A shy public reference librarian, and a college dropout who was disowned when she refused to submit to conversion therapy, encounter each other in a bookstore. He's been waiting his whole life for her. Meanwhile, she's starting her whole life over...
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I stand in front of the couch expectantly. He's been parked there since early this morning, going through a pile of books. I don't think he even noticed when I excused myself, walked to the local thrift store, and came back with a large bag. When he starts reading, he gets totally absorbed in it.
"Happy birthday!"
He looks up from the book he's currently working on - the collected writings of Marcus Aurelius, in the original Latin - and gets a bemused look on his face. "It is my birthday, isn't it?"
Since he has his earplugs in, I assume he is having one of his more hypersensitive days. Sometimes noise bothers him, and if he doesn't protect himself from it, he gets wicked headaches. Bright light sometimes does it to him, too. He says some days are worse than others for him. I make a note to do my best to keep my voice down. He'll still be able to hear me through the earplugs even when I'm using a quiet voice - from what he says, the earplugs don't so much muffle all noise as drown out chaotic background noises and make it easier for him to focus on what one person is saying without getting overwhelmed, and they keep the "projection" level of the person he's focusing on down to a dull roar so his ears and head don't hurt. When I asked him what the difference was between noise level and projection, he gave me an odd look and asked if other people's noise didn't push at me or feel like it was jabbing me.
I don't perceive sound the same way he does. I also don't seem to perceive light the same way he does. Then again, he doesn't perceive other people's ch'i through the layers of his skin all the way into his nerves quite the same way I've been doing since November. I guess we both have hypersensitivities, just different ones. His hypersensitivities seem more awkward and annoying than mine are. I deal with mine easily enough by not letting most people get anywhere near me, which is natural enough because I've never really liked being close to other people anyway. On his more sensitive days, he doesn't seem to have any way to escape the unpleasant stimuli at all - the best he can do is stay in the shadows and muffle the noises that bother him.
"You just turned forty-two. That makes you the meaning of life, the universe, and everything. Come on. We have to celebrate it. It's mandatory."
"Hmm. It sounds like you have something in mind."
"Absolutely," I say with a grin. "I have a present for you. Sorry I couldn't wrap it properly, but I did find a nice bow. Here's the bag." I hand it to him.
He puts down the book and holds out his hands for the bag. When he opens it, he pulls out my present and turns it over a few times, looking at it from different angles.
"A baby harp seal plush? Er. Hmm. Eromene, why a harp seal plush?"
"I was originally scouring the thrift store for books, but it was cute, it was there, it was cheap, and I couldn't resist buying it for you. Isn't it adorable?"
"Looks cuddly," he agrees.
"There's only one catch," I say, trying valiantly to keep my face deadpan as I do so. "You have to earn it."
"Earn the harp seal."
I grab the stuffed seal by the tail and chamber it into position on my shoulder. "Turnabout is fair play!" I declare emphatically, and then I swing the harp seal at his head. It lands just hard enough to make a muffled noise.
The look of sheer astonishment on his face needs to be captured for posterity. If only I had a camera.
"Forty-one more to go. Hold still, this is supposed to becharacter-building, you know."
Stuffed harp seals make great pillow weapons.
After whacking at his head and various other body parts - both he and the harp seal survive - I hand him his seal back. "There. It's yours."
"Thank you. That was probably the most surreal birthday present I think I've ever received." He smiles. "Although I'm pretty sure I didn't need the character-building. I'm enough of a character already."
"I'll go start baking the cake," I say. "It's from a mix. I hope you don't mind."
"I'm flattered that you even thought to bake me a cake," he replies. "And cake mixes are a very good way to practice baking cakes. After you get confident at it, you start playing around with the instructions by adding or substituting things, and from there, it's a short step to cooking from scratch. That's actually how I first started using an oven..."
I kiss him on the lips in mid-sentence before he has a chance to expound anymore. "Hush. It's okay to just enjoy the chocolate cake. Really."
He glances down at the seal. "I think I'll name him Approval."
He gets a really cute look on his face when he's confused. I should find a way to get him to make that look more often.
Later, as we drink mulled wine to chase away the cold January night, and cuddle together on the living room couch to watch Stealing Heaven (which seems fairly faithful to the written records Heloise and Abelard left of their affair, at least for the duration of their brief physical involvement) he whispers in my ear, "Of course, what I really want for my birthday is you."
"You already have me."
"Really? I had some rather specific ideas in mind."
"You always have specific ideas in mind."
"True," he agrees.
"And you definitely have me. You had me before we even formalized our relationship."
"I did?"
"Good grief, couldn't you tell? Yes. You did."
"And I have you now, do I?" He turns so that he is leaning on me, pinning me to the couch. I feel his hands close about my wrists.
No matter how many times he does that, it never ceases to transform me into a puddle of molten want.
"Oh, yes. Always. Even when you use cheesy, horrible lines like that." My mouth seeks his and finds it. "You have my heart always. So, what does this specific idea of yours entail?"
"Unwrapping and enjoying you, of course," as he presses his weight against me, grinding me into the cushions. I moan in expectation. "Slowly." He thrusts. "And thoroughly. And very deeply." Another thrust, this one hard. I moan again. The things he then proceeds to do to my ear while he has me pinned under his hips, using his tongue and the tips of his teeth, make me writhe and thrash, crying out in need. I strain against his hands; they tighten, clamping me down, until I feel my own wrists and hands start to tingle.
"Don't stop," I gasp, "please, please, whatever you're doing, don't stop, I'm so close..."
"Oh?" He rolls his pelvis against mine, wringing yet another moan of desperation out of me, and I feel myself shaking. "Well. This seems like the perfect time to try something."
"What?"
"Come," he says softly into my ear.
Body arching. Shaking. Convulsing. Burning in a fire of pleasure. White heat. I need to scream.
Gasping for breath. Weak at the knees.
He stares at me, flabbergasted. "I hadn't expected that to work," he says. "It's a BDSM porn cliché. It almost never works in real life. And when it does work, usually there is some suggestion and behavioral pre-conditioning first. I hadn't got around to that yet, with you." Then he smiles. "I hope you don't mind, but I have decided to make this a very long evening."
