Jack Ladd's Blog

Oscar takes on Room 1 of Laurie’s dungeon.

Oscar B.A. Part 26

First one hand, slowly followed by its partner. Then a third and fourth together.

Sixteen fingers and four thumbs. Their owner’s unknown but intentions, against my bound, naked flesh, clear as day in the pitch-black of a white, leather blindfold.

Soft and kind, paradoxical caresses from rough, strong fingers and wide, weathered palms. My pleasure, their aim.

Every nerve of my being firing crackling bolts as massaging tips and thumbs kneaded muscles and smoothed my practically flawless, teenage skin.

A thin smear of scentless body oil pumped from an unknown source ensuring a slick, scintillating warmth. The sounds of excited mouths and bodies the only constant below gentle, sporadic chimes of taut metal chains. Long, thankful breaths and smacking lips a record-like crackle to my heightened senses.

The first pair of hands enjoyed my arms, pulled above me. Every finger took its time, exploring my biceps, triceps, forearms and armpits. Tracing my veins with wide yet adept tips.

Continue reading here.

Please be advised the above link will take you to a story that contains explicit descriptions of a sexual nature and should not be viewed by anyone under the age of 18, or if it’s prohibited in the country of your residence.

Like what you read? Support my writing in coffee form here.

Want more? Find my full length tales, Oscar and Oscar Down Under, Part One, on:

Amazon US, Amazon UK, Amazon Australia (now available in paperback)

iBooks / Smashwords / Barnes & Noble

Thank you, and enjoy.

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Laurie leads Oscar down to his dungeon to three mystery doors and one hell of a centrepiece.

Oscar B.A. Part 25

Laurie’s dungeon was nothing like I’d imagined.

Following him into a small, two-person elevator hidden by tall, heavy curtains against the long hallway wall, I pictured black leather and dark rooms.

Dim lighting and industrial style. Concrete and exposed brick painted black. Black, waterproof plastic padding wipe clean.

Chains. Giant dispensers of lube. Condoms in a bucket. Chlorine on the air.

But no, this so-called dungeon was a million miles from the stereotype I had in mind.

Out from the elevator was a narrow corridor lit by expensive in-floor up-lighting that led, after only a few paces, to a wide-open, round room with long, white, ceiling-to-floor curtains covering the walls.

The floor was wooden but sealed, stained and polished with a light grey hue, and in the centre of the space, was a slightly raised circular platform.

All around the platform were comfortable and stylish recliners, presumably for break taking and refreshing, much like you’d find in a health club. Sporadically between a few seats were little tables with little buzzers, no doubt for calling in big masked butlers.

In lieu of a sky light was a large halo of bright white strip lighting, assumedly designed to simulate day light, complementing the up-lighting spanning the room’s circumference.

In fact, the only thing that seemed to fit the picture in my head, albeit painted white, was a ceiling of exposed, smooth brick.

And what was in the centre of the raised platform, of course. If it wasn’t for that, I would have sworn I’d passed out and woken up in a Hilton spa.

Walking up to the platform, my MDMA well and truly at full effect, I smacked my lips and said:

‘Not what I was expecting.’

Continue reading here.

Please be advised the above link will take you to a story that contains explicit descriptions of a sexual nature and should not be viewed by anyone under the age of 18, or if it’s prohibited in the country of your residence.

Like what you read? Support my writing in coffee form here.

Want more? Find my full length tale, Oscar Down Under, Part One on:

Amazon US, Amazon UK, Amazon Australia (now available in paperback)

iBooks / Smashwords / Barnes & Noble

Thank you, and enjoy.

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As Oscar’s high reaches dazzling heights, he spills his secret to Laurie.

Oscar B.A. Part 24

Laurie’s martini tasted like his presence.

Small, sharp and strong it was ice cold. Then it burned, carrying the class-A cargo I’d just swallowed, as if a trail of gasoline had been lit down my throat.

‘Yipee-ki-yay, motherf*cker,’ I heard myself say before realising I had; the fiery stream igniting a store of adrenaline seemingly hidden away in my gut until that moment.

Or, perhaps, it was simply the two pills beginning to fizz and bubble in my booze-enriched stomach acid.

One to lift me to dazzling, sweaty heights of abandon. To carry me away from reality on surging psychedelic waves of amphetamine floodwater. Push, pull and drown me in a writhing, hedonistic mass of lust, lips and limbs

Pain suppressed. Pleasure tenfold. Inhibitions banished.

Not that I have many.

Continue reading here.

Please be advised the above link will take you to a story that contains explicit descriptions of a sexual nature and should not be viewed by anyone under the age of 18, or if it’s prohibited in the country of your residence.

Like what you read? Support my writing by buying me a coffee here.

Want more? Find my full length tale, Oscar Down Under, Part One on:

Amazon US, Amazon UK, Amazon Australia (now available in paperback)

iBooks / Smashwords / Barnes & Noble

Thank you, and enjoy.

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Oscar and Laurie’s paths finally cross, but does Oscar have any chance at all?

Oscar B.A. Part 23

They say people come in all shapes and sizes, and unless you’re a model at an Andrew Christian white party, they’re not wrong.

But life is more than shapes and sizes. Fleeting surface qualities too many of us either can’t seem to see past, or put far too much importance in.

Mankind is beautiful for its imperfections and eccentricities. Gems found deeper, under the skin. Treasures in people who know there’s more to life than what they see.

