by Ayelet
If someone had told me a year ago that this would how I would find myself,
I'd have laughed in his face. Heck, if he had told me that yesterday I'd have
laughed in his face. A year ago, though, I'd probably also have shot him,
just to make sure he didn't go around repeating his prediction.
And now look at me.
It's been a while since he left, and I can feel a slight discomfort in my
left shoulder. It doesn't really hurt, it's just sort of... there. Just enough
so that I won't forget. As if I could. I'm lying here, eyes closed—not that
it matters much. Even if they were open, all I'd be able to see would be the
inside of a black satin scarf—flexing my muscles just a bit, only as much as
I have leeway.
How long's it been, anyway? The bastard. When I move, I can feel silk
caressing me, the sheets I put on the bed myself, just this morning. They
were part of the fantasy, and I figured...
"You," he had said. "You, lying on my... no, our bed. Naked. Arms and legs tied
to the bed-posts. Not too tight, mind you." He kissed the side of my neck.
"Just tight enough so you won't get away. Eyes covered. Waiting for me." He
blew in my ear, chuckled at the shudder that went through me. "Oh, and silk
sheets. Deep emerald green sheets."
Who would have thought Walter Skinner had it in him?
Still, I said no. And kept right on, saying no. It was just too much. Sexy as
all hell, scary, thrilling. All that and more, but just too much. He didn't
mention it after a while, and I knew that he wouldn't, not until I asked.
The thought was there, though. At the back of my mind, far enough as to not
bother me, close enough so I'd remember. And one day it pushed everything
else away. I went out, bought the sheets, put them on the bed. His eyes lit
up when he saw them. He came over, wrapped his arms about me. Told me I
didn't have to do this. When he was convinced I was okay with it, he kissed
me, said "In a while. When you're ready."
So here I am now, a month later, lying blind-folded, tied and naked on my own
bed, waiting for my bastard of a lover to come back from where ever it was he
went to.
The apartment is quiet. I know he's not in it. I've heard the door close, and
the place was empty before I even realized he'd gone. It always feels empty
without him. Well, not always, although, at times like this, it does feel
like I've been here forever.
Something caresses my foot, and I pull at the restraint, hoping... but it
doesn't give, and it's only the wind blowing. He left the curtain open.
Time passes, and I'm slowly but surely beginning to think that I was indeed
right the first time. This was a bad, bad idea. But then his voice whisper at
my ear. "Think only of me." He said those words just before he left. He said
them, then kissed me. "Only of me, Alex. You understand?" I nodded. He
smiled, and I'd have done just about anything for him at that moment. He
dropped a kiss on each of my eyelids, blinded them. "I'll be back."
How long's it been?
Only of him. I can do that. My Walter. Body to die for, eyes I could drown
in, a sense of humor that cracks me up every single time. And just the right
words in just the right times, which never fail to remind me that I'm his.
Right where I belong, which is right where I want to be.
Except for here. Alone. We picked this bed together, a little while after I
finally and officially moved in. Two nights after moving, and he said that
although I made for a nice enough pillow, a man his age needed his neck
muscles too much to risk a stiff neck every morning. Not to mention other
parts. So I gave him a massage, fucked him into the mattress, and after he
returned the favor, we went shopping for a new bed. The very fact that it was
*our* bed was enough for me to stay in it on those few nights when he
couldn't help being out of town.
Emerald silk sheets. Black stain scarves. Our big bed, and me. All just the
way he wanted it. So where is he?
Where is he, and what will he do to once he gets back? He'll let me know he's
here, he always does. First, as safety precaution. Now a habit. Which makes
it about the only thing I can be sure of in this scenario. He never did
mention what happens after he ties me to the bed.
Where is he? How long's it been?
Maybe he'll come in and kiss me. Tell me I've been such a good boy. Make love
to me, slowly, lovingly, like he does when I'm so wholly insecure. Maybe I'll
just feel his hands, moving over me, sliding over my chest, ribcage, nipples.
