While he walked, he sent a brief text to the powers-that-be at Market Garden, letting them know he’d made it home and had been paid properly. When he returned to work on Tuesday, he’d give the boss the required cut; Nick had been with the Garden long enough and earned them enough money that Frank was willing to let him slide on the whole “we get paid before you go home” rule.
He keyed himself into his flat and went straight into the bathroom for another shower. He’d just taken one at Red Tie’s house, in a shower three times the size of his entire bathroom, but that had just been to wake himself up. He always had to take another when he got home. He didn’t take his work to bed with him, and he wanted every last molecule off his skin before he crashed for the next few hours. It wasn’t that his job disgusted him; he just wanted it as far removed from his private life and his home as it could be.
Except now my private life is creeping into my work life.
He exhaled and let his head fall forward as the hot water rushed over him. This was just a temporary thing. Part of settling into the closest thing he’d had to a relationship since well before he’d started stripping, never mind topping, for a living.
Spencer was on his mind a lot these days. When he was trying to sleep. When he did chores around the house or was supposed to be studying for uni. When he was on his way to and from work. During the lulls when he was waiting for someone like Red Tie to come strolling in through Market Garden’s front door.
So was it really that surprising to have Spencer on his mind while he was working?
Probably not. But it did make his job more difficult, that was for sure. A mate of his with an office job had told Nick that when he’d first started dating his now-fiancée, he’d get so distracted he couldn’t get a thing done. He’d even admitted he’d sometimes locked himself in the stationery room and jerked off just so he could relieve the tension in order to focus on his work.
Great. Because Nick could totally do that and still be able to work. He cursed under his breath and turned away from the water so the warmth could work its magic on his tired back and shoulders. One way or another, he needed to get it together. Clients didn’t cough up that much cash for a half-arsed beating and a reluctant fucking.
And quitting?
Not after one bad night.
I think we need to acknowledge the fact that it’s unhealthy, the amount of stress on both of us right now, Spencer had said. I don’t want this to be the reason for that. It means we need to take care of ourselves. And each other. And if it comes down to it, make some difficult decisions.
Even now, just hearing that in the back of his mind was enough to make Nick’s gut clench. Spencer was right, of course. All this stress was unhealthy. Sooner or later, something would have to give.
He rolled his shoulders under the hot shower, wishing he had Spencer’s hands on him right then.
Maybe all he needed was a holiday. He could afford it, both money-and time-wise. He still felt guilty for telling Spencer he’d gone to Spain a few weeks ago, back when he’d freaked out over the connection that had developed between them. A few days in Spain with a friend had seemed like a better explanation than what he’d actually done, which was throw himself into his job and put in more hours than ever at Market Garden, all in a feeble effort to convince himself he was absolutely not getting attached to one of his clients.
Maybe he and Spencer needed to go on holiday together. They both certainly needed it, and they could use the time to really get to know each other. Nick could think about everything while Spencer was in the same room. Hell, the same bed.
After his shower, Nick wrapped himself in a towel and went back into the bedroom, checked the phone, and smiled when he saw a text from Spencer.
Thinking of you. A DVD, wine, food, my place this evening?
For once, Nick didn’t hesitate.
Sure, he texted back. I’ll bring whips and chains.
He grinned when Spencer didn’t immediately respond. He could picture him, zoned out with anticipation, and he decided to let him stew in that. He lay down on the bed, plotting what he wanted to do to Spencer, the responses he wanted, the surrender. What it would feel like, and taste like, and sound like. He jerked himself off with those images in his head—but not just to be able to sleep, like he sometimes did. It was the alternative to jumping into a cab and showing up way too early and way too undignified.
A few hours later, he grumbled and stumbled out of bed. Well-rested, yes, but in need of caffeine, food, and yes, another shower. If he ever lived in a place plagued by drought, he’d be fucked.
As he slowly caffeinated and fed himself, coming out of the haze of sleepiness, his phone buzzed unobtrusively on top of his dresser.
So help me, he thought as he reached for it, if they think I’m coming in tonight after I—
Oh. Spencer.
He couldn’t help smiling as he opened the message.
Looking forward to it.