Author: Aline
Fandom: Oz
Pairing: B/K
Rating: NC-17 for the sex.
Notes: I wrote this for adrianabr. The last chapter is in writing but I thought I'd post the first four ones. It's an AU. I won't say more - suffice to say I wrote this thinking of all the talented authors who once wrote fics I loved (And especially for someone called Youngjeune who wrote a fic called Infamous that I love; but also for many others, actually, all the authors who wrote in Oz when I joined the Oz Yahoo list. Mav, Rustler, Catcheight, Actizera, Dargie and so many others, whose fics enchanted me.).
It's rather sweet, I guess. I hope you like it.
Unbetaed so don't hesitate to point out my mistakes. Thanks to morgared for the concrit.
The place was private – a bar in a top-class hotel somewhere near Gstaadt. At this time of the day, most of the customers had shed their designer ski-suits and changed into formal clothes. A young blond woman was playing soft jazz on the piano while the customers, mostly couples, chatted amiably, sipping their drinks.
A young woman with dark hair and clear blue eyes, dressed in a red dress that showed most of her back and part of her breasts every time her stole slid down her shoulders, nudged the friend standing beside her at the bar.
"Look at this man, Giulia," she said, "Isn't he just gorgeous? I'd trade anything against a night in his bed."
Giulia, short fair hair and pouting mouth, her cheeks reddened by an afternoon spent skiing, turned to look at the man standing at the other edge of the room, dressed in black jeans and a cashmere black sweater, his arms crossed over his chest. She looked for a moment, and shrugged.
"I don't think he quite got the dressing code of such a hotel," she said. "He's awfully underdressed."
The other woman laughed, a musical spontaneous laugh that drew disapproving looks to her. She smiled to the man when their eyes met and he smiled back. He had a lazy, slow, promising smile that sent a quiver down her spine.
"You can be so old-fashioned, sometimes… Can't you see, Giulia? This one is a true wonder," she said. "Perfect. Look at these shoulders, and the muscles in his arms, and – God - his eyes. Jesus, I'd trade my diamond ring for a night in his bed."
Giulia frowned. "I don't know. He looks awfully arrogant. He reminds me of those leopards I saw last year in Kenya, waiting near the watering point, watching their prey."
Both women watched him as he made his exit, strolling across the room towards the main hall, oblivious of the looks and whispers following him. At the bottom of the stairs, he stopped and shook his head, undecided. He would've turned, maybe, and walked back into the bar, but the ringing of his cell phone stopped him.
"Chris Keller," he said curtly, and smiled at the voice in his ear.
"So, Chris, honey… Are you enjoying your vacations?"
"Yeah. Very relaxing. The food is good. Nice hotel. I spent the whole afternoon skiing."
The woman on the other side laughed. "What about the people? Found someone you fancy?"
He sighed, thought about the woman in the bar, the way she'd looked at him, her white naked back, red lips, and closed his eyes, smiling. "Maybe. I'm not sure."
"OK. Well, whatever you do, don't forget you have to be in Prague on Sunday. You and I have an early appointment Monday morning."
"I hate early appointments but I'll do my best. I'll call you back. Bye, Bonnie."
***********************
Toby heard the footsteps outside the door and held his breath; he didn't particularly wish for any company. He'd spent such a long time surrounded with so many people – nurses, family, colleagues, friends, all of them filled with the best intentions than being alone had become a luxury and he'd been quite happy to spend the last hour alone in this lounge near the fire, revelling in the quietness and the warmth before retiring to his room – an arduous journey through tricky corridors and old stairs. The Hotel employee who had led him here had insisted that Toby should call him when he wanted to leave, but Toby intended to take the trip on his own.
The door opened with a creak and someone walked in.
"Is this place private or am I allowed sitting down? The bar downstairs was getting a little crowded."
Toby sighed, trying to convey as much annoyance as he could without being rude. "It's not private."
The man stepped closer. "I'm Chris Keller" he said. He had, Toby thought, a remarkable voice. Deep and slightly lazy, a little raspy and very intimate. A bedroom voice, one of his friends would say. "You can call me Chris."
"Tobias Beecher. Make it Toby." And that was as far as he'd go, he thought, although his answer hadn't come out half as dry as it should have. Go away, he thought, I'm not in the mood for small talk.
"You're a very handsome man, Toby," Chris said after a couple of minutes. "Did anyone tell you that already?"
Jesus! The man had some nerve! Toby's lips curved into an unfriendly smile. "About every pervert who wants to fuck a blind man." He heard a shift and a rustle of clothes nearby. Shit. The intruder had sat down –in front of the fire, near him.
"Blind?" Chris asked.
"I was badly wounded in a car crash. I didn't get my sight back. Was there anything else you wanted to know?"
God, Toby thought, do I have to sound so bitter every time?
"Is it permanent?" Chris asked in the same quiet intimate voice.
"Yes." Yes, fuck, yes, I'll never be able to see anything again.
"Tough shit," the man said, and stopped talking.
The fired cracked and popped in the quiet room; outside, the snow seemed to swallow every sounds. A car, maybe, and a door slamming, people laughing – muffled by the snow.
"Got a job?" Chris asked.
Ah God, this one was persistent. "I'm a teacher at Harvard School of Law," Toby said. "I wanted to be a lawyer but teaching…" He cleared is voice. "Teaching is fine." It still felt strange to speak with someone you couldn't see, someone you had no idea what he looked like. Toby had never realized before being blind how much he kept relying on his sight during any conversation. "You?" he asked bluntly, and added. "Have you got one? A job, I mean." And he sighed, frustrated at how awkward he sounded.
