Jay sat with his head between his knees, feet braced on the ground outside the car, and willed away the urge to be sick.
A bottle of water edged into his field of view. He grabbed for it, cracked it open, and took a few gulps to wash the taste of bile from his throat.
“Sorry,” Sebastian offered from where he stood next to the car. “I didn’t know you got motion sick.”
“I don’t get motion sick.” Jay took a steadying breath, sat up, and handed the bottle back. “Or I didn’t, until you decided to play fucking Need for Speed: Yorkshire Moors.”
Sebastian huffed a tiny, quiet laugh and took a sip from the bottle. Jay’s stomach untwisted a little.
They’d pulled into the car park outside a small visitors’ centre in North Yorkshire, surrounded by green hills and sparse woodland. Behind the building sat what a nearby sign claimed was Rievaulx Abbey; from here, it mostly looked like a pile of rocks.
A few weeks had gone by since Sebastian’s encounter with Jason Collier, and all the mess that followed. He hadn’t taken any of his clients’ calls—not that all that many were coming in, after the fight he’d basically started at one of those fancy private clubs said clients liked so much.
There were, at least, no repeats of the club brawl incident. Mostly, Sebastian just seemed … tired. More days than not, he stayed at home. He hadn’t shaved in ages, and had the beginnings of a beard growing in.
Jay hadn’t known what to do; frankly, he still didn’t. But letting Sebastian hide out in his flat clearly wasn’t helping, so Jay had hired a car.
The further they got from London, the more Sebastian seemed to relax—shoulders loosening, legs stretching out in the passenger seat. He’d even felt up to driving for a bit. Unfortunately that meant he was behind the wheel when they hit the narrow, winding roads through the hills north of York, where Jay was forcibly reminded that Sebastian had spent much of his adult life driving in places like Afghanistan.
Finally feeling as though his guts were under control, Jay levered himself out of the car.
The Rievaulx Abbey visitors’ centre was freshly renovated and aggressively contemporary, consisting mostly of vertical slat walls and floor-to-ceiling sheet glass. Entrance to the abbey grounds was gated through the gift shop; Sebastian paid for the tickets, mustering a twitch of a smile for the young woman behind the counter.
Jay bit back the urge to complain about the admission price; this stop had been at Sebastian’s request, when he realised they were headed up to Yorkshire. It was the first thing he’d asked Jay for, directly, in ages—so Jay had instantly plotted the detour into the route on his phone.
That said, thirteen pounds a ticket was still fucking ridiculous.
A footpath led from the gift shop’s exit up a small rise to the abbey proper. It was a ruin, with little left standing except empty arches and broken stone walls. Jay huddled into his hoodie to stave off the damp November chill, tucking his hands under his arms.
He had to admit the place had a certain … peace. In the summer, it would be a lovely spot to spend an afternoon.
“Quiet up here,” he observed, trailing a little behind Sebastian as they wandered beneath a set of towering arches, open to the overcast sky above.
Sebastian nodded. “It is.”
His voice was soft and wistful; the expression on his face made Jay’s chest ache.
Sebastian had a growing suspicion he was being sent away to the seaside for his health.
Jay was driving again, following the satnav on his phone; the directions were taking them out to the coast, the North Sea a grey line on the horizon. He hadn’t told Sebastian where they were going; he’d simply suggested they get out of the city for a bit.
Sebastian had said “yes” without even really thinking about it. London was so flat, lately. As if it weren’t quite real—or perhaps it was Sebastian who wasn’t real.
For twenty years, the world had made a horrible kind of sense. It wasn’t a place where Sebastian belonged, really, but he knew what he had to do and be to carve out a place there.
Then Jay had found out about Jason Collier—a man who’d hurt Sebastian, but not the first and certainly not the last—and, with single-minded purpose, removed him from existence.
Sebastian remembered the words slipping from his mouth, words he hadn’t really known he believed until he said them: “I’m not worth that.”
And Jay, who’d always seen right through him, who Sebastian could never hide from, had said, “You are.”
And the world stopped making sense.
The satnav led them down a narrow, barely-paved road, surrounded by empty fields, until they reached a small stone cottage. There, the car rolled to a stop.
Sebastian peered through the windscreen. “Is this it?”
Jay turned off the engine. “Yeah.”
They fetched their bags from the boot, and Jay led the way to the door. There was a key-box mounted next to it; Jay checked his phone for the code and retrieved the keys, unlocking the door and leading the way inside.
