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[Oxytocin_Alice]

Disclaimer: This is some drivel I wrote this evening. It's about my male Lavellan living in a Modern AU. It's only the first chapter. I may do more, if it's not too awful. It has some pretty (British understatement) explicit content and also a tiny bit of Witcher nonesense in it - so yeah, there's that. Thank you. Also, I just noticed the typo in the title. I can't change it. I'm just gonna have to live with it. *sigh*.

 

 

Chapter 1

 

The alarm pierced Fen’s dream. Somewhere from the very depths of his consciousness that little beeping sound called him from the realm of sleep – that aching void  wrestling synapse and memory like a little nightly defragmentation of thoughts and desire. Like magic really.

 

He swung his arm out and silenced the clock. The little green display showed that it was 5:45am and a quick assessment of his body revealed the tired limbs and feet of a service industry veteran. His shift at Crystal Grace had ended only 6 hours ago but he was determined that this new leaf he’d turned would not wither away.

 

His feet found the carpet as he turned on the little Ikea desklamp. It was cheap and tacky, and Fen despised all that it represented. He chuckled to himself “Well, that’s a negative thought to start the day with…”. Dressing in his joggers, vest, and trainers he snuck downstairs taking care not to wake any of the 3 or so other residents of his shared house. It was always an approximation how many people actually lived there. At any one time there really could be any number. It was hard to keep track of who was sleeping with whom, who was crashing, who needed to be constantly checked on in case they’d taken too much ketamine. It wasn’t where he wanted to be, but on Fen’s minimum wage it was the best that London had to offer. At least the mice were friendly.

 

Walking into the kitchen first thing in the morning was always the worst part of his day. The piles of mouldy dishes ever bloomed in the sink, sticky crumb laden worktops, and the dark smear on the wall behind the microwave all stared back at him as soon as he turned on the light. Fen was a meticulously clean and tidy person. The sight of the kitchen sent a visible shudder through his whole body. Today was especially bad, it seemed that someone had had a flour and water fight and had yet to clean it up. It was really most distressing. Sighing, Fen walked over to his own neat little cupboard and pulled out a clean glass. He’d long given up trying to keep the house in order, and instead just made sure that everything he needed was hidden away and cared for. Filling his glass with water from the Brita in the fridge he drank, and turned his back to the kitchen. He carefully washed and dried the glass in the bathroom sink, and then made his way back through the kitchen, replacing his glass in his cupboard and out through the front door.

 

Although it was technically morning, the air still felt particularly nightlike. It was still dark, which didn’t help, but Fen couldn’t put his finger on what made morning air different to that of the night. It was a strange thought that he mused on as he broke into a jog. It was, thankfully, quiet. Finding the motivation to go jogging at 6am is always difficult, but Fen always found solace that even the dealers and the prostitutes had packed up by then. It was a bit of a sweet spot between the pedlars of the night and the hustlers of the day.

 

It took about 10 minutes for the fatigue to drop from his limbs. He ran his well trodden route towards Weaver’s Fields and wondered if it was really all worth it. When he’d moved to London from Cardiff, he’d decided to start making a difference. He was dangerously underweight thanks to the medical mystery of his frankly elfin metabolism and a lifestyle consisting of mostly of back-breaking kitchen work, casual sex, and amphetamines. Having established himself in his tumbledown squat of a shared house he then proceeded to look up the nearest possible GP. The first thing he really needed to do was get the all clear. He’d grown a bit of a reputation in the clubs and bars of Charles Street and Churchill Way as a bit of an easy lay. It had started to become impossible to go out on either street without running into a man he’d slept with, or into someone who was sleeping with someone he’d slept with. He’d always been careful but it was better to be sure.

 

Waiting in the waiting room Fen looked around him at the water-stained reading material on offer and selected a three month old Hello. To his surprise, he’d barely been able to become outraged by Kim Kardashian’s post baby cellulite when the voice on the tannoy called “Glorf’ndel Lavellan to room 3”. Scrunching his face up in disgust and feeling vengeful towards his hippy father, Fen made his way through the corridor marked ‘Rooms 1-5.’

 

Dr D’Marcall was young. He had photos of his wife and their baby on his desk. He listened to Fen explain his concerns and looked like he was actively adjusting his face to make it look as least judgmental as possible. Fen gave him credit for that. After providing a urine sample, blood sample and swab from his cheek, Fen asked Dr D’Marcall if there was anything he could do about his weight.

 

The young doctor asked Fen to stand against the wall and carefully measured his height. 6’3”. Next he asked Fen to stand on the scales. 142lbs. “Hmmm” Dr D’Marcall murmured. “Well, it’s not often I get asked how to gain weight.” He asked Fen if he’d considered trying to build muscle, instead of increasing his body fat percentage. The idea had always been in Fen’s mind, but he’d assumed he was far too lazy for all that gym stuff. Voicing his concerns Dr D’Marcall paused thoughtfully and then suggested that Fen join a class instead. This time it was Fen who paused to think. As he readied himself to leave he said to the doctor “Well at least building muscle will give me an excuse to buy Men’s Health again. I’ve not needed an excuse to do that since I was 13.” Laughing, Dr D’Marcall told Fen to ring the practise in a week for his results.

 

“Well, at least I got the all clear” Fen thought to himself and he crossed through the gate into Weaver’s Fields. Dawn was just breaking and Fen found himself in the company of other joggers and miscellaneous dog walkers. He concentrated on picking up his speed and worked his way around the circuit. The first time he’d done this run he’d nearly died. No. That was wrong. The first 10 times he’d done this run he’d nearly died. But now, it was starting to get comfortable and a day without this morning jog would leave him feeling rotten and lethargic.

 

Heading back towards home the sun had now fully risen, and the start of the morning commute and the school runs turned the streets of Bethnal Green into a termite mound of activity. Fen had timed this run perfectly so that he missed the worst of the throng. Getting home just after 7 he hauled himself into the shower, however not before noticing the random stranger passed out on the ratty old sofa that a former tenant had salvaged from a skip. Sighing to himself, and grabbing a clean towel from his room, Fen locked himself in the bathroom and turned on the shower. First he methodically cleaned his teeth and felt better for it. Then he undressed and took the time to look at himself in the mirror.

 

He ran his fingers through his sweaty locks. They were silver. “You’re 20fucking7 for fucks sake” he swore loudly to himself. It was subtle, but when Fen swore, or was angry, you could just hear the twang of an Irish accent - Northern Irish to be precise. The last 10 years hadn’t exactly been kind to Fen and, to be honest, he’d not exactly been kind to himself. He’d been born with blonde hair that had darkened to a more mousy brown as he’d gotten older. And now, in his late 20’s he’d already completely greyed. His best friend, Sera, had teased him from the moment he found his first grey. He’d dyed his hair religiously for the first five years but it became increasingly difficult and far too costly to prevent himself resembling a badger. In the end he just rolled with it, and told himself he looked distinguished.

 

He looked down at his naked torso. He’d been following this new routine for six months now, and he had to acknowledge to himself it was starting to show. Following his consultation with Dr D’Marcall, Fen had called up the local sports centre and signed up for Taekwondo classes. It turned out he was a bit of a natural and after only a few months had started rising through the colour belts. His instructor, Duncan, had also suggested that Fen might enjoy other combat arts, and Fen was now also enjoying classes in Jujitsu, Kendo, (and his favourite) Bojitsu with a two-handed weapon.

 

Fen looked at how his shoulders had started to broaden. His trapezius muscle was looking pretty damned nice, if he thought so himself, and his pectorals were firm and well defined. He prodded his abdomen with his finger tips and skimmed over his compact little six-pack. He was so skinny that any muscle improvement really showed but also showed all the defects. He ran the middle finger of his right hand down the long, deep scar that ran from the left side of his rib cage to his groin and sighed as he forcefully pushed the memory away.

 

He turned his back to the mirror and twisted himself to peer over one shoulder. Despite the awkwardness he could see that his back was more defined. He was pleased that his shoulders were so much wider than his narrow hips and his backside was perky, round, and small. He looked down at his legs and was pleased to see the pump that his run had given him. He also saw that stubble was starting to appear and he sighed has he grabbed his razor from bathroom cabinet. He’d never wanted to be considered as an archetype over-groomed gay guy, but he’d always removed all of his body hair. Even from his armpits. He wasn’t dead against it. He liked a little bit on his partners, but hated it on himself.

