by Smart, Kit
His lips curved in appreciation of my attempt at humor. “Don’t say zombie.”
It was my turn to laugh. “Definitely not a zombie.” I agreed. “You smell too good for a zombie.”
He looked up at that. “Have you been sniffing me Sinclair?”
“No more than is usual.” I defended myself.
He snorted and I found myself grinning back at him as I realized how weird that sounded.
“Am I really that bad?” He asked after a moment.
“Bad?” I hesitated. It took me a moment to get what he was asking. “No—you’re pretty… er…remote from the rest of us mere mortals though.” I tried to keep it light and joking and he smiled briefly in appreciation, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Remote?”
“Insular?” I tried for a better word and when he grimaced in reaction decided to take a different track. “You don’t really engage with—I’ve never known you to go to lunch with any of us or to go to events really.” I realized that that wasn’t quite true. “I mean aside from the officially organized ones like the Christmas party and spring picnic…” I hesitated. “You’re—you can also be a bit…uh… grim seeming.” I tendered cautiously.
He shifted back in his chair a bit. “Is that why you call me the “High Horse Bastard”?
“You know about that?”
“Yeah.” Looking up, he shot me a genuinely amused smile.
“Oh god!” I dropped my face into my hands in horror. “You weren’t supposed to… how long have you known?”
He laughed. “Relax Sinclair. It’s not a big deal.”
I looked up at him through my hands. “How can you say that? It’s unprofessional and childish and—“
“Appropriate.” He cocked his head at me ruefully. Reaching out he began to trace the rim of his water glass with his index finger. “I am not easy to work with. I know that.” He held my gaze. “I apologize.”
I felt my mouth drop open in shock. I didn’t know what I had expected him to say but it wasn’t that. “I should be the one apologizing.”
“Let’s make a deal.” Putting his elbows on the table he leaned forward. “I will promise to be less godlike if you promise to throw the occasional compliment my way.” He extended his hand inviting me to shake.
“You’re kind of high-maintenance aren’t you Hastings.” I teased as I put my hand in his.
“So I’ve been told.” He squeezed my hand briefly before letting go. He stayed where he was as I straightened which puzzled me until I saw him shift his shoulders from side to side in a minuscule, barely there way.
“Your back’s bothering you.”
He huffed in quiet laughter at my certainty. “A bit.”
“Why are you here then!?” I asked in all exasperation. “You should have just cancelled. We could have done this another time.”
He abandoned trying to be subtle and leaned into his stretches in earnest. “We have a significant shortage of time in case you’ve forgotten. Besides,” He straightened. “It doesn’t really get any better than this.”
I eyed him. “What would you normally be doing now?”
“Lying down.” He nodded at the carpet. “Want to give it a go?” A joke with a hint of a challenge.
I put that aside for later. “So, why would you suggest this then?”
“Because it’s what people do?” A shrug. “Because you need the experience of what it’s like?” He opened a hand to indicate the room at large. “Because this is reality—people staring and my back and legs doing their thing and us both being nervous.”
“And you couldn’t have just, you know, explained it to me or something?”
“It wouldn’t be the same.”
Something occurred to me and I lifted a hand to wave the waiter over. “Could you bring us some of the cushions off of the sofa in the front please?”
“Certainly madam.”
Turning back to Hastings I found him frowning down his nose at me. “What are you doing?”
“It can’t hurt.” I frowned back unable to believe that he had any reason to be irritated with me over this. “Frankly, I’m surprised that you didn’t think of it.”
“I am trying to make a good first impression.” He gritted from between clenched teeth.
“Why?”
“Because this is a first date—simulation and that’s what people do.”
“Pain making your irritable?”
“Yes.” He ground out. He opened his mouth to say something more then stopped when the waiter returned with the cushions. Mouth shut tight Hastings took them from the man and inserted them between his back and the chair while diners around us watched. After refilling our water glasses and asking if we required anything further the waiter disappeared.
“The point is,” Hastings continued as he adjusted himself back against the cushions. “That if this were a real first date, we wouldn’t be having this interaction.” There was a slight relaxation in the muscles of his face as the cushions relieved some of the strain on his back.
“What would we be doing?” I asked curiously.
“You’d most likely be ignoring the elephant in the room and I would be worried about horrifying you with any evidence of its existence.”
“Is that preferable?”
“Yes.” He paused. “No.” Another pause. “I don’t know.”
“That’s elucidating.”
He shrugged. An irritated slightly hostile shrug that told me more clearly than words that despite the cushions he was struggling to focus on anything other than his back. Claustrophobic with pain. I had read the descriptor years before and it struck me as apt now. For what is claustrophobia but the inability to escape? I recalled reading somewhere that touch—a point of contact—could relieve pain or help ground someone during a panic attack, and, although I knew that he was not having a panic attack, it seemed to me that he could use a grounding point of contact, so I reached forward across the table and took his hands in mine. “Okay.” I used the word deliberately seeking to gain his attention and counted myself successful when he shot me a startled look. His hands remained stiff under mine. “Let’s work through this. This is our first date. Your back hurts. You’re uncomfortable and irritable and trying to hide it. Why?” I gave his hands an experimental squeeze and was surprised by the laser like focus he turned on me in response.