Chris laughed. "Yes. Yes, I've got one, although I'm not sure you'd call it a job." There was a slight pause and Chris said, "I'm a porn actor."
It was an automatic reflex from the time when he wasn't yet blind – Toby turned his head towards the voice. "What?"
Another laugh, amused and maybe a little bitter, Toby thought. "You heard me perfectly well. I am a porn actor. A porn star, some would probably say. Now close your mouth, you'll catch a fly."
Toby felt a flush creeping up his face and looked away. "But why…" he began."I mean, why choose such a job?"
Silence stretched for a moment; obviously Chris was looking for the right words. The convincing explanation. "I wanted to be a cop, just like my father; he died when I was a kid. When I was sixteen… Well, let's just say that life decided otherwise. I'm not sure I regret it. There are some advantages in my line of work."
Toby straightened in his chair, suddenly interested. "Such as?"
"Money. Fun. And I have everything the job requires."
Toby knew he shouldn't ask but he did nonetheless. "Meaning? Beside the obvious?"
Chris moved in the armchair and Toby heard the rustle of fabric. "The obvious. Big cock and I can keep it up for a long time. I like sex; I'm good at it; I'm good looking enough. This kind of things."
Good looking enough. Toby wondered *how* good looking in fact and wanted to ask. What for? He would never see him anyway. OK, get a grip, Toby; now's not the time to wallow in self-pity. "I don't know much about his kind of… activity but… is it porn with girl? Het? Jesus, I must sound stupid."
Chris got up and poked the fire – Toby had to pull back from the heat.
"Sorry," Chris said, "I love fire. I can't help playing with it." Toby heard him sit back and stretch. "You don't sound stupid. Everybody asks me this, you know. I don't fucking care."
Downstairs, a door slammed again and they heard footsteps down the stairs, next to them. The footsteps stopped and they waited in silence for someone to come in or knock at the door. Toby realized that he didn't want anyone in there now with him and this strange man; he didn't want anyone to shatter the moment - probably Chris didn't want it either; when the footsteps vanished, Chris released an audible sigh.
"So, to answer your question… Men, women… I do both. I draw the line at kids and animals."
Toby shivered. "Please. Don't tell me some of your… colleagues…"
"Yeah, well; there are perverts who'll pay a lot for this kind of things. Some of my colleagues don't have much of a choice. Some of them don't care."
"God," Toby said, sickened. "I can't even figure it out. I don't think I ever saw a porn movie of any kind, even before the accident. Maybe when I was in high-school. Now, even if I wanted to, I woudn't be able to witness any of your… exploits."
Chris' smile was invisible to Toby but he could somehow feel it on him, warming him. "Would you like to?"
Toby's laugh was genuine, this time. "I don't know. I guess I'm always curious." He understood, saying this, how it must have sounded – very differently from what he wanted to -but Chris didn't seem to notice and didn't say anything. It was late, but Toby didn't feel like going to bed. This unlikely meeting in a hotel that had nothing to do with the places he usually went to, turned these few days of rest into something different. He'd come here invited by the Association of European Lawyers to discuss the meaning of the notion of "bona fides" in civil contracts and when the conference had ended, he'd decided to spend five more days enjoying the comfort of a luxury hotel, the change of scenery, and the way snow crunched under his feet. And the food. Vacations of a sort after so many months spent working. Of course, he didn't ski, although it was possible, he'd been told, with a guide ahead shouting out the directions; but the prospect sounded a little ludicrous.
"Your turn, now," Chris said, startling Toby out of his thoughts. "Men or women?"
Dirty secrets are always easier to share with perfect strangers, Toby thought. He was sure that his mother had confided more about her life to her hairdresser than to her best friend, let alone her husband and her sons. He blushed nonetheless.
"I entertained the thought that I was a functional bisexual for some time," he said, "but this time's over. My relations with women are… complicated. I like to think that if I had something in my life, someone – I'm not talking of a one night stand, here – this someone would be a man."
"What's so bad with one night stands?" Chris asked. "They're uncomplicated, enjoyable and fun. No strings attached, no regrets, no disappointment. It can become a two nights stand, or more…"
Toby shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "Not my thing, I guess. In my state, I feel like I can't let go that easily." I'm wary of anyone who asks me out; I have to rely on someone to describe him to me and give me a first impression, and I can't drag a friend with me everywhere; I can't very well say this.
"So, you've been living like a monk for some time, now," Chris said.
"More or less."
Chris seemed to think it over. "Strange. I don't think I could live without sex. I'm not talking about my job here. I can't remember a time when I didn't want it."
Toby snorted. "I didn't say I didn't want it. I just said that I didn't really find anyone I trusted enough." There, he'd said it, after all. Chris whispered something Toby didn't catch. When he wanted to tell him to speak louder, the door opened, and a group of women with loud voices walked in. Toby rose unsteadily from his seat.
"I'll go back to my room," he said, feeling tired suddenly and irrationally irritated. Grabbing his cane, he made his way to the door. "Good night, Chris," he said, and walked out. He was at the top of the stairs, ready to take the trip down, when he heard footsteps behind him. "Wait. I'm going too," Chris said, walking up to him and Toby couldn't help smiling. "I would've thought you'd stay with this gaggle of young girls a little while longer."
