Missing the Last Train Home

This was the first story I wrote and put into the world. You get to decide what you think, but these guys are really special to me. This is a slow burn gay erotic story, so bear with me and you will be rewarded with spice, heat and, I hope you'll agree, some genuine warmth.

“Fuck it!”

Danny’s uncharacteristic yell ricocheted across the platform as the lights of his last train home receded into the darkness. As we stood there in defeat, Patrick panting for breath with his hands on his knees, the misty drizzle in the air found its backbone and intensified into a more serious downpour.

I clapped Danny consolingly on the shoulder. He turned towards me, visibly juggling his options in his mind.

“Maybe I can get an Uber?”

“No!” I objected. “You know you’ll pay more than we spent all night on that distance!”

“Maybe if I get the next train to Chranstone, I could walk from there?”

The rain intensified further, making its point in a very unsubtle way.

“You can’t be serious? In this rain?” I gripped his shoulders in my hands and shook him slightly. “Just stay with us!”

Danny’s brows furrowed more, if that was possible.

“I couldn’t put you out — “

Patrick, now recovered from our last dash sprint for the train, interrupted, knocking aside any chance of rejection with a slightly boozy, “Of course you can — it’s no bother at all. Mi casa es su casa, and all that.”

He gestured grandly and camply around him at nothing in particular, making me grin.

“The guest room is already made up and it’s delightful!” he drawled, and Danny’s worried expression softened cautiously.

“Are you sure?”

I grabbed Patrick by the shoulder in a warm hug to signify our united position on this.

“Of course we are! Come on, let’s get a move on before we’re completely soaked!”

“Home James!” Patrick declaimed loudly, pointing randomly attaway and attracting more than a few quizzical frowns from the other bedraggled last train homers huddling under perspex shelters against the cold night rain.

Grabbing my hand, fearless and unashamed as always, Pat gave me a quick kiss, just a little sweet and boozy from that last craft beer he’d downed. Mango, I thought absentmindedly, nice. His kiss deepened, just for a second, and I let out a soft contented sigh.

“Come on gorgeous”, he said warmly, tugging at my hand, “Let’s get you home and out of these soaking clothes!”

He winked theatrically with his usual sledgehammer subtlety, and I grinned apologetically at Danny, rolling my eyes.

“Wondering what you’ve got yourself into?” I asked.

He laughed, pushing his fingers through his now wet hair.

“Nah! Anything’s better than being stuck in this rain! Even an unexpected audience at the palace with his highness over there! Thanks, I really appreciate you guys letting me stay. Let’s go!”

Patrick clutched his imaginary pearls in faux outrage at Danny’s comment and, still laughing, we headed for the station exit to look for a cab.

It’d been a good night and while we were all a little the worse for wear, nobody was out of it. The drinks and the company gave us all a warm internal glow and despite the slanting rain, the world felt soft-edged and fuzzy. I squeezed Patrick’s warm hand a little harder and smiled as he squeezed back in return.

Danny and I had been working together for a couple of years now at Pemberton Solutions and we’d hit it off almost immediately, quickly establishing an after works drinks routine once every few weeks. For a couple of months, it had just been Danny and me. But Patrick lectured in Business Studies at the local college not far from us, so one night he’d joined us.

I remembered being a little worried about introducing them; you wouldn’t automatically have pictured them as friends. Danny wasn’t shy, but he was quite reserved. At work, he had loads of ideas but was usually reticent about bringing them up in meetings, preferring to catch up with people later to share his thoughts. I had noticed early on that when he had something important to say, he would start chewing on the corner of his top lip. I think that maybe that’s where our friendship started: with me taking care to involve him in discussions at the right points, but not to push or expose him when he was still thinking things through. After a few weeks he’d noticed and cautiously thanked me. I’d thanked him in return for pointing out the massive flaw in the proposal that idiot Tom had made at our last meeting. And that had kind of been that. Pat, on the other hand, was naturally a people person. He loved his work and was generous with the time and support he showed to his students. His lectures weren’t what you’d expect either — they were performances. Early on, not that long after we’d started dating, I’d snuck into the back of one of his classes and sat there amazed as he commanded the rapt attention of his students on what, in anyone else’s hands, would have been a very boring discussion of effective teamwork strategies for new start businesses. Patrick could be very much in your face, but somehow, he was never overbearing. If he was a performer, he was one who paid close attention to his audience, modulating his delivery to perfectly match their needs. Pat didn’t force himself into the spotlight, really, but it was just like the spotlight was a natural place for him to be.

Despite these differences, the two of them clicked immediately. Patrick seemed to know instinctively how to put Danny at ease, but also how to push gently at his boundaries, to encourage him to come out of himself a little more. Watching them chat and argue about whatever the topic of conversation was, it was great to see some of Patrick’s shine rub off on Danny. Seeing a bolder, more confident — and sarcastic! — side to Danny emerge over time made me happy and, weirdly, kind of proud of both of them. We were all good friends now. But at this precise moment, we were also getting soaked to our skins.

