Hello everyone! I've had this idea ticking over for a while and originally it was just going to be a fairly short oneshot, but it kept getting longer. So here is part 1 of 2 (probably)!

Thank you to themuller13 on tumblr for the wonderful cover image.

Enjoy!

Alistair Turner liked his routines.

Some were idiosyncratic, he knew that; having a different pair of socks that he had to wear on each day of the week, or how he never drank more than half a cup of tea. Others were simply the way he lived his life. He would get up at the same time every day, go for a short run, then come back to his lodgings and wash before getting ready for work. Eight hours later he'd come back from work and spend an hour on his own research before dinner, and an hour reading after, before going to bed and doing the whole thing all over again.

Unfortunately for him, wartime did not follow a routine. Work could be interrupted by drills, shifts or staffing were constantly changing; even the food available changed from week to week.

So he clung to the things that he could control. Everything he owned had its own place in his small room, his desk was always perfectly organised, his filing system flawless. At least here, at Bletchley, he wasn't the odd one anymore; he was just one more face in a sea of eccentrics. He didn't have friends, as such, only colleagues, but he didn't mind that. Friends meant new people and new situations which he always shied away from. He was happier that way; one less thing to worry about, one less change to his carefully-kept routine.


Since the outbreak of the war day-to-day life had been altered all over the country but nowhere, Danny Holt supposed, as much as in Bletchley. There were no new factories, and virtually no threat of bombs or attacks, but something about the quiet village had just… shifted. Every room was suddenly let to hundreds of Wrens and countless young men, all well-spoken and intelligent with slightly ill-fitting suits. There was a buzz in the town that hadn't been there before. Everyone knew something was going on at the old house, tucked away just outside the village, something secret and exciting and probably dangerous, but no one spoke of it. Overnight, all of the gossip had ended. It was very unnerving for Danny, who liked to keep track of gossip; in his experience, it was often about him, and he'd rather have at least some idea about what people were saying.

Suddenly customers in the shop were afraid to make small talk, looking nervously at the newcomers who shared stories of Oxford or Cambridge, turned straight to the cryptic crosswords in the newspapers, spoke in accents and languages that he hadn't even known existed. Academics and debutantes were strangers to the people of Bletchley, and could have been from a completely different world. But it somehow worked; they stayed in their world, and the townspeople stayed in theirs. Occasionally there were plans for football at the weekend, and friendships would be struck up with lodgers, but on the whole they didn't mix. It worked well for everyone, and best of all for Danny. He'd come here to get away from the people in charge, not to mingle with them. He had a life here now, or something resembling one, and he didn't want to have to leave that behind. Working at his friend Scottie's shop wasn't much, but it was something – and at least he had a friend, and one who understood him better than most. It wasn't an exciting life, not at all, but it was better than nothing.


Life at Bletchley was a world away from London or Oxford. Part of that, Alex wondered, must surely be the shadow of war, but there was still a different pace of life here in a little town that no one's heard of. There was something strangely compelling about the place, this tiny community that had just accepted countless newcomers from all walks of life, no questions asked.

It hadn't taken him long to decide on his running route in the morning. There was a track at the Park that was used by most of his colleagues, but he preferred to run through the town. There was no race, no competition, and he was able to soak up the atmosphere of a sleepy English town slowly waking up. After the first few days he started to recognise people; the milkman, the postman, the shopkeeper, the tired mother getting up early to cook breakfast. Some of them would wave or smile at him as he ran past, and he'd give a nod in return; two people, passing each day in their routines. The vicar would greet him with a "Good morning, Mr Turner" – he'd made a point of learning the names of everyone who had arrived since the war broke out, regardless of faith or background, and Alex knew that it was appreciated.

He never spoke to any of the people he saw on his morning runs, and that was fine; they each had their own things to get on with, their own jobs to do, but it was oddly calming to know that their routines coincided each day. He never stopped for anyone, and they never stopped for him; it was a good arrangement.

One morning, almost a month (twenty-seven days, Alex's brain supplied) after he'd started at Bletchley, the weather was dull and drizzly, as if it couldn't quite summon the effort to rain properly. It didn't bother Alex; he would go out until there was ice on the ground. The weather didn't affect anyone else's routines, either; the postman still tipped his hat, the young mother still encouraged her youngest to give a little wave as he ran past, the vicar still called "Good morning, Mr Turner!".

