lou on the loo

She looks at him in confusion, her brows drawing together and her noses scrunching up in a way that’s disarmingly adorable. Colin stares at her meaningfully, and when she still doesn’t seem to get it his mouth stretches into a slow grin and he mimes putting his hand below the table and making a pumping motion – at which point her eyes suddenly widen and she flushes even redder than she was when she came in.

“Colin.”

“What, why not?” He shrugs. “It’s very effective stress relief.”

“Well – yes, I suppose – I mean, I know it is, but -” Her gaze jerks away from his and she looks like she’d rather be talking about anything else. “I just don’t think I could – get myself there. Right now. Like this.”

Colin considers this. It’s never been much of an issue for him, but he can understand that it might not be so easy for Penelope when she’s feeling rattled and watching the clock.

He opens his mouth to tell her that and to suggest something else, but instead what he hears himself saying is, “What if I helped?”

Her eyes snap to his, a multitude of emotions filling them – shock, confusion, wariness, and beneath it all curiosity tempered with something Colin can’t quite put a name to.

Tense silence tangles around them, and after what feels like a full hour in itself but is probably only a few seconds Penelope’s tongue darts out to wet her lips and she says nervously, “Are – are you - ? You can’t be serious?”

There’s a slight quaver in her voice on the last words, like she’s not sure what she wants his answer to be.

Colin drags his gaze away from her plump lower lip to reply, “Yeah, I am. If you want. It would be … one friend helping out another, doing them a favour, that’s all.”

“A sex favour.”

“So? It’s just sex. We’re both adults, I think we can handle it without it being weird.” He pauses a moment then adds, “But if you don’t think so –”

“I wasn’t saying that,” Penelope says quickly, then blushes again and looks away. Colin’s mouth feels suddenly dry. “I just – I was surprised. And wondered why . . .”

Colin picks his next words carefully.

“Well . . . you’re my friend, and I want to help you. And I don’t really have any other ideas. Also, I will never let it be said,” he adds with a bright grin, “That I left a lady in distress.”

He raises his eyebrows in an exaggerated motion and Penelope snorts, which will, he hopes, distract her from pressing any more closely.

Because all of that is true – she is his friends, one of his best, and he does want to try and help her. Honestly he really doesn’t have any other ideas to help her calm down enough in the next forty minutes so that she can deliver her pitch.

But there’s also a voice in the back of his mind that, as much as he tries to ignore it, is whispering that those aren’t the only reasons he might have suggested it.

The thing is, Colin thought he was entirely prepared for having a roommate. He’s the third of eight siblings who are constantly in each other’s business, and grew up in a house where not even a lock on the door was a guarantee of privacy and trying to get a shower in the morning before all the hot water ran out was practically all-out warfare.

Living with one other person? It would be a breeze compared to living with the rest of the Bridgertons.

Over the last six months, however, Colin has found that there were things about having a roommate that he never anticipated.

Not that Penelope is a bad roommate. The opposite, in fact. She always takes her turn at cleaning and buying groceries, unlike his siblings she has never once come into his room without knocking, she leaves little notes when she goes to work to encourage him as he works on his book, and they’ve never fought over what to watch on Netflix in the evenings.

If he’s being honest, Colin loves living with Penelope. They’ve always been friendly but now he would say without hesitation she’s one of his closest friends, and he’s learning things about her that he never knew – like that she keeps a jar of Nutella in the cupboard to add to a hot chocolate when she’s had a really bad day, or that she likes to listen to upbeat dance music while she cleans to make it seem like less of a chore. That she loves to have cinnamon spice scented candles round the flat so that it smells like Christmas all year round, or how when they’re watching something and she laughs she’ll always glance over at him to make sure he’s laughing too.

But he’s also learning things he never even considered.

Like what Penelope looks like coming out of the bathroom in just a towel after she’s showered, water droplets still clinging to her shoulders and arms. Or the way her shirts ride up when she stretches up on tip-toes to get something from the top shelf in the cupboard, giving him a glimpse of her lower back. Or how sometimes she’ll snuggle up next to him when they’re watching a film, in thin cotton pyjamas, her hair falling loose around her shoulders in shimmering copper waves.

And what all of that does to him – those images creep into his mind at random moments in the day, distracting him from his work. They fill his dreams at night, along with other images that he should most definitely not be having about his roommate and friend.

So yes, while he does genuinely want to help Penelope and is offering to do so in all sincerity, there may be a small, selfish part of him thinking that this might be a good way to get some of these thoughts out of his system, as it were.

“Look, it’s up to you,” he says finally, shrugging. “I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to do.”

Penelope bites down on her lip a moment. “You’re really serious?”

“Yes.”

“Okay then.”

He stares at her moment, truthfully not having really thought she would agree. “Okay?”

She gives a short, sharp nod. “Yes. If you mean it. I think – I think it would help, and you’re right, about us being adults. So. Yes. Okay, let’s do it.”

“Right.”

Now that he’s actually faced with the prospect of doing this, his mind seems to be short-circuiting a little and he feels suddenly nervous, his pulse speeding up. The weight of it is almost tangible as it settles on his shoulders, and he can’t help wondering if this is really a good idea.

“Colin?” Concern washes over Penelope’s face. She shifts more towards him, and as she does so her skirt rides a little way up her thigh – and a jolt of desire runs through Colin and the concept of good or bad flies out of his head, leaving only the fact that, yes, he does, actually, really want to do this.

“Right. Come on, then.” He smiles, focusing on her, and gets to his feet. Penelope watches him, her expression slowly clearing as she’s reassured by whatever she sees in his face as he holds out a hand.