“I want you to see me.” A small ironic twist of the lips accompanied the statement. “I want you to give me a chance.” Another twist. “And once people see the CP, they generally don’t.”
“Huh.”
“Huh?”
“You told me that I had to look right at it.” I made it half a question.
“That’s different.”
“Different how?”
“You already see me.” A real smile this time. Ironic but real. “Part of me anyway. You think I’m arrogant and annoying and a pain in the ass to work with. I’m not just the ‘disabled guy at work’ to you.”
I winced. “I don’t—”
He cut me off with a soft huff of laughter. “You have a nickname for me that proves it Sinclair.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “You deserve that nickname.”
“I admitted it didn’t I?”
“Yeah.” I acknowledged. “So—you don’t want to be the CP guy.” I prompted in an attempt to get things back on track. The sooner we finish, the sooner he can go find a nice floor to lie on somewhere.
He glanced down at our hands. “It’s complicated.” He let out a breath. “If this were a first date and I liked you—were attracted to you. I would want you to like me—to see me as sexy and to be attracted to me. For that to happen, I’d need you to see me first.” He tilted his head to indicate the other diners. “Before you see me through their eyes—before you start making assumptions about my body that I can’t in all politeness address on a first date.” He looked up at me clear-eyed and solemn. “I’d need to show you that I’m worth the effort and that’s not going to happen if you
know my back hurts, and I’m worried about having a leg spasm, or jumping at a loud noise and knocking the table over, or misjudging the mechanics of kissing you goodnight, and making an ass of myself by falling on my face or knocking you over. So yeah, I’m trying to hide it.”
“Well at least we already have the mechanics of kissing solved.” I said lightly as I took it all in. “That’s one thing off the list.”
That earned me another huff of laughter.
“In all seriousness, how about getting the food boxed up to go and calling it an evening?” I suggested. “I think I’ve got enough to make inroads into the scene if you’re willing to answer questions as they come up?”
That earned me a thoughtful look.
“Are you being kind to me Sinclair?”
I held my thumb and forefinger a centimeter apart. “A little bit.”
He looked amused. “Has hell frozen over?”
“Probably.” I shrugged. “Best take advantage while you can Hastings. It may never happen again.”
“On one condition.”
“What?”
“A dance.” He nodded at the dance floor.
It was one of the very last things I had expected him to say.
“Uh…your back?” I said eloquently.
“My back will be fine for a few minutes.” His eyes laughed at me. “I don’t want to be a complete bastard; dragging you here for a mere moment, and then departing so abruptly.”
* * * * *
I had thought that I had gotten the full effect of being stared at earlier in the evening, but it was nothing compared to the blatant stares we garnered as we made our way onto the dance floor. The way Hastings grinned at me as I turned to face him told me that that was part of his purpose in proposing the dance, and I found myself hard pressed not to swat at him in retaliation. “You’re awful.” I told him instead and his grin widened in response as he slid his arms out of his canes and handed them over.
I was slightly surprised at how natural it felt to take them and lean them against a nearby wall before sliding my arms around his waist. As I positioned my hands on his mid-back and he wrapped his arms around my shoulders I had the disconcerting feeling that we’d done this hundreds of times so familiar did it feel.
That sensation of easy familiarity lasted until I felt him settle tentatively against me. I had thought myself prepared, but there in the candlelit dining room with music playing in the background I found myself firmly on the back-foot. What happened to all the professionalism? To the academic tone? I found myself wondering as I felt the warmth of his chest against mine. How did this not distract you before?
It must be something about the added motion of dancing. I concluded as we found our rhythm—a slow easy box step that didn’t travel. Its the feeling of him moving against me. We were stationary before. I tried to distract myself by focussing on the mechanics of the dance for possible inclusion into the novel but that resulted only in my being further aware of the substantial muscles of his chest and abdomen as they shifted against my chest and abdomen. The extra weight, my hands on his back—This is what it would feel like to have him on top of me… I felt my hands flex compulsively on his back as the thought caused a clenching deep in my abdomen.
“Sinclair—” The movement of my hands must have triggered something in him because he shivered slightly.
“Hmmmm?” His muscles were tight beneath my hands and I rubbed at them absently in an attempt to get some blood flowing in to sweep the lactic acid out.
I felt more than heard him groan and stopped. “Am I hurting you?” I looked up to see his eyes closed.
“No.” A slight pause. “That feels good.” I felt his hand open and close on my back in a question. “Really good.”
Stepping slightly more into him, I ran one hand farther up his back to encourage him to lean more deeply into me. His eyes opened then, and holding my gaze he dropped his head as he leaned until finally his forehead rested against mine. “You don’t mind?” His breath was soft against my face.
“No.” I resumed my caresses on his back because it felt good to see him react. No more stone face. I thought smiling as I watched his face slacken with pleasure.
He caught my smile. “You’re enjoying this.” He accused.