He started slightly as he approached the corner shop; rather than the older man who usually smiled wryly while opening up, there was a young man carrying in the day's stock. The man had unkempt dark hair, and Alex saw as the man turned that he had a boyish smile underneath blue eyes. For a second, Alex was transfixed; there was something in the man's eyes that he couldn't tear himself away from – a whimsical spark that failed to hide the lingering sadness. There was a deep-set loneliness in this man, and for a brief moment Alex felt a connection, as if they understood each other on an unseen level.

Alex wanted more than anything to stop, to greet the man, to know him, but he didn't even know how to start such a conversation, or if it would even be welcome. Just as he resigned himself to simply having another face to smile and wave at him the man stumbled, the boxes in his hands crashing to the ground.

Being a completely rational man, Alex didn't believe in fate, didn't believe in things happening for a reason. Coincidences, though? They happened all the time, every single day. A coincidence was what you made of it, he knew that, and even the best planning couldn't account for the statistical improbability of everyday life.

Before he'd even thought about it, he stopped running, and realised that he was standing by the young man, picking up the boxes that he'd dropped.

"May I help?"

The man looked up, his eyes wide as if he hadn't been expecting the offer.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," the man answered quickly, picking up the last of the boxes. "But thank you."

Alex didn't say anything.

"Really, I'm fine; it's just an old injury, that's all." Alex realised that the man had taken his silence for disbelief. "Sometimes plays up, but I'm fine."

There was a strange tension between them, something that Alex couldn't put his finger on, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the other man's.

"Are you sure?" he asked. He didn't want to leave, not yet.

The other man smiled, and Alex thought he'd never seen anything so wonderful in his life. "Yes, really! I'm – I'm Danny, by the way." He shifted the boxes onto one arm, holding out his hand.

After a second, looking at the outstretched hand almost warily, Alex shook it. "Alex." He wasn't sure what it was about this man but Alex didn't want Danny to know Alistair Turner, mathematician and intellect; he wanted him to know Alex.

Too late, he realised that he'd been holding on to Danny's hand for far too long, that he had stood staring for longer than he should have, and he quickly took his hand back. Panicking, he tore his eyes away from Danny's and picked up the run once more, not looking back.

Danny called after him, "Wait, I -" but he ran round the corner before Danny could finish, hating himself for it.

Alex couldn't think of anything but Danny all day. He sat at his desk, staring at the strings of numbers and letters that usually made more sense to him than anything else, but today were just meaningless symbols. He couldn't help but wonder about Danny; who he was, who he had been. His accent had been unmistakeably London, unusual here even though they weren't very far from the city. After all, young people tended to move from the country to the city to seek their fortune, not the other way round. There was a story there and he wanted more than anything to know it, but it was more than that. Somehow, in those few moments, Danny had seen him, really seen him and not just his intellect or his reserve. Many of the people he worked with might have said that that was a bad thing, that he shouldn't waste his time on someone who didn't understand quite how incredible his mind really was, and perhaps a few days ago, even a few hours ago, he might have said the same thing, but not anymore. After all, wasn't it better to be understood than to be awed?

Briefly he considered changing his running route the following morning; maybe if he just didn't see Danny again, he would be able to put him from his mind, forget it ever happened. He quickly dismissed that idea, though; apart from anything else, this town was too small to ever really guarantee not seeing someone more than once. If the way he tossed and turned in bed that night, thinking only of Danny's face when he shut his eyes, was anything to go by, then putting it out of his mind was going to be much easier said than done. No, he had to see Danny again; if only to put his mind at rest.

He half hoped, as he ran by the shop again the following morning, that it would be the shopkeeper – Scottie, he remembered – collecting the stock and opening up so that he could run past, assuring himself that it was not his fault that he hadn't been able to catch Danny. Even so, he breathed a sigh of relief as he turned the corner to find Danny standing there, boxes of stock in hand, his eyes searching before settling on Alex.

He had been waiting.

"Hello," Danny said, shifting from one leg to the other nervously; Alex noticed that he seemed to favour the left, remembering Danny's comment the previous day about an old injury. Danny opened his mouth to speak again but paused; he clearly hadn't planned what he was going to say past 'Hello'.