These people, just by being, refuse to go with the flow. They’re naturally averse to blending in regardless of how generic they seem or try to be.

Inside, they’re unique.

Special.

Which is wonderful. I love diversity. Thrive on it.

Even as a thankless, feckless, manipulative teen, I found myself naturally repelled by beige buffets of most varieties. I liked the weirdos and the freaks, because I was one.

Not that I knew at the time.

Continue reading here.

Please be advised the above link will take you to a story that contains explicit descriptions of a sexual nature and should not be viewed by anyone under the age of 18, or if it’s prohibited in the country of your residence.

Like what you read? Support my writing by buying me a coffee here.

Want more? Find my full length tale, Oscar Down Under, Part One on:

Amazon US, Amazon UK, Amazon Australia (now available in paperback)

iBooks / Smashwords / Barnes & Noble

Thank you, and enjoy.

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Oscar and Richard arrive at Laurie’s country manor house ready to party hard. But will Oscar secure the future he wants?

Oscar B.A. Part 22

Fickle.

On the list of eff-words that have followed me around like a bad smell, it’s up there in the top three.

A word I let define me for too long, and a word I vividly remember learning at eight years old one summer Sunday afternoon.

Mum had given me a choice between two ice-lollies after a day running about the park with the neighbourhood kids while Dad had stayed home to make a roast.

Fruit Pastille lolly or a Feast.

‘Our secret,’ she’d said with a wink, holding them out.

The choice had been as easy as pie. Hadn’t even heard of the first one, so naturally I’d jumped at the promise of a nutty chocolate coating over chocolate ice-cream before that thick, chunky slab of cocoa-goodness in the middle.

But when Mum had opened hers, and I’d seen its vibrant rainbow layers glistening in the sun, my mind had changed before she’d finished unwrapping.

‘Here you go, you fickle little monster,’ she’d said chuckling, taking the Feast and swapping.

In that moment, I’d understood what the new word had meant. How, if I wasn’t happy with what I had, I didn’t have to accept it.

Don’t have to settle for second best.

Continue reading here.

Please be advised the above link will take you to a story that contains explicit descriptions of a sexual nature and should not be viewed by anyone under the age of 18, or if it’s prohibited in the country of your residence.

Like what you read? Support my writing by buying me a coffee here.

Want more? Find my full length tale, Oscar Down Under, Part One on:

Amazon US, Amazon UK, Amazon Australia (now available in paperback)

iBooks / Smashwords / Barnes & Noble

Thank you, and enjoy.

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My first two novels have had makeovers.

I’m absolutely head over heels in love with the new looks for my two tales, Oscar and Oscar Down Under: Part One.

Designed and realised by the talented Meredith Russell, my new covers represent the different ideas and genres of each book with more clarity. As well as looking pretty damn swish (even if I say so myself).

Oscar, the first in my prequel series following the emotional and psychological decline of my protagonist-cum-antagonist, Oscar, now reflects its dark, often harrowing story line through this thought-provoking and moody new design.

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Oscar Down Under: Part One, a story of self-discovery as Oscar learns how to change his life for the better after a one-way trip to Sydney, now reflects the colour and joy he wants to and does bring into his life.

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Like my new covers? Let me know your thoughts down in the comments.

Happy reading!

Oscar has his mind blown by Richard, but like all great things, will it last?

Caution: the following excerpt contains descriptions of a sexual nature and S&M themes, and should not be viewed by anyone under the age of 18.

Oscar B.A. Part 21

Being beaten by a man almost twice my age and size for over an hour, by choice, was an experience I’ll never forget.

Doped up on expensive booze and class As. Tied up. Roughed up.

For most part, playing the role of Richard’s sub was sensational. Better than sensational. A state of body and mind I’d thought I’d experienced plenty of times, arse up on some stranger’s bed.

A foot on the side of my head.

But, as reality had rapidly sunk in, I realised I’d barely scratched the surface. In his commanding presence, Richard’s supremacy was like fire and ice.

He shivered over my body before igniting my gut, sizzling and simmering fast before pouring out and into my extremities.

Continue reading the next chapter of Oscar Bachelor of Arts here.

Please be advised the above link will take you to a story that contains explicit descriptions of a sexual nature and S&M themes, and should not be viewed by anyone under the age of 18, or if it’s prohibited in the country of your residence.

Want more? Find my full length tale, Oscar Down Under, Part One on:

Amazon US, Amazon UK, Amazon Australia (now available in paperback)

iBooks

Smashwords

Barnes & Noble

Thank you, and enjoy.

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Ho ho ho, who fancies a short Christmas romance? Find my story on Amazon here.

Happy holidays one and all,

This year, I was lucky enough to be a part of the Rainbow Advent Calendar, a great big Christmassy giveaway organised by the superhuman and very talented, Alex Jane.

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In a chestnut shell (sorry), every year Alex manages to corral a bunch of us writers (think herding kittens but in tiny Santa hats), and asks us to write a Christmas-themed story, with all the trimmings, which we then give as our gift to you, our readers, over the month of December.

Amazing, right?

My story, The Epiphany Party, is a modern gay romance short story. Think contemporary queer lit meets Barbara Cartland, a style different to my current series, but something I’ve always wanted to have a stab at.

Find my story on Amazon here.

Big love,

Jack

PS: if you like my story, be sure to check out the other talented authors here, or say hi and tell us what you think over at the Facebook group.