The cottage’s decor was sparse and understated: white walls, hardwood floors, a love seat and sofa, and a wood-burning stove off in the corner. A small annex contained the kitchen, and a short flight of stairs led up to a single bedroom in the attic.
It was far from luxurious, but it was pleasant. Comfortable.
“Well?” Jay asked, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “What do you think?”
Slowly, Sebastian replied, “You rented us a cottage in the country.”
Jay shrugged. “I reckoned the quiet might … help. With everything.”
“You rented us a cottage in the country,” Sebastian repeated, staring incredulously at Jay. “You hate the country.”
Jay didn’t bother to deny it. “It’s impossible to get a signal out here,” he groused, “and we’re a million miles from everything, and—”
Sebastian slid a hand into Jay’s hair and forestalled any further complaints with a kiss.
They hadn’t had sex since what Sebastian was coming to think of as “the Collier incident.” But in all that time, Jay had barely left Sebastian’s side—only leaving every few days to go pick up his post and check that his flat hadn’t caught fire. He’d been a steady, patient presence for weeks, and now he’d brought Sebastian here.
He needed Jay to know how grateful he was. Sebastian pulled him in close, clutching at his shoulders, kissing him hard and willing himself to want it.
Jay’s hands came up to Sebastian’s face, holding him still as he gentled the kiss into something slower and softer. Sebastian’s knees buckled with elation—thank god, thank god, Jay still wanted him—
And then Jay moved a hand to Sebastian’s chest and pushed him back, just enough to put some air between them.
Sebastian couldn’t help the shudder of relief that went through him. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I must be driving you mad.”
Jay nuzzled gently into Sebastian’s cheek and sighed, breath puffing against Sebastian’s jaw. “I went on testosterone during COVID lockdown.” He eased back a little further, looking up at Sebastian with a wry expression. “Horniest I’ve ever been, and I couldn’t even go outside. If that didn’t kill me, this won’t either.” After a moment’s contemplation, he added, “Although I have been wanking in the shower every morning.”
The noise Sebastian made was probably a laugh, if a dry and cracked one.
Jay’s phone pinged, shockingly loud in the quiet of the cottage; at some point, he must have turned up the volume as high as it could go. Jay made an annoyed sound low in his throat and dug it out of his pocket, glancing at the screen before swiping something away.
“Everything all right?” Sebastian asked.
“Yeah,” Jay replied firmly. “I’m hungry. We should get dinner.”
Whitby, less than ten minutes’ drive from the cottage, turned out to be the quintessential British seaside town: a mass of red-tiled roofs nestled into a steep valley at the mouth of the river, crowded with a disproportionate number of pubs and shops and tourist traps. Jay parked the car on the east side, near the water, and Sebastian followed as he led the way up the street, his stride confident and familiar.
“All right,” Jay said, “what would you like? And if the answer’s not ‘fish and chips,’ that might be a problem.”
“You’ve been here before,” Sebastian guessed.
Jay hesitated for a moment, glancing back at Sebastian over his shoulder. “Yeah.”
“With your family?”
Jay shook his head. “There’s a goth festival here, like, twice a year.”
A smile crept across Sebastian’s face. “You were a goth?”
“I was dating a goth,” Jay clarified. “I was more of a punk.”
Lightly teasing, Sebastian asked, “Did you have one of those jackets with all the patches on?”
Jay rolled his eyes. “Would you decide where you want to eat already?”
Sebastian shrugged; he wasn’t particularly hungry, but it wouldn’t have made any sense to stay at the cottage while Jay went out alone. And the walk so far had been … nice. The weather was mild enough, the air smelling faintly and not unpleasantly of low tide. “Can we just wander a bit? Until we see something we like?”
Jay’s expression softened. “Yeah,” he said, and reached back to take Sebastian’s hand.
It was the off season, and the town wasn’t nearly as busy as Sebastian assumed it would be in the summer. A narrow, cobbled street branched off the main road, winding into the distance in a way that could only be described as enticing, and Jay didn’t protest as Sebastian took the detour. Colourful, mismatched shop-fronts crowded in on all sides—jewellers, bookshops, artists’ studios, and even an ice cream parlour.
Ahead of them, the street narrowed down to barely more than a footpath. As it turned and curved uphill, Sebastian spotted a set of old stone stairs winding into the grassy hills above.
“Those lead up to the abbey,” Jay informed him.
Sebastian craned his neck, but could only see the barest hint of a few old buildings. “You’ve been up there?”
“My ex went up a few times,” Jay replied. “I didn’t go with.”
“Why not?”
Jay gestured expansively at the stairs. “Because it’s a million fucking steps and I’d fucking die?”