"Good morning," Alex replied, coming to a stop in front of Danny. "Are you… how are you doing, today? With the, er, with those boxes?"

"Yes, thank you." They stood, watching each other. Danny's eyes searched Alex's face, as if looking for some sort of cue. His face fell; he hadn't found what he was looking for. "I'm sorry," he said eventually. "I… I got this wrong. It was nice to meet you, Alex."

He turned to go into the shop, and Alex's hand shot out to stop him. "Wait," he said, a strange panic filling his chest. He couldn't let Danny walk away now, not without at least a conversation. "I – it's my day off," he stammered. "Would you like a hand? Not because you need the help, I just…"

He trailed off, and Danny gave him a strange look, clearly assessing him. "Alright," he said eventually, and he smiled again. "Come on in; we don't open today, but I need to do the inventory."

Alex slipped into the shop behind Danny, jumping as the bell rang above the door. He'd only been in here once before; anything he'd needed had been bought for him by his landlady. It was odd seeing it shut like this, the newspapers not out and the cupboards locked shut.

Danny set the boxes down on the counter. "Scottie is usually in charge here," he explained, more for something to say than anything else. "He's my friend. I just help where I can, but he's visiting his sister at the moment so… yeah." He lit a cigarette, his right hand trembling slightly. "Want one?"

"I don't smoke."

"Oh."

They stood in silence for a few more moments, neither of them sure what to say. Danny gazed intensely at Alex as he smoked, a strange intensity in his eyes.

"So," he started, "You work up at the big house?"

Alex wasn't sure what to say that, so he simply nodded.

"I bet that's all you're allowed to say, right?"

Twitching slightly, Alex looked at Danny with trepidation. "I -"

"I bet I've said too much already," Danny said, giving a genuine smile. "War time and all that. I guess the only thing that's not a secret is how secretive you all are?"

He turned to the boxes that he'd stacked on the counter, excusing Alex from answering. It was clear that that portion of their conversation was over, and honestly Alex couldn't really complain. Even if he'd been able to, he wouldn't have wanted to tell Danny what really happened up at the Park, or even that he worked in a little tin hut in the grounds of the grand and eccentric house. It was selfish, he knew, but he wanted to keep Danny all to himself; something that was only his, and not part of some big secretive organisation. Perhaps more than that, he wanted to protect Danny from his world. It was clear that Danny had a lot of secrets, and a very complicated and probably unpleasant past, but he had an innocence that Alex didn't see very often. Maybe it was the strange optimism, or maybe it was his more sheltered life: he didn't spend every working hour reading battle commands and death tolls that arrived on his desk. He had no idea of the horrors that were happening on the continent, and if Alex could have his way? He never would.

Slowly, Alex approached the counter, where Danny was starting to unpack the day's newspapers. He stood almost uncomfortably close to him, taking the top box from the pile. "Shall I unpack these?"

Danny smiled again. "If you want – just ask if you're not sure where anything goes."

They worked in relative silence; it seemed that Danny, like Alex, wasn't one to begin mundane conversations about things like the weather. Occasionally Alex would ask where something went, or Danny would tell an anecdote about working in the shop. There was an understanding between them, a companionship. Something about Danny, the cheerful way that he went about his work and the hidden depths in his eyes intrigued Alex. He was drawn to it with some strange magnetism, he wanted to stay in Danny's presence for as long as he could. Somehow he felt like Danny, for all his wide-eyed innocence, saw right through him, saw through the façade that he presented to the world. And Danny, for his part, wore his heart on his sleeve; a few minutes of conversation was enough to tell Alex that.

He stayed with Danny until the shop opened, leaving reluctantly as the first few customers trickled in. Turning back in the doorway, he watched Danny for a few moments as he worked, taking care to memorise every feature of Danny's face. He didn't think he could live with himself if he forgot a single detail.

And so Alex had a new routine; he would go for a run every morning, pausing outside the shop to see Danny, before finishing his run, going home to change and going to work. He didn't know how it had happened but his work had suddenly become the second-best part of his day; the inevitable satisfaction at the end of pages of calculations paled in comparison to seeing Danny's face light up in a smile as he turned the corner.

