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Once again, we are sharing a hotel room and a bed. While I can understand why Mr. Waverly feels we do not need separate accommodations, since most rooms come with two double beds, what he doesn’t know are the feelings I’ve been harboring inside me for months now. Perhaps it is better that he does not. It’s not as if I woke up one morning and decided I was sexually attracted to my partner.
I can’t even blame you, after all it is not your fault I’ve developed a sudden desire for your body. These feelings of lust are a very recent development. Usually I am not the type to lust after women, much less my very male partner. But there it is. Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy women as much as the next man. Just not quite as much as you seem to do.
You are, of course, readying yourself for a night of entertainment. Entertainment that does not include me. Fresh out of the shower, your body tempts me. Drops of water filter down your broad shoulders, down through the light covering of hair upon your chest as you dry yourself never once suspecting.
“You could come along if you want,” you point out.
Come along and do what. I do not enjoy watching you play your games. At least this time you have not asked me to vacate the room so you can bring ‘her’, whoever she may be, back here.
Melancoly sigh.
How strange, it would appear that I have fallen in love. Unrequited love at that. I don’t believe I have ever been in love before. Never knew what love really was. So strange, this longing to touch and be touched. To caress and be caressed. To…bah, this is getting me nowhere. These thoughts …one hopes that they will not get in the way of my doing my job. More important I hope you never find out. That is my one fear.
I hear the door shut and I am all alone, yet again. I open the window. Strains of music filter from below. The band is playing something simperingly romantic. I stand there listening, I don’t know for how long.
“Illya?”
It is said hesitantly. How odd, I had not heard you return. I turn and you are standing there, your hand, palm up, stretched out toward me. For some reason I do not understand, I reach out for that hand. You take it and pull me to you. I cannot believe it. I am in your arms and we are moving to the music. Your arms are around me holding me close. My arms are around you as well.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper softly, so softly I just barely hear it.
I want to ask what you are sorry about? Why are you here? Why are you holding me like this? But I dare not. I close my eyes and rest my head on your shoulder as we slowly move together around the bed in the small room. The music surrounds us. Dancing is something I would never have dreamed of doing.
Your lips are at the side of my throat, they nibble my earlobe, move and claim my mouth. Your hands remove my shirt, sliding it from my shoulders all the while your lips never leave mine. Your fingers undo my pants, pushing them to the floor. I’m falling backwards, the mattress catching me. My legs are lifted as you remove pants, shoes and socks in one swift movement.
Leaning over me your eyes smolder with lust as you stroke me. I can feel the pressure in my nether region mounting. My breathing becomes harsh as I look up and see you smiling wickedly down at me. The pleasure becomes too much and I come explosively.
I jolt back to the present. I’m still standing by the window, the music filtering up from below. I glance down at myself to find that I’m still fully dressed. My heartbeat slows as I realize it was nothing more than a dream.
The sound of a key in the lock startled me, I glance at my watch. Only ten minutes have passed since Napoleon walked out that door. Much too early for him to return. I reach for my gun, just in case, only to remember that it is across the room on the bed side table.
Napoleon enters, pocketing his keys.
“Forget something?” I ask.
He tilts his head to one side; an understanding smile softens his features.
“Yes. You.”
He stretches out his hand as he had in the dream and without thinking I take it. The next think I know I’m in his arms and we are moving to the music. Déjà vu.