1. All It Can Be

I turn to see who had touched my arm: what are you doing here? I didn't know the teachers were blowing off steam at this pub. Just steam? Oh. Yeah. Now I want to touch you. And not on your arm. Difficult in the crowd at the bar. You show me how easy it is. You keep your hand there for a long time. Your fingers move – search. Your growing grin tells me you've found it. My tingling all over my body and my trembling knees tell me.

Damn. Missed my turn. Distracted. You push past me – to the front. The guys let you in and I'm close behind. Very close. It is easy isn't it? It's a shame you're wearing jeans: I can feel your shape but there's too much fabric between my hand and your ... oh. I can feel you. You're warm already. You forget what you came to the bar to order. I prompt you. Then push a finger around until it's nudging the bottom of your zip. You grunt a little.

When we walk back to your group, I flick my eyes to outside: you look too. Smile. Wickedly. So fucking sexy.

I'm outside – almost alone. It should be warm and sunny but instead it drizzles. I don't care. Behind a struggling potted tree. I can only just see through, but I see you. Looking for me. Yes, I know what you said about not hiding behind random plants. I suggest standing in the open instead. You push me back. And kiss me. Hard. Your hand finds me hard. I have been since the bar. Your nimble fingers push aside the buttons and reach through the cotton. Your hands are cold but I'm warming them up. My hand lowers your zip and returns the favour. You're soaked. You're moaning into my mouth. Your tongue is twirling around mine like it's holding on.

Someone is coming. Not us. Yet. We both withdraw suddenly and fake talk. We do it well. Too much practice. It's the woman from the bar who served us. She smiles. She knows. She disappears into a store room, then out again, holding a case of wine. She tries to lock the gate. Instead, she looks at me. At you. Smiles again. Almost as wicked as yours. She leaves the gate and walks back inside the bar. You look at me. At the gate. We run to it, squeeze through it at the same time, pull it closed behind us.

I work out how the latch works and turn to you: your jeans are around your knees. Your hands are busy with mine. I push you back to a dusty wall. I'll brush you down later. I'll fuck you now.