Negative Space, pre-Vince/Stuart (Queer as Folk UK)
Title: Negative Space
Pairing: Stuart/Vince
Rating: R
Summary: Stuart Jones, post-series 1, in the times we didn't get to see. Written for last year's Yuletide.
Negative Space
by iamtheenemy
Stuart's bloke on Wednesday had dark, curly hair not unlike Stuart's own. He was taller than Stuart, though, and broader; his thick, blunt fingers made short work of the buttons on Stuart's jeans, and his solid thighs were put to good use bracketing Stuart's hips. All in all, a fantastic find for the middle of the week.
Stuart put a hand on the bloke's chest and put enough space between them that Stuart could lift his jumper off over his head and toss it on the floor. Then he wrapped his hand around the man's shoulder and hauled him close again. Stuart nipped at his lips a bit, teasing; knowing instinctively that the other man would like it. He was rewarded with a stifled moan and a sharp jerk of the man's hips against his. Those big hands slid down Stuart's naked chest, stopping to tweak his nipples, before slipping under the waistband of his black Calvins.
"Hang on," Stuart gasped. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile phone. Checking that the ringer was on, he laid it down on the table next to his bed before pulling the man by his belt loops onto the mattress. "All right."
"Christ," the bloke panted, straddling Stuart and gazing hungrily down at him. "Who knew my night would end with me fucking Stuart Jones?"
Stuart grinned and arched his back, enjoying the way the bloke's eyes unfocused and his mouth went slack. "Guess it's your lucky day, mate."
"You're not doing too bad either," the man said.
"That remains to be seen," Stuart said, smirking, and then fisted his hand in the bloke's hair and pushed down.
*
"So where's the chicken?" Alexander asked the next night at Via Fossa. "He's another one I haven't seen around lately."
Stuart took a sip of his gin and tonic and shrugged. "Apparently he fucked off to London with that little girlfriend of his."
Alexander grinned and propped his chin on one hand. "Fantastic! Can you imagine it? The body on him, and all that teenage stamina."
"I don't need to imagine it," Stuart said. He let his eyes wander across the weekday crowd as his fingers tapped an impatient rhythm on the sticky tabletop. He couldn't handle talking to Alexander for long periods at a time; it made his fucking head hurt.
"I just mean he's probably fighting them off with a stick. Blimey, I'm so jealous. To be fifteen again."
"His age isn't what you've got to be jealous of." Stuart thought about that as he finished off his drink. "Well, not the only thing."
"Fuck off, I do all right," Alexander defended. Stuart raised an eyebrow and Alexander's face colored. "I didn't know he was a prostitute! And no thanks to you, as I recall."
Actually, Stuart had forgotten about the Japanese hooker, but he smirked as though that was what he'd been thinking about all along. "It was funny," he said, unrepentant. He had another look around and sighed, feeling deeply maligned.
"What's wrong with you?" Alexander asked.
"This place is fucking dead," Stuart said. He counted nine men that he'd definitely had before, and three more that looked vaguely familiar. In the back corner a bloke was looking, but Stuart pegged him as a married weekender with wife and kids who thought he was stuck late at work. Copping off with that kind was usually hot as fuck - they were so desperate for cock that they practically came just from getting to swallow Stuart's - but Stuart wasn't in the mood for the inevitable self-loathing that followed. He looked away. "Christ, I might as well go home."
"Without copping off?" Alexander asked, incredulous. "Something is wrong."
"Yeah," Stuart said. "There's no one in this whole pub worth taking to mine, and that's a fucking travesty."
"Oh what, you suddenly have standards?" Alexander asked.
"Must have, since I've never shagged you," Stuart replied. He reached over and pinched Alexander's whiskey sour, knocking it back with a grimace.
"As if you could, you arrogant bastard," Alexander said, raising his chin defiantly. "Anyway, what's got your back up? You've been an even bigger cunt than usual all night."
Stuart stood up. "Mind your own fucking business."
Alexander studied him a moment and his mouth tipped up in a half-grin. "Ah."
