Title: The Patron Saint of Liars and Fakes (1/3)
Pairing: Aidan/Ash
Rating: NC-17
Summary: What Ash wants is not always what he needs. Sometimes it's not even what he really wants either. But neither is what he needs.



Ashley Caverleigh sits sunk deep into the worn velveteen of his armchair in only his trousers, bare feet propped up on an old box stacked with books, fedora over his eyes. Under the semi-darkness of his hat, he listens to the sound of the rain, and after a moment it hits him that the shower has stopped.

Sure enough, it's not long before he hears the creak of the bathroom door, and the sounds of bustling round, the soft almost silent sound of satin, the sharp metallic sound of a zip being zipped up. He adjusts his hat and cracks his eyes open enough to reach for his glass of Scotch without spilling any. The amber liquid burns deliciously and he sighs a little.

The sigh is echoed, a little annoyed, and Ash finally looks up.

The girl he'd fucked into the mattress not half an hour earlier is glaring down at him, like she's waiting for him to offer her a drink. Ash watches her dispassionately over the rim of his glass, and then says. "There's an umbrella in the stand. You can take it if you want."

The girl stares at him, blue eyes widening like she can't believe what she's hearing. "An umbrella?"

"Yeah. I mean, it is raining, after all."

She doesn't answer, and Ash adds, "You said you lived just down the way."

She flushes angrily, caught out in a lie. She used a line to get him to take her home, and now it's coming back to bite her in the ass.

Ash smirks. "I'll ring for a taxi. Or if you'd rather, you can take the umbrella, and then doorman can ring for one."

Her mouth tightens into a thin line of magenta rouge. "Fucking prick." She says. She grabs the umbrella and storms out.

Ash chuckles, and pours himself another glass of Scotch.



When he was 5 years old, Ash had run away to Hyde Park to look for his mother's gypsy caravan. He knew gypsies camped in the woods, and this was the closest thing he knew to the woods. He'd walked around the park with his little bundle tied to a stick - just like Perrine in 'Nobody's Girl', which his mother had been reading to his brothers and him at night, asking passers-by if they'd seen any gypsies camping nearby, explaining that his mother was a gypsy princess and she'd left to rejoin her family and live in her wagon, and he needed to go join her.

It had started to rain, so he'd curled up under a tree, trying to stay dry, and watched the people hurrying to get out of the park - the mothers with their prams, and the businessmen with their newspapers over their heads, and young women with their little dogs - and waited for his mother to appear among them. That was where Uncle Stuart had found him, shivering and clutching his ragged bundle full of fig newtons, his new jimjams with cows on them, his stuffed monkey, and a half empty bottle of his mother's perfume.

Uncle Stuart had taken Ash home, gotten him into dry pyjamas, made him tea and biscuits, and let him curl up on his lap, while he read to him.

Even after Ash figured out that his mother wasn't a gypsy princess, she'd just left her husband and her three sons to run off with another man, he hadn't lost his fascination for gypsies. If anything, he had only become more entranced by the whole idea as he got older. It was the ultimate freedom: the open road, living on nothing but wit and charm, free from the rules of society, from obligations, able to go where you wanted, when you wanted, just pack up and take off, everything you owned of value on you and nothing to lose but what you didn't care about.

The first time he'd used the line on a girl was at a house party. He'd been 16, and just drunk enough. He'd told her he was actually a gypsy, and offered to read her palm. He'd made up some bullshit about how she'd meet a dark handsome stranger, and then she'd taken him upstairs to one of the bedrooms, and let him fuck her. She's been soft and wet and pliant, and made little breathy mewling sounds as he shoved inside. It had taken him a surprisingly long time to come - too many curves, and too much perfume, and his hands had gotten tangled in her long blond hair.

He doesn't remember the second time he fucked a girl, but the third time...The third time he'd been drunk again. She'd been sucking him off, and on impulse, at the last moment he'd pushed her away, and come all over her face. She's gotten angry called him a prick, but all he'd felt was triumph, dark and addictive, this hot and twisted lust, and when he'd laughed the girl had slapped him. And that had just made him laugh more, until she'd stalked off, and Ash sat slumped against the wall feeling utterly wretched and been sick on the side of the road.

He's almost always drunk when he fucks girls, too drunk and too rough, but the thing he'd come to realize was that usually, as long as he makes them come, the girls don't really care. And he can find those girls who get off on all of it, the facials and the rough sex, and being flipped over on their stomachs. But somehow, he hates it more when they love it, that makes it worse, not better, and sometimes he still makes them cry, makes them curse at him, because he can't help it, somehow, even if it's just a cutting remark as he pulls his trousers on. He doesn't mean to, not really, except that deep down, he thinks maybe he does. The thing is that whether they like him, or whether they call him an prick, the whole thing still makes Ash feel like shit.


