Dolphin Dreams

DOLPHIN DREAMS

Jules Jones

® www.loose-id.com

Warning This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id® e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

***** This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable (m/m/m male ménage, D/s, sex while in shifted form).

Dolphin Dreams Jules Jones This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Published by Loose Id LLC 1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-2924 Carson City NV 89701-1215 www.loose-id.com

Copyright © April 2007 by Jules Jones All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.

ISBN 978-1-59632-383-4 Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader

Printed in the United States of America

Editor: Raven Cover Artist: Anne Cain

Dedication With grateful thanks to my past and present editors, Judith and Raven. Editors are good people. They make your book better.

Chapter One

Martin switched off the boat’s engine and sat back in contentment, master of all he surveyed. Not really, of course, but it was a pleasant daydream, and this early in the year it was an easy illusion to sustain. There were few boats out on the water, and all of those were working boats. This pleasant little cove was empty of any human life save himself, and the only boat visible on the open sea was a distant dot near the horizon. He’d been dubious at first about taking up Simon’s offer/request of a week or so keeping an eye on Simon’s new house in the wilds of Dorset. Yes, he’d just finished a tough job and was due a break. Martin needed a break, ideally away from home and the memories that had driven him to take on a contract for weeks of fourteen-hour days. But he’d been thinking of a weekend in Paris, seeing the sights, not a week in darkest Dorset with nothing to do but brood. “Don’t be an idiot,” Simon had said to him. “You still haven’t got over the two-timing bastard. You’ll look at all those Greek statues in the Louvre, and all you’ll think of is how you should be seeing them with him. Or ogling them with him.” Martin smiled at the memory. Simon was thoroughly straight and thoroughly promiscuous, but that hadn’t stopped them forming an instant bond on the day they’d met at university. And it hadn’t stopped Simon being outraged on Martin’s behalf when he’d discovered that his lover was a married man, the secrecy demanded not because Barry was afraid of being outed as gay but because he was having an affair. It was the deception that hurt -- and that had made Simon so angry when Martin had phoned him to pour his heart out. His friend might sleep with any woman who’d have him, but Simon had never, ever lied to any of them about it. Simon had listened to him, comforted him, and reassured him that he wasn’t being unreasonable in being hurt by Barry’s behaviour.

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Martin pushed away the memory of the scene when he’d confronted the bastard. It wasn’t worth it. Better to sit and admire the intense blue of the sea and the way the early morning light washed over the low cliff that encircled the cove. The sea was calm, with only slight ripples to gently rock the boat in a soothing rhythm. The sun was still behind the eastern cliff, but overhead the sky was a glorious deep blue, shading down to a pale eggshell colour near the horizon. It was almost silent, the only sound that of the tiny waves slapping against the cove’s rock wall. Simon had been right. It was peaceful here, the sort of quiet that gives comfort rather than an opportunity to brood. Martin could sit and soak up the atmosphere for a while and then read his book. He had an audio book as well, in case he felt like lying back and listening to someone else read, but he was reluctant to disturb the silence. Really, the only flaw in the morning was that he was here alone, because Simon was off somewhere in Europe applying his own brand of oil on troubled waters. The original plan had been that when Martin finished his contract, he’d spend a week or so helping Simon move into the new house, but the best-laid plans rarely survived contact with Simon. It hadn’t been a great surprise when he’d picked up the phone and heard Simon apologising profusely for needing to leave the day after Martin’s holiday started, and telling him to come down anyway. By then Martin had already decided that pottering around in Simon’s new boat seemed like a good way to unwind, whether in company or by himself. Looking around him at the peaceful scene, Martin felt no regrets at all. Even having to get up early this morning to drive Simon to the railway station had held the reward of a beautiful dawn. There was nothing here to remind him of betrayal. He got out his book, intending to read until the light was right for what he really had in mind today. By half past ten the light was at the right angle to pick out the rock banding in the cliffs. Martin read a little longer, finishing his book. Then he took the boat closer in to the cliff. Satisfied that he could see the general features clearly enough, he poured himself a cup of tea and picked up his Dictaphone. He methodically described the broad geological features he could see, working from top to bottom. This cliff had some nicely exposed bedding layers, and with any luck the fossiliferous bed he could see exposed at beach level actually was fossil-bearing just here. Simon had laughed at him, saying it was a busman’s holiday for a consultant geologist to go out fossil-hunting for pleasure, but it was nice to have the chance to go looking for fossils just because they were pretty. Long habit ensured that Martin recorded exactly where and what context he’d found them in, but that would only add to his collector’s pride. He’d talked to his Dictaphone for a good fifteen minutes, occasionally sipping his tea to keep his throat moist, before he realised that he had company. A smooth grey shape had broken the surface of the water in front of the boat.

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It rolled slightly, and an eye peered at him. Martin jumped. Then he realised that he was looking at a dolphin. Two dolphins, in fact, for there was a whistling noise behind him, and he turned to see another of the animals at the side of the boat, looking up at him. All thoughts of fossil-hunting went out of his head. The cliff would be there tomorrow. Dolphins were another matter. “Hello,” he said and immediately felt foolish. They couldn’t understand him. And yet the dolphins were clearly curious about him; if he talked to them, it would at least indicate interest back. “What do you two want?” The dolphin next to the boat whistled at him again and grinned. Martin knew that bottle-nosed dolphins had a permanent “smile” that wasn’t a real expression, but this one was definitely grinning at him. It was the cadence of the whistle. It sounded as if the dolphin was imitating human laughter, and together with the open mouth it gave the impression of a real smile. “Are you laughing?” he asked, mostly in fancy. To his surprise the dolphin gave him a brief whistle and dipped its head. It couldn’t have understood exactly what he’d said, but it had obviously been hanging around humans enough to have picked up some body language. “Well, this is an interesting conversation, but we’re not going to get very far on body language and tone of voice.” The other dolphin whistled at him. No, at the dolphin he’d been talking to, judging by the flurry of whistles back and forth. They shifted position, ending up side by side next to the boat, both looking up at him. Only then did Martin realise just how large they were, as long as the small boat he was sitting in. He was abruptly reminded that dolphins were the smallest members of the whale family. They were very small whales, but even a very small whale looked quite big when two of them were this close to him and his now fragile-seeming boat. Though they didn’t seem at all hostile, just curious. Perhaps they were hoping for a snack; if they’d had much to do with humans, they’d undoubtedly encountered people trying to feed them. He edged closer to the side of the boat. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any fish. No fish.” There was a mournful whistle from the one he’d first seen, who clearly understood “no fish”. Then it nudged the boat with its head, swung around to point its beak at the cliff, whistled, and looked back at him. “You want to hear more about the fossils?” Martin asked, wondering if he was dreaming. The reply was a whistle that sounded like a yes. Well, whether they’d actually understood anything of what he’d said, or whether they just liked the sound of his voice,

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they obviously wanted him to go on talking. So he settled back down on his seat and told them about the local fossils. They were certainly one of the odder audiences he’d had, but at least they were attentive. After a while Martin almost forgot that they couldn’t really understand the details, and dropped into lecture mode, putting together a basic script he could use next time he gave a presentation at a school. The dolphins were still listening to him by the time he’d come to the end of it, apparently quite happy to be used as a test audience. He stretched and said, “That’s it for now, I’m afraid. I need to spend some time collecting specimens to go with it; then I can fine-tune it.” They whistled at him again. Martin recognised a thank you when he heard it, even if it wasn’t in English. He glanced at his watch. The dolphins had been with him for an hour or so, and he was surprised at their patience. “Thanks for sitting around listening to me. It’s easier to bounce ideas off an audience, even if they don’t understand me. Actually, you two have much better attention spans than most of the kids in the schools I’ve spoken at.” More whistling, sounding like laughter again, making him wonder just how much the pair understood. He made a mental note to look up dolphin behaviour when he got home, though he suspected the more interesting data would be classified. He’d heard of naval experiments using dolphins. Maybe they would understand very simple sentences. “I’m going to move the boat. Move boat.” He pointed to the engine. To Martin’s relief the dolphins dipped their heads and moved away, just far enough that he stopped worrying about them getting caught by the boat when he moved it. He wasn’t confident of his ability to control the boat with any great accuracy, even though it was designed to be easy for a novice to manage. Boats weren’t his thing, and Simon hadn’t had much time to instruct him after he’d arrived. He still managed to get the boat up onto the small shingle beach at the back of the cove without too much difficulty. This was what the boat was meant for -- pottering around the coves, getting on and off otherwise inaccessible beaches. It was a slightly odd-looking craft, built to order for Simon. Simon’s hobby involved looking at still-living sea life, and the boat was built with an amateur naturalist’s needs in mind. Plenty of waterproof storage space for notebooks and binoculars and the like, yet small and light enough for one person to handle on a beach with no quay or ramp. So long as that person didn’t mind getting his ankles wet, of course, but a pair of Wellington boots dealt with that little difficulty. Martin picked up his tools and set off along the beach to where the fossil bed dipped within easy reach. To his delight there was a nice ammonite on a freshly exposed surface right in front of him as he approached the cliff. He photographed it, then tested it carefully. It was loose enough to justify removing it before the next storm came in. He gently freed the ammonite from the surrounding rock and carried it back to the boat to wrap it in padding. He still had his audience, the dolphins as close in to the beach as

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they could probably manage without risking beaching themselves. It surprised him that they were so interested in what he was doing. But since they seemed willing to stay with him, he encouraged them by explaining in a loud voice what he was doing. He spent another half hour or so examining the fossil bed, finding several more nice specimens, though none quite as fine as the first. Satisfied with the morning’s work, he went back to the boat for lunch. He pulled the boat off the beach and moved it out into deeper water where the dolphins would be comfortable, then put on his audio book. When he’d first arrived in the cove he’d been alone and reluctant to disturb the silence. Now he had company, and company that liked the sound of a human voice. The audio book might keep the dolphins with him while he was eating. They didn’t pay much attention for a minute or two. Then they hurtled over to the boat, stopping just short of bumping into it, and positioned themselves either side. One of them whistled at him. “All right, I’ll restart it.” He did so. Only then did it occur to him to take a photo of the dolphins. He’d been so startled, then enchanted, by their initial appearance that he’d quite forgotten about his camera. After that he’d been concentrating on the fossils, keeping both himself and the dolphins amused. He took out the camera and ran off a few shots. One dolphin rolled an eye at him, but seemed unperturbed. The other was too absorbed in listening to the book to pay even that much attention to the camera. The dolphins seemed content to listen to the book as Martin ate his lunch, with no begging for food. It was only when he brought out a chocolate bar that he got a reaction. One of the dolphins lifted high in the water and whistled. “No. Chocolate’s poisonous to some animals, and I won’t risk it.” The dolphin whistled more loudly and leaned its head on the side of the boat, making it tip down alarmingly. The dolphin hastily retreated and whistled again. They hadn’t bothered him for food until now, so someone must have given them chocolate in the past, giving them a taste for it. For the first time Martin regretted that the dolphins didn’t really understand more than very simple English. How could he make them understand that chocolate might make them sick? Well, if he was right about them having had it before, they should be all right with a small amount. And it was a small bar, so they wouldn’t expect more if they knew that that was all there was. He held it where they could see it and broke it into three pieces. The one who’d asked for some promptly opened its mouth, and he tossed it one of the pieces. He turned to the other one. “What about you?” Another open mouth, and another piece tossed. Martin put his own piece in his mouth before anyone got ideas about a second helping. He didn’t mind sharing; it was a small price

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to pay for the pleasure of their company. But he was feeling slightly nervous about the effect it might have on them. Too late for regrets now. The three of them spent the rest of the afternoon listening to the book. The dolphins didn’t move from their station alongside the boat until the book came to an end. Then they moved away a little and looked at him. One whistled. Martin looked at his watch. It wasn’t that late. But he’d been up very early, and now he was tired. He needed to get the boat back to the jetty near Simon’s place while he was still fit to operate it safely. And there was a cold breeze now, which he hadn’t noticed while immersed in the story. “Time I was getting back,” he said regretfully. “I just hope you two are still around tomorrow.” They’d been good company. He was cold and a little stiff. But he felt much better than he had twenty-four hours earlier. God, he must have been in a bad way if this pair made him feel far more wanted than Barry had in that last fight. “Thanks, guys. This has been the best date I’ve been on in ages.” He started up the engine, and they moved away, giving him room to manoeuvre out of the cove. He looked back as he took the boat out into open water. They were following him at a safe distance. They’d had a good time too. Was it the audio book? He’d have to bring another one with him tomorrow, just in case they showed up again. With no interesting diversions into likely-looking coves, the journey back seemed to take longer than on the way out that morning. Nevertheless, the dolphins followed him all the way home. Not right up to the jetty, no, but as he turned and looked back, he could see grey shapes out on the water, shapes that paused for a moment, then headed back out to sea. Nice animals. He’d have to see if there was anything less problematic than chocolate in the pantry for tomorrow’s picnic.

***** Dinner was a Marks and Spencer meal from the freezer. Martin was tired after the early start and didn’t feel like cooking or going out, especially when he was on his own. He’d had plenty of company during the day, even if it hadn’t been human, and felt no urge to seek it out now. Instead he went online to do a little research on dolphins while he ate. It turned out that his dolphins were unusual not in their behaviour, but their size. Adult bottle-nosed dolphins ranged from around two metres to around four and a half metres in length, but in the UK they were typically over four metres. His pair weren’t much bigger than a tall human, perhaps two metres or a little more. The equivalent of teenagers, perhaps? Their interest in him wasn’t unusual. Dolphins were curious about humans and had even been known to protect swimmers from sharks. That chimed with what he thought he remembered, but he kept reading.

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The really interesting thing was that dolphins were bisexual. The adult females and the young lived in pods, but the adult males often formed long-term pairs and trios who hunted together, protected each other, and pursued females together. They also spent their spare time playing together, and that included having sex with each other when there weren’t any receptive females around. His pair had to be a young male hunting partnership. “So you two are probably fuck buddies when you’re not chasing women. And you’re smart and have plenty of spare time, and I’m an interesting new toy for you to play with.” He could think of worse things than being the week’s entertainment for a pair of highly intelligent wild animals. At least they had better manners than the last person he’d been a toy for.

***** He was just going to bed when the phone rang. “Martin. I got here in one piece, though the flight was a bit delayed. How’s it going with you?” The line was a little crackly, but Simon’s voice was still a sweet comfort to him. “I’m feeling a lot better, thanks.” “You haven’t met someone already, have you?” “In a manner of speaking.” He told Simon about the dolphins. “Good god,” Simon said. “I knew there’s a pod off the Dorset coast, but I hadn’t heard of anything like that. You lucky bastard.” He knew Simon’s envy was quite sincere. Simon was besotted with nature in general, even if his hobby was peering at the small things in rock pools. “Not my fault you buggered off the moment I arrived,” he teased. “Maybe they’ll still be around when you get back.” “Well, bribe ’em with anything you like out of the freezer,” Simon said. “Even if they don’t stick around, they’re obviously doing you some good.” They chatted for a few minutes more. With Simon reassured and the call finished, Martin headed for bed, feeling much happier than he would have expected a few days earlier. His only worry now was whether the dolphins would be there tomorrow.

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Chapter Two Martin woke early the next morning, his body clock still a little off after the early rising and early to bed. With no reason to stay in bed, and two good reasons to go out in the boat again, he didn’t bother with a lie-in. Up, dressed, a good breakfast, and a packed lunch supplemented with the packet of shrimp from the freezer, all before the time he would normally be going to work. The dolphins were waiting for him. Not right by the boat, no; but as soon as he was out into open water, they appeared, keeping pace with him. Martin led his little convoy to the cove he’d finished up in the day before, and paused to look around. Then he moved the boat around the point to the next cove and was pleased to find another good exposure of the fossil bed. At the far side of the cove it dipped under the water; but at the back of the cove, above a nice sand beach, it was at a convenient height for working. He made a note of his location and described the place before settling down with his book. At the moment, the dolphins were of more interest to him than the fossils were. This time he read aloud to them out of his new book. He’d only read a page or two before going to sleep the night before, so out of courtesy he started from the beginning. Even if they couldn’t understand the words, the intonation would probably make more sense if he read from the start. They seemed to approve. There were disappointed whistles when he reached the end of the chapter and put away the book. They followed him in as he took the boat towards the beach, once again stopping only when the water grew too shallow for them. He turned on some music to keep them amused while he was hunting fossils and went to inspect the cliff. The tide had dropped by the time he’d finished, and he had to push the boat off the sand. As he did so, one of the dolphins whistled at him.

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“Hang on a minute.” One last push got the boat into deep enough water, and he gave it a shove and jumped in. “What’s up?” The dolphin waited until he was settled in the boat, then turned and headed towards where the cliff dropped into deeper water. Martin followed, wondering what was going on. The dropping tide had revealed part of a small fossil skeleton embedded in the cliff. The dolphin nudged it gently with its beak, whistled, and backed out. Martin whistled himself. “That’s going to be a nice one if it’s all there. Thank you.” They really had been paying attention to what he’d been doing, if they understood that he’d want to see this. He wondered if they’d had some sort of training. Escaped from a dolphinarium, perhaps? Or maybe they’d simply spent a lot of time hanging around boats for the company. The best thing to do was to wait until the tide had dropped far enough to expose all of the fossil. He photographed it as it was, just in case. Then he moved the boat away from the cliff and started reading aloud again. A couple of chapters later, he went back to check. The fossil turned out to be in a piece of rock that was coming loose anyway. Two pieces of good luck in as many days, although this one was a little trickier because he was in the boat and couldn’t get any leverage. Then the dolphins pushed against the boat, holding it steady against the cliff. Martin was startled by the help, but made the most of it, prising at the small slab of rock. Finally he had it free and safely stowed away. “Good lads,” he said to the dolphins. “That’s a lovely one. Thank you.” The rest of the day followed the same pattern as the previous one, the only change being a couple of handfuls of thawed shrimp to each dolphin at lunchtime. He thought that they’d have preferred chocolate but were still pleased that he’d brought them something. The day after that was the same, as well. The three of them settled into a routine, Martin wondering all the while how long it would be before they got bored and left him, but delighted to have their company for as long as they chose to give it. They worked their way through the book and started another. Martin told the dolphins about the practical use in commercial geology of much smaller fossils to date different rock formations. Between them they found some more nice specimens. Martin discovered by experiment that the dolphins liked a lot of different music styles but had a particular fondness for the ruder songs from Gilbert and Sullivan’s light operas. And on the sixth day it changed, as the fine weather finally broke. Martin was so absorbed in the book he was reading to the dolphins that he noticed nothing until the first fat drop of rain splashed onto the page. Startled, he looked up to find that half the sky was covered in fast-moving heavy clouds. He was still in sunshine, but not for long -- his book had been attacked by the leading edge of the cloud front. He hastily wiped the book dry and put it away under cover, then

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pulled out his raincoat. It was time to head for home, and he didn’t think much of his chances of getting there before the rain set in. He revised his chances downward when the darkened sky was suddenly lit by a flash of lightning. He swore, shoved the few items still out into their cupboards, and tried to start the engine. Nothing happened. The only sound to answer him was the rumble of thunder in the distance. He couldn’t be out of fuel; he’d filled the tank that morning, mindful of Simon’s warning that running out of petrol could mean a long row rather than a long walk. The boat was fitted with oarlocks and a pair of small oars, but they were meant for silent manoeuvring of the boat near shy wildlife, not for extended travel. He tried again. The engine coughed once and died, and as if to mock him it was echoed by another low rumble of thunder, sounding nearer now. Not just thunder. The wind was rising. Here in the sheltered cove the water was still calm, but he could hear the wind outside. Soon the open water wouldn’t be a good place for a small open boat. He tried once again, schooling himself to be calm and not get it wrong through panicking. The engine almost caught, but then failed, and now he thought he knew why. His careful filling of the tank might have been his undoing -- the fuel could have been contaminated with something that had blocked the feed line. Simon might have fixed it, but Martin didn’t know enough to do it on his own, not out on the water, in heavy rain, without tools. He pulled out his mobile phone, but wasn’t surprised to find that he was in a reception dead spot here under the cliff. Right now his choices were get out and walk, row, or hole up somewhere. Get out and walk wasn’t a serious option, not from here. The cliff around this cove was too high to climb safely in a storm. Holing up wasn’t much of an option either, because the beach probably wouldn’t be there come high tide, not with waves driven by a storm. He could sit tight on the beach until the tide came right in, then bail if necessary and hope that the cove was sheltered enough that the boat wouldn’t be driven into the cliffs; but his safest option was to start rowing. He wasn’t going to get very far, but he didn’t really need to. In the last cove there’d been a good wide strip of completely dry sand and shingle above the high water mark, so even with a storm he should be safe from the rising tide. He was confident of his ability to row that far without capsizing the boat if he started now. The dolphins were already agitated, but when he tried to set up the oars, they started whistling in alarm. One headed off to the mouth of the cove and paused there, whistling loudly. As he started rowing, it came back and whistled frantically at him. “I know, I know!”

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At least it had the sense to keep out of his way. They positioned themselves one on each side of the boat, where he could see them but wouldn’t hit them with his oars. It was awkward going; with the engine he’d been able to face the direction he was travelling in, but rowing meant having to face away. At first he tried to twist round every so often to see where he was going so that he could keep his course to the middle of the cove; then he realised that the dolphins were trying to guide him. If he kept between them, he’d be on the right course. He knew when he’d nearly reached the open water, because a wave slapped the boat hard enough to scare him. Feeling the boat move in the grip of the sea and the wind, he was no longer so sure of his ability to get it safely to the beach he had in mind. Nor were the dolphins. As he paused to think about his next move, they reared up, looked around, and whistled at each other. Then one dropped back down, swam over to the boat, and reared up again next to the prow. Martin wondered what the hell was going on. The dolphin was clearly trying to tell him something. Then he remembered the line he used to tie the boat up at night. Was he being offered a tow? He grabbed the line, made sure it was securely fastened to the boat, and tossed the free end out to the dolphin. The dolphin grabbed the line in its mouth and promptly headed off, towing the boat behind it. He’d guessed correctly what the dolphin had had in mind, but it was taking the boat further along the coast rather than back the way they’d come. He nearly stood up to shout, but decided to trust the animal. It knew the coast better than he did. Instead he pulled out the spare line, tied that off securely, and held the free end up where the other dolphin could see it. It whistled at him in acknowledgement, and he tossed it the line. He pulled out the tarpaulin and spread it out to keep rain and waves off as much of the boat as possible. The boat was well built, but there was only so much it could take, and he had no intention of testing how much water it could take on board without sinking. Simon was never going to believe this, but Martin could have done without the wild ride. He’d rather read old legends than re-enact them, and a dolphin-powered chariot wasn’t his idea of a good time. He’d be seasick if they didn’t stop soon; the boat was bouncing over the waves in a thoroughly unpleasant manner. They passed two coves before the dolphins finally veered back into shelter. Martin expected them to take him in as close to the beach as they could, but to his surprise, and then horror, they headed straight for the cliff. “What the hell are you playing at?” He started to stand up, ready to jump, and then just as it seemed too late, he understood what they were doing. There was an opening in the cliff face, low and hidden, and they were

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heading straight into it. A very low opening. He sat down and ducked his head to one side, but not quite in time. Something hit a glancing blow on his temple just as they passed under the cliff. Between that and the seasickness, he was in no shape to notice anything for a moment other than that they had passed under a thick wall of rock and into a cave.

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Chapter Three Dazed, Martin sat quietly as the dolphins drew the boat alongside a rock shelf. The water was still a little rough even in here, but it was much calmer than the open sea. Even feeling queasy and stunned, he could raise a little curiosity, and he peered at the rock shelf. It looked as if it was part natural, part worked by human hand. The dolphins let the boat come to a halt alongside a flight of steps cut into the rock. Martin looked around in wonder. There was a little light coming through the cave entrance, and he could see reasonably well. The cave was quite large once you got past the entrance, with a high ceiling and plenty of room for a boat. The rock shelf ran right back into the gloom at the rear of the cave, but there was also a beach of fine shingle where he could draw up the boat if necessary. He knew that there were abandoned quarries along the Dorset coast. Most were some metres above sea level, dug into the cliff face at whatever level the best seam of stone was to be found, but one or two faced directly onto the sea. This could be either a natural cave or a quarry, but it was clearly long disused. A rockfall along one wall suggested that there might once have been a larger entrance there. If this place had been abandoned for a long time, the dolphins might well be the only ones who knew about it. He was safe for the moment, but he’d need to get out of here under his own power, because if he was reported missing, nobody was going to be looking for him in here. First thing was to get himself out of the boat. He still felt sick and wasn’t sure how much of it was the bumpy ride and how much was the bump on his head. If he was sitting on dry land he’d at least get rid of the seasickness. But he’d need to take as much as he could with him, in case he felt too wobbly to come back for anything.

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Blanket. He’d got wet in places even under the tarpaulin and his coat, but the blanket was in a watertight bag and should be dry. Even if it was wet, wet wool would be warmer than wet jeans. Food, and the second flask of tea that would still be hot. Torch, of course, because it was dark at the back of the cave; and if he did end up trapped in here, he’d need it to signal to rescuers. Tarpaulin because if he turned it wet side down, it would be extra insulation between him and the cold shingle. And the cushion pad from the seat. Martin looked around for something to tie the boat to, to stop it drifting away. Then he realised that he could just climb up the steps with the line in his hand, walk along the rock shelf, and simply tow the whole thing to the shingle beach. That way he could climb out without getting any wetter than he already was, but would still have the boat close to hand. He managed to get the boat half out onto the beach and even found a rusted iron ring to tie it to. Getting the tarpaulin and blanket out took the last of his strength. He staggered up the beach and was delighted to find a stretch of dry sand past the shingle. He spread out the tarp, then the blanket on top of that, and started stripping off his wet clothes. It seemed to take a long time, and his fingers felt like rubber. In fact, he felt rather as if he were drunk. He stopped and closed his eyes, and the nausea receded a little. But he knew now that he had concussion. That bang on the head had been enough to do it. Wonderful. Lost, trapped by a storm, and concussed. Not the best situation to be in. He had to hope that the concussion was mild, because if he had any serious injury he was in deep shit. “Don’t go to sleep just yet,” a deep, attractive voice said. “You owe us something for the rescue, I think.” Startled, Martin opened his eyes again. There was a man standing in front of him, and another just walking out of the water. And no dolphins in the water.

Naked men. Tall, handsome, naked men. The one in front of him was definitely tall, a good bit taller than he was. And strapping with it, muscular without being muscle-bound. Tall, blond, and handsome. The one just shaking the water off his legs was dark-haired, but otherwise more of the same. Martin felt his cock rise, and then his cheeks flush as he remembered that he was naked too and they could see his reaction. The man in front of him looked down at his erection and then back up at his face, and grinned. He tried to remember whether you got hallucinations with concussion. It was too long since the last time he’d been on a first-aid course. He closed his eyes again. “You’re not real.” They couldn’t be real; dazed or not, he’d have noticed if another boat had followed his in. “Oh, you’re half naked and find yourself faced with a couple of naked men instead of a couple of dolphins, so you go into denial.” They must have seen him arrive with the dolphins. But how? How had they got here? Could there be a passage down from the surface? Unlikely. They’d come out of the water, not

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from further back in the cave. And there was nowhere for them to have come from, unless they’d swum in after him, for there was only his own boat and no other. It was an unlikely place to go for a swim. “I’m hallucinating. They’re not real,” he said to himself. Then he felt bodies pressed up against him. “If we’re not real, this isn’t happening,” another voice said. He grabbed at the man in front of him, too dizzy now to care about anything but the support he offered. Arms went around him, holding him tightly. “Grateful for your rescue? How grateful?” “No.” He should let go, should pull away. But he wasn’t sure he could even stand up without help now. Hands pressed on his shoulders, forcing him to his knees. He could feel body heat in front of his face. He opened his eyes and saw what he expected to see -- a cock. And felt a sudden rush of bile to his mouth. “I’ll be sick.” “Not your sort of thing, is it? Amazing how many want it when they think they’re going to be on top, and then change their minds. I suppose you’d have been the same given half a chance.” He tried to fight down the dizziness and looked up. Hallucination or not, the man was in front of him and looking fairly determined. Though there was no attempt to force him to take the man’s cock now that he was on his knees. “No, I’ll really be sick. Seasick. And concussion.” The man stared at him for a moment; then his expression changed to concern, and he knelt down in front of Martin. “What happened?” “Bumped my head coming into the cave.” God, his speech was slurred now. It had taken a little while for the effects to set in, but he was very definitely concussed. “Here.” He tried to point to where he’d hit his head. “He’s putting it on,” the man behind him said. “No, I don’t think he is,” the first one said. He touched Martin’s temple. Martin flinched, but the touch was gentler than he’d expected after their initial aggression. It didn’t hurt. All he felt was a light touch on his skin and a strange buzzing in his head that must be an effect of the concussion. “He’s hurt, Patrick. Go and see if he’s got a torch in the boat; I can’t see whether there’s any surface damage.” The man smiled at Martin, and there was only gentle humour in it, no threat. “All right, payment can wait.” “Really can’t ...” “Shhh, it’s all right. We didn’t realise you were hurt, or we wouldn’t have pushed you like that.” Nothing but concern in the man’s face now, the aggression stripped away. He put his arms around Martin again. “Try to stay awake for a few minutes; we need to check how bad it is.”

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Martin let himself sag into the man’s embrace and closed his eyes again. He was in no shape to try to get away, and no longer felt any need to. “Wish I could. Couple of pretty lads like you, and I’m too fucking sick to fuck,” he muttered. “Though if I wasn’t sick, I bet you wouldn’t be here.” Something in the back of his mind still said that they couldn’t really be here, that he was more badly injured than he’d realised and this was some sort of fever dream. He felt the man stiffen slightly and realised that he’d said it out loud. Realised what he’d said out loud and was astonished at himself. He wasn’t one for making passes at strangers, and certainly not strangers who’d been pretty damned sure of themselves in making a pass at him. Aggressive, yes, but concerned for him when they’d realised he was hurt. At least, this one was. He’d dropped all interest in dominance games as soon as he’d seen that Martin was genuinely hurt. Martin wasn’t so dazed that he couldn’t understand his own reaction to that. The contrast with Barry’s behaviour was only too stark. It just reinforced his theory that this was a dream, that these two men were something from his subconscious mind, a projection of what he wanted. “You do like men, then?” “Mmm.” He rested his head against the man’s chest. “Still feel sick. Think it’s seasickness as well, though.” “That must have been a rough ride at the end.” “Don’t want to think about it.” He heard a quiet chuckle, then, “No, I don’t suppose you do.” “Found the torch, George,” he heard the other man say. Patrick, George had called him. “And the bastard’s got more chocolate in this cupboard!” “Leave it,” George snapped. “That will be part of his emergency supplies, and he might just need it if the storm lasts long. Forget your stomach for once; you don’t need it.” “But how often do we get choc--” “Patrick!” George’s voice was a whipcrack. Martin jumped and winced. George’s arms tightened around him again. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to shout in your ear.” “There’s some food left from lunch,” Martin said. “And tea.” If he was concussed, he shouldn’t be eating or drinking, just in case. But cold and dehydration were a more immediate worry than any chance of undergoing surgery in the near future. And he felt cold now, even with George holding him. “All right,” George soothed. Then more loudly, “Bring his lunch box and the tea flask.” “Was doing that.”

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“You are cold,” George said to him. “Look, I’m going to let go long enough to get that blanket.” He would have nodded, but remembered in time. Instead he just opened his eyes. It wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. “Don’t feel as sick,” he reported. “Good. The seasickness is probably wearing off.” George released him, picked up the blanket, and wrapped it around him. He hadn’t been all that cold, not yet, but the warmth of the blanket around him felt good. So did George’s arms around him, holding him steady. He risked looking around and found that a few minutes of being on dry land had made a big difference in how ill he felt. “Who are you?” “You haven’t guessed?” George asked. “If he hasn’t realised, then it’s no wonder you scared him when you came on to him, George.” Patrick crouched down in front of him and handed him a cup of tea. “Here, it’s still hot.” He took the cup and found the tea still warm enough to be comforting. The nausea had receded enough that he could sip slowly at the sweet, warm drink. After a few mouthfuls, he tried again. “Where did you come from?” If they had a way out of this cave that didn’t involve going on the open water, he should take advantage of it. “We brought you here,” George said. Someone stroked Martin’s head, very gently. “I thought you realised that. I’m sorry. You said we were the best date you’d had in ages, so I assumed you’d still feel the same way. That’s why we thought you were just playing hard to get.” Martin looked out across the water in the cave. Definitely no dolphins. And he didn’t believe that they’d have just abandoned him, not after the trouble they’d gone to in getting him to shelter. Even through his dizziness, he understood why his subconscious had insisted that the men couldn’t be real. There was only one way for them to be here. “Now I know I’m hallucinating. I’m sitting here talking to figments of my imagination, because I’m too fucking out of it to tell the difference between dreams and reality.” “We’re what you dream of?” George asked. “Yes,” he said with utter honesty. Not one but two handsome men, men who wanted him but were prepared to wait, men who were dominant but secure enough to put his needs first. Conjured up by his imagination from the company he’d kept this last week, the company he’d already recognised as better for him than Barry had been. “I wish Barry was like you,” he added, then winced inwardly as he heard himself. He sounded drunk, slurred speech and self-pity. It was embarrassing even if his only audience was a figment of his imagination.

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“Barry?” “Boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. Very, very ex, bastard.” “Dump you?” Patrick asked. “No.” He’d have been less angry if that had been Barry’s reaction. “Told me he was quite willing to carry on, as long as I didn’t carry on about him being married.” It spilled out of him now, the remaining anger and hurt that Simon hadn’t managed to bleed off, that the holiday had soothed for a little while but not removed. “I find out that I’m his mistress, and he turns around and tells me that he’s willing to let me carry on as long as I’m properly discreet! As if I should be grateful!” And then there was the last, most bitter thing, because it showed just what Barry was -- a selfish bastard concerned only with himself. “He thinks that because I’m a sub I’ll tolerate being treated like dirt out of bed.” “So you told him where to go.” George cuddled him. “Any regrets?” The anger surging through him overrode the nausea, and he sat upright to look straight into George’s eyes. “Only that I ever got involved with him in the first place. And that you’re only my subconscious telling me what it is I thought I’d found in him -- a dom with manners.” He wanted to be controlled, yes. Even treated roughly sometimes. But only by someone who understood that it was with his permission, that he was not simply a convenient toy. “Barry never understood that it’s about partnership.” Then the fit of passion drained, leaving him exhausted. He slumped down again. “You need to rest,” George said. “Lie down.” “Shouldn’t. Need to stay alert.” “We’ll look after you.” He let himself be persuaded to lie down, a warm body either side of him, the blanket over him. Even if he was still hallucinating, he was reasonably sure that he hadn’t imagined getting out of the boat and bringing the blanket with him, so he should be warm enough. And so long as he was warm enough in reality, he was content to enjoy the dream. It felt good to rest his head on George’s shoulder, put his arm across that broad chest. At least this dream was pleasant. “Pity I’m going home tomorrow. Even if this was real, it’s only a week’s holiday, and I won’t be able to get back here even for a weekend break for a while.” “We’ll wait for you to come back,” George said. “You never did tell us your name, you know.” “Martin.” And then he fell asleep. He was woken by loud whistling. It didn’t sound like his alarm clock, and he was disorientated for a few seconds. Then he remembered that he was disorientated, and why. For a moment Martin wondered if it had all been just a strange dream, but as the last of the sleepiness faded away, he looked around and saw the cave. That part at least was real.

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He still felt fuzzy, but reality was back as it should be. He was alone under the blanket, and the dolphins were in the water, trying to attract his attention. He sat up so that they could see he was all right, and looked around for his clothes. They were spread out alongside him. Still damp when he touched them, but he was warm and dry now. He could put up with wearing damp clothes for as long as it took to get back to the jetty. The water was calm and flat, and judging by the light coming through the cave entrance it was very late afternoon, but a clear sky again. He checked his watch. The dolphins must have let him sleep right through high tide, waiting for the tide to drop again so they could take him safely through the low entrance. This time he’d duck before they got to the barrier. He dressed quickly, shivering as the damp patches touched his skin, and stuffed the blanket back in its bag. The tarp he wrapped over his shoulders as a sort of cloak, taking advantage of the remains of his body heat on it. He picked up the lunch things and made his way back to the boat. He hadn’t dreamed the steps cut into the rock shelf. They made getting back into the boat without getting wet again a lot easier. The dolphins swam over to him, and he tossed them the towlines. And then they were off, another chariot ride for him. Though this one was much smoother than the first, to his great relief. Martin wondered how far the dolphins would take him. To the nearest beach with access to a path would be the most sensible thing for them, though he didn’t fancy the long walk home. But they kept going when they reached the first such place. It was going to be a long and tiring swim for them, and he was grateful that they were willing to go to that much effort for him. His bribery and corruption efforts had paid off, although Simon certainly couldn’t have had this in mind when he’d suggested bribing them to stay around. Simon. Simon was due back by now; he’d be worried. Martin pulled out his phone. There was still no reception, but a brief flicker of one bar suggested that he might be able to make a call soon. He kept an eye on the phone while keeping a watch for any boats or walkers he could hail for help. Eventually the flicker turned into a low but steady signal strength, and he tried Simon’s number. “Martin!” The relief in Simon’s voice was obvious. “Where are you?” “I got caught by a thunderstorm. Long story, but I’m coming in now.” “What’s wrong with you? You sound drunk.” “Concussion.” “Shit!” A pause, then, “Can you manage, or shall I call the Coast Guard?” “I think I’ll be all right. I’m just offshore, so all I have to do is follow it along until I get home.” He was reluctant to call out the emergency services if he didn’t really need them; others might be in greater need. But just in case, “If I don’t get back within ...” He guessed.

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“... half an hour, and you can’t raise me, call them. I headed west this morning, and I’m coming back now, but I’m not sure exactly how far away I am.” “All right. But I’m going to call you every ten minutes, and if I don’t get an answer, I’m calling them.” Martin hung up, relieved that someone knew where he was, but wondering if he’d made a mistake in turning down the Coast Guard. No. If the dolphins got too tired, he could always phone Simon back. There was nothing more he could do now to be useful other than to sit still and not rock the boat. Simon was waiting for him at the jetty. It was obvious when Simon realised what was powering the boat -- his jaw dropped as he stared at them. The dolphins let the lines go just as the boat came up to the jetty, leaving Martin and Simon to deal with getting the boat safely in. They swung around to swim up to the side of the boat away from the jetty, looking at Simon. By now Martin had some feel for their expressions, and he got the impression they weren’t really certain of Simon’s intentions. “It’s all right; he’s my friend.” One whistled sharply at him. “Just a friend,” he said, then wondered why he’d said it. Obviously he hadn’t quite shaken off the effects of that strange dream. “What’s wrong with them?” “They don’t know you, and they’ve been looking after me all afternoon.” He took Simon’s hand and scrambled up onto the jetty, then turned back to the dolphins. “Thank you.” Simon looked at the dolphins, then at him. “They understand you?” “That much at least.” “You’re bloody lucky. What happened?” “Storm blew up and the engine cut out. Those two towed me into a cave for shelter, but I banged my head. I’ve been out of it for a while.” “Ye gods.” Simon touched his temple, making him flinch. “Casualty department for you, my lad.” Simon looked back at the dolphins. “Thank you. Thank you for bringing him home.” In a lower tone, he said to Martin, “I feel an idiot, but if they can understand simple English, they deserve it.” Both dolphins whistled, then turned away to the open sea. Martin watched them go until he could no longer see them. Would they still be here the next time he came down? Would they remember him? He was going to miss them. “Come on,” Simon said. “Time for you to get checked over.” Martin suffered himself to be led to the car and apologised for not being there to meet Simon at the station.

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“No trouble,” Simon said. “I just got a taxi when I couldn’t get hold of you by phone. It was only when you were late coming in that I started to worry. So, what did happen to you?” He told Simon about it, and then he told the doctor at the hospital. But not all about it. Just that he’d had hallucinations. He was pronounced concussed but fit to be let loose. “Not the happy break I’d hoped to give you,” Simon said at the train station the next day. Martin thought about the week he’d had and shook his head. “I had a good time, Simon. I’d have enjoyed it even without those two. And they were worth a fright and a bang on the head.” “I’ll get that bloody engine fixed.” Simon grinned at him. “And you are not going out by yourself again until I’ve given you a crash course in maintenance. Next time you might not be so lucky.” “It could be a couple of months before I can get down again,” Martin warned. There was a new contract waiting for him when he got home, and he’d be lucky to see much of his own house for the next month, let alone anyone else’s. The guard blew his whistle and started slamming shut the last few carriage doors. “And if you’ve got a new boyfriend, bring him with you!” Simon shouted as the train started to pull away. Fat chance. But at least it would be from lack of opportunity to find one, rather than from depression. As Martin settled down into his seat, he brought an image of Barry into his mind and knew that he was cured. Figment of his imagination George might have been, but George had shown him what he wanted and that Barry wasn’t it. He had a right to expect better than that, and he was willing to wait for it if necessary.

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Chapter Four Martin was two days late starting on the new contract and was still slightly fuzzy even then. He was glad that he was working for a client he already knew well -- it might have been embarrassing, even harmful to his reputation, to have been so obviously dozy in front of someone who didn’t know what he was normally like. At least Doug just sighed and said, “Idiot. Stay in the office for the next couple of days; I don’t want you falling off any heights.” But working hard to catch up on a deadline job didn’t leave him much time or energy for socialising. That didn’t worry him. What did worry him was a lack of inclination to look for a new man, and the reason why. He’d expected that peculiar dream to fade along with the other effects of the concussion, but instead it had persisted. Not only had it persisted, but it was clear and coherent rather than fragmented, as if it was a real memory. And it was too damned detailed. And internally consistent. The only thing in it that didn’t make sense when he looked at it in broad daylight was the men’s claim that they were the dolphins, changed into human shape. If you accepted that, then all the rest of it hung together. There was none of the weird nonsense that seemed obvious and natural during a dream but dissolved into strange shadows as soon as you woke. What the hell had happened to him? Had some of it been real, the only delirium in the whole thing his conviction that the dolphins and the men were the same? He found his thoughts drifting back to that day during odd moments at work -- when he was taking a break to stretch his legs, when he sat down with a cup of tea and the latest issue of New Scientist. After a couple of weeks of going over it, Martin put away the idea that it had all been a dream. Especially after the day that he went to collect sand samples at the

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local beach, and the smell of saltwater triggered a sudden flash of memory of warm male skin damp with seawater. George and Patrick were real. They had been there with him. Maybe locals out swimming who’d taken refuge from the storm, as he had. And either he’d been delirious and they’d gone along with it, or they’d seen the dolphins and made up a story of their own. He cringed with embarrassment at the memory of the things he’d said to them in the belief that he was talking to himself. That was still better than the alternative -- that none of it, none at all, had been a product of his befuddled brain. That he had not imagined George repeating what Martin had said to the dolphins some days before, something that nobody else could have heard. Accepting that possibility might be a little more difficult.

***** Martin avoided thinking about it at all for a while after that, but the end of the contract was rapidly approaching, and he’d had a phone call from Simon urging him to come down for a visit once he was free. He could have found some excuse, but saw no point. Better to go and face whatever there was to be faced. If he really had encountered a couple of locals, well, at least they’d seemed decent enough men. It might well be worth the embarrassment if he could find them again. It was only on the train down that the other possibility insinuated itself into his mind again. What if ... Martin pushed it away, recognising it as something he wanted to believe in spite of knowing that it couldn’t be true. But it was a seductive fantasy, whispering to him whenever he let it. The companions who’d given him so much pleasure that week weren’t just intelligent animals. They could give him other pleasures as well. It really didn’t help that the first thing Simon said to him was, “Your friends have missed you.” “What?” “Those dolphins. If I go out in the boat at the weekend, they turn up to see if it’s you.” “They’re still doing it?” Simon had told him about it after the first couple of times, which he now realised had contributed to the odd ideas he’d been having. “Have you talked to them?” Simon grinned at him. “You were right about their liking for Gilbert and Sullivan, but they seem to prefer your taste in books to mine. They listen politely for five minutes or so, then bugger off again.” The seductive whispering got a little louder. He forced it down, telling himself to be happy with what he clearly had -- a couple of dolphins that had decided to take him on as a friend. He focused on Simon. Solid, reliable Simon. Simon’s job occasionally required him to

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believe six impossible things before breakfast, but he expected hard evidence to follow along, or he’d disbelieve them the next day. There was one way to get evidence, of course. But he’d have to persuade Simon that he was all right in the boat by himself.

***** They spent Saturday teaching Martin the subtle intricacies of Fixing The Engine, and sundry other details of how not to be an idiot in a boat. Martin did not bother to ask how and why Simon had come to learn these things. Simon’s job in technical support for TV news teams meant that Simon had been to many interestingly exciting places where such skills were useful. It also meant that Simon was liable to disappear at short notice. Martin was glad to hear the announcement on Sunday that Simon had to go away for the day, although he was also glad to know that it was only for the day. “You will be all right, won’t you?” Simon asked. “I’ll be fine.” “Check the weather forecast.” “That’s fine as well.” Simon put his hands on Martin’s shoulders and sighed. “I’m sorry about this. First time in a couple of months you manage to get down here, and I have to go again.” Martin hugged him. “Don’t worry. I can manage on my own for a day. I’ll only be annoyed if you phone this evening and tell me you’re somewhere in Eastern Europe. Going up to London for the day isn’t a problem.” “Well, at least you shouldn’t be lonely. Not if your dolphins come looking for you.” No, he wouldn’t be lonely in the dolphins’ company. Whatever happened.

***** Martin had to know, one way or the other, and he had a fairly good idea how to find out. He’d gone shopping after seeing Simon off at the station. Now there was a well-filled picnic basket waiting to be loaded into the boat. He wasn’t surprised when the dolphins didn’t appear immediately. When Simon hadn’t appeared at the jetty on Friday afternoon or Saturday, they might have assumed nobody was around this weekend. But he knew where they might be. He wasn’t quite sure whether he’d found the right spot, even when he got there. He couldn’t see the cave entrance. But then, he hadn’t seen it until they were nearly on it the last time, and he was sure that was one thing he hadn’t dreamed. But there was a very obvious way of getting their attention if they were anywhere nearby. He put on Pirates of Penzance.

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A few minutes later, two grey shapes were speeding towards the boat. They reared up to look at him and whistled. He turned down the volume on the stereo. “Simon insisted on spending yesterday making sure I knew how to fix the engine.” One of them gave him that gurgling whistle that they used for laughing. “George?” The dolphins were suddenly silent and watchful.

It’s real. Christ, it’s real. Even while buying the picnic, he hadn’t really believed it. This excursion had been for his own peace of mind, to show himself that he had dreamed it up out of longing and loneliness. Now, faced with the possibility that it was real, he wondered what he was getting himself into.

Fuck it. They were decent to me. I might have drowned without their help. “I’ve brought a picnic. Lunch for three. Chocolate for dessert. We need to talk.” One of them lifted up high enough to lean his head on the side of the boat, though he was careful not to lean hard enough to tip it. He gave Martin a long stare. It would have been a lot less disconcerting without that fixed, false smile that Martin was certain didn’t reflect the dolphin’s true emotion. “George?” he whispered. The dolphin slid off the boat, swam round to the front, and held his mouth open. Martin tossed him the towline and was not in the least surprised when the dolphin grabbed it and started towing the boat. Knowing what to look for now, Martin spotted the cave entrance and ducked low enough to get through safely. It was as he’d remembered, a large cavern hollowed into the headland that formed one side of the cove. This time the dolphin simply allowed the boat to come to a halt in the water, then brought the end of the towline back to Martin. He took the line, then moved the boat over to the steps in the shelf so he could tie it up. By the time he’d carried the picnic things to the beach, set them down, and turned back to look, there were two men walking towards him and no dolphins in the water. He held out a towel each to them as they approached him. “I still owe you payment.” Patrick took his towel and started rubbing himself dry, but George kept on looking at Martin. “I thought you’d decided that you were dreaming.” “I knew it couldn’t be real. Things like that don’t happen outside stories.” He looked at Patrick, a handsome, well-built man, his shoulders outlined against the light from the cave entrance, the last few drops of water on his skin sparkling in that light. Then back at George, with his lovely face and a well-shaped body that owed nothing to a gym. “But I couldn’t take the risk that I was wrong. I had to be certain, or I’d have always regretted it.”

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The bodies were good, but they weren’t enough. Martin rarely had trouble pulling for a one-night stand when he chose to. But he rarely chose to, because a one-night stand wasn’t what he wanted. “You don’t just want a one-off, do you?” He said it with certainty, sure that they didn’t. We’ll wait for you, George had said. George shook his head. “We’ll take it if that’s what’s on offer.” He reached out and stroked Martin’s cheek with one finger. “But if you’re offering more ...” “What you said ...” Patrick moved to stand behind him. “... we were what you wanted. You’re what we want.” Arms around him now, an erect cock pressing against his backside. “We want someone who does what he’s told because that’s what he likes, not because we have to make him.” His gut clenched as for a moment he thought he’d made a mistake. Then he understood what Patrick was saying; they wanted a partner, not a plaything. An equal partner in a power exchange that pleased both sides. “We can try, at least, can’t we?” George asked, moving forward to press up against him. Hot body front and back. Naked flesh against his clothes, so that he wanted nothing more than to rip them out of the way. But there was one thing he needed to get clear before all three of them were too aroused to think. “I hope you two know about safe sex.” George backed off slightly. “We won’t hurt you. Not unless you want us to.” “That’s not what I meant.” What past did these two have, that they understood playing safely in the context of BDSM, but not simple medical precautions? “AIDS. And other nasty things.” George looked blank for a few seconds, then said, “Oh. Those things.” “Yes. Those things.” Martin reached up and quickly kissed George. “Though I’m glad you think about the other sense as well.” “Condoms,” George said, pulling a face. “Yuk.” “Do we have to?” Patrick asked. It sounded like a serious question and not a complaint. “We’d be very silly not to. I’ve brought some with me.” Patrick nuzzled at his neck, and said, “All right. You know best about that sort of thing.” It surprised him that they deferred to him so readily. Surprised him, but pleased him. Doms who understood the difference between fantasy and practical matters were exactly what he wanted. “Anything else?” George asked. Safe word? No, George had implied that they’d ask before going far enough to need one. “Just take it easy. It’s been a couple of months since I had sex with anyone but myself.” Since before he’d met these two, in fact. George smiled at that. “Miss us?”

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“I’ve spent the last few weeks thinking I dreamt it and wishing I hadn’t.” “Good.” George stepped forward again, pressing up against him, mouth pressing down on his. Confident, but not aggressive the way Barry had been. He pushed Barry out of his mind and welcomed George into his mouth. God, but it was good to have a man against him again. Two men, George in front, Patrick behind. He was surrounded, with a hard cock thrusting gently against his backside and another against his own cock, and two pairs of arms around him. And George at least liked foreplay; that was obvious from the way he just went on kissing Martin. Someone’s hand was on his nipple, rubbing at it through his shirt. Had to be Patrick’s hand. Another hand was exploring the curve of his arse. George, probably. But George never stopped exploring his mouth, and neither of them seemed in any hurry to get his clothes off. They took their time, exploring how he responded to a stroke here, a firm grip there. Each touch left a trail of fire along his skin. Some of it was just from having gone too long without. Some of it was the thrill of having two men at once, two pairs of hands to touch him everywhere. And some of it was the shock of finding that his fantasies of the last few weeks were all true. He’d dreamed of this, in the midnight hours when he’d woken alone with his cock in his hand, and wondered if he was going crazy. “Pity he’s not wearing any of those really nice fabrics,” he heard Patrick say. “Though I like his trousers. Just the right amount of roughness.” Patrick gave a good hard thrust along the denim covering his arse. George let go of his mouth long enough to say, “Bring us some nice clothes to fuck next time.” Then George kissed him again, but this time brought one hand down to press hard against his cock through his jeans. Martin could almost have come from that alone, it had been so long since he’d felt anyone’s hand but his own. But as he thrust against George’s hand, George pulled back a little. “Naughty,” Patrick murmured into his ear. “Wait until we tell you that you may.” He’d have begged, pleaded, but George was still kissing him. “You have been saving it for us, haven’t you?” Patrick said, pushing George’s hand out of the way and taking his own turn in cupping Martin’s cock. “That must be getting a little uncomfortable in there.” He whimpered and pressed Patrick’s hand with his own, trying to get more pressure. They wouldn’t hold him quite tightly enough, and he ached for a good hard grip right around his cock. George finally stopped kissing him and laughed softly before saying, “All right, you can undo your trousers now.” Patrick let go of him, and he dragged down the zip, sighing with relief. Then he tackled the button at the top and pulled his cock free.

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“Better?” George asked. “God, yes.” “Don’t touch it just yet.” George put one hand under his chin and tilted his face up, forcing him to look into George’s eyes. What he saw there warmed his heart. And his cock. George said, “We’ve got plans for you, and we don’t want to wait while you get it up again.” “George, please, it’s been too long ...” “I know, I know,” George soothed. “It’s not fair to push you the first time and expect you to keep control. Go and get the blanket spread out.” Patrick let go of him and backed up a step, giving him room to move. He hurried to do as George said, picking up the folded blanket and shaking it out to form a comfortable place for them to lie down. “I think you should take your clothes off now,” he heard George say. He hurried to obey and sparked a memory of the last time he’d been here. Once again his fingers felt as if they were made of rubber, leaving him struggling with his clothing. But this time it was for a pleasant reason. This time it was because he was too damned distracted by just how much he wanted to feel George and Patrick in him. He freed himself from his clothes at last and knelt down to pile them to one side of the blanket. As he started to get up again, Patrick said, “No, stay there.” He dropped back down to his knees and waited for what came next. They walked over to stand in front of him. He looked up at George and thought about how much better this was than last time. George must have been thinking the same thing. He reached down, ruffled Martin’s hair, and said, “You’re all right now?” “I’m fine.” “Good. Go and get the condoms, then.” He shuffled around so that he could reach the picnic basket and rummaged in it for the condoms and tube of K-Y. He tossed the latter onto the blanket and thought about how to handle the former so that he didn’t get sand anywhere important. One condom out of the packet. The packet itself on the blanket where it would stay clean. He carefully extracted the condom from its foil wrapper, and Patrick stepped in front of him.

