Hotel's three blocks and we're bloody flying, hand in hand, practically tearing muscles as we run full bore past gawkers and onlookers, and I'm visited with the distinct sensation that it's all happening to someone else. Certainly the sensations below feel completely foreign, and yet in the far distant reaches of my mind, vaguely familiar.

Incredible to think that to the Tony I was, this would have been routine. So much so that one can't help but wonder if it maybe hadn't become a bit blase. Right now to me, by contrast, it's like I've won a million pounds, developed supernatural powers, and been made king of England.

But mostly, it's this I can't get my head around: I, Tony Stonem, am unabashedly and also for the first time, unashamedly in love ... with a boy.

I'm convinced it's the first time I've actually been in love, period. This buzzed, helpless business, this stumbling about in a lightheaded love-stupor all the time has, I swear, altered my brain chemistry. Maybe even healed it. Thus I can't accept that had I been through something of this magnitude before, even prior to the accident, that I wouldn't know it.

And meanwhile it occurs to me, despite my earlier misgivings, that it was maybe meant to be after all, as within two minutes of our staggering co-declaration, my cock bloody well woke up, didn't it ?

Remember what pulsing, throbbing, and concentrated warmth feels like ? Remember that you aren't just a vessel for piss ?

We're sprinting full bore, and it's exhilarating, like light, and magic, and freedom. Like the universe is singing.

He once asked me if I'd ever been in love. Were he to ask again, my answer would be ... not like this.

Tomorrow I'll argue with him, maybe. Tonite, because, as the person who loves him best, I want it for him, maybe even more than he does himself ... he's going to come. Yes. I'm going to see to it.

"Queers !" some goon shouts.

Oh no. Not two minutes after Tony sort of comes out ... ? Talk about giving you pause – that'll make him think twice.

My face is hot, but I will not allow some random motherfucker to ruin what is maybe the most tantalizingly amazing few moments of my life – of both of our lives. I pull Tony along but he's immediately slowing.

God dammit.

I stop, or at least slow, and turn, walking backwards. A part of me is in shock – to hear that word directed at me ? Renowned skirt chaser, notorious womanizer ? A part of me's right fucking furious to know it was also directed at Maxxie. The remainder, however, recalls something Max once said: the best defense against neanderthals is to make like Cyrano, and disarm them with wit.

"Ya." I smirk, looking in the general direction of where the crack came from. I point. "Well, he is, for sure, and I might be. Anyway, I'm about to find out."

Brilliant ! I laugh out loud and yank on his arm. Thank god, after all, that Tony's still Tony; thank god he can dip into him whenever he needs 'im.

I turn to the crowd myself as we resume running, calling back to them.

"Tarry ho ! Must run – emergency double hard-ons !"

We make it to the hotel and crash through the front door screaming past families and singles and young holiday couples, panting and sweating from the mad, excited dash in the warm night air.

I cram my finger into the lift button and we collapse into the wall opposite, snogging like the long denied lovers that we are, in full view of the lobby crowd and nosy hotel desk clerk, and it's absolutely glorious – his scent, his perfect skin, his warm, brilliant mouth. I press my pelvis into his and a surge rockets through me – god, I want to eat him alive – but by the time the bell dings, I realize something truly awful.

Tony's gone soft.

If there is a god, he really fucking hates me. What other conclusion can you draw ?

What ... I'm to be given a teensy taste of what I've been missing all this time, only to have it yanked away two seconds later ?

Just fucking shoot me in the head, please.

No. This can't be happening.

As the doors split open, I walk him backwards into the lift, hit the button for our floor, and shove him into the wall.

Jesus fucking christ !

He does this wicked, slow grind pelvic thing that, trust me, is fucking ungodly, and nearly right away ...

it works ! !

Voila ! ! Yes ! !

And two seconds later ... it's gone again.

"Fucking thing !" I snarl, yanking down his zipper and thrusting in a warm hand ...

Wow.

"Maxxie," I grunt/laugh. It's just a bit embarrassing getting wanked, suddenly and for the first time ever, by your best mate, under the bright lights of a public lift, with a door not three feet from us that could open at any moment ... but then this is clearly a man on a mission, and so I'm not about to stand in his way.

Bloody flesh defiantly ignores me, even as I rigorously challenge it to a duel, which really, is just too much, I mean, does it not know who I am ? And so I mash my lips into his, cursing into his mouth. And not just because I have a certain fetish, I run a free hand up under his shirt and tweak a nipple or two, causing him to jolt slightly in place.

"Okay, shit," I gasp. That did it. Yes. I laugh a little, embarrassed and turned on, and embarrassed that I'm turned on.

Ding !

The lift stops and the door splits and we straighten ourselves quickly, peak out to look both ways, and then dart out into the hall, racing for the door.

By the time we're there, it happens again ... bastard thing's gone soft.

Christ, this is absolutely maddening. One minute my balls are buzzing, the next second, nothing ! Can I scream my lungs out, please ?

