Timeslip

by Clare London

  Shit. I wasn’t going to get an erection right then, was I? In the kitchen? Maybe I could hang the tea towels on it. I felt the gentle but insistent swelling in my trousers, as I recalled how close we’d come to…

  “Not bad,” Marcus said. “The dreams aren’t always…bad.”

  What the hell? “It’s probably stress,” I said. My voice sounded hoarse. This Twilight Zone was multiplying fast. “Just stupid hallucinations—”

  “Stop that!” he said, sharply.

  “What?”

  “Don’t you dare patronise me like that.” He pushed past me roughly, making for the door. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, Cooper, but you’d better understand that I’m not standing for it.”

  I watched him stride up the corridor, though a couple of his steps looked a little less steady than usual.

  The dreams aren’t always bad.

  My heart started beating faster, but whether from excitement or fear, I didn’t know. I called after him, not sure if he’d even hear. “Feel free to drop in anytime, okay?”

  * * * *

  I had to go home at the end of the working day, of course.

  But I sat in the office until almost everyone else had left. I even watched the infamous Marcus Armstrong leave, staring out of my window as he left the building, smart suit and shoes, case in his hand as usual. His going home routine was as rigid as his arrival. At 7:05 P.M. he’d leave the building, cross the car park. When the lights on the main road changed at 7:11 P.M., he’d cross to the other side and walk off into the distance, on his way to the station and home. He had it down to a fine art. Everything in control, everything according to plan.

  Maybe he had a boyfriend at home, someone who was taking full advantage of those soft lips and those strong hands. That perfect control.

  Fuck.

  And what did I have? A dream, that was all. And a bloody cruel and unsettling one. I packed up the work on my desk and looked out over the darkening sky.

  To hell with it, maybe it was time to force the issue.

  * * * *

  That night, I was waiting. It had happened at around midnight the past two nights, and although I started off pretending not to care, as the time crept around to that point, I felt myself tense up. I went into the bedroom and changed carefully into…well, what kind of lingerie does a tall, wiry young man wear when he’s waiting for his dream lover? I tried the leopard-print thong that Colin got me for a laugh last Christmas, but I couldn’t seem to walk properly with it on. I decided on the usual boxers, but while I was looking through the rest of my clean, but meagre choices, I found another pair like the ones I’d worn when “Marcus” first came to call. I couldn’t remember what’d possessed me to buy them, apart from the fact they were loose and warm at night in bed. I pulled them on and climbed into bed. Glancing down, I wondered how the hell I’d expected to attract any potential lovers with my arse covered in rainbow stripes?

  I started to laugh. And just as suddenly as before, there he was.

  I carefully shifted over to my side of the mattress. He stood beside the bed—on his side, as I’d started to think of it—and looked over at me. He was wearing a suit as usual, without a tie. I realised I’d never seen Marcus Armstrong outside of work, so I had no idea what he’d wear, or how he’d look. But I was sure it’d be just as fabulous.

  “Hi there, gorgeous,” he said, smiling.

  “Hi yourself,” I replied.

  “You sound happy.”

  I smiled even more widely. “You’re here.”

  He flushed, but he looked pleased.

  “Come on over,” I said, patting the mattress beside me. Bloody hell, could I be cheesier?

  But tonight, he was the hesitant one. “Kevin, something’s wrong.”

  “No, it isn’t.” Apart from my heart beating so hard it was crowding my throat, that is. “I’m good.”

  He smiled, rather sadly. “Yes, you definitely are. But I don’t mean you. I mean me.” He gave himself a small shake, like a dog trying to clear water droplets from its coat. “It doesn’t feel right anymore.”

  Shit. Misery clutched me, bone deep. “That’s my fault, Marcus. I told you this was wrong. Told you it wasn’t real.” Maybe I expected him to vanish with the words, my pathetic illusion finally snatched away from me. But he remained there, gazing at me. Then he climbed onto the bed, reached over, and kissed me. Very firmly. Very deliciously. Took us a minute or two before we even came up for air.

