“Should bloody hope so. Right, I’d better shower, I guess.”

  Luce got changed while Steve was in the bathroom. The event started at six-thirty, but Luce wouldn’t arrive until seven to spend the minimum time mixing with the invited guests looking at the auction items, before the auction itself began at seven-thirty. His speech and artworks were advertised as a major part of the evening, though he wasn’t sure when exactly he’d be speaking. He was wearing a new outfit for the event—a full length, purple and red shot silk skirt and a green linen, sleeveless shirt—and he put on more makeup than he usually wore. He also left his hair loose, scrunching it up and spraying it with conditioner to make it shine. There would be photographers, and the camera could be merciless at such events.

  Steve came out in his underpants and dress shirt, saw Luce, and whistled. “God, you’re pretty. What have you done to your hair?”

  “Just made it a bit more interesting.” He turned around to give Steve the full view. “Like the outfit?”

  “You know I do. You in a skirt are already hot enough. That’s gorgeous material.” He came over and put a hand out. “Can I?”

  “If you’re careful.”

  Steve reached around and grasped Luce’s bum. “Oh yes, a very nice handful.”

  Luce smacked his hand away. “Naughty. It creases.”

  “So? You’ll be sitting on it in the taxi. I’m the one who’ll be staring at your arse on stage.”

  “Are you going to behave tonight?”

  “Not at all.” Steve grinned. “No time for a shag?”

  “No, sadly. But you can be rough and forceful with me when we get back.”

  “Mmmm, and breakfast in bed too.”

  “Hurry up and dress. I want to see you in a tux.”

  Though Luce wasn’t joking about the lack of time, he might have slowed Steve down just a little by humping his arse as Steve tried to put on his pants. “Bugger off. If I have to guard you with an erection, I’ll make you pay for it, you brat.”

  Luce simpered. “Oh pwease mister, punish me thowowly.”

  Steve did up his zip and turned around. “Only what you deserve.” He kissed Luce carefully, minding his lipstick, then taking a tissue and wiping off the trace from his own lips. “Haven’t done that in years. Never expected to do it with a bloke.”

  “Maybe I should make you up one of these days.”

  “I’d look like Edna Everage. Don’t waste your time.”

  Luce slipped the jacket onto Steve’s shoulders and straightened his bowtie. “There. Now who’s the pretty one?”

  “We both are.”

  “Let me take a photo?” Since dating Steve, Luce had begun to take his phone with him, although he only used it to talk and text to Steve. And to take selfies. “Ready? There.”

  “Send it to me?”

  Luce tapped the right symbols and typed in the address. “All done.”

  “Thanks. Then when you become internationally famous, I can tell people I knew you way back when.”

  “I’m already famous, you Philistine.”

  “I mean when your picture’s up on the New York Times.”

  “Ugh, Murdoch rag. I’d rather be obscure.” He looked at Steve’s watch. “Five minutes. Anything else?”

  “Hanky, wallet, phone—want me to carry yours?”

  “If you would. Do I need a wallet?”

  “No, just your keys. I can carry them too.”

  “Thanks. No pockets in this outfit.” He did however, have a small handbag for decorative purposes and his makeup. Undercutting gender expectations was his second hobby in life.

  The cab dropped them off out front of the Tate. Steve squeezed his hand. “Ready?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Steve got out and went around to open the door for Luce, just as a bodyguard should. Luce stepped out and smiled brightly to the waiting photographers. Steve stayed back discreetly, out of frame but within reach.

  Angela waved at them. “Luce, I’m here, darling.” She walked over out from the crowd as Luce made his way in, still smiling and slightly dazed by the impact on his Talent. He was nearly blind from all the competing images from dozens of history trails, but Steve’s hand on the small of his back guided him carefully through it all.

  “Hello, Angela. This is Steve.”

  She offered her hand and Steve shook it. “Luce has been raving about you for months, Steve. I can see why?”

  Steve gave a tight, professional smile. “He’s only ever told me good things about you, Miss Hines. You understand I’m here as his bodyguard though? So I need to stay back a little.”

