Author's Notes: I'm sorry. I'm struggling. Inspiration seems to be missing at the moment so I'm scraping the story together as best I can. Now the new season is coming, maybe I'll be inspired again.

(Update April 2020: Added sequence at end. See end notes for further details.)


Chapter 16

Otis took a deep breath as Maeve snuggled closer against him on the couch, her shoulder pressing against his. He noted her glance down at the blanket crumpled across his lap before raising her gaze to his eyes and he was sure his erection became even harder. He wasn't exactly certain how that was possible since this had been the hardest he had ever felt but he was sure it had happened.

"I've had it since I woke up," he said quietly, returning her gaze.

"Is that why you didn't want to sleep in the bed with me?" she asked gently.

He nodded slightly. "It was a possibility. I don't always get one. I was thinking I probably wouldn't after last night but I didn't want to risk it. I didn't know how I'd handle it if I did."

"You didn't panic about it?" Maeve asked quietly.

Otis shook his head. "No." He glanced down at his lap. "I woke up and I was thinking about all the good things about last night and I realised it was there and…" His voice trailed off. This had been so much easier inside his head while he had been lying down before Maeve woke up.

"You started playing with it," Maeve said with a gentle smile, "thinking about how you should have gone with Ola."

"I was thinking about you," Otis said earnestly before seeing her smirk.

"Should bloody well hope so," she said.

"It's starting to feel natural."

"It is natural."

"It felt so good."

"I'm glad."

"But I wanted to feel your hand."

Otis could hear how much desire had been in his voice and as Maeve gently smiled at him, letting him see that desire mirrored in her eyes, he wished he felt strong enough to lean over and kiss her and gently guide her to lie down on the couch as he moved to be on top of and then inside her.

But he wasn't strong enough.

"I know I'm not ready for sex," he said, looking away and down at his lap. "I mean, actual intercourse. But… I was lying there… masturbating… thinking about seeing a therapist and I realised that it will probably take a while before… before I'm healed and I was thinking about what we could do in the meantime. I don't want to step right back…"

His voice faded away as a soft look of frustration crossed his face.

"It's okay, Otis," Maeve said quietly, gently touching his arm. "You don't have to justify being horny."

Otis nodded. "I'll keep getting them. I'll wake up with them. We'll be kissing and I'll be thinking about how wonderful it feels and I'll get one. We'll be engaged in… other things and I'll get one."

He realised how that sounded and looked quickly at her.

"That's if you're willing to engage—"

"I'm willing," Maeve said soothingly.

"I don't want to force you into anything," Otis continued. "Emotional blackmail. Make you feel obliged-"

"Don't fucking start that again, squirrel," Maeve said softly. "I'm not going to do anything I don't want to do. You know that."

Otis nodded and sighed, "I know."

"I want to touch it," she said after a moment. "After last night, I thought maybe you would want to step back for a bit. I thought I might want to step back for a bit. Not risk it. But I dreamt about you – about us – and I woke up horny, too."

Otis wondered what she had been dreaming about them.

"I'm not pushing you, Otis. I never want either of us to experience again what happened last night. But maybe we should try. Get back on the horse that threw us. If it gets too much then you can go and… alphabetize your music collection."

Otis scrunched his face. "I don't think that's going to work as a euphemism if I really actually do it."

"Flog your bishop. Stroke your salami. Stir the batter."

"Empty the cache?"

"Whatever."

Not for the first time, Otis felt amazed at how lucky he was to have Maeve fall in love with him as he did with her. Amazed at how kind and patient she could be. Amazed at how much she understood about him outside the damage lingering from his childhood experiences and amazed at how quickly she was incorporating her newer knowledge into her insights.

They would have to do this sometime if their relationship was going to progress and he was going to heal and the sheer fucking horniness he felt seemed to make this the perfect time to try.

He knew his coping techniques had been (mostly) working the night before and if Maeve had not surprised him he was sure he would have been able to make her come again and then they could have slowly tried exactly what they were both wanting to try now.

He still had his coping techniques available, they both knew the consequences of pushing too far too quickly, they were both horny and he had to deal with it one way or the other. Why not this way?

He wondered if he was being selfish, focussing solely on himself.

"Do you want me to touch you first?" he asked.

He could see she was tempted to say yes - and he understood in that moment exactly how horny she was – but instead she murmured, "Not now. We'll get around to mutual."

