by Robyn Elliot
“For a start,” Danny took a glug of vodka, paused, a deep breath, then “I, I’m…new to this,” he blurted. He took another drink of the vodka. Its heat warmed his dry throat, made his brain kind of muggy in a pleasant, ‘I’m losing my inhibitions’ kind of mugginess.
“No, really?” Stephane murmured, a teasing smile hovering over his mouth.
“God, is it that obvious?” He wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or disappointed that his gay virginity was emblazoned with invisible ink on his brow. For this guy of all guys to see.
“Don’t worry about it,” Stephane leaned forward, then glanced around, before he reached out and traced his forefinger down the length of Danny’s nose “you’re in safe hands.”
That touch was like an incendiary device had just gone off in Danny’s body. Someone walked past their table to get to the bar, and Stephane withdrew his fingers regretfully.
“Where’s this going?” Danny asked, wanting to know, and know right now, whether Stephane just wanted to play around with him, like a novelty toy, or was it something more. Shit, I hope it’s that, he thought…oh, and the being played with bit, of course. A real double joyous whammy, even if it’s all terrifying.
“How do you want it to go?” Stephane asked, and Danny gave him a wry smile. He could still feel Stephane’s caress on his skin, the bridge of his nose tingling, every nerve dancing lightly from the effect of Stephane’s fingertips.
“I asked first,” Danny said.
Stephane smiled, a kind of indulgent smile that made Danny feel more secure, less convinced he might be just a blip on Stephane’s sex radar. Stephane was still trying to deal with his own confusing emotions, never mind giving Danny hundred percent assurances. Still, all he needed to do was look at Danny, absorb the delightful sensation of his stomach flipping in a way it had never done with the array of Adonis prototypes he’d known over the years; and know this geeky, ethereal looking guy was quite possibly the one.
Yeh, the one. The only. The only? Never to sleep with another guy again, except the beauty sitting in front of him? Who was looking at Stephane with earnest, sparkling eyes, and flushed, rosy kissed cheekbones. And boy, did Stephane wanted to kiss those cheekbones. Trace his mouth slowly over them, shape them with his lips, kiss them half the night…to hell with it, try the whole night.
Danny held his breath. He could see thoughts flitting across Stephane’s face. He had an impulse to leap forward and kiss him. Go for broke, right in the middle of this pub, and snog senseless this guy who had been making every fiber, muscle and nerve of him twitch since he’d looked up at him, and saw the waiter of the year standing in front of him. Saw the most handsome, arrogant and infuriating man looking down at him, with smoky gray eyes that had ignited with their own instantaneous interest.
“I want you, Danny.”
And there it was. Cue clarion of trumpets, festival of fireworks.
Stephane placed his elbows, as opposed to his cards, on the table, gently shoving aside the half-drunk glasses. He looked perfectly serious, stern, even. Danny felt his fragile held composure start to crumble beneath that suddenly dour façade. It was searing, it was sexy, and Danny knew, without a shadow of a doubt, it was going to be a magnificent, bumpy, screw-worthy, fucktastic, beautiful and heart-rending ride; trust me, he realized, to fall for a guy like him. My first guy. My first time. With a cross between Casanova, François Mitterrand and Alain Delon. And I don’t want anyone else, he knew, utterly certain; I want him to be my last guy, too.
“I want you too, Stephane,” Danny winced slightly, hearing the husky croak in his voice. That was one thing he’d always been able to rely on, especially in a courtroom; his clear as a bell, resonant voice. Till Stephane. Changing everything.
They stared at each for a long while, as the pub’s conversation thrummed around them. No one noticed it. Why would anyone? Folk were caught up in their own lives. No one ever sees love enter a room or, for that matter, leave. That realization usually strikes when it’s too late. No fanfare, no thunder and lightning to herald the beginning of something beyond wonderful. Still, they knew. That was what mattered.
The complication was that they forgot to tell each other.
“There’s nothing to worry about, Danny,” Stephane gently assured him, seeing Danny’s anxiety, despite their declaration of…something, or other. “We can go at your pace, slow as you want.”
Danny swallowed hard, and gave Stephane a beaming look. “I know I’m not your usual type.”
