Josephine Myles
Twinkle, Twinkle [2]
Twinkle Twinkle
“M
ERRY
X
MAS
, Dr. Berriman!”
Tom paused to stare at the perky receptionist. Did
people actually say “Xmas” rather than “Christmas” these
days? Well, Cheryl obviously did. In her flashing LED
Rudolph earrings and Santa hat, she was a walking advert
for all that was both tacky and cheerful about the season.
She‟d been wearing them for the past week, but at least on
Christmas Eve they were somewhat more appropriate. If only
he could get into the spirit of things by the simple expedient
of donning tinsel and festive jewelry. Instead, he had the
depressing prospect of spending tomorrow with a
microwaveable turkey dinner for one and a rerun of The
Great Escape.
“Ooh, Dr. B., what d‟you think of the decorations now?
That electrician fella got the lights working again. Don‟t they
look smashing?”
Tom glanced around the waiting area of High
Wycombe‟s Accident and Emergency department. There was
the usual assortment of mismatched gilt streamers and
clusters of gaudy plastic baubles he‟d come to expect in NHS
buildings around this time of year, now joined by a lonely
string of flashing lights pinned to the polystyrene ceiling
tiles. A spectacular light show it most surely was not.
But then, there in the center, perched on a stepladder
like an angel on a tree, was the most attractive pair of legs
he‟d seen in a long time.
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“Mmm, yes, very nice. Gorgeous.” And they were. Clad
in blue overalls, the fabric baggy around the calves but
growing ever closer-fitting up the thighs before stretching
taut over the well-formed buttocks that crowned them. Yep,
Tom was a man who knew how he liked his gluteus
maximus, and these were just about perfect. It was a good
thing the electrician had his top half stuck through the
ceiling panel next to the strobing light fixture, because it‟d
almost certainly be a let-down compared to the long,
muscular legs.
Tom blinked hard and forced his feet to move toward the
staff room, wondering if Cheryl had followed his gaze. It
wouldn‟t do to out himself so quickly, would it? He‟d only
been here a fortnight, and anyhow, he preferred to keep his
private life just that: private.
He thought of the all the out and proud nurses, and
occasional doctors, he‟d met over the years. There seemed to
be so many of them these days. He envied their freedom.
Coming to terms with his sexuality at the time when the
media was full of headlines about the “gay plague” hadn‟t
been easy. He‟d had nightmares about that AIDS gravestone
in the TV public health warnings for years. It would tower
over him from the end of his bed, and he‟d lie there, frozen,
waiting for it to come crashing down.
The staff room was mercifully empty of chattering
nurses, and as he stirred three spoons of sugar into the
dishwater coffee, he found himself wondering if moving back
down here had been a mistake. Sure, the job was much
more pleasant: he didn‟t find himself having to battle to save
the lives of youngsters who‟d somehow managed to get
themselves caught in the middle of a gang war like he did
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back in Manchester; but on the other hand, in a small town
like this, he‟d lost a certain anonymity. Besides the fact that
he‟d been to school here and could potentially be recognized
by anyone at any time, there was only the one gay bar in
town. He‟d noticed the rainbow flag now adorning the
window of the Dog and Sixpence—which when he‟d left town
had been a notorious biker‟s pub—but hadn‟t yet plucked up
the courage to walk in there, despite not having had a shag
in months.
His reverie about burly, leather-clad bikers was broken
by a loud pop and flickering lights, followed by a muffled
crashing sound and Cheryl‟s shrill call for help.
Tom rushed out into the waiting area. A small crowd of
onlookers had already formed. He saw the workman‟s ladder
lying across the main aisle in front of the reception desk.
From the hole in the ceiling tiles, there hung a wire. It wasn‟t
doing anything as sinister as sparking, but he ordered the
rubberneckers back to their seats for their own safety. A
young nurse bent over the supine man in blue.
“What do we have?” Tom asked her, kneeling down on
the other side of the man‟s head.
“Electrical burns to his left hand, front, and back. He‟s
unconscious but breathing normally. I was about to check
for spinal injury before moving him.”
“I‟ll do that.” He was on the best side, with the man‟s
back to him. As his dispassionate fingers felt along the
vertebrae and around the occipital and parietal bones, a less
clinical part of his mind observed that the top half of the
electrician was rather more impressive than he‟d been
expecting. Broad shoulders filled out the white T-shirt under
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the overalls, and his closely cropped hair revealed a finely
shaped skull. The hair was soft under his fingers, salt and
pepper with a white patch the size of a fifty pence coin
behind his right ear. Funny, that. He remembered the
overweight kid with the vitiligo at school. It had been in a
similar spot, but it couldn‟t be him. He‟d be long gone from
here, and anyway, despite his bulk, there was nothing
overweight about this man.
