| Behind Closed Doors: Chapter II |
| He sat in front of the fire, stroking her hair rhythmically, watching her slender, slight figure as she slept. When she had abandoned herself to his embrace, he had been surprised, to say the least. Here was this person, whom he had only known as a hard, strong, but cold icequeen, suddenly so seemingly small and fragile, clinging to him, her whole body shaking with the force of her tears. To say he had been confused would definitely be an understatement. He had had no idea how to react, and so had done what came naturally to him, namely tighten his hold on her, and tried to comfort her as best he could, by stroking her, and muttering soft words of reassurance in her ear. After a little while, he had picked her up and carried her to the fire-place, where she had eventually fallen asleep with her head on his lap, exhausted with the emotion of crying out 20 odd years worth of pent-up misery. He looked up into the blazing fire. They couldn't stay like that all night, but he couldn't very well wake her, could he? Well, he could, but he honestly didn't want to deal with what might happen when she did inevitably awake. Of course, she might wake up and see that she had been wrong about him all this time, fall madly in love with him, and they would live happily ever after; there was a chance of that happening. Yeah, a little voice in his head reminded him, about as much chance as you stand of growing roses out your ears tomorrow. No, odds were that she would be terribly embarrassed by the whole thing, even though she had no need to be, and either treat him twice as bad as before to make up for it, or just quit. Either way, it would be hell for him. Finally, after having contemplated it for a full 15 minutes, he decided to do something he knew he would get a slap for, at the very least, but hey, if she was either going to treat him like dirt for the rest of their acquaintance, or just refuse to ever see him again anyway, what did he have to lose? He reached down to gently move her off his lap, but as he took hold of her shoulders, her hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. She peered up at him with huge eyes, but he could tell he wasn't what she was seeing. She was clearly still asleep, and he was nothing but a character in her dream. "Stay with me" "Always" He bent his head and kissed her just above the cheek. He wasn't quite sure what possessed him to do it, but he supposed it was the same thing that possessed him to promise a woman that he hardly knew that he would stay with her forever. Either way, it seemed to satisfy her, and she let go of his wrist, and closed her eyes again. Once again, he reached for her shoulders, and this time managed to finish what he started. He pushed her off his lap and onto the thick Persian rug they were sitting on. He straightened her out as best he could, her back to the fire, before laying down opposite her, and wrapping his arms and legs around her. To his surprise, she responded by tucking her legs in between his, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, and laying her head on his chest, seemingly at ease. Hmm. Maybe he wasn't going to get that slap after all? He closed his eyes and relished the feel of being so close to her, without being yelled at. Finally, he let out a deep sigh, and fell asleep. It was early morning. About six. She knew because she could hear the birds. She felt warm and safe, and had absolutely no desire to do anything but lie here, where ever here was, and savor this feeling. Sigh. But her mind wouldn't let her do that just yet. Before she could do that, she had to convince herself that she wasn't in any immediate danger. And that meant convincing herself that whoever she was lying on, because she knew that it was a who, either that or a horse, or possibly a very large dog, wasn't Danny. She took a deep breath, breathing in it's scent. Definitely not Danny. It didn't send shivers down her spine, but it was familiar. Absentmindedly, she knotted her hands in the thick long hair that was lying over her arms. Suddenly, she realized what she was doing. Her eyes shot open, and she found herself staring right at a slender chest, clad in a red silk shirt. Her eyes traveled upwards, and she found that the chest had a neck attached to it, and the neck a head, with Michael Jackson�s face stuck on the front. Michael Jackson. Her employer. A man she supposedly couldn't stand. She looked at him. She knew she should get up, feel disgusted at ever having come in such close contact with him, but even though she couldn't really remember how they had gotten there, the disgust was proving very hard to summon, and the temptation to just lay back down and deal with the whole thing later was proving very hard to ignore. In the end, she gave in, placing her head back over his beating heart. She had almost fallen asleep again, when she remembered exactly what had happened, and a horrible thought occured to her. Michael was male, right? And human, too. Making him a human male, i.e. a man. A man who had given up his whole night for her. As much as she tried to divert her train of thought, and avoid the inevitable outcome of it, her mind had already drawn it's conclusion; He was going to want something in return, wasn't he? The thought shook her more than she had thought it would. She sat up, and looked hard at him. He had a small but undeniably warm smile on his lips, and his arms were slumped in a very welcoming position. If she was honest, she couldn't imagine him ever hurting her. Ah, said a nasty little voice in her head, but 18 years ago, you never thought that Danny would hurt you either, did you? Suddenly, Michael made a sound that sounded more like a growl that anything else, clenched his jaw, and reached out for something. Suddenly, Michael didn�t look warm and welcoming anymore. Suddenly, Michael looked threatening. Something in her said that he still wouldn't hurt her, he could be dreaming about anything, but at that point, still bruised and battered from last night, she wasn't about to listen to wishful thinking, which was obviously what it was. She got up quickly, and went to her small "surgery", a room at the side of the house. ** A few minutes later, Michael began to wake up. He was still half asleep when he reached for the warm shape that was supposed to be lying next to him, but was immediately wide awake when he found it wasn't there. He rolled onto his back, ran his fingers through his permed hair and stared at the ceiling. Shit. He had known this was going to happen. Now what? Oh God, she probably never wants to speak to me again. Well, only one way to find out. . .He got up and stretched. Sleeping on the floor in that position could not be recommended, but it had definitely been worth it. He went to the fridge to get some juice, realizing how hungry he was. He had been planning on having a big supper last night, and so had only had a very light lunch. Maybe he could talk her into having breakfast with him? Yeah, right. And maybe, if he asked really nicely, they'd let him be the next President of South Africa. He set off to find her. He was pretty sure he knew where she would be. ** She could hear his footsteps on the stairs. Maybe he would go easy on her, and only ask for a hand job? Maybe not. Creep. ** As he opened the door, he flinched. So, back to the Icequeen, I see. She was sitting behind her desk, but when he came in, she got up and walked around it, placing herself so that she was standing in front of it, leaning back on it a little. "So, are you happy with a blow job, or do you wanna fuck me?" |