Thistle and Weeds
Fic: Thistle and Weeds
Characters: Freddie, Cook, Emily, JJ, Katie and Effy
Pairing: Freddie/Cook/(Effy), Emily/Naomi
Rating: R
Word Count: 10,800
The story germinated from a weekend long marathon of season three. When Freddie declared at the end of 3.10 that he and Cook couldn't "share" Effy my friend screeched "yes, yes, yes you can!". And thus during a druken, weekend Skins bender, this story was born.
This story is set during the series break between three and four. Slightly AU. Title from the Mumford and Sons album "Sigh No More"
I am incredibly indebted to my beta, jules2112 who not only was very fastidious but was also helpful both in Britpicking and, er, advice on certain male orientated stuff. This story is better due to your involvement, Jules, and I can't thank you enough.
It’s fucking hot in the shed.
It has to be late in the morning, or maybe even early afternoon, whatever, when Freddie finally begins to stir. The sun is squarely on his face and he blinks rapidly, not adjusting very well to the light. He’s hovering somewhere between sleep and consciousness, clinging onto an ephemeral glimpse of a dark haired girl smiling at him.
As soon as he wakes the dream instantly dissipates before his eyes.
Despite getting at least four hours sleep Freddie feels dreadful, his head is pounding, his mouth is dry and sweat is caked all over his face. His limbs ache from an exertion he can’t even remember yet.
“Great,” he grumbles, shifts over a bit. He feels his morning wood rub up against the sheet and he’s a bit surprised that he’s horny when he’s in this state. Then again, he’s been tense all summer; constantly on the edge of arousal. It doesn’t take him much to think about Effy. He has so many memories of her, well worn from overuse, looking at him through heavy lidded eyes. Her mouth is always, always, twisted into a smile whose meaning he always strains for but never can quite reach.
He rubs at his bare chest, feels all of last night’s grime still there, and wiggles his toes, perfectly content in his lethargy. He could whittle away the whole afternoon like this, remembering the stolen moments of his and Effy’s already aborted romance.
A whole day of wanking, eating, and then wanking some more.
The shed door bursts open and he faintly hears someone say “hope you’re decent.” For a horrible second he thinks its Karen but he relaxes slightly when it’s only Cook who strides in, fag in his mouth and a brown paper bag under his arm.
“Jesus!” Freddie yelps, grabs the sheet and tries to cover himself up.
“What the fuck?” Cook gapes, eyebrows shooting up. His eyes linger over his chest, disbelief etched on his face. “What...did you sleep in the shed naked?”
“Yes,” Freddie shoots back. “What of it?”
“What of it...Well, it’s our shed, for one, and me and J don’t need to be sitting where your bare bollocks have been, mate.”
“Actually, one, it’s my shed, and two, I had a girl in here last night, and you know, we were too smashed to make it to my room, so...”
If Cook felt uncomfortable Freddie’s explanation immediately relaxes him. “Ah, say no more. That’s excellent, top notch, Freds. You’ve earned this breakfast I’ve brought you.” He walks into the shed with such nonchalance and Freddie can’t help but rolls his eyes affectionately at him.
Cook pulls out a hot chicken burger from the bag and waves it in front of Freddie’s face. Freddie almost swoons. The thick smell of congealed grease and fat is amazing, and on cue his stomach grumbles, causing them both to grin.
“Breakfast of champions!” Cook says, grinning at him toothily.
“Thanks,” Freddie shifts up, so the blanket ends up bunching around his waist. Cook glances up, quickly takes in his appearance, before looking away. Cook’s embarrassment makes Freddie feel acutely exposed, as if he were standing naked instead of everything important hidden under a sheet.
Freddie clears his throat. “Do you mind, Cook, if you could just turn around or something...”
“Yeah, yeah, sure,” and he’s so accommodating Freddie pauses just to check if he’s kidding. A life time of friendship had once made Freddie complacent but now he was wary of even the most benign sentence
He shifts a bit and frowns that his hard on hasn’t gone down yet, and tries to think of something disgusting, like Harriet naked on a cold day or something.
“Fuckin’ hell prince charming, going to get changed or what? I don’t want the food to get cold.”
“Keep your knickers on,” he gropes around for some clothes, a hot flush spreading all over his face and neck. He finds last night’s trousers crumpled on the floor and pulls them on hurriedly, quickly sitting down in case Cook spots the bulge at the front.
