Aftermath

by Sally

They were fading, the wild, driving emotions that had pounded through his blood like a designer drug. Oh, he could still remember them, remember the surge of power that came with the bar fight, the rush of freedom that came with stealing his dad’s bike. He remembered the sure knowledge of his prowess as Lana’s reluctance and surprise melted into weak-limbed acceptance under the persuasion of his self-assured kiss. He remembered all of these emotions but dimly, like he was 100 years old and looking back on his greener days.

Except.

He wasn’t the type to put himself on display. In fact, since he had gotten his height so early, he tended to slouch in the background most of the time. But he had put on a display that day, a calculated display that included everything from the shine on his $800 shoes to the arrangement of the waves in his hair.

He prowled through the familiar office with utter confidence, knowing how the light would emphasize the breadth of his shoulders under the fine wool, knowing how the swivel of his hips would set that fine wool to swinging. His clothes, his stance, his seeming disinterest in the conversation, were all carefully designed to project a specific message: Notice me. Study me. Want me.

And the message had been received. Those cool blue eyes had taken in every detail, every nuance, traveling over his body with a palpable interest that almost made him purr. This one wasn’t an innocent like Lana or a child-playing-at-adulthood like Jessie. This one was worthy of him, a man who could complement unstoppable physical strength with devious intellect. Yes, this was the one.

Another display came with his second visit, as did another Italian suit, this time showed to best effect by stretching his long frame over the expensive couch. The two of them leaving together was a foregone conclusion, just like the heat that flared in those blue eyes. The only reason he let him go to see to the details was because the tightening in his groin was something to be savored before the taking. That, too, was inevitable—he was his.

Then there was the cornfield and the sledgehammer, and it was all gone, smashed to scarlet shards that again fell to earth around him.

In the aftermath, he had apologized to his parents because he wanted to, apologized to Lana because he was expected to, went back to his normal life because it was all he had.

In the aftermath, in the silent hours of the morning when he dared to touch himself, it wasn’t the taste of Lana’s kiss that he imagined, it wasn’t the press of Jessie’s body against his that he relived. It was only the memory of cool blue eyes raking over his black-clothed frame that made him hard, only the memory of sensual, scarred lips twisted into an inviting smirk that made him come.

In the aftermath, he wondered if those cool blue eyes would burn him through battered demin and sale-priced flannel.

And he wondered what he would do if they did.

The End