…But only for a few moments, of course, for this is Blenkinsop kissing him and he’d be a darned fool if he pushed away his dreams when they were standing right in front of him. He kisses right back, as hard as he can, finds himself walking Blenkinsop backwards and pressing him hard against the nearest stone wall – the height difference a bit awkward but nowhere near awful enough to make him stop doing this.

The kiss carries on for seconds.

Long moments.

Minutes.

And when they draw back, only to gasp for air, Blenkinsop’s hands immediately trail up his arms, cup either side of his face so tenderly that he can barely believe it, “I know I shouldn’t have done that, Old Bean, I know. And I know I shouldn’t be angry, not considering what I was going there to do-“

“John,” he breathes, in faintly stunned tones.

“-But just the thought of you with other chaps…”

“John,” he breathes again – and watches his best friend, the most important chap in the world, grind to a reluctant halt with such wonderfully wide eyes “…Do you like men?”

Another long pause “…Sort of.”

…He has to check, “Sort of?”

“I generally prefer chaps, yes, but…” Blenkinsop has gone bright red, they’re so close that he can see it even through the dark, “I mainly like you.”

…Oh.

Oh.

There’s another, yet another, long pause – and then he leans in for another searing kiss that has never been so perfect with any other.