  “Yes, of course. Do what you need to. Luce, do come through and meet Lord Kinvey.”

  ~~~~~~~~

  Steve had a sense of déjà vu as Luce was swept off to meet the great and the good—or the rich and the powerful, which wasn’t the same thing in his eyes. He had done this kind of gig many times in the past with his royal charges, and normally it was a boring pain in the arse, standing around, keeping his bladder under control, and always waiting for someone in the crowd to throw something or worse, shoot at his current prince or princess. This time it was different. This time it was his guy, his lover, and Luce wasn’t someone he had to keep at arm’s length for propriety’s sake, even if Steve couldn’t touch him until they were alone.

  And this time he had a personal interest in seeing how well the auction did. He’d seen the donated pictures while Luce was working on them, and listened to him explain what they were about and what he hoped people would see in them. It was a privilege to have such an insight direct from the creator himself, and he hoped the pictures would go for very good prices. It was almost the way he felt about Hannah getting top grades on her A-levels.

  Watching Luce was no strain, even if Steve did still have to keep his bladder under control and watch out for danger. Luce said he didn’t need a bodyguard. Steve disagreed, and while he could only guard him properly this one night, he would do his job same as he did for any other client. But he paid more attention to Luce’s wellbeing than he normally did for clients. He noticed that under the smiles and laughs, Luce’s creasing forehead betrayed the fact that he had a headache, no doubt from his Talent. Maybe his manager realised, but Steve thought no one else would, or have a clue as to the reason. He was relieved when Angela told Luce that it was time for him to go backstage and wait for the auction to start.

  Someone had given Luce a glass of champagne, which he’d half finished. But as soon as they were backstage, he handed the glass to Steve. “I wonder if anyone has any aspirin?”

  “I carry paracetamol, if that’s good enough.” Steve took a blister pack out of his pocket and popped two for his lover. “I’ll find some water.”

  “I’ll use the champagne. I know, I know, bad idea.” Luce swallowed the pills and wine. “I’m going to be deaf and blind by the end of this evening.”

  “It’s very noisy,” Steve agreed. “Quietening down now.”

  “The auction must be starting.” Luce brushed his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I better find a loo and fix my makeup.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  Luce gave him an exasperated look but didn’t argue, and didn’t mock Steve for checking the restroom first before he went in. “My bodyguard,” he murmured, deliberated rubbing himself against Steve as he passed through the doorway.

  “Yes, sir,” Steve said in his most professional tone, then grinned.

  They returned to the green room, where Angela told them Luce had ten minutes. She found him some water to drink and talked to him about his speech, while Steve stayed back. On the stage he would look like any other guest, though he wouldn’t do anything other than watch Luce like a hawk. The risks were low at an event like this, but overenthusiastic individuals weren’t the real issue. There were uniformed police outside and a few in the building, but Steve, with his practiced eye, noticed a good many plain clothes cops keeping an eye on comings and goings too. A bomb set off here could kill off a significant percentage of the government and its functionaries, not to mention a lot of political donors.

  Angela told Luce he was on, and he and Steve made their way over to the entrance to the stage. At the stage manager’s signal, Luce walked out to loud applause, Steve walking to the back of the stage to stand with those who had already spoken and their assistants.

  The actress playing host tonight introduced Luce, and Luce stepped up to the lectern in a flurry of flashes from photographers.

  “Thank you, Ashley. My lords, ladies, and gentlemen, thank you for coming tonight. It’s a privilege to be asked to contribute works to this auction, and I’ll talk a little about what the pictures are about in a moment. As some of you know, Teenhaven and the other charities being supported tonight are very dear to my heart. Last year, eighty-three thousand homeless teenagers sought help from charities and council, and there are thirty-five thousand teenagers in homeless accommodation at any given time in this country. Of those, some will be gay or bisexual. Some will be transgender. Many, mentally ill. Others are forced to leave because of family violence, sexual abuse, drugs, or gangs. Sometimes it’s because their family simply can’t cope any more.”

  “I became homeless when I was seventeen and I was thrown out of my home by my father for being gay. I spent more than a year on the streets, suffering from depression and feeling utterly lost and hopeless at losing my lifeline, my security.”

