They ran from the restaurant giggling like schoolboys, past the piano player now energetically tinkling an almost unrecognisable version of 'The Promise' by Girls Aloud, past the crestfallen face of the waiter, all hopes of a rematch with Christian dashed, and it was only when they reached the imposing glass doors of the St. Giles hotel that Syed started to get cold feet.
He looked at Christian's broad back as he turned to hold them open for him and hung back slightly.
Christian frowned.
"You alright Sy?" he asked, concerned.
Under the bright lights of the crystal chandelier in the foyer, Syed looked terrified.
"It's just, should we book two rooms, I mean.."
Christian felt his heart sink.
"Why would we do that Sy? Are you ashamed? It's not illegal you know, homosexuality, not any more." He tried to calm down, knowing that he sounded angry.
"I'll check in under my name, use my credit card, there won't be any incriminating receipts to be found by your.."
Wife, he had been going to say wife again. He was going to have to ask him outright.
"You're not married are you?" He held his breath, scared to hear the reply.
Syed blinked up at him, surprised.
"No! No, I'm not."
'How could he think I'd be here, in a hotel, late at night with him if I were?' He thought, shocked. And then realised that, even if he had been, for a man like him he would have shattered all vows, would break his faith.
"Do you still want to do this?"
Christian wasn't sure how he would cope if the answer was negative, worried he might break something, or cry.
"Yes." Syed's reply was small, hesitant but insistent.
Christian went up to the reception desk, leant confidently across.
"Double room please. Mr and Mr. Clarke."
The receptionist never batted an eyelid and handed over a registration form for him to sign and then a small plastic card.
In the lift, they stood at opposite sides, watchfully regarding each other, separated by a raucous hen party, the squealing girls trying, and failing, to catch their attention.
"Ninth floor! The automated woman trilled and the metal doors slid open.
In the hushed quiet of the carpeted corridor, they found their room.
Christian slid the card into the lock, waiting for a click. When none came he noticed he had put it in upside down.
"You've put it in upside down." Pointed out Syed helpfully.
"I won't make that mistake again." Christian smiled to himself as he sensed Syed stiffen at the double entendre.
Christian placed the plastic card into the power socket and the lights buzzed on, he took in the small room.
"What a lot of wood!" he remarked, making a mental note to try and stop sounding so smutty.
Syed glanced at the double bed with longing, the starched striped counterpane waiting to be crumpled, the sheets waiting to feel the heat of their bodies.
Christian turned on the bedside lamps and came to stand in front of Syed. Wordlessly he pulled his T shirt over his head, kicked off his shoes and socks, unzipped his jeans and stepped out of them.
"Commando." The word stuck in Syed's throat.
"Commando." Christian smiled.
Syed dropped his jacket onto the floor, struggled with clumsy fingers on the buttons of his shirt, finally pulling at it so hard that one pinged off and skittered across the floor. He removed his trousers.
"Pants." He apologised.
"Nice though. Calvin Klein?"
Syed nodded and took them off.
They stood and stared at each other silently, the background noise of the city traffic, a loud television from the adjoining room, the distant shouts of merriment along the corridor heightened in their ears.
Syed relished the powerfulness of Christian's body, the smooth muscles, so glad that he wasn't overdeveloped to the point of caricature, no bulging veins and sinews twisted like the roots of an old tree, just pure strength and power.
Christian felt his mouth fill with saliva as his eyes wandered over Syed, the spare litheness, long, lean limbs. He hadn't known that he had a type until now.
He broke the silence.
"We're like cowboys on a Vivienne Westwood T shirt, standing here."
"Hmm?" Syed looked confused, not understanding the imagery.
"Or sword fighters, about to fight to the death."
Syed swallowed.
"On guard." he said quietly.
Christian smiled.
"What do you like Syed?"
Syed managed to stop staring at Christian's cock and frowned, puzzled.
What did he mean? Why was he asking him about his hobbies? Did he have any? He was usually too busy with work and family life to have any outside interests, he had a secret passion for the X Factor, and he had been keen on cricket when he was younger.
"Cricket.." He offered.
Christian was taken aback, he wasn't sure he'd heard of that one and he'd done everything imaginable before, then slowly it dawned on him and he laughed delightedly.
"Numpty. In bed, what would you like me to do?"
Syed flushed,
"I don't know."
"You don't know? Has no one ever made love to you before?" Christian's voice was deep, concerned.
Suddenly frightened that he may be coming across as some shy inexperienced virgin, Syed began to bluster.
"Oh I've done plenty, believe me, stuff that would make your eyes water…"
He tailed off, aware that his limited grubby, soulless, fumblings with strangers probably wouldn't impress Christian.
It had occurred to Christian that if Syed had never been made love to before, he, Christian, had never himself made love to anyone. None of what had gone on before could be described as love.
He moved a step closer and held up his index finger, Syed mirrored the gesture and a small blue spark of static electricity crackled between them.
"E.T."
Syed lifted tawny brown eyes to Christian's, the pupils huge with desire.
"Come home."
