Page 87 of Pansies

Fen’s eyes got even wider. “Jesus, Alfie, it’s not a punishment. As a general rule, I want to put my dick in people because I like them.”

“Right. Sorry.”

A pause.

“Did someone hurt you?” Fen had gone all gentle again, which made Alfie feel pretty much the opposite of everything he wanted to be.

“What? No.” He took a deep breath. Forced his body to release its stranglehold on Fen’s fingers. “It’s fine. Carry on.”

“‘It’s fine, carry on’?” Fen repeated, in incredulous tones.

“What’re you expecting? ‘Oh God, fuck me harder.’ This isn’t porn, man.” Except, ironically, that was exactly what Alfie himself expected (and very much appreciated) when it was the other way round. He had no idea why it was so impossible to say it back. Why even thinking about it made him feel slightly sick.

“We really don’t have to—”

Fen would have pulled away, but Alfie caught his wrist. “No,” he said, urgency and anxiety combining to turn his voice hoarse and raspy. “I want it.” Because he did. He really did. “Please?” he tried. “I loved it when you were touching me and stuff. I’m just nervous like.”

A shifting of the mattress and a kiss to the side of his knee signified Fen getting back into position. Except now he was between Alfie’s legs and watching his own fingers as they got all up close and personal with Alfie’s arse, which was probably supposed to be sexy. And maybe would have been sexy if Alfie didn’t feel so wet and stared at.

Except then Fen was staring at his face instead, a worried line between his brows. “You’ve got nothing to prove here. You do know that, don’t you?”

“It’s not that.” Alfie wished his heart would stop thundering. He could barely hear himself think. Which might have been why he blurted out the scariest truth of all. “It’s just…I dunno…will you see me differently after?”

“Differently how?”

“Less…y’know…less.”

“Oh, Alfie.” Fen fell upon him, covering him and kissing him hard. “Nothing could make you less.”

“Uh, okay.” It was the best Alfie could manage. But he thought it contained multitudes. Gratitude and relief, embarrassment that he’d needed to hear it, and a touch of longing for Fen’s assurance. Maybe Fen wouldn’t think less of him, but sometimes Alfie wasn’t so forgiving of himself.

Fen moved his mouth to Alfie’s ear. “My strong, gorgeous man. Let me fuck you.”6

Alfie shuddered, at the praise and possession both. And, just then, it didn’t feel weak to say…“Yeah.”

The sound Fen made at that was somewhere between a purr and a growl, his tongue pushing eagerly between Alfie’s lips, his cock hardening against Alfie’s thigh. Kind of amazing, the power of one little word, unravelling Fen just as sweetly as Alfie’s hands on his wrists. And, honestly, Fen didn’t seem too interested in control, or the lack of it. The more Alfie surrendered, opening his mouth to Fen’s kisses, his body to Fen’s hands, the wilder Fen got, moans falling against his skin like rain.

So Alfie gave himself permission to stop worrying about how he was supposed to be, or what this meant, or if it was okay, and let Fen…have him, take him, make him feel good. And it wasn’t so scary. It was just being with someone. He spread his legs, canting up his hips to let Fen settle there, cradled, pressed up against him as intimate as could be.

“Oh, Alfie, Alfie.” Fen moved against him, breathless, sweat-damp and utterly lovely. “You put every fantasy I’ve ever had about you to shame.”

“I’m all yours.”

Alfie actually felt the shiver reach Fen’s cock. He gave another one of his little moans, all helpless and undone and desperate, sliding slickly, and then somewhat stickily, between and against Alfie’s thighs. “God, I really need to—What the fuck did I do with the condom?”

“Uh. Over there, I think?” Alfie flailed usefully.

“Fuck.” Fen groped across the sheet and then began fumbling about on the floor. “It was right here.”

Staring at the ceiling, as Fen wriggled against his knees, Alfie wondered what was the polite thing to do. Was he supposed to pretend this wasn’t happening? Keep up a friendly flow of small—or worse—dirty talk? When he was rubbish at both. He sat up, rolled over, and tried to help.

Somewhere in the mess of books and clothes, their hands got tangled, and suddenly Fen was laughing, his face flushed, his hair falling crazily forward into his eyes. And he looked so beautiful, so ridiculous, this gold and silver man, that Alfie just had to kiss him, all his laughing, and they slithered slowly off the futon into a pile of Fen’s socks and underwear, knotted up together, mouths and legs and hands.

“Please don’t say I have to go to Asda and buy more,” said Alfie, when he was able to speak.

“No, it’s okay. I’ve got a box. Somewhere.”

Alfie’s fingers closed around something cool and smooth and curved. “Uh.” A button at the base made it buzz. “Is this a vibrator?”

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