Otis nodded and studied her face for a moment then took a deep breath and reached down to remove the blanket from his lap, keeping his eye on Maeve as she saw him for the first time, poking through the opening in his boxers.

He watched her run her eyes the length of him, taking a few moments to stare before looking back into his eyes, gentle smile on her lips.

"Told you it was a decent-sized cock," she said, biting her lip seductively and ostentatiously glancing down again then back at his eyes. "More than decent. More than fit for purpose."

Otis realised he must have had a goofy smile on his lips as Maeve rolled her eyes.

"God, you guys," she said, shaking her head in gentle amusement. "Flatter your cock and you're all FIGJAM."

"Figjam?" Otis asked.

"Fuck I'm Good, Just Ask Me."

Otis smiled then asked, in a voice raw with a combination of dread and anticipation, "Would you touch it?"

Maeve nodded and quietly said, "I'll be gentle. Just my fingers, okay?"

Otis nodded and began taking slow deep breaths, preparing himself for the feel of her touch as a memory of the feelings he had when Lily touched his penis flashed through his mind. He understood this was different, that he really hadn't wanted Lily touching his penis and he really did want Maeve touching it, but he knew he could not relax for the moment. Relaxing would come. Next time. Or the time after.

"And if your cock explodes," Maeve continued, "don't worry about it. We're not trying for a marathon here."

The way her voice was affecting him, Otis wondered if he could explode without either one of them touching any part of him.

He watched as she gently brought her hand down and softly touched his delicate skin. He gave a soft gasp and stared at her fingers on his penis.

"You okay?" she asked.

Otis nodded. "Yeah," he said.

"Sure?"

"Feels good."

He wasn't lying. She wasn't doing anything, just resting her fingers at his base, one gently touching his scrotum, but he hadn't panicked. Hadn't had a flash of an unpleasant memory. Was simply aware of another's person's hand upon him and understanding there was nothing wrong with that since they both wanted it.

"I'll just stroke it a little, okay?" Maeve murmured.

"Okay," Otis said and drew in a breath as Maeve slowly whispered her fingers along him, making him feel as if he really was going to explode. He felt himself gently clenching his butt cheeks as if wanting to push himself harder against her touch.

"How's that?" Maeve asked quietly.

"Good," he said hoarsely, anticipating how it would feel when her fingers reached his glans.

She stopped before she reached the tip then slowly whispered her fingers back down his length and he wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed that the moment had been delayed.

"You still feeling okay? None of those feelings you were telling me about happening?" Maeve asked.

"I don't think so," Otis murmured as her fingers gently moved across his balls then slowly began traversing his length again.

"Good," Maeve said as she continued softly, slowly stroking him.

It was technically true. A lawyer's answer, as Eric would say. Otis had a flash of his father in his office standing between the legs of a woman Otis hadn't recognised and had a flicker of Lily standing in her bra and pants before him with her hand on his penis but there were no feelings behind either memory.

The feeling of Maeve's fingers gently stroking his sensitive skin overrode everything.

"Now I'm just going run my fingers all around your shaft, okay?" she continued, then Otis saw her suddenly frown and look at him with concern. "Do you want me to keep doing this?"

"Yes," Otis breathed, hoping Maeve wasn't going to stop, afraid she would.

"No. I mean, telling you what I'm going to do?"

Otis gazed into her eyes. "Keep doing it. I like it. It's helping."

"Okay," Maeve nodded, gently smiling, and looked down again. Otis felt her fingers gently stroke the sides of his shaft, tenderly moving underneath, the back of them whispering across his stomach, making him feel as if any second he would explode and this gloriousness would be over.

He didn't want it to be over.

He gave a soft moan and hitched a breath then returned to focussed breathing as Maeve's fingers continued their gentle caress.

"You like?" she asked softly.

"Yes," he whispered.

"Good," continued Maeve gently. "Now I'm going to wrap my hand around you and squeeze you and stroke you, okay?"

Otis nodded and lay his head back against the lounge, eyes closed.

"God, Maeve," he said as she wrapped her hand around him, his hips raising involuntarily to slide himself through her fingers.

There was just no comparison to how his own hand had felt and he was certain just a few more strokes and he would be finished.