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Ho ho ho, who fancies a free Christmas romance?

Happy holidays one and all,

This year, I was lucky enough to be a part of the Rainbow Advent Calendar, a great big Christmassy giveaway organised by the superhuman and very talented, Alex Jane.

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In a chestnut shell (sorry), every year Alex manages to corral a bunch of us writers (think herding kittens but in tiny Santa hats), and asks us to write a Christmas-themed story, with all the trimmings, which we then give as our gift to you, our readers.

Amazing, right?

My story, The Epiphany Party, is pasted below, or you can download a PDF copy here.

Think modern gay romance meets Barbara Cartland, a style different to my current series, but something I’ve always wanted to have a stab at.

Hope you enjoy, and most importantly, have a wonderful Christmas.

Big love,

Jack

PS: if you like my story, be sure to check out the other talented authors here, or say hi and tell us what you think over at the Facebook group.

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‘You’re going,’ Hazel said.

She loved her twin brother dearly, and felt for him, but she needed his head in the game.

The drive back from London had been smooth, present company surprisingly included, but there was still so much to get done before the masses arrived.

Aunts, uncles, cousins, partners and children. Neighbours and friends from the village. Plus ones.

Nana Smyth, their sole surviving grand-parent and her seemingly immortal yet utterly glamorous entourage of elderly elite.

Hazel zipped through her cerebral checklist. The staff had stocked the fridges, freezers and wine fridges, and the larders, storerooms, chillers and cellar were good to go.

All the presents were accounted for and had been wrapped fabulously, obviously not by her, and, in theory, all she needed to do was wrangle some of the older cousins to help her heat and serve the canapes and banquet Harry, the head chef, had whipped up yesterday.

But Hazel couldn’t do it alone. And she really didn’t need one of Toby’s sulk-fests.

‘I’m a foul wreck of a human,’ he said, slumped in her Boca do Lobo armchair. ‘How could I go to his party?’

Hazel tilted her head to the left. Just a little. Exactly like her father had when they were naughty. Not mean but stern. Calm frustration personified.

‘You’re not horrible, Toby. You had a moment of severe weakness. But you’re going. You need to,’ she said, a glass of Dom in her left hand and her right thumb idly smoothing the band of a gorgeous new emerald adorning her middle finger.

An incredulous look now across her face. A face considered stunning by a few but striking by all.

Carved through exclusive breeding, hers was a bloodline renowned among the higher echelons for its long, powerful nose, dazzlingly blue-grey eyes and thick, red lips.

Not to mention buckets of old money.

Distinguished characteristics Hazel had no qualms capitalising on, accompanied by a wardrobe of suitable proportions.

Sniffing out bullshit head to toe in Prada, searching for opportunity in Stella, and swaying boardrooms with a snarl worthy of Jean Paul Gaultier. That was Hazel Adelaide Warrington-Smyth.

Today of all days, however, she needed more than a signature smile, Colgate-worthy wink and pastel mint Chanel to help Toby.

‘I can’t, Haze,’ he said, throwing himself on his twin sister’s bed; the four ancient posts shuddering in unison.

Rolling onto his back, Toby picked up his mother’s old hand mirror from his sister’s pillow and held it in front of his face.

With a bunched-up wrist of deep red, cashmere sweater, he wiped off a finger smudge before ripping away one of Hazel’s long brown hairs wrapped around the handle. Then, after a long groan, he said:

‘I’m a mess.’

‘Pfft,’ Hazel said, flicking her thick chestnut mane, perching on her bed and patting him gently on the stomach he’d, much to her annoyance, never had trouble keeping toned. ‘It’s not what you look like that’s the issue.’

‘I know,’ he said, his muscled arms splayed.

After a slurp of ice-cold breakfast bubbles, Hazel studied Toby’s face for ten seconds; the soft champagne hiss bubbling below excited radio chatter from the hall.

His steely eyes and Singapore sun-kissed skin from their recent winter-sun break. His strong jaw and well-groomed beard as peppered with grey as his thick head of dark brown hair. His red lips and Roman nose.

Then she belched, loud and foul, and blew the stinking cloud at his face.

‘Get over yourself, Tobes.’

‘How?’ he said, taking the full waft without flinching.

‘RSVP yes and grow a pair of ovaries.’

‘But how can I after last night?’

Rolling her eyes so hard they would have rolled across the carpet, Hazel walked to the window, placed her glass on her sideboard and wrenched open the heavy velvet curtains.

In that first second, blinded by sunlight, she felt sad.

A deep, cold sadness primed to sink its fangs and tear until she was ragged and weak.

She missed her parents the most at Christmas.

But, she’d been waiting for it.

Waiting for her black dog to rear its ugly head. Despite Toby’s extra drama, this year, she was prepared.

Taking a deep breath, she popped a Rudolf nose on her imaginary canine, shooed it away and smiled as the crisp morning sunlight lit twirling lint and the tell-tale tinkle of Mariah Carey began to play outside her door.

Three storeys below, the grounds were glorious.

Covered in a sprinkling of white, every tree, shrub, statue and bridge brought back childhood memories.

Snow angels and snowball fights. Entire families of snow people. Running inside to warm up by the fire with hot chocolate. Finishing school and waiting for what seemed like years.

For Christmas.

That pine-scented morning, Dad on the grand singing festive covers as the family alarm clock. Presents from under the tree when everyone had arrived.

