Page 51 of Pansies

“I don’t know.” Fen’s fingers were cold and rough, the skin flaking round the edges of his cuticles, but they rested, a moment, between Alfie’s, not quite clinging, but not pulling away either. “I just don’t know. I keep thinking I should, but I don’t. And I can’t tell if that makes me weak, or stupid, or just ridiculously horny.”

“Ridiculously horny?”

Hard to see in the dim light, but maybe Fen blushed. “Oh don’t. You have no idea.”

“I’d…erm…kind of like to.”

“Well, it’s a fantasy, isn’t it? The fucker who bullied you at school on his knees for you.”

And now it was Alfie lost in a rush of heat. Lust, with a ripple of shame. “We can skip dinner, y’know?” It was the closest he could get to,Yes, that. Let’s do that.

“And miss my night out at the Raj?” Fen shook himself free and unclipped his seat belt. “Never.”

Alfie made a really valiant attempt to be normal. “How do you know the Raj is my special date place?”

He was on the pavement, round the Sagaris, and reaching for the passenger door handle before he remembered he wasn’t supposed to be helping. He took an exaggerated step back, holding up his hands like Fen had him at gunpoint, earning a look of exasperated amusement through the window. Though, actually, watching Fen slither out of the car in his very tight jeans had its compensations. Even if what he needed now was something quite different. Like another bucket of cold plant water to the face. Or elsewhere.

“Because,” Fen was saying, “this is South Shields, you’re you, and that’s the Raj.”

“You like it, right?”

“Alfie, nobody’s ever taken me.”

“God, well, we’ll get that fixed.”

Fen smirked. “Like my bathroom?”

“Oi.” Still not entirely thinking straight, Alfie landed a playful smack precisely where Fen deserved it. Right on his perfect arse.

He whirled round, pale with outrage. “What the shitting fuck was that?”3

It was a good question. “Um, a joke?”

“Do I look like I’m laughing?”

He didn’t. He looked like he was furious. “Not really, no. Look, I’m sorry. It’s just, you know, it was there.”

“What was there?”

Oh dear. Now Fen had his hands on his hips. “Your arse.”

A pause. “So’s your face, it doesn’t mean I get to punch it.” Fen scraped his fingers through his hair, making it fluffy and wild and adorable. “God. I don’t even know how to process this.”

“What? Nobody’s ever…?”

“No, Alfie Bell, no. Normal people don’t do that.”

“Yeah, they do. It’s affectionate like.”

“Seriously? When you hang out with your dude-bros, you idly smack each other’s arses like the red-blooded heterosexuals you are?”

“Well, no, but when I’m out with—Shit.”

“Oh God,” Fen muttered, “you’re so fucking straight. Also sexist.”

Nobody had ever complained. Although, admittedly, he’d never dared with Kitty. And, anyway, it didn’t seem like the time for debate. “I’m really sorry. I won’t do it again, okay?”

At last, Fen nodded, and Alfie started breathing once more. He’d honestly thought he’d blown it. With one careless gesture. A habit he’d as good as forgotten. Or maybe a subconscious desire to get his hands on Fen’s, well, on Fen.

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