"Okay, so now I'm going to move up to your helmet and stroke your blowhole," she said quietly.

Otis opened his eyes and lifted his head and grimaced. "Blowhole?"

"What do you call it?" Maeve asked, looking at him.

"My urinary meatus?"

Maeve nodded and looked down at her hand stroking him. "Okay, so now I'm going to move up to your helmet and stroke your blowhole," she said blandly.

Otis smiled in defeat and dropped his head back against the lounge, closing his eyes again, breathing steadily as Maeve's hand continued.

Then he felt her hand slide across his ridge, enfolding his tip in her palm and his stomach fell away and whiteness filled his vision and his hips bucked pushing him slightly upwards and then—

"Flamingo! Flamingo!" he cried, sitting up straight.

Maeve snatched her hand away and looked at him with concern as he held his arms out before himself, staring into the middle distance, trying to bring his breathing under control.

"Are you okay?" she asked, concerned. "Are you panicking?"

"Sensitive," he managed to get out between breaths.

"What?"

"Sensitive," he repeated, slumping back against the lounge as his breathing steadied. "I never felt this sensitive when…"

"When it was your own hand?"

Otis nodded. "Uh-huh."

"Okay, maybe we should stop," Maeve said.

"No," Otis said quickly, looking at her. "I want…"

He stared at her, seeing the concern on her face and for a moment he thought that maybe they should stop. It was probably the smart thing to do. Yet he didn't want to.

Maeve's hand felt so glorious stroking him and he just needed to become used to the feeling of it on his glans. He had not technically panicked and he was not deliberately ignoring the fact that the feeling in his stomach resembled the feelings he had when he thought of his mother yelling at and throwing things at his father. He was just sensitive. He was just inexperienced.

"I was just startled. I'm prepared now," he said.

Maeve studied him and Otis noticed her hesitation and acknowledged he really was being selfish.

"It's okay, Maeve. We don't—"

"I'll try," she said, soothingly. "I'll try. As long as you're sure."

"I'd like you to try," Otis said.

Maeve nodded and slowly reached her hand down to enfold his helmet, rubbing her palm gently along his ridge and stroking his blowhole with her thumb.

"Flamingo!" Otis said and Maeve snatched her hand away as he sat forward again, breathing deeply to calm himself as memories of his father pushed aside memories of masturbating in the toilet block before surrendering to memories of the room spinning after Lily touched his cock.

"Otis…?" Maeve asked, concerned.

"I'm sorry," Otis said.

"Stop apologising," Maeve said flatly.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, breathing slowing.

"Are you okay?" she asked gently.

"I will be. I just…"

Otis took in a slow deep breath then sighed it out, leaning his head back against the lounge and turning to look at Maeve.

"I don't think I can tell the difference between pleasure and panic," he said, forlornly. "It felt so good when you were stroking me and I didn't feel anything bad but when you grabbed my glans and stroked my mea— blowhole… I'm not sure if I was feeling so good it was almost painful or…"

His voice trailed away as soft frustration filled his face again.

"It's okay, muppet," she said, touching his arm gently.

"I don't think I can try again this morning," he said, sadly.

"Yeah, some other time. But you did it. You let me touch it. You took another step."

"Not much of one," Otis muttered.

"It was a step forward. Be proud of yourself."

Otis thought for a moment then nodded, saying, "Mum said I should claim the little victories when I can."

Maeve smiled to herself and said, "Not a little victory."

Otis took a moment to understand then chuckled. "Figjam."

Otis watched Maeve glance down at his erection and could see disappointment flicker across her face before she looked back at him and asked, "So do you think it will go away by itself?"

"It could take a while."

"Do you think you can finish yourself off?"

Otis looked at her. "You mean here?"

"If you like. You can go into the bathroom if you want."

Otis kept staring at her for a moment then glanced down at himself before looking back at her.

"I'm not sure I can do it with you watching."

"It's okay."

"Not yet."

"I understand."

"I'm sorry."

Maeve sighed. "If you're going to keep apologising, I'm going to… take your photo and tell Aimee she can come over and kiss you. While she's naked."

Otis gave her a rueful smile and nodded, swallowing. "I'll try to stop."

"Good," Maeve murmured. "Now go into the bathroom and take care of it."

Otis nodded and reached down to push himself back inside his boxers then looked back at Maeve, noticing that she seemed a little antsy.

