Chapter 10
Borja
Ishuffle out to the living room, scratching the back of my neck, and glance over at the couch with my still blurry eyes. That was a heavy sleep, like nothing I’ve experienced before.
Standing behind the couch, I look down at Farnsworth, surprised at what I see.
He’s sprawled out, with one leg hanging over the edge and the blanket tangled around the other, revealing the smooth flesh of his thighs.
His face is serene, free of any creases or expression, and I realize how young he looks.
I wonder how old he was when his life changed forever.
I finish the journey to my destination, the kitchen, seeking the comfort of hot, caffeinated liquid.
While I putz around preparing the coffee machine, my thoughts drift back to last night.
Seeing Farnsworth loosen up, even just a little, was pretty amazing.
I was so close to kissing him before I remembered what we are to each other.
That wasn’t a date. It was blowing off steam and nothing else.
That didn’t stop me from jerking off before I gave in to sleep, all the while imagining Farnsworth instead of my own hand.
Pretty high creep factor. I guess I need to get laid if I’m having thoughts like that about a guy who’s technically my boss, not remotely my normal type, and as restrained as they get.
I lean against the counter, laughing internally at myself.
Granted, it’s been a long time since I hooked up with someone, but I’ve been busy.
There’s also been a lack of quality choices.
That’s why I’m lusting after a guy who doesn’t fit my vibe at all.
I go for men who are outgoing, free-spirited, artistic types like myself.
They understand me more than the buttoned-up corporate types.
Or the lawyer I dated who acted appalled that I didn’t have a trust set up for my meager belongings.
The coffee finishes brewing and I pour myself a cup and fill one for Farnsworth. I don’t know if he’ll want it, but it’s only polite to offer. When I step out of the kitchen, he’s sitting up and staring straight ahead.
“Morning,” I say softly so as not to startle him.
He turns abruptly, his expression shifting from panic to relief in a second. “Borja.”
“You okay?”
Farnsworth nods. “Yes. I was a bit disoriented. It’s been centuries since I’ve slept so deeply. I was surprised being in a place that wasn’t my own home.”
“Gotcha. I made some coffee if you’d like some.”
He reaches out for the mug, then holds it close to his mouth, inhaling the scent. “It smells lovely.”
“It’s a local blend. Kind of pricey, but it’s one of the few luxuries I allow myself.”
“Luxuries can make life more tolerable.”
I sit next to him and watch him take a tiny sip of the hot liquid. I sip mine too, my head full of questions.
“What kind of luxuries did you enjoy when you were living in the Above?”
His eyes lose focus as he thinks about it. “Fresh pears. They were so lovely.”
“Pears?”
“Yes. They weren’t easy to come by back then, so getting one was a nice treat.”
“Interesting. Anything else?”
“We had a governess who was a very good cook, and she got hold of some of my mother’s family recipes and set out to recreate them. My mother cooked before she was ill, so it was nice to have her recipes again. They weren’t exactly the same, but they were good.”
“Did your mother recover?”
Farnsworth sips his coffee for a moment before shaking his head. “She did not. She died of a fever.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. It was a very long time ago.”
“Like how long? When were you born?”
“According to my file, I was born in London in 1576. I’ll have to take their word for it since I have few memories of my early life. I can’t even recall what my parents looked like.”
“That’s wild.”
He nods. “I used to look at paintings of them and read some of my mother’s journals, but as time went on, I became detached, feeling more and more of a stranger to them, and them to me. That’s the hardest part of immortality. You lose people, and then eventually, you lose the memory of them too.”
“That sounds really freaking sad.”
“It isn’t anymore. One adjusts, and my life and responsibilities keep me very busy.” He sips his coffee. “This is delightful. I forgot about this too.”
“Glad you like it.”
It’s clear to me that he changed the subject on purpose, so I’ll respect that.
As my eyes roam over him, I notice a section of the t-shirt he’s wearing balled up and crusted with…
Is that what I think it is? Fuck. Did I give him a dirty shirt?
No. There’s no way I wouldn’t have noticed that. Which would mean…
“How did you sleep,” I ask delicately.
“Very well, actually. I don’t require a lot of it, but I found it comfortable and restful.”
“Good. Do you, um, do you dream like regular people?”
“I am capable of dreaming, though it is rare.”
Nodding, I sip my coffee. I could ask him about the shirt, but that would just embarrass him. “Head feel okay after the drinks last night?”
“Yes, fine.” He glances down for a minute then back up at me. “I had fun. Thank you for the experience.”
“My pleasure.”
“We should get back to our mission today though. We need to see what we can find out about the Horror’s past. Maybe there’s a lingering connection somewhere.”
“Right.”
Farnsworth sets his mug on the coffee table, and at that moment seems to catch sight of his soiled shirt. I pretend not to notice as I watch him fully panic and draw the blanket up around his waist. I’ll throw him a lifeline.
