Sanctuary

Elliot Fox loved his job but loathed his boss. The rota pinned up in the staff room that Monday morning told him, unsurprisingly, that he was on dog kennel cleaning duty. He knew for a fact he was made to do this more than Poppy and Owen, his co-workers. It seemed he was permanently in the doghouse with Sheridan.

He clenched his teeth against the mutinous mutterings that threatened to spill over, and set the kettle to boil. While it did, he looked out of the window over the dark island. There wasn't much to see. The wind howled and the rain lashed; it was another typical winter day on the island of Aurora.

Sometimes he asked himself why he had left his home in Inverness to come to this tiny dot in the Outer Hebrides with its population of nine hundred and seven. Then he looked into the eyes of the animals he rescued and nursed back to health, and knew it was all worth while. Even putting up with Sheridan for two years.

A door banged in the distance and a gate rattled. The howl from the kennels suggested someone had just walked past the dogs. Poppy and Owen were never this early. The staff room door opened, a blast of frigid air whistling down the back of Elliot's neck. He kept his back firmly turned, pouring the tea. He didn't want to set eyes on his bastard boss before he had to.

"Christ, it's colder than a witch's tit out there." The Australian accent rolled over the words, half of them tinged with a Scottish lilt. It was one of the sexiest things about Sheridan. One of the many, many, sexy things. Because while Elliot reviled the man with his every fibre, he was also violently, desperately attracted to him.

Elliot splashed milk into his tea and took a sip, not responding. Behind him he heard Sheridan pulling off the new, heavy wool coat that Owen, the shameless flirt, had cooed and fawned over for some time when his boss had turned up in it last week.

Elliot turned around reluctantly. It was true the long, military style coat with its brass buttons made Sheridan look like some sort of dangerous highwayman, especially when he wore it with high-topped boots. It had featured in Elliot's Stand and Deliver fantasies on several occasions. Damn him.

"What's wrong with you?" Sheridan arched a delicate brow, as he threw his scarf and gloves onto a nearby chair, and pulled off a ski cap to reveal short, copper-coloured hair.

Elliot's stomach turned over, reached down, and stroked his groin into awareness. "Nothing," he mumbled as his gaze dropped helplessly down the curves of Sheridan's tall, lean body, lingering on the pert swell of his buttocks in tight jeans as his boss chose that moment to bend over to retrieve a fallen glove.

Elliot thought he would groan. Did Sheridan really have no idea how sexually magnetic he was? Owen, who had known Sheridan from when he arrived on Aurora, said their boss had been bronzed and glowing fresh from the plane from Australia, but this had soon faded to porcelain, peppered with muted freckles over the bridge of his upturned nose. Sheridan's eyes were sherry-coloured, startling against thick, dusky lashes, and his mouth was luscious, full-lipped, and pink. For all his unpleasant personality, he was easily Elliot's number one heartthrob. Damn him to all hell.

Elliot didn't think about Sheridan in romantic terms though. What was the point? Sheridan disliked him, and Elliot loathed him back. Of course, he would willingly lie on his back if Sheridan ever actually wanted him, but he would hate himself afterwards. Not that Sheridan would ever look twice. Elliot considered himself rather pale and mousy, hardly a suitable mate for a peacock like Sheridan.

Owen would be far more appropriate.

The door banged open and Owen swept in. Tall and thin, his bleached hair was styled into elaborate spikes, and eyeliner rimmed his pale blue eyes. He was the only man on the island with a tan. He dropped his zebra-print jacket onto the couch and gave Sheridan a flirtatious grin before swinging his pink Lycra-clad hips over to the kettle.

"Hello, boss, how are you this fine morning?"

"Shit," grunted Sheridan, apparently immune to Owen's considerable charms.

"Oh dear, I'm sure we can find something to cheer you up. Right, Elliot?" He gave Elliot a hug then somewhat obviously dropped a teaspoon on the floor in order to bend down in front of Sheridan.

Behind Elliot, the door closed, their boss gone.

"Fuck it, what more do I have to do?" Owen complained. "It's getting to the stage where I'll have to drape myself naked over his BMW before the Aussie bastard notices me."

Elliot made no comment. Owen had been chasing Sheridan for over two years and Elliot had guessed at first that Sheridan must be straight or just asexual to keep avoiding Owen's attentions. He soon found out Sheridan was as gay as he and Owen. He had arrived from Australia with a partner in tow after winning a substantial sum on the lottery. Within six months, the partner had vanished, and Sheridan had opened the animal sanctuary and ploughed his heart and soul into it, leaving nothing left for anyone of the two-legged variety.