"I'm full of surprises," Chris said, and wrapping his fingers loosely around Toby's arm, he added, "Let's try to find the way to our rooms. This hotel is a labyrinth."
They walked together down the stairs, across the hall, along a corridor and inside an elevator – Chris let go of Toby's elbow then, and they stood silent until the door opened again on the landing of the second floor, just in front of Toby's room.
"Well, thank you," Toby said. After the discussion they'd had, he had expected Chris to proposition him, but Chris only said, " See you tomorrow, maybe. You're not leaving yet, are you?"
Toby leaned against the doorjamb and closed his eyes. "No. I'll stay here two more days before flying back to the States."
Chris gave Toby's arm a light squeeze. "Good night, then," and walked away.
Chris walked into his room and stood in the darkness for a couple of minutes, leaning against the doorjamb, his nostrils still filled with the smell of Toby's discreet cologne, something spicy and out of date that suited Toby very well.
OK, so he's hot; now what?
He walked further inside, turned on the lights and stopped short.
"Jesus fucking Christ, what the fuck is this?"
Two dozens of dark red roses in a fancy vase on the table in front of the window – someone had come into his room and put them there. He leaned forward, his nose brushing against the soft petals - unscented. A pity. He opened the small envelope that lay on the table near the vase. "I saw you in the bar; my room is 211. The girl in the red dress."
Chris closed his eyes, remembering every detail he'd filed away in his mind. Dark hair, clear eyes, high cheekbones and a slim young body. The jewels had spoken of money - her husband's, probably, or her father's. On a whim she'd sent a hotel clerk to hunt for those expensive roses at some ungodly hour of the evening – just to have him.
A whim… Wasn't it what he was too, for her and so many others before? She must be waiting for him, expecting him, ready for him, dressed in something expensive and sexy…
Well the bitch could go to hell. So she'd seen him, gauged him and thought he was just some whore she could order, like a midnight snack or a fancy drink? He hated her, suddenly, for making him feel cheap and worthless. Before he knew what he was doing, he was up and picking up the phone. A young woman in the hotel uniform knocked at the door a couple of minutes later with this very polite, very civilized look on her face. He showed her the vase. "Someone ordered this for me. I don't want them." Or the bitch, for that matter.
The woman looked at the roses and back at him with a bit of unease.
"I found them on my table," Chris said, "which means that someone in your staff came into my room while I wasn't there. Now listen. Never again. I don't want anyone in my fucking room bringing fucking roses or anything else – again. No matter the amount of the tip. Understood?"
The girl paled, trying to muster some measure of calm. "Of course, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir."
"I don't fucking care about you being sorry. It's my room, no one goes in. Verstanden?"
She gulped and nodded desperately. "Yes, sir."
"Good. Now take them away."
She took the vase and left after some more apologies, leaving Chris frustrated and angry. Eventually, he undressed and lay naked on the bed, looking out at the full moon shedding a cold light on the snow-covered landscape. He was getting too old for this, he thought. Turning back such an offer was new; so was the feeling of being used. Or maybe the feeling wasn't so new, but hating it was. Toby, at least, had not treated him like he was only a piece of meat, a sex toy; he'd considered him, well… normally, which had felt very good. That was new too, Chris' need for respect and understanding. Two years ago, Chris didn't give a damn. He closed his eyes and thought of Toby, his unfocused gaze, his fair wavy hair, his expressive mouth, his long neck and his slim, sturdy body. He remembered the short walk to Toby's room, the way Toby's arm between his fingers had felt warm and real, more real probably than anything or anyone since he'd divorced Bonnie. He remembered how Toby had relied on him to guide him around the obstacles. Toby who couldn't see him and who didn't let Chris' good looks impress him. Yes. He hadn't pushed his luck tonight because at the moment it had felt like the right thing to do; but tomorrow, he'd take a chance on the man. He smiled and stretched like a big cat, smiling. Then, pulling the thick comforter over him, he fell asleep.
***************************
Chris woke up early, showered, ordered breakfast and got dressed in the usual jeans and a black sweater – same look as the day before, same touch of cologne. Then he walked down and waited for Toby to show up.
He saw him eventually, a little after nine, sitting on a sheltered terrace outside the lounge, reading.
It was strange, and somehow disturbing, Chris thought, the way Toby was reading the book resting on his knees, his fingertips brushing against the pages, his eyes lost in some inner world, anywhere but on the volume. Chris came closer to the window of the lounge and put down the magazine he'd been flipping through, ignoring the looks brushing against him and the whispered laughs behind his back, focusing on the man outside, wrapped in a large coat, his hair shining in the crude mountain light.
Chris turned away, walked up to the small bar and ordered two coffees, with a jug of warm milk, sugar, and an assortment of local pastries.
……………….
The sound of the tray on the table just in front of him and the smell of fresh coffee startled Toby out of his reading. He looked up and frowned.
"Good morning, Toby," Chris' voice said. "I thought I'd bring something to warm you up. Mind if I sit down?"
Toby put the book down.
"Coffee?" he asked expectantly. "Thank you."
"Milk?"
"And sugar, please."
Chris pushed the cup just within reach of Toby's hand who smiled this time. "Thank you," Toby said.
"My pleasure. What are you reading?"
Toby smiled. "Thomas Mann. The Magic Mountain."
"Very appropriate," Chris said, sipping his unsweetened hot black coffee, glancing at the books "Jesus, how do you manage to read this? It seems very… very complicated to me."
Toby shrugged. "It's not such a difficult book, once you've overcome the first fifty pages," he said.
