Chapter 6 #2
“Hey, you’re Liaden, right? I’m Leo.” His voice is bass deep, and hints at dual nationality. I’m picking up slight East London tones with a faint twang of southern USA.
“Hi, nice to meet you, Leo.”
“Congratulations, by the way, you won!” He’s still shaking my hand. This is the sort of exuberance that could get a warm reaction from anyone on the planet.
“Er…Great! Won what?” I frown a little. I didn’t enter any contest…
“Yeah, won what?” Sadie asks dryly.
“The new monthly prize draw. I put all the appointments into a random selector thingy I found online, and you won one free appointment! So your next appointment with Dean here is on me.”
Sadie snorts, for some reason.
“Oh! Great, thank you very much.” He finally lets go of my hand.
I look over at Dean, who is giving Leo a very peculiar look. It’s a strange cross between what seems to be amusement and annoyance.
“You’re so welcome,” Leo replies smoothly. “You’re in good hands with my man here.” He winks at his cousin, who doesn’t respond.
“Oh, absolutely,” I agree. “Would you like to see what he’s done so far?” I turn and lift my t-shirt enough to allow a glimpse of what was done during my first appointment.
I hear a low whistle, and turn to see Leo peering a little closer, though he’s still a respectful couple of feet away from me. “Fantastic work,” he says, turning to grin at Sadie. “Hasn’t he done a great job, Sades?”
“Yes,” she says, narrowing her eyes at him without looking at my ink, “and we’d better go so he can carry on with it. Now .”
“Right, yes.” He turns back to me. “Come out for a drink with the gang sometime.”
“Sure,” I say as Sadie pulls his arm and ushers him out the door.
His head pokes back around the door again. “But yeah, your next session is free, and - ”
“Leo, move your arse,” Sadie mutters, and he’s yanked away from the doorway quite comically .
Dean looks exasperated, but not in a bad way, as he pushes the slow-close door shut. He turns back to me. Sorry about him , he says.
That’s OK , I sign, wanting to practice more. He seems…nice.
He makes a funny ehhhh expression, and it makes me laugh, which makes him smile. He swallows hard. Have you eaten? He asks.
Yes, thank you. I ate about an hour ago. I’m really getting into signing conversations with him. It makes things feel more intimate, somehow. Like we’re imparting secrets.
Cool. I have something in case you get hungry later. He nods towards a white plate piled with chocolate chip cookies, my all time favourite.
I give him a big smile. Amazing! I love… “Oh, rats , I was doing so well,” I laugh. “How do I sign ‘chocolate chip cookies are the king of biscuits’?”
He laughs back, and it’s silent, a few rhythmic breaths, but still somehow contagious. He shows me, twisting his hands this way and that, apart and then together. I mimic the motion, and he gives me a thumbs up, so I store it in my mind.
Thank you for learning ASL , he says to me, and the look he gives me makes my skin tingle. It’s not flirtatious, just…sincere. Appreciative.
“It’s no bother. Quite the opposite, in fact: it’s a pleasure.” And I mean it, too. He’s making all that effort completely worthwhile. "Oh, and I have a question." He lifts his eyebrow in consent. "Do you do name signs?"
No , he replies. Well, occasionally I'll give Leo the 'loser' sign… He places his thumb and forefinger on his head, and I laugh. But other than that, no. I'm a fast hand speller.
Kind of a shame. I'd love to know what he'd give to me as a name sign.
With his hand, he indicates towards his chair. Ready?
Am I ready for him to put his hands on my bare skin? Hell yes.
“Sure.” I put my belongings down and pull a hair tie off my wrist. I like that he’s watching as I scoop my hair up into a messy top knot and fix it into place. His attention makes my fandango tremble in my pants, and I want more of it.
He pushes the plate of biscuits within easy reach of the chair, and then turns his back so I can get ready, putting on his gloves while he waits. Am I a bad person for suddenly developing a rubber glove fetish out of nowhere?
I want him to turn around. I take my top off and stand there, naked from the waist up, not making any move to cover myself or lie on the flattened chair.