"What?" Stuart asked, and then added, "Never mind." He made eye contact with the married in the corner and snorted to himself when the man almost tripped over his own feet in his rush to get to Stuart. "I'm off."
"Course you are," Alexander said.
*
On Fridays Stuart made it a point to be out of the office by exactly five. When the clock on his computer finally ticked over, he saved the project he was working on for Monday and grabbed his briefcase.
In the lobby, Sandra sat at her desk flipping idly through a magazine.
"I'm going," Stuart said. "Any messages for me?"
Sandra looked up at him and rolled her eyes. "Oh yeah, loads of 'em. Just been keeping 'em here at my desk. Didn't think you'd mind."
"I don't pay you for your sarcasm, woman," he replied. Though it was, in fact, the reason he'd given her the job in the first place, not that he'd ever say.
"You don't pay me to buy your lube either, but somehow I'm always running out to the chemist's on my lunch break."
"Who said that wasn't in your contract?" Stuart asked.
"Knowing you..." Sandra answered. "Anyway, have a good weekend. See you Monday."
"Yeah. Hey, get that bloke of yours to eat you out. Might put you in a better mood," Stuart said.
"Hmm...maybe if he had that incentive," Sandra mused thoughtfully, tapping her fingers against her chin.
Stuart laughed as he slipped on his denim jacket. "Here's a hint: if he doesn't fancy the muff diving then it's time to chuck him."
"Oh, ta very much," Sandra said, and there was the sarcasm back again. "If I have any other questions about my monogamous, heterosexual relationship over the weekend, I'll be sure to phone you."
"Couldn't be any worse at it than you," Stuart pointed out. He patted the pockets of his trousers and swore.
"What?" Sandra asked.
"Can't find my fucking keys...oh." He pulled them out of his jacket pocket and stared.
There was silence for a moment, and then Sandra asked, "Are they going to do a dance?"
"Fuck off," Stuart retorted without even thinking about it. "No, I just...feel like I'm missing something."
"Briefcase?" Sandra suggested. "Draft proposals, research, condoms, hand cuffs, nipple clamps...?"
Stuart shook off his sudden confusion. "No, never mind. I'm going."
"Night," Sandra answered, her eyes already drawn back to the magazine in front of her.
*
Stuart was bollocks-deep inside a man who looked like Joseph Fiennes on a particularly good day. He was fucking the bloke through the mattress, skimming practiced fingers over slick skin, when his mobile rang.
Stuart stretched his arm out to grab his mobile. Seeing the name he sighed and flipped it open.
"You're going to answer?" the bloke, Thomas - Timothy? - whinged, looking at Stuart over his shoulder.
Stuart shot an annoyed glance down at the man as he said, "What, Hazel?"
"Ring me back after you've finished whatever you're doing," Hazel answered. "It's about Vince."
Stuart snapped the phone shut and dropped it on the carpet. Then he jerked his hips hard just to hear the man below him shudder and groan.
*
"Look, Timothy..."
"It's Terrence," the bloke said.
"Right," Stuart said. "You'll have to leave. I'm up early tomorrow."
The man pushed himself off the bed, and Stuart took a moment to enjoy the long, smooth lines of his body and the sweet swell of his arse as he bent over to pick up his trousers. He felt a twinge of regret at not getting another go at him in the morning.
"You lot always have some excuse," the bloke said while tugging up his tight black jeans in jerky movements. And there went the second thoughts, right out the window. The self-righteous twats were the ones who ended up parked outside Stuart's flat at three in the morning, begging to be let in.
"Be sure to shut the door hard on your way out; it sticks," Stuart answered.
Terrence gave him a shrewd look from under his dramatic sweep of dark hair as he laced his boots. "Is that some kind of metaphor?"
Stuart snorted. "Metaphor for what?"
"Your heart. The way you dismiss people when you're done with them, to avoid being hurt."
"Got all that from one fuck, did you?" Stuart asked. "Remember the door."
*
"What is it?" Stuart asked when Hazel answered the phone.
