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thinkaboutanyoneelsebutyou · 5 years

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Trophies And Lights

*It was always so much harder with the cute ones. I couldn't help my slight smile as I slipped from the bed and shrugged on a hastily discarded cardigan, my nimble fingers fastening the buttons. It was far from decent, barely hanging down over my panty clad ass, but the sleeves hung long over my fingertips and the fabric was so, so soft. It didn't hurt that it smelled good either. Patrick was still asleep and he looked both young and almost absurdly angelic, his skin pale against the dark green sheets and his hair mussed from the combination of sleep and my fingers taking through it. My feet were silent on the hardwood as I slipped out of the room and down the stairs towards the kitchen, my path illuminated equally by small nightlights built into the outlets and the lights of the city outside the rain-speckled windows.

I paused in the kitchen to fish in my purse, responding quickly to the one number in my phone. Check-ins were not to be missed, although there was a bit of leeway, for the most part, but a fully missed check was cause for alarm, and there would be security that showed up without a second thought. I had been fortunate enough to have not been on the receiving end, but I had met Marcus and Evan a few times when they had covered for the regular transportation in a pinch.

The kitchen was immaculate and designed for Patrick’s height which was actually quite enjoyable. It only took rummaging in a few cabinets before I found a glass and filled it with water from the dispenser built into the fridge; it was cold and crisp, perfect on my parched throat as I finished the first glass and filled a second before leaving it on the counter and wandering into the living room.

The shelves that covered one wall were packed tightly with a vast array of music of all varieties; I couldn’t read the spines of the CD’s, but I dragged my fingers across the rows and rows of vinyl that dominated the shelving unit, pulling them out at random. The covers were eclectic, everything from Duke Ellington to Led Zeppelin to Prince, arranged in some sort of a system that I absolutely could not wrap my head around. They felt familiar beneath my fingers, the feel and smell transporting me back in time far more easily than I would have liked. I could remember moments, imprecise and yet exact pinpoints in time with the kind of accuracy that scared me, anchored by nothing so much as a note or an album cover; but I couldn’t remember his voice, not as much as I should have. Squeezing my else closed against the onslaught of memories that threatened to break over me like a tidal wave, I exhaled sharply, counting from ten to one in my head. This was not the time nor the place.

“Couldn’t sleep?” The voice pulled me from my musings and I took just a fraction of a moment to compose myself before opening my eyes and turning to face Patrick as he stood in the doorway looking adorably sleep-rumpled, his hair everywhere and his glasses slightly crooked as he blinked owlishly against the lights.

I shrugged with a small smile, far more casual than it should have been.* I’ve never really been a good sleeper, especially during storms. *The wind and rain were still pounding outside, although the sounds were muffled by the layers of windows and the dull hum of the central air.

“Sorry to hear that.” Patrick’s voice was still heavy with sleep, and raspy with something else entirely as he shifted from foot to foot.*

It’s okay, I promise. I’m used to it by now. *It wasn’t entirely the truth, but I got paid, quite literally, to speak in partial truths and distractions.* Tell me about your music. You work in the industry, right? *If Patrick was surprised at my observation, he didn’t show it, save for the slightest widening of his eyes for an instant. Despite being relaxed from sleep there was still a tightness in the set of his shoulders that seemingly vanished as he made his way towards the shelves where I was standing, his fingers trailing easily along the rows and rows of albums.

“Am I that obvious?” Patrick’s cheeks were tinted pink at the words as he glanced down at me behind his glasses. I shook my head, and gently wriggled my fingers at him.* Not in the slightest; your calluses gave you away. That and your incomprehensible organizational system. What exactly do Prince and Ozzy have to do with each other? *The words came out on a laugh and got exactly the response I was hoping for. A huge grin blossomed across Patrick’s face, genuine and eager.

“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you. The really good stuff is in my office if you want to see.” It wasn’t the stuttering question of when I had first arrived, we were far too well acquainted for that, but there was a moment of hesitation, just slightly, and I nodded, brushing the stray locks of hair behind my ears.*

I’d like that, thank you. * It was honest and simple; I had found, over my years in this industry, that this was absolutely the best way to go about anything. Patrick nodded eagerly, his hair falling just barely in front of his eyes, and rested a hand on the small of my back as we made our way through the house. I could feel the warmth of his skin radiating through the thin sweater and it was, for just a moment, a little bit too much. It vanished, however when we stepped into what I presumed was his office, and the lights flickered on.

