The Seven Year Itch: Andrew & Gareth

 

The Seven Year Itch

“That’s the last one.” Gareth placed the cardboard box in the living room along with all the others, then flopped onto the couch. He winced. “I think I’ve pulled something in my back.”

“It’s all downhill once you get past thirty, did no one ever tell you that? Get Andrew to rub it better,” Alex said with a grin. “And speaking of Andrew…” He inclined his head toward the door. “Oy. Our labour doesn’t come cheap, you know. You promised to feed us.”

Peter laughed. “I know he said we were to call him Andrew when we’re not at the club, but I think ‘Oy’ might be pushing your luck.”

The door opened, and Andrew came in, looking hot and dusty. “Do I need to ask who yelled? Fish and chips on the way. Will that do you? And there’s coffee and tea brewing.”

Alex grinned. “Ooh, nice. Got any mayo? I can’t eat chips without mayo. Not that I eat chips all that often. Leo watches what I eat.”

Gareth snorted. “Only because he knows what you’re like.” He patted the seat cushion beside him. “Take a break, love.”

Andrew bit his lip. “But—”

“No buts. We’ve both been on the go since dawn. I think we can afford a break.”

Andrew smiled. “You’ve twisted my arm.” He crossed the floor to where Gareth sat, and joined him. He rested his head on the back of the couch and closed his eyes. “Wake me up when Leo gets here with the fish and chips.”

“Wait—Leo is bringing them? He never said.” Alex gaped.

Peter’s eyes sparkled. “That doesn’t surprise me. He loves keeping you on your toes.” He glanced at the room with its high ceiling and ornate plaster work. “This is a beautiful house, guys.”

Gareth let out a happy sigh. “Isn’t it? When Andrew first brought me here to take a look, I couldn’t believe we’d end up living here.”

Andrew opened his eyes. “I told myself years ago that moving was such a pain, I wasn’t going to do it again until I found the perfect place. And we put up with the flat for way too long.”

“So how does it feel, Mr. New Creative Director?” Alex asked from his armchair. “About time too. You’re amazing.”

Andrew put his arm around Gareth. “This man here is the amazing one. He’s been my rock.”

Warmth barreled through him. “Love you.”

Andrew kissed his forehead. “Love you too.”

Peter sighed happily. “Seven years together, and you still sound like a pair of love-sick teenagers.”

“About time you made an honest man out of him, Andrew,” Alex said with a gleam in his eye. “Before he gets the seven-year itch. Then it really is all downhill.”

Gareth glared at Alex. “As if that’s going to happen.”

The doorbell rang, and Andrew pointed to Alex. “And just for that, you can go help Leo with the lunch. You’re in charge of tea and coffee.”

“Yes, sir.” Alex got up and went out of the room.

“I’ll help,” Peter added, launching himself up off the other couch and hurrying after Alex.

From the hallway, Gareth caught the deep rumble of Leo’s voice, but he didn’t move. Andrew’s arm felt wonderful. He was bodily tired, but excited to be moving into their first home: sharing Andrew’s flat didn’t count.

“Happy?”

Gareth turned his face toward Andrew’s. “Very.”

“Just to say… if you get an itch, I’ll scratch it.”

He laughed. “It’s a deal. Same goes for you.”

Andrew stroked his arm. “You haven’t, though, have you?”

“Hmm?”

“Got the seven-year itch?”

Gareth stilled. “That sounds like a serious question.”

“That’s because it was.”

He shifted to straddle Andrew’s lap, looping his arms around Andrew’s neck. “I am happier now than I have ever been. I’m a head of Department at work, and now that old Mrs. What’s Her Face has retired, I’m working with a load of people who don’t give a shit that I have a boyfriend. Hell, they decorated the staff room with Pride flags for me last month. And your bosses obviously love your work. We’ve bought a beautiful house in Didsbury—I mean, Didsbury! When I was a kid, that was where all the posh people lived.” Andrew laughed at that. “So no, no itches here.”

“I’m glad about your colleagues. So how do you think they’d react if you no longer had a boyfriend—but a husband?”

Gareth froze. He didn’t just say that… did he?

Andrew reached into the hip pocket of his jeans and removed a small black velvet box. “I’ve been carrying this around all day, trying to work out when was the best time to ask. Then I realized… any time is the best time.” He opened it to reveal a white gold band. “I guess this is where I ask…Gareth Michaels… will you marry me?”

Gareth’s heart stuttered, and he locked lips with Andrew, his hands cupping Andrew’s head, pulling him into it. When he broke it, he beamed. “That answer your question?”

Andrew removed the ring, and Gareth held his left hand as steady as he could while Andrew eased it onto his finger. “How did you get the size right?”

“A lucky guess. The woman who sold it to me said they can size it if it was wrong.” Andrew coughed. “And I might have tied a piece of string around your finger a few weeks ago when you fell asleep on the couch.”

The door opened, and Peter walked in, carrying a tray with mugs. Alex was behind him with another tray, this time with a tea pot and coffee pot, and a mound of cutlery. Then Leo came in with a bag, and the delicious aroma of fish and chips filled the air.

Alex took one look at them on the couch, and chuckled. “You haven’t started christening every room already, have you? You’re supposed to wait at least until the removal men have gone.”  Gareth waved his left hand, and Alex let out an undignified squeal. “Oh my God, you sneaky pair. I go out of the room for five minutes and you get engaged?”

“That calls for champagne, not tea and coffee,” Leo commented. “Congratulations. That’s wonderful news.”

“Thank you.” Andrew grinned. “There are bottles in the fridge. I put them in there yesterday.”

“Fish, chips, and champagne.” Gareth kissed Andrew on the lips. “I think our first meal in our new home is going to be hard to beat.” He leaned in and whispered, “And not an itch in sight.”

“Glad to hear it,” Andrew whispered back.