It took him a moment to realise.

"Are you going to be…?" He shrugged and gestured vaguely and glanced down at the hem of her shirt as it met her legs before he raised his gaze to look into her eyes.

Maeve smiled shyly. "Gilding the lily? Yeah."

Otis hitched a breath.

Maeve bit her lip. "I told you. I'm horny, too. So if you don't want to see my cookie just yet, better check before you come out."


Otis flushed the toilet and washed and wiped his hands then stared into his eyes in the mirror, a mixture of emotions flooding through him.

He felt good. Relaxed. Considering how Maeve's touch had made him feel, he wasn't certain if he would have been able to mastur—wank himself to completion but after a moment's hesitation he was lost in the moment as he had been those handful of times since Maeve had kissed him beside their wall.

He did feel good. Mellow. Yet there was also an underlying sadness washing through him that he only partly understood.

His own hand had been doing only that which Maeve's hand had been doing yet not once had he experienced any of those feelings that went through him either time she had wrapped her hand around his glans.

In the fantasy images he invoked as he… wanked… she was sometimes with him, standing naked behind him, bare breasts pressed against his back and it was her hand stroking him, her hand bringing him to completion.

Why could he have her with him in his fantasy while he was unable to relax into reality with her?

He understood it was - Lily aside - the first time somebody else had touched his penis – at least under these circumstances – and from recent experience he knew it would probably be easier the next time they tried but that still didn't seem to mollify him.

His… issues… had led to him missing out on so much.

That kiss they never had in the pool because her gentle fingers softly stroking his cheeks had given him a boner he had no ability to handle either physically or emotionally.

The kiss they never had on the bridge because the tender longing in her eyes and her gentle move to press her lips against his prompted unbidden thoughts of his father fucking his patient and his mother throwing her favourite cup against the wall by the man's head.

The mutual masturbation session of last night that was destroyed before it could even begin.

This morning.

His words to Eric the day of his first kiss with Maeve never rang truer. He was so fucked up.

Otis sighed and stepped back from the mirror, turning toward the door, before remembering Maeve's warning.

He wondered how long he had been in here. He seemed to lose track of time when he painted the ceiling but then again he had no idea how long Maeve normally took to polish her canoe.

Another thing he had missed out on seeing because he was so fucked up.

Never mind the things Maeve had missed out on.

This was so unfair to her. She deserved so much more. However kind and caring she was being with him – and he understood it was her choice – she was still deserving of so much more than he was currently able to offer her.

He sighed again and opened the bathroom door.


Otis stopped at the doorway to the living area of the caravan, keeping his gaze facing away from the area containing the lounge.

"I've finished," he said. "Are you…?"

"Sprawled naked on the lounge with my legs wide open waiting for you," Maeve said from across the room.

The soft purr in her voice let Otis know she had also finished and he smiled to himself and stepped forward, gazing at her lying spread along the lounge, still wearing her night shirt and watching him gently.

She looked gorgeous and very relaxed and seemed to possess none of the melancholy that was still washing through him.

"Disappointed?" she asked.

"No," he said then realised that wasn't true. "A little," he corrected.

"Do you want to see?" Maeve asked, gently biting her lip.

Otis could see she was wanting to show him and he really was tempted then he noticed her pants lying on the carpet by the leg of the coffee table and his breath hitched.

"What's wrong?" Maeve asked.

Otis turned his gaze to her and was silent for a stunned moment then said, "Not yet."

He could see disappointment flicker briefly across her face but all she did was nod and say, "I thought about it. But then I realised I'm mean, not cruel."

"I do want to see you naked, Maeve," Otis said, quietly.

"I know," Maeve said. "When you're ready."

Otis stayed in place, watching her, wondering why he was so reluctant to see her naked in real life when she was now spending so much time naked in his dreams and fantasies.

"So you just going to stand there for the rest of the morning? Wanking doesn't make me radioactive," Maeve said.

Otis came back to himself – "Sorry." - then walked over to her. Maeve started to sit up but he waved her back – "No, no." – then sat on the floor in the lounge corner, leaning back.

Maeve looked at him curiously for a moment then shuffled along the lounge a little so they were level before rolling onto her side and replacing the pillow beneath her head.

"What's wrong?" she asked quietly.

"Nothing," Otis murmured.