It was becoming harder and harder to focus on his work, and despite usually keeping to himself, people were starting to notice. His supervisor made the occasional comment that he was spending longer than usual on his work, and the others in his hut had given up all hope on starting a conversation with him in their breaks. Any half-baked ideas that he presented were met with rolled eyes, but he couldn't really bring himself to care. Numbers were reliable. They would still be there later, always waiting to be solved, but Danny? Danny was a new puzzle, one that Alex knew that he had a limited time to solve.

"Mr Turner? Mr Turner?"

Alex jerked up from where he was staring at his paper, his mind playing images of Danny's face, his slim form, the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. It was a Saturday – he'd been planning what he was going to say to Danny tomorrow morning, on his day off.

"Mr Turner?"

He looked up. A young Wren was standing there expectantly, uniform as pristine as always, a bundle of memos in her hands.

"These are for you," she said, placing the memos on his desk.

"Thank you." The words felt awkward in his mouth. He recognised her as one of the girls assigned to bringing messages to this hut, realising with a jolt that he didn't know her name weeks after meeting. "Thank you, Miss…"

"Molly Wright," she supplied, and he knew by her face that this wasn't the first time he'd asked this.

For a second, Danny's face, friendly and smiling, filled his thoughts; the way that Danny made an effort with everyone, knew the names of everyone who came into the shop. "Thank you, Miss Wright. You can… you can call me Alistair, if you wish."

She nodded courteously. "And you can call me Molly." There was a beat of silence; it was clear that she wanted to ask him something. "Who… who's the lady, then?"

"What?" Confusion was written across his face; what was she talking about?

Smiling knowingly, she elaborated. "I know that look, Mr Turner… Alistair. I have three brothers, and they're much more obvious than they like to think! You were thinking about a young lady, weren't you?"

"No, I wasn't," Alex intoned, frozen. "Thank you for the memos, Miss Wright."

She walked away, still giving him a look filled with significance. Alex felt the blood flush to his face.

He'd known since he was in school that he wasn't interested in women in the same way that his peers were, and that he thought about men in a way that he shouldn't, but he'd pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind years ago. Of course he'd come across men like him at university, but they seemed to occupy a world apart from his own - a world filled with sex and drinking and excitement. But Danny wasn't like that.

Or at least, the Danny he knew wasn't like that.

For the rest of the day, he couldn't keep his mind off what the Wren (Molly, he thought) had said. He was never one to lie to himself; it didn't cause him much grief, realising that his interest in Danny went beyond friendship. It was the what-to-do-next that was causing him trouble.

Lunchtime came and he sat in his usual spot in the cafeteria, away from anyone else. Typically he would spend this time working on a puzzle or reading, but this time he watched the people around him. It was as if his eyes had been opened to a whole other world; the world of sex. Wherever he looked, there were people flirting, people kissing and holding hands, people in love. Groups of girls sat and giggled as they admired the young men on the next table over, or couples sat close together, whispering into each other's ears. He spotted two girls exchanging shy looks, their feet brushing against each other under the table, their friends oblivious – or maybe just pretending to be. His eyes drifted to where a group of young men were sitting in one corner, laughing and talking; one of them, he thought his name was Alan, was very open about his persuasion; more open, Alex thought, than anyone with a shred of self-preservation should be. And yet he was accepted, as part of the group as anyone could be when you were a group of academics from across the country thrown together by war.

Running through every interaction he and Danny had had in his mind, Alex desperately searched for some clue, some hint that Danny was like him, but he didn't trust his own judgement enough to rely on it. He wasn't good at reading people, he knew that, so every time he thought of the tiniest piece of evidence he discarded it, knowing that it could just as easily have been made up in his head. There was nothing for it – he would have to ask Danny.

If he'd thought himself distracted before, it was nothing compared to that afternoon. His thoughts were still filled with Danny but something had changed, something had shifted. He couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to touch Danny; to hold his hand, to kiss him. He thought of what it would be to be loved by Danny Holt.

If anything, the thought was too marvellous.

By the following morning, he'd made a plan; he would go on his run, as usual, and talk to Danny, as usual. Only this time, he would find out for sure what was between them. He hoped more than anything that he was right, that Danny would feel the same way about him despite the odds. He would have to be subtle. The last thing he wanted was to scare Danny off or get in some kind of trouble; after all, a friendship with Danny was better than nothing.

