Loud Like Love

Chapter Nine: I Feel You

'Coming right up. Why don't you get that table over there, and I'll be right with you.'

Dave ordered two strong, dry Cornish apple ciders, then made his way to the table where Patrick was sitting, glancing about the room. 'Hey,' he said as he sat down.

'Hey.' Patrick accepted his cider and took a sip. 'Mm, this is nice.'

Dave tried his. 'Yeah. None of that sweet, crappy Swedish shit you get in in the shops. Real cider is supposed to taste like ammonia and rotten apples.'

Patrick laughed. 'Not sure I'd go that far, but it's good. Not too sweet, like you say.'

Dave grinned and took Patrick's hand.

They sat for a couple of hours drinking and talking, and then they played darts for a bit. At around eleven, Dave was starting to feel fairly tipsy and told Patrick as much. 'Wanna go get some air?'

'Sure.' Patrick took his hand, entwining their fingers, and they left the stuffy bar in favour of the cool air outside. Then they walked a bit, through Windfield Green's quiet streets, until Dave couldn't help himself anymore and kissed Patrick in the shadow of a building.

Patrick was happy to be kissed and backed up against the wall, letting Dave press him up against it, hand in his hair. His mouth was open and eager, and Dave slid his tongue inside, moaning quietly into the kiss, and reached around to grope Patrick's arse. This earned him a soft groan, and he smiled.

After several minutes of this, Dave pulled away, looking into Patrick's eyes and brushing his auburn hair out of his eyes. 'You are so hot,' he murmured and kissed him again, gently. 'I was thinking . . .' Dave felt himself blush a little, but was sure Patrick couldn't tell in the darkness. 'I was hoping that maybe, if you want to and you feel up for it, that maybe you'd like to come back to my place?'

Patrick laughed softly, placing his hands on Dave's hips and pulling him closer. Dave drew a sharp breath as he felt Patrick's hard-on press against his thigh.

'I really, really want to do that,' Patrick whispered, and then he kissed him again, hard, in a clash of lips and tongues, until they were both panting, and it was all Dave could do not to moan out loud.

He heard loud voices coming down the street, several of them, all male, and reluctantly pulled away from Patrick, adjusting his rumpled jacket.

The group consisted of several boys of an age with the two of them. He recognised them from Upper Windfield Grammar School. They weren't people he had ever hung out with, but among them were Steve Winters and Johnny McIntyre, a pair of bullies that Alan had sort of befriended for a little while when he and Dave weren't speaking a year and a half ago. Before he had time to warn Patrick of this fact, the group seemed to spot them, and Steve called out, 'Well, if it isn't Dave Thompson! What's up, faggot?'

'Piss off!' Dave replied.

'This your new boyfriend, then?' asked Johnny. 'What happened to that queer Davis?'

'None of your fucking business. Patrick, let's go.'

The others had drawn close now. 'You're disgusting!' another one of them said and spat. 'Faggots. Should fuck you up's what we should. Teach you a lesson.'

Dave fixed him with his coldest stare and crossed his arms. 'Go on, then. And then see yourselves convicted of a hate crime. I'm pals with the local police sergeant, and my dad's a star lawyer. Think prison is worth it for teaching a pair of faggots a lesson?'

'You're bluffing,' said Steve, but he sounded less than certain.

'Yeah? You gonna risk finding out?'