“Safe.”
“Good. Wait, Jesus. You could put a shirt on?”
Freddie shrugs and digs into his burger, almost moaning in relief when he begins to chew.
Cook shakes his head and takes a seat on the old arm chair across from him. He pulls out his own burger, placing his can of beer next to him (of course) and the two of them lapse into comfortable silence.
It’s a rare lull. It had been a few weeks since Effy left for her “bath” and a small piece of Freddie hoped the silver lining would be Cook and him slipping back to how they were. Instead, what has manifested is an uneasy detente, both of them almost immediately falling into a shagging competition.
It’s as if friction is an integral part of their friendship nowadays.
“So you copped off last night then?” Cook finally said, crumpling his empty chicken wrapper and tossing it to the side.
Freddie feels a small pulse of annoyance at this, but he swallows it down and instead smiles.
“Yeah.”
“Which one?”
“The Puerto- Rican girl.”
Cook whistles appreciatively. “Those tits” he cups the air gleefully.
“Yeah. She was definitely all that.”
“Excellent, excellent.” He finishes his beer with a loud burp and settles back into the couch, rubbing his belly contentedly. Freddie can see his stomach muscles clench and unclench with each deep breath. “Want to know how my evening ended?”
“Not particularly...”
“Ha!” Cook chortles, ignoring him. He reaches into his back pocket and brings out a bright red thong. “Here you go then, evidence!”
“The fuck...”
“Waitress...the blonde one. Waited until the end of her shift, and was promptly rewarded. It was well worth it, if you get me,” he winks lecherously and Freddie’s certain if there’s anything that will kill his erection, it’s Cook’s leer. “Now, what number does that come to?”
“Ugh,” Freddie groans, both his hands covering his face.
“What was that?”
“Fuck’d if I know, Cook.”
“Ten” Cook twirls the thong around. “Two weeks, ten girls, the Cook machine continues.”
“Whatever,” Freddie snits, but the corner of his mouth is twitching.
“Whatever? Don’t be a sore loser, Freddie.”
“Sore lose...do you even listen to yourself? This whole stupid game thing has barely begun and you’re crowning yourself champion. Tosser.”
He meets his eyes and finds Cook grinning back at him affectionately. Cook moves with surprising grace and is on Freddie within a second, ruffling his hair and giving him a one armed hug.
“I take your point. We’ll let this little game run a few more weeks and I will save the victory parade for yours truly until then. But seriously mate” Cook looks at him gravely, but Freddie can see the mirth in his eyes. “It’s not a stupid game. Getting your dick wet is never stupid.”
“You’re ridiculous,” he shoves Cook off playfully. But exertion makes Freddie’s head throb, and he winces, his hang over making its presence known. “Fuck, I am never drinking... what was that shit again?”
“Cheap vodka. And yes, you will be drinking it again, me and J are going out tonight, nine pm at the Roxxie. I’ll see you there.” He’s opening the door, but thinks better of it, turning around and scrutinises Freddie seriously. “And not being funny, you should take a shower because you smell like shit.”
“Bye, Cook...”
“Aren’t you going to thank me for bringing you breakfast?”
“Bye Cook.”
He flops back down on the bed with Cook’s gleeful laughter still echoing in his ears.
~~~~
He feels nauseous as he picks up the phone.
He slowly dials Effy’s number (Effy’s number; which he remembers easier than his own). Maybe she’s calmed down and is ready to talk to him again. Perhaps he smothered her? He needs to know.
For the fifth time he rings her.
For the fifth time it goes to voicemail.
~~~~
It’s absolutely dead at the Roxxie, with mostly older couples milling around the bar, and all the pool tables taken by groups of dissolute looking men. Freddie’s fingers tap the edge of the table impatiently, barely listening to JJ prattling on to Cook about something.
“And that’s the secret ingredient of Uncle Joe’s Choco Munster Crunch”
“Right on,” Cook cheers. “You hearing this, Freds? Our man J is going undercover.”
“I’m not actually doing anything strictly against company policy,” JJ quickly assures Freddie. “I’m not sneaking around, I’m just looking. Appeasing a childhood curiosity, you could say.”
“You do that, Jay,” Freddie drawls, then drains the dregs of his lager. “Lads, going to the bathroom.”
“Look at this posh wanker. Go on, take a slash then, we’ll be right here,” Cook jeers and Freddie flips him off in reply.