Alfie finds him on the roof, in his bathtub.

"What are you doing, you tosser?" Alfie asks.

"Taking a bath, can't you tell?" Ash asks.

Alfie shakes his head. "You're completely wasted."

Ash doesn't say anything to that, because it's very true. After the umbrella girl had left, he'd finished almost the entire bottle of Scotch. "Get in with me." He tells Alfie.

Alfie climbs in the tub with him, Doc Marten's squeaking slightly. He settles in, body warm and heavy against Ash's, fitting together like it always does, like he's the last piece of some puzzle.

"I was getting clean." Ash tells him, because he's pretty sure Alfie asked.

"Were you that dirty?" Alfie asks, with a laugh.

Ash nods, resting his chin on Alfie's shoulder. "Filthy." He says, because he was. "More than filthy." He waves a hand, hoping it will express the sheer grime that had clung to him, the sickly sweetness of that girl's perfume, that uneasy inexpressible feeling of 'unclean' he felt sometimes, thick and hot on the back of his neck like shame.

Alfie raises an eyebrow. It's one of Ellie's expressions. They do that sometimes, the twins, fall into one another's expressions or gestures. Sometimes Ellie scrunches her nose up just the same way that Alfie does. It's the only time Ash ever wants to fuck her. But then her face will relax again, and the urge will disappear as if he'd never felt it.

"Don't come crying to me if you catch a cold and feel like shit for our gig tomorrow." Alfie says, after a moment.

"Don't worry, you'll be sniffling with me." Ash promises, and kisses him. It's hard and messy, because he is very drunk, but Alfie opens up and kisses back just the same.

Truth be told, Ash doesn't actually remember a lot about the first time he and Alfie fucked. For one thing, it was ages ago - he can't be arsed to do the maths, but he'd been 15 or so, and he's 22 now - and besides, it hadn't been good. It had actually been quite crap. He and Alfie had taken turns, but they hadn't prepped properly so neither of them had been relaxed enough for it not to hurt for the one who was bottoming, while the one who topped had barely made it inside before coming.

So all in all, nothing to write home about, and it would have put Ash off of sex for a few years really, except that Alfie, who had heard his gay Uncles going on and on about how it was the best thing since sliced bread, had rung his Uncle Adrian to ask for tips. Like most of Alfie's gay Uncles, Uncle Adrian wasn't actually his Uncle at all, but a band mate of his father's, and he had been very glad to help. He had answered all of Alfie's questions, and then sent Alfie a huge e-mail going into a bit more detail, which Alfie had printed out.

So their second go had been much more successful, since they'd actually known what they were doing. After that, things had got progressively better and better from then on, and at this point, there's not much he and Alfie don't know about each other's bodies.

It's a brilliant situation, actually. Ash feels quite sorry for all those poor sods who haven't got a fuck buddy to fall back on, someone who is more than just available, someone with whom one is guaranteed a fantastic shag. (In fact, while Alfie likes getting fucked best, and he remains one of the few people Ash will bottom for.) Whether they're drunk, sober, or somewhere in between, sex with Alfie is often messy and frantic, and dirty but it never leaves Ash feeling filthy.


**


Despite Alfie's dire predictions of pneumonia, the gig goes quite well. Not only does Ash have neither a cold, nor a hang-over, he feels almost like he'd dreamt the black mood of the night before. It's always like that; when he's on stage, he feels like he's on top of the fucking world. There's nothing that can compare to that feeling of being lost in the music like that, nothing that gets Ash that way, not booze, not cards, not sex.

Although, Ash reflects, as a tap on the shoulder reveals a gorgeous guy standing behind him, sex comes in at a close second. The guy has blond hair - longish fringe in his eyes, which are a light brown - and he's got a great body too, broad-shouldered, and slim hipped, shirt clinging in a way that promises a washboard beneath.

"Hi," The guy says. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"Only if you're trying to pull me." Ash tells him.

"I was hoping to." The guy confessing, with a smile. His smile is amazing; just lights up his whole face, and for a moment Ash feels a bit light headed.

"Then by all means, buy me a drink." He says.

So the guy orders Ash a pint, and they head over to a corner of the club to stand against the wall. "I'm Aidan." The guy says.

"Ash." Says Ash. Unlike Alfie or Ellie, who collect people's names like soda pop tops, Ash can actually take or leave the whole naming ritual, especially with a one off like this. On one hand, it's not like he's going to need to remember the name. On the other, it's nice to have something to say along with 'Oh God, yeah, right there.' He tends to work on a retroactive system - he'll give his name if a guy introduces himself, but he won't offer his name otherwise.