Stepping into the shower Fen let the warmth of the water penetrate his aching limbs for a few blissful moments before beginning his usual bathroom routine. He closed his eyes as he shampooed and tried hard not to think of his scar. He forced his mind to other times, happier times.

 

Two teenage boys scrumping for apples in the church yard, warm September winds and youth blushing their cheeks. They don’t really care for the apples, but just want to climb the trees. Father Irving chasing them through the hedgerows shouting. Leaves and moss and God knows what else in their hair. Falling and laughing, and holding on to each other and then the kiss. A first kiss. Innocent to the ways of the world, knowing only love for each other and for life itself.

 

Fen opened his eyes and felt overwhelming sadness. He turned to face the tiled wall and rested himself against it; his forehead resting on his forearm. Closing his eyes again he thought once more about his first love, Iorveth. He thought of him as he had loved him best - a brazen and beautiful 15 year old. They’d grown up together and had always loved each other. It was a childish love at first that matured with along with them. Together they explored their own bodies and then each other’s. Fen felt himself stirring as he thought of the way they used to play. Cautious, and gentle they would lie next to each other under the quilt. At first each boy would only stroke himself but didn’t take long until they touched each other, learning quickly what the other liked.

 

Fen looked down at his ****, he was ashamed that he was erect. That piece of shite didn’t deserve it and Fen knew it but he was too far gone, he was committed. He sighed as he took his length into his hand and enjoyed the feeling of the water in his back. He thought of slender shoulders, and of pale Irish skin. He thought of the smell of moss and of teenage boy musk. His strokes slowly started to pick up the pace. He thought of green eyes and dark hair, and of kissing those high cheek bones. Fen was lost, it was no longer his hand gripping his dick, Iorveth pressed in behind him and held him tight. Pressing his face into Fen’s cheek and whispering “I love you”. His arm snaking round Fen’s hips and stroking his **** in exactly the way he likes - drawing the foreskin right back and then gliding it up and over on every stroke. Fen gasped as the strokes get faster, the bathroom is just a blur of colours now. There’s not long left. Fen let himself go and the waves of his orgasm rippled through his whole body. He braced himself against the wall as his knees threatened to give way. The fog cleared and he was alone again.

 

Feeling ashamed of himself, Fen finished up his shower routine and towel dried himself and his hair. Wrapping the towel around his hips he dashed passed the unknown body on the sofa and raced up the stairs to his room. As he dressed himself he glanced at the clock. 8:00am. “Well, what should I do for breakfast?” he thought.

[Oxytocin_Alice]

Disclaimer: I'm pretty happy with the way this is going. Thought I'd bash out a little more. It's probably riddled with typos. So please excuse me.

 

 

Chapter 2 

 

“Well, check you out…” It was 2:45pm and Fen was in the staff cloak room at Crystal Grace. “I could just dip you in chocolate!” Jowan flirted with everyone, period, but he’d become increasingly attached to Fen. He was camper than a row of tents at a Scouts jamboree, and Fen found his relentless, fluffy, enthusiasm grating. He’d not been with anyone since moving to London, in fact he wasn’t sure that anyone at work even knew he was gay as he hadn’t mentioned it. And now, as he changed into his black dress shirt, with the tasteful floral embroidery that marked Crystal Grace’s logo, he deeply regretted deciding to change at work and not at home.

 

“That sounds particularly horrible, Jowen.” Fen replied. He was dead certain he wasn’t up for it. He’d promised himself no more losers when he’d turned over his new leaf. Not that Jowen was a loser per se, but Fen was done with casual. For 10 years, since he’d left Belfast, he’d had a cripplingly low self esteem. Throwing himself into trysts with reckless abandon, grasping onto the illusion of affection even if it was only for a few hours. The experience had left him feeling hollow and drained. No, London was a fresh start and Jowen was not the kind of thing he was looking for. “Awww, don’t be like that Fenny” Jowen crooned. Fen shuddered internally but said nothing as he placed his neatly folded clothes into his locker and prepared to start his shift.

 

Crystal Grace was exclusive. Chef Patron, Bragan Tolban, had trained under the Executive Chef of The Ivy. Both men were of fiery and robust constitutions and their professional relationship ended in a rather explosive row, in which a tray of overdone steaks was thrown at a kitchen porter and an indoor BBQ was upset causing fairly extensive fire damage to the state-of-the-art kitchen. ABH and professional misconduct law suits aside, the damage was extensive enough to warrant a major re-fit of the well established eatery and Tolban, ever the opportunist, seized the initiative in quickly establishing Crystal Grace as the go to place for celebrities and nobility to be seen eating.

 

Evening service started at 5:30pm before that there was the unenviable task of setting the restaurant straight after the Brunch service. The morning staff were always less careful with the equipment, or so it seemed to Fen. Maybe the morning staff felt the same way about the evening shift? He couldn’t be certain because he always felt he left the place in the state he’d like to find it again.

 

As the kitchen staff filed away for their Mise en Place briefing it felt odd to Fen to not be joining them. Instead he headed into the main restaurant with the other FoH and stood to receive the specials briefing, from the maître d'hôtel and the wine briefing from the somalier. Both men were snotty little Frenchmen. Fen smiled to himself as he considered that the men were decidedly more French when interacting with each other. Both from Val Royeaux, there seemed to be some unspoken competition about who could be the most obnoxious. Why all these rich people paid to sneered at by either of these men was a complete loss to Fen, but he considered it with gratitude that they did because this was the best job he’d ever had.

 

Fen had always worked in restaurants. He’d stopped attending school when he was fifteen to run with Iorveth’s little gang. They got into scrapes, petty misdemeanours for vandalism and shoplifting -nothing serious in the beginning. Fen’s mother had been sick for a long time at this point and it was normality for him to bring her two meals a day in her darkened little room that was always filled with smoke. The men that visited her at all hours of the night and day brought her cigarettes and strong liquor and she medicated herself with sleeping pills and SSRIs. No one talked about it. It would have been almost impossible to be gay in Ballymena, but Fen and Iorveth had the run of the house. They would get in from whatever mischief, Fen would bring his mother something, and then the two lads would fall into bed. He was a teenager, and selfish.

 

“Tonight we will be offering jambon de désespoir avec œuf de caille and my esteemed colleague has decided, in his infinite wisdom, that it should be paired with the 1986 Vendange du Lion, in my opinion nothing screams ‘despair’ like a 90’s vintage, but he is, after all, the expert.”

 

After the briefing the FoH split into their regular teams. Fen, Jowen, Surana, and Nate begin stripping the linen from the tables. Tolban was ridiculously exacting about the table linen. Nate and Jowen gripped one end each and carefully dropped the new cloths into place. Surana on her hands and knees with a tape measure was measuring the distance between the bottom of the linen and the floor. She always checked twice. It wasn’t worth the risk. Fen followed behind with a portable iron, and pressed out the creases where the linen met the table. Outrageous to have four people lay a table, Fen chuckled to himself. He enjoyed the folly of it all.

 

Behind him the other teams came. The second team laid the chinaware, it was heavy, expensive and held the heat well as all the staff knew. Those in the service industry grow a tolerance for minor burns, it comes with the territory. The third team came with the silverware, the forth team with the glassware and then finally the girl who dressed the tables with fresh flowers and candles flitted in an out like a little fairy. Fen liked her, her name was Merrill and she’d come to London from a small mining town in North Wales. “Lavellan?” She’d asked him on his first day, “Are you Welsh, like me?” Her accent was soft and lilting and her eyes were permanently wide. “My father is from Cardiff, he’s a real stoner and lives above his head shop on Queen Street. I used to, ah, live with him for a while – before I moved here.” Fen stumbled over his reply. He wasn’t sure that rocking up one day with a suitcase and announcing to his catatonic father that he would be around for a bit really counted as co-habiting, but Merrill didn’t need to know that.

 

Like a well oiled machine all the staff were all correct and present to welcome the first of the evening’s guests. The waiting list for tables was years long, but there was a special phone line set up for the more important guests. That number was a secret carefully guarded by 200 or so people, so generally Fen saw the same faces. In general the diners were all self-important and demanding and Fen had come to enjoy the spectacle of it all. It never offended him when guests were rude to him, it was all part of the great game, and he enjoyed playing his part. He had a handsome face, infectious smile and his manner was easy and unaffected. People always seemed to warm to him. Even the most po-faced dowager usually relented by the fish course.

