Chapter Fifteen: Things you Learn at RADA

...strange dream, erotic images, finding his body responding, feeling desire rising... and lips in his hair, fingers dancing over his skin, and the lips moving, neck and throat and lingering, and then on, grazing his mid-line to pause and continue, and...

Oh.

Not a dream. Very definitely not a dream, a hot, busy mouth, a working, magical tongue.

And when he opened his eyes, where the covers had slid aside, there was a head of shaggy honey-gold hair he could bury his fingers into, stroke and caress as the witchcraft tongue continued to weave its spell until, until...

Damn.

'You're amazing,' Gethin said, when he could speak.

'Nice way to start the morning?'

'Wonderful. Gorgeous, Duw, Jonathan, bloody amazing...'

...Where'd you learn to do that? Did you know how wonderful that would be? How?

The unspoken, wondering questions hung unasked because, how could you ask someone where they learned how to give such pleasure without them actually telling you, and spoiling it all with possibly sordid stories of Others Who Have Gone Before...?

Jonathan chuckled as he bounced up the bed to kiss Gethin's cheek.

'RADA, darling. You'd be amazed at some of the tricks you pick up there...'

'At acting school? And how old were you?'

Gethin pushed up onto his elbows and Jonathan smiled, sliding an arm around his shoulders, cuddling.

'Yes, at drama school. Elocution lessons, proper diction, facial exercises to practice a wide range of expressions... it builds strong and elastic muscles which can, of course, be put to other uses than just on the stage...'

'I see. Well. Fantastic, you are.'

'Thank you.' Jonathan sighed and slid off the bed. 'And you said you needed to be up at half seven, and it's now quarter to eight, I've got tea brewing, and by the time you're up and dressed, breakfast will be on the table. On plates, obviously. Shake a leg, darling, I don't want the blame if you don't get the shop open on time...'

'Don't think I can move just yet.'

'Oh, too much for you, am I?' Jonathan winked from the doorway. 'I'll be downstairs when you've recovered, then. And so will your breakfast.'

And it was only as Jonathan left the room that Gethin registered he'd been wearing an apron.

And nothing else.

And suddenly, somehow, it was a lot easier to get out of bed.

Scrambled eggs and hot buttered toast, tea waiting, Jonathan already seated at the table, his bare arms and chest incongruous against the backdrop of the kitchen, and suddenly Gethin felt shy, almost, this beautiful, amazing, almost-naked man sitting at a too-small Formica-topped table and smiling, just for him.

'Did you sleep well, Jonathan?' he asked, taking his place and shuffling his chair in.

'I did, thank you. Well, that bedtime story tired me out. You?'

'Yes. Not for long enough, though. And someone kept pinching the blankets.'

'Really? I wonder who that might have been...?'

Jonathan grinned, and Gethin smiled.

'And you turned off my alarm clock. Thank you for taking its place. And for making breakfast.'

'You're welcome. Of course, it won't be every day.'

Well, no, why would Jonathan think he'd think it would be? It wasn't as if Jonathan was moving in, he was going to his mother's, wasn't he? Or had he forgotten that? Or was it a hint that he wanted the spare room? Well, nobody else was going to use it, were they? Full of dresses and wigs and shoes and hats as it was, suddenly...

Gethin began to eat; it was easier than working his way through what Jonathan meant, or didn't mean, or wanted him to think, or whether he was terrified at the prospect of Jonathan moving in, or if he wanted it, because it was far too soon to even think about that, but somehow...

'Oh, God, what did I just say? That probably came out wrong, sounded as I thought you might have expectations, or stuff, and...' Jonathan broke off with a sigh. 'My mouth never does what it should early in the day...'

'Oh, I don't know about that, I thought your mouth did bloody well, actually.' Gethin said, flushing at the memory, covering the moment. 'I'll find you the other key to the flat. For when you bring the rest of your belongings later, if I'm busy in the shop and can't help.'

'Okay, thanks, that's a help.' Jonathan's voice was careful, as if he was glad to back away from his earlier comment. 'If I swing by the theatre group, I can probably borrow the bus for the day, load up into that. Make two trips that way – one this morning, then I can make a show of packing the last of my stuff in front of Mummy of Luke, so that I have the chance to tell her I've nowhere else to go and lay on the guilt a bit...'

'Because she doesn't know you have got somewhere else, after all.'

Jonathan dropped the piece of toast he'd been toying with and leaned forward to kiss Gethin on the lips.