"So, I'd never even heard of punkabilly before." Aidan tells him conversationally. "I just came with a mate. But you lads were brilliant." He smiles again, that dazzling smile, and Ash can't help smiling back.

"Cheers." He says. "I'm glad to we were able to broaden your musical horizon."

Aidan smiles, and then he says. "You have the most gorgeous eyes."

"Thanks." Ash replies. He's used to the compliment, no one expects green eyes with curly black hair and an olive complexion. And then he adds, because he really can't resist. "I'm a gypsy you know. That's where I get my colouring from."

Aidan smiles, looking amused. "Since when do gypsies speak Public School English?"

Ash stares at him, surprised, and then he laughs. "No one has ever picked up on that before!" He says, feeling bizarrely impressed that this guy saw through his ruse so easily. He supposes it has to do with the circles he tends to move in and the fact that unlike this guy, a lot of the people he's fooled with this line speak Public School English themselves.

But the easy banter is refreshing somehow. Pulling at gigs can be tiresome, with people wanting more from you than just a shag, but this isn't at all. This is just this gorgeous guy, and Ash, and the gorgeous tension between them, the way Ash can't stop looking, the way his fingers itch to touch and his body aches to be touched. Aidan chuckles a little. The sound makes Ash's skin feel tight, ghosting over it like breath, because even this guy's laughter is sexy as hell.

"Does that line actually work?" Aidan inquires, seeming more curious than anything else.

"Always." Ash assures him, because it does.

"I have a feeling that has more to do with how gorgeous you are." Aidan says, matter of factly.

"Flattery will get you everywhere." Ash tells him.

"Oh, but I mean it. I'm not just trying to chat to up." Aidan answers. "After all, you did already say you'd go to bed with me."

Ash laughs. "This is true. I'm sorry to say I'm a dreadful slut."

Aidan laughs. "Don't be sorry. I'm certainly not."

His eyes are warm and golden and melting, like toffee almost, except that image does nothing to describe just what those eyes are doing to Ash, the way he feels them like a thousand fingers caressing his skin, like they've already touched.

"That makes two of us." Ash tells him.

And suddenly he can't focus any more, can't be arsed to think up anything else witty, no matter how true it may be, because he knows what he wants, and what he wants is this man naked beneath his hands and his mouth.

He can't think of anything but Aidan's mouth, and how it will taste, how his skin will feel between Ash's fingers, how he wants to make Aidan shudder and moan with pleasure, The anticipation is flickering through him now, that certainty; It's going to happen, just as surely as if they're already fucking.

He leans over, and kisses Aidan. Aidan slips a hand through Ash's hair, holding him close as he deepens the kisses. When he pulls back, they're both breathing hard.

"I can't wait to fuck you." Ash murmurs into his mouth.

Aidan looks faintly surprised, as if he'd expected Ash to bottom. "Is that what we're doing?" He asks. although he doesn't sound displeased by the idea.

Ash smirks. "Yeah, that's what we're doing." He says."There's no bed here, but will a sofa do in a pinch?" Ash asks.

Aidan nods, and his voice is husky, as he says with conviction, "I think I can work with a sofa."

It's good, even by post-show hook up standards. Before Ash fucks him fast and steady, he gets Aidan shaking and cursing under his tongue, spread open and panting for his cock.

He will never, even get tired of a gorgeous, muscular guy writhing in pleasure beneath him.

**

Ash's lovely leisurely morning - cup of tea on the table, Maupin in one hand and fag in the other - is spoilt when his father rings to ask him to come in right away to fill in for Grace as she's come down with a cold and they can't get a temporary receptionist on such short notice. Really it's not his father's job to handle emergency staffing needs as he has a perfectly good assistant to do those sort of things. Except of course in the case of his wayward progeny, because his father knows perfectly well that if he'd had David ring to ask Ash to come in 3 hours early the day after a gig, Ash would have told him to fuck off. And while it probably precludes him from being a proper punk, or a proper rocker or something like that, Ash is not very good at telling his father to fuck off. Possibly due to some sort of misplaced guilt for having been such a fucking prat as a child.

And that's why Ash finds himself 'suitably attired'. or as close as he ever gets to it - trousers, dress shirt, waistcoat, and a silk scarf - with his hair pulled back into a small curling nub of a ponytail, at the front desk of Caverleigh and Fielding, nursing another cup of tea and craving a fag, at the ungodly hour of 8:30 AM on a Monday morning.

While Desperate for Cred had basically stopped touring by the time Easy Aces really got up and running, there was no denying that as the son of Desperate for Cred's bassist, Alfie could have gained a lot of notoriety. But Alfie has this thing about not using his father's fame to get them famous. He often talks about how he doesn't want to ride on his dad's laurels, that he wants to prove himself, and prove that they're good, good enough to get a record deal without his connexions. Ash understands all that, and they've all agreed to respect Alfie's wishes - especially because since they added Dom and Jay, they *are* that good - but he himself has never felt a similar compunction against his father's laurels and the riding there-of.

