Page 15 of Full Service

I retreated to the bedroom as quickly as I could and stripped out of my vest and jeans, then dropped my pants to the floor. I might have fallen into an uneasy alliance with Hywel but my cock hadn’t gotten the memo. It still wanted him like I was still a lovelorn puppy.

I laid down in my bed and touched myself. I didn’t know how I wanted Hywel, but I wanted him. A series of images in my mind helped me get to climax quickly. Him, pushing into me as I stared deep into his eyes, or me fucking him from behind. Him laying in between my legs and struggling to take all of my cock in his mouth. Gagging around it and then me using my hand to push his head down further…

As I came all over my abs, I moaned out loud without realising what I was doing. Having usually lived with housemates or family I was a quiet wanker. But it seemed the image of Hywel was enough to have me let go of that fine self-control.

I cleaned myself up using my boxers as a rag and set my alarm for the morning. Hywel and I were likely to kill each other or fuck each other by the end of the week. Either way, it would help me let off steam.

Chapter Five

Hywel

December 8th

We had fallen into a bit of a weird compromise, Macsen and I. It felt almost domestic. He would go to work downstairs each day from about 8am to 6pm, I would cook us a breakfast and cups of tea or coffee, and he would come back up at 6pm for dinner. Some nights he would then head straight to the gym and be back 2 hours later, some nights we sat down on the sofa and played games until he decided it was time for bed.

That didn’t mean we’d suddenly become friends, or even close. It was like we cohabited the flat without ever really…talking. I didn’t know why he was living in the shitty little flat above the garage, and he didn’t know why I was here. His sarcasm certainly hadn’t stopped either, but for brief moments of sincerity when he thanked me for meals. He was still being a bit of a prick

For work, I’d done very little. I’d spent most of the week panicking and trying to cancel Direct Debits, subscriptions and commitments from my bank account. Everything from a very expensive gym membership to my Netflix subscription had been completely cut. Anything to save a bit of money.

It still left me with dangerously little to last me the rest of the month. If Uncle Prentis wanted me to stay ‘til Christmas, then hewas going to have to cope with getting petrol station flowers as a gift.

I’d cut back everywhere I could now, so it was time to actually get my arse into gear so that I could be out of Hiraeth once Christmas was over. Once I had confirmed valuations and yields, my accountants would take over finding buyers for me. With the high street now being filled and events likeBloodConin town it wouldn’t be difficult to find a buyer.

I’d tried to have a proper shower in the morning to make myself presentable but as ever the water was freezing. I had a feeling that Macsen was using the shower for just long enough to use up all the water and piss me off even more, though I couldn’t prove it. And who was I to stop a man showering in his own house? The other unfortunate side effect of freezing showers was that they killed off any little opportunity for me to have a wank. I’d been in Hiraeth for a week now and my sexual frustration was reaching new heights, especially being around Macsen.

I finished my coffee and swilled the mug in the sink. It was almost 9am and I had to meet Alun and Alaw at the cafe in an hour. It would take at least 45 minutes from the garage to town and apparently Prentis was too busy doing hot yoga at a local community centre to pick me up. Rather than marinate on thoughts of my septuagenarian uncle contorting himself into many sweaty poses I got going.

It was cold outside, and I pulled at the lapels of my jacket like it would do anything. In my rush to get away from Brian I’d completely declined to grab myself a coat, and this December seemed determined to punish me for that. I looked into the garage. Macsen was working in his overalls, arms stretched above his head as he worked on the car that was propped up above him.

“I’m off down to town, do you need anything?” I asked. He didn’t even look at me as he shook his head no. “Alright then. See you later.”

“Later,” he said. It seemed he was in another one of his less chatty moods, so I just left him to it.

The walk was enjoyable on the way into the village, if a bit cold. It had been a cold enough December so far that the mud underfoot was hard and crunchy so I didn’t get any mud on my expensive leather brogues.

I felt like a fraud, walking in my Armani suit, leather shoes and designer laptop bag. The bag cost more than I had in my bank account and the laptop inside doubly so. I had so much, but so little I could do anything with. I had to use my business sense to build myself back up from nothing. And luckily, these clothes added to the illusion.

I must have power-walked into the village because I reached the cafe twenty minutes before our meeting. It was quiet inside and James gave me a smile. He was behind the counter rolling out pastry and wearing a white knitted cardigan and jeans. “Hey, good looking,” he said. “How’s things?”

“Good, thanks.” I approached the counter. “I’ll have an Americano please…ooh, and one of those little tarts.” I pointed at an unlabelled but fruity looking thing.

“You can have that to test,” said James. “Glyn who runs the bakery was supplying me but he’s tearing out his hair with the amount of tourists in the town right now so I’ve made my own.”

I took a bite out of the tart on the counter. “Beautiful,” I said. James’ eyes lit up.

As he made the coffee, I leaned on the counter and looked around. “What brought you to the town then? You’re not a local.”

“I think you’ll find there are a few of us about now,” said James. “I was the first though, and I hold that over Danny and Nathan’s heads.”

“Danny and Nathan?”

“Sorry,Daniel Ellison,international star. And Nathan, who owns the little nerdy memorabilia shop. He moved in last month.”

“Oh, cool. And you didn’t say why…?”

Before James could answer a door opened at the rear of the cafe. Llywelyn, who had been in the year below me in school, emerged. He looked hardly different to the last time I’d seen him — he was a heavy-set man with dark, thick hair and a beard. He wore a tartan style shirt and jeans, both of which were covered in paint splatters. He held a toolbox in one hand. So he was still here, doing the same thing. Had people in the village really not moved forward with their lives?

“Shelves fixed,” he said gruffly.

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