"He's watching Trial of a Time Lord on repeat," Hazel said. "Last I heard, he was on his third go."
Stuart splayed a hand over his stomach and closed his eyes. Of course you could tell Vince's mood by which series of the Doctor he was watching. And of course Vince would obsess over the series that Cameron bought him for his birthday a week after he finally got rid of the man.
"So?" Stuart asked, making sure to keep his voice light, unconcerned.
"Stuart Jones," Hazel screeched, and Stuart winced, preparing for her tirade. "You're to blame for this. I don't know how, yet, but you are."
"Oh sure, have a bloody go at me. I wasn't even there," Stuart argued.
"You don't need to be there, Stuart," Hazel said. "Point is, get your hand off your cock and fix this."
"I tried to phone him already." He had, four times, the day after Vince found him at Babylon, danced with him and then got so pissed that he couldn't stand up straight by the end of the night. Vince hadn't returned his calls, marking the second time in their history that Vince had managed to ignore him for any significant amount of time.
Fine, whatever, sod him. Stuart would eat glass before begging for his company - like Nathan or sad fucking Vince himself.
"You have half an hour," Hazel answered, "then I'm coming 'round."
*
Stuart slipped into Vince's building as a woman left, juggling a giant purse, a thermos and her mobile. For the area Vince lived in, the security on the flat was pathetic.
Stuart took the stairs two at a time to the second floor. As he rounded the corner he ran, almost literally, into Cameron, who was carrying a full box in front of him. In the second it took Cameron to rearrange his grip on the box, Stuart schooled the surprise out of his face.
When Cameron looked at him, Stuart enjoyed the bitterness that pinched his features and made him look even older.
"Of course you're here," Cameron said disdainfully.
"Of course I am," Stuart agreed.
"You just couldn't let him go, could you? You couldn't let him live his own life," Cameron said, and Stuart had to laugh at the absurdity of it all.
"Are you fucking kidding me? I handed him to you on a silver bloody platter, and you still couldn't keep him. What does that say about you?" Stuart asked.
"You know what, Stuart?" Cameron said. "You win, all right? You two deserve each other." He pushed past Stuart, their shoulders bumping as he lumbered down the hallway and into the stairway.
*
Vince's door wasn't closed all the way, and Stuart slowly pushed it open.
"Wha - oh, hiya, Stuart." Vince was curled up on the end of the sofa, the old afghan Hazel made a decade ago during her brief crocheting phase tucked around him. He looked exhausted, and not at all surprised to see Stuart standing in his doorway. "Hazel phone you?"
"Threatened me, is more like it. That woman is a menace," Stuart said, walking into the room and over to the telly. He pressed eject on the VCR and pulled out the Mindwarp tape.
"Oi!" Vince said. "I was watching that!"
"Pick something else," Stuart insisted. "Hazel's orders. You can even pick another Doctor Who, just not Colin fucking Baker."
"Nothing wrong with Colin Baker," Vince muttered, but answered, "Revenge of the Cybermen."
Stuart searched through the Doctor Who section of Vince's tape collection until he found Tom Baker, and how sad was it that he knew that without having to ask? He grabbed the first tape in the series and popped it into the machine.
As the theme music began, Stuart sat down next to Vince on the sofa.
"Cameron came by," Vince said, finally. Stuart thought for a moment that he'd have to initiate the conversation.
"I know."
"Oh?" Vince asked. "Oh, yeah, guess you ran into him, huh? Hope you two didn't get into it; he was pissed off when he left."
"Nothing I couldn't handle," Stuart dismissed. "Anyway, I thought you got rid of him last week."
Vince turned to him, and Stuart watched his face shift into that familiar expression of fondness. "I did, but that doesn't mean that we'll never see each other again. He had to pick up the things he'd left here, and we had some things to talk about. You wouldn't understand."
"Sounds hideous," Stuart said.
"It was," Vince agreed, the tightness around his eyes and mouth confirming the truth of that statement.
Stuart's fingers curled around his thigh in an effort not to reach out and touch Vince. "Nothing Tom Baker can't fix."