His accent was slipping a bit, away from the soft, affected RP he spoke with in London. Now it was tilting in a distinctly northern direction, especially every time he said “fuck.”
Sebastian moved to continue down the street, but Jay stopped him with a hand on his elbow.
“It’s mostly just people’s houses that way,” he said. “We should double back.”
Sebastian nodded, and Jay led him back the way they’d come.
They wound up at a seafood bar by the western riverfront, where Jay was dismayed to learn that the prawns in the seafood linguine still had their heads attached. Sebastian, at least, got some amusement out of Jay’s reaction—even as Jay proceeded to steal most of his truffle fries.
On their way back out of town, they stopped off to pick up some groceries. It was mostly basics—bread, eggs, milk, bacon, some canned goods, some snacks—but Jay had to pause in the middle of the bakery aisle when it hit him.
They were doing the shopping. Like a proper couple. Like he and Sebastian were normal people with normal lives.
He managed to snap out of it before Sebastian noticed.
As they loaded the shopping bags into the car, Sebastian pulled out his packet of cigarettes and frowned at the contents. “Almost out,” he observed.
“There’s an off-license round the other side of the train station.” Jay closed the boot. “Come on.”
They walked together down to a small commercial row, containing a few restaurants and the promised off-license. Jay elected to wait outside, leaning against the wall of the restaurant next door, and pulled out his phone.
Whitby reasonably approximated human civilisation, so Jay’s phone managed to catch a decent signal. He spent some time scrolling through his messages, catching up; officially speaking he’d been on sabbatical for the past few weeks, and he’d turned down any less-than-legal gig he couldn’t do quickly from his laptop in Sebastian’s flat. Taking more work than that meant leaving Sebastian alone for longer than Jay was comfortable with.
He’d just about hit inbox zero when a terse voice said, “Good evening, sir.”
It was a police officer, wearing a high-vis vest.
Jay had spent much of his youth loitering in public spaces and, therefore, being harassed by coppers. The incident rate had actually gone up a bit since he transitioned. He was, at the moment, wearing a ragged pair of jeans and a hoodie; the whole look screamed to the average middle-class Brit that he was an ASBO waiting to happen.
Never mind that ASBOs weren’t even a thing anymore.
“What’s your business here, sir?” asked the copper, in tones that suggested he’d already decided the answer. North Yorkshire was hardly a hotbed of crime; regional police in places like this were terminally bored, eager to turn the slightest perceived offence into a major incident.
“I’m waiting for someone,” Jay told him, a touch defensively.
“Who’s that?” the copper immediately replied, no less suspicious than he’d been before.
Yorkshire wasn’t much more homophobic than London, but Jay still wasn’t eager to tell an armed man he didn’t know that he was waiting for his boyfriend. “Partner” wouldn’t be much better.
He settled on, “None of your business.”
This turned out to be the incorrect answer. There was an aggrieved stiffness in the copper’s jaw as he said, “I think it’s time to move along.”
“No,” Jay replied, his voice even but resolute. “Like I said, I’m waiting for someone.”
“And I said,” the copper repeated, slowly, “I think it’s time to move along.”
He rested a hand on his belt, where a collapsible baton was holstered.
“Oi!”
Sebastian had stepped out of the shop, striding across the pavement with a fierce, protective air.
The copper took a step back, probably not even noticing he’d done it. “I was just asking the young man about his business here,” he said quickly.
Sebastian stepped in front of Jay and said, “He’s with me.” He was wound tight, tension building in his neck and shoulders, fists clenched at his sides.
Jay wrapped a hand around Sebastian’s wrist. “And now we’re leaving.”
Sebastian resisted a little as Jay tugged him away, but Jay was persistent, towing him across the street and back toward the car. They’d managed to turn the corner around the train station before Sebastian tore his arm from Jay’s grip.
Jay took a step back. He kept both hands out, careful not to touch Sebastian again. “You can’t fight coppers,” he said. “Not here.”
Sebastian’s own hands were at his sides, clenching and relaxing over and over again. His gaze was fixed somewhere over Jay’s shoulder. “I know.”
“Okay.” When no further response was forthcoming, Jay added, “Come on. It’s getting late.”
Sebastian followed quietly as Jay led the way back to the car.
Sebastian woke with a jolt, mouth dry, heart pounding. It was dark, too dark; there was always light in London, even in the dead of night with the curtains drawn. He couldn’t see—where the fuck was he—
A familiar body stirred under the covers next to him. Jay was here. They were in the cottage, on the Yorkshire coast.
