Minor Changes

Chapter Thirteen

After rinsing the sex from their hands, Eddy nestled back into Brett, who knitted his fingers through his hair. A violin and piano duet of Satie's Gymnopedie No. 1 drifted in from the kitchen stereo. 

Eddy gently turned Brett's arm over, exposing its soft underside so he could use it as a fingerboard to play along with the sweet melody, his calloused fingertips emulating a wide vibrato against his skin. 

Brett recalled the dream he'd had, and decided that Eddy's touch was far, far better than anything his imagination could conjure. A smile danced across his face.

"What." Eddy stated. He leaned back to get a full view of Brett's stunning smile. "You're grinning like the Cheshire cat."

"Nothing," Brett said, shaking his head bashfully.

"Tell me." Eddy pursed his lips.

"It's just this dream I had. You... massaged my hand and it was really nice."

Eddy took Brett's refined left hand in his and scrutinized it. He couldn't say whether it was the hand of an artist or a god; maybe it was both.

"If it's alright with you, I'd like to make that dream a reality," he said.

"I'd love that," Brett said quietly.

Eddy began to massage his thumb, starting at the knuckle, slowly kneading the flesh in a soothing circular motion. He gradually worked his way up to the next knuckle and all the way to the base of the pearly nail bed. The pressure was mild, but firm enough to work out all of the kinks and knobby aches from hours upon hours of practice. Eddy's touch was healing and warm and made it all worthwhile.

He moved on to the webbing between Brett's thumb and first finger, pressing more deeply against the soreness. As he moved up his first finger, Brett's knuckle cracked, and Eddy's fingers responded with a knowing caress.

He massaged up and down Brett's second finger, feeling the sinews taught like bow hairs under his touch. His fingers instinctively fell into a graceful hold over the finger as he continued the miniscule circular movements with his thumb. He then focused intently on the spot between Brett's third and fourth finger, giving glorious relief. He knew how sore that spot could be from straining up and down the neck of the violin, and he worked it well. His large, supple hands then massaged the soft base of each knuckle.

When every tendon had slackened, Eddy took Brett's elegant hand between both of his and used his thumbs to effleurage up and down the soft underbelly of the palm, as though breaking bread. Brett sighed effusively. He looked down to observe the meticulous hands at work, just as he had in his dream. 

They were honey-toned, almost golden, and broad, making his own look small and wan. The golden fingers moved with the precision of a gazelle, grace and strength combined. Eddy finished by placing a decadent kiss on each fingertip, finishing with the smallest.

"That was...unbelievable," Brett said luminously.

"You haven't seen the half of it," Eddy said, musing at how openly he was flirting.

"Now that you're limbered up, play something for me."

Brett stepped into his boxer shorts and took out his violin. He brought it gently under his chin and began to play Dvorak's Humoresque No. 7 with his signature antics—swaying and dramatically lifting his eyebrows with each turn of phrase. Eddy couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"Wait, wait. Let me get mine," he said, darting over to his violin case. He joined in with a cheerful, improvised second violin part. When they came to the deep, soulful 'B' and 'C' sections, they really dug in, pulling out richest of tones with furrowed brows, before turning back to the buoyant 'A' section. 

They smiled knowingly at each other. Sometimes the music spoke more eloquently than a thousand words.