He's been working as a gopher/part time receptionist at his father's law firm for ages now, and he sees no reason to stop. Being his father's son, he can pretty much get away with murder - also unlimited smoking breaks, and a lot faffing around the office doing basically nothing. The only thing Ash wants to do is be in a band, so if he has to have have a job he doesn't want, it might as well be one where he can do anything he wants (i.e nothing) as long as he shows up mostly on time. After all, the only time he has to do any real semblance of work is for the hour Grace has her lunch break. And he spends most of that time on the computer chatting with Alfie or Jay or Dom or whoever else happens to be reachable and bored. He's even hooked up with people in the office via Instant Message before, which, as he sees it, is a very productive use of his time. Much more productive than selling crap records to pseudo-intellectuals like Alfie, or reading for geriatrics who forget the the plot of the novel by the next sessions like Dom.

Ash has replaced the computer's homepage with a porno site (BreederBoiz.com, which is one of those 'see straight boys getting fucked by a big cock and loving it' sites, which never fail to amuse Ash, because in his opinion, if a boy is getting fucked by a big cock and loving it, that automatically excludes him from being straight. Bi, possibly, but not straight) and checked for any reviews of last night show (he's found 2 good, and 2 bad, and he doesn't want to search for more and upset his odds) and is just reaching down to get his book out of his bag, when a voice says,

"Excuse me, sorry, I don't mean to bother you, but I'm the new trainee, and I've been told to ask for Mr. Covington?"

"Hang on." Ash says, and rights himself. "Sorry, what?"

Then he does a double take. Standing at the front desk is a gorgeous man wearing a grey suit, and a blue-grey tie, looking rather nervous. His blond hair slicked down neatly, and behind his glasses, his eyes are light brown eyes, almost the colour of toffee.

Those eyes widen, and they stare at each other for a moment, and then Aidan seems to recover, and says, "So gypsies work at law firms now?"

Ash grins. "Oh you know, people don't go in for fortune telling so much these days."

Aidan chuckles a little. "I can see how it might not exactly put food on the table." He concedes.

"So you're one of the new trainee solicitors?" Ash asks, rather unnecessarily. He wants to be sure though.

Aidan nods, and that nervous look reappears. "Right, for Douglas Covington?"

"Oh, Doug." Ash says. "You'll be fine. He looks a bit scary, but he wouldn't hurt a fly, I promise." He picks up the phone and pushes Doug's extension, then pauses. "What's your last name?"

"Allen." Aidan says. "Aidan Allen."

"Would you like that shaken or stirred?" Ash asks with a smirk, and then Doug picks up. "Er, Doug, your trainee is here. Mr. Allen?"

He rings off, and then turns back to Aidan. "You can go on up. Second floor, third door on your right."

"Cheers." Aidan says.

Ash turns back to his computer, and his cold tea and his boring day, and then turns back, just as Aidan is about to disappear up the stairs. "Hang on!"

Aidan looks up, hesitantly, hand on the banister.

"Come to lunch with me, later." Ash says. He's got nothing better to do, after all.

"What time is your lunch break?"

"Whenever I want it to be." Ash tells him. "Just come round the front when you're ready."

Aidan smiles. His smile is just as dazzling here in the sleek efficient office as it had been in the club last night. It makes Ash think, stupidly, of sunlight. Not that weak watery sunlight of London, but that bright, cleansing, strong sunlight of Barcelona. Something almost fiercely lovely and warm.

"Alright." He says. I'll see you later on then."


Ash replays their conversation in his head, as he watches the seconds tick by, only half focused on his game of on-line poker. There's something about him that makes Ash feel like he's someone Ash has known for years, rather than just some trick he fucked last night.

Just after half 11, Ash nips out to have a quick fag - or two, or three, the worst part of filling in at the front desk is he can't take as many breaks as he'd like - and when he sits back down, there's a new e-mail in his in-box, from allen.trainee@candbassociates.com

It reads: 'It doesn't look like I'll be able to have lunch today, as we've got a trainee luncheon. Very sorry! Let's have a rain check!'

Ash isn't sure if the tightness in his stomach is relief, disappointment, or just that he's had too much coffee.



On his way out of the office that evening, Ash runs into Aidan, who is standing outside the building.

"Hullo," Aidan says with a smile. "Sorry about lunch."

"That's right." Ash says.

"I'm trying to head home, but I'm a bit turned around. Which way is closest to walk to the Tube?"

"I'm heading there myself." Ash tells him. "I'll show you, after I finished my fag."

"Thanks."