Forty minutes later, most of which had been spent in the pissing rain flagging down unresponsive bastard taxi drivers, we slopped through the front door, bedraggled and dripping from the downpour outside. Patrick kicked off his shoes and sloughed his soaking coat straight onto the floor.

“I’m changing!” he threw backwards, as he clumped inelegantly up the stairs to our bedroom. “Scott’ll get you a drink and I’ll get you a towel and something to wear.”

Danny looked embarrassed as he carefully hung his wet jacket on the hooks by the door.

“I don’t want to be any trouble…?”

“You’re not!” I reassured him. I kicked off my own shoes before picking up Patrick’s discarded coat and hanging both on the knoll post at the bottom of the stairs. “What’ll it be? We’ve got most things. Another beer? Baileys? Whisky?”

Despite the fair amount we’d drunk that evening, I saw Danny’s eyes light up at the mention of whisky.

“Ok! Whisky it is! And as our honoured guest, I’ll break out Patrick’s single malt, which he seems determined to keep until doomsday!”

This elicited a short barking laugh from Danny. From somewhere upstairs I heard a muffled protest from Patrick.

“No you won’t! He’s not that good a friend!”

“Ignore him,” I told Danny, laughing. “Just go on through to the sitting room,” I continued, pointing to the room on the right. “I’ll get the glasses and be right back.”

As I turned to head to the kitchen, Patrick came pounding down the stairs in his favourite grey cotton shorts and a fresh white t-shirt, arms full of fluffy towels and various items of dry clothing for us both. With an internal groan, I noticed that he’d dispensed with underwear and was freeballing towards us, apparently blissfully unaware that everything was jiggling about in a manner that left little to the imagination. I decided not to risk a backwards glance at Danny to avoid making anything more of this than it was, but put it this way: if Danny had been wondering whether Pat was cut or not, he wouldn’t be anymore.

Patrick bustled past me at the foot of the stairs, planting another quick affectionate peck on my cheek, and proceeded to harry Danny into the sitting room, chattering away and thrusting towels and sweats at the poor man like some fierce but friendly washerwoman. I grinned as they disappeared and padded down the corridor, keen to sort the drinks so I could change out of my clothes which were beginning to congeal coldly around me.

Patrick and I had been together ten years and no man had ever made me so happy. No matter his day, he always had time for me. He was always himself in ways which he took for granted but which I never found less than brave. And man, did he make me laugh. That he was also gorgeous, athletic and slim with a deep red carefully cropped beard and bright blue eyes, was also a bonus! And when he kissed me…

Drinks!, I chided myself, pulling out the good tumblers and reaching into the back of the drinks cabinet where Patrick had attempted to hide his treasured single malt. Guests now, kisses later!

When I walked into the sitting room clutching the whisky and tumblers in my hands, Danny was pulling on a pair of my old grey joggers, half turned away and looking a little embarrassed.

Patrick was sprawled on the couch opposite, entirely oblivious.

“Pat!” I scolded him. “You couldn’t have given the man some privacy?”

I turned to Danny, “Danny, mate. Sorry about — “

Patrick spoke over me, eyes wide with faux innocence.

“Danny was clearly freezing and at risk of a chill, so I thought it more important to start the fire and get him out of those things than to send him off to some far corner of the house to change! I am a saint, not a sinner, and you should reward me with booze!” He rattled an imaginary empty glass for added effect. “Isn’t that right, Danny?”

Danny, of course, looked slightly mortified as he nodded his shy agreement while struggling to pull his leg through the tight legs of the joggers Patrick had provided.

“It’s fine!” he insisted, still hopping on the spot. “Thanks for the change of clothes, really!”

He finally got his leg into the joggers and pulled them up with a satisfied sigh before quickly stripping off his damp work shirt. Danny had a slim athletic build, similar to Pat. But where Pat had only a sparse patch of dark red hair between his pecs, Danny was darker with denser hair which spread across his chest and down. Danny roughly rubbed the guest towel Patrick had thrust at him over his furry chest and shoulders to dry them off before burying his head in the towel to vigorously dry off his wet hair.

I noticed Patrick’s bright eyes raking over Danny’s chest with undisguised appreciation and I widened my eyes at him in admonishment, silently mouthing, Down boy! But to be honest, my eyes drifted back to Danny, and I couldn’t help but drink in this unexpected view. As my eyes followed the trail of dark hair that led down his flat stomach to the waistband of his joggers, it was Patrick’s turn to catch my eye, and he did so, head cocked, eyebrow raised in judgement and mouth twisted into a smug smirk that required no words. I blushed just a tiny bit and flashed my beautiful man an apologetic grin of gritted teeth.

“Right!” I declared, determined to break the mounting awkwardness, “Let’s get started on Pat’s secret stash!”

Despite their friendship, there's a new unanticipated tension in the air. What will this night hold for Danny, Pat and Scott?

Let me know what you think of Missing the Last Train Home and enjoy the next chapter!