by Alexis Hall
Fen slipped his hand free, stuck his arms into Alfie’s coat—which was far too big for him—and darted off over the rocks, as fearless as a mountain goat. His hair streamed behind him, pink and silver and Rumpelstiltskin gold.
“Fen, if you end up in the water . . .”
“Then you have my permission to point and laugh.”
Muttering, Alfie scrambled after him. It was, frankly, slippy as fuck, but he managed to avoid falling on his arse, finally catching up to Fen where the pools flowed into the sea, and the seaweed was particularly treacherous. A hand reached for him before he skidded right over, and he crashed into Fen instead. He’d forgotten, somehow, the strength in the man, but he felt it now in the shifting muscles of the body that steadied him.
Still holding on, Alfie turned slowly to look out over the North Sea. It was one shade darker than the sky, a cold black mirror, tarnished with spreading streaks of silver. The waves rushed white-tipped to the edges of their rock and swirled past to mingle with the pools, strewing a haphazard treasure path of coral pieces, broken shell, and sea wrack.
Fen pointed to the damp seaweed at their feet. The strands were spread out like a muted rainbow, black and green, brown and blue. “Sea horse manes.”
“You joke, but I used to think sea horses were actually like horses.”
“So did I.” Fen leaned his head against Alfie’s shoulder. “I was really disappointed when I learned they weren’t. But then my mum bought me this book full of these colour photographs of sea horses, and I fell back in love with them. They’re so ridiculously beautiful. Strange little rainbow creatures.”
“I thought they were sort of yellowy grey?”
“No, no, they come in all sorts of colours. And there are sea dragons, which have these long, floaty tendrils. And when they mate, which they do for life, they dance and hold tails.”
“If I had a tail, you could hold it.”
Fen took his hand again. “I’ll pretend it’s your tail.”
“I’m not much of a dancer though.”
“But the dancing is lovely. They sort of twist about each other . . .” Fen twisted. “And move their bodies together . . .” Fen moved. “And then they ki—”
Alfie kissed him. And was so distracted that he didn’t notice the wave breaking over their rock until his feet were doused in seawater, astonishingly cold in contrast to the heat of Fen’s mouth. He leapt back with an undignified yelp, pursued by the tide and Fen’s sweet, sudden laughter.
He beckoned. “C’mere, you.”
Fen came, still laughing, the spray shining on the edges of his hair, sleek as a selkie about to shed its man-skin and disappear into the ocean.
“I thought you said you were scared of the sea.”
“Haven’t you noticed? I’m quite interested in things that scare me a little.”
They left the rock pools and made their way back to the cliffs, where a series of dark, rough-edged openings led the way into a shallow network of caves.
“When I said I liked things that scared me a little,” said Fen, as they got closer, “I didn’t realise you were going to take me into a dark cave.”
“Uhh—it’s a very nice dark cave?”
“I bet you say that to all the boys.”
They ducked beneath the archway into the first of the caves. The sea had hollowed out an intricate cavern of pillars and passageways, where the light glistened green and gold on the damp, wave-smoothed walls. The floor was small pebbles, larger chunks of limestone and the occasional shining, saltwater pool. Spotting a flash of colour amongst the grey, Alfie stooped and picked up a piece of sea glass, as green as Fen’s eyes. He dried it off and then winced. What was he doing? Collecting shit on the beach like a twelve-year-old.
But Fen was smiling at him. “I love sea glass. I have jars and jars of it at my parents’ house. I keep thinking I’d like to make jewellery out of it, but that takes, you know, actual skill.”
“I bet you could learn.”
“It’s finding the time. Or, rather finding the right time. I was always too busy before. And if I started now, it would be the beginning of the end. I’d be basket-weaving in the local community centre by Saturday.”
Alfie grinned at him. “Well, here. For your collection.” He held out the sea glass, and Fen took it, tucking it into the pocket of his jeans. And then Alfie felt like an idiot. Because he’d just given him a bit of broken glass. As a present. “Uh . . . yeah . . . anyway, what do you think of the cave?”
“It’s a cave, Alfie.”
“Yeah, but you know about Jack the Blaster, right?”
