For Us

33. Kurt Visser, at large.

{Kurt}

Kurt was not aware of what he was running from, only the drum of his heart and the high note of panic in his head as he drove. When he pulled into the parking lot of Long and McQuade, Edmonton's premiere music store, a wave of relief made him light-headed. He had money in his pocket and this was one of his favourite places in the world.

The click-clack of his heels on the asphalt parking lot, the swish of his gorgeous robe, put a smile back on Kurt's face. Kurt Visser, at large and out on the town. This was a version of himself he so very much enjoyed. He shook his hair back from his face, laughing at his previous nerves. As if some churchy grown-ups were going to get the best of him.

Long and McQuade had a curving, wood-panelled room, lined floor to ceiling with gleaming guitars. As the door sealed behind Kurt, he drank in the view, drawing a full breath of the cool, dry air, faintly scented with varnish. This was his church. Sashaying around the room, he touched the face of one guitar and then another with just his fingertips, taking luxurious amounts of time to choose.

"Can I help you with something?" a man's deep voice asked, and Kurt whirled.

Marcus showed his teeth in a smile. His broad body filled out an expertly tailored suit, crisp white cuffs touching the hairy back of his hands. "Fancy meeting you here, Kurt Visser," he said, a little throaty vibrato in his voice.

Kurt laughed, tucking his hair behind his ear. In fact, this was where he'd first met Marcus, before the other man found him on Grindr. The older man seemed to own the store, or a chain of stores, or to be involved in supplying Long and McQuade with instruments...Kurt wasn't entirely clear. In the short history of their relationship, they had not bothered much with talking.

"This just came in," Marcus said, reaching up to pull a glittering electric guitar off the wall. "And I thought of you, actually." He jacked the guitar into a speaker with familiar ease and passed it, humming a little with live current, into Kurt's reaching hands. Under the bright store lighting, his years of experience were obvious in the crows-feet around his eyes, the salt and pepper in his hair. Marcus was still youthful, fit and impeccably groomed, but next to him Jon looked baby-faced as a teenager.

Kurt bent his head and plucked a chord, then took his time tuning the beautiful creature, while Marcus fiddled with the speaker, until the sound made the hair on Kurt's arms stand up.

"She's lovely," Kurt said.

"Isn't she?" Marcus returned, leaning a shoulder against a stack of speakers to watch him.

Kurt glanced at the man through his bangs, recognizing his hungry, captivated look. This used to be his favourite part--the long tease. He settled the guitar on his leg, curling around it, feeling the pluck of the man's eyes undressing him as he did so.

He used to love this.

His fingers found the opening notes of the song he'd just wrote, 'Tie me to you,' and then the silk road of music unfurled out of his body, shaking in the breezeless room. He didn't sing the words, but they beat in his throat as he saw Jon's face tipped up to his, his hazel eyes looking for an answer.

Sleeping with me tonight?

It had hit him like a truck and Kurt was still vibrating from the impact: Jon had done nothing to protect himself from getting attached. Jon had done nothing to keep his heart under guard until he was very very sure. In the entry way, under the astonished gaze of his churchy parents, Jon had put his mouth on Kurt's and his heart in Kurt's hands and Kurt was holding it now, cupped against his chest, overwhelmed.

It was everything he thought he'd wanted, but now that he had it, it felt like too much.

He could have taken Jon's body and held it without a moment of hesitation--he knew how to be Jon's lover. They could have had, like, a series of hook ups, exploring all the pleasurable possibilities in Jon's off-time. It would have kept Kurt happily occupied for weeks, maybe longer.

But Jon had let Kurt put strings on everything, inviting him into his home, his work, his church, his trauma, his fucking wholesome Christian family dinner time. Kurt was deeply afraid, right down to the cold dark of his nightmares, that he would tear a gaping hole in the fabric of Jon White's world if he stepped away.

And if he stayed, that he was going to let Jon down and Jon would leave him, gasping, a fish on land. There was no getting away clean now for either of them.

He was holding Jon's life in his hands, warm and beating, and what the hell was he supposed to do with it?

The song ended, Kurt's fingers hovering just above the vibrating strings, before he silenced them with the flat of his hand.

"God, that was gorgeous," Marcus said. "Something new?"

His approval was like a hand stroking over Kurt's chest. "It is, yeah." A corner of his mouth curled up. "A fresh squeezed Kurt Visser original."

Marcus' eyebrow lifted and he wet his bottom lip. "I hope you know where I'm going with this." He touched the heavy Rolodex on his wrist. "I'm heading out of town next week. A fly-over to see some one-of-a-kind guitar makers in Austria and Switzerland. I hate to travel alone. I wonder if you would consider coming with? We could take a day or two to mix business with pleasure." He pursed his lips, his eyes glinting. "See the sights, climb the Alps. I'm open to whatever you're feeling."

Kurt was momentarily speechless. An all-expenses paid trip to Europe to touch all the guitars and see all the things and play all he wanted with the body across from him. "That's...a very generous offer," he stammered.

"Well," Marcus said, his voice dropping low as he moved closer. "Believe me, lover, my motives are completely selfish. You made me feel things, Kurt, I haven't felt in a long time."

Ducking his head, Kurt plucked a series of chords out of the body of the guitar, rising like a question, then banged his fingers against the strings in a dissonant clang. Marcus winced and drew back.

Kurt handed the guitar back, shrugging. "You know what, I'm not feeling it. She's pretty, but there's not much substance. I prefer the one I have at home."

Marcus delicately re-hung the guitar, sweeping a look over the wall of instruments. "What else do I have that might interest you, Kurt Visser," he said musingly.

Kurt was abruptly tired. They would push and pull and banter, staying on the surface, even as they eventually stripped down to their skin together. He just wanted to step off the stage and let his guard down. What he wouldn't give for a genuine hug.

Imagine this wolfish man hugging him--it was almost funny. Marcus would as soon take a bite out of Kurt's throat as hold him close if Kurt showed him his tender underbelly. It was time to bow out and find an exit.

"Unfortunately," (for you) "That's all the time I have," Kurt said. "Have a good one, Marcus."

1236 words.