This story features the characters from Blowing Off Steam.

An Unexpected Gift

Ryan blew on his hands, trying desperately to impart warmth to fingers that were raw in the freezing evening air. If he were completely honest, he was also putting off the moment when he would have to walk up that front path and ring the doorbell. The thatched cottage looked innocent—picturesque, even—in the snow, but he knew his nemesis lurked within.

Realising he couldn’t wait any longer because then he would be really late home from work, and Sam would ask questions, Ryan opened the wrought iron gate and crunched up the snowy path. The deep voices of two dogs sounded somewhere in the cottage in response to the bell, and he wondered if they would be turned loose to see him off.

The fate that awaited him was far worse—Mrs Verity opened the door to him. To the uninitiated, she looked like nothing more alarming than an elderly lady, her advanced age belied by her upright carriage and the alertness in her dark eyes. But Ryan knew better. She was Sam’s fiercest and most formidable advocate, and she didn’t approve of Ryan. If he dropped dead right now, she would probably dance on his corpse—as long as she knew it wouldn’t resurrect him.

“Young man,” she said in acknowledgement of his presence.

He didn’t know if she even recognised him. “It’s Sam’s birthday next Saturday,” he blurted out. “There’s a party if you want to come.”

And what the hell had happened to suave, globe-trotting Ryan Saunders? He’d lived in this backwater town long enough to lose all the social skills his father had so carefully inculcated in him.

“Thank you, Ryan,” she said, and of course she knew exactly who he was. How had he ever thought it might be otherwise? He wondered for an instant if her eyes on his face were a little less stern than usual, but then he realised his brain had probably frozen in the cold.

“Would you like me to bring anything?” she asked.

He assured her the catering was taken care of, rattled off place and time, and just as he was about to make a break for it, she put her hand on his sleeve, holding him there for an instant. “Does Samuel know about it?” she asked, and crap, Ryan had forgotten the most important information.

“It’s a surprise,” he said, and yet again found himself hoping it would be a good one.

* * *

Sam was humming to himself as he put the potatoes on to boil. It had been a good day at work—no one throwing up was always a bonus when working in a pharmacy—and he loved the snow. He hoped that Ryan would want to go out for a walk when they’d had supper so they could enjoy the soft white blanket over the town.

Speaking of Ryan, he was late again. Sam’s brow furrowed as he saw just how late. It had happened a few times recently, and Sam had wondered if that meant something was wrong with Bess, the beautiful old steam locomotive Ryan drove. Ryan had assured him Bessie was fine without offering any other explanation. And if it were just that, then Sam might not have noticed—who was he kidding? He noticed everything when it came to Ryan Saunders. But it wasn’t just that. There was something off about Ryan at the moment.

In the early days of their relationship, Sam would have jumped to the worst possible conclusion. After six months together, he knew Ryan better. He knew that even if the most gorgeous guy he had ever seen, who also—in case Sam was in danger of forgetting—drove a steam locomotive for a living, had come to his senses and wondered what he was doing with Sam, he would tell Sam. Ryan tried to hide it, but there was a streak of kindness in him a mile wide, and it wasn’t the type that would make him lie to Sam to soften the blow of breaking up. At least, Sam didn’t think it was.

He put the lid on the pan and went upstairs to change out of his work clothes. He guessed Ryan would either tell him what was bothering him when he was ready or would work it out himself. Either way, there wasn’t anything he could do about it. It didn’t stop him from worrying, though.

* * *

Walking back to Sam’s, hands thrust deep in his pockets in a search for warmth, Ryan found himself convinced he was doing something even dumber than usual. Mrs Verity probably knew Sam best out of everyone, and for her to ask if Sam knew about the party meant the surprise must be an even more stunningly bad idea than he’d feared. Sam was so shy, he’d hate being the centre of attention.

But everything else he’d thought of had just felt like chucking money at Sam. Yeah, he could —and had—booked them a holiday together riding the Jacobite Steam Railway in Scotland, even though Ryan knew he’d probably spend the entire trip critiquing the driver’s technique, but it didn’t feel personal enough. Anyone could have come up with that present for Sam. All they needed to know was that he liked trains and that he loved steam trains as much as Ryan loved sex. Which was a lot.

The problem was, Ryan didn’t have any meaningful experience when it came to presents. His mum had been gone before he’d grown out of the stage of giving her laboriously painted masterpieces of a random dog, and whatever he’d got for his dad over the years had never been good enough. Friends, such as they were, had eagerly accepted his subbing of club nights and more alcohol than his liver cared to remember now he was heading towards thirty. None of it had prepared him for choosing something for Sam.

