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I looked at it, appalled, as he closed the door to his room.

"So … what do you think, then?" He grinned at me, and instinctively, shocked though I was, I had to grin back. There was no option, other than to break his heart, and I didn't want to do that.

"It's … erm … very nice." I felt my grin slide away, and, with difficulty, managed to keep a smile in its place. He must have heard something in my tone, because he raised an eyebrow.

"Honestly, Jame?" I sighed, and watched as his bottom lip started to wobble. "You don't like it, do you?"

"Well …." I looked at it again, then back at him, and came to the conclusion that if I was going to be serious, and trust my feelings, I'd have to be truthful. I took a deep breath, and rubbed my eyes before exhaling, slowly. "What did you expect, Marki … what did you honestly expect?"

The tableau shattered as he sat down on the bed, the counterpane creasing under his backside, and patted the spot next to him. I glanced at the door to check it was still closed before sitting down, my mind at odds with the rest of my body. Our legs touched, and even through cloth the feeling sent a shiver rushing up and down my spine, his spirit swamping me, as I'd known it would.

"Christ, Marki, we shouldn't do this," I whimpered, relishing the things his hands were now doing to my groin. In the far, far distance I heard my zip sliding down, and then I was free, and visible to anyone who happened to walk into his room. I didn't care; his svelte fingers were working their magic so well that if his father and mother, and brothers and sisters, had all come crashing through the door, I'd have happily ignored them. I felt the sensations building to the point of no return: I shuddered, then exploded … the warm afterglow dying faster than light, as the guilt came crashing inward. He wrapped his arms around my neck and I breathed in pure Marki, his scent helping to defer my thoughts.

"What if we'd been caught?" I muttered. He pouted in reply, pushed me away, and got up to fetch me a tissue.

"Sheesh, Jame, why do we have to go through this everytime?" he said, his tone light. "Everyone knows I'm gay, and it's only you that's worried…." He handed me the box, and I plucked a handful of 'man size' out and started cleaning up - the sticky little beasties already cooling off in an unpleasant mess. I hated the way I'd find dried bits of tissue stuck to my pubes, hours later. All I wanted was a hot shower, and to try and pretend to forget. "Until the next time."

"Huh?" I said, looking up at him. His face was in deep shadow, his upper body backlit by the sun streaming through the window behind him, making him appear to glow.

"I said, dear-heart, until the next time. See, Jame, I know what you're thinking."

"Oh?" I gulped, suddenly nervous, and looked down at the dark, sticky tangle of hair still visible through my fly, "and what am I thinking?" I glanced back at him as he dramatically stuck a finger in the air.

"Firstly, you love it," a second finger went up, "then you come, and for a brief second or two …," I heard the hitch in his voice, "you … well, I see the love in your eyes, and then," he rushed on, trying to hide the fact he was as upset as I was beginning to feel, "well, then you get the guilts, and you hate yourself, not to mention me!"

He slumped down in a heap on his desk chair, and started to cry, his shoulders heaving. "Which is why I said 'until the next time' - because, Jame, and please don't interrupt - there will be a next time."

"Marki, I …."

"No! Don't you dare!" He grabbed a tissue from the box and blew his nose, all the while glowering at me from under his long black lashes. "If you say 'never again', or, 'thank you, Marki, but it was a mistake, I'm straight', one more time … I'll kill you, so don't you …."

"Marki, I …."

"Don't damn well interrupt, Jame. It takes two, you know? And I'm …."

"Shut the fuck up!" I shouted, adding "please," as an afterthought, in a milder tone, when I saw how shocked he was at the outburst. We held our breath, waiting for the inevitable, and a couple of seconds later his mother's voice came floating up the stairs.

"Everything ok, Marki?"

He giggled, still nervous and partially in shock at my shouting. "Yes, mum!" he hollered, staring at me, waiting as I took another deep breath.

"I was trying to say that I could never hate you, Marki," I expostulated, "see, it's taken time, but I'm pretty sure I …." I paused, the words still hard to utter, even though I'd practised them often enough. "I … I love you." I smiled as an expression of bewildered, hopeful amazement blossomed on his face. "But I am not, positively not going to a Valentine's party, dressed in that awful ball gown."

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