 

 He started to work his section as usual, like most good servers he followed a set floor plan, carefully designed make sure that no-one was left unattended for too long or that no glasses ever ran dry. This was particularly important. An empty glass was more than the sum of its parts. An empty glass overfloweth with neglectful scorn and lost profits. By 7:00pm he’d really found his stride. He confidently worked his section, paying his guests those special little attentions that kept them coming back. As he returned from table four carrying away the empty dishes the maître d informed him that Surana had been taken ill and that he and Jowen must extend their sections to include hers.

 

This was usually hell. It was only an extra two tables but it put a strain on the time that he could dedicate to the individual happiness of his guests. Feeling a little burdened he turned directly to his two new tables and introduced himself as their new waiter. The first table, a banker and his wife, barely looked at him at Fen was relieved that they didn’t seem like particularly needy people. The second table was a table of three gentlemen one older, and two in their late 20’s or possibly very early 30’s.

 

As he approached their table he heard snippets of their conversation. The elder was engaging one of the younger men in a lively discussion on time in art. As he approached the table the younger man turned to him and said, “Ah, my good man, what say you? Can time be accurately portrayed in art without the implication of movement? I maintain that it can but Alexius here says it cannot.” “Academics” Fen thought to himself. Ordinarily he would try and fumble together some sort of reply, he wasn’t without interest in art and literature, though his life had offered little opportunity for detailed study. However tonight he was really pushed for time. He swept his hair back from his eyes with his fingers in nervousness and cursed himself inwardly that now he would have to go wash his hands “great, Fen, more time you’re going to have to find”. Flicking his eyes up to meet the gentleman’s question Fen was momentarily taken aback by the overwhelming beauty he now faced. The young man was a vision of perfection - olive skin over a noble face. His short, black hair was immaculately coiffured into a stylishly curled quiff. And a neat, devilishly dashing and manicured moustache adorned the top of his perfect mouth. Fen looked into the gentleman’s intelligent and sparkly hazel-coloured eyes for the briefest of moments and he felt as if he had been electrocuted. “Uhhh” he managed to stutter like a deer in the headlights. The second gentleman leaned in and said “Now Dorian, our new friend hasn’t had the opportunity to prepare his thesis as you have.”
“ Ah Felix, ever the peace maker I see. May we help you?”

Dorian directed his question to Fen, and Fen felt his response seemed inadequate for interrupting their discussion. “I, err, your former server is no longer able to perform her duties. I’m Fen and I will be your new waiter for this evening” he stammered. “How delightful” Dorian replied and Fen felt as though the young man was sizing him up. Fen couldn’t tell if Dorian was being sarcastic, or whether it really would be a delight but he was dimly aware that he’d tarried too long and the other tables in his section could not be left abandoned much longer. Fen made a half-bow and left, exiting the dining room to wash his hands at the dedicated sink next to the pass.

 

Turning back to the dining room Fen hurried to complete his circuit. He narrowly avoided the dreaded empty glass by one sip and was grateful that the glass belonged to a young woman he vaguely recognised from a reality TV show. “New money” he thought to himself. She won’t have even noticed. As he worked his way across the section he felt his stomach hitch again as he approached the academics. Why was he nervous? He couldn’t really tell. He approached silently and without saying a word went about the business of refilling the wine and water glasses. “Ah, and here’s the young man again” Dorian said warmly, though in truth he couldn’t be older than Fen himself. “I’m sure you will be able to answer. How exactly does the ham taste of despair?” Fen laughed to himself. It’s a question he’d been musing on all night. “I’m told that the jambon de désespoir has been imported especially from the mountainous region of the Anderfels where the animals, herded by nomadic tribes, adopt the national attitudes of ennui and an overwhelming sense of impending doom, Sir.” Fen allowed the corner of his mouth to pull up into a smirk, “rather like London’s early morning commuters I dare say.” At this all three men laughed and Fen turned on his heel pleased that he’s perhaps regained a little bit of self-respect following his earlier misfire.

 

Heading back to the start of his section Fen noticed that table three were still awaiting their main course, he quickly headed out to the pass and enquired on the wait. The sous chef was a little man – barely 4’8”. He had a full and well maintained beard which he was viciously proud of even though it meant he had to wear one of those awful beard nets. Woe betide anyone who laughed at him though. He was a force to be reckoned with. Finding the ticket in the queue he called out the order and a series of “OUI CHEF’s” followed. “Sorry lad,” the sous said to Fen “you’re gonna have to keep ‘em chattin a while longer”. “Great” Fen thought as he headed back to his section, annoyed. Then he chastised himself. He knew better than any of the FoH here what it was like in the kitchen. Celebrity chefs, of whom many frequented Crystal Grace, had done wonders for the glamorisation of the catering industry. However the reality was far from it. Try explaining to your average commis that her job is glamorous as she’s on her hands and knees scrubbing out the extractor ducts at 11:30 at night after a busy 8 hour service. No, on the whole his job was cushy and he liked it.

 

After that the rest of service went quite smoothly. Guests left and the tables were turned around in time for others to arrive. A few parties stayed on stoically, drinking into the evening. One of these tables was Fen’s academics. Fearing that he may have peaked a little early, Fen tried to avoid any more witty repartee. He kept his interactions brief as he took their orders and actively waited until their discussions were peaking before attending the table so as to make interaction particularly awkward. Fen had no idea why he was going to so much trouble. Those eyes had pierced him, and he felt wholly inadequate. Not that the young man had been anything but the gentleman. No, this was Fen’s insecurity rearing its ugly head.

As the evening began to wind down, the maître d scolded Fen for allowing his table to sit for so long. Time is money, and turn-around times were as important in fancy places like Crystal Grace as they were in the local Wetherspoons. “I believe they intend to order sweets, monsieur” Fen let his voice glide like melted butter and looked the Frenchman directly in the eye. “Well you’d better hop to taking their order then, boy” the maître d replied but his tone had softened in wake of Fen’s charm. Fen approached the table of academics with his notebook in hand. He was dressed from head to toe in black, and his silhouette caste a pleasing shape as he paced the floor. He was unaware of just how many sets of eyes followed him throughout the long evenings of his shifts at Crystal Grace and he wouldn’t have believed you if you’d told him.

 

Standing at the table, notebook ready, he was taken wholly off-guard by Dorian who said “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Fen felt the blush rising to his cheeks, and again he nervously flicked back his hair “again with the hair!” he thought angrily to himself. “Er, I wanted to enquire what you thought of the dessert menu?” It was a poorly phrased question and he knew it. He’d left himself wide open for the sort of banter to which he felt totally unequal. “I think it is very charming” was the response from the quick tongued Dorian. “Ah,no. I meant would any of you like anything from it?” Fen’s cheeks were on fire now. He wanted the floor to swallow him whole. “I think I will order something” said the older Alexius “how about you, son?” he asked passing the menu to Felix “I will just have an espresso. How about you, Dorian?”

“I will have whatever Fen recommends”

Fen’s heart exploded in his chest. How in the world had this beautiful man, this vision of perfection, remembered his name? It was almost too much to bear. From the back of his whirring mind a small voice reminded him that he would now have to make a recommendation. How could he? He didn’t know what sort of thing this young man liked. Fen reached down to the very depths of courage and took a deep breath “No pressure then?” He managed to joke, weakly. Dorian just smiled and sat looking expectantly. Fen breathed out slowly and said “Well, my favourite dessert is Ardent Blossom. It’s a French-styled sorbet with essence of neroli and elderflower. Orange blossoms can be too strong, but Monsieur Tolban has struck the right balance between the heady floral notes and the crystal-sharp citrus ones, in my opinion.”

“Aha!” called Dorian “Then that is what I shall have. Will you be joining me Alexius?”

“I believe I will. This young man certainly seems to have faith in his convictions.”

Fen took down the order and brought the ticket to the pass. Upon returning it was clear that service was truly winding down with less than 30 minutes to go. Most tables had now emptied and their contents had been cleared leaving only the linen and Merrill’s table decorations. The maître d called over Fen and Jowen. With less than six tables left across the three sections they were working it was unnecessary to have two waiters. Fen was told to help clear down the kitchens. It was not a welcome prospect and Fen knew that this was a penalty for drawing the maître d’s attention earlier. “Oui monsieur” Fen muttered as he stalked off to the cloak room to change out of his dress shirt and into a porter’s polo shirt.