"Mmm, and Elisabeth Sladen," Vince added.
Stuart rolled his eyes. "You and that woman."
"She's Sarah Jane, Stuart."
"She's a woman, Vince," Stuart retorted, happy to fall back on the argument they'd been having for the last fifteen years.
"I think I'd fuck Elisabeth Sladen," Vince said defiantly.
"Christ, what an image!" Stuart cried.
On the telly, Sarah Jane appeared on the screen. Both of them turned to watch, and Vince began to laugh, tipping his head onto Stuart's shoulder.
Stuart shifted a bit until his leg touched Vince's, who responded by unwinding the afghan from around him and offering Stuart half.
Stuart laid the blanket over his legs. Then he draped himself against Vince, wrapping one arm around his waist and the other around his stomach. There was a fine tremor thrumming under Vince's skin, just enough to make Stuart pull him tighter and press his face into Vince's neck.
Sighing loudly as some of the tension seeped out of his body, Vince said, "Christ, what a fucking miserable week. Sorry I didn't phone you. I've just been a bit, you know..."
"Don't do it again," Stuart warned. He tried to make his voice light, but didn't think he managed. "Especially over some old fucking twat."
"Stuart," Vince admonished, but he was smiling. "So how was your week?"
"Fantastic," Stuart lied. "Fucked a bloke looked like Joseph Fiennes."
"Nice," Vince said appreciatively.
"He was nice," Stuart agreed. "Ending up being completely mad, though."
"Another stalker?" Vince asked.
"We'll see," Stuart said, unconcerned. If the bloke did turn out to be a nutter, Vince would take care of it, or he and Nathan would have it out. Either way, it wasn't Stuart's problem.
Vince let out an exasperated breath and said, "I should start a support group. Stuart Jones Anonymous."
Stuart pursed his lips, considering, as he slipped a hand under Vince's blue jumper and palmed the warm skin at Vince's hip. "That's not a bad idea."
Vince snickered and pinched Stuart's arm, just shy of hurting him. "You would think I was serious. Quiet now. This is my favourite part."
Pairing: Stuart/Vince
Rating: R
Summary: Stuart Jones, post-series 1, in the times we didn't get to see. Written for last year's Yuletide.
Negative Space
by iamtheenemy
Stuart's bloke on Wednesday had dark, curly hair not unlike Stuart's own. He was taller than Stuart, though, and broader; his thick, blunt fingers made short work of the buttons on Stuart's jeans, and his solid thighs were put to good use bracketing Stuart's hips. All in all, a fantastic find for the middle of the week.
Stuart put a hand on the bloke's chest and put enough space between them that Stuart could lift his jumper off over his head and toss it on the floor. Then he wrapped his hand around the man's shoulder and hauled him close again. Stuart nipped at his lips a bit, teasing; knowing instinctively that the other man would like it. He was rewarded with a stifled moan and a sharp jerk of the man's hips against his. Those big hands slid down Stuart's naked chest, stopping to tweak his nipples, before slipping under the waistband of his black Calvins.
"Hang on," Stuart gasped. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile phone. Checking that the ringer was on, he laid it down on the table next to his bed before pulling the man by his belt loops onto the mattress. "All right."
"Christ," the bloke panted, straddling Stuart and gazing hungrily down at him. "Who knew my night would end with me fucking Stuart Jones?"
Stuart grinned and arched his back, enjoying the way the bloke's eyes unfocused and his mouth went slack. "Guess it's your lucky day, mate."
"You're not doing too bad either," the man said.
"That remains to be seen," Stuart said, smirking, and then fisted his hand in the bloke's hair and pushed down.
*
"So where's the chicken?" Alexander asked the next night at Via Fossa. "He's another one I haven't seen around lately."
Stuart took a sip of his gin and tonic and shrugged. "Apparently he fucked off to London with that little girlfriend of his."
Alexander grinned and propped his chin on one hand. "Fantastic! Can you imagine it? The body on him, and all that teenage stamina."