“Where are we going?” she asks, taking it. Her hand is soft and warm and far smaller than his, but still seems to fit, somehow, where it nestles in his palm.

He thinks for a moment. This will probably be far easier on a bed, but going to either of their bedrooms seems too intimate. Not to mention there are photos of his family in both, since Penelope has pictures of herself and Eloise on her shelves, which will just make it weird.

“The living room,” he decides on.

Once Penelope’s sat on the couch, Colin kneels down in front of her and then reaches up, sliding his hands beneath her skirt to find the waistband of her underwear and start tugging it down. She lets out a little sound of surprise and he glances up.

“You okay? You want to change your mind?”

“No – no.” He’s relieves when she shakes her head. “It’s just – I didn’t realise you were going to . . . I thought we . . .”

A slow smile spreads across Colin’s face as he understand. “No. This is going to be all about you. Just trust me.”

Their gazes lock for a moment, then Penelope nods and he can feel her relax beneath him; that realisation, that she really does trust him, makes his chest tighten. She leans her head back and closes her eyes, as he pulls her underwear the rest of the way down and throws it aside.

“Make sure to tell me what you like.”

It’s been a while since the last time Colin did this – not since before he moved back to London – and he hopes it’s not so long that he’s forgotten how to do it well, because he wants this to be good for her.

He starts by trailing a line of kisses up her inner thigh, almost teasing in their lightness, letting his tongue dart out here and there to taste her skin. A quiet, almost surprised, sound of pleasure escapes her; Colin smiles, and continues at a calm, almost lazy pace, as if they have all the time in the world for him to tease her with anticipation.

When he finally reaches the tangle of curls between her thighs he hears her sharp, slightly shaky intake of breath, and one of her hands comes up to rest on his shoulder as though to steady herself. Then he brings his mouth to her centre, dipping his tongue inside her, and there’s no room in his mind for any thought but how she tastes and the sounds she’s making as he works her.

She doesn’t use words, but little moans and shudders and thrusts of her hips let him know when he hits a spot she particularly likes. There’s something so wonderfully unrestrained about her reactions, like she’s letting a mask he hadn’t quite realised she was wearing fall away, opening herself up to him in a way that’s vulnerable and intimate; he watches her through half-lidded eyes as her neck arches back, her mouth falling open as her breathing becomes more ragged, and he can feel himself growing hard in response.

Her cries are growing more intense, shivers making her body tremble as her fingers clench on his arm, her nails biting even through his shirtsleeve. Colin can tell she’s building to her peak, so he brings his hands to her hips, holding her steady, dragging his tongue in slow circles and grazing her with his teeth, urging her onwards.

“Colin…” His name slips from her in a quiet moan, and hearing her say it like that, almost reverently – God, the things that does to his insides. He doesn’t have the words for it, though maybe later he’ll be able to think of some.

Right now, the only word he has is good.

So good.

It feels so good to touch her, taste her, feeling her moving beneath him and hear the unmistakeable sounds of her pleasure between each panting breath. To know that slowly but surely he’s bringing her to her climax.

He lifts one hand up and uses a finger to stroke small circles around her clit, while his tongue still dips in and out of her. Her voice goes up an octave, and her hips almost come off the couch. She’s right at the edge now, he can feel it; just one more gentle push and she’ll tumble right over.

Let go. Let go for me.

Another slow, dragging stroke of his tongue and -

“Oh– oh my god. Yes. Yes – ”

The words seem to tear from her throat as her muscles clench, and she comes undone beneath him.

Feeling her shudder like that, wide-eyed and breathless, the sounds of her pleasure echoing around the room, for a moment Colin thinks it might be enough to make him come himself.

Unable to help smirking – just a little, but he thinks he’s earned it, given how much she seemed to appreciate his work – he makes a low noise of approval, presses one last quick kiss to the inside of her leg and then unfolds himself to drop down on the couch beside her.

His knees are a bit sore after being on them so long and his own breathing is hard, but he hardly cares. The flushed, slightly dazed but serene look on Penelope’s face, and the languid, boneless way she’s half-lying across the sofa, is more than worth it.

“Feeling more relaxed?” he asks.

“Much more,” she agrees, then sits bolt upright. “Oh! I’d better go though. I need to be back in the office in –” She checks her watch. “Ten minutes!?”

Reaching down, she grabs her underwear and quickly slips it back on. One hand goes up to smooth her hair, which admittedly is rather tousled now, and then other pulls her skirt back down.

“I’ll have to sort myself out once I’m there. Fortunately I keep a hairbrush and some make-up in my desk drawer.”

She’s half-way to the door when she stops and turns to look at him, a faint blush creeping up her neck.

“That was – it was a good idea. Thanks, Colin.”

He crooks a smile at her. “Any time.”

She’s gone before he can say anything else, and as he stares at the space where she was just standing he’s left with a vague sense of disappointment.

After a moment, he shakes his head and tells himself it’s just because now he needs to get himself off.

--

It only occurs to him to worry about awkwardness when he hears the click of the door opening that evening – but he reminds himself that they talked about it, they’re adults, they won’t let it get weird.

Penelope comes in and he turns around from watching the pasta boil to ask, “How’d it go?”

Her face immediately lights up with a beaming smile and she throws herself into his arms. Her hair falls across him as she does, and for a moment he’s surrounded by the fruity smell of her shampoo.

“Brilliantly! I was a cool as a cucumber and they loved the pitch.” She pulls back to look at him. “I got the article. A double page feature, and my own by-line.”

“That’s amazing, Pen! I knew you could do it.”

