by Rayne Auster
“Too busy to call your boyfriend?” Jacey lapped the edge of the glass in his hand and, for the first time since laying eyes on Dylan, actually looked away from him to acknowledge me instead. “Was the sex not good enough? You certainly didn’t complain.” He watched me as he spoke, every word a blatant message to me that I was not too blind to miss. He was telling me I was an intruder and it hurt, especially when I realized it might be the truth. After all, Dylan hadn’t even mentioned Jacey to me, even after I told him about my love life, or perhaps I should say lack thereof.
I didn’t even have the heart to protest, so I drowned my hurt in yet another glass of wine, no longer looking up. I couldn’t face the overt sexual innuendos in every movement Jacey made when Dylan didn’t even move to put Jacey in his place.
“Jacey, you are—”
Dylan only managed to utter three words before Jacey interrupted him once more, his tone actually dripping pure sex. “The last time was sooo good. Remember the honey and the cream?” I really didn’t think it was possible to seduce someone with your voice alone; the very realization that it was seemed to emphasize my every inadequacy. I could never seduce someone like that. I was, after all, a geek, working in the IT field. It is a common belief that we are sexually deficient.
My sexual inadequacy aside, it was what Jacey said next that really hit me hard. “You licked me all over, from top to bottom. I can’t remember ever having such a good time. We really should try the chocolate sauce next. You have a thing for chocolate, don’t you? You always said you were game to experiment. If you like we can even include your little boy toy over here and have that threesome we were considering.”
My mind raced ahead and suddenly I could see Jacey and Dylan, together, doing things I didn’t want Dylan doing with him. I wanted him to do them with me instead. My heart clenched in on itself and my chest ached and that is when I officially had enough. I refused to be there, listening to Dylan’s boyfriend go on about how good their sex life was when it seemed Dylan had betrayed me in the most basic of ways.
I stood, drawing Dylan’s attention to me, and I was caught in his gaze, for a moment uncertain as to what I should do next. Then the pain in my heart spurred me into motion. Suddenly angry at him for playing with me the way he did, I reached over and grabbed the glass of wine he still held from his hand. I downed it in a single motion and slammed it onto the table before him, every line of my body daring him to do something about it. When I was met with only dead silence, I turned and walked out without another word. Ok, so maybe hobbled out would be a more accurate rendition, but let’s stick with the more glamorous of the two.
I actually made it halfway down the street Michael lived on before Dylan came after me, his voice drifting through the chilly night air. “Avery! Wait!” There was desperation in the cry, but I ignored it. I really didn’t want to talk to him, not when he’d hurt me more than I ever thought possible, teaching me the true meaning of shattering a heart into a million pieces.
I continued to hobble along and actually managed to progress ten crutch clicks forward before, inevitably, he caught up with me. I tried my best to ignore him, but he grabbed me by the shoulder to halt any further progress I may have attempted to make. The moment he had me in place, he walked around to stand before me. He wanted to confront me head-on, but I turned my face away. I didn’t want him to see how much it was all affecting me. “Avery. It’s not what you think.”
He paused, giving me time to respond. I, however, completely ignored the opening he gave me to protest. Dylan wanted to talk and I didn’t feel like playing along. It’s a well-known fact that it’s difficult to convince someone using logic when said someone isn’t offering points that can be argued.
“Come on, Avery. Talk to me. I’m trying to tell you Jacey is not my boyfriend.” And that is how I stepped right into Dylan’s game. Though ignoring him was a good tactic when I first considered it, I had forgotten to take my nature into account. I talk too much for such a tactic to be a viable solution for me.
“Really?” I snapped, looking at him before I could think better of it. “Does that mean he’s another of your boy toys? Like me? Are you collecting your own private little harem? Someone for every day of the week? Or every month? Does this make me Mr. November? Or is it Mr. Saturday, seeing as that’s the day you seduced me?”
