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Chapter 11
Lijah spoke. “Elsa. I want this for you. Will you give it to me?”
Hmm? She drew a hazy blank. Like hauling a bucket from a well, she dragged her eyes open and brought him into focus. “What?”
Lijah gazed at her from his perch, sitting astride her legs. His face split into a shit-eating grin.
Elsa surveilled herself. Lijah’s hands were out from under her shirt. Her bra felt more or less back in place, loose, so still unhooked and her shirt had been smoothed down as well. The rock was… she didn’t know where the rock was. When had all this happened. She felt gooey-brained, as if emerging from some sort of rapture. Which was ridiculous. It wasn’t as though Lijah was her first lover, or even the tenth, or that he’d done anything particularly exotic.
“Elsa,” he said, getting her attention. He held the rock up like Exhibit A, set it on her sternum, and placed her right hand firmly on top. “Hold that.”
She did. It was then she realized her other hand was in his lap; he’d placed it there, palm up. He smoothed it open. She felt the heat radiating against the back of her hand; she felt the hardness. He pressed her hand firmly against himself, using his own two fingers to slowly draw a long line from the base of her palm to the tip of her fingers, along the length of his erection.
“I want this for you, will you give it to me?” he repeated.
God. The look he gave her. Smoldering. Molten. Her body responded, pooling, melting.
Again, he stroked himself through her hand, then lifted and turned it to take the three middle fingers deep into his mouth, her thumb and pinky loose against his cheeks. He sucked and scraped his teeth along her fingers as he pulled them back out, snagging the leather tip of her middle finger.
He tugged, loosening her glove, and Elsa suddenly understood what he’d asked and what he was doing. She jerked, not really meaning to, and not hard enough to snatch her hand away from him. “Wait,” she said.
He dropped his jaw, releasing his hold.
“Wait,” she said again. She felt flustered, not at all sure what she wanted or exactly what he intended. Stupidly, what she fixated on was the pathetic state of her under-sheaths, which were old, cheap and dingy. She scanned his face, searching for answers, and realized she still had her fingers in his mouth holding his jaw like a doorknob. She blushed bright red and released him.
“You want me to stop? You aren’t ready?”
She searched his face. “I might be ready. Depending. It’s just, shouldn’t we talk about it first?”
“No.”
Elsa chuffed at laugh. She half agreed; why risk talking?
With a wicked grin, Lijah took up her hand again and folded down all of her fingers except the pointer finger. That he stuck back in his mouth. He laved and sucked: tongue circling, lips clenching and teeth dragging as he moved her finger in and out. His other hand was busy in his lap, stroking himself through his pants, each slide and draw an extension of how he worked her finger. He took his time, watching her heat and flush until his own pleasure had his eyelids sliding shut. She was spellbound, a voyeur, witnessing the most thorough and unabashedly self-gratifying mouth fucking imaginable. Not that her imagination had ever come up with anything quite as shamelessly erotic as watching Lijah go down on himself by way of her finger. She was incredibly turned on.
Elsa blushed deeply, scandalized by her own arousal, when his decidedly languorous and post-coital gaze settled back on her.
“Wow,” she said, clearing her throat. “Imagine if we’d been naked.”
Lijah’s eyes flashed. “I’m taking that as permission.” He bit down on the tip of her finger and shook his head like a dog with a bone. Elsa bubbled with laughter at his faux ferocity but curled her hand preventing him from making any headway.
“Lijah. LIJah. LIJAH,” said Elsa. “Quit it. That’s not what I meant.”
Lijah released her hand and collapsed to the side. He huffed and sighed like a child, pulling the pillows out from underneath himself and throwing them to the floor. He ended up flat on his back, an arm thrown theatrically across his brow.
“Oh please,” said Elsa, still giggling. “You know exactly what I meant. Naked-naked. Without clothes.” She spoke suggestively. “Topless. Bottomless.”
“Gloveless,” said Lijah flatly.
Elsa rolled her eyes, which was pointless since he refused to look at her. Just because he had no compunction about baring his hands, surely he understood that she did, that anybody would. He was the anomaly, not her.
She spoke with the condescendingly patient tone of a parent. “There’s an order, Lijah, a natural progression. You know, through the bases as it were. That, comes first. And then later, Much, much later, only then do people consider showing hands. You’ve been around a hundred years, surely you’ve noticed how it’s done: naked first, then show hands.”