The snow squeaked under his boots as he turned onto Sam’s street. He knew Sam would love the rail trip, but it wasn’t enough. Sam needed to know how special he was, something that everyone except Sam could see. If people weren’t so fond of Sam, Ryan wouldn’t spend half his time opening the front door to Sam’s late great-uncle’s Gardening Club friends, who were constantly ‘just dropping by’ with whatever fruit or veg was in season. Sam wouldn’t have had a couple of colleagues from the pharmacy texting to find out how he was when he’d gone down with the flu. Then there was Val from the ticket office at the station, who adored Sam even though he was terrified of her. Ryan had thought he should do something to make sure Sam understood how everyone else saw him.

The one thing Ryan hadn’t factored in, because he was an idiot, was that with this being a surprise party, he was the one who would have to invite all these people. The pharmacy had been easy—he’d gone in on Sam’s day off. The Gardening Club was a bit more challenging, and he’d almost got to the point of snagging a random elderly passer-by and asking if they belonged to it, but then he found they had a website. All he had to do, it turned out, was email the contact address and ask them to pass on the message. He invited the people from the station when he went to work, though he got Simon to ask Marlene because he really didn’t want her to think he was inviting her on a date. He didn’t have a problem with age differences, not even thirty years or so, but she still didn’t seem to have picked up that he was gay, despite the number of times he and Sam ended up snogging on the platform.

He had to stamp the snow off his boots when he got to Sam’s and for an instant regretted that he’d been so deep in thought that he hadn’t enjoyed the snowfall. He loved the smooth whiteness that made everything different, turning trees into artwork and creating white lace on otherwise boring fences. The therapist he’d had to see would probably have said something dumb about him enjoying everything being made clean and the possibility of second chances, but it wasn’t that—Ryan just loved the cold and the white and the way it creaked and crunched underfoot.

“I’m in the kitchen,” Sam called as Ryan closed the front door.

Ryan paused long enough to take his boots off, then headed in search of whatever smelled so good.

Sam was flushed from the warmth of the oven, his dark hair as messy as ever. His eyes were bright with pleasure as he looked up from where he was stirring something in a pan and smiled at Ryan.

Ryan couldn’t resist—not that he tried. He walked straight over to Sam, pushed his hands up under his t-shirt and kissed him.

“You’re cold!” Sam tore away from his mouth long enough to complain, his voice two octaves higher than usual. But then, as always, he was back in Ryan’s arms, kissing him as if he really meant it, as if he could think of nothing better than being with Ryan. And Ryan would do anything he could to keep Sam thinking that way. Just as long as this damn idea of his didn’t mess it all up.

* * *

The morning of the party came far too swiftly. Ryan kept picking up his phone, his finger hovering over the contact for the community-hall caretaker so he could cancel the whole damn thing. But then he would have to run around town to tell everyone it was off, because he didn’t have any of their numbers. If he did, it would mean deserting Sam on his birthday, and he didn’t want to do that.

Sam’s face had been a picture of shocked delight when he’d come downstairs to find Ryan making bacon butties for a birthday breakfast, reminding Ryan just how low Sam’s expectations were and how high they should be. Sam had been so happy that even his usual morning grouchiness had disappeared, and when he drew back the curtains to find it had snowed heavily in the night, Ryan thought he was going to levitate with joy. Opening the card lying beside his plate and finding the gift voucher for the trip inside had sent him over the edge, and Ryan had suddenly been holding an armful of warm and happy Sam, who appeared to be doing his best to climb Ryan.

They’d left the butties for later and gone back to bed. There, Sam showed Ryan just how much he loved his present. And Ryan. And Ryan’s cock pushing into him, over and over until he came, Ryan’s name on his lips.

* * *

Sam didn’t know what he’d done in a previous life to deserve such a perfect day, but it must have been damn good because it was as if all his dreams had come true, walking in the park in the snow, holding hands with his boyfriend. His boyfriend Ryan, who was—well, Sam knew objectively that Ryan wasn’t perfect, but he was perfect as far as Sam was concerned. He had been just as happy as Sam to don scarves and gloves to go for a walk in the snow, though he’d drawn the line at a hat. Sam guessed it wouldn’t do for ultra-cool Ryan Saunders to mess up his carefully styled hair, whereas Sam welcomed the chance to hide his unruly mop under a beanie.

It seemed like the entire town was out—kids and adults sledging down the hill, dogs cresting through the snow, tongues hanging out with joy, and a huge snowball fight going on by the lake. Sam was just happy to be walking around like he was in a scene from one of those romantic movies Uncle Ken had liked to watch, the ones that showed things Sam thought never actually happened in real life.

