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“That’s debatable.” Ian kissed Alek’s forehead and pressed a single key on the piano. “Is it starting to come back?”
“No, but I think I’ll be able to learn.”
“Have you thought about lessons?”
“Absolutely not. I can learn much faster by myself than with a pedantic instructor fussing over my fingering technique.”
“Fingering technique, huh?” Ian’s lips pressed into a smile. “I bet you’re a master at that.”
“I think you know exactly how masterful my fingerwork is.” Alek smiled back.
“If you’re going to teach yourself, do you mind taking on another pupil?” Ian asked. “You only ever taught me when you wanted to sit on my lap, and we never got very far without getting distracted.”
“That depends. Do I get to sit on your lap during our lessons?” Alek scooted closer to Ian and looked at him.
Ian answered by pulling Alek into his lap, then reached his arms around to rest his hands lightly on the keys. Alek would stay that way forever if he could; sandwiched between Ian and the piano with the warm rise and fall of Ian’s chest against his back and the scent of sunbaked pine and cedar curling around him.
“Am I hurting you?” Ian asked.
“I’ll let you know if you hurt me in a way that I don’t want you to.”
“Alek, I’m serious.”
“So am I.” Alek cued up the video and while Walter repeated his introduction, Alek turned to Ian. “You can be my right hand.”
Alek had picked up many paramours in much the same way. “Sit on my lap and follow my fingers,” he’d tell them. If it was a piano he didn’t particularly care about he’d have the lover perch on top of the piano, legs spread so he could sneak his hand between their legs. But, this was better. It was like their mindsand bodies had united and even though they were only playing the most banally pedestrian piano exercises, the fact that they were doing it together had turned it into music.
26
ALEK
ONE MONTH LATER
“What do you want for breakfast?” Wearing only boxers, Ian stood in the dim glow of the open refrigerator. His silhouette cast a long, angular shadow across the kitchen. “There’s bacon, eggs, yogurt…” Glass containers rattled against each other as he rummaged around inside.
Alek had never been a morning person. The way that Ian could launch out of bed at five in the morning and start his day without lingering over several cups of coffee had never sat well with him, but now it was nearly insufferable.
“I’m really not hungry. If I could just have some espresso. I could make it myself...” If Ian would let him. Alek had been home for a month and Ian still wouldn’t let him lift a finger. Suffocating, was what it was.
“You can’t have coffee on an empty stomach.” Ian closed the fridge door and crossed to the full-length double-door cabinet they used as a pantry. “There’s still chocolate brioche here. You can have that and some strawberries first.”
“You can fuck off and die if you get between me and caffeine”is what Alek would have said if he wasn’t trying so hard to earn back Ian’s affections.
Despite Alek’s best attempts to corrupt Ian otherwise, Ian hadn’t touched him below the belt since the bathtub incident. Ian said he shouldn’t have lost control, that it was a mistake, that they should wait until Alek was feeling better, but Alekwasfeeling better. The fog of hangover-esque nausea and vertigo was improving. He’d even gotten rid of the sling, though the cast wouldn’t come off for another month and he still wasn’t allowed to play with both hands.
Ian’s excuse wasn’t enough to explain why he was keeping his hands to himself. Before the fall, Alek would have stopped at nothing to get the truth out of Ian, but now he was afraid of what Ian’s answer might be.
Was Ian even still attracted to him? How could Ian be in the same room as him and not touch him? Alek still wasn’t sure if Ian wanted to be with him or was staying out of guilt. Tracing his fingers over the heart on his cast helped. Swirling the vintage band around his ring finger did too. But not completely.
Alek needed to feel Ian’s warmth, his heartbeat under his fingertips, the silky strands of his dark hair, the scratch of his beard. Alek didn’t have music. There was no place to turn the feelings he couldn’t face into something external and separate from himself. Sex was the only distraction he had and Ian was suddenly celibate.
Ian sliced the strawberries—totally unnecessary—while the bread toasted. After the toast ejected from the machine with an unsettling beep, Ian added it to the plate and placed it before Alek, along with a glass of milk.
Alek turned up his nose. “I don’t understand this sudden emphasis on feeding me. Is this a new kink? Couldn’t you feed me your cock instead?”
Ian dropped into the chair across from him and slatheredpeanut butter onto his slice. “It’s not a kink, though if that motivates you, I’ll have to do some research.” Ian took a large bite, before washing it down with a swig of milk he stole from Alek’s glass. “I want you to start the day off with food in your stomach. It’ll make me feel better when you spend the next eight hours at the piano.”
Anger simmered in Alek’s veins. Ian was smothering him. He pushed his plate away. “I’m not hungry.”
