Alexander’s eyes trailed Nick’s fingers up the placket of his dress shirt as he slowly slipped the buttons through the buttonholes. Tucked in his shirt. Zipped up his pants. Ran the belt through his belt loops and cinched it shut. Pulled on a vest and buttoned it up. Alexander’s eyes never left his body, hungrily tracing Nick’s flesh as it was covered up in layers of cotton and wool. And Nick continued to preen under the surveillance, pretending that he was merely taking his time getting dressed rather than performing some sort of strange reverse striptease for a voyeur.
As he fastened his left cufflink, though, he caught a glimpse of his watch — Shit. It was 9:25, which meant he had 5 minutes to get to Robert Furmalis’s office. Panicked, he jammed his feet into his shoes, shoved his arms into his jacket, and draped his tie over his upturned collar. He could tie it in the elevator.
As he ran out of his office he looked back at Alexander one more time. He was going to make some sort of apologetic explanatory gesture, but when their eyes met he froze at the expression on Alexander’s face. His brow was furrowed, his lips were parted, and — there was no better word for it — he looked ravenous, like it was taking all of his control not to come crashing through the window, pin Nick to the wall, and have his way with him.
Nick gasped in a breath, looked to the ceiling, and counted to ten; skinny tailoring might be a boon for stripping, but not for meeting with senior partners when you had a hard-on. He willed his body to cooperate, then spun on his heel and left his office and a still motionless Alexander at the window.
The heat in Alexander’s eyes stayed with Nick through the meeting, an afterimage haunting him every time he blinked. When he got back to the office, the bouquet was gone, but in its place was a simple message written in black:
THANX FOR THE SHOW, LOVE
xox
Chapter 5
On the fifth Friday, Nick was finally expecting Alexander. As the scaffold descended into view, Nick flipped open a file and pretended to be immersed in work. When he sensed that Alexander was fully in view, he looked up from his paperwork to find the expected smirk directed at him. Nick aimed for a surprised-but-contained reaction that conveyed Oh, I didn’t expect to see you there, but I am not shocked and I am able to easily integrate this into my day. He was rather proud of how well he pulled it off.
Alexander gestured to Nick’s (clothed) torso and mimed disappointment. Nick was sorely tempted to stick out his tongue, but realized that might undermine the effects of last week’s impromptu striptease. Instead he settled on feigned irritation, and turned his attention back to the files to actually do work.
It was strangely companionable, paging through files at his desk while Alexander efficiently worked his way across the windows. There was an easy elegance to the way Alexander cleaned, as though he were an artist at a canvas. Occasionally their eyes would meet and Nick would bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.
A sudden clanging noise caused Nick to start and look up at Alexander’s face, except Alexander’s face wasn’t there anymore. Nor was the rest of his body. All that Nick could see was one end of the scaffold and the cables that should have been supporting the other side.
“Holy fucking shit fuck!” Nick ran over to the window, standing up so hastily that he knocked his chair over. He pressed his face against the glass and let out a relieved breath when he saw Alexander standing in the cradle of the now-very-crooked scaffold, clinging to the railings and looking slightly alarmed. He glanced up at Nick with wide eyes and gave him an unconvincing thumbs-up.
Nick, now that his pulse had returned to a non-fatal rate, ran to his office phone and dialed 911. He shouted into the phone, trying not to sound too hysterical, and after he managed to successfully explain the situation to a very patient operator, he hung up and returned to the window, where Alexander was scowling and (presumably) yelling into his own phone. Whoever Alexander was talking to must have hung up, because Alexander suddenly looked at the screen in disgust and shoved the phone back in his pocket.
Nick tried to signify to Alexander that he had successfully called emergency services. Then he sat with his hands pressed against the glass, staring at Alexander and waiting for help to come.
Help came 20 minutes later in the form of a brigade of firemen carrying an impressive array of ropes and machinery. They surveyed the scene, exchanged a few hand gestures with Alexander, and then, after a few minutes of murmured consultation, two of the men started up a large oscillating saw and began cutting into the metal frame into which one of the window panels was set. Another pair began searching the office for sturdy anchor points.