"I'll trust you on that - I was talking about the writing. I mean, it's Braille, isn't it? How do you manage to read it?"
Toby pushed the cup away and put the book on the table between them, opening it at a random page. Taking Chris' hand, he entwined their fingers and guided Chris' fingertips along the letters, spelling them one by one. The intimacy of the contact, Toby's obvious lack of malice or ulterior motives, was making Chris slightly uncomfortable. He closed his warm fingers around Toby's cold hands. "How long does it take to learn?"
"Months, and I'm a fast learner. I needed to, for my job. There are some law books written in Braille. I'm not the only blind lawyer on the face of Earth." Toby said, not pulling his hand away.
"What about the internet? Can you use it?"
"Yes. It takes a whole lot of special equipment but I'm getting used to it."
Accepting his disability, probably, Chris thought. Accepting that he'd never be able to see again, and trying to cope with the idea. Start a new life. Fuck, I couldn't do that. He realized he still had Toby's hands in his.
"What about taking this inside? It's getting a bit too cold for my taste. I came here to invite you for lunch. They make a delicious dish with melted cheese, potatoes and local meat."
This time, Toby pulled his hand away and smiled a little hesitantly, pondering the offer. Chris gazed into Toby's unseeing blue eyes – an unfocused gaze under long lashes. Chris felt a pang of something suddenly he didn't recognize. He realized that he wanted Toby to see him; the fact that he couldn't was making Chris uncomfortable and almost shy, since he couldn't rely on his easy, natural charm to catch the man's attention. That was both unsettling and strangely arousing.
"The accident was my fault, you know," Toby said, out of the blue. "I was drunk; I lost control of the car; hit a wall at full speed. It's a miracle that I'm still alive. So you won't be surprised if I don't drink any of the delicious wines they have here. If you intended to get me drunk…"
Chris refocused abruptly. "I didn't intend to get you drunk. I like your conversation and your company enough as it is."
Toby smiled. "Liar. I know what you want."
Oh, I'm sure you do, Chris thought, leaning forward, pushing his own coffee cup out of the way and brushing his lips against Toby's cold lips. "I think we're going to shock the young girls who're watching us from the lounge inside."
Toby frowned and opened his mouth, to answer maybe – Chris kissed him, slowly, languorously enough to convey the depths of his desire, a hand behind Toby's neck, fingers stroking the soft hair there. Toby tasted of coffee and sugar and sweetness. From the corner of his eyes, Chris saw one of the girls inside the salon press a hand against her lips, and he let go of Toby for a second, winking at her. She looked away with a small grimace. Chris took Toby's lips again and this time, Toby kissed back. Chris noticed how strongly Toby's hands dug into his shoulders, and knew how much Toby wanted this.
Moving back, he licked his lips and whispered, his voice hoarse. "Read me. Like the book. I want you to know what I look like."
Chris felt Toby's hesitation and then fingers brushed over his cropped hair and down his forehead, along his nose, and traced the shape of his lips, his chin, slid back up to his cheek-bone. "You have the face of a hard man," Toby said, and Chris chose not to answer this; instead he pressed Toby's fingers against his lips. "I want you so much!"
They reached Toby's room in silence. Once inside Toby stood against the door, looking lost. Finally, Chris stripped him from his coat and scarf, like a child, and kissed him before guiding him around the spacious room. While Toby used the bathroom, Chris sat on the bed, waiting, trying to decide exactly how he'd play this.
"Let me undress you," he told Toby when he had him standing in front of him. Toby nodded and Chris rose from the bed to pull the blue woollen sweater above Toby's head, smoothing back Toby's silky hair with his palm, and sitting back down. The pants went down and away; Toby had got rid of his shoes and socks in the bathroom. Chris buried his face in the heat of Toby's groin. "God, you feel so good," he said.
"My turn," Toby said, in a slightly shaky voice, pulling away, his fingers searching the right place to work on, Chris barely guiding him. Toby crouched naked at Chris' feet and unbuttoned the worn tight jeans, stroking the hard hot flesh.
"Going commando?" he asked with a snort, closing his hand around Chris' cock. "And you shaved."
"A habit, from the job. Do you like it," Chris asked, stroking Toby's hair.
Toby shrugged, at a loss for words. .
Chris pulled him back up, and against him, their cocks rubbing together, their skin hot against each other's. He kissed Toby, slow and hungry, resting his hands on Toby's ass before sliding down to the floor and taking Toby's cock in his mouth, so deep that Toby stopped breathing for a second of two, fighting the need to come. The strong muscles of Chris' throat released him, Chris' tongue tracing lazily the length of Toby's cock, teasing the slit, pressing against the vein and taking him deep again, sucking until Toby moaned deeply, helpless to resist.
"Not yet," Chris whispered, letting go of him and pressing his fingers hard just at the base of Toby's cock. "Not yet. Come on, come to the bed."
He guided Toby into the right position, and kneeled behind him. "Fuck; you're so hot."
He kissed and licked his way from Toby's neck down to his ass, slowly, his hands circling Toby's chest to tease the taut nipples, then parting the round cheeks of Toby's ass. "Do you want this?" he asked and Toby nodded, moaning.
Chris rubbed his jaw against the soft skin and started to tease the narrow hole with his tongue before pushing it inside, deep, deeper, until Toby was incoherent with lust. Then Chris rolled a condom over his cock and coated it with lube. "Not too much, Baby," he said in the intimate tone that Toby seemed to like. "I want you to feel me."