 

The kitchen was the usual affair - the only sections still in operation were pastry and the pass. Even the great ovens and over head extractors had been turned off. It was eerily quiet in comparison. Each section head divided their commis into cleaning task forces. As fen entered he approached the sous and informed him he was at his disposal. “Ah, fine lad! Give ‘em a hand washing up”. “Marvellous, Fen thought. 10 years in the service industry and I’m back where I started”. As he headed to the washing up station he mused on that pub job back in Belfast. He’d not been long out of hospital and he’d had to leave Ballymena. He packed up his suitcase and hitchhiked to Belfast. The first few nights he’d slept rough. It was miserable and Fen had felt hopeless. A chance meeting meeting with a stranger had led to an improper proposal. This guy had an apartment, a shower, and bed to sleep in. All Fen had to do was lie there and take it. Literally. This process repeated again the next night, with another guy. And for two weeks Fen cruised the bars and clubs in Belfast looking to strike a bargain. Northern Ireland is a difficult place to be gay. Two religious factions fight for dominance. They agree on little, but on some things they stand undivided.

 

It was during this time that Fen met Sera. She was a barmaid in a shitty trad pub, which sold Guinness. Sera hated Guinness. Sera hated many things. She hated cookies, and liars, and rich people who stomped on little people and she hated letches. She made it her business when Fen was chatted up by a greasy looking older bloke. She shot over like a flaming arrow and drew herself up to her full 5’4”. She was tiny, but her wrath seemed to swell her as she bustled the man through the door and told him not to come back. Fen was a bit annoyed. He didn’t relish another night on the street – even that guy was preferable to that and he told this woman that. He didn’t know why he trusted her so quickly. Nothing about her screamed trustworthiness, quite the opposite in-fact. She was tiny, we’ve already established that. Her nose looked at if it had been broken at least once, but maybe twice. Her blonde hair was choppy – it looked like she’d cut it herself (it turned out that she had). She had a penchant for asymmetry, both in her personal appearance and her personal life. Sera was gay too. Maybe that’s why Fen had so quickly connected with her, but maybe not. She was prickly to most people, but Fen was needy, and she mother-henned him. They stood talking at the bar all night. Sera, rolled her eyes whenever a customer demanded something of her. And at closing time Sera insisted that Fen crash on her sofa. He was grateful but had nothing to offer so he declined. Sera had to frog march him into her apartment. Fen stayed with Sera for a few months. The next day she’d organised washing up work for Fen at the same pub she worked at. After that Fen found a kitchen portering job at a posh hotel. There were more hours and the pay was slightly better. He moved into a shared house with a bunch of foreign students, but he spent most of his free time with Sera.

 

Fen looked at the mountains of washing up before him and sighed as he began rinsing and stacking the trays. The two porters took the filled trays from him and hauled them through the dishwasher. The unit was enormous and swallowed the trays whole. Boiling the plates and cutlery inside. They were scolding when they came out and had to be left to cool slightly before they could be put away. Between the three of they formed a very efficient little production line and before Fen knew it it was time to go home.

 

Back in the staff cloak room there was a lot of giggling and a bit of a kerfuffle when Fen pushed open the door. His team (minus Surana) and Merrill were standing around in a huddle and looking at something. As the door opened, they all looked up guiltily at him and Jowen threw his hands behind his back. “What’s going on?” Fen asked with one eyebrow raised. “You’ve got a note” Merrill giggled. “Shhhhhh! Don’t  bloody tell him! He’s mine” thanks, Jowen. “Errr, I don’t think Fen’s gay, Jowen” – that was Nate. “Are you gay, Fen?” Merrill asked, her eyes really wide. Fen sighed, and said exasperated “Just give me the note.” Jowen pulled his hands from behind his back and handed Fen the scrap of folder paper. It was an expensive, heavy paper, possibly torn from a sketch book. “I found it, left on a table” Jowen smirked. Fen looked down at the paper. On the outside of the fold, witten in fountain pen in a very elegant script was “Fen”. He unfolded the note and found a phone number. It said “Call me. Dorian.”

[Oxytocin_Alice]

Disclaimer: yet further drabble with sword play and DORIAN. A. writing Sera is hard. Mad, mad props to Lukas Kristjanson, what a legend and B. I couldn't be more in love with Dorian if I tried. OK, It's 3:00am here and I've not proofed this for typos. Sorry.

 

Chapter 3   

 

“So, are you gonna call him then?”
“Errr, I dunno, probably not, I dunno, maybe” Fen’s voice was thick with tooth paste. He’d been unable to think of little else all night, and his morning run had been difficult without the sleep. He spat the toothpaste into the sink and gurgled with water.
“That is well minging, you know? Guuurrrgggle gurgle splat!” Sera laughed manically down the phone. “You should’ve rung him while you brushed your teeth.”
“I know you love it.”
“Don’t change the subject, ring him right now.”
“You don’t get it, he’s fancy, like Crystal Grace fancy. I’m just a gobshite from Ballymena.”
“Pffffft, pishy arsebiscuits. If he cares about that then I don’t care about him. But he doesn’t care because he gave you his number, you know? Rich, or not rich, who gives a **** as long as you’ve got the same things going on inside your head, and your pants.”
“I’ll bear that in mind, Sera.”
“Anyway, if he goes all priggish on you I’ll come and cram it up his arse instead.”
“What are you doing today?” Fen felt like this was as much as he was going to get from Sera on the subject.
“The usual. Jenny and me are gonna go poke around places. She reckons she can get us into the ATOS building in Lochside Place.”
“That sounds so illegal.”
“Don’t care. Those arseholes would final solution sick people before you could say Auschwitz.”

 

Fen’s mind recalled Jenny; a hippy so scuzzy you’d stop your dog from licking her face in case he got sick but Sera loved her, filthy ginger dreadlocks and all. Red Jenny was her nickname among the self-styled freedom fighters and CND lot. Sera had met Jenny during a peace march through the centre of Belfast. The police were kettling the marchers in and it was tight. Sera had decided she needed to pee and was trying to convince an officer that it was his civil duty to give her his helmet. “I’m pregnant!” She screwed her face up in what she hoped was an indignant way.
“Firstly, I seriously doubt that, Madam, and secondly, that is an urban myth. I most certainly do not have to give you my helmet for you to relieve yourself in.”
Sera laughed loudly in his face…. “Awww ok. You can’t blame a girl for trying. I just wanted to turn your ****** hat into a ****** pot. ****** pot!” And that was how Sera was arrested and thrown into the back of the mobile cell.

 

Among the other captives was Jenny. They spent a memorable night in the cells and by the morning Fen received a phone call to say that Sera had nominated him as her bail contact and he was to come and pick her up. After that Jenny was a regular fixture in their lives. Sera didn’t share lovers, she was hard and fast on that and she and Jenny were staunchly exclusive. It didn’t come as a surprise when Sera said that she and Jenny were moving to Jenny’s native Edinburgh but he had been sad about it. He’d remained on in Belfast for a bit but there was nothing to hold him there without her. So Fen went to Cardiff. He packed up a single suitcase and bought a one way ferry ticket to Holyhead. From there he hitched a lift straight through to Cardiff with a lorry driver he’d been chatting with on the crossing. She was a nice lady with a family who she missed and she told Fen he reminded her of her eldest boy, but since her husband had died she’d had to do what she could to support the family. “Poor Leandra” Fen thought to himself.

 

“Are you even listening to me pucker-face?” Sera pulled Fen from his reverie. “Oh, you know what, never mind. I’ve got to go stick it to the man – and so have you. A man. This man, your fancy man, that is” she let out the dirtiest sounding cackle you could possibly imagine and then said “I don’t know why you like jousting so much!”
“Maybe because a lance is so much sharper than scissors?” Fen smirked.
“Eh? I don’t get. You’re a weirdy. Now, leave me alone.”
Fen laughed “OK, fine. But don’t get arrested again because I’m not there to bail you out this time.”
“Pfffft. That’s what you think.” And with that she hung up. Fen chuckled to himself and then he remembered why he’d phoned Sera in the first place. The note. He’d kept checking it over all night. He didn’t know why he kept grabbing it from his bedside cabinet, its appearance hadn’t changed but somehow it didn’t feel all that real. “Arrgggh!” Fen grumbled to himself as he tried to force it from his mind.