“We’ve established that.”
“You started it,” Danny insisted, making Stephane laugh, shaking his head. God, the fun he was going to have teasing Mr. Hastings.
“I needed to grow up,” Stephane affirmed, “and I needed someone…just like you.”
“I’m not therapy for you, am I?”
“No, Danny, but I’ve had too many guys who are, or rather,” Stephane frowned slightly, “they were exercise.”
Danny took his glass, drained it. Too many guys. Exercise. Jesus. Stephane saw Danny’s discomfort.
“I have a past, Danny, but that’s exactly what it is…we all have, to greater or lesser degrees, haven’t we?”
Danny heard the depth behind the question. “I have had a few girlfriends,” his voice trailed off uncertainly, but Stephane went on giving him that stern look, a turn on, but it made him look slightly older, making Danny feel off kilter. “Nothing like your experience, Stephane.”
“I stopped sleeping with women years ago, Danny; can I ask you something?”
Danny braced himself, nodding. “Go on, then.”
“Are you officially out? I mean, we’re not at crossed purposes here, are we? I won’t sneak around, Danny, being your secret.”
“God, no!” Danny cried out, a bit too loudly, as heads turned to look, “I am.” He lowered his voice, flushing anew, “I am out…just not that long, Stephane.”
“I suspected that. How long?”
Danny thought for a few moments, aware Stephane’s eyes were moving over his face, searching for something, perhaps some deep revelation that would answer every question Stephane had about Danny. Waiting, Stephane picked up his glass, emptied it.
“About four weeks.”
Stephane made a choking sound, a slight spray of vodka dampening Danny’s skin. “Sorry,” Stephane leaned forward, playfully wiping at Danny’s jacket.
“Have I shocked you? That there are twenty-seven-year old virgins in the world? Well, gay virgins, technically.”
Danny felt relief rather than embarrassment. He needed Stephane to know exactly how the land lay. Or rather, unlaid.
“It takes a lot to shock me, Danny; besides, if I’m honest, it’s a turn on.”
Danny blushed again, cursing for the nano-nth time his pale skin.
“You need help!” Danny laughed, getting up, to get more drinks.
“I’ll get these.”
“No, you paid for the meal; I’m not entirely helpless, you know, Stephane.”
Stephane leant back in his chair, watched Danny getting served at the bar. His radar was spinning in overdrive, as he saw one of the barmen glance Danny’s way and appraise him on the quiet. Danny didn’t notice, smiling at the barmaid as she handed him his change. That’s the thing, Stephane thought, he has absolutely no idea how stunning he is. He will do, though. A pang suddenly struck Stephane, as Danny came back, put their drinks on the table. It was a pang all green sharded and as sour as crab apples. Danny smiled at him, oblivious, taking a sip from his glass. He’s mine, thought Stephane, with a possessiveness he had never been bothered with before.
My Danny.
“What’s wrong?” Danny asked, seeing a funny, tight look on Stephane’s face.
“Nothing,” and the too quick reply offered Danny the confirmation that something was.
“Has it put you off? It took me about two and a half minutes to get the drinks; I could see you pondering.”
“How, master of time?”
Danny gave Stephane a knowing, touching little smile. “I saw you looking at me through the mirror.”
Stephane raised one eyebrow. “Don’t you mean you were looking at me?”
They smiled at each other. “I meant, you know…”
“That you are the most beautiful virgin this side of the Channel?” Stephane teased, his voice low, sensually soft.
“Stephane, please.”
“No, it doesn’t put me off; I was just annoyed someone else had the nerve to be checking you out.”
Danny’s face was a picture. “Who?” and immediately his pale blue eyes scanned the other tables.
“Never mind…except, I minded. The last time I felt jealous I was in my lycée.”
Jealous! We have lift off, thought Danny, the most gorgeous man in the entire known cosmos jealous because someone else looked at me; as long as he’s looking at me, I couldn’t give a shit about anything else. Danny thought he’d roger that. “I don’t care, as long as you keep checking me out.”
This time, to his amazement, it was Danny observing Stephane’s vulnerable side, from the up and down bob of his swallow, to the rise of color in his face.