In a sleepy voice, Jay called out, “Sebastian?”
“I’m fine.” Sebastian slumped back against the pillows, wiping cold sweat from his face. “Go back to sleep.”
He couldn’t see Jay’s expression, but he felt it when Jay shifted closer, slinging an arm around Sebastian’s waist and resting his head on his shoulder. Sebastian let slip a quiet sigh and slid his hand up Jay’s back, holding him there.
Jay’s own hand stroked up and down Sebastian’s side, slow and soothing. “Is it getting any better?”
“… Yeah,” Sebastian breathed into the dark. The nightmares weren’t coming every night—not anymore. But the bed here was unfamiliar, softer than his mattress back home, and it was so quiet—the kind of quiet you couldn’t get in the city, only the distant roar of the sea disrupting the perfect silence outside.
The altercation with that police officer probably hadn’t helped.
The nightmare was fading fast, but it had left a restless tension buzzing through Sebastian’s body. He closed his eyes, willing himself back to sleep and failing.
“What do you need?” Jay asked, thumb rubbing the dip of his waist.
“Could you …” Sebastian took a breath. “Could you just … talk to me? For a bit?”
Jay’s voice was like a beacon in the dark, reminding him where he was. Where he wasn’t.
“… Okay.” After a moment’s consideration, Jay confessed, “I did have a battle jacket.”
Sebastian could see it perfectly: Jay, a few years younger, surly and defiant in a denim jacket covered with patches hand-stitched into place. A smile cracked across his face. “Do you still have it?”
“No. It got left behind when I moved to London.” Quiet, and a bit sad, he added, “A lot of things got left behind. I was in a rush.”
His accent was drifting again, the U in “rush” coming out closer to an O. Without thinking, Sebastian asked, “Is this your real voice?”
Jay tensed against him for a moment. “Yeah,” he admitted, the word brushing the skin of Sebastian’s shoulder.
Sebastian hummed, hand sliding up Jay’s back to play idly through his hair. “I like it.”
Jay woke alone. This wasn’t technically a departure from the usual; he tended to sleep later than Sebastian, because Sebastian liked to get up at the crack of dawn. Lately, though, Sebastian had been sleeping in—sleeping more, in general.
If he was up already, that was a good thing. It had to be a good thing.
Jay threw the covers aside and scrambled out of bed.
Sebastian wasn’t in the sitting room, or the little kitchen—but when Jay glanced through the glass door that led out to the patio, he spotted a familiar silhouette atop a low stone wall surrounding the neighbouring field.
Jay hurried back up to the bedroom to grab a hoodie, throwing it over his head as he tugged his shoes on and stepped outside.
Sebastian was sitting with his back to the cottage, looking out toward the sea; he acknowledged Jay’s arrival with a sideways glance and a little nod. He had a cigarette between his fingers, taking lazy drags every few seconds. Jay settled in next to him, hooking his arm through Sebastian’s elbow; Sebastian leaned into him, heavy and warm against Jay’s side.
“Sorry,” Sebastian said, exhaling smoke. “About last night.”
Jay grumbled and tugged Sebastian’s arm closer. He was so sick of hearing Sebastian apologise.
A few hundred yards away, waves crashed against the cliffs in a steady rhythm; the piercing cries of sea birds cut through at irregular bursts. It was so very like the sound of weekends in Tyneside—summers on the beaches, brief dips in freezing cold water, scrambling to move towels and bags as the tide came in, frantically snatching unattended chip bags away from voracious gulls.
They were far enough from Newcastle; they wouldn’t run into anyone Jay knew. And yet, somehow, it still felt too close. It was as if home had set a hook in him, tugging at his heart. Maybe he’d have been better off taking Sebastian somewhere else—but when he’d imagined someplace quiet, where Sebastian could feel safe, this was the first thing that had come to mind.
Sebastian’s cigarette had burned down to the filter; he stubbed it out on the wall next to him and stood, stretching with a quiet groan. He seemed to have a bit more energy than yesterday; if Jay didn’t know any better, he’d think Sebastian was downright restless.
As they walked back to the cottage, Sebastian asked, “Are we doing anything today?”
Jay shrugged. “Do you want to?”
Sebastian took a breath and released it. “I think so, yeah.”
Jay nodded and thought it over for a moment. “Want to steal something?”
Chapter 2 of “Moriarty & Moran’s North Yorkshire Crime Spree” will be published on May 11! To get it delivered directly to your inbox, subscribe here:
… And if that’s too long to wait, you can also get the completed story as an ebook.
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