A/N: I hope this chapter lives up to the promise of the first one...
Disclaimer: none of the characters belong to me (except the 'middle-aged couple', who are embarrassingly close to my mum and dad...). The song lyrics used herein are the property of their respective authors and are used without permission.


_________


DND
Hang the sign on the door
DND
Don't disturb us no more
How like you
To make your love my hideaway and
How like you
To make my troubles slide away and
How like you
To make me want to play forever
Here behind our door

The refrain goes humming through the back of my mind as I look up at him from where I lie, head resting lightly on his shoulder. His golden hair fans out across the pillow, reflecting the early morning sun and scattering it across the ceiling, a thousand facets of sunlight shifting gently in time with his breathing. I trail my fingers gently over his chest, his smooth skin warm against my fingers.
Eventually he cracks an eyelid open and smiles sleepily down at me. "Hey."
"Morning. Sleep well?"
He stretches like a cat, every muscle extended to its utmost. " Very well. But...can I ask you something?"
Oh, god. What did I do? What did I not do? What could I have done better? What -
"Do I snore?"
The twinkle in his eye tells me he's pulling my leg. Well, two can play at that game. "Terribly. Didn't get a wink of sleep. Why else d'you think I've got dark circles under my eyes?"
"Well..." He winks at me. "I can think of, ooh, one or two reasons - or maybe three or four. After all, it was well past midnight when we got to sleep..." Crooking an arm behind his head, he shoots me a distinctly lascivious look - damn, but he's pleased with himself.
"I can make up the sleep some other time." I tickle him gently under his arm, causing him to snort and bring the arm down sharply. He retaliates by elbowing me in the ribs, and rather than prolong the engagement I roll out of bed.
There aren't many hotels like this, I muse as I walk the few metres into the kitchen area. It's like a cross between self-catering and bed-and-breakfast - they provide all the facilities, and all you have to do is make the food. There's a one-ring electric hob-slash-oven, a microwave, the obdurate coffee maker and a miniature kitchen sink. Despite all this, the room's still relatively cheap - cheap enough for me to afford it, anyway. My job at the BMJ brings in a decent wage, more than enough to live off - although if I need a bit of extra cash I've got some friends down at one of the local bars who can always use a hand on busy Sunday nights.
However, Saturday is my day. And for the first time - I shoot a glance back over my shoulder at the gorgeous blonde still relaxing on the bed - I've got someone to share it with.
"Coffee?" I ask him, and he smiles at me.
"Might be an idea. I," he yawns hugely, "am shattered. Caffeine would be great right about now."
"Industrial strength it is, then," I tease, and he fixes me with a mock-serious look. That cracks me up, and I'm still giggling when the machine gurgles unwillingly and produces two sinfully strong cups of hot coffee. I spoon a little sugar into his cup, but before I can pick it up something brushes against my bare shoulder. I swat absent-mindedly at it -
"Ow!"
- and then freeze when I realise it's not a fly after all. I turn round to find Matt sitting on the floor, holding his nose.
"Jesus," he mutters, "one day into the relationship and the domestic violence starts already."
Despite the joke, I'm worried I've really hurt him; I drop to one knee beside him and gently pull his hand away.
"It's OK, it's not bleeding," he says, sounding slightly muffled. I tilt his head back just in case, holding it there for a few seconds until I'm satisfied I haven't given him a nosebleed.
"God, I'm so sorry," I murmur, and he chuckles.
"My own damn fault - shouldn't've crept up on you like that. Mind you, it could've been worse - another few seconds and I'd've got a faceful of boiling coffee."
I cradle his chin in one hand, stroking his hair with the other. "You sure you're okay?"
He grins. "If not, I can always get a job as a train announcer." He pinches his nose and makes his voice high and squeaky. " The train arriving at Platform Six will be five minutes late... "
I chuckle, then stroke his abused nose with a finger. "I'm sorry I hurt you."
He pulls my finger to his mouth and kisses it. "Oh, I'm sure I'll find some way for you to make it up to me..."
I blush. "D'you want your coffee now?"

Back on the bed, idly watching breakfast news, we sip our coffee slowly. His arm is warm around my shoulders; I snuggle up to him, downing the last of my drink and nuzzling his neck.
He looks down at me, grinning. "Any plans for today, or are you just going to seduce me?"
I run my tongue along his collarbone, provoking a gasp and a quiet laugh. "Oh, that too, but I thought we could go for a walk somewhere."
"Where?"