“A natural progression,” said Lijah.
Elsa groaned. “Oh God, here we go.”
Lijah rolled onto his side, and Elsa did the same. They faced one another like mirror images, heads resting on folded arms, knees bent and almost touching. Silence settled between them. She heard the crackle of the fire and the wind pressing at the windows. He was studying her again. She couldn’t read him.
“For the record,” said Lijah. “It’s no more natural to remove clothing before gloves than it is to put on underwear before socks.”
“Good God, do you do that? Socks first?”
“No,” said Lijah.
“See?”
“But I could, if there was reason to do so, and that’s the point.”
“Of course you can, but why would you?” As soon as she said it, she realized that was the point.
Lijah had reason to get her out of her gloves. Because he’s interested in her powers. That’s where they’d started, he trying to prove she was Crafter. Showing hands wasn’t too fast or out of order to him because he wasn’t courting her, he was conducting research.
Elsa sat up and swung her legs around so that they hung off the side of the bed. She reached behind her and rehooked her bra. Lijah slowly sat up. He propped himself against the wall, knees up, bare hands dangling in front of him.
“Thirty-one,” said Elsa. She carefully controlled her breathing. “How could you?”
Lijah sighed heavily, followed by two soft thuds as he banged his head against the wall. “Fucking Peter.”
“Peter? Oh, that’s rich. He’s not here, Lijah.”
“The experiments – my sordid little secret. Peter told you about the recruitment-by-seduction scheme for the exact reason that I didn’t. Because it sews the seed of doubt.”
“So, you’re not trying to seduce me?”
“Elsa, I am doing everything I can think of to seduce you.”
He reached forward and tugged on her shoulder, urging her to scooch back and sit between his legs. Elsa refused, unwilling to cozy up. She did believe him, about the seduction. He spoke with such self-effacing honesty, she believed him absolutely. But as much as her pride, her heart and, well, lust, yearned to leave it at that, the rest of her couldn’t. She shifted around so that they sat side-by-side, their backs against the wall, not touching.
“But not to explore my powers?”
Another heavy sigh. “I am also doing everything I can think of to explore your powers. Think of it as an alignment of purpose.”
“More like, a means to an end.” She looked away, shuddered a breath.
“No. Elsa.” He took her hand from her lap, held it loosely on the bed between them. “Peter planted that seed. He would have you believe that to me you were just another in a long line and that any amorous overture I made had ulterior motive.”
“Why?”
“You’ve met him. He has but one focus, sexual conquest. Don’t get me wrong, he’s as honest, loyal and true as man’s best friend. There’s probably some misguided sense of loyalty at play – protecting me from myself. Regardless, with respect to you, I am before all else, his competitor. What’s more, there is no-one who cultivates and wields his power as Feeler more strongly, which makes him frighteningly perceptive and masterful at manipulation. He’s known me a lifetime. My attraction to you, your brief interaction with him, was enough to pinpoint my past and your principles as the weakness he could exploit.”
“But Peter’s right. You have ulterior motive and you’re using sex to get it.”
“No. Or rather, yes and no. Look. Seduction and sexual arousal are particularly effective tools in the study of powers. Passion silences the distractions and inhibitions of the thinking brain. It creates a sort of unconstrained milieu, if you will, during which powers can be more freely expressed.”
“Are you listening to yourself?” Elsa tried to pull her hand away; Lijah gripped it more firmly.
“A simple fact, Elsa, and the kernel of truth that makes Peter’s seed so insidious. The larger truth is that sex with you serves, not a higher purpose, but rather more than one. I don’t have ulterior motives, but I do have complementary ones.”
Elsa mulled. As the silence lengthened, Lijah closed the gap between them. She allowed him to smooth her hand onto his thigh. He traced with his naked hand between her gloved fingers.
“I can’t decide,” said Elsa, “whether or not the distinction between ulterior and complementary is pure semantics.”
“Try this,” he said. “A couple wants to procreate. When they have sex, are they fucking, making love, or making a baby? Ideally all three. With you, it would definitely be all three.”
The analogy made perfect sense to her. She pursued sex as much for carnal pleasure as connection and could imagine trying to get pregnant would be neither ahead, behind nor instead of those other purposes. Complementary motives. With you, all three. God that felt good and right; on the inside, her smile beamed brightly.