 

Today was his day off and he had a lot of things planned. Firstly he was very keen to have his hair cut. It had not been very high on his agenda until last evening when the temptation to flick it back with his fingers had been so strong. He looked at his face in the bathroom mirror and saw that his fringe was now eye length. He liked it a little long, favouring the artful side swoop style. His face was small and heart-shaped. He had a strong nose, soft lips and his teeth were straight and white. The photographer who took the class photos at school had once described him as elfin. Fen wasn’t sure what that meant but his bone structure was good and his jaw was fairly strong. Elfin seemed to imply effeminate but Fen wasn’t that, he was boyish. His eyes had the look of playful mischief about them and when he pulled his mouth into a crooked smile you could well believe he could get away with anything.

 

After showering and dressing, Fen once more looked at the note. It was still the same note as last night - four words and a phone number written in elegant, black-inked handwriting on expensive paper. He felt butterflies. He carefully put the note into his wallet, grabbed his phone, and keys, and headed to the barbers.

 

Bodahn was an excellent barber. Fen was really pleased to have found such a small, traditional place nestled in the back streets of Bethnal Green. As he walked in Sandal, Bodahn’s adopted son, greeted him in his usual way. “Wet shave!” Fen smiled and stroked his own chin with his hand. Sandal was more than a bit simple but he was a master with the straight razor – he’d never nicked anyone and the results were close and rash free. Sandal was considered a bit of a legend really, and he had quite the fan base. Someone had even set up an appreciation group on the Internet, as Bodahn would proudly tell anyone who would listen.

“Hahaha maybe lad, maybe” Bodahn fondly said as he patted his son on the back. “Just a trim I take it, Mr Lavellan?”
“Yes, that would be perfect.”
“Wet shave!” Fen chuckled and knew he wouldn’t get away with trying to refuse. “Ok Sandal, and a wet shave.” Fen submitted to the experience and let the men get to work. He had to admit it felt nice to be pampered a little. He was vaguely wondering about just how gay it would make him to go get his nails manicured when Bodahn called him from his thoughts to ask if he’d had any special reason for having his hair done. “Errr,” Fen hadn’t considered this. Was his subconscious telling him to make himself datey? “No, this was strictly professional. Wasn’t it?” He thought. “Err, I don’t know really. It’s just getting a little long, I guess.” Bodahn gave him a knowing look but didn’t say anything and he started to shape the front. “Well, there might be someone.” Fen didn’t know why he’d said anything. The words had just slipped from his mouth. “I thought so, I thought so!” Bodahn smiled. “In that case I have just the thing.” He brushed the snipped hair from Fen’s shoulders and slicked a light, sweet smelling wax through his silver locks. They shone brightly and held their side swoop beautifully. “There” Bodahn said as he stood back to admire his work. “It did look nice” Fen thought as Sandal bustled up with a hot towel and began his work with glee.

 

20 minutes later and Fen was heading back home with the little pot of wax and thinking about the next thing on his agenda. He absentmindedly kept stroking his chin. It was so smooth! Next on his to do list was his groceries. Bethnal Green was a lively place full of little independent stores. After stopping briefly at home to pick up his shopping bag and to drop off the wax, Fen headed out towards the little rank of shops about three streets away. Poverty had driven him to vegetarianism in the early years, but now it was just a way of life. His first stop was the fruit and veg market. He liked it here especially. The owner, Tegrin, had an unusual way of tallying up the price. He would glance briefly into your basket and then make a vague guess as to its worth. Fen could buy the same things from one week to the next and the price would be different. It didn’t matter though, because it was always ridiculously cheap. Today, Tegrin had a tray of avocadoes that needed to be eaten. He practically gave Fen four of them, even though he protested that he could never eat so many.

 

Next door to the green grocers was the butcher. Fen hated going in there with the carcasses hanging in the chilled display, but the butcher sold eggs from his wife’s chickens and they were exceptionally nicer than even the most expensive organic ones from the supermarket and about half the price since she was just an amateur enthusiast. Fen took a deep breath as before he stepped over the threshold and tried to hold it for as long as possible before having to take another in breath. He hated the cold, bloody smell. As he waited for the woman in front to decide which of the herby sausages she wanted, Fen noticed that the butcher also had jars of honey from his own apiaries. Fen was a sucker for artisanal honey. It was ridiculously expensive, at £6 a jar, and he knew he couldn’t really afford it but he couldn’t help himself. “Local honey is good for hayfever” he told himself, as if that somehow justified the expenditure. Adding his purchases to the shopping bag fen called into the health food shop on the corner. This was always the big hitter financially, and the honey-guilt started to set in.

 

Fen pulled out his wallet with the intention of taking out his perpetual shopping list. As he deftly worked at pulling it out his fingers brushed against the heavy paper of Dorian’s note. The feel of it sent a shock through his spine and Fen was angry with himself. “For fucks sake man, get a grip!” Feeling cross with himself he stalked through the shop grabbing only the things he desperately needed, wanting only to be at home again. His sourdough loaf, 2 pints of organic semi-skimmed, 500g dried chickpeas, 250g whole wheat cous cous, and two tins of chopped tomatoes came to a whopping £9.50 and now Fen felt really guilty about the honey. It was hard to eat well on a tight budget.

 

Fen hurried back with his shopping. He was cross with himself, hungry, and wanted a cup of coffee. He put the moka pot on the stove as he got in and proceeded to put away his groceries. There was something rank in the fridge, and it was always a dilemma of Fen’s whether or not to throw it away. It wasn’t his and his housemates were strange. The smell was bad so Fen bit the bullet and tossed whatever it was into the bin outside. Taking a clean cloth from his cupboard he emptied the shelf where the thing had been and cleaned it with water and a mild disinfectant. Years in the catering industry had moulded him into what he was.

 

The smell of fresh coffee wafted through the kitchen. Fen dropped two slices of sourdough bread into the toaster and cut an over ripe avocado. Mashing it up he added lemon juice, chilli flakes, salt and pepper and then smeared it over the toast with a little red pepper marmalade he had at the back of his shelf in the fridge. Taking clean plates and cutlery from his personal cupboard Fen shunned the grotty kitchen in favour of sitting in the little over-grown wilderness of a courtyard garden at the back of the house. Grabbing his toast, coffee, and balancing his phone into the crook of his armpit, Fen proceeded to sit at the rickety old table in the sunshine outside.

 

Taking a sip of coffee (black, Fen always drank black coffee) he unlocked his phone to check the time. He noticed he had a text message from Sera.
 

From: Sera
Main body: Have u called him yet? I bet u haven’t, because ur yellow.

 

“I am yellow” he thought to himself as he munched on his toast. “I wish I could be bothered to poach an egg to go with this”.

 

He sat in the sunshine for a bit started to gear himself up for the inevitable hardship of doing the washing up. He’d have to carefully empty the sink of the greasy tower of mouldy plates and clean it, before he could wash his own things. He knew that he’d relent and just wash up everything. He always told himself he wouldn’t be he always did. He glanced again at the time, 2:30pm. That gave him an hour and a half before his Kendo class. Rolling up his sleeves in anticipation Fen collected his things and headed into the kitchen to begin his task. 20 minutes in and Fen was losing his enthusiasm. He hadn’t even begun his things yet and he started thinking of all the other things he’d rather do than cleaning up after his waster housemates. To amuse himself he started to list them - trying to make the list as ridiculous as possible. “I would rather argue about nuclear deterrents with Jenny than do this washing up.” “I would rather tell Gaspard du Chalon that Val Royeaux is less beautiful that Paris.” “I would rather tell Oghran that his beard is unhygienic – ok, that’s too far, maybe not that one.” He laughed to himself. “I would rather call that devastatingly attractive young man and ask him out on a date.” And that’s when the courage struck Fen. He was elbow deep in someone else’s greasy washing up and conscious that his class started in about an hour. “Damnit Fen, really?”