“He‟ll have a nasty contusion, no doubt, but he‟s safe to
move to a cubicle. I‟ll be back to have a proper examination
when he‟s settled.”
A
FTER
checking in on one of his earlier patients, the
redoubtable Mrs. Brown, who today claimed to have
swallowed half a bottle of Toilet Duck—last week it was
allegedly Persil Color laundry liquid—Tom swung by the
cubicle containing his unlucky electrician. He shooed out the
nurse and took a closer look at the patient. Even
unconscious he was an attractive man, with strong bone
structure, full lips, and silvery stubble thick on his cheeks.
Tom distracted himself by examining the paperwork. Pulse,
blood pressure, heart rate, breathing: all stable. Burn to left
hand, second degree: washed and dressed. Patient‟s name…
no, surely not. But then again, he had that patch of white
hair too.
A soft huff drew Tom‟s focus from the name spelled out
in bold, black ink. He looked up to meet a pair of blinking,
gray-blue eyes.
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“Vincent Draper.” It should have been a question,
followed by a brief rundown of his current condition. Instead,
it came out as an awed whisper. Last time he‟d seen Vincent,
he‟d been a ball of blubber squeezed into a school uniform.
Plastic-rimmed glasses—the cheap, NHS issue ones—had
obscured his eyes, and a melancholic aura had set him even
further apart from the rest of the grammar school lads.
They‟d picked on him mercilessly. Called him VD and made
filthy jibes about his mum. They‟d shoved him around, safe
in the knowledge that VD didn‟t have the guts to fight them
off.
And then that last time… that last time things had gone
too far.
Tom gulped, trying to ignore the hot shame that
threatened to engulf him. It was just dilated capillaries. He
could bend them to his will. He stared down at the clipboard,
holding it in front of him like a shield.
“What happened?” the man croaked, seeming not to
have heard Tom‟s whisper.
“You appear to have had an electric shock. You‟ve
sustained a second-degree burn to your hand, but otherwise
everything seems fine. Any aches or pains?” Proud of the way
his bedside manner had returned, Tom risked a brief glance
up at Vincent, whose brows contracted quizzically.
“That‟s never—” Vincent‟s eyes dropped to Tom‟s badge,
and it was too late to try and conceal it. “No way! Tom
Berriman! What on earth are you doing back in this dump?”
Tom gestured down at his green scrubs, too stunned to
come up with a better answer.
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“Yeah, I heard you went off to medical school. Fair play
to you, mate. You‟ve done well for yourself.”
Vincent‟s smile seemed genuine, and Tom‟s shoulders
started to relax.
“And what about you? I didn‟t recognize you at first.”
Tom watched Vincent push himself up, wincing as he put
the weight on his injured hand but managing to get to a
sitting position with his legs dangling off the bed. Although
he tried really bloody hard not to ogle him, Tom wasn‟t
convinced he‟d succeeded.
“Oh yeah, I was still fat when you last saw me, wasn‟t I?
You‟re looking great, though. I could tell it was you straight
away.” Vincent‟s gaze swept down Tom‟s body and up again.
If that wasn‟t a once over, Tom didn‟t know what was.
But he must be mistaken, must just be seriously in need of a
good seeing to if he was starting to fantasize that this great
hunk of a man would be interested in him. Scrubs, foam-
rubber clogs, and a receding hairline just weren‟t a sexy
combination. He started the standard list of questions for
electrical shock victims and asked Vincent to flex his fingers,
noting the wedding band on his ring finger. Yeah, he was
bound to be married. The best ones always were.
“You‟re a lucky man, Vincent. Apart from the burn,
everything seems to be in perfect working order.”
“Please, call me Vince.”
Vincent—no, Vince—gave him another winning smile
that Tom couldn‟t help answering with one of his own. He
should get out of there, really. The nurses could deal with
the rest, but something kept him rooted to the spot.
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“So… it was good to see you again, Vince.”
“Likewise.” Vince beamed. “Never dreamed I‟d ever clap
eyes on you again. Listen, what time do you get off work?”
Tom gaped. For a moment he couldn‟t remember what
shift pattern he was currently on. “Uh, eight thirty.”
“Perfect. I‟ll be busy at ten, but how about a drink down
the Bell first? We can catch up on the last couple of
decades.”
Tom found himself agreeing to meet Vince, then took his
chance to escape when the nurse hustled in and began
tutting at Vince for having dared to sit up so soon after his
shock. The last he heard, Vince was roaring with laughter
and telling her it would take more than a low voltage arc
flash to keep him down.
After his shift, while pulling his clothes from his locker,
panic washed over Tom. This was a huge mistake, surely?
Okay, Tom had never been the ringleader, but Vince must
remember how Tom‟s friends had teased him… and worse.