"Honesty, Otis," she said gently but firmly.

Otis nodded and turned to stare at her for a moment before sighing. "I wish I wasn't so fucked up."

Maeve sighed in return. "What can I do to make you stop putting yourself down?"

Otis dropped his head and shrugged. "Yell at me?"

Maeve leant forward and waited until Otis raised his head to look at her.

"Stop fucking putting yourself down, dickhead," she mock-growled.

Otis smiled sadly and nodded. "I'll do my best to curb my negative self-talk."

"You better," Maeve said, settling back and watching him gently.

Otis shuffled position and rested his head against the lounge to gaze directly into her eyes.

"I don't know what's wrong," he said quietly. "It felt so good while I was… wanking… but when I was finished I felt so… down. Sad. Melancholy."

"Post-coital tristesse," Maeve murmured.

Otis frowned. "What?"

"Sadness after sex. 'After the enjoyment of sensual pleasure is past, the greatest sadness follows.'"

Otis looked curiously at her.

"Spinoza," she said. "It's a common phenomenon. Can even happen after great sex."

"Mum and dad never mentioned it to me."

"I looked it up. I get it sometimes. Not now," she hurriedly amended. "Now I feel great. But sometimes. Doesn't even matter how good or bad the sex was. It happens."

Otis stared at her in wonder. "You're amazing," he said.

"I know," Maeve smirked.

"Maybe you could be a sex therapist, too."

"Get real."

Otis was silent for a moment. "That was good how you were talking me through it. It really helped."

"My version of dirty talk for you," Maeve murmured with another smirk.

"I found it hot."

"I can talk much dirtier," she almost purred.

Otis gazed at her as the sadness washed through him again then he said, "I hope it doesn't take too long before I'm ready to hear it."

Maeve studied him gently for a moment then asked, "Do you know what made you sad?"

Otis lowered his gaze and said, "I wish I could have stayed out here with you. I wish I wasn't making things so much harder for you. I wish this could be what you wanted it to be. I wish I could be the person who could just kiss you and touch you and make love with you when you wanted me to-" He scrunched his face and looked at her. "Sorry, 'fuck you' when you wanted me to."

"Make love's okay if you need to say it," Maeve said quietly then smirked. "Pumpkin. Honeybear. Mon cher."

Otis smiled gently at her. "My sweet."

Maeve gazed at him softly for a moment then raised her hand and gently stroked his cheek with the back of her fingers.

"It's not your fault, Otis," she murmured. "It's never been your fault. 'They fuck you up, your mum and dad/They may not mean to, but they do./They fill you with the faults they had/And add some extra, just for you.'"

Otis snorted a gentle chuckle.

"What?" Maeve asked, quizzically.

"Those are the exact words I was thinking last night. Before… while I had my fingers inside you. I was trying to keep myself calm and those words came up."

Maeve smiled gently. "Another sign we really connect?"

Otis felt his sadness deepen. There was so much of him that wanted her, deeply and completely. So much of him that wanted to give to her, passionately and unreservedly. But these fucking feelings and thoughts in his head kept getting in the way.

He made a guttural sound, annoyed with himself and said, "I hope it doesn't take too long to find a therapist I click with."

"What do you mean?"

"Not every therapist can help every patient. Not everyone clicks. I need to find one who can speak to me in ways I can hear and hears everything I'm actually saying. It may take a while."

"I'm here with you while you do," Maeve murmured.

"Thank you," he said, keeping his gaze on her eyes, hoping she could see how much he truly loved her.

Maeve leaned forward, lips parting and Otis met her for a tender kiss that lasted until-

His stomach growled.

Maeve broke the kiss, smiling.

"I think you need breakfast," she said.

"Yeah," said Otis, sheepishly.

"And then we need to figure out what we're going to do today."

"What do you want to do?" Otis asked.

"I don't know. What do you want to do?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. What do you want to do?"

"Stop that, squirrel."

"Whatever you say, chipmunk."

His stomach growled again.

Maeve rolled onto her back and grinned. "Have breakfast, muppet. We'll think of something."


Otis ran frantically along the country lane leading to the closest bus stop to town, hearing Maeve panting breathlessly close behind him.

"We're going to miss it," Otis panted.

"I offered you the chance to share a shower. We would have been there by now," Maeve panted.

"I was five minutes."