Toby was tight, and eager; Chris had to slow him down, teasing him, resisting Toby's attempts to pull him in deeper; then pushing in slowly, and pulling out again while Toby muffled his screams against his arms. When he finally found himself completely buried inside, Toby was sobbing with desire. Chris pulled out completely, and Toby wailed.
"Turn over," Chris said, "and touch yourself. I want to watch you"
He looked at Toby stroking himself with trembling hands, and settled between his thighs. "Go on," he said "Go on. I like this," and he pushed three fingers into Toby's ass, Toby's back arching in pleasure when the fingers twisted inside him. When he was certain that Toby wouldn't hold on much longer, Chris pulled him across his thighs and pushed himself in brutally. Toby stopped touching himself and gripped Chris' arms hard, yelling. "That's it. Let go, now. Let go. Tell me how it feels. Tell me how you want it. How deep I am, how big inside, how much you feel stretched and open." He thrust, hard, one hand gripping Toby's hips, the other stroking Toby's face - Toby took his palm and pressed it against his mouth, kissing it, biting it softly when they both came…
They collapsed together, breathless. Chris wrapped himself around Toby, whispering in his ear how good it had been and how much he wanted to do it again. Open him again, fill him again. Have Toby do the same to him…
Chris got up and went to the bathroom to wash himself. He retrieved a towel, wetted it and went back to Toby, washing him thoroughly. Then he kissed him before sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling Toby on his lap. "It's been so long," Toby said. "I'd forgotten how good it was."
"I think we deserve our lunch."
"I'm not hungry. I only want to eat you," Toby said, kneeling awkwardly between Chris' thighs and pressing his mouth against the softened cock, his wet lips showering the warm flesh with soft kisses, his hands rubbing slow caresses up and down Chris' thighs. Chris lay back down and abandoned himself to Toby's ministrations, loving the wet velvet of Toby's mouth around him trying to swallow more of him, loving how that swift tongue felt against his hardening cock… Chris took him a second time, kneeling on the carpet, doggy style, thrusting hard and deep.
They ate in the room eventually, Chris feeding Toby with his fingers for the pleasure of feeling the flicking of Toby's tongue against his flesh again. After a nap they fucked again – "My turn," Toby said - until they were both so exhausted that no caress could rouse any reaction from their spent bodies.
They slept, entangled and sweaty, late into the night.
**************************
They had their first fight that night, during a very late diner in a small dining room. Other couples were there, probably as exhausted and hungry as they were.
"So, how was it?" Chris asked, "Did you like it?"
Toby was focused on the complicated task of eating. Chris had noticed that his companion had ordered dishes that didn't require the use of a knife – fish, mainly; a soufflé, with a sauted Dover sole.
"Wanna taste a piece of my steak?" he asked, and Toby nodded. "Open your mouth," Chris said, pushing a bite of meat between Toby's lips, then licking his fingers, unaware of the shocked silence surrounding them. "Good?"
Toby chewed, frowning, and nodded, then went back to his fish, leaving his fork where he knew the food was, making sure he wouldn't have to hunt for it around the plate. Chris looked at this, fascinated.
"The sex was great," Toby said eventually, "I loved it."
Delighted, Chris drank some more wine. "I wanna do it again," he said.
"So you said before we fell asleep." Toby stabbed a piece of fish and ate it thoughtfully – it was like watching a cat, Chris thought. Yes, Bonnie's cat had been eating his food this way – focused and wary. "I'm not sure it's a good idea."
"What?" Chris put down his glass, the sound muffled by the thick embroidered tablecloth. "Why not? What's wrong? You loved it but you don't want another go at it? What the fuck does that mean?"
One more mouthful – soufflé, this time - and there was nothing left in Toby's plate. He put down the cutlery and leaned back, looking weary. "I… I don't know. You… you put on quite a show, didn't you? I felt like you weren't really in it. Like it was something you did… for me. Not for you."
Resting his elbows on the table, Chris leaned forward. "What a fucking idea is this?" he whispered, his voice low and angry. "I don't think I was ever accused before of being too altruistic."
Toby shrugged, blushing and looking very uncomfortable. "You… You didn't tape this, did you? The sex, I mean."
The bastard. Chris thought of grabbing anything and throwing it across the room before leaving the dining room – he'd leave the fucker alone with his paranoia and the bill… But he didn't want to quit. Not yet. He took a deep breath, slamming the anger back down. "I've done a lot of ugly things in my life," he said, "But never that. At least not unless he, or she, asked me to. You know; if I wanted to see what I look like when I'm fucking, I would just go watch my latest movie."
Toby snorted. "Of course. But maybe it's not for you. Maybe… I don't know. Maybe it makes people hot to watch a blind man being fucked. Would you do that? Would there be… I don't know… people who'd pay for this?"
Chris said nothing for a moment and Toby asked again, in a muffled voice. "Would there?"
"Yes," Chris said reluctantly. "Yes I guess there would be. I guess it's a… a kink somehow for some people."
Toby nodded. "So, did you? Record it, I mean."
Chris looked at the man's face and shook his head – then remembering Toby couldn't see him, he said, "No. I didn't."
"I believe you," Toby said with a nod.
A tired-looking waiter brought them the coffees they'd ordered, topped with whipped cream, and a glass of liquor; a glance at his watch told Chris it was nearly midnight.
"My turn now," he said. "Are you really blind? Or is it a game you play?" And because he felt anger radiate from his companion, he added. "I answered your questions. Your turn to answer mine."