Was this some kind of trap? Was he going to get to the pub,
only to be set upon by a gang of muscle-bound thugs,
desperate to avenge their friend? Not that Vince would need
to call in any help; the man was clearly capable of trouncing
Tom all by himself. Tom looked down at his long, skinny
limbs and delicate fingers. He wouldn‟t stand a chance.
But his feet refused to listen to his brain, and carried
him off into danger, his whole body thrilling with nerves.
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V
INCE
leaned back in the booth and studied Tom while he
placed his order at the bar. It was amazing how little time
seemed to have touched him; he still had that same rangy
physique and those intense brown eyes and rich hair, now
with a streak of gray at each temple. They made Tom look so
bloody distinguished, far too good for the likes of him. He‟d
been a right fool to have arranged this drink; it wasn‟t like
they‟d have anything much in common these days, a simple
electrician and some hotshot doctor. Still, it was Tom
Berriman, the golden boy who had spent his schooldays
oblivious to the helpless way Vince lusted after him like a
dog with its tongue hanging out.
And then it had been such a startling coincidence, after
that shock. It had been enough to make him believe in
destiny for an awestruck moment and ask Tom out. Vince
touched his wedding ring as his thoughts turned to Justin,
wondering if he‟d led him to this moment, if Justin‟s spirit
really was watching over him like a guardian angel, still clad
in that shimmery white dress and feather boa he used to
love. It was either that, or Vince really was starting to go a
bit soft in the head.
Actually, come to think of it, it was amazing how much
Justin had resembled Tom. Okay, not the glitzy outfits for
sure, but the lanky build and coloring were the same all
right. Just went to show, didn‟t it? Vince had always figured
that he was attracted to a certain “type,” but maybe it was
more that he‟d been attracted to Tom, and by default to
anyone who looked a bit like him. And come to think of it,
maybe he had a kink for doctors and nurses. Justin had
always looked edible dressed up for work at the hospice,
even if he did constantly bitch about how his nurse‟s
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uniform made his arse look flatter than a pancake.
Vince rose to meet Tom, and bloody hell if he wasn‟t a
whole six inches taller than the bloke these days. He held
out a hand, even though he was itching to give Tom a bear
hug. That‟d be one sure-fire way to send him running to the
hills, though.
“Glad you could make it,” Vince said, ordering himself to
drop Tom‟s hand before he gave himself away.
“I nearly didn‟t.”
Vince forced a laugh and offered him a get-out clause. “I
suppose there‟s not meant to be any fraternizing with the
patients, then. Shame. I bet it‟s a great way to meet new
people.”
Tom‟s eyes crinkled at the corners. “It would be, if you
had a thing for the sick and injured.”
“You mean you don‟t? Wrong line of work to be in then,
mate. You‟d have been better off being a plumber or
something.”
Tom pursed his lips. “True. At least pipes don‟t threaten
to sue you for breaking their ribs after you‟ve just saved their
life.”
“Huh? You broke someone‟s ribs?” That was ridiculous.
You only had to look at the man to see he quite clearly
wasn‟t the type. Not an ounce of violence in him. Vince never
could understand why he trailed around with those thugs at
school like a lost puppy.
“It‟s unavoidable sometimes when giving CPR.” Tom
sighed, his gaze darting around the room.
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“So you‟re saying if my heart had stopped, you might
have broken mine? I should count my lucky stars, then.
Don‟t reckon we‟d be sitting here now if you had.”
Tom‟s brow furrowed, and an awkward silence
descended.
Bloody hell, Vince thought, he just kept putting his foot
in it, didn‟t he? He glanced at his watch. He only had to keep
Tom talking for another half an hour or so, anyway, as he
absolutely couldn‟t be late for his show. Not when everyone
had pledged so much money. Not when it was for Justin.
Vince took a long draught of beer and ransacked his mind
for an innocuous subject.
Tom beat him to it.
“What happened to you? Back at school, I mean.”
Oh yeah, that. Hardly innocuous, but it should probably
be gotten out of the way if they didn‟t want it to sit between
them like an unwelcome guest who‟d just farted at the
dinner table.
“You mean why I didn‟t come back after Christmas?”
Tom nodded. “We thought you‟d been seriously injured.
Carl made us all promise we weren‟t to say a word to anyone
about it.”
“Yeah, that sounds like Carl. Right little shit, he was.
What on earth was a nice boy like you doing hanging around
with the likes of him?”
That made Tom blush, all right. It was cute, kinda like
he was back in his school uniform being teased by Carl
again. Oh yeah, even when you were in Carl‟s gang you
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didn‟t escape the bullying.
“I didn‟t any more. Not after that Christmas,” Tom said,
his voice low. “I felt too bad about what we did to you.”
