Page 43 of Vallaverse: Twist
“I could have offered my spot at The Top Shelf.”
She laughs. “I'll never get him into the city.”
“I know,” I chuckle. “That's why I said Lenore's.”
Laz and I finally convince her to leave the kitchen to us so she can drag her husband to an early dinner. He does most of the cleaning, though. He's always been like that. Once he starts a task, it doesn't take him long to take it over. I spend the last stretch of the job just sitting at the table, making small talk and watching him.
He dries the last bowl and puts it away, then leans against the counter. “Now what?”
“What do you want to do? My day is wide open.”
He stifles a yawn and glances in the direction of the den.
“You want to sit in front of the television and disassociate for a while?” I ask. “I've got all the channels.”
He grins at me, and I follow him down the hall.
I let him choose what we watch, and I am in no way surprised when he picks the most ludicrous daytime drama I've ever seen. I am even less surprised to discover that he's well aware of the storyline. I roll my eyes and settle in for an afternoon of campy romantic shenanigans. I don't bother trying to keep up with which person kissed who or why it's such a huge plot point.
One episode turns into the next until it's a marathon. Laz started out sitting on the far end of the couch, but as the hours passed, he’s gotten closer and closer as he relaxed. Now he's leaning against my side, and I've worked up the nerve to put my arm around him. It's funny. He wears my mark. I know what he tastes like. But holding him gives me butterflies.
“Is this okay?” he asks, breaking a long stretch of not talking.
“Definitely.” I pull him a little closer to emphasize how okay it is.
“We're going backwards.”
I turn my head to brush my lips against his hair. “Only a little.”
“I like this, Brooks.”
“Me too.”
An evening routine forms over the next few days. For the last few hours of the day, before we go to our separate bedrooms, we sit on the couch and watch trash TV. I tried to make him watch a documentary on giraffes, but that lasted all of twelve minutes before he fell asleep with his head on my lap. I didn't mind. It's not about whatever plays on the television; it's about being with each other and getting comfortable in the same space.
Part of the reason I tried to stay so busy and tried to stay away is because I didn't know how Laz was going to feel. I don't know how people react to sobriety after years of being underthe influence of something, and Laz spent years in the haze of false heats. Before he left me, he was always so hypersexual. I never knew if it stemmed from a need for attention or just a need for extra stimulation, but I did my best to oblige him. I did a fairly decent job keeping up with him until he started taking the heat-inducing drugs. He was insatiable all on his own, but with the drugs nothing was ever enough. I could never hold him enough. I could never touch him enough. One of the worst, and most ridiculous, bouts of enraged sorrow he experienced with me was when I couldn't keep him knotted for days at a time. His chemical-addled brain couldn't understand the concept of a rebound period, and he was furious.
I thought he might still be the same now. I've done research; I know how the drug works. The Omega system behaves differently with prolonged exposure to hormonal tampering. I was afraid of what would happen if he wanted that sort of attention before his medical team agreed that it was safe. The last thing I want to do is throw Laz into a decline because I refused to turn him down. Because I wouldn't.
Well... maybe I would. I would be sick over the risk, but I don't know if I could actually refuse him if he was begging for relief. I have never been able to refuse him. And that's exactly why I was trying to make myself scarce. But the bond we have makes it nearly impossible for me to be away for too long. I know he feels uneasy if I'm gone for too long. He's been very vocal about that. I just don't want to make anything worse for him.
It's been a week of cuddling on the couch, though. And things are starting to get worse for me. I'm surrounded by his scent; it clings to me. Even when I'm away from him, I can still feel him tugging at me. The cuddling is getting cuddlier every night, and I want to kiss him. I want to touch him. I want everything, all of it. Worry be damned, I want him.
The worst part of it is that I know I can have him. All it would take is one single kiss, and I could pull him into my lap, and then—
“Brooks,” he whispers, keeping his eyes firmly on the television.
“Hmm?”
“What are you thinking about?” he asks, still whispering. “Right now?”
I've never lied to him and I won't start now. “You.”
He doesn't say anything for a while, but then I notice the wiggling. It starts with his feet, rubbing them together and wriggling his toes, then his thigh tenses and he moves his knee side to side, then he starts picking at his fingernails.
“What's the matter?” I ask, smoothing my hand down his side. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” he starts, then frowns. “No. I don't know.” He huffs and turns onto his back, resting his head on my thigh. “I can feel you.”
