Love Me Better

by Smart, Kit

  “Sex?” He slants a look at me. “Yeah.”

  “How long has it been?”

  “Four years.”

  “Have you tried—” I break it off, not quite certain what I’m asking or why I’m asking it.

  “Tried?” He laughs a small laugh that is not a real laugh. “Yes. I’ve tried. Mostly with myself.”

  I hesitate because what I want to ask is so intimate, and quite possibly very painful. “Never with anyone else?”

  “Not after my ex. No.”

  I flash on him on the sofa earlier in the evening; on the confident way he brought himself to pleasure; on the surety of his hands as he traced a map of the intimate spots of his body; and I find it hard to breathe in the face of the realization, that for several years, he’s had nobody, experienced no touch other than his own.

  Suddenly I feel cold.

  “Are you volunteering?” He asks as though I haven’t already made that clear. He needs to hear it again.

  “Yeah. I’m volunteering.”

  Owen

  You’d think after an offer like that, all I’d want to do was take her home, or anywhere else that provides a modicum of privacy and put my erection to good use by getting inside of her as quickly as possible.

  In reality though—and this perhaps shows just how far I’ve sunk into the waters of depression that have been lapping at me for the past couple of hours—all I want to do is take her home, crawl into bed with her, and soak up some of her ease.

  I want to sleep beside her tonight, and wake up tomorrow morning and do all the things that a normal couple would do. I want to listen to her sing in the shower, make breakfast with her, walk her damn dog with her, pull her into my arms in front of the fire and kiss her senseless without any care about what comes next. Call me cliché, but all I want is to be a regular guy living a regular life.

  “Who would do this to you? Who would spike your drink with viagra?”

  I take in her expression—the pensive expression she often wears at work when faced with some dilemma or other—and I wonder what she’s like in the field.

  Oh I know that technically she is in the field, but this is undercover and it’s all social functions and organizational projects and acting—if not like someone you’re not, then, at least like some small part of yourself that doesn’t represent the whole. I want to know what she’s like, with a gun in her hand facing down the enemy. I want to know what she’s like—who she is—when the world is imploding and the odds are against her.

  “Either someone who knows the kind of effect it would have on me, or someone conducting a random prank who got lucky.” I guess.

  “How many people know what kind of effect this would have on you?” She asks me quietly.

  “Someone who either knows me very well, or who has access to my medical records.”

  “Owen Bishop-MacQuoide?” A nurse with a clipboard, presumably my clipboard, calls out from beside the door leading back to the exam area.

  “That’s me.” I push myself carefully to my feet taking care to arrange my coat in front of me so as not to expose myself. Despite my performance earlier on the runway, I am about as far from an exhibitionist as one can be.

  Particularly right now.

  Seri doesn’t get up, and I know that she’s offering me privacy if I want it.

  It's privacy that in any other circumstance, with any other person, I’d want because I’m feeling really exposed.

  But I hesitate.

  I’m sinking.

  And I know, that if I go in there alone, without the distraction; without the solid warmth of her presence; while I am examined and prodded and asked pointed questions that do not allow me to avoid the reality of my circumstances; of my condition; I may drown.

  I have drowned before, and I know that coming back from that is a brutal, agonizing experience that I do not ever want to repeat.

  So I shove the impulse to hide this aside, and I search for the words to ask her to come with me.

  “Am I coming with you?” Somehow, she anticipates me.

  “I’m not sure. Are you?” I force myself to breathe through the possibility that she might say no.

  Of course she doesn’t. She wouldn’t. I know this.

  Still, when she gets to her feet and takes my hand in hers, I am almost flattened by the sense of relief I feel not to be going into the exam alone.

  Underneath it all, is the growing sense of trepidation about what I’m about to reveal to her, and how she’s going to react to it. It’s better this way, better to show her everything up front before she–I–before anyone gets attached. There won’t be any nasty surprises this way. “You may as well get a good look at what you’re volunteering for.”