  “It certainly feels real,” he said.

  I laughed, a short, shocking sound. “Works for me.” I could still feel the scratch of bristles from his chin against my jaw.

  “I want you.” He ran his hand down my chest, his fingernail flicking over my nipple. “Do you believe that’s real?”

  I looked into his dark, swimming eyes and felt myself drawn in so deep I thought I’d have to call for a lifeguard. His hands were steady on me, his expression yearning. I might not have known much about the real Marcus Armstrong, but no one had ever accused him of being a liar.

  “Yes,” I whispered. “And you know what?”

  He smirked. Honest to God, the inscrutable, intractable Marcus Armstrong smirked at me. “You feel the same?”

  Told you he was bright. I rolled my eyes, but my smile told my story. Well, that and the big tent in my boxers. He pushed me firmly on to my back, and we resumed the kissing with new enthusiasm.

  For such a forceful, assertive man he was very gentle. At least at first, when he peeled off my boxers. I struggled with his clothes, determined to get him just as naked, but I felt clumsy in my own skin. Marcus laughed and helped me out, pulling off his shirt with a smooth, easy action, toeing off his boots, then unzipping his trousers and pushing them off the edge of the bed to the floor.

  Nothing on but his briefs.

  And then they were gone as well. Fuck, he was spectacular! His skin was warm against mine as he nudged my knees apart, his hands on my shoulders, his chest pressed to mine. I reached for one of his nipples and tweaked it, not so gently. He rubbed his cock against mine, moaning. His arms were strong enough to keep him braced above me, but he dropped his head down to kiss me, to run his tongue over my throat.

  “Kevin. What do you want tonight?” His whisper was hoarse, his breath hot against my cheek.

  I didn’t have any norm for this, any established routine. We were in separate places, I knew, but this night we were together. “Just do it,” I sighed back. “Fuck me. That’s what I want.”

  He chuckled, low and throaty. “Me, too. Always. But you know that, right?”

  I didn’t answer. My senses were awash with excitement and lust, but even if I could have replied, I don’t know what I’d have said. I wriggled around to reach in my bedside drawer for condoms and lube, and found his hand already there, his arm stretched across me. He laughed softly. He knew things were there. His turn for a lucky guess? I was sure most guys kept intimate stuff close at hand. Or was it more inexplicable proof he knew his way around my bedroom?

  Our kissing was too consuming to allow me to worry about it. Was I taking advantage of him? I didn’t think so. We were both in the same situation, both out of our element. But it looked like he was here to stay the night, and…he wanted me.

  “You smell so good, Kevin,” he gasped, his face buried against my neck, his fingers inside me, stretching me, teasing me.

  “Hold me,” I whispered. I wrapped my legs around him, tilting my arse to be ready for him. He grunted and pushed slowly in. It hurt less than I thought it would, even though I hadn’t had sex for months. Perhaps that familiarity was from his dream, in recompense. “Fuck,” I breathed, with awe.

  He chuckled again. “You’re so hot. Those sounds you make…”

  He moved in and out of me, and it was incredibly sweet. He held me tight and murmured stuff that no one had said to me for a long, long time. A dream come true. And toward the end, when I couldn’t hold back my climax and gripped his arms hard, arching
against him, I cried out loudly.

  But not too loudly to mask his groan of delight as he came inside me, his eyes fixed on my face as if memorising every feature. “I love you, Kevin.”

  What the hell was I to make of that?

  We rolled apart slowly, the bed dipping under our bodies, the sheets clinging to our sweaty limbs.

  “Wow.” Marcus was still panting. “Kevin, that was intense. Like you’ve been saving that up.” His eyes glimmered in the dim light of the room. “Thank you.” Then he kissed me before I could try to think up some suitable response, and I let him.

  Very happily.

  I didn’t know what time it was, or how much time passed. We lay there for a long, languid time, just wrapped around each other. My hair was a tousled mess, my muscles were tired, and my skin got goose bumps as the sweat cooled. I didn’t care about any of that. I’d been worried that he’d suddenly disappear again, like he had before, but it didn’t seem to be happening. I prayed that it wouldn’t.

