There were a myriad of ways this sort of thing could get messy, both before or after the event itself. Sometimes men could get insecure about themselves and either start blustering aggressively or breaking down — particularly if they were new to this sort of thing, and particularly if they'd been on the receiving end and enjoyed it. Sometimes married people could have a crisis of conscious when they started coming to terms with what they'd done. Sometimes people (mostly women) could become clingy and overly sentimental after sex, which was always awkward to navigate. Luckily, Pettigrew didn't seem to be spinning down any of those rabbit holes. Maybe I will was about as good of a response as Emrys could have hoped for, given the circumstances and how the evening had unfolded.

He edged a little closer to Pettigrew on the bed and reached over to run the backs of his fingers over the muscles in Pettigrew's upper arm. Emrys hoped he did come back. There was a lot of potential here that they hadn't explored, he felt — things that a strong, flexible man might be able to do that not every lover could.

"Maybe," he repeated in a teasing tone, with a smile that was a little lopsided and decidedly less guarded than his usual expression. "If there's anything I can do to turn that maybe to a yes I hope you'll let me know," he said, before leaning over to kiss Pettigrew again. When he finished that, he moved to prop himself up on his elbows. Affecting a brisk tone but obviously still teasing, he continued, "I've a reputation to uphold as a good host, you know. I'd hate to think any of my guests came and went without fully enjoying themselves." (The double entendre of came and went was not lost on him).

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