Moving to the side, he reaches up to the highest cupboard – the one she can’t reach without a step – and pulls out the box he’s been hiding in there.

“Which is why I got this to celebrate.”

“A Colin the Caterpillar cake?” She laughs. “Wait, or is it a Cuthbert?”

“Excuse you, we don’t do knock-offs in this house. The real thing only. Besides,” he sniffs, “as if I would betray my namesake that way. It’s still your favourite, right?”

She blinks at him for a second, clearly surprised that he’s remembered – not entirely unfair, since she told him that about ten years ago after a night out with Eloise, when they were all drunk and ransacking his mother’s kitchen in search of something sweet to eat – then smiles again, more softly, in a way that brings out the dimples in her cheeks.

“Yeah, it is. Thank you.”

“Then let’s celebrate. I’ll even let you eat his face, since it’s your big night.”

“Aren’t you generous?”

And then they’re laughing and joking, entirely normal, without a hint of awkwardness.

--

Over the past decade, Colin has navigated his way through twelve different countries and several labyrinthine underground systems across six continents. He’s learned to communicate well enough in a handful of languages to avoid embarrassing himself, to develop his own photos with only household ingredients, and on more than one occasion he’s had to be his own mechanic in face of being stranded miles from the nearest town.

So you would think, given that skill set, that he would be able to decipher the instructions for an Ikea flat-pack bookcase without too much trouble.

“Oh, come on.” He’s practically growling as the screws fall out of place for what seems like the hundredth time, landing with small, soft thuds on the carpet. Huffing a breath, he runs a hand through his hair and then gives in to the urge to whack his screwdriver against the wood. It gives a satisfying crack that echoes through the flat.

Maybe he can just superglue the damn thing together.

“Colin, what on earth are you doing?”

He turns to see Penelope standing in the doorway, arms folded and one eyebrow raised and looking none too pleased. Abruptly, Colin remembers she’s been working on an article next door and probably does not appreciate having the sounds of him swearing and fighting with flatpack MDF as a soundtrack.

He gives an apologetic smile. “Umm . . . rehearsing?”

“Rehearsing?”

“Mm-hm.” Colin nods, spinning the screwdriver in his fingers. “A local production, of the little known sequel to Dante’s Inferno, where Dante returns to hell and is shown the very secret tenth circle where people are punished for their hubris by being forced to put together Ikea flatpack furniture that all has one screw missing.”

Warming to the theme as he goes along, he finishes with a dramatic flourish of the screwdriver so it’s pointing down at the screw scattered over the carpet and puts on his best, most charming grin.

There’s a moment where Penelope just looks flatly at him, but the corners of her mouth twitch with laughter. “Dante’s Inferno 2: Electric Boogaloo?”

For a moment he feels a surge of triumph, enough to briefly lighten his mood. “Oh, so you do know it.”

“I think I’ve heard of it once or twice.” Penelope looks from the shelves to him and back again and then asks in a softer, quieter voice, “So, what hubris are you being punished for?”

Damn. He should have known she’d see right through him.

“I don’t know what you mean. You said you wanted a new bookcase in here, right?”

“Yes, but I didn’t expect you to build it yourself. Colin, seriously. What’s going on?”

He sighs and gives a helpless shrug.

“I’m a hack, that’s what’s going on.”

“What are you talking about?”

“. . . my book,” he admits finally, shoulders slumping. He drops down on to the couch and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at her while he confesses, “My deadline for handing my manuscript over to my editor is in two days, and I still don’t have the last chapter written. Every time I try it just . . . comes out wrong and I delete everything. I’ve already asked him to push the deadline back twice, if I do it again I’m fairly sure they’ll just cancel the deal entirely.”

Even though he can’t see her, he can feel the air around them shift and can imagine her shoulders dropping and her expression softening with sympathy. Sure enough, a moment later her hand grasps his shoulder and the couch dips as she sits beside him. He catches a waft of her perfume, sweet and flowery and comforting.

“Colin, you’re not a hack. You’re a good writer. They wouldn’t have offered you the deal in the first place if you weren’t. But it’s still just a just a first draft,” she says gently. “It’s not going to be perfect and it doesn’t have to be. You just need to get through it, and then you and your editor will go back and make it better. Isn’t that the point of having an editor?”

“Yes, and I do know that. It’s how I’ve managed to get any of it written. But now that it comes to finishing it . . .” He tries to find a way to explain the strange, unfamiliar anxiety about it all that seems to have lodged itself beneath his skin. “It’s like before this it was still all sort of hypothetical. But now that I have to finish it, it means it’s real. I have to hand it over for other people to read and judge, and the more I think about it the more in my own head I get about it and the harder it is to actually write.”

Slowly he lowers his hands and risks a glance up at her. Her eyes are warm and understanding as she watching him, her mouth pulled thoughtfully to one side, but there’s no pity, which he was most afraid of seeing.

“You don’t need to be afraid, you know. I’m not going to say everyone will love it but I don’t think it’s possible to please everyone – none of my articles ever have, anyway – but everyone that matters, and everyone that loved your blog, is going to love your book, too. I know I will.”

He gives her a small smile, not sure what he ever did to deserve the faith she seems to have in him.

“Thank, Pen. I hope so. I just . . . need to get out of my head for a while, I think.”

She smiles back, then says a little haltingly, “As I recall, you recommend one very effective method of stress relief in particular.”

Warmth creeps up his neck and he has to glance away again.

“Uh, yeah. I did try that, but my thoughts just kept wandering back to my book and my editor and, well, no offence to Ralph, he’s a lovely man, but he just doesn’t do it for me.”