Hazel’s stomach rumbled for Granny Warrington’s mince pies. Full, crispy, perfectly baked goodness but only one. Just while Mum and Dad had scrambled around a kitchen normally managed by a minimum of three.

Then Hazel’s gaze fell to the empty Gardener’s house, a brick box on the horizon past the main gardens, strong and ivy-clad.

She felt seven again, racing to grab Toby one Christmas afternoon. The adults were drinking wine and laughing so much now was their chance.

“We can play in the snow!”

Gentle, twirling, powdery snow that had whipped into a blizzard, no more than ten minutes after they’d dashed into the heart of the hedge maze, throwing snowballs and giggling their heads off.

If Franklin the scary old gardener, who never left the estate, hadn’t seen the flash of colourful coats, they would have frozen to death.

But, sitting in his home, drinking her first ever mulled cider utterly captivated by his stories, Hazel had finally understood what her brother always said.

Franklin isn’t scary at all.

Gnarled, lined and missing a couple of teeth, Franklin had considered her parents his family.

He, and half the staff, had practically raised Cliff Warrington, Hazel and Toby’s father, and when Cliff had married Sylvia Smyth, the love of his life, they’d welcomed her with open arms.

Neither of their parents had really wanted the lives they’d both known would be theirs, but, when the time had come, they became better “masters of the manor” than any before.

According to Franklin, the Warrington-Smyths were the “dog’s bollocks”.

And not just because they’d been generous with their wealth. A phenomenal wealth thanks to great-great-great grandfather Arlo Eugene Warrington’s interest in property, and great-great-great grandmother Adelaide Clarissa Smyth’s eye for fine art.

And when Sylvia and Cliff had united the rival dynasties Romeo and Juliet style, forming the globally-recognised Warrington-Smyth name, even royalty had clamoured for a wedding invite.

But, none of the glitz and glamour had mattered. Hazel’s mum and dad had only wanted to make the world a better place. All while being the kindest, most caring, loving parents Franklin had ever met.

Hazel held back a tear.

Ever since she’d thawed, starry-eyed by the gardener’s fire, her perception of an old man maturing, she’d vowed to carry the Warrington-Smyth name with pride.

Just like Mum and Dad.

Toby, however, now face-down on her bed, was getting on her tits.

Born thirteen seconds before her, Toby shared Hazel’s world view, but didn’t always practice it.

He was a good man. Handsome, kind and intelligent. He was funny and caring and loved the people in his life.

If you ever needed Toby Eugene Warrington-Smyth, he’d drop any date, dinner, black-tie, soiree or, on a few occasions, holiday.

But, if it interfered with whatever business proposal he was whipping into reality, well, take a number.

An arguably wise trait that, over the last five years with his sister by his side, had allowed Toby to flawlessly expand Warrington-Smyth Enterprises, aka WSE, from energy and infrastructure into publishing and media.

“Pies masterfully fingered” he would joke to only his closest companions, toasting recent successes with carefully considered cocktails.

Hendrick’s Martini with a cucumber twist for energy, old fashioned for infrastructure and negroni for media. Publishing always an ice-cold beer by the pool, indoor if necessary, reading whichever best-seller he now produced.

But, in the moist, suffocating darkness of Hazel’s bedspread, Toby shuddered. Then he turned his head, took a deep breath and resumed the position.

He had finally put the family business before something far more important.

‘Please?’ he said, sitting up and opening his arms.

‘No chance,’ Hazel said, cross-legged in the Boca and looking fiercer than ever. ‘I’m not the one you should be hugging.’

‘But I feel broken.’

‘Perhaps that’s a good thing?’

‘How could you say that?’

Dad-face fell away in an instant to reveal Hazel at her scariest. Sass-factor ten.

‘After things break, they get fixed,’ she said.

‘Meaning?’

Toby was offended. He’d felt the recoil in his face. Could feel the heat in his chest as his stomach knotted.

He usually liked how brutally honest Hazel was, but now it stung.

‘You think I need fixing?’ he said.

‘The truth is rough but it’s real. You’re thirty-four, Toby. Way past playing it off as charming enthusiasm. Something’s wrong.’

He said nothing, the burn in his heart cooling to cold, hard truth.

‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘There are two things that need fixing. Me, and him. Well, us. I need to explain everything.’

‘Of you go then.’

‘What? Now?’

She said nothing.

‘Don’t be thick,’ Toby said, ‘It’s Christmas morning.’

‘So?’

‘So they’ll be in church.’

‘You know they’re not religious.’

Idiot, Toby thought. Of course she knows.

‘I need to stay and help you with the house, then,’ he said.

Toby immediately regretted saying “then” at the end of his sentence. A flicker in Hazel’s eye confirmed it: her bullshit detector was as finely tuned as ever.

But, like a burp, another excuse came up and out before he could close his mouth.

‘Well they’ll–’

‘No wells, Tobes. Pull your head out of your arse and go. Keep it short and sweet. Let him say anything he wants and don’t make excuses. Then, even if he tells you to play in traffic, tell him you’ll be at his party. Tell him you’re sorry and give him time. The sooner you apologise the easier it’ll be when you beg for forgiveness at Epiphany.’

‘I don’t think I can, Haze.’

Hazel stood in frustration, champagne almost sloshing, and said, ‘Yes you can.’

‘You really think I should?’

‘Christ Toby we don’t have time for this.’

‘Alright, don’t get snippy.’