“Avery, stop it. You’re being ridiculous. He’s not my boy toy and neither are you, and if I recall correctly I was not the one doing the seducing when we first met.” Even though my head knew he had a point, my heart didn’t get the message. I knew I was unjustly accusing him without even giving him the chance to explain the situation, but I couldn’t get the image of Jacey and Dylan out of my head.
“So now you’re going to blame me?” I lost what little cool I managed to pretend to have, and set all my raw emotion free. “You certainly weren’t complaining!” The moment I said it I knew I had thrown the same argument Jacey had used, but I didn’t really care. “If you were involved with someone else, you could have just let me know! And if it was only sex, you shouldn’t have implied you wanted more by actually being jealous that I might have been involved with Kayden! I can’t believe I was stupid enough to actually fall for you!”
As those last few words slipped past my lips, their meaning sank into my mind and killed my rant, right then and there. I had just revealed something I hadn’t realized until that very moment. Somewhere along the line, despite the short time I had known him, I had fallen for Dylan. The very thought made me want to run and hide from the world and everything in it. You see, flirting I can do with the best of them; committing to an actual relationship is another ball game entirely.
“You what?” Dylan’s careful intonation made it clear that he knew exactly what it was I’d said and was merely seeking confirmation with the question, confirmation I had no intention of giving him.
I wanted time to work my own way through this, yes, say it with me, epiphany of mine, before facing him and possible rejection once again. After all, we still hadn’t resolved the issue of the twink that had invaded Michael’s house to get to Dylan. “It doesn’t matter. You have Jacey. You don’t need me.” I turned and attempted to move forward once more, hoping to get past and away from him so I could nurse my wounded heart and my shocking revelation in peace. I fully intended to throw a pity party and the only one invited was me.
“You’re not going anywhere.” It was the sheer command in his voice and not his sudden grip on my arm that stopped me dead once more. “I’m not done with you yet. I will only say this once, Avery, so you’d better listen and listen good. Jacey is not my boyfriend or my boy toy. I don’t do random sex and believe in being with only a single person at a time. Yes, I did sleep with Jacey and yes there was cream and honey involved at the time. I was drunk out of my mind, and it’s a mistake I don’t intend to repeat. Ever. It was over six months ago, and when I came to my senses the next morning I broke it off. Not that there was a relationship to break off, seeing as that was a one night stand, but I did my best to make it clear that I did not want to be sexually involved with him. Jacey, unfortunately, didn’t get the message. That’s why I moved. Seems I didn’t move far enough, seeing as he’s managed to track me down again, but I don’t regret it. Not for one minute. I met you.”
If ever I heard a corny line, the last one was it, but I couldn’t find the energy or heart to actually make fun of it. Something about the situation and the manner in which he said it actually seemed to give it the meaning it once had, before Hollywood used it to death. “So… where does that leave us then?”
“I love you, Tweety Bird. Where do you think that leaves us?” And that, I guess, is how our relationship began.
If I had my way, this would be the last chapter to my tale. But Dylan wouldn't be pleased if he realized I didn’t see it through to its natural end. After all, all things must come full circle to be truly complete, and so my story will end where it all began.
Therapy
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br /> Three weeks after surviving the infamous “Twink Attack,” as it is now known, I finally had my cast removed. When I say finally I mean it, because it was a week overdue. During one of my checkups, the doctor commented that the break wasn’t healing as well as he’d hoped and recommended that I wear the cast a little longer. It was not a happy day for me. I envisioned endless days of torment ahead and could almost hear Mr. Bubblehead laughing at me. When I found out that the cast could finally be taken off, I literally hugged the poor man in white. Even hearing that I would need to keep the crutches of doom around a little longer while I got used to walking again did not detract from my elation.
Dylan and Michael were every bit as happy as I was. Okay, so they weren’t bouncing off the walls or anything, but they really were happy for me, and invited me out to a celebratory lunch. It was while we were getting ready to go out that things really got interesting.