“Some eighteenth-century weirdo who blew open the caves near the Grotto so he could live in them with his family? Yeah, I’ve heard that story.”
“Well this is one of his caves. Isn’t that cool?”
Fen twitched an eyebrow. “I’ll give you slightly interesting. Cool is pushing it.”
“You really don’t care?”
“About the history of a place I spent most of my life being abjectly miserable in? Not really, no.”
“Shit.” Alfie’d ruined everything already. With his stupid big mouth. And his stupid big feet, which were in his stupid big mouth. “I’m really sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”
He must have looked as bad as he felt because Fen relented. “It’s fine. How do you know about this, anyway?”
“Oh, it’s my dad. He really loves this stuff. Shields pride and all that.” Alfie tried to ignore the scratchy, anxious, picking-at-a-scab feeling that came with remembering his father boring him with these very stories. “Just count yourself lucky I’m not trying to tell you the history of the lifeboat.”
Fen stepped past him, moving deeper into the cave, the crunch of his footsteps over the pebbles echoing around them. “I’ll let you into a secret.” He cast a look over his shoulder that made Alfie’s heart flip like a starfish. “If it was you doing the telling, I might even like the history of the lifeboat.”
“Oh yeah?”
Following him round the edge of a smooth limestone pillar, Alfie caught him by the shoulder and turned him gently into his arms.
“Yes.” Fen sounded a little breathless suddenly. “Why don’t you try it?”
Alfie pushed him back, one step, then another, until he had him trapped against the pillar. “Are you sure you’re ready? It’s actually pretty controversial, you know.”
Fen tilted his head back to meet Alfie’s gaze. The shadows swallowed the green from his eyes, leaving them dark and wide and slightly hazy. “I think I could handle it.”
“Give me your hands, then.”
And he did. No hesitation at all, crossed at the wrists, waiting for Alfie to lift them. Which he did. Over Fen’s head, cradled against the palm of his hand so the rough edges of the stone wouldn’t hurt him.
Fen’s shuddery sigh echoed in the cave until it seemed to be everywhere around them. All his pleasure and trust and wanting.
“So the first lifeboat,” Alfie whispered, “was actually designed by some bloke called Lionel Lukin in 1780-something, but nobody gave a fuck.” He got in close, bringing their bodies together, and kissed his way along the curve of Fen’s jaw.
Fen turned his head to give him better access, writhed a little, and moaned.
“But there was this massive shipwreck in like 1789, I think? This ship—the Adventure it was called—was stranded off the coast of South Shields really close to shore, but nobody dared go out in the storm to rescue the crew.” He followed the tendon down Fen’s neck to the soft, sleek places below, licking salt and the taste of Fen from the hollows above his collarbones.
Fen’s cock was pressing hard and hot against Alfie’s leg even through two layers of clothing. “I can’t believe I’m letting you do this to me while you’re talking about shipwrecks.”
“It’s educational.”
“I . . . I probably won’t remember any of it.”
“You’d better. There’s going to be a test later.” Alfie took a l
eisurely journey back up to Fen’s lips and lingered there awhile, kissing the edges of his smile, learning the texture of the crevices, the tender corners of his mouth. “So after the shipwreck . . .”
“You’re really doing this, aren’t you?” Fen fell back against the pillar with a groan that was half-torment, half-laughter, his body all surrender.
Which didn’t do much to help Alfie retain his grasp on local history. “Shit,” he muttered. “You’re so gorgeous.”
Gorgeous, and somehow, miraculously, his. And suddenly, there was a knee gliding purposefully up the inside of his thigh. He gave an undignified yelp, every nerve in his body jumping to attention, his cock at the head of the parade.
Fen smiled at him sweetly. “What was that about a shipwreck?”
“Fuck the shipwreck.”
Alfie tried to kiss him, but Fen jerked away, hiding his face against his arm. “No, no, Alfie Bell.” He sounded pretty muffled and also like he was laughing. Cheeky little bastard. “Do tell me all about lifeboats.”
“Had competition,” Alfie growled. “Wouldhave won. Or maybe Greathead. Nobody sure. The end.” Since it was all he could reach, he nuzzled into Fen’s cheek.