  Luce paused and looked around the audience. “Fourteen years ago it was Teenhaven who found me, who gave me somewhere to stay, helped me get treatment, and gave me a way out. Now there are a group of charities across the nation doing this vital work. But I want to know why—why are charities taking the strain? Why are they picking up the mess the government has made by reducing benefits to young people, making it harder for them to find accommodation? Why does the Work and Pensions Secretary think it’s a good idea to spend eight and a half million quid on a bloody giant furby for an ad campaign, but charities working for the homeless have to rely on donations and lotteries for funding?"

  "Why do I, a working artist, have to donate the fruits of my talent to raise a few thousand pounds in the hope of saving a few kids from the danger of living on the street, prey to every sod who wants to hurt and exploit them, when this government is about to spend a hundred billion pounds from the taxpayer renewing Trident? The government says the missiles keep the British people safe. Those thirty-five thousand kids are British people too, but they’re not safe. You’ll go home, like I will, to a nice home, with locks on the doors and our loved ones around us, but those kids won’t. Some of them will be raped tonight. Some will be introduced to hard drugs for the first time. Too many of those children will sell their bodies tonight for a few quid, just to survive. Is the government spending a hundred billion pounds on them? Or is it tossing them, the future of our country, out onto the scrap heap as worthless because they don’t vote and so they don’t count?”

  “Thanks to a brilliant charity, I survived. Too many don’t. Too many never become artists and teachers and mathematicians or doctors or hairdressers or gardeners because they never get the help they need, and never set foot on the ladder out of despair. Maybe one day, Trident will be paid for by Xmas giving campaigns, and the government will step up and do the wonderful work that the charities can only do now with your generosity. Until then, all we can do is donate, support, care for our children, and vote for the politicians who also care.”

  As he paused, a ripple of applause started up, like a patter of rain on the roof, becoming thunderous as a winter storm. Steve was shocked at the sheer volume of sound, filling the huge turbine hall to the ceiling. Luce bowed and thanked the audience, though he couldn’t be heard. Only when the clapping subsided, did he take the microphone again. “Thank you. Let me show you the four pieces to be auctioned tonight, and I hope that they will inspire you enough to spend large for our kids.”

  He spoke for another couple of minutes, before the host took over and the auctioneer asked for bids on Luce’s first picture. Luce stood to the side, next to the easel, listening to the bids rise. And rise. And rise. Luce had thought they would go for five to six thousand each, if people liked them. When the first bid went over ten thousand, he covered his face in shock, and applause broke out.

  The final, successful bid was for thirty thousand pounds. Luce turned to Steve quickly, mouthing, “Oh my god!” before turning back and applauding the bidder at the back of the room as the auctioneer confirmed the result.

  The other three pictures raised another hundred thousand pounds. By now, Luce was shaking a little, and Steve wished he could go up and give him a hug. But Luce collected himself and whispered to the host, before stepping back up to the microphone and saying, “You are all beautiful tonight. Thank you.”

  He stepped back to wild applause, and walked off stage with Steve right behind him. “I can’t believe it,” he whispered. “Did you see, Steve?”

  “I did and I am so very proud of you. Come back to the waiting room.”

  Angela rushed up as they walked in. “Luce, oh you wonderful man! A hundred and thirty thousand, that’s incredible.”

  “Still, a hundred billion on Trident. It’s a drop in the bucket.”

  “It’s more than a drop,” Steve said. “Are you hanging around?”

  “I don’t want to, but now I’d better. Right, Angela?”

  “Yes, I think so. Steve, could you fetch him some wine or champagne?”

  Steve nodded and went in search. He returned with a glass of bubbly and a small plate of hors d’oeuvres, since Luce hadn’t had supper. He sat down beside his lover, and touched his hand once he’d passed over the food and drink. “Your hand is freezing.”

  “I thought I was going to throw up. I can’t believe it.”

  “Your speech was wonderful,” Angela said.

  “Will it make a difference, though?”

  “There are reporters here from the Mail and the Guardian. We’ll have to see what they say.”

  “I can guess what the Daily Fail will say about the long haired guy in a dress ranting about the government,” Luce said.

  “Yes, but they don’t reach everyone. You did very well,” Steve said.

  “You did, darling,” Angela said. “The auction should be done in a few minutes. The winners will want to meet you and then you can go, all right?”

  “Thanks, Angela. I think I need another drink.”

  Steve took his empty glass. “How about at home instead?” he said. “You need to be sharp around this lot.”

  “Yes, I know.” Luce reached out and touched his wrist. “You really are my bodyguard tonight.”

  “My pleasure.”