Nick paced. He didn’t want to interfere with the rescue mission, but he was unaccountably anxious not being able to see Alexander and make sure he was okay. He stood back while the firemen finished sawing through the metal frame. As they dislodged the panel and pulled it into Nick’s office, the noise from outside poured in after it. He could hear the sounds of traffic in the streets below, the wind whistling through the office building canyons, and one rather agitated Alexander.
“Bloody hell!”
Nick leaned over the firemen crouching on the floor and stuck his head as far out as he dared. “Wait, you’re British?”
Alexander looked up at him. “Could we maybe discuss this later, darling? Perhaps when I’m not dangling 200 feet above the pavement?” He caught a harness that the firemen tossed down to him and began wrapping it around his waist and legs.
Nick opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by the deep whine of a news helicopter arriving at the scene.
Alexander craned his head and looked alarmed when he saw the chopper. He muttered “Shit!” and pulled his baseball cap further down his forehead, turning in towards the building as he finished buckling himself into the harness. Nick briefly wondered about the reaction, but then he realized that he’d be pissing himself if he were in Alexander’s place so perhaps it was understandable if Alexander didn’t want his face to be plastered all over the national news.
A burly arm pushed Nick aside as three firemen pulled Alexander up; when he was close enough, one of them grabbed the back of the harness and hauled him in until he was sprawled across the floor. He lay there for a moment, his face buried in the carpeting. He looked, Nick idly noted, not unlike a shipwrecked man washed up on a beach. With a groan, Alexander dragged himself to his hands and knees, then slowly drew himself up to standing. He waved off the firemen standing around him ready to offer assistance, and began unbuckling his harness.
After he had unhooked the last latch and dropped the harness to the floor, he finally looked at Nick. “Well. That was an invigorating start to my day.”
Nick gaped at him dumbly for a few seconds, then, without thinking, rushed over to him and wrapped his arms tightly around him in a hug. After about thirty seconds he realized that this was perhaps not normal behavior, although Alexander was hugging him back. He reluctantly drew away and tried not to shift awkwardly.
Alexander looked him up and down evaluatively. “You’re shorter than I thought.”
“I’m the same height as you.”
“I thought you’d be taller than me.”
Nick was prepared to object, but the sudden blare of a truck horn from the street below reminded him of the current situation. “Why are you not more fazed by what just happened?”
Alexander shrugged. “Hazard of the job. Let me get you coffee to make up for disturbing you.”
Nick’s instinct was to decline, as usual. “I can get free coffee from the break room.”
Alexander put a hand on Nick’s upper arm. “Let me rephrase that, darling. I’m taking you out of this bloody building and we are getting coffee. It’s not like you can do any work in here right now, anyway.” He gestured to the firemen breaking down their equipment and the papers blowing off of Nick’s desk in the 20th-floor gusts of wind. Without waiting for Nick’s answer, he dragged him out of the office.
Nick followed Alexander silently to
the elevator, down to the lobby, out the door, and to a café down the block. Now that he could finally talk to Alexander, he was strangely tongue-tied. He cast nervous glances at Alexander while he ordered them coffees, then trailed after him to a table tucked away in a corner.
He finally broke the silence by blurting out the first thing he could think of. “So. Alexander. Is that a first name or a last name?”
“It’s just Alexander.”
“Like Cher.” Like Cher? That’s your conversational contribution?
“Precisely like Cher. Though, frankly, I think I look better than she does in a gaffer-tape leotard.”