“Right. So you decided to try an Ikea flat-pack and –” Her gaze sweeps round the living room and lands on the empty packaging on the coffee table. “And what looks like my entire emergency stash of Minstrels.”

Colin doesn’t even bother to pretend that’s not what it is.

“What? I eat when I’m stressed.”

Penelope snorts. “You eat when you feel any sort of emotion.”

He can’t exactly argue that point.

“You’d better replace it before my next period.” After he solemnly promises to do so, she continues, “Anyway. Need some help?”

“Admittedly, it does seem that building furniture is not my forte, but you’ve got an article to write –”

“I didn’t mean with the bookcase.”

He blinks and looks back at her, not sure he’s understanding her correctly. A blush has stained her cheeks, but she holds his gaze and slightly raises an eyebrow and he realises that, no, he’s understood her perfectly.

“You mean . . .?”

“You helped me,” she says with a shrug. “I can help you.”

He’s not quite sure how he feels about the fact that she seems so casual about it, but he can’t deny that something leaps eagerly in him at the suggestion.

It turns out that going down on her did not, in fact, get the attraction he has to her out of his system. If anything, it’s made it a whole lot worse.

Rather than the thoroughly inappropriate dreams he’s been having stopping, they’ve become far more vivid. His mind has been able to fill in all the details that before that afternoon were hazy; the soft warmth of her skin, the sounds she makes, the way her hands feel clasped at his shoulders.

It is a problem.

And if Colin had any sense of self-preservation, he would shake his head and say no thanks rather than open the door to dreams about what Penelope’s hands, or mouth, feel like on other parts of his body.

What he says is, “Are you sure?”

There’s a faint tinge of colour in her cheeks but she nods and smiles. “We’re both adults, right?”

One corner of his mouth curls up, “Right.”

“Okay, then.”

It still takes him off guard, though, when she leans forward to unzip his jeans and push them and his underwear partway down his hips. Her hair falls over one shoulder, partly obscuring her face, and another wave of perfume has his stomach performing somersaults even before she slides her hand down to take hold of his cock.

When she does – god, he feels it as soon as she touches him, heat sparking beneath his skin. An ember, but it smoulders and Colin doesn’t think it will take much to send him up in flames entirely.

Penelope’s skin is warm and soft, but her grip is firm as she holds him. She runs her thumb down the top of his length while her fingers caress the underside and a low sound of appreciation builds in the back of his throat. Briefly she glances up at him, her mouth pulling up in something that’s almost a smirk, a glint of triumph in her eyes, and it sends another jolt of heat spiralling through him.

He sucks in his breath as she rubs her thumb in a slow circle over the tip of his cock, then slides her hand back up his length and begins working him in steady strokes. He’s already half-hard, and when after murmured encouragement she increases the pressure it’s not long before he’s fully erect.

At first he watches her. He can’t help himself. Although her hair’s fallen forward again he can still see a flush on her cheeks and the way her tongue is just visible between her full pink lips as she concentrates. On pleasing him, and holy shit, she’s doing a good job. His breathing hitches, becoming more and more ragged as she pumps him, and a groan escapes him, filling the air around him.

He wants to reach up and curl his fingers into her hair, or better yet, trail his fingers down her throat and bare shoulder towards her breasts –

Fuck, what is he thinking? That would very quickly turn this from one friend doing another a sexual favour into something else. So instead he lets his head fall back against the couch, closing his eyes and grips the cushions tightly to keep himself from doing something stupid.

Her hands feel so good on him, stoking that burning fire to a fever pitch. He thrusts into her hand, hips bucking, giving himself over to the pleasure of it. He’s going to be dreaming about this tonight, he knows it. Maybe for the next several nights. But it’ll be worth it.

Abruptly she stops, and for a brief moment Colin’s confused and disappointed – until he feels the sweep of her tongue over his cock as she takes him into her mouth, and then there’s room for nothing in his mind but a white haze of pleasure. She licks along him, scrapes gently with her teeth in a way that sends intense pleasure coiling through him. The pressure builds and builds, climbing relentlessly until he knows he’s close to the edge.

“Pen,” he pants, “I’m gonna –”

Through heavy lidded eyes he glances down and meets her eyes for a moment as she looks back at him; her gaze is warm, encouraging, and there’s a spark of something like a challenge as she slowly, deliberately drags her tongue back down him, telling him silently she isn’t about to stop now.

That look is enough to finish him.

He comes with a shuddering groan, rolling his head back and squeezing his eyes shut as a blaze of sensation burns its way through him, so fierce and bright that if he were standing up he’s sure his knees would buckle beneath him. It crashes through him, leaving him panting and breathless, and for a moment he thinks he might fly apart where he’s sitting.

Holy fuck.

When his mind finally clears enough to register his surroundings again, Penelope has straightened up and brushed her hair back. Her cheeks are still stained red, her breathing slightly heavier than usual, and there’s an air of satisfaction about her smile. One she’s definitely earned, in Colin’s opinion.

“Enough of a distraction?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Uh, yeah – yeah I’d definitely say so,” Colin grins, pulling his jeans back up and straightening himself out. “I’ve half forgotten what it is I needed distracting from.”

It’s not a lie. His book seems a far, distant concern right now.

Penelope laughs and starts to get up. “Good. Then go and write while you’re relaxed.”

It takes him another few moments to have to strength in his legs to stand up, but when he gets to his room he doesn’t stop writing until the last chapter’s finished and immediately sends it off to his editor before crashing because it’s nearly two in the morning.

And he was right. All he dreams about is her smiling mouth, burning his skin wherever she kisses him.

