Chapter 32
Finn
“Oh god. Oh god. Oh god,” Pi yells, his voice muffled by the duvet.
We’ve been at my parents’ house in Newquay for just over a fortnight, but so far my folks have always been here, always been around, and we’ve had very little alone time.
Until now, we’ve been limited to sneaking about, squeezing in quickie BJs when they pop out to Morrisons, and giving covert handies at night that won’t creak the bed too much.
But Kelly and Stu Fareham have buggered off for a two-week all-inclusive holiday to Cancun and have left us silly boys in charge, and for the first time since arriving here, we have finally been able to let loose.
So naturally, Pi’s on all fours in the middle of the mattress, and I’m balls deep in his ass, going hell for leather.
In theory, the house is detached, but the gap between my folks’ place and the neighbours’ is so narrow that you can barely wiggle a finger in.
Definitely none of my girthy fingers. The couple next door are also OAPs and profoundly deaf, and my goal is to make sure even they know what’s going down right now.
I have one hand hooked around Pi’s collarbone and the other braced on the wooden headboard, gripping on for dear life as it ricochets against the bedroom wall, sounding like a washing machine on spin cycle.
“Oh, fuck! I’m gonna come!” Pi yells.
“Me too!”
Something cracks. I can’t figure out which part of my body the sound came from. I felt it everywhere. In my back, in my arms, in my jaw. But it feels too good to stop. I’m too close.
“Was that snapping noise . . . from you . . . or me?” I ask between my panting breaths.
“Uh, I think it was . . . Oh, god.”
The crack happens again, only this time it’s louder. My teeth clash together. It’s the whiplike splintering of a branch falling from a tree, or the sound of wood fracturing—
Shit, it’s the bed.
I freeze. Don’t move. I know the second I do, the frame will topple, but I’m right on the edge of finishing, and I need. . . just a little more friction . . .
Oh god, it stings . . .
Just a tiny bit more . . .
Fuck it. I can’t hold back any longer.
I hold Pi still and hump him, as though I’m Gristle with a bare ankle. A gunshot blast reverberates throughout the room. The bed lurches, drops, like a failed hydraulic press, and lists to the side.
There’s a groaning noise, similar to the one used as a movie sound effect when a certain passenger ship sinks in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, and the bed’s righthand legs buckle.
Pi and I are ragdoll-tossed across the mattress.
I’m still whining through the tail end of my orgasm as the left legs also succumb to my formidable bulk.
“Well, at least we got them all,” Pi says, turning his head and looking up at me.
I climb off him, and glance around at the destruction.
Um . . . whoopsie, that was totally my fault.
“I feel as though I wasted an opportunity to yell ‘timber’ when I nutted. Did you finish?” I say.
“Is it shameful to say yes?” He rolls over to show me the wet patch on the sheets. “Where are we gonna sleep tonight?”
I scratch my head. “Um . . . maybe we can fix it . . .” I crouch down to assess the extent of the damage, to see if it’s in any way salvageable. “Yeah, no. That’s fucked, pard. We’ll have to go bed shopping tomorrow.”
Pi stands, rubs a hand down his chest. “That wasn’t an antique or anything?”
“Nah, it’s from Leoni’s mate in St Austell. Probably just some IKEA tat.”
He nods. “Okay, phew. Right, you fetch some clean sheets and make us a cup of tea, and I’ll get rid of all these bits of wood. We’ll sleep on the mattress on the floor tonight.”
“Yes, Captain,” I say, saluting him.
He smiles, then flips me off.
Also, tea after sex? I love how British he’s accidentally becoming.
“This one says same day delivery?” Pi says, plonking his butt on the end of a wooden queen-sized and bouncing up and down.
We’re in Bedland, a massive bed shop on the outskirts of Truro.
Last night’s kip on the floor was less than ideal.
It was at once too hot and too cold, and I never realised before how many kidney-poking springs there are in Leoni’s old mattress, but now I’m looking at a total overhaul of sleeping apparatus for that room.
“Fine by me. A bed’s a bed,” I say, sitting next to him. Ooh, it’s so soft.
“Hi, how’re you fellas doing today?” A sales assistant approaches. She’s white and in her early forties with a short brown bob haircut.
“We’re good, thank you,” I reply. “You?”
“Oh.” She looks surprised someone asked her. “Yeah, I’m alright. Are you looking to buy a new bed?”
“Nope. I’m actually in the market for jodhpurs. Think I might be in the wrong shop,” I say, and she laughs.
“Jesus, fuck,” Pi mutters from beside me, making me laugh more. “Sometimes I forget that you’re a dad, and then you remind me in the most cringe way possible. That joke didn’t even make sense.”
“I thought it was funny,” the saleswoman says—lies.
“What are jodhpurs?” he asks.
“Horse riding trousers.” I jump to my feet and slap a hand down onto the mattress. “How much is this bad boy? And are we too late for same day delivery?”
“No, not too late for same day delivery, but it depends on what size you want. Anything bigger than a double comes from up country—”
I interrupt her. “King-sized won’t even fit in the room, so it’ll have to be a double.”
She looks at Pi and then me, her eyes travelling up and down our bodies, and I know she’s working out whether we’re a couple or just friends who’ve come bed shopping together.
I’m about to give her zero reason to question her initial judgement. “What’s the weight limit?”
She hesitates. “It’s two hundred and fifty kilograms.” I can tell by the tremor in her voice that she’s not sure, or perhaps she’s trying to calculate the combined load of Pi plus me.
“Hmm,” I say, pondering it. I’m one hundred and eighteen. Pi’s definitely lighter than me, but that doesn’t leave much wiggle room. “Is that static weight?”
“What do you mean?” she says.
Pi gets to his feet, shaking his head. “Don’t do this,” he whispers.
“What would happen if the two hundred and fifty KGs were . . . oscillating . . . very quickly on the bed?”
“Nope, I’m out of here. I’ll wait for you back in Bath.” Pi makes to leave, but I grab his arm.
“Oh, same day delivery only applies to TR postcodes. We don’t go as far as Somerset, I’m afraid,” the saleswoman says.
“We’re TR seven for the summer,” I say, tightening my grip on his forearm.
Her eyes follow my movement. She understands. “I think in this instance you’re probably looking for a divan base. We have a few reinforced ones which can take up to four hundred kilograms . . . oscillating or not.”
I nod astutely. “Noscillating, if you will.”
“Fucking hell, I can’t. I’m at breaking point. I need a vape. A vape, Eggs!” Pi says. To which I simply burst out laughing.
The saleswoman looks at Pi, then looks at me, and smiles. “Newlyweds?”
“Yeah, nah, I’m gone. Where’s the booze?” Pi says, and this time I let him walk away.
“All done. Sorted. Reinforced double divan and luxury pocket sprung mattress arriving this evening between six and eight p.m.,” I tell him, meeting him outside the shop twenty minutes later. “You okay?”
He smiles back, and I know he’s not actually annoyed.
Fuck, I really like having him here with me.
“Wanna pasty?” I ask.
“Fucking love one,” he replies.