'You're a real sweetheart, you know that?' he said, a delighted, delightful smile illuminating his face. 'Thank you. So much easier than having to commute all the way out to my mother's... it shouldn't be for long, the production I'm involved with, they're good at finding digs for people...'

'Okay, that's settled then,' Gethin said, wondering whether he'd just been railroaded, or if Jonathan really had thought the offer of the key was more than for just the day... 'Going to make a coffee, I need something with a bit more wellie behind it than tea this morning. You want some?'

Breakfast over, Gethin found the spare keys and separated out the ones for the flat.

'Street level, and front door, there. I need to get to work now, so you take your time, make yourself at home, have a bath, whatever. If you need to, you can ring the shop phone, okay?'

'Okay.'

Jonathan, still seated at the table over another cup of tea, lifted his face, and Gethin realised he was expecting a kiss. Nice, he thought, that it was expected, and kissed him lightly.

'And you mind how you go on the roads, okay?'

'I will.'

Downstairs, the pre-opening routine of till and float and lights, making sure all was tidy. Maybe he should consider shifting opening to nine thirty on a Saturday? For the amount of business he did in that first half hour, it might not hurt, could be nice to have an extra half hour in bed.

Especially if that bed had Jonathan Blake in it.

Jonathan departed with a kiss and a wave around quarter past nine and with hopes of being back in time to share Gethin's lunch break, leaving Gethin to smile his way through the morning, his happy mood not going unnoticed, with more than one customer commenting on his cheerfulness, and even Maeve, breezing in at half eleven for her afternoon shift, grinned delightedly.

'You look like the cat that's got the cream!' she said, which wasn't quite what had happened, but Gethin decided not to enlighten her. 'Of course, it's your big date tonight, isn't it?'

Good thing the shop wasn't busy; he didn't particularly want the customers knowing all about his private life, such as it was.

'It is, but that's not why,' he said quietly.

'Oh?'

But before he could say any more he found he'd no need, for the door opened with a jangle of the bell and there was Jonathan.

'Oh, good, your girl's here,' he said. 'Hello, Miss Bookshop. Borrow your boss for a minute?'

'She's not my girl, her name's Maeve,' Gethin said. 'And I don't start my break for another fifteen minutes...'

'Yes, you do,' Maeve said. 'It's fine, if we get busy, I'll ring up, or shout, or something.'

So there was nothing for it but to follow Jonathan out of the shop and across to where a brightly-coloured and slightly battered minibus was parked.

'I can manage most of it,' Jonathan was saying, flitting across the road. 'But the dressing table's a two-man job, really...'

'Dressing table?'

'Gorgeous bit of teak, it is. Well, it was once. Great mirror, though. Got it second hand from a little flea shop, don't want it there when the Mummy shows up...'

As he spoke, Jonathan was busy wrangling a large rectangle of furniture from the minibus. It seemed to have no legs.

'In the drawer,' Jonathan said when Gethin mentioned the fact. 'And the mirror's wrapped in the blanket, there. Come on, road's clear now...'

Together they carried the dressing table across the road and up the stairs to the flat.

'Thanks, Gethin. I think I can manage from here if you want to check on Maeve.'

'Okay, well... on my break in ten minutes, properly. Can give you a hand then, if you like.'

Maeve was busy with a customer, but that didn't mean she didn't have time to give Gethin a big thumbs up.

'So that's why you've been grinning all morning.'

'Hardly grinning. Smiling, perhaps, and, yes, he's why.' Gethin said once the customer had left. 'Jonathan.'

'And he's bringing his things? Moving in? Gosh, that's quick. Still, when it's right, it's right...'

'Not quite like that, but... oh, never mind. Just – it's not for public discussion, okay?'

The hall around the foot of the staircase was populated by bags and boxes, and as Gethin picked his way through, Jonathan appeared at the top of the flight.

'Sorry. Brought it all from the bus first, ferrying it up now, that's the hard part.'

Gethin picked up the nearest suitcase as he climbed the stairs.

'Want some lunch?'

'Would love some, but I need to be on my way again in under an hour. A few last minute things to tidy up at the flat.'

'You bring your bags, I'll make sandwiches, then.'

The hour flew. Jonathan's bags and boxes and cases all found their way up to the landing and the living room.

'I'll need to make tracks,' Jonathan said, downing the last of his tea. 'See myself out, and see you later. Big date, remember?'

'Big date.' Gethin grinned. 'Looking forward to it.'

Once Jonathan's steps had receded and the not-quite-slamming of the street-level door echoed up the stairs, Gethin ventured back into his living room, looking around with something akin to wonder.

