Page 32 of On Circus Lane

“You actually want to goshopping?”

“Of course.” He tips his head. “Isn’t that what we’re supposed to be doing?”

“And there’s nothing else you’d like instead?” I say in my best sultry voice, which a man once described as verbal sex.

I brighten as he nods enthusiastically.This is it. I lick my lips and lean forward, shaking my hair back in a sexy manner. My cock is throbbing already. I won’t last long the first time I get him inside me, but then we have all day. We can do it two or three times.

“Yeah,” he says. “Let’s get some breakfast first. There’s a fantastic little café that does pancakes with brown sugar and golden syrup.”

I wonder if my brains have dribbled out of my ears. What is happening right now? “You actually wantbreakfast? You just had toast.”

“That was a starter.”

“Are you a hobbit?” I say, blinking as he pulls me to my feet.

My eyes nearly cross as he taps my nose. “I love Tolkien.”

I push my glasses up. “Oh, me too,” I say enthusiastically.

He holds out my jacket for me to slip my arms into. “We had the films, and we used to playact the stories all the time. I was always Aragorn, and Sal was some elf she made up because none of Tolkien’s were good enough for her. Arlo was either a very small troll or a rather clumsy orc.”

“Oh, I’ve never seen the films. My father read the stories to me and thenThe Silmarillion. He taught me Elvish when I was six.”

There’s a startled pause, and I wait for the usual repulsed look that eighty-five percent of the gay world gives to a boy with brains.

“That’s brilliant. Say something to me in Elvish,” he demands.

My thoughts turn to mush for a second. His eyebrow rises, and I hastily rattle off a sentence.

“What does that mean?” His handsome face is alive with curiosity and humour.

“Second breakfasts are for fat orcs.”

He gives a great big belly laugh that makes me smile. “I need to learn that one.”

He slides a hat down on my head, and I raise my hand. “What’s this?”

“A beanie,” he says patiently. “It’s cold out there.” He taps my nose again as if I’m five and then gestures at me in a chivvying manner. “Let’s get going. I’m starving.”

Somehow, rather than having hot sex, I’m now ready to go out. For a second, I think I see amusement twinkling in his eyes. Then he walks off, shouting about being hungry.

I follow him helplessly. I suppose I could eat, I muse. Pancakes sound nice.

Princes Street teems with shoppers. As I step out of the taxi Tom insisted we get, all I can see is a massive sea of people marching along with brightly coloured shopping bags.

“Wow,” I say faintly. “This isn’t my thing at all. There are so manypeople.”

Tom smiles at me. “Don’t worry. We’re not staying on this street.” I sag in relief, and he laughs. “You’re very easy to read.”

“I am?” I say, startled. “Not usually.”

His mouth ticks up at the corner. “Maybe it’s just me, then.”

“Probably,” I say faintly. “I’m glad we’re not staying here, but I suppose if anyone could make it fun, it would be you.”

It’s his turn to look startled, his face warm with surprised pleasure. “Really?”

I run my finger under my collar, pulling out hair that’s caught and buying myself some time. I shrug nonchalantly. “Well, you’ve already shown me the benefits of pancakes and brown sugar.”

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