After he’s finished, he thinks about telling JJ and Cook they need to go somewhere they can at least play pool when he bumps into someone. She’s much smaller than he is, barely brushing up against his shoulder, and when she sucks in an annoyed breath, he feels his entire body go rigid.
Oh, shit.
“Uh, excuse me, watch where you’re...Freddie?”
“Hey, Katie, what’s going on?” Freddie replies weakly.
“What’s going on?” she’s looking at him a bit incredulously, and his eyes nervously flit down to her talon-like nails. He doesn’t think she would hurt him. He doesn’t know her as well as he should, but he does know her a little. Katie’s not as callous as she initially seems. Beneath her bluster lies a person more decent than most (maybe more so than Effy, but he dismisses thoughts like that quickly).
Freddie shifts on the spot awkwardly. He remembers the last time he spoke to her, at the Love Ball after Emily had left with Naomi, leaving a devastated Katie in their wake. She had looked right through him, all shrivelled and defeated and alone on the dance floor. It was like Emily battered all the fight out of her. She had walked off without him and Freddie had tried to talk to her but she’d brushed him off. He had been meaning to ring her sometime over the last month but didn’t’ because...well, when it comes to Katie, he doesn’t know how to be anything else but a pathetic fuckward.
“Oh nothing’s going on Freddie, just having a few ciders with Panda. And what about you, having a lovely time with your girlfriend, then?”
His mouth goes dry. “She’s not...she’s not here.”
“I fucking know that, wanker; I do actually speak to Pandora. I meant Cook, obviously. Oh look, there’s Mrs McClair now.” Cook, spotting them, gleefully raises his pint glass and winks lewdly at Katie.
“Jesus, no thanks, he’d be the worst wife ever,” Freddie jokes weakly.
She looks at him contemptuously and Freddie feels his guilt receding and annoyance taking its place.
“Look, Katie, you know...I’m fucking sorry, about everything, you know? It’s well and truly shit. But it’s... whatever, it’s all over now, so why don’t you come sit with the lads and me? Pandora too. We’ll sit around and make fun of Cook’s...well, we’ll make fun of him making a tit of himself, yeah?”
“Is that what you think? Is that what you think honestly think I would do after everything you put me through?”
Freddie shrugs, feels a flush spread over his face and the back of his neck.
No one else brings to the surface his feelings of inadequacy quite like Katie Fitch
“How easy it is for you two,” Katie says coldly. “You just go back, then? Like nothing has changed? Since she’s fucked off to god knows where it’s back to being like last year never happened?”
“Katie...I don’t know what to say...”
“Of course not,” Katie’s voice is laced with anger and she looks like she wants to go but something is holding her back.
“Would you do it again?” she asks. “Would you bother to do it all again, Effy, Cook, and the whole pathetic debacle?”
Freddie hangs his head.
“Jesus,” Katie mutters under her breath. “You’re well pathetic, aren’t you?” Her expression clears and suddenly she looks horrified. “Wait a second, I don’t want you thinking that I still have some kind of feelings towards you, because they went away after you fucked my friend and left me to die in the woods. I’ve got a boyfriend now anyway, he’s older and has money and is like, hot and shit. I just needed reminding how fucking sad you and Cook are.”
“Give it a rest, Katie, I know it’s fucked up. I know. But...the offer is still open, though, you, Panda and us?”
“Some other time.”
“Ok.” Freddie watches Katie strut off in the opposite direction when something finally falls into place. “Katie, wait...” she turns around, and he continues before she can say anything, “ I like your hair. It really suits you.”
“Thanks.” And her smile is finally genuine, and he grins back at her, buoyed by Katie’s small concession. That feeling dissipates immediately when he spots Cook vigorously shaking his head at him as he returns to his table.
“What?” he asks when he sits back down with them.
“What are you doing?” Cook asks incredulously, waving a lazy hand in Katie’s direction. “Ask her over, man.”
“I did. And for some incomprehensible reason she doesn’t want to hang out with any of us.”
“Actually, I can think of a few very good reasons...”
“I was joking, JJ.”
“Right, yes, sorry.”
“Alright,” Cook says, taking a thoughtful gulp of his lager. He wipes his mouth on his sleeve, and seems to be ruminating over something serious. Freddie and JJ glance at each other, a bit apprehensive about what’s going to come out his mouth next.