Toby seemed to struggle – probably feeling like he'd leave the room with all the wounded dignity he could muster, which didn't mean much when you can't see a fucking thing, Chris thought. Then he asked. "Why do you think such a thing? Who would play such a game?"
Well, I probably would, Chris thought, if I needed to.
"I don't know. I was intrigued with the clothing thing. I wondered how you'd managed to choose the clothes you were wearing yesterday, since you can't see shit. You were very… elegant. And when you were sleeping, I looked at your closet and there's no way you can tell one shirt from another."
Toby stood silent for a moment, thinking, his palm around the glass warming the amber liquor. "All the shirts are white and can be worn with any of my pants. I only have black socks and shoes, the sweaters are blue, or grey. The scarves are beige. I don't think it's a problem if boxers don't quite match the rest…"
"But they do."
"Thank you. I can still feel the cloth against my fingers, and I remember which clothes I put in my suitcase."
Chris narrowed his eyes, watching him for a sign he was lying. "How do you do when you're at home?"
"I've been living at my parents' place since the accident. I never go shopping for clothes on my own; my brother comes with me, most of the time. After that, I write in Braille on a label some details about the clothes I bought; I put the label in a pocket or sew it somewhere, so I know what kind of clothes I'm wearing. Does it make you hot to know about this fastidious routine?"
No sense in denying it, Chris thought. "Yes," he said. "It does, and the fuck if I know why."
"Is it the reason why you've fucked me?"
"I fucked you because you're hot, period. Listen, I think we should call a truce."
Toby nodded. "OK."
"OK. So what about finishing our coffees and going back to your room?"
This time, Toby made his way alone up the stairs and along the corridors, Chris following so close that Toby could feel his presence mere inches behind, ready to catch him if he fell; warning him when an obstacle stood on their way, and all the time, Chris was hard. Toby's relative helplessness aroused him, this feeling that he constantly had an advantage over the other man. The feeling of power. Of control. The feeling that Toby needed him to find his way back. The exciting thrill of stalking a prey… He slammed Toby against the wall once with graceful strength, and kissed him. The sudden quickening in Toby's heartbeat nearly made him moan. They kissed aggressively, Chris wrapping himself around Toby's body like a snake, ready to devour him. They made it to the room – barely.
"God, I want you," Toby said, quivering, grabbing the nape of Chris' neck to pull him closer, biting Chris' lip and drawing blood, then licking it off. "You bloodthirsty bastard," Chris growled, Toby's hand bruising his shoulders, his arms, tearing the clothes off him. Once naked, they fucked hastily, awkwardly, violently, with very little care of the other's well being. Rug-burnt and stubble-scraped, nails tearing at the skin, teeth grazing sensitive flesh, cocks pushing hard between half-closed, faintly resisting lips, or breaking the barrier of tight flesh; and when it was over they were panting hard and sweating, mouths still working, until exhaustion took them. Chris' skin was tingling from where Toby had hit him, slapped him, and he saw the bruises on Toby's pale skin. "Was it self-serving enough, this time?" he asked.
Toby didn't answer that, just gave a catlike, amused, sated smiled and rolled on his side, lying so close to the edge of the bed that he would've fell if Chris hadn't caught him, pulling him back to the middle of the bed, combing back the sweat-soaked hair. Toby had his eyes open. "It's very frustrating not to be able to see you," he said.
"You'd be disappointed, I bet."
Toby raised a hand and brushed it along Chris' face, again, lingering on the shape of his mouth and the sharp planes of his nose and cheekbones. "I don't even know what colour are your eyes, and your hair."
Chris wrapped his arms around Toby's body and pulled him closer. Still relying on a sense he'd lost. What did it mean? Probably, Chris thought, that Toby didn’t cope very well yet.
"Blue, and dark," he said eventually, and felt the man in his arms relax. "Thank you," Toby said, and fell asleep.
As for Chris though, sleep wouldn't come. Holding Toby against him, he spent most of the few hours before dawn struggling against the turmoil of emotions shaking him. What the fuck was happening to him? Last time he'd felt this way… He tried to remember being moved that deeply by one of his wives or any of his lovers. He knew lust; he lived with it, and on it. He sometimes managed to believe he'd felt love -for Bonnie at least- although he wasn't quite sure how it felt to love someone. Maybe you weren't supposed to know. But this… This was very different. There was lust, of course, but something else, fierce and demanding was clawing its way at the very back of Chris' mind, wanting more. He shook his head, disturbed by the feeling. What the fuck, anyway? One more day and Toby would board a plane back to his sheltered life, while he'd go back to his own and there was no real chance of a meeting in their future, near or otherwise; so he resolved to stick to whatever he had, here and now, and make the best of it.
"I dreamed of you," Toby said when he woke up.
"Yeah?" Chris pulled away and looked down at Toby's face, all scrunched up with the effort of clinging to the vanishing dream. "Was it a good one?"
Toby didn't answer this. "I should thank you, I guess," he said after a moment. "This is the best time I ever had since the accident."
"Making yourself new memories… You should try harder." Chris said, and thinking harder, "It's like your life is divided between 'before' and 'after' and all the good things are in the 'before' part. I…." He frowned, hesitating. "I remember feeling something like this, when I was a kid. When my father died. Like… like the sun stopped shining that day, or some bullshit of the kind. Took me some time to get over it." He laughed, a little disconcerted. "Fuck. You're bad influence. You make me think."
