Chapter Twenty #2
He takes a seat next to me on the floor.
“Not in the slightest. Mmmm this is rather good.” While he eats, he has his eyes on the TV, though I can tell he isn’t watching it.
Mind miles away and filled with whatever politicians think about, I guess.
There’s a dollop of pizza sauce on the side of his lip that I lean over and swipe with my finger before sucking it into my mouth.
I’d hoped it would get his attention, take his mind off whatever news he’s just gotten, and it works.
He smiles fondly, before bending to kiss me fully on the mouth.
It turns heated as he slips a hand inside my robe and thumbs at my nipple.
My cock stirs to life again. I have to pull back to breathe, then I push the pizza out of the way and climb over his thigh so that I’m kneeling between his legs and facing him.
“I have to return to London tomorrow evening.”
I feel my chest cave in, heart battered against my ribs like loose cargo in a ship’s hold. I stare at him.
“There’s been some kind of mass walkout at the FCDO which requires ‘urgent crisis intervention’.
” At my blank look, he says, “It’s my office in London, formally the Foreign, Commonwealth, and Development Office.
It sounds like there’s about to be another shake-up in the cabinet.
I thought I’d be lucky enough to be kept out of that sort of thing, but the FCDO is my remit. ”
“You’re leaving?” I manage. I couldn’t give a shit about cabinets or FCDOs.
He reaches out a hand, stroking it over the shell of my ear, soothingly. “Oh, Asher, for the week, two at most, not for good.”
I sit back with relief, letting out a breath. “Fuck… shit, I thought…”
“Come here,” he says softly, and motions for me to climb onto his lap.
It’s a place I’ve been spending a lot of time lately, and I’m growing to like it.
“You know, when I return to work properly—which is looking likely to be after I return from London—I expect I’ll be rather busy.
” He sounds as depressed about it as I feel.
“Yeah, I know.”
“It will be a lot harder to do things like this.”
“Eat pizza in bathrobes and watch Disney movies?”
He smiles. “Exactly.”
“Well, maybe you should quit your job.”
“I have the same thought a hundred times a day,” he sighs wistfully.
“You do?”
He nods, stroking his fingers absently over my hip. “These days, yes. I had similar thoughts in my previous role, too.”
“You mean, you don’t enjoy politics?” I say it with a raised brow. Sceptical. I don’t know how anyone could enjoy a job like that, honestly, but for a guy like him, decent and caring and still grieving, politics seems like hell on earth.
“I used to enjoy it,” he says. “I used to genuinely see it as a place where I could help people. As a lawyer, you come to understand that the law isn’t always designed to help victims. So I decided to put myself in a place where I could affect the laws themselves.
A place where my experience and my ambition could come together and I could really, truly help people.
” His voice is passionate, his eyes hard, but the exhaustion is all over him.
“But that turned out to be quite idealistic, and completely unachievable.”
“Why is it unachievable?” I want to take it back. It’s probably the dumbest question anyone’s ever asked a person who works in politics.
“Because most people don’t go into politics with those kinds of ideals. Certainly not in my party: we’re becoming quite reviled, and I understand why. I was one of very few who thought my job in government was to serve the people and not myself.”
“Well, surely that means you’re exactly the sort of person who should be in politics, then? There needs to be more people like you, not less.”
“You sound like Felix.”
“Felix?”
He shifts, glancing away awkwardly. “He was… well… before you. He and I...”
“He was your ballet dancer.”
“Not mine. Not anymore.”
“So I sound like him, then?”
“I just meant, well, he used to say those sorts of things to me as well. He had complete faith in me.”
I shrug. “Because he knew you were a good person.”
Christian meets my eyes. “And what about you, Asher Fox, do you think I’m a good person?”
I don’t need to think about it. “Yeah, I do.”
“Even after today? After what I did to you on the floor right there, after another man had been inside you?” The dip in my stomach from the reminder is wild. Liquid fire pouring through me, dick hardening under the bathrobe.