Big cock, in proportion with the rest of the man. And it was beautifully proportioned, too -- long, thick, but gracefully shaped. Just a little damp at the tip. He wanted to lean forward and take it in his mouth just as it was, taste Patrick’s naked flesh, but knew that he shouldn’t teach them bad habits. Instead he carefully placed the condom over the tip and was pleased to hear Patrick’s sudden gasp. It was the first time he’d touched either of them so intimately, and he was glad to find that he wasn’t the only one who felt that sting of desire at the contact.

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He rolled the condom down, enjoying the chance to take a firm grip on Patrick’s cock. It was a good size to hold, thick and hard. He leaned forward a little, taking the tip in his mouth, but heard George say, “No,” just as Patrick thrust into his mouth. He pulled back and looked up at Patrick, who looked a little guilty. “I’ll have him first,” George said. Patrick stepped back and said, “Go and do George’s condom.” That confirmed the impression Martin already had -- Patrick was a dom, but he deferred to George. No wonder they’d liked the idea of him liking the idea of two doms. He was the missing piece in their relationship. He fished another condom out of the packet, and George stepped in front of him. Some inane part of his mind noted that George was indeed a natural blond, with his balls covered in dark blond curls. He focused his attention on George’s cock instead, carefully rolling on the condom and smoothing it into place. This time he waited for instructions before trying to take that tempting mouthful. “All right,” George said, putting a hand behind his head to urge him forward. He happily obeyed, first taking just the head to get a feel for it, then easing his mouth further onto the shaft. George was patient and let him size things up first. Satisfied that he could handle it, he sucked hard, and George thrust into him. It felt wonderful to have cock filling his mouth. He grabbed at George’s hips, trying to get a little more traction. Hands seized his head and pulled him further onto George’s cock. He had almost more than he could handle as he sucked frantically. He’d almost forgotten Patrick in the pleasure of George’s body. Then Patrick said, “You might share, you bastard.” George laughed and said, “I think he’s got enough stamina for both of us.” But he pushed Martin away a little and dropped down to his knees. Martin went down on his hands, reaching again for George’s cock, and then realised why George wanted this position. Now that Martin was on his hands and knees, Patrick had easy access to his arse. A wet finger eased its way into him, exploring. He moaned around George’s cock, torn between wanting to thrust himself back on Patrick’s finger and not wanting to let go of the cock in his mouth. “I think he likes that,” Patrick said. “Don’t ... ahh ... distract him too much,” George grunted. “I don’t want to tear him.” They were really going to do it. They were going to fuck him in each end at the same time. But not quite yet. Patrick started playing with his balls, first fondling them gently, then squeezing them together. If he hadn’t been aroused already, it would have hurt, but all it did

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was make him ache to have Patrick’s cock in him instead of just one finger. Having George filling his mouth wasn’t quite enough anymore. He slid off George to beg, “Please, Patrick.” George didn’t try to pull him back on, just stroked his head and said, “Hold on a little longer, Martin. Get on with it, Patrick. I don’t want him biting me out of frustration.” Patrick let go of his balls and gave him a second finger, and he sighed in relief. “He doesn’t have much self-control for a bottom,” Patrick said, twisting his fingers a little. “I could hold out for ages yet.” “You’ve been having it regularly for the last two months, and he hasn’t,” George said. “Give the poor sod a chance; it’s no wonder he’s right on the edge.” Though George must have been close to the edge as well. His voice sounded a little less ragged now that he didn’t have his cock shoved into Martin’s mouth. Martin knew how he felt. Having just a couple of fingers shoved up him was keeping him satisfied without making him too aroused to wait. “Martin.” He looked up at George. “Patrick’s going to fuck you now. And you’re going to hold still.” George put his hands on Martin’s shoulders, squeezed them in a gentle massage. “You don’t touch yourself; you don’t try to get him to go faster. You wait. You wait until I tell you that you can move. We’ll wait, until he’s caught up with us.” “Yes, George.” “Good man. Patrick ...” “Thought you’d never ask.” He felt Patrick’s cock push against him, and then Patrick was in him, with a slow, easy thrust that didn’t go very far. He might have pushed back, but George’s hands on his shoulders reminded him to stay still. Patrick pulled out, and pushed back in again, a little further this time. And again, and he couldn’t quite help himself and tried to push back. “Easy, Martin,” George said, and there was no harshness in it, no criticism of his disobedience. There was only a reminder that he himself had consented to this slow fuck, had agreed not to move. And George was waiting with him. He held still again and waited through another slow in-and-out of Patrick’s cock. And then at last Patrick had worked all the way in, and all three of them held still for a moment. George sighed and said, “Ready?” “Yes.” George’s cock nudged at his mouth, and he sucked in the tip. “Now you can move.” For a second he didn’t want to. Once again he was caught between the men at each end of him, desperately wanting to shove onto both cocks at the same time. Then Patrick pulled

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back and slammed into him, a good deal harder than when he’d been working his way in, and shoved him onto George. Both men started fucking him in earnest, filling him to capacity. Driving out the loneliness and longing, and leaving it no room. In another time and place he might have grabbed his own cock, worked it in his hand, but now he had no need. He was almost there already and needed nothing more than George and Patrick pounding into him. He was almost on the brink right now; he might come with just a touch on his cock. But he was determined to wait for them, as he’d agreed. And here was his reward, as George shuddered and then held still, gasping his name. He felt George’s cock pulse in his mouth, and then the answering beat start to rise in his own cock. As George sank down to rest, he followed, wanting to hold George in his mouth until they’d both finished, and his cock rubbed against the roughness of the woollen blanket. That almost did it all by itself, but then he felt Patrick’s weight full on his back as Patrick thrust deep into him, and he could hold back no longer. He came suddenly, pouring out his come onto the rough blanket, the sensation magnified by the feel of two powerful male bodies holding him securely. He hadn’t quite finished coming when he heard Patrick yell in triumph and felt one last thrust before Patrick held still. Even that felt good, and he savoured the sensation for a few seconds. Finally he let George’s cock slip from his mouth, and they all collapsed in a sweaty, panting heap. He was half on top of George, and Patrick was half on top of him, and both of them were caressing him even now. They lay like that for a few minutes, then disentangled themselves. He ended up lying with his head pillowed on George’s shoulder and Patrick snuggled up behind him, one arm draped around him. He lay safe and warm between two men who cared about him. Just like last time. But this time he knew they were real, and they were his. He settled down to doze in contentment.

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Chapter Five Martin thought afterwards that they must have dozed for twenty minutes or so. Then he started to feel chilled, even sandwiched between them as he was. Apparently he wasn’t the only one. George said, “Go and get us some clothes, Patrick. There’s a love.” Patrick grunted in discontent, but got up, leaving Martin feeling cold along his back. “If we’re finished fucking him for the moment, let’s have that lunch he promised,” Patrick said as he walked down to the water and rinsed his hands. “Two-track mind,” George said, “and the other track’s food.” He stroked Martin’s back. “I assumed you’d like a longer break before we get back to sex.” Martin wouldn’t have objected to more sex, but was happy to have some recovery time. “Mmm.” Then he wondered where the clothes for Patrick and George were coming from. He propped himself up on one elbow and looked around, to see Patrick walking towards the back of the cave. “Have you got clothes somewhere?” “The cave goes back a long way, and there are storage areas at the rear.” George sat up. “This place was obviously pretty active at some point, but nobody knows about it now. It’s fairly dry back there, so we can keep things stored.” Martin watched Patrick and was surprised to see just how far back in the cave he was already. “Doesn’t he need a torch down there?” “What for?” George asked. “It’s pretty dark even where he is. If he goes any further back, he won’t be able to see until his eyes adapt to the dark.” “Oh. Of course. You people can’t see properly.” What?

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And yet Patrick seemed to be walking perfectly confidently. Memory came back to Martin. George examining him and saying that he was hurt. Only then asking for a torch so he could examine the surface damage because he couldn’t see it properly in the poor lighting. And that strange buzzing in his head. Dolphins had a natural form of sonar. George, the dolphin who had happened to be in human shape at the time, had given him the equivalent of an ultrasound scan to check for internal bleeding and swelling. “You have sonar even in human form, don’t you?” George looked surprised. “Pardon?” Maybe George didn’t know the word. Or didn’t associate it with the ability Martin suspected. He tried again. “Echolocation. You can see with sound as well as light.” “Of course.” “George, there is no ‘of course’ about it. Standard-issue humans don’t have that sense.” George shrugged. “Any other differences you’d like to tell me about?” George stroked his face gently. “Are we going to get a chance to find out?” “If that’s a roundabout way of asking if you were good, the answer’s yes.” He scrambled up to sit beside George and took hold of his hand. “Very good. Even if you hadn’t been, well, I want to know more about you.” He caressed the palm of George’s hand with his thumb. “Besides, I liked you before I knew what you were. You were good company when I needed it, that week. I don’t think that’s changed.” “You were good company too,” George said. “You didn’t bother us.” His hand tightened around Martin’s. “You treated us like people, not some sort of living toy.” Time to get his mind off sex, and on to more practical matters. If he believed what George and Patrick, and his own mind, were telling him, he’d just fucked a couple of dolphins. He’d worry about the morality of it later, since they hadn’t looked like dolphins at the time. Even if Patrick had just walked into a dark cave without a torch, he still looked human enough. And there was certainly an adult human intellect in that body. But how the hell could that body change shape? “George, are all dolphins like you?” He felt George stiffen slightly, then relax. “No.” “All right, I know I’m being nosy, but what do you expect? The impossible happens, and I’m expected to ignore it?” He thought about what had happened the first time they’d brought him here. “You thought I’d know who you were.” He shifted around so that he was facing George. He wanted to be able to see his expression. “You thought I knew that there were ...” Things like you didn’t seem like quite the right thing to say.

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It was clear from George’s expression that this was not a good time to pursue the subject. “All right, this makes you uncomfortable. Let’s talk about your interest in fossils.” George grinned and hugged him. “So we’ve just fucked, and you want to talk about fossils.” “It’s the only other interest that I know we’ve got in common.” “Don’t forget books,” Patrick said, dropping a pile of clothes beside them. “Anyway, he’s the one who’s interested in fossils.” George picked up a shirt and shook it out. “Yes, we know what your interest in people in boats is. Have they got any chocolate?” “If more of them would read me books, I’d be interested in books as well.” Patrick started dressing. Both men seemed to have jeans and tee-shirts. Martin reached for his own clothes, then changed his mind and picked up one of the towels he’d brought for George and Patrick before heading down to the water. “Where are you off to?” Patrick asked. “Simon will worry if I come home smelling as if I’ve spent the day getting laid.” He gingerly splashed himself with some water, shivering as it hit his skin. “He’ll think I’ve picked up a stranger.” Washing in saltwater wouldn’t leave him much less sticky, but at least it would be a clean stickiness. “This is your friend with the boat,” George said. “Yes.” Martin splashed a little more water on himself. “And yes, he’s just a friend. But he doesn’t like it if I pick up strangers when I’m feeling miserable, because half the time I feel even more miserable afterwards.” He decided that he’d washed off enough that he wouldn’t make his clothes smell too high, and went back to the picnic blanket, drying himself on the way. “You didn’t tell him about us, then?” Patrick asked. “No, I did not tell him that my hallucinations included two dolphins changing into humans and trying to seduce me.” He picked up his shirt and slipped it on. “There are some things that one just doesn’t share.” “But he knows about us,” George said. “He took the trouble to tell us that you’d been to the hospital and you were going to be all right.” Martin used pulling on his jeans as an excuse to think for a few seconds rather than answer. The two men seemed worried about something, and his guess was that they were concerned about who might know about them. Did they really think that people would believe him if he said anything about them? “All Simon knows is that two dolphins kept me company for a week and looked after me during the thunderstorm. And that they understand spoken English well enough to know what ‘thank you’ means.” He turned away from them and bent to open the picnic basket.

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“It’s unusual, but it’s not particularly exotic.” The hairs on the back of his neck crawled, anticipating danger, but he reminded himself that if they were going to get uptight about him knowing about them, they could have silenced him before now. “You were obviously upset when you took me back to the jetty, and he probably thought it was worth trying to reassure you that I was safe, even if you didn’t understand all of it.” He unpacked the plates and handed them back. Someone took the stack out of his hand. “Look, guys, if I told anyone about you being more than dolphins, they wouldn’t believe me. I barely believe me.” Patrick walked around and knelt down on the other side of the basket, rummaging through the food. He glanced up at Martin. “We were always warned as kids ...” “... ‘you’ll end up in a freak show’,” George finished. “Or worse.” “Nobody would believe it.” Though a hundred years ago they would have. Maybe even fifty years ago. Now ... “Well, the News of the Screws readers might believe it. But creatures like you aren’t real. You’re legends, the sort of thing people believed in way back when they didn’t know any better.” He passed the salt and pepper back to George and took the chocolate away from Patrick. “I wasn’t going to eat it,” Patrick grumbled. “Yet.” He picked up the basket and set it in the middle of the blanket, then sat down next to it. Martin joined him, and the three of them started making sandwiches. After a minute or two of silence, Martin said, “There’s no room for things like you in our world. Not anymore. We don’t believe in you.” “You do,” George said. Martin shook his head. “I thought I’d dreamt it. And then when I realised that some of it was real, I thought you were two local men and I’d just got confused by the bang on the head.” Since they seemed more willing to talk about it now, he asked, “Are you dolphins? Or are you something else?” They were silent for a while; then George said, “We’re dolphins. And something else.” “We can talk to them,” Patrick said. “But it’s not like talking to you people. And there aren’t many of us.” “We get lonely, sometimes.” George took a large bite of his sandwich and finished chewing it before going on. “So we take risks. We spend time with your people, if they don’t threaten us. Sometimes we can change shape somewhere out of sight and swim to a beach, pretend we’re just more people on holiday.” Patrick stroked a hand down Martin’s back. “You came along, and you didn’t start being silly about how cute we were, or try to ride on our backs.” He’d thought they were cute. He’d been willing to do whatever seemed to keep the dolphins amused, to get them to stay with him. Though perhaps that was the key -- he’d paid attention to what they wanted. “I just talked to you.”

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George sighed. “You’d be surprised how few people will just talk to us.” “Or read us books,” Patrick added. “This ham’s good.” “I thought you’d probably had enough of fish.” “The prawns weren’t bad.” Patrick rummaged in the basket and started making himself a chicken sandwich. “And it was good of your friend to bring us some more as a thank you.” He hadn’t seen them change shape, but everything they said reinforced the fact that these men were the dolphins he’d spent a week with. There were too many casual references to things they could not otherwise have known. “So Simon is just a friend, then?” George asked, very casually. “He’s very good-looking.” “He’s also very straight, and very promiscuous, neither of which appeals to me in bed.” He leaned forward and tapped George lightly on the nose. “Jealousy does not become you.” “Can you blame me?” George set down the remains of the sandwich and stared at him. “I don’t know what happens when you leave here.” Martin had become almost casual, even in the midst of strangeness. Now the hairs on the back of his neck stood up again. George was looking at him as if he was far more delicious than anything in the picnic basket. He was suddenly very aware that he was with two big, muscular men who wanted to fuck him. Men who weren’t men. “You’re scaring him again,” Patrick said, very quietly. George broke the eye contact with Martin and looked behind him at Patrick. “You were worried he might tell people about us. I’m more worried that he might just leave and never come back.” “No,” Martin said. He sat back, reached for Patrick’s hand. “I don’t know if we can make this work.” There were practical matters; he had a job that would keep him away much of the time, and there was the problem of how they could meet without arousing suspicion about George and Patrick. And there was also the not-so-small problem of him never having been part of a trio before. At least not knowingly. “But I’m not walking away from you without at least trying to make it work.” He liked them. This might be only the second time he’d been with them when they were in human shape, and the first time he’d been sure they were real, but this wasn’t a simple bout of lust at first sight. He’d liked them before he’d known that they were people. “I meant what I said about it being the best date I’d had in ages, even if it didn’t occur to me at the time that you might be able to take it literally.” “Good,” Patrick said and squeezed his hand. “Don’t mind old George; he’s just been fretting ever since you left because he likes having someone besides me to talk to.” “And you?” Martin asked. “Oh, I’d have been quite happy if you’d decided to swim with us instead,” Patrick said. “But he’d rather hear about fossils.” Not just sexual attraction for them either, then. He wasn’t the only one who was lonely, though George’s was a different sort of loneliness. George had a partner, but few

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other friends of the same intellectual ability. When Martin had turned up, with his books and music and willingness to talk about local geology to anyone who’d sit still for it, he must have seemed like a gift from god. Would it help if he told them more about Simon? “Simon and I have been friends since university. We were on the same corridor in the hall of residence, and we turned out to have a lot of interests in common. Though not girls.” He smiled at the memory of the night Simon had realised that he was gay. Simon had cheerfully said, “All the more for me, then!” -- and meant it. “We both ended up in jobs that involved a lot of travelling, so we saw a lot of each other in the times we could both be in the same place. We understood the lifestyle; we could bitch to each other about the problems. And we were comfortable with each other. I think if we’d been the right match sexually, we’d have probably got together, but we’re not interested.” George thought that over for a while, then said, “But you like men.” “I also like monogamy.” He looked back over his shoulder at Patrick. “Well, I can probably handle the idea of having two partners. But not an open relationship.” He shrugged. “I’d be miserable with Simon screwing around, and he’d be miserable trying to be faithful, and we both know it, so there’s no temptation. There wouldn’t be even if he was bi or gay.” They’d actually had sex once, back at university, although he wasn’t going to tell George that. Simon had asked him, as a favour. He’d wanted to know what it felt like, because some girl he was pursuing had turned out to be in favour of strap-ons. Simon was willing to try anything once, but he preferred to try that sort of novel experience with someone he trusted, the first time at least. Simon had enjoyed it, but learnt that he really did prefer a girl with a strap-on to even his gay best friend; and Martin had enjoyed it, but learnt that he enjoyed fucking Simon, given the opportunity, but wasn’t terribly in lust with him. They’d both been quite happy with an affectionate but platonic relationship thereafter. “You’re not bothered by his behaviour?” Patrick asked. “No. He doesn’t lie to women about it.” Martin had never ceased to be surprised by how many women quite liked an honest offer of a night’s sex, no strings attached. “I think he’d be very happy in a long-term relationship if he could find a woman who was like him, but the only ones he’s met who’d be happy with an open relationship aren’t willing to put up with all the travelling at short notice.” George busied himself with the picnic basket, but asked, “So does Simon live down here? We hadn’t noticed him before.” “Yes, though he’s away a lot.” Anticipating the next question, he went on, “He’d just moved in the first time you met me. I came down to help him, but he ended up having to rush off again. This weekend was my first chance to get back here.”

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He decided that he’d like another sandwich as well and reached into the basket. His hand brushed against George’s, and George jerked back. “What’s wrong?” Martin asked. “One of those differences you were asking about.” George shook his head. “Never mind. Fucking can wait. I’d rather talk.” Something tickled Martin’s memory, but wouldn’t come clear. It was too long since he’d read that article, and at the time he’d been more struck by the discovery that male dolphins were bisexual. He just had a vague recollection that male dolphins had a very high sex drive. “You want sex more often than people like me do.” He felt Patrick kiss the back of his neck. “Going by previous experience.” “But we’ve learnt to wait,” George said. “Besides, I’d rather let my lunch go down. It’s often easier to find someone who’ll have sex than someone who’ll give me a nice lunch.” Now it was his turn to feel jealous. It was ridiculous. He wasn’t exactly inexperienced himself, and he had no right to expect them to be. “Now do you understand why I asked about Simon?” George said. “Yes. George ...” “We’re not looking for an open relationship, either.” Patrick snuggled up behind him and put his arms around his waist. “Look, Martin. We’ll take a quick fuck if it’s offered. Wouldn’t you? But we’d rather have a real third.” He looked around at the cave, the dolphin men’s secret refuge. They needn’t have brought him here the first time, during the storm; they could have just taken him to a beach that was a lot safer than the one where his boat had been stranded, and hoped that he’d be all right. And they could have pretended not to understand this morning. “You’ve been talking about this, haven’t you? Since before the day of the storm.” George nodded. “It wasn’t even sex, Martin.” He sounded wistful now. “You were so matter-of-fact about us, once you’d got over the surprise. You’ve no idea how rare it was, having a friend.” Patrick said, “We did talk about how it would be nice to turn up one day in human shape and see if you still liked us. Then the storm forced us to decide in a hurry.” Patrick gently butted the back of his neck. “I’ll admit that I was all for taking you to a beach that should be safe at high tide, and keeping an eye on you in case you needed to be pulled off. But George didn’t want to take the risk.” So that agitated whistling back and forth had been them arguing about what to do with him. And George had prevailed. “I’m glad you did take me in. And not just because it saved me a soaking.” “But you got a bang on the head instead.” George leaned over and brushed his fingertips across Martin’s temple. “You looked wonderful. Wet and naked, and it was obvious that you liked the look of us.”

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“And then I nearly threw up.” He winced at the memory. Even thinking about it was bringing back the dizziness, the queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He glanced down at the sandwich on the plate in front of him and decided that he wasn’t that hungry after all. “What’s wrong?” “Martin?” He closed his eyes for a second and sat secure in the circle of Patrick’s arms. The dizziness went away. “Sorry,” he whispered. “Little bit of flashback. Felt sick for a second.” “Hold still,” Patrick said. “Give it a minute and you should be all right.” “We can take you home if you’re really sick,” George said. “Don’t worry. The engine’s fine, so we can sit in the boat with you if you need help.” “I’m all right.” He opened his eyes and found George studying him. “Really.” He was very all right. He had just acquired two boyfriends whose reaction to him feeling unwell was to drop any thought of sex until they’d checked he was all right. They’d been rough with him the first time, but only until they’d realised that he was injured rather than playing hard to get. At least Barry had never been inconsiderate that way, but he’d had one or two whose reaction was to bitch about a waste of their time, and he’d heard similar complaints from friends. “Good,” George said. “Patrick, let go of him and see if he’s all right by himself.” Patrick did so. Martin cautiously looked around. Yes, he was in the cave again, and he could smell the sea; but today there was bright sunlight streaming in through the low opening, and only the gentle sound of the small waves lapping over the beach. It was very different to when he’d last been here, seasick and concussed, and with the heavy weight of the thunderstorm pressing in on him and making him feel even worse. “I’m fine.” George smiled at him. “Good. Better eat your sandwich.” He risked a look at his plate and found the sandwich appetising once more.

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Chapter Six George and Patrick seemed content to eat and chat about where Martin had been for the last two months. George paid close attention, Patrick less so. Martin suspected that Patrick wasn’t so much bored, as not all that interested in detail but glad to listen to someone talking about life on land. They obviously knew the area where he’d been working, though George said as he passed around the Thermos of tea, “It’s a bit far to go, so we haven’t been there that often.” “This is your home, then?” They seemed less on edge now when he asked them about themselves. George nodded and said, “This cave is useful. Nobody’s likely to stumble across it, and even if they do, they’ll think our stuff belongs to kids playing pirates or something.” “You’re a geologist, Martin,” Patrick said. “What do you think of this place?” He looked around. The natural light coming in wasn’t good enough to see much detail, but that jetty was suggestive. “I think it’s probably a natural cave that’s been enlarged by quarrying. There were a lot of quarries along the coast -- this might be an old one that was abandoned and lost after that rockfall blocked the main entrance.” “There’s another rockfall at the back of the cave,” George said. “Any chance there’s a passage behind it? More storage areas?” He’d bet that it wasn’t just the storage they were interested in. A passage to the surface would give them more options, but also more risk of this place being discovered. “It’s quite likely. It may even go all the way to the surface -- one or two of these old quarries had access tunnels for the workers, even though the stone was taken out by barge.” Patrick laughed. “Nice to have our own consultant geologist. You’re useful as well as ornamental.” To George, “And bright, too. Just ask him straight out next time.”

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“It may not help us,” George said. He stared into his mug of tea. “What if it’s blocked all the way along? Even if we could shift the stone, the passage may be too dangerous.” It would be easy enough to clear any passage, then reinforce it with modern materials, if you had the money to pay for the work. But even if you had the money, you couldn’t do it in secret. For secrecy you’d need to do it the old way, sweat and muscle, and without any help. “You’ve never tried clearing it?” “A little, just to clear the entrance to one of the side caves,” George said. “It was hard work, and there didn’t seem a lot of point in doing more. We had plenty of room by then. But that gave us the idea that it might run further back.” He picked up the bar of chocolate. “Shall we?” “I brought it for you two.” Patrick kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Thank you.” He ruffled Patrick’s hair. “That was one thing I was fairly sure I remembered clearly.” George grinned as he stripped off the wrapper. “You’d be surprised what Patrick will do for chocolate. Forgets every last shred of dignity when some kid is holding out a bar and asking him to jump in the air for it.” Martin was surprised and amused to see Patrick flush with embarrassment. “What do you expect me to do?” Patrick muttered. “Bite their hands off along with the chocolate, the little brats?” He took the piece George offered him and popped it in his mouth. “Mmm.” George laughed. “It would teach them a lesson, but it wouldn’t be nice.” He passed a piece of chocolate to Martin. “Ignore him if he moans about you getting some. He’s not used to sharing with someone who’ll bother to come back with more.” Martin remembered lunch that first day, back when he thought he’d just made friends with a couple of dolphins. “He never asked for food when I was eating my lunch, until I got the chocolate out.” George grinned. “And then he nearly tipped the boat over.” “Sorry,” Patrick said. Martin decided to risk a little more personal questioning. “You don’t get much chocolate?” “Only what we can beg, borrow, or steal,” George said. He plucked at his tee-shirt with his free hand. “What money we pick up we mostly save for things we need, like clothes. We find clothes on the beach sometimes, but not really enough.” They weren’t completely cut off, then. He was starting to build a picture of their life. They could live as dolphins, meet all their physical needs in dolphin form. But they were more than dolphins, and they needed more than the company of other dolphins to really satisfy their emotional and intellectual needs. And that meant taking risks; first the risk of interacting with people on the beach, and then the risks of acquiring those things that

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allowed them to blend in when they did so. “You walk into the shopping area from the beach at a seaside town?” “They’re used to strangers,” Patrick said. “People with cash. And the pawn shops don’t ask questions; they must be used to beachcombers bringing in stuff they’ve found.” “Or pinched,” George added. “We’ve seen them. We don’t do it. Only once or twice, when we were desperate.” “To get clothes good enough that you wouldn’t be arrested as tramps,” Martin guessed. George looked relieved, and Martin wondered if he’d been deliberately testing his reaction to the idea that the dolphin men had stolen things. George went on, “We don’t need much money, and we find a lot of lost and abandoned stuff. But you can’t go into town to buy clothes unless you’ve already got clothes.” Patrick started picking up the plates. “It’s okay at the naturist beach. They don’t mind us. But we like to go to other places as well. Do you want these washed?” “Rinsed, at least.” He started to help Patrick clear things away and realised that the discarded condoms still lay beside the blanket. He grabbed one of the empty shopping bags he’d kept for putting rubbish in, and scooped them up. “Thanks,” George said. “Too many of your people don’t bother, and then they get washed out on the next tide, and sometimes the kids see them and try to eat them.” Kids? Dolphin kids. He was jolted once again with the awareness that George and Patrick weren’t human. “I try not to be a thoughtless idiot.” He was glad of that now. “We noticed.” George picked up the empty ham packet and added it to the rubbish bag. “Did you deliberately bring proper plates?” The plastic picnic plates weren’t what he’d call proper tableware, but he understood what George was getting at. They weren’t disposables, but real plates made of heavy melamine, a practical compromise between robustness and attractiveness. “I thought you might like a proper picnic instead of out of a plastic bag.” “We do. Thank you.” George laid one hand over his. “That’s a lot of trouble to go to when you thought you’d dreamt the day of the storm.” “I told you. I couldn’t take the risk that I was wrong.” “Did you bring any books?” He looked at George and saw a longing there that had nothing to do with sex. “I brought books. Tell me what you want to read next, and I’ll try to bring them next time.” A thought occurred to him. “Can you read?” “Yes. But it’s nice to hear things read aloud.” George stood up. “You get the book. I’ll get some cushions.” He headed off towards the back of the cave.

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Martin watched him for a few seconds, marvelling at his sure-footedness without a torch. Then he turned his attention back to tidying up the remains of the picnic. “Where’s George off to?” Patrick asked, handing him the plates. “Getting cushions, he said.” Satisfied that the picnic things were tidy, Martin picked up the blanket and shook it straight again. “He wants me to read a book.” “I’ll go and help him. You get the book.” Patrick set off after George. Martin went to the boat and found his book. It was the latest Dalziel and Pascoe. As he took it back to the blanket, he wondered how much of George and Patrick’s impression of modern British society had been formed by reading the sort of books people took to the beach. It was a rather scary thought. “Oh, we like him,” Patrick said as he dropped several large cushions by Martin. “Off the blanket. We want to lean against the wall.” “Though I hope that isn’t typical of your people,” George said, adding to the pile of cushions. They were an eclectic mix, ranging from inflatables undoubtedly found abandoned on the beach to things they might have actually bought in town, including one heavy velvet escapee from someone’s parlour, plump and plush and purple, and astonishingly bedecked with fringes and tassels at the corners. “No, it isn’t typical. Most people lead wonderfully boring lives.” He put down the book and picked up the blanket he’d just straightened up, dragging it over to the wall of the cave. “That’s why books like that are entertaining. Because most of us don’t have to deal with stuff like that.” The wall really was a wall, flat and vertical. Quarried for blocks of building stone, perhaps, though jointing in the rock could have produced the same effect. He’d have to take a good look at the cave with a torch some day. “Glad to hear it,” George said. They piled the cushions against the wall, making a comfortable backrest. Then George sat down and beckoned to Martin. He sat down, and was pleased to find George’s arm around his shoulders. Patrick sat down on the other side of him. Cushions at his back and a man either side of him, he was comfortably supported. He opened the book and began to read. He must have been reading aloud for a good hour before he needed to take a break. Patrick had already given him a glass of water when he’d asked for one about ten minutes in, but his throat was still starting to get dry, and he set the book down at the end of the chapter. “Cup of tea?” George asked. “There was some left.” “Mmm.” George poured him a cup, then poured more for Patrick and himself. Martin sipped at his, trying to moisten his throat; the other two drained theirs quickly. They waited patiently for him, and as he tipped up the cup for the last drops, George held out his hand.

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Martin handed over the cup, and as his hand brushed against George’s, he was abruptly reminded of what else he’d come here for. He was relaxed and happy, and now he very badly wanted to fuck. He saw George realise it, his expression going from casual to utterly focused. It took Patrick a little longer, judging by the “What ... oh” Martin heard from beside him. He and George stared at each other for a few seconds without speaking. Then George said, “Patrick.” Patrick leaned over and kissed him. Gently at first, testing how he responded, then harder. As he opened his mouth to Patrick’s exploring tongue, Patrick scrambled around to kneel over him, pressing him back against the cushions. It must have been awkward for Patrick, but so long as he didn’t mind, Martin didn’t either. It was the first time Patrick had kissed him, and the first time he’d had much opportunity to explore Patrick’s body with his hands. Patrick was as muscular as George, his chest warm and solid under Martin’s hands. And a lovely firm bum, too, Patrick offering no objection as he explored it. It would have been nice to have bare skin under his hands, but he was content to leave things up to Patrick, let him decide how long they’d confine themselves to a little gentle stroking. He’d closed his eyes. Now he opened them again as Patrick pulled away slightly, and he saw George standing a short distance away, watching them. Not just watching, but with his fly open and his hand on his cock. Watching greedily and stroking himself hard. Patrick was fumbling with his own fly, and Martin reached to help. “Bloody clothes,” Patrick grumbled. “I knew there was a reason I prefer the naturist beaches.” “Clothes can be fun sometimes.” He managed to get Patrick’s fly undone. “There.” Patrick grinned at him. “I know. But sometimes they just get in the way. Where’d the condoms get to?” “Here,” George said. He must have pulled the packet out of the picnic basket while Martin and Patrick had been struggling with Patrick’s trousers. He handed one to Martin over Patrick’s shoulder. Martin ripped open the foil as Patrick got up on his knees, bringing his cock within easy reach. Martin’s need wasn’t quite so urgent this time, and he took a moment to admire it before rolling the condom on. Big and thick, the skin delicate softness over a hard core. He enjoyed the feel of it against his fingers as he smoothed down the condom. Then there was no more time to simply enjoy the sight of it, as Patrick shifted to shove it at his mouth. He took it gladly, swallowing it down and holding Patrick’s hips steady. A small pause as they settled into place, and then Patrick pulled back and thrust forward again, fucking his mouth. He might have expected things to be a little slower this time, but Patrick’s need seemed even more urgent than the first time. No attempt to hold back, no interest in the things

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Martin could do with his tongue. Just that big cock filling his mouth, sliding smoothly in and out. Another time he might have worried about whether he’d get any release of his own, but he had no such worries today. Not when George was waiting, watching. Oh, yes, George was watching them. Was watching as Patrick pumped into his mouth, faster now, and still faster, obviously intent on coming as fast as possible; and Martin would have liked to put his hand on his own cock, but George hadn’t told him he could. He’d wait for his own release and trust George to do the same. Then Patrick held still, and his cock throbbed in Martin’s mouth. Too late now to worry about anything but giving Patrick as good a time as possible, but Martin’s own cock was heavy and aching. He kept his hands where they were, resting on Patrick’s hips. And Patrick still had his jeans on, so desperate for a mouth on his cock that he hadn’t bothered to pull them off first. Patrick shuddered and sank down, his cock slipping from Martin’s mouth. Martin caught him and held him, and over his shoulder could see George still watching them intently. He cradled Patrick in his arms for a few seconds, and then Patrick moved to sprawl back against the cushions, one hand reaching to hold Martin’s. He still longed to take his own cock in his free hand, but instead reached to strip the condom off Patrick before it grew cold and clammy. George was already there with the rubbish bag. Once it was disposed of, George said, “Get your clothes off, Martin.” He hurried to obey. But there didn’t seem to be any trace of using clothing and nudity as status symbols, because George was hastily stripping as well. Perhaps they didn’t see clothing the same way as he did, didn’t have any real notion of it as a way of reinforcing dominance positions. The only dominance there was in this cave was George’s simple assumption that Martin would do as he was told. “On his back, I think,” George said to Patrick. “Get him a cushion.” Patrick grabbed the velvet monster from the pile of cushions and dropped it between his legs, then leaned forward and patted it. Martin settled himself down on the cushion and let Patrick pull him back so that his head was pillowed in Patrick’s lap and his arse was up on the cushion. He’d get a crick in his back if he had to stay in that position for a long time, but he didn’t think that was going to be a problem; not with the way George was eyeing him as if he was the dessert to that nice lunch they’d had. George had already put a condom on, so Martin stopped worrying about anything but when he was going to feel George’s cock inside him. “Don’t touch yourself yet,” Patrick said, stroking his face. “You won’t be so tight now, not after the way I fucked you before lunch, so George is going to want you to come when he does. Nice and tight for him then.” Martin reached up with one hand, and Patrick grabbed it and squeezed it tightly. “And the other one, if you don’t trust yourself,” Patrick said.

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He did so. “Can you lift your legs?” Patrick asked. “If it’s not comfortable, I’ll hold them.” “I can manage as long as it’s not for long without support.” And then George settled between his legs and set the head of his cock against him. Not quite pushing in, not yet, but pressing firmly against him, making him long to feel more of it. “Hold still,” Patrick whispered. Somehow he held still, instead of pushing against George. No relief just yet; George touched his cock very lightly, running one finger from tip to base. “Please.” He needed more than just that delicate touch. “Do you want me?” “God, yes, please ...” “I’m no wet dream, am I?” He looked at George, solid and real even in the flickering light reflected from moving water. “No.” His own fantasy, come to life and made real. “No, not anymore. What I want, but not a dream.” What he wanted. Both of them with him, together, though he’d never been inclined to group sex. This wasn’t group sex; this was a relationship that happened to have three people in it. Patrick supported him as George pushed into him. He’d enjoyed them fucking him at the same time this morning, but this was good as well, George pushing slowly into him, filling him up, never letting slip of that tight self-control. Making him wait for it. Watching him still, utterly focused on him. Patrick holding his hands, squeezing back in response each time he clenched his hands with the effort of retaining his own self-control. It took forever before George was right in, and even then they made him wait. Made him appreciate how it felt to be stretched by George’s thick cock, feel it all the way inside him. He was burning for release, and still the only touch on his own cock had been that light, tantalising stroke George had given him just once. Sensation all over him. Most of his attention was taken up with George’s cock in him and Patrick’s hands holding his, but there were other things as well. The denim of Patrick’s jeans against his shoulders, the pleasant roughness of the woollen blanket against his back, and under his arse the plush texture of that velvet cushion they had improbably produced. The dappled light playing around the cave. The quiet sound of the waves rippling against their little beach. The quietness that let him hear that rippling. Just the three of them, here in this sanctuary from the outside world. “You won’t forget us, will you?” It might have been a command, but it sounded more like a plea. “No,” he whispered and watched George smile. And only then did George pull back and thrust in again.

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Sensation cascaded through him, and now all he knew was George in him, Patrick holding him. And George’s beautiful face filling his field of view. In, and out, and in again. Then George shifted position, leaning down to kiss him. Still filling him with cock, now also filling his mouth with tongue, and giving him blessed pressure on his cock at last. Patrick let go of his hands, and he wrapped his arms around George, holding him as close as he could. Still not breaking that contact with Patrick, because now Patrick’s hands were rhythmically squeezing his shoulders, not quite in time with George thrusting into him. George broke free long enough to gasp, “Almost there!” He’d have no problems with doing as he was told and coming at the same time as George. He had all he needed now, wonderful rhythmic stroking inside him, hard pressure against his cock. Another one or two strokes would do it; any longer and his problem would be waiting for George to catch up with him. One more stroke in and out. Then George pulled back, and paused, and rammed back into him hard and fast. It was more than enough, both the feel of it and knowing that this was when he was supposed to come. He let go of his self-control, let that about-to-come sensation take him over. Two men holding him. One of those men in him. All three of them seeking mutual pleasure, not just fun for one. He had thought it a dream, had woken to an empty bed these last two months knowing it to be a dream, but now it was real. He gladly let sensation drown him, feeling nothing but bare skin and cloth against his own skin, and then the stickiness of his own come on his belly. It was very good indeed. George needn’t have worried about being forgotten when Martin left here. He held George tightly for a few seconds, and then they gradually relaxed. After a minute or two, George pried himself up onto his hands and knees with obvious reluctance. “Time to get more comfortable.” “Could do with getting out of these jeans,” Patrick said. George grinned. “Daft bugger. You wanted him badly, didn’t you?” He shifted to one side, giving Martin room to move. “Did I ever. Up you get, Martin.” Patrick grabbed him under his shoulders and helped him sit up. He scrambled out of Patrick’s lap and lay down next to George. A nap seemed like a very good idea right now, and George obviously agreed. Martin snuggled up to him, put an arm around him, and closed his eyes. The only flaw in the plan was that he was going to feel cold as soon as he cooled down, but Patrick solved that. There’d been a second blanket in the pile of cushions, and now Martin felt it settle across him. Patrick must have shaken it out over them. Another minute or two, and Patrick joined them under the blanket, naked now.

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It was even better than this morning. A man either side to hold him, and a warm and comfortable bed on the sand to lie in, with pillows and blankets besides. He was just drifting off to sleep when Patrick said, “My turn for a cuddle?” “If you must,” George said and gently pushed Martin, nudging him to turn the other way. He woke up enough to turn over and put his arm around Patrick instead. That seemed equally pleasant, and he was quite content to stay there as he fell asleep.

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Chapter Seven They must have dozed for some time, for the lighting in the cave had changed when Martin woke up. Mid-afternoon, probably, though he didn’t feel any great urge to find his watch and check. As long as it wasn’t so late that Simon would be home and worrying about him, there was nowhere he needed to be. He stretched and turned over, heard a sleepy “Mmm,” from George. A minute or two later, George slid an arm under him and tugged. “Come here.” “I probably can’t get it up again,” he warned. He’d already seen evidence that one dolphin ability transferred to their human form, and they’d hinted that sexual capacity was another. If George was looking for more sex, he was likely to be disappointed. George grinned at him. “It’s all right. We’ll make allowances for your unfortunate choice of species.” It was rather difficult to start a serious conversation about mutual expectations when George was making remarks like that, so Martin didn’t bother. He moved to lie on top of George, reassured that it would not be taken as a declaration of immediate interest in sex. George put his arms around Martin and started stroking his back. Then George started the conversation about expectations. “We never did get around to discussing in detail what everyone likes and doesn’t like with sex.” “Probably because we were too busy having sex.” He was enjoying this. He could feel that George was getting hard again, but he didn’t feel any pressure to perform. The simple physical contact was all he really wanted at the moment, and apparently it was enough to keep George happy. “Well, we didn’t go very far this morning, but you seemed happy with that.” George slid one hand down his back, down between his buttocks, and spread them apart a little. Taking possession without making a big thing out of it. “What do you like?”

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“Mostly I just like someone else to be in charge. To tell me what to do.” He kissed George briefly. “Which you did very well. That was exactly what I like. Knowing that you were making the decisions.” He paused and thought. He might have to spell things out in detail; he couldn’t take it for granted that George and Patrick knew the same slang that he did. “I’m a submissive, not a masochist. I enjoy it rough, sometimes, but it’s not what I need. And actual pain I can take or leave. I’m happy to do it for someone else as long as they’re people I can trust to be safe, sane, consensual; but it’s very rare that I’d want to do it.” George thought that over for a moment. Then he said, “That’s a fairly good description of what we want, from the other side. You waited for permission; you didn’t make us force you. Rough can be fun, but not if you have to do it all the time.” He had an uneasy feeling that George wasn’t just talking about consensual roughness. But George lived in two worlds, one based around the cruising ground of the beach, with its mostly safe, sane and consensual social framework, and another one that might have very different rules. “Other dolphins?” “Mmm. We’re small by dolphin standards, because we don’t change size much between shapes. There are occasional misunderstandings about what we’re offering. You know the sort of thing; get everything settled and then there’s a change of plan at the last moment. A change that was always intended.” George gave him a positively evil grin. “Sometimes someone has to be reminded that size isn’t everything. Especially when there’s one of him and two of us.” He could well believe that these two would be a match for a bigger dolphin. They were a very effective team, as he’d seen for himself both during the storm and when they’d been helping him hunt fossils. It was slightly disconcerting to hear George talking so bluntly about using their effectiveness against other dolphins. “We wouldn’t just jump on someone who really didn’t want it,” George said. “Sometimes it’s someone who wants it rougher than we think is safe. Sometimes it’s just a prick who thinks he’s going to teach us a lesson, and gets one instead. But that’s no fun for us.” He reached up with his free hand and stroked Martin’s face. “Someone like you is what we’re looking for.” “By the way,” Patrick said, “mind if I have some more?” He and George looked at each other, then looked at Patrick. “We were trying to have a serious conversation,” George said. “That’s what woke me up.” Patrick groped Martin’s bum. “All that talk about sex made me fancy some more.” Two hands on his bum felt very nice, but didn’t make him feel all that interested. Not after the day he’d already had. There was no point in being coy with this pair, not with the risk of misreading signals. “I probably can’t get it up again today, but I don’t mind doing you if you can.” If Patrick hadn’t asked first, or asked in a way that obviously wasn’t accepting a

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refusal, he would have minded. This was too early to be taking such things for granted, and he was glad to see that Patrick didn’t. Patrick scrambled up to his knees and kissed the back of Martin’s neck. “Thanks. Stay where you are if you don’t mind me just having a wank in you. You and George keep talking.” Since Patrick recognised it as that and would take no for an answer, Martin didn’t mind at all. “Condom,” he reminded him. “What about you?” he asked George. George shook his head. “I’m all right. So is Patrick, if he’s honest about it, but he does like having his cock in someone’s arse when he gets the chance.” “Not that you give me much chance,” Patrick muttered. “Where are they? Ah!” Satisfied that Patrick was taking the condoms seriously, Martin turned his attention back to George. “So what do you like?” “Being in charge.” “I’d noticed.” George chewed thoughtfully on his lip, focusing on a mental list. “I don’t really like taking it in the arse. Not a dominance thing; it just isn’t very comfortable for me.” He understood the distinction that George was making. “It isn’t for some guys. Either way around. They’d much rather have a blowjob or someone’s hand.” He trailed his finger across George’s mouth. It was a very pretty mouth, with full lips and a nicely balanced shape. “What about taking it in your mouth?” George very delicately licked his finger. “I quite like it, when it’s to make my sub wild with desire and then not allow him release.” “Oh, good.” George gave him another lick and said, “I take it we’re still matching well, then?” “I think I love you, George.” The blanket was pulled off him. “What about me?” Patrick asked as he settled down on top of Martin. “I think I love you as well. Are we going to be too heavy for George?” He liked the idea of being the filling in the sandwich, but even with him being smaller than the other two, that was going to be quite a weight on George once Patrick got going. “I can handle it as long as he gets off when he’s finished.” George pulled his hand out from between Martin and Patrick, and Patrick settled his weight fully. It felt quite interesting being pressed between the two men, although not quite interesting enough to revive his cock’s interest in the proceedings. “So what else do you like?” George asked him. “Most things. And I’m like you from the other side -- I like the feel of a cock in me, quite apart from being a sub.” He gasped a little as Patrick gave him exactly that. All at once; at least, that was what it felt like.

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“Sorry,” Patrick muttered. “You all right?” “Startled, is all.” “Well, you said you weren’t interested, and I thought you wouldn’t need any foreplay this time ...” Patrick trailed off. George looked him over, than glanced up at Patrick. “He doesn’t look as if he minds. Just startled, like he said.” “Didn’t see any point in anything fancy if he’s not going to get anywhere,” Patrick said as he started thrusting. He doubted if he was going to get anywhere, but it did feel rather nice to have Patrick’s cock moving inside him. Distracting, but not enough to stop him talking to George. “So, yes, as I was saying, what I happen to like as a physical sensation matches well with what goes on in here.” He tapped his temple with his finger. “What about doing the fucking?” George asked. “Do you need to be doing it under orders?” “No, and I do vanilla sex as well as D/s. With vanilla I prefer being underneath, but I don’t mind switching. Though to be honest I really prefer having my cock sucked.” He could seriously fancy having George suck his cock. Actually ... “And being fucked and sucked at the same time could be good.” “I hope you’re listening, Patrick,” George said. “Fancy having him sit on your cock while I suck his?” “Christ yes.” An extra hard thrust, then Patrick stiffened and held still for a moment. George looked smug. Suspiciously smug, as if he’d known what effect that suggestion would have. “Is that a kink of his?” “Yes,” George said, while Patrick just groaned. “If he can’t have my arse, he’ll have someone else’s arse while he watches me sucking cock. Not you in particular until now, although I know what he’ll be dreaming about tonight.” “Bastard. That’s got me going now.” Patrick slid off him. “If you really don’t mind, Martin, I’m going to stop pretending to be the same species as you.” George turned to stare at Patrick. “Patrick.” “He knows what we are. And if he doesn’t like it, I’ll stop. I’d like to just have a good fuck in this shape for once without worrying.” Martin decided that it was time to butt in. “Would you two tell me what’s going on?” Patrick draped an arm over him. “Look. What lady dolphins like is an awful lot of foreplay, and then we give them a quick in and out, have a rest for a couple of minutes, do it again. And again, until she’s happy. Bit like your ladies seem to like, actually, only they

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prefer the quick to be slow.” He kneaded at Martin’s shoulder. “And it’s nice to do it that way in this shape sometimes. Feels more comfortable. But your men get wound up about it.” That sounded vaguely familiar from what he could remember of the research he’d done on dolphin behaviour. “So you can fuck like a dolphin even in this shape.” But a man who could get it up half a dozen times in an hour without resorting to Viagra would get quite a reaction if he tried it on someone who didn’t know his secret. Martin knew men who could happily do it that often in a day, but they usually needed a bit of a rest in between after the first couple of times. “Mmm. But we can play either way, so we usually do it your way.” Patrick was playing with his hair now, and he knew it for the manipulation it was. From Patrick he didn’t mind it. “But if you’ve had enough for yourself anyway, and you don’t mind ...” “Go ahead.” The worst he’d get would be a sore arse from overdoing things after weeks of nothing but his own hand. There were worse things in life than Patrick asking nicely if he could temporarily use him as a blow-up doll. Things like not having ever met Patrick. “Thanks.” Patrick bent over him and gently kissed his back. “I try to be a gentleman --” George snorted with laughter at that. “-- but you know how sometimes you just want to fuck and not worry about the other guy.” “Yes, I know.” In spite of his leaning to the sub side, there were times when he just wanted to pound away mindlessly in someone’s arse. “Just as long as you remember that if I start yelling that I’ve had enough, I mean it.” He rolled off George so that he could look up at Patrick. “You two have already given me more of a workout today than I’ve had in weeks.” “Right,” Patrick said and went to rummage in the picnic basket where Martin had left the condom packet. Martin looked at George and said, “I’m glad I bought a packet of twelve.” “I’m glad, too.” George dropped his voice a little. “He doesn’t get it as often as he’d like to, not in this shape.” He pulled Martin close and hugged him. “And this shape has its advantages.” Patrick came back to them, his cock still rampant. Martin eyed it with some wonder. “Doesn’t it go down?” “Eventually,” Patrick said, lying down behind him. “And thanks.” “Where were we?” George said. “Oh, yes. As you may have gathered, Patrick really likes sticking his cock up someone’s arse. He’s not terribly fussy about what shape he’s in at the time.” Patrick did just that, though a little more slowly than the previous time. It still felt good, and Martin was surprised to feel his cock twitch a little. It had to be the combination of the physical sensation and the smutty conversation. “Feels good,” Patrick mumbled. “That’s his favourite, but he likes pretty much anything.”

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Patrick started to thrust, pushing Martin against George. He felt George push back; more to steady him than anything else, he thought. George went on, “He prefers to be in charge, but he’s much more of a switch than I am.” “Just because you’re older and my mum said I had to do what you said when she wasn’t around.” That was the first hint he’d had that they hadn’t sprung full-grown into existence. There was a family somewhere, if perhaps not the sort of family he was used to. But it didn’t seem the right time to ask. Another time. He knew now that there would be another time. This was the time to enjoy the feel of Patrick in him, the warmth of both their bodies against him. “I don’t really get anything out of pain,” George said, “even if I can understand why other people do.” “Though he gets an unholy pleasure out of beating up bullies,” Patrick said, speeding up and groping for Martin’s cock. “Mmm. If you do get interested, tell me, and we can do something about it.” Much to his surprise, he was getting interested. He’d thought he was past the age of being able to do it three times in a day, but on the other hand, it had been a long, lazy day, with breaks in between. He still wasn’t convinced that he could come again, but he could probably get it up with intent. He said as much. “Well, George can always give you a blowjob,” Patrick said. “Oh!” He’d obviously come again. “You really like that idea, don’t you?” Martin asked. “Mmm.” Patrick sounded a lot happier now. “Don’t you?” He looked at George. George didn’t have that intense look, but he still looked pretty appealing. Yes, he liked the idea of a blowjob from George. He liked it enough that he could even feel a rare urge to dominate, which doubtless wasn’t going anywhere with George. But being brought to erection at his master’s command was starting to sound like a very interesting idea. “I think I do.” George slid one hand over his chest and rubbed at a nipple. “Well, if you think you can manage after all ...” “I’m not sure. But I’m more hopeful than I was ten minutes ago.” “Oh, a little bit of hope’s all we need. Stay in him, Patrick.” The advantage of a semi-permanent erection. Patrick was still hard and still stretching him pleasantly. Still rubbing very gently against his prostate. One practical matter to settle. “Is that condom going to hold out?” “Should do. I’m near empty now.” At least there was one way in which they didn’t completely outclass him. Though if he managed it at all, he was going to be near empty himself. But he was a lot more certain now that he was going to manage it. “George?”

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George left Martin’s nipple alone and tested his cock. That big, warm hand wrapped around his cock felt very good. George gave him a couple of quick strokes. “Thought you couldn’t manage another?” “I’m starting to think that I just needed the right partners.” “I’m starting to think that your ex was a bit useless in bed, as well as inconsiderate out of it.” George put an arm around him and hugged him close, then kissed him. It was a long, luxurious kiss, one to arouse him without putting pressure on him to perform right now, George’s tongue gently probing his mouth, then back out again as George kissed lightly down his neck. Patrick asked, “Does that mean I have to be considerate again?” “No,” George said. “If you finish before he’s ready, I’ll keep him happy.” “Good.” And Patrick was away again, thrusting inside him. He relaxed into it, satisfied that no matter what happened he’d be taken care of. He knew that Patrick was having a wonderful time, that George would be content with whatever he could manage, and that they’d make sure he came if he was capable of it, without any urgency about it. Knowing that seemed to make the difference he needed. Each of those delicate kisses along his neck ramped up his arousal a little more. Each thrust of Patrick’s cock did the same. And when Patrick came again, he didn’t pull out, but stayed in place. Not just that, but he turned his attention to stroking Martin’s body. One hand sliding down his side, then back up again, squeezing his shoulder just below where George was kissing him. Patrick asked, “Are you going to suck him?” “Yes, but we might as well stay in this position. He’s comfortable like this.” He certainly was. He was supported from behind by Patrick, his arse was delightfully filled with Patrick’s cock, and he had George pressed up along much of his front. Then he didn’t have that, because George started working his way down his chest. And Patrick wriggled a bit, letting go of him and turning away slightly. “What are you doing?” he asked. “Getting another pillow so I can watch him suck you without craning my neck.” More wriggling, then Patrick settled back into place. “That’s better.” “Told you he likes this,” George said with a laugh. “Get on with it,” Patrick said. “I want you sucking him by the time I start again.” Patrick did start again, giving Martin a quick thrust. “You have no finesse.” But George got on with it, going straight for Martin’s cock. A quick lick around the tip. Then he very slowly slid his lips over the end, enclosing just the head of Martin’s cock, and sucked quickly before relaxing again. Then off, and a long, leisurely lick along the underside of his cock, and back over the tip again.