“I just found out something interesting.” Dylan poked his head into his bedroom where I was busy digging through the closet looking for something to wear. He’d moved me in right after the fateful encounter with Mr. Honey and Cream, and we’d been living together ever since. It may seem rather sudden to have made such a commitment, but seriously, think about it. We lived right next door to one another and more often than not spent our evenings together anyway. We certainly slept together. I didn’t actually sell my apartment and all the furniture in it till much later, so technically it wasn’t altogether official; I still had a safety net available at the time.
“Hmm?” I spared but a moment to hum in order to let him know I was listening, despite the fact that I was all but buried in my own clothes, searching for something suitable to wear now that I finally had two ankles again.
“Michael met someone.” Now that actually did manage to garner my full attention. Michael, I’d found, has a tendency to “enjoy life,” and yes, that can be interpreted as “avoids commitment like the plague.” All this I know from Dylan. Michael prefers to keep conversations light, and tends to avoid more serious subject matters.
“Met someone as in actually likes someone enough to want something more than a drinking partner for an evening?” Even though Michael avoids commitment, he doesn’t sleep around. He has to be really drunk to slip up like that, and that’s only happened once since I met him. From what I can gather, he generally avoids interaction with anyone that is not a friend. I, being Dylan’s partner, get the privilege of his company by proxy.
“Yup.” Dylan grinned at me, and the sparkle in his eyes told me he was enjoying the telling far too much for his own good. Good thing Michael was not around to retaliate. “He actually asked me for advice. He wants to know what he should do to get the person’s attention. I told him to live in the moment. If it’s meant to be, an opportunity will make itself known, and when it does, he should grab it with both hands. Who knows, he may even stumble upon love along the way.” The last was said to tease me, but I really didn’t mind. I can forgive Dylan pretty much anything these days.
“Wow. He likes someone enough to actually overcome his phobia of anything that may potentially resemble a relationship. So who is this person that managed to achieve the impossible?”
“I have no idea.” Dylan stepped up behind me to wrap his arms around my waist. “But since we’re on the topic of phobias, when are you getting over your phobia of getting into a certain elevator? I’m getting a little tired of taking the stairs, you know.”
“Who’s forcing you to take the stairs?” I pretended to focus on the clothes in my hands once more. I didn’t want Dylan to know how much his proximity was affecting me, the heat of his touch managing to warm my skin even though the shirt I wore. “You’re perfectly welcome to take the elevator while I take the stairs.”
“Then I’d be all alone and Tweety-Bird-less.” He actually breathed the response right into my ear, taking full advantage of my now rather well-known weakness.
“That’s a choice you have to make, now isn’t it?” I retorted, fighting the shiver that coursed down my spine. “And while we’re on the topic of Tweety Birds and names, who is Avery Brooks?” I jumped on the most random reference I could find in the hopes of changing the topic, suddenly remembering the nickname Dylan had branded me with way back when.
“You’re trying to distract me.” Dylan’s soft reprimand trickled into my ear as he slipped a hand beneath my shirt to splay it over the naked skin of my belly. “Tut tut, bad Tweety Bird.”
I arched into the heat of his touch, unable to resist. “You’re doing the same thing.” My response was breathy and short, thus proving that Dylan’s distraction tactic was far more efficient than mine.
“True.” My breath hitched when he sucked my earlobe into his mouth and nibbled on it, his saliva cooling my skin as it hit the air that surrounded us. “But I’m better at it than you are.” He slid his hand up towards my nipples in order to more effectively prove his point. “Avery Brooks is an actor. I know him because he acts in Star Trek.”
And that stopped everything short. “You’re a Star Trek fan?! You’re joking, right?” I turned to face him, forcing his hand to slide from my nipple and onto my back. “I can’t believe you’re a Trekkie! Please, say it isn’t sooooo.” I deliberately drew the last word out, using the dramatic overtones in my voice to tease him.