"And we have less than five minutes before the bus gets there."

"Oh, no," said Otis as they were close enough to see the bus stop and the bus pulling away.

"Shit," said Maeve.

"It's early," protested Otis.

"Call him up and tell him," said Maeve, slowing her run to a walk.

Otis slowed down and waited for Maeve to reach him. "I'm sorry."

"Are you sure you had the right time?"

As they reached the bus stop, Otis walked over to look at the timetable. "Oh, that's the wrong day. I had Sunday's timetable in my head. I normally go over to Southclyde on Sundays."

"Dickhead," Maeve said. "When's the next bus?"

Otis sighed. "An hour."

Maeve sat down on the bus stop seat, catching her breath and Otis sat beside her. He noticed he was no longer feeling as blue as he had been.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Maeve glanced sideways at him but didn't respond.

"So what do you want to do now?" he asked.

"Go off into the bushes and shag," she said, blandly.

"You would have sex in public?" Otis sounded surprised.

"We'd be in the bushes. Who'd see us? A couple of foxes?"

"I don't think we have foxes around here."

Maeve studied him for a moment, then said quietly, "You didn't freak out."

"Are you testing me?" he asked with a knowing smile.

"No, just horny," she said, leaning against him and playfully kissing him on the lips.

They settled into silence for a while before Maeve spoke.

"Are we just going to sit here for an hour until the next bus comes?" she asked.

"We could start walking. Do you feel like walking?"

Maeve thought a moment, then said, "Not just yet."

She reached into her bag and took out a book, looked at it then scrunched her nose and shook her head then began to put it back into her bag.

"What's that?" Otis asked.

Maeve handed him the book and he studied the cover. The Last Man by Mary Shelley.

"I didn't know she wrote anything else," he said, surprised.

"She wrote quite a bit," Maeve said. "Most people just remember Frankenstein."

Otis read from the cover blurb. "'Mary Shelley's neglected masterpiece tells of a future laid waste by plague.'"

"It's thought to be the first true post-apocalyptic science fiction novel."

"So she basically created two main strands of science fiction?"

"Pretty impressive for a girl of that time."

"It is," Otis said, starting to hand the book back. He stopped as a small piece of paper slipped from it and fluttered to the ground.

He gave the book to Maeve then leant over, grabbed the piece of paper and raised it to his eyes.

Maeve watched him, curiously, as he read aloud.

"'I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.'"

Otis stared at the paper for a moment then took a deep breath as he looked at Maeve and handed it back to her. She took the paper, slipped it back into the book and returned the book to her bag.

"You identify with the monster?" Otis asked quietly.

Maeve shrugged. "You said I was scary," she said.

Otis reached out and gently took her hand. "Very scary," he said, leaning closer to her, lips parting.

"You have no idea," Maeve said, closing her eyes and meeting his lips with hers.

When the kiss was over, Otis kept staring into her eyes. "He wasn't only scary," he murmured.

"Only some people can see that," Maeve murmured.

Otis leant forward and kissed her again then leant back against the bus stop seat and lifted his arm to allow Maeve to slide next to him. When she had snuggled in, he let his arm gently drape across her shoulder.

"I hope it's the love you're trying to satisfy," he eventually said.

Maeve smiled knowingly to herself. "You might think that. I couldn't possibly comment."

She rested her hand gently on his chest and they sat in silence for a while.

"So what are we going to do when we get to Southclyde?" Maeve eventually asked. "Apart from food?"

"I don't know. I was only thinking of lunch. We could walk down the boulevard. See the acts at the mall."

"We could go to a movie."

"Can you afford it? I mean, I'm willing to pay for that, too, I just—"

"I know the best door to sneak in by."

"Sneak in without paying?" Otis asked, alarmed.

"Yeah," Maeve smiled. "You still have to do something you're not supposed to since Ola caught you with the chocolate bar."

"I'll get caught. You know I'll get caught. I'm just no good at that sort of thing. I freaked out when I only had a pound to donate at the British Museum even though it's voluntary."

"Don't worry. You're with an expert now. I'll guide you."

Maeve smiled mischievously up at him and after a moment Otis' worried frown slowly morphed into a nervous grimace.

"You really are a scary woman to know, Maeve Wiley."

"I'm a pussycat, Otis."

"In the same way Cujo was a puppy?"