Vince stared at him. “What you did? You didn‟t do
anything, unlike your so-called friends.” His mind insisted
on replaying the moment after he‟d been pushed to the floor
and Carl had ground the heel of his size nines into his
glasses. Vince had still been wearing them. Just thinking
about it made his eyelid flutter. He remembered the way the
Christmas tree lights above had fractured into a spider web
of sharp lines, the roaring of blood in his ears. For years
after, he‟d start having palpitations whenever he was
surrounded by fairy lights. Made every December a right
bloody nightmare.
“You‟re wrong. I came back. I was going to tell them to
stop, but I couldn‟t. I just watched them kicking and kicking
and—”
“For fuck‟s sake, Tom. Look, I‟m all right, aren‟t I?”
Vince held his hands out. “They didn‟t do any permanent
damage. It ended up doing me a favor in a weird kind of way.
I started running, and the weight fell off. Never wanted to be
that defenseless again.” Or wear specs, hence the contact
lenses.
“Huh.” Tom sipped his beer, but when he looked up the
guilt had been replaced by something even less welcome. “So
why didn‟t you come back to school and finish your A-levels?
You realize I‟ve spent the last twenty-five years blaming
myself for what happened?”
Vince‟s blood started to heat up. He was fucked if he
was going to let Tom shift the blame onto him. “Yeah, well
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maybe you should have stood up for yourself instead of
trailing around with that nasty little thug like you didn‟t
have any backbone.”
“I‟m not going to sit here and listen to this shit.” Tom
stood, slamming his hands down on the table and slopping
his drink. “I‟ve spent my whole career patching up people
who‟ve been injured and saving lives, and I don‟t need to
earn the approval of an electrician, thank you very much.”
As Tom stormed out the front door, Vince couldn‟t help
but admire the way he moved. So the guy did have some
balls after all. Shame he hated Vince‟s guts, though. And the
electrician comment stung like a bastard.
Vince downed his pint, checked his watch, and tried to
put all thoughts of frustratingly attractive yet uptight doctors
out of his mind. This was Justin‟s night, and Vince owed it
to him to concentrate on his memory. Yeah, screw Tom. He
could forget him. Easy.
T
OM
pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed deeply.
The night air was clean and sharp, washing his lungs and
throat clean. He should go home and rest after his long
week. God knew he was tired enough, but seeing Vince had
given him the jitters. It had cost him so much effort not to
stare at the bulge of Vince‟s pectorals beneath the thin fabric
of his T-shirt. And then the way Vince had spoken to him….
Tom shook his head. It was too much to think about
now. Up ahead, at the end of the High Street, the rainbow
windows of the Dog and Sixpence beckoned. Signs outside
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announced a Christmas Cabaret fundraiser for the local
hospice. Drag queens and amateur vaudeville: just what he
needed to take his mind off Vince and their pointless
argument.
Inside the place was heaving, and Tom had to excuse
himself several times as he bumped into guys on his way to
the bar. He‟d never have guessed that High Wycombe would
have concealed such a large queer population; mind you,
there were a fair few women here tonight as well, and some
suspiciously straight-looking couples seated at the tables. He
found a pillar to lean against which gave him a direct view of
the stage and tried not to dwell on being alone when
everyone else had someone.
The acts were better than he‟d expected: a talented four-
piece band accompanied a parade of bear ballerinas, torch
singers, and bitchy comedians. One enormous man belted
out a fantastically filthy reworking of a medley of Gilbert and
Sullivan classics. Tom laughed, surprising himself. Even the
curtain of silver plastic strips at the back of the stage looked
glamorous, shimmering in the artful lighting.
And then the compère was back.
“Thank you, gentlemen, and ladies. It‟s now officially
Christmas Day, but don‟t go rushing off to get the turkeys in
the oven, because we‟ve saved the best for last. Before the
gorgeous Valentina makes her stage début, I‟d like to remind
us all of what we‟re raising money for tonight. The Dashwood
Hospice has been helping local people to spend their last
days in dignity for over thirty years now, and many of you
will remember Justin Crossman-Draper as one of their
shining lights, first as a nurse, then as a patient. When
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Justin finally lost his long-term battle with cancer, his
husband set up the Crossman-Draper Memorial Fund to
help finance the ongoing costs of running the hospice. So
please, let‟s all dig deep in our pockets and help Vincent
Draper raise as much as he can in Justin‟s memory.”
The compère continued with his pleas for generosity,
but Tom had stopped listening. His ears still rung with the
sound of that familiar name. He was too dazed to
unscramble the sentence and make sense of it, and he
barely noticed as the collection bucket passed him by and he
threw in a twenty on autopilot. Vincent Draper. Was he
here?
He scanned the room for Vince, but couldn‟t see him
anywhere. He‟d be at the front. Of course he would. He
moved between the tables searching for a large man in a
white T-shirt and was standing in the center of the room,
exposed, when the lights dimmed. He ducked, finding
himself a seat at a nearby table behind two huge men who
blocked most of his view.