‘You know I have every reason!’

The night before, Hazel and Toby had hosted their annual Christmas Eve bash.

A tradition running back in the Warrington family almost fifty years, it was at the same place as ever: the family’s private dining room at the Langham, Mayfair.

Nothing big, just a catch up over an intimate, seven-course degustation for forty-two, including esteemed colleagues, clients and old chums.

One of which was Jacob Shaw.

Jacob was Hazel and Toby’s estate manager, as well as best friend, ever since their first day at school. But he didn’t come from a family like theirs.

Eleanor and Jeffrey Shaw were the owners and landlords of the village pub, and Jacob wouldn’t have crossed paths with his future besties if Eleanor hadn’t realised how clever her boy was.

So smart Jacob had received a full scholarship to St. Harrow’s, the grand, dusty institution Warringtons, Smyths and Warrington-Smyths had been attending for generations.

Within hours the three kids were as thick as thieves and it stayed that way throughout childhood. All the way until boarding at Rugby had called Hazel and Toby away, leaving Jacob to the local grammar.

But, each winter, Jacob’s family hosted their Epiphany Party, on the twelfth day of Christmas for everyone in the village, and the three friends would sneak booze and get drunk in the graveyard next door.

When they were sixteen, during one of those crisp, hazy afternoons, Hazel realised Toby was in love with Jacob, and Jacob was in love with Toby.

She didn’t know how she knew, other than an intuition she’d begun to be aware of yet didn’t fully understand, but convincing herself otherwise was akin to saying the sky was yellow.

Yet to a dismay she’d kept quiet in fear of snuffing sparks, both boys were oblivious. Said they saw each other as friends.

It hadn’t helped the two never-failed to attract attention. Throughout uni, Jacob, with his flawless style and athletic body, always had a boyfriend or three. And there’d been an endless supply of mysterious, rich suitors whisking Toby to some private island or resort. Or, if one was ever single, the other wasn’t and vice versa.

Then none of that had mattered.

Three weeks after their twenty-eighth birthday, Hazel and Toby lost their parents. Their private jet went down in the Atlantic during a routine flight to America. Their bodies, along with the pilot and two crew, were never recovered.

Every paper on the planet reported it for weeks and it shook the family to its foundations. Without Jacob, who quit his city planning job in London to help, both Hazel and Toby would have been buried under the responsibility of the estate alone.

And when the boardrooms of the family business had called, Jacob, against his mother’s wishes, had volunteered to stay on.

The three had lived in harmony ever since, if not the harmony Hazel had long filed away under “never gonna happen”.

Which was why, this bright, beautiful, crisp morning, Hazel didn’t have the time to deal with Toby and Christmas.

Even if she could process the raging storm of emotions, from utter joy that one of them had finally seen the light to disappointment and searing rage at the other’s behaviour, there weren’t enough minutes in the day.

Turning from the window, Mariah belting out the final few bars in the hall, Hazel’s red-nosed black dog barked and, for a brief moment, her usual diamond composure cracked.

‘I can’t fucking believe you Toby!’

Toby jumped at his sister’s outburst and clammed up sharpish.

‘How could you do that to him?’ Hazel said, pacing her bedroom; the clack-clack of family-friendly three-inchers against sleek, polished hardwood.

‘Please believe me when I say I’m disgusted at myself.’

‘You so fucking should be,’ Hazel said, memories of the night before flashing.

After dinner up at their Langham suite. Negronis flowing.

Jacob taking Toby by the shoulders. Confessing his love.

And, for a fleeting second, Hazel had seen it in her twin’s eye. She’d even felt it in her heart: the glimmer of a Christmas miracle.

But, Toby had invited up his new friends, Davide and Clarence, a repugnant pair of classist, pompous arseholes with connections he needed.

Desperately needed to successfully launch the PR agency he’d spent six months building from the ground up.

Toby had seen their scowls and sneers. Repulsion at the commoner punching above his weight. So, he’d laughed.

Laughed in Jacob’s face with the gruesome twosome, brushing the confession aside as drunken nonsense.

But before Hazel had had the chance to do anything, red fury roaring, Jacob had slipped through the busy room and left.

Truth was, if Toby hadn’t come knocking on her hotel room that morning, his face streaming tears, followed by a display of utmost remorse during the entire two-hour car journey home, Hazel wouldn’t even be talking to him.

Let alone have given him the cashmere.

The emerald helped.

‘What you did was crueller than anything you’ve ever done, Tobes,’ Hazel said, back at her window. ‘And you know mum and dad would be so disappointed in you.’

Toby said nothing, but Hazel heard the sigh of a head being hung.

Turning she walked over, lifted his chin with her index finger and smiled her kindest smile. The one that made her look like Sylvia.

‘But you can make it up to him,’ she said. ‘You need to apologise and then grovel, and then beg him on your knees to forgive you so the two of you can finally be together.’

Toby scoffed. Said, ‘Even if he still wants me, you really think Jacob and I could work?’

Downing her glass in one, she chuckled. Said, ‘Tobes, I’ve known since we were kids.’

Toby’s face turned puzzled, then he said, ‘Why haven’t you ever said anything?’

Hazel shrugged. Said, ‘I hoped the two of you would figure it out for yourselves.’

‘I realised this morning when I woke up. I mean, really realised … I knew the moment my eyes opened.’

‘Well,’ Hazel said, lifting the Epiphany Party invite from a pile of Christmas cards and throwing it at him. ‘What are you going to do about it?