--

After that it becomes something of a habit whenever one of them in stressed, anxious, or just has something they very much do not want to be thinking about.

When their wi-fi goes down for a few hours while a cable’s being fixed and Penelope’s getting tenser and tenser because she can’t access her work files, Colin pushes her up against a wall and uses his fingers to distract her until she’s gasping out his name and holding his arms to keep herself upright.

A week later, Colin’s been on hold with the bank for nearly an hour and is about to lose it if the automatic voice tells him Your call is important to usone more time when Penelope plucks the phone from his hand and unzips his fly. It only takes a few firm strokes of her hand to bring him perilously close to the edge, and afterwards his mind’s in such a daze he almost misses his call finally connecting.

All the while their life continues as normal.

They eat together, watch Netflix in the evening, hang out at weekends – either on their own or sometimes with Eloise. Penelope drags him to a photography exhibition in Covent Garden and they spend their time wandering through, rating each exhibit by how easily they could recreate it on Instagram. Colin gets comp tickets to an absolutely terrible play off the West End, and they lean in to whisper commentary to one another in the darkness of the theatre until they dissolve into laughter and someone in the row behind tells them to shut up.

Sometimes Colin wonders if he should question how easily their friendship has remained the same as it always has – just with the addition of getting each other off once in a while. He thinks maybe it should feel awkward to go from having his head between his flatmate’s legs and his tongue inside her in the afternoon to sitting in a pub having a drink with her and their friends in the evening, instead of feeling . . . he’s not sure what the word for it is.

Easy? Natural?

Like maybe it’s something they should have been doing all along.

And once they look for them, it’s easy to find reasons to keep going.

Colin makes her orgasm twice the day her mother comes to visit and they all go out to dinner. The first is before she arrives; all the while Penelope’s getting ready she’s fretting over whether the flat’s clean enough, if the cushions need fluffing, which dress to wear, every detail that might possibly get criticised until Colin can’t take it any more and traps her against the kitchen counter.

“You are going to get through this, but you need to relax,” he tells her, before getting down on his knees and starting to kiss his way up her inner thigh.

By now he’s learned both how to bring her to a climax fairly quickly, and how to drag it out until she’s breathless and desperate. He doesn’t stretch it out too much, knowing they’re short on time, but he’s precise and thorough and keeps going until he feels Penelope go soft and boneless against him and knows every last bit of tension has drained out of her.

He's feeling quite pleased with himself – but he finds he’s underestimated the power of Portia Featherington. After two hours in a restaurant with her, listening to her passive-aggressively picking at everything from Penelope’s haircut to her work and commenting on how pleased she is that Prudence and Philippa have settled down and gotten married, Penelope’s as relaxed as a marble statue and Colin himself is fantasising about stabbing someone (preferably Portia, since the waiter hasn’t done anything wrong) with his fork.

As soon as they’ve bid Portia goodbye and locked the flat door behind her, Colin pulls Penelope over to the couch and starts pushing her skirt up over her hips.

“Again?” she says in surprise when she realises what he’s doing.

“Yep. She ruined all my good work. And you definitely deserve this for sitting through all that and still being nice to her.”

She smiles at him in a way that sends warmth spreading through him; not the fierce heat of lust – though there’s plenty of that, too – but something softer, sweeter, a glow that spreads through him like a sunrise illuminating the sky.

It terrifies him.

“Well, she is still my – oh!”

She breaks off as Colin slides a finger inside her, and brushes his thumb over her clit. And then there’s no talking for a while, just her moans rising to a steady crescendo as Colin adds another finger and thrusts them slowly in and out, all the while rubbing his thumb in steady circles. This time he sets a slower pace, letting her pleasure stretch out because he likes touching her, likes hearing her sigh his name and catch her breath, and he can feel the precariousness of this game they’re playing or and he wants to make it last as long as possible.

He knows that at some point they’re going to have to talk about it. But right now they’ve managed to fold whatever it is they’re doing so seamlessly into their lives, he doesn’t want to look at it too closely.

So he just keeps working her until she reaches her peak, her muscles clenching and her head thrown back, and he steadfastly ignores the urge to lean over and capture her last and loudest cry between his lips.

--

He’s having lunch with Benedict when he asks, “Have you ever had a – a friends-with-benefits sort of relationship?”

He realises that’s possibly not the sort of thing you should ask out of the blue without leading up to it when his brother almost chokes on his drink; after the coughs subside Benedict squints at him, a faint frown creasing his brow, as if trying to make out how serious he is.

Finally he says thoughtfully, “Not exactly. I suppose you could call what I had with Genevieve a kind of friends-with-benefits. Neither of us had any expectations and we saw other people. But I still thought of it as dating. Just . . . casually.”

“Casually dating,” Colin repeats. “What’s the difference?”

Benedict shrugs. “It was more than just sex. We did things, as a couple. We went out on dates. People knew we were seeing each other. We just weren’t exclusive.”

For half a heartbeat Colin opens his mouth to object that his relationship with Penelope is more than just sex before he remembers his brother doesn’t know that their relationship includes any kind of sex, and isn’t supposed to know about it.

Fortunately Benedict doesn’t seem to notice the near interruption.

“I think the difference is in how you feel. It wasn’t like Genevieve and I didn’t have feelings for each other – it might not have been love, but it was different to friendship with sex thrown in. And I suppose intent matters,” he adds. “We talked about it, and we both thought of ourselves as in a relationship. An open one, but still.”

Taking a bite of his sandwich, Colin considers that for a moment.