Valentina strode onto the stage to a chorus of hoots and
wolf-whistles. She was far too butch to be convincing as a
woman, and the hairy chest didn‟t help, but it still took Tom
a moment to process the auburn beehive, slinky red dress,
and fake bosom. However, when Valentina opened her
mouth there was no disguising Vince‟s rumbling voice.
“Thank you all so much for your support. I think I need
some.” Vince hoisted on a bra strap, and pouted. “I first met
Justin when he came to help look after my mum in her last
few months. Little did I imagine that the „lovely young man‟
my mum adored moonlighted as Twinkerbell, the dirtiest
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fairy in town. Oh, you remember her, do you? Then maybe
some of you remember her nagging me for never being man
enough to put on a dress.” There was a chorus of laughter
and a few shouted agreements. “Well, it‟s a shame it took
Justin dying to make me realize that I had nothing to fear,
but I know he‟s watching over us all tonight. And Justin,
sweetheart—” Vince lifted his eyes to the ceiling and winked.
“—here‟s one of your favorites.”
Vince launched into his first song, Wham‟s “Last
Christmas.” He may not have been the most feminine of drag
queens, but he had a decent voice and did a passable
impression of George-Michael-in-a-dress, working in plenty
of hip rolls and eyelash flutters to keep the audience happy.
Tom shrank into his seat, but as Vince‟s eyes roved over
the audience they snagged on him. Vince faltered for a
moment, losing his place in “I Will Survive,” but he regained
it with a flourish. Tom‟s heart started hammering. He didn‟t
want to be beaten up by an enraged drag queen—the
humiliation would probably kill him.
But then Vince met his eyes again and winked.
“Do I have time for one more?” Vince asked. He
conferred with the band leader and stepped back onto the
stage. “Okay then, folks. That was going to be it, but there‟s
someone very special to me in the audience tonight. He
doesn‟t know it, but I used to fancy the pants off him at
school, and then this afternoon I had the shock of my life
when I saw him again. I wasn‟t expecting it to be quite so
literal, but we‟re talking two-hundred and forty volts here.”
Vince brandished his bandaged hand to a chorus of
sympathetic laughter.
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Tom‟s head spun. Surely… he couldn‟t mean… him?
“So, Tom, you may have acted like an arrogant arsehole
earlier, but I was probably just as bad. This is my way of
saying sorry.”
Tom sat there, stunned, his mouth hanging open. He
didn‟t really have a big man in a dress singing “Let it Snow”
to him, did he? When Vince stepped down from the stage to
thunderous applause and walked over to him, he was still
seriously contemplating running away. But it was too late,
and Vince held out a hand. Tom took it, and he was swept
away.
V
INCE
kept sneaking glances at Tom as they walked the
silent streets to his house. He should have pinched himself
to make sure this wasn‟t some crazy dream, but he wasn‟t
willing to take the risk. He checked himself; nope, he‟d taken
the time to change back into his normal clothing which was
a good sign. Probably not a dream, then. If it was, he‟d still
be in the dress, or worse yet, his pajamas. It was all just too
bizarre for words, though, having Tom walk back into his life
on the very day he‟d promised himself he‟d let go of Justin‟s
memory. Not that he‟d ever forget him. Never could.
Tom hadn‟t spoken much, other than to agree to coming
back with him. As they turned into Arnison Avenue, he
halted. Vince walked back to him, his insides twisting like a
bag full of cabling. Was this when the spell broke? Was the
doctor going to chicken out and run away like he always
used to?
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“Penny for them?” Vince asked.
It didn‟t seem like Tom was going to answer. His jaw
twitched, eyes darting here and there. Then it blurted out,
stark in the night air.
“Why didn‟t you tell me earlier?”
“Tell you what?”
“About… Justin. Being gay. All that.”
“Do you tell everyone you meet?”
The answer was written on Tom‟s face. He‟d make the
worst poker player in the world, going around with his
feelings written all over him in that bloody adorable way.
“No, Christ, no. Sorry. It was just such a shock. I‟d have
liked some preparation.”
“We‟ve both had our shocks today.” Vince took hold of
Tom‟s hand, and when he didn‟t resist, stepped closer. Tom‟s
breath gusted warm against his face. He pressed a soft kiss
to Tom‟s lips, the static sparking between them and leaving
his mouth tingling.
Tom made a soft sound that was almost a sob, but then
grabbed Vince hard with greedy hands. So, he did have a bit
of passion in him. Vince smiled to himself. Oh yeah, it was
always the quiet ones you had to watch out for. Well, except
for Justin, who could talk the hind leg off a donkey and had
still been a kinky devil in the sack.