  Please don’t go yet.

  Don’t go at all.

  But yet again, it seemed I didn’t know when to keep my mouth shut. “Marcus? Look, this won’t work.”

  He tensed up. I could almost feel his annoyance brewing. “I think we’ve discussed this before.”

  “No, listen to me. I don’t think…I mean, I don’t think you even like me.”

  “After what we just did?” His breath tickled my neck.

  “I don’t mean here, right now, but…elsewhere.” In real life, I wanted to say. But what was more real than this? “You see, you barely know me. This is a hell of a leap forwards.”

  “This?”

  Shit, for a guy who usually had a good line of witty banter, I was sorely tried tonight. “The sex,” I said, weakly. “The intimacy.” The love.

  “I don’t understand.”

  You and me both, I thought. Why was I still fighting it? Because it wasn’t true, that was why. Because despite the joy of Marcus in my bed, as my lover, whispering he loved me in the deep dark of the night…

  “Stop it, Kevin.” He nudged my chin so I looked right into his face. His eyes were damp, his expression grave. Suddenly, I was sure he knew exactly what I was talking about. “Stop talking about it. Just accept it.”

  “It? But what is it?” I cried. “You know we’re not really lovers, that we’re only connecting here in my room, at night, for God knows how long. Don’t you?”

  “You’re confused.”

  “Too fucking right I am!” The anger was rolling through me now. “Any second now you’re going to vanish in your puff of smoke, and tomorrow all I’ll see of you will be the big, bad executive who passes me in the corridor without a nod, and—”

  Marcus clamped a hand over my mouth, silencing me. “I don’t want to hear.”

  I nodded, dumbly. His eyes were wide and scared, and I hated the thought I’d made him feel bad like that.

  “I don’t know how this can happen,” he said, his jaw set. “But to me, it seems…”

  “Real?” I whispered.

  “Right.” He nodded. He ran his palm across my chest, and my whole body hummed with pleasure. “And I want it to be so. I think…that’s what I’ve been waiting for. Just didn’t know how to make it happen.”

  I caught up his hand and brought it to my lips, kissing the slender fingers. “I’ve wanted you for a long time.” It felt good to confess. “I mean, you may be a right bastard at work—”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “No, you’re right, let’s not talk about that, but these last few days…nights…you’re so very different.”

  His eyes had recaptured the dreamy look I’d seen when he was raised over me, moving in and out of me. He ran his fingers through my hair, massaging my scalp. His gaze kept flickering away from my face and down my body. “Different good?”

  I grinned. “Oh yeah.”

  He smiled too but he didn’t make another move on me, just kept stroking my hair. “There’s so much I can’t remember, can’t understand—but I know you’re what I need. It’s been that way since I met you, before I even knew what I wanted.”

  “Marcus…?”

  “I’ve been waiting for you to find me. To help me get free.”

  What was he talking about? My chest felt very tight, and I struggled for breath.

  “Help me, Kevin,” he whispered. “Release me.”

  And then he was gone.

  I slammed a hand down on the empty bed beside me, trying to recall the feel of him, find the shape his body had made in the sheets.

  But it was all gone.

  * * * *

  I pushed away from the desk, tilting my chair to ease my back, having been hunched over the presentation papers for several hours. I glanced at the clock—it was almost ten P.M. Then I looked back at my companion and caught him smiling at me. Marcus Armstrong had the light of triumph in his eyes.

  “Yeah.” I grinned at him, answering his unspoken query. “We’re ready.”

  He smiled, his gaze fixed on my face, and unexpectedly he blushed. For a brief second, I could see the midnight Marcus in his eyes—and then it was gone.

  He also pulled away from the desk where we’d been working together, and started to roll his sleeves back down. His voice was steady but now he avoided looking at me. “You’ve done a good job. Sherringhams will have nothing to complain about here. Value for money and quality service. We’ve delivered on all counts.”