Toby laughed at that. "You make me stop thinking. I guess it's a good thing."
Chris felt stupidly happy with this answer, and willing to give Toby some more good time before they parted. It would be nice, he thought, if he stayed in Toby's mind as the memory of a good time. Yeah, he wanted this, he realized. Looking outside, he saw that it was morning, a bright sun warming the bed through the window. He was about to say something when Toby talked.
"What's your first happy memory after your father's death?"
Fuck. Did they have to talk that much? Chris sighed. "I don't know." The cat, he thought, the memory springing to mind, bright and happy. "I found a small kitten behind a garbage can at the corner of the street one day. It was lost and hungry so I took it back home and my mother was too … devastated to care."
"Devastated about your father's death?" Toby asked.
"Yeah. Anyway, she let me keep it. It was great. It slept in my bed and purred…"
Toby rose on an elbow and closed his eyes again. "What did you call him?"
"I didn't. It was the cat, that's all. I took it with me everywhere. I even hid it in my schoolbag once."
Chris hoped that Toby wouldn't pursue the matter; he didn't want to explain what he'd done when his mother had decided to move into a smaller apartment – how he'd been forbidden to take his small friend with him, and unable to leave him, determined never to give it up to someone else. It had been easy, and sickening, but strangely dizzying, to take such a tiny life. He didn't think Toby wanted to hear this and he didn't feel like lying to him right now.
"Listen," he said, hearing Toby's stomach grumbling, "let's go eat something. Then we'll take a walk in the snow or anything you'd like." He rose from the bed, not letting go of Toby. "Shower first. Come on, let's go."
*************************
Toby's disappointment started at the airport. He'd expected his parents, or Angus, and maybe even the kids, although it was a school day and still very early. Instead of that, it was Katherine McClain calling him from down the stairs and pressing her smooth, slim body against him, kissing him on both cheeks, her red lips meeting the corner of his lips. He had to fight the urge to wipe away any remaining trace of the kiss.
"What a surprise," he said, mustering as much enthusiasm as he could. "I wasn't expecting you."
She laughed and ruffled his hair, like she would have done with a kid. "I thought I'd make you the surprise… It's been three very lonely weeks, don't you know?"
Toby smiled, and she took his arm, guiding him across the noisy hall, warning him off every obstacle, and outside. "It's snowing," she said, and he felt it, cold flakes on his cheeks and the bite of cold around him.
"How are the kids?" he asked.
"They're fine. Impatient to have their father back, of course; just like us all." she said. "Although I have to say that your parents are really spoiling them. But tell me about you? How was it?"
So Toby told her about the conference, how interesting it had been to have his own experience confronted with those brilliant European lawyers' one - they had such a different conception of their job and worked with a wholly different set of rules. She asked about the hotel, and the place, forgetting somehow that he couldn't describe it. "Did you meet anyone interesting," she asked lightly.
Ah. Now, that was the real question, wasn't it? Toby opened his mouth to lie – lying was something he did beautifully; he'd lied for so many years about drinking, and he'd lied to Gen about many other things… "Not really; although actually I talked with a man called Chris Keller. He's a porn actor."
Even if he didn't see her Toby knew she'd turned her head to look at him; the hand on his arm tightened. "A porn actor? I can't believe…. What the hell did he do there?"
Toby shrugged, regretting this misplaced fit of sincerity – what the fuck? Katherine didn't have to know. "No idea. Taking a break from a very taxing job, maybe." he said.
She barked a short laugh. "Tell me about that," she said, and fell silent.
He'd upset her, of course. She must be wondering if it had only been about talking. A porn actor, after all, was supposed to be some kind of sex maniac and she probably didn't have much faith in him. After all he'd cheated on Gen with her. Shit. Not quite the peaceful return he'd expected. They didn't talk much after that. She stopped the car in front of Toby's parents' house. "Here we are," she said in a very flat voice.
"Will you join me for a coffee?" Toby asked, trying to sound enthusiastic about the offer.
"No," she said. "I have to go. I'm… I have an early appointment; I don't want to be late."
Toby opened the door and stepped out, standing awkwardly outside of the car, waiting for Katherine to hand him his luggage. "Here," she said, and he took it, brushing his fingers against hers. She was wearing gloves; the leather felt cool against his skin. "Thank you very much," he said. "I'll call you later. I thought maybe we could have diner…"
And *this* was so typically *him*, he thought, silently cursing himself. He didn't want to have diner with Katherine, for God's sake; so why did he offer? Out of politeness? Out of the desperate need of keeping one of the few friends he still had? Out of habit? He wondered if she was looking at him, judging him. For a moment, he thought she'd ask him if he'd slept with someone while away, but she didn't. After all, he thought, I don't generally fall for men; so I guess she might not even think about it. He still heard the clicking of her heels on the pavement, then she sat back inside and closed the car door.
"Toby," she said, a hint of weariness in her tone. He turned towards the voice. "You can't go on living here with your parents like a child, Toby. You have to find your own place and make a life of your own."
I'll help you make a fresh start, she'd once said; and at the time he'd been grateful, although not particularly enthusiastic at the offer. Now, he just wanted her to leave him alone.
"I know," he said. "I'm trying."
He waited until the roaring of the engine had vanished and grabbed the bag, using his cane to feel his way to the house.