Nick’s brain was momentarily paralyzed as it simultaneously a) boggled at the fact that Alexander just made a reference to Nick’s all-time favorite music video (side note: good lord, how had an 8-year-old dancing along to “Turn Back Time” not twigged his parents’ gaydar?) and b) pictured Alexander straddling an enormous cannon on the deck of a battleship. Freud would have a fucking field day, Nick’s few unoccupied neurons piped up. No he wouldn’t, tossed back a few more neurons newly freed from remembering young Nick’s hobbies, there’s nothing even remotely subtle about replacing Alexander’s cock with a huge gun. Barely even counts as a metaphor. And is quite possibly even more overtly sexual than just thinking about his cock. Mmm, Alexander’s cock. Wonder what it looks like…
Nick wasn’t sure how long he’d been offline, but it had definitely been noticeable judging by the way Alexander cleared his throat and changed the topic. “So, Nick, what do you do? Other than amateur stripping, I mean.”
Nick blinked as he tried to regain his conversational bearings and drag his mind out of the gutter. Well, out of a gutter, at any rate, and into a different gutter, this one of Alexander’s creation.
“That’s not an evaluation of your skill, by the way,” Alexander added. “I use the terminology in the technical sense. I never paid you, after all.”
Something about Alexander’s easy banter flipped a switch for Nick, turning him back into normal conversational mode. “Consider it a freebie.” Alexander smiled at him, a small Ah, there you are quirk of the lips. “I do transactional law. Mostly mergers and acquisitions, that sort of thing.”
“Do you enjoy it?”
Nick snorted. “I’m good at it.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Of course I don’t enjoy it. Nobody enjoys it. But what else would I do?”
“You mustn’t be afraid to enjoy yourself a little darling.” Alexander rested his chin on one hand, using the other to idly toy with the lid of his coffee cup.
Nick raised an eyebrow at the career counseling. “That’s rich, coming from a window washer.”
“Your condescension is much appreciated, Nick. Anyway, the window-washing is only a part-time gig.”
“Oh yeah? What else do you do?”
“Why don’t you try to guess.”
Nick pretended to deliberate. “Well, I know you’re not a secret agent, because you’re terrible at spying.”
”Trust me, pet, if I were spying on you, you wouldn’t know.” Alexander looked steadily at Nick.
Nick ignored the little thrill that sent through him. “Porn star?”
“Ah, have you seen my films then?” Nick choked on his coffee. “Joking, dear Nick. I prefer my liaisons to occur in private, and free from the burden of intrusive camera angles.” Alexander took a sip from his cup. “Plus, waxing one’s bollocks once is enough for a lifetime, in my opinion.” Nick narrowly avoided choking again.
“Sorry, is this the part of the date where we talk about our testicles?” As the question left Nick’s mouth he realized he’d referred to this as a “date”; although Alexander had been flirting with him like a sailor on shore leave (don’t think about the battleship, don’t think about the battleship) it still felt a little presumptuous to assume that this was that kind of shared beverage. He bit his lip and tried not to wince.
But Alexander only smirked reassuringly. “As far as I’m concerned, it’s not a date until we talk about our testicles. Well done us.” Nick’s blush remained, though its valence shifted from positive to negative. “So, you hate your job but you don’t know what else to do. Were you always going to be a lawyer?”
“I did Navy ROTC in college. I was going to join the Marines.”
“What happened?”
“I realized I was gay.”
Alexander stared off into the distance for a moment, and then shook his head vigorously. “I’m sorry, I was just picturing 20-year-old Nick in uniform. Please tell me you had combat boots.”
“I may or may not still have them in the back of my closet.”
“Nick, dearest, you’re going to give me a heart attack. Family?”
Nick furrowed his brow at the sudden change of topic. “What?”
“Do you have any family in the area?”
“I don’t really have any family, period. My parents were estranged from their relatives, they’re dead now, and I was an only child.” Nick shrugged.
“Hm.” Normally, people made some uncomfortable attempt at sympathy when Nick revealed this information, but Alexander seemed to be weighing the information thoughtfully. This felt strangely like a job interview. “Boyfriend?”
Nick shook his head. “When would I find the time to date?”
“You’ve found the time right now.”
“That’s true.” Nick thought for a moment. “How long do you think it takes to put a window back in a wall?”
“Mm, quite a while I would imagine.”