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“God, I enjoy watching him do that,” Patrick said, speeding up his own rhythm. Now Martin felt an answering response in his own cock. George must have noticed as well, because he glanced up at Martin with a thoroughly smug look on his face. He went back to work on Martin’s cock. He sucked in the tip and just a little of the shaft this time, then wrapped his hand tightly around the rest of the shaft and squeezed just as Patrick gave one final hard thrust and came inside him again. Perfect timing, with George taking over in front just as Patrick finished from behind. Patrick stayed where he was, one arm around Martin’s chest and his cock up Martin’s arse. He had all the sensation he could want. Skin on skin, a hand on his cock, and the sight of George sucking his cockhead. And Patrick’s voice in his ear, asking him to hold out long enough for Patrick to be ready again, so that they could come together. Now he was quite certain that he could come again. Not as quickly as before, no, but he could certainly manage it. They had all the time they needed, and George was obviously happy to take as much time as he did need. Each time George slid his mouth off his cock and then slowly slid it back on, he took a little more length. It would have been delightful torture if it had been the first time today, but now it was delightful arousal. “He is good at it, isn’t he?” Patrick asked. “He’s bloody fantastic.” “I love it when he does that to me. Almost makes up for him not letting me get my cock up his arse.” He could well believe that. George knew exactly how and when to suck, to relax, to move his tongue just so. Now he’d reached halfway down, and Martin was longing for more. He groaned as George pulled off again. George looked up at him, and this time it was heat in his eyes rather than smug amusement. “Want me to finish you?” “God, please.” “Make him wait another minute or so,” Patrick said. “I’ll need that, and he looks so pretty when he begs.” “Oh, I think we can get him to come when it’s convenient,” George said. He gave Martin another tantalising lick across his cockhead. “Can’t we?” “Yes.” He almost grabbed for George’s head, but restrained himself. At least until George gave him one quick suck and pulled off again, leaving just his thumb and forefinger circling the shaft. Then Martin did grab, only to have Patrick grab him, arm like a steel rod holding his forearms tight to his chest. “Naughty. Wait until you’re allowed.” “Yes, Patrick.” He relaxed, and so did Patrick. “So much for can’t get it up again,” Patrick murmured.

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“You two are very good inspiration.” Patrick gave him a quick thrust. “Just to remind you what’s waiting for you.” He pushed back. “Feels wonderful.” “Good.” Patrick hugged him tightly and nuzzled at his neck, kissing him just under his ear as George kissed his cock again. He’d have said that nothing could have got his attention away from George’s mouth on his cock, but Patrick half managed it. Feeling that powerful body restraining him, while Patrick delicately kissed him -- the contrast was enough to get at least a little of his attention, even when George gave him another suck. Then George finally took the full length of his cock, sliding his lips right down to the base. Martin heard his own gasp, and Patrick’s with it. George slid back a little, but Patrick started thrusting again, shoving him forward just enough to thrust him, in turn, deep into George’s mouth. Each stroke of Patrick’s gave him double pleasure. Patrick was clutching at his chest, and now George had a hand on his balls. And then Patrick said, in a voice harsh with desire, “I want you to come now. I want to feel your arse squeezing me when I come.” And he knew he could. Patrick thrust into him one last time, and he came. Not into George’s mouth, because George slid off just in time and grabbed him with that strong hand, squeezing in time with each pulse of his orgasm. It felt utterly, utterly wonderful. At last he was done, and George let go of him. They relaxed for a minute or two; then Patrick eased his way out, and George shuffled back up the blanket. He put an arm around Martin. “Sorry about letting go just when you were about to come, but I forgot to put a condom on you until it was too late. I thought that was probably better than nothing.” “I forgot as well.” He was mortified. It was a lot safer than unprotected anal sex, but it was still stupid. “Sorry.” “I’m the one who should be apologising. I’m not worried about condoms, but you are.” George kissed him very lightly on the forehead. “It wasn’t fair, not when I’d taken control.” What a difference. A lover who understood that with power came responsibility. “Thanks.” He stroked his hand down George’s chest, enjoying the feel of hard flesh under his fingers, and took hold of George’s cock. More hard flesh, a good handful of it. “What about you?” “You’ve probably had enough for one day. So I hope you like to watch.” George’s voice took on a deeper tone as he commanded, “Patrick.” Patrick didn’t seem to take it very seriously. “Mmph. Go away.” “On your knees.” “Bastard.” But Patrick shifted, pulling away from where he’d tucked himself up against Martin’s back. George stood up, giving Martin room to turn over just in time to see Patrick kneeling down on hands and knees.

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Martin moved a little further back and rearranged some of the pillows so that he was lying comfortably with a good view. If George wanted him to watch, he’d watch, even though he was certain he really was finished himself for now. It was worth watching. Patrick on his hands and knees, his head down and his cock still up. George behind him, his face alight with lust. Martin knew exactly where that arousal had come from. Sucking him. They held still for a moment, forming a living picture of eroticism in the light reflected from the water. The dancing light dazzled him a little, making the two men look almost like sculpture. Then George moved, thrusting into Patrick. Taking possession of him, there was no doubt of that at all. Patrick gasped and thrust back, but George was intent on controlling the pace. Martin couldn’t blame him. Patrick had hardly gone short today. Now it was George’s turn for satisfaction. Patrick reached for his cock, but George saw and pulled Patrick’s hand away. Then George looked over at Martin and grinned. Martin knew a command when he saw it. He scrambled up and grabbed for Patrick’s cock. It was hot and hard in his hand. Naked, too; Patrick had dumped the condom. Well, no need for it now. “Not until I say,” George said. He nodded in agreement. Waited as Patrick’s cock moved back and forth in his hand; gripped it hard but not quite hard enough to give Patrick release. Not until George said, “Now.” He squeezed hard, reached with his other hand to cradle Patrick’s balls. Patrick swore and stiffened, and so did George. There wasn’t much left for Patrick to come with, but he gave it his best effort, his cock spasming in Martin’s hand. Only a few drops resulted, but there was no doubting that he’d had a good time. He collapsed onto the sand, and Martin barely had time to let go of him. George stayed on his knees, but only with what was obviously an effort of will. He was swaying slightly as Martin went to him and held him. “That was a bloody good fuck,” he muttered, looking up at Martin. “Best fuck I’ve had in a while.” He was still feeling a bit unsteady himself. “Well, you haven’t fallen asleep straight afterwards this time,” George said, grinning. “Feel a lot better, though.” Martin let go of George long enough to sit down, then held him again. “It’s a bit sandy here. Let’s go back to the blanket.” “Or for a wash,” George suggested. “I think your Simon will notice if you don’t.” He certainly would. They’d quite undone the good work of the wash earlier on. Martin cuddled George a few minutes longer, then reluctantly let go and went to wash again.

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Chapter Eight Patrick and George followed him down to the water’s edge, although their interest in bathing seemed to be focused on rinsing off the sand that had accumulated during that last stint off the blanket. “I suppose you want to get cleaned up for Simon?” Patrick asked as Martin sluiced himself down. “Yes, but I’ll have to tell him about you, I think.” He realised how they might interpret that, and quickly added, “Not all about you, of course. Just that I met a couple of local men.” George nodded. “Tell him the truth. That you met us on the day of the storm, but thought that you dreamt it. And when you started to realise you hadn’t, you didn’t want to say anything because you still weren’t sure.” “Just leave out the bit about exactly why you thought you were dreaming,” Patrick added. That was what he’d been thinking of doing. “You’re all right with that?” He could understand them being nervous about the idea, but it would cause more suspicion if he tried to meet them without anyone knowing about it. Simon wouldn’t always be away at a meeting for half the weekend, and he’d wonder what was going on if Martin kept disappearing with the boat. “Simon will be a lot less worried if he thinks you’re not just casual pickups. So if I say that I’d already met you, and you helped me that day, but it wasn’t until I met you again today that I knew I hadn’t imagined it ...” George picked up water in a cupped hand and motioned him to turn around. “You were too embarrassed to say anything about it, because you thought we were just a fantasy.” He trickled the water down between Martin’s buttocks. The chill made him a jump a little, but he held still as George splashed some more water on him, then spread his buttocks. “You look all right. We weren’t rough.”

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“No.” They certainly hadn’t been. He was going to be sore tomorrow, but only from having too much of a good thing. “It was good.” “Do you need to go back yet?” Patrick asked. “We don’t have time for the whole book, but I’d like to hear another chapter.” He glanced at the light coming in. He’d need to check his watch, but he didn’t think it was all that late. “We’ve got time, I think. But I’d better not be too late back, or Simon will start worrying.” George stroked his back. “He’s every right to, after what happened last time. Go and check the time first.” George might have problems with being jealous of Simon, but he was keeping them to himself now. Martin decided that he was clean enough and went to find a towel to dry off. Then he got dressed and checked his watch. It wasn’t much after four, so there was plenty of time yet. He sat back against the cushions to wait while George and Patrick got dressed. That velvet cushion still fascinated him. He picked it up. “Where did you get this?” Patrick looked embarrassed and glanced at George. George grinned and said, “Someone decided to go for a stroll through Debenhams during the sale and spotted that in the bin of cushions reduced to clear.” “Well, we were flush at the time, or we wouldn’t have been in there.” “But we were supposed to be in the menswear department, weren’t we?” George put a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “Never mind. You were right; it does brighten the place up.” Patrick bent down and took the cushion from Martin. He held it out in front of him, looking at it. “It was just ... so outrageously not for being practical ...” That it certainly was. Martin could understand the appeal it held for Patrick. It was like the chocolate; he didn’t need it, but it felt good and it was fun. And it came from a world that Patrick didn’t dare enter more than briefly. “How often do you two go shopping?” “Depends on how often we’ve got money or something to sell.” Patrick handed him back the cushion. “We used to only do it when we absolutely had to, but it’s easier now. We know what we’re doing.” “You don’t get so nervous about someone recognising what you are?” He put the cushion back on the pile. George sat down next to him. “It’s easy, as long as we stick to the tourist towns. That’s one reason we moved in here. We’ve got the cave to store things, but it’s not much of a swim to somewhere big enough for nobody to notice us walking around. Where’d the book go?” “Here.” Patrick must have been rummaging. “One more chapter?” “Then I’d better go.”

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They helped him load the boat afterwards, everything neatly packed away, even the rubbish. Especially the rubbish. “Don’t worry about our stuff,” Patrick said. “We need to air it before putting it away.” More complications of their hidden lifestyle. How did they wash their clothing? Not in seawater, surely; the salt wouldn’t be a lot of fun. There were a lot of things to learn about them. He’d have to take it slowly if he didn’t want to risk scaring them off, but they were already more open with him than they had been that first day. “Will you be back tomorrow?” George asked. “Don’t know. It depends on what Simon’s doing. If he’s home, I’ll need to spend some time with him, but I’ll be here for a few days. And if we go out in the boat -- he’d love it if a couple of dolphins showed up.” “It’s not him I want to see,” George muttered. “No, but at least you can check out the boat without worrying about him behaving badly.” He reached up and kissed George. “I might not be able to say when, but I will come back.” “What about me?” Patrick asked. He kissed Patrick as well. Then he got into the boat. “Do you need help getting the boat out?” George asked. He looked at how much room there was between the water and the rock above. Just enough for him to manage by himself, if he was careful. “I should practice, and it’s a good chance to do so.” “Tomorrow, maybe, then.” He nodded, and turned his attention to getting the boat out into the middle of the cave and lined up with the entrance. It was slow going, and before he’d finished he saw a dolphin streak ahead of the boat and wait by the gap. One of them must have changed to help lead him through. He was glad enough of the guide, even if he wanted to try to steer the boat himself. At least if he did fuck up and ended up in the water, there’d be someone standing by to rescue him. He made it safely out, although with one nervous moment as a wave lifted the boat. Now he had reason to be grateful that the little boat had been designed for ease of pottering around rather than for speed. It wasn’t difficult to manoeuvre it through the low gap now that he knew what he was doing. Once he was out on the open water, he turned to look back at the cave entrance. From here it looked simply like an undercut in the cliff, or perhaps a shallow cave. There was no hint of the spacious cave behind the rock screen. If the entrance had been on the beach itself, it would never have gone unnoticed, but there was little to tempt the curious to swim out to it.

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Both of the dolphins had emerged from the cave and were watching him. He waved and turned for home. When he got back to the jetty and looked out to sea, he wasn’t in the least surprised to see them. They didn’t have much reason to trust the mechanical soundness of the boat. He waved to them again, and they turned and swam away.

***** Simon arrived home relatively early. He’d phoned to say he was on his way, so Martin waited to have dinner with him. Another meal out of the freezer, but this time it was the result of one of Simon’s batch cooking sessions. Martin had the Bolognese sauce heating and the pasta in boiling water as soon as he heard the taxi outside. Simon took a couple of minutes to pay the taxi driver and unload his things, so the Bolognese was already hot when he walked into the kitchen. “Mmm. Smells good.” “Well, it’s your cooking; I just re-heated it.” “You’ll still make someone a wonderful little wife someday.” Someday soon, perhaps. He must have reacted, let something show in his body language or expression, because Simon said, “Martin?” “I’ve got a confession to make.” Simon settled himself down on a chair and stared at him over folded hands. “Tell Uncle Simon about it.” “This is going to sound stupid.” Simon grinned. “I’m used to that.” “Remember the day I got concussion?” He prodded the pasta with a wooden spoon. Another few minutes and it would be done. “Mmm. When your two dolphin friends dragged you out of the storm.” “Wasn’t just the dolphins, but I thought I was hallucinating.” Simon stared at him. “What, a handsome naked man rose out of the water and rescued you?” Which of course was why he hadn’t said anything at the time. It sounded stupid, even to him. “Two handsome naked men, actually.” Simon blinked, but didn’t say anything. “Anyway, nothing happened. Apart from them looking after me for a couple of hours until the storm dropped. I went to sleep, proper sleep, not just concussion, and when I woke up they were gone. I thought I’d dreamt it.”

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“Only you hadn’t.” Simon picked up the salt shaker and started playing with it. “And you’ve seen them again.” He nodded. “Met them today. They’re real. They’re also shy around strangers, so when they realised I thought I was hallucinating, they were happy to let me go on thinking that.” He gave the pasta another stir. “But I ran into them on the beach today.” “And ...” Simon prompted. “We fucked.” “I think you did more than fuck,” Simon said, very gently. “This isn’t rebound from Barry, is it?” “I don’t know.” He gave Simon what he thought was the truth. “I don’t think so, but I don’t know. And I think they understand that.” “Are you going to see them again?” “Yes.” But he needed to convince Simon that he wasn’t being stupid in doing so. “I think they’re right for me, and they seem to think I’m right for them. But I need to take things slowly.” He tried the pasta again. “You fucked two men you’ve only just met, and you’re taking things slowly. Martin, you’re not exactly promiscuous. This isn’t normal for you.” He tipped the pasta out to drain, still trying to work out how to explain this to Simon. “It’s not like that, and yes, I know that’s a cliché. I’ve had two months of thinking about them, thinking they were just a fever fantasy, and it was driving me nuts.” Simon stood up and came over to stand behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You never said anything.” “I’m feeling very sorry for myself over an ex-boyfriend, I get a bad bang on the head, and two gorgeous men appear out of nowhere to look after me.” He looked back over his shoulder at Simon and grinned. “And yes, they are gorgeous.” He tipped the pasta onto the plates and followed it with the meat sauce. “So I woke up alone and decided that I’d conjured it all up. They were too bloody close to my fantasies about tall, handsome men besotted with me for me to assume that they were anything but a fantasy.” Simon left him alone until they sat down at the table, but as he reached for the parmesan, said, “There’s more to it than them just being handsome, isn’t there? Are they doms?” “You know me too well.” Which of course Simon did. And he knew Simon -- this questioning was because Simon loved him and was worried about him. “Not just that they’re doms. They ...” “... made it clear they were interested in you.” He nodded. “But they backed off instantly when they realised I was sick, not just playing hard to get.” He watched Simon process that and draw conclusions about the things he hadn’t spelled out.

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“Big men?” “Yes.” “Do you need backup?” That was one of the things he liked about Simon. Offering backup, but not insisting on it. “They take no for an answer.” Simon looked down at his plate for a few seconds, then back up at Martin. “I’d rather you brought them here, give me a chance to look them over. But if you don’t want to, at least tell me in future if you’re going off to meet them. Just in case.” He felt a stab of guilt. He had deliberately gone off this morning without telling Simon what he was up to. Yes, it had been because what he’d suspected was too fantastic to share; but the explanation he’d first hit on when he’d realised that they hadn’t been a hallucination would have been a reasonable enough story. Was a good enough story that he was actually using it now. And if he had gone off this morning completely secure in the belief that he’d met a couple of local men and imagined the rest, he would have told Simon what he was up to. Just in case. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I just felt so stupid, going off looking for people I was mostly convinced were phantoms.” “Considering how often you’ve told me off for wandering off with strangers without a word to my friends ...” True. He was usually the careful one. It didn’t stop him getting burned by people who understood consent but didn’t quite get “only in the bedroom”, but that was a different sort of hazard. “Look, Martin, I really am not trying to overprotect you,” Simon said. “You chucked Barry, not the other way round, so I’m not worried about your self-esteem. Just ... two men? Can you handle that?” “I don’t know. That’s one of the things I need to sort out. But ... these specific two men ... maybe.” “It could be a real threesome, then?” Simon asked. “Not just them playing around with you as their bit on the side? Monogamy’s not quite the right word, but you know what I mean.” Funnily enough, Simon might understand that better than some of his other friends, even though Simon’s ideal relationship would be an open pair, not an exclusive trio. “They say they’d like to try. I believe them. And ... we all know there’s a lot of lust involved and lust by itself isn’t going to be enough.” Which was probably the simplest way to summarise the discussion without saying anything about the biggest obstacle in their way. “Well, if you actually got round to talking once you’d done fucking, I suppose you’ve got some chance. Who are they, anyway?”

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He should have talked more to them about what cover story they used, assuming they had one. “To be honest, I think they might be drifters. They’re shy of people, and I got the impression they live rough, but they pick up money by doing odd jobs and selling stuff from beach combing.” He saw the look on Simon’s face. “And no, they haven’t asked me for money. They only got involved with me in the first place because they’d also taken shelter in that cave.” “And you weren’t missing anything when you got back that day,” Simon said thoughtfully. He hadn’t even thought about that at the time, but it was true. They’d taken nothing, and there were things in the boat kit that would be useful to them. The only thing that they’d even thought of taking was the chocolate and perhaps the other food, and even there George had made Patrick leave the chocolate alone. “They were glad enough to share my picnic today, but that’s all they’ve asked for.” That and a few previous lunches, but that wasn’t for Simon’s ears. “Well, if they’re honest tramps, they’re probably not going to do you any harm other than bruised feelings if it doesn’t work out. Just don’t let them touch you up for more than pocket money.” Simon shovelled some pasta into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Then he said, “Look, it’s not just so I can inspect them. You’re welcome to bring them here anyway, if they want a meal or a hot bath.” “Thanks.” The situation was more complicated than Simon knew, and George and Patrick probably didn’t need bathing facilities, at least for themselves. But that was a decent gesture. “Or to use the washing machine,” Simon added. “I don’t really know if they are homeless.” Best not let Simon get carried away with that idea, in case there was some other story the pair used. “They just didn’t want to talk about themselves, and there was something about it that felt like more than the usual not letting a blind date know where you live until you’re certain of him.” “They could just be eccentric and prefer to camp out even if they have somewhere to go. I’ve met a couple of those as well.” Simon seemed to have met all sorts of people in his travels, which probably explained a lot about his concern being whether Martin had taken up with people who were sane and honest rather than with their actual social status. “That wouldn’t surprise me either. If they were a lot older, I’d wonder if it was a case of being gay and not wanting to deal with people’s reaction to them obviously being a couple, but they’re far too young for that.” “Or as you said, just shy, though it’s a bit unusual in a dom. Though what’s in the bedroom isn’t always what’s out of the bedroom.” Simon gave him a mischievous smile. “Just look at you.”

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One of the reasons they’d been such good friends over the years. Accepting each other as they were, not trying to fit each other into neat pigeonholes. “Or even one or two of your girlfriends.” Simon closed his eyes, looking back in memory. “Remember the dear Miss Prudence?” “Oh, god, yes.” The dear Miss Prudence had been a nice, upper-middle-class girl they’d met at university. They’d decided that she’d certainly make someone a very nice wife one day, so long as he was the sort of nice upper-middle-class boy who liked his wife to be properly demure and submissive in public and the stern nanny in private. “If I’d liked being caned, she might even have made me straight for her.” “We were a terrible disappointment to her, weren’t we?” “Let’s hope her husband wasn’t.” Simon leaned back in his chair and grinned. “I ran into her a few weeks ago. Apparently he’s a captain of industry, and she’s ever so proud of him.” “You didn’t.” “I did. Meant to tell you, but forgot about it. And the way she said she was proud of him -- well, I don’t think he was a disappointment to her in any way at all.” “Good for her.” He’d liked Prudence. She was discreet but not ashamed of her desires, she was smart and funny, and she’d accepted their lack of interest in her more exotic fantasies with good grace. She’d even pointed him at one or two bi boys she’d thought might suit his tastes better than hers. “I hope she’s happy.” “Ah, hell.” Simon sighed and pushed away the remains of his dinner. “If these guys are going to make you happy, go for it. I looked at Prudence and knew we were right to break up, but we were also right to give it a go.” Martin prodded carefully at the tender spot in his emotions. “I ... should have broken off with Barry before I did. But I don’t think it was stupid to try with him.” To his surprise, Simon agreed. “No. It would be different if you’d let him get away with it. But I think he was just like a lot of married men -- he saw something he wanted, and instead of dealing with the fact he was already married to someone else, he tried to have his cake and eat it, too. Makes him a stupid, selfish prick who was thinking with his prick, but not a malicious one.” And Barry probably hadn’t been lying when he’d wanted to keep the relationship clandestine because he was still in the closet. He just hadn’t been telling the whole truth. “I just wish he’d been honest with me.” “He was probably scared you’d walk away. Which you did.” It didn’t hurt anything like as much to talk about it now. Time healed. And being crude about it, so did a day of bloody good sex with partners who were a good match for him. “I don’t think he’d ever been in a real D/s relationship before, and he’d got his ideas from bad

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porn. It was too easy for him to slip into assuming I was a sub outside the bedroom, and not just because that happened to suit him anyway.” “Well, he knows better now. What’s for dessert?” Changing the subject, stopping him from thinking about Barry long enough to start brooding again. Not a bad idea. But he was glad to find that he could think about it rationally now and see that he hadn’t been completely stupid to get involved with Barry in the first place. Barry wasn’t evil or deliberately cruel, just clueless and a bit self-centred; and there were enough of those in the world that he’d have had to be very lucky indeed to never get tangled up with one. “Dessert?” Simon prompted. “Oh. Sorry. I cheated and bought some fancy ice cream. Seemed the easiest when I wasn’t sure when or whether you’d get back.” “Sounds good to me.”

***** That night Martin lay in his bed, the big bed Simon had bought for the spare room, and thought about his day. It had been real. He hadn’t imagined it, not unless he was also imaging the pleasant ache he felt right now. There were no guarantees, but he had a chance at something good, and even if it didn’t work out, it had given him the perspective he needed on his relationship with Barry. He’d been right to walk away when he’d discovered that Barry had misled him, but he hadn’t been a fool to try with Barry in the first place. There had been good things in the relationship. His real regret was in not getting out when it became obvious that Barry couldn’t or wouldn’t overcome his preconceptions about how a dom should behave. He went to sleep completely content for the first time in weeks.

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Chapter Nine “So what are we doing today?” Simon asked over breakfast. What Martin’s cock wanted to do was rush out and meet George and Patrick. But he’d told them that he’d need to spend some time with Simon. “Do you need to do more unpacking?” The answer was yes, of course -- there were still boxes around the place. But it probably wasn’t urgent if the boxes still hadn’t been unpacked after two months. “You don’t want to go and meet your two friends?” “Yes. So I shouldn’t.” “Second thoughts, or just giving yourself time to think things through?” “Time to think.” They hadn’t talked about it anymore last night, but he still wanted to talk it over with Simon. It was going to be tricky, given that he couldn’t tell Simon all of it, but now that he knew his peculiar fantasy was no fantasy, he needed to think through what happened next. Was there any chance at all of this working, or in fairness to all three of them should he tell George and Patrick it was over? Simon broke into his thoughts. “If you’re worried about them being drifters, you should at least talk to them about it. For one thing, they might not be.” “That, and other things. The sex was so good that ... well, I didn’t want to disturb the mood by talking about it. And I don’t think they did either.” “So you’d all have one perfect day to remember, even if that’s all it ever ended up being? Can understand that.” Simon set a mug of tea down in front of him. “So what else did you do?” “I read them a book.” “God, they’re not illiterate, are they?”

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He laughed. “No. It was just a nice way to wind down afterwards.” “And it saved you from the horror of having to talk about your feelings.” “We did a bit of that. But we mostly just lay in a shagged-out heap and read aloud.” He’d enjoyed it. It had been very relaxing to just sit there with them, no pressure, simply enjoying each other’s company. Rather like a lot of his weekends with Simon, only with added sex. He shared this thought with Simon. Simon grinned and said, “Do you ever regret ...” “No. Not that we did it that time, and not that we only did it the once.” “I suppose if we hadn’t, we’d have always wondered.” “Exactly.” “We should be grateful you weren’t female and I wasn’t bi, or we might have been tempted to make more of it. And we’d have made each other bloody miserable.” “Just don’t mention it in front of George. He’s a possessive bastard, and no, I don’t mean that in a bad way.” He remembered the look on George’s face as he’d asked if Martin understood George’s fear of what might happen out of his sight. “I wonder if they’ve been burnt by people coming in for a weekend break and then leaving them with empty promises.” “Both doms, you said.” He couldn’t remember whether he’d said it outright, but he’d certainly implied it. “Mmm.” “Could be. They’d be easy meat for a guy who just wanted to have a quick fling as a sub somewhere where nobody knows him, and then forget about it.” Simon started clearing away the breakfast things. “I might be as much of a reassurance as a threat to them, in that case. I’m the guarantee you’ll come back.” Thinking back about George’s reactions in particular, that was probably true. George was torn between resenting his friendship with Simon and being grateful for it. It might be a good idea to persuade them to meet Simon. Just seeing that Simon was settled in here, that there were spare bedrooms and one of them was clearly Martin’s -- that might help. Which reminded him. “Simon, are you okay with me leaving my stuff in the spare room between visits?” “Yes, but what brought on that train of thought?” “Wondering whether your girlfriends will take exception to me.” Simon shrugged. “If they get that wound up about stuff in the other bedroom, I’d prefer to know sooner rather than later. If it was in my room, they’d have a point. If you hadn’t been introduced, that could be rude even if they’re happy with an open relationship.”

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He’d thought that, but he knew that he didn’t really understand the fine details of polite behaviour in such situations. “And if it’s just not being comfortable with a guy they don’t know wandering in and out?” “Wander in and out enough and you’ll be someone they do know.” Simon paused, then went on, “Martin, have you thought about getting your own permanent place yet?” “Just because you’ve finally settled down in one place ...” His own place was a rented house that had been meant for only a few months, but had somehow become home. It wasn’t that big, but he was single and away on contract work much of the time. It only had to be comfortable and big enough to store his worldly goods. Simon waved a hand in dismissal. “Yes, but I bought this place partly because I wanted to be building up an asset and now’s a good time to buy. Think about your retirement fund, old man. You must have saved enough for a decent deposit by now.” “Well, keep an eye out for something around here, if you like my company that much.” Which wasn’t a bad idea, really, although he’d want to make a few more trips before deciding whether it was where he wanted to settle. “Don’t make plans before you know if this is going to work.” “What? Oh.” He hadn’t actually been thinking about George and Patrick. “No, I was just thinking that if you like the place and you find it reasonably easy to get out for work, it’s worth considering.” Worth it even without the added incentive of a potential relationship. He wasn’t factoring that into any long-term plans, not yet. “Well, in that case maybe we should go for a tour of the neighbourhood this morning.” Simon gave him a lecherous grin. “Assuming you’re up to a long drive and some heavy walking.” He had winced once or twice when he’d bent over. Another good reason to go for a walk rather than rush straight off to see George and Patrick. “A walk would be nice. Just don’t make plans to be out all day.” “You did have a good time, didn’t you? All right, I’ll take you for a walk around town, and we can call in at the estate agents. If you get too stiff, we can always come home, otherwise lunch in town.” That sounded like a good idea. “You’re on.”

***** A hefty dose of normal life gave him a better perspective on his recent experience. It was frustrating not being able to talk over everything with Simon, but in some ways that was useful. He needed to have the magic stripped away for a little while, so that he could think about the practicalities. “You’re going to go for it, then,” Simon said as they sat sipping their coffee after lunch.

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“I think I have to. It’s going to be hard, but I don’t think it’s impossible.” And there was what he’d already said to George. “I can’t take the risk of walking away without even trying to find out.” “At least this time you’re going into it with your eyes open. I’d still like to meet them, though.” Simon set his cup down and signalled to the waitress for the bill. “Let’s go out in the boat this afternoon. Not just to meet your friends. To meet your other friends.” “What?” “The dolphins. Maybe if you’re in the boat with me, they’ll hang around for a bit.” This ... was going to be interesting. And he didn’t have a decent excuse to get out of it, unless he pleaded aches and pains. Claiming that he didn’t want to run into George and Patrick while he was still thinking things over wasn’t going to work, not when he’d told Simon that he’d made his decision. “All right. But I don’t think I’m up to much, so I might not want to stay out long.” Simon looked him over. “You do look tired. It’s not just yesterday, is it? You’ve been working too hard.” He’d forgotten that in the euphoria he’d felt, but it was true enough. He had good reason to be tired, even without yesterday. “Not too hard, but I’m glad of the break.” “I’d like to go out, but I can go by myself if it’s going to be too much for you,” Simon offered. He was finding the idea of just staying in more and more tempting, but it wasn’t fair on Simon. “No. Not if you’ve got to start work again tomorrow.” “It’s only Bournemouth for the rest of the week, and I’ll be home for tea. But I won’t be able to get out in the boat.” Simon sounded wistful. That settled it. “Let’s have an hour, at least. You can always drop me back if I get too tired.”

***** Simon wanted a look at the cave, but Martin put him off. “Even if I can find it, we might not be able to get into it. The entrance is low enough to be covered at high tide.” “And you think it’s where your two friends hang out, don’t you? Well, if you want to respect their privacy, at least take me to look at where that dolphin found you the fossil.” That seemed safe enough. “I don’t think it’s too far for me today.” “Let’s go and take a look. There’s been at least one more storm since then, so there might be fresh exposures.” Simon swung the boat out towards the open water. They were soon joined by two dolphins. Simon hadn’t noticed; he was concentrating on steering the boat. Martin wondered whether to mention it, but when the dolphins were still keeping pace alongside the boat a minute or two later, he said, “We’ve got company.”

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Simon slowed the boat and looked around. He grinned as he saw the dolphins. “Maybe they’ll stick around now you’re here.” He brought the boat to a complete halt. One dolphin reared up and whistled at them before settling down again. “You’d better talk to them,” Simon said. “We’re going to look for fossils,” he said, pointing along the coast. The dolphin whistled at him and turned to face in the same direction as the boat. “I think that’s a hint,” Simon said and started the boat again. “Tell me if they stop following us.” The dolphins followed them all the way to the cove. Simon stopped the boat in the middle of the cove and looked around. “Does it look any different?” Martin looked around. “It’s been too long; I just don’t remember well enough.” “Well, we can get out and have a look. Any rock pools?” “There’s a bit of a shelf along there with some pools in it.” He pointed out the area he remembered from last time. “Might as well take a look. I’ll be working for the next few days, but we can always come back.” Martin saw the nearest dolphin taking an interest in that. He had no idea whether it was George or Patrick; he couldn’t tell them apart in this shape. But he was certain that the dolphins were the ones he knew, and not just a random pair who’d turned up. “Well, if you’re working tomorrow, I’ll come out on my own for a bit.” Just making conversation, to Simon’s ears; a message, to the dolphin who wasn’t a dolphin. “As long as you’re not too tired,” Simon said. “Don’t overdo things. And if you find your friends, bring them home for dinner.” The dolphin looked at Simon, then at Martin. “Not you, idiot,” Simon said, laughing. “Though if you come to the jetty, we can probably bring you something.” To Martin, “Do you think it understood me?” “I’m damned sure he understood you.” He stared at the dolphin. “He certainly understood the word ‘dinner’. And one of them has a chocolate fetish.” “I think there’s a spare bar in here.” Simon bent over to reach into a locker. Well, that settled which one was Patrick. It was the one who was suddenly right next to the boat, staring eagerly up at Simon. “I see what you mean,” Simon said. “He certainly knows the word ‘chocolate’, doesn’t he? Is it all right to give him some?” “They haven’t taken any harm from it yet. And he obviously learnt to like it before he met me.” Martin realised that Simon had started off calling the dolphins “it”, and was now calling them “he”. Picked up from him. He’d have to watch what he said.

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Simon opened the bar and broke off a strip. “Here you go.” He tossed it to Patrick -- no, think of him as the dolphin -- who caught it neatly. Another strip to the other dolphin. Both of them whistled. Simon stared at them. “Did they just say thank you to me?” “It certainly sounded like it.” “That’s what I meant. It sounded as if they were trying to make the whistle sound like thank you.” “I told you they were smart.” Simon shrugged. “They’ve probably been hanging around humans too much for their own good. I just hope they keep away from people who might harm them.” “Well, if you want them to hang around us while we do some fossil-hunting, put on something for them to listen to.” “I’ve got Dire Straits loaded at the moment, but I could find something else.” There was an approving whistle. “The buggers are listening to us,” Simon said. “Better watch what you say, then.” If only he could tell Simon. It wasn’t fair to leave him in the dark about there being two human minds down there in the water, but he had no choice. It just made him squirm a little at the thought of Simon saying things he wouldn’t say if he knew who or what was listening. “They listened all the way through my draft lecture on the local fossils.” “Well, if they understood any of it, they’re well-educated dolphins. Right.” Mellow bass guitar streamed out of the speakers as Simon adjusted the volume. “Better get the boat moved close enough in for us to get out. I’ll turn it up so they can hear it properly.” They pottered around on the beach for a while, Simon following him around to look at the fossils rather than going to look in the rock pool. They found two more nice specimens, plus several common ones that he left in place. “I’ve already got some of those, and there’s no point in taking them out of the cliff to put in a box in the cupboard when someone else might like them.” “If you do get a place of your own, make sure it’s somewhere big enough to hold your collection.” “Sounds like a good reason not to get a bigger place.” The books were bad enough without the fossils expanding to fill whatever room was available. Simon was unrepentant. “Well, you can always use them as corporate gifts.” Come to think of it, they would make nice gifts. Though if he was going to do that, he’d start cleaning up some of the ones from the previous trip first. “So where was this one the dolphin found for you?” “Over there.”

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They climbed back into the boat, and Simon manoeuvred it over to the cliff. There wasn’t much sign of where Martin had taken the slab of rock, but he thought he recognised the place, and pointed it out. Simon peered at it. One of the dolphins popped up, nudged the spot on the rock face, and whistled. “You know, if you could persuade these guys to work with you, you could probably get some pretty nice stuff to sell to the local tourist shops,” Simon said. “If you moved down here and had spare time on your hands, I mean.” That got the dolphin’s attention, although this time he didn’t whistle. Martin could see an interesting conversation ahead of him tomorrow. Oblivious to his audience, Simon went on, “Anyway, it’s time to get you back home. You’re starting to look very tired.” “Let’s have that cup of tea first.” They hadn’t had much time just sitting in the boat keeping the dolphins company; and he didn’t want George and Patrick to think he was avoiding them. “Good idea.” Simon poured the tea from the Thermos. “So how long do you think you’ll stay? I know you were planning to go home next Sunday whether or not you have a new contract, but that was before you discovered your dream wasn’t.” “I don’t know. I need to go back to the flat at some point -- I don’t like leaving it too long, just in case I have to go off at a minute’s notice. But I could put it off a few days. If I don’t have to go to a job, anyway,” he emphasised, for the benefit of everyone listening. There was a job likely to come up which could leave him with no choice but to leave in a couple of days. “Well, as long as you and your friends have a day or two to get the must-shag out of your system and can get around to some serious talking ...” Simon looked over the side of the boat at the two dolphins. “At least these two are around to talk to today. They really do like you, don’t they? You must be a very persuasive lecturer.” He squirmed inside with embarrassment, but tried to keep a straight face. Besides, that had been their original interest in him. “I think they just liked having someone talk to them without trying to bother them.” “What, kids get annoying?” Simon asked the dolphins. “Though I’ll bet that’s who originally fed you chocolate.” One of them whistled at him. “Now is that agreeing with me, or just asking for more chocolate?” “Knowing him, probably both. Give him some more, and then we’d better go home.” Simon sighed and said, “It’s nice to have them here, but I suppose you’re right. Given the way they seem to feel about you, if I want to see them again I just need to get you down here for the weekend.” He broke the rest of the bar into four pieces, handed Martin one, and tossed the other two out to the dolphins.

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They ate the chocolate and finished their mugs of tea in silence. The dolphins followed them out of the cove, but as they set off for home the dolphins headed in the other direction. Back to their own home in the cave, presumably. It had been good to see them, even if he couldn’t talk to them properly. And it had given him a chance to come to terms with what they were. Not men, nor dolphins, but some strange and wonderful amalgamation out of legend. And his for the asking.

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Chapter Ten Martin was starting to get the hang of parking the boat next to the steps cut into the old stone jetty. Even so, he found Patrick already on the jetty waiting for him. He was greeted with an enthusiastic hug and kiss. “Let me put the stuff down first!” “Sorry.” Patrick let go and stepped back a pace. “Anything else to get out of the boat?” “I’ve brought some books.” He finally noticed something that hadn’t registered because on anyone else it wouldn’t have been out of place. “You’re dressed.” And where was George? “We’ve been having a look at the passageway. Clothes are useful protection if you go scrambling around rocks.” So that was why they hadn’t met the boat out in the water. They’d been working inside. He looked around and noticed a clotheshorse set up on the jetty, with some clothes on it. “Doing a bit of housekeeping?” “There’s a bit of a breeze coming in, so it’s a good time to get things washed and dried.” “Do you have fresh water?” Patrick nodded. “There’s a trickle of water coming down through a crack in a rock. And someone built a little dam to catch it.” More evidence that at some time in the past this place had been a quarry. “Useful.” “It’s one of the reasons this cave’s good. I wouldn’t drink it unless I had to, but it smells clean.” In other words, even if it wasn’t up to drinking-water standards, it was clean enough to keep themselves and their clothes smelling respectable. Smelling clean was an important factor in how likely they were to draw attention to themselves in town. “By the way, Simon

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said to tell you to come and use the washing machine if you need to get some laundry done. Which reminds me -- I need to talk to you about what to tell people about you.” “Thought you’d already decided that. Here, give me that.” Patrick took the picnic basket from him and set it against the wall of the cave. “I need a bit more story than that.” But he needed to talk to them both about it. “Is George in the passageway?” “Yes. We heard you come in, so I came down to have a look, but he’s playing with the rockfall.” And it probably wasn’t a coincidence that they were inspecting the rockfall when they expected him to arrive. “I’ll get the torch from the boat.” “Thanks.” Patrick followed him to the boat and took the bag of books from him. “Might as well drop these off in the cupboard on the way past.” “Do you have an actual cupboard?” “Not really. Just some wooden shelves we’ve put up in one of the side chambers.” He followed Patrick to the back of the cave, where a wide passageway extended back. He could see well enough at this point, but decided to switch the torch on right away, so that he could see fine detail if necessary. This section was clearly manmade, although perhaps following the path of an existing natural passage in the rock. There were side chambers that had been quarried out; he poked his head into a couple of them for a better look, and it appeared that some had been quarried such as to leave just enough stone for supporting piers, while others seemed to have been deliberately left as small rooms. Storage chambers for equipment, perhaps. He found George examining a rockfall that blocked the passageway. “Pass me that torch; it might show me something I can’t see.” He handed over the torch, and George played the beam over the top of the fall. The torch was a powerful one and picked out details clearly, although it also cast deep shadows. But George said, “Thought so! Martin, do you think it’s safe to climb up there?” “Give me back the torch.” Martin examined the rockfall and then the roof. “I think the roof is stable, but if you feel the pile shifting, get off fast.” “Patrick, stand well back. Just in case.” With that, George levered himself up onto the big block that formed part of the base of the pile of stone. He tested his next foothold carefully, then swung himself up. He reached up and waved his hand above his head. “There’s air coming through here.” “And it was a breezy day outside. There’s probably an exit to the open air through there somewhere.” Whether it was one they could use was another matter, but it was worth investigating. “George, come down from there. I think we should go shopping for a ladder.”

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“Of course,” Patrick said quietly behind him. “We never thought of it, because we’d have had to borrow a boat to get one in here.” “Borrow?” “We would have put it back afterwards,” George said as he scrambled down from his perch. “That’s not the sort of thing someone will assume they just mislaid. There are people we could beg a favour from if we absolutely had to have a boat for an afternoon, but we’d rather not ask if we don’t have to.” “So how did you get some of this stuff shifted?” A lot of it was loose rubble in pieces small enough for two men to handle, but even so it would take some effort. “We bought some tools we could carry ourselves and wrapped them in plastic,” Patrick said. “Didn’t move the big pieces very far, just into that room. The small stuff we carried out a bit at a time.” George took the torch off him again and played it over the side room whose entrance they must have cleared. “It was worth it, because we gained a lot more room in there by clearing the door than was taken up with rubble. But it was a lot of work, and we were nervous about another fall.” “Sensible. You could get badly hurt if any more of that came down. But I think you’ll be able to shift it safely, although I’ll need to take a closer look at it.” He suspected that a weak section in the roof had given way. It had dumped enough rubble to block the passage, but the fall might well have cleared the weak material and left a stable roof again. There were some big blocks in the pile, fairly square on the sides from natural jointing. They’d probably dropped straight down and stayed where they’d fallen. They were going to cause the most problems, but they were also to one side. If George and Patrick didn’t want the whole passage cleared, the big blocks could actually be useful -- they’d be much more stable than loose chunks. “How much room do you want? Just enough for you to walk through comfortably, or the whole width?” “Even room to climb through will do,” George said. “At least until we have an idea what’s on the other side. We might want to be able to block it up again.” This was their home. They’d find a back door useful, but only if they could keep it locked. “I think we can at least clear enough space at the top to crawl through, though I’d recommend a ladder on each side. Then we can check out what’s behind there.” They nodded, looking satisfied. “Thanks, Martin,” Patrick said. “That gives us a much better idea of whether we could risk it.” “I wonder where it goes,” George mused. “There’s what looks like a ruined building on the hill.” Some of the old quarries in the area had associated buildings. “Could be that there’s an access tunnel. Whether there’s an access road is another matter.”

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“As long as there’s somewhere we can get in and out without an audience.” George looked the rockfall over again. “It would be worth the risk.” They were trusting him with a great deal of information. But they’d made the decision to trust him with the biggest secret of all on the day they’d rescued him from the storm, so perhaps this secret wasn’t so difficult. “We could try taking a look around up top first. Have you ever looked up there?” “No,” Patrick said. “The cliffs are too dangerous to climb just here.” And it might be a long walk from the nearest place where they could easily get to the clifftop path. Of course, it might not be that far a walk from the nearest parking spot. “I’ll need to check some maps first. But we might be able to drive there and park somewhere relatively close.” That idea had no more occurred to them than had the ladder, judging by their expressions. Martin made a mental note to himself to never, ever take it for granted that they had thought of the obvious. It might not be obvious to people who spent most of their time in another shape. “I think we need to sit down and think about what you need and want. There may be other ways I can help you.” “Martin ...” George seemed hesitant. “What’s wrong?” “Why? Why help us? The sex is good, but you don’t know us.” A week with two dolphins. A muddled afternoon, two months of longing, and a day of discovering that it had not been a dream. Not much to build a relationship on. But even without the relationship ... “You helped me. I might have made it home in one piece without your help that day, but I was a lot safer because you took the risk of helping me. Even if I did get concussion out of it.” Patrick hugged him. “I’m glad we did. And not just for the sex.” “I told you so,” George said. “He tried to make friends with us, not just get us to do tricks.” “And his friend’s a nice guy as well.” “Just because he gave you chocolate,” George grumbled amiably. “And he understood what Martin was saying about talking to us without bothering us.” Patrick looked into Martin’s eyes. “Though he also said something about getting the mustshag feeling out of the way.” “I will confess that I didn’t come here this morning with only consultancy work in mind.” He felt a hand on his shoulder. George said, “Before you two get completely distracted ...” Patrick let go of him and stepped away. “All right. What now?”

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“I just want Martin to take a look at the tools, so he knows what we’ve already got.” “He’s already had a look at our tools.” “Idiot.” But George said it with affection. He turned and played the torch beam into the side chamber, lighting up a rock shelf with tools neatly laid out along it. All of them walked into the room, and George aimed the torch at the tools. “This is useful. We should get one.” “We’ve never needed one before.” Patrick took the torch from George and swung the beam around the room. “Though you can see different things with it, can’t you?” “I still can’t believe the echolocation.” Somehow that was harder to believe in than the shapeshifting. That they could change shape was bizarre enough. That they still had access to the physical abilities of the other shape, physical abilities that could not possibly exist in their human body, was beyond bizarre. Dolphin echolocation was a physical organ, just like eyes and ears, and there was nowhere for it to go in a human body. “Can’t you?” George asked casually and looked straight at him. He felt ... something. A faint pressure against his skin. All over at first, and then the focus narrowed, shrinking down to a very specific area. “You had some effect on him, Patrick.” He’d sprung an erection when Patrick had been hugging him. His clothes were loose, so with anyone else it wouldn’t have been all that visible. With these two he had no secrets. “That’s not fair!” George grinned at him. “No, but it’s fun.” The pressure on his cock increased, then started pulsating. “Still don’t believe in it?” George asked. It was a very convincing demonstration. And a very distracting one. “How the hell are you doing that?” The pressure increased, then faded. “We don’t know,” George said. “It doesn’t work in air for dolphins; only in water.” But it was still an ability they took for granted. “So things a dolphin can do in water, you can do in air when you’re in human shape.” It shouldn’t exist at all, so if it did exist, there was no reason why it shouldn’t be capable of operating in air. “Yes. It’s useful.” George scanned him again. “We could watch your condition when you hit your head; although it could have been difficult if you had been seriously hurt.” “Well, one of us could have towed the boat into harbour while the other one stayed in the boat with him,” Patrick said. “Though I’ve thought of a more cheerful use for it,” George said. “Martin, will you trust us?”

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“Yes,” he said without hesitation. George was asking permission for something rather than just doing it, and that was all the reassurance he needed. They’d stop if he asked them to. George snapped off the torch, leaving them in darkness. Not darkness to dolphins who could walk in human form, of course. They could see where he couldn’t. They could even walk out right now and leave him here without him knowing that they had gone. Leaving him with nothing but his memory of the path in and his knowledge that there would almost certainly be enough light coming up the passageway for him to find his way out once his eyes had fully adapted to the dark. In twenty minutes or so he should be able to see by that faint light. But for the next few minutes he was blind and totally dependent on them. George’s voice came out of the darkness. “Easy, Martin. I’ll put the light back on if you can’t manage.” “Just ... just keep talking to me so that I know you’re there.” He could hear the waver in his own voice, but George and Patrick had probably heard/seen his pulse increase before he’d said a word. “We’re here,” Patrick said. Someone touched him on the shoulder. “Feel me?” “Yes.” He put his own hand up to cover Patrick’s. He needed the reassurance of that touch. “I can see you, Martin.” Patrick pulled his hand away from Martin’s shoulder, but twisted it around a little to take hold of Martin’s hand, keeping that physical contact. “You look different when I see you like this. The buttons on your shirt are hard and bright.” A finger traced down his chest, pushing gently at each button. “And the zip in your jeans.” A hand cupped his cock briefly. “You’re still scared, but I don’t think that’s the only reason your heart’s beating that fast.” “No.” He was still afraid, but that brief burst of atavistic terror was gone. And he might be in what was absolute darkness to his unadapted eyes, but even normal humans had other senses that could substitute for sight. He could hear quiet breathing in front of him, and the slight scrape of George’s shoes against the floor of the cave. He was aware of the warmth of Patrick’s body directly in front of him. He wasn’t alone in the dark, and the men he was with respected his limits. George was moving now. Martin turned his head to try to follow his movements. “You may be blind, but you’re not deaf,” George said. “I’m just going to put the torch down.” Slight clatter from near the entrance to the room. “I’ve put it on the floor just inside the door, on the right-hand side.” Footsteps coming towards him, loud enough that Martin thought George must be deliberately exaggerating them. “Just in case anything happens to us. The torch is still there, and you know where it is. It won’t take you more than a minute to find a wall and then the door in an emergency.”

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“Thanks.” “Martin, if this doesn’t work for you, tell us. We haven’t done this before either.” George was now an unseen but still felt presence next to him. And then he felt another hand taking his. They stood like that for a moment, a chain with Martin the middle link. Patrick holding his right hand, George holding his left. Or perhaps a circle -- his own rudimentary positional sense could tell only that they were there, not whether they were also holding each other’s hands. Then someone or something stroked his face. He flinched slightly at the thought that it might not be one of them, but reminded himself that the cave had looked clean and dry in the torchlight, with nothing dangling from the roof to catch the unwary. As if he’d read his thoughts, Patrick said, “There’s only us here.” His hand was drawn towards George, laid against George’s chest. “You can still feel us, even if you can’t see us.” Then George let go of his hand, but he still had the physical contact, the reassurance that George was there. Heavy cotton shirt against his hand, a warm body under the shirt. He stroked his hand across George’s chest, feeling for himself the play of muscles as George shifted position slightly. Feeling the hardness of buttons, hardness that the other two could see in some mysterious fashion. What did the room look like to them, with their extra sense? He thought he felt one of them scan him again, but wasn’t sure if he was just imagining it. What was he feeling? Pressure? Sound at the very edge of his hearing? Or no physical sensation at all, just a brush with magic? “That’s better,” Patrick said. “Not so scared now.” “Will you be all right if Patrick lets go of you for a moment?” George asked. “Yes. As long as I know where he is.” “He’s not going to leave. Neither of us is.” A hand over his cock again, squeezing him through his jeans. “But it’ll have to be just hands. I don’t want to leave you long enough to find some condoms.” “Hands are fine.” He didn’t want to break the mood either. And there was plenty you could do with just touch. “Good.” Patrick let go of his hand. “Just stand still.” He stood still, felt hands trace over his body. Heard Patrick saying, “I can see something in your pocket. Coins inside it. Must be your wallet.” A hand settled unerringly over where his wallet lay. “Must be keys in the other pocket. Bits of metal on a ring. Can’t see them clearly through the cloth, but must be keys.” Patrick was trying to show him what that extra sense was like, reassure him that they could see even if he couldn’t.

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George’s voice now. “Your heart rate’s gone down. You’re much less scared now.” He was. He could even pay attention to other things. He knew they were in a moderate-sized room with hard walls. He could hear it when they spoke. He wasn’t completely blind in this dark world, even if he’d be almost helpless without them. “Not just hands, of course,” Patrick said. One of them, or both of them, did that trick with focused sound pressure on his cock, and suddenly he wasn’t all that interested in his own ability to interpret echoes. He gasped and thrust his hips forward, and then remembered that there was nothing solid there to thrust against, not unless one of them chose to put his hand there. But a hand would only get in the way of that wonderful pulsing pressure. George laughed and said, “Feels good, doesn’t it?” “God, yes.” The pressure increased. “Do you think we can make you come without even touching you?” “Ah!” “I think that means yes,” Patrick said. “Though it might be better without his clothes in the way.” He felt hands on his groin; then the pressure of cloth against his cock eased off as someone pulled down his zip. No fumbling or groping in the dark. Patrick could see what he was doing, could see accurately enough to find the button and undo it without hesitation. His cock was pulled free of his jeans and underpants. Then Patrick let go, and the strange pressure increased again. He reached to touch his cock, but someone grabbed his hand. “No,” Patrick said. “It doesn’t work as well if you get in the way.” “Better hold him,” George said. Patrick let go of his wrist and then moved -- he could tell that much. Then he felt the warmth and touch of Patrick standing behind him, just before Patrick reached around him with both arms and took hold of his wrist again. He still had his hand on George’s chest, but George took hold of his hand and pushed it back towards him. He didn’t resist, but let George do as he wanted. That hand was also given into Patrick’s keeping. Patrick hugged him tightly, holding both of his hands away from his cock. At least he knew where Patrick was, but he’d lost touch with George. “George?” “I’m still here.” The pressure on his cock started pulsing faster. “Can’t you tell?” “Yes.” “I’m glad you thought of this, George.” Patrick kissed the back of his neck. “It’s like having a virgin, isn’t it?”

