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“Uh, yeah, sure,” Jesse said, pushing back the covers. “I’m sure I can sort something.’
“Great. Valhalla on Patrick Pool?”
“The Viking place? Won’t it be rammed?”
“Let’s live a little. See you at three?”
“Three? Sure.”
“Great. See you then.”
Anton hung up, and Jesse stared at the wall. His hair smelled like chlorine. His skin smelled like Emory. He rubbed his eyes.
“What the fuck are you doing, man?” he asked aloud.
But he couldn’t make himself feel guilty. It had just been so damn good.
“When I finally take you, you’ll never forget it.I’llnever forget it.”
His cock was already twitching. He shook himself and hurried to the en suite to splash cold water on his face. The next day was Christmas Eve, and there really should be other things on his mind than Emory’s huge, hard…
“Stop it already,” he said out loud, slapping his reflection in the mirror. “Stop thinking with your dick.”
But it wasn’t just his dick—and that’s what really scared him.
Thankfully it was Tom’s day off, though Filip gave Jesse his usual disapproving scowl as he hurried into the security room just before ten. Jesse gave him his best smile, and the older man scowled and turned back to his screens.
Jesse made sure Filip was still focused elsewhere, then set about downloading the security footage from the night before. He watched Emory and himself crossing the hall together, Jesse’s hungry expression so plain it was painful. Then Emory kissed his hand, and Jesse’s face flooded with color.
He quickly deleted the footage and patched in some film of the empty hall from earlier in the night, tweaking the time stamp with a bit of image editing.
When Jesse made it into York that afternoon, the city center was heaving. Jesse swore inventively and at length as he struggled through solid crowds that packed the pavements all the way from the bus station to the bar.
Valhalla was also packed, as he expected. The sweet, malty smells of mead and spilled beer thickened the close atmosphere that was already filled with the chatter and laughter. Anton sat at a table in the corner and waved eagerly as he squeezed in the door. Jesse wove his way over, shedding his coat and scarf, already sweating.
“Christ, it’s smaller than I thought,” Jesse said as he inched past an older couple to reach his seat.
“You not been before?”
Jesse sat with a wry smile. “I try to avoid the tourist spots.”
“Apart from the Evil Eye,” Anton said with a lifted eyebrow.
“That’s different,” Jesse said.
“Because it’s easier to pull there?” Anton said, but his smile was amused.
Jesse gave his brother a look. “You wanted to talk?”
“Truelove is a Viking name, you know,” Anton said, pushing a glass of amber liquid across the table to him. “Our families probably lived around these parts for hundreds of years.”
“Perhaps we should have learned to branch out by now,” Jesse muttered, taking the glass. “What’s this?”
“Mead,” Ant said, smiling a little uncertainly. “It’s Christmassy, right?”
“Sure,” Jesse said, downing the fiery drink in one go. He coughed and lowered the glass. “Well, better get to the bar.”
“I queued for half an hour for that,” Anton said with an exasperated look.