“Ah.” Nick bit his lip and looked down at the napkin he’d been steadily tearing into tiny pieces during the conversation.
“Why, do you have an idea as to how we might while away the hours before your office is usable again?” The spark of interest in Alexander’s eyes belied his steady smile.
Nick cleared his throat and returned his heated gaze. “I might have one or two.”
Alexander’s crooked grin was blinding. “Oh, darling, you’re not thinking nearly ambitiously enough if you’re stopping at two.” He stood up, tossed his empty cup toward a garbage can, and held a hand out to Nick. “Shall we? I’ve a room on the other side of the city, but I assume you live nearby.”
Nick hesitated for only a moment before throwing out his own cup, standing up, and planting his palm firmly in Alexander’s grasp. “You assume correctly, Mr. Alexander. Follow me.”
Chapter 6
The following Friday, Alexander didn’t show up.
Nick had to admit he’d been looking forward to seeing Alexander outside his window again. The sex had been toe-curlingly hot, of course — Alexander’ skillful tongue and fingers plus Nick’s hadn’t-gotten-laid-in-six-months enthusiasm turned out to be a rather explosive combination — but it had been strangely tender, too. Between rounds they’d lain in bed with their limbs intertwined, exchanging lingering kisses and lazy caresses, occasionally catching each other’s eyes and smiling as though they had a shared secret.
Nick had felt… well, he had felt like he was home, which, technically speaking, was accurate, but his apartment — with its bare walls and empty cabinets — had never really felt like home before. Apparently the problem hadn’t been a lack of art on the walls or the dearth living room furniture, but the absence of a built British window-washer covered in truly dire tattoos.
And Alexander, Alexander had seemed pretty happy too. Not just for the obvious reasons — although the litany of praise, the Nick fuck you’re so gorgeous can’t believe you’re here darling nobody else spilling from his mouth during the more heated moments did suggest enjoyment. Even during their peaceful interludes, though, he’d seemed somehow more at ease, his carefully cultivated salaciousness replaced with what had seemed like genuine joy and affection.
Then Alexander’s phone had rung, and when he’d looked at the caller ID he’d cursed under his breath. “Sorry, love, I need to take this.” And then he’d disappeared into the bathroom.
Nick could hear the murmurs of a quiet conversation through the door, though he couldn’t make out any of the words. Alexander had sounded frustrated, though, and judging by the increasingly long silences and the rising volume of Alexander’s voice, the conversation wasn’t going well.
When he’d emerged from the bathroom, his mouth was set in a thin line. Nick had never seen him look so serious. He’d barely ever seen him without a lascivious grin, come to think of it.
“I hate to do this, Nick, but I need to go.” Alexander had collected his clothes from the floor and begun dressing.
“Window-washing emergency?”
Alexander had smiled regretfully as he pulled on his socks. “Something like that. I’m needed for something that can’t wait.”
Nick had frowned at the blankets, trying to resist the urge to say something clingy and stupid like “When will I see you again?” or “Can I keep your t-shirt to sleep in?”
He’d looked up when Alexander had dropped a kiss on his forehead, and then Alexander was saying “I had a lovely time, Nick. Really truly,” and then he was walking out the door. It had all happened so quickly that Nick had completely forgotten to ask for Alexander’s phone number. But, he’d reasoned afterwards, at least Alexander knew where to find him.
(Though now Nick was starting to think that Alexander had no intention of finding him.)
His office had been out of commission for a couple of days, and while that hadn’t freed Nick from his obligation to do work — the Internet had been ruining lawyers’ weekends for several decades, after all — it had spurred him to take it a bit easier. So instead of seeking out work, Nick had decided to enjoy whatever small amount of free time he could carve out that weekend. He’d slept in. He’d gone jogging along the beach. He’d bought a frying pan and made an omelet. He’d thought about making omelets for Alexander. Or maybe Alexander could make omelets for him. He didn’t know if Alexander could cook.
I Can See Clearly Now (Gay M/M Comedy Romance) Page 2