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That was uncomfortably close to what he was in this situation. He’d never experienced anything like this before. He’d played with vibrators, but this was utterly new. And it had turned Patrick on, that much was very obvious from the hard cock pressed against Martin’s arse. Patrick shifted his grip slightly, taking both of Martin’s wrists in one of his hands. Martin could have broken free if he’d tried, but the light grip on his wrists was only a reminder to do as he was told. “What are you up to?” George asked. “Need to get out of these trousers.” And Martin could feel Patrick struggling onehanded with the zip on his own jeans, then the way Patrick’s body relaxed slightly as he managed it. “Ah. That’s better.” Patrick’s cock bumped against him again, settling into place along the seam of his jeans. “Good idea.” The beam of sound against his cock faded, leaving him with no clue as to where George was. “George!” “It’s all right, Martin.” Hands cupped his face. “I’m right in front of you.” He could smell stone dust on George’s fingers, though it had to be very fine because he couldn’t feel any grittiness where George’s fingers rested against his cheeks. George must have picked up the dust while climbing the rockfall. Martin wouldn’t have even noticed if he hadn’t been in the dark, but now his senses strained for every scrap of information. “I’m all right.” “I’m going to let go of you for a moment. But I’ll still be in front of you.” “And I’ve got you,” Patrick said. “You’re not alone.” George let go of him, and then he heard the sound of a zip. They must look a sight, all three of them standing here with their flies open and their cocks standing proud. Well, there was nobody to see but George and Patrick, so what did it matter? He felt George’s hands on his, and George said, “You can let go of him now.” Patrick let go of his wrists, but kept his arms around him. George pulled his hands forward and down, guiding them so that he could wrap them around George’s cock. He did so, squeezing, and George sighed in contentment. With his hands on George’s cock, he couldn’t touch himself; but that didn’t matter, because George was using the focused echolocation on him again. It was like being stroked and squeezed by a phantom hand. Then George started pulsing it, a brief burst and then off again. He squeezed George to the same rhythm, and George responded by speeding up. Then Patrick started thrusting against him to the same rhythm. Curiosity got the better of arousal. “Patrick, can you see George’s echolocation?”

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“Yes. You’re obviously not doing a good enough job of distracting him, George.” “Soon sort that out.” A big hand wrapped around his cock and squeezed tightly. Then George stepped forward and kissed him. No more sonic pulses, but it didn’t matter. Not with Patrick thrusting hard against his arse, not with George’s cock in his hand and George’s tongue in his mouth. Then George let go of his cock, pulled Martin’s hands away, and moved up against him, crushing their cocks together. Not quite lined up because of the height difference, but good enough. He was pushed into George each time Patrick thrust against him. They both had their arms wrapped around him now. He was frantic with need, desperate to come. The dark didn’t matter anymore; nothing mattered except the feel of two solid bodies pressed against him and the delicious knowledge that he was almost there, only one or two thrusts to take him over the edge. “Go on,” Patrick whispered, and with that permission, he shuddered and came. They held him tightly between them, never letting him go, though George stopped kissing him. He was surrounded by touch, sensation drowning him as he came. He could hear them gasp, and guessed that all three of them must have come together. There was nothing for him to see in the darkness, but he could feel them, hear them. Feel stickiness on his clothes where he and George had come. At last they loosened their grip on him, and he realised that his legs were shaking. He sat down on the floor, finding it harder than he liked, but he was too drained to get up again. Someone sat down next to him and put his arms around him. He sat panting for breath, content to be cradled in his lover’s arms without wondering overmuch which one of them it was. Patrick’s voice out of the darkness. “God, but he looks appealing like that. Wish we had condoms in here; when I see him sitting there with his mouth open like that, I want to fill it.” George laughed. “You’ve got a one-track mind. Leave him be; we’ve got all day.” To Martin, “We do have all day, don’t we?” “Yes, though I was thinking of spending some of it working. Or at least I was before I was so rudely interrupted.” George kissed him briefly, affection now rather than arousal. “Thanks. Shall we go and sit somewhere more comfortable?” “Mmm.” George let go of him and stood up. A hand patted him on the shoulder. He took it and stood up as well. “Patrick, get the torch.”

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Out of habit, he looked around, even in the dark. Not so dark now. He could see the faint outline of the door, and Patrick silhouetted against it. “I can manage. Just tell me if there’s anything on the floor I could trip over.” “It’s clear between here and the door.” Hand in hand with George, he made his way back to the main cave and sunlight, leaving behind that strange world of sound and touch.

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Chapter Eleven “So what do you think we should do about the rockfall?” Patrick asked as they were tidying their clothing. “Clear enough of a gap at the top to climb through and see what’s on the other side. If there are more falls, you should probably give up, but it may be only that one.” More than one fall would suggest that the whole system was so unstable that it would be too dangerous to try, but the main cave seemed to have suffered little damage over the years that the quarry had been abandoned. The original entrance had been blocked by a landslip outside as the cliff receded over the decades, not by internal damage. With any luck there was only the one weak area inside. “You do realise that this whole system could be dangerous?” George shrugged. “There haven’t been any fresh falls in the time we’ve been coming here. We didn’t even see anything when we started working on the fall in the passage -though we were careful about what we were doing.” Martin dug around in the picnic basket for his notebook and sat down so that he could prop it on his knee. “Right. Ideally what we want is a hidden land entrance for you, so you can get things in here without having to swim in with them.” He started making notes. “First thing. Check up top if there’s anything obvious, because if it’s easy to find, it may not be a good idea anyway.” George sat down next to him and tapped the notebook with one finger. “But make a note to see if it’s something we could block. A lockable grating, something like that.” There were cave systems with just such gratings, installed either to keep the public out of a dangerous area, or to protect the cave formations from vandals. “You’d have to be sneaky about installing it, but once it’s in, nobody’s likely to ask questions about who put it there.” “Mmm. You asked about whether we needed the whole passage cleared.” George took the notebook and pen from him and sketched the rockfall, with the big blocks left in place

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but a blank space where the lighter rubble currently was. Then he sketched in a door. “Was that what you were thinking of?” Martin was surprised by the neat drawing. George had reproduced the scene very accurately, and from memory. Another, more obscure dolphin talent, or just a naturally talented human? “One of the things I was thinking of, yes. Those big blocks will be hard to shift, but on the other hand they’re a good natural wall.” Patrick took the notebook and looked at it. “Could be tricky getting the stuff in here without anyone noticing. We really will need to borrow a boat. But if there is a usable passage to the surface ...” “Would you mind taking us up to have a look, Martin?” He didn’t mind at all, but it would mean going back to the jetty to pick up the car. “Well, I did bring lunch. Do some planning, read a book, have an early lunch, go out after lunch?” “Sounds good to me.” Patrick handed the notebook back to him. “George?” “And me.” George glanced at the cave entrance. “It’s going to stay nice all day by the looks of it. No need to hurry.” That settled it. He got out the book he’d been reading to them the day before, and found his place.

***** They sighed as he came to the end of the chapter. “That man has such wonderful control of language,” George said. “And you read it well.” Which was a good opening for something that had been bothering him. “If you normally stay away from humans, how come you speak standard English?” George stared at him. “The same way you do.” “I learnt it as a baby from the adults around me.” “So did we.” “But you said there’s not that many of you.” “Changing runs in pods. For most of us, there are always other adults around who speak English, even if your mother isn’t a changer. And once you’re old enough to hang around humans in the ports and on the beach ...” George shrugged. So they passed it down the generations just as normal humans did, and had enough contact with mainstream society that they picked up changes in the language. “And reading?” “Same thing.” Patrick said, “We’ve got a couple of cousins who are getting old enough to learn to read. We’ll take our turn teaching them.” He smiled. “We picked up some nice kids’ books

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last year -- it was a good summer for the little ones forgetting to take their picture books home.” A parallel culture. Once one of them learnt something, they passed it on. And if you could read, and had whatever books and magazines you picked up while beachcombing, and anything you could browse or afford to buy in a bookstore -- it might be a patchy education, but they were by no means ignorant. “I suppose they’re going to be told about fossils?” George hugged him. “Of course.” He could see a second career as a private tutor ahead of him, if they came to trust him enough to allow the children of their pod near him. And it was their pod, singular. Patrick had implied as much. “Are you two related?” Patrick nodded. “His mother and my mother are sisters.” “Which is why I got the job of looking after him the year I was old enough to be left on my own and he wasn’t.” George grinned affectionately at Patrick. “And a right brat you were, too.” And they’d been together ever since, Patrick still deferring to George. With there being only a few hundred dolphins in British waters, and the pod family structure besides, it must be common for cousins to pair up. “So you’re still looking after the kids in the family even now?” “Only when we have to take our turn as teachers,” George said. “If they were our kids, we’d be expected to spend more time with them, but we haven’t been lucky so far.” There was a wistful look in his eyes as he said it. Half dolphin, half human. They obviously had a strong bond to their mothers’ pod, even if they didn’t live with it, and children mattered to them. He thought of his own family. He saw little of them, although it was physical distance rather than emotional distance. Email and phone calls provided enough contact, most of the time. “Do you have children, Martin?” Patrick asked. The casual question reminded him all over again that these men were from an alien culture. One where adult men lived away from the main family group but were still deeply involved with their children. “No. And not likely to, unless I’m willing to jump through hoops or pretend to be something I’m not.” “Ah.” Patrick looked embarrassed. “Sorry. Forgot.” “It’s all right.” It wasn’t, but Patrick hadn’t meant any harm by it. “We’ve got a lot to learn about each other.” George took hold of his hand and squeezed it. “You more than us. At least we know some of it, even if we have to think about it.” “Time for lunch,” Patrick said, picking up the picnic basket. “What did you bring today?”

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Martin allowed himself to be diverted. With Patrick, it might not even be a deliberate diversion, just a natural train of thought. “Couple of different cheeses, some decent ham, fresh salad ...” Patrick was unpacking the basket even as he spoke. “Mmm. Looks good.” Another squeeze of his hand from George. “We do appreciate it, Martin.” The books and the food as much as the sex. Maybe even more than the sex. “I enjoy your company.” “We enjoy yours.” George sighed. “As you said -- it’s good to not have to pretend to be something you aren’t.” Which reminded him of something he needed to ask. Patrick had interrupted him with talk of the rockfall this morning before he’d been able to discuss it. “What do you tell people about yourselves?” “Oh, yes, you were asking about that earlier.” Patrick finished making his sandwich and admired it for a moment before going on. “Mostly we don’t.” “But if we have to, we tell them we’re remittance men,” George added. “You’re what?” He’d never heard anyone use the term in earnest before. “I should think that would attract more attention! And where the hell did you get the idea anyway?” George grinned. “Out of a book. Adapted to the present day, of course. Our family love us, but love us more when we’re on the other side of the country. We’re sufficiently nonconformist to be a minor embarrassment, and they can afford to support us so that we can pursue our hobbies somewhere else and only go home for Christmas.” “It works quite well,” Patrick said. “People understand the concept, and it classes us as not-tramps in people’s minds. We have money, but choose to live a wandering life.” George reached for the notebook and flipped it open to the sketch he’d made earlier. “Pretending to be artists helps. And a couple of years ago we found we could make a bit of money at it.” Martin looked at the sketch again. There was real talent there. “George, I don’t think there’s any pretence about it. If that’s typical of your work, you’re good.” “But I’m not so good at the lightning sketches of people, and that’s what people on holiday pay for. A picture of their partner or their children.” Patrick took the notebook in turn. “But he’s good at lightning sketches of buildings or boats, things like that. I’m too slow to be able to do it as a spectator sport.” Whether they made much money at it or not, it was a good cover. People expected artists to be eccentric. “You’re from a well-off family, but you don’t really fit in and you’re not into possessions, so you’d rather wander the countryside sketching things.” Patrick tucked the notebook back in the hamper. “And the really beautiful thing about it is that it’s not far from the truth. We’re from a mixed pod, and the dolphin women tend to

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get nervous if the changer men hang around all the time, instead of buggering off and only coming back for visits and being a nuisance, like proper men.” He was beginning to build a picture of their society. Not quite fitting in with either normal dolphins or modern Britain, but tolerated by one, and managing to fit into the gaps of the other. “Do a lot of you live like this?” “All the changer men from our pod and its neighbours,” Patrick said. “I suppose men from other pods do as well, though we don’t see much of them except at gatherings.” “There are a couple of other pods like ours,” George said. “That’s not so bad, because there are enough of us. But it must be hard to be the only changer in a pod.” “Gran says her gran told her that’s how our pod formed in the first place. Changer women getting together, to make sure their lines would always have enough changers around that the babies were never the only ones in the pod.” They talked on as they ate, cautious, never giving placenames, but clearly willing to let him learn more about their life. It was mostly chat about where they went and what they did in human shape, but as they talked, he gradually realised that the changer population must be tiny, at most a few dozen. No wonder they were lonely enough to risk the beaches. Especially the men, living in pairs or trios rather than in the pod. No wonder George had decided to take the risk of rescuing him, and the even bigger risk of revealing what they were. He talked to them in return, telling them more about his own life. They listened avidly. Finally they were completely finished with the food, even with the long, slow meal in and around the conversation, and the packing up of the rubbish afterwards. “That was good,” Patrick sighed. “Remember Simon told me to bring you round for dinner, so if you want a cooked meal ...” “Better not,” George said. “We can’t distract him with sex when he wants to have a deep and meaningful conversation.” “Though the washing machine might be a good idea, as long as Simon’s out,” Patrick said. He walked over to the clotheshorse. George asked, “Washing machine?” “Simon wanted to know more about you. I said that I thought you might be living rough -- it was the easiest way of avoiding problems about him wanting to know where you live. He said that if you wanted to come in and do a load of laundry, feel free.” He watched Patrick feel the drying clothes, testing whether they were dry yet. “Good of him. We’re all right for now, but maybe in a couple of days.” George smiled. “You’re a bit hard on our wardrobe.” They might not have the same qualms as he had about walking around smelling of sex, but they did need to keep a supply of clean clothes for expeditions to town or the swimming

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beaches. Yesterday and today probably had been a bit hard on their wardrobe. “I suppose it’s a bit tricky getting stuff in and out of here without it getting wet, so even a laundromat is awkward.” “We’ve got a couple of those inflatable mattresses and one of the little inflatable boats the kids play with. Nobody thinks twice about a human paddling about on one as long as you don’t look as if you’re in distress, and a dolphin towing one might attract attention, but people don’t think there’s anything really strange about it. They just think we’re playing with something we’ve found.” “So you use an inflatable that folds up small when you get to the beach, and a shoulder bag or backpack to carry it in.” They’d still be limited in what they could carry, but they had a workable substitute for a real boat, at least for anything that wouldn’t attract attention if someone saw it sitting on an inflatable mattress. A ladder wasn’t feasible, but clothes and small tools stuffed in a bag were. “You’d be surprised what you can move, if you’re careful,” George said. “But I think we’ll go in your boat today. Has it got room for three?” “As long as you don’t jump about.” Patrick came back to them. “Are we going, then?” “Yes. You help Martin take the things to the boat. I’ll go and get the bag. We’ll want our own kit if Martin doesn’t have time to bring us back.” George headed off to the passage and came back a minute or two later with a canvas bag. “Let’s go.”

***** He took them to the house first, so that he could look at a map and try to work out where the cave was in relation to a road or path. In the end he went for both an Ordinance Survey map and the satellite images from Google. George and Patrick not only took the computer in their stride, they asked about its specifications. When he looked at them, George said, “Patrick likes reading computer magazines.” From the way Patrick was looking embarrassed again, Martin deduced that magazines not found on the beach were like purple velvet cushions and came under disposable income spending. “You two have been getting bolder and bolder about mixing with humans over the last few years, haven’t you?” “It got easier with practice, and there were things we wanted.” Seduced by the consumer society, in the shape of books and cushions. And finally seduced by the chance of real companionship, seduced into revealing what they were. “You really do need a more convenient way in and out, don’t you? Come on, I think I’ve found somewhere to park.”

*****

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It was a fairly quiet road, with a layby and sign pointing the way to the clifftop path. That still left them with a moderate walk to the path and another to the area he had pinpointed as being above the cave. They found the first building almost immediately, even though it was in a dip, well out of sight of the path. It was a rough cottage, missing part of its roof and most of the interior wood, but with the stone walls still standing. Martin thought that without some care and attention it would be a complete ruin within a few years, but there was enough there to be salvageable. Nearby there was an odd-looking building, in much better condition but still dilapidated. It had to have been still in use sometime in the last century, for there was a very old-looking cable running to it. Power cable by the looks of it, although Martin doubted that it was still safe to use. There had been some attempt to preserve the building from vandals, for it was boarded up, but the boards were old and weather-beaten. “What’s that?” Patrick asked. “I think it’s a folly. Or a large summerhouse or something of the sort.” He started a slow circuit of the building. It was larger than he’d first thought, and made of finely dressed stone that was still in good condition where it was sheltered from the weather. “My guess is that this was built by the owner of the quarry.” “A way to show off his wealth?” George asked. “Exactly. And the stone from the quarry.” He’d have to examine it more closely, but he was convinced that the stone was taken from the quarry beneath their feet. It was the logical place for it to have come from, and the folly could be seen as a form of advertising. Show off your high-quality stone to visitors who might be tempted to purchase some for their own vanity building projects. “Then the quarry entrance is probably around here somewhere.” “And there may be the foundations of other buildings as well,” he reminded them. “We should try to work out what we’ve got here.” The more he looked around, the more he was convinced that the building hadn’t just been part of the quarry complex. There were garden plants here, wild and uncontrolled, but clearly the hardiest survivors of stock brought in from outside, rather than the native vegetation of this exposed area. They systematically explored the site as a whole rather than just searching for the quarry entrance, so it took them the best part of an hour to find it; but find it they did. George and Patrick spotted it first with their sonar, but Martin’s geologist eyes saw it almost as quickly when he came at their call. The entrance was set into a slope of exposed rock at a lower level than the folly and cottage. It had partly filled with rubble over the years and was hidden by low shrubs that might be the remnants of a long-ago garden, but the entrance was there. There was even a wrought-iron gate behind the rubble. It looked old enough that it might have been set in place when the quarry was abandoned -- perhaps as a safety measure to keep children out, perhaps to protect the property in case the quarry was ever re-opened.

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But there was a modern padlock holding it shut. Whoever had boarded up the house had probably secured the gate as well. He wriggled as close as he could to the gate and shone the torch through. “I’m not certain, but I think the passage goes both ways from here.” He wriggled back out and checked the likely line of the passage. As he’d thought. George and Patrick followed the line of his gaze. “There’s another entrance, isn’t there?” George breathed. “In that building.” Patrick was utterly intent. “Don’t get your hopes up. You can see the state of this place.” “But now we know it’s worth the gamble.” George said. “Thank you, Martin.”

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Chapter Twelve George and Patrick continued to refuse the offer of dinner, but were happy enough to have Martin drop them back to the cave in Simon’s boat. The one thing they did ask for was a bottle of water. “We’ll need something to drink if we’re going to spend all day in human form,” Patrick explained. It hadn’t occurred to Martin until then, but of course the human shape had its own needs, and the crossover between the two forms might not be enough to free it from the need to drink fresh water. He found them some bottled water, then took them back to the cave. Simon was a little disappointed by the lack of dinner company, but pleased to hear the explanation of the pair’s background. Patrick and George had even decided to weave in the story of the cave as their base. “That explains a lot,” Simon said. “You wash up in their home, looking like a halfdrowned rat, and they decide it’s easier to let you think you’d dreamt it. If someone’s got rent-free accommodation that suits them, they’d rather other people didn’t find it.” Simon shook his head. “Though I don’t think I’d fancy it, especially in winter. Mad bastards.” At least Simon sounded half-admiring, rather than assuming George and Patrick must be up to no good. “Well, it’s one way to drop out without having to sleep under a hedge. If you live in a house, you have to deal with paperwork. I don’t think they do bureaucracy.” “Why’d they confess?” “I’m a geologist. It’s a cave. They wanted some professional advice, and I already knew it was there. They may be mad, but they’re not stupid, and there’s a section they could open up to give themselves more room -- if it’s safe.” “You’re going to help them, then?”

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“Why not? It’s an interesting project, and I like them. Quite apart from the sex.” “I’d like to meet them, but if they’re that shy, I don’t suppose I will.” Simon got up and started clearing the table. “Anything on TV tonight?” “No idea.” He flipped through the Radio Times. He’d planned to spend a bit of time online doing some research, but if Simon wanted to watch TV, it wouldn’t hurt to keep him company. “Repeats, but decent ones.” “We’ll go for that, then.”

***** He took George and Patrick shopping for a ladder the next morning and was surprised to find them uncomfortable with letting him pay. “You’re a friend, Martin,” Patrick said. “And this isn’t that cheap. It’s not the same as letting someone buy us lunch first.” Which was further confirmation of what he’d suspected -- some of their small income came from being big, handsome young men who were willing to have sex with strangers. He wasn’t sure it counted as prostitution, not when the pair of them would undoubtedly have had the sex with or without other incentives. Sex and company was what they were interested in. If someone offered them money afterwards, they’d take it, but it would be simply an added bonus. “I’m interested in this as well, now. And I think you need to get two ladders, for safety.” Two folding stepladders and some planks, which was why they’d been worried about the cost. It all added up, even if it didn’t seem that much to him. “I’d prefer scaffolding, but we’d need something that breaks down into single poles and planks to get it inside, and you’re not trained to use it safely.” Decent scaffolding would also be a more conspicuous, and expensive, purchase. “If you’re sure ...” They still seemed uneasy, but stopped arguing about it. “I’m sure.” He thought about power tools, but anything running off batteries was probably too feeble or too awkward to recharge if he wasn’t around to do it for them, and anything petrolpowered was probably too dangerous for the inexperienced -- and too expensive. And that was before worrying about fumes in an enclosed space. The one battery-operated system that was worth getting was a set of torches. He picked up a couple that took standard D cells and had adjustable bases that would allow them to be used as work lamps. George asked, “What about batteries? We’ll need a lot by the time we’ve finished.” “Patience. We’ll go to the electronics shop next.”

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One set of nicad batteries and a solar-powered battery charger later, he could see them thinking about the possibilities. “This will fit anything that takes standard batteries, won’t it?” Patrick asked. “Anything that takes rechargeables. They have a slightly lower voltage, and there are some things where it matters. But most stuff, yes.” “Radio,” George said. “CD player,” Patrick said. “Work,” he reminded them. “I don’t mind buying you some goodies, but I want to check this thing actually works first, and we need to get some work done today. Let’s get back and set things up. And we can see if there’s enough light inside the cave for the charger to work. You might have to take it outside to charge the batteries, and that could be more trouble than it’s worth for anything but keeping the torches working.” He could think about more power tools if it did work inside the cave. If it didn’t, he’d get them a wind-up radio, and wind-up torches would be useful as well. He knew where to find geologists’ field kit, but it would be much better to get them things they could easily replace themselves from an ordinary electronics shop. He added some alkaline batteries to run the torches while the nicads were charged for the first time, and dragged them out of the shop. They’d been a little nervous at first, but by the time he’d done a run around the shop looking for the things he wanted, they’d lost their tension and were reluctant to leave. Once he’d got them into the car, he asked, “Is it easier for you if I’m with you in the shop?” “Yes,” George said. “There’s someone to answer awkward questions for us.” They’d managed very well, but having him there must have given them extra confidence about being able to handle things they hadn’t encountered before. He could sympathise. He’d done enough travelling on business to know how awkward it was to deal with little things that weren’t what you were used to.

***** They got the ladders into the cave without incident, although it took two trips -- and even though he ended up being left behind at the car, to save space as much as to look after the second ladder. He was worried about letting George and Patrick take the boat with only a few minutes of instruction, but as George pointed out, the two shapechangers would be in a better position to swim for it if anything did go wrong with the boat. On the third trip, they took him and the remaining small items. There had been one last shopping stop, for lunch and enough bottled water to last several days. Between that and the Thermoses of freshly made tea, there was enough to justify a separate trip for the smaller things.

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Once in the cave, George and Patrick set about setting up the ladders and torches under his supervision. They asked questions as they worked, but there was no argument with his decisions. Not until he tried to help with the physical labour. “No, Martin,” George said. “We’ll do it. You stand clear.” “I want to take a loo-- ulp.” George picked him up as if he weighed no more than a feather, walked a few metres, and put him down again, very carefully. He stared up at George, suddenly reminded of just how big the two men were. “I’m sorry,” George said. “I shouldn’t do that when we aren’t playing, but it was the easiest way to show you. We’re stronger than you, and we can shift stuff with less risk of hurting ourselves. I don’t want to risk you getting hurt when there’s no need for you to do the heavy lifting.” George stroked his cheek gently with one finger. “Forgive me?” He saw only worry and a little fear in George’s face. “All right. I’ll be good.” George still looked worried, so he added, “And don’t fret. I know you weren’t throwing your weight around just because you could.” George’s expression cleared. “Thanks. And it’s not just that we’re bigger than you. We might work faster with you watching and directing.” “I’ll still need to get up the ladder to inspect stuff as you clear the top.” “All right.” George turned and looked at the rockfall. “So shall we start now, or have lunch?” “Lunch,” Patrick called from above them. “And before you say anything, no, it’s not just because I’m greedy. We won’t get much done before we get hungry enough to be distracted, and this could be dangerous if we’re not concentrating.” He made his way down the ladder. “What’s the time, Martin?” Martin glanced at his watch. It was after twelve, more than late enough to stop for a lunch break. Patrick was right -- they didn’t have to eat now, but they’d get hungry soon, and hunger made for mistakes. “Lunchtime,” he declared. “Good.” Patrick dusted his hands on his jeans and headed down the passage back to the main cave. George bent over to switch one of the torches off, then glanced up at Martin. “Do you need one of these?” “No. I’ve got a pocket torch with me today.” It was dim but enough for walking down the passage without tripping over anything. George switched off one torch and Martin did the other; then they walked back to the main cave. Patrick had already started laying out the picnic, so all they needed to do was go and wash their hands free of stone dust. It had been a good morning’s work.

*****

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They asked for a chapter of the book after lunch -- “to let the meal settle” -- but went straight back to work after the end of the chapter. Patrick and George were totally focused on moving the stone safely, and he was totally focused on watching what they were doing and keeping an eye on the roof of the passage in case there were any warning signs of further falls. It wasn’t until they took a break for afternoon tea that he thought about sex again. George and Patrick sent him back to the main cave to organise the tea, solemnly promising that they would behave themselves and not move anything that wasn’t safe. He poured out the last of the tea from the Thermos and arranged a plate of biscuits, making a mental note to buy a camping stove if the work looked like it would take more than a few days. It would be handy to be able to make fresh tea in the cave. He’d just finished when George came out of the passageway, stripping off his tee-shirt over his head as he walked down to the water’s edge. Somehow the sight was even more erotic than if George had been completely naked. He watched eagerly as George bent to wash his hands in the water and then splashed water over his face and that broad chest. George stood up straight and shook himself, sending drops of water flying, then walked up to where Martin sat on the picnic blanket. “Patrick will be along in a few minutes. He’s just thinking about whether any of the pieces we’ve already moved might be suitable for building another wall, before we bury them in rubble.” He smiled at the sight of the steaming mugs of tea. “This is the sort of thing that makes me realise why you people like that drink so much. It’s refreshing after hard work. I could almost put up with having to deal with a fire to have it.” “I’ve been thinking about that. Use a camping stove, get that water supply tested to see whether it’s safe. It might well be, even if you do have to boil it first.” George perked up in interest. “The spring and pool in the back cave? You can get it tested?” “I’m not promising anything, but I can probably slip a sample to the lab at this job that might be coming up. Get them to test it.” He’d be doing some environmental work on an old industrial tip, so he had legitimate cause to have samples tested for potability, and one extra wouldn’t hurt even if he had to pay for it himself. “Well, at least we might get something out of it if you do have to leave early.” George sat down next to him, close enough that he could smell the sweat of recent work. At other times, and with other men, he might have found it faintly unpleasant. Now it was a goad. George glanced casually at him, then stiffened. “I think we’ve got time for a quick one before the tea cools too much.” “How ... oh.” He could guess how. He’d been thinking of their sonar as something they switched on when needed, but of course it must be something they used as casually as he would glance around a room when having a conversation with someone. “That bloody X-ray

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vision of yours again, isn’t it?” He hadn’t noticed anything, but it might well only be apparent to a normal human when specifically focused on them. George grinned at him. “You have no secrets from us.” He reached for his fly. “A quick hand job will do for now.” The idea was nice, but, “What about Patrick?” “Your hand’s not going to wear out, is it?” That wasn’t what he was thinking about, but if George felt that Patrick wouldn’t feel left out, he wasn’t going to argue. He reached for his own fly. “No,” George said. “You can wait until we’re both done.” No, George wasn’t worried about Patrick feeling left out. Martin sighed and reached for George instead. Not that it was a hardship to fill his hand with a plump cock. George had reacted instantly to his own arousal, was already hard. This reminder of how big George was he didn’t mind. If he wanted to hold the full length, he’d need both hands, but George seemed content with just one. So he simply snuggled up to George, sitting side by side and reaching into George’s lap to stroke his cock. George sighed in contentment and put an arm around his shoulders. “Don’t know why people rate a hand job lower on the scale. Not when it’s as good as that.” It was just a hand job, but he was putting his full attention into it. “This is good?” “Mmm. Bit faster now.” He did as he was told, speeding up a little, and then a bit more, knowing he’d found the right rhythm when George said, “Oh, that’s good.” Martin was enjoying himself, enjoying the feel of smooth skin in his hand, slipping over a hard core as he worked George’s cock. He’d have been happy to go on for a while, but George had said a quickie, so a quickie was what he’d go for. He squeezed a little harder, listened to George’s sharp intake of breath. Felt George’s grip on his shoulder tighten. It wouldn’t take much more to finish George off. “God, I love holding your cock,” he whispered. “Big enough to satisfy anyone. It’s good having it in me, but this is good, too.” Faster stroking now, as George’s breathing quickened. “It’s big enough to get a good grip on. Too big, almost, can barely get my hand round it ...” One more stroke, and he felt it twitch in his hand, felt strong fingers dig into his shoulder. A real quickie indeed. “Want to get my mouth on it, don’t want to stop long enough to get the condoms ...” That was enough. George came, spilling semen over Martin’s hand. He shuddered once and then was still. “Good?” Martin asked after a moment. “Very good.” George kissed him briefly, then said, “Better get something to clean up with -- I’d rather not have to wash these jeans for another day or two.”

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He let go of George’s cock and looked around for something to wipe them both clean. One of the towels he’d brought seemed best, as that could always go back with him tonight to the washing machine at Simon’s. By the time he’d cleaned up, Patrick had joined them. “Which do I want more? Sex or tea?” “The tea will get cold before Martin does.” “Tea, then.” Patrick sat down with them and picked up his mug -- but clearly wasn’t uninterested in sex, not with the bulge in his jeans. He sipped at his tea. “Ah, that’s better. Not as good as freshly made, of course, but it’s still good.” “Martin’s got an idea about that.” By the time he’d explained about camp stoves and water testing and how long you might be able to keep a bottle of milk in a cool cave, they’d finished the tea. His mind had been distracted, but apparently his cock hadn’t, because as soon as Patrick reached for him, it was straining the zip of his jeans. Patrick patted him on his cock. “Glad to see you haven’t worn him out.” “Hasn’t been touched. He’s going to have to wait for his turn.” The words were dismissive, but the tone was affectionate, and George was stroking his back. “Just as long as he doesn’t get too distracted while he’s doing me.” Patrick undid his own fly with a sigh of relief. “That’s better. Come on, Martin, time for you to earn your keep.” Considering who best qualified as kept men around here, that was pretty damned funny, but he didn’t think it would be appreciated if he laughed out loud. Not when Patrick clearly did need a hand. Patrick’s cock was standing proud now, firm and solid. Martin took hold of it and found it almost the same size and shape as George’s. A good double handful, one that invited him to wrap both hands around it. He started with only the one, assuming that Patrick would say if he wanted more. Patrick closed his eyes and smiled. “Oh, I needed that. Bit harder, Martin.” He did as Patrick asked, squeezing that little bit harder, stroking that little bit more roughly. Patrick put an arm round him, dragged him closer. “Come here.” Then he changed his mind. “Hang on, I want something to lean back against.” Martin stopped stroking, but kept a tight grip on Patrick’s cock as they shuffled back the short distance to the cave wall. George was already there, rearranging cushions, and Patrick sank back onto them. “Thanks.” He looked at Martin. “In my lap, you. I want to hold you.” He scrambled to kneel over Patrick, then settled himself comfortably so that he still had room to work Patrick’s cock. One or two strokes just to test, and Patrick said, “Yes, that works,” and put his arms around him.

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Still no touch on his own cock, but it was good to feel Patrick’s arms around him. He watched Patrick’s face as he stroked his hand hard along Patrick’s cock, watching his arousal. Fast, very fast. Patrick must have been thinking about this even as he’d been drinking his tea, though he’d said nothing at the time. Eyes closed, leaning his head back against the wall, he was panting a little now. Now Martin switched to using both hands, one on the shaft and one teasing the head, but it was too much for his co-ordination to manage when he badly wanted a hand on his own cock. He settled for having both hands on the shaft, a double handful that he could barely contain. A couple of strokes while he thought about what to do next; then he let go with one hand and licked his palm. Other hand right to the top of the shaft so that he could pull back the foreskin and draw his wet palm across the exposed tip of Patrick’s cock. Patrick gasped and grabbed hold of his head, drawing him down for a kiss. Tongue thrusting into his mouth, fingers digging into his back. One last jerk and squeeze and Patrick was coming, whimpering softly as he did so. They held that position for a moment, until Patrick had finished coming. Martin couldn’t come himself, not without more than they’d given him so far. But it didn’t matter, not when he was aroused, not when his mouth and hand were full. Damp warmth on his hand, tender skin against his palm, and the solid core of cock beneath that. And silence, save for the sound of the ripples against the sand and of three men breathing hard. George picked him up, hands under his arms, lifting him away from Patrick with no trouble at all save for Patrick being reluctant to let go. George said, “I want him,” and Patrick freed him, though Martin could see the reluctance in his eyes. George set him on his feet but stayed standing behind him, one arm tight around his waist, the other groping for his fly. Then George found his zip and pulled it down. Blessed relief at last, only now he wanted the pressure back. George gave it to him, a big hand wrapped around his cock. He sighed with relief, knowing that the waiting was done. First he’d done George, and then he’d had to wait through tea, and then he’d done Patrick. And at last it was now his turn. “This is what you’ve been waiting for,” George murmured in his ear, rubbing his cockhead with that big thumb. “And you’ve been very good about it, so I’ll let you come quickly.” Patrick was watching them, looking sated now, but very definitely interested in what George was doing to him. He relaxed in George’s hold; warm body at his back, warm hand around his cock, and Patrick’s hot gaze upon them both. He could feel George’s renewed erection pressed against him, but there was no urgency to it, no suggestion that he need worry about what George wanted. Not when George was totally focused on kissing his neck and stroking his cock.

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“I’m going to count to three,” George said -- and Martin knew that he could do it, could come when George told him to. “One.” “Two.” “Three,” Patrick chimed in. And he came, spilling his come over George’s hand and onto the sand. George held him tight, one strong arm wrapped around him to hold him up, one strong hand to cradle his cock until he was done. Then George let go of his cock and simply held him until his legs had stopped shaking and he could stand alone. Even then George held him, only letting go when Patrick said, “I want a cuddle.” George picked him up and carried him back to Patrick, set him down carefully, and sat down beside him. They leaned back against the wall in silence for a few moments, before George finally said, “I suppose we should get back to work.”

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Chapter Thirteen By the end of the afternoon they had cleared a gap big enough to look through, though it was still too small for either George or Patrick to squeeze into. Martin climbed up on the impromptu scaffolding to inspect it. “I could probably get through if I had to, but better to leave it for now.” “We don’t want you breaking your leg or something on the other side of that pile where we can’t get to you.” George nudged him so that he moved aside, and looked through the gap. “I can’t make out much detail, but it feels like a big space on the other side. Let’s have the torch.” George spent a minute or two carefully examining what was visible through the gap, then handed the torch back to him. “See what you make of it.” There wasn’t really much to see through the narrow gap. The corridor definitely went on for some metres, and what he could see of the roof and walls seemed undamaged. “It feels empty to you?” “Yes, but that’s not saying a lot. There could be a lot of rubble on the floor without it actually blocking the corridor. The corridor does go back at least twenty feet. I think there’s something after that, but it feels smooth. A corner or ramp, perhaps. Can’t see enough to be sure.” At least it looked as if there was something beyond this fall that was worth investigating. He tried to estimate the thickness of the rubble wall. It seemed to be only a metre or so here, and this side of the fall was relatively vertical rather than a loose heap; but without actually getting into the gap and looking down, it was hard to tell whether there was a lot of loose scree piled up behind. “We’re not going to finish clearing a big enough gap tonight. Let’s leave it for now and start fresh in the morning.”

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George looked down at Patrick, who was standing on the floor. “Do you want to come up and have another look with the torch?” Patrick shook his head. “No. We know it’s worth going on, and we know we’re not going to get it done tonight. Martin’s right; this is a good time to stop for the night.” He stretched his arms above his head and yawned. “Besides, we’re not the only ones getting tired. The big torches will need fresh batteries tomorrow, and the rechargeables are still charging up.” Too true. He’d bought some of the LED torches that would go for hundreds of hours on a single battery set, but they weren’t bright enough to use as work lamps. The big lanterns weren’t long life, and they were starting to dim slightly. They’d go for a few hours yet, but why keep working when everyone was starting to get tired? He climbed down from the scaffolding. “Right. I suppose I’d better be going back now, before Simon starts worrying. Is there anything you two want me to bring tomorrow?” Patrick hesitated, then said, “It would be useful if you could bring enough food for us tomorrow that we didn’t have to go out and hunt for dinner.” “He’s not being greedy,” George added. “It’ll save us a lot of time if we don’t have to find a decent shoal of fish before we eat, and if you might have to go back to work soon ...” “... the more time you can spend in here the better.” It made a lot of sense. If they could get a decent gap cleared tomorrow, he’d be able to get through and check the passage beyond the fall for any obvious hazards before he had to leave them to work on their own for a few days. “You know that you’re welcome to come back for dinner. A hot meal would do you good after today.” They’d worked hard, and although there was some food left from lunch, it probably wasn’t going to make a full meal for two big men who’d done a lot of heavy labour that afternoon. They looked at each other, then shook their heads. “No, thanks,” George said. “Though we appreciate the offer,” Patrick added. “Well, you know where the house is if you change your minds.” Though he doubted they would. Going into shops as anonymous tourists was one thing. Meeting someone who had an interest in them personally was quite another. “I’d better go back. You keep what’s left of the food; I’ll take any rubbish with me tomorrow.” “Thanks.” They walked him back to the boat and helped him load up the few things he was taking back. But Patrick kept the book, saying, “We can read this tonight if we don’t have to worry too much about replacing batteries.” “Go ahead. I’ve read it before.” It occurred to him that he didn’t even know if they slept in the cave at night, or if they slept in human or dolphin form. But he fancied that tonight they’d be sleeping in the cave; they’d be too tired to want to go somewhere else.

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Simon wasn’t surprised to see him alone in the house. “I suppose they’re still too shy to meet me?” “And tired, I think. They worked hard today.” “How did your excavations go?” “There isn’t light at the end of the tunnel yet, but there is a tunnel.” He gave Simon a quick summary of the day’s discoveries. Simon nodded, but said, “Just be careful. And if the three of you really must go poking about in old quarry caves, for the love of god leave a map for me just in case I have to call out search and rescue. In a sealed envelope if it will make your friends less nervous.” He had to admit that it was a sensible idea, and he trusted Simon to respect a sealed envelope. It wouldn’t be opened unless he didn’t come back one night. “I did some checking on the Ordinance Survey maps and the satellite pictures. I’ll run off some copies with the location marked.” “Trying to see if the top end of the cave is known?” “Yes.” Martin decided to risk something. “It isn’t on the map, but we went and had a look around yesterday. We didn’t find the cave --” He hoped that Simon wouldn’t pick up on the lie. “-- but we did find an old building while we were walking along the path to get there. It’s derelict and boarded up, but it looked salvageable. Any chance of you finding out who it belongs to?” Simon stared at him. “When I suggested you find something to buy here, I didn’t expect you to run out and do something about it right away.” He hadn’t really been thinking along those lines at all. He’d been worrying about whether the owner was likely to suddenly take an interest in it again. But now that Simon had put the idea in his head ... “It wasn’t deliberate. I just saw it by chance and wondered what it was -- it looked like an old folly or summerhouse from a grand estate, or something like that. But it’s completely derelict, and if nobody does anything about it, it’ll fall apart beyond repair.” “You must be mad to even think about taking on something like that. But I suppose if you want a hobby ...” Simon paused, then said, “And if your two lads know anything about building, it would give them something to do and somewhere to park themselves over winter. The paperwork on a renovation job isn’t going to be their problem.” “I’ll have to think about it.” And that was no lie. He’d only just met them, and it was stupid to invest all his hopes and dreams quite so solidly at this point. But Simon’s suggestion was a good one. And if the house could be bought, or rented, they’d want to do as much of the work themselves as possible. Get a builder in to survey the place and do any work that needed skill, and George and Patrick could probably do a lot of the rest. And if he had control of the property, they’d be a lot safer than if they just hoped the owner had lost all interest in it.

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“You really are seriously thinking about this, aren’t you?” Simon said. “I hope it’s not just because you’re besotted with those two.” “No. I wouldn’t have found the place if I hadn’t met them, but you’re right about investing in property -- and this place is certainly ideal as somewhere for me to have as a retreat in between contracts.” He thought about it from that angle. Never mind George and Patrick, he’d like to have somewhere down here on the Dorset coast. Lots of lovely geology to play with, beautiful scenery, and still not that far from civilisation. He knew he was always welcome at Simon’s, but a place of his own would be nice. “All right,” Simon said, “see if you can find this place on a map, and I’ll do some digging. Though I’ll warn you that a lot of the Purbeck area is National Trust property. It might not be for sale at any price.” “Don’t they sometimes rent places out in order to keep them going as a working property, though?” “True. Maybe you’ll get lucky.” Of course, he’d already got lucky this week. Very lucky indeed.

***** The next morning there was an unexpected email from Doug saying that he was needed again and an appearance before Monday would be appreciated, even if it meant paying him weekend overtime rates. Doug went on to say that there would be nothing he could usefully do before Friday lunchtime, so no need to arrive any earlier than that, but it would be nice to know if he could be there for the weekend, and sorry to disrupt his plans. The other email was from the client he had expected to email, to say that the possible contract was going to be put off for a couple of weeks but was definitely going ahead. It was nice to be wanted, but he could see it being difficult to get down here for a while. He told Simon, then went shopping. Bottled water, tinned food and a tin opener, dried goods, some fruit and vegetables that would keep well in a cool cave -- and a small camping stove along with some fuel. He noticed a beginner’s cookbook in the supermarket and added that as well. George and Patrick realised something was up as soon as they saw the things in the boat. “You’ve got the contract.” George looked unhappy. “Different contract to the one I expected. Here.” He started handing up bags and boxes. “The one I was expecting is going to be in a couple of weeks, but there’s another one this weekend.” “When do you have to leave?” Patrick asked as he took a box of tinned food. “Tonight if I want to check my flat overnight. Tomorrow at a pinch, but I’ll have to leave very early.”

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“So this is your last day,” George said. “Sorry. If the thing this weekend turns out to be a false alarm, I’ll be back in a few days, but otherwise it could be a month or so.” He’d try to get back, but it simply might not be possible, and he didn’t want them hoping and being disappointed. “We can try to get as much done as possible today, but don’t take risks just to get things done faster. I will come back. I promise.” They both looked relieved. As he bent to pick up another bag, he just glimpsed Patrick laying a comforting hand on George’s shoulder. It had been nearly two months between his first encounter with them and his return to this cave, and all that while they’d not known whether he would come back. Or whether they’d see him again even if he did. They’d gone up to the boat every time they’d seen Simon out in it, and been disappointed each time. Their only consolation would have been Simon talking to them and telling them that Martin would be back soon. At least this time they could be certain he intended to come back to them. They finished unpacking the boat and then started moving the food to one of the rooms George and Patrick used for storage. They used sonar; he used a torch. “You’ve set up the second set of batteries to charge?” “Just before you arrived,” Patrick said. “That solar-powered charger seems to work fairly well if we have it in the brightest area we can find, although it’s a lot slower than the packaging claims we’d get if we could just leave it in direct sunlight all day.” “If we can get the tunnel clear and get a land exit, things like that will be easier.” George picked up the camping stove and examined it. “You’d better show us how to use this safely.” “Don’t be extravagant with the fuel,” Martin warned. “There’s enough there for at least a couple of weeks, but you’ll waste some learning how to use it. I’ll use it at lunchtime, so you can watch what I do then.” “Where can we buy more?” Patrick asked. “Any hardware shop, some supermarkets, pharmacies, petrol stations.” He’d deliberately gone for a stove that used methylated spirit so that it would be easy for them to buy more if they had to. “And camping shops, of course. It’s cheap and safe, but don’t drink it. Meths may be alcohol, but it’s poisonous. And the flame is invisible, so be careful.” “There’s a lot to learn,” George said. Patrick slapped George on the back. “It’ll be worth it. Hot food after a hard day’s work sounds good.” Martin wasn’t convinced that hot food was the only attraction. He’d seen Patrick’s face light up in that “Oooh, shiny!” expression he associated with gadget freaks spotting a new toy. Apparently the shapechanger was just as bad as some humans he’d known. Maybe he should have added a first-aid kit and manual.

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George looked at Martin and smiled. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t get too carried away.” “Am I that obvious?” “You did look a bit ‘oh, no, what have I done’ for a second or two. He can have that effect on people when they show him a new toy.” George set the stove down on the jetty. “Might as well leave it here for now. This is probably the best place to use it anyway.” Plenty of light to see what they were doing, good ventilation, and a flat solid surface with lots of room. Seemed ideal. “Just don’t kick it into the water. It’ll dry out, but it probably won’t like the sand very much and you’ll have to clean it out.” Patrick grinned at him. “Do you know this from experience?” “Unfortunately, yes. Now, let’s go and look at the rockfall.”

***** They worked steadily, stopping only for a morning cup of tea, and by lunchtime the gap was big enough to crawl through comfortably. George called a halt. “We should eat and rest. We can go through after lunch.” Back they went to the main cave, picking up some food from the storage cave on the way. Martin had decided on bacon and eggs for the demonstration. It was easy to cook and was the sort of thing that would make a simple but hearty meal for men who’d been working hard. They watched him set the stove up and start cooking, as utterly focused on the task as when they’d been clearing rock. He was reminded of the day he’d first met them, when he’d thought them dolphins but had lectured them on fossils anyway, because they had been interested. New information, new skills -- these were things they valued. It reminded him that there was something they might not know. “Always use this somewhere well ventilated. You could get carbon monoxide poisoning if you use it in an enclosed space.” “Like with faulty gas fires,” Patrick said. “So in here’s fine, but don’t take it into one of the back rooms.” At least they knew about the hazard; all he’d had to do was link it with something they’d read about in a newspaper. “You might get away with it even in there as long as you didn’t have it on all day, but better safe than sorry.” They watched with interest as he fried the bacon. He remembered that they were not just inexperienced cooks, they were inexperienced at being human, and there were things they might not think of. “Bacon spits hot fat if you fry it at a high temperature. Don’t stand right over the stove unless you’ve got clothes on, because it could hurt.” They winced, and he knew he’d been right to show them how to use the stove. When the bacon was done, he piled it on the side of the pan to keep warm. “How long do eggs keep?” Patrick asked as Martin cracked three eggs into the frying pan.

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As simple a thing as that. They knew that food went off, but didn’t have the detailed knowledge. “Fresh eggs, kept cold ... several weeks. The fresher they are the better, but if you get them straight into that storage cave they should last at least three or four weeks with no problems, and probably longer. It’s fairly cool in there.” “What do we need to eat on the same day?” George asked. “Meat and fish. Chicken definitely the same day, although red meat should be perfectly safe for a night or two in there. Bacon will last a few days. You’d almost certainly get away with longer, but it’s not worth the risk of food poisoning.” Patrick grinned. “We probably won’t bother with fish.” He could understand that point of view, but, “If you’ve got any way to bring spare fish back, it means you don’t have to go out to hunt again so quickly.” “We’ve done that before,” George said thoughtfully, “but it was just for emergencies. We never had an easy way to cook it before, or a particular reason to want hot food in here.” He’d changed them, changed them irrevocably. They’d been more or less content with their life, if a bit lonely, and he’d shown them that they could have some of the things they’d read about. That there were practical reasons to want them. Having human food on hand and the cooking facilities to use it meant that they didn’t have to go out hunting when they had more useful things to be doing with their time. Too late to worry about it now, and no point in feeling guilty. They could have had the things he’d given them whenever they’d finally found a reason to trouble themselves to get them, and all he’d done was make it easier for them to do so. “I think this is almost ready.” Patrick carved slices of bread from the loaf with a frightening-looking knife that must be one of their beachcombing finds, while George poured out the tea. Martin served up the bacon and eggs, and they ate in companionable silence. He suspected that George and Patrick were too hungry to want to talk. They were certainly eating fast enough, although they were taking the time to enjoy the flavour of the food. “Another chapter while we let the food go down?” George suggested when they’d finished. “Fine.” It might be a while before he had a chance to read to them again.

***** They read, and then they made love. This time there was no dominance play. George kissed him. Patrick took the book out of his hands before it could get crushed, then hugged him and kissed his shoulders and back. They ended up lying on the blanket, him in the middle and them either side of him. George was still kissing him, and Patrick was squeezed up against his back, cock pressed tightly against his arse. “Have we got condoms?” Patrick asked. “Don’t want to get up and find them.”

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George let go of Martin for a moment and groped in the pocket of his jeans. “Here. Picked them up when we were getting the food for lunch.” “Good. I suppose we should be quick.” Patrick pulled away from him a little, and he heard the sound of a condom packet being torn open. “Unfortunately, yes,” George said. He stroked Martin’s face. “Wouldn’t mind taking all afternoon over this, but if you’re going to have to go away for a few weeks, we need to know what we’re doing with the work.” He wouldn’t mind taking all day over it, either. Big warm bodies pressing close to him, sex and affection offered without anything but the same asked for in return. But George was right. They wouldn’t be able to resist that passage to the surface above, and he’d be happier knowing that they weren’t going to get themselves killed trying to work under unstable rock. “A quickie it had better be.” George kissed him again and undid his jeans. It was an awkward position, but George managed it readily enough, reaching inside to hold his cock. Just holding it for the moment, not trying to wank him, but it still felt very good. Then he felt Patrick take hold of his waistband and tug. “Lift up a minute,” Patrick said. He had to roll over a little, and George had to let go of his cock, but Patrick managed to get his jeans far enough down for easy access. George got his own jeans partway down, and then they rolled together again, all three of them pressed together flesh to flesh now. “’S all right; he had the lube as well,” Patrick mumbled as his cock pushed for entrance. Not much foreplay, but it didn’t matter. He pushed back, enjoying the feel of Patrick’s big cock slowly filling him. Patrick was trying to be careful, considerate, but his cock must have got the better of him because he surged forward on the last couple of inches. Martin yelped, mostly in shock, then pushed back to show he was all right. “Sorry, Martin.” George looked him over. “He’s all right, I think.” “Go on.” He was over the shock, and he wanted them. Wanted them both, Patrick thrusting inside him, George thrusting against his cock. They did as they were told. Both hugging him, both thrusting hard. No point in drawing things out, so he let himself be carried along on sensation. And there was plenty of sensation. Patrick filling him, and then George not content to just thrust against him, but reaching to take both their cocks in one hand, squeezing them together. “Think we can all come together?” George said, grinning. Patrick shuddered, then held still. “Too late.” “All right. Think we can come together?” Yes. And he liked the idea. He liked it a lot. “Let’s do it.”

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One jerk. His cock almost escaped from George’s grip, but George got it under control again. A second jerk, and he could feel that he was almost there, see the same thing in George’s eyes. One more wouldn’t be quite enough ... One more, and then he knew the next one would be it. “George,” he whispered. And the next squeeze and jerk was the last. All he needed, all they both needed. They came together, panting and laughing, with Patrick hugging him from behind and murmuring, “Still feels good.” After a while they eased themselves apart and cleaned up a little. Patrick stroked his back and said, “Lunch, book, and sex. I could make a habit of this.” “Don’t forget work,” George said. “But yes, it does sound like a nice habit.”

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Chapter Fourteen It was awkward work getting one of the ladders through the gap and set up so that they could run some of the planks as a bridge across the rockfall, but Martin insisted on taking the time to do it properly. “We have to get back out this way, remember; and it’s stable on this side, but we don’t know what could happen if we start scrambling about on the loose rock.” They had already laid planks directly on the pile to spread their weight as they worked. George wriggled through on the existing planks to guide the second ladder into position. The pile of rocks seemed stable enough as he eased his full weight onto it, and Martin heaved a sigh of relief. “Feels stable,” George reported. “Good. Come back, and we’ll get the rest of it set up.” A few minutes later, he and George were standing on the other side of the rockfall, inspecting it with one of the torches. “It really is pretty clean on this side, isn’t it?” George said. “We could have done it any time we liked, if we’d known.” “You didn’t have an urgent reason to, and it was a lot safer doing it with ladders.” From this side, it was obvious that some of the big blocks had been positioned deliberately to support a weak section of the roof after a fall. There’d been at least one more fall over the years, dropping rubble that had covered the supporting wall and blocked the remaining gap, but the support-wall section was all very old. His view of the roof and side wall still wasn’t clear enough to say for certain, but it looked very much as if there had been a weak section that had simply dropped down as large blocks along with some smaller rubble. “You’ll still need to be careful -- there may be more to come down. And don’t move anything that looks as if it might have been put there deliberately. But if it’s just this one section ...” “... we’ve got an exit, haven’t we?” “Can I come over now?” Patrick asked.

