Somewhere in New York Part 6
It's been a week since Heero's match at the Atlas Sports Center. I guess he's getting along okay. His ribs are still tender, especially if he stretches the wrong way, which kinda makes ya wonder if the battering was worth the winning.
The gym closes earlier on Saturday. I tidied up and swept the floor. Now, hands and feet protected by sparring pads, I'm warming up with a practice series of strikes and kicks on the free-standing bag.
When Heero finishes the weekly bookkeeping he's gonna coach me through some advanced katas. We were doing kumite, but he's been real good about following Dr. Webber's orders to take it easy. Beside Bill has the final say about the fight schedule so Heero ain't about to misbehave.
The aforementioned trainer is putting on his coat when the office goes dark. "Rest up tomorrow," Bill urges as Heero steps out, "and check the side door, sometimes that ancient lock doesn't catch all the way."
"I'll make sure it's latched." Heero promises. "See you Monday."
"Yeah, "I add with a clumsy glove-handed wave, "Enjoy what's left of the weekend."
*********
Heero sure is a demanding taskmaster. Frustration over not being able to spar is responsible for the nitpicky critiquing of every move so I don't fuss 'cause each time I redo a stance or repeat a sequence it improves my skills.
Over an hour of nonstop action.
With Heero mumbling under his breath like Bill does when they spar and telling me to start again I'm exhausted. "You gotta stop pushing so hard." I finally protest as my own frustration begins to build.
"Thirty more minutes." Heero announces his timeframe.
Lungs starved for air and sweat clammy on my skin, I shake my head. "Nope. Now. I'm getting dehydrated and," a glance at the wall clock, "Lunch was a long time ago."
Realizing it's 6:25, Heero gives me a guilty look that halfway makes up for the mumbling and reprimands. "Why didn't you say something sooner?"
"Cause I was having so much fuckin' fun." is hissed with all the sarcasm I can muster.
Even more apologetic, Heero helps me pull off my gloves and unwind the tacky cloth bindings that keep my hands from blistering. Offering a cold water bottle from the fridge in the office, "Take a shower." is urged, then as further penitence, "I'll pay for supper at Bistro on Main."
Knowing money is tight I state, "I appreciate the offer but that place is expensive."
"Beef tenderloin in burgundy sauce is pricey or the swanky seafood platter and," Heero grins mischievously, "we'll skip the champagne but I can afford enough to make up for my bitchy attitude."
Side entrance secured, Heero adjusts two clinking radiators so they won't run full steam. Switching off the overhead florescence lights, the "Exit" sign's crimson glow provides limited illumination down the hall. A pale shaft of light widens then disappears as the locker room door opens and closes.
Minus my insulated boots, I'm dressed but struggling to get a comb through a confusion of damp hair. "Few more minutes." is promised.
Settling down on the bench beside me, Heero states, "We have plenty of time. The Bistro doesn't close until midnight"
"But I'm hungry. Damn this rat's nest." I swear as snarled tangles defeat all efforts to hurry up. "I gotta get better conditioner."
"Can I help?"
"If it won't be a bother."
Heero's answer comes as he snatches the comb, motions for me to turn around then gathers the long tresses and guides them down my back.
When his fingers brush my neck, I suppress a shiver and inform my untrustworthy body I am-absolutely-positively-NOT going to get a hard-on.
*Concentrate on something else.* my mind demands as Heero starts to tame the hair from hell.
Luckily I recall a conversation Pat and I had yesterday. "This year me and you and Pat are having a real Thanksgiving dinner. We're gonna cook a turkey breast and make real mashed potatoes, not that instant shit. The stuffing will probably be "Stove Top" and gravy from a jar and vegetables from cans." I ramble on in an attempt to inhibit the rush of horny stimulus. "What's your favorite vegetable?"
*********
Duo's inquiry as to a preferred vegetable fractures into indiscernible bits of sound that float around Heero's brain like Saturn's icy ring.
Prompted by memories of their first time in the locker room the failure in communication is not immediately comprehended. However, the mental image of he and Duo, separated by only a short shower wall, is vivid. Steamy vapors dewy on Duo's lithe body, water cascading down his hair, the tips teasing with suggestive hints of toned, tight buttocks.
In an effort to repress the provocative imagery, Heero's mind insists, *Concentrate on the combing.*
"Heero?"
The calling makes marginal inroads into the primal urges playing havoc with Heero's hormonally-charged libido. "What?"
I tilt my head at an inquisitive angle. "I'm I talking too much?"
"Ah-no." Heero stammers, "Mind just wandered."
"I was asking about your favorite vegetable."
"Corn."
"I'm partial to pinto beans."
Maybe it's just as well if we ease into contemplative silence while Heero finishes up.
Fifteen minutes. My hair is smooth from crown to ends. "You're ready to braid now." Heero announces.
Craving more contact I suggest. "You can braid my hair." Getting a puzzled glance, I add. "I'll tell you what to do."
The braiding is performed with the same precise thought process Heero applies to everything he does. Three divided sections have to be exactly equal in thickness, the tension uniform, not too tight or too loose, so the entire length is visually symmetric.
"Done." Heero declares unassumingly.
I stand up and pull the braid over my shoulder to study the neat plaiting in the wall mirror. "Good job." I praise Heero's work. "Thanks."
Heero joins me for a closer inspection. "You have beautiful hair."
Did I just hear right? Did Heero Yuy actually use the word "beautiful"? Well I'll be damned.
Taken by surprise I turn around. All of a sudden we're nose to nose. The next unexpected revelation, Heero doesn't back up the way he usually does when someone invades his space. What's most shocking is how he's gazing at me, with his normally hard-edged glare totally gone.