“Right, way I figure it, if you’ve fucked ‘em already, they don’t count towards your tally, but since I’ve never had the pleasure of slipping one to Katie, I’m going over. See you ladies later.”
“Cook,” Freddie and JJ both hiss at him simultaneously.
“What?”
“Cook, you cannot, cannot, do that,” JJ practically snarls, taking Cook’s arms and wrenching them until Cook is forced to sit down. “Listen, you...incestuous, perverted, danger to society, I cannot allow you to have sex with anybody else from our group. That’s final.”
“Sorry double J but you don’t tell me what to do at all,” Cook growls, looking mutinous.
“Yes, on our decade long friendship, I can,” JJ shoots back. He pinches his nose and for the first time Freddie notices how wan he looks. “Look, some of us are not engaging in some inane sexual one-upmanship. Some of us are trying to form a friendship group based on mutual platonic affection and I would really prefer if you didn’t come along and fuck it all up, ok?” The outburst takes it out of JJ, and once he finishes he sags forward, like a marionette with broken strings.
Cook stares at him, looking very angry, and Freddie feels his whole body tense, ready to intervene if Cook flies off the handle.
He needn’t worry, because after a long beat Cook relaxes. “I was planning to willy waggle with you next, but since I can’t fuck my friends anymore I guess that’s out. Way to break my heart, J-kins.”
JJ flushes, and they all laugh, the tension immediately diffused.
Cook throws his arms around them, kissing them both on the cheek. “Let’s get out of this shit hole, boys, we’ll find a place with more pool tables, more beer and more gash.”
And so the ritual begins.
~~~~
Hours later they find themselves wandering through the dingy back alleys of a couple of nightclubs. JJ, showing a backbone which they didn’t know existed, skived off hours ago.
Freddie’s whole head is pulsing slightly, but it doesn’t bother him at all. In fact he feels warm, and soft, whatever pill he took is insulating him from the wind.
He pulls out a cigarette (it might be spliff, he thinks hazily, and he giggles a bit at the thought) lights it and takes a slow drag, relishing the slight burn of smoke in his lungs. He spots Cook talking to a couple of girls exiting the strip-joint . Cook’s speaking loudly, waving his hands adamantly. He looks ridiculous, like some crude parody of himself.
The girls are lapping it up, of course, because Cook has this...charisma, or something intangible like that. An irresistible pull, like fisherman with incredible tasting bait and everybody else are ravenous fish. Fish, Freddie thinks, and then imagines the face of the girl he fucked last night on the body of a trout or something and he giggles helplessly.
“Freds?” and now Cook’s in front of him, pale and sweaty under the street lamp. “Hey, Freds, are you alright?”
“Marvvvelous,” he replies, silently thinking that JJ would approve of his reply.
Cook looks concerned and Freddie feels his chest tighten. Freddie struggles to find the words, to get his mouth to mould around the necessary syllables to tell Cook he’s ok. And he, he is. He feels so warm, and if he could just wrap himself around Cook, then maybe he’d feel warm too.
“You sure? Man, I gave you my best shit, but I told you to only take one line...”
“Cookie?” the girls have wandered over. The one who’s speaking is blonde and has a sharp nasally voice which immediately sets Freddie on edge. “It’s cold and this coat is doing shit all so can we go now please?”
“Just give us a minute, alright?”
“Cook,” Freddie says weakly. He reaches out, curls his hand loosely around Cook’s forearm. “Can we just...not tonight?”
Cook’s face softens and he looks like he’s going to reply when the blonde girl behind him begins to snigger.
“What?” she jeers, and Freddie shoots her the best withering look he can manage. “Are you two bent or something?”
“Fuck you know about it?” Cook snarls, and pulls his arm free for Freddie’s grasp. “No offense, babe, but I wouldn’t have been buying you drinks if I wasn’t going to get my leg over tonight. You get me?”
“If you say so,” she titters, and smirks when Cook reaches over and whispers something in her ear.
“We’re off, Freds. I’ll see you later,” he wraps his arm around the blonde minger he’s with and starts to walk off. “Don’t take the rest of the gear, yeah? You’ve had enough.”
The aching in his head gets stronger, almost painful and he closes his eyes and leans heavily against the wall. Freddie ponders the merits of collapsing here, to sink into the pavement under his feet. It’d be nice, he thinks. To be still for a while.
He feels a small hand take his, and he peels his eyes open and sees a petite girl looking at him curiously, her face partially obscured under a mane of wavy brown hair.