Life resumed its slow, uneasy, monotonous course, and it was a relief, in some way. Familiar habits, rituals to hold on to: the affection of a devoted family, his brother's easy laugh, his father's tender gruffness, his mother's worried love. Only the nights were lonely, memories keeping him awake until very late. He'd always slept well, until the accident. Then, remorse, nightmares had seized him, leaving him breathless and panicked long before dawn, sweat-soaked and terrified. He'd got over this eventually but now something else was nagging at him and no matter how often he tried to push it back into the limbo of his mind, the memories kept coming back. Every time he jerked off, he heard Chris' deep sensuous voice. Every time he came, he swore he could feel the warmth of Chris' body against his own.
Work helped. Every morning by 7:30, his mother drove him to Langdell Hall where Toby had his office near the library, in front of the classrooms, and picked him up every afternoon around 5:30, except on Mondays when his classes ended at noon. Toby liked the quiet, dusty mood of the place, the soft breeze across the old trees and the smoothness of the carefully raked paths under his feet, the way the high ceilings reverberated the muffled conversations. He liked the students who didn't treat him with too much care or respect, and who would laugh at his jokes and ask impertinent questions that made him smile. Sometimes one of them would walk with him to his office, and stay with him for a while, filling him up with the latest gossips. He liked his colleagues. Christ, he even liked the coffee here. Above all, he liked this daily routine that made him feel secure. So the day his mother called to tell him that for some reason she wouldn't be able to pick him up like she usually did, Toby experienced a moment of panic, the awful sensation that his world had been shattered, and that he stood, vulnerable, in the middle of a hostile world. He'd never felt like this before the accident. He would've asked a colleague to drive him back but none of them was available, so he called a taxi.
He didn't like it. Didn't like being trapped with a stranger in a car, hated losing whatever control he had. He had no way to make sure that the man would take him where he asked and although he felt some relief when he heard the first telltale sounds that told him that they were driving across the highway, he still felt uncomfortable and anguished. Try to look at it as a new experience, he thought. But he couldn't. He was paralysed with fear, he realized, and hated himself for being such a coward. Eventually, he asked, "Where are we?"
"Just in front of this big new store where they sell books and videos. See what I'm talking about? There's a Chinese restaurant and an antiques on the left and they're building the new school close on the right. Washington Street."
Books and videos. The store hadn't been there eighteen months ago, so Toby had no idea what it looked like. The idea struck him suddenly. Videos, he thought. Maybe… "Can you stop? I'd like you to stop here… near the bookstore. I just remember… There's something I want to buy there."
He heard the sigh, felt the brusque manoeuvre when the car moved into the left-hand lane… "Fuck! I can't double park here… Could've told me about that earlier, man. It's a one way street here; I have to take Sommerville Avenue and turn left… I'll park the car there if I can…"
The driver agreed to wait – Toby didn't care about the price of the ride. It seemed to him suddenly that it was the only opportunity he'd have… He managed to walk inside the store without bumping against anything, or anyone. Someone held the double door open for him and a clerk came to help him. He knew he'd be unable to phrase his request without blushing horribly but the guy didn't seem to think he was crazy. He led him to the right department and the sales assistant knew everything about porn; was enthusiastic about it. And yeah, he knew who Chris Keller was, although, he said, nowadays he didn't make as many movies as he used to; a bit too old probably but still very good; he mostly worked as a producer now and some said that he was slowly becoming one of the biggest figure in the porn industry; it was a very closed circle, after all, especially in Europe, where Keller was based. Toby listened, stunned. "You're talking about him like he's some sort of star." That elicited a small laugh. "Oh but he is, and man… On screen, he can fuck anything or anyone and it's just… wow. Transcendent."
In the end, Toby bought two DVDs – the guy promised there were a lot of bonuses on both of them, among which an interview of Keller that was just the best one he'd ever given. It didn't seem to shock him that someone who couldn't see bought such a thing, although Toby wondered how anyone with a functional brain could imagine getting aroused just by *listening* to a porn movie. Certainly the dialogues weren't the best part. Or the plot, for that matter.
Well, Toby thought about 6 hours later, lying on his bed, he'd been wrong, and the clerk had been right; there was a very long interview of Chris Keller on one of the DVD and Chris' voice was exactly what Toby remembered; the lazy, provocative rhythm he used to deliver the speech, the way he stressed some words, the way he breathed them in, his laugh, and the uncensored swearing. Toby had never thought that listening to someone talking about sex could be so incredibly hot, but after listening to Keller, and, with growing embarrassment, every little noise he made, every sigh, every cry, he was as hard as he'd ever been. He hid the DVD in his room – but anyone would find them, probably; his mother still came to his room to tidy things up. Finding such movies was sure to shock her to death. So Toby spent an awfully complicated night on his computer, recording the movie on the hard disk before throwing the disks away, and spent the next week raiding all of the Keller's movies he could find – it would've been funny, he thought, if it hadn't been so pathetic. Probably the sexual life of a crippled was full of such disgraces; probably sex when you didn't have exactly the same senses as any other man was getting more and more problematical. God, he hated that. He hated being blind – and like before, for a fleeting moment, he wished he'd been killed in the accident and didn't have to carry the burden of living this alien life.
Toby spent the following weeks in a state of distraction, regrets and indecision. Should he call? Many times, he pulled out his cell phone and thought of doing so, but never did. What would he tell Chris, who had probably forgotten all about him. Day after day, the urge to call Chris and hear his voice slowly abated, until it was nothing but a dull ache in Toby's heart. And then the ashes of his daily life smothered the lingering fire of his feelings, and he gave up on Chris Keller entirely.