“Wait.” It was tough to push Tom away, but it would be
better than doing it standing outside the deserted chip shop.
“Want you to see something. We‟re nearly there.”
The house seemed empty now. That fleeting remnant of
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Justin‟s presence didn‟t greet him at the door. Vince paused
for a moment, waiting for it, but perhaps Justin really had
gone for good now. Shit, he was going to miss him. He led
Tom through to the sun room, and turned to watch his face
as they entered.
“Oh!” Tom‟s eyes grew round, sparkling with the
reflections of a thousand tiny lights. “Oh, how beautiful!”
He smiled, watching the way Tom‟s slim body moved as
he stepped closer to the windows. The back garden glowed
with golden light, every bush and tree lit with softly
twinkling bulbs.
Vince stepped up behind Tom, feeling the heat radiating
from him in sharp contrast to the chill that poured off the
glass. “Justin asked me to hang them there last year. We
knew it would be his last Christmas.” Vince smiled,
remembering how his previous objections to tacky light
shows had seemed so petty when compared to death. At last
he‟d been able to let go of that memory of the lights
splintered by his broken lenses.
Vince blinked, the lights blurring and shimmering into
stars. “I set him up a bed in here so he could watch them all
evening. He was enchanted.” It had cost a bloody fortune to
keep it warm enough in here, but it had been worth every
penny just to see that rapturous wonder on Justin‟s face.
“We kept them there until he died, in February. I‟d stopped
caring about what the neighbors thought by that point.”
Vince heard Tom sigh deeply and felt him shifting to
lean back against him. He hugged Tom close.
“You must miss him,” Tom whispered.
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“Yeah.”
“Could I see a picture of him?”
Vince fetched one from the living room mantelpiece.
Taken before he got ill, it showed them both grinning at each
other over a picnic with friends. Justin‟s long chestnut hair
gleamed in the dappled sunlight. He‟d been having one of his
“boy” phases, when he dressed in more or less masculine
clothing, but as he‟d often said, you‟d have to prise the
makeup out of his cold, dead hands. It was one of those
jokes that ceased to be funny in his last months, but the
stubborn bastard refused to give it up.
As Tom stared at the picture, Vince scrutinized his face
for clues.
Tom smiled softly. “He‟s not what I expected.”
“You should have seen him all dressed up. Bloody
stunning, he was.” Vince looked up at the fairy on top of the
tree. Justin had found her in the market and bounded home
talking nine-to-the-dozen about his new stage costume. He‟d
modeled himself around the decoration, right down to the
sequined wings and pigtails. “See Twinkerbell up there?
Think that kit on a tall, skinny guy with a filthy mouth, and
you‟d be about right.”
“You have a thing for men in drag, then.” Tom‟s voice
had a wistful tone, and Vince wanted to kiss the frown off his
lips.
“Not really. It was the way he used to make Mum laugh
that got to me. Trust me, anyone who can make someone
laugh while he‟s sticking yet another needle in their veins is
a winner.”
Josephine Myles
Twinkle, Twinkle [21]
Tom grimaced. “I should go.”
Vince almost agreed. It would be the sensible thing to
do, and he was buggered if he knew what he was up to right
now. This was a really dumb idea, bringing Tom back here
and telling him all about Justin. The bloke should run a
mile, away from Vince and his fucked-up life. It was only a
small mercy he hadn‟t told him about the apparitions.
But he‟d had it with being sensible.
“Stay for a drink, please. We didn‟t get a chance to talk
properly yet.”
“No?”
“No, you were being too much of an arrogant twerp and
walked out on me.”
Tom‟s lips twitched. “I was a twerp? I thought you said I
was an arsehole.”
“Nah, more of a twerp, I reckon. If it‟s any help, I was
being a callous wanker.”
Yeah, that was definitely a smile now. Tom‟s lips were
luscious when he smiled.
“Okay, then. But you were more of a tosser than a
wanker.”
Vince grinned, making the hand gesture. “Same
difference.” He flipped the heater on as he headed off to fetch
the brandy and gave Twinkerbell a wink as he passed the
tree.
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Twinkle, Twinkle [22]
T
HE
lights held Tom spellbound. Whether it was down to
their magical transformation of an ordinary suburban
garden, the story behind them, or the fact that a man like
Vince had gone to the trouble of putting them up, he
couldn‟t decide.
He knew he should leave. Vince had too much emotional
baggage; he was still getting over the death of his husband,
for Christ‟s sake. But he couldn‟t seem to tear himself away.
He wanted to know all about Vince. Fuck it; he even wanted
to know all about Justin. He wanted to listen to that
rumbling voice for hours. He yearned to feel the vibrations as
he leaned against Vince‟s chest.
The press of the brandy glass against his hand gave him
a start. His skin tingled at the point of contact with Vince‟s.