Elliot kind of understood. Sheridan remained bruised and bleeding and sought the unconditional love an animal could provide and the rewards of nursing them back to health. Still, it wouldn't have done him any harm to throw a few crumbs Owen's way after all the effort the man had put in. Elliot smiled ruefully to himself. Even now, he still expected Sheridan to give in one day, and he wasn't sure how he would handle the notion of Sheridan and Owen together. Probably with violent jealousy.

"Anti-social fucking bastard." Owen slurped noisily at his tea. "Doesn't he know I'm the best fuck on the island? You'd tell him that wouldn't you?"

Elliot reddened. Last year's Christmas party was memorable for all the wrong reasons. Owen, desperate to seduce Sheridan, and Elliot, sexually needy, had collided in a fierce rutting outside the pub in the dark. Scraped knees and pulled muscles were the order of the day, and not once had Elliot thought of anyone else but Sheridan inside the pub, chatting politely to Poppy and ignoring the both of them.

Sheridan knew. Of course he did, but his only reaction was to throw Elliot a withering look, as though he were disappointed in him. Elliot, confused and regretful, had retreated ever further into his shell, his hopeless fascination for Sheridan pulsing and growing and tinged with blackness.

Owen cackled at him. "I'd better get to cat ward. Have fun in the kennels." He winked and swung his hips out of the door.

Sometimes Elliot wondered which of them he hated more. He sank miserably onto the couch with his tea, looking up as Poppy came in.

Poppy was a sweet little blonde with big blue eyes and a compassionate heart. Sometimes she was the only one of his colleagues Elliot actually liked, and he'd often wished he could feel some attraction towards her. She would be a perfect catch for anyone, and she would warm Elliot's lonely nights effortlessly. Sheridan seemed fond of her, as warm towards her as he could get to another human being.

"What's wrong, sweets?" Her accent was thick, local.

"Nothing."

She knew about his crush on Sheridan, how could she not? He'd never needed to put it into words, and she'd spared his blushes by not mentioning it directly, but she knew all right.

She sat down beside him, put an arm around his shoulders and hugged him. "He's not interested in Owen. He never will be interested in Owen, and I know that you know that."

Elliot's cheeks flamed. This was the most she'd ever said on the subject. He lowered his head. "I hate him. I hate him so much."

"No, you don't."

"He's a monster. He treats me like shit."

"Don't say that. You're his favourite. He trusts you with everything."

Elliot shrugged away and got to his feet, laughing. "Favourite?" He threw his tea down the sink and rinsed the cup. "I'm off to clean out the dogs for the third day on the trot, so please don't tell me I'm his fucking favourite!" He slammed the door behind him.

The sanctuary was split into wildlife and domestic sections, with the wildlife predominating. On Aurora, stray domestic animals were almost negligible, the population well under control, thanks to Sheridan. He took lengthy steps to re-home any stray animal, sometimes relocating them to the RSPCA shelter in Inverness for a better chance if he couldn't persuade the locals to open their doors.

Elliot went down to dog ward, greeting the guests as they leapt up at the bars, barking. He entered the storeroom at the end, donned some protective gear and gloves, and took his bags and shovel. Then he started with the large isolation enclosure housing five unwanted puppies.

Gorgeous things they were too. Elliot put his things down and greeted the dogs for a few minutes, letting them jump up and lick him, before he got down to it.

"Clean out, then breakfast, you know the drill," he told them affectionately as he started to clean up, distracted by one wet nose after another pushing at him. Four of the puppies were already earmarked to new owners once their isolation period was finished, and he could just bet Owen the dog lover would snap up the fifth if there were no takers.

Elliot loved all animals but his passion was cats. He had three of his own at home, all rescues. Sometimes he thought that was another way Sheridan punished him. Giving him dog duty instead of cat duty when cat duty was a pleasure and a privilege. Did he want to deliberately deny Elliot? Why exactly did he dislike Elliot so much?

As he straightened up, he glanced through the window to the kitchen on the other side. Sheridan stood there watching him. As soon as his boss realised he had been seen, he turned quickly away. Elliott's gaze lingered on broad shoulders and narrow hips a moment in deep, gut-wrenching desire.

What was he going to do? He couldn't go on this way. The door closed behind his boss, and Elliot was left watching empty air. Was it always going to be like this, Elliot both detesting and wanting Sheridan in equal measures? The need was going to destroy him; he was sure of it.