He purposely left earlier than usual to allow more time, arriving at the shop before Danny was outside. Knocking tentatively on the door, he stood stock still, hoping that he was appearing calm.

"Hello!" Danny smiled as he opened the door. "You're earlier than usual today." The tone was one of pleasant surprise.

"Yes." Alex's voice was as clipped and as placed as usual. It hadn't occurred to him until now that Danny might want some sort of explanation. "May I come in?"

"Of course you can!" Stepping aside, Danny let him into the shop before resting a hand on Alex's arm. "Just give me two minutes, I need to shave quickly. I'll be down soon, though?"

Alex only nodded, frozen under Danny's touch. Not for the first time, he was grateful that Danny never expected anything more from him.

As he stood there in the shop while Danny was upstairs, he started to run scenarios through his head, beginning to panic. What if he asked a question and Danny just didn't understand? Or worse – what if, when Danny realised that he, Alex, was homosexual, he turned on him? Didn't want to be his friend anymore, rejected him, refused to speak to him? Reported him?

No. He couldn't let that happen. His strange, budding new friendship with Danny had quickly become the most important thing in his life, the part of his day that he looked forwards to the most, and he couldn't jeopardise that. The risks far outweighed the chance of anything positive coming out of this conversation; he wouldn't say anything.

(If only, he thought, there was a way to tell exactly what people were thinking, when they were lying, when they were telling the truth. He briefly wondered if maybe mathematics could help – it usually could.)

He flinched slightly as Danny came back downstairs into the shop, taking in Alex's face of alarm.

"You alright?" he asked, clearly concerned.

Alex nodded once more. "Yes." He hated how even the simplest of words sounded forced and stilted when he said them.

Shifting nervously from foot to foot, Danny spoke again, not meeting Alex's eyes. "So, I was wondering, and I know, I know that this is – is a personal question, but…" His eyes snapped to meet Alex's, and Alex forgot how to breathe. "I just wondered if you, if you had a girlfriend?"

Oh.

"No," Alex said, surprising himself with his confidence. "No, I…" He took a deep breath, hoping beyond hope that he wasn't coming to the wrong conclusion. "Women aren't really my… area."

He couldn't tear himself away from Danny's gaze as something significant shifted between them.

A smile broke out on Danny's face. "Mine neither," he breathed, almost laughing. Alex jumped as he felt something against his hand. His eyes darted downwards; Danny's fingers were brushing against his own. He froze at the sight of their hands together, somehow better than he'd ever imagined it could be, twitching his fingers just enough to invite Danny to take his hand.

Neither of them could have said how long they stood there, looking down at their intertwined fingers as if it were something out of a dream. Alex's breath was caught in his chest. There was something wonderfully surreal about it.

After what felt like hours but was really only seconds, Danny broke the silence.

"Would you…" He was whispering as if afraid that they would be overheard, as if speaking too loud might break the spell. "Would you like to come round tonight? Spend the – spend the night? And neither of us are working tomorrow, so we could maybe – maybe spend the day together?"

Alex wasn't naïve enough that he didn't know what Danny was asking. The thought of doing… that, of being physically intimate with someone, wasn't one that he'd often entertained; if anything, he'd shied away from it. But Danny…

Danny was different.

"I would like that."


The rest of the day passed in a blur. For the first few hours of the day Alex's colleagues were constantly checking on him, asking him if he was alright, but there were only so many times that he could brush them off unconvincingly before they gave up.

He couldn't stop thinking about Danny, about what they would be doing that night. He knew the mechanics of it, of course, but for the first time in his life knowledge wasn't really a comfort. After all, who would do what? What would it feel like? If Danny had done this before – and Alex suspected that he had – would he expect Alex to know what he was doing? Would it… would it feel good? For both of them? What if he wasn't good enough? What then?

Trying desperately to distract himself with the encoded messages in front of him, he couldn't rid himself of the thoughts and images that were whirling around his mind. If he were to give, would Danny expect him to know what to do? What if he somehow did it wrong, what if he made a mistake, what then? But what if he were to receive? Would it hurt? Would it still feel… nice?