Without thinking, he grasped at Vince‟s wrist, felt bones and
tendons moving under the warm skin. Electricity flowed up
his arm, and he let go.
Vince smiled, taking a sip of brandy from his own glass.
“Tell me about your life.”
“Medical school in Manchester. Specialized in trauma
medicine. I‟ve been working in A&E ever since.” This wasn‟t
what he wanted to be doing. He wanted to be licking the
dark hollow of Vince‟s throat.
“That‟s your career, not your life.”
“My career is my life. Guys always tell me I‟m married to
the job.” Tom wondered if Vince would stand for being
second best to Tom‟s career. Or would Vince be someone
he‟d turn down the prospect of promotion for? Someone he‟d
make sacrifices for, just to keep him happy.
Josephine Myles
Twinkle, Twinkle [23]
He needed to know.
Tom set his glass down on the sill. He turned, ignored
the question in Vince‟s eyes, and took his glass, too, setting
it next to his own. There was a sofa in the sunroom—a huge
leather thing that was as big as a bed. But first….
Vince‟s arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him
close. Tom tilted his head back for the kiss that was sure to
follow and waited.
He opened his eyes, puzzled. Vince was gazing at him
with a tenderness he‟d never expected to see. Tom gulped,
averting his eyes. It was too much, so he focused on Vince‟s
jaw. There was still makeup trapped in the creases of his
neck. He wondered what it would taste like.
The next thing he knew he was licking Vince‟s neck, his
mouth filling with a faintly greasy, powdery flavor, but
underneath it, the salt of Vince‟s skin. He felt Vince gasp, his
heart pounding against Tom‟s chest. It made him bold—
bolder—as he kissed his way up the line of Vince‟s jaw, the
stubble just starting to make itself known as a scratchy
roughness under his lips. As he reached an ear, Tom paused
a moment. He‟d been about to suck on the lobe, but a small
scar on Vince‟s cheek brought back memories of blood and
smashed spectacles.
“Is this okay?” he asked, because there were so many
reasons why it shouldn‟t be.
“This is perfect.” Vince sounded certain, as if he were a
man used to knowing exactly what he wanted. Vince ground
his hips against Tom‟s, emphasizing just how perfect it was
by the hard length digging into Tom.
Josephine Myles
Twinkle, Twinkle [24]
It was what Tom needed. Relief flooded through him,
followed by the sharp sizzle of desire. He gave himself over to
it, seeking Vince‟s lips and parting them with a ravenous
kiss. Vince‟s mouth tasted of brandy and spice, and Tom
sucked hungrily on his tongue. He heard a contented groan
and realized it was his own. God, he needed this so badly.
Vince kissed him back with fervor, running his hands
down to knead Tom‟s buttocks. The sensation jolted right
through Tom, his cock now so stiff it ached. He thrust
against Vince and whimpered. He needed flesh, and he set
about Vince‟s shirt buttons as their kiss grew messy and
demanding.
It was Vince who broke it, gasping for air. He pushed
Tom back before stripping off his shirt while Tom watched,
entranced. The soft lights from the garden cast few shadows,
and Vince‟s heavily muscled torso shone like bronze. A
choking sound escaped him as Vince went for the fly of his
jeans.
Vince looked up. “You, too.” His voice was husky, the
sound of it sending a thrill down Tom‟s spine. “Clothes off.”
He could feel the hormones flooding him as he stripped,
erasing his self-consciousness and firing him up so that he
could barely feel the chill of the room. His skin, hot and
prickly, pulled him toward Vince‟s like they were opposite
magnetic poles.
When he stood naked, Vince was watching him.
“God, you look amazing.”
Tom was about to protest that he didn‟t—that he was
far too skinny compared to Vince‟s glorious bulk—but there
Josephine Myles
Twinkle, Twinkle [25]
was no arguing with the expression on Vince‟s face. He was
like a child in a candy store, his wide-eyed gaze waking every
inch of Tom‟s skin so that it sizzled. But when their eyes
met, there was nothing childlike about the heat in Vince‟s.
The desire crackled between them, heating up the air. Would
they be thrown apart by the force of it the next time they
touched?
The spark of connection welded them together as they
fell onto the sofa. Tom landed on top, writhing against Vince
as if he could melt into him by building up enough heat.
Vince‟s tongue thrust deep into his mouth, and he retaliated,
grinding his hips hard against Vince as he did so. As their
cocks rubbed against each other, Vince groaned, his body
juddering, so Tom did it again and again, drawing out those
delicious noises and feeling the desire build into a crackling
ball of energy inside him. His skin dripped with sweat,
lubricating the thrust of his hips. Vince‟s fingers gripped his
arse firmly, increasing the tempo of their rutting.
