Page 100 of Pansies

Alfie traced the underside of Fen’s foot with the pad of his thumb, making his toes curl protectively. “You sure?”

“Well…maybe. But I sort of like it. Sometimes. I can’t explain.”

It was weirdly hot having Fen wriggling about, his foottrembling in Alfie’s hand, but not being pulled away. Just resting there, vulnerable and sensitive and kind of trusting. He obviously knew the film pretty well and seemed more interested in watching Alfie watch.

Which, y’know, was okay. Even though it made him a bit self-conscious. Especially when Catwoman had to become a prostitute and he got teary.

He liked it best, though, when Fen sang along. Which he didn’t seem to notice he was doing until he would catch Alfie looking at him, and then give this sheepish little half smile and stop. Though only for about a minute; then he’d start humming again.

All in all, Alfie was pretty sureLes Misérableshadn’t become part of his soul. But he didn’t completely hate it. Still a bit of a relief, though, when everybody was dead, which meant they’d got to the end.

“You okay?” Fen asked. “Still into me?”

Alfie stretched, his back clicking. “Course I am.”

“It’s better on stage.”

Oh fucking hell. “Um, no, seriously. This was fine. I’m good.”

For some reason, his fervour made Fen laugh. So Alfie assaulted the particularly ticklish bits of his feet until he was yelping and breathless and begging for mercy.

“What’s wrong with movie musicals anyway?” he asked, relenting at last.

Fen shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. I guess…I think when things are on-screen, we expect them to be realistic. Even if its CGI dinosaurs. But musicals aren’t like that. They’re not…a sugar cube dissolving in a cup of coffee. They’re someone in a silly hat, standing in the middle of a stage, singing their heart out. I’ll never not feel that.”3

“C’mere.” Alfie’s voice had gone growly as he pulled at Fen’s wrist.

Fen swallowed visibly and swung himself into Alfie’s lap, straddling him just like he had that time he’d brought Alfie a flower.

“Y’know, you’re perfect too.” Alfie smoothed Fen’s hair out of the way, cupped his face, and brought him in for a deep, hot kiss. “I’m never going to be that into musicals, but I love hearing you talk about them. Love hearing you talk all the time.”

“I”—a shaky laugh—“I can talk a lot.”

“I know. I also love it when you can’t.”

Fen blinked, pretty and startled, the wavery light from the still-rolling credits playing across his glasses.

“Like when you’re all breathless and helpless and at my mercy.”

“Oh…I…Oh.”

“Just like that.”

Fen laughed, flushing, and then leaned in and kiss-bit him. It hurt a little, but it was a sweet, bright pain that went straight to his cock like the touch of those too-rough hands. “If you want me at your mercy, you have to earn it.”

“Do I now?”

A nod. Fen’s breath was harsh, his eyes very bright, the colour high on his cheeks. He’d looked like that driving Alfie’s car too fast up Lizard Lane. But it felt different. And Alfie didn’t think it was solely about the fact they probably weren’t going to spin off the road and die.

He yanked and fumbled Fen’s shirt open. Pulled it partway down his arms, leaving him trapped. Chased another kiss, catching the sulky-succulent curve of Fen’s bottom lip between his teeth, sucking it into his mouth. Fen went still, and then pressedinto him with a muffled whimper, his body as supple and maddening as mercury, making Alfie kiss him harder. A hot, slick muddle of teeth and tongues, not quite moving together.

Until Fen pulled back. Wriggling away when Alfie caught for him, his mouth all smirky and kiss-swollen. “Is that the best you’ve got?”

“No…” said Alfie, a little doubtfully.

Fen’s eyes glittered at him. “I’m not scared of you, Alfie Bell.”4

“Good.” He grabbed Fen’s wrists, rough this time, like he meant it. Like he was really trying to overpower him. And Fen struggled. Like he was really trying to stop him.

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