He thinks she was with Cook and the other girl before but his memory is failing him.
“Hello?” he tries to grin but only half his mouth works so he kind of twitches instead. His vision is blurred and he can only just make out her profile in the gloom.
She looks so familiar...
She could be...
He sees a smirk materialise on her face, that same goddamn smirk and fuck it; he’s smitten with her all over again.
He wants to reach out and bury his face into her long brown hair. Have her wrap herself around him, blue eyes open and honest. Content. Like it could be between them: If only she would just let it.
She is looking at him with interest, and Freddie can faintly feel her start to caress his arm.
You’re still beautiful, he wants to say to her.
“My name’s Candy,” she says.
“Freddie.”
“Hi, Freddie. So,” she comes in close, and he feels her hot breath on the shell of his ear. “You got any of that powder your mate was talking about?”
He pulls away and meets her eyes, and they are so blue, so clear...just like...
“Course. Here.”
“Cool.” She grabs it from his hands and scrutinises it eagerly. “I can snort it in my car.” She starts to walk off, and then thinks better of it and turns around and looks at him impatiently. “Well, you coming or what?”
~~~~
In his dreams, he writes her hundreds of letters.
In his dreams, he’s articulate, and witty, and always knows what to say.
In his dreams, Cook supports him, holds him close and tells him everything is ok
~~~~
Freddie feels himself slowly coming to; his head feels like it’s clogged with cotton wool. Then he can taste the foulness in his mouth, and can feel how much grime has built up on his unbrushed teeth. Finally he moans when he opens his eyes, blinking rapidly at the shards of light beaming through his window.
Freddie’s mind is sluggish and it takes him a good thirty seconds to realise he’s in the shed. He’s lying horizontal on the couch, a worn old cotton blanket twisted around his legs. It’s hot and he can feel sweat dripping down his back, but he’s too weak to kick the blanket off him entirely.
He spots Cook across from him on the other couch. It’s thick and sturdy but very small and Cook didn’t have the room to stretch out fully. Cook’s neck is at a strange angle and there’s a faintly disgruntled look on his sleeping features.
As if he knew he was being watched, Cook stirs and blinks a few times, recognises Freddie and smiles immediately.
“There he is. Good morning.”
“Hey,” Freddie replies groggily. He tries to sit up but his stomach feels woozy. He keeps his head firmly on his pillow. “Jesus. What happened last night?”
“Don’t know exactly,” Cook says gravely. “Saw you leaving with that well fit bird. After a while I came back to check on because you looked mashed and I found you lying face down on the ground in the garden.” Cook shakes his ruefully, wincing when his neck clicks. “Scared me to death, you prick. I thought you might’ve choked on vomit or something.”
“Fuck,” Freddie groans. He can barely remember...Candy, was it? He can only pluck at memories from last night. “I must’ve had a bad trip or something. I feel awful.”
Cook moves over and perches on the ground next to him. He looks concerned and very young in the morning light and shit, Freddie thinks he must be in a bad way if Cook is worried.
Cook places a hand on his arm. It’s warm and damp in the shed, and Freddie wants to shake it off, but he’ll take the small comfort it brings. He closes his eyes and hears Cook rustling around next to him.
“Take this,” he’s saying squeezing his arm until Freddie responds. He sees Cook handing him a pill and some water.
“Not more drugs?”
“The legal kind this time, I promise.”
Freddie raises his head off his pillow slowly, opens his mouth to take the pill and lets Cook feed him the water gently. He swallows and flops back down again with a sigh.
“This is good stuff, I take it myself when I get like this. I had to take some from your medicine cabinet and your dad caught me and I had to pretend I was the one who was hung over.”
“Cheers Cook,” Freddie says gratefully, feeling his eye lids drooping.
“No worries.”
A wave of tiredness rolls over him and Freddie closes his eyes gratefully. He hears Cook flipping through a book, probably an old comic or maybe some of Freddie’s porn. His presence is familiar, and comfortable, and Freddie feels himself smiling despite himself.
“Cook?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t reckon I can go out tonight. I can’t handle another one of these again.”
Just before he drifts off he hears Cook chuckle.
“Fair enough, Freds, fair enough.”
~~~~
For the tenth time he rings Effy.
For the tenth time, it goes to voicemail.
~~~
Adrenalin thrums through every muscle as Freddie shoves Cook backwards.