“I intend to.”
Danny glanced at his watch, more as a distraction from the twitching in his groin than any remote interest in the time. Saying that, he registered his shock. Five hours since they’d left Annelise in the flat. How the hell did that happen?
“Come on,” Stephane saw the look on Danny’s face, deciding for them that tonight was drawing to a natural conclusion.
They got up, Danny pulling on his jacket with careful precision, Stephane flinging on his leather jacket with an accomplished ease that Danny noted, and envied a little. He wished he wasn’t so uptight. Every minor upset got to him these days, never mind the great big, nasty upsets that had him ending up in the emergency department.
Danny watched Stephane carefully, as Stephane led them, weaving between the tables, to the door.
“Two seconds.” And Danny stood, waiting for Stephane to attend to the drainage job, only half glad he had done so himself about ten minutes earlier. Now that would be interesting, he thought, if the both of us had gone in together. As Danny’s breathing started to increase, from a combination of arousal and vague terror, Stephane emerged, smiling at him.
“Okay?” he asked softly. The look in his eyes was gentle, reassuring, and Danny nodded gratefully. The little foyer in front of the door was deserted, and Stephane reached out, stroking Danny’s left cheekbone. Danny let out an involuntary gasp, as a bolt of pleasure leapt right up into his spine from the pit of his stomach. Then, as Stephane’s fingers began to brush in a slow up and down motion Danny’s cheek, another part of Danny’s anatomy started to sit up and beg.
The door behind them opened, a guy walked past them into the gents, and the moment evaporated. Unlike Danny’s perspiration, springing onto his brow and top lip, and he was convinced Stephane could see it and think him like some green teenager. Which I am, in a way, he thought.
Stephane opened the door for him, and Danny slipped into the rain washed, and by now, very cold night. Suddenly, the noise of traffic and nightlife assailed both of them. The pub had become noisy. Neither of them noticed. That’s what happens when people become absorbed. In each other.
Their breath hung on the air. Shivering, Danny reached for his scarf, still in his pocket. As he reached up to put it around his neck, Stephane guided him by the elbow to the side street next to the pub. Headlights momentarily dazzled, as a taxi ambled past, but then they were alone-ish, if that can be achieved in a city. Unsmiling, Stephane took the scarf and began to carefully wrap it about Danny’s neck, crossing it over carefully, in the way Danny liked. Danny’s eyes moved over Stephane’s face, as if he was being hypnotized, taking in how his beard seemed more clipped; vaguely wondering if he’d done that for him, somehow.
Once en-scarved, Stephane took hold of the lapels of Danny’s jacket, and shook him gently. “Okay?” Stephane asked again.
“Yes,” Danny whispered, convinced Stephane would be able to hear the thundering beat in his chest. There was a subtle aroma of temperate forests, and fresh air; all very masculine, yet not overtly eau de testosterone.
They stood there, looking at each other, and Stephane was debating whether it was going too fast for Danny to give him a very slow, soft kiss. Danny’s lips were causing him a real problem. They were beautiful, and Stephane was trying his very best not to just start raking his own lips over them.
“I mean it, Danny; that we go only at your pace…just, tell me that’s something you’re comfortable with.”
“I am, Stef.”
Stephane smiled, looking slightly pleased with himself. “See? Progress already,” he teased.
“Do you like being called that?” Danny asked, wanting to be sure he got it right. Maybe everyone called him Stef from habit. He didn’t want to be like everyone else. He wanted to be different, and have Stephane recognize that.
“I’ve been called that for years; it’s perfect hearing you say it, with that lovely voice and crazy English accent of yours, Danny.”
Danny smiled broadly, equaling Stephane’s – sorry, Stef’s – satisfaction.
“Good,” Danny breathed, and wondered if a kiss might be heading his way. He could deal with a kiss, here, in this slightly sinister side street. Everything was okay. Stef was right. Perfect.
Something occurred to Danny, as Stephane tentatively began to lean into him; his breathing might be going like a rocket about to achieve lift off, but this was a good kind of tension, this was a fantastic kind of breathing! He hadn’t thought once about stress, or anxiety attacks, or Chambers, not a single, solitary bee of a thought buzzing around in his head. “Please kiss me, Stef,” Danny murmured, and Stephane pressed his brow against Danny’s.