"I don't need to imagine it," Stuart said. He let his eyes wander across the weekday crowd as his fingers tapped an impatient rhythm on the sticky tabletop. He couldn't handle talking to Alexander for long periods at a time; it made his fucking head hurt.
"I just mean he's probably fighting them off with a stick. Blimey, I'm so jealous. To be fifteen again."
"His age isn't what you've got to be jealous of." Stuart thought about that as he finished off his drink. "Well, not the only thing."
"Fuck off, I do all right," Alexander defended. Stuart raised an eyebrow and Alexander's face colored. "I didn't know he was a prostitute! And no thanks to you, as I recall."
Actually, Stuart had forgotten about the Japanese hooker, but he smirked as though that was what he'd been thinking about all along. "It was funny," he said, unrepentant. He had another look around and sighed, feeling deeply maligned.
"What's wrong with you?" Alexander asked.
"This place is fucking dead," Stuart said. He counted nine men that he'd definitely had before, and three more that looked vaguely familiar. In the back corner a bloke was looking, but Stuart pegged him as a married weekender with wife and kids who thought he was stuck late at work. Copping off with that kind was usually hot as fuck - they were so desperate for cock that they practically came just from getting to swallow Stuart's - but Stuart wasn't in the mood for the inevitable self-loathing that followed. He looked away. "Christ, I might as well go home."
"Without copping off?" Alexander asked, incredulous. "Something is wrong."
"Yeah," Stuart said. "There's no one in this whole pub worth taking to mine, and that's a fucking travesty."
"Oh what, you suddenly have standards?" Alexander asked.
"Must have, since I've never shagged you," Stuart replied. He reached over and pinched Alexander's whiskey sour, knocking it back with a grimace.
"As if you could, you arrogant bastard," Alexander said, raising his chin defiantly. "Anyway, what's got your back up? You've been an even bigger cunt than usual all night."
Stuart stood up. "Mind your own fucking business."
Alexander studied him a moment and his mouth tipped up in a half-grin. "Ah."
"What?" Stuart asked, and then added, "Never mind." He made eye contact with the married in the corner and snorted to himself when the man almost tripped over his own feet in his rush to get to Stuart. "I'm off."
"Course you are," Alexander said.
*
On Fridays Stuart made it a point to be out of the office by exactly five. When the clock on his computer finally ticked over, he saved the project he was working on for Monday and grabbed his briefcase.
In the lobby, Sandra sat at her desk flipping idly through a magazine.
"I'm going," Stuart said. "Any messages for me?"
Sandra looked up at him and rolled her eyes. "Oh yeah, loads of 'em. Just been keeping 'em here at my desk. Didn't think you'd mind."
"I don't pay you for your sarcasm, woman," he replied. Though it was, in fact, the reason he'd given her the job in the first place, not that he'd ever say.
"You don't pay me to buy your lube either, but somehow I'm always running out to the chemist's on my lunch break."
"Who said that wasn't in your contract?" Stuart asked.
"Knowing you..." Sandra answered. "Anyway, have a good weekend. See you Monday."
"Yeah. Hey, get that bloke of yours to eat you out. Might put you in a better mood," Stuart said.
"Hmm...maybe if he had that incentive," Sandra mused thoughtfully, tapping her fingers against her chin.
Stuart laughed as he slipped on his denim jacket. "Here's a hint: if he doesn't fancy the muff diving then it's time to chuck him."
"Oh, ta very much," Sandra said, and there was the sarcasm back again. "If I have any other questions about my monogamous, heterosexual relationship over the weekend, I'll be sure to phone you."
"Couldn't be any worse at it than you," Stuart pointed out. He patted the pockets of his trousers and swore.
"What?" Sandra asked.
"Can't find my fucking keys...oh." He pulled them out of his jacket pocket and stared.
There was silence for a moment, and then Sandra asked, "Are they going to do a dance?"
"Fuck off," Stuart retorted without even thinking about it. "No, I just...feel like I'm missing something."
"Briefcase?" Sandra suggested. "Draft proposals, research, condoms, hand cuffs, nipple clamps...?"
