Book 1. Finding A Way.

The Irish killjoy

Thursday 6 June.

-Wake up sleeping beauty!

-Mmh...! What the hell, growled the Irishman barely awake.

-Ho Jim you're still asleep, wondered Peter lowering his voice. I'm terribly sorry but can you shaken your boyfriend?

-He's not here, replied his interlocutor rubbing his face.

-What do you mean? He never get up so early.

-I don't know his schedule...now close that bloody door!

Jim heard the characteristic sound of closing then waited a moment to be sure that Peter wasn't listening to the door, what a way to start the day really!

-Come out from there Freddie, he demanded severely.

-Oh godness finally...huffed the rockstar. I couldn't breath anymore!

-You talk about an idea, all this to avoid a cleaning chore.

The Irishman rolled onto his side and the singer did the same to look him in the eyes; he started to stroke some strands of his hair.

-I prefer a cuddly morning than a cleaning morning, said Freddie tenderly.

-You know I don't like to lie, especially with my friends.

-Aww poor little thing, chuckled the singer. It sounds like Deaky.

Such sweet compliments and such a sensitive voice should be enough to make him smile but Jim kept his firm face. He had other concerns at the moment starting with his boyfriend's behavior who had been suspicious for some time and now his boss who was surelly to pull up his socks off. Without a word he started to remove the blanket but no sooner had he done that than Freddie rushed over to push him back into bed.

-May I know where you gonna go, comes the slightly provocative question.

-To work, answered Jim frowning.

-I forbid you formally, said Freddie with a burning look.

-I will be late, insisted his man more than ready to pushing him away.

-You're already late darling so why bother?

The rockstar had blood pulsing through his veins, he longed for this grumpy Irishman in the morning. Ignoring his reluctance and letting his instinct speak, he leaned over Jim to devour the thin skin of his neck; the latter didn't allow himself to be done and pushed him away several times with disconcerting ease. But his boyfriend was decidedly obstinate and the bed began to crack under their movements, which of course echoed around the house.

-I should have know, exclamed Peter who had returned to the bedroom.

-Shit, shouted the two lovers in echo.

-Freddie get your ass off this bed and go to the bathroom, ordoned Pheobe in a firm but non-threatening voice.

In a fraction of a second the singer clung to his man with his four limbs.

-You won't get me out of this bed!

-Freddie my skin, Jim squealed feeling his fingernails on his shoulders.

-Ha you don't want? You'll see if you don't want.

Delighted to be in slippers Peter grabbed one and walked over to the bed and with a rude blow hit Freddie on the boxers.

-OW! You bloody piece of...!

-Language, snapped Phoebe. Come on hurry up and go.

Hissing between his teeth and rubbing his buttocks, the singer finally got up and as soon as he walked past Peter he gave him a more than murderous look.