He’s not sure he could articulate what his intent with Penelope is, why he made that first offer. To help her, to try and stop himself from dreaming of her . . . or maybe just because he wanted to touch her but something kept stopping him from just asking her out.

And it just gets more confusing the more their little arrangement goes on. They’ve never discussed what it means, and there are unspoken lines they don’t cross – no kisses, no caresses, only using hands and mouths – but Colin also hasn’t seen anyone else since they started. Not that he’s deleted the dating apps on his phone, but he hasn’t looked at them in months and the couple of times someone (usually his mother) has offered to set him up he’s used the excuse of being too busy with his book to get out of it.

He wonders if Penelope is still seeing other people and his stomach clenches unpleasantly at the thought.

It feels wrong to label what they’re doing as friendship with sex thrown in. It feels like more than that.

But then, he would have said his friendship with Penelope was more even before sex became a factor. He’s always found it easy to talk to her, about things he’s never talked to anyone else about. He laughs with her more than with anyone else – she shares more of his sense of humour than anyone he knows, and sometimes it’s like they can hold an entire conversation with just a look.

Maybe that’s the problem. They were so close beforehand, sex was bound to confuse things.

They’re certainly closer than Benedict and Genevieve ever were. While he isn’t privy to every detail of his older brother’s love life, Colin’s fairly certain that they had only met each other a couple of times before they starting ‘casually dating’. It wasn’t like they had a previously established dynamic to disrupt, not one that can compare to Colin’s decade-long friendship with Penelope. Colin isn’t sure if Benedict even still speaks to Genevieve these days, beyond maybe sending a Christmas card each year. Whereas when he and Penelope do stop –

- his stomach clenches again, and he shifts in his seat, feeling abruptly unsettled and like something’s constricted in his chest.

They will stop, eventually. They have to, don’t they?

As he contemplates a future in which he and Penelope are just friends, with no benefits - where he has to watch her date, maybe marry, someone else and know that he’s now the one that gets to hear those breathy, almost surprised little moans she makes and feel her fingers grasping his shoulders or curling into his hair – Colin feels physically ill.

Slowly, he puts the rest of his sandwich down and stares at it, a suspicion beginning to dawn in his mind.

“. . . how did you know it was love?”

“What? Colin, did you listen to a word I just said?”

Benedict looks utterly bewildered, and Colin belatedly realises his brother can’t follow his train of thought and as far as he’s concerned they’re still talking about Genevieve, who he just explicitly stated he hadn’t loved.

“Sorry. When you met Sophie, I mean. How did you know it was different to what you felt for Genevieve, that it was love? And don’t give me the thunderbolt story again,” he warns quickly. “How did you really know?”

There’s a beat where his brother narrows his eyes and gives him a shrewd look – just long enough for Colin to wonder if he would have been better having this conversation with Anthony – before letting out a long breath and answering in a slow, thoughtful tone.

“Because it wasdifferent. I’m not trying to be glib but . . . it was. I liked Genevieve, but it was so much more with Sophie, right from the start. I wanted to be around her all the time, I missed her when she was gone. When something good happened, she was the one I wanted to share it with. When something bad happened, she was the one I wanted telling me it would all work out. I knew,” Benedict says, with a strange kind of simplicity, as though he’s saying something completely obvious, “Because everything about my life was better with her in it. And because whenever I pictured my future, she was in it. I didn’t want to go through life without her.”

With each word, something echoes in Colin in response. Like a screen being brought into focus, it’s not as if anything within him is different or changed – but suddenly he can see it clearly, suddenly he can put a name to it and recognise it, and as soon as he does he isn’t sure how he never realised it before now.

Oh. Oh fuck.

“Why are you suddenly asking?” Benedict continues, and grins, “Are you in love, Colin – Colin!”

He shouts the last, alarmed, but Colin, who’s already on his feet and halfway out the restaurant door, just waves over his shoulder.

“I’ll call you later! Thanks, Benedict!”

--

It only occurs him as he’s literally turning the key in the flat door that he doesn’t even know if Penelope’s working at home today. She might still be in the office, in which case he’s either going to have to wait until she’s back or get on the tube back across London and hope she’s not in any important meetings –-

“Colin, is that you?”

Oh, thank God.

If he had to wait any longer to tell her he’s not sure he would have coped. Which seems ridiculous when he hadn’t even realised how he feels until about thirty minutes ago, but at same time it’s months, if not years, of buried feelings suddenly rising to the surface so is it any wonder that he’s struggling to keep them in?

“Unless you’ve been going around giving out spare keys to our flat, yeah, it’s me.”

He comes through into the living room, where she’s sat on the couch, typing on her laptop. Her computer glasses are perched on the end of the nose, and she’s sat just in front of the window that overlooks their street, so the light streams in and catches her hair where it falls over her shoulder, setting it ablaze with shades of red, gold, copper and auburn, all blending together like molten fire.

Colin wonders how he never noticed the way his heart turns over and breathing quickens just seeing her.

She glances up as he stops in the doorway and smiles at him.

“Hey. How was lunch?”

“It was good. He’s good, so’s Sophie. She’s pregnant again.”

“She is? How lovely! I’ll have to call her.”

“Listen –”

“I’m glad you’re home.” And it’s ridiculous how happy those four words make him. At least until she follows it up with, “Could you give this a read over for me? I’ve been staring at it for so long I’m not even sure it makes sense any more.”

Before he can object, she’s shoved her laptop at him and he finds himself sat down and scrolling through her latest article, something about the way the class system is still deeply embedded in British culture and how that’s always going to be an obstacle to really progressive change within the country, that he has absolutely no doubt is deeply intelligent, insightful and witty but which at this precise moment he simply cannot concentrate on to save his life.