“Especially after that.” I smirk. He tilts his head, studying me curiously. “I don’t think how people choose to give each other pleasure in private is any sort of measure of a person’s… goodness. Is that a word?”
“Incredibly, yes.”
“Well, that’s what I think. I grew up in a place where being good equalled being devout to God’s word.
But God’s word was whatever they decided it was that day.
Whatever they interpreted it to mean that month, and a lot of people interpret God’s word differently.
Anyway, I’m getting off topic. What I mean is that I know you’re a good person because I can feel it.
The way you talk about the people you love, the way you talk about your wife, the way you carry this love for her in your heart still.
How you treat me. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the things that turn you on, just like I don’t think there’s anything wrong with how I pay my rent.
It’s the footprint we leave on the world that matters, and whether it’s in politics or not, you care about people and the world. Your footprint is a good one.”
He stares at me a long time. “You turned out remarkably worldly and astute for someone who grew up in a religious cult, you know.”
“Right? It’s a miracle, isn’t it? I mean, it wasn’t all terrible… it taught me some shit I’m grateful for.”
Christian nods. Then, gravely, he asks, “Did they hurt you? Physically or...”
I shrug. “Nothing too bad. The mental stuff was way worse… not the healthiest environment for a little gay who liked to paint and wear his sister’s clothes.”
“Christ.” He squeezes me tighter.
“Triggered.”
He lets out a surprised laugh and reaches up to kiss me softly on the cheek. Then the mouth. “You are a miracle, Asher Fox.”
Something flutters in my chest. “You can bet that’s not what they used to call me.”
“Well, their loss is my gain.” He holds me like that for a long time, tight against his chest, the steady beat of his heart against mine.
“Why don’t you come to London with me? It’ll be a little complicated, and god knows I’ll be busy, but we’ll stay in my favourite hotel and spend every night like this.
” He sounds like a kid at the toy store who’s just been told he can have anything he wants. “Have you been to the UK before?”
I shake my head. I’m almost reluctant to burst his bubble because he’s so fucking excited about the prospect of it. I want to go. I want it more than anything, actually.
But… “I can’t.”
His face falls, but he covers it with a very practised smile. “Of course you can’t. You have responsibilities here, a job… that was bloody stupid of me.”
“No, it’s not that, I don’t really have responsibilities. I’m a pretty responsibility-free guy and I’m pretty sure I could film some content in London.” There are a lot of creators there who’ve reached out that I’ve had to politely refuse. “I actually don’t have a passport.”
This is the most shocking thing I could have said by the looks of it. His mouth drops all the way open. “You don’t… have a passport?”
“Nope. Never had one growing up, and after I left home, I was sort of screwed without a copy of my birth certificate. I wanna travel to Europe so bad. Cole was talking about going to Europe today, and it reminded me that I need to sort the passport thing.”
He’s nodding now, trying to pretend the fact that my provincial ass has never left the country is endearing. Which, for a diplomat, must be a bit of a trip.
“But sorting it would involve your parents?”
“Not necessarily. I think I can do it online, but I’m scared in case I have to go back to Ohio to get one from the state there, and even thinking about going back sort of stresses me out.”
“Of course, I understand.” He’s thoughtful again, fingers back to stroking me again. “I wonder… I wonder if I could enquire as to whether it’s something our department could arrange, without you having to go back there.”
“I mean, I don’t know. I guess you could ask the question. Won’t people ask you the question, though? About why you’re asking questions?”
This amuses him. “Perhaps, but if it saves you having to do something you don’t want to do, then it’s worth asking the question.”
“I would like a passport,” I sigh.
“Where would you go first?”
“Paris,” I answer immediately. “I’ve always dreamed about going there. The architecture, the fashion, the Louvre.”
“Then it’s the first place I’ll take you the moment you have it.” He plants a promissory kiss on the side of my head.