Page 89 of Fe
Then somehow, they switched around and Ripley was on top with Fen beneath him. Fen wrapped himself around him like a monkey and Ripley pressed his mouth to Fen’s neck as he slammed into him time after time, driving the air out of Fen’s lungs. Ripley was swept into the current, wrenched out of control, propelled at high speed towards nirvana. There was no point fighting. The result was a foregone conclusion; the increasing pressure in his gut, the sensation of acute pleasure he already felt desperate to prolong, even though he knew that wasn’t going to happen.
Fen came first, spurting between them, calling out Ripley’s name, and it was enough to tip Ripley over the edge. His head went back and his eyes closed as he emptied himself inside Fen. It seemed to go on and on, and Ripley wished he wasn’t wearing protection.
The thought shocked him.
As the world righted itself, Ripley moved so Fen could straighten his legs and when he didn’t, Ripley gently did it for him, then rolled away to get rid of the condom. This time when he went to the bathroom to clean up, Fen was behind him.
“See? I didn’t break,” Fen whispered against his back, kissing his shoulder and twisting trembling fingers in Ripley’s hair.
Ripley was back in bed before Fen, and lay facing the window, his back to where Fen would lie.Just sex.Ripley kept repeating that in his head. Well, companionship and sexandhe was paying for it, so it was a relief that it was good. The mattress dipped as Fen climbed in behind him. Ripley didn’t move and Fen pressed himself up against Ripley’s back.
“That was really good,” Fen whispered. “Not really, really good so wedohave something to work towards.”
Ripley had intended to pretend he was asleep, but he couldn’t hold back his chuckle. Fen’s arm slid under his and while Ripley had never liked to go to sleep touching someone, his eyes closed and he felt himself drifting off.
Why was sleeping with Fen so easy? Was he really the cure for his insomnia?
Maybe.
They had a final walk on the beach the following morning. Fen said he was only looking for sea glass and persuaded Ripley to help him. The green pieces were the easiest to spot, though tiny fragments of seaweed fooled Ripley a few times.
“What are you going to do with it?” Ripley asked.
“I don’t know. It’s pretty to look at.”
Eventually, Ripley had to call a halt because they needed to be out of the Airbnb by eleven.
“It’s an addictive hobby.” Fen groaned. “Luckily there’s nowhere to do it in London or I’d be there every day and end up with a bad back.”
Ripley was just happy to see Fen’s delight when he found pieces for him, especially the one small piece of red glass, which sent Fen into raptures. They headed back to get the car, which was already loaded and set off listening to another of Fen’s play lists, dominated by Take That and Robbie Williams. Fen knew all the words.
“Have you ever wanted to play an instrument?” Ripley asked.
“I thought about taking up the violin, but ballet sucked all my time. Also, I have the sort of personality, that when I do something, I only want to do it if I can make myself really good at it, and I wouldn’t have had time for the violinandballet. Can you play anything other than the piano?”
“No. And I haven’t touched a piano for years.”
“Is it like riding a bike? You never forget how to do it?”
“Maybe one day I’ll find out.”
“Do you think we could stop somewhere for a cream tea? Aside from the fact I shouldn’t eat cream, and I know it’s lunchtime, not afternoon tea time, but I’ve never had a scone and strawberry jam and clotted cream.”
“If you see somewhere, shout out.”
Fen was quiet for a while, then called, “Oh, there! A sign says there’s a church fayre offering cream tea. Look.”
Ripley turned and drove up a lane to a village square full of parked cars. “Can you see the church?”
“On the right.”
Parking was free—which made a change—and once the car was locked, they walked down towards the church. As they approached, Ripley clenched his teeth. Of course, it was a fucking Christmas fayre. Why would he have even thought it might not be at this time of year? Signs directed them to a building at the side of the church. The entrance had been decorated with a large festive arch.
Fen stopped suddenly. “We don’t need to go in.”
Ripley didn’t think he’d actually said to Fen that he didn’t like Christmas, had he? But having no tree, no decorations, not wanting to listen to Christmas music, probably the way he’d recoiled in the restaurant last night… The clues had been there.
“It’s fine,” Ripley said and carried on walking.