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“Bring some water and a couple of bars of chocolate,” Martin instructed. “And something to carry them in. Just in case. If there is another fall, we could be trapped for a while before anyone finds us.” George looked at him. “Does Simon know where to find us?” “Simon knows where to find something that will tell him where to find us if I don’t come home. But it only gives him a rough idea of where to look and what he’s looking for.” Martin could understand why George didn’t like the idea, but he agreed with Simon that it was necessary. “Look. This place is dangerous. The bit you use is fine because anything likely to come down already has, but we have no idea what’s behind here.” Of course, there was a reason for these two to think they’d be safe where he wasn’t. “Just remember, your sonar lets you see things I can’t see, and maybe that includes early signs of rock moving -- but it could also trigger a rockfall if there’s an unstable formation that needs just one last push.” Though it might be useful for testing from a distance, something to bear in mind as they explored the cave system. “We really need to get that gate at the top end open if we can,” George said. “Just in case.” A very sensible idea. “A crowbar will probably do it. Though you’ll still want to be able to lock it.” “One big bottle of water and three bars of chocolate,” Patrick called from the other side of the barrier. “And a torch each.” They already had one of the big lanterns, but it would be a good idea to carry a small torch each. “Right, bring that over.” Patrick carefully made his way over the rockfall to join them, and they started moving up the passage. The floor was fairly clear once they got away from the rockfall, although there was still a little loose rock scattered about. George had been right about the passage -it seemed to make a right turn about twenty feet ahead of them. They passed a chamber on each side, one with a large entrance, another relatively small. Martin played the light over it and saw that the entrance had once been larger but had been partly walled up. George poked his head inside. “Fairly clear, but there are some bits of wood in here.” It turned out to be a broken chair, roughly made and long abandoned. “Maybe they used this as an office or break room,” Martin suggested. The place had been stripped of anything worth hauling back to the surface or the sea cave, but the chair was obviously beyond repair. The other chamber had its own rockfall, by the looks of it part of the same weak area that had blocked the passage. “Could this be why they abandoned it?” Patrick asked. “Maybe. Or maybe it just became uneconomic. Or it was that fall that blocked the sea entrance that did for it.” He thought that was the most likely. “Once you couldn’t get a quarry barge in here, there’d be no point.” A thought occurred to him. “Though smugglers

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could have used that small entrance, if they didn’t mind bringing stuff in in small boats.” The passageway might well have been used after it was officially abandoned. And those side chambers left by quarrying would have made fine storage chambers for contraband brandy and silk. If that was the case, then the passage they’d seen up top almost certainly did lead to the summerhouse, or at least to a private and secure entrance out of public sight. “They’d want a land entrance, wouldn’t they?” George asked. “Yes. So let’s see where that passage goes after it turns the corner.” It went past another chamber and to a steep flight of stairs. George and Patrick scanned it from a safe distance and pronounced it stable. Martin made his way up and found himself in a second passageway. He switched off the torch for a moment and could see green-filtered daylight along the passage. “Martin?” Patrick’s voice. “It’s all right. I can see daylight along here; I think it’s that entrance we saw.” He switched the torch back on and waited for them to join him. They made their way along the passage and found themselves looking out through the old gate they’d seen yesterday. George went down on one knee to examine the hinges. “I think we could break this if we really had to.” “Leave it for now,” Martin said. “We’ll want to keep it looking untouched if there’s a better entrance into the house.” They kept moving along the passage and came to a door. Old, but still in good condition. There was a heavy lock and a separate handle. George tried the handle. “Locked.” “But there’s a key,” Patrick said. He used his torch as a pointer, lighting up a key hanging on a hook near the floor. “Sonar?” Martin asked. Patrick nodded. “Metal on stone. Stood out a mile to me. But I bet if someone like you came along here in the dark and didn’t know it was there ...” They’d probably find it eventually. But it was a good way to keep the passage locked against intruders while still leaving an escape route for those in the know. Pile a few bits of furniture or some storage boxes along here, and the key would take some finding. “Let’s see if it still works.” Their luck finally ran out. The lock was stuck, seized up over the years. “Now what?” George asked. “I’ll bring some graphite powder with me next time.” Martin tweaked it again. “Or it may just need someone to keep fiddling with it. Gently.” Patrick pulled his hand back. “It might just need a good kick,” he muttered. “And we might try that next. But if you try to force it with the key, we could end up breaking the key.” He tried again. There was definitely movement in there.

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How badly did they want to get it open today? Patrick’s suggestion of a hefty boot to the lock might work, and he didn’t trust them to leave it alone until he got back with some suitable tools. Now that they’d found their way through into the upper passageway with so little trouble, they weren’t about to be baulked by a stiff lock. He pulled the key out and stepped back. “All right. But you’re not trying to kick the door down, remember. Just see if you can jar something loose.” Patrick stepped up to the door, braced himself with a hand on the wall, and let loose with a finely judged blow to the lock. George rattled the handle. “The door’s looser than it was. It was jammed tight before.” Maybe it wasn’t the lock so much as the door itself had jammed, or moved slightly in its frame and jammed the tongue of the lock in its slot. Martin tried the key again. It was stiff, but this time it turned a little. He knelt on the floor to get a better angle and kept working at it. Every so often George wiggled the door handle. Finally the obstruction was freed, and the key suddenly turned. “Got it!” “Up you get.” George lifted him up, and he found himself grateful for the help. They must have been working on the lock for longer than he’d realised, because he was stiff and tired. “Are you all right, Martin?” George asked. “Just a bit stiff.” “Let’s look at what we’ve got and then have a rest and a drink.” That sounded like a good idea to him. He nodded, and stood back as George carefully eased the door open. They had found a cellar, by the looks of it. There were still old boxes and odd bits of furniture piled around the walls. Everything was covered in dust. As they walked into the room, he saw a wine rack against the wall they’d come through. There were still a few bottles left. Curious, he looked more closely. There were labels fixed to the rack, handwritten with a fountain pen. One, damaged but still just barely legible, said 191–. So the place had still been in use until just before the First World War, at least. Perhaps it was one of the many properties that had gone to rack and ruin in the aftermath of that war. The wine rack was built in segments, and there was a section of racking leaning against the main rack. He swung the lamp around to look at the door again and saw hooks that were undoubtedly meant to carry the missing segment. The room was part solid rock walls, part dressed stone. They’d built the house into the bones of the hillside on which it stood and given it a secret passage. Maybe just someone’s little joke, maybe it had served a real purpose. And the last person down here had found the secret, but not the key, and abandoned it.

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“That staircase must go up to the next level,” George said. “Probably the ground floor.” The house hadn’t looked elaborate enough to have two levels of cellar, although given the oddities of the place it wouldn’t surprise him. “Let’s take a look.” This door was also locked and also had a key hanging on an inconspicuous hook. It took a little longer to find than the first one had, but whoever had hidden it hadn’t been expecting sonar. This time the key worked on the first attempt, although it was very stiff. They found themselves in a kitchen. Martin’s knowledge of culinary history was hazy, but the room looked to him in keeping with a building that had last had a major modernisation sometime between the two wars. There were free-standing pieces of furniture and two built-in dressers of the style common in the era just before modern fitted cabinets, and the Aga-style range could have been installed any time in the last century. The electric cooker appeared to be both an afterthought in the layout, and relatively old, but that could have been simply the layer of dust. George and Patrick prowled around the room, looking at things but being careful not to touch them. Then George went over to the door to the rest of the building. “George, stay out of there for now. The building’s derelict, and it could be dangerous.” “There’s a door to the outside here anyway,” Patrick added. They inspected the door. Locked again, with boards over the windowpane and possibly completely boarded up on the outside. “Leave it for now,” Martin said. “If this is one of the doors that was boarded up, we’re going to need tools anyway.” “It’s going to take us a couple of days to clear the rest of the rockfall,” George said. “We might as well work on that first. At least now we know there’s something worth working for.” They made their way back down into the cellar, carefully locking the door behind them and replacing the key. Back through the door between the cellar and the secret passage, locking that as well. As he closed the door, Martin noticed their footsteps showing in the dust on the floor. “We’d better get a broom in there.” Patrick looked over his shoulder. “Oops.” “We’re probably safe,” he reassured them. “We’d have to be bloody unlucky for someone to come down here in the next couple of weeks, and I’ll bring a broom with me next time.” “Or we can buy one,” George said. “We’ll probably want one anyway to tidy up after moving that stone.” “Good idea. Dustpan and brush is probably your best bet,” he suggested. “It’ll be slower, but you can carry out the fine stuff instead of trying to brush it all the way out. Come on, I could do with a cup of tea.”

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They got back to the main cave without any problems and sat down for a much-needed cup of tea and a biscuit. Patrick glanced at the stove. “Do you want to eat with us tonight?” Tempting though the idea was, he needed to get back to Simon’s and then get on the road if he wanted to sleep in his own bed tonight. “No. I really need to leave on time today.” “You don’t know when you’ll be back?” George asked. “I really don’t have much idea at the moment. It could be early next week if this flap of Doug’s gets sorted out quickly. Oh, that reminds me.” Martin found his sample bottle and went to the spring in the back cave to collect a water sample. Dragging him up north on short notice meant Doug owed him a favour, and he might as well take advantage of it. It would be very useful if the water from the cave’s spring was safe to drink. He looked around the room. George and Patrick had dragged a strange variety of objects in here. They obviously operated on the principle that it might come in handy some day. But it was all neat and tidy, and some of it was obviously the result of planning. There was a small box holding a bag of barbecue charcoal, a pile of kindling-sized wood, a stack of newspapers, and a lighter. It would be far too much trouble to use something like that on a daily basis when they had to find or buy it and then get it in here, but they’d made sure they had the makings of a fire for an emergency situation. Perhaps one of them had been ill and wanted a fire for warmth. The little meths-powered stove would be a lot easier for them to run. That and a safe water supply would make a big difference in how comfortable they were if one of them got sick. No, he hadn’t disrupted their life; he’d simply made things that little bit easier and safer for them. Time to go. He went back and finished the last of his tea, and then they packed the boat in silence. He hugged them both. “I’ll try to get back as soon as possible. I just can’t promise anything.” “Some people have to earn a living,” George said. Patrick gave him a quick kiss. “Glad we don’t have to. But we’ll miss you.” He couldn’t look back as he left the cave, not when he had to concentrate on getting the boat through without hitting anything. By the time he could look around again, there were two dolphins by the boat. It had been a long and strange few days.

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Chapter Fifteen The mundane reality of his own house seemed strange to Martin after the last few days. A pleasant suburban house in a pleasant suburban dormitory town where nothing strange ever happened, at least not in public. Now he wondered what secrets lay behind those net curtains. There were undoubtedly stranger tales than his to be told. He picked up the pile of post and flipped through it. All of his regular bills were paid by direct debit, so they only needed checking for random weirdness. Those he shuffled to the back, for after he’d dealt with anything that wasn’t either junk or real-but-routine. There was an envelope with his address in Barry’s handwriting. He almost threw it in the bin unopened, then pulled back. It was always possible Barry had a good reason to contact him. The note was short and unsigned. It didn’t need a signature.

I didn’t like to phone. I was a pig, and I’m a coward. It’s easier to write this rather than risk having you hang up on me. I’m sorry I hurt you. I love you, but I love Margaret as well, and I was afraid of losing either of you. I know that doesn’t excuse my behaviour. I came round to apologise, but you were away, even when I tried again. I hope it’s just work at a remote site, and you haven’t had an accident at work -you do some bloody dangerous things in that job, even though you’re careful. Even if you never want to speak to me again, please let me know you’re all right. It would have hurt too much to read it in the immediate aftermath. But Barry wouldn’t, couldn’t have written something like this in the immediate aftermath. Sometime

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in the last two months he’d grown up a little bit, taken responsibility for his own behaviour. The man who’d written this was the man Martin had thought he’d got involved with. The “let me know you’re all right” wasn’t manipulation. He did sometimes do things on the job that would seem dangerous to outsiders. So he sat down and wrote a brief reply, saying that he had been away working and was likely to be away for much of the next few months. He made it as neutral as possible and mentioned Simon’s new house and its proximity to the stretch of coastline that was such a delight for a geologist. Something to make it clear that he wasn’t deliberately avoiding Barry, but had a real reason for being away at weekends. He didn’t mention George and Patrick. Even if he hadn’t needed to protect them from exposure, it would have been a childish gesture to rub Barry’s nose in the fact that he’d found someone else. He checked the return address on the envelope. Same old post office box number, the one Barry had asked him to use because it was convenient to where he worked. A lie he’d swallowed because it was the same thing he did when he was away from home for long periods. Maybe not even a lie, maybe the box had already existed and had simply been convenient when Barry suddenly found himself with a secret to hide. Secrets. Everyone had secrets. Barry’s had been that he was bi and kink-curious. Now Martin was involved with two men who had a real secret to protect. At least this one had less chance of blowing up in his face. It wasn’t going to be easy. He’d already lied to Simon for them, not just evasion and misdirection, but an outright lie. He hated lying, but it wasn’t his secret to reveal. And it was worth it. He liked them. Enjoyed the sex, yes, but he liked them. The three of them seemed to have a lot of things in common, however wildly different their backgrounds might be. He was going to miss them over the next few days.

***** Doug was quite happy to let Martin add his own water sample to the batch he’d collected during the afternoon’s poking about in a pit. “If I dragged you away from your first decent break in a month, the least I can do is slip a quick private sample in. What’s it from, anyway?” It was only fair to reassure him that it was a personal sample, and not something from another job being slipped in at Doug’s expense. “I’ve seen a derelict house that might make a good hobby. There’s a spring nearby that I think might have been the water supply for the house. The place is off in the middle of nowhere, and it looks as if it’s been abandoned for years, so I doubt it was ever hooked up to the mains.” Which was probably true, and they should take a look to see if there was a well or spring in the grounds. Doug nodded in understanding. “And if it has got a usable water supply, at least enough for drinking and cooking, it’s a lot more practical to live on the site while you try to renovate

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it.” He scribbled a note and dropped it in the tray of samples. “I’ll get the lab to run the full check on it.” “Thanks. I don’t even know if the place is for sale, or if I could afford it, but a working water supply could make a difference. And if the price takes it into account, I want to be certain it’s actually drinkable.” “Yeah. Good idea to know something like that before you get involved.” Doug patted the tray of samples. “Look, if you want any more samples done, soil or something, bring them along next time you’re doing a job for us. Just keep it within reason.” “Thanks.” This was why he was willing to drop his holiday plans on a day’s notice for Doug. It wasn’t just the upfront offer of extra money for the inconvenience, but the willingness to do a favour in return. Doug believed in getting value for money, but he understood that it went both ways -- money should be given for value. “There shouldn’t be any industrial pollution, but if there’s more than one spring, or a well, I’ll probably want to test the lot.” Doug grinned. “Oh, it’s a sheep-shit problem, is it?” That was a rather crude way of putting it, but more or less covered what he was worried about. Though he’d still need to check for industrial pollution, just in case there’d been anything other than quarrying going on. “Pretty much. Though I’ll still test for everything if you don’t mind, just in case. After all, we found a few surprises in this lot, didn’t we?” He waved at the test pit on what had turned out to be a former factory site from the dawn of the industrial age. Doug rolled his eyes. “Gawd, I don’t want to think about it. At least paying for the cleanup isn’t our problem. The owners aren’t thanking us for being careful and stopping to check when the bulldozers started turning up that crap.” “Be fair. We cleared the original site as stable. It’s nobody’s fault, theirs or ours, that they bought an extra bit of land at the last moment and got a nasty surprise. I’m not surprised they’re unhappy.” Doug gave him a hearty clap on the back in response. “And you get weekend rates out of it, so it’s not all bad. Right. Let’s go and wash our hands and get a cup of tea.”

***** They got the work done by Sunday afternoon, to the great relief of the site owners. Doug said, “They could have done without any of it, but at least it’s not going to hold up the schedule. We can work around the dodgy area while they think about what to do next. Ta for getting up here this weekend. I’ll email you the last of the test results on that spring water when they come through.”

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“It’s looking good so far.” The basic tests had come up clean; it was safe to drink in terms of heavy metal content and the like, although the organics and microbial results still hadn’t all come through. “You could probably bottle it and sell it.” “Not likely. It’s enough for household use, and probably not even that if you run a washing machine every day.” He got into the car and swung the car door shut, saying through the open window, “Try not to find anything exciting for a few days, because I’ve got another job coming up next week.” “I know where to find you if I do.” He set off, glad to be on the road home. The job had been interesting and well paid, but he had other things on his mind now. By the time he got to Simon’s it would be too late to do anything but fall into bed and sleep, but tomorrow he would see how George and Patrick had got on with their own job.

***** Simon’s conversational gambit over breakfast was, “You’re in luck. That building you were interested in might be for sale to the right person.” “The right person?” “Someone who wants to restore it instead of converting it to a luxury weekend cottage for yuppies.” “Simon, from a local perspective, a weekender is exactly what I am.” “No.” Simon waved a fork in the air to emphasis his point. “I explained that you were a contract worker who was away from home a lot, but you were looking for somewhere to buy that would be a home.” He smirked. “What won the old guy over was when I said you wanted to move here because you liked fossils.” Martin sighed. Simon should have been a journalist, not technical crew. He had a knack for finding interesting stories, and it sounded as if this was the latest. “All right. Tell me about it.” The short version was that Simon had spent Saturday morning tracking down the provenance of the summerhouse and found that it was a summerhouse, or at least that was what it had last been used as. It was the seaside retreat of an old and almost extinct family, which had been land rich and cash poor for some decades before the last remaining male family member had inherited the estate. “And he still lives around here, so I went to see him. Interesting old coot. Apparently they lost all the younger men in the Great War, and his dad was the only direct male heir left. Too young to even be a bugle boy. Same pattern in the Second World War, only he was the one left behind.”

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Simon looked distant for a moment. Martin could sympathise. It was bad enough looking at the little village cenotaphs, with the toll of names that left no family untouched. Actually meeting a representative of one of those families that had lost an entire generation of young men, and not just once, but twice ... After a moment, Simon went on. “He’s got some nieces through his sister who’ll get everything when he dies, and he wants them to get a decent pot of money and the incomegenerating property instead of an albatross around their necks. He’s quite happy to sell some of the estate’s property if he’s offered a good price. Only he’s sentimental and he’d rather the summerhouse went to someone who’d appreciate it for what it was.” “No children of his own? I thought the aristocracy went in for heir and a spare.” “Not aristocracy. Victorian nouveau riche who couldn’t be bothered to buy a title. They knew they’d only be buying the name and not the real thing. But they did buy the occasional pretty piece of land or building as a distressed sale.” Simon grinned. “Often without considering why it might be a distressed sale. He’s very cynical about the whole thing and saw no need to provide a male heir, let alone a spare, to be dragged down by running the estate. Says the women in his family were always the ones with the brains, so let them have it.” “Thanks.” Simon toasted him with a mug of tea. “No problem. I enjoyed talking to him. If you’re serious about the place, you should go and talk to him. He might cut you a deal, and besides, he’s interesting.” “I’ll do that. But I need to go and see what George and Patrick have been up to.” “Well, they’ll be pleased you’ve managed to get back so soon.”

***** They were. George came running through from the passage before he’d even tied up the boat, and grabbed him in something that was half hug, half rugby tackle. “You did get back!” “And with some good news about your spring, although we still have to wait for the last few results.” He wouldn’t mention the news about the summerhouse just yet, in case it all came to nothing. “It looks as if it should be safe to drink, though hold off on using it until all of the test results are through.” “And we’ve managed to clear most of the rockfall. Come and see.” He followed George along the passageway and found Patrick sweeping up some loose chippings on the floor. “We clear these out of the way every so often so we don’t trip on them.”

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So they were being careful in spite of their excitement at having opened a route to the surface. But they’d cleared most of the rubble, and it was now possible to walk through if you didn’t mind picking your way over the last bits of rock. “You have been busy.” Patrick put an arm around his waist. “It gave us something to occupy ourselves with, and we didn’t need to go out and hunt, not with the food you left for us.” Quick kiss. “Thanks. That stove and the food really made a difference.” “But we’ve been thinking about what you said about fish,” George added. “The next time we do go out, we’ll look for some fishnet. There’s often some lying about. It’s easy enough to build a temporary fish pen, and if we bring back live fish, they’ll keep for a few days.” “We’ve done it before,” Patrick said. “It just isn’t worth the bother, usually. It’s a pain to keep the pen repaired.” “Good. I’m happy to buy you food, but I’m not going to be here a lot of the time.” It wouldn’t be wise for them to depend on him for food. “Being able to get fresh food without having to go out and buy it is a good idea if you want to live here more permanently.” “Especially as we’ll have less money now,” Patrick said innocently. George glanced at him but didn’t say anything. Martin could guess exactly what Patrick meant. They no longer had the urgent need to visit the cruising beach, so they wouldn’t be getting the tips that went along with the sex and conversation. He ignored it. He knew they’d cruised, and he knew why; and it didn’t bother him, because they’d made it clear that he was all they wanted now. “Where have you put the stone?” “Stacked most of it in one of the rooms for now,” George said. “Oh, do you need any help with the boat? I can help unload while Patrick finishes up.” “I’ve brought some stuff.” Once they were out of Patrick’s earshot, George said, “Does it bother you about the money?” “It would if you were still doing it, and doing it for the money. But you don’t, do you?” “No. It’s useful, but we wouldn’t do it just to get money. Which is why Patrick hasn’t quite made the connection with prostitution and how a lot of your people feel about it.” George shook his head. “He’ll work it out eventually, but I’m happy to leave him in unenlightened innocence for now. The beach gave him something he needed, even if we never found anyone interested in more than a holiday fling.” “But you understand what it looks like.” “I ... didn’t need the sex side of things as much as he did. And I could see that some of those men were lonely and paying to get the same thing I was looking for. Sex was just the excuse.” George gave him a sad smile. “Ironic, isn’t it? I’m young and pretty, so I have to be

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bribed to spend time talking to an older man. But the truth is, I enjoyed their company. A lot of them were interesting people.” Everyone was looking for love, or at least a little affection, and not knowing what to do with it when they found it. “At least we’ve got a chance of making a go of things.” “Oh, yes. You can’t be here all the time, but at least you want to come back to us. That means a lot, Martin.” He hugged George, trying to offer comfort. “Don’t hold it against them, George. Some of them may have wanted to come back. But it’s a big beach and it’s hard to find people again, when you can only get away for a day’s outing every now and then.” “I know. That’s why I didn’t mind trying. I could believe that some of them would have liked things to have been different.” George hugged him back. “If we could have exchanged addresses ... But we couldn’t.” Life got complicated when you really did have to lie to your partners because the truth was too fantastic for anyone to believe. Best not worry about it. They’d found each other, and they had a real chance of making it work. “Let’s finish unloading this stuff; then we can go and help Patrick. It won’t take us long now.” “No,” George agreed. “The less there is of it, the easier it is to work out what you can safely move next. And we’re well into the old fall now.” “Old fall?” George looked around the cave. “It’s been like this since before we were born. But our gran said there was still a way through back in her day. You had to scramble over a pile of rocks, but you could get through. That’s how we knew there probably was a passageway to the surface, but we didn’t know how much had been blocked or how far back the passage itself went. She’d only been here a couple of times herself and only as far as the fall. Didn’t feel like scrambling over the rock when she didn’t need to, thought it was dangerous. She came here one day and found that more stone had fallen, and that was that.” “So your family’s been using this cave for a while.” George nodded. “Though we’re probably the first ones to actually live in it. Before that it was just a handy place to keep things or meet up with people.” “So when you first asked me about it, you already knew there was a passage.” “Well, knew that there had been once upon a time.” Once upon a time. That old phrase that started off a tale of long ago, a time when there was magic in the world. Now he’d found that there still was. No, they hadn’t told him all their secrets in those first few days, and doubtless there were plenty more he hadn’t heard yet. But he couldn’t blame them for keeping secrets from him. It had been an act of courage, or foolhardiness, to expose themselves at all.

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Or just simple loneliness, the ache to be with other people who were like them in a way that the true dolphins weren’t. “So you suspected that there was an exit beyond the rockfall, but you weren’t certain if there was, let alone whether it still existed.” “It wasn’t just trying to hide it from you, Martin. If you thought it was safe to clear the passage, without any prompting, it might be worth trying. We only had old stories to go on.” George picked up the box of food. “Let’s not go over old history. We’ve got stories of our own to write.” They cleared right down to floor level before lunch. Patrick swept it free of stone chips and said, “I suppose we should sit down and think about what we want to do next.” “Fuck, eat, rest. In that order,” George suggested. Patrick looked down at his clothes, which were showing signs of the work over the last few days. “Wash, fuck, eat, rest.” He stretched himself. “And nothing fancy for any of them.” Martin could agree with that. He hadn’t been doing heavy labour over the weekend, but he had been tramping around a field in the fog. A sea fret had come up, and they hadn’t had the time to wait until it went away. He needed some relaxation time. A hot bath would be nice, but even a dip in the sea would be refreshing after the morning’s work. “Let’s go and get cleaned up.” George and Patrick must have felt the need more than he did, for they started stripping off their clothes even as they walked down the passage. They stopped by the water’s edge just long enough to pull their jeans off and fling them onto the sand, then ran into the water. He stopped for a moment to watch them, enjoying their exuberance as they splashed about. It was the first time he’d seen them playing in the water in this shape. Of course, they really must feel the need more than he did, given that the water was their real home. There was a splash as Patrick jumped on George’s back, and George deliberately toppled over towards the deeper water. It looked like fun, and it was time he joined in. He stripped off his own clothes and went to join them, hoping that they’d remember that he was merely human, and smaller than them besides.

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Chapter Sixteen The water was cold enough to be a shock as Martin waded in, but he didn’t care. As he got out to where it was waist deep, he dived under. Something felt strange, and then he realised why. He hadn’t swum in the nude since he was a child, and had forgotten how it felt to have the slight current tug at his naked cock. Martin broke the surface again and looked around. Patrick was enthusiastically splashing himself, obviously washing, while George crept up behind him -- and dumped a handful of water over his head. Patrick turned around and jumped on George, knocking him over. They both came up for air laughing. Childish, but fun. Or not childish, but the behaviour of dolphins who didn’t stop playing just because they’d grown up. Patrick called to him, “This pool’s good, isn’t it?” “Yes.” He could imagine that when the tide or the currents were right, this place could be dangerous; but for now it was a large, quiet, sheltered pool, a pleasant place to splash about. And good company, too. “It’s a nice change from the municipal swimming pool.” “Good.” Patrick swam over to him with a few easy strokes. He watched that powerful body with pleasure. This was Patrick’s natural element, even in human shape. He looked right here, with the water cascading over his back as he swam. Patrick stopped in front of him and stood up. The water here was just a little bit too deep for Martin, and he had to tread water, but Patrick’s extra height meant that he could stand on the bottom. Martin put his hands on Patrick’s shoulder for support, and Patrick put his arms around his waist, drawing him closer. At this close distance all he could see was Patrick’s face, lit up by a mixture of affection, lust, and sheer joy in life. Patrick didn’t have that utterly intense focus that George could get, but there was no doubting what was on his mind.

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Patrick gave him a quick kiss and said, “Don’t think I’ll wait until we’ve finished washing.” Sex in the sea. Why not? Cold water or not, his cock certainly liked the idea. He was already hard and needing to rub against something. So he wrapped his legs around Patrick, squeezing their cocks together. Patrick’s hug suddenly got a lot tighter, and this time the kiss was more than a quick brush of Patrick’s lips against his. Patrick thrust his tongue hard into Martin’s mouth. Taking charge now rather than playful. Martin submitted willingly, gladly letting Patrick take control. They held that position for a moment or two, just enjoying the kiss and the feel of bodies pressed together. The gentle current brushed around their intertwined bodies, the water cool enough to provide a pleasant bite without being cold enough to distract. The water supported their weight, making the position easy to hold. It was very different from their previous bouts, and just as good. Then Patrick took hold of his hips and thrust against him. Now the way the water supported them was a disadvantage, as he floated away a little under the pressure. Patrick muttered, “Could do with something to push against, but there are too many barnacles on the walls.” “Will I do?” He felt George push up against his back. Not trying to thrust against him, but just being a large solid object. “Ta.” Patrick thrust again, and this time it worked. Martin was braced against George and didn’t go anywhere. Cock on cock felt wonderful, and Patrick obviously thought so too. Hard thrusting against his cock and in his mouth, arms tight around him. Soft moaning as he ran his hands up and down Patrick’s back, digging the heels of his hands in where he could feel muscles still tight after the morning’s work. George wasn’t joining in, wasn’t doing anything more than holding him in place, but it was still good to feel him at his back, feel George’s hands on his waist. Hear George’s voice murmuring encouragement. He didn’t feel the cold of the water at all now, not with them both holding him, not with the heat building inside him. He was almost ready to come, but he could feel that Patrick was even closer. Could read it in the sudden urgency of Patrick’s thrusting, the way Patrick grabbed his head to kiss him ever more frantically. He relaxed and let it happen, not trying to catch up, but content to let Patrick come first. Then Patrick stiffened and held still, and he felt sudden heat pulse across his belly. He held Patrick tight, cradled him as he came, and then loosened his grip as Patrick finally relaxed.

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He slipped his legs back down, drifting free now and giving Patrick freedom to move. Patrick moved away a little, though he didn’t let go. And now George did join in, shifting his hands to take a firm grip around Martin’s waist with one arm and a firm grip on Martin’s cock with the other hand. “Your turn,” George said and jerked hard. That by itself was almost enough, that big hand taking him in a hard grip and working his cock. But then Patrick reached for his balls, cupping them in one hand, squeezing gently. Between them they had him right on the edge, and it was obvious from Patrick’s expression that they knew it. “Do you want to come?” Patrick asked. “Please.” “Can you come without us?” George asked. “No.” They could stop him, of course, simply by holding his hands away from his cock, but it was more than that. It was their touch he needed now. And they gave it to him. Patrick’s gaze flicked behind him to George for a second, the signal to let him come. George jerked his cock, rubbing a thumb over the tip. Patrick squeezed his balls and then ducked down a little, sliding his hand right down and around to push one finger into Martin’s arse. Startled, overwhelmed by sensation, he came. He rested against George’s chest, surrounded, completely supported, and let the sensation take him over. Both of them holding him, both of them with no thought for now but his pleasure. It was good; it was very, very good, and the strangeness of his surroundings only added to the way he felt. As he started to surface, he felt George’s grip around his waist tighten, heard George say, “God, I want to ...” and then go quiet. “What?” “Never mind.” He looked at Patrick. Patrick was looking at George, a distant expression in his eyes. “What’s going on?” “He wants to fuck you.” “I can feel that.” It was fairly obvious from the way George’s hard cock was rubbing against him. “Patrick ...” There was a warning tone in George’s voice. Patrick ignored it. “He wants to do it in his real shape.” Shock cascaded through him, froze him in place. “Easy, Martin. Easy.” Warm, human lips brushed against his ear. “I’m not going to do it.” Hand grabbing his, squeezing it, anchoring him. “It was just that doing it in the water made me think about it. My problem, not yours.”

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“I’m all right. It’s just ...” The shock of the suggestion, mostly. But also the reminder of what they were, how they thought of themselves. ‘His real shape’, Patrick had said. Patrick put his hands on his shoulders. “It would still be George inside. Not an animal. George.” And he could guess how Patrick knew. “Do you two ...” “Yes. But it doesn’t mean we expect you to.” “It’s different for us.” George turned Martin around to face him. He looked troubled. “Patrick and I ... It doesn’t matter what shape we’re in. We can understand each other even when we’re in different shapes. It’s the same with all of our people. We can understand the dolphins and we can understand your people, no matter which shape we’re in at the time. So if Patrick looks like you, and I look like a dolphin, it doesn’t matter. It’s still just us.” George looked over Martin’s shoulder at Patrick, then back at him. “But it would be different for you. We know that. You’d have to take it on trust that it was me.” And that was the heart of his reaction, he knew. Because he wouldn’t know that it was George. Not just that it might feel like sex with an animal, and not even the sudden reminder that these two men were of an alien race, although both were factors. But George understanding why it upset him made it easier to think about. “Why do you like doing it that way?” “Because that’s the shape I was born in, how I live much of my life. It’s comfortable and it feels good. But this shape has hands and lips, and they can do things to my cock that a dolphin’s body can’t.” That made sense, which helped. It wasn’t some odd fetish, but just what seemed natural if you could wear two shapes. He might be able to deal with that, eventually. “I ... need time to get used to the idea.” “All the time you need.” George pulled his hand down to cover George’s cock. “For now we’ll do it like this.” He smiled. “This is good too.” Not just second best because George couldn’t have what he really wanted. No, George liked the touch of another man’s hand on his cock, whatever shape he happened to be in at the time. So Martin pushed away his doubts and took a firm grip on George’s cock. Once again, the buoyancy the water gave them made it awkward. “We need to move somewhere where I can stand up.” “Mmm. We tend not to think about it, because we’re almost the same height. Come on.” Martin let go of George, and they moved into shallower water where he could find firm footing. Then he took hold of George’s cock again, enjoying the feel of it filling his hand. Patrick moved to stand behind George, cuddling him from behind. One stroke, and

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another, and another, watching George’s face as he let go his self-control and just enjoyed the sensation. Patrick said, “Only problem with doing it in the water is that I can’t see what he’s doing.” “Never you mind. You’ve had your turn,” George said with a lazy smile. “Both hands now, Martin.” He did as he was told, wrapping the full length of George’s cock in his fingers, squeezing hard. George gasped in pleasure. Patrick grinned, slid his hand down past Martin’s, and said, “Time to come, George.” Martin could guess what was wanted. Do the same to George as they’d done to him a few minutes earlier. He jerked hard and squeezed just as Patrick grabbed George’s balls. George came, his cock pulsing in Martin’s hands. Martin held on until he was done, then let go so that he could put his arms around George and Patrick. George was still shaking a little, but held him in turn. “It’s nice being held on both sides afterwards.” “So I’ve discovered.” “Have you done a threesome before us?” Patrick asked. “Tried it a couple of times. Wasn’t my thing, at least not until now.” Part of the difference was that right from the start they’d made him feel like they wanted him, not just some random body to fill out the numbers. He’d joked about falling in love, a few days ago. There was a large dollop of truth in it. He looked at them both and knew that however strange they were, they were who and what he wanted. “You’re going to get cold standing still in this water,” George said, letting go of him and giving him a nudge. “Go and get dry.” He was getting a little bit chilled. He stepped back enough to rub himself in a final wash and then headed for the shore. He’d brought towels again on the assumption they’d need to wash after working, and now he picked up the biggest one and wrapped himself in it. George and Patrick followed a few minutes later and casually wiped themselves off. George put down the towel, said, “I’ll get some clean clothes,” and headed to the storage area. He seemed completely unbothered by his nudity. “You two don’t feel the cold?” Patrick stopped rubbing his hair dry. “Yes, but not as much as you do. It seems to be one of those things that leaks between shapes.” “You seem to have all the advantages of both.” Didn’t they have any drawbacks to their dual nature? Other than the longing for social contact with humans, of course.

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“Yes, but we also get overheated easily in very hot weather. And it’s not a lot of fun going into places in town that have sounds you can’t hear but we can. We nearly gave ourselves away the first couple of times, until we realised that other people couldn’t hear it. Or adults, at least.” Patrick grinned in reminiscence. “Someone did catch us out once, but just said it was nice to see that not all young people had ruined their hearing with loud music.” That aspect he hadn’t thought of at all. Their supernatural echolocation sense let them hear sounds outside the normal human range, even ones they hadn’t generated themselves -and that could be both good and bad. He had no idea what the hearing range of dolphins was, but it undoubtedly overlapped with some of the general noise created by human civilisation. “Must be fun if there’s a loud noise only you can hear.” “It’s not usually a problem, but there have been places we just couldn’t stand going into.” Patrick looked around. “Thanks, George.” George was just coming through with an armful of clothes, and handed one set to Patrick. When they’d got dressed, Patrick went to pick up the dirty clothes he and George had discarded. “About that washing machine ...” “I can take them with me, but Simon’s at work, so if you’re still feeling shy, we can do some laundry this afternoon without an audience.” Which would be a good idea anyway. “Look, I’ve got some paperwork to do. Why don’t we go and have lunch at Simon’s, you can put the clothes on to wash, and then you can read a book while I do my accounts?” It would be a good opportunity to get the invoice and reports sorted out for the weekend job without having to forego their company. They looked at each other for a moment, then nodded. “There wasn’t anything in the food you brought that won’t keep, is there?” “No. Just make sure you eat anything perishable tomorrow or throw it out.” “All right.” George headed back to the storage cave again. “I’ll get the travel bag, in case you don’t have time to bring us back.” He’d prefer to bring them back himself, but it was a sensible precaution. “All right. Let’s get anything that’s going back with us packed.”

***** They dumped the clothes in the washing machine, then had lunch. Offered a choice of what was in the fridge, George and Patrick went for a mixed grill with the works. “Sorry about the extra work for you with cooking,” Patrick apologised, “but we don’t often get the chance, and we’re hungry enough today to appreciate it.” “Don’t worry about it. You two could do with a good feed after the work you’ve put in over the last few days.”

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They sat in the kitchen and talked to him as he cooked, asking him about his weekend. After lunch they sat on the sofa with a book each, spurning the TV. “There’s not a lot of point when we wouldn’t be able to follow half of what’s on.” “Well, with a lot of the lunchtime stuff it doesn’t really matter whether you’ve seen it before. It’s filler for people who want something to occupy their minds but can’t sit down and concentrate on the TV.” But he could see why they wouldn’t be interested. Simon’s bookcase held a lot more appeal for them. He settled down to his work. He was interrupted once, when George told him that the washing machine had finished and asked for help with the tumble drier. Both of them came to watch how he operated it, and he could see that they would be tempted to come to Simon’s more often. Whether they could overcome their worry about being around someone who was interested in them was another matter. He said nothing. They knew the equipment was there and that Simon had extended an open invitation to use it. There was no need to push them past what they were comfortable with. He’d got a solid chunk of work done by the time Patrick suggested a tea break. Once again they watched as he did the work, storing away information on where things were and how to use them. He got the feeling that they rarely needed to be shown more than once, which went a long way to explaining how they’d managed to pass as ordinary tourists in town. They knew enough from reading newspapers and listening to beach radios that any mistakes could be passed off as “not from around here”. All of which made it a slightly surreal experience to sit down with them at the kitchen table for a perfectly ordinary afternoon tea and biscuits in a perfectly ordinary house. In this setting it was hard to imagine Patrick and George as creatures of magic rather than the ordinary men they appeared to be. Their clothes weren’t the stuff of fairyland, but jeans and tee-shirts bought from shops to be found on any high street. To the casual listener their conversation was that of middle-class dropouts who’d found a summer job working on a building site. And yet a few hours ago he’d crashed up against the reality of what they were, with a casual remark made by a man too aroused to think about what he was saying. “Martin?” “Sorry. Just thinking ... nobody looking at you right now would ever dream that there was anything odd about you.” George looked around at the solid, mundane reality of a modern kitchen set up for a busy professional who enjoyed cooking and company. “It’s ... nice being able to do this. To feel as if we fit in.” He shook his head. “We can’t live on land permanently. We need the sea, and our people. But to have somewhere like this, where we could be comfortable when we visited ... that would be good.” “Somewhere to belong, even if we don’t live there,” Patrick added. “Is that what you like about Simon?”

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Yes. Patrick had it right about Simon, and about a few of his other friends -- but especially about Simon. Martin would have been down here in Dorset with or without George and Patrick, because this was one of the places where he felt at home even if he didn’t live here. That triggered a decision for him. He’d felt ambivalent about the summerhouse when Simon had told him that there was a real chance of buying it. Buying it had been an obvious move, but it would stretch him financially. The experience with Barry made him wary of rushing into a financial commitment like that on the basis of a relationship that had only existed for a few weeks. But if he bought it, it would be for himself, because he had solid reasons to want to live here. And even if he bought it for the sake of George and Patrick, to protect them, it wouldn’t be just to give them a safe way out of their cave. It would be an extension of their existing home, somewhere to stay for a little while when they were being humans rather than dolphins. Somewhere to belong. “I think I’m going to have to do some business stuff tomorrow.” No point in raising their hopes until he knew more. “I’ll have to make some phone calls first, but don’t be surprised if I don’t show up until after lunchtime.” They shrugged. “You’ve got to earn a living,” George said. “It would be nice to see more of you while you’re here, but you can’t live by fish alone.” “Speaking of which,” Patrick said, “it’ll give us a chance to go out and get some. I want to try the fishpen.” He looked at the oven. “We’ve tried it before, but there wasn’t really a lot of point most of the time. It was useful when we really didn’t want to go out hunting, but other than that it was too much effort to keep the pen repaired, and you have to get the sonic stun just right or the fish die anyway. But having cooked fish ...” That would certainly keep them occupied doing something useful, which made him feel less guilty about not spending all of his little free time with them. “All right. I really don’t know what time I’ll be free. How will I find you?” “Oh, the usual way.” Patrick grinned at him. “Even if we don’t notice the sound of your boat engine, there aren’t many boats around here that broadcast Gilbert and Sullivan.” “Do you actually like it, or do you just associate it with me?” “All those rude songs about politicians and hypocrites?” George gave him a thoroughly evil smile. “Of course we like them. You apes aren’t the only ones to have invented politics and hypocrisy. Dolphins are bright enough to have invented them as well.” “And it’s fun to sing them at people who don’t quite understand them.” Patrick started singing “A Modern Major-General”. Martin was sure that Patrick didn’t understand all the references in the song, but it was very obvious that he understood the general tone of mockery. Some things translated from one culture to another very well indeed; and he could well believe that a true dolphin might

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not understand any of the references but would pick up on the fact that it was being insulted. “You two are very nasty people when you put your minds to it.” George was suddenly a little more serious. “Well, we do try to keep it for when we put our minds to it.” “I know you do. Finish your tea, and I’ll get back to work.” George and Patrick managed to finish their books before getting nervous about when Simon was going to come home. Martin took them and their clean laundry back to the cave and gave them one last hug. He might have been tempted to stay longer, but he had a phone call to make, and if the owner of the summerhouse was elderly, it would be rude to phone him at a late hour.

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Chapter Seventeen Martin found the phone number Simon had left for him and dialled it. To his surprise it was answered almost immediately. “Hello?” “Mr Parker? “Yes?” At least he’d got the right person. “My name’s Martin Long. I’m interested in an old summerhouse near the coast path, and my friend Simon said he’d spoken to you about it.” “Oh, yes.” The voice sounded happy. “Boy came around a couple of days ago trying to find out more about it. Said you might be interested in buying it.” “Buying or renting, if it’s still in good enough condition inside to be rescued.” No need to mention that he’d already seen inside, and besides, he’d seen only the one room. The rest could be a gutted stone shell for all he knew. “And I was curious about its history, if you wouldn’t mind telling me something about it.” “Oh, it’s derelict and you’d have your work cut out modernising it, but it’s structurally sound as far as I know. The roof’s inspected and the gutters are cleared every few years, so it probably doesn’t need major building work.” The sound of an old man’s laughter. “Your real problem is that as soon as you apply for planning permission to do anything with it, you’ll find yourself tangled in red tape, and that could start with building a decent access road for the builder’s van. There was a gravel drive, but it’s probably full of potholes and grass by now.” Now that was one problem he could get around, if the actual work needed was relatively light. “I’m a geologist. I’ve got a Land Rover that thinks a grassed track is luxury. As long as there’s a right of way, I can get small kit and materials to it at least.”

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“That’s the spirit! Now, we can discuss this on the phone, but if you don’t mind an old man waffling at you, you can come round for tea and take a look at my photo album. Are you free this week?” “Would tomorrow morning suit you?” He’d have to be careful about what he said, but it was too good an opportunity to miss. If he did decide to go ahead, the old man’s help and knowledge would be invaluable. “If you’ve got photos, it would give me some idea of what I’d be taking on.” “Oh, and I can give you the key if you want to take a look inside. But do take a friend with you. It’s been boarded up for years, and it’s always possible the floor’s gone through or something.” “Thanks.” They fixed a time, and he hung up.

***** Mr Parker leaned heavily on a cane, but his handshake was firm. “Do come in. Excuse the mess; I’ve been trying to find some of the paperwork for the estate, and it’s easier just to leave it out.” Martin understood that temptation. “I can be just as bad when I’m trying to do some research for a job. You’d think being able to look things up online would help, but I always end up printing stuff off and laying it out over the table so I can see it all.” The old man waved a hand dismissively. “Been there, done that. Started scanning a load of stuff a few months ago, thinking I’d keep it on the computer. Don’t regret it, because it’s easier to make copies or email it around, but I still end up with it all over the table.” He led the way into one of the rooms. “As you can see.” Martin saw, indeed. It was a comfortable-looking room, with old but well-built furniture. A large table was scattered with papers, although one end had been cleared. The computer desk was a solid wooden desk that looked to be of the same vintage as its owner, but it supported a laptop on a port replicator, an expensive-looking monitor, and an office-grade printer. There were sundry other gadgets, all giving the impression of a serious tool rather than a rich man’s toy. Martin walked over to have a closer look. He heard a chuckle behind him. “I may be an old fogy, but I appreciate the latest technology.” “So I see. Business or hobby?” “I leave running what’s left of the estate to an agent, but I like to keep an eye on what she’s up to. Hobby as well.” The old man limped past him and patted the router. “And when getting around is more difficult than it used to be, this gives me a social life that doesn’t depend on being mobile.” He plonked himself down in the ergonomic chair and turned it to face Martin. “And I’m not that mobile, so do an old man a favour and go and put the kettle on, there’s a good lad. Down the corridor to the end, you can’t miss it.”

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Martin did as he was told. The kitchen wasn’t difficult to find, nor was the kettle. Nor, for that matter, was the tray with the delicate linen cloth, and the plate with a selection of biscuits and another with slices of cake, each under its net cover with bead-weighted edges. The cups, saucers, and sugar bowl were already on the tray. He looked in the fridge and found the matching jug of milk. He went through the full ritual of warming the teapot with hot water before making the tea with fresh water straight from the kettle as it boiled. He’d got used to tea made under all sorts of conditions, but doing it properly seemed only right in this setting. He had a much better idea now of what Simon had seen in the old man. Archaic rituals combined with the best of modern technology, all operated by a man who was far from past it but amused to be viewed in that way by a world that had dismissed him. He carried the tray through and set it down in the empty space that had been cleared on the table. Mr Parker had retreated to the comfort and support of an armchair while he’d been out. “A small amount of milk and one sugar, please. I apologise if you take lemon, but I’m out of them.” He poured the tea as instructed and set it on the side table next to the armchair, then poured his own and settled into the other chair. “So tell me about the summerhouse.” “What did you think of it?” “Old, but I’m not sure how old. Local stone, my guess is quarried nearby; it may even have been a showpiece for the quarry.” He took a risk. “I saw what looked like a cave entrance in the grounds.” Mr Parker gave him an encouraging nod. “Got it right so far. How long did it take to spot the cave?” “Ages, and we stumbled into it. It’s well hidden by shrubbery.” “Good. Don’t want kids messing about, but didn’t like to block it up. You’re right; there was a quarry in there, although there’s no access now. Rockfalls, too dangerous and mostly blocked anyway.” “I thought it might have been a folly or summerhouse for an estate.” Mr Parker took a sip of his tea before saying, “That’s exactly what it was. Showcase, then after the quarry closed it was a summerhouse for the estate that owned the quarry. Modernised several times down the years, by the standards of the day. The other buildings were originally workmen’s huts and storage sheds for the quarry. The ones that fell out of use have mostly fallen down. Cake?” He offered the plates to the old man and took a biscuit for himself. “Simon said your family bought it?” “Stupid move in the end, but it must have seemed like a good idea at the time. It was a place for romantically roughing it.” The old man’s eyes grew dreamy. “I remember summer

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holidays. You could still get down into the old quarry then, and I used to go and look for fossils. Mother nearly had a fit when she found out where I was sneaking off to. Then the war came, and it was a place of refuge. Vegetable garden, fish to be had in the pool in the quarry cave sometimes. Crabs and shellfish on beaches nearby.” His voice sank a little. “Had to be careful, of course. Jerries might try to land on the coast. There were coastal defences not far away, but you never knew.” Mr Parker sat up straight. “Father never came home, nor did the others. Mother went back to London at the end of the war, and so did all the rest of the family such as there was, and that was the end of looking after the place. I used to spend summer holidays there when I was at university -- good place to do a bit of studying, nobody to disturb you. But I just camped in the kitchen and a couple of rooms. The rest quietly mouldered away just like my family. I kept on visiting for a few years, keeping an eye on the place and making sure repair work got done when it was needed.” He paused for a moment. “And then I stopped caring enough to go back. We put in a tenant, but that came to nothing, and eventually the place was boarded up after my mother died.” “But you did come back to the area?” Martin gently coaxed. “In the end. But it was a long walk to the nearest shop, and by then I had a better appreciation of creature comforts.” Mr Parker looked around the room. “This place was better suited to me by then. We still had plenty of money, but I preferred to do something with my days, so I needed somewhere a bit closer to civilisation and a job.” There was silence. Martin felt no urge to fill it; there was nothing he could say against the weight of those memories. They sipped at their tea, and Mr Parker dunked his biscuit and chewed it contentedly. Eventually Mr Parker asked, “Why are you interested in the house?” “Well, I’d be interested anyway. I mentioned I’m a geologist.” “Yes.” “So when I saw the cave entrance, I was interested on the hobby level.” “Always good to have a job that you enjoy.” “But I’m also thinking about buying a house in the area. I’m away from home a lot, with contract work, so I’ve never moved out of the place I rented when I got my first job.” It had served him well, and it had been home. Why move, without an incentive to do so? “Simon was chaffing me about how I should buy something, at least as an investment. And not long after, I saw the summerhouse and thought that if ever there was the house for me, that was it. Whether I could afford it would be another matter, and it’ll probably take forever to restore it. But I like this area, and I’ve got friends here, and this is where I’d like to call home.” There was a twinkle in the old man’s eyes. “And a house on the Jurassic Coast with its very own quarry is a toy no geologist could resist.”

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He’d wondered whether it was a wise idea to reveal his knowledge of the quarry, but it certainly provided a good excuse for his interest in the house. “How did you guess?” “If things had gone differently, I might have followed your path. But my mother wanted me in a nice safe job, and I couldn’t blame her. So I took my geology degree and my comfortable middle-class connections and found a nice safe job --” He slapped at the cane. “-and got knocked down by a car outside my office.” “Fuck!” “Ah. I wondered when the real man would show through that terribly polite veneer.” “Sorry,” Martin said, embarrassed by his outburst. “I spent the weekend on what’s about to become a construction site, paddling around in the mud and the fog with people who use four-letter words as punctuation.” “Never mind, boy. I’m old, but that doesn’t mean I’m respectable. Now, about whether you can afford it. Never mind the purchase price, have you any idea what it’s going to cost you to put it back in shape?” He’d been idly thinking about it the night before, but it was difficult to get a feel for the cost when he had no idea how much work would be needed. “I don’t really know. If it has to be completely gutted -- well, more than I could afford. I know it means less money up front to buy it, but getting a loan to cover the cost of something like replacing the roof would be almost impossible.” But if it had still been in regular use fifty years ago, even as a uni student’s summer camp, and then had a tenant and occasional inspections for damage, it might need a lot less work. “If it’s basically a cleaning and relatively minor repairs job, the sort of thing I could tackle myself with some friends over a period of a couple of years ... then it would just depend on whether I could afford the mortgage to buy it. Anything in between ...” He shrugged. “It would depend on what was involved.” “I’m glad you realise that cleaning and minor repairs could still be a very big job.” Mr Parker pointed at the table. “Second pile along. Some old plans. The place was electrified before the war, and running water laid on at some point, so there are easements for the utilities even if you have to re-lay them. There are springs in the garden. Or were.” “I can get the spring water tested for quality, if it’s still flowing.” This was starting to look more and more feasible. Time to get something straight. He had to be honest with the old man. “Simon said that you didn’t like the idea of it going to developers or weekenders. But I won’t be living in it permanently. I can’t; I have to be away for long periods for work.” “But it’s not work in the city, come here at weekends, is it? You work all over the place.” “Yes.” He could see the distinction Mr Parker was making. If he took on this wreck of a house, it would be his base, not just where he went to for a weekend break. He might spend no more time here than the weekend commuters, but it would be his home, not his second home. “Though I’d have to keep my current house until it was fit to move into.”

