Even though his vehicle resembles something my stepdad would drive, and his commitment to roadside vigilance knows no bounds, behind the wheel, Pi is the opposite of how I imagined he’d be. In fact, he drives like he plays rugby: alert, aggressive, and fucking fast. I would’ve pegged him as a rule follower on the road—as he is in other areas of his life—but here we are bombing down the M5 at over ninety mph, weaving in and out of the slower cars, and yes, that means an alarming amount of undertaking too.
“Alright, princess,” I say, winding my chair back to a forty-five degree recline and putting my feet up on the dashboard. “You might want to ease up on the throttle. Pretty sure you just cut up the fuzz. Don’t be surprised if we see blue flashers going off in your mirrors.”
“Off, now,” he says, slapping my legs.
I take them off, tucking them into the footwell. “Did you manage to book a hotel?”
“Yeah, Headland, I think it’s called? It’s right on the cliffs. Breakfast’s included.”
“Bloody hell, pard. How’d you get in there?” I’ve lived my entire life in Newquay and I’ve never known that place to have vacancies this time of year.
He shrugs, eyes still on the road ahead. “Very,verylast minute cancellation, I think. It was one of the only places I could find that allows dogs.”
“How much did that set you back?” I ask.
“You don’t wanna know.”
My stomach churns. The only reason he’s here, driving me home for the holidays, staying in a five-star hotel, is because I told him to. I didn’t even give him an alternative. I’d said, “Come,” and he’d said, “Okay.”
I’d then suggested he might want to look into accommodation, because the only other options were an airbed on the floor of my childhood bedroom or a tent on the beach.
“It’s a double room, by the way. I put your name down as the second guest, so you can stay with Trekkie and me or at your mum and dad’s, whatever you’d prefer.”
“I think you know the answer to that question.”
He spares me a glance, which flits to the general direction of my lap before refocusing back on the road. “Remind me of our itinerary again.”
No exaggeration, he’s asked me this at least five times already. Nothing changes, so I’m uncertain of his need for constant reiteration, but I provide it nonetheless.
“Arrive in Cornwall. Go see Logan, that’s the first thing.” I couldn’t give a toss if none of the other items go to plan, so long as I see my boy as soon as humanly possible. “Take him out somewhere. Ooh . . .” Wait, maybe the plans are changing. Maybe this is why he keeps asking me. I am me, after all. “We could take him to the hotel. I’m pretty sure they have a Santa there on Christmas Eve for the kids. We could take Trekkie for a walk on the beach afterwards? Go to Mum and Stu’s, get aChinese—that’s full tradition now, can’t be messed with—then go to the pub, get smashed, go back to the hotel, suck your dick, go to bed . . .”
He side-eyes me but says nothing.
So I continue with the list. “Then wake up. Have fucking Headland Hotel fancy ass breakfast. Uh . . . go back to Jody’s, slob out on the sofa, eat a Toblerone, go to Mum’s, have Christmas dinner, go to the hotel—you can suck my cock this time—pass out, wake up, see Logan again, drive home to Bath. Done. Sorted. Next problem.” I clap my hands like I’m ridding them of dust.
Pi laughs and nods. “Okay. Cool. I have one itinerary-adjacent question . . .”
“Shoot.”
“When—and I am talking about the future here, not necessarily about this week—do you want to fuck? Like properly fuck? And . . . how?”
I clear my throat to disguise the way my heart just jumped into it. “What . . . um . . . what do you mean by how?”
Pi is always so practical about everything in his life. Always planning ahead. I’ve noticed how much he loves routines and schedules and itineraries, and how he avoids anything that involves impulsive decision making. It makes sense that this mindset extends to sex.
I’m more of a run with it and see what happens type of guy, but I understand the benefits of doing things Pi’s way here. If it gets me laid, I’m all for it.
Besides, neither of us has gone this far with a dude before, and I’m aware there’s usually a degree of preparation to undertake prior to the event.
“Like . . . do you want to fuck me, or . . . the other way around?” he asks.
“I . . . both would be . . . nice. I’d like to try it both ways, I guess.”
“Same. I can’t stop remembering how it felt the other day when you were . . .” He makes a gesture like Spider-Man fingers, then shakes his head as though he’s shaking the thought. “I’ve been doing some research. On the logistics of anal sex and how to prep. I ordered a dildo too, and a douche, and this, like, three-piece anal training kit.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“They haven’t arrived yet, but . . . Anyway, I brought condoms and lube with me in case we wanted to try anything while we’re away, but I think we might need to work up to that.”