How does St James's Park manage to stay so beautiful, even in the depths of winter? By all logic, it should look horrible - stark claw-like trees with their leaves mouldering in piles around their roots, overcast sky, paths churned into mud by the passage of countless feet. Instead, the trees look majestic in their bareness, reaching towards the cloudless blue sky with countless branches. The paths are firm and gravelled, with not a single rotten leaf in sight. And best of all - I sneak a glance at him from the corner of my eye - I've got Matt with me.
He looks wonderful, tall and slender in his long black coat. I catch his hand and give it a quick squeeze; he looks at me and smiles, lacing his fingers into mine and squeezing back.
"Isn't this beautiful?" he murmurs, mirroring my thoughts.
"Yes," I breathe, looking not at the park but at him, his bright smile and golden hair. God, I love you...
He sits down on the next bench we come to, reaching out and taking my hands as I join him.
"Tai..." His big blue eyes, mirrors of the cloudless December sky, hold mine. "This is like the best kind of dream. I've only known you a day, and yet you mean so much to me already. It's like there was never anyone else in my life except you." He places a gentle kiss on my forehead. "Last night was incredible, but I don't want it to end there - I want to be with you tonight, and tomorrow night, and every night, and all the days in between. I don't want to miss a moment."
I lean in, resting my forehead against his. "Oh, Matt... "
He smiles warmly at me, then pulls me to my feet again, slips his arm around my waist and walks onward.

He pulls me right at the next junction of paths, away from the main track, away from the few other people who are foolish enough to venture out on this freezing cold morning. We walk in silence for a few minutes along a narrow path, coming down towards the edge of the lake, screened from the rest of the park by a hedge of evergreens.
When we reach the shore of the lake, he bends down and picks up a flat stone, then turns to me. "What do you want to do tonight?"
I shrug. "I hadn't really planned anything. Have you?"
"Well...I had two ideas. One," he squeezes my hand again, "we go out for a romantic candlelight dinner, or two," he smiles wickedly, "we go to a karaoke bar."
My mouth drops open. "Are you serious?"
"You've never done karaoke before?"
"I can't sing a note!" I protest.
"Nonsense. I bet you've got a great voice. Tell you what," he says, turning away, "how about we let the stone decide? Odds, the candlelight dinner; evens, the karaoke. Okay?"
Before I can reply, he flicks his wrist and sends the stone scything out over the water. It skips lightly over the surface, and I can hear Matt counting under his breath - ' one, two, three...' Every odd number, I pray for it to stop; every even, I will it to keep going.
As it reaches eight, its last energy spent, it slips under the water and disappears.
"Evens," Matt grins, looking at my horrified expression. "Looks like you and I'll be doing some singing tonight..."
I fall to my knees, pressing a hand dramatically to my forehead. "Oh, woe, woe...can I talk you out of this?"
"Nope," he says with an air of finality.
"Oh well."

His touch is light on my shoulder, jerking me out of my half-doze - why can I never stay awake on Tube trains? "This stop."
I follow him unwillingly off the train, dreading what's ahead. Ever the gentleman, he helps me out of the carriage, then loops his arm casually around my waist and leads the way up the stairs to the outside world.

The bar is more than a little smoky, but at least it's well-lit and not too noisy, despite the middle-aged couple up on stage crooning away to Saying Something Stupid Like I Love You . It could be worse, actually - at least they're in tune, which is more than I'll be.
I sneak a sidelong glance at Matt, wondering what he's got planned, but as usual he's giving nothing away. His eyes are unreadable behind his glasses; his expression, while cheerful, is completely inscrutable.
The couple on stage bring the song to a close, the woman soaring up into a slightly wobbly descant on the last chorus. That's another thing - how is everyone else going to respond to two guys getting up there and singing to each other?
Matt knocks back the rest of his drink and squeezes my hand reassuringly. "We're next." Before I can demur, he pushes out of his seat in one fluid motion and goes to talk to the compere.
After a few seconds, the compere gives him a thumbs-up, then moves over to the karaoke machine. Still frozen in my seat, I can only watch as Matt picks up a microphone and turns to face the audience, his golden hair shimmering in the stage lights.

