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| “Since when were you of the pillow-biting persuasion, anyway?” “’M not,” says Tom sulkily, reddening. “But he is. An’ that mouth’s as pretty as any girl’s. Prettier. Anyway, what about you?” “Fair cop. I know what you mean; he’s enough to get a bloke to forget about his nat’ral inclinations for an evening.” Jack sighs. Long and loud. At last he says, “You’ll owe me.” “Forever grateful, mate. In your debt.” Putting a finger to his mouth, Jack looks thoughtful. “So, how’s this; if I head off, and he gives you a headjob... you’ll owe me one, after.” Tom blanches. “Fuck off!” he cries, with such fierce dismay that Jack might be offended, if he weren’t so purely amused by such outrage. He bursts out laughing. “Joking, you gaum. He’s all yourn. But you do owe me. For this beer, for a start.” Pulling a handful of coins from his pocket, Tom presses them into Jack’s palm. “Drinks on me, Jack, for the rest o’ your night. Can’t say fairer.” “You’re a gent, mate,” says Jack; he pushes his chair back from the table, just as Jamie reappears. “Oh, ain’t you staying, then?” “Nah. Places to go, people to misbehave with,” says Jack, with a wink, and, blowing Tom a kiss, he skedaddles out of that den of iniquity, ‘fore he can change his mind. Want to go back to the BEGINNING?
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