She twisted around to rest her head in his lap, looking straight up at the ceiling. “Go on.”
“Contrast that to the experiments. They were all about the end result, the research.”
Elsa looked at him dubiously.
“True. Pleasure was had, but the purpose was making babies, so to speak. Means to an end. If not for the research, I might not have slept with any of them.”
“Huh. I hadn’t considered that you literally pimped yourself out for science.” Elsa waved the thought away. “The point about the experiments, though, isn’t the sex, or even that it served an ulterior motive. What made them unethical, and not just skeezy, was that you were making babies without their knowledge or consent. Why did you do it, Lij? I mean, you had to have had reservations, considered alternatives.”
Lijah shifted uncomfortably. Elsa lifted her head and then sat all the way up as Lijah got up and moved off the bed.
“I’ll put a couple more logs on the fire. Do you want anything? Glass of wine? Cheese and crackers?”
“Uh. Sure.”
Something was up. She didn’t know what. The timing was ironic, though, now that she’d largely worked through her own reservations. He’d convinced her that showing hands for one reason, didn’t preclude another, any more than showing hands in an unconventional way precluded traditional meaning. She had other questions regarding his urgency and, well, methodology, for lack of a better word. But knowing that she herself was a priority to him, not just her abilities, allowed her to return to a place of trust.
Ten minutes later and after a visit to the bathroom they were both back on the bed, this time sitting crossed legged opposite one another, a tray with cheese, crackers, olives and apricots between them, along with two glasses of salmon pink rosé and a pipe, tin, lighter and ashtray. The sofa and coffee table would have made more sense, but as if by silent agreement, they both gravitated back to the bed like a life raft.
“So. Why seduction. Why not an alternative?” asked Elsa.
Lijah avoided her eyes. “Would you accept, not as much fun?”
“Only from Cousin Id. God this wine is good. And the cheese.”
“Sheep’s milk. There’s a woman. At least I think she’s a woman. I’m not entirely sure. Slight in stature. The affect of an assassin. Her recommendations never fail. Which is fortunate, I might add, as her opinions on flavor pairings border on the fanatic. So much so, I’ve never dared purchase wine without the recommended accompaniment. Try the olives. More wine?”
Lijah spoke in a barrage between gulps of wine and bites of food, looking anywhere but directly at her.
“Shop’s in Taply,” he continued. “Did I mention that? No idea how she found herself in that tiny corner. Defection. Witness protection. Something of that nature. We’ve a bit of a game, she and I, trying to get information on one another in the course of polite conversation. No luck so far. Which leads me to think she works for Nona.”
“Lijah.” Elsa felt breathless on his behalf.
“You think I’m paranoid. You’ve met Nona. If Peter’s the Playboy, then she’s the Profiteer. Or no, that’s your grandmother. In which case Nona’s the Pirate.”
“Lijah.”
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t mean to offend. I’m sure your grandmother…”
“Lijah. Stop.”
Lijah polished off his glass of wine, set it down, and ran his hands through his hair. Incredibly, the nakedness of them didn’t shock her. She’d grown accustomed. Or rather, bare hands, on him, seemed somehow normal, in a way she couldn’t imagine feeling for her own gloveless hands. He still hadn’t met her eye.
“In all the years I’ve known you, I think this is the very first time I have seen you bob and weave your way from a topic.” Elsa considered him for another long moment, tracing back through their conversation. “I do realize the making-babies thing was an analogy. I’m not planning the nursery, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Surprised, he finally he looked at her directly. “No.” His expression turned quizzical. “You don’t want children?”
Elsa raised an eyebrow. “Really? My childbearing aspirations? Because Lijah, I can tell you, that’s no less fraught a topic than whatever it is you’re scared to talk about.”
Lijah grimaced. He gestured to the food, of which she’d had enough. She held onto her glass as he took the tray and leaned over the edge to set it on the floor. Glass in one hand and propped on his side, he brought up the bottle and topped off their wine. Returning that, he retrieved pipe, tin and matches, all stacked in a pillar in the ashtray. It struck Elsa how he’d used only one hand for the bottle, then weed; how only one bare and therefore tactile and dexterous hand was required. He’d been so clumsy the last time she was here; he’d cut himself badly, right through his glove. It confirmed her suspicion. He never wore them here. Peter too had taken his off as soon as he arrived. She watched as he slowly rotated the ashtray on the bed in front of him careful not to topple the pillar. He had long fingers. They suited him, long, lean and strong like the rest of him.