But in between the questions that were bouncing around in his head, he couldn't help but think about what it would be like; what it would really be like. To be that close to Danny, wrapped in his arms, pressed against his body. To feel that connection, that pleasure; to bring Danny that pleasure. He hadn't realised how much he wanted it until now, until the reality of it was right in front of him.

As soon as he was able to he packed up and went home, ignoring the weekly invitation to join his colleagues in the pub. He all but ran back to his lodgings, barely greeting his landlady as he rushed upstairs, hunting for his nicest shirt and tie. Quickly changing, he combed his hair, washed the ink stains off his hands, and looked in the mirror.

He felt nervous, filled with an unfamiliar anticipation. All of his doubts and fears that had been whirling around his head came flooding back in full force, drowning out all of his other thoughts. Half of him couldn't help but feel that this was too soon; after all, they'd only really known each other for a matter of days. Wasn't it all moving a little fast? But the other, much louder side of his brain was reminding him that this was what he wanted; that he wanted this more than he'd wanted anything in a long, long time.

Taking a deep breath, trying desperately to cover up his anxiety, he went to Danny's.


"Hello, Alex."

Silence.

"Would you… like to come up?"

He didn't trust himself to say anything, didn't think his voice would work if he tried. Instead he gave a fraction of a nod, barely breathing.

Danny's room was dark and small, and felt even smaller for their proximity to each other. He could feel Danny's breath, heavy with anticipation, could smell that scent that was uniquely him. This was it, this was the moment.

As if it were the most natural thing in the world, Danny took his hand. Alex felt his heart leap in his chest, unable to look away from their joined hands. It was both thrilling and, he thought, perhaps slightly depressing that this was the closest he'd ever been to another person – what would Danny think if he knew?! If he knew just quite how many firsts for Alex he would be crossing off in one evening? If he did know… would he stay?

He jumped, caught off-guard, when he felt Danny's hand on his cheek. Whipping his head back up, his eyes met Danny's, full of care and affection, and he wanted in that moment to give Danny everything he had but he didn't even know how to start and –

Danny was kissing him.

For a few seconds he stood there, frozen, terrified but not wanting the feeling of Danny's lips on his to stop but not knowing what to do, just standing there as Danny's lips slowly moved against his.

Clearly picking up on his apprehension, Danny pulled away. Despite himself, Alex followed him, his head moving forwards ever so slightly, not ready to let Danny go just yet.

"Is this okay?" Danny asked quietly, clearly concerned. Nodding, his throat still feeling too tight to speak, Alex stiffly brought his other hand up to touch Danny's cheek, attempting to imitate Danny's own actions. Moving forwards, millimetre by millimetre, his lips met Danny's once more. This time was somehow different, now that an understanding had been reached between them, giving in to their mutual attraction. Alex shifted as Danny's hand moved to cup the back of his head, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. He felt overwhelmed, his senses overloaded; Danny's touch, his scent, his taste. It was as if he was drowning, and holding onto Danny was the only thing keeping him afloat, keeping him present, keeping him safe. Their kiss was quickly becoming stronger, more passionate, Danny's hands deftly untucking his shirt, loosening his tie, undoing the buttons, running down his chest. As his shirt hit the floor he started attempting to unbutton Danny's own shirt, desperate to be closer, to see and feel more of Danny, but his hands were shaking; with nerves or arousal, he wasn't sure. Danny's hands fumbled with his, throwing his shirt to the ground before wrapping his arms tight around Alex's waist, pulling him ever closer so they were pressed chest to chest as they kissed. Alex felt as if his skin was on fire, Danny's touch scorching him, leaving a blazing trail.

"You're so," Danny panted in between fierce kisses, "So beautiful, God, you're so beautiful."

It caught him by surprise, bringing reality a little bit closer; no one had ever called him beautiful before. Danny must have felt him tense up slightly because he ran his hands down Alex's back, teasing at the edge of the waist of his trousers, tucking his fingers just below the fabric. Hyperaware of every movement Danny was making, Alex tilted his head up as Danny started kissing along his jawline, down his neck, pausing to suck and nip at the point where his neck met his shoulder. He hadn't expected it to feel so… much; they weren't even undressed yet and already it was so much more than he could ever have thought. He could stay here for hours, exactly like this, far closer to Danny than he had even imagined with anyone else.