Under my armpits, down my sides, hips. He won't touch my cock, which is
already hardening at the thought. When has this become my fantasy, too? He
might breathe on my balls, the way he knows drives me crazy with lust. Maybe...
The wind passes over me, and even the light touch is enough to make me gasp.
Walter, Walter, where are you?
How long's it been?
Maybe you'll be rough with me. Kiss me hard, pinch my nipples. Maybe all I'll
feel is the head of your cock touching my lips, nudging them open. I'll take
you in, Walter, no hesitation. I'll know you anywhere, by smell, by touch, by
sight.
Sight. I can't see, and my body is awakening, and I can feel every nerve
ending, every pore.
Where are you, Walter? How long before you come back? How long?
What will you do, Walter? How will you love me? This I don't doubt, not
anymore. You won't hurt me. I'm yours, Walt. You don't have to tie me to your
bed to prove it. Where would I go? What would I do without you? You're my
home, my hearth, my very soul. Walter, come back.
A sigh. A pull. Neither help. I lie alone. Time passes.
Maybe all he'll do is fuck me. My legs are spread wide enough, far enough
apart. Maybe I'll feel his cock pushing at my opening. Maybe he'll just push
in. Maybe he'll spend forever preparing me, touching nowhere but there. Maybe
he'll take me, no words, no kisses, no touches. And leave me here, waiting.
For him, for whatever he chooses to do next. I'll readily wait forever.
How long, Walter? Have you forgotten me? Your stray rat, tied to your
over-sized king bed, waiting? You said you'll come back. I believe you. I'll
wait.
Only for you, Walter. Just like you've told me.
The sheets caress my back, the wind my front. I shiver, and the scarves move,
holding me steady. The room chills. My nipples are hard, I can feel them. Can
feel every single part of my body.
You won't leave me, would you, Walter? Not like this? It's your fantasy. Does
it include returning?
I need you, Walter. Need you to make love to me. Need you to rub my aching
shoulder. Need you to make the ache go away, satisfy the craving. I need you
to need me. Need you...
I need you to breathe, Walter.
"That's very comforting to know, love."
The hair on my nape stands on edge. My breath comes short. It takes a minute
to understand. That I spoke aloud. That he heard. That he knows. That he's
here. He's standing at the door, he doesn't move.
"Did you miss me, Alex?"
I move my head, barely enough to nod. I've no voice to give him. But it's
enough. He moves, and the mattress gives under his weight.
His lips touch mine, barely. I whimper.
"I missed you, too."
He rises. I can hear the soft sounds of clothes being removed. My body
gathers in on itself, taut, waiting.
"What did you think of, Alex?" A light caress on my hip, as he moves about
the room. If only I could see... From somewhere, I find a whisper. "You."
"Only me?" And he kisses me, slowly, lovingly.
"Only you." Another whisper.
He lies down, body stretching next to mine. So tantalizingly close. Just out
of reach. "Alex..."
I've nothing to give you, Walter. Nothing's left. No voice, no words. Just
your presence.
"Alex..."
Please, Walter. Your hands are on my face. Resting there. Tracing my lips.
Walter. Please. I'm about to lose my mind. Just love me. I'm yours to take.
Here, now, like a sacrifice.
"Alex..."
There's insistence in your voice. The cover is pulled away from my eyes, and
with the smallest whimper, I drown in your eyes. Drown in chocolate—another
fantasy, to cherish for when it's my turn. You smile, touch my lips with one
finger.
"Breathe, Alex," you say, and seal our lips together with a searing kiss.
Yours hands are everywhere, and I'm falling.
You stop. "Alex." I'm seeing stars. You wait until my attention is yours
again, undiluted. "Breathe, love."
And, as you wake pleasure from the hidden places of my body and soul, I can.
The moon is down,
So are the Peliades.
The hour passes,
And I lie alone.
—Sappho
od, he left me. He left me here and went away, the bastard.