  “Interesting strategy you’ve got going there Chief.” She arches an eyebrow at me; lets me know that she can see through me. “Just throw it all out there at once to see if I can take it eh?”

  Unexpectedly, I want to laugh. I should’ve known that I wouldn’t be able to pull that one on her.

  Without any conscious thought I tighten my hand around hers until it turns into something very like a death grip.

  Inside the exam room, the nurse gives me a hospital gown to change into, and tells me that the doctor will be along in a few minutes.

  Focusing my attention on the floor, I very deliberately force myself to strip in front of Seri. I don’t look at her because I want to give her the chance to see everything without her feeling obligated to hold eye contact with me.

  I don’t look at her because I don’t want to see her reaction when she sees it all.

  She’s seen part of it, but there’s more, and if she’s disgusted, by the burn scars that cover my chest and back and run down my thighs into my groin, I don’t want to see that—don’t want to have the memory of her horrified expression as she takes me in circling endlessly through my thoughts and dreams to contend with.

  And if she’s impressed ,or intrigued, or aroused by the sight of my hard cock jutting out from my body, I don’t want to see that either.

  Despite my determination to be cool and calm and emotionless about the whole thing, I am relieved when I am able to, cover myself with the hospital gown. Once the gown is on, I find that I am still reluctant to look at her however, and I buy myself a few minutes folding my clothes and setting them on the chair at the end of the exam table.

  Next, still not looking at her, I lift myself up onto the exam table to wait for the doctor.

  “A good offense is better than a good defense?” She sounds amused; not horrified in the least, and it gives me the courage to finally look at her.

  She looks at me the same way she always looks at me; albeit with a touch of you’re kind of being ridiculous thrown in and I find myself smiling slightly at her expression. “You caught me.”

  “Yeah well, don’t let it happen again.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me mockingly.

  I lean back on my hands in an attempt to take some of the pressure off my aching groin and attempt to waggle my eyebrows in return as I stare down at her. “You do realize, that you’re about to see someone stick a very large needle in my cock right?”

  “Way to dissemble chief.” She grins at me and I feel a surprising warmth blossom in my chest in response.

  Some of the sinking feeling dissipates.

  “Just wanted to prepare you.” I nod at the floor in front of me. “Wouldn’t want to have to scrape you up off the floor and carry you home.”

  “I’m not the fainting type.” She cocks her head at me. “The idea, of being carried home however, has potential.”

  “It is a very large needle.”

  That earns me a wicked grin. “Promises, promises.”

  14

  Seri

  “You don’t have to stay.”

  Seriously? I peer through the front window of the Land Rover at Owen’s cabin, which, being assigned housing built specifically for Courage After Fire, looks nearly identical to mine. In fact the only diffe
rence that I can detect are the fairy lights that I can see glowing through the front window. “Wouldn’t have thought you were the fairy light type.” I answer ignoring his comment..

  “Wouldn’t have thought you were the type to throw shade at a man’s fairy lights.” He returns with a tinge of the spirit that has been notably absent since we got in the car to return from the hospital.

  “No shade here.” I tell him as I grab the door release and pull it open. “I’m a big fan of fairy lights.”

  “You don’t have to stay.” He doesn’t move.

  “I know.” I push open the door and slide my legs out of the vehicle. “I want to.” Pushing off the seat with my hands, I bypass the running board entirely and jump directly to the ground with a satisfying thump. Can’t do that in stilettos. “Get a move on Chief, I’m hungry.”

  I grin as I hear him mutter: “Do you think now is the time to be calling me Chief?”

  At the sound of him exiting the car, my grin widens, and I reach behind me with my right hand to shut the driver’s side door. “Hope you have something to feed me in there Chief, “I call over my shoulder as I head for his front door. “Or I may have to resort to cannibalism.”

  He gives me a dark look as he reaches past me to unlock the door.