Tom propped himself up on his arms, gazing down on
Vince. Arousal had painted his cheeks and darkened his
eyes. His lips were swollen and pink from their kisses. It was
nothing like the makeup of earlier, and it was absolutely
glorious.
The laughter broke inside Tom, brazen and free. He
wanted to hoot and shout and run around for the sheer joy
of it. He stared into Vince‟s eyes, wanting him to see what
this was doing to him. How this was unraveling him,
stripping him bare.
Vince‟s eyes mirrored his wild joy. “Fucking beautiful.
Ah! Tom!”
Josephine Myles
Twinkle, Twinkle [26]
Vince shuddered underneath him, back arching as his
cock pulsed against Tom‟s belly. The space between them
filled with come, and Tom drove against Vince with abandon.
He slid against that hard abdomen, feeling the muscles
clenching with the spasms of Vince‟s climax.
With a shattering force the energy exploded inside Tom,
and he bucked and howled as he spurted over and over
again, his body convulsing. It carried on until he collapsed,
his elbows buckling as he buried his face in the crook of
Vince‟s neck, rising and falling on his heaving chest.
The next thing he was aware of, beyond the rhythms of
their hearts and breaths, was a warm blanket being pulled
down over his back.
He raised himself on shaky arms to look down at his
lover. Vince appeared dazed, a daft smile twitching at his
lips.
“You‟ve no idea how long I‟ve been waiting to do that.”
Tom stared. That comment about Vince‟s teenage crush
had just been stage banter, hadn‟t it?
Vince smiled nostalgically, stroking Tom‟s jaw with his
fingertips. “You never noticed me, did you? How my eyes
used to follow you around like you were the sun. You were
the first guy I ever fell for.”
“I . . . I didn‟t know. I‟m sorr—”
Vince hushed him with a finger to his lips. “No
apologies. We were different people back then. Just starting
to find out who we were.”
Tom nodded. “I think I‟m only just starting to now.”
Josephine Myles
Twinkle, Twinkle [27]
When their lips met, it was gentle and slow, absolution
pouring over Tom like a balm.
“Will you stay? Please?”
“I‟ll stay.”
And Tom was willing to stay for longer than the night, or
even the next day‟s festivities. Whatever this thing was, he
meant to throw himself into it and make it work. He kissed
Vince again. “Just promise me you won‟t sing „Last
Christmas‟ again. I can‟t stand George Michael.”
“Right you are, then.” Vince grinned up at him, and
then his eyes flicked away to the tree.
Tom followed his gaze to Twinkerbell. Jesus Christ, he
must be exhausted, or drunk, or something. He could have
sworn that fairy just winked at him.
V
INCE
woke early, the warmth of Tom‟s body disorienting
him for a moment. But when the fact of Justin‟s absence
filtered through his mind, it was without the usual sting. He
gazed out into the dark room, remembering that moment
yesterday with his head up in the hospital ceiling. He‟d seen
Justin in front of him, clear as day, waving goodbye. His
eyeshadow had shimmered in the beam of Vince‟s lamp. And
when he‟d reached out to stop Justin going, the arc flash
had caught him, sending him crashing down and into Tom‟s
arms.
He couldn‟t feel Justin‟s spirit presence lingering any
longer. What was it Justin had kept saying in those last
Josephine Myles
Twinkle, Twinkle [28]
months? That he was going to hang around and haunt his
sorry arse until he found him someone new?
“Thanks, Justin,” he whispered.
Tom stirred, mumbling in his sleep.
“Shhh.” Vince kissed him gently and nestled down
against Tom, holding him close.
He had to hand it to Justin—he gave the best Christmas
presents ever.
Have you been Naughty or Nice?
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About the Author
J
OSEPHINE
M
YLES
lives in the West Country of England
with her husband and four-year-old daughter. Currently
self-employed, she gave up a career teaching English
literature to look after her daughter. She enjoys various
textile crafts and gardening when she isn‟t busy writing or
spending time with her family.
Over the years Jo has shunned the predictable path, having
sampled a wide range of jobs, from the factory production
line to mosaic artist. She has also lived in many
unconventional situations, from shared houses and tied
accommodation, to living with extended family; even
spending a couple of happy years on a narrowboat!
Visit Jo‟s blog at http://josephine-myles.livejournal.com/.
Copyright
Twinkle, Twinkle ©Copyright Josephine Myles, 2010
Published by
Dreamspinner Press
4760 Preston Road
Suite 244-149
Frisco, TX 75034
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the
authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Art by Paul Richmond http://www.paulrichmondstudio.com
Cover Design by Mara McKennen
This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is
illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon
conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No
part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the Publisher. To
request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press at: 4760 Preston Road, Suite
244-149, Frisco, TX 75034 http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/
Released in the United States of America
December 2010
eBook Edition
eBook ISBN: 978-1-61581-774-0