Jacob had woken in his childhood bedroom with a mouth like his mother’s sense of humour.

Then, wondering why he wasn’t at the Langham, his stomach had twisted and, after swallowing a surge of vomit, he’d remembered.

Remembered summoning the courage with four-too-many cocktails, taking a deep breath, tapping Toby on the shoulder and saying fuck it to the universe.

Feeling, for the thinnest slice of time, that he was on top of the world. That the man he loved was about to make his dreams come true.

Then laughter.

Four, small sounds that had slashed and ripped his heart to shreds. Breaths betraying a lifetime of friendship followed by a late-night train home to his parents in tears.

Safely sat at the bar of Eleanor and Jeffrey’s pub with the faint smell of stale beer on the air, and a Berocca fizzing deep orange in the third pint of water that morning, Jacob was barely holding it together.

He was devastated. And furious.

All while hanging like the gardens of Babylon, trying his best to put a brave face on because it was the bastarding-twenty-fifth-of-buggering-December.

Half of him wanted to curl up in a ball and weep, while the other longed to find Toby and scream in his face until the pain and sadness stopped bleeding from his eyes.

After everything I’ve done for him, he couldn’t even take me to one side. All he could do was laugh.

Sighing, Jacob tried to focus on the day through the haze of his hangover. Luckily he had plenty of things on his plate.

Potatoes needed peeling, turkey needed basting and the dining table wasn’t set.

The doorbell.

‘I’ll get it,’ called Eleanor, her usual apathetic tone an octave higher. ‘Oh I do love waking up with you in the house at Christmas.’

Jacob smiled as his mum practically skipped down the stairs, lifted the bar hatch and ruffled his hair on the way to the door.

Eleanor’s once-a-year possession by the festive spirit usually annoyed him, but today he was grateful for her cheer.

A cheer that audibly reverted the moment the door latch clicked and the front door was opened.

‘You have some bloody cheek, young man.’

His heart instantly pounding, Jacob stood from his stool as quickly as he dared.

‘Hello Ella,’ he heard Toby say. Feebly. ‘Merry Christmas.’

‘That’s Mrs. Shaw to you, and you can shove your Merry Christmas up your pompous arse.’

Grabbing his jacket, Jacob stepped forward but stopped. Eleanor was Little Bucking’s very own Peggy Mitchell. Her pub, her rules.

He deserves it.

‘I always thought you were better than that, Toby Warrington-Smyth. Better than those uptight twats who magically appear after one of your parties, pissed as farts at ten in the morning, rude to my staff and coming down in my clean toilets. But you’re not, are you? You act all charming and sweet but when it boils down to it all that matters to you is money.’

Silence, other than the gentle breath of winter and a lone robin.

‘That’s not true,’ Toby finally said.

Red descended and within seconds Jacob was pulling on his jacket, asking his mum to give them a minute and the outside was biting at his cheeks.

Closing the door behind him, Jason grabbed Toby by the arm and marched him away. At the end of the cobbled pathway by the gate to the church, a light powdery snow dancing around them, he let go.

‘What are you doing?’ Jacob said, anger hot enough to melt falling flakes. ‘Come to laugh at the pauper some more?’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Toby said.

‘You should be.’

‘Please, can we talk?’

‘No. That’s what last night was for.’

Toby looked at his feet. Said nothing.

‘You humiliated me, Toby. You made me feel like shit on your shoe, all so you could what? Impress yet more fuckwits who don’t matter?’

‘Hey, come on, I wasn’t the one who accosted you in front of potential business partners to drop that … bombshell.’

‘Oh fuck you and your business partners. You’re trying to steal their clients.’

Toby said nothing.

‘And don’t tell me you can’t find another pair of celebrity-chasing pricks to squeeze,’ Jacob said.

‘I actually can’t,’ Toby said, frustration poking him in the belly. ‘Not like them anyway. They’re the best of the best.’

‘Jesus Christ, Toby! You’re doing it again.’

‘Doing what?’

Jacob took a deep breath, shook his head and laughed. Said, ‘You don’t understand.’

‘I do,’ Toby said reaching out his hands.

‘No, you don’t,’ Jacob said, taking a step back and out of his grasp.

His heart jumped to his throat. Tears swelled behind glistening green eyes. His voice cracked:

‘Come on, Toby, you have enough money for a thousand lifetimes.’

‘What’s this got to do with money? I just panicked.’

‘You panicked? Was what I said really that terrifying?’

‘Not at all.’

Reaching out again, Toby managed to land a hand on Jacob’s arm. For a second, Jacob let him.

But only a second.

‘Do you even love me back?’ Jacob said, his vivid stare fixed on Toby’s footprint in the snow: he’d bought him those boots.

Jacob looked up to find Toby’s glacial blue gaze on his.

‘Yes,’ Toby said. ‘More than anything. All I need is a few more months and I’ll never have to see those colossal arseholes ever again.’

Familiar fury flared. One from years of missing his best friend because he’d been too busy closing this or that deal, stuck in a meeting until the early hours. An anger so old and so hot Jacob was forced to take another breath.

Then, through clenched teeth and a pounding head, he said, ‘You need to leave.’

‘What? Why?’ Toby said.

‘I can’t see you right now. I need to figure out what I’m going to do with my life.’