There's a moment's breathless silence, and then the music starts - a simple piano riff, slightly melancholy.
Then Matt's voice comes over the music, and instantly I know what the song is. My favourite Christmas song, the song without which it isn't Christmas at all. Fairytale of New York.

"It was Christmas Eve, babe, in the drunk tank
An old man said to me, 'Won't see another one'
And then he sang a song, The Rare Old Mountain Dew
I turned my face away, and dreamed about you"

His voice is clear and perfectly in tune, which only makes me more worried about what I'm going to sound like up there. He pulls his glasses off, his dazzling blue eyes seeking out mine, and he holds out a hand to me. Feeling like I'm in a dream, I make my way dazedly up to the stage; the compere hands me a microphone, which I take without even noticing.
He soars into the next verse as I come up beside him, taking my hand and pulling me close.

"Got on the lucky one, came in eighteen to one
I've got a feeling there's years for me and you
So Happy Christmas, I love you baby
I can see a better time when all our dreams come true"

On the last line he draws me in and presses a gentle kiss to my forehead. I trace a finger up his cheek as violins explode around us; then without warning it's my part, and without even having to look at the words (well, it is my favourite song, after all) I'm singing along full voice.

"They got cars big as bars, they got rivers of gold
But the wind goes right through you, it's no place for the old
When you first took my hand on that cold Christmas Eve
You promised me Broadway was waiting for me"

I'm getting into the part now, leaning forward to tell him "You were handsome" ; he laughs and responds with "You were pretty, Queen of New York City" , and then our voices merge for the next few lines.
"When the band finished playing they held out for more
Sinatra was swinging, all the drunks they were singing
We kissed on the corner, then danced through the night"
Then his voice soars up, hitting every note perfectly crystal-clear as he leads the way into the chorus.
"The boys in the NYPD choir were singing 'Galway Bay'
And the bells were ringing out for Christmas Day"

There's a short interlude, violins playing merrily, and we take the opportunity to get our breath back. Then I realise what I have to call him in the next verse, and my face falls; he must've seen it, because he reaches out and takes my hand, mouthing "just go with it" .
I steel myself as the music draws towards my next line, but the show must go on:
"You're a bum, you're a punk"
He feigns outrage, looking adorable with his mouth open, then retaliates with
"You're an old slut on junk
Lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed"
I pull away from him and fake a slap to his left cheek, pointing at him accusingly and declaiming,
"You scumbag, you maggot
You cheap lousy faggot
Happy Christmas your arse, I pray God it's our last"
Then he grabs my hand and pulls me back in, our faces inches apart, staring deep into each other's eyes as we sing the chorus together.
"The boys in the NYPD choir are still singing 'Galway Bay'
And the bells are ringing out for Christmas Day"

The music quietens, moving back to the solemn mood of the beginning. Matt lets go of my hand and slides down onto one knee; my head is still spinning as he looks up at me, his laughing blue eyes giving the lie to the pleading tone in his voice as he sings "I could have been someone..."
I turn away, feigning rejection, looking back over my shoulder at him to deliver the next few lines:
"Well so could anyone
You took my dreams from me
When I first found you"
He leaps back onto his feet, catching my arm and pulling me round until we're face to face, our lips almost touching, his breath warm on my face.
"I kept them with me, babe," he assures me, "I put them with my own,
Can't make it all alone
I've built my dreams around you"

I slip my arms around his waist, the two of us sharing one microphone as we sing the final chorus with one voice, our faces moving closer and closer together with every passing second.

"The boys in the NYPD choir are still singing 'Galway Bay'
And the bells are ringing out for Christmas Day"

As the last note dies away he slides his arms around my neck, closes the last distance between us and kisses me, long and lingeringly. The closing violins swirl around our heads as applause breaks out around the bar, but I'm oblivious - all that matters right now is his warm arms and soft lips.

We're still laughing as we tumble off the Underground at Baker Street, hopelessly tangled in one another's arms and not caring at all.
"There, you see?" He grins hugely, monumentally pleased with himself. "Told you you'd enjoy it."
I mock-pout at him. "I still get my romantic dinner, right?"
He chuckles and messes up my hair affectionately. "What d'you think tomorrow night's for?"
I look up at him, so beautiful in the light from the streetlamps, his golden hair a halo around his head. "Walk me back to my hotel?"
He laughs, moving in to put his arms around me again. "Love to."