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Mr Parker waved a hand at him. “Obviously. Place must be a tip even if it’s technically habitable. Now, assuming it’s structurally sound and just a matter of hard work and slinging some money at electricians and plumbers, what would your plans be?” This was where he’d need to tread very, very carefully. He needed to be able to bring Patrick and George in on this, both as an excuse for their presence and because they’d have to do most of the general labouring to make it affordable. But it had to be on a friends basis, because they couldn’t be employed other than on a cash-in-hand basis. “I’ve got a couple of friends here. They’d be willing to do some of the work in return for a place to live, and if they lived on site it would help with security anyway. They’re big strong blokes, and they’ve done labouring work before to tide themselves over. So if it’s just a question of spending a lot of time on DIY work, I wouldn’t be doing it on my own.” “Are these friends by any chance the reason you want to move down here?” Something about the way he said it made Martin look hard at the old man. Did he mean ...? He did. It was obvious in the way Martin’s hard stare was returned. “No.” “I thought you were better than that, boy. You were uneasy when you mentioned them. Have the guts to own up, if they’re the attraction.” Mr Parker had obviously picked up on his hesitation about mentioning Patrick and George, and ascribed it to the wrong, but obvious, reason. Under other circumstances it would have been the right reason. He could deny it, but something told him it would be better to be open. Lying was likely to get him more black marks than being gay. “Yes, they’re more to me than just friends. No, they’re not the reason. I haven’t known them that long, and I don’t know whether it’s going to work out. It’s too different to anything I’ve done before. And I’d be a fool to make this sort of financial commitment just to keep my cock happy for a few months.” Mr Parker snorted and settled back in his chair. “Both of them? You’re a damn fool anyway. Is that what you were nervous about?” He could feel himself blushing. “I know it sounds weird. I’ve never been involved in anything like this before. But I met them and something just clicked ...” “Hmph. Each generation thinks it invented sex. And illicit sex. I could tell you a tale or two.” Mr Parker’s expression turned distant again. “It’s easier for your generation, but there’s nothing new under the sun.” After a moment’s silence, he asked, “Sir?” “Hmm? Sorry, old memories. I might have married, if I’d found a nice sensible girl who understood me and was content to have my children and be my public companion. That was the way things were done then. I did find the right woman eventually, but by then my lover was dead and there seemed no point. All of the men in my family died save me, and even I

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lost the man I loved in an accident, and I was young and bitter and saw no reason to provide another generation to lose to another war. Let the women have the money; they were always better at managing the estate anyway.” Stunned, Martin sat in silence. Eventually, he said, “I’m sorry.” “What’s the saying these days? Shit happens. What I regret is that I couldn’t mourn him, couldn’t even tell anyone that I had known him. And that I let Susannah slip through my fingers because of it. I might have liked children, later.” He smiled softly. “At least I have my nieces and their families.” A phrase from earlier in the conversation caught at his memory. “Is that why you stopped caring enough to go back?” “And didn’t stop caring enough to let it be turned into one more holiday cottage. You can have it, boy, if that’s what you need to sort out whether you and these friends of yours have something that will last.” Mr Parker heaved himself out of his chair and limped over to the table, where he rummaged in a pile of papers. “Here’s the agent’s address. Now, I’ll need to talk to the woman, but what I would suggest is that we start by organising a year’s lease at a peppercorn rent. You can do some work on the house in lieu of rent, and if you still want to buy it in a year’s time, you can have a credit on the selling price to allow for the work you’ve done. If you’ve abandoned the idea, well, at least I’ve got the place tarted up a bit and it will be easier for my nieces to sell once I’m dead and don’t care. We’ll need to sort out the details, but does the general idea sound interesting?” “That sounds very interesting.” It solved a lot of problems. It would give him breathing space, both to find out whether a long-term relationship with the shapechanger men was practical, and to organise the financing to buy the house outright. “Thank you, Mr Parker.” “Makes life easier for me as well. And I’d like to see it lived in again. Of course, if the place is such a ruin that it needs major repairs to the building fabric, we’ll have to think again. But I’ll give you the key, and you can take a look at the place.” Mr Parker picked up a keyring and tossed it at Martin. “Access gate, front and back doors. The keys for the quarry access are on a separate ring, and I’ll have to get them down from the attic. Haven’t been used in years. But you don’t need those yet.” “Thanks.” He checked the ring. There were several keys on it, possibly for the internal doors. Maybe even one for the cellar door, which would be convenient. It would be useful to get into the cellar legitimately and clean out the betraying dust. “Right. Drink up your tea, and then you can be off. I like company, but the sooner you look the place over the sooner we’ll know what options we have. If you think it needs a professional surveyor, I’ll get one in. Would have to anyway before it went on the open market.” Mr Parker picked up a couple of sheets of paper and handed it to Martin before easing himself back into his chair. “Copy of the access map so you can find the right gate, and there’s the agent’s address, just in case you need to contact her.”

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He put the papers away, and they talked about the local geology for the next fifteen minutes. It was a much more comfortable topic than the past, or possible future. When they’d had their second cup of tea and biscuit, he took the tray back down to the kitchen and then said goodbye. Mr Parker was right. The sooner they assessed the current condition of the house the better.

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Chapter Eighteen When Martin got to the cave, George was sitting on the beach, inspecting a length of fishing net. Patrick came over to help Martin unload the boat. “How did your business calls go?” Patrick asked. By way of an answer, Martin pulled the keyring from his pocket. “We’re going for another drive to the summerhouse after lunch.” Patrick stared at the keyring. “You found the owner?” “Simon did, while I was away at the weekend. I went to see him this morning. He’s willing to let me have the house on a one-year lease in exchange for working on the repairs. After that I can decide whether I want to buy it.” He put the keyring away again, carefully. He’d put it on a security chain clipped to his belt, but he was still nervous about losing it. “I didn’t want to say anything until I knew there was a chance. And if it’s a complete wreck, it may not come off anyway. But he’s given me the keys so we can go and look at it.” “George?” “I heard.” George put down the net and stood up. “Lunch at your place? We’ve got some fish if you’d like some.” He picked up a rock near the water’s edge that turned out to be anchoring another section of net. “There’s more than we need for today, but I haven’t got a decent pen rigged yet. You’ve got a freezer, haven’t you?” “Yes. Or we can leave some for Simon.” Fish sounded good, although he wasn’t sure if he knew how to clean them. He’d just have to hope he could work it out, or that one of Simon’s cookbooks had instructions. “Fish and chips for lunch, then. Let’s dump this shopping and go.” If things went well this afternoon, this might be the last supply run they needed to do in the boat.

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Fish that had been alive ten minutes before going into the frying pan turned out to be very good indeed, as they all agreed. Lunch over, they headed for the summerhouse. The driveway took some finding even with the map, but at least the padlock on the gate opened easily enough. They bumped their way down a very grassed-over gravel track and parked in front of the house. There were two locks on the front door, one an old three-lever mortice that probably dated back to at least two modernisations ago, and the other a Yale deadlock that must have been added relatively recently, perhaps when the house had been boarded up. Both were stiff but not jammed. This time Martin was prepared with a puffer bottle of graphite, and he worked each key in its lock a few times once they had the door open. “That should keep it freed up.” They cautiously entered the house and stood in the hallway, looking around. All three of them had torches, and he could hear the faint noises that suggested that George and Patrick were doing an intense echolocation scan. “It all looks sound,” George reported. “Shall we keep going?” They used the same procedure in each of the ground floor rooms. Stop just inside, check thoroughly for obvious hazards, move into the room and examine it thoroughly. As with the kitchen, the rooms were still furnished, with empty places here and there where some valued item had been removed. Mr Parker had implied that his family had simply walked out one day, as if it was the end of a summer break, and then never gone back. The general appearance of the place fitted in with that. Martin took notes as they went along. There had been some vandalism over the years - stones through windows, broken furniture. And there was the damage of time here and there, with one or two rotten floorboards underneath the broken windows, some crumbling plaster, and occasional evidence of mice. But the basic fabric of the building seemed sound. They had a nasty moment on the stairs, when one creaked ominously and then cracked under Patrick’s weight. The tread held, but George and Martin were careful to step over it, and Martin put down a sheet of paper to mark the damaged step. Upstairs there was more evidence of animal damage, with old nests and the like. But the house seemed to be in as good a condition as could be expected. The basic building maintenance must have been kept going during the years it had been let out. Mr Parker had said it had been inspected now and then even after being boarded up, so perhaps there really was no major damage. The last thing they checked was the cellar door. One of the keys in the bunch fitted the lock. “So we can go in and out as we like, then,” Patrick said with satisfaction. “First job’s going to be sweeping that floor,” George said, pointing at their footprints from their previous visit. “The tracks will be really obvious once we’ve got decent lighting in here.”

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“Better take us shopping again, Martin,” Patrick said. “I bet the brooms here will fall to pieces if we try to use them.” They went outside to talk about the house. Martin carefully locked the door behind them -- the last thing they needed now was someone wandering into the house and poking around. “So what are we going to do? You two are going to have to do most of the work, at least anything that doesn’t require qualified tradesmen.” “But you’re going to have to put up the money,” George said. “Get us some books on DIY, and we’ll do the work. It’s only fair when we’ve no money to put in.” “It could still be too expensive at the end of the year, and then strangers might move in,” he warned them. That was his main worry, that by making the house more attractive they could be inviting trouble. “Then the keys to the quarry disappear, and the rockfall reappears just inside the door,” Patrick said. “Or we build another door in the passage.” “So we have to go back to the way we were before.” George shrugged. “In the meantime we’ve learnt new skills, and we’ve had the chance to move stuff down into the cave without having to take it in by boat.” In the end, it had to be their decision. It was his money, but it was their lives. “All right. I’ll tell him we want it. It’s going to take a couple of weeks at least to get the paperwork sorted out, but are you happy with starting work at once?” “Of course.” George walked over to the door and stroked it with his hand. “If we’re working, we can legitimately come and go.” “We should move in stuff to make it look as if we’re camping in the house, though,” Patrick said. “But what about a toilet? Even if we’re going back to the cave at night, we need to make it look as if we’re living in the house.” He could see life getting ever more complicated. The one good thing was that the house must have had some sort of sewage system that wasn’t connected to the mains, probably a septic tank or even just a drainpipe that simply went straight to the cliff. It might be the only thing still working when it came to the utilities. If so, at least they didn’t have to worry about importing a Portaloo. “The sewage might still be working, and you can always tell people that it is. We won’t be on the mains system here.” The council would undoubtedly make them stop using a drain to sea, but the council would have to catch them first, and it would give them a chance to sort out a less antisocial system. He scribbled a note to check with Mr Parker. With any luck it would be a septic tank and need nothing more than to be pumped empty and inspected. “Right. Let’s have another look around the grounds.” It was a fairly cursory inspection of the area they hadn’t already checked on their previous visit, but they found one of the springs and what Martin thought was the access

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hatch for a septic tank system. He was pleased to see that the tank had been sited below the spring, and also well away from the quarry. He took a sample of the spring water. “That’s it for today. Let’s go.”

***** When they got back to Simon’s house, Martin phoned Mr Parker to report. “I think you should send a surveyor around anyway. We’re not experts, and we could have missed stuff. And we couldn’t check the roof or attic space. But there’s nothing obviously wrong with the fabric of the building.” Of course, there was one other issue. “I forgot to ask -- is it a listed building? It will make life more complicated if we have to get listed building consent before doing any work.” Mr Parker hadn’t mentioned the age of the building, but it had to be old enough that it was probably Grade II listed. Laughter at the other end of the line. “No, it isn’t listed, although only because it’s been mucked about with by so many people that everyone’s forgotten how old it really is. Anyone younger than me probably thinks it’s Edwardian, so it never got listed just for its age.” He could understand that. In its current incarnation it felt Edwardian in style, and if he hadn’t known about its association with the much older quarry, he wouldn’t have thought of it as likely to be listed. “And something that’s occurred to me -- what about the sewage system?” “Used to be a drainage channel straight out to the cliff. Might even still be there. But there’s a septic tank system, and it should still be usable. Having it cleaned out was the last major preventative maintenance the place had, other than fixing a bit of the roof when it was boarded up and cleaning out the gutters every few years after that.” It all sounded very hopeful. “Right, in that case we’ll get started on chasing the mice out. If you don’t mind George and Patrick moving in, they don’t mind doing some preliminary work while we get the contract sorted out.” “Excellent. Might as well take advantage of the fine weather. Come round whenever you like if you need advice or photos.” They talked a little longer, with Martin giving details of the problems he’d noted down. By the time it was all done, George and Patrick were getting twitchy about leaving before Simon got home. “All right, I’ll take you home. Anything you need for tonight?” They shook their heads. “Though we’ll want some milk for tea in the morning,” Patrick said. He wondered whether to feel guilty at getting them hooked on tea, then realised that if there was anything to feel guilty about it was giving them a reason to spend far more time than usual in human shape. They were drinking more tea because they needed to drink more water anyway. And boiling the water first wasn’t a bad habit to get into with the spring

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water, even if it tested clean. “Take some milk from the fridge. I’ll pick you up in the morning, and we can go shopping for some basic tools.” “Sounds good,” George said.

***** They wanted a hug before he left the cave. “No sex?” “It would be nice, but we don’t need it,” Patrick said. “We know you’re coming back.” George stroked a hand down his back, affectionate but not trying to arouse him. “We wouldn’t have time for more than a quickie, anyway. It’ll only worry Simon if you’re out late on the boat.” He was never going to live down the episode with the boat conking out on him, but he didn’t regret it. Look what he’d got out of it -- two handsome men who adored him. And trusted him. They were happy now that he wasn’t going to walk away and abandon them. “I’ll pick you up from the cave in the morning. Tomorrow we can make it look as if you’re moving in, and after that I can just go straight to the house.” “See you tomorrow.” He got back in the boat and headed for home. Home was a rather broad concept now. There was his flat and Simon’s house and the cave, and soon there would be the old summerhouse. He was doing quite well for someone who’d never bought a place of his own. Simon had just got in when he got back. “I thought you’d be out with your boyfriends. How’d your day go?” “They sent me back early so that you wouldn’t think I’d drowned. I went to see Mr Parker this morning. Did you know he’s gay?” “I thought that he might be. But he didn’t say anything, so I didn’t.” Simon pointed at the fridge. “Where’d that fish come from? I remembered to say I was bringing pizza home, didn’t I?” “George and Patrick caught it this morning. We had some for lunch, but if you want it for dinner, I’ll have it again.” Simon patted the pizza box. “Might as well have this tonight. If the fish is that fresh, it’ll keep a few days, though it’s a shame not to have it the same day. I can always come home for lunch.” Which in other circumstances would be nice, but he was going to be busy. “I probably won’t be here. Mr Parker gave me the keys, and we went to look at the house. It’s the sort of mess you’d expect when it’s been boarded up for twenty or thirty years, but there’s nothing wrong with it as far as we can see.”

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“So the three of you are going to spend tomorrow taking the boards off to get some light in, and taking a closer look?” “Got it in one.” He got some plates out. “Does that pizza need reheating?” “Not if we eat it now.” He told Simon about the day’s activities over pizza. At the end of it, Simon said, “Well, you know you’re welcome to use my place as a base while you’re doing the work. When do you have to go off again?” “Whenever the client wants me. Which reminds me, I haven’t checked my email since breakfast.” He did so. “Bugger. I wish they’d make up their minds.” “Bad change or good change?” Good, from the perspective of making money. Bad, from the perspective of having time off to get started on the house. “They’re on for next week again. The ones I was expecting to want me this week, only they put it off and I went up north to help Doug instead.” Simon gave him a cheeky grin. “Isn’t it fun being your own boss?” “No. And I can’t afford to tell them to take a flying leap.” “Not when you’re about to have a mortgage to feed,” Simon agreed. “But this is the one that’s only a couple of hours away and believes in ‘piss off early, tomorrow’s Saturday’, isn’t it?” There was that one small consolation. The job was somewhere relatively convenient for both Simon’s place and his own flat, which meant he could spend at least one night a week at home and still get down here for weekends. “It’s even closer to here. I could get here for an evening if there was some emergency I had to deal with, although I wouldn’t like to commute every day.” “Especially not if they’re paying for a local hotel, which I hope they are.” He checked the email. “Yes. Although that may just mean that they expect me to work twelve-hour days.” Simon patted him on the head. “Better warn your lads that you’re going to be in ‘lie back and think of England’ mode for the next few weeks, then.” “You’re not helping.” But at least he would be able to see George and Patrick at weekends. The timing was inconvenient, but with a Monday start he had a few days to get things set up at the summerhouse before he had to leave them to their own devices.

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Chapter Nineteen They went shopping again, this time for some basic tools. It had to be basic; with no power supply to the house, they were limited in what they could use. Even cordless tools would have to go back to Simon’s house for recharging. The sooner they had mains power the better. Martin realised that he was going to have to ask Mr Parker to handle a lot of the organisation; even if he paid for the electricity to be reconnected and a couple of new power points to be installed, someone was going to have to chase the power company to make sure it happened on schedule. After they’d loaded the stuff into the Land Rover, he phoned Mr Parker. “All right. I’ll get the agent onto it. That’s the sort of thing I pay her for. The poles bringing the line in are already there, so they’ll only need to inspect it and perhaps string new cable.” There was a pause. “What about water? That could mean digging a new trench if the old pipe’s blocked.” “That’s less urgent. I’ll take in a load of bottled water, and I posted a water sample off for testing this morning. If the spring water’s clean, there’ll be more than enough for drinking and a bucket of water down the loo a couple of times a day.” “Your boys don’t have a van of their own?” He looked over at the Land Rover, where he could see Patrick reading the manual and George watching him with tolerant amusement. “No, and it wouldn’t surprise me if they didn’t have driving licences. They’re clever, but they’re a bit unworldly, and I don’t think they deal well with paperwork. I have no doubt at all that they’d be able to drive the car in an emergency, but I wouldn’t like to bet on it being legal for them to do so.”

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“Well, give them my phone number and the agent’s number, just in case they need something while they’re down there. They’ll have to walk to the nearest phone box if they’ve no way to charge a mobile phone, but it’s better than nothing.” “Thanks.” It was a useful suggestion, and it had given him an idea. A cheap mobile phone could be handy if George and Patrick needed to get hold of him. He’d have to charge it for them at Simon’s at the weekends; but if they kept it switched off when they weren’t actually using it, the battery should easily last all week.

***** DIY books, tools, phone, more water and food, and fuel for the camp stove. And an inflatable mattress. Even if they chose not to sleep in the house, it would be useful to make it look as if they were. Though Patrick’s grin when he saw it suggested that he wasn’t thinking of sleeping on it. The first thing they did was take the boards off the kitchen windows and back door and put some mastic over the nail holes. “We’ll strip the frames back and repaint them later, but we need to protect the wood until we can get around to doing that,” Martin explained as he demonstrated on the first window. They watched intently, then tried it for themselves. Satisfied that they could handle the tools safely, he went to fetch a bucket of water from the spring. The water might not yet be passed as safe to drink, but it would do for washing the accumulated grime from the windows. They were going to need all the natural light they could get, and if the windows were obviously clean and being looked after, they’d be less likely to suffer from the attentions of vandals. By the time they’d finished the kitchen windows, it was lunchtime. They sat outside to eat. Patrick had stripped off his tee-shirt and was grumbling about having to wear clothes at all on a hot day. Martin thought he’d better discourage any thoughts about DIY in the nude. “I enjoy the view --” And he certainly did, because Patrick had a magnificent body, strong and well built without being over-muscled. “-- but clothes are a good idea. Even if we don’t have to worry that much about shocking the neighbours, someone could come past. And clothes provide protection for your sensitive bits, remember.” A concept they understood, since the first time he’d seen them wearing clothes for anything other than keeping warm on a cold day was when they were using them as workgear. “It’s not too bad at the moment, but you really don’t want to drop sharp things or chemicals on your skin.” “And at least you don’t have to worry about sunburn,” George grumbled amiably. Martin added sunscreen to his mental shopping list. George was obviously one of those blonds who tanned rather than burned, so long as he was careful, because his skin was a pale golden brown, a shade or two darker than his hair. But better safe than sorry.

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He looked them over as they ate, enjoying the chance to just sit and watch them out here in the sunshine. The contrast in colouring was obvious even in the filtered light of their cave, but now it was striking. Patrick’s hair was a rich, deep brown, with eyes to match. George was a spectacular golden blond with vivid blue eyes. Even so, it was obvious that the two men were related. Not just by the shape of their faces, but their mannerisms, the way they walked. They were a good example of the way cousins could sometimes look more alike than siblings did. They took their time over lunch, making it a proper break from work and not just time out to eat. As they relaxed afterwards, Patrick said, “Go and get the mattress, Martin.” “There’s nowhere to put it yet. The kitchen floor’s still filthy.” “Then we’ll just have to use it out here.”

Outside? “But ...” “Do as you’re told. You may be shy, but we’re not.” He could feel his muscles clenching with fear. This wasn’t just pushing his boundaries. This was something that could get them into serious trouble. “Patrick, this isn’t the naturist beach. We’re not that far from the public footpath along the coast, and it’s not clear this is private property. There’s no fence.” George put an arm around him. “Listen. We locked the gate, so anyone coming in from the road is trespassing. And we’ll hear anyone coming up from the path.” It didn’t reassure him. A straight couple might get away with it, maybe even a gay couple, but three men could find themselves with big problems. “It’s not just embarrassment, George. We could be arrested.” “Will it help if we take turns with you, and the other one keeps watch?” Yes. It would help a lot. The idea still worried him, but he might be able to enjoy himself instead of being too afraid of being caught. “I ... think I can manage.” “If you really can’t, we’ll do something that doesn’t mean getting undressed. But we’d like you to try.” George hugged him, then let go. “Now go and get the mattress.” He took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself and then got up to get the mattress. As he walked over to the car, he could just hear George say in a low voice, “Make it quick, Patrick. He really is scared, and you’ll break his limits if you’re not careful.” “I know. I just didn’t think. Sorry.” It reassured him, a little. They negotiated up front, and they understood that this might be a hard limit for him. If George said one of them would keep watch, they would. There would be no lies. He found somewhere well behind the house and free of stones that might damage the mattress. It had a battery-powered pump, but rather than use any of their scarce stock of charged batteries, he’d brought the foot pump he kept in the Land Rover.

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All he’d been thinking about was saving batteries, but George and Patrick watched as he stepped rhythmically on the pump, and he realised that there were other connotations. He was working for them; but it was real work, for a purpose, not just something ordered for the sake of giving orders. He liked that feeling. The pump was efficient, chosen for trips to tyre-eating work sites in the back country, and made short work of inflating the mattress to a comfortable firmness. He tested the valve by sitting on the mattress and bouncing. “That looks like fun!” Patrick said and joined him, sitting in the middle of the mattress and bouncing gleefully. George just shook his head. “Did I mention he’s younger than me?” He suspected that they were trying to calm him down, but didn’t care. Patrick’s pleasure was genuine enough. “Just don’t try to stand on it and jump up and down. It’s strong, but you’re a big lad, and that might be too much weight in a small area.” “As long as it can take weight spread out over hands and knees, I don’t care.” Patrick grabbed at him, laughing as he did so. “This is fun. Come here.” It was fun. He let Patrick manhandle him into the middle of the mattress and sprawl on him. Patrick’s weight pinning him down, Patrick’s cock digging into his belly -- these things helped numb his fear a little. Patrick kissed him hard for a moment, then said, “You’ve got nice legs, and that pump shows them off. Wear shorts next time.” He reached up and ran his hands through Patrick’s hair, enjoying the feel of it. “I’ll try to remember.” His own cock was starting to harden now. “That’s better,” Patrick said. “We’d better get this done fast; we need to get back to work.” He slid a hand down to grope Martin’s cock through his jeans. “Like you said, the kitchen floor’s filthy, and we need to get it clean this afternoon if we want somewhere to sleep tonight.” A convenient excuse, but he appreciated the gesture. “How do you want me?” “I was going to suggest hands and knees, but that might be too much distraction for George if he’s going to play lookout.” Patrick bent and kissed the side of his neck. “And besides, I like the way the mattress moves when we’re in this position.” It was rather nice. A little disconcerting to have it shift under them with each move they made, but pleasant. “Have we got condoms?” Patrick smiled down at him. “Of course. George?” “I’ll get them.” Patrick sat up on his knees and started undoing Martin’s jeans. That brought back the fear again; he was about to be naked, and George was busy getting the condoms and lube from the bag rather than keeping lookout. He breathed deeply again, trying to control his fear, and Patrick paused, watching him.

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Then George dropped the condoms and lube beside them and walked away, and Martin’s fear eased. “All right?” Patrick asked. He nodded, and Patrick quickly undid his jeans, then stood up. “Out of them.” He sat up for a moment to pull off his shoes and then his jeans. Patrick was busy with his own jeans now, stripping to stand completely naked. He looked stunning, muscular body shown to perfection by the bright afternoon sun, cock hard and high. Martin glanced at George. He was keeping his promise, watching either side of the house and not them. He could relax, happy that they wouldn’t be taken completely by surprise if anyone should chance to wander this way. Patrick opened a condom and put it on, then quickly spread some lube on himself. “Enough?” “Yes.” And he appreciated Patrick asking, instead of taking it for granted. Patrick dropped back onto him, making the mattress bounce beneath them. They grinned at each other, and then he pulled up his legs, giving Patrick easy access. Patrick pushed into him, one slow, controlled thrust that went all the way in without pause. It was almost too much for him without some preliminary stretching, but he managed to take it. Patrick held still, watching his reaction, then said, “If you can’t take it, say so now.” Because once Patrick started in earnest, he wouldn’t be able to stop. “I’ll be all right.” Patrick’s cock was big, but the brief pause had given him time to get used to it. It was starting to feel good now. “Right.” Patrick pulled halfway out and then thrust back in. The next thrust was harder, less controlled. And then Patrick lost it, and Martin knew why he’d been warned. Patrick hammered into him, pounding at him; pent-up desire now slipped its leash. It was exhilarating, but there was no way he was going to come with Patrick. It didn’t matter, not when George was waiting to take his turn. He stroked Patrick’s back, murmured encouragement to him, and was not at all surprised when Patrick swore, held still, and came. He held Patrick tightly, supported him until he stopped shaking. Then Patrick pulled out of him, kissed him lightly, and said, “Thanks, love. I really needed that.” Before he could react to what Patrick had said, Patrick rolled off the mattress and stood up. “George.” “Right.” George kicked off his shoes and trousers. Martin watched as Patrick stripped his condom off, and George put one on. Patrick was watching the path around the house even as he reached for his clothes, taking their promise to him seriously. Then all Martin’s attention was taken up by George. The mattress bounced under George’s weight.

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“He’s right; this is fun.” George had left his tee-shirt on, so this time Martin had cloth rather than flesh under his hands. But it still felt good, heated by the sun and by George’s body. “Just relax,” George said. “If you don’t come before I’m done, I’ll do you by hand. It’ll be the quickest way to look at least semi-respectable.” He nodded, and George did the same controlled thrust trick as Patrick had. But George kept it up, giving him several more; and even when he went to a faster rhythm it was a deliberate choice rather than a loss of control. That did the trick for Martin, that deliberate, relentless stimulation, filling him up, making him understand that for these few minutes he was the most important thing in George’s universe. They bounced on the mattress with each thrust, but George used it, worked it into their rhythm. And then he knew that he would not need George’s hand afterwards. “George ...” “I know.” Harder, faster, and he came first. He cried out in spite of his desire to be quiet, to go unnoticed by anyone passing nearby. It was just too damned good, to be looking up at a beautiful blue sky and feel the warmth of the sun on his arms as George took him to the edge and deliberately pushed him over. And before he was quite done, George clung to him, whispered his name, and came. They held each other for a long moment. And then it was over, George sitting up and handing him his clothes. They got dressed and then held each other again. “We’ll get this place finished,” George said. “Finished, with a fence and a garden, and then we’ll make love in our garden whenever we like.” “It’s going to take us a while.” “It’s going to be worth the wait,” Patrick said, hugging them both. “Now. One more cup of tea, and then we’d better go back to work.”

***** Now that they had some light to work with, they started with a basic sweeping and tidying. Martin and George went down to tackle the cellar, leaving Patrick with the kitchen. Even with the door left open, they needed the torches, but having some daylight coming in was a great improvement on their first visit. Patrick and George had unlocked the quarry door that morning before leaving the cave, so they opened that one as well to get whatever light filtered through from the garden doorway. The cellar floor followed the same plan as the ground floor, with a cellar room below each room above. They cleaned the floor of the kitchen cellar and dusted the cobwebs from the ceiling, leaving the room looking a lot less abandoned. The next question was what to do about the bottles of wine. If they were still drinkable, they were probably valuable.

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He went upstairs and out into the garden to try his mobile phone. Once again Mr Parker answered the phone within a couple of rings. Martin gave a quick rundown of the work so far and added, “We’re going to use the cellar as a cool room for now. But there are still some bottles of wine down there, and I think some of them are probably valuable. They’re certainly old.” “If they’re still drinkable, of course. They’ve been there since before we left -- the tenant was teetotal.” “What do you want us to do with them?” They could leave them in situ, but he’d prefer not to be responsible for them if they were valuable. “I’ll need to get some boxes first, but I could bring them over to you.” There was a pause, and then Mr Parker said, “No, my boy. If they’re not in your way, leave them resting where they are. Old wine doesn’t like being shaken about. Tell you what, when the kitchen’s in working order, you can invite me around for dinner, and we’ll open a couple of bottles to celebrate.” He laughed. “If you’re worried about taking advantage, make a list of what you’ve got there, and I’ll look it up and see if there’s anything that’s stupidly expensive at auction. Let the idiots fight over those. Then we can pick a couple of good ones to drink ourselves.” “Well, if you’re sure you want to do that ...” “Who else have I got to drink it with? My nieces wouldn’t want it -- they don’t have the palate, and they think it’s a sin to waste fine wine on them when they can’t appreciate it. Told you the women were the sensible ones in my family.” He wasn’t sure if George and Patrick would appreciate the wines either, but he would, and he liked the idea. “As long as you don’t mind eating in the kitchen. It might be a while before the dining room’s done.” “Then we’ll have another dinner for that room.” “You’re on.” “Oh, and my agent has been doing battle with the local electricity company. They’re arguing over whether it counts as a new installation or a reconnection; but whoever ends up paying for it, there will be new cable. They think the original installation is too old to support modern wiring inside the house. Anywhere from three days to six weeks, depending on whether she can convince them it’s a reconnection and how busy they are.” “How much?” He’d need to get some money transferred from his savings account. “Don’t know yet, and it’s my problem. It’s a business expense for the estate, so it’s probably easier for me to claim as a tax deduction than it is for you.” “Thanks.” He’d pay for it in the end, in the increased price of the house, but having Mr Parker actively involved in managing the project was paying off already. Not just in saving money in the short term, but in having someone whose job it was to argue with utility companies.

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“It’s keeping me amused. The building surveyor’s booked for next week. Let me know if there’s anything else you need.” As he hung up, he wondered if it was keeping the old man amused. He might be providing a way for Mr Parker to see the summerhouse restored, without having to deal directly with painful memories. He hoped so. He went to find George and Patrick and make plans for tomorrow. They’d made a good start, but there was a lot of work to be done still.

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Chapter Twenty They made good progress over the next few days. The main project was the kitchen, so that they could have one room in working order as soon as possible. But they also spent some time measuring up the broken glass in the ground-floor windows and buying replacement panes so that George and Patrick could start unboarding the other rooms. It was something they could easily work on while Martin was away, whether or not they had power. The one power tool Martin did buy was a cordless drill with a spare battery. Even if it would only last a few hours before needing to be recharged at Simon’s, it would make a significant difference in some jobs. He could buy more cordless tools later as they worked out what they needed. He left them on Sunday night with strict instructions to be careful and to call Simon or Mr Parker if they needed help. “And no climbing up ladders while I’m away. I don’t want to find you in hospital when I get back.”

***** Mr Parker phoned him two days later to say that the building surveyor’s preliminary report had found no major structural problems. “The roof will need some work after the next storm, but it can soldier on for now. There’s a little wet rot here and there, but it’s a DIY job. A few other things, all at the nuisance level.” That was very good news. “So there’s nothing that needs a builder right now.” “No. I’d book someone to look at the roof once you’ve got power and water again, but as long as it’s done sometime this summer, it will be all right.” “So we can get the minor repairs done without worrying about it being all for nothing.” The roof would have to be tackled soon, but as Mr Parker said, it would be better to do it once they had mains power and water.

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***** As predicted, he ended up spending one night a week at his own flat, and the weekends at Simon’s and the summerhouse. There was another note from Barry waiting for him the first time he went home to his flat. All it said was “Thanks”. He found that he could read it without any real reaction other than being glad he’d set Barry’s mind at rest. There were still regrets there, but now they were about it not having worked rather than about getting involved in the first place. A month went by, a month of hard work at his day job and weekends with his partners. It was a glorious summer, and the lack of electricity didn’t hold them up, but merely channelled them into the jobs that could be done with hand and battery-powered tools. The repairs to the windows were the top priority to begin with anyway, to prevent further damage from weather finding its way in; and that was a job that wasn’t greatly slowed by the lack of mains power. The other priority was putting up a post-and-wire fence along the property line by the coast path, to discourage people from wandering in and pestering George and Patrick with questions. The house was slowly connected back into the outside world. The water company came and turned the water back on, threatening to turn it off again if there were leaks. The pipe proved sound and they had mains water -- though the spring water tasted better. The septic tank was inspected and found to be operational. Mr Parker phoned him with the news that the power had gone in. “They’ve also installed some temporary power points to use for the building work. There’s no point in trying to rewire the whole place yet, but I’ll send an electrician round next week to install the kitchen circuits. You can run extension cables from there as well.” “Thanks. I appreciate your help. It’s been a lot easier with you chasing the paperwork for me.” Mr Parker’s agent had handled all the utilities work -- George and Patrick had simply gone into retreat when alien workmen were due to arrive. “Just remember that you owe me a dinner. Should be up to it in a couple of weeks, I think?” “Several dinners, and yes.” He was looking forward to it. He’d grown fond of the old man. “Looking forward to dinner with three handsome young men. Be able to tease a few old friends about how I’m finally turning into a dirty old man.” “What did old age pensioners do for gossip before email?” “Used the phone, my boy. And before that they visited for weekends. Very long weekends, sometimes.” Mr Parker had seen the very end of that era, but Martin was reluctant to push the subject. There were too many memories for Mr Parker, some of them not good. Let the

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dinner in the newly restored kitchen be the test of whether the good outweighed the bad. “Right. I should be finished with this job tomorrow or Friday, so I’ll see you at the weekend.” He hung up and tried phoning George and Patrick. Their phone was off, as he’d expected, but he left a text message for them. They’d been reluctant when the idea of the dinner party was first broached, but had agreed that it was a reasonable thing for them to do. Giving them a warning that it was going to be soon was only fair. They’d never met Mr Parker and had still met Simon only in passing. Strangers were far easier for them to cope with than people who might want to be friends with them. He was sure that the main reason they were willing to have the dinner party was that between the mutual interest in fossils and wanting to hear more about the history of the house, they had topics of conversation that didn’t involve their personal history. All the social chitchat about what do you do, where do you live -- these were things that required keeping careful track of half-truths. He understood far better now why they had gone to the cruising area in the dunes behind the naturist beach. Convenient lies were accepted, even expected, there. It had given them social intimacy without the strain of pretending to be who they weren’t. He sighed and turned his attention back to his microscope.

***** Naturally, the one Friday he didn’t get away early was the last day. One thing led to another, and another, and a plea for him to stay on to deal with things before the weekend. Given a choice between that or having to come up again on Monday, he stayed. Walking out wasn’t an option, not when he was hoping for more work from them in the future. He phoned Simon and left a message on the answering machine, and then sent a text to Patrick and George. Naturally, he then got stuck in the Friday evening traffic jam of people escaping from London for the weekend. And the traffic jam caused by the accident on the motorway. He tried George and Patrick again, but the phone was still either switched off or the reception at the house was poor at the moment. He would normally be back at Simon’s or the summerhouse by six, but by ten o’clock he was still inching towards the motorway exit he could see in the distance. He phoned Simon again while the queue was stationary. “Where are you?” Then a slightly muffled, “It’s Martin.” “On the motorway. Got caught in a tailback, but it’s starting to move now. What’s going on?” More talking to someone else. “He’s still stuck in traffic.” To him, “George and Patrick are here. They got worried about you. They couldn’t get your mobile to answer, so they phoned me.”

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He’d told them that he didn’t answer the phone while driving and that if they phoned him while he was on the road they’d have to wait until he found a safe place to pull off. But that couldn’t have been it, because he’d never even heard it ring. “I must have been in a dead spot. But I sent them a text earlier.” “Yes, but you also said you’d be a couple of hours late, not several hours late. I think they got worried because you’re normally pretty punctual. And you know how the reception is a bit flaky along that bit of the Purbeck coast, so I picked them up and brought them here. At least I’ve got a landline.” They must have been worried if they’d phone Simon, never mind go home with him. “Tell them I’m sorry. It could be another couple of hours before I get there, but we do seem to be moving now. Oh, it is moving. I’ll have to go. I’ll go to your place first.” “I’ll tell them. Bye.” He’d been sleeping at Simon’s rather than the summerhouse, so it was an obvious place for them to go when they started worrying, but he was still slightly surprised. The occasional passing visits to pick up and drop off things must have got them used to Simon, at least enough that when given a good reason they’d go to him.

***** He finally got to Simon’s at around half eleven. Patrick and George jumped on him; then, having satisfied themselves he was all right, insisted on taking his bags inside for him. Simon watched them go, then said, “We’ve had an entertaining evening of awkward silence. They really are shy, aren’t they?” “I did warn you.” “I’m just surprised you managed to get involved with them in the first place. I left them alone with the books; that seemed to keep them distracted. But they were a lot happier after you phoned. They actually started talking to me then.” He headed back into the house, and Martin followed. They met George and Patrick coming back out again. Simon said, “It’s far too late for you two to get back to the house tonight. You’re welcome to stay here.” “Is there room?” George asked. “You’ve just seen the size of the bed in his room.” Simon looked George up and down, all six foot seven of him. “It’s big enough to fit three normal people; it can probably manage even you two. Or there’s another spare bedroom if Martin objects to sharing a bed with you two giants.” George actually grinned at Simon. “Well, he never has before, but he wasn’t spending all night with us.” Martin had always been amused by Simon’s self-indulgence in fitting the two biggest rooms with king-sized beds, but now he appreciated it. There might be room for the three of

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them to sleep together in moderate comfort. “If they keep me awake by bumping into me, I can always go into the other room myself. They’d better have the biggest bed if we do split up.” George and Patrick didn’t seem entirely happy with that idea, but George just said, “We’ll go to bed now. What about you?” “I need to unwind for half an hour. If I go straight to bed, I’ll be seeing headlights in my sleep.” He’d had that problem before after a long drive, and much as he’d like to cuddle up to them in bed, he needed to walk around for a few minutes and switch out of driving mode. “All right.” “There are probably spare toothbrushes under the sink,” Simon offered, “but I doubt if my pyjamas would fit you.” “The toothbrushes are more important,” Patrick said. “Thanks.” Patrick and George went off to the bathroom, leaving Martin alone with Simon. “Want a brandy?” Simon asked. “You look as if you could do with one.” “So do you. And yes, please.” “It’s the strain of dealing with those two.” Simon held up a hand before he could say anything. “No. I like them. They seem very nice. But they made me feel as if I was the big bad ogre ready to pounce on them. There’s just something about them ...” He shook his head. “I’m not sure whether it’s cause or effect, if they’ve just spent too long with mostly each other for company, but I can understand why their family might be happy to see them only on high days and holidays.” “Give them time to get used to you. They don’t like talking about themselves. They’ll be better once they’re convinced you’re not going to interrogate them.” Simon rolled his eyes. “Oh, so I’m not the big bad ogre; I’m the old aunt who insists on knowing every embarrassing detail of what nevvie’s been doing since my last visit.” He laughed at the description. The exact description wasn’t accurate, but it was still a fairly good approximation of their reaction to being asked anything about themselves. “Got it in one.” “How are they going to deal with this dinner for Mr Parker?” Simon asked. “I was talking to him earlier this week, and he mentioned it.” “Badly, probably. But they’ve got the house to talk about, and I’ll be there as a buffer. Have you been seeing much of him?” Simon nodded. “Like I said, he’s interesting. And he’s interested in what I’ve been doing.” He could see Simon appreciating that. Most people saw only the glamour of TV, not the hard work that went on behind the scenes to bring those images into the nation’s living

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rooms. Simon had only looked for the owner of the summerhouse to help Martin out, but seemed to have got something out of it himself.

***** George and Patrick were still awake when Martin went to bed. They’d taken Simon seriously and left plenty of room for Martin, but Patrick put an arm around him as he climbed into bed. “What was all that about giants? He’s not exactly short himself.” “That’s why. He’s not used to being one of the shorter people in the room, and having you two looming over him all evening will be good for him.” “Ah.” George sounded amused, so Martin assumed that he understood the psychology now that it had been pointed out to him. There was silence for a moment; then Patrick said, “He was decent. Just asked whether we needed anything, then left us alone.” “I’ve told him you’re shy, and he knows that pushing at shy people is more likely to make them run away than anything else. Will you be all right now that I’m here?” “Mmm.” Patrick snuggled up to him. Not looking for sex, not when he didn’t seem to have an erection. Just the tactile reassurance that Martin was there. “We’re tired, so if you’re too tired ...” “Right now I just want a cuddle and then sleep.” “Sounds good to me,” Patrick said happily. He fell asleep within minutes and slept soundly in spite of three in the bed. When he woke up there was sunlight in the room and a warm body on either side of him. He had a second of panic at the two bodies, then remembered where he was and who he was with. Odd, that, but then he’d never spent the whole night with them before, only an after-sex nap. One of them must have got up during the night, since he hadn’t started out in the middle. Satisfied that he knew what was going on, he tried to doze off again. He was disturbed by a wet finger pushing into him, and an amused whisper. “You’re awake. We can tell, remember.” They must have noticed the spike in his pulse when he’d had the whowhatwhere moment. That on top of the change in his breathing must have made them fairly confident that they wouldn’t be waking him up. “Go ’way. I’m sleeping.” “All right, we’ll just fuck you as you are.” If he hadn’t been quite certain that they’d stop if he really objected, he would have objected to being treated like that. As it was, he just ignored them. It wasn’t as if they were likely to use up their capacity for sex and leave none for him to have later when he felt a

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little more lively. He could happily catch another ten minutes of dozing while they worked off the week’s backlog. He heard the sound of a condom being ripped open and realised that they were working as a team. One of them was stretching him; the other was going to fuck him. He didn’t know which was which, and found that he didn’t care enough to open his eyes to check. As long as it was George and Patrick, he was quite happy to play the blow-up doll for whichever of them wanted first turn. Finger out, cock in. Whoever it was was being careful, at least at first. Then after a couple of easy strokes, he really went for it. Preliminary diagnosis was Patrick, although George was quite capable of doing that as well. It was rather pleasant lying here in a half-awake state, cock up him but not expected to actually do anything about it, not even an encouraging grunt. He relaxed and let it happen, enjoying the sensation of being fucked when he was only just starting to get aroused. No pressure to perform, to catch up, not when he knew that they could easily do him half a dozen times each if they so chose. There were advantages to having partners who weren’t entirely human. Whoever it was gave one last deep thrust and held still. He’d definitely come, but he didn’t pull out, just collapsed onto Martin for a minute or two. Martin was just starting to consider complaining about the weight when whoever it was roused himself and lifted his weight a little. Then there were kisses along Martin’s shoulders, followed by more thrusting. “Definitely Patrick,” he commented sleepily. “How --” “Because it’s obvious,” he heard George say. He could tell George was grinning, even if he couldn’t see him. “You can be a bit single-minded at times.” “You’re turning human in your old age,” Patrick muttered. “And the pair of you have put me off now.” He stopped what he was doing, although he didn’t pull out. “I’m sure you can bring yourself to continue,” George said. “Don’t mind me; I’m just going to wash my hands.” Martin heard the sound of running water, presumably George using the small sink in one corner of the room. Then he was distracted by the feel of Patrick moving in him again. Obviously not all that put off by having rude remarks directed at him. The slow buildup of sensation felt very good indeed. Slow thrusting inside him, getting faster, and then again a quick orgasm, Patrick sighing in pleasure as he came. A few seconds later, George said, “Right, you -- off.” Martin heard a slap and felt Patrick jerk. “Bastard. I was enjoying that.” “And I want to enjoy it as well. Besides, you’ll need to change your condom.”

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Patrick pulled out, muttering to himself about big bullies. Martin couldn’t help smiling. Patrick wasn’t exactly on the small side himself, and George only had the advantage in height over him by an inch or so. But there must have been a time in adolescence when George really was a lot bigger, and with the advantage of delegated maternal authority. The pair still played on it now and again, and Martin found it rather endearing. “Well, at least he should have loosened you up nicely for me,” George said. By now he could rouse enough energy to answer, even if it was only, “Mmm.” “Let’s see if I can wake you up.” George slammed into him with a speed that made him very glad that Patrick had loosened him up first. “Ooph.” “Said I’d wake you up.” “Fuck off.” “No, I’m fucking on,” George said in his best reasonable tone of voice. “God, I’m not awake enough to deal with your sense of humour.” He’d have jabbed an elbow into George, but it required more energy than he felt like expending. It was easier just to lie there and concentrate on the way it felt to have George’s cock filling him. “I can last longer with one go than Patrick did with two,” George boasted. “Sounds good to me,” he mumbled. Patrick dropped heavily onto the bed, making Martin bounce up against George. It was a pleasant sensation. Patrick stroked his arm, presumably the only bit of him that was in easy reach. “It’s good to have a partner who likes it whichever way we fuck him.” Not teasing now, but an honest statement of fact. He stirred himself enough to reach out to Patrick, was pleased to have Patrick take his hand and hold it. “I think you’re managing to wake him up,” Patrick said. “Good. I want him taking part next time round.” George was probably going to get his wish. Between the way George’s cock was rubbing against his prostate, and the way George’s thrusts were making his cock rub against the sheet beneath him, he was starting to feel a distinct interest in waking up properly. He squeezed down on George’s cock. That felt even better, especially when George swore and gave him an even harder stroke. Still no touch directly to his cock, nothing but the friction of the sheet, but it didn’t matter now. He was hard and interested, and wanting more, and said so. “All right,” George said. “If you want it, you’ll get it.” He was treated to a demonstration of the difference between George doing it hard and fast but under tight control, and George just going hell for leather. Hard, heavy strokes, with the sound of George’s breathing harsh in his ear. He was pinned down by George’s weight, and loving it. Nothing to do, nowhere to go, just lie there and be filled with George’s cock.

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Patrick was squeezing his hand in time with George’s strokes, talking about how good it was to watch George fuck him. If he’d cared to, he might have caught up with George. But he was enjoying the anticipation too much, the sense of being overwhelmed by a force of nature. So he let it all happen to him, wallowed happily in the sensation of George’s cock throbbing inside him as George came. George slumped down onto him, but had the manners to roll off him a minute later, before he started wondering if he’d be able to breathe. They lay for a moment with George’s arm across his back. Then Patrick pushed at his shoulder until he turned on his side a little to face Patrick, grabbed him, and kissed him thoroughly. Patrick’s tongue filling his mouth was a good way to take his mind off George having left him feeling empty at the other end. George let go of him and stood up. “Back in a minute.” As Patrick let go of him, giving him room to move, he stretched thoroughly. He was still feeling a little bit of early-morning stiffness. He might have just had rather a lot of exercise, but he hadn’t actually done much moving himself. That completed the job of waking up. He opened his eyes and rolled over onto his back, feeling awake enough now to want a cuddle with his sex. Patrick jumped on him. Patrick’s cock against his felt good. “Oi!” George protested. “You’ve already had two goes!” “You got off. I thought you’d finished.” “I was being considerate and changing my condom for a fresh one, you pillock. Come here.” George grabbed Patrick by the shoulders and tried to peel him off Martin. Patrick refused to be budged, clinging to him with grim determination. The scuffle was entertaining, but being at the bottom of it might get a bit wearing after a while, and they were starting to get noisier, perhaps noisy enough to attract Simon’s attention. He looked Patrick in the eye and said, “I thought you were a dolphin, not a limpet?” Patrick promptly collapsed in a fit of laughter, and George won the battle by being able to control his laughter for those vital few seconds. He pulled Patrick away and took his place, kneeling over Martin. “This way up?” “Mmm.” He held out his arms, and George settled down on top of him. It felt good to hold George in his arms, now that he was awake enough to want to take part. “If Patrick’s that desperate for another go,” George said, “I’d better not let you come.” “Yes, George.” “You’re not being very convincing as a sub this morning.” Probably because neither of them was being very serious about being a dom this morning. “I’m quite serious about wanting you to fuck me.” He pulled George’s head down so that he could kiss him.

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George gave him a long kiss, then said, “You really are interested now, aren’t you?” “Yes.” As further encouragement, he wriggled into a better position for George to get access. George took the hint and entered him in one smooth, easy glide. This wasn’t the hard and fast urgency of a few minutes ago, but a more leisurely fuck. The height difference made kissing too awkward, but he could still hold George, stroke his back. And this wasn’t just the two of them. Patrick obviously bore no grudge over being unceremoniously dumped on the other side of the bed, for he knelt beside them and stroked George’s head. His cock was hard, but his expression was tender as he looked down at them. Martin’s own need was more urgent now, his cock straining against George, his pulse racing. But George said, “Keep it for Patrick. I like watching him make you come.” “All right. But I won’t be able to hold off much longer,” he warned. “Then I’d better finish quickly.” One of the curious things about George and Patrick was that they could switch between dolphin and human response patterns, even when they were in the middle of fucking him. George gave him a few more strokes and came, leaving him aroused but not absolutely desperate yet. George pulled out, then slid off to lie next to him. “Hold me for a moment.” He did as he was asked, cradling George in his arms. He wanted his own relief, but it could wait for a few moments. This had to be about last night, when George had started to worry about him. It only took a moment or two to reassure George. “I’m all right now. Take your turn, Martin.” “Want me on my hands and knees?” He was awake enough now to take an active part. George liked watching, and that position gave him a good view. George glanced past him at Patrick and grinned. “No, I think I’d rather watch with you on top. And it’s time you had a turn with your cock in someone’s arse.” Patrick started to protest, then stopped and looked thoughtful. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind it as a change from you, George. Even when you’re trying not to dominate, it always feels as if you’re on top-top, not just on top.” George sat up and reached over him to lay a hand on Patrick’s chest. “I know, love. But I am trying, I promise.” Then George looked down at Martin. “Would you mind switching in the middle like that? I know this didn’t start out vanilla, but he’s right. You’d do a much better job of keeping it vanilla than I could.” He was startled, but he didn’t mind. He and Patrick had kept to their preferred D/s roles until now, but it had been mostly a matter of revelling in finding a well-matched partner. They were both quite capable of enjoying vanilla sex, either way up. “It sounds good to me.”

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“Right.” Patrick scrambled onto his hands and knees. Of course, there was going to be one minor delay. “What have you two done with the condoms and lube?” “We found the new packets you brought before we went to bed last night.” George reached over to the bedside cabinet and rummaged in the drawer. “Here.” He put on a condom and warmed some lube in his hand before easing a finger into Patrick. He took it carefully; he knew a lot about Patrick’s likes and dislikes by now, but they hadn’t done this before, and he wanted to make sure he got it right. Patrick pushed back a little, sighing with pleasure, so he pushed all the way in. He stroked his finger back and forth across Patrick’s prostate, trying to find the best rhythm and pressure for Patrick. “Oh, that’s good,” Patrick said. “Bit more, or would you like my cock?” “Bit more, please.” So he made it foreplay rather than practical preparation, doing his best to make it feel good for Patrick. It gave him a chance to admire Patrick’s arse, hard muscles and a nice shape. Patrick must have been out in the sun in the nude at least some of the time, because even his cheeks were tanned a pale gold; but there was a tan line on his waist just where his jeans would end. “Better?” George asked. “Mmm.” Patrick reached out a hand to George. “I’m not complaining; it’s just ...” “I know.” George glanced at Martin. “We weren’t complete without a real third.” Any two of them weren’t quite matched, couldn’t quite satisfy each other’s needs. But with all three of them, they could each have everything they wanted. “I’d regret not having known you sooner, only I think I needed to learn first what I want from a partner.” George nodded. “I don’t regret the time we spent at the beach. We learnt a lot, and we found the company we needed. I can appreciate you better because of it.” George stroked Patrick’s back. “I certainly appreciate him,” Patrick said. “Martin, can I have your cock now?” He stopped fingering Patrick and eased his cock in. He tried to take it slowly, make it a nice smooth thrust. It was an effort to control himself; he might like being sucked best of all, but it had been too long since the last time he’d done this, and the tight heat around his cock made him want to thrust mindlessly. One stroke, two, three, and he was satisfied that Patrick was comfortable, could take it harder than he was already giving right now. But Patrick probably needed something more, and he couldn’t quite reach comfortably to get a hand on Patrick’s cock. “George?”

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“Mmm?” “Give Patrick a hand. And don’t try to control him; just give him something convenient to rub against.” George looked amused at being told what to do, but reached under Patrick and took hold of his cock. “Thanks,” Patrick muttered. “Feels good.” Happy now that Patrick had everything he needed, Martin let go of his own control and went for it. Good, hard thrusting into Patrick’s body, loving the way it felt snug and tight around his cock. Hearing Patrick gasp and knowing that each thrust of his hips was forcing Patrick’s cock through George’s hand. Faster now, harder, but still attention to spare for Patrick, and George too. George was watching them both greedily, gaze flicking between them. He could feel/hear that strange sound on the edge of his hearing and knew that George was watching with more than just his eyes. Patrick deliberately clamped down on him, urging him on. It felt wonderful, lovely tight pressure holding him in a smooth grip. Then Patrick warned, “I’m going to come!” He was almost there himself. The repeated fucking they’d both given him had been a wonderfully long, languorous foreplay, leaving him aroused and ready to go. Now he was on the edge. A few seconds later, Patrick did come, groaning with pleasure. Patrick’s internal muscles pulsed around Martin’s cock, and the exquisite pressure pushed him beyond the point of no return. He slammed himself into Patrick one last time and came. The slow buildup and then the sudden novelty of being on top made it so much better than a quick fuck would have been. He enjoyed it all -- how good it felt to come, the sight of Patrick on hands and knees in front of him, the way Patrick’s hips felt under his hands, and then George laying a hand over his. The three of them together. Finally he pulled out, and Patrick flopped down onto the mattress, looking thoroughly contented. George said, “Have you got a hand for me, Patrick?” Patrick grinned and said, “As long as you’re quick.” Martin might have flopped down himself. Instead he eased into a comfortable sitting position where he had a good view as Patrick reached out one hand and took hold of George’s cock. George must have been close. One stroke, two, three, and then he was spilling come over Patrick’s hand. There was silence for a few moments. Finally Patrick said, “Who’s first for a shower?” “I’ll go first.” He might as well be up and available as a security blanket before either of them ventured out to the bathroom. “Shall I put the kettle on on the way?”

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There was a chorus of, “Please!”

