Page 57 of The Freshman

Alfie slipped his hand inside thepocket and pulled out a yellow post it.

‘Wrap up tight,Freshman’

Alfie breathed in the scent of expenseand relished in the warm glow of someone caring about him. They hadspoken about the drop in temperature, and Nate had been interestedin what Alfie wore to combat the chill. He had assumed it was somehorny fantasy for Nate. The idea of unwrapping layers to get toAlfie, but the reality was he was worried that Alfie’s paper-thincoat wouldn’t be enough to keep him comfortable.

Alfie collapsed on to the sofa,flashing a look at the clock. It was six, another hour until theprisoners were put in their cells, and another five hours beforeNate would call. Nate promised the other prisoners wouldn’t hear,and if they did none of them would grass on him.

“You like the coat?” Nateasked when he finally called.

Alfie hadn’t taken it off. He wassweating beneath, but didn’t care. “Yeah, course I do, but youcan’t keep sending stuff to my door.”

“So, you didn’t like thepizza and garlic bread I sent last weekend?”

“You know I d—

“What about theaftershave, a bottle of the one I use?”

Alfie flushed scarlet. He’d balked atthe post it note on the aftershave. Nate wanted him to use it, sohe smelled like he belonged to him. Alfie didn’t wear aftershaveand sprayed it on his pillow instead. He had been embarrassed byhis own sentiment, but the fumes of Nate lured him to sleep, andeach time he woke, he smiled at the scent before he’d even openedhis eyes.

“It’s not that Idon’t—”

“Or those new shoes. Theydon’t squeak as you walk now.”

Alfie squeezed the bridge of his nose.“The gifts, they’re amazing okay, but you can’t send themanymore.”

“Why not?”

“You’ll get caught, andwe’ll both get in the shit.”

Nate snorted. “Give me some credit.Does the coat fit okay?”

“Yeah, fitsfine.”

“Are you wearingit?”

Alfie nodded. “Maybe.”

“Well, you got to take itoff. Don’t want it to get messy.”

Alfie snorted and lay the phone on thesofa as he shuffled from the coat. He picked up the phone andraised his eyebrow. “Done.”

“Hmm, not yet. Lay down,Freshman. Let me take care of you.”.

There was one fantasy Nate favoredabove all others. The idea of tying Alfie up, binding his handstogether and running his hands over every accessible millimeter offlesh. He wanted Alfie to beg and encouraged him to do so down thephone, but Alfie couldn’t do it. It felt wrong.

He wondered whether Nate bound hisvictims before he killed them, whether he made them beg for theirlives. His erection softened, and he stopped moving his strokinghand. He shuddered, then swallowed awkwardly. Nate must’ve heardthe noise and stopped voicing his fantasy.

“You okay?"

“Why did you kill thosemen?”

There was a harsh intake of breath onthe other end of the phone. “Way to kill the mood,Freshman.”

“I just—I don’t want toknow how, but why. There’s got to be a reason.”

There was no answer, and Alfie pulledthe phone from his ear to make sure they were stillconnected.

“I want to trustyou.”

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