 

He grabbed the clean dish cloth that he tossed over his shoulder KP style, and dried off his hands knowing that if he didn’t do this now that he wouldn’t at all. Drawing the note from his wallet, he carefully transposed the numbers into his phone and pressed the call button. As it rang, it occurred to Fen that he had no idea what he was going to say. He’d spent 12 hours wondering whether or not to call and hadn’t given one moment’s thought about what he would say if he did. Blind panic had set in now as the phone rang and he considered just hanging up. “One more ring and I will hang up” Fen promised himself, but one more ring came and he felt he couldn’t even do that. It rang and rang until eventually the voicemail picked up; “The person you are trying to reach is unavailable. At the tone please leave your message, then you may hang up.” Then there was that unholy little beep. Fen was panicked. Whatever he’d been expecting to happen it certainly wasn’t the prospect of leaving a message. No one liked doing that. What the hell should he say? But now he’d dawdled, and the message was going to have a long pause with heavy breathing. Not exactly the vibe he wanted to go for. A voice in his brain screamed “Just say something, anything!”

“Err hi, Dorian? This is Fen, from Crystal Grace. A colleague found your note, and err I thought I’d give you a call.” He sounded stupid inside his own head. “Anyway, it looks like this is a bad time, so err, yeah. I guess I’ll try again sometime.” He knew he wouldn’t. That was it. His confidence was totally shot. He’d blown it. He hung up and tossed his phone onto the manky old skip-sofa and returned to the sink. He was totally deflated. Part of him must have entertained the notion that maybe, just once, he might manage to genuinely connect with someone of quality. But no, instead he was doomed to likes of Jowen for the rest of his natural life. In no humour for it, Fen sloppily washed the rest of the plates. He changed the water in the sink for his own things and carefully washed and dried them. Stowing them back inside his own little cupboard.

 

He ran upstairs and packed his kit bag and then headed back down the kitchen to fill his water bottle. He picked up his phone from the sofa and headed out the front door in the direction of the sports centre. He was angry with himself as he paced the streets but by the time he arrived at the sports centre the anger had been replaced by disappointment and a feeling of resigned inevitability. He was one of the first to arrive for his Kendo class. He quickly changed into his robes, the keikogi and the hakama, and wriggled into his body armour. Duncan arrived with his protégée, Alistair, bringing the bamboo swords with him from his car. Fen headed into the sports hall and began assembling the sprung wooden boards that made up the dojo.

 

The other members started arriving. He recognised a couple of faces from his Taekwondo class and a few others who came to Kendo regularly. It looked like a few new people were here too. One woman, was just wearing joggers and a t-shirt, and two guys who’d arrived together in boxfresh and expensive looking gear.

 

Duncan bowed before entering the dojo and stood to face the class. “Today, before we begin, I want to talk to you all about the path of the warrior. Kendoka must dedicate themselves to the way of the sword. In order to do this he or she must relinquish their attachment to delusions of anger, doubt, fear, and surprise. Know only your sword and your opponent; clear your mind of all other worldly distractions as did the ancient samurais. Many of you will struggle to do this. A Kendoka is born, not made, and not all of you will make it over the first hurdle, but should you succeed you will be on a warrior’s path and a warden of the ancient samurai spirit.” He took a deep breath and turned his gaze towards the new faces “Ah, I see we have three newcomers today, please introduce yourselves.”

 

The two young men look at each other, one, clearly the more confident of the two, said “I’m Daveth and this is Jory” indicating his friend. “We bought all the gear yesterday”.

Duncan looked at them both and smiled, “ah, then I see you are both prepared to give it your all, and how about you, miss?” He turned to the young woman in her joggers and t-shirt.

“Elissa Cousland” she replied.

“Ah, the Mayor of London’s daughter? Of course, your father’s office did call to say you would be here.” Duncan smiled. He seemed genuinely pleased that there were so many people. “It’s lovely to see so many of you. The interest in martial arts has waned of late. If only the Olympic committee could be persuaded to include more arts than just Taekwondo and Judo. Fencing just isn’t as thrilling as Kendo.”

 

“Since we have three new members, let’s start with the joining initiation. It’s not a part of Kendo, but something that I like to do for new members to build trust in the group. Everyone bow before entering the dojo, and form a wide circle around me.”

 

As Fen followed Duncan’s instructions, it occurred to him that he didn’t know what this joining initiation was. As he’d come from the more mainstream Taekwondo class, it hadn’t occurred to Duncan, as Fen’s face hadn’t been new. Duncan now invited Elissa to enter the middle of the circle. Alistair tied a fabric belt around her eyes so that she couldn’t see. Duncan asked her to take a deep breath and just trust that she would be safe. Alistair led her clock wise around the circle, slowly picking up the pace. After one and a half turns he stops, and starts leading her anti-clockwise. He starts closing the circle into a spiral and in the middle of the circle starts to spin her round and round. Duncan tells her to try separating her mind from her physical body. As Elissa is pirouetting on the spot, Alistair gently pushes her and she falls into Duncan’s arms. He very slowly laid her on the dojo and removed her blindfold. She giggled, “Oh, I’m really dizzy now. It felt like I was falling forever!”

 

Duncan then asked Jory to come to the middle of the circle. He hesitated. “Errr, it’s ok. I don’t want to do that.” He stammered. Duncan looked quizzically at him. “If you can’t learn to trust in us, even when your senses are telling you something else, then I don’t think you’ll get very far with Kendo.” Jory puffed himself up “I really don’t think this is necessary. I have all the equipment and I watched hundreds of videos on YouTube…”

Duncan looked directly into Jory’s eyes and the man decided not to finish his sentence. Duncan was every bit the warrior, a master of several martial arts and 8th dan in Kendo. He’d represented Team GB in Taekwondo at the Olympics and he was not a man to be argued with. Staring haughtily at Duncan, Jory said “Well, I think I’ll just give this whole class a miss then” and off he stomped. Daveth laughed nervously for his friend. He stepped into the circle and allowed Alistair to blind fold him and the process began again. As Alistair was spinning him in the middle of the circle, Daveth could be heard complaining “This is stupid and unnecessary!”. Duncan put up his hand and indicated to Alistair to stop. Alistair removed the blindfold and Daveth found himself face-to-face with Duncan. “If looks could kill!” Fen thought to himself. Duncan leaned into Daveth’s face and said “I think perhaps it’s best if you join your friend.” Daveth huffed, but exited the dojo in the direction of Jory. “All the gear and no idea” joked Alistair and a titter of laughter passed through the remaining class like a wave.

 

“Right, now that’s sorted we can begin the training proper.” Said Duncan. The rest of the class passed without event. Duncan made them all run laps to warm up and then paired the class up with partners of similar ability. As Elissa was new, he asked Alistair to show her the ropes. The two seemed to be getting on very well, Fen noticed from across the dojo.

 

Duncan took a special interest in Fen. He’d recognised early on that Fen had enormous potential. He was a quick learner with excellent control over his body. Fen had fast reaction times and superb balance. He’d been quick to master the kicks and punches of Taekwondo, but his strong shoulders and back had instantly marked him out to Duncan as a swordsman. Duncan was never wrong about these things. The minute Fen held the two handed Shinai it had just felt right. The stances just seemed to feel natural and his body went where the sword needed to be.

 

The first few classes and been non-contact. But Duncan was eager to push Fen to greater limits - to really test his speed and strength. Not trusting the control of anyone else in the class, it was Duncan himself who put Fen through his first paces. Kendo is scored on points, and there are rounds. An opponent may disarm the other or deliver a ‘killing blow’ or a strike that would have killed the opponent had the sword not been made from bamboo. Fen had faced Duncan with no small amount of trepidation and for the first few rounds the Master scored hit after hit. Sensing that Fen’s nerves were his downfall, Duncan encouraged Fen lose his attachment to fear. A sickness, he called it. Feeling more emboldened Fen scored his first point, a whipping blow right to Duncan’s breast plate.

 

Today however, Fen had been paired up with Sten a serious looking man of few words. As the class practised lunges and thrusts Duncan circled the dojo making suggestions for improvements to posture and technique. He stopped for a while at Alistair and Elissa and nodded approvingly. After a while he came to Fen and Sten. Sten went in for a very powerful blow, and Fen was forced into a very fast two-handed defensive stance. He let out a loud “kiai!” as he did so, remembering what Duncan had said about channelling the inner warrior and he caught Sten off guard. Sten may have had the weight advantage, but Fen had speed. Sensing Sten’s momentary lack of focus Fen countered and caught Sten in the neck. A killing blow. Duncan slowly applauded and both Fen and Sten looked up. Sten looked like he was going to be angry, but he shook his head and said “you are a worthy adversary. I salute you.”