"Did you not take the Tube this morning then?" Ash asks, getting out a fag and lighting it. He offers the pack to Aidan, who shakes his head.

"Sorry, I don't smoke." He says.

"That's alright. I probably smoke enough for both of us." Ash tells him.

Aidan just raises an eyebrow, and then says "I took a taxi. I wanted to be sure I got there on time. Didn't want to be late the first day and all."

Ash takes a drag. "So how did it go?" He asks, more to kill time than because he really cares.

"Alright, I think." Aidan says. "There a lot to learn, but I'm just excited to be actually working, after all that time in school."

Ash doesn't say anything to that, because he hasn't been in school since he was 17. He smokes in silence for a few minutes, watching the orangey glow of the sunset reflect on the windows of the nearby buildings.

"That's the top hat you were wearing at the show," Aidan says, after a while.

"It is, indeed." Ash agrees. "We don't believe in all that stage persona rubbish. What you see is what you get."

"Ah." Says Aidan. Then he says, almost apologetically, "I do hope this isn't awkward for you."

It surprises Ash slightly, because Aidan himself doesn't seem awkward about it at all. He doesn't know many people who presume others to have emotions they themselves don't have - he's certainly rubbish at it.

"You mean since we shagged last night?" He asks.

"Right." Aidan says. Little smile, halfway between amused and embarrassed.

"No." Ash says. "I mean, if you'd been crap, maybe it would be."

Aidan chuckles. "Is that the issue?"

"Isn't it?" Ash replies, as he crushes out his fag and drops into the depository. "You know, then I'd be thinking, 'Oh fuck, there's that bloke I had a crap shag with last night, I hope he doesn't want another go, because I can't be arsed to let him down gently.' "

Aidan laughs. He raises an eyebrow as Ash lights himself another fag. He could offer to walk with this one, but he doesn't. Instead, he turns back to Aidan and asks, "Why? Would you not have slept with me if you had known you'd see me again?"

"Well, I might have thought it over a bit, as it does have the possibility of making things awkward. Would you have done?"

"Of course." Ash says, because there's not much he can think of that would prevent him from sleeping with someone. "Is it awkward for you?"

Ash gets in a few drags while Aidan appears to think this over. "No." He says, finally. "No, I suppose it isn't."

"Brilliant. So if I were to ask if you wanted another go?"

"Would I sleep with you again? Now that you're my co-worker?"

Ash takes a long drag, and blows the smoke out slowly. He smirks. "The son of your boss, actually."

Aidan stares. "I'm sorry?"

Ash doffs his top hat and makes a sweeping bow. "Ashley Caverleigh, at your service."

"Nigel Caverleigh's your father?"

"For all 22 years of my life." Ash says cheerfully, binning his fag. He laughs, and adds, "By the way, that was a trick question."

Aidan looks thoroughly confused. "What was?"

"I'm not going to ask." Ash tells Aidan, and kisses him. His back connects with the brick wall of the building with a soft thunk.

When he draws back, Aidan is looking at him slightly incredulously. "Hang on." He says, slightly out of breath. "I'm working for your father now."

"Your astute powers of comprehension will serve you well here. I thought you said it didn't bother you."

"That was before I realized you were serious about having another go..." Aidan protests.

"Com'on, what's so bad about a little interoffice shagging?" Ash asks. "Think about it this way: my dad owns the company. You're not going to get sacked over it."

"I'm sorry, last night was - it was quite good. Brilliant, even. But hooking up at a club is one thing; hooking up at work is another. I mean, I'm not even an official employee here, I'm just an apprentice. I'm supposed to be focusing on learning."

"Who says you can't learn how to be a solicitor, and have some fun too?" Ash asks. "Come on, haven't you ever fantasised about bending your hot secretary over the copy machine? Or getting bent over the copy machine by your hot secretary?"

"Well yes." Aidan says. "But that was just a fantasy. My life is not a porno."

"It could be." Ash answers. It's not really a line, either, because to be honest, at times Ash's own life tends to bear a startling likeness to his own fantasies.

Aidan doesn't answer.

"Just think about it." Ash tell him. "Com'on, I'll show you how to get to the Tube."

**

Ash's older brother Bev had once complained that Ash was a lazy tosser who could only be arsed to make an effort at two things: playing bass and getting laid. As far as Ash is concerned it's a very fair assessment.

Ash knows there are a lot of people who can't be bothered to make an effort if someone plays hard to get. Alfie for example; Not that it happens often, as Alfie is both charming and sexy as hell, but if Alfie gets turned down, he usually just finds someone else who will give him a yes. But for Ash, the chase is all part of the fun. He isn't opposed to shagging an easy yes, of course, but there's something about having to use his wits and his charm to get someone into bed that makes it that much better.

