Chapter 4 #3
It’s strange, but these last few days I’ve almost felt like we’re becoming real friends and I like it.
I’ve always in the past felt that I’m a faceless element to him.
A remnant from his past. Someone he feels obliged to look after because of Gideon.
Now, I feel like he sees me, and it’s nice because we actually get on very well.
I rarely feel awkward around him with my words because I know if I stammer he won’t mind or look at me funny. He has, after all, seen me at my worst.
So instead, over the last few days, we’ve talked a lot about anything and everything while we’ve been eating dinner.
He’s funny and sarcastic and surprisingly sentimental at times.
He’s so sure and confident and almost hard that it’s been a revelation to know that music moves him and that he can’t bear to watch animal programmes on television in case they’re hurt or die.
I’d had to switch off Super Vet the other day before he cried.
Footsteps on the stairs bring me out of my thoughts and I look up and swallow hard as he appears in the door towelling his hair.
He’s shirtless and wearing a pair of black running leggings that cling to his long legs.
The low light gilds the long length of his torso and dances over the drum-tight grooves of his pelvis.
For all his height he’s actually very lean with a runner’s body that shows itself in his tight abdominals and the muscled length of his legs.
I swallow again and manage to clear the expression on my face so by the time he lowers the towel I’m facing him with a hopefully peaceful expression.
That falters slightly when he comes towards me and I catch a whiff of sugary scented shampoo from the damp tangles of his blond hair.
He smooths his hair down so it falls into a neat side parting that I know in a few minutes will be lost as his hair reverts to its natural messy state.
However, the deep red mark on his arm recalls me to my task.
“Let me have a look at that,” I murmur, taking his arm.
“Oh, I don’t need anything,” he says airily, trying to pull his arm away.
I glare at him. “Yes, you do,” I say firmly. “With the work you do, this could get infected very quickly. You won’t be able to do much if your arm has to be amputated due to septicaemia.”
“I can’t help feeling that you’re a glass half empty sort of man, Lo,” he says, humour running through his voice.
“Well, you’re definitely a fully empty one then because you’d have drunk the contents.”
He laughs loudly and watches as I move to Cora’s changing bag and retrieve the small first aid kit. I open it and take out the plasters and he groans.
“No fucking way.”
“Yes, fucking way,” I say, tossing the Mr. Bump plasters onto the table and grabbing his arm again. “You don’t have a first aid kit,” I scold. “What were you thinking?”
“That I’m not two years old,” he says, wriggling as I uncap the Savlon and start to smooth it gently over the cut.
“Don’t be a baby.” My lip quirks. “Anyway, all the other boys will be really jealous of your Mr. Bump plaster. You watch, they’ll all want one,” I say mockingly as I put the plaster over the cut and press down gently.
Even so, he flinches and I stroke his arm comfortingly. He shudders, and the movement makes me realise how close we’re standing. Close enough that I can smell the sweet woody scent of his aftershave and feel the heat of his long, slim body.
I look up to find him watching me, his eyes dark and mysterious, and I jump back as if stung.
“Yoga,” I squeak and stop to clear my throat. He watches me silently and I rally and point to the mat. “Lie on your back with your knees raised and your feet on the floor.”
It’s much too abrupt and I immediately flush as he blinks. “I must say I’ve had that said to me before, but not normally in a manner that makes me want to salute first.”
“You haven’t lived then,” I say tartly.
He smirks but lowers himself gracefully to the mat.
I try to ignore the sight of him lying in the lamplight at my feet and lower myself to the mat next to him where I sit cross-legged.
“This is a good way to relax the muscles before you start. You need to lie still and focus on your breathing and feel the weight of your pelvis as it sinks to the floor.” He bites his lips with a smile in his eyes and I shake my head repressively. “Close your eyes if it helps.”
He closes his eyes, which certainly helps me because now I can ogle him to my heart’s content.
“Okay,” I say, adjusting myself in my shorts and wishing my voice didn’t sound so low.
“Now, you need to bring your right knee into your chest and at the same time stretch your left leg out on the mat. Imagine that you’re in a box and the wall is against your foot, so tilt it and push against that wall. ”
He opens one eye. “I’m actually slightly claustrophobic. That is not the relaxing sort of image I’d expect from yoga. I’d imagined plinky-plonky music and candles and chanting.”
I’m instantly diverted. “You’re claustrophobic? Why do you think that is?” He opens his mouth to answer but I shake my head. “No, forget it. I don’t normally have this much chatter during my sessions. Just be quiet and breathe.”
“That has definitely been said to me before.”
“I can well believe it,” I say tartly. I direct him to do the same movement using his other side and then make him relax back into his starting position.
Dotty pads in and looks at us curiously before deciding that Niall’s position on the floor obviously makes him hers.
“Ugh, Dotty,” he protests. “Stop licking me.”
