The Rusty Old Minivan

Chapter 12

He leant his hip against the counter during a lull in costumer-traffic, studying his hand. To the unknowing eye, it looked like a normal man's hand, albeit perhaps a delicate one at that. Regardless, nothing looked wrong with it. And really, there was nothing wrong. Nothing Louis minded anyway. What there was, though, were three light purple marks, planted there on the front of his fingers. A subtle reminder of last night.

A less subtle reminder was how the muscles in the back of Louis' thighs still ached each time he bent down to pick something off the floor.

It didn't help that Zayn insisted on slapping his arse every time he did so. At this point it didn't even seem like a conscious choice anymore. Pass Louis; slap his arse. Pass him again; slap his arse again. See him bending down to pick something off the floor; smack his arse so hard he falls flat on his forehead.

"You know, for someone who claims to be straight you do seem to spend an awful lot of time with your hands below my waist-area," Louis said as he'd just been sexually harassed for the seventeenth time that workday.

"Oh, Lou," Zayn said in a patronizing tone, stopping to tut at him, "are you trying to convince me that I'm gay again? Is this like the time at the Christmas party where you got pissed and told me I had beautiful eyes?"

"Shut up."

Zayn laughed, pinching Louis' cheek as he passed him. "You know I'd go gay for you any day, hun. All you have to do is ask."

"Shut up, you twisted fuck."

Although Zayn was a great guy, Louis also suspected that he suffered from a disease particularly common in particularly good-looking people; need-for-everyone-to-be-in-love-with-him-itis. It wasn't dangerous unless you actually did fall in love with him, though, and wasn't deathly unless you insulted him on his looks.

But ever since he'd found out that Louis liked men, he'd stepped up the playful flirting. Louis knew he didn't mean anything by it, would probably find him a horrible cock-tease (which he was) if he'd been Louis' type, but he wasn't and, well, Louis didn't mind the attention. For all that it was, it was flattering enough, so Louis supposed they both got something out of it.

"Hey, how was it going with, eh.... Ha... Hee... what's-his-name... Henry, was it?" Zayn asked, when on the topic of gays.

"Yeah. Henry Stools."

"Right... weird name... Anyway, what's up with him? Did you smash or is he still being a little bitch about it?"

Louis looked up from under his lashes, smirking and swaying his head from side to side in response.

"Uh!" Zayn exclaimed in campy excitement, slapping Louis on the shoulder. "You filthy slut, tell me everything!"

"Hey, a gentleman never tells."

"Exactly. So tell."

"Fuck you," Louis said, but couldn't help but add, "and it was pretty damn great if you ask me. Not to brag or anythin', but-"

"You always brag."

"- but I think I wasn't too bad. Think I did a pretty good job, if I may say so myself."

"So, like, who, like, put it in who's arse? I've always wondered how you decide that, what, do you like, do you toss a coin and then whoever wins gets to shove it up the other..."

Louis turned around on his heel, ending the conversation by walking into the backroom. He found the bag of sugar he was looking for, and when he walked back out, Zayn was in the middle of serving a costumer, thank fuck.