The air around them felt hot and charged. As Danny's hands started slowly moving further down the back of Alex's trousers, it suddenly dawned on Alex that this was just the beginning. They wouldn't be spending all night standing there, kissing; there was more to do, more that Danny would want to do. He wasn't sure about this. Surely it had already been made painfully obvious that he had no idea what he was doing, and Danny seemed okay with that, but what if it went wrong later? What if one of them got hurt? They weren't supposed to do this, not at all, and he was risking everything just being here, and Danny was so, so close and he didn't think he could bear it if they were any closer because Danny was everywhere, in every corner of his head and there was no logic or reason and it was getting worse and worse and more and more and it was too much it had to stop when –

He felt something unfamiliar, something hot and heavy, and Danny's hand was there.

Leaping back, pushing Danny away, he collided with the bedroom wall behind him, his head hitting it with a sickening crack. Eyes wide, panting heavily, he slid down the wall slowly, until he was curled up, clutching his knees to his chest. He tucked his head in, ashamed; he couldn't bear to see Danny's anger.

"Alex?"

He shook his head.

"Alex, are, are you okay?"

He couldn't move.

"I'm sorry, I pushed you too far, I just want to know that you're okay."

Nothing.

"Alex?"

He could hear Danny slowly walking towards him, as if not wanting to frighten him.

"Please, talk to me – that's all, just talking. I promise."

Slowly, afraid for what he would see, Alex looked up. Instead of the anger and disappointment he was expecting, however, he was met with Danny's wide, concerned eyes, kneeling down at Alex's level, desperate to understand and to comfort. He swallowed, his throat dry.

"It was just – too much. I'm – I'm sorry."

"That's alright."

He was surprised to see that Danny was being genuine.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Danny only smiled, and somehow Alex knew it would be alright. He tentatively reached out a hand, which Danny took, stroking the back of Alex's knuckles with his thumb.

"How about I heat up some water? You could have a bath?" Danny said softly.

Nodding, Alex felt the tiniest smile grace his face, despite the way he was still shaking. "I would like that."


It struck Alex as odd, how comfortable he was with being naked around Danny. He'd never really been bothered by nudity – a side effect of boarding school – but he'd assumed that things would somehow be different with Danny. If anything, it was easier. There was nothing sexual about it, but there was an intimacy about it that Alex had never experienced before. Yes, he felt vulnerable, but he also felt incredibly safe.

If this is what physical intimacy is based on, he thought, it might be alright after all.

"Had you guessed?" He asked. Something about the situation, Danny's presence, had persuaded him to be more open. That, and the knowledge that if he wanted this… thing with Danny to go anywhere (and he really, really did), he would have to open up sooner rather than later. "That I'd… never been with anyone before? Never… nothing?"

"I'd guessed that you hadn't been with anyone before," Danny said, completely without judgement, from where he sat holding Alex's hand. "I thought that maybe you'd fooled around a bit, or dated women. Kissed."

He sounded more incredulous than anything else.

Alex turned his head slightly, the closest he ever got to a shrug. "The… opportunity never presented itself. I never knew the right person. At the right time. It hadn't really occurred to me that… that might be an option." He paused, taking a deep breath. Danny was just letting him speak; something, he realised, that people didn't usually do. "So I just decided to carry on. By myself."

He turned, resting his head on his arm, looking straight at Danny. "Do you think that men like us… can fall in love?"

"Of course!"

Alex hadn't expected Danny's answer to be so quick or so certain. "Did you always know that one day you would fall in love."

Danny looked as if he had never been more certain of anything in his life. "Yes."

As Alex looked at Danny, at those wide and trusting eyes that hid a lifetime of secrets, he realised that more than anything he wanted to be with him, in every way. He'd never met anyone like Danny before, and he was sure that the likelihood of meeting someone like him again was minimal. He trusted Danny in a way that he'd never trusted anyone before. Until now he'd only trusted his own intellect, his own reasoning, but Danny was different. At this moment, he was at a crossroads; he had to choose what was more important. Choosing Danny could potentially mean losing everything; his job, his position, his freedom. But what were those things compared to Danny? Would it be worth keeping those if he couldn't have Danny in his life.

His mind was made up.

"I want to try again."

I hope you enjoyed! Please leave a comment with your feedback :)

Thank you for reading!

Find me on tumblr: singing-fangirl