After several minutes, Penelope asks, “So what do you think? Not that they’ve agreed to publish it yet, but that’s all the more reason to make sure it’s the best it can be when I give it to them. So they can’t say no.”

“It looks really good, Pen – ”

“You’re definitely reading it properly? Not speed reading it? I want your honest opinion, Colin.”

Sighing, he pulls the laptop screen down to look at her.

“Look -”

Her face scrunches up in worry. “Do you think it’s that bad? Is it too blunt? I wondered if it sounded aggressive, but I didn’t want to dance around it and sounds like I was afraid to call things out -”

“Penelope.”

He says her name loudly, cutting her off, and she falls quiet, blinking at him in surprise before giving an apologetic little smile.

“Sorry. You were saying?”

“I will read it later, I promise. But right now . . .” He takes a breath. Summons his courage. Puts the laptop to one side. “Right now, I need to talk to you.”

“Oh . . . okay. What about?”

“About what we’ve been doing. Our arrangement.” He doesn’t know what else to call it, but Penelope’s frowning in confusion so in the end he just says, “The sex favours.”

Immediately she flushes and looks away from him, down at where her hands are folded in her lap. Colin can’t blame her for being taken aback; it’s been weeks now and neither of them have ever spoken about it so plainly. Her shoulders have tensed a little and there’s a strangely nervous edge to her posture that makes him wonder what’s going through her head.

Maybe this is a bad idea. It’s entirely possible that she doesn’t feel the same way he does and what he’s about to say will ruin everything, make it impossible for them to continue living together.

But he can’t not say anything.

The idea of just going on the way they have been, being in such close contact every day, touching her, laughing with her, and knowing all the while that it will never be enough, that he wants so much more? It’ll kill him.

“What about them?”

His mouth has gone dry with nerves, so his licks his lips as he tries to decide how best to go about this. He doesn’t want to just blurt it out, but the seconds stretch out as he thinks it through and he can see Penelope glancing up at him out of the corner of her eye, looking more and more apprehensive, and the words tangle and knot together in his mind.

“It’s just – the thing is – I don’t want to carry on the way we have been.”

As soon as he says it, he sees Penelope go rigid, hurt gleaming in her eyes, and he wants to bite his own tongue out.

He’s a writer. Isn’t he supposed to be good with words?

“Pen, that’s not –”

“It’s alright.” She smiles, but he can see how forced it is and it feels like something inside him is breaking. “Really, Colin. I get it. We could only go on for so long, right?”

Penelope gets to her feet and Colin quickly follows suit, half-reaching for her.

“No, listen –”

“Is it – did you meet someone?”

Her voice rises in pitch and cracks a little on the last syllable, though she’s clearly trying to keep it steady, and he gets the feeling she’s holding her breath as she watches him, eyes wide. Oddly enough, all that sweeps over him is the strangest kind of relief. Because that look, that anxious anticipation in her eyes, the desperation that slipped into her words –

- she’s afraid of his answer. She doesn’t want him to have met someone else.

Which means she must feel something for him, too.

Colin shakes his head. “No.”

“Oh.” Penelope deflates a little, clearly unsure what to do with that answer. A crease appears between her brows, and she folds her arms tightly, hugging herself. “Well. Okay. That’s – it’s still fine. We’ll be fine. We said we would be adults about it right? So, if you – you don’t want to – then. We won’t.”

She starts to turn away, but Colin reaches out and puts a hand on her arm, pulling her back.

Knowing now, that it’s not just him, it all suddenly feels so much easier. He smiles, and says, “I don’t want to carry on the way we have been, because it’s not enough for me anymore.”

Penelope stares.

“Wh – what?”

“I want more, Penelope. I don’t just want to be your stress relief, or a distraction. I want to go on dates with you, and hold your hand. I want to kiss you. I want to have actual, proper sex with you, in a bed, for hours at a time, not just stolen moments here and there. I want to fall asleep with you at night, and wake up beside you in the morning. I want to be with you. I want you.”

She’s grown rosier and rosier with each world, all that crumpled sadness and disappointment disappearing from her eyes to be replaced with a joy that shines out of her so brightly he’s surprised it’s not difficult to look directly at her.

“Really?” she whispers.

“Really. Do you think that’s something you might want, too?”

“Yes. Oh, yes. I have wanted that - so much. So long.”

His heart slams painfully against his ribs at those words. Well. She was always smarter than him.

“You know me.” He gives a small, crooked grin. “Always takes me a while to get there.”

She laughs breathlessly, and he just watches her, soaking in every detail of her face and feeling a surge of pure, unbridled joy unlike anything he’s ever felt to know that she wants him. He thinks perhaps, if he wanted, he might be able to fly right about now.

A moment later she laughs again. “Colin, if you don’t kiss me now, I swear –”

He needs no more invitation, and in one swift movement leans down and presses his lips to hers.

Her mouth opens easily under his and she lets out a soft, blissful sigh as her hands come up to curl into his t-shirt, a bright sound of rightness and happiness that makes everything in Colin come alive. He pulls her close against him, one arm trailing down her back while the other tangles in her hair as he kisses her again and again and again, his tongue sliding over hers, his teeth nipping at that plump lower lip the way he’s been dreaming of doing.

Penelope kisses him back just as fiercely, her hands sliding up to wrap around his neck, pressing herself as close to him as she can until there’s not even an inch of air left between them. She makes an approving sound when he uses his teeth, sending heat blazing through him, then pulls back a little to look up at him with bright eyes and say, “What you were saying about having proper sex, in a bed, for hours . . .?”