However, getting Aidan in to bed again turns out to be far easier than Ash expected. After a week or so of shameless flirting on his part, and amusingly polite, tactful refusals on Aidan's, Ash run into Aidan in the loo.

The door opens as Ash is drying his hands, and he looks up to see Aidan.

"Hullo." He said, cheerfully. "Fancy a blow job?"

"Ash, I really-" Aidan begins, and then he stops abruptly and says, with the air of one recklessly consigning himself to trust fate, "You know what? Fuck it. Yes."

Ash stares. He hadn't expected that. "Really?"

"Yes. I've been here until 9 every night this week. I'm tired, I'm stressed, and I've just been asked to come in on Saturday morning. So if you're not taking the piss, a blow job would be lovely."

"I never lie about shagging." Ash says with a smirk, and then backs Aidan into the handicap stall before he can change his mind. For once, he isn't sorry to be cheated out of a proper seduction.

Ash loves giving head for the same reason he loves rimming: he loves feeling someone come apart like this. He sucks the head of Aidan's cock while he wraps his hand around to work the base, and it doesn't take long before Aidan is pushing frantically at his shoulders, and saying, "Wait, wait, I'm gonna-"

Ash doesn't say anything, just lets his hand slip off so he can take Aidan's full length into his mouth.

Aidan chokes and comes, and Ash swallows every last drop he can coax out, before sitting back on his heels and getting to his feet.

Aidan is breathing hard, head against the wall of the stall. "Fuck." He says. "That was - wow. Cheers for that."

"Not bad, yeah?"

"That was probably one of the best I've ever had."

"Well, you know what they say about practise and all." Ash smirks. "And you're very welcome. So, when do you have to work on Saturday?"

"From 9 to noon."

"Meet me in the copy room at 12:30, yeah?" Ash says, and then lets the door swing shut behind him, leaving Aidan still breathing hard.

Halfway down the hall, he remembers they're supposed to have band practice at noon this Saturday, so he texts the lads to see if they can move it to 2. No one minds, which is good, because Ash probably would have ended up being an hour late, otherwise. He never breaks an assignation.



At exactly 12:31 on Saturday, the door to the copy room opens and Aidan comes in. It being Saturday, and not an official work day, he's dressed slightly more casually, in khaki trousers and a crisp white polo shirt. He smiles when he sees Ash.

"I was almost afraid you wouldn't be here." He says. "I thought you might be taking the piss."

Ash shakes his head. "Didn't that blow job teach you anything?"

Aidan laughs a little. "I almost can't believe I'm doing this." He confesses. "Not that I'm - I wouldn't say I'm hopelessly vanilla, but I've always tried to keep my work and my sex life separate."

"Now what's the fun in that?" Asks Ash. He has never kept his sex life separate from anything. "Come here."

Aidan does, walking over and kissing Ash, cupping the back of his neck the way he had that night in the club.

"What do you fancy?" Ash asks, when they part for breath. He can feel Aidan's erection through his trousers, and Ash is already hard himself, had been half hard while he waited.

"I'm up for anything, really." Aidan says, sounding like he means it. As Ash starts to unbutton his shirt he adds. "The other day...you mentioned something about the copy machine?"

Ash grins. "I like the way you think."

It's just as good as it was at the club that first time, maybe better, fast, and frantic with pent up desire, because Ash has been thinking about doing this ever since he looked up and saw Aidan standing at the front desk.

Right before Ash feels himself begin to crest over the edge of orgasm, he reaches around to fist Aidan's cock, as he whispers in his ear, "See? I told you your life could be a porno."

Aidan comes with a choaking gasp all over Ash's hand and all over the copier.

Aidan lingers while Ash smokes apost-coital fag outside the building.

"I cannot believe we did that..." He says.

"Speak for yourself." Ash tells him, smirking around his fag. "You've never got off in the workplace before?"

"How about the library at Uni?" Aidan asks, after a moment. "Does that count?"

"No." Ash shakes his head, follows the smoke with his eyes as he exhales. "That's what the library at Universities are for." At least, that's what he's heard - college had been more than enough for him.

"I've been so busy with the LPC and all of that - well, you must know all about that," Aidan says hurriedly.

Ash nods. "You couldn't pay me to become a solicitor." He says. "So what...don't tell me you've been celibate for the last year?"

Aidan laughs. "Not entirely. I haven't dated since Uni, but I haven't exactly been living like a monk. I do go out to clubs and that sort of thing."

"Or gigs." Ash adds.

"Or gigs." Aidan agrees. ""Although I don't generally go on the pull at gigs, to tell you the truth."

"So what made you try and pull me?"

"Who was trying?" Aidan teases.

"I told you I'm a slut." Ash reminds him. "But don't tell me, it was my devastating good looks, of course."

