Page 41 of Freshman

“Not scared of a little thunder, are we?” Nate murmured.

Alfie turned back to the gate, shoved his key inside, then all went dark. He pulled the key out without unlocking the gate and shoved it into his pocket.

Alfie blinked in the darkness of the lobby but couldn’t make out the shapes. The shock of the situation had all of them falling silent, and it was Henry who finally broke it.

“You got a hold of Nate?” he asked.

Alfie stuck his hand out, and he slapped a muscular chest. Nate didn’t make any noise, and he didn’t move beneath Alfie’s hand. He allowed Alfie to wipe his hand across his chest and grip his biceps.

“Yeah, I’ve got him.”

“The back-up generator will be on any minute,” one of the officers said. “Don’t do anything stupid, Nate. Just stay there.”

There was a quiver in the guard’s voice that unsettled Alfie. They were afraid, whether for him or themselves, he didn’t know. He had hold of Nate’s arm, and the muscle flexed beneath his fingers—hard, solid muscle that pulsed his fingers as hard as he pulsed the muscle back.

Nate’s shoe bumped into his, and Alfie shivered at the heat radiating from the wall of muscle in front. Nate was closer than seconds ago, leaning into Alfie’s personal space.

Alfie could smell him, a dark smoky scent, manly and forbidden, but he dangled close, tempting Alfie to take a breath of him deep into his lungs, and he couldn’t ignore it. With the T-shirt, he could throw it back, but he couldn’t do anything in this situation; Nate was practically on top of him.

His eyes slid shut, and he breathed deep, sucking the warm scent inside him. It soothed his weary limbs, and he found himself melting into the gate behind him.

Nate moved with him, pushing his chest flush to Alfie’s. He wasn’t crushing, but Alfie could barely breathe, stuck between Nate and the metal bars digging into his back.

“Nate,” he said breathlessly.

“You okay, Fish? You got hold of him?”

"Yeah, I've…I've got him."

Bristles brushed Alfie's cheek. Nate’s face was next to his, Nate’s chest was touching his, and his manly scent was taking over the smell of his damp hair and stale trousers. Alfie’s lips popped open, and he panted for the thinning air.

The feeling of bristles on his face vanished, and he jerked at the first touch to his neck. Not fingers, it couldn’t be fingers; Nate’s wrists were secure at his back.

There was a soft centre to the facial hair, and Alfie realised Nate’s mouth brushed him. Not a kiss, just a touch, a touch that ignited pleasant tingles down to his toes.

He wanted to moan, managed not to, but leaned back and surrendered himself. Nate’s open mouth skimmed along his face, ghosting his parted lips.

Nate paused. Lips touched lips but with no pressure, and Alfie breathed through his mouth, taking the air from Nate and claiming it as his own.

He could only breathe through Nate, draw what he had into himself to keep upright and conscious. Alfie’s head spun, made worse by the darkness and his drumming heart.

Nate’s lips moved away, and he tried to follow until they pressed into the shell of his ear.

“Freshman,” Nate whispered, so softly Alfie was sure he had imagined the word, assumed Nate said it like all the other times.

Nate’s lips hovered by his jugular, and Alfie thought about the blood rushing through him. The blood he could hear in his ears along with his exaggerated breathing. Nate could sink his teeth in, rip through his flesh and kill him after his easy seduction. Even though the thought registered, Alfie didn’t straighten or shuffle along the gate. He shivered at the nip to his neck and the one to his jaw.

Instead of moving away from Nate’s teeth, he found himself angling his head and neck for Nate to nip more. Never hard enough to puncture skin, not enough to hurt, just a gentle pressure of teeth, and each bite increased Alfie’s heart rate, drove him closer to hyperventilating. His skin tingled, and each barely felt touch from Nate sent a spark of sensitivity coursing under his skin. He swore he felt Nate’s tongue. Not a swipe or lick, but the press of it against his throat like Nate was teasing himself with the taste of him.

The blood in Alfie’s body felt hotter, and it pooled in his groin.

“Oi!” Henry shouted.

Alfie lurched forward at the shout. “Yeah?”

“The generator is starting up.”

Nate took an audible step back, stomping his feet more than necessary, as if letting Alfie know for sure he had backed off.

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