“Shit!” Ryan’s voice burst his romantic bubble and Sam stared in shock at the blotch of snow that had just blossomed on Ryan’s chest.

“Sorry!” a kid yelled. But she didn’t look in the least apologetic as she scooped up another snowball and spun around to launch it at someone behind her.

“Right, that’s it,” Ryan declared, dropping Sam’s hand, and bending to gather his own handfuls of snow. “This means war.”

All at once, Sam was in his first ever snowball fight, running and throwing and laughing until he was breathless, before Ryan tackled him down into the snow and landed on top of him. “I’m protecting you,” Ryan said, as a newly arrived group of teenagers launched a punishing barrage over their heads.

Sam’s jeans were soaked, clinging coldly to his legs, but all he cared about was Ryan’s warmth and weight above him, and he pulled Ryan down for a kiss. Ryan’s tongue slid into his mouth, and Sam groaned deep in his throat at the feel of it, his hips pushing up against Ryan’s.

Ryan pulled back, breathing harder than usual, his eyes growing dark. “You know we’re in public, right?”

“We can always do something about that,” Sam said, and Ryan was off him quicker than thought, reaching out a hand to pull him up.

As they left the park, one of the teenagers wolf-whistled behind them. So much for hoping their brief moment had gone unnoticed. 

When they got home, it was a lot less sexy than Sam’s imaginings. Hauling tight sodden denim over thighs that were red with cold wasn’t exactly a sensual unpeeling, but somehow it was better because it was reality and Ryan was with him even in the unsexy moments. Ryan swore as he found one of his socks was soaked. As he carelessly dropped it in the middle of Sam’s carpet, just the way he’d do at his own place, Sam knew he’d never been so happy.

* * *

The minutes weren’t so much ticking by as disappearing at terrifying speed, and seven o’clock was coming at Ryan like a runaway train. Maybe he could just not tell Sam about the party. They could spend the evening here and claim they’d been snowed in.

But then he realised that everyone would ask Sam about it when they next saw him, and surely the only thing worse than an unwelcome surprise party would be an unwelcome surprise party that you weren’t even invited to. Shit. Ryan didn’t know how he managed to fuck up so often and so spectacularly. He’d tried, so hard, to get things right with Sam.

Sam, who was looking at him enquiringly, evidently waiting for an answer.

“Sorry?” Ryan asked.

“I said,” Sam said, with the sort of forceful enunciation he reserved for really important things, like refusing to get out of bed in the mornings and food, “when are we going to eat?”

“Another half hour,” Ryan said. “I want to get changed.”

He tried not to feel guilty at Sam’s kicked-puppy look. Sam had been quietly excited when Ryan had said he was taking him out for a meal tonight—it wasn’t the sort of thing they typically did, preferring to spend quiet evenings together on the sofa or, when the weather was warmer, in Bessie’s engine shed. Ryan was thankful he’d taken to keeping clothes at Sam’s, because his jeans wouldn’t be dry before morning even though he’d draped them over a radiator. Pulling on some slim-fitting black trousers with a blue cashmere jumper, he was pretty pleased with the result that greeted him in the mirror.

Sam raised his eyebrows when he saw him. “Should I dress up as well?” he asked, gesturing at the jeans and sweater he was wearing.

The jeans fitted beautifully, clinging to his ass in a way that gave Ryan yet another reason to regret leaving the house tonight. The soft green jumper was one that Ryan had picked out for him on one of their shopping trips. It looked just as good now as it had then.

“You’re good,” he said.

No sooner were the words out than he nearly got trampled in Sam’s rush to the coats by the door. He’d forgotten the cardinal rule of their relationship—not to come between Sam and food.

* * *

The temperature had dropped even further and the air had a real edge. Sam jammed his gloved hands into his coat pockets and hoped they wouldn’t have far to go to wherever Ryan was taking him. The snowy town sparkled under the streetlights, and the lack of traffic made it feel as if the world was their own.

He was surprised when Ryan steered them left when they hit Wick Street, as it was away from the town centre with all the restaurants. He was even more surprised when Ryan stopped just outside the community hall and said, “I need the loo. Don’t mind, do you?”

Before he could answer that yes, he did mind, because Ryan shouldn’t just wander in somewhere and use their facilities, Ryan was at the door and holding it open for him. Sam loved Ryan, he really did, but sometimes he was so brazen, not caring what anyone thought of him. Sam had no option but to follow him in, hoping he could hang around in the entrance hall until Ryan had done what he needed to, and then they could disappear without anyone knowing they’d been there.