Bags and boxes everywhere; granted, there seemed to be two full of foodstuffs and another clinked when he lifted it out of the way, but even so, there was so much stuff... not prying, absolutely not prying, but he had to clear a safe path and so ferried a few bags up to leave them outside the guest room, and one of the bags was a little open, revealing perfectly masculine clothing.

If last night Jonathan had brought all the clothes he didn't want Luke's mother to see, and today he'd just brought more of his things, then that suggested a much more even balance of gendered garments. Not that it should matter, or did matter, and he hated himself for even having to think that, but he'd be lying if he tried to say it hadn't given him pause, at least, because it was new to him, and he didn't want to be anything but honest with Jonathan. Or with himself, for that matter.

The phone rang, and he gathered himself, running back down to answer it.

'Sorry, Gethin, we've got a coachload arrived...'

Because that was the thing about being the only gay bookshop in town; word spread, and clubs and associations from further away had day trips out to see what it was all about.

And, indeed, some coachload of thirty or so had descended on the shop like a horde of literate gay locusts to devour the stock, and he and Maeve kept busy for hours serving, answering questions, giving advice.

Once they had finally left (in the direction of a gay-friendly café in the area to refresh themselves before the trip back to wherever-it-was) Gethin sighed.

'I think maybe I should add a line to the advertisement in the magazines, 'coaches welcome by appointment only', what do you think?'

'I think one of us needs to put the kettle on, it's almost four o'clock,' Maeve said. 'And, look three blokes left you their number. And two girls gave me theirs, who would have thought? I did tell them I was spoken for, though. Didn't tell them I was straight, didn't have the heart.'

Almost four o'clock. Jonathan should be on his way back by now, or soon...

Except closing time came, and no Jonathan. Gethin locked up, turned the sign to 'closed', tallied the till, tidied up roughly, got the books out for restocking the shelves before Monday – thanks to the coach trip, there was a lot of restocking to do – and there was still no sign of him.

Back in his flat, moving more of the bags and cases out of the way so the living room looked less like a left luggage office, he sat down and glanced at the clock. Quarter to six, he was shattered, never felt less like getting ready to go out in his life before...

...woke to the sound of knocking at the door, the flat, not the street, and he jumped and had to think for a moment. The clock opposite had moved its hands round to seven fifteen and as he realised he'd fallen asleep in his chair, the knock came again.

Staggering up, bleary-eyed, he made it to the door.

'Jonathan? Oh, you're all right, good, I thought something had happened...'

'No, I'm fine...' For a moment Jonathan looked puzzled, then tipped his head back in sudden understanding. 'Oh, I see... you thought I was coming back after I got rid of the Mummy? Sorry, should have said... script meeting with the director...'

'Um... as long as you're all right. How did it go?'

He stood back for Jonathan to enter, noticed a little cluster of suitcases around his feet.

'Great, actually, the lead's come down with something long-term and nasty, poor sod, so I'm now reading the part of the Flying Ace... it means I'm going to have to pretend to like girls, but I can cope with that short-term, I am an actor...'

'I meant with Luke's mother.'

'Ah.' Jonathan paused for a moment to rearrange his expression. 'Yes, needed my acting skills there, all right. Bit of a cow, imagine Luke only a bit more butch... very keen to defend Her Little Boy... anyway, we agreed, I'm officially moving out by Monday, but actually, all my stuff's gone already. So have you eaten yet? Because I brought the stuff from the fridge, it'll need eating up...'

And that was it, all Jonathan would volunteer about Luke's mother. Something about the glint in Jonathan's eye, the way he'd changed his features made Gethin wary of pushing.

'You know,' Jonathan said over food, something amazing he'd cobbled together from apparently random ingredients, 'we don't have to go out tonight...'

He left it hanging, and although there was nothing in the words to suggest a preference either way, Gethin had the feeling that to say no, let's not, let's stay in, would be a disappointment.

'You promised me dancing and you in that blue-green outfit,' he said, shying away a little from the word 'dress'. 'So, unless we just defer it, and make another date right now, no, let's go dancing,' he said. 'And drinking.'

'All right.' The smile on Jonathan's face showed Gethin he'd answered correctly. 'Better start getting ready, then. I don't suppose...'

'Yes?'

'Well, I know I threw you a bit, last night, with all this. Would you like to help me get ready?'

Oh. Well, it might be interesting.

'Yes, I'd like that.'

'Good, glad you said that... I put my dressing table in your room, there's more space and the lighting's better I hope you don't mind...'