"What the fuck !" I snap, as I slip the key into the lock.

"Can't help it," he says, the picture of gloomy, frustrated embarrassment, as if this is somehow his fault.

I grab his hand.

"I know you can't. It's your willy I'm mad at."

I kick open the door.

"Now get in there so I can teach it a lesson."

Inside the door, it's instantly different. Unhurried. Peaceful. In what I will recognize later to be a full circle Russia moment, I kiss him once, softly, pull off his shirt, and then my own.

We are then both standing there, half naked, on the precipice of what is surely a defining moment in our lives.

He's nervous and worried and horned out, and a tad freaked – it's written all over his face. Then it hits me, like a thunder bolt: he's putting himself in my hands.

My god. In an instant, it's crystal clear - all the girls he turned away tonite, all the other times I tried unsuccessfully to steer him towards women – he couldn't trust them, to give a shit, to be patient, to understand. Why? Because you only get that from someone you love.

We're watching each other's faces. Huge moment. Scary. This is Maxxie, my best mate. I'm supposed to punch him in the shoulder and call him names and ride him and tell him off. Instead, we find ourselves completely enveloped in each other, as if no one else existed, inside a room that, ironically, just hours ago, we rented as two friends, and nothing more.

How can your whole world change in the blink of a lash ?

I lay a delicate hand on his chest. I lean in and he surprises me and wraps his arms round my back. God. Here we stand, quietly holding each other. It's stunning, the sheer beauty of the moment. I'm pleading with it not to pass, in fact, for the evening to end right here.

But, I realize, I love him too much for that.

Okay, hokey as it might be, I can't not say it:

My heart's gonna burst.

I find the strength at last to lean away, and kiss him, soft, at first. My lips find his jaw, the nape of his neck, collar bone, and finally, his chest.

He runs a hand slowly over my pathetically skinny, pale, scarred up form, and I'm gonna expire from embarrassment. I reach to turn out the light, but he stops me.

"Don't."

"Maxxie-"

"-Shut up, Tone."

So weird. He's examining me, caressing my scars, my nipples, my flat, shapeless body, like it's in some way ... attractive.

I run soft hands over the small mounds of his pecs, disbelieving in this moment that I could ever have fancied Mr Universe. Tony, with his smooth, subtle muscles, not in your face but rather, so much more appealing - there to be discovered - coupled with achingly perfect rose pink nipples, exquisite smooth, pale flesh, and even the uniqueness of his scars, is to me right now, beauty personified.

I lean and take in the rose pink, circling it with lips and tongue until it grows into a little stone. As I move to visit it's twin, I let a hand linger below – no, I haven't forgotten about you – and caress the soft flesh here, gently for the moment, without challenge, as my mouth revisits his.

After a minute, his breathing changes.

He stops and looks down. We both do.

Okay, it's a beginning.

Not one I intend to skip out on.

Heart clanging away in my chest, I drop – it's our only hope - encircle the shaft, and without further ado, take him into my mouth.

Fuck, I think, blood banging away in my brain ...

This ... is ... epic.

That, right there, is the top of Maxxie's head.

Total disbelief and yet, it feels completely right. Suddenly not at all strange to be doing this to Tony; my brain preoccupied simply with how badly I want this for him.

And so, what to do – go hard ? Treat it like a delicate, woefully underused organ ?

Tony's gasp tells me where to go.

Okay, it's the moment when the back of your head slaps into the door that you know it's really happening.

God, yes, definitely happening. It's so strange, so fucked up; there are no words, really, other than ... warm ... all that warm blood coursing through you, having rushed in at once, wondering what all the fuss is about, followed by more blood wondering the same thing, and pretty soon you're there. So easy, right ? So why has it taken a year ?

Answer ? Because it was waiting. For Maxxie, and his wet, hot, brilliant mouth.

(Is this what is meant by velvet goldmine ?)

And then, very quickly, my head's gonna cave in. My hands are two gripped fists and I'm a freely panting, tightly wound ball of tension, a bit embarrassed by the former, I mean, I'm sort of gasping for my life, here, but ... there's no chance of stopping it. Not when Maxxie's intent on altering the course of history.

Oh god. Just let me survive this. Please. Fuck. It's SO good – again, no words - I'm shaking, can't speak, can't open my eyes, can't close my damned mouth. It keeps hitting me over and over, this stupid phrase: 'so bloody worth the wait'.

Which is just an insane thought that not five minutes ago I would have slugged somebody over, and they would have deserved it, and yet, fuck ...I just never fucking KNEW.

All along I stupidly thought that when I finally got here, it would all come flooding back, the memories of the many mindless times I did this before, and that that would magnify the turn on, and yet, incredibly, there's nothing back there, in my mind – anymore, meaning, it has to mean, that what Maxxie's doing, putting everything he has into it – love and hope and passion and healing ... has magically wiped my brain clean.

Which is perfect.

Because.

Everything's new.

Meaning, I get to start it all over again, my whole life, everything,

from scratch,

with Maxxie.