So much for that. Sam had just pulled his gloves off in the welcome warmth when he noticed that Ryan had walked past the loos and was heading straight for the main hall.

“Ryan,” he hissed, suddenly realising that Ryan had never been here before and didn’t know which way to go.

“Come on,” Ryan said, ignoring him and opening the door.

A wall of warmth and sound emerged—there was obviously some event going on. Ryan pulled him through the door, and Sam realised it must a Gardening Club party, because he saw Mrs Goodall and Mr Aboye and several others he knew, holding glasses of something that sparkled with bubbles.

Marlene from the station was here too—he didn’t know she belonged to the club. Before he had any warning, she swooped in and pressed a kiss to his cheek, having to stand on tiptoes to do so. “Happy birthday, Sam.”

“Um, thanks,” he said, mystified as to how she knew it was his birthday and a little overcome by the heavy scent of her perfume and the jangle of her jewellery.

And then Mrs Goodall wished him a happy birthday, and Melanie from the pharmacy was here as well. It was all so strange that Sam was beginning to wonder if he was dreaming, when Ryan took him by the hand again and led him to where trestle tables were laid out with quiche and stuffed mushrooms and sausage rolls and God, Sam was hungry. In the centre of the table was a huge cake with a picture of Bess piped onto it in coloured icing. Written underneath were the words Happy Birthday Sam.

He stared at it, convinced this must be a dream, though he had never even dreamed of anything like this happening to him. He’d never dared to because he knew it never would. But Ryan’s hand was warm in his, and his stomach was rumbling, so he was definitely awake. Disbelief stole his breath as his eyes filled with tears. He blinked them back, hard, and turned to Ryan, not knowing what to say. Not knowing if he could say anything through the lump in his throat.

Ryan looked horrified for an instant before he pulled Sam close and hugged him, cradling Sam’s head against his shoulder to give him privacy. “Do you want to leave?” he asked softly.

Sam shook his head, beyond words. And then he sniffed and looked up. The room was full of people he knew. His friends. He hadn’t realised it before, but they had always been there for him even when he hadn’t known it.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice cracking.

Val pushed a plate of food at him and he didn’t need to say anything more, just to eat and drink and marvel at how lucky he was.

* * *

“Fuck,” Ryan said. But he’d left it too late to hide—Mrs Verity was on them.

“Happy birthday, Samuel.” Her face was soft with the expression she reserved only for Sam.

Sam nodded at her and smiled, but as his mouth was full of mini pizzas, he didn’t say anything, which left Ryan in the firing line. She put a hand on Ryan’s arm and gently squeezed it. “Well done,” she said.

Something deep inside Ryan relaxed. After that first terrible moment, when he thought he’d fucked up so spectacularly they’d be inspecting Ryan Saunders’ latest mess from the space station, he was pretty sure that Sam was enjoying this. Sam was certainly getting hugged more than he’d probably been hugged in his entire life, and on the odd occasion his mouth wasn’t full—“This food is so good, Ryan”—he was grinning so hard his dimples were on permanent display. But this, from her, confirmed to Ryan that for once he’d got something right.

It wasn’t Ryan’s only surprise of the evening. He’d assumed the party would be something he’d have to endure and pretend to enjoy for Sam’s sake. But although he learned more about winter-flowering broccoli than he ever wanted to know, he found that people were keen to meet him and talk to him because he was Sam’s boyfriend, not because he was rich or well-connected or a good fuck. It was actually Ryan they were interested in.

He knew what his dad would think of such a gathering and the people here. This was no high-flying networking opportunity, where conversations were pithy and clever and deals were done that would change the world. This was talking about people’s grandkids and gardens and piercings—that last courtesy of Val, who was considering getting her septum done—and it should have been boring. Actually, it had been nice. Warm. Welcoming. He’d felt he belonged somewhere, a feeling that he’d only previously found with Sam.

When they finally left, Sam carefully guarding a bag containing the last pieces of cake, which the caterers had wrapped for him, they stopped on the path outside. During the evening, new snow had fallen, and a pristine layer blanketed everything. And still the snow fell, swirling softly in the night air, catching in Sam’s hair and on his eyelashes.

Sam turned to Ryan. “Thank you,” he said, and his voice was husky with his strength of feeling.

For once lost for words, Ryan drew him close and kissed him. He was glad he’d been able to give this to Sam, but he knew it was nothing compared to everything Sam had given him.

Hand in hand, they walked home through the gently falling snow.

The End

© Joy Lynn Fielding 2022