“Wait.” Fen turned so fast their mouths nearly collided. “You’re seriously telling me the lifeboat was built by two guys called Wouldhave and Greathead?”
“Yeah.”
“They should have fought crime.”
Whatever weird sex and local history–based game he’d accidentally started, Alfie was pretty sure he was losing. Fen seemed remarkably comfortable for a man standing on one leg in the middle of a cave with his wrists trapped above his head, and any second now, Alfie was going to rub off against him like a teenager, and probably come like one too.
It had never been like this with girls—he’d always been so gentlemanly and considerate. Which probably said a lot about being gentlemanly and considerate, now he thought about it. Except it hadn’t been like this with Greg either. He was fun and sexy and liberated to the point that Alfie sometimes wondered if maybe he could do with being a bit less comfortable, but Fen was . . . Fen had this magic. It wasn’t just that he was pretty—because while he would definitely have launched a few rowboats, a thousand ships would probably have been pushing it—it was just sort of everything. How his sharp eyes got all soft and sultry in pleasure. The scent of his hair and the taste of his skin, the salt and the sweetness of him. The way he offered his mouth and throat and hands to Alfie. The trust of it.
Right. Control. Alfie had that. Somewhere. He gently nudged the trespassing knee out of the way, and shoved his own between Fen’s legs, spreading them wide. Some of Fen’s mischief fled, and he made a soft, helpless sound. Just like at the hotel room, except this time there were no secrets, and the past was less important than now.
Fen’s hips stuttered, pleading and demanding at the same time, and Alfie reached down to caress the length of his cock where it pressed against his jeans. That made Fen gasp and squirm, and Alfie didn’t know if he was trying to pull back or get closer. Probably Fen didn’t either.
“Alfie . . . someone could . . . someone could come.”
“That’s the plan.”
A strange noise, caught between a laugh and a moan. “I can’t believe you went there.”
“Look, there’s a pillar in the way and nobody for miles. I won’t let anyone see you.”
“They’d probably call the police . . . Oh.”
Alfie flicked open the button of Fen’s jeans, and carefully tugged the zipper down. The sound ricocheted wildly, more than slightly suggestive and far too loud.
Fen thrust himself clumsily against Alfie’s waiting hand. “And I probably wouldn’t care.”
Alfie fumbled awkwardly past denim and under boxers until he found skin. God. Somewhere Fen was warm. So fucking warm. “I’m not going to let anything bad happen.”
“Y-you’re jerking me off in a cave. Something bad is already happening.”
His hand stilled. “Good bad, right?”
“Yes. God yes.” Fen wriggled impatiently, his trapped wrists grinding the back of Alfie’s hand against the pillar. It hurt a bit, but that was okay. Better than okay. It was perfect. Rough and right and perfect, just like Fen. “Really good bad.” His hips twisted, shoving his cock against Alfie’s palm like he was trying to fuck it.
From there things got frantic. Hopeless. Wonderful. Alfie’s hand. Fen’s cock. Their mouths. A tangle of kisses and gasps and muffled moans, and the sound of skin moving against skin. Fen’s head thrown back against the pillar. A drop of sweat gliding down his throat, pristine in the half-light. And Alfie, desperate, a little bit dizzy, a little bit shocked. Because he loved Fen like this, so hot and straining, and lost and found, and his. He still smelled a little bit of flowers and tasted a little bit like salt. And the words scattering at their feet with the shells and sea glass were yes, and oh, and God, and yes, and please, and that last one was maybe Alfie, because he wanted it so badly, Fen’s pleasure, not taken but given, and nothing between them but this, and the things they chose to build together.
A shudder and a cry, and it was over, a flood of fresh warmth against Alfie’s palm and a white splash across the pebbles. And Fen, flushed and breathless and shaking. And beautiful. So ridiculously fucking beautiful. Alfie hastily let go of his hands. Fen winced a little as he lowered his arms, but before Alfie had time to feel bad, they were thrown around his neck, and he was being pulled close for another kiss. Tender this time. Endless. A world spun from a moment. Like one of those snow globes Billy used to collect. Blackpool. Edinburgh. Windermere. Alnwick. Except he couldn’t imagine there was much of a market for this: two men lost in a kiss.