“Come on, Lij. I already know what you did. All I asked was why.”
They both kept their eyes down, focusing on the ashtray as he slowly spun it in place.
“There are a lot of answers to that question,” he said. “But the crux of the issue is that sex works. Relative to the alternatives, arousal is a quick, easy, inexpensive, and private way for the study subject to achieve an unconstrained but conscious state conducive to the study of power.”
“What alternatives?”
“Sleep, for example. Hypnosis. Scientifically those states are inferior as consciousness is either suppressed or altered. Those options were also less practical given the logistical constraints of banned research.”
“Logistical constraints. As in having to conduct your illegal study in secret without funding, staff or resources. You could have worked around that. You did work around that. You involved Peter; used your own facilities.” She looked around the room, at the bed beneath her. She lifted her hands as if the spot might be sticky. Lijah’s ashtray pillar toppled over.
“A flat in Brighton,” he said, having followed her thoughts. “Rented for that sole purpose. Never here, Elsa. No one comes, no one knows of this place except family. And now you.” Lijah rebuilt his tower; tin, pipe, matches, one atop the other, and resumed rotating the ashtray.
Elsa watched. Only family, now her. She felt flattered she supposed, but also burdened and… threatened. There was danger knowing what she knew, of being in this place. She sat up straighter. “Sleep studies, hypnosis. Theoretically, methodologically more challenging. But not insurmountable obstacles. Not for you.”
“You give me too much credit.”
“Lijah, in regard to this, I give you no credit at all.”
Lijah didn’t respond. Afterall, what more could he say? He’d already confessed, she’d condemned, and they’d both agreed upon and accepted the nature of his sins. Which, she had to remind herself, wasn’t about the sex. Thirty women. She tripped on that fact every time she considered it, but with respect to the sex, they were thirty consenting adults. The ethical violation was that Lijah had ulterior motive, of which he failed to inform them and obtain their consent. He knew this, she knew this, it was old news. It didn’t explain why he was nervous now.
“What aren’t you saying, Lijah? I can feel it. There’s something else. I asked, why? You explained, sex was the best alternative. Okay, I get that. What else?”
“Sex wasn’t the best option, Elsa. It was the only option. When it comes down to it, only sex worked because, unlike the alternatives, it doesn’t require informed consent.”
“The hell it doesn’t.”
Lijah waved off her objection. “Yes, yes, ethically, of course. Inexcusable. Mea culpa.”
Elsa eyed him critically; Lijah winced.
“Despite how that sounded, I am genuinely contrite.”
Elsa nodded – he’d failed the PC litmus test but would allow him to explain himself.
“What I mean is that, operationally, sex doesn’t require an explanation. Think about it. You can seduce someone without explaining why. Try asking someone to fall asleep for you or be hypnotized without some sort of explanation.”
‘Without explaining why’, repeated Elsa to herself. The deciding factor, the insurmountable obstacle, was disclosure. “Powers are private; discussing them taboo. You figured the minute you disclosed your interest, you’d lose your recruit.”
“Possibly. Probably. Although Peter can be quite persuasive.”
Elsa snorted. “I’ll bet. Even so, it only takes one for an exposé.”
“True, but of secondary concern. The most basic reason to conceal the study’s intent relates to the impact that knowledge would have on the results. Our notions about powers have been instilled since birth. You understand this; you’ve been arguing that point all along. Every waking moment has taught you, you’re not Crafter. Asked about powers and biased to the core, participants can’t help but bring their ingrained constructs to bear. Results would be meaningless.”
“You could have misrepresented the purpose of the study. There’s established precedent for that when knowledge of study aims biases the response. I’m thinking along the lines of the Bystander Apathy experiments. They couldn’t tell participants they were studying how quickly bystanders respond to a crisis because that knowledge would affect their response time and ruin the results. Instead they distracted them with a fake study, then staged a crisis to observe their natural reaction.”
“Sex wasn’t a distraction, Elsa. It was necessary to achieve an unrestrained state of mind.”
“But at least in the Bystander experiments, participants knew they were engaged in research. Not the specific aims, not enough to bias the results, but enough to know there were being studied.”
