He snuggled down separately, burying himself in the bulky oppression of blankets. Why did Andy need so many? It was sweltering in here. He’d always been like that. Like a hibernating beast, Vince thought, sleeping all day. Which was why he was happy with a night-time job.
Oddly the memory of the things that irked him about Andy brought home to him the ease of slipping back into his life. Walking down North Road and feeling like a couple was the beginning of it. Falling wordlessly into this lumpy nest upon arrival was the obvious continuation. But the relief of an old lover… Vince knew all about that. In college he had fallen back in with old lovers once or twice. A few extra nights in fallow spots, to resume relations, remind themselves, to pass the time. Ex-lovers seemed always to be around and available. Eventually, in a town as small and incestuous as Lancaster, he had worn the whole scene dry. Yet he hadn’t made love to Andy since they were both eighteen.
Suddenly he wanted to wake him up. He felt a burst of optimism, like a physical sensation in his chest. He looked at Andy and hesitated. This is a holiday, he thought. A proper holiday. Already at school he felt too old and too young. Somewhere between the pupils and teachers, doing his own thing. At least here he was with a peer. The only one he ever needed.
Andy’s head and shoulders stuck out of the duvet like a statue upon a tomb, cast in orange and blue shadow. It always amazed Vince how people looked different in bed. He couldn’t believe that the perfection they had then never lasted. It never seemed to carry to outdoors. Why didn’t people remark upon Andy’s beauty all the time? Because here it was plain as day in the half-light. He was seized by a rush of affection and stretched out under the covers to grasp Andy’s chest in a hug.
Andy’s head whipped round as he started awake. Never had Vince felt that Andy was his until this moment. Andy always woke like this, as if at gunpoint. As if he never trusted anyone. Now he smiled, his mouth stretching his whole face into a triangle, with those green, glinting eyes alive in the corners. ‘It’s you,’ he said to Vince, feigning surprise.
Vince squeezed his chest. You’re mine, he thought. And realised that was part of the charm; the unlasting spell of beauty of the other in bed with you. In that moment they have chosen to be yours. They are vulnerable and there for you. He decided this was exactly the point. The beauty is fleeting because the next thing that happens is that they go. You end up alone. But... there must be more to this, because here was Andy again. His again. Looking vulnerable. Andy always looked unsure what to say around Vince. No matter how much they had done together or how much they ever loved each other, he always felt inarticulate. It amused Vince, seeing Andy struggle to pitch their conversation. He would follow Andy’s lead.
‘I thought you’d come to tell me last night that you were seeing that girl,’ Andy said at last. So Penny was the first thing on his mind this morning, too. ‘I thought she’d turned you.’
Vince reached for Andy’s hand and clasped it. Their fingers were dry and flaky with each other’s come. Last night they had made love too eagerly, perhaps, as if it was something just to get over with, like the lick-slam-suck of the tequila, before settling down to the real business of clinging hard to each other and whispering away each other’s pounding headaches in the middle of the night. Vince had a sudden, vivid recollection of the night’s final embrace, his face in the taut whiteness of Andy’s neck, the length of their bodies pressed hard, too hard together, as if in contest. Their stomachs were wet and Vince could feel one of their pricks softening between them, he wasn’t certain whose, and Andy was crying, heaving out dry sobs. Now he couldn’t remember what had begun that storm.
‘I’m here, aren’t I?’
‘People never come here,’ Andy said, letting Vince take his hand back, letting him begin to touch the rest of him. He watched as Vince started to tug back the voluptuous warmth of all the bedclothes, exposing them. He stared at Vince as he knelt by him, his urgent cock. ‘People never want to come back to a taxidermist’s.’
Vince gave a little laugh and bent to put his mouth to Andy’s prick, drawing it out of itself. Andy took hold of him under his arms and hoisted him up in a morning kiss.
‘Morning dog breath,’ Vince said.
i don’t mind,’ Andy said.
For a few moments they rolled about like this, pushing the covers right back to allow themselves room to play in. They let the conversation drop and there was a sense of their using these embraces to stretch life into their limbs. To wrestle the sleepiness out of themselves. These were warming-up exercises. Soon, however, this cool, almost rehearsed rigour was replaced by a determination and a pressure that brought up its own fresh sweat. They began to tear at each other, breathing hard. Vince embarrassed himself by groaning out loud and long when Andy got right underneath him, probing with a strong, practised tongue under his balls and then right into his arse. Automatically Vince arched his back right up to spread himself further apart and let Andy inveigle himself inside in a way they had once, some years ago,