  I laugh.

  “I’m not your chief Seri.” He says tersely.

  Conscious of the dark cloud hanging over him and the way he has been retreating from me over the course of our drive, I slip in front of him and reaching under his jacket, slide my hands across his belly and flanks until they rest on his hips. You’re connected. You’re here. “I’ll call you anything you want, if you feed me.” I tell him as I pull on his hips with gentle hands.

  Bemused, he lets me lead him across the threshold into the entry nook of his cabin without protest.

  Once inside, he stops and stares down at me through hooded eyes. “Are you managing me Seri?”

  I shrug. No sense in denying it. “You’re very dark just now.”

  He sucks in a breath. “I just—sometimes—I’d just need some…” He trails off.

  I keep it light. “I know.”

  The intensity in his eyes deepens as he scans my face. “How do you know?”

  I offer him a small smile. “It turns out, that most of life, is just googling things.” Pleased when that earns me a laugh, I give in to impulse and run my hands up his flanks.

  He groans his pleasure and the sound is so addictive, I do it again.

  He is very willing, very receptive, and he lets me see it in the gradual slackening of his face and body as I establish a rhythm with my caresses.

  A few minutes in, he widens his stance and bringing his hands up, cups my face as he drops his head forward and presses his lips gently to mine. It’s a butterfly kiss, an agonizingly tender brush of his lips, before he pulls back and rests his forehead against mine.

  This close to him, I can see clearly, that although his face and eyes are suffused with pleasure, the darkness is still there. You’re not going to solve this with a couple of kisses and some petting.

  “I don’t want to leave you alone in the dark.” I tell him impetuously and then have to watch the impact the statement has on me. I grimace at my lack of—prudence as I watch his throat work to swallow. That could’ve been better done, or, at least, done in a way that didn’t knock him off balance so hard.

  “You’ll have to order food.” He says it roughly as though something is stuck in his throat.

  I decide to ignore the roughness in favor of bringing an equilibrium back into play. “Pizza?”

  “Yes. That’s most likely all that’s open at this time of night anyway.”

  “Do you have a pair of pajamas I can borrow?”

  He steps back, straightens to his full height, and places his hands on his hips. “Yeah—I think so. They’ll be big on you.”

  “They’ll be fine.” I reassure him intrigued by the hint of self-consciousness on his face. You really are going through the wringer tonight aren’t you?

  He nods and with his hands still braced on his hips, strides off to his bedroom to procure the promised pajamas.

  I watch him for a moment before reaching for my mobile phone and inputting the number of the local pizza place.

  Owen

  I stand outside the bathroom door, listening to Seri singing in the shower. It’s adorable. She probably thinks that the cabin is more soundproof than it is or that she’s quieter than she is, but the truth is that I could hear her from all the way in the kitchen.

  I want to keep this woman.

  I don’t delude myself that I can keep her forever, but I want her for how ever long she’ll give me—for however long it takes for her to run out of patience with me.

  A knock at the door, heralds the arrival of the pizza delivery person and I reluctantly push myself away from the bathroom and head toward the kitchen to answer the the door.

  I’m sitting at the kitchen island staring into my teacup with the two pizzas Seri ordered in front of me when she emerges from the bathroom. Not sure that I will be able to handle the sight of her in my pajamas, I don’t look as she pads her way towards me on bare feet. I need to give her some socks or slippers.

  Although I track her until she halts beside me, I still jump a little at the unexpected sensation of her hand on my shoulder. “Sorry.” She murmurs giving the tense muscles along the side of my neck an apologetic squeeze as she reaches around and snags the teacup directly out of my hand.

  She takes a deep swallow only to sputter when the liquid hits her mouth. Her other hand comes off my neck for a lonely moment and then returns and continues massaging and I feel some of the residual tension from the evening begin to flow out of my body. Don’t stop.