“Okay, let’s play it out. Hey baby, I’m researching the cure for cancer. Come have sex with me.” He sat up, reached an arm around, and brought her crashing down against him.
Elsa burst out laughing. Good thing her glass was empty. She did take the ashtray, pipe and tin to the ribs though. She wriggled free and pushed back into a seated position. “Yeah, okay, not so much.” She rubbed her side. “You’ve been playing with that ashtray for an awfully long time. Don’t hold back on my account?”
“You’d join me?”
“I’ve been led to believe it’s worth my while.”
While he set to slow, fastidious work parsing the buds and packing the pipe, she studied him. He glanced up at her periodically but wouldn’t hold her gaze. He was still nervous, she thought, and felt at a loss. If his worry had to do with those experiments, she couldn’t figure out how.
Lijah sat up and lit the pipe. Elsa scrambled around, retrieving pillows, and came to sit next to him, leaning comfortably against the wall. He passed the pipe to her. They traded it back and forth a few times in silence. She felt the high come on like a breeze through trees. She felt released, animated, elated even, yet grounded, rooted in place. Nice.
“You know, I’m thinking, your experiments. You could have just said, ‘Hey baby, I’m researching the aphrodisiac potential of ordinary objects. Come have sex with me and my pet rock.”
Silence. Elsa looked at him and started to giggle. His jaw had literally dropped open.
“Elsa. That’s brilliant. That might have…” His voice drifted off. She saw his thoughts leap and bound, testing the idea, tweaking the details. She knew from experience that, in a matter of moments, he could map out an entire protocol from a single spark of inspiration.
He refocused on her. “That might have worked. See how I need you?”
“Oh please,” she said, but couldn’t help inwardly preening at the compliment. Marshalling her expression, she rooted around, found the rock, and held it up between them. “It’s not as though you haven’t thought of it yourself.”
Lijah searched her face, his own expression resolving into stunned relief. “You really don’t mind? What we did with the rock?”
“Well, I’m not exactly sure what we did with the rock. But yes, I’m okay with it. God Lijah, look at you, you’re about to fall over.”
He tried for nonchalance. “Of course you shouldn’t mind. It was your idea after all.”
“Was not.”
“Was.” After a moment, he gave up the front. “Although I concede, you didn’t realize it as such. Elsa, when I realized I’d done it again, or that’s how you’d see it, I was sure… I was sure, I was going to lose you forever.”
He’d concluded with such raw gravity, she waited for the moment to settle before responding.
“Done what, exactly?” she asked.
“Experimented without consent. In your mind, anyway. In my mind, I was just trying it out, seeing if it would work. Which it wouldn’t have if I’d told you what I was up to.” He paused and cleared his throat.
“Yep, that pretty much sums up experimenting without consent.”
“Please. Please ignore what I just said.”
Elsa considered. “I must be stoned. Did you just ask to be ignored?”
“Begged. I’m begging to be ignored.”
“I stand corrected,” said Elsa. “You must be stoned.”
Elsa felt more than heard Lijah chuckling quietly under his breath. He raised his arm, she slid in close, and he tucked her arms and legs around him like a snuggly blanket. She loved this moment. Their conversation, the humor, how well they were known, one to the other. Even more the unspoken, his easy affection, how it revealed feelings both deep and abiding.
Elsa felt her own tenderness, warmth and joy bubbling up and spilling over. She felt the emotions physically, as a physical sensation, that she could sink and wallow and bask in. Normally she wouldn’t acknowledge how good it felt to be part of this pair. But she was stoned, delightfully stoned. Her emotions were outsized, wide open and acutely felt, which didn’t discredit them, but rather let her recognize them as fundamental, genuine, and important.
“I have no intention of ignoring you,” she said, her voice raw from smoking and sounding sultry. She laughed at herself throatily and batted her eyelashes in a parody of flirtation. When Lijah didn’t react, Elsa couldn’t help herself. She pressed her body more firmly against his, tilted her hips against his thigh, and feathered her thumb over his lips.
“Elsa,” he said warily. “If there’s one thing I know for sure, we’re not done talking.”
Three seconds more flirtation was all it took. Lijah seized her hand at his face and rolled her hard against him so that his thigh wedged between her legs.
She squirmed. “You’re right, I was only teasing.”
