Page 130 of Pansies

This was apparently more than anyone had bargained for. There was visible uncertainty in the group. Then the smallest of them turned and ran for it.

“Smart move,” growled Alfie, picking up speed.

One of the lads came at him. It was a bit half-hearted, to be honest. Alfie didn’t even need to punch him. Just barged into him and knocked him down. Gave him a kick on the way past. Left him curled up on the pavement like a slug. His mate hadretreated against a wall. Alfie grabbed him by the collar and slammed him into the bricks.

“You starting summin?”

The guy swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “N-no.”

“You sure?”

“We were just having a laugh.”

“Then you need to work on your sense of humour, mate.” Alfie shoved his captive again. Considered lamping him one, then thought better of it. “Cos you just got your arse handed to you by a puff.”

He let the lad go. Watched him ooze wheezily down the wall.

Then ambled back to Fen. “Come on, pet. Let’s get out of here.”

“Oh my God.” The moment they were round the corner, Fen pulled up sharp and whacked him in the chest. “What the fuck is the matter with you?”

Alfie blinked. “Did I do summin wrong?”

“You can’t keep starting fights.” Another whack. “I don’t want a boyfriend I have to visit in hospital.” A third. “Or in prison.”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Alfie caught Fen’s flying hands. “Calm doon. I can handle myself.”

“Against five? Or seven? Or a knife?”

“Well, mebbe not then, but—”

Fen’s eyes were wet, although he still seemed mostly furious. “It doesn’t matter how strong you think you are, or how manly. If someone wants to hurt you for being a pussy-boy fag, they can and they will.”1

And now he got it. Fen was scared. Scared for Alfie in a way he’d never been for himself.

“Alreet,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t do that again.”

“I won’t.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Really.”

At last, Fen nodded. “Fine.” He took a deep breath. “If you’ve promised and you mean it—”

“I mean it. Jesus, mate. What do you want me to do, cross my heart and hope to die?”

“In which case”—Fen melted into Alfie—“it’s okay for me to find you incredibly hot right now.”

They kissed, kind of ferociously, like Alfie was a pastry swan and Fen was really in the mood for patisserie. He got his tongue into all the corners of Alfie’s mouth, less of an exploration than a full-scale occupation, really. A claiming. He tasted faintly of vanilla from the ice cream he’d had at the interval. Left Alfie tender and tingling and sporting a pretty major hard-on in the middle of Sunderland.

Fen grabbed his hand again and dragged him into the alley down the side of a pub.

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