I want him to see me like this. I wish I could walk up and put my arms around his waist from behind.
Press my breasts against his back. Kiss between his shoulder blades and run my hands down his front, down, down, until I’m slowly rubbing his cock, making it harder with the right caresses.
Push him back onto the chair…remove the rest of our clothes…
sink onto him, inch by delicious inch, while keeping eye contact so we can watch each other strain and gasp and come alive at the feeling…
I don’t mean to, but I let out a sigh of pure, unfiltered want , and I know he hears it because his back stiffens.
For just a second, I consider throwing all caution to the wind and just going for it, taking the chance and making my move.
But my intuition is still insisting to me that my usual blunt ways shouldn’t be used here, with him.
Besides…this feels different from all the other times I’ve gotten involved with a man.
I don’t quite understand it, but my attraction to Dean feels… more.
Just more .
I hate being so inarticulate in my own head. It’s not like me. I don’t feel like myself. I feel like a new person, someone with unfamiliar desires and needs. It’s not unpleasant. But it is strange.
Without further ado, I settle onto the chair and grab a biscuit from the plate. “I’m ready.”
Dean
My dick is aching.
It’s fucking aching in my pants in a way it hasn’t since I was a teenager in the back seat of my dad’s car with -
NO. Don’t think about Callie. I can not have a flashback situation right now - it would put Liaden in danger, and that just can’t happen .
I also shouldn’t think about that gorgeous little sigh she let out while my back was turned, making me think about things I could do that would make her sound like that…
Shit , I need to focus. I reapply the needle, willing myself to think of nothing other than shading and outlining.
I’ve got to get rid of this boner, it’s getting painful.
But no amount of thoughts of cold showers and Minecraft are helping.
Not when she’s in front of me, topless, and smelling so good, like crisp, fresh breezes in an orchard.
Thank god she’s lying on her front. Her naked back is getting me unbearably hot.
If she rolled over, and I saw her…with the rosy tips…
I shut off the needle for a second and take a breath, wiping over the freshest ink.
I’m lining up the other side perfectly with the one already done, and I can’t afford to allow futile horniness to ruin this masterpiece.
It’s already my favorite tattoo I’ve ever done, and not just because it’s hers.
It’s stretching me creatively and making me really think about my methods. I won’t let anything spoil it.
Not even thoughts of rolling her over, throwing my needle to one side, and running my mouth and tongue all over her tits…
“Let’s see,” she says, mercifully interrupting me and swiping down the list of conversation starters on my tablet.
“Favorite color is done. Favorite meal. Favorite movie… Here’s a good one: favourite music.
” She chuckles. “How long have you got?” I reapply the needle, and she hardly even flinches.
She’s a lot more comfortable with the feeling now.
“My taste is nothing if not eclectic. Puccini to Paramore. And I love making my own as well. I play the violin and the piano, and I sing, too. I can play the guitar, but it’s not my go-to instrument.
” Her head turns slightly. “Maybe sometime you can come to one of my gigs? It’s nothing major, just pub stuff with the band I play with, the occasional open mic night by myself, but it’s fun.
They’re generally slightly metal covers of classics. I make the violin work.”
Wow.
Actually going to see her play, watch the live version of those YouTube videos I played more than I want to admit…
I actually want to go.
It’s far too complicated and fraught with potential trouble for me to do it.
But I genuinely do want to. And that’s a surprise.
I can normally shrug off invites and stay at home very happily.
I am one hundred percent willing to sacrifice any form of social entertainment in exchange for feeling safe and calm, and look on it as a reasonable trade.
Feeling the exact opposite, that tug of missing out, is more than a little unnerving.
“Oh, I have another topic to contribute,” she says suddenly. “How the ever loving hell is Sadie dating Peter Lang ?!”
I stop inking and laugh. She said Peter’s name in the same tone someone else would say pig manure or ebola virus . Quickly gesturing for her to give me my tablet, I start to type, making a face at her to let her know I’m not typing anything complimentary about that dude.