“I am.”
“Why?”
“It’s like seeing behind the mask.” I admitted deliberately increasing the pressure of my hands as I did so.
His eyes drifted closed in response and I smiled.
“You like to see behind the mask huh?” He murmured against my cheek and a bare second later I felt him threading the fingers on one hand into my scalp while he pulled me closer against him with the other.
“Oh.” It was my turn to shiver and close my eyes as the sensation of those fingers along my scalp sent pleasure humming through my body. He pushed against me and I felt him erect against my belly. My eyes shot open to find him regarding me seriously. “This is what’s behind the mask Sinclair.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t really thought about that possibility, which was stupid given the nature of what we had been doing. “Not just biology?” I asked for clarification just in case I had it wrong.
“No.” His fingers worked their magic in my scalp again. “Not just biology. Though,” He pushed himself against me a little. “Biology is involved here too.”
Heat flooded my body and I found myself pressing back against him as the image of backing him onto a chair and climbing on top of him flooded through me. Wanting to see him react, I deliberately rolled my abdomen caressing him through our clothing and was immediately gratified when he sucked in a breath and forgot to move his feet. Without mercy, I nudged him back into motion taking every opportunity to rub against him as we danced. It’s the pirate thing to do.
“Is. That. A. Yes?” He rasped unevenly.
“That’s a yes.” I told him smug. There’s something about having you struggling for control…
“Sinclair—” He lowered his head until his mouth was against my ear. “If you don’t stop, I am going to back you onto that table, push up your skirts and have you right in the middle of that nice couple’s dinner.” He traced the inside of my ear with his tongue in what was clearly a retaliatory move, and I found suddenly that I wanted nothing more than to be had right in the middle of the nice couple’s dinner. I wanted it so badly that I could almost feel him moving inside of me hard and heavy as he thrust. Blood flooded to my nether regions and an insistent throb between my legs prompted me to turn my head and seize his lower lip between my teeth. I pressed once gently with my teeth before letting go. “I’m game for that if you are.” I murmured as I nibbled lightly on his bottom lip.
He didn’t react until I used the tip of my tongue to caress the seam of his sealed lips at which point he opened his mouth on a soft gasp and returned my kiss with a gentle hunger that sent an answering shiver through me.
For several moments we were all lips and tongues and nips and caresses before he pulled away. “We have to stop.” He whispered avoiding my lips as I instinctively tried to continue. He smiled a trifle darkly. “I don’t think we’d actually get away with the table scenario.”
“We won’t know unless we try.” I said hopefully as my body protested the absence of his lips against mine.
That earned me a soft huff of laughter. “You have an adventurous spirit Sinclair.” A soft kiss to my nose as he pulled his forehead off of mine. “There’ll be other tables.” He promised wickedly.
“I’ll hold you to that.” I warned.
“I’m counting on it.” He raised an eyebrow and nodded back in the direction of our own abandoned table where our boxed up food now sat stacked neatly. “Shall we?”
“Ummm—perhaps we should wait a moment or two?” I suggested, conscious that he was still hard against me. “Give things a chance to calm down.”
Another soft huff of laughter. I am getting addicted to those laughs. “There won’t be any calming down with you here against me l
ike this.” There was a growl to that that had my toes curling in my shoes.
“People will see…stare—” I began only to stop when his expression clouded.
“They’re already staring.” He told me.
I glanced around reflexively, saw heads turn rapidly as they caught me looking.
“Well—yes, but…” I trailed off again as his expression tightened further.
“Does it bother you to be seen with me like this?” He asked curtly.
Unable to understand the abrupt change in tone I tilted my head back and eyed him warily. “Like this?” I asked cautiously trying to feel my way around.
“Kissing. Being intimate. Me aroused.” He answered bluntly.
The pieces fell into place. “Are you asking me if I am embarrassed to be seen with you?”
“I am asking you if you are embarrassed to be seen engaging in intimate acts with me.” He clarified with a brutality that was impressive. Not sparing yourself, never mind me, anything are you Hastings? “I’m asking you if you are embarrassed for these people to think that we are sexually involved with one another”
With great strength, I stopped my jaw from dropping to the floor. What the hell kind of question is that? I opened my mouth to ask but the reserve in his gaze stopped me. He’s still leaning on me. I realized. Still open and trusting me not to hurt him. Vulnerable to my answer. Out of nowhere, the boldness I had been cultivating the past few days swept in and took over.
Holding his gaze, I silently slid my hands down along his spine until I encountered the dip of his lower back at which point I changed reversed my wrist position until the fingers pointed down and continued until I felt the firm muscles of his ass beneath my palms at which point I squeezed gently. “I’m not embarrassed.” I said into his startled face as I continued to knead and caress his ass as we slowly danced in our circle that didn’t travel making certain that everyone in the dining room had a chance to take it in.
A few moments later, I deliberately chose to walk behind him as we returned to our table, so I could take in the blatant stares—some disgusted and disapproving, some hungry—directed at the massive erection tenting the front of Hastings’ trousers.