 

As the class was drawing to a close, Duncan called them to order and asked them to do a few simple stretches as a cool down. The class scrabbled to collect all the equipment and to break up the mats of the dojo and wrestle them back into the storage cupboard. Gathering them all together Duncan declared that he had an announcement. He’d just received confirmation from a couple of other local clubs that the annual charity tournament was all set for six weeks time. “I know some of you are quite new, but these charity events are just for fun and honour. I’d like to see you all giving it your best shot.” With that he dismissed the class.

 

Fen showered quickly at the sports centre before heading home. His shoulders where aching from blocking Sten’s superhuman power blows all evening and he wanted nothing more than to eat dinner, and then lie on his bed perusing the book on ancient katanas that he’d borrowed from the library.

He quickly rustled dinner together Ready, Steady, Cook style - just a little stir fry, with cashew nuts and sesame and he hungrily ate it down. Having washed up his things Fen raced upstairs to his room, closed the door and quickly changed into his old slouchy pyjama bottoms. The evening was quite warm, he didn’t need a t-shirt so he flopped bare chested onto his bed and prepared to read his book.

 

He was disturbed from his solitude by the sound of his phone, ringing from inside the depths of his kit bag. Cursing the armour as he pulled it all out onto the floor Fen was certain that the phone would just inevitably ring out, as it usually did. However, this time he was lucky, and just before the last ring he was able to lift the thing to his face.

“Uh Hello?” In his haste, Fen had been unable to register the caller ID.
“Ah Hello. I take it this is Fen?”
“Ah, Yes. Errr Dorian?” Fen’s heart was beating 20 to the dozen in his chest.
“I received your message.”
“Ah, yes, sorry about that.” Fen cringed. “I never really know what to say in those.”
Dorian laughed, “Oh yes, the humble voicemail. A legacy left behind in the wake of the modern advancement of technology.”
“Perhaps someone could invent an app that would electrocute me before I said something embarrassing?” Fen replied.
“Now where would be the fun in that?”

Fen could hardly believe what was happening. This time yesterday he didn’t even know of this young man’s existence, and now here he was sweating like a pervert at a parish picnic.

“A colleague found your note.” Fen said.
“So I heard”
“Is chatting up waiters something you usually do?” Fen felt emboldened. Did it really matter that this man was brilliant and handsome and witty and charming? Yes, probably. But he’d never had any difficulty pulling guys in the past. Admittedly the prize was greater here and thus the stakes were higher. But he tried not to think of that.
“Are you being chatted up?”
“I hope so.”
“A good answer. An honest answer. I like that.” Dorian was smooth. His public school voice had a velvety cadence and Fen felt he could have listened to him talk for hours if his heart hadn’t been rendering the Flight of the Bumblebee inside his ribcage. Fen nervously thumbed the long, deep scar on his abdomen.

“Allow me to me buy you dinner.” Dorian said authoritatively. Fen felt himself blush.
“I would like that, but I don’t get many evenings free. I work, at the restaurant, obviously.” Fen’s cool was starting to slip. He’d been doing so well up to now but the adrenaline was coursing through his veins.
“Then I’ll buy you breakfast.” Although Fen couldn’t see his face, he could tell that Dorian had said this with a smile. Fen thought of his perfect mouth and teeth and for the briefest second he imagined kissing the owner of this pretty voice at the other end of the line. “Not helping brain!” Fen thought to himself, angrily.
“You joke, but that might actually work. Though, maybe brunch more than breakfast.” Fen was torn between never wanting this conversation to end and wanting it to end right now so that he could breathe.
“Did you have anywhere in mind?”
“Bethany’s is my favourite place for brunch. The coffee is very good there too.”
“Brunch at Bethany’s! You’re right, it is very good. Meet me there tomorrow at 10:00am, if you will?”
“I will” replied Fen, breathlessly
“Then, I shall let you go, for now.”

“Yes, see you tomorrow.” Fen said, and with that Dorian was gone. Fen stared at his phone for a few seconds and then paced around his neat little room. He looked down at the book lying open on his bed and wondered how he was going to concentrate on it now. It was too much, simply too much. 

[Oxytocin_Alice]

There is definitely more of this to come for those who are interested! progress has stopped temporarily as I'm in hospital. I'll get straight back on it once I'm feeling better xxx

[springacres]

Definitely interested, but your health takes precedence.  Get better soon!

[Oxytocin_Alice]

Thank you! Hopefully I'll be having the first of two operations today. It all came on a bit suddenly! Still I'll have a lot of convalescence time to write with over the next few weeks

[Oxytocin_Alice]

Disclaimer: This chapter is almost entirely dialogue, for which I am sorry. Merrill is a lot more Welsh in my head canon than Eve Myles made her (her dialogue is written with a slight Welsh dialect, I didn't suddenly forget how to grammar ). Sorry again for the hiatus. I had to have emergency surgery on my kidney. Anyway, feedback welcome.

 

Chapter 4 

 

Fen had been awake for about 20 minutes when his morning alarm went off. He sprang out of bed with an as yet unknown vigour and dressed for his morning run. Driven by the nervous energy he felt in his stomach his feet pounded the pavement at a faster pace than usual and by the time he reached the fields his stamina had drained. He paused at the gate and allowed himself to catch his breath. Feeling his strength returning he crossed into the park and tried to set himself a more maintainable pace.

 

As he ran his mind raced over all the things he needed to do before meeting Dorian. After his phone call the night before he’d tried ringing Sera but she hadn’t answered. He sent her a message saying she was the worst friend ever and paused for a second before adding a winky face. He then panicked some more while he thought about who else he could call and then found Merrill in his contact list.

He’d never called her before, but he was certain she wouldn’t mind. She answered his call almost immediately and cooed excitedly as Fen explained that having called the number he had been left was now in the tricky situation of actually having to meet the young man in person. “Ah, so you are gay! I would never have guessed.” Her lovely accent was coloured by her genuine happiness that Fen had thought of her in his hour of need and within 45 minutes, Fen found himself apologising to her on the threshold of his squat of a shared house for the state she would find inside.

 

“Ah don’t be daft, come on and let me in! We have much to discuss!” She pushed her way past Fen and didn’t even bat an eye-lid at the state of the kitchen. “Och, wait until you see where I live! It’s a proper ghetto I tell you.” Her accent made Fen briefly nostalgic for Cardiff. He’d always found Welsh people to be generally warm and uncomplicated favouring good company and good times. “Do you miss Wales, Merrill?” Fen asked as he boiled the kettle. “Yes, I do; very much. But I couldn’t stay in the town where I’m from.”
“How come?” Fen asked. He didn’t mean to pry, knowing as well as anyone that often people had their own reasons for living a nomadic life, but this was perhaps why he was so curious.
“Well, the thing is” Merrill began nervously, “Well you see, it’s a small town, right? And, well there’s no need for any formal organisation, not really, there’s just a few families that sort of oversee the place you know? Like, they always have. They look out for everyone. They’re sort of in charge, but it’s not official nor nothing. They just see to it that everything is in order, right?” Fen nodded and Merrill continued “Well the families all answer to Marathari. She’s sort of the keeper of everything. When my mam died she took me in, I was her favourite really and a lot of the other children didn’t really like me. I guess I was a bit separate, and Marathari wanted me to take her place as a bit of a matriarch, when she was gone, like. Then one day, I was staring at myself in the mirror and I thought “I can’t do it. I just can’t”. I mean, I can’t just spend my whole entire life in small town in Wales. There is almost literally nothing to do there. I was so angry that I smashed the mirror. I have this scar on my wrist, look!” She rolled up her sleeve and showed Fen the dark scar across her wrist. “Well, I had to go to hospital, and Marathari was very angry with me. We argued and I told her that I just wouldn’t be happy in a small town. So I packed up and came here to London. It’s dirty and smelly and I was very frightened of all the people at first but I like it now.” She smiled her wide eyed smile as Fen handed her a mug of peppermint tea.