Lijah growled. He worked his mouth down her hand, snagged her sheath in his teeth and pulled until it snapped back against her wrist.
“Ow, hey.” She pushed back and tried to pull her hand away.
Lijah didn’t let go. Instead, watching her intently, he slowly pressed her wrist back to his mouth and proceeded to slather and suck to soothe the sting. He watched the effect he had on her, her pulse quickened. She shouldn’t taunt him like this, but she was afraid of showing hands, of being vulnerable, of disappointment. Perhaps scariest of all were her own murky motivations. She’d donned a blindfold for this man. Was there really no limit?
While Lijah worked his mouth down her arm to the hollow at her elbow, Elsa retreated to the familiar. “So,” she said. “Not all experiments are created equal. Take now, for example. You’re experimenting, seeing what I like, registering my reactions. You’ve signaled your intent, and I my willing participation, a form of implied consent which, in this context, is entirely sufficient. Now, rewind to earlier with the rock.”
Lijah froze, his lips to the inside of her bicep. She scratched her fingers in his hair indicating he should continue his ministrations.
“You asked me to just go with it, a verbal request to which I implicitly agreed. I didn’t know what you’d hoped to accomplish with the rock, I still don’t, but I had enough context to know an exploration of powers was involved.”
Lijah sat back, rested her arm on his chest, and idly stroked its length while he listened.
“Having the context, knowing you were up to something is critical to me being okay with it. But what matters most to me, are you paying attention?
“Rapt.”
“What matters most is that you were also sexing me up for the sake of, well, sex, intimacy, or, um, you know, relationship. Or whatever. We haven’t actually defined it. Not that I think we need to. Certainly not at the moment. Unless. No. Look. Just, go with me here.”
Elsa lifted herself away as Lijah shook with silent laughter. She swatted him and his laughter erupted.
“Elsa. Rest assured. I’m sexing you up for all of the above and everything in between. I’ll take whatever you’ll give, right up to and including a lifetime.”
Elsa pursed her lips, wiggled them back and forth. That declaration was bigger than she knew what to do with. Believing it would lay her bare.
He scooped her into his arms, planted a kiss on her head, then settled her back loosely against him. “Come on. You were making a point.”
“Yeah. Um.” He was so at ease with intimacy, it stunned her stupid.
Lijah squeezed her shoulder. “What matters most…,” he prompted. “Sexing you up for sex…”
“Right. The point being, you convinced me. Complimentary goals. You sexed me up not only for the rock business but for the sex. Multiple purposes, not ulterior ones. Which, you know, is just as well since the whole rock thing didn’t pan out.”
Lijah shifted, looked at her curiously. “But it did, Elsa. It panned out beautifully.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
“When you were drifting about in the Mesozoic. That was you, reading the rock.”
Elsa’s brain scrambled. He’d put the rock on her belly and copped a feel. An epic feel, she’d give him that. Best trip round second base she’d ever had. She played through the memory. She’d sort of lost track, and then there was Lijah looking crazy pleased with himself. In between there’d been the caresses and a sensation of boundlessness, a sort of infinity of being. As if time and place had ceased or been so vast and singular as to be inconsequential.
Elsa sat bolt upright. Mesozoic. Geologic time. A rock, wiling away the millennia. She flipped around, sat on her knees, and faced him directly. “If I went to the Mesozoic, you put me there. That was you. That had to have been you.”
“I don’t have that power, Elsa.”
“Well, I certainly don’t,” she said incredulously. “Which is more likely? Me. Who was gloved. Who has not once experienced Crafter-power. Versus You. Who has all three powers. And who’s hands were bare. It’s your meditation rock. You go there all the time.”
“I see your reasoning, but believe me, I can set the stage, but I can’t give you a power you don’t possess.”
“Sure you can. You just do that bleeding-into-me thing.”
Lijah stiffened. “What are you talking about?”
At first, she thought he was being cagey, except his utter stillness told her otherwise. Would he be angry? She’d kept it to herself. Less as an ace in her hand, more to discover for herself what it meant.
“Remember before. That first night, when you got shit-faced and passed out. That’s when I discovered the vines, right? I traced them, on your hand, up and down your fingers.”
A nod, hardly moving.