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Chapter Twenty-One All four of them sat down to breakfast together. Martin wondered how things were going to go, but Simon demonstrated his ability to get along with all sorts of people. He started straight in with a neutral topic. “I suppose you’re going to go into town this morning to pick up more tools now that you’ve got electricity in the house?” Patrick the gadget freak brightened visibly. “We should keep it simple to start with, but getting a couple of work lamps and some power tools will speed things up a lot.” He and Simon started a lively discussion on the best things to include in a basic tool kit. Martin and George looked at each other and settled down to eat. Twenty minutes later, they were on their way. As they were leaving, Simon said, “Having the power will make the place more comfortable to camp in, but it also makes it easier to seem as if someone’s there overnight.” He patted the burglar alarm panel. “I know you don’t have one of these, but if you put a couple of lights on timers it will make the place look inhabited. You’re welcome to stay here with Martin overnight if you’d like a break from camping out.” George nodded. “We appreciate it. But won’t it be inconvenient?” Simon shrugged. “Not as long as you let me into the bathroom first in the morning if I’ve got to be in the office at nine.” “Thanks,” Patrick said. “We’ll see how things go.” It surprised Martin that they hadn’t refused outright. Perhaps they’d had sufficient exposure to Simon by now that they trusted him not to ask awkward questions. It would certainly be pleasant to spend the night with them. It simply hadn’t been practical for him to sleep at the summerhouse, not when he needed to be at work first thing on Monday morning and in a fit state to work. He needed a decent bed and a working bathroom.

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At least with the electricity back on they could make a good start on the bathroom. Hot water might have to be from an electric kettle for a while, but it would still be a lot more convenient than having to heat it over a camp stove.

***** They bought some power tools and then went to shop for the kitchen. The electrical items of immediate interest were a microwave oven and a fridge/freezer. The solid fuel oven had been serviced the week before and was allegedly in working order, but still needed a delivery of coal and wasn’t ideal in summer. Martin didn’t trust the wiring to the electric oven and wanted a microwave to tide them over. He browsed the relevant section of the shop and found a microwave oven and a small tabletop cooker that he could live with as the only means of cooking for a while. The existing fridge was old and decrepit; it was easier to scrap it and buy a new, efficient one. He checked if the model he wanted was in stock and fended off attempts to organise delivery for a small extra fee by describing the access track, at which point the shop assistant stopped following her script and organised for the fridge to be loaded into his Land Rover instead. Then he dragged George and Patrick away from the shop. Patrick’s gleeful exploration of the kitchen equipment on offer didn’t surprise him, but George’s did. “I thought you’d been into department stores before.” “It’s different somehow when it’s something we have a practical interest in now,” George said. “Are you going to get one of those electric cookers as well?” “Yes, if the old one isn’t working properly when the electrician checks it, but there’s no point until we get the rewiring done.” They’d need to sit down and plan the new wiring layout, now that the ground floor was something approaching habitable. “We can run the fridge and microwave off extension cords from the new sockets if the fuses blow on the old wiring, but the cooker needs its own circuit.” “Because it draws such heavy current,” Patrick said and started burbling away about house wiring. He’d obviously been having fun with the collection of DIY books Martin had bought them. George and Patrick wouldn’t be able to do all of the rewiring themselves. But if they knew how to do it safely, they could do a lot of the preparation work. They were patient and careful, making sure they understood what they were doing rather than rushing in. It had been like that for the last month. They had methodically worked through the house, first going through with a checklist of the faults to be found in an old house and making doubly certain that the surveyor hadn’t missed anything that needed urgent attention, then doing the initial treatment of the small patches of rot to stop it spreading. After that they had tackled the windows, removing the boarding and repairing the windows

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according to the DIY manual’s instructions. Then they had focused on the kitchen; but alongside that they had started to work on the rest of the house one room at a time, cleaning it and doing the repairs that could be done by two untrained but careful workers who had good reference books and a lot of time and patience. He knew how important this house was to them by the amount of effort they’d put into it. The three of them had been fortunate to find the house structurally sound in spite of twenty or thirty years of neglect, but there had still been a great deal of work to be done, and even now they’d only got part of the ground floor into reasonable order. It was going to be home. A home for the three of them, one that gave them access to both worlds. A grass track to a paved road leading to the village and then the city; a stone passage leading to a sea cave and then the open water. As the Land Rover bumped its way down the one, he felt a yearning to walk the other. “Let’s go swimming after lunch.” “Taking a break now that you don’t have to be back at work on Monday?” Patrick asked. “It’s going to be really hot this afternoon, there isn’t anything else that has to be done on the outside of the house for now, and we might as well enjoy not having to rush things before I go back to work.” There’d be more contract work along soon, so he should enjoy the break while he had the chance. George sat back and stretched. “Sounds good to me. It won’t take long to get the kitchen things set up, and then we’ll have one room completely done other than the rewiring.” Only one room finished, but it was still quite an accomplishment. One room, and the exterior of the house protected against further damage. They had the beginnings of their home. He parked the Land Rover by the kitchen door, then strolled around to the front door, looking the house over as he went. What a difference a month had made. He knew that the inside of the house still needed months of work, but the outside was clean and bright with fresh paintwork where not so long ago there had been boarded-up windows displaying years of neglect. There was still a great deal of work to be done, but now it was starting to look like a place where people lived, and not just a building site. There were still no curtains behind those windows, but someone had put a pair of fossils on the windowsill in the front room, marking it as their house. Something George and Patrick had brought in, or had they found a relic of Mr Parker’s time in the boxes in the cellar? George and Patrick had followed him and now stood either side of him. “It’s going to be our home, isn’t it?” Patrick said, his voice wistful.

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“Yes.” He put his arms around their waists. “And this time next year we’ll have a garden as well.” Maybe even with roses around the door. He’d never really thought of himself as settling down in a country cottage with his husband. Now he had not just the cottage, but two potential husbands. It might be tight financially, but he’d buy it at the end of the year’s lease. This was where he wanted to be. They stood together in silence for a moment or two. Then Patrick said, “Time to get the things out of the car!” and headed towards the front door. Martin and George watched him unlock the door and run into the house, then smiled at each other. “Let him have first go with the new toys,” George said quietly. “I thought you liked cooking as well?” He’d certainly had the impression that both men had discovered the joys of cooking as a hobby, even with only a minimum of camping equipment. “Yes, but for me it’s the food that’s important, not the equipment.” George grinned at him. “Although I could get to be fond of a set of those really good knives.” “We’ll get the place kitted up properly. But we’d better stop admiring it.” He let go of George and headed to the house. “Patrick’s going to need help getting the stuff out of the car.” George followed him into the house and through to the kitchen, then held the door open for him. “What do you think?” “Impressed” was what he thought. The kitchen hadn’t been quite finished when he’d last seen it. Now the walls were a freshly painted white, with a cheerful frieze around them at waist height and matching curtains at the window. The table had been stripped back to the wood and refinished. He looked around at the cupboard doors that were now all hanging straight, and knew that if he opened a drawer it would run freely without sticking or jamming. There was a gap in the layout where the old fridge had been, and the wall and floor there were as clean as the rest of the room, all ready to receive the new fridge. The only flaw in the room was the lighting, still only a single bare bulb on a wire dangling from the ceiling. But at least when he flicked the switch the light came on, and that switch was lovingly polished brass. “It’s wonderful.” Just one room for now. But in a year’s time there would be a whole house like this. Their house. “Do you think Mr Parker will like it?” Patrick asked. “I hope so.” He hadn’t told them the whole story, but they did know that the house had been abandoned by the family after too many of them had never come home from the war. “We owe him for this,” George said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll cook him dinner, as soon as we have a working cooker. Though we’ll want a couple of days first to practice.”

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Patrick nodded. “We’ll have to eat around the kitchen table, but I don’t suppose he’ll mind. It should be fun.” Light and love and laughter returning to this house with its weight of sad memories. It might be too much for the old man, but it might give him a little bit of happiness. “As soon as we can.” “Well, we’d better get the things in from the car,” Patrick said, unlocking the back door. “Get them set up properly, and then we can have our first proper meal in our kitchen.” Lunch was only bacon and baked beans on toast, with a mug of tea, and they ate it sitting around the kitchen table; but it was lunch in their kitchen. They savoured the food, did the washing up, and then had another mug of tea. Finally George stretched and said, “Swimming?” “Sounds good to me.” He got up and ceremonially put away the milk in their brand new fridge. Then they locked the back door and headed down to the cellar. No need for a torch down here now, but they’d need one in the quarry passage. There was wiring for electrical lighting in the passage, but only as far as the gate to the garden. Mr Parker had told him that the gate had been used to get heavy things in and out of the cellar without carrying them down the stairs from the kitchen. George paused at the gate. “I suppose we could open this up now, as long as we kept it locked.” “It’ll be useful once we buy a washing machine. It’ll be easier to bring it in this way.” His long-term plans included a washing machine and tumble drier installed alongside the laundry sink in the cellar, but it wasn’t a high priority when they could use Simon’s for now. “But it’s not urgent.” Patrick nudged him. “I think the most urgent thing right now is relaxing for a bit.” True. The rest of today was for relaxing with his partners and enjoying what they’d created together. Right now they could enjoy the fact that they could walk through a door in the cellar and find themselves back in a world where dolphins walked as men. He switched off the torch. “Take me downstairs.” There was ample light here by the gate, and he could see George’s pupils dilate with interest. “Time to play?” “Literally or metaphorically. I wouldn’t mind just a swim. But I want to be with you two. I miss you when I’m away.” George reached out and brushed across his hand. “Put the torch back on; it would be too dangerous on the stairs. But we miss you, too.”

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Partners. They had physical abilities beyond his; he had a wealth of experience with a culture that still bewildered them at times, perhaps always would. But they made a good team, in bed and out. He led the way down the stairs and into the sea cave. When he saw the water with the afternoon sun glinting off the ripples by the entrance, he knew that what he wanted most right now was to strip off and run into their pool. So he did. He struck out for the middle of the pool, hearing a splash behind him, and then another. By the time he turned to look, there was one golden shock of hair visible -- and one sleek grey shape. It startled him, for all that he’d just been thinking about their dual nature. It was the first time in nearly a month that he’d seen either of them in dolphin form. George swam over to him with a few rapid strokes. “Oh, it’s good to swim just for fun!” “You’ve only gone out to hunt?” “That and see the family. Or exercise. But it’s not the same.” “I know. This is much more fun than doing laps in the municipal swimming pool.” Especially as he couldn’t swim nude in the municipal swimming pool. “You haven’t been working too hard, I hope.” George shook his head. “It’s just been a novelty to be able to spend days at a time in human shape without worrying about anything.” He grinned. “We had food and a pile of books and jigsaws, and light to read by at night. We didn’t have any particular reason to go back to the sea just because it was too dark to work on the house.” He backed off a little and flipped over, diving to touch the bottom of the pool. Something nudged Martin in the back. He turned around and found Patrick looking at him. At least, he assumed that it was Patrick. Even knowing, believing, that Patrick and George weren’t entirely human, he had trouble thinking of this ... person ... as the man he knew. “Patrick?” The dolphin whistled at him. Behind him, George said, “Yes, it is.” George moved around to tread water next to Patrick, and put an arm over him. “I suppose it’s difficult for you, even if you believe.” “I believe, all right. I’ve been on the receiving end of your echolocation.” He reached out a hand and carefully laid it on Patrick’s head. It felt warmer than he’d somehow expected. “I just find it difficult to think of this as Patrick.” More whistling. He was already used to thinking of it as language, because they’d so clearly understood at least simple English back before he’d found out that they were more than dolphins. So he wasn’t surprised to hear George laugh at whatever it was that Patrick had said. “What did he say?” “Something very rude. The gist of it was that it’s a pity we can’t change just a bit at a time, or he’d make sure there was a bit of him you recognised.”

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The shock hit him all over again. They hadn’t mentioned it at all since that first time. But that made the idea a little bit easier to take this time. They’d left him alone, not trying to push him into it, and this was a casual remark. “All right. What does it look like in this shape?” They both stared at him. “Look. I’m not promising anything. But I’d like to know what I could be getting myself into.” Patrick whistled at him and rolled over. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be looking at at first, and then it became obvious as Patrick’s cock slowly extended from a slit in his belly back near his tail. Very obvious. If Patrick had been that size in human shape, he could have earned a fortune modelling for Viagra ads. There must have been a good ten or twelve inches of it, and he could do tricks with it. The damn thing was curling around at the tip, and it was clearly doing so under conscious control. “Bloody show-off,” George said, and slapped Patrick, who rolled back over. Patrick was definitely grinning at him. “All you had to do was show him the size, not wave at him with it.” “Was ... was that all of it?” he asked. Patrick whistled at him. “Yes,” George translated. “And it really is a muscle with us.” He stroked Patrick’s head. More whistling. After a few seconds, he recognised it as what a certain folk song would sound like if sung by a dolphin trying to keep within human hearing range. He was fairly sure that the words intended to accompany it were not the ones normally heard in public. He’d heard Patrick singing that song with somewhat bawdier lyrics, apparently picked up from hanging around in a harbour. They revolved around how useful a prehensile penis could be. “All right. You’re definitely Patrick.” Now he knew why the song had so amused the shapechanger. “Can you carry things with it?” “Well, it’s not as versatile as an elephant’s trunk,” George said. “At least, not going by the pictures we’ve seen. It’s only the end that can curl round, and not all the way round. But we can pick some things up with it.” Patrick whistled in a way that sounded like snickering. George glared at him and didn’t translate. “Let me guess. You can pick up men with it.” “That’s the polite version, but yes.” “I take it I don’t want to know the impolite version.” He gave Patrick a hard stare. “I seem to remember someone saying something about not minding if I’d gone swimming with dolphins instead of lecturing them about fossils.” Hell, if they could get the positioning right,

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they could pick up men literally as well as metaphorically, or at least the matching piece of male anatomy. Patrick backed off slightly, muttering to himself, and George laughed at him. “Martin knows you well enough by now to guess what you’re saying, even if he can’t understand you.” Then he glanced at Martin. “He’s feeling randy after all that. Would it be too much for you if Patrick and I ...?” He thought about it. The idea certainly disturbed him, but not as much as it had. The last couple of minutes had made it easier to accept that this really was Patrick, that in some sense it was just Patrick wearing a costume. “As long as you don’t mind if I decide that I don’t want to keep watching once I actually see it.” “That’s why I asked first.” George moved close enough to put a hand on his shoulder. “I know this might be outside your limits, so don’t try to keep going if you feel too uncomfortable.” Patrick whistled, and George added, “And if you get too cold, start moving around or get out of the water.” “All right.” George turned back to Patrick. “Back off a bit. I don’t want to have to drag Martin out just because you got overexcited and slapped him with your tail.” He hadn’t thought about that aspect of it. Patrick was bloody big even in human form, and his dolphin shape was about the same length but even more solidly built. George had the weight to be a match for Patrick, but Martin didn’t. He was glad to see that Patrick did as he was told, easing away from him slightly and swinging around. “He almost certainly wouldn’t,” George said to Martin, “but the idea of you watching is turning him on, and I don’t want to take the risk of him losing control.” “What are you going to do?” “Just give him a quick wank, so you can see how things work.” George paddled around to the other side of Patrick. “It’s almost the same, but we’re a lot faster in that shape unless we deliberately hold back.” He slapped Patrick again. “Right. Over you go.” Patrick obediently rolled over onto his back. George took hold of his cock, and that drove home just how big Patrick’s cock was in dolphin form -- even George’s big hand covered less than half the length. He felt uncomfortable seeing them like that, but reminded himself that this was Patrick, not just a dolphin. He kept watching as George gave a hard stroke along the full length. It was easier when George started talking to Patrick, telling him to try to hold back for a few seconds, and Patrick answered him. Even if Martin couldn’t understand what Patrick was saying, it was clearly a conversation. That made it easier to hold on to the knowledge that there was a human mind in that body. A few more strokes, then Patrick whistled urgently. “All right,” George said. “You can come now.”

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Patrick’s body shuddered, then arched, and then he came. That was enough to give a merely human male an inferiority complex. The volume wasn’t all that special, but the distance was impressive. He might have wondered why they bothered doing it in human shape at all, but they’d already made that clear. Human bodies had their own physical advantages -- hands and mouths and an ability to make it last. Patrick had rolled the right way up again, and George was cuddling him. It only took him a couple of strokes to join them. He put an arm over Patrick, just ahead of his fin. Patrick whistled at him. “Are you all right?” George asked. “Still feels a bit weird.” Martin looked down at Patrick. Definitely his lover, even if not the way he was used to seeing him. “It’ll take a while, but I can get used to it, I think.” “Good,” George said. “I don’t think we’ll try you on doing it yourself today. Maybe tomorrow.” He bent and quickly kissed the top of Patrick’s head. “You had plenty this morning, so don’t complain.” Patrick whistled again, and George said, “You’d better start moving around again before you get cold.” The water was warm enough for him, but they were right to check when they couldn’t judge whether it was comfortable for him. He let go of Patrick, turned around, and swam the length of the pool to loosen up. When he turned back, Patrick was back in human shape and was swimming towards him. He stopped and waited. Patrick swam up to him. “I wasn’t trying to get you to ... well ...” He paused for a moment, then went on. “I know you’re not comfortable with it. I just wanted a swim, but the conversation sort of got smutty.” He laid one finger across Patrick’s mouth. “I know. Don’t worry about it.” Patrick grabbed his hand and kissed the palm. “Thanks, love. I should have said before things got silly, but I was just going to offer you a ride. Not that sort of ride. I thought you might like a tow around the pool.” Given how they felt about being treated as living toys, that was as big a thing for Patrick as what he’d just done was for him. “I appreciate it. Maybe later.” Not right now. It would mean asking Patrick to change shape again, and he was starting to realise just how uncomfortable they were with the idea of doing that in front of him. They simply didn’t do that where humans might see them; and even though he knew what they were, he’d never seen them change. It was their equivalent of a nudity taboo. “Let’s just have a splash around for now. We could do with having some fun.” Patrick grinned and said, “We could go and duck George.” “You could, but you won’t,” George said behind Patrick, making him jump. “I say we have a swim, and then if we have any energy left, we have a fuck. What do you two think?”

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He and Patrick thought it was a very good plan and were quite happy to go along with the suggestion.

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Chapter Twenty-Two They finally left the cave to go and make dinner. It was a simple enough meal -- baked potatoes, grilled chicken breast, and salad -- but again it was something that marked the kitchen as being ready to use. Afterwards they went for a stroll around the garden, talking about what they’d need to do to start bringing it back to life. George had visions of fruit bushes and a vegetable garden. “Although we’ll have to wait until we’ve done the house. That’s more important.” “We’ll also need to see what can be grown here,” Martin reminded them. “It’s warm here, but we’re also right on the sea. The salt and wind will put off some plants.” He was surprised by their longing for a garden. Was it just something they’d read about in books, or was this a desire sparked by seeing gardens while wandering around the local towns? “We can order some seed catalogues, and you can have a browse through them.” He had no fear of them trying to take on more than they could handle in a single year -- they had already demonstrated with the house that they were capable of visualising the final result and then focusing on one small area at a time. “And at least one book,” George said. “We’ve got a few magazines, but they focus on what to do that month.” So they had at least some theoretical knowledge of gardening. “Well, we could start with a couple of tubs of bedding plants by the front door, and a tub of herbs by the kitchen door. It’ll brighten the place up and give you some practice.” “More shopping tomorrow?” Patrick asked. “Or shall we leave it until we’ve got another room done?” “We’ll go out later in the week. It’ll be quieter in the shops then.” And they might as well get some work done in the house tomorrow and make a list of anything else they might need over the next few weeks now that there was power. More kitchen equipment, of

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course. The way this house had been simply left to itself meant that they’d found many of the basics stacked in the cupboards, things that had needed only a good clean to be serviceable again. But there would be gaps. They’d only notice some things as they started using the kitchen. One other thing to be done. He hadn’t bothered to get a phone line installed yet, because the mobile phone was normally enough. But mobile reception was unreliable along this bit of the coast, and as they’d discovered yesterday, sometimes it mattered. “Would you two be happier if I got a landline phone installed? I’ll need one anyway once I move in, but I was going to leave it until after we got the driveway fixed.” George thought about it, then shrugged. “There’s usually some reception; it’s just not reliable. As long as we’ve got voicemail, it’s not normally a problem.” “We can always phone Simon or Mr Parker if it’s urgent.” Patrick added. “It’s usually something that will wait for ten minutes while we walk around and find a spot where the phone works. That’s what we did yesterday -- just walked up the hill.” He turned to George. “Are we going back to Simon’s tonight?” George looked at Martin. “Was he just being polite when he invited us?” “No. He wants you there. He just doesn’t want to make you feel that you have to stay there.” “All right. We’ll stay with you and Simon tonight. Time to go?” Might as well. “Go and get your laundry, if you didn’t take it yesterday.” Patrick grinned at him. “We didn’t think about it. We were too busy worrying about you, and Simon was too busy trying to convince us you were all right and to go over to his place to wait.” “Well, I’m glad you did. Let’s go.”

***** Simon was pleased to see them, but didn’t press them for any details other than asking if they were going to work on the house tomorrow. George asked him if he had any books on gardening, and when presented with a choice in the bookcase, both George and Patrick settled down to read. When Martin went out to the kitchen to get a drink, Simon followed him. “They’re into gardening?” “More like trying to find out if they’re into gardening. Thanks for the books.” “I’m afraid they can’t borrow them, because I’m still learning how to garden.” Simon pointed out of the window. “Though I’m getting somewhere.” “Even being able to read them here helps.”

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“I’m surprised they turned up, but I’m glad they’re getting over their shyness.” Simon leaned back against the table and looked at him thoughtfully. “For one thing, now I’ve seen them spending time with you, it’s obvious that they want you and not just a convenient source of money and sex.” “What?” “You haven’t seen the way that big blond looks at you when he thinks nobody’s watching. As if you’re all his Christmases and birthdays at once, and he’s terrified he’s going to lose you.” George must have been scared by yesterday’s events. “He’s not about to dump Patrick for me, though. This really is a threesome.” “I know. It’s obvious that they love each other. And they love you. It’s just that I haven’t caught Patrick being quite so intense about it.” Simon sighed. “But I don’t get a bad feeling about it. It’s like you said a while back -- he’s possessive, but it’s not the nasty sort of possessiveness. I never thought I’d see you in a threesome, but this looks as if it’s going to work.” Simon scratched at his ear. “I suppose what worried me was that they were an established couple, and you might be excluded to some degree. But it’s like watching two people getting to know each other, only one of the people is a couple.” That was what it felt like to Martin. All the little adjustments, the mutual learning of likes and dislikes with a new partner; only this time the partner was two people rather than one. Even this afternoon, when they hadn’t tried to make him fit in around what they already did together, but had made sure that he felt comfortable. Not that he could tell Simon about that particular example. “It could still all go wrong. But I don’t think it’s going to.”

***** Patrick and George were more comfortable with Simon the next morning, even if they were still slightly wary. Martin watched Simon back off a couple of times at the first hint of dislike of any particular subject, and George and Patrick take note of that respect for their feelings. The three of them were trying very hard to be friends. Not only for his sake, he thought -- there seemed to be a potential friendship there quite independent of him. Simon didn’t know it, but George and Patrick were reacting to him partly on the way he behaved towards two dolphins. But they still seemed glad when Martin suggested that it was time to go and do some work on the house. George and Patrick spent the morning working on the downstairs room that he’d tentatively assigned as his office. Martin spent much of the time thinking about where he’d want to have power points, lighting, and the like. Ethernet as well, for he might as well take advantage of the fact that they were doing a complete renovation.

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Now that they had most of the utilities working, all he’d need to be able to work from home at this location would be a good phone connection for his internet access. Once they had a bedroom in a functional state as well, he’d be able to move in here. There was still the work on the roof to be done, of course, and that was likely to be noisy; but it was scheduled for early autumn. He could probably give up the flat by the end of the year, unless it turned out to be worth keeping on a place closer to London. They made steady progress during the morning. It was another hot day, even if the house itself was cool inside its thick stone walls, and after lunch they once again retreated to their sea pool to relax. They splashed around for a while, enjoying the coolness of the water. Then Patrick came up to him. “Would you try, Martin? It’s all right if you don’t want to, and George can always do me if you do try and can’t finish it. Or I can just change back and we can finish that way.” He looked at Patrick. So earnest, so worried about pushing him too far. His partner. “Let’s see if I can manage it.” He turned his back on Patrick and a second later felt a gentle kiss on the back of his neck. Then he felt ripples slap against his skin as Patrick moved away from him. A whistle told him that Patrick was ready. He turned around, and Patrick rolled onto his back. George joined them, standing on the other side of Patrick, the water here just shallow enough that they could stand on the bottom. It was Patrick, he reminded himself, and then he reached out and took hold of that oddly shaped cock. It felt wet, but he wasn’t sure whether that was natural lubrication or just sea water. He tried a quick stroke, and it jerked in his hand, startling him. He tried another stroke. “All right?” George asked. “I’m managing. But I don’t know how hard to hold him.” There was a pause; then he heard a whistle, modulated by the water. “He said it feels good; you’ve got the right grip.” Reassured, he jerked again, sliding his hand along to the tip. Then George took hold of the bottom of the shaft and grinned at him. “Two hands are better than one. One ...” They worked Patrick’s cock together as George counted to keep time. Two, three, four, five, and then Patrick’s body shuddered in that warning that he was near to coming. One more stroke did it. Patrick came hard and fast. They squeezed his cock as he came, then let go as he finished. Patrick rolled over, and they both cuddled him for a few minutes. Then George said, “Would you mind looking away?”

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It was the first time either of them had explicitly asked him to turn away while they changed shape. They’d realised he’d deliberately turned away earlier. He turned and paddled a few feet away, giving Patrick room if he needed it. A few seconds later, Patrick had his arms around him. “Thanks. That felt wonderful.” “Nice to have two of us paying attention to you?” Patrick laughed. “Mmm. One hand from each of you means I get the full length held nice and tight, without anyone having to be in an awkward position.” He put one hand down to cup Martin’s cock. “It wasn’t too bad for you, then?” Not teasing, but a serious question. He thought about it and realised that he was aroused. “Once I managed to convince myself that it was you.” “Want to try with George?” Why not? It would get easier each time. “I think I can handle it.” “George?” “I heard.” There was a slight splash, then a whistle. Patrick let go of him, and he turned around. George was lying in the water, waiting for them. They made their way over to him, and he rolled over. “Want to try getting on top of him?” Patrick suggested. “Your cock’s a lot shorter than his, but it still feels good.” The idea disturbed him, and he wasn’t sure why. It was more than just a new position taking away the slight familiarity he’d gained by wanking Patrick. “He can take your weight easily,” Patrick reassured him. “Remember that we can hold our breath far longer than you can when we’re in that shape. And I’ll be here to support you as well.” That was part of it, but there was still something ... He shook it off. George was waiting for him. “What do I do?” “Don’t bother with foreplay. Our problem is holding back. Just get on top and rub against him as you normally would.” Patrick patted George’s belly. “Biggest problem is that it’s a lot further back on a dolphin body so you’ll need to be further back.”

That was part of what was bothering him. There was more of a difference to doing it with a human in this position than there had been with Patrick. But he let Patrick help him slide onto George. The two of them were talking about him, even if he could only understand one side of the conversation; Patrick telling George that he was going to try something new to see if he could handle it. Then he was lying on top of George, his legs half wrapped around George’s tail, their cocks pressed together. He was scared of falling off; he was scared of getting a mouthful of seawater if he slipped just as one of the small waves came past. He was scared of getting it wrong. But his cock didn’t care, not so long as it had another nice hard cock to press against.

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He told himself that George knew that he was horribly nervous about the whole thing and didn’t even really know what he was doing. There wouldn’t be any complaints if it went wrong, just a patient explanation of how they might do better next time. That made it easier. He thrust against George. It felt very different, but it felt very good. All that length of cock to slide against. Patrick’s hands on his arse to hold him steady without trying to control him. A very strangely shaped body under him, but knowing who was inside that body. Back and forth, back and forth. He knew George would come quickly, and didn’t care; one or both of them would make sure he was satisfied afterwards. One more time, and then he tried sitting up, riding George. Patrick held him steady so that he could press down hard against George’s cock one last time. And it was the last time; George shuddered and arched under him, and Martin grabbed hold of George’s cock, trusting Patrick to support him. Then George came in a quick shuddering spasm, and it was over. Patrick helped him slide off George, although it was awkward and he nearly caught his heel against George before he disentangled himself. He was hard and needy himself now, but still felt that faint edge of unease. With Patrick standing behind him, he finally identified it. “What’s wrong?” Patrick asked. “Tell you in a minute. Can he hear me when he’s upside down? I need to talk to you both.” “Yes.” But George rolled over anyway. Martin put one hand on George, then turned to face Patrick. “It does still bother me, but it’s not just the thing about is it you or is it a dolphin. It’s that I can’t tell you apart when you’re in that shape. That bothers me.” Patrick looked blank for a moment, then said, “It must be a bit like going out with identical twins. That happened to us once. If you can’t tell them apart, it makes you feel weird.” That was a very good analogy. “You’re not interchangeable to me, and it feels unpleasant somehow when I can’t tell who’s who, even when I’m sure it’s one of you. But I didn’t realise that that was part of what bothers me until you were standing behind me just now and I couldn’t see you.” “And I wasn’t talking, so you couldn’t hear me either.” George whistled at them, and Patrick said, “Go and change. You’re not helping by staying in that shape.” George swam off behind Martin. He didn’t turn to look. Right now he wasn’t sure he even wanted to see them change shape. It had been a strange enough day already. Then George came up behind him, and he could tell from the way the light changed and the water moved against him that it was a human body, even before George spoke. He’d never really

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noticed until he’d met them how many different ways he had to sense things besides his eyesight. George hugged him from behind. “It’s just too much strangeness at once, isn’t it?” he asked. “I wonder ...” “In that position?” Patrick said. “You’re going to have to be bloody careful.” He twisted around to face George. “Out with it.” Although he could guess, and the thought was making his blood run cold. “It doesn’t bother you if you can’t see me because you’re in the middle and you’re facing Patrick. Or any other position where I’m taking your arse from behind, even if you can’t see either of us. Like yesterday morning -- you knew it was Patrick, without opening your eyes. So if you can’t see me when I’m in a different shape, it might not bother you so much.” It made sense, but was it practical? “But if you’re on top, I’m under the water -- and I can’t hold my breath that long.” He couldn’t see how to get it to work in the equivalent of a standing position. George shook his head. “A snorkel will probably take care of that, and it isn’t going to be the only problem.” Of course. Twelve inches was a nice fantasy, but in real life it was likely to be uncomfortable, or even dangerous if they weren’t very, very careful. And it wasn’t just the length. “You’re too bloody big, and you come too hard.” “That’s what worries me. If I’m careful, it should be all right, but...” He’d have to trust George to pull out in time. There’d be sod all he could do about it if George didn’t, because when the shapechanger was in his dolphin form he had to weigh at least twice what Martin did. “Why do you want to do this?” “Because it feels good. A nice tight body around my cock, and a human body feels different to a dolphin body. And Patrick says that for someone who likes being fucked, it feels good to the human body as well, if you’re careful.” George looked behind him, to where Patrick was, then looked back, totally focused on him. “But it’s different with Patrick, because he can tell if I’m about to come, and he can change shape if he has to. You can’t.” Safe, sane, consensual. There was no doubt that it would be consensual if it happened at all, but was it safe or sane to be even thinking about doing this? George cupped his face between those big hands. “You’d have to trust me absolutely. I’m a changer; I can keep control like a human, even when I look like a dolphin. But if you panicked, or I got it wrong -- I could literally fuck you to death.” He could see the fear in George’s eyes. A shudder ran through him. He’d never played at that level. Dangerous games didn’t appeal to him. He didn’t see the point of doing something just because it was dangerous.

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And that was what made the difference. If they did this, it wouldn’t be for the thrill of the danger, but in spite of it, with all the precautions they could muster. The thrill would be in the trust. “We’ll have to think about it.” “I know. But if you’re willing ...” George hugged him and kissed him. They were both hard, their cocks bumping together. Both turned on by the idea, even if they were both scared of what could go wrong. George pulled back a little and stared at him with that utterly focused look he sometimes got. Then George picked him up and carried him out of the water. He didn’t protest, but let George take control. Let George lay him down on the beach and lie on top of him. Held George tight in his arms as George thrust against him. Cock against cock again, but this time it was the familiar body above him, the familiar weight pinning him down. A big but human cock pressed tightly against his own. They strained against each other, cocks slipping and sliding together. He was already aroused, needed nothing more. He knew it would take only one or two more thrusts against his cock. No need to hold back, not when both his lovers had already had their turn. Not when George was on the brink again himself. “Want you,” he said and pressed up against George -- and felt himself go over. George, too, that intense gaze softened now. They clung to each other, their bodies tense with coming. They still clung to each other even as it slowly ebbed away. Eventually George let go of him and rolled off, but still kept one arm across his chest. Patrick was standing next to them, holding a towel in each hand. “Here. You two had better dry off before you get chilled.” His cock was erect, but he didn’t seem in urgent need. Martin sat up and took one of the towels. He did feel a bit cold now and was glad to wrap the towel around himself. Gladder still to have George hug him. “Are we done for now?” Patrick grinned at him. “I enjoyed the show, but I can always go and have a quiet wank by myself if I need something.” Patrick glanced down at himself. “Ignore that. You know it can never remember which species it is.” He sat down beside them and snagged another towel from where he must have dropped it nearby. “Are we staying here all afternoon?” “At least until it gets a bit cooler outside,” George said. “Or we could go out and read in the garden. It’s the weekend -- we might as well have a holiday from working on the house.” That sounded like a nice idea. They didn’t have a real garden yet, but they could always put a blanket or two down on the scrubby grass and rig something for shade. “Swim a bit more, and then sit around in the garden,” he suggested. “We put in a good morning’s work, and I don’t have to go anywhere tomorrow.”

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George ruffled his hair. “Not unless you check your email tonight and find another urgent demand for your services. As a geologist, I mean.” “You two don’t leave me the energy to provide any other sort of services to anyone else.” Patrick said, “Good,” and kissed him. He didn’t have the sexual appetite to keep up with them, but it didn’t matter. With three of them, they all got enough to feel satisfied. Right now all Martin wanted was a kiss and a cuddle, and he knew Patrick was perfectly happy to keep it at that. So he kissed Patrick back and hugged him. Then he suggested, “Back to the water?” They followed him back into their little private bit of sea.

***** As it turned out, there was email waiting for him that evening, but it wasn’t a job. It was an invitation to write a book review for a journal. There was even the offer of an honorarium along with the review copy of the book. “I’m going up in the world.” “What?” Simon asked. He explained about the invitation. “The honorarium isn’t much, given how long it will take to read the book and write a decent long review of it, but being asked to do it is good.” Simon peered over his shoulder. “Gets your name in front of people and says your name has already been in front of people.” “Does it mean you can work at home for a few days?” Patrick asked. “Yes.” He turned around to face them. “Though if an actual contract comes in, I’ll still have to go out and earn a living. Just means that I’ve got a little bit of work that’s low paid but will fit around site contracts.” “You’re going to do it, then?” George asked. “Yes. Simon, can I give them this address to send the review copy to? I’m probably going to be here as much as anywhere for a while.” “Of course.” Simon patted him on the shoulder. “Though you really ought to go back to your flat occasionally to pick up the post.” “I do. But if I do get a contract offer, I might not get back to the flat for a couple of weeks, and a book won’t fit through the letter box. At least here there’s a reasonable chance that someone will find the note telling us to pick it up from the post office before they send it back.” He turned back to the computer to send a reply. It wouldn’t be a lot of money, but he’d enjoy doing it, and even a small payment would be worth having at the moment. Then he settled down to doing his accounts. Doug always paid promptly and accurately, and the last job had come through the agency, but there were still receipts to be sent and covering letters to be written. It was the least interesting part of the job, but it was

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the penalty one paid for working as a consultant rather than as an employee. As he wrote to the agency to say that he was currently free for any new jobs, he idly wondered whether George or Patrick would be interested in learning to do some of the office admin. It would be something useful they could do if they felt that they should contribute something besides fresh fish to the household once the work on the house was done. He was disturbed by the sound of the doorbell ringing, but didn’t pay much attention. Simon said, “I’ll get it,” and went to the front door, so he turned his attention back to the computer. Even Simon saying, “What the fuck are you doing here?” drew only part of his attention. It was only when he heard Barry say, “I need to see Martin,” that he sat bolt upright and hit the save button.

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Chapter Twenty-Three He hadn’t imagined it. When he got to the door, it was Barry standing in the doorway, looking distressed. Martin was tempted to repeat what Simon had said, but the look on Barry’s face stopped him. Something had happened to Barry, and whatever might have gone wrong between them, Martin was past the point of wishing hurt upon him. “What’s wrong?” “Margaret’s left me.” The dead tone of Barry’s voice stopped any retort he might have had along the lines of “Serves you right.” There was more to this than Barry thinking that he was just going to pick up with Martin where he’d left off. “So why come here?” he asked, as gently as he could. Barry stared at him. “Didn’t think you’d take me back. I’m not that stupid. But I needed to talk to someone.” He sniffled a little. “Sorry, Martin, but I couldn’t think of anyone else. The man she left me for -- he’d already tried it on with me.” Martin looked Barry over, taking in the details. The man was distraught, even if he was in control of himself for now. He looked as if he hadn’t slept much last night. His wife had left him for another bi man. He must have tossed and turned, unable to sleep, and been too scared, too repressed, to talk to anyone about it. And finally he’d become desperate enough to come to the one man he trusted not to tell the world that he was bi. Martin sighed and said, “You’d better come in.” “Martin ...” Simon said. But before Martin could say anything, Barry looked at something behind him. Someone behind him. Someone several inches taller than him. “Martin?” George said. It would have to be George and not Patrick. If George took exception to Barry and showed it, he’d scare the living daylights out of the man without ever making an overt threat.

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Barry said, “I’m sorry ... I didn’t think ...” He started to turn away. “I’ll go.” Martin grabbed him without even thinking about it. “You’re in no state to drive safely. Come in and sit down for a few minutes; then I’ll drive you to a hotel.” Barry had by some miracle made it down here intact, but Martin didn’t want to rely on two miracles in one evening. “Are you sure?” Barry glanced behind him again. “Are you sure?” George asked, in the sort of tone that suggested that he would be very happy to bodily remove Barry if asked to do so. He turned around to look at George. “Yes. Whatever I may think of his behaviour, I don’t want him involved in an accident. Go back inside. No, go and put the kettle on.” George flicked a glance over Barry again, and his expression changed from hostile to concerned. “Don’t worry about us. It’s Martin’s decision whether you stay.” He turned and went. Barry stared after him. “I thought he must be a ... well, what you like.” “He is,” Simon said. “As I gather Martin has tried to explain to you, some people do it as a lifestyle, but most keep it in the bedroom. And George is shy around strangers. I doubt you’d have seen him if he wasn’t so protective of Martin and guessed who you are.” Simon sighed and shook his head. “All right. You’d better come inside and have a rest. We’ll never hear the end of it if we throw you out and anything happens to you.” Barry finally came in and followed Simon to the living room. Martin followed behind, ready for fireworks. Barry stopped and stared at Patrick, who was just getting out of his chair. “Patrick, this is Barry,” Simon said. And as Patrick started to react, Simon added with a touch of malicious pleasure, “Barry, this is Patrick. Yes, there are two of them.” Barry staggered to the sofa and sat down. Martin gave Simon a promissory glare and went to check that Barry was all right. “Barry?” Barry stared up at him. “I always thought you were faithful.” “I am. It’s just that I’m being faithful to two people.” He sat down next to Barry. “It’s a long story.” Barry looked over at Patrick. “Would you have stayed with me if I’d been honest about Margaret?” “No. But I wouldn’t have been angry with you.” He could understand what Barry was thinking. “Look. I’m in a relationship with both of them. It’s not that any of us is the bit on the side.” “I didn’t want you to be. But I was scared of losing either of you. And now ...” Barry started crying.

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Three months ago, he might have taken pleasure in Barry’s distress. But he’d had time to heal, and he had two loving partners and a new life. He didn’t need revenge any more. So he put his arm around Barry and held him until Barry got control of himself again. “What’s happened?” Patrick asked quietly. “His wife’s left him, only it’s got complicated.” Barry wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “And I didn’t know anyone else I could talk to about it. I’m sorry I barged in on you like this.” George came in. He obviously noticed that Martin was holding Barry, but didn’t comment. All he said was, “What would you like to drink?” “Tea, milk, no sugar,” Martin said. “And bring him some biscuits. I bet you haven’t eaten for hours, have you?” Barry shook his head. He seemed calmer now. “Couldn’t eat.” Martin heard a very faint, very high-pitched sound. Someone was surreptitiously scanning Barry. If he hadn’t known what it was, he’d have either not noticed it or assumed that it was a mosquito. George asked, “Simon, do you want a cup of tea while I’m making it?” “Not at this time of night, thanks. But he looks as if it won’t make much difference keeping him awake, and he probably needs a hot drink.” “Mmm.” George went out again. Martin was tempted to follow him and ask what the scanning was about, but didn’t want to leave Barry. It was probably just George being suspicious and checking to see if he was as upset as he looked. Patrick sat down on the sofa on the other side of Barry, and Simon took one of the armchairs. They sat quietly until George brought a tray of mugs and food in a few minutes later. Not just biscuits. There was some bread and cheese as well. “See if you can eat something,” George said. “You’ll probably feel better if you can.” Barry looked up at him and said, “Thanks,” before taking some of the food. His hands were trembling slightly. After he’d had a couple of mouthfuls, Simon said, “Are you up to telling us about it?” “I wasn’t the only one having an affair.” Barry looked down at his plate. “Yes, I know, I’ve no right to complain. But ...” He paused, then went on. “When I got home on Friday night, Margaret told me that she knew I’d been seeing someone else. Now she’d met someone else and she wanted to be with him while she thought about what to do next. He was there. Because she wanted me to know she wasn’t just making it up to get at me.” “Ah,” Simon said. “That’s how you knew it was the same man.” “Yes.” The next bit came out in a rapid burst. “I recognised him, because I’ve seen him in the bar I’d started going to. He tried to pull me a couple of weeks ago. I’d told him to get lost.”

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“Ouch,” Patrick said. “Did you tell her?” Martin asked. “What could I tell her? That I’d been sitting in a gay bar, trying to work out what I was?” Barry shook his head. “She suspected I’d been seeing someone else. She told me that if I got to play around, so did she. But I don’t think she knew ...” ... that Barry had been playing around with a man, or that it had been rather more serious than just playing around. He hadn’t been just a casual fuck to Barry. “Was it just a coincidence?” Simon asked. “Or did he already know who you were when he approached you?” I don’t know.” Barry sighed. “I don’t know anything anymore. That’s why I needed to talk to Martin.” He looked around at them all. “I like men. But I’m not gay. I like women more. I’d had a few flings before I married Margaret, but it was never any more than that until I met Martin. I don’t know how things work, what’s considered acceptable behaviour if you’re bi. Never mind gay.” He picked up his cup of tea and hunched over it. “I don’t know if it was all just a coincidence, or if this man was after me and is just using Margaret --” He swallowed a sob. “-- or if he wants both of us. And I don’t know what to do about it, but I’m scared for Margaret if she doesn’t know he cruises. At least I always used a condom.” That explained a lot about Barry’s current state of mind. He might be a two-timing bastard, but he was a careful two-timing bastard who loved his wife and was afraid of what could happen to her. And he felt guilty because he knew his own behaviour might have pushed her into it. Simon was looking a lot more sympathetic. “You’ll have to tell her, Barry. I know it might mean she chucks you out for good if he tells her where he met you, but you can’t let her go on without knowing. If it was only a couple of weeks ago that he tried it on with you, it was almost certainly after your wife got involved with him.” “I know.” Another mouthful of bread and cheese, a sip of tea. “But I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if she’ll believe me. And even if she does -- what if she already knows?” “Then you’ll just have to think about what you’re going to do,” Simon said. “Look -why did you turn this man down?” “I’d already fucked things up with Martin. I wasn’t looking for sex; I just wanted to get a better idea of what I really wanted. He actually asked me what I was doing there if I wasn’t looking for a pick-up. He’d been watching, and he’d seen me turning people away.” Barry stopped to eat a little more and drink some more tea. It seemed to do him some good, because his voice was steadier as he went on, “I told him the truth -- that I’m bi, and I think I’m kinky, and I’m trying to work out exactly what else I might be and what and whether to tell my wife. I need people to talk to, to watch -- not to have sex with them.” Simon sat back in his chair and chewed on his lip for a moment. Finally he said, “Listen. I think he knew who you were. He might be just a private detective your wife

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hired.” He paused for a few seconds, then went on, “But it’s just possible that this man was trying to sound out whether you’d be interested in a three-way relationship, without giving Margaret away. It’s not likely, but it’s worth trying to find out.” It wasn’t impossible. It could be that Barry’s wife knew more than he realised about his sexuality. Or her new boyfriend was a regular in the bar simply because it was a gay bar, with no particular thought of cruising, and at some point had realised who Barry was. He could have been just testing, looking for something he could use to undermine Barry in his wife’s eyes -- or he could have been fishing for the prospect of a threesome. “If he wasn’t cruising, if he was only in that bar because it’s his local, and he tried it on to feel you out ... would you consider a threesome if that’s what it took to keep Margaret?” God knew what Barry’s wife made of the whole thing, but Martin felt sorry enough for Barry that he wanted to help if he could. “Either her having a lover, or all three of you together?” “Three of us? But I’m not like that.” Barry looked at him. “I know. I was having an affair with you. But that’s because I fell in love and didn’t know what the hell to do when I was in love with two people at once.” “I’m not like that either.” He deliberately looked around at Patrick, then George. “But sometimes you can make it work anyway.” “I don’t know ...” “This is why you came here,” Simon said briskly. “To talk to people who would listen to you without laughing or lecturing, who might be able to give you advice. Not just Martin. Me. I haven’t found the right woman yet, but I know people who have. Open relationships can work. So can relationships that aren’t open but have more than two people. It’s hard work, but it can be done.” Barry’s hand shook, almost hard enough to slop some of the tea over the side. But his voice was firm as he said, “You’re right. I didn’t think about it -- but even if Martin hadn’t been here, you could have given me sensible advice.” “Well, my advice right now is that you should finish that food and then go and get some sleep. There’s a spare bedroom here, so you don’t need to go and find a hotel if you don’t feel up to it. But you’re in no state to drive yourself home.” Barry didn’t argue, just said, “Thank you,” and went back to eating his food. He seemed to be finding it easier to eat now. When he’d finished, George took the plate from him and said, “Would you like some more?” “Yes, please. I’m starting to feel hungry again.” George gave Barry a slight smile. “Sometimes if you can manage to eat something, you feel better enough to eat something more. I’ll make you a ham sandwich.” “I’d better go and check the spare room,” Simon said. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any luggage with you.” Barry shook his head. “Wasn’t thinking. Just got in the car and went.”

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Too upset to think about what he was doing. Martin was very glad he hadn’t slammed the door in Barry’s face. He got up and went out to the kitchen with George. “What do you think? I heard one of you ...” He broke off. No talking about that when there were other people around. “Oh, you caught that?” George started rummaging in the fridge. “He really is very upset, and I think he’s genuinely worried about his wife’s safety.” “Mmm.” Simon came in. “What are we going to do with him?” George shrugged. “Up to Martin, I think.” “You don’t mind me offering him a bed for the night, I hope.” Hardly, when he was the one who’d insisted on bringing Barry in because he didn’t want him driving. “Simon, I feel sorry for him. I’m not rushing to forgive him for what he did to me; I just think he’s had a bad time and he’s trying to do the right thing.” “And he doesn’t know what the right thing is. Can’t say I blame him -- this is a mess.” Simon rummaged in the drinks cupboard and got out a bottle of brandy. “Think I’ll dose him with this so he gets some sleep.” He poured a small amount of brandy and held it up. “I think Barry’s problem is that he is a very conventional man who followed very conventional patterns of behaviour when he discovered that you can fall in love more than once. And now his script is completely broken, and he’s trying to find a solution that doesn’t cause any more damage.” Simon shrugged. “If he was just feeling sorry for himself, I’d cheerfully chuck him out. But he seems to have done a bit of growing up in the last few months. Have you finished making that sandwich, George?” They went back through to the lounge. Barry was leaning against Patrick, his head on Patrick’s shoulder and Patrick’s arm around him, supporting him. Martin found that he didn’t feel jealous or threatened. Patrick was only trying to offer comfort to a man who was in sore need of it. “He’s calmed down,” Patrick said. “I think being able to talk it out with someone has helped.” Barry opened his eyes and sat up. “I feel such an idiot.” Simon handed him the glass of brandy. “You’d have been an idiot if you hadn’t tried to find help, my lad. Drink this; eat the sandwich; then go to bed.” There was silence as Barry did as he was told. They watched him go, and then Simon said, “I think I’m ready for bed, after all that.” There was a general murmur of agreement. Ten minutes later Martin was lying in bed with George and Patrick. “Bloody hell,” Patrick said. “I think that sums it up nicely.” He had quite expected to never see Barry again.

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“There are times when I’m very glad I’m not one of you people,” George said. “How did you get involved with him?” “You’re not exactly seeing him at his best.” “I think I like him better now, though,” Patrick said thoughtfully. “He wasn’t just using you, and he’s learnt from his mistakes. I hope he gets things sorted out with his wife.” Martin also liked Barry a lot better now than he had a few months ago. Simon was right -- Barry had been following the script he knew. Get married, fall in love with someone else without falling out of love with your spouse, try to juggle both people by not telling either of them. He’d tried to force his life into a familiar pattern, the mistress a man, but the pattern otherwise the same. Now the pattern had shattered, and Barry’s life with it. George said into the darkness, “I’d have thought you’d resent him coming straight to you.” “No. He was in the closet. He’s been going to a gay bar since we broke up, but that’s new. He doesn’t have anyone except me that he can talk to about something like this.” Probably not entirely true, but Barry had been too much in shock to think about who he could safely talk to. “You don’t want him back?” “No.” He could understand George’s worry. “I still care about him, but I don’t want him back. I don’t think I would even if I didn’t have you two.” He needed a partner who was comfortable with his own desires. Or two partners. He reached for them, took hold of a hand each. “Thanks for helping.” George laughed softly. “If Simon was willing to put up with him, there had to be something worthwhile in there. I’m not the only one who’s protective of you.” “Just don’t start getting jealous of Simon again, please.” “I’m not.” George squeezed his hand. “He loves you, but not the same way we do.” “Can we stop being philosophical and go to sleep now, please?” Patrick muttered. “It’s been a full evening, and I’m tired.” So was Martin. He stopped talking and soon went to sleep. Barry looked much better when he came into the kitchen the next morning. He was quiet and composed as he sat down at the table with a cup of tea. Simon commented, “It’s amazing what a decent night’s sleep can do.” Barry had heard. He looked up, and said, “It’s amazing what being able to talk about it can do, as well. Thanks.” “What are you going to do?” Patrick asked. “Talk to Margaret. Tell her about Martin, and about the bar and what I was doing there, and who else was there.” He stared into the distance. “After that -- I don’t know. If he

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really was a private detective, maybe she’ll take me back. If he wasn’t, but they want a threesome, maybe I can manage.” He looked back to Martin. “I know it’s a damned cheek, but would you talk to her if she wants to?” “I’m not going to lie and say you chucked me,” Martin warned. “But if it will help, I’ll talk to her.” “That’s all I want.” “Toast?” George offered. That got a faint smile from Barry. “Thanks. Thanks for everything.” They sent him on his way after he’d had breakfast. Martin watched as Barry drove away, no longer worried about whether he was fit to drive. Patrick and George had gone back into the house, but Simon had stayed outside with him. “You really are over him, aren’t you?” Simon asked. “Yes. I think I am.”

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Chapter Twenty-Four As they went back into the house, Simon said, “Well, it’s Monday morning, and I have to work and you don’t. What are you doing?” “Work on the house. See Mr Parker, maybe. Phone the agency and chivvy them about possible jobs.” Simon laughed and slapped him on the back. “Still worried about that mortgage to feed at the end of the year?” “It’s all right for you; you’ve got a steady income.” But he knew he had the money to cover a good-sized deposit, even with the renovation expenses. Years of careful budgeting to cover the times when contracts were thin on the ground had built up a good nest egg. He just wanted to make sure that he had money to cover unexpected expenses -- especially as he was now effectively supporting three people. “And I don’t have dependents,” Simon said, reading his thoughts. “They get the odd bit of money from the art and their family, I imagine, but it must be even more erratic than your income.” “They’re not exactly expensive to keep, and if George gets his vegetable garden they’ll be even less expensive to keep. But no, they don’t contribute much in the way of actual cash, even if the work they’re doing on the house is saving me a packet.” And they couldn’t, not unless they found the sort of job where you weren’t asked for your National Insurance number. Such jobs tended to be poorly paid and often dangerous. He’d prefer to see them doing quick-draw sketches for tourists. “I really must come and have a look at the place,” Simon said. “I haven’t seen it yet. I didn’t even get much of a look at it when I collected them the other night. But I didn’t like to go over there when you weren’t around, not with the way they react to strangers. It didn’t seem fair.”

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“We’ll give Mr Parker his celebration dinner first. It’s his house. But you’re second on the list for dinner invitations. Where are those two?” “Out the back waiting in the Land Rover, I think. See you tonight.” Simon was right. George and Patrick were already in the Land Rover, eager to get back to the house and start work. “We should have your office finished this week,” Patrick said as they bounced down the driveway. “Yes, but I can’t move in yet.” “No, but if you’ve got work to do at home, like that book review, you can be here during the day instead of having to stay at Simon’s,” George pointed out. “Just as long as you understand that I’ll have to work.” It would be difficult to resist the temptation to join in the work on the house -- or to take a recreational break. Patrick nodded. “That’s why you need to have an office. Somewhere you can shut the door and ignore what’s going on in the house.” He grinned. “Like last night, when you were cheerfully ignoring the world until you heard Barry’s voice.” “Was I really that bad?” “Yes,” George said. “But we had books to read, so we didn’t mind. When are we going to get this driveway fixed?” “Soon,” he said with feeling. He’d put off doing anything about it, partly as a way of discouraging uninvited visitors, but it was getting to the point where something had to be done. The driveway was basically sound, but a few potholes had developed over the years and were rapidly getting worse now the driveway was in regular use again. “The agent said she’d found someone local who’ll do a decent job at a reasonable price, but we have to wait until he’s got a free day. This week, maybe.” Once again he gave thanks that Mr Parker had taken an interest in the project.