At last, they parted, Fen pressing his cheek to Alfie’s for a moment. Then, “Oh God, I’m a mess.”
“I told you, I don’t think you are. We’re not doing anything bad here.”
Except now Fen was laughing. “No, I didn’t mean . . . I meant . . . literally. I’m covered in . . . well . . .”
“Oh right. Whoops.” A pause. “I think there’s a Kleenex in my jacket pocket.”
“You’re a classy man, Alfie Bell.”
They found, with a little difficulty, a scrunched-up, sorry-looking tissue. Fen cleaned himself up and zipped up his jeans. Alfie crouched down by one of the small pools and washed his hands. Then was suddenly awkward. Didn’t quite know where to look. He’d basically just attacked Fen in a cave. Unable to keep his hands off him. That was the sort of thing teenagers did. Not grown men who had access to cars and homes and beds.
Fen was waiting by the entrance, smoothing slightly shaking hands over his thighs. He had a dazed, just-shagged look, all ruffled hair and swollen lips, and Alfie felt right again. Filled with a kind of possessive warmth. Because he’d done that. To Fen. For him. With him. Like a story they were telling in touching.
“You okay?” he asked.
Fen glanced up, half-smiling. “Very much so.”
His shoulder-nudged Alfie’s upper arm, and they leaned against each other a little. The sky was whitish now to match the tops of the waves and backlit by the sun to a smooth gleam like somebody had been polishing it.
Alfie stared out into the distance, Fen warm at his side, and felt so strange that it took him a moment to realise he was happy.
Which made him remember he had a job and a life that was supposed to be happening somewhere else. And Fen didn’t belong here anymore than Alfie did. His heart flinched with the anticipation of pain, and he ignored it. Ignored it.
“Tide’s coming in,” he said. Which wasn’t what he meant at all.
Fen nodded.
“Sure you’re okay?”
“Just a little tired.”
Alfie couldn’t help himself. “Did I wear you out?”
“Hah, no. I’m just not sleeping very well.”
There was a secret to sleeping, and it was working a fourteen-hour day. Alfie tended to fall into unconsciousness like he’d been hit wi
th a hammer. But he suspected there were better strategies. “Want me to run you back?”
Tuck you in? Maybe not.
“Would you?”
“Yeah, it’s no problem.”
“Thank you.” Fen smiled up at him. “I’d like that.”
And Alfie felt all weird again. A little bit breathless. Like he couldn’t stop grinning.
15
They didn’t talk much on the drive back, but it was an okay kind of silence. Alfie pulled up outside Pansies, and Fen pushed open the door. Hesitated.
“Um . . . thank you. I mean for everything. For staying and listening and . . . wanking me off in a cave.”
Alfie grinned. “Anytime. When can I see you again? Tomorrow?”
“I’ll be working.”
“Can I help out?”
“No.” There it was—that stubborn pride, still burning in those tired eyes. “And please don’t threaten me with any more DIY.”
“Can I see you after, then? I could take you out again?”
Fen glanced away, pink shading the crest of his cheekbones. “Or we could stay in?”
“Works for me.”
“Or—” Fen had one foot on the pavement now, but still seemed reluctant to get out of the car “—you could just come up now. I mean, it won’t be much fun.”
“Sounds tempting.”
Fen drooped. “Oh God, I just don’t want to lure you up under false pretences.”
“I’m teasing, man. I’m not expecting a six-course dinner and an orgy.”
“I know, but honestly I just want to fall asleep in your arms. Which is simultaneously selfish and pathetic.”
“I would love for you to fall asleep in my arms. Now stop dithering and get your arse out the car.”
Fen got his arse out of the car, and Alfie locked up. Followed him through the side door and up yet another set of rickety, dusty stairs. As soon as they reached the flat, Fen made a strange yelping noise and dashed into the living room. It sounded like he was fighting somebody in there, but it turned out he was only trying to tidy it up. When he realised Alfie had come in behind him, he whirled round, a saucer of cigarette ends in one hand and an LP of A Little Night Music (London cast recording) in the other.