“You fucking prick. You fucking prick. I can’t believe it.”
“Oy,” Cook hisses back. He shrugs his shoulders in mock nonchalance. “Free country, innit?”
They’re circling each other outside the back of Keith’s pub. It was a few days after Freddie had been diagnosed with Chlamydia, a parting gift from Candy it seems. Cook had mocked him mercilessly then had the gall to strut into Keith’s pub and glibly tell him, Emily, and JJ that he had contracted it too.
“You fucked her. Jesus. I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am.”
“Who gives a fuck? I saw her; she wanted it, what’s the problem?”
“You saw her?” Freddie seethes, advancing on his friend menacingly. “I don’t think you just saw her in the street, mate. You went back to that place to find her.”
“So what if I did,” Cook bites back, his shoulders taut with tension. “Why do you even give a shit?”
“Why do you think, prick? Because you can’t leave anything alone. You can’t leave me alone. Everything I have, you have to take. What the fuck is this? What’s mine is yours now?”
“You mardy prick. That slag doesn’t give a fuck about you, and she gave us Chlamydia so I don’t reckon this is some big romance, Freds...”
Freddie launches himself at Cook. He acts without thinking, his whole body tight with anger. Cook, with years of experience in backalley scraps, nimbly steps out of the way and pins Freddie back against the brick wall.
“You want to fight, is that it, you cunt?” flecks of spit are flying onto Freddie’s face.
“You know what this is all about, Cook.” Freddie says, his voice low but laced with anger.
“Yeah, I know. What do we always say? That we share everything?” Cook’s mouth contorts into a cruel smile and he leans in close. “She looked just like her, didn’t she? Like Eff. Same eyes, pretty mouth, beautiful fucking hair, and even made the same moan, yeah, when I put my mouth right...”
It takes every bit of strength in Freddie’s body to throw Cook off him. He staggers back, looking unsurprised and vindictively smug.
“Who are you?”
“You know exactly who I am,” Cook growls, lighting a fag and stalking off in the other direction.
Freddie struggles to control himself. He’s breathing heavily, flushed and still shaking with anger. He bites down on the inside of his cheek, just to keep himself from growling in frustration.
He turns around and sees JJ and Emily at the backdoor of the pub, looking at him with ashen faces. He doesn’t trust himself to speak, brushing past them and not looking back.
~~~~
That night he can’t sleep.
He tries everything. Reads some old books, listens to some music, wanks off to some of the dirtiest porn he can find. He can’t come though. Despite a good forty five minutes of trying, he has platued between aroused and arrival. He’s so restless and his agitation won’t go away. He finally resorts to his emergency stash of spliff, closing his eyes and letting the drug seep in.
His hand flits back to his cock. It’s semi-hard but doesn’t stiffen at his gentle pulls. He licks his lip and lets his mind wander...
Effy, nude on his bed. The moon is making his room bright; and she’s almost glowing with sheen of whiteness. He can see everything, the curve of her thighs as she sits on her haunches, her stomach, dark and hardening nipples. She smiles, that smile, which always makes him hard, and coyly extends her hand towards him...
He feels the presence of someone else. Before he realises it, his mind conjures up Cook from nothingness. Cook’s naked as well, on his knees next to Effy on Freddie’s bed, dropping kisses down her outstretched neck. Effy moans and looks directly at him, smiling mischievously as Cook lowers her down onto the bed.
Cook settles on her fully, his muscles flexing and tensing with the sweep of his hand. Effy groans wantonly, in a way Freddie’s only heard a few times before, and raises her hips as Cook grinds into her. They’re tightly squashed together, one moving mass of soft, pale limbs. Both their moans fill Freddie’s ears as Effy pulls and scratches at Cook’s back.
They stay like that, a heaving mass of taut muscles, before Cook raises his head from the crook of Effy’s shoulder and they both turn to look at him. Two twin shades of blue. Licking their lips. Freddie hears a soft squelching sound, and he realises Cook has slowly entered Effy. They all moan, Cook pushing in, then out again. Effy moving her hips to meet his thrust, taking the full length of him. She wraps her long legs around Cook, locking her ankles together. He hears the slap of Cook’s thighs against Effy as he begins to pound into her, again and again, building up to a steady rhythm, rough and hard and deep.
Freddie groans and feels something hot and wet squirt over his stomach, and oh, oh...
Oh.
Part Two