“If you'll go through to Nurse Sanderson, she'll take a sample of blood for tests. My current feeling is that you're very healthy. Very healthy indeed.” He smiled more genuinely, something unusual for him. “Try not working so hard.” He nodded briskly.
“Yes, doctor.” Hunter agreed.
He sat on the bed while the nurse raised his vein and took a large sample of blood from his forearm. He shook his head, inwardly. He had always found it strange that doctors took blood to check for things – if the patient had a low red blood count, for example, how was it going to help to drain out a pint of their blood? He grinned lopsidedly.
“Very healthy-looking blood, Mr. Cavendish.” The nurse said, approvingly. Hunter looked at the dark red fluid skeptically. It looked pretty much how he expected it would look: red, viscous and fluid. Didn't it always look like that?
“That's it?” Hunter asked.
“That's it.” Nurse Sanderson agreed, grinning at him. A large, sweet-faced woman with straight hair in a ponytail, Nurse Sanderson was one of the few nurses Hunter had met who didn't seem scary.
A few minutes later, Hunter left. It was good that there was nothing visible wrong with him, but then, what was it? He thought, confusedly.
Maybe it was just stress, after all. He told himself. But, he thought, smiling to himself as he walked down the street to the car park, how could he feel stressed when he was so completely, utterly happy?
He sat down behind the wheel of his BMW and started the engine, pulling away silently. As he did so, he could not help thinking of Orion. He drove most of the way grinning, and singing along to the radio.
Outside, the evening was settling over the city, painting the leafy suburb where the doctor's office stood a shade of rose and green and grey, angled down between the branches and patterning the road in slants of light.
Hunter rolled down the window, letting in the soft scent of dew on the grass. As the car wound back up the hill towards the city, he let his mind wander over the conversation with Orion. And the dream. That dream had been so vivid, he felt somehow sure it was real. And he had noticed a mark, left on the left shoulder. He could not have got a mark there on his own.
I must be going mad, he told himself. He could not stop grinning. Thoughts of Orion, lying beside him, filling him, touching him, flooded through him. If this was a madness, he decided, then he was very happy to have lots more of it.
Not even the slight leftovers from the earlier traffic jam could dampen his grin. At that moment, Hunter could not have been happier. The setting sun slanted through the window, dyeing everything golden, and the scents of cold air, diesel and fries wafted through his open window. He was content.
Chapter 8
Hunter was sitting in a coffee-shop, brooding. He would have gone to the bar, but it was full of people who knew him as he had been – a careless, wild libertine, ready to spend a night with any who dared to take him up. He did not want that. Right now, he wanted his own company.
“Orion?” he said aloud, knowing he was not there, and that he was talking to the air around him, but not caring. He had to let it out.
The dreams were worrying him. They were so intense and deep, the experience so high-definition, so to speak, that he knew there must be some deep reality behind it. He could not help imagine that he had really lain with Orion, really held him close and said all the things they had said to each other. He knew it; that at some level it was true. And yet it was crazy.
Hunter beckoned to one of the waiters, and he filled his glass. Hunter was drinking red wine; something he only did when he was at a dinner or too miserable to want to cheer up. It always depressed him further.
“Thanks.” He nodded to the waiter.
“Want to talk about it?” The waiter asked, compassionately, seeing the raw sadness on Hunter's face.
“I wish I could.” Hunter said, miserably. He did. But no one would understand him. He considered seeing the doctor. Maybe he could have some assessments done; say if he was going crazy or not. He laughed, harshly.
On an impulse, he called the waiter and swallowed the rest of his drink. “Bill, please.” He asked, managing not to slur.
The waiter returned with the bill and he paid, tipped the man generously and walked out.
When he reached home, breathless after the brisk walk, he reached for his phone.
“Dave?”
“Hi?” Dave sounded sleepy, but alert.
“I have to talk.” Hunter said, stiffly. He had sobered up considerably on the walk, and now simply wanted to talk to someone, to check he was not going slowly mad.