“The man’s the most intolerably pretentious and self-important little shit,” she continues. “Sadie seems far too interesting and sparky for the likes of him.” She smiles wryly. “I’m being a bitch, but my experiences of Professor Lang have not been at all favorable.”
I hand the tablet back.
Yeah, just between us, none of us can stand him. Kind of hoping she’ll see the light soon.
She nods. “He’s…what’s the vernacular? ‘Punching above his weight’,” she agrees. “I almost want to sit her down and grill her. Is he sweet and romantic on the quiet when they’re alone, does he have an epic cock, are his cunnilingus skills expert level…?”
Oh, man . Hearing her say the word ‘cock’ does something wicked to my own. If I had my voice back, I’d probably have let out a really inappropriate groan.
I think she knows it, as she turns her head fully to look at me, eyes full of humor. “Sorry,” she murmurs, “I…don’t really have a filter. As you’ve probably noticed.”
I bend my fingers towards me, asking for my tablet back so I can type a reply.
I like that about you. I like that you say whatever’s on your mind. It makes life easier, and more people should do it.
Her expression kind of melts when she reads it, and I never imagined she was even able to look shy, but there’s a touch of insecurity in the way she lowers her eyes and sets her mouth.
I want to wipe it all away and bring back her usual self-assured beam, because that’s how she should feel, all day every day.
“I know I rattle on most of the time. I just…I’ve always talked a lot, ever since I could .
And I pretty much had to, growing up, even if I hadn’t wanted to.
But fortunately I did.” Her lips purse, and she looks down at her hands.
I type again.
I like listening to you.
She reads it and smiles, and it’s not a practised, polished thing. I’ve made her blush a little, and there’s a weird swell in my chest that feels a lot like what pride used to feel like when I was younger. To be the one making her go pink…it’s a great feeling.
Too great.
Her nose is so cute. It’s perfect, slightly tilted upwards in an elvish way, and I gently boop the end with my finger because she’s so fucking sweet. It makes me giggle, and I blink, abruptly realising what I’ve done. And then I smother a grin when I see I’ve left a small ink smudge on the tip.
“What?” she asks, and I point at the long mirror straight ahead from her. She grins. “Woops.”
Sorry , I sign, and offer her a box of tissues.
“It’s OK, I have face wipes in my bag.” She’s not quite able to reach it where it’s fallen on the ground, so I quickly move around and pick it up for her, crouching down.
Our eyes meet.
I’m not an idiot. I can tell, from the way her breath stills and the way she looks at my mouth, and the way our eye contact is like a physical feeling, that I wouldn’t be rejected if I leaned up and kissed her.
God, look at those soft lips. The way her tongue peeps out to dampen them a little, like she’s readying them for mine…
She looks in the mirror, and we stare at each other in the reflection for a moment.
Her eyes are all lit up, as if she likes what she sees, but for me the spell is broken.
There’s that gray faced dude again, the one I can’t recognise as myself anymore.
There’s his mass of scars. She’s sunshine; I’m a black hole, consuming everything around me until there’s nothing.
This ain’t even beauty and the beast. This is beauty and the asshole who doomed a pregnant woman to her brutal murder.
She was hidden, you rat fuck , my guilt snarls at me in my head, singing his usual hate track.
If you hadn’t gone in there, if you had caught those fucking keys, he might have missed her, and her kid would be a high school sophomore by now.
Almost as old as you were when you killed them with your stupidity…
Both pulling my mind back from where the bad memories lie, and shying away from the light of her smile in the mirror’s reflection, I move back around and pick up my needle again. I offer a thumbs up, and she wordlessly nods her consent, so I carry on.
She doesn’t pass comment on the broken moment.
Instead, she goes back to the questions I prepared on my tablet, and I spend the rest of the evening being tortured by getting to know her better.
Getting to know more reasons why my cock is right to ache for her and my belly is right to flip when she talks, but knowing in my bones that if I do anything about those feelings, I’d be nothing but a selfish bastard.