I've never been shy, often too brazen for my own good, but what in the hell am I supposed to do with Heero's hypnotic blue eyes pinning me in place.
Heero shuffles his feet, I shift my weight. Acting purely on instincts we sorta meet in the middle. The kiss is a tentative brushing of lips that lasts only a few moments yet the tingle makes me weak in the knees. Heero seems to want say something and I pray he's not getting ready to apologize or, worse, walk away.
*Listen to your heart.* my mind insists.
More emboldened I reach up and trace my fingers along his cheek. He leans into my touch, that's all the invitation I need to pour all my passion into a second kiss.
Heero encircles one arm around my waist as he free hand slips under my braid to cup behind my head. Bodies pressed together, I can feel his heartbeat thumping against my chest. Time stops. All that matters is the kiss.
When we come up for air, with lips only a breath apart, Heero whispers. "You okay?"
"Yeah." is sighed as I force myself to breathe.
A grin plays across Heero's mouth and there's a sparkle in his expressive eyes. "I'd like to take you to dinner now."
It's my turn to smile. "Are you askin' me out on a date?"
Without hesitation Heero replies, "Yea I am."
*********
Bistro on Main is one of those quaint caf¨¦s you see in movies about Paris or Rome. Terra cotta tile floors and rough plastered walls, one covered with a large countryside mural, creates a casual atmosphere even if tables crowded into the limited space cause the, dressed in black, wait staff to thread around the room like rats through a maze.
To complete the rustic ambiance there are red and white checked table clothes, candles flickering in amber globes and, sometimes on weekends, a guy plays the violin.
It's almost eight o'clock when Heero requests a corner table furthest from the front door. A twenty-something waitress, with dangly peacock feather earrings and "Angie" printed on her nametag, hands us menus. Filling water glasses she asks what else we'd like to drink. If I wasn't underage Heero might have ordered wine but we're content with au lait coffee.
Perusing the mid-priced dinner selections, I announce, "I'm starving."
Blue eyes warmly reflecting the candlelight, Heero peers over his menu. "I'm sorry we're eating so late. Order anything you want."
"Don't start apologizing again. Neither of us was in a hurry back at the gym." I remind, "Do you like Eggplant Parmesan?"
"Yes, but where did you ever eat that?"
"Back in my neighborhood an Italian family lived up the street. Dominic Sabatini said I was a punk and told his six kids to steer clear of me. But his wife, Carlotta, thought I was too skinny so she'd take pity. When Mr. Sabatini worked nights she'd send the oldest son, Frankie, over with food, sometimes Eggplant Parmesan, wrapped in wrinkled aluminum foil."
Heero stops his entr¨¦e considerations to give me his full attention. "You had it rough growing up." is stated with concern.
I shrug, "Yea, but it's no use worrying about the past, can't do nothing 'bout it anyway."
As if on cue, Angie strolls up to the table. "We'll have house salads with ranch dressing and Eggplant Parmesan." Heero orders for both of us.
Cozy in the corner, we listen to Italian music flowing from a speaker box mounted on the wall. No violin tonight.
Heero sips his pale coffee and, saints be praised, truly relaxes. "This is nice."
"Yes it is." I agreed, watching the young man and woman seated at the opposite corner table. Holding hands and sharing quiet conversation, they remind me of David and Evan at the Shamrock, sitting in the back booth with French fries and sodas.
Salads are served and coffee cups refilled. We settle into eating and enjoying each other's company. The couple leaves. Now Heero and I have the entire section to ourselves.
"Want to do something tomorrow?" Heero wonders.
"Supposed to be windy."
"We could go to the movies, its not too far to walk."
Salad plates are exchanged for two Eggplant Parmesans topped with generous portions of freshly grated parmesan cheese.
"Or watch the afternoon football game with Pat and Robert." I suggest with the idea of saving money after what Heero will have to pay tonight.
"We don't have to decide now."
There's a lull in talking while we eat. Finally, conscience-coaxed into divulging a secret, I confess. "Ya remember when you started teaching me katas and that evening gave me a rubdown in our room?"
Not waiting for an acknowledgement I continue before my nerves get too frazzled. "Afterwards I went to shower 'cause the massage oil was sticky. I didn't lie about the shower, but-ah-I also had something else to take care of."
Heero raises an eyebrow. "Something else?" is inquired without a hint of comprehension. Damn is he deliberately trying to make this more difficult?"
Although we're alone in the corner, I lean forward and whisper. "I needed to jerk off."
I didn't expect Heero to be shocked by the declaration, maybe a smirk or possibly outright laugher. What I got was an odd, unreadable expression.
After a long moment without so much as a blink, Heero puts down his fork. "You know when I went downstairs to get the ice cream?" He pauses until I nod, "Well, I---"
Impatient I prod, "You what?"
"I stopped in the men's room to take care of the same dilemma."
"We sure have been foolish." I declare, "Dancing around our feelings for months."
Heero reaches across the table and takes my hand. "As of tonight the dancing is done."
*********
Bundled up against the frigid night air, Heero and I walk briskly up the street. Six blocks to the Shamrock.
As few people have chosen to endure the wintry weather, the sidewalk is nearly deserted. Ahead three men are partially shadowed by a broken streetlamp. A subtle touch on my arm is Heero's unspoken signal to veer widely around the dusky trio.
Before we can move to the side, one man flanked by his cronies, steps out to block our way. "Hey Yuy."
Slowing our pace, Heero affirms forcefully, "I don't want any trouble."
Roger Whitman sneers, "You should've worried about not wanting trouble before acting like a cocky ass last Saturday."
TBC...
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