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Summary
Sitting straighter, Steak tenses as the door is encouraged further open by a booted foot and Captain French pops his head around, sees him and winks, then backs in, bringing Mr Hands with him, his long fingers very firmly over his husband’s eyes.
“Are you looking forward to your present, dear?”
Behind his makeshift blindfold, Mr Hands frowns. “It's not my fucking birthday.”
“A man can't get a present for his husband? Call it a belated wedding present.”
“Frenchie, we've been married a year and a half.”
Captain French smiles indulgently, and it’s clear to Steak that he loves his husband very much. “Very belated then, wouldn’t you say.”