“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.”