‘But I just said I love–’

‘No,’ Jacob interrupted, his voice quiet but far from soft. ‘All you’ve proved is how much you love WSE. Which is ok. I understand why you’d be so ferociously loyal. It’s your family for god’s sake. But it confirms everything I’ve been terrified of, trembling at the thought of telling you how I feel. I’ll always come second, and I need a man who sees me as an equal. That’s not you.’

Toby didn’t know what to say, frozen in the cold. Jacob wiped away a tear and shrugged.

‘Now I need to accept that and move on,’ Jacob said.

Toby’s heart sank faster than any boardroom disaster. All the way down into his feet until the words he’d desperately wanted to say tripped over themselves.

Then the man he loved silently walked away.

Hazel knew.

How she knew she still didn’t know, but as the heat of the busy pub rushed against her tingling skin, she felt sixteen again.

And not just because, all those years ago, she’d been the only one still small enough to duck below the bar like a ninja and rob a bottle of voddy from the storeroom while Jacob and Toby had kept the Shaw’s busy.

No, her emerald sparkling in the fairy lights, Hazel knew something magical was about to happen.

An inkling quickly confirmed.

There, by the corner of the room near the bookshelf, her brother was making her best friend smile again.

And hey, she thought, a smile of her own reaching across her jaw as she watched Toby. He deserves it.

At first, Hazel thought Toby would never win Jacob back. Not after he’d completely ignored her advice on Christmas morning.

Then, she’d been surprised at how long it had taken Jacob to crack.

Especially after day nine. That had been a wonderful gift. One so smart and thoughtful she’d found a new level of respect for her brother.

But, she’d thoroughly enjoyed watching him work for something in his personal life with as much vigour as he would usually have channelled into the office.

And, most importantly, Hazel was proud Toby had fixed himself.

Forty-five minutes later, after the hellos and how-are-yous to her friends from the village, as well as plenty of nice-to-meet-yous to the new faces, Hazel got Jacob alone.

‘So,’ she said, slinking up to her bestie with two glasses of bubbles. ‘Fantastic turnout, as ever.’

‘Thanks, Haze,’ Jacob said holding her tight before taking a fizzing glass. ‘But we both know it’s a family effort.’ Then he frowned, reached out and squeezed Hazel’s hand. Said, ‘Sorry I didn’t see you on Christmas day. How you doing?’

Looking at her shoes, Hazel let out a long breath. Then she smiled and squeezed his hand back. Said, ‘They’d be proud of us.’

‘They would,’ Jacob said.

‘Especially Toby.’

Laughing, Jacob scratched the back of his head and tried to hold back a beam. Failed miserably.

‘After the last twelve days I can safely say I’ve seen a side to your brother I never thought I’d see.’

‘And?’ Hazel said, her teenage dream suddenly in her throat; her heart thumping like The Sonics blaring from the dancefloor speakers at the other end of the room.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever loved him more.’

Beaming herself, every tiny, invisible hair on Hazel’s shoulders down to her feet stretched in place like a mini-Mexican wave.

Chuckling, she said, ‘Some of the gifts, though. I mean, I get the sentiment, but that email? Talk about a partridge in a pear tree.’

Jacob said nothing.

‘A gift no one wants. I mean, would you want a partridge in a pear tree?’

Jacob laughed. Said, ‘Oh you mean the email he sent Christmas day? I don’t know, no one’s professed their love to me in CCed email while simultaneously telling two of the foulest pigs on earth to go screw themselves before.’

‘Didn’t exactly scream romance though, did it?’

‘No. It didn’t, I’ll give you that. But it made me feel better.’

‘I suppose,’ Hazel said, taking a long sip. ‘Especially followed by the rest.’

‘I know,’ Jacob said smiling smugly. ‘I’ve been spoilt.’

‘Bit of a cliché, though, don’t you think? Twelve gifts for the twelve days of Christmas.’

Jacob chuckled and said, ‘You know, I always thought that. But then someone actually did it for me.’

Then they both laughed and clinked their glasses, the chime of crystal barely audible over the hustle and bustle of Epiphany 2018.

‘I still can’t get over day nine,’ Hazel said.

Making a face like he was in shock, Jacob shook his head and said, ‘I was blown away. Still am.’

‘I have to take my hat of to him,’ Hazel said, both her and Jacob watching Toby dancing with Jacob’s mum, Eleanor. The latter two laughing and smiling and chatting like old friends. ‘It was a baller move.’

‘And it made mum happy, which was worth it alone.’

Hazel grinned. Said, ‘Here’s to you, our intrepid leader of WSE’s newest venture.’

They toasted again.

‘Why we’re only just branching into city planning is beyond me, but, we’ve always known you need to put your mark on this world.’

‘Plus, Toby really shouldn’t be shagging his estate manager,’ Jacob said.

Almost spitting her champagne everywhere, Hazel swallowed her mouthful and shot Jacob a look she’d been dying to shoot for years.

Laughing like a naughty kid, Jacob grinned and said, ‘Last night. He came over and we talked for hours. Ended up making up.’

‘So he’s fully forgiven?’

‘I meant for lost time,’ he said with a devious wink. They both laughed and Toby said, ‘But yeah, he’s forgiven.’

‘Finally!’ Hazel said. ‘You know I’ve been waiting for you two to get together ever since–’

‘Epiphany 2000. I know. Toby told me last night … Why haven’t you ever said anything?’