"Who's Cujo?" Maeve asked, puzzled.

"He was a good boy."

Maeve sighed. "You can pay for me if you want to," she said and felt him relax against her.

"We'll have to get your and Aimee's cigarettes as well," he said.

"Yeah."

"And maybe we could stay over there for dinner. Go dancing like we said."

"I was supposed to wear my ball dress for that."

"Oh, yeah," said Otis, glumly.

Maeve frowned as her phone rang.

"Maybe we could do something else around here and go over to Southclyde tonight," Otis said as Maeve reached into her bag.

"Maybe," Maeve said as she took the phone out of her bag and looked at the caller ID.

Otis saw her frown before standing and raising the phone to her ear, starting to pace.

"Hello," she said and listened.

"Why?" she asked and listened.

"Today?" she asked and listened.

Otis watched as she turned to him, concern on her face.

"Yeah, I can do it," Maeve said as she turned away again. "What time?"

Otis frowned as Maeve listened again.

"I'll need a lift," Maeve said then listened again.

"I'm not at home at the moment. Give me forty minutes and I'll be ready," Maeve said and listened once more.

"Great," Maeve said and lowered the phone, turning to Otis.

"I'm sorry," she said, apologetically. "That was someone from work. Something's come up and she needs someone to cover her shift."

"Oh," said Otis.

"I'm sorry. I need the money."

"It's okay," he said, concealing his disappointment as best he could.

"We can go to Southclyde next weekend."

"You're working as well tomorrow?" he asked.

"Yeah. Both weekend shifts."

"Okay, yeah, we can do something next weekend," he said, nodding.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't—it's okay," Otis said.

"Thanks," Maeve said, picking up her bag and putting her arm through the strap, settling it on her shoulder.

Otis stood. "Do you want me to come back with you?"

Maeve shook her head. "I know the way home by myself."

Otis nodded and Maeve stepped to him, gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "I'm sorry," she said. "I was looking forward to it."

"Next weekend," Otis said as she walked away.

"Yeah," Maeve said over her shoulder.

Otis watched her take a few more steps then had an idea and called, "What time does your shift end?"

"Six."

"Do you want to come over for dinner? I can cook something. Show you mum wasn't overselling me."

Maeve stopped and turned. "You just want to see me in my uniform."

"I want to cook for you," Otis said, not quite convincingly.

"Forget it. No way."

Maeve smiled at his forlorn expression and relented.

"I can be there before seven," she said.

"Great," Otis said, cheering up. "Anything you prefer?"

"Surprise me," Maeve said.

"Okay."

"Sorry. I've got to go," Maeve said and turned and hurried away.

He watched until she was out of sight then sighed and started walking toward home, hoping his mum would have some suggestions as to what would be best to cook.


Otis was at the top of the stairs leading down to his house when his phone beeped.

Curious, he took the phone out of his pocket and saw Maeve had sent him a message.

When he saw the photo of her standing in front of her full-length mirror wearing her bright yellow Speedy Grill shirt, her phone in one hand, giving him the finger with the other, he thought his smile was going to split his face.

She looked so gorgeous.

You look like a banana, he texted her.

Fuck you, she texted back.

He hesitated a moment, then texted, Eric's gonna love this

Don't you dare

You look gorgeous

Stop objectifying me

I'm appreciating

Satisfied now

Very

Thought you'd like it

I love it

You can take a better one tonight

Thank you

Just don't show anyone

I won't

Gotta go

Hope work's okay

See you tonight

See you

Love you, babe

Love you, bananacake

Fuck you


Otis closed the front door behind himself and called, "Mum?"

When there was no answer, he walked over to the fridge and started looking through it, wondering what he could cook for tonight.

He heard footsteps on the stairs and looked up to see his mother walking towards him holding up a dress on a hanger in each hand.

"I haven't worn either of these in years. I think they still fit. Which do you think would look best on me?"

Otis closed the fridge door and studied each of the two dresses. "Why are you asking me?"

"Well, because you're a man and I was wanting a man's perspective."

Otis studied her for a moment. "You have never asked me what dress to wear on a date."

"Oh, I'm sure I must have," Jean said as she studied the dresses.

"Never."

"So you're not going to give your opinion?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"What if I get it wrong and Ola's dad prefers the other one? You're on your own, mum."