“Well, for a while, before you woke up, the colors, you know, bled onto my hands, like right into the skin. It didn’t last long, but long enough to be sure I wasn’t imagining it. It went away even before you woke up.”
“I liked you touching me. I didn’t let on right away that I was awake.”
“Okay. That’s um… okay.” Other words had come to mind: charming, devious, none of which mattered at the moment.
“And you didn’t think this phenomenon might interest me?”
“No. Not really,” feeling defensive. “I mean, you obviously knew about the vines. There was no reason to think the bleeding part was of particular interest. Sure, I can see you’d want to know that you’d bled into me, so to speak. But the point is, I didn’t know what it meant and just assumed figure it out before revealing I had something you understood, and I didn’t.
Lijah ground his teeth. “It. Astounds me…”
Elsa interrupted him. “Do I need to remind you of all the things you’ve failed to mention to me? And not because you thought I already knew.”
“No.”
“Right. So, you know, it wasn’t until Peter came along that I started to piece it together.”
“Peter.”
“Yeah. Peter. He read your mind. Breathtaking, remember. Which is how I learned about multiple powers within a person combining to create new abilities. Only then did I realize the bleeding-vines must be the way you share powers between people.”
Lijah stared at a spot to the left and behind her. She looked over her shoulder, half expecting to see Peter emerging from the shadows.
She leaned into his field of vision. “That must have been what happened. You gave me the power to read the rock. I guess, without realizing it.”
“Elsa.” Nothing more. He tilted his head one way and the other as if that would help absorb this new piece of information.
“Um. Sorry?”
“No. I’m sorry. I…” He climbed up off the bed, stepped on the tray and scattered dishes in a piercing clatter. Not that he noticed. He walked off a few steps, paused to rub absently at his foot, then walked a few more in another direction.
She had seen him act like this before, completely absorbed in runaway thoughts, and knew there was nothing to do but to leave him to it. She watched the gears grind for a while, then gathered up the scattered glasses and plates, piled them on the tray and carried them into the kitchen. While busying herself at the sink, Lijah came in an sat the table. She hadn’t bothered to over-glove. Using the hand towel, she squeezed hard to absorb as much water as she could from her office gloves then took a seat opposite him at the table.
“The first thing you should know is that we don’t pass powers through vines like some sort of conduit. I can’t give you my power and you can’t give me yours. We can use the strength of our powers to boost another’s, but even that is rare, takes practice and is poorly understood. Elsa, I have no idea what you saw. To my knowledge there is no precedent.”
It was Elsa’s turn to look stunned. Without a word, she snatched her hands to her lap, hastily removed the glove from her right hand and tore off the sheath. She took a deep breath, raised her naked hand above table, and lay it palm up between them.
“Elsa,” croaked Lijah.
“Please,” she said and blushed crimson. Sitting up straighter, squaring her shoulders, she lifted her gaze. “Please, take my hand. Let’s see if we can manage a re-enactment.”
It took a moment, not long, for him to cover her naked hand in both of his. Eyes locked, neither spoke. They hardly breathed.
“Is it working?” asked Elsa.
“I shouldn’t think so,” said Lijah, looking straight at her, not their hands. “Not like this. You realize that? You won’t get disappointed?”
Yes, she would. Even though she agreed with him. Holding hands like this was nothing like it had been before. He’d been asleep, more or less, and she’d been relaxed. If he was half as amped as she was at this moment, they could split an atom.
“One of us should check,” said Elsa. “Before I run screaming from the cottage.”
“Computer,” said Lijah. “Lockdown. Secure egress.”
There was the sound of locks sliding into place, and the monitors went black, but otherwise there was no appreciable change to the room. He’d made it so no-one could get in or out. She knew from her last visit, undoing a lockdown took considerable time and effort. Good. They needed time. And privacy. God, her hand was bare.
Neither had moved an inch. Afternoon sunlight streamed in through the windows above the sink. The cottage was silent but for an occasional gust of wind and crackle of the fire.
“We can’t stay like this forever,” said Elsa. She looked down. Her hand was completely obscured by his, but regardless there were no vines to be seen. She raised her other hand between them. “Care to do the honors?”
Lijah stood up quickly, his chair scraping across the wooden floor. Elsa rose too, her bare hand still held in both of his. Halfway from the table and a little off kilter, they stood oddly immobilized.
“Yes, I care to do the honors. A hundred times. A thousand. But this first time, I’d prefer to watch.”