“Don’t tell me you’re a Warrie,” Dylan immediately reciprocated, picking up on my game just as I knew he would. Dylan can’t resist a debate. Here we have the Art of Distraction—Lesson Three: Find your opponent’s weak point and pounce right onto it with everything you have.
“But of course.” I tilted my head and pretended to preen, playing him with all I had. If truth be told, I’m neither a Trekkie nor a Warrie. I enjoy a good science fiction story but am not an avid obsessive fan of either Star Trek or Star Wars. Both series have their good points and their bad points. However, the conflict between Star Trek and Star Wars fans is rather well known and I really couldn’t resist the urge to play on it, seeing as Dylan was enough of a Star Trek fan to actually know obscure little things like the actual actors’ names. “How can you not be a fan of Luke Skywalker and Yoda with all his wisdom?”
“Yoda is a fake. He doesn’t even know how to create grammatically correct sentences and pretends to be all clever because he speaks all backwards.” Dylan’s avid protest brought me to tears, the intensity of the laughter it instigated actually physically painful. He was so lost in the argument that it actually took him a moment to realize I was screwing with him and another moment to react.
“Why Tweety Bird, are you making fun of me?” He slid his other hand beneath my clothes and leaned forward to drop a light kiss on the corner of my lips. “Are you sure you want to be doing that? You may want to reconsider.” This was followed by another kiss, this one on the other side. “You see. When I get teased I am overcome by the sudden urge to retaliate and I think I know just the thing….” And that seemed to be what he was waiting for.
The moment he finished speaking he grabbed hold of me and tossed me over his shoulder. To this day, I still wonder how that was physically possible. I was so lost in the soft affectionate caresses he was dropping onto my skin that I didn’t even see it coming. He then headed straight for the apartment door and, yes, you guessed it, the dreaded elevator.
“Hey, Dylan, wait! I’m not getting into that elevator.” My protest fell on completely deaf ears. Okay, so maybe not so much deaf as disobedient, because he did respond, even though it wasn’t by putting me down.
“I know. I’m carrying you in. Not the same thing.”
“Dylan, please. I’m sorry. I won’t tease you about Star Trek anymore. I promise. Just put me down and step away from the lift.” I tried to bargain with him using promises I knew I probably wouldn’t keep, but he didn’t even bother to respond. The elevator pinged, the sound loud in the silence that surrounded us. That is when it really hit me. He was going to take me in there whether I liked it or not, and nothing I said or did w
as going to make him change his mind. That certainly didn’t stop me from trying, though. I happen to have a personal policy that demands I at least go down fighting.
The moment he stepped forward, I threw all my efforts into struggling in his grasp. Part of me hoped he would drop me so I could run away, while another part, the more sane part, hoped he wouldn’t. That part of me realized that if he did let me go while I struggled, the chances of me landing safely were slim. I’d probably meet Mr. Bubblehead the 2nd.
The moment the doors were closed, he complied with my request and carefully placed me down onto a horizontal, flat surface once more. He took great care to use his body to stabilize my progress as he slid me down, and by the time my feet hit a solid surface, I didn’t really have the energy to stand up straight. The elevator began its descent, and as it started to move, Dylan moved along with it. That is when I realized what his true intent was. “Dylan, no!” My protest escaped my lips about a second too late, and I watched in horror as his finger connected with the emergency stop button.
“And now, my dear little Tweety Bird, we will teach you that not all experiences in halted elevators are bad.”
His rough whisper sent lust right through me. I licked my lips, my mind racing for a smart comeback that should have contributed to fighting him off, but somewhere along the line between my brain and my lips, the message got all jumbled up and the error code in my brain got stuck on “How fast can I get into his pants?” It was good to know my one track mind was still functional.
The delay caused by the malfunction in my brain gave Dylan the time he needed to act on the promise in his words, and before I could even click OK to clear the error message in my head I found myself pressed up against the elevator wall, hot lips firmly locked upon mine. Leaving me little say in the matter, he slipped his tongue between my lips and plunged deep into my mouth, sweeping right through it without pause.