  “Damn all sugar in our tea?” She sets the teacup down in front of me and reaches up to pull off my loosened bowtie. “You’re not changing?” She starts to work on my neck with both hands and I drop my head forward and brace my hands against the top of the counter as it suddenly becomes difficult to support myself.

  Must be jelly ‘cause jam don’t shake like this.

  “I was waiting for you to finish in the shower.” I manage somehow, to formulate an answer. I think I’ve found, if not heaven, some realm at least, in which, I am not subject to the eternal torments of the damned.

  “You could have joined me.”

  “Seri—” I wince at the way that comes out in a half sigh half groan that is more than a touch embarrassing given she shows no signs—aside from the invitation to join her in the shower—of being as wound up as I am. “I need to know that you understand that my cock —” I pause as my throat tightens and it becomes momentarily impossible to speak.

  Damn it.

  “Doesn’t get erect.” She says the words for me as she continues her assault on the tight muscles of my neck and shoulders. “Got it.”

  “It may never— it may be permanent.” I say stupidly. She already understands idiot. There’s no need to keep repeating yourself. Treating her as if she’s simple won’t help you get anywhere with her.

  To my horror, I feel myself start to wobble on the stool and have to grab the edges of the counter to keep myself from over balancing. I wait for the shakes to start, but they never come. There’s just a general feeling of unsteadiness.

  “Okay.” I feel her move her body up against my left side bracing me as her right hand drifts down along my spine to my lower back and then up again to my shoulders in a soothing circular motion. I don’t know why I expected that I could have hidden my reaction from her, she’s sharp, well-trained, and she notices everything.

  “And I need you to understand,” she tells me as the shock runs its course, “that I understand that you don’t need an erection to have an amazing, satisfying sex life.” She runs her hand along my spine, up my neck and into my hair.

  I almost pass out from the pleasure of it. It’s been a pathetically long time since I’ve been touched with affection.

 
She gives my scalp a gentle series of squeezes and then slides her hand down to my shoulder. “Now go shower and get changed into something more comfortable so we can eat.”

  Seri

  It’s been a long rough night and I’m very nearly out on my feet, so I stack some plates and napkins and a couple of glasses on top of the pizza box, take a bottle of sparkling water under my arm and head for the sofa.

  By the time Owen emerges from the shower clad in matching pajamas, I have rummaged through his DVD collection and pulled a few contenders. “Thoughts?” I ask him when he’s close enough to see the choices I’ve laid out on top of the coffee table next to the pizza box.

  He gives me a strange look, but reaches down to grab Pitch Perfect and then makes his way over to the DVD player. “I have Netflix.” He offers over his shoulder.

  “I love watching previews.” I confess as I open up the pizza boxes.

  “You love watching previews?” DVD inserted, he turns back to me, eyebrow raised in disbelief.

  I tuck my legs up beside me on the sofa and cover them with a blanket. “They give me ideas about what I should watch next.” I explain as I reach for a napkin and a slice of pizza.

  “There are other ways to do that you know.” He tells me as he skirts the coffee table and takes a seat at the opposite end of the sofa.

  “Yes, but—” I eye the way he is sitting, feet flat on the ground, facing forward, back braced against the sofa as if he’s on an airplane. Stiff as a corpse. “—I like this way better. It’s random.” Not entirely certain what is going on, or where the man I kissed earlier has gotten off to, I take a bite of pizza as I consider the matter.

  “Do you want some pizza?” I ask when he makes no move toward the food.

  “In a minute.” Ignoring the previews, I watch him slide his hands down along his thighs to his knees where they stay. Nerves? I set aside my pizza, and stretch out my right leg so I can nudge his left hip with my foot. The gentle pressure, has the desired effect, and he turns his head to look at me. Definitely nerves. I decide taking in the tightness in his face. I need to make this easy. Pulling the blanket back with my left hand, I extend my right hand towards him. “Come on, you’re not going to sit all the way over there, like that are you?”