  ~~~~~~~~

  It turned out that the Mail and the Guardian weren’t the only papers whose reporters had attended the gala. The Telegraph had people there too, and the BBC. As they ate breakfast in bed together, Steve used Luce’s iPad to see what they were saying.

  “Don’t tell me if there’s anything horrible,” Luce said. “It’ll hurt and I’ll feel awful.”

  “Then don’t read over my shoulder, silly.”

  Luce poked out his tongue and went off to the bathroom. Steve did his best to scan quickly. It looked like the massive bids for Luce’s art and his speech had been reported positively, as had the large amount raised by the auction as a whole. Luce, with his unbound hair and unusual clothes, featured on the third page of the Guardian and in the Telegraph. The Mail focused on the amounts raised instead of the speech, but the Guardian reported it in its entirety. The BBC had carried it in their morning news, and a clip of the speech was available on its site.

  Luce reappeared. “Am I safe?”

  “Yeah. They love you, they really love you.”

  “Oh good. I was so afraid of sounding like a total twat.”

  “You can see for yourself, if you want. The BBC have your speech on their website.”

  Luce shook his head, and took the iPad from Steve before shoving it onto the dresser. “No, it’ll only make me hypercritical. But they raised so much money. I’m amazed.”

  “You were a big part of that.” Luce climbed back into bed and Steve wrapped his arms around him. “I was so happy to see you like that. You just...took over. It was like some evangelical preacher, winning them over.”

  “Ugh, religion. I just said what I thought.”

  “While being sexy and totally awesome.”

  Luce laughed and nuzzled at Steve’s neck. “Every time I look at you, I see awesome.”

  “You’re mental. I’m a boring old bastard.”

  “My bastard, and you’re not boring. Next time we go out, let’s go out for us. Like to a movie or something.”

  “Sure. Or the football.”

  “Ugh.”

  Steve grinned. “I knew you’d say that. I’m kidding. I wouldn’t like that either. Where do you want to go?”

  “Could you bear another art gallery?”

  “I like art. I like your art.”

  “How about I see what’s showing and we can go to that? Not a big gallery. Just one of the smaller ones.”

  “Anything, any time. Hannah’s back next week. I want to take her to supper. Would you come?”

  “That would be lovely. Does she know you’re bi?”

  “No, but only because she doesn’t want to admit I have sex with anyone, let alone men. Don’t worry, I won’t wait until the meal to tell her. Wouldn’t be fair.”

  “No. If she’s hostile, don’t push it, though. Let her think.”

  “She’ll be fine. For all I know she likes girls as well as boys. So many kids today seem to just go for the person, not the body parts.”

  “I suppose I’m like that. I’ve met girls I’ve fancied, but I never went any further than that. I can’t imagine having the kind of sex I have with you, or being that turned on.”

  “I never imagined sex with a man could be this good either, so you never know.” Steve kissed him. “Fancy a walk on the heath? I don’t get the chance all that often.”

  “You should have said! I love walking up there.” Luce pinched his stomach gently. “What other secrets are you hiding in there, Steve? A passion for antiques? A penchant for skydiving?”