  “We work well together, right?”

  “It’s been good.” He nodded. “I’ve enjoyed this evening.” Then he blinked hard and cleared his throat, as if realising how personal—and uncharacteristic—that was. “I mean, well done, Cooper.”

  “Kevin,” I said, trying to catch his eye. He was still flushed, his gaze fixed on the papers on the desk, even though I knew he’d checked the figures a hundred times already.

  “Pardon?”

  “Say my name. Call me Kevin.” I watched his mouth. I couldn’t resist it. The past few hours had been intense but invigorating, and it had felt like some kind of a breakthrough. But I wanted more. Maybe I was waiting to hear some reference to last night, to what I felt we were personally to each other—to anything apart from revenue figures and budgeted gross margin.

  He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye and frowned. My heart began to sink. It wasn’t going to happen that way. This was the Marcus Armstrong of the office, down to the last gesture.

  “Kevin,” he said. He sounded bemused: maybe embarrassed. “Well done.”

  It wasn’t the same. Last night, he’d whispered in my ear, laughed when my hair tickled his belly, gasped with wonder as I made him come. I didn’t hear any of that in his voice tonight.

  “I’d better go.” I stood up abruptly. “Everyone else has gone for the day.”

  “Already?” Marcus glanced at his watch. I didn’t believe the expression that darted across his face because it looked impossibly like disappointment. “That’s a pity. We could have finished off with the bar charts.”

  “Yes,” I said, as steadily as I could. “That is a pity.”

  His head snapped up again. “What’s the problem?”

  “Nothing.” I sighed. “I just wonder if you’re different outside of work.”

  “What do you mean?” And suddenly there was the flicker of something in his eye, something…

  “Different good,” I whispered.

  His eyes widened with sudden shock, with what looked like recognition. Then his expression tightened with some kind of fear, and the vulnerability shut down as quickly as it had arrived. “That’s no business of yours.”

  I was bloody tired of this. I walked toward the open door of his office, ready to go home. “No, of course not.”

  And it wasn’t, was it? This Marcus Armstrong wasn’t the man who’d fucked me last night, who’d lain on my bed as if he belonged there. Who’d made love to me. Shit. Sentimentality hadn’t often ambushed me like this.

  “Kevi
n?”

  I turned back around, slowly.

  “I’m not…” I noticed his hand had curled into a tight fist at his side, as if he were trying to keep control of strong emotion. “I don’t really know what you’re talking about. But it seems there’s something more you want from me.”

  “No,” I said, forcing a wan smile. “Nothing. Good night.”

  Back in my cubicle, I gathered together the papers for the presentation the next morning. If he came again tonight, I’d just have to tell him it was all too weird for me. Being with him, but not…being with him. It’d have to stop. Something that wasn’t really there in the first place, that is. I lifted a file and caught a brief whiff of his cologne. My gut clenched.

  Maybe he wouldn’t come again.

  I caught a shadow of movement out of the corner of my eye and glanced over to the window. I watched Marcus leaving, reluctant to miss a second of him, though it was a pretty stupid form of torture. Saw him leave the building, cross the car park. Same old, same old. Aimlessly, with the benefit of my distance, I noticed he was in the same shirt he’d worn that first night he appeared in my room. Also as I watched, I saw him flip open the top button and pull off his tie. He seemed to be moving more swiftly than usual, but not quite as steadily.

  I felt a strange shiver down my back. Maybe I was getting sick, and not just of my useless dreams. It’d been a bloody long day, with nothing ahead of me but agonising anticipation about the night ahead. I grabbed up my coat and left the office as well.

  That night, I waited, but he didn’t come.

  * * * *

  The call came at around three A.M.

  I was awakened by a persistent buzzing in my ears to find I’d fallen asleep fully dressed watching TV. Again. My left foot was hanging awkwardly over the arm of the sofa, sending pins and needles up my leg, and my mobile was stuck between my right ear and a cushion. Who the hell was calling at this time of the morning? I dragged it out from under my head and peered at the display.