Contact established. Night damp skin against damp skin, and they closed their eyes, breathing each other in.
Stephane moved away very slightly, and took Danny’s face gently between his hands.
“Beautiful Danny, I’d love to.”
They waited, for the kiss to end all kisses.
What they got was a scream, piercing, high pitched, so rending, it could have ripped through fabric. A woman’s distressed shriek, begging for help, from the depths of the side street flared through Danny and Stephane’s senses like a clarion call to cold showers for the masses.
Stephane came out with a whole bunch of French expletives and for a few moments, Danny didn’t know what the hell was going on. One minute, Stephane was leaning into him, caressing his face, turning him on like no one’s business, and the next…
The next; watching Stephane running insanely into the dark depths of the street, shouting to enquire if the unseen damsel was as distressed and as terrified as she sounded.
“Shit!” Danny muttered, standing with his arms outwards, feeling the loss of Stephane’s warmth, “shit,” as he peered hopelessly into the murk that had just swallowed up his gorgeous Frenchman. He started to proceed tentatively into the darkness, in which Stephane had but a few seconds previously raced towards without a moment’s thought. The darkness pressed onto Danny’s face, like a blanket of soot that clogged and choked the breath. Not here, Danny boy, he told himself, this isn’t the time for a panic attack. Then, he realized that Stephane had just run down that eerie alleyway, whilst Danny couldn’t see a thing. Just stay calm, and don’t dissolve into a panic, he kept telling himself, as he proceeded deeper into the darkness.
Don’t dissolve into a panic.
He panicked.
“Stef?” his voice echoed and bounced off the dank walls that seemed to close in of a sudden. Christ, Stephane, Danny thought, of all the places to take me for our first kiss.
There was something going on further into the alleyway. Danny stopped, cocked his head, listened. The traffic behind him in the main drag suddenly seemed a long way off. He kept on walking, listening as hard as he could; his eyes widened with
realization. A fight, or some kind of scuffle, as he heard grunting sounds and the exertion of breath that denoted struggle. Then, Danny was halted and his blood ran cold. The woman released a desperate, horrified banshee's howl, before starting to cry hysterically. Danny started to run, deeper into the darkness, and he could still hear the pad of booted feet running faster than him, further into the alleyway.
“Stef!” he was screaming now, “Stef! Jesus, Stephane...what the fuck are you doing?”
Danny’s impetus came to a shattering conclusion when he was confronted by a heap lying on the rain soaked ground, and a woman leaning over it, weeping inconsolably. She saw Danny, reached up to him, and even in the darkness, Danny recognized the wet, slick sheen of blood on her fingers.
“Help him, please!” she beseeched Danny, as he fell to his knees, fumbling clumsily for his phone, deep in his jacket pocket. As he punched in the emergency number, Danny felt as if he were watching the entire scene from some elevation, floating above the horror of it, seeing Stephane lying in that filthy alleyway, blood pooled around him like some macabre cloak.
“Where are we?” Danny raged at the woman, her blank, shock-dulled features not registering his question, as she sobbed over Stephane’s inert form. “Where the fuck are we?” he screamed again at her, baring his teeth, as the operator at the end of the phone told him to calm down and asked for details.
She recovered her senses in the face of Danny’s rage, and told him the name of the little side street that had become akin to hell on earth for Danny. He related it back to the operator, and all he could do was wait. “Out of my fucking way!” he spat at the woman, pushing her aside roughly, as he leaned over and pulled Stephane into his arms.
All that wondrous, vibrant, arrogant life, devoid of feeling now.
“Stef!” Danny sobbed, howling with terror and grief, and hauled Stephane’s dead weight further against his own warm body, “Stef, my Stef,” pressing hopeful, healing kisses against Stephane’s cold face.
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry; it just got out of hand, one minute he was okay. I had the punter’s cock in my mouth, then the next he turned on me. He had a fucking knife, so I screamed. I didn’t expect your friend to come haring in like fucking Superman!”