"Of course." Aidan says, chuckling. Then he's quiet for a moment. "To be honest," he says finally, "it was more than just your devastating good looks. It was...the way you played...it was obvious that you really love music. You seemed so joyful, but it was this...quiet kind of joy, almost like a contentment..." He trails off, seeming flustered, and runs a hand through his hair. "Listen to me going on like this. I should get going, I have to cook tonight, and I have to go to the shops first because there's nothing in the house."

"Right." Ash says. He's a little shaken, because although he's not going to tell Aidan, Aidan's pretty much hit the nail on the head. That's exactly how he feels when he's playing. "Listen," He adds. "We could shag on top of the table during a disposition, and my dad's not going to do anything to you. Just something to keep in mind, in case you need any more stress relief."

Aidan smiles a little. "Good to know."



Monday morning there's a thunk on the ledge of the front desk, and when Ash looks up, Aidan is standing there. The thunk was apparently made by the large scone that is now sitting on the ledge.

Ash raises an eyebrow. "Is it the trainee bake sale already?" He asks.

Aidan looks slightly abashed. "My mate Tevan baked some scones this morning, and I thought you might like one."

"I've never been much for scones or muffins or that sort of thing. Got to watch out for those carbs, you know. It wouldn't do to lose my figure." He doesn't really give a toss about carbs, it just pops out.

Aidan face falls ever so slightly, but then he seems to recover, saying, "Oh well, more for me, I suppose."

"Quite so." Ash agrees. "However, I am not adverse to some protein." He smirks.

Aidan chuckles. "On the homo diet, are we?"

Ash laughs. "Is that the programme where all the exercises are done on your back?"

"Or on your knees." Aidan agrees. He shuffles his weight from one foot to another, and then says, "So...speaking of that..."

"Meet you behind the copier in 10." Ash says.

And that's how it goes now. They manage to find time a few times a week, whether it's only enough for a quick blow job, or one of those long twilight hours after most of the office has gone home, when it's only the two of them and a few workaholics shut up in their offices and oblivious to anything but their papers. Ash has got off with people at the office before - shagged Tony the bike messenger in the loo, or that slag from Accounting in one of the empty offices, things like that - but those have never been anything more than one offs.

It gives him a rush to know that along with the boring office shite he has to do - getting people tea and organising files, and making photo copies of his own face or his arse, or trying different ways to blend his eye liner in the bathroom mirror - there's always the possibility of running into Aidan.

Sometimes Ash will peek into the doorway and send Aidan a glance through his lashes that makes Aidan stutter and drop his papers. Sometime they'll pass in the hall, and Aidan will brush up against him in a way that makes Ash's skin feel hot and tight with anticipation. Sometimes Aidan will smile at him, and Ash will forget to breath.


After a while Ash gets bored of the copy room - one can only fuck against fiddly plastic machines so many times before it becomes slightly less thrilling. Besides, the look on Aidan's face as Ash pulls him through the door marked 'Nigel Caverleigh, Senior Partner' is priceless.

"This is your dad's office." He says, over the click of the lock.

"You're very clever, you know." Ash tells him, as he shrugs off his coat. "I wouldn't be surprised if you got chosen for QC ten years from now."

"You're too kind." Aidan says, lips curving, ever so slightly, before that anxious look comes back. "But really, should we be doing this in here?"

"Yes." Ash says. "Haven't you heard? Copy rooms are quite passe these days."

"But isn't this like asking to get caught?" Aidan asks, as Ash leans forward to kiss him.

"Actually," Ash says, "this is probably the safest room in the office. No one comes in here, except my dad, not after hours."

He can feel Aidan relax ever so slightly, feel the skin in his jaw go slack, and then he leans into the kiss.

While they kiss, Ash unbuttons Aidan's shirt, and then leans back to work on his tie. Being a trainee, Aidan comes to work every day in a suit and tie. To his surprise, Ash finds it strangely appealing, maybe because it's so different from the way Aidan had dressed when they first met, just another gorgeous fag in a tight, low cut t-shirt and tight, low slung jeans. Sometimes, he'll catch sight of Aidan in the hall, and start thinking about the body that's hidden under that oh so proper suit and crisp white shirt, and feel himself throb with want, impatient and hungry.

That said, it's a pity about the ties. Aidan's ties are, without exception, horrific: drab, staid slabs of silk remarkable only in their sheer unremarkablity, and the fact that they make Ash want to rip them off Aidan, and not in a carnal way.

The tie Aidan's wearing today is particular horrible: it's a purplish grey that reminds Aidan of the overcooked mutton his Local serves.

"So, this tie," Ash tells him, as he works his fingers inside to loosen the knot. "Did your grandad leave it to you in his Will?"

"What's wrong with it?" Aidan asks.