“Anytime, H, you know that.” Dave replied earnestly.
“Dave,” Hunter began, “is it normal to have weird dreams?”
“Sure it is.” Dave said, warmly. “I have them all the time.”
Hunter smiled. He already felt better.
“But, Dave,” he asked again, “is it normal to have dreams about like, one person? Vivid ones?”
“Sure it is.” Dave agreed again.
“Sex dreams?”
“Of course.” Dave smiled. Hunter could hear it in his voice, and it reassured him.
“I feel better already.” Hunter confirmed.
“Sure you do.” Dave replied.
Hunter laughed. “Did you dream about your partner?” he asked after a while.
“Of course I did.” Dave replied. His voice was warm, and Hunter could hear how much he loved him.
“Oh, good.” Hunter replied.
“It's perfectly natural to think about the person you love.” Dave said, solemn. “And if that means you spend time with them in your sleep, well, all for the best.”
Hunter laughed. Dave was so reassuring, he felt his sadness lifting, cloud-like. Without it, his world was sunny and whole.
“So,” Hunter asked, suddenly feeling shy, “if I dream about someone, does that mean I...”
“You probably feel quite a lot about them. Yes.” Dave agreed, at once.
“Oh.” Hunter swallowed. That was what he had thought. He just hadn't been ready to admit that; to himself, or Dave, or anyone.
“So.” He breathed out.
“So.” Dave agreed.
Hunter laughed. He felt crazy and good and alive. And if this was how it felt to care for someone, to care quite a lot for someone, as Dave agreed; well, it was nice. Very nice, actually.
“Dave?”
“Yes?”
“If I feel like this, what should I do?”
“Well,” Dave was smiling; Hunter noted again, “the best thing to do,” he continued, is to tell the someone about it.”
“Really?” Hunter sounded surprised, as he had not thought of that. Not at all. He had always been taught to hide how he felt.
“Sure.” Dave said, affable. “Or else how will they know?”
Hunter laughed, abruptly. Well, it made sense, he had to agree.
“It makes sense.”
“Yes.”
They talked for a while after that, and when Hunter hung up, he felt much better. He was not barmy; he was in love. And he would, he resolved, tell Orion. It made him feel warm inside just to think of it, and he wanted him to know; more than anything.
Hunter stirred and woke. He opened his eyes to the bright whiteness to which he had become accustomed. He leaned back and felt a warm body beside him in the bed. He smiled, and reached back, stroking the skin he felt there.
He had the satisfaction of hearing the man behind him gasp. He grinned, and stroked lower, and heard the deep laugh of the man who held him close.
“You're wide awake.”
Hunter smiled, the voice shivering down his spine. “I am.” He replied, letting his fingers tease the body behind him, tensing, delighted, when he was rewarded with a gasp.
Orion pressed against him and wrapped his arms tight around Hunter. Hunter continued his attentions, enjoying the fact that he could offer pleasure as well as receive it. Orion always made him feel so spoiled – i
t was nice to do the pampering once in a while.
“Oh, you,” Orion hugged him close, a breathy whisper in his ear, “you are distracting me.”
“Glad to know.” Hunter smiled, and moved his hand, taking hold of the hard manhood and holding firmly.
Orion swallowed heavily. “I have to say,” he said, breathy, “that is heavenly.”
Hunter chuckled. “I'm very glad.”
They lay beside each other, with Orion's hand reaching forward to tease Hunter even as he kept deftly at his work. They both felt the heat rise in their bodies, the ache of longing start to build. Hunter leaned back and pressed his body against the one behind, feeling the hardness press against him, and aching to feel it within.
His companion guessed, it seemed, for he pressed against him and, gently, stroked his waist, guiding him into position.
Orion slid into him, and Hunter cried out. They rocked back together, each pressing into the other, each straining, panting, thrusting. Pleasure, given and received, filled Hunter, and he felt his blood singing in his ears.