***** With the prospect of having a usable office soon, he set to work on organising the last few things that were necessary. A landline, with DSL if it was feasible this far from the exchange. Getting the potholes in the driveway repaired. Checking that the builder was still scheduled to come and do the roof maintenance. Getting the rewiring done. None of it had to be done now, but it all had to be done before he could move his office and lab equipment in. He spent the afternoon in town talking to people and then went back to collect his workforce. “I hope you two are feeling more comfortable with strangers, because there are going to be a lot of them about over the next few weeks.” “Oh?” George asked.

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“The drive’s being done on Wednesday, the electrician’s booked for Friday, and the builder says that he’s got an unexpected free slot and can come next week or the week after to do the roof.” Martin had only gone in to check that the work on the roof was still booked in for later in the year, but the builder had generously offered to get it done early, as the good weather had meant he was working ahead of schedule. Mr Parker’s agent, who seemed to know everything that was going on in local real estate, had cynically translated this as, “He was scheduling small jobs around the big subcontractor job he’s got, and that’s stalled for two months. Pity most of his small clients had already organised their plans around the original dates, and aren’t interested in getting things done early.” Martin’s own experience with the joys of contracting meant that he was mildly amused rather than annoyed by the change in schedule being dressed up as a favour to him. He was pleased enough to have it done now rather than later, so long as George and Patrick weren’t bothered by the change. “Will you two be all right with having the builders working here? It’s not going to be like the other stuff, where they didn’t spend much time in the house.” “As long as they don’t muck up our nice new kitchen,” Patrick said. “And we won’t have to leave that room under the damaged bit of roof until last now.” George looked around at the room they were working in. “We can manage, as long as you don’t want us to be here all the time to keep an eye on them. It’s getting easier with practice.” He started packing up his tools for the night. “Biggest problem is going to be if they want to talk to us on their tea break -- asking us who else we’ve worked for, or if we’d fancy a bit of work on the quiet.” Big, strong, quiet men who were hard workers, with no qualifications but some experience. Yes, the builder might offer them some cash-in-hand work if business suddenly picked up again. “You’d be too uncomfortable trying to keep up a conversation without giving yourselves away?” “Though we can just stick to the remittance men story,” Patrick said. “Say we fell in with you and we’re doing the work on the house because you’ve got a day job and we haven’t. The truth’s always the easiest, if we can get away with it.” “It wasn’t so bad when the electricity men came,” George said. “If it gets too much, we can always just say that it’s difficult to concentrate on the fiddly work when they’re in and out, and push off for a bit. We’ve got the keys to the internal doors, so we can lock any of the rooms that they don’t need to go into.” “All right. I’ll phone them and confirm it.” All good progress. “Are we eating here or at Simon’s?” “Simon’s,” Patrick said. “Seems a bit rude to only ever turn up to sleep there, and we got some fresh fish while you were out, if he’d like some.” He phoned to check if Simon was interested in fresh fish. The answer was an enthusiastic yes, so they went down to the sea cave for just long enough to collect the fish. It

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gave him an odd feeling to walk into the cave and look out over the pool. The last time he’d been here ... Patrick walked up behind him and cuddled him. “You don’t have to, you know,” he said quietly. “I know.” And if they’d never raised the subject, it would never have occurred to him. But now that it had ... “Simon’s got some snorkelling gear. Maybe I should borrow it.” “Later this week, while we’ve still got the house to ourselves.” George called to them from the fishpen. “Shall I bring enough for the freezer?” He thought about it. “Might as well, if you’ve got more than we’re going to use in the next couple of days.” “Right.” George scooped several fish into the bucket, and they went back upstairs.

***** “It’s nice to have really fresh fish,” Simon said. “Where did you catch it?” Martin wondered whether that would count as intrusive questioning, but Patrick merely said, “Under the cliffs. There are paths down to some good spots in clean water, if you know where.” “And you two would know.” Simon tried a mouthful. “Mmm. This is good. I don’t suppose you’ve seen those dolphins of Martin’s while you’ve been out fishing, have you?” George said, very sincerely, “We know the ones you mean. Not for a few days. Why?” “I haven’t seen them for a while. I wondered if they’d gone away altogether, or if they’ve just got fed up waiting for Martin to show up.” Patrick, quite deadpan, said, “Perhaps if you and Martin go out in the boat this weekend you’ll see them. You ought to go anyway -- it’s a bit unfair of us to move in on you like this but never give you any time with Martin.” Simon waved a hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry about it. You need to take advantage of the good weather while you’ve got it, and you’re doing your bit by bringing fresh fish and cooking dinner.” This was entertaining in a way, but Martin was having trouble keeping a straight face. Time to change the subject slightly. “Are you likely to be around this weekend, Simon?” “Yes, but as usual it depends.” Simon started discussing the latest not-news-yet, which led the discussion well away from dolphins. It didn’t get back to dolphins until the next morning, when the three of them were on the way to the house and sure of not having an audience. “I hope after that little performance last night that you are going to show up if I go out in the boat with Simon.” “Of course,” George said. “It’s one way to thank him for his hospitality, even if he won’t know that’s what we’re doing.”

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“We owe him, and it makes him happy to see dolphins.” Patrick said. He leaned forward and switched on the radio. “And he tries to make dolphins happy, even if we prefer your taste in music to his.” “Thanks.” They were right. He hadn’t thought of it that way, but it was a way for them to be able to give something back to Simon in return for his welcoming them into his home. “We’ll just have to wait and see whether Simon’s free this weekend.” “Well, we’re going to be too busy for the next couple of days anyway, so it will have to wait until then, even if he’s home during the week.” George said. “We need to get as much done today as possible, then keep an eye on the driveway repairs tomorrow.” It would be better if he was there to act as a buffer tomorrow. “If this book I’m reviewing turns up, I can always read it in the kitchen. So unless I get called out on an urgent job, I’ll be around tomorrow.” They seemed satisfied with that. He was sure that they’d cope with the driveway repair man if they had to, but it would give them that little extra bit of confidence.

***** The book arrived the next morning, in time to take it with him to the house. The driveway repair man came early, filled the potholes with gravel and tamped them down, spread a little more gravel where the original surface seemed a bit thin under the grass, and had finished before lunch. By the end of the day George and Patrick reported that they had finished in the office-to-be, and all it needed now was a day or two for things to dry and air. He went with them to inspect it. The room had been furnished as a study, which was one of the reasons he’d chosen it as an office. They’d moved some of the original furniture out but had kept the bookcases and the desk. Everything was repaired and clean, and the room had been repainted. They had prepared the cable runs for the new wiring and marked where various sockets and other fittings should go. It would need only a light touch-up job on the plaster and paintwork after the electrician had finished work, and the room would be ready. “I’m still a bit worried about the radiator,” George said. “We haven’t been able to test the pipework. But at least we don’t really need to worry about heating for a while.” So many things to try to co-ordinate. But as George said, there were things that could be left until later. They had a working kitchen, and with mains water and electricity the bathroom would be usable as soon as the electrician had installed the hot water cylinder. All they needed before they could move in properly was the office and one bedroom. Everything else could be worked around. “I can always use an electric fire if it turns cold. Let’s go and look at the bedrooms and think about what to do next.” “We could just do another downstairs room for now,” Patrick suggested. “We could stack the furniture in a different room and use it as a bedroom over winter. Then we’re less

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likely to have a finished room damaged if we do have problems with the roof before the builder finishes it.” A sensible idea. “The front room looks as if it needs the least work.” “Then we’ll do that next,” George said. “And besides, it faces south and has a nice sea view.” He could see that being important to them. When they chose their final bedroom, it should be one at the front of the house. “Right. Get that room done, and then we can go shopping for a bed.” A large bed. They might even have to consider getting three single mattresses and custom-building a frame. He’d felt a bit cramped even in the king-sized bed. On the other hand, that might have as much to do with their tendency to snuggle up to him if he was in the middle as with their sheer size. Maybe king-sized would be perfectly adequate once the novelty of sleeping with him overnight wore off. Time to go back to that king-sized bed, or at least to Simon’s house. They had food in the fridge if they wanted to eat here, but he preferred to spend as much time as possible with Simon while he had the chance. “Let’s go and get dinner.” “What are we going to do tomorrow?” George asked. “We’ve made good progress this week, so I thought we could go shopping.” “You just want your flowerpots,” Patrick teased. He’d promised flowerpots, and flowerpots they should have. Flowers for the front door and herbs for the kitchen. A small start on their garden, but one that would help to make it that little bit more like home. The climbing rose over the door would wait until next spring.

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Chapter Twenty-Five They went shopping in Bournemouth the next morning. There was a list of things needed for the house, and a list of groceries. And then there was the list of recreational items. Martin had decided on buying his own snorkelling gear rather than borrowing Simon’s. Something made him feel slightly guilty about using Simon’s snorkel as a marital aid. Besides, he wouldn’t mind having his own snorkelling gear anyway, since he might use it for its proper purpose once the house was done. And then there was the more obvious marital aid. Patrick had very sensibly suggested getting in some practice first with large and oddly shaped penises that weren’t attached to a live dolphin. Sex shops weren’t really Martin’s thing, but it turned out that the one catering to gay Bournemouth was clean, bright, and not in the least bit sleazy. He wouldn’t have been at all embarrassed by going into the Clone Zone by himself. Going in accompanied by two handsome and very large men was another matter, especially as they were openly curious about everything they could see. Something about the place made them feel comfortable. Perhaps it was just that it was somewhere where they felt comfortable being openly curious. This was one place where nobody was likely to think it odd. They’d also picked up on the fact this was somewhere where it was acceptable for gay men to be openly affectionate in public. As Martin stood in front of the dildo display, George stood alongside him and put an arm around his waist. It startled him at first; then he decided he liked it. There were places where he was happy to be openly gay, but he’d never been openly part of a trio before. Standing here with one of his partners, deciding what to buy, while their other partner browsed the magazines ... it was a nice feeling.

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They found something that had the right length without being outrageous on girth. It was advertised as eleven and a half inches, which should be plenty, and although it had a number of interesting bumps and wriggles, it was about the same thickness as George in dolphin shape. “You sure you’ll be all right with that?” George asked. “That looks fine.” He was tempted by some of the other things on display, but reminded himself that there were going to be a lot of expenses on the house over the next month. He had quite enough novelty in his life already without being greedy for more. “Let’s go and look at the leather things,” George suggested. “I didn’t think you were into leather.” He didn’t think they were into clothing at all when it came to props. “I’m not. Don’t really understand it, which is why I’d like a look.” So they went and looked at the leather. Patrick joined them, and they stood for a moment, stroking the leather, testing its feel. They seemed to enjoy it, although he didn’t want to ask them what they thought in front of an audience. His impression was that they enjoyed the physical sensation without it triggering any fetish associations for them. After a minute or two, Patrick said, “Time to go home?” “One more thing,” George said. “Condoms?” “And waterproof lube,” Patrick added. Whether they could get a large enough condom was another matter, but there was an easy way to find out without suggesting that someone in the room had a twelve-inch cock. “Do you have any condoms large enough to cover this toy?” he asked when he went to the counter to pay. Apparently the full length could be a little tricky, but the largest size in stock should cover most of it. They left the shop, content that they were fully equipped. He asked them in the car what they thought of the leather gear. “Feels nice,” Patrick said. “Though I think I’d prefer something softer.” “I still don’t really understand,” George said. “Tying up, yes, but why leather? Is this one of those things where it triggers associations with things we don’t know about?” “That’s my guess.” They didn’t have the cultural background, the whole cascade of associations that could be triggered by leather. “You’re not disappointed?” Patrick asked. “No. It’s one of those things that can be nice with the right person, but it’s not my thing.”

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“You just like to have someone else in charge,” George said. “Props can be fun, but for you they’re only props.” He smiled. “It doesn’t matter what we use on you. It only matters that it’s us.” “Yes.” He thought about the dildo waiting in the bag in the back. He could have a lot of fun with it by himself, or with someone else, but in the end it was only a tool. “Never mind that. Supermarket next,” Patrick said. “And what are we doing for lunch? Simon’s, or straight back to the house?” “If we didn’t still have the grocery shopping and the garden centre to do, I might even be inclined to eat lunch in town.” He should take them into town one day just to do that. Some casual shopping, a stroll around the public gardens, lunch in a cafe somewhere. “Look, if I’m still around when the builder comes, and he says he’d rather we pushed off, remind me to take you into town for lunch.” “Be nice, that,” George said. “We’ve enjoyed working on the house, but it would be nice to have a day just for ourselves. Not even shopping for more stuff for the house.” “Well, except for groceries,” Patrick said. “I like going around the supermarket.” Martin had noticed that, and that it wasn’t just because Patrick was a very greedy dolphin who liked anything to do with food and new tastes to try. The novelty would doubtless wear off, but for now Patrick seemed to be treating a supermarket as a toy shop. At least he was better behaved than the average toddler, even if he had the same attraction to shiny things. “We’ll go to the supermarket for a big shopping trip once we’ve got the new wiring in and I’m reasonably sure that the freezer is going to keep working. Then we can make sure that there’s enough food around that you’ll only need to go out hunting because you want to, not because you have to.” “We’ll still be getting our own fish, thanks.” George grinned at him. “That way we know it’s fresh. Anyway, I say we go back to the house for lunch. We’ve worked hard on that kitchen; we might as well use it now.” So after they’d finished shopping, he headed back to the house. As he drove down the drive, he felt another small glow of accomplishment. The drive would need to have the grass and weeds removed to look like a proper drive, but it was now a smooth ride. It should stand up to having a builder’s lorry going back and forth over it, even if the weather broke and the rain came. One more job ticked off. When they unpacked the shopping, they set the plants and pots to soak in water. George was very proud of himself for remembering the need to soak clay pots first to stop them drawing water from the compost. After lunch they retrieved the plants from where they’d been left in the shade, and set about planting up the pots. It was a pleasant way to have a rest after lunch while still doing something useful, but Martin found his mind wandering to thoughts of more strenuous activities. The bag with the snorkel and the things from the sex shop was waiting by the cellar door. The bag, and what it implied.

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Perhaps they wouldn’t do it today. Perhaps they would never do it. But in that bag lay the possibility of sex with something, someone, who wasn’t human. He knew what they were, had known when he had first set out to find them again. He hadn’t quite believed it then, but only because his rational mind told him that it was impossible. Looking at them now, it was easy to see them as what they told others they were -- just two men who had chosen a solitary, wandering life. Even in bed, much of the time they might be taken for men who simply had an unusually high sexual stamina. But he had memories of sex in a dark cave, of sounds no human could make. He’d even had sex of a sort with them when they were in a different shape. He knew what they were and had accepted it. But somehow what they proposed to do now was different, crossed a line he hadn’t even thought about. It would make it impossible to ignore what they truly were. Not sex with an animal, no. Even when they were in dolphin shape, there was a human mind looking out through alien eyes. But the flip side of that was an alien mind looking out through human eyes. This would be sex with an alien. With something that sometimes walked on human feet and talked with human speech, but that was not human, however intelligent it might be. And once he did this, he could never forget it. But whatever they were, they loved him and were not ashamed to show it. “Martin?” Patrick said. “Let’s get this finished and go.” It took a second or two to register. Then they quietly finished putting the last of the compost in place, poured one last bucket of water into the pots, and followed him into the kitchen. Patrick picked up the bag, and they walked together down into the cellar and through the secret door behind the wine rack into that other world. They started on the pile of cushions. He’d get them a leather one to add to the pile, not because it was leather, but because leather was one more sensation for them to play with. A soft suede cushion would be just the thing to go with the rest of the improbable collection. But for now, all he was concerned about was having somewhere comfortable to lie down. They brought out the blankets and cushions and made a comfortable nest on the beach above their private pool. And then they stripped naked, the way they’d all been when he’d first met them in human form. George held him, kissed him, taking it slowly. Patrick stood behind him, arms around them both. He could feel Patrick hard against him already, but there was no urgency, no tenseness in the body pressed up against his. Just that slow buildup of arousal, the emotional need more important than the physical one for now.

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Cock bumping against cock, bodies pressed together. Finally George stepped back from him. Patrick kept holding him, hugging him, kissing along his shoulders as he watched George reach for the condoms and the new lube. Condom smoothed on, then the lube, George utterly focused on what he was doing. Then George looked back at them. Patrick let go of him, and he lay down, arranging himself comfortably on the cushions. Then he held out his arms. George was big, but Martin was well used to him by now. It was easy enough to take him without any extra foreplay, and he wanted him. George settled onto him, gave him one last kiss as he wriggled a little to get a better position, then entered him in one smooth glide. George was big, and was almost too much, but only almost. Then there was just the familiar feel of his body opening up, George filling him comfortably. Smooth easy thrusts, something to make him feel good without pushing him right to the edge with need. Warm body filling his arms, the muscles playing under his hands with each move George made. George looking down at him, love and lust mingled in his expression. Then George shuddered, held still, and came. He held George tightly, telling him how good it felt. And then George was done and slipped out of him, standing up to leave the way clear for Patrick. Patrick was faster but just as controlled. No need to check that he was comfortable with the length and width filling him up, not when George had been there first. One fast thrust, and then another, and another, and Patrick came too. Patrick stayed in him for a moment. Then he sighed and said, “I suppose I’d better be good,” and pulled out. He didn’t stand up, but slid off to one side, nudging Martin to move and saying, “Here, sit in my lap.” They rearranged themselves and some of the cushions so that Patrick was leaning back against the cave wall, and Martin was seated in Patrick’s lap with his legs spread apart by Patrick’s thighs. The pile of cushions supported them so that they were somewhere between sitting and lying, leaving him propped up just enough that he could easily see what George was doing. George knelt in front of them, holding the dildo. He covered it in lube, using far more than Martin would have normally thought necessary. But it made sense if there was any possibility that they would be doing it in the water as well. “If it hurts at all, I’ll stop,” George said. “I’ve taken something nearly that big before.” But not often, and not for a while. “But I’m out of practice.” George smiled at him. “That’s why we’re doing this first, remember. We want to make sure you can take it without getting hurt.” He measured off against his own cock. “We know

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you can take that much.” Then another length. “And I’d guess that’s about how much it’ll be if I’m on top. I wouldn’t be able to get right into you in that position anyway.” It wasn’t the full length of the dildo, but it still looked like a lot. Maybe more than he could manage. But then, that was what they were trying to find out. George set the end of the dildo against him and pushed gently. It slid inside him with ease, the first few inches going in with no trouble at all. As it got towards the length of a big man’s cock he started to feel a bit more pressure, but his body was well used to taking that much by now. Only when George went deeper with the dildo than his cock would go did it start to feel uncomfortable. He grunted a little, and George stopped, holding the dildo where it was. “Do you need me to pull out?” “No, just need to get used to it.” Patrick cuddled him. “Just try to relax. George won’t go any further until you’re all right with it.” “I know.” He wasn’t even that uncomfortable, just being very careful. As was George. “Go on.” George eased the dildo a little further inside him, and then a little more. The slow, careful pace let him get used to it, leaving him feeling comfortably full rather than scared. Another inch, perhaps, and then it was too much. “That hurts a bit.” George eased back a little, just enough that he felt all right again, watching his expression. “How’s that?” “Okay.” George looked down at the dildo. “I think that’s going to be enough. We’ll leave it for a little while.” Then he bent down even further and kissed Martin’s cock. “I don’t have a condom on,” he reminded him. “I’m not going to let you come,” George said, sitting up again to look at him. “Will that be all right without a condom?” Right there, what he liked about them. Taking charge, but deferring to him on matters where he knew more than they did. “There’s a small risk for you, but it’s not that high as long as you don’t have any cuts in your mouth.” “Then if there’s no risk to you, it’s my choice.” George bent down again and gave him a slow, luxurious lick along the length of his cock. It felt wonderful, taking his mind off the bulk filling him without making him too aroused to keep control. He relaxed and let it happen, content to enjoy the feel of Patrick playing with his nipples and George licking his cock. As his breathing started to settle into a slow, regular rhythm, Patrick murmured, “That’s better.”

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George sat up again. He wondered whether this meant another try for a little more depth, but George had something else in mind. He was still holding the dildo in place with one hand, but that left the other free to play with Martin’s balls. With a human lover that would have left his cock unattended to, but before he could reach for it himself, he felt the pulse of a focused echolocation scan. Waves of pressure pulsed along the length of his cock, finely focused to bring him pleasure without allowing him to come from that alone. “I’d have liked to watch you suck Martin,” Patrick said wistfully. “I know, love.” George smiled at Patrick. “But I want him to come as soon as I fuck him, so he needs to be ready but still on his first go.” Martin put his hand over Patrick’s. “Stop worrying. You’ll have plenty of other times to watch him go down on me.” But he could see that tiny flicker of fear in George’s expression, feel the small stumble in the pressure on his cock before George got control of himself again, and he knew that they were afraid that this might be the last time. Afraid that something would go wrong; that even if he survived the experience, he would be injured. Or even just afraid that afterwards he would be disgusted, turn away from them. “I love you. I know what you are, and I want to do this.” If he hadn’t been watching for it, he wouldn’t have seen the slight easing of tension in George’s face. But they had been afraid, as he had, of a boundary that could be crossed in only one direction. George’s voice was steady enough as he said, “I’m going to try again. Just relax.” And his hand was steady as he pushed the dildo in a little further. He could take a little more length this time before it started to feel uncomfortable. Not much, but enough to satisfy George. “That’ll do. If you can take that, you can take me.” “Now?” Patrick asked. “Just a little more,” George said. “To the edge, Martin. But warn me if you think you’re going to come.” The pulsing on his cock was more intense now, almost pounding. He let himself sink into the sensation, feeling nothing now but George’s hand on his balls and George’s supernatural sense on his cock. He was barely aware of anything else, even the feel of Patrick’s body against his. Hand on his throat, fingers touching the pulse point. Faint sound, Patrick scanning him while George focused on his cock. He heard Patrick say, “Back off a little; he’s almost there,” and then the pressure eased off. Still squeezing him, still massaging his cock as no human hand could quite manage, taking him almost to the brink without risking pushing him over. “Ready?” George asked. As ready as he would ever be for this.

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George eased the dildo out, leaving him aching for something to replace it. Then George stood up and held out a hand to him. He struggled to his feet. “Help him with the snorkel,” George said and turned and strode towards the water. Patrick stood as well and gently urged Martin towards the bag. He heard a splash as he bent to pull out the mask and snorkel. By the time he had turned around, George had changed shape. Even now they could not bring themselves to change in front of him. It didn’t matter. George had trusted him with everything the day he’d come back to this cave and they had walked as humans out of the water. He struggled with the mask, and wished that he had practised before doing this. But the mood was right, and he didn’t want to delay. Patrick reached to help him, just as clumsy as he was, and between them they managed to get the straps adjusted. He tried the fit of the snorkel mouthpiece, just to be sure, and then they walked down to the water where George waited for them. Just before they took that final step into the water lapping against the beach, he asked Patrick, “What about you?” Patrick shook his head. “I don’t have the self-control. I won’t risk it.” It didn’t surprise him, but he was glad of it. It was one more reassurance that George wouldn’t even contemplate this unless he thought he could do it safely. “Let’s do it.” Patrick nodded and took his hand as they walked into the water. Cold crept up him as they waded out into water deep enough to take George’s bulk. Cold and wet, but Patrick’s hand warm in his. Patrick saying, “Don’t worry. I’m here with you. Even if the snorkel slips, you won’t ever have to hold your breath longer than it takes me to pull you up.” Then they had reached the spot George had chosen. Only chest deep, but enough to drown in if they got this wrong. George rolled over, and Patrick tore open the condom packet he’d carried in his other hand. He rolled it down over George’s cock. It didn’t cover everything, but it covered enough. No joking, no hearty slaps, not this time. George rolled back over and looked at him. One brief whistle. “We love you,” Patrick said and kissed him quickly, awkwardly. He slipped the snorkel into his mouth, took hold of Patrick’s hand again, and before he could think better of the whole bizarre thing, slid under the surface of the water. He was in a different world. With the mask on he could see clearly, see each pebble on the cave floor beneath him; but sounds had changed dramatically, and there was pressure on

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his lungs as he tried to breathe. He breathed slowly and carefully for a few seconds, trying to accustom himself to the snorkel. He still had hold of Patrick’s hand, but Patrick put his other hand on his shoulder and pushed gently. He almost panicked, then realised that Patrick was trying to help him overcome his body’s natural buoyancy. He changed position, trying to lie flat, and Patrick’s hand moved to the small of his back, holding him down under the water without making him feel that he couldn’t move easily if he wanted to. He kept breathing slowly, carefully, and when Patrick squeezed his hand, he squeezed back. This, he could manage. Current against his skin, something moving in the water. Shadow over him, shadow cast on the floor of the cave below. But a shadow that was merely a slight change in the light levels, not a clear shape. It could have been George in human form, no way to tell. And then the big body moved into position above him, pressing against him. He clutched at Patrick’s hand, remembered Patrick saying, I’m here with you. Patrick was with him; Patrick had bent down in the water to be able to keep hold of his hand, reassure him, and pull him free if necessary. He was safe if he didn’t panic, and they were scanning him, making sure that he was all right. He could feel them doing it. And then what he felt was George’s cock probing for the opening in his body. Not human, no, but still George. Always George. George slid smoothly into him and stopped just short of where it would have been uncomfortable. One thrust. A second. And then he heard them talking to each other in that language he couldn’t understand, and Patrick ducked down next to him and grabbed his cock and jerked just as George thrust into him again. Filled with George’s cock, held by Patrick, he came into the sea that held all three of them. It felt wonderful. It felt terrible. At the back of his mind was the fear that they’d all three of them misjudged, but he couldn’t stop coming. Not until he was emptied, and then George thrust once more and pulled right out. The body above him arched; he could feel it in the pressure wave just before Patrick dragged him clear. He could still breathe; he could still hang on to awareness enough to remember that he had to breathe, to keep his snorkel clear. Then he was being held in Patrick’s arms, the snorkel pushed clear, and taking a great gulp of air. The water behind him churned, and Patrick said, “Shit!” His heart clenched in fear. They’d been worried about him, but had something happened to George? He struggled free of Patrick and turned around. George was back in human shape and striding towards the beach. The reason why was obvious. Simon was staring at them, his expression a mix of horror and fear.

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Chapter Twenty-Six George had changed shape in front of a human. That told Martin what his state of mind was. “George! No!” He started after George, but found himself held back by strong arms. He might have fought, but knew that it was no use against Patrick’s strength. All he could do was try to reach George’s mind. “Leave him alone! He’s my friend!” George slowed and turned to look at him, and he saw what had so terrified Simon. A wild thing with a focused, intense stare. He’d seen that look before, but then it had been from someone utterly intent on mutual pleasure. Now he looked into George’s eyes and saw death. And then it faded, and it was just George standing on the beach. Not an enraged thing from the sea, but only his lover, looking bewildered and a little scared. Patrick let go of him, and he scrambled for the beach, tearing off the mask and snorkel as he went, running past George to Simon. Simon was staring at him in shock, his body swaying. Martin grabbed him. “Come and sit down.” “Martin?” “Yes. It’s all right, Simon.”

Please let it be all right. His lovers weren’t human, didn’t have human mores. George had been ready to kill. What of Patrick? Was his hold over them enough? But Patrick said from behind him, “Go and sit down like Martin says. It’s a long way to carry you if you have a heart attack.” He walked up beside Simon and took hold of his arm. Simon flinched away, and Patrick immediately let go. “I’m not going to hurt you, Simon.” He glanced sideways at Martin, then back at Simon. “He’d never forgive me if I did.”

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Simon was still staring at Martin. He tried to gently steer Simon over to the cushions, then thought better of it and just tried to get him over to the cave wall where at least he would have something to lean against. Simon allowed himself to be led and, when Patrick brought him a cushion, even managed to take it without flinching. But he still looked pale, and Martin could hear the faint sound of an echolocation scan. “You saw, didn’t you?” Patrick asked, very gently. “W-what ...” Simon stammered. “W-was ... was that dolphin fucking you?” “You saw more than that,” Patrick said. Simon looked past them. “I’m sorry,” George said, his voice desolate. “All I can say is that you startled me.” The last thing Simon needed right now was George. And there was something useful George could be doing. “That bottle of brandy you had for medicinal purposes. Go and get it.” Patrick was right; it would be a long way to carry Simon if he had a heart attack, and having a drink to focus on might help him. “All right.” He didn’t turn to watch George leave, but could see that he had gone by Simon’s expression. There was silence for a long moment. Then Simon turned to Patrick. “There were two dolphins. You’re the other one, aren’t you?” “Yes.” At least Patrick didn’t try to lie about it. There was no point, not if Simon had actually seen George change. Simon grabbed hold of Martin’s shoulder. “You let me think ...” he accused. “I’m sorry.” Guilt stabbed at him. “But even if I’d been willing to betray their trust -would you have believed me? I didn’t believe it, not at first.” “The day of the storm.” He owed Simon all of it. No holding back now. “The day of the storm, two dolphins dragged me in here, and then two men walked out of the water, made a pass at me, and then looked after me when they realised I was ill.” He glanced at Patrick and found him listening intently. “I thought I was hallucinating. There wasn’t anywhere they could have come from, and when they actually said that they’d brought me here, that confirmed it.” “So you didn’t lie to me that day.” “I never wanted to lie to you, Simon. But you’d have thought I was crazy. And they were scared.” Patrick said, “I didn’t think we should show ourselves to him. But George ... he’s lonely, and I’m not enough. He needs people to talk to, and the beach was never enough for him. Martin talked to us, before he ever knew what we were.”

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“When did you know?” Simon asked him. “The day I went to find them again.” Simon looked Patrick over. “And all that time ... when we went out in the boat and had dolphins for company, that was you. No wonder the damned animals understood English.” His voice rose. “Damned is the word for it. What the fuck are you?” “Not monsters,” Patrick said meekly. “Maybe not, but your cousin looked as if he was ready to kill me. Is he your cousin?” Patrick nodded. “And all that stuff about your background --” “Is almost true.” Patrick settled himself down on the sand cross-legged. “The dolphin women don’t really like adult men hanging around. The dolphin men don’t do it, so the changer men shouldn’t either. So we go home to Mum on high days and holidays.” Simon shook his head and then buried his face in his hands. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation,” he whispered. Martin eased around to sit next to Simon and put his arm around him. “I really am sorry, Simon. I would have told you if I could.” Simon didn’t answer, but didn’t pull away. After a moment, Patrick moved to sit on the other side of him, and they sat in silence until George came back with a cup and the bottle of brandy. George knelt down and handed the cup to Martin, then poured a measure of brandy. “Enough?” “Yes.” He didn’t want Simon drunk, just sedated a little. He held the cup in front of Simon. “Simon?” Simon looked up and took the cup, though his hand was shaking. He took a gulp of brandy, choked a little, then took another sip, watching George all the while. At least George seemed to be back in control of himself. “What the hell was that all about? I know you’re scared of being caught by humans, but hurting Simon?” Simon, who had welcomed them into his home even when he’d thought them tramps? “I thought Patrick was the one with no self-control.” Maybe Patrick had held him back because Patrick had also been scared by George’s behaviour. “I ...” George fiddled with the bottle, putting the cork back in, then sat back. “I had to keep total control. I wanted so badly to come, but I had to keep control and pull out. And I did, and then I looked up and saw Simon. And he knew what we were doing; I could see it even before he started shouting at me.” He’d been under the water. He hadn’t heard it. Patrick probably hadn’t, either. “And then he started running towards me, and I couldn’t hold it any longer. I had to change, or risk hurting you if Patrick didn’t drag you free. And I was too wound up ... It was

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only when you shouted at me that I quite realised that it was Simon.” George cautiously reached out a hand towards Simon. “I’m sorry.” “And if Martin hadn’t been there to stop you?” Simon snarled. “If Martin hadn’t been there, I would never have been in that state in the first place.” Simon turned to look at him. “God. Is this what you’ve been doing with them?” “No. It was the first time.” And maybe the last, given the way George seemed to be almost as scared by his own behaviour as Simon was. “But it doesn’t matter whether it was.” As he said it, he realised that it didn’t matter. Whatever they were, they weren’t mere animals. And they tried to be decent people, as best as they knew how. “Simon, how did you get in here?” “I finished early, so I thought I’d come and have a look at the house. You were here, so I didn’t think it would be a problem for George and Patrick.” Simon glared at George. “Now I know why they don’t like people asking them questions.” “But we locked the door,” Patrick said. “Simon’s got a set of spare house keys for emergencies,” George reminded him. “And we forgot to lock the quarry door.” “You were obviously around somewhere, because the Land Rover was out the front. But nobody answered when I called, and I couldn’t see you in any of the ground-floor rooms. And you’d said you were leaving the upper floor until after the builder came.” Simon ran his hands through his hair. “I thought you’d probably just gone for a walk, but I was a little bit worried, so I let myself in. When I checked the cellar, I saw the passage door and remembered what Mr Parker said about a quarry. I thought you might be down there, and when I saw the stairs, I realised that it might go down to the cave this pair had lived in.” He shrugged. “All right. I was nosy. I thought I’d take a quick look.” Martin sighed. “And you got more than you bargained for.” At least Simon looked a little better now. “Do you think you can make it up the stairs? We could probably all do with a cup of tea.” “And you could do with getting dressed before you get cold,” George said. He got up and went over to where they had left their clothes. He was starting to feel cold, although that might be shock as much as anything. “Simon?” “Yes. And he’s right. You’re shivering.” He hadn’t even noticed, but now that Simon had said it ... He was glad to pull on his clothes when George handed them to him. George and Patrick got dressed, and then they all made their way up the stairs and along the passage, back to the cellar. Martin made sure that the door was shut this time. They’d got out of the habit of locking it during the day, but they’d been very careless if they’d actually left it ajar. Too distracted by the thought of what they were about to do.

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As he shut the cellar door behind him, and Patrick went to put the kettle on, Martin felt as if he was shutting the door on some alien world. Simon must have felt the same, because he dropped into one of the chairs, looked at George, and said, “Did I dream it?” “Is that what you want to believe?” George said in return. “I don’t know.” Simon looked around at the mundane kitchen with the sunlight streaming in through the window. “I look at this, and then I look at you, and I can see two different things. What are you?” George shrugged and sat down in the chair across the table from Simon. “We’re just us. There have always been a few of us in each generation. The ones who walk.” “You’re dolphins; but not all dolphins are like you.” George nodded. “How did you get involved with Martin?” Testing the story, Martin thought. Cross-checking, seeing where they didn’t say the same things; or where they did say the same thing, so similar that it had to be a prearranged story. Simon wasn’t a journalist, but he’d watched them at work. George looked up at Martin, then back at Simon. “One man in a small boat. He wasn’t a threat, and might be good company. And he was. He didn’t believe we could really understand him, but he talked to us anyway. And he didn’t harass us the way some people will. Just treated us as if we were new friends.” He changed tone. “How’s that tea coming, Patrick?” “Kettle’s not boiled yet.” Patrick was busy in the cupboard, getting out mugs. “Anyway, we talked about changing into human form and casually bumping into him. We already knew he was interested in fossils, so it would have been easy to find something to talk about. Just hang around where we thought he was likely to try next, pretend to be interested in fossils as well, and ask his advice.” George looked at him again. “It wouldn’t have been pretence. I am interested, and that lecture you were preparing told me a lot of useful stuff.” “And?” Simon prompted. “Then that storm blew up. And it was our fault he got caught in it, because he was too busy reading to us to keep an eye on the weather. It was bad enough when we realised that he wasn’t going to get to shelter in time, and he’d be out in that little boat -- but then the engine wouldn’t start.” “I thought it would be enough just to take him round to the next cove where he should be able to drag the boat above the high water line,” Patrick said, “but George was worried that a storm surge would cover that beach. He insisted on taking him to the cave, where we knew he’d be safe.” He came over and put a hand on George’s shoulder. “I know I said you were thinking with your prick. You weren’t, and I’m sorry.”

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They were silent for a moment. The kettle clicked off, and Patrick went to make the tea. Martin went to the fridge to get the milk. George shrugged and said. “He’d said something to us that made me think he might be interested in men. So I decided that if we’d given away the cave, we might as well expose it all.” He smiled ruefully. “Except that Martin had had a bang on the head and thought he was dreaming. We hadn’t risked anything.” Simon chewed on his lip for a moment. “But you didn’t know that. You thought you were risking exposure to protect him.” “It was worth it.” George turned around to look at him. “Never think that it wasn’t worth it. Even now.” “And now?” Simon demanded. “You were ready to kill me down there.” George spread his hands flat on the table and stared at them. “A dolphin would have killed you. But for all their intelligence, in some ways they’re still just animals. I choose to be a person, not an animal.” Humans could be just animals, too. Humans killed, out of fear and out of greed. But being a person meant believing that it was wrong to do so. The ones who walked had obviously learnt more than English with their contact with the human world. “Now what?” Simon said after a pause. “That’s up to you, isn’t it?” George said. “Nobody would believe me.” Simon shook his head and looked around the kitchen again. “I hardly believe it. All right, Martin. If you had told me, I wouldn’t have believed it. Not until I’d seen for myself.” “Tea,” Patrick announced, putting a mug each in front of Simon and George. “Anyone for a biscuit?” “That’s my little cousin. Food is his first priority.” George smiled up at Patrick in a way that made it clear he was teasing. Patrick ruffled George’s hair. “Food and sex, I thought. I’ll leave the deep thinking to you.” “Let me get this straight,” Simon said. “When you first thought about coming to him in human form, you weren’t thinking about sex?” “Well, sex would have been nice,” Patrick said, “but we can get that at the beach. It’s harder to find people who just want ... well ...” “Intellectual conversation,” George said. “Or at least conversation that’s more than casual ‘nice weather today’.” “What ... No. I won’t interrogate you.” Simon picked up his tea and sipped at it. If curiosity was starting to push out fear, there probably wasn’t a lot to worry about. Simon’s colour was certainly better now.

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George had noticed as well. “Are you feeling a bit better now?” “Yes. But it’s going to take me a while to get used to the idea.” “Stay for dinner,” Patrick said. “We’ve still got some work to do in the garden, and you haven’t looked around the house yet. There’s fish ...” “There’s always fish,” George added. “... but we went shopping this morning, so we could do sausages or chicken as well.” Simon actually smiled. “Well, now I know where the fresh fish comes from.” He took another mouthful of tea. “And I did come over to look at the house. I’ll have one of those biscuits you offered, Patrick.” Patrick put the tin in front of him, saying, “These are from the shop, but I want to try making my own once the kitchen’s rewired and I’m sure I won’t blow up the oven just by trying to use it.” “The electrician’s coming next week, isn’t he?” They were trying to get back to their previous relationship. The strain was showing, but they were trying. Patrick chattered away about the new plants and about George’s plans for a vegetable garden and about the best place to site a compost heap so that it wouldn’t contaminate the spring. Eventually Simon set down his empty mug and said, “Are you going to show me around, Martin?” “There’s not that much to see yet, but yes.” He put down his own mug and showed Simon through into the corridor. George and Patrick made no move to follow them. Simon did show an interest in the office, examining the work they’d done. Only when he’d looked at the view through the windows in the front room did he say, “This is for them, isn’t it? You wanted it because of that passage to the cave.” “It’s for all of us. I would have wanted it anyway. But we found it because we thought there might be a building above the quarry -- the passage was still blocked then, but we worked out where the cave was on the map and had a look along the clifftop path.” “Do you trust them?” “I trusted them with my life this afternoon.” Simon perched on the broad windowsill and stared out to sea. “They love you. It’s obvious that they do. But is it enough?” He swept an arm around to encompass the room. “You’re paying for this. Why? Because they don’t exist, at least not in the system? What happens to them if they’re caught? Or even if something happens to you?” Simon was right to worry about it. He’d worried about it himself. He could have the safest of office jobs and yet be knocked down by a car in front of his office. Just look at Mr Parker. “I don’t know. I’d write a will leaving the house to them, only how are they to claim it? Or pay the bills, unless there was a trust fund, and that has the same problems. They can go back to the sea if they have to. If we don’t get the house at the end of the year, they’ll simply put the rockfall back and keep their cave. But I don’t want them to have to do that.”

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“I can help,” Simon offered. “Someone else to act as their intermediary.” “Are you sure, Simon?” He didn’t ask if Simon knew what he’d be taking on. Simon knew very well after this afternoon. Simon sighed and stood up. “All I’m sure about is that those two have made you happier than I’ve seen you in a couple of years. They love you, they’re a good match for you in bed, and they don’t get wound up about your job taking you away from home or make unreasonable demands of you. I wasn’t sure when this started if the three of you could make it work, and I’m even less sure now. They’re not even human. But I don’t want you worrying about what happens to them if anything happens to you.” He headed to the door. “Now, let’s have a look at the rest of the house.”

***** Dinner was a success, although as Patrick said, “Really, we were supposed to have Mr Parker to dinner first.” “I think we owe Simon several dinners, and hot showers, and a few other things,” George said as he served up the grilled chicken. “And it’s not exactly a formal meal.” “You’re doing pretty well considering you’re avoiding using either of the main ovens at the moment,” Simon said as he tucked into his dinner. “You’re going to have him round to dinner next weekend?” The weekend had been the safest bet. With any luck, Martin would be here, and the electrician would have finished the kitchen wiring. “Depends on how things are going with the builder, but that’s the plan.” “Well, I hope he’s pleased with what you’ve done so far,” Simon said, looking around at the room. “I’m impressed with it.” “Thanks,” George said. “It’s been hard work, but it’s worth it. It’s good to have a home like this.” The conversation could have skidded into silence there, but Simon simply said, “It’s good to have a home of your own,” and they went on from there. After dinner, George said, “We’ll stay here tonight if you’d rather.” Simon hesitated for a moment, then said, “No. You’re still welcome. Even when Martin’s away.”

***** When Martin woke up the next morning, Patrick was with him, but George was nowhere to be seen. Probably either gone to the toilet or gone to make a cup of tea, both of which seemed like good ideas.

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He heard voices before he went into the kitchen. Simon and George, still thrashing things out. “Martin loves you. And whatever freaky problems you two bring with you, at least you want to build a home together.” “We are freaks. We know that.” Pause. “But we wouldn’t hurt you. Even if there was nothing else; he loves you, too. More than us. No, not like that, I know. But you’ve been his friend for years, through all sorts of things. If we forced him to choose, we’d lose.” He felt a touch on his arm and turned to see Patrick. Patrick pulled at him. Martin followed him back into the bedroom. “Let them get on with it,” Patrick said. “They still need to deal with stuff from yesterday.” “He’s not still jealous of Simon, is he?” Patrick shook his head. “No. Just realistic. And pessimistic. Simon’s been a big part of your life for years. We’ve only known you a few months.” Patrick sighed and rubbed at his face. “They scared me yesterday.” “They?” “You didn’t see it. George was ready to kill -- but so was Simon. He didn’t know George was George, not until he changed. What he saw was a dolphin on top of you, he wasn’t sure you were willing, and if he’d had a harpoon he’d have used it. That’s what set George off. I don’t think either of them realised that I saw it.” Neither of them had said anything about it. “And that’s what they’re really talking about in there.” “They scared themselves. I think they’re reassuring themselves and each other that they’d never behave that way given a chance to think about it.” Patrick plonked himself down on the bed. “And of course they wouldn’t, but they probably won’t appreciate us telling them that.” Patrick held out his arms. “Come and have a cuddle while we wait for them to finish talking around it.” He lay down on the bed, and Patrick snuggled up to him, head resting on his shoulder. After a moment, Patrick said, “I always felt that the world would fall in if anyone found out about us, but it wasn’t so bad after all. Simon’s a good bloke. In a way I’m glad he knows. I didn’t like lying to him.” Neither did Martin. However traumatic it might have been at the time, he was glad Simon finally knew. After ten minutes or so, Patrick said, “Try the kitchen again?” This time Simon and George were quietly discussing potential dinner menus for the following weekend. Martin and Patrick smiled at each other, then went in and demanded to know why nobody had brought them a cup of tea.

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Chapter Twenty-Seven The final plan for the dinner was a party of five. Mr Parker was quite happy for Simon to join them, especially when Simon volunteered to do the driving so that Martin and Mr Parker could drink as much old wine as they liked without worrying about getting home again afterwards. That left Martin free to stay at the house, in case any last-minute shopping was needed. Martin had his suspicions about why Simon had volunteered. Simon and George had managed to talk things through, but he’d still caught Simon watching George thoughtfully on occasion. Not Patrick -- in fact, Patrick and Simon were getting on very well now that Patrick felt he could talk freely without having to cover up his oddly patchy knowledge. Most likely Simon didn’t entirely trust George to behave himself if he got edgy about being questioned, and Mr Parker was an old man who didn’t need to deal with George being unintentionally intimidating. Martin didn’t mind -- an extra person to deflect awkward conversation would be no bad thing. And it was certainly useful to be able to stay at the house to supervise the cooking. When the doorbell rang, George was down in the cellar with a list of wine to look for, and Patrick was busy at the stove. It was Martin’s job to play host, so he went to open the door and welcome Mr Parker back into his old home. Mr Parker stood alone on the doorstep, but Martin could hear the sound of a car engine. “Your friend is just parking the car -- he wanted to drop me off right in front of the door, but thought he’d better park out of the way. Let’s take a look, then.” Simon could find his own way in. Martin led the way into the house. “We’ve finished two rooms so far. Let’s start in the kitchen, so I can introduce you to George and Patrick.”

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“Hmm. Be good to meet them after all this time. Simon said they were a bit shy, but I suppose they’ve also been busy.” “Yes. They’ve been into town with me, but mostly when we were shopping.” He led the way down the hall and into the kitchen. Patrick was still at the stove, stirring the contents of a saucepan. “What do you think?” Mr Parker looked around. “Very nice. Don’t let me disturb you, young man.” “Give me another few seconds ... ah.” Patrick finished what he was doing and turned around. “Let me get you a chair.” He pulled out the big chair with the carved arms, a good chair to support an old man with an old injury. “Thank you.” Mr Parker settled himself into it. “Old bones, I’m afraid.” He looked Patrick over. “It’s funny, I could have sworn I’ve seen you somewhere before. You look familiar, somehow. Maybe I’ve seen you in town without knowing who you were.” Patrick peered at him. “I don’t think I’ve seen you, sir.” “So which one is this?” Mr Parker asked. “Patrick.” “Simon was right. They are big lads. At least, this one is. Where’s the other one?” Patrick went to the cellar door and called, “George!” “All right! I’ve found them!” A few seconds later, George emerged, nodded to Mr Parker, and set the bottles he was carrying on the table. The old man stared at George. “David?” George turned white. Patrick stepped forward, his shoulders tense. “David’s dead and gone years ago.” Mr Parker brushed a hand over his face. Martin suspected he was brushing away tears. “I know. Just an old man’s dreams.” He stared at George again. “But you’re the image of him, boy.” “Who was David?” Martin asked. “My lover.” “My grandfather.” George walked over and knelt in front of the old man, looking up at him. “Gran told us about you. But she said you never came again.” Mr Parker was crying, one tear rolling down his cheek before he brushed it away. “She came to me when I was expecting David, told me there’d been an accident.” His voice was unsteady. “Told me that there were daughters and he hadn’t gone into the dark leaving nothing behind. But it wasn’t enough.” He jerked his head at Martin. “Does he know about you?” “Yes.” George gently took the old man’s hand between his own. “Grandfather, we didn’t know you lived there, that you didn’t just find the gate. We never knew who you

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were, where we might find you. Only that you were not one of us, but you never told -- and you never came back.” The old man smiled down at him. “Obviously runs in your line, to go chasing strange men on land.” He stroked George’s head. “Grandfather. You know, after all these years ... I think I like that.” “Come home to us, Grandfather.” He shook his head and tapped the cane leaning against the chair. “I’m too old, boy. I haven’t been able to make it down those stairs for years, or maybe I would have come back.” Patrick went to him and kissed his cheek. “Then we’ll come to you. Dinner here or at your house. Whenever you want.” Mr Parker put his arms around both of them and looked up at Martin. “When your friend came asking me about the old summerhouse, I never dreamed it would mean seeing the dolphins again.” “I’m sorry we gave you a shock. But it never occurred to me that anyone knew.” But in hindsight, it was obvious. If he’d ever mentioned to George and Patrick why Mr Parker had left the house, and not just his family, they might have made the connection. If they’d ever told him what their grandmother had been doing in the cave, why she’d been only once or twice after the first visit and then abandoned it, he might have made the connection. Mr Parker had never been able to mourn for his lover, but not just because his lover was a man. Because his lover had been one of the dolphins that walked like men. But at least they knew now. And he knew that family meant a lot to all three of them. Blood kin they weren’t, but the tie was there. He was glad for them, all three of them, and his only regret was the waste of the weeks they might have had together. Simon walked into the room, took in the scene, and stopped dead in his tracks. “What’s going on?” “You and I aren’t the only ones who know about dolphins that aren’t. He knew their grandfather.” “Jesus Christ.” Simon pulled out a chair and dropped into it. “The cave. You lived here; you must have met their grandfather in the cave.” “He knows as well?” Mr Parker asked. George winced. “He found out by accident about a week ago. We were careless and left the quarry door unlocked.” Mr Parker looked up at Martin. “And you were so bloody careful not to let on. If I’d thought about it, maybe I’d have realised ...” “I’ve just been kicking myself over the same thing.” But they’d all had good reason to hide the truth. “Now what?”

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Simon said, “We sit down and talk about it over dinner.” Mr Parker grinned. “Now there’s a practical man.” After dinner, Martin took Mr Parker for a walk around what had once been the garden, leaving the other three to do the washing up. The old man was slow and had to stop to rest every so often, but he managed the walk quite well. He pointed out where various things had been and talked about how the garden had looked when he’d been a child. “George will be very pleased if you can tell him about the vegetable garden,” Martin said. “He seems to have ambitions to be a market gardener.” Mr Parker laughed. “Well, it’s one thing he can do without worrying too much about all the paperwork that goes with the modern age.” “That’s what worries me about them. They’re content enough just pottering around, but they need a safe way to and from the sea. We thought the house was a godsend.” He looked at Mr Parker, marvelling that they had found him. “I never dreamed they’d get family out of it as well.” “Speaking of the sea, let’s go around to the front to look at the view.” They made their way to where they had a good view. As they stood and looked out to sea, Mr Parker said, “Have you thought about how to handle what happens to the house if anything happens to you?” “I’m not sure what to do. How do they prove who they are? Where do they get the money to look after the place?” At least now he had someone he could talk it over with, without worrying about awkward questions. “Simon’s offered to help, but it’s still going to be complicated. My own family would have a reasonable interest in what happens to my estate.” “If you’ve got money, there are ways of providing for embarrassing relatives, my boy. Even in this day and age.” Mr Parker leaned heavily on his stick. “I know the plan was for you to buy the property in a year’s time. I’ve got a better idea. There’s a family trust. David’s boys aren’t legally my grandchildren, but given some of the shenanigans that have gone on in my family, if I want to informally adopt the grandchildren of my lover I can make it stick. Spin off a separate trust for those two, put the house and some money in it, and make you and Simon trustees. The agency can handle most of it, so there’s backup if anything happens to either of you.” He sighed. “If it’s already up and running, there aren’t likely to be embarrassing questions about who they are once we shuffle off this mortal coil.” Martin didn’t know what to say. It was an enormously generous offer, the outright gift of not just the house, but enough money to look after it. “But ... your nieces ...” “They’ve enough money of their own, and they’ll get the rest of mine.” The old man cackled. “And they know about David now, even if they don’t know everything. Wormed it

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out of me a few years ago, when I was drunk and bitter one night. They think it’s terribly romantic.” “So they’ll support you if you want to give the house to David’s grandsons.” “Yes. Your real problem with them will be them wanting to meet the boys, especially with George looking so like his grandfather.” Mr Parker was silent for a moment. “I never even had a decent photograph to show them, you see.” “I don’t know whether George and Patrick will want to, but maybe the family connection ...” Mr Parker nodded. “They’re a strange people. There are so few of them that they take family very seriously. Anna wanted me to take a part in raising David’s daughters, even though I wasn’t one of them. I couldn’t face it, then. I tried to go back later, but the passageway was blocked, and then I had my accident before I thought to go out in a boat to look for her.” He straightened up and said wistfully, “I wonder if she’s still alive?” “We can go and ask them.” It wasn’t clear from their few mentions of her, but he thought that she might be. “Would you like to go in now?” “Yes. Don’t tell them about the trust, not until I know we can get away with it. There are other ways around it if necessary.” Mr Parker turned back towards the house and stood looking at it for a moment. “It’s good to see it as a family home again.” Martin carefully laid his hand on that fragile shoulder. “Your family as well.” “Maybe even both halves of my family. If you don’t mind visitors.” “It’s your house.” It was Mr Parker’s house. Even if they’d never found the truth, if he’d bought it outright, there would always have been the knowledge of the family that had been there before. But as he walked through the door into the kitchen and saw the way George and Patrick greeted the man they saw as their grandfather, he knew that there was no division between old family and new. It was still the same family, with ties of love rather than blood. There would be more family dinners in this kitchen, and one day perhaps more people sitting at the table. They were telling Mr Parker that their grandmother was still alive, if very elderly and frail. That they too were in possession of a niece, and David’s line went on beyond them. And that yes, they would like to meet his nieces, in a little while. Martin sat in his chair in his kitchen and watched his friends and his partners talking to each other, and dreamed of the day in the near future when there would be more than five around this table.

Jules Jones Jules Jones is a materials scientist, whose publications from the day job are probably of interest to at least three people. Following the principle of "write what you know", most of the erotic romance books are science fiction and fantasy, and even the contemporary romance and erotica often features scientists and engineers. Jules has several m/m romance books available from Loose Id. They're a mix of standalones, series, and things that weren't intended to be series but seem to have decided that they are. The Syndicate series, a fluffy BDSM gay romantic comedy in space, is cowritten with writing partner Alex Woolgrave. You can find Jules online at http://www.julesjones.com, along with excerpts, sample chapters and free short stories.