“So where are you meeting him then?” Merrill asked Fen as she blew on her tea.
“We’re having brunch tomorrow morning. At Bethany’s.”
“Oh Bethany’s! I know her! Well, more like, I know her brother, Garrett. He’s a nice boy. He’s gay too – but he’s taken or I would try to set you two up.” She winked at Fen.
Fen laughed, “Thanks for the thought, but one date is already too much to handle as it is!”
“Ooooh I wish I’d seen him, but I was too busy in my section. Did you know that Lady Du Paraquette was convinced she had a fish bone stuck in her throat? She demanded to see Monsieur Tolban. It was horrible.” She giggled, and Fen was glad that he’d been so pre-occupied. “So did you see him, I mean, you know who he is. It isn’t like, a blind date?” She eyed Fen over the top of her steaming mug.
“No, I know who he is. We, well, we chatted briefly. He was in a group.”
“Ooooooh!” She squealed, “What is he like?”
“Well,” Fen blushed as he thought of Dorian.
“Oh my goodness, Fen! You’re so cute when you blush!”
“I’m not blushing!” But even as he protested, Fen felt his face burning. He quickly went about clearing away the tea bags and made a half attempt to scrub at kitchen counter around the kettle.
“Come on, leave that” Merrill tugged at his elbow. “You’ve got to show me the entire contents of your wardrobe. I’m going to pick you out something nice to wear. You can tell me all about him while I work my magic.”

“As you can see, I own a lot of black…” Fen winced as Merrill messily tugged his neatly stored clothes from inside his wardrobe and drawers and threw them onto his bed. “Hmmmm” Merrill said, as she thumbed through everything he owned with a critical eye, the tip of her tongue poking ever so slightly through her teeth as she concentrated. “Well, definitely nothing in this pile by here.”
“Oh, you’re organising them into piles are you? I did wonder” Fen laughed. “Can I start putting these things away then?”
“Yes, I suppose so. No, hang on. I might change my mind once I find the key item.”
Fen sighed and stepped back helplessly as Merrill held up random articles of his personal wardrobe. Fen wasn’t a particularly fussy dresser. He tended to wear a lot of black because it went with everything. He also liked greens, brown and dark reds. He had been told once by a one night stand in Cardiff that he had an “autumnal palette” whatever that meant but he had green eyes and a golden complexion.

“Hmmm, maybe it would help if you told me more about him” Merrill sighed.
“I don’t really have anything to tell. He’s about my age, and very good looking.”
“You’re being vague by purpose, Glorf’ndel Lavellan”
“How dare you call me that!” Fen laughed as he tossed his pillow at her, and she cackled with mirth. Fen was pleased how quickly he’d bonded with her. He’d missed this sort of evening since Sera had gone away.
“I think he’s an artist” Fen shrugged.
“What makes you think that?”
“Well, he was discussing matters of art with the rest of his group and the note seems to be torn from a sketch book.”
Merrill laughed “That is some CSI level of deduction Master Lavellen”.
“God, I love that show!” Fen giggled. “OK, I don’t really know anything about him. He’s a bit posh I suppose. But, it is Crystal Grace. I mean, that’s to be expected.”
“OK, that helps actually. I’m going to put you in these port wine chinos.”
“Port wine? They look like red to me” Fen shook his head.
“Typical male answer. They are far too deep to be called red.” She tossed them at Fen. “OK, put them on”
“What now?”
“Yes. I won’t look. Go on! I have to see what it’s like all together. I’m an artist too you know. Art is like magic.”
Fen sighed and admitted defeat. Before Merrill had arrived he’d pulled on a shirt, but he was still wearing his slouchy pyjama bottoms. “Fine” Fen huffed, as he dropped his PJ’s and started climbing into the trousers that Merrill has tossed at him. She giggled. “What?!” he said.
“Nothing” she replied as he rummaged through his best shirts.
“You’re laughing at me!”
“I’m not! I’m trying to decide between the light blue herring bone button down or this white number.” She screwed up her face in feigned concentration. “You’ll have to try them both.”
“Oh my God, Merrill, you’re worse than Jowan!” Fen exclaimed as Merrill giggled again when he removed his t-shirt.
“I can’t help it Fen, you’re gorgeous. You could be a model”.
Fen snorted. “Who’d want to look at my skinny arse in anything”
“I think almost everyone, Fen”. Merrill looked at him with such sincerity that all he could do was raise his eyebrows and shake his head.

He tried the ‘white number’, as Merrill had put it, first. Her face was blank. She was reserving judgement she said. Then he tried the blue. “Yes, that’s it. That’s the one! I just need to find you the right jacket.”
“It’s so preppy, Merrill!” Fen exclaimed
“Yes, exactly what I was looking for.”
“Should I go around telling door supervisors they can’t touch me because my dad is a lawyer?”
“I didn’t know your father was a lawyer? I thought he ran a head shop?”
Fen laughed, he laughed so hard tears started to form in his eyes. Merrill just stood looking concerned.
“What” she asked?
“Never mind” Fen wheezed. I only have one jacket anyway, it goes with my grey suit. I guess that’s job done.”
“Oooh yes, it looks very nice with your hair.”
 

Merrill stayed for another hour and helped Fen replace all the clothes into his wardrobe and drawers. Fen had enjoyed her company and the vacuum left by her departure was quickly filled with dread at the thought of the morning’s adventure. It was this same dread that was now making Fen feel nauseous as he circled the field and headed for home. He felt too sick to eat anything, so he stopped by the news agents on his way back and bought a glucose drink. It was a very lurid shade of yellow inside a glass bottle. It tasted vile, but Fen felt the restorative liquor give him a new wave of energy. He was just glad he hadn’t picked the bright blue one. He drew the line at blue. Once he got home he went to his room and making as little noise as possible did 50 push ups and 50 sit ups. Merrill had been so complimentary last night and he felt that perhaps, with a little coaxing, it might be possible that his body was not so terribly hideous after all. Provided he put in a little extra groundwork.

 

After his shower Fen carefully dried his hair, slicking in a little wax, just as Bodahn had shown him. “Why does it never look as nice when I do it?” Fen grumbled, as he tried to set his hair into his side swoop. He re-ironed his shirt for a second time (having done it once last night after Merrill had gone) and put it on - agonising over just how many buttons to leave undone. One button was a bit “casual politician” and three seemed obscene. So he settled on an open collar and one button. He changed his mind several times and thought about calling Merrill but in the end he made his decision. And then it was time.

Fen checked for the 100^th time that he had everything he needed and then headed out the front door towards the tube station. It was busy, as the commuters headed to work. It was standing room only on the tube. Fen nervously tapped his foot until it was time to change lines. Bustling up the stairs of the station he was careful not to touch the handrails. That is a mistake only tourists make. His heart hammered in his chest as he jogged to make the connection. He needn’t have bothered, he was extremely early, but his agitation made him impatient.

 

By 9:30 he could see Bethany’s and the realisation that he would now have an agonising 30 minute wait suddenly dawned on him. He pulled out his phoned and reflexively called Sera. It rang a few times until she answered sleepily.

“Hullo? Fen? If I’m the worst friend ever how come you’re the one who always phones before 10:00am, dickwad.”
“Shut up a minute. I did it. I’m here.”
“What?”
“I called him. Now we’re meeting”
“UHHH finally”
“It was like yesterday”
“You’re like a dandelion in the wind or something. I don’t know. I’m tired. You suck.”
“How did it go yesterday?”
“Hehehe we stole his trousers.”
“What?”
“That arsehole wasn’t in his office. His assistant said he had a squash lesson. Jenny distracted her while I snuck into his office and I threw his trousers out of the window. He had to wear his gym shorts all afternoon!”
“Wow Sera. Fight the power.”
Someone little always hates someone big. And unless you don't eat, sleep, or ******, you're never far from someone little. If you don't listen down here too, you risk your breeches.”
“You’re a nutter. Anyway, what should I do now? I’m really early.”
“You’re telling me! Uhhh I don’t know. Why don’t you go inside and wait?”
“Good idea”
“UHHH” Sera sounded exasperated. “Fine, whatever just ring me when it’s all over. Love you, bye now, bybye, TTFN!”
 

“Fine, just hang up then” Fen thought as he walked into Bethany’s. He made his way to the counter and ordered a black coffee and a glass of mineral water and sat down at a small table in the window.

 

“And now we play the waiting game.” He thought.