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The car moved steadily along, the only sound the faint rumble of tyres on tarmac, the road as clear as the star filled night sky. He turned to gently inhale the familiar smell of shampoo and smoke from the sleeping head resting on his shoulder. His stomach clenched in to a tight knot and the muscles in his throat seemed to contract, making him swallow to clear the lump that had appeared. He sighed and blinked.
10 minutes and they’d be home. He wasn’t ready. Not yet. He wanted, he needed, to stay engulfed in the smell and feel of this closeness just a little longer. He spoke quietly; “Paul?”. Thier driver met his eyes in the rear view mirror that he studiously avoided unless he was being directly spoken too and raised a questioning eyebrow. “Take a detour, I don’t want to wake him. Give us an hour?”. Paul gave a small silent nod, turned his attention back to the road and drove straight past the end of their street to head out of Chiswick.
He carefully slipped his phone from the pocket of his jacket that lay on the seat beside him. The screen shone bright as he quickly wrote his message “stuck in traffic. Be an hour x”. His thumb hovered over the send button before quickly adding “Shhh hes asleep” so that no one would reply, then sent it to their wives. Dropping his phone on to the seat he carefully spread his jacket across their laps. He turned again to bury his face in the dark hair that tickled his cheek and inhale the scent that felt like home. Placing a soft lingering kiss he closed his eyes, sliding a hand under his jacket and on to the thigh pushed close against his own. He felt a hand slide on to his own thigh and grip it tight. The head on his shoulder nestled closer. The voice that whispered “thank you” was thick and gruff, squeezed past throat muscles that were as tight as his own at the thought of leaving their own private world.