Stuart shook off his sudden confusion. "No, never mind. I'm going."
"Night," Sandra answered, her eyes already drawn back to the magazine in front of her.
*
Stuart was bollocks-deep inside a man who looked like Joseph Fiennes on a particularly good day. He was fucking the bloke through the mattress, skimming practiced fingers over slick skin, when his mobile rang.
Stuart stretched his arm out to grab his mobile. Seeing the name he sighed and flipped it open.
"You're going to answer?" the bloke, Thomas - Timothy? - whinged, looking at Stuart over his shoulder.
Stuart shot an annoyed glance down at the man as he said, "What, Hazel?"
"Ring me back after you've finished whatever you're doing," Hazel answered. "It's about Vince."
Stuart snapped the phone shut and dropped it on the carpet. Then he jerked his hips hard just to hear the man below him shudder and groan.
*
"Look, Timothy..."
"It's Terrence," the bloke said.
"Right," Stuart said. "You'll have to leave. I'm up early tomorrow."
The man pushed himself off the bed, and Stuart took a moment to enjoy the long, smooth lines of his body and the sweet swell of his arse as he bent over to pick up his trousers. He felt a twinge of regret at not getting another go at him in the morning.
"You lot always have some excuse," the bloke said while tugging up his tight black jeans in jerky movements. And there went the second thoughts, right out the window. The self-righteous twats were the ones who ended up parked outside Stuart's flat at three in the morning, begging to be let in.
"Be sure to shut the door hard on your way out; it sticks," Stuart answered.
Terrence gave him a shrewd look from under his dramatic sweep of dark hair as he laced his boots. "Is that some kind of metaphor?"
Stuart snorted. "Metaphor for what?"
"Your heart. The way you dismiss people when you're done with them, to avoid being hurt."
"Got all that from one fuck, did you?" Stuart asked. "Remember the door."
*
"What is it?" Stuart asked when Hazel answered the phone.
"He's watching Trial of a Time Lord on repeat," Hazel said. "Last I heard, he was on his third go."
Stuart splayed a hand over his stomach and closed his eyes. Of course you could tell Vince's mood by which series of the Doctor he was watching. And of course Vince would obsess over the series that Cameron bought him for his birthday a week after he finally got rid of the man.
"So?" Stuart asked, making sure to keep his voice light, unconcerned.
"Stuart Jones," Hazel screeched, and Stuart winced, preparing for her tirade. "You're to blame for this. I don't know how, yet, but you are."
"Oh sure, have a bloody go at me. I wasn't even there," Stuart argued.
"You don't need to be there, Stuart," Hazel said. "Point is, get your hand off your cock and fix this."
"I tried to phone him already." He had, four times, the day after Vince found him at Babylon, danced with him and then got so pissed that he couldn't stand up straight by the end of the night. Vince hadn't returned his calls, marking the second time in their history that Vince had managed to ignore him for any significant amount of time.
Fine, whatever, sod him. Stuart would eat glass before begging for his company - like Nathan or sad fucking Vince himself.
"You have half an hour," Hazel answered, "then I'm coming 'round."
*
Stuart slipped into Vince's building as a woman left, juggling a giant purse, a thermos and her mobile. For the area Vince lived in, the security on the flat was pathetic.
Stuart took the stairs two at a time to the second floor. As he rounded the corner he ran, almost literally, into Cameron, who was carrying a full box in front of him. In the second it took Cameron to rearrange his grip on the box, Stuart schooled the surprise out of his face.
When Cameron looked at him, Stuart enjoyed the bitterness that pinched his features and made him look even older.
"Of course you're here," Cameron said disdainfully.
"Of course I am," Stuart agreed.
"You just couldn't let him go, could you? You couldn't let him live his own life," Cameron said, and Stuart had to laugh at the absurdity of it all.
"Are you fucking kidding me? I handed him to you on a silver bloody platter, and you still couldn't keep him. What does that say about you?" Stuart asked.