A rich, cherry desk sat in front of one wall, facing the wall of windows, a laptop glowing at its center. There were papers stacked meticulously across the surface, and pens scattered with less care; they were all different colors of ink in the same brand, and I made note of it. There were more shelves in here, on two of the remaining walls, some scattered with music, some with books and still others with what looked like awards of some kind, although from this distance,m I couldn’t place them. Behind the desk, anchored and mounted on the walls, were three albums encased in glass, the gold of the records themselves almost glowing. I recognized them all, but there was one, the first one it would seem, that had my breath catching in my throat and my fingers, although they shouldn’t have, traced easily over the cool glass that covered the album cover.

“That was the first album I produced that went gold and I am still more proud of it than any other. You know it?” Patrick sounded both pleased and surprised in equal measure and I dipped my head in a nod, fighting the emotion that threatened to creep into my voice. That was an understatement, to say the least.*

I do. I actually knew one of the session musicians, in another life. *It wasn’t a lie, not really, but there was so much more to it than that.

“Really, which one? I have a copy if you’d like to listen.” There was a certain lightness in Patrick’s voice that was familiar in an impossible way that I couldn’t possibly deal with, not here and not now.*

Not now… I mean, I can’t- how about a shower, hmm? * The change of topic came abruptly, although it wasn’t entirely out of left field; we had worked up a bit of a sweat in his sheets and during my brief peek into the master bath, I’d been more than a little tempted. Patrick didn’t seem to disagree and nodded eagerly, almost adorably, as he followed me out of the room and up the stairs to the second floor.*

*We were still damp, water clinging to our skin and dripping from our hair when we tumbled back into the bed after our shower which, honestly, had consisted more of getting dirty than clean; I didn’t complain in the slightest. I’d learned long ago to leave supplies anywhere I thought they would be necessary and glancing up at Patrick from my knees in the shower, his head tilted back into the waterfall spray, I hadn’t been disappointed. He was beautiful in a way that many of the men who hired me weren’t; with a certain softness in both body and attitude that I wasn’t used to, but absolutely enjoyed, and one that did NOT extend to his cock, thank fuck.

“Can I ask you a question?” Patrick’s voice was soft, his warm breath ghosting over my ear as his long fingers flitted with my hair. I gave a nod, pressing into the touch like a cat and earning a soft chuckle.*

You can ask anything; I may not answer, but you can ask. *Again, honest was the best policy in this case although there were limits to my answers.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” The response was soft, muttered against the crown of my head. “Do you… always fake it or is that just- I mean, with me?” He seemed nervous again, and unsure; closer to the man that opened the door than the one that had fucked me against the shower wall, pretty lips whispering the most filthy, beautiful words. I was more than a little surprised and felt the color rising in my cheeks as I squirmed around to face Patrick.*

It’s a work thing, really. I don’t- the men I usually work with pay me for a service, for a role, for a purpose, and a very singular one at that. That’s my job, and my satisfaction is an afterthought if that. I’ve never gotten off while I worked. * It was one of the only full truths I had shared tonight, and strangely the most exposing one; although it kept other questions from being asked.

Patrick looked concerned; confusion was written on the pretty contours of his face as I brushed aside a stray drop of water from his temple, the hair catching between my fingers soft and damp, a shade darker than the cinnamony-color it was when dry. “ I don’t- really? Nobody else has… Jesus. That’s fucking shitty.” The words were disjointed but not in the same way of a few hours earlier; there was something beneath them, an understanding and almost upset combined with a post coital heaviness that seemed out of place with what I had come to know of the clients that I saw. “I absolutely take umbrage with that fact, and I’m sorry.”

I laughed softly, shrugging the nameless, faceless men from my mind and I squirmed and rested my head on Patrick’s shoulder, giving the blankets a tug.* No apologies unless you harm me, and I know you won’t. Let’s rest, hmm? You sound tired.

*It was the truth, simple and soft; easy in a way many others weren’t. Patrick didn’t complain or argue, simply nodding and tugging me close. He was cuddly and lose, inhibitions lost somewhere between pushing his sweater off my shoulders and pressing me against the slick shower wall with one hand twisted in my hair, and the other gripping my hip; it was a stark contrast, although one I found myself enjoying and I let my eyes drift closed, just for a few minutes, as his breathing evened out and the storm, raging outside the windows for so long, finally began to dissipate.* #TrophiesAndLights

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