“No.” I waited to catch my breath before speaking again. “Just as well you were; I didn’t think I’d be able to hold myself up much longer.”
“God.” He ran both hands over his face and through his hair. “I can’t fucking believe we’ve just done that.” He turned to look at me and laughed, but didn’t touch me. We both needed the wall to keep us standing and a moment or two to keep us apart. “I don’t…”
The brightness of his teeth, the whites of his eyes, caught a glint of light from somewhere and I imagined what his smile would look like in daylight. Artificial light.
Anywhere but here.
“You were the one who led me here, Kenton. You led me astray.”
“You fucking wanted it, you slut.”
“Fuck you.”
“I’ve already told you—”
“You never bottom.” I nodded. “Yeah. And I’ve got the sore arse to prove it.”
We fell silent for a few seconds, and I craned my neck, looked up. Near complete darkness now. We’d have to return to civilisation and make some attempt to look innocent.
Like we hadn’t just been fucking somewhere we could have, in theory, easily been caught.
“You know,” I began.
“What?”
“Don’t take this the wrong way.”
“Christ, you’re not gonna tell me I’m a crap shag, are you?”
“A bit quicker than I would have liked. A bit more vertical.”
“Fuck you, Blackman.” He punched me in the arm.
“You just did.”
“Next time I’ll take my time over it.”
I shuddered. Next time. Whatever had been unsettled in my stomach came to rest when he said that. “Listen, I need a stiff one.”
Steven snorted with laughter. “Am I not enough for you, now?”
“Think about it. You told Gary we were going down the pub, right?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“It’ll look a bit suspicious if we go back home stone cold sober, without even the smell of beer on our breath, won’t it?”
“Ah.” He nodded. “I see where you’re going with this.”
“It’s our sworn duty to”—I swiped my hands together to rid them of brick dust and grit—”make it look like you haven’t just been screwing me up against a wall, and we’ve only been working on getting pissed all evening.”
“Blackman, I have to say this.”
“Although I hope I haven’t got dust and dirt all over me now—that’ll be pretty hard to explain away, although I could just say I got so drunk I fell over.”
“Yeah, and your zip broke and my cock accidentally went up your arse.”
I tutted, shook my head, and wondered if he’d be able to make out the disapproving expression on my face, which wasn’t disapproving at all.
“Anyway, yeah, I had to say, I knew there was a reason I liked you. Two, actually.”
When he failed to enlighten me after a second, I prompted him with a simple “Oh?”
and pushed my weight off the wall, readying to leave.
“Your incredibly tight arse which I fully intend to fuck again soon, and properly this time.” He mirrored my stance and laughed, possibly at the involuntary shudder which ran up my spine.
“And?”
“And your shameless attempt to get me drunk. It’s working, by the way. First round’s on you. Come on, let’s go find a pub.”
Chapter Seven
“Oh God. I think I’m dying.” Steven cradled his head in both hands, leaning his elbows on the kitchen table.
“What the hell has Kit done to you?” Gary put his cereal bowl on the table and pulled up a seat, and Steven groaned.
“Don’t blame me. I’ve done nothing.” Gingerly I flicked on the kettle. I was just as fragile as Steven that morning, although not for the same reason. The poor, delicate flower had a hangover whereas I had a migraine blooming at the nape of my neck. Spidery fingers of pain reached up the back of my head and in an hour or two, they’d turn to iron and crush my skull in their vicelike grip. Completely unconnected to the amount of alcohol I’d drunk the previous evening, this was just sheer bad luck, fucked-up timing. I’d tried cutting out alcohol before. Dairy, caffeine, even chocolate, but nothing had worked. When a migraine shacked up inside my head, there was very little I could do with it but throw painkillers at the problem and lie down until it got bored and moved out again. Maybe, just maybe, I could literally knock it on the head with some horse tranquilisers or whatever the hell my GP had prescribed for me. Those, a mug of coffee, and a day in bed. Bill wouldn’t be pleased when I phoned in sick, but then he rarely was. He’d never give me shit, though. I was too valuable to the team. Valuable as in, I bloody carried them most of the time.
“Whenever someone else is pissed off, it’s usually your fault.” Gary shovelled cornflakes into his mouth like there was no tomorrow before jabbing at Steven with his spoon. “So what’s he done?”
“He’s hung over, you dick,” I put in. “You can’t blame me for the jars he threw back last night.”
“Didn’t you try to stop him?”
“You think I can stop Steven Kenton doing anything when he’s determined?” I could have kicked myself, especially when Steven shot a look over his shoulder. One of those looks.
Bleary-eyed and laden with I will get you for that. I hadn’t even realised what I’d said. The double entendre wasn’t intentional and only Steven would see one in my words, but see one he would, and he’d play with me.
Or rather, he would have, had he not been so groggy.
“I’ve seen what you’re like down the local. You don’t consider it a good night out unless everyone else present is unconscious, dying, or vomiting.”
“I feel like I’m all three at once,” Steven groaned. “God, I swear, I’m in so much pain even my hair hurts.”
“Pussy,” I muttered. Taking a guy’s cock up my arse gave me the right to gloat.
Although, given the pincers gripping the back of my neck, I wouldn’t be gloating for long.
“You want to try having a migraine.”
“Sure