"It's boring as shite." Ash says. "Can't you wear something more colourful? Maybe something with a pattern?"

Aidan looks slightly sheepish. "I thought it was professional looking. My mum always told me that anything too bright or loud was common."

"Only common people worry about looking common." Ash tells him staunchly, as he unties the offending tie, wrapping it around his hands thoughtfully.

"We can't all be gypsy princes, you know." Aidan says, sounding amused. He reaches up and gives a tug on the silk scarf Ash has tied around his neck.

Ash brushes his hand away absently.

"A tie like this is only good for one thing, you know." Ash says.

"And what's that?" Aidan asks.

"You'll see." Ash tells him. He can't keep the smirk off his lips.


They end up on the floor, Ash on top.

"Put your arms above your head." Ash tells Aidan.

Aidan does, and very carefully, Ash wraps the tie around his wrists, tying him securely to the foot of the desk.

Aidan curses softly under his breath. The sound is startled, but not displeased. He chaffs his wrists together, trying the knots, and Ash notes with satisfaction that they hold.

"Well?" Aidan says, and there's a hint of challenge in his voice, as if to ask, are you really up for this?

"Now," Ash tells him. "Now I'm going to have my wicked way with you."

"I wish you would." Aidan says. He looks up at Ash, eyes dark and hungry and desperate in a way that makes Ash catch his breath. The sight of Aidan spread out for him like this, faint flush on his golden skin, cock hard and leaking between his lets, so utterly vulnerable sends a hot. blinding rush of lust through his veins, and it's all he can do not to wrench Aidan's knees up and shove inside. He's actually shaking with it.

It's all he can do to fumble with a condom and lube, fingers hopelessly uncoordinated, and he finally gets it on. He meant to tease, to torment, and get Aidan begging for it, but he can't. He doesn't have the control right now. Aidan's eyes are still on him, steady and unwavering, and they've shattered every last bit of it, burning into him and he feels turned around, like he's the one on his back, utterly defenseless.

Ash pushes Aidan's knees open and shoves inside hard, hard enough so that Aidan's gaze flickers, and he feels that rush of triumph.

"God." Aidan moans, and Ash leans forward to kiss him hungrily. Aidan's cock is trapped between them rubbing hot and slick against Ash's skin.

Ash finds the angle easily by the minute changes in Aidan's face, the hitch in his breathing, and then he drives into him, pounding him with short, sharp thrusts, until Aidan's coming apart under him, moaning his name over and over.

And then Aidan gives that choked gasp and comes, spattering hot on Ash's stomach and chest, and Ash loses it, coming hard.

They lie there in a panting, sticky mess, and then Ash hauls himself up.

He doesn't look at Aidan as he cleans himself off with the wipes from his father's desk drawer, slowly, feeling Aidan's eyes on him again. His shirt is spattered with cum, so he takes it off, crumbling it up and tossing it into the waist basket, before he puts his waistcoat on. It will work as well as a shirt.

Then he pulls his trousers back up, and turns back. Aidan looks utterly wrecked, blond hair tousled and cheeks still flushed, belly smeared and glistening. It's a gorgeous sight, and Ash thinks that he could look at it for a long time without getting bored.

"Should I leave you here like that?" He asks, smirking. "Till morning?"

"You wouldn't." Aidan says.

"I might." Ash says, pretending to consider. "Only I wouldn't want my dad to have a heart attack when he came in and found you."

He reaches over, and unties the tie. There are marks, ever so faint, on Aiden's wrists. Aidan rubs his wrists automatically, long fingers circling his wrists. The gesture reminds Ash of the way Aidan's fingers look curled around his cock, and his mouth goes dry. He coughs a little, and reaches out to drag Aidan up.

Aidan gets dressed. He has the quick, efficient gestures gestures of someone who was never allowed to leave the house looking anything other than neat, clean, and presentable. When he finishes buttoning up his shirt, he looks at Ash expectantly. "Can I have my tie?" He asks, with a little smile. There's a slightly flush to his cheeks,

Ash smile sweetly. "No way. I'm keeping this horrific thing. It doesn't even deserve to be called a tie."

Aidan looks overly distraught by the idea of leaving the office without a tie - his hand goes up to rub at his naked throat, and Ash finds himself untying the scarf he's wearing.

"Here then." He says, tying the scarf deftly around Aidan's throat. He knots it, and pulls the knot to the side at a proper jaunty angle. The dark blue of the silk blooms lush against the gold of Aidan's skin. Ash nods approvingly. "Perfect."

"Does this make me an honorary gypsy?" Aidan asks.

"Being a gypsy has nothing to do with honor." Ash tells him gravely.

Aidan's smile is bright and sudden like the sun after a rain. "So, no honor among tie thieves?"

"None." Ash says, feeling an answering smile tug at his own lips.