He cried out, moments later, as the pleasure rose and tore through him. Orion also cried out, and they lay beside each other, sweat cooling on their bodies.
Hunter lay contentedly in his arms, letting the sweat cool and slide on their skin, thinking and filled with contented pleasure.
“So,” Orion asked, stroking his shoulder gently, as if to check he was still awake, “how are you?”
“Oh,” Hunter murmured, pressing firmly back against him, “I'm fine. Been a bit off-color, though.”
“Oh?” Orion sounded worried. “How?”
“It's this...” Hunter wondered whether he should tell him. He thought it would be safe. “I've had these awful stomach-cramps, that's all.” he shrugged, trying to make it sound unimportant, though it worried him, really.
“Stomach pains?” Orion asked, cautious. “When? What sort of pains?”
“Oh, not bad.” Hunter said, gently, pleased at the care Orion showed. “Just, when I eat something, especially in the morning, and sometimes not even then, but when I wake, I get these...nauseous, cramping pains.” He did not really know how to describe it.
“Oh.” Orion sounded surprised. Then, carefully, neutral-sounding, he asked, “how long have you had these pains?”
“Maybe a week?” Hunter said, confused. “Any reason why you ask that?”
“Oh.” Orion sounded unsure. “No reason, really.” He paused, hedging. “I just wanted to know, is all.”
Hunter listened carefully to his voice. He sounded, he thought, rather pleased with himself, as if he had made an important discovery. And as if he was hiding it.
“You know something about my illness?” He asked, wondering.
“Oh, maybe.” Orion replied, with feigned lightness. “I don't know anything for sure, only,” he paused, “that it probably isn't serious. Not really. Just,” he added, sounding worried, “don't get too stressed.” He paused again. “About anything. You know? It's the last thing you need at the moment.”
“You sound like my doctor.” Hunter grinned.
“Sorry.” Orion bit his ear, by way of an apology. Hunter breathed in, desire rising in him again.
“Well,” Orion continued, “if you're not feeling too ill,” he smiled, “perhaps we could continue?”
Hunter laughed, and leaned back, grinning. “No.” He smiled. “I'm never too ill.”
They laughed together. Neither of them slept for a long time.
When Hunter woke, he was alone in his bed in his apartment. His body felt strangely exhausted, his muscles tense, as if he really had done all he dreamed of. By now, he was coming to accept that these dreams – whatever – had some significance to his life. Somewhere, somehow, they were really happening.
Hunter rolled over, smiling. He was never a fanciful sort of person. But this? Maybe, once in a while, one had to put skepticism to one side. Especially, he thought, grinning, for something this wonderful.
He sat up, and the familiar nausea claimed him, sending him out of bed and across the room before the sickness caught him. He shook his head at his reflection, smiling. “He might have been a bit more willing to explain himself.” He said to the air, indignant and smiling. “He knows something about that, I'm sure he does.”
Hunter shook his head at himself as he brushed his teeth, preparing for work. If he was going mad, he thought, he had come to accept it rather quickly. And, he thought, not for the first time, this kind of madness did not seem such a bad thing after all; not if it left him feeling quite this wonderful, with his only wish that he could see the man in daylight. He felt wonderful. Confused, worn out and wonderful. Who, after all, could want different?
Hunter stood at the long mirror in his apartment, looking across at his reflection. He was wearing a navy woolen suit, the cut tailored to his muscled form. The jacket clung to his muscular shoulders, and emphasized his narrow waist. The trousers fitted just perfectly, hugging his long, lean legs down to the muscled calves, slightly lapping over the elegant shoes.
“Not bad.” Hunter smiled at himself. He turned, checking his hair in profile. Gelled back to emphasize the slight curl, freshly-washed and glowing, it looked stunning.
Hunter turned one more time, then fastened his Cartier watch and left, grinning at himself one more time in the mirror.
