Cold water slid through his veins as the epiphany took shape.
There were finances to think of, and his need for independence. And he wasn’t ashamed of what he did. Not by any means. But the more he thought about his job and his relationship, the more incongruous those things became. Something had to give, and just thinking about letting Spencer go—or Spencer letting him go—made his pulse spike.
But . . . bills. Independence. Fuck, he was too tired to think.
His body finally won over his brain, and sleep closed in, but not before one last thought crossed his exhausted mind:
I can be Spencer’s boyfriend. I can be a rentboy.
I can’t be both.
Okay, so he was nervous when his phone buzzed with Spencer’s text.
I’ll be home in 25 minutes. Meet you there?
He confirmed, then spent the next five minutes or so fretting over what to wear. Jeans, then, and a black T-shirt from one of the many weird internet sites, featuring Pinhead from Hellraiser. He’d always considered the whole series nothing but an allusion to gay BDSM, and wearing this particular T-shirt was something of an insider joke.
He could easily pass as a horror movie fan. Sadistic demons dragging innocent souls to Hell, and all that. It fit the mood. It also reminded him of raging hard-ons he’d had as a young teenager with all the chains and leather and intimidation going on in those movies. He’d wanted to be one of the demons so bad, which had probably been one of the earlier clues that he wouldn’t quite turn out like most other people.
He slid into a leather jacket and left his flat. After a couple of Tube changes and a few minutes on foot, he reached Spencer’s door. Spencer opened on the first ring, having clearly just arrived home himself. He let Nick pass into the house and locked up behind them.
The kiss hello in the hallway was quick and light, unsettlingly so; Nick knew they had things they needed to discuss, but there was too much space in that kiss. Too much distance.
Spencer gestured towards the kitchen. “Tea?”
“Sure.”
Nick settled on the couch in the living room, folded his hands in his lap and felt ridiculous, listening to the water boil and Spencer busying himself in the kitchen. But a couple minutes later, he was glad to be able to hold something in his hands when Spencer joined him on the couch.
“How was your day?”
“Mostly caught up on sleep.” Mostly. And missed you. And banged my head against the fucking wall. I’m just no fucking good like this. “You?”
“Well, the usual thing. Met Percy for lunch. He told me all the dirt.”
“Dirt? That partner arsehole been babbling?”
“Yeah. Apparently it’s bigger news than the budget for the Christmas party.”
Nick scoffed, then softened. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay. I was expecting it. That does make a difference.”
Anticipating the blow, the pain. Spencer was good at rolling with the punches, and that was something Nick envied like hell.
“You really need to get out of that job,” Nick said. “Or that firm at least.”
Spencer looked right at Nick. “Just like you.”
Oh. Damn. There was that. “I know. God, I know. But . . . my mortgage and tuition fees . . .” Nick exhaled hard. “I still have to make a fucking living, but being with you and being a prostitute, it’s . . .”
“I am okay with what you do,” Spencer said. “But we’ve discussed this. I’m okay with you being a rentboy, but I’m not okay with you being unhappy.” He placed the mug down, then half turned to Nick. “I was thinking about all of this pretty much the whole day today. Can I . . . well. I need you to hear me out. Completely. And it’s important to me that you give it an open mind, okay?”
In light of some of their recent conversations, that sounded bad. It definitely made his hackles rise. “Okay.”
“Thank you.” Spencer smiled, but didn’t reach out to touch him. “I was thinking you could move in with me. I have a lot of space; it wouldn’t get crowded. And when I’m on a case, I’m working long hours anyway, so you’ll have all the peace and quiet you could possibly need for studying. Everything else—I’d cover that. It’s no big deal for me, I’m making good money. It would give you time to finish your studies and find out what you want without having to deal with needy bastards who drain you and make you miserable.”
Nick squirmed under the weight of what Spencer was suggesting. “You want . . . you want me to quit the Garden and come live with you?”
Spencer watched him for a moment, maybe trying to gauge if Nick was surprised or hostile. “I’d like it if you did. It’s your decision, of course.”
Damn you for playing the perfect submissive card right now . . .
Nick pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled. “I’d be . . . you’d . . .” Restlessness finally got the best of him, and he stood. He stepped around the coffee table and paced back and forth as Spencer watched him silently.