Call Me Back Again

CHAPTER 22

Liverpool Pride - 29 July 2017

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Someday soon, John thought, he'd have no choice but to commit homicide. And he'd get away with it too because clearly, not a single judge in the world would blame him for strangling Mike Mac with the power cord of the hoover the insufferable git just plugged in.

After some idle noise, which was so annoying it made John wonder why they'd gotten one of those bagless cyclone things in the first place, the steady back and forth of someone hoovering the downstairs area could be heard. John groaned loudly, tried to block out the sound of someone's compulsive need to start cleaning at an ungodly hour by covering his head with his pillow and failed. Too much noise, not enough pillow. Life was unfair.

John sighed in defeat as he extracted his face from the warm skin of the bloke snoring softly in his arms - how could that git sleep through so much noise anyway? - and released Paul's toned frame to grab his phone. He wasn't wearing his contacts yet and would be damned if he put on his glasses so John held the thing about an inch from his nose and squinted hard, eventually reaching the conclusion that the numbers on the home screen, which still featured Paul's double 'up yours' gesture, read 8:57. His first instinct was to yell, but he stopped himself at the last moment because even though they hadn't gone to sleep until sometime after two, his alarm was due to go off in three minutes anyway. John never set an alarm on Saturday but he had a very good reason this time, and it instantly made him smile.

It was his wedding day.

"Get up," he finally murmured at the comatose figure to his left. If John was to be marrying in several hours' time, then the person he was going to get married to had better be awake and present too. When Paul refused to move, John spurred him on by giving him a good, firm slap on his bare arse. That, at least, elicited a response, even if it was little more than a vague moan which brought back fond memories of the previous night. "Oi, Sleeping Beauty! Wake up, you lazy cunt."

The black mop of hair shifted, and a pair of bleary hazel eyes blinked slowly at John. "What did you just call me?"

"Erm... Sleeping Beauty?"

Well, that one was new. Not particularly original, but new. It was surprising, really, that it had taken John two years to use it, given how he was always raving about Paul's looks. "Well I'm awake now, aren't I? Might I suggest you hold off on the abuse until after we're married, John? More difficult for you to get rid of me that way."

John saw the cheeky wink and snorted loudly. It felt good to know Paul had dealt with his past to the point of being able to joke about it. Nothing proved the level of mutual trust they had more than that. "Aye, good point. Remind me to smack you about some more tonight or something, right? Give us a kiss?"

"You're not supposed to kiss the bride before the wedding, you know," Paul chuckled whilst John puckered his lips in the silliest way imaginable. "It's bad luck."

"Good thing you're not my bride then, right?"

Trying to push John off him, Paul only barely kept himself from squealing like a little girl but then he did nearly fall off the bed due to being tickled on that one spot just below his ribs where he was most ticklish. "That's not what you've been saying for... How long has it been since you asked me?" He decidedly grabbed John's wrists and kept them at a safe distance. No more ticking as far as he was concerned. Well, unless he was the one doing it to John...

"Nine months," John pouted. "But fine, don't kiss me. Your breath stinks anyway."

"So does yours. Never stopped us before, has it?" He frowned at the incessant noise that he'd noticed before, but hadn't really paid much mind. It sounded like... "Bloody hell, why is Mike hoovering?"