“Mm-hmm?” Colin murmurs playfully, leaning back in and starting to kiss his way down her jaw and throat.

“Can that start now?”

“I think,” he says between kisses, “I can accommodate you.”

He doesn’t stop kissing her as they stumble their way down the hall towards his bedroom, but the knocked elbows and banged shins are more than worth it.

When they finally reach his room he pulls her inside, shuts the door and then immediately pushes her back against it and leans in to kiss her again. Kissing Penelope is addictive, he’s quickly discovering, but she doesn’t seem to mind, smiling against his mouth as she runs her fingers through his hair and works her lips against his.

He runs his hands over her body, groaning happily as he palms one of her breasts and slips his other hand beneath her blouse and brushes his fingers against her warm, bare skin. Despite their eagerness, they take their time undressing one another – savouring it, stripping each other naked one piece of clothing at a time and then stopping to admire what they’ve revealed.

When the last of their clothes have been shed they stand quiet for a moment, just looking at each other. Penelope runs her hands over his shoulders and down the planes of his chest, her fingers dancing lightly across his skin but still leaving trails of fire in their wake. Colin drinks in the sight of her stood before him, her round, full breasts, dark pink nipples already drawn into firm points, the soft curve of her waist and hips, the little triangular thatch of curls the same fiery copper as her hair.

“You’re beautiful,” he says huskily.

Penelope smiles shyly, and replies, “You’re not so bad yourself,” before taking his hand and leading him to the bed.

He pulls a condom from his bedside table (after putting the family photo stood there face down) and rolls it on, his cock already hard and jutting out from his body, then crawls up her, dropping kisses along the length of her body as he does so – on thigh, hip, belly, breast, all the way up her collarbone until he reaches her mouth.

She arches beneath him, her hands running over his sides and back, and god, he already feels so desperate with need for her.

“Penelope,” he breathes her name like a prayer, bringing his hand down between her thighs and parting her curls with his fingers.

She’s already wet, and spreads her legs wider as he slides one finger inside her, then a second. A shiver runs through her as he starts moving them in and out, in slow, steady strokes, and when her hips buck upwards so that the heel of his palm grinds against her clit she cries out, her fingers digging into his back.

“So long. . .” he says, watching her. “How long is so long?”

She takes a moment to understand, then flushes and replies breathlessly, “Months . . . years . . .”

Years?

A fierce tenderness wells up inside him, and he kisses her swift and hard before saying, “Then I have a lot to make up for.”

With that he brings his mouth to the juncture between her neck and shoulder, sucking as he keeps his fingers moving and adds his thumb, dragging it down over her clit. Penelope writhes beneath him, her breath becoming more and more ragged. He trails a line of kisses down her shoulder to her collarbone and then to one of her breasts, pulling the taut nipple into his mouth and flicking it with his tongue.

“Colin . . .” His name tears from her throat, and it send hot, burning desire pulsing through him.

He slides his fingers from her and positions his cock at her entrance. She grips his shoulders, meets his gaze encouragingly as he pushes inside her. God. She’s slick, and hot, stretching around him, and he makes an inarticulate noise at how good she feels.

His heart pounds in his chest. Finally. Finally.

Her hands slide up his neck and she leans forward to place kisses on his jaw and down his throat towards his shoulders, everywhere she can reach.

“Penelope,” he murmurs again, pressing his face into her hair.

She brings her head up, and whispers in his ear, “Make love to me.”

The wave of emotion that sweeps over him is almost too much, and he growls as he starts to slide out and back in. She arches up again, her hands running back down his back to his arse, urging him on. He hooks his hands beneath her thighs and pulls her legs him to give himself a better angle, rolling his hips in a steadily increasing rhythm.

Their sweat-slicked skin glides against each other, the air around filled with sound of their gasps and moans, becoming ever more ragged and panting, all underscored by Colin’s own heartbeat thundering in his ears. He presses kisses wherever he can; her lips, her shoulder, her throat, and bring his hand up to her breasts again, drawing circles around her nipples with his thumbs and flicking them, making her gasp.

She moves with him, rising her hips up meet each thrust, returning his kisses in kind. Her hands roam all over his body, and sometimes there’s a flash of brief, sharp pain when her fingernails dig into him if she clutches too tightly, but he doesn’t mind. He would be quite happy for her to leave marks all over him, for the entire world to see and know that she’s claimed him. That he belongs to her.

Only her.

He can feel the pressure rising within him and knows he’s close to the edge. He brings his hand back down and slides it between them, finding the nub of her clit and swirling his thumb over it – once, twice, and then with a shuddering cry Penelope arches back and her muscles clench around him as she climaxes, holding tightly on to him.

He keeps rolling his hips as she rides it out, and then feels his own muscles spasm and clench as he comes with a fierceness that shakes him, his own cry becoming her name once more.

Breathless, panting, he collapses on her breast and feels her arms come around him. He drops a kiss in the hollow of her throat, and then pulls himself up to lie on his side next to her so that he can look at her face.

He brushes a curl back behind her ear, smiling at her pink-cheeked, satisfied expression.

“You see?” he says, “Isn’t hours of this going to be so much better than fifteen minutes on the couch?”

“Much better,” She laughs, and curls herself into him, and he feels like he’s finally come home at last.

--

It’s several hours later (he made a promise, and he was damned well going to keep it), when Penelope is asleep and he’s gone to fetch himself a glass of water that he checks his phone and finds a text from Benedict.

It’s Penelope, isn’t it?

He grins, and types out a reply.