“I think that might be the first time in your life you’ve ever asked anyone to stop,” I say, watching as he shoos the cat away only for her to come back and try to pounce on him while he chuckles.
Finally, she grows bored and leaves the room, twitching her tail and offering me a cold killer glance as she goes.
Niall resumes his position and I smile at him. “Okay, next you’re going to cross your right ankle over your left knee and bring the left knee up and hug it against your chest.”
“This is like fucking Twister,” he says testily. “How is this supposed to relax you?”
“It’s stretching you,” I say patiently. “It’s better than the rack.
Although, that might at least have kept you quiet for a bit.
” I look down at him where he’s lying with his face full of humour.
“I’m sure you thought you’d leap straight into lotus position but that can’t happen because you’re a complete novice and you know absolutely nothing. ”
“Don’t think I didn’t notice how much you enjoyed saying that,” he says darkly, and I grin.
“A little bit. Okay, let your spine lengthen with your breath and focus on your breathing.”
“Oh, am I supposed to be breathing? How is that possible when my knee is crushing my ribcage?”
“And yet you’re still managing to talk.”
He snorts. “Good point.”
I grin and look longingly at the way his trousers have stretched tight showing his magnificent arse. I jump when he coughs.
“When can we stop this?”
“Sorry,” I say, flustered. “Come gently out of that position and then get on your hands and knees.”
He smiles wickedly. “Now you’re talking. Yoga is fun.”
I shake my head. “This is yoga, not an audience with Julian Clary. No more innuendos.”
He obediently gets onto his hands and knees and I feel saliva pool in my mouth.
I walk around him, trying to think of awful things to stop my dick hardening.
“Spread your fingers out,” I direct, watching his long, strong hands with the blunt fingers spread on the mat.
“Now, you’re going to lift through your forearms and tuck your toes underneath.
Then you’re going to rise up, lifting through the knees and keeping your head dropped down. This is Downward Dog.”
“Have you ever considered a career as a drill sergeant?” he mutters, doing as I ask.
“Not if they’re all as chatty as you. Mind you, the British Army might be a bit more easy to train. Breathe through five breath cycles.”
I watch as he does that, noticing that his right hip is slightly over.
Without thinking, I move behind him and grab his hips to steady and correct his posture.
I only realise that this is a bad move when I lean forwards and his arse nestles into my groin, settling into my cock as if it’s found a home and making my dick stiffen immediately.
For a second I completely forget myself, lost in the heat and pressure against my cock, and I rock slightly, making my eyes cross.
He goes completely still and doesn’t even appear to be breathing, which wakes me up.
“Shit. I’m so sorry,” I babble as I back away.
He comes out of the position abruptly and turns to face me, half crouched on the mat.
His face is half in shadow and his eyes a dark navy, and I blush.
“That w-w-was really bad of me. I’m so sorry,” I say, feeling the stutter come out slightly to my further embarrassment.
I swallow hard and he jumps to his feet immediately, coming to me and grabbing my arms. “I’m not sorry,” he says hoarsely. “Why are you?”
“I j-j-just–” I stop and cover my face.
“Rubbed against my arse?”
I nod and he raises his hands, knocking my fingers away from my face. He cups my face, staring into my eyes, his own dark and hot. “I’m not sorry,” he says clearly. “Milo, I–” he stops and shakes his head and I’m held immobile as his head lowers towards me.
“Niall,” I whisper, raising my face and feeling my blood run hot through my veins. “Niall.”
The next second we jump apart as if we’ve been hit with a stun gun when the doorbell rings.
“What the fuck ?” Niall breathes. I stare at him. He has red flags of colour along his cheekbones and he’s breathing as if he’s run a race. Then we both jerk into action as the high and reedy cry of a baby sounds out.
“Shit,” I say and Niall nods. The heat dies out of his face and he scrubs his hands over his eyes.
I breathe in slowly, trying to conceal the tremors that are running through my body and still the thoughts that are running madly in my brain. Did he just nearly kiss me is followed quickly by I’m going to fucking murder who’s at the door .
Niall steps back. He looks cross and rumpled. “You get the door. I’ll get Cora.”
I nod and walk towards the front door, hearing his footsteps pounding up the stairs followed by his voice saying softly, “Hey, Cora Bora. It’s alright, baby girl.”
I look down at my cock, which is still plumped up, and pull my t-shirt down. Then I fling open the door and gape in surprise. “Mr. Frith.”
“Now, Milo, I thought you were going to call me Simeon.”
He stands there on the drive looking sophisticated and cool and I’m very aware that my clothes are crumpled and my hair is falling out of its bun. I hear footsteps behind me and I watch as Simeon’s eyes drift past me and widen.
“Am I interrupting something?” he asks.
I hear a sharp intake of breath from behind me and rush into speech. “N-Not at all,” I stammer. “You’re not interrupting anything.”