‘It wasn’t my place,’ Hazel said. ‘It’s like telling a girlfriend you hate her boyfriend and they end up getting married. Relationship ruined. Imagine if I’d told the two of you and forced it before it was ready. No, these things need to happen naturally.’

Neither of them spoke for a moment, enjoying the festive cheer and each other’s company. Then Hazel said:

‘Did he give you the final present? He won’t tell me what it is.’

‘Not yet,’ Jacob said. ‘But I told him I don’t need it. I mean, what else could he give me? Another new car or first-class trip to a destination of my choice? A better job? A happier family?’

The music suddenly cut and three loud chimes of metal against glass rang throughout the room. Hazel and Jacob looked around to see Eleanor Shaw standing on a table by the bar with a spoon in one hand, a glass of wine in the other and her husband primed to catch.

‘Speaking of,’ Hazel said.

‘Speech time,’ Jacob said. ‘Where’s your brother? He should be with us.’

‘I don’t know,’ Hazel said looking around the now quiet room; each person eagerly awaiting the landlady’s words.

But none of them were Toby.

‘Merry Christmas ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, and thank you once again for spending your Epiphany at Little Bucking’s favourite pub.’

‘Only pub!’ someone called from the crowd, hilarity ensuing.

‘Cheeky bugger,’ Eleanor Shaw said with a smile and a wink. ‘Regardless of what we are, from everyone here at the Rusty Bucket, as ever, we are humbled and proud to have you in our home. Merry Christmas!’

Raising her glass, the room copied, followed by a roar of applause.

‘This year, however,’ Eleanor said. ‘Before we get the food out, we have a very special surprise. So, if we could have a little shush.’

The room quiet again, bar excited whispers including Hazel and Jacob, Eleanor said, ‘Toby. If you will.’

Jacob’s heart began to pound. Hard and heavy like a drum in the simmering quiet of his family home as billions of butterflies swarmed his stomach.

The tingle Hazel had felt on her way inside suddenly returned, her skin goosepimply as she realised what was about to happen.

Toby felt sick to his stomach, with nerves, but also an excitement he was having trouble holding back. Half of him wanted to puke and the other wanted to run around the room squealing with joy.

Focus, he told himself.

Then, walking to the front of the gathered folk, he took a deep breath, calmed himself a final time and spoke.

‘Hello everyone, and thank you, Ella. For those who don’t know me, my name is Toby Warrington-Smyth. I live up at the big fancy house on the hill with my sister Hazel.’

Hazel’s face suddenly went red as a few people in her vicinity turned to gawk at her. Giving a small wave she nodded and smiled away the unexpected attention.

‘What the fuck is he doing?’ she whispered to Jacob.

‘No clue,’ he said, his heart still pounding, even though deep down he’d already guessed it.

‘I know everyone’s hungry, so I’ll keep it short and sweet,’ Toby said to a handful of polite laughs. ‘I’m standing here today because, twelve days ago, I did something very bad to a man I love.’

The room fell silent.

‘I treated that man the polar opposite to how I feel about him. He completes me, and I made him feel worthless.’

Now it was Jacob’s turn to go beetroot.

‘And, as some of you know, over the last twelve days I’ve been trying to make up for it with a gift each day.’

A resounding “aww” hummed into the room. Mainly from the women.

‘Today,’ Toby said taking one final deep breath before saying fuck it to the universe. ‘Is the final day … Could Jacob Shaw please come to the front?’

Like Toby was Moses, the crowd in front of Jacob parted like the Red Sea. Slowly at first but then suddenly, what was once a crowded pub, was now a direct path lined by smiling people.

By the time Jacob had reached the front, the silence was so thick it could have been sliced. Even the mice in the skirting boards were listening.

Then, Jacob almost cried. But, this time, tears of joy.

Getting down on one knee and pulling out a small box from his blazer pocket, was the man of his dreams.

His best friend and partner in crime.

‘I know there aren’t five of them,’ Toby said, opening the box to reveal a gold ring. ‘But what do you say? Will you make me the happiest man alive?’

Jacob didn’t need to think about his answer. The moment Toby’s final word had left his lips he was pulling him to his feet and kissing him.

Deep and real and passionate. Just like the cheers from the crowd.

Holding out his hand and feeling the smooth, chilled gold slide up his finger, Jacob looked into the blue eyes of his fiancé.

Then he said, ‘Of course I will.’

THE END

With Toby keeping Harry busy, Oscar meets Richard for dinner. But maybe this tall, handsome stranger is darker than Oscar thinks.

Oscar B.A. Part 20

It’s obvious what happened next: Harry came back into his room and right back into my life.

Not that he’d really left.

For a fleeting moment, as I’d climbed the twisting square stairway to our dorm floor, my body still aching in places I didn’t know could ache, I’d had a taste of freedom.

Told myself that greater things were on the horizon and Harry and I were done. A mantra repeated, over and over until I’d believed it, ensconced in Aston Martin leather.

Richard: the only man for me. Me: finally doing the right thing.

But, when Toby had opened the door, seducing me with undeniable logic and carnal beauty deep inside rich, hazel eyes, I’d cast away my good intentions quicker than he’d dropped to his knees.

Continue reading the next chapter of Oscar Bachelor of Arts here.

Please be advised the above link will take you to a story that contains explicit descriptions of a sexual nature and S&M themes, and should not be viewed by anyone under the age of 18, or if it’s prohibited in the country of your residence.

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Thank you, and enjoy.

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