“You want to grab a shower first? I like to drink my coffee slowly.”
“Oh, um…”
I get to my feet and gesture over my shoulder to the kitchen. “Want some toast?”
“No, thank you.”
“Cool. See you in a bit.”
I leave the room to give him privacy to get up without an audience. Now I’m really interested in what happened after I went to bed last night. Good to know his body works in that way too. Not that it matters. That guy has walls as high as the sky.
I got a little peek at what’s hiding behind those walls though last night though. Could I coax that side of him out of hiding again?
As I throw a couple of slices of bread into the toaster, I realize I’m not at all hungry. I really should be by now. I don’t remember my last complete meal. Huh. I don’t want to lose that. I love food. Maybe it’s just a matter of choosing to eat versus needing to. I’ll have to ask Farnsworth.
Leaning on the counter, I wait for the bread to toast, my thoughts drifting to what Farnsworth must have done last night.
Kind of hot thinking about him getting himself off on my couch.
I wonder what got him worked up. The alcohol?
Seeing men kiss and dance together? Me? Wouldn’t that be something?
I don’t think he’s at all tempted by me, but I can enjoy the fantasy if I want to.
“Borja?”
His soft voice reaches me in the tiny kitchen, so I shuffle forward and lean around the wall.
“What’s up?”
He’s gripping a towel around his waist, completely bare-chested, his skin damp. “Um, there’s a problem in the bathroom.”
“A problem?” I set my coffee down and follow him into the bathroom. Water is spurting from the shower head in all directions, splashing the ceiling, walls, and floor. “Shit. It’s done this before.”
Reaching under the bathroom cabinet, I find the duct tape and wrench I keep here for just this situation and get to work.
“I’ve complained to the landlord three times about this but he won’t replace it.” By the time I get the situation under control, I’m drenched. I sit on the toilet, laughing and dragging my hand through my now wet hair. “Hell of a way to start the morning.”
“Is it my fault? Did I do something wrong?”
“No, it’s just an old building.” I take him in from head to toe. “Did you finish?”
“Finish what?”
“Your shower?”
“Oh. Um, not really, no, but it’s fine.”
“It should be okay now.” I reach over and twist the handle to start the water again. It flows mostly in the right direction this time, with only a tiny stream shooting against the tile wall.
“There you go.”
Farnsworth nods, gazing at my chest. Is he noticing how the material clings to my skin or how the water made my nipples harden?
“I’ll be quick,” he says.
“Take your time. Believe it or not, the hot water holds up here.”
“Good to know.”
I slip from the bathroom, resisting the temptation to stay put and see what he’s got going on under that towel.
Ordinarily, a night like last night would’ve ended with finding someone to hook up with, but the older I get, the less interested I am in random men and meaningless sex.
Not that I know what meaningful sex is like, but it’s gotta be better than the alternative.
This dry spell has made my dick pretty trigger happy though. Doesn’t take much to get me worked up, and seeing an attractive man in nothing but a towel will certainly do it.
I rub my swelling cock briefly, but then I shake my head to dismiss the thoughts and head back to the kitchen for my toast.
It’s been cooling for several minutes and the appeal of it has worn off.
No reason to eat it if I’m not even excited about it or hungry, I guess.
Instead, I pad back to the living room and plop down on the couch, scooting the blanket over before the urge to lift it to my nose and sniff it takes over.
There’s a hint of something floral clinging to the material, but I’m not sure exactly what. It’s light and soft but still has a masculine edge to it. Whatever it is, it’s really fucking nice. I didn’t notice Farnsworth smelling like that yesterday, but I wasn’t exactly focused on it either.
I hear the water shut off, and a few minutes later the bathroom door opens and Farnsworth steps out dressed in a dark gray suit with a baby blue bowtie.
His hair is back in its vintage style, and he looks fully comfortable again, not at all like he did in jeans.
Interestingly though, the thick stubble on his jaw is still present. I like it.
He walks toward me confidently, straightening his cuffs. “I was thinking; we should research the Wolcott family and see if there are any descendants. Perhaps they are the cause of the haunting.”
“Good plan.” I get to my feet. “It’ll only take me a few minutes to get ready.”
“No rush.”
“There’s more coffee in the kitchen.”
He nods. “Thank you.”
Hmm. Back in full professional mode, I see. That doesn’t exactly shock me, I guess. I haven’t known the guy long, but he’s not the most chill person I’ve ever met.
In the bathroom, I peel out of my clothes and hop under the shower for a quick wash. My cock is still at half-mast, interested but not committed to anything in particular, and while I could probably jack off and handle it, I hold back. I’d rather wait for true inspiration.
The image of Farnsworth in his towel with his skin wet flashes through my mind again, but I shake it away. We have work to do.