"Cowardice doesn't become you, Otis," Jean said as she walked away to ascend the stairs, not seeing the effect her offhand words had on her son.

Otis turned back to the fridge and looked inside. After a few moments, he frowned and closed it and walked out to the balcony. As he sat down, he took his phone from his pocket and began searching for dinner suggestions.

A few minutes later, Jean emerged from the house onto the balcony and sat down at the table end and placed a glass of juice beside herself.

"Did you and Maeve have a good night?" she asked after a moment.

She noticed Otis tensing slightly before saying, "A pretty good night. Interesting."

Jean hesitated before saying, "I hope you were using condoms."

Otis took in a deep breath, his jaw clenching but he said nothing and kept his eyes on his phone.

"I know you think I'm prying but pregnancy is not something either of you need to deal with at this time in your lives."

"Believe me, mum," Otis said in a controlled voice, "Maeve and I both understand the importance of protection."

"I'm glad," Jean said quietly then settled into silence, sipping from her juice.

After a few moments, Otis sighed and put his phone in his pocket and looked at his mother.

"I know you mean well, mum. I'm sorry."

"I just… want you to have a good life, Otis," Jean said quietly.

Otis nodded then said, "You really like Ola's dad, don't you? I mean, really like him."

"What makes you say that?"

"Because you asked me which dress you should wear."

Jean smiled to herself. "Yes, I do like him. He's… I think Jakob's the first man since your father that I… wanted more than a second cup of coffee with."

Otis frowned. "That's a strange way of saying it."

"It's a thing between me and your father."

"Does Jakob remind you of dad?" Otis asked after a moment.

There was an edge in Jean's voice as she said, "Not in the slightest."

Otis registered her tone and fell silent for a while but mention of his father had prompted a train of thought.

"Is dad a good therapist?" he asked.

Jean looked at him curiously. "Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering."

Jean stared at him without speaking.

"Just something he said," Otis said with a shrug.

"What-?" Jean began then stopped, swallowing her curiosity.

"It doesn't matter, mum. Forget it."

Jean studied her son for a moment. "No, I don't think he is," she said, quietly.

"Why not?"

"He sometimes failed to understand the enormity of his responsibility to his clients. The influence he can have over them."

"You mean—" Otis began, then stopped.

"What?" Jean asked.

"Doesn't matter," Otis said dismissively.

Jean studied him for a moment, then said, "The advice in his later books seems mostly fine, but he has not always been able to follow it himself."

Otis nodded and mumbled, "Thanks."

"Why the interest? Is there something troubling you?"

"I can deal," Otis said, taking his phone from his pocket and standing.

"Otis…?" Jean asked, concerned.

"I've invited Maeve over for dinner," Otis said, ignoring her. "I've got to figure out something to cook. It's only for two, isn't it? You weren't planning on cooking for Jakob, were you?"

"No," Jean said after a moment. "I'll be picking him up at three and probably won't be back till late."

"Okay. Hope it's a good date."

"Probably best for it to be just the two of you this time."

Otis smiled sheepishly. "Yeah. Was weird inviting her to meet you on our first date."

"I don't know. I think she seemed to like it. Demonstrated that you are a unique person with the possibility of doing the pleasingly unexpected."

"Maeve just says I'm odd. Compellingly odd," Otis said with a smile and turned and walked inside.

Jean took a sip and stared after him, wondering what was troubling him. Wondering if his night with Maeve hadn't gone quite as well as he indicated. Wondering what on earth Remi had said to him.


Author's Notes: I doubt the next chapter will be here before Season 2 starts and I'm sorry for the long gap between the last few chapters but I'll try not to take so long next time.

Yes, that is the clinical name for that bit of the penis. Research is fascinating.

(Update April 2020: The added sequence was originally the start of Chapter 17. I was going to salvage as much as I could from it for Chapter 21 but re-reading simply heightened my annoyance that I let an important plot beat happen off-screen – the cowardice comment – and only raised it in the past tense during Chapter 17. The story always felt incomplete to me without seeing that actual moment.

I liked the beginning of Chapter 17 as is, so I've decided to add to the end of this chapter instead. I did like ending originally on the text message and I hope this addition doesn't destroy that moment, but I always found this a disjointed chapter anyway.

As always, I'm doing the best I can. Thank you for your indulgence of me.)