As he walked down the stairs, he could not help thinking that he wished Orion could see him. On the thought, an image of the man in question suddenly came to his mind, and he smiled. He could always tell him about it, and there were bound to be one or two commemorative pictures of him at the luncheon, especially if the deal went off. Hunter crossed the hallway and strode out to his car, which he had parked around the side for easy access.
A few minutes later, and just on time, Hunter leaned back in his seat.
The Highgate Restaurant offered magnificent views of the countryside, being on the topmost story of a building on the outskirts of town. The long, wide windows ran the full length of one side, and Hunter sat opposite the windows, his back to the wall.
The restaurant was elegant and modern, the air scented delicately with exotic spices, coconut and the cologne of the guests who shared his table.
“Could you pass the salt, please, Mr. Cavendish?”
“Oh. Of course.” Hunter smiled at the distinguished-looking man opposite him, the muted light from the windows shining palely off the man's suit.
It was not unusual for Hunter to have business lunches, especially when the company was looking to branch out to new clients. And these new clients, from Horizon Circuits, were an important possibility for the company. If Hunter could close this deal, the company would have lots for which to thank him.
“Good weather, this time of year.” A man on his left commented.
“Yes, indeed.” Hunter agreed, lightly. “Very invigorating.”
“It is.” A woman smiled, her hair pulled back in an elegant French roll. The lunch and the company were both extremely elegant, the restaurant modern and exclusive. Discreet violin music wafted out from somewhere, and the furniture was chrome and white wood and beautiful. Hunter was enjoying himself.
“The chicken salad?” A waiter appeared at his side, with a tray of dishes at his side.
“That's mine.” Hunter confirmed.
The waiter quietly handed out the other starters, and they all began their meals. Hunter swallowed, enjoying the delicious mix of flavors – cool and spicy, sweet and savory. He sat back, closing his eyes a moment.
His stomach contracted, sending a wave of pain through him. He fell forwards, clutching his bowels as the pain seared through them like fire.
“Mr. Cavendish!” The woman opposite him cried out as he doubled over.
“I'm...fine.” Hunter managed weakly. “I just...ulcers or something.” He waved a hand, dismissing the waiter who had immediately rushed over to be of assistance. “Some water, please?” Hunter whispered. He dug in his pocket for the antacids his
doctor had provided.
The waiter reappeared with a tall glass of iced water, and Hunter took it gratefully, swallowing a few antacid tablets down.
“Right.” he choked, looking back at the group around the table. “We were discussing the projected gains as a result of this venture...?”
Five pairs of eyes looked back at him, round as saucers.
“It's okay.” Hunter managed, weakly, feeling vaguely irritated and completely ill. “It's just ulcers. My doctor said I'm fine.”
They nodded reluctantly, and returned to the subject at hand.
Hunter managed to keep the starter down, but when the main course – tuna steaks – arrived, the very smell of them hit his stomach and made him double over again.
This time, amidst the gasps and shocked commiseration of the guests, Hunter took the hand of the waiter and hobbled, doubled over, to the bathroom. He was violently sick.
That effectively put an end to the afternoon's meeting. The company sent a driver to fetch Hunter, and he gratefully and weakly allowed the man to help him into the seat and drive him home.
At his apartment, Hunter stumbled up the stairs to his apartment, doubled-over with pain, and collapsed onto the bed. The phone in his pocket rang.
“Mr. Cavendish?” He heard the worried voice of his secretary.
“Hi.” Hunter managed, weakly.
“Are you okay? We could send the company doctor...”
“I'm...fine.” Hunter managed, talking through his teeth.
“Well, if you're sure...” She agreed, sounding unconvinced.
“Yes.” Hunter said, exhaustedly. “I'm fine.”
After a few more sentences, commiserating and sending good wishes, Mrs. Wyatt hung up.
Hunter groaned and rolled over. What was this? Every time he ate something, but especially before midday, he seemed to suffer from these bouts of sickness. What was going on with him?
Celestial Seductions: The Complete Series: An MM Gay Paranormal Mpreg Romance Collection Page 10