly, my voice low, my eyes not leaving his face.

"He left a little while ago, I was just clearing up and then I was gonna… " he stops mid sentence as he surveys my expression, his eyes lock onto mine. It seems only when I look into his eyes I am not blind. I've been an idiot, of course, he is mine, he has always been mine. The transparency of the reality of truth before me taunts my tender heart and mocks my over active mind, but it seems only to serve the passion and fuel the growing fire that is building within me.

Syed's eyes seem to glaze over as he looks at me, watches me, watching him. "Christian?" he says quietly, his voice but a breath.

I am suddenly acutely aware of my chest rising and falling, each gasp for air becoming deeper and heavier than the last. I want, no, need to touch him. I have the urge to run my hands through that too tidy hair, to knot my fingers between the thick strands, to stroke, and twist, and tug as I pull his mouth to mine, leaving it a wild and untameable mess. I want to rip off that orderly and restraining jacket to reveal the other Syed that lay beneath. The Syed that is soft and sensual, tender and yielding, yet at the same time wilful and demanding, wild… carefree… wanton. The all too real Syed, his whole being a sensory avalanche that threatens to overwhelm me, yet has me begging for more. I crave him, I need him as I need the air in my lungs, the blood in my veins, I want him, I want him now.

"You haven't finished yet… " I say hoarsely, walking round the counter.

He looks up at me, his eyes seeming to widen the nearer I get to him, as if he is drinking me in, pulling me towards him. I can see it all over his face, the unexpected arrival but instant totality of lust and desire, startling him and yet freeing him at the same time, I can almost see it's trajectory as it travels through his body, making him tremble slightly as it takes him over to the point that it becomes him, my Sy.

I grab his hand and his breathing wavers at my touch, his lips part in anticipation.

"You've got one more client." I say hurriedly as I pull him towards the stairs.

"Wait!"

I feel the drag on my arm as he stops suddenly, and I turn around.

"Here?" he questions, eyebrows raised. That last flicker of restraint holding on.

"It's ok," I breathe reassuringly, "No one will know." A teasing smile curls the corners of my lips, "Sy… I'm aching so much it's getting painful. I'm in urgent need of a massage, you're a masseur aren't you?"

He bites his bottom lip and nods.

"You're my masseur, now show me your treatment room."

With that, any lingering doubt is forgotten, I can tell by the look on his face that he is as gone as I am. Hastily he takes a bundle of keys out of his pocket and rushes to lock the salon door. Turning back to me, he pushes past me and practically wrenches me up the stairs.