Elsa’s knees went weak. She laughed. “You. You are surprisingly good at wooing.”
Lijah’s eyes crinkled. “Hard to know how to take that.”
He came away from the table and sidled her around alongside him. Elsa couldn’t help but giggle as he led her promenade style from the kitchen, in a circuit through the great room, arriving in front of the hearth. Stifling more giggles, she imagined the dance calls: bow to the left, bow to the right and Dosey Doe back to your corner. God she was nervous. And stoned.
Because Lijah refused to drop her bare right hand from his, he needed her help spreading a thick throw on the floor. That sorted, he dropped to his knees and tugged her down to kneel before him. He lifted her bare hand and kissed her fingers. To her surprise he proceeded to vigorously rub her hand between both of his and blow on her fingers. Confusion wrinkled her brow; she couldn’t figure out what he was up to.
“Your cold. Should I put more logs on the fire?”
Elsa burst out laughing. “Shit, Lijah, between the square dance and the hand rubbing I thought you were performing some sort of bizarre ritual.”
Lijah continued his vigorous rubbing. “I admit the moment is worthy of some ceremony, but no, I’m just trying to get the blood flowing back into your digits.” Chin raised, he placed her hand on his neck, first one side then the other.
“My God, you’re like a furnace.”
“Burning for you, I think. We make quite a pair, cold and clammy meets raging inferno.”
Elsa climbed right into his lap and hugged him hard, arms and legs locked tightly around him. Lijah leaned back on his heels, hugging her in his arms just as tightly. By mutual agreement they released and rearranged, fitting themselves like puzzle pieces close to one another but not quite touching. Elsa folded effortlessly into a lotus position, spine straight as a rod and feet atop opposite knees. Lijah framed her, one leg outstretched, the other bent, straight arms angled behind him.
“How do you want it?” asked Elsa waggling her gloved hand between them. “Fast?” She waited. “Slow?”
No response.
“Shy? Aggressive? Naked? Dressed?”
Lijah soaked her in, seeming to conjure an image for every word she spoke.
Elsa continued her list. “Romantic. Perfunctory. Sloppy. Neat. Innocent. Wanton… Come on, Lijah, I’m running out of words.”
“You could add sadistic to the list.”
“More like masochistic. The pressure is enormous. You want to watch? I can only guess what you want to see. Had we done this in the natural order of things…”
“You’ve showed hands before?”
“Yes, actually. Once. A long time ago and not like this.” She declined to elaborate.
“I have too, in the traditional sense. Five times. Also a long time ago and not like this.” He took a deep breath. “Elsa, I’ve been married twice before. And widowed both times.”
“Well that’s ominous.” Lijah didn’t laugh and she wanted the words back desperately. “Lijah, I am so sorry. That was incredibly insensitive. I’m. I’m so sorry for your loss-es.” Elsa closed her eyes; did she really just tack a plural onto that.
Lijah shook her knee. “Thank you, Elsa. I’ve had time to process my grief. Maria, my second wife, died over three decades ago. And Lindy a couple decades before that. I’d add that, to the best of my knowledge, it was not marriage to me that killed them. Of the other three times, one was between my marriages, the other two after. The last time I showed hands in the way we’re speaking of, was about a year before we met. Five times. Each as different as the women I was with, but at its most basic entirely the same. I don’t want to watch how you remove your glove; I want to watch you, while you do it.”
Which was lovely and good and right. And really, just lovely. She should just take off her glove. But she’d built it up and put it off and drawn the spotlight to such a degree, that try as she might, she couldn’t seem to start. It didn’t help that the one time she had shown hands it had been with another woman, a soul mate, with whom she shared an intense but wholly platonic relationship and who a short time later permanently left the country. Exactly as planned; they’d shown hands knowing she was leaving. She was still out there, digging wells, feeding the hungry. They spoke once a year. Maybe.
Lijah was so much more, woven into every part of her life.
She squirmed. “I could, um. That is to say, you must be interested in hearing my own…”
“Elsa, you little sadist, right now I am not in the least interested in hearing about anything.”
Elsa blushed, laughed and blushed some more. “God. I’m sorry this is so hard for me.”
“Perhaps if you remember where this started, when you tore off your other glove. There is the matter of bleeding vines and who dropped whom in the