"You know what, Stuart?" Cameron said. "You win, all right? You two deserve each other." He pushed past Stuart, their shoulders bumping as he lumbered down the hallway and into the stairway.
*
Vince's door wasn't closed all the way, and Stuart slowly pushed it open.
"Wha - oh, hiya, Stuart." Vince was curled up on the end of the sofa, the old afghan Hazel made a decade ago during her brief crocheting phase tucked around him. He looked exhausted, and not at all surprised to see Stuart standing in his doorway. "Hazel phone you?"
"Threatened me, is more like it. That woman is a menace," Stuart said, walking into the room and over to the telly. He pressed eject on the VCR and pulled out the Mindwarp tape.
"Oi!" Vince said. "I was watching that!"
"Pick something else," Stuart insisted. "Hazel's orders. You can even pick another Doctor Who, just not Colin fucking Baker."
"Nothing wrong with Colin Baker," Vince muttered, but answered, "Revenge of the Cybermen."
Stuart searched through the Doctor Who section of Vince's tape collection until he found Tom Baker, and how sad was it that he knew that without having to ask? He grabbed the first tape in the series and popped it into the machine.
As the theme music began, Stuart sat down next to Vince on the sofa.
"Cameron came by," Vince said, finally. Stuart thought for a moment that he'd have to initiate the conversation.
"I know."
"Oh?" Vince asked. "Oh, yeah, guess you ran into him, huh? Hope you two didn't get into it; he was pissed off when he left."
"Nothing I couldn't handle," Stuart dismissed. "Anyway, I thought you got rid of him last week."
Vince turned to him, and Stuart watched his face shift into that familiar expression of fondness. "I did, but that doesn't mean that we'll never see each other again. He had to pick up the things he'd left here, and we had some things to talk about. You wouldn't understand."
"Sounds hideous," Stuart said.
"It was," Vince agreed, the tightness around his eyes and mouth confirming the truth of that statement.
Stuart's fingers curled around his thigh in an effort not to reach out and touch Vince. "Nothing Tom Baker can't fix."
"Mmm, and Elisabeth Sladen," Vince added.
Stuart rolled his eyes. "You and that woman."
"She's Sarah Jane, Stuart."
"She's a woman, Vince," Stuart retorted, happy to fall back on the argument they'd been having for the last fifteen years.
"I think I'd fuck Elisabeth Sladen," Vince said defiantly.
"Christ, what an image!" Stuart cried.
On the telly, Sarah Jane appeared on the screen. Both of them turned to watch, and Vince began to laugh, tipping his head onto Stuart's shoulder.
Stuart shifted a bit until his leg touched Vince's, who responded by unwinding the afghan from around him and offering Stuart half.
Stuart laid the blanket over his legs. Then he draped himself against Vince, wrapping one arm around his waist and the other around his stomach. There was a fine tremor thrumming under Vince's skin, just enough to make Stuart pull him tighter and press his face into Vince's neck.
Sighing loudly as some of the tension seeped out of his body, Vince said, "Christ, what a fucking miserable week. Sorry I didn't phone you. I've just been a bit, you know..."
"Don't do it again," Stuart warned. He tried to make his voice light, but didn't think he managed. "Especially over some old fucking twat."
"Stuart," Vince admonished, but he was smiling. "So how was your week?"
"Fantastic," Stuart lied. "Fucked a bloke looked like Joseph Fiennes."
"Nice," Vince said appreciatively.
"He was nice," Stuart agreed. "Ending up being completely mad, though."
"Another stalker?" Vince asked.
"We'll see," Stuart said, unconcerned. If the bloke did turn out to be a nutter, Vince would take care of it, or he and Nathan would have it out. Either way, it wasn't Stuart's problem.
Vince let out an exasperated breath and said, "I should start a support group. Stuart Jones Anonymous."
Stuart pursed his lips, considering, as he slipped a hand under Vince's blue jumper and palmed the warm skin at Vince's hip. "That's not a bad idea."
Vince snickered and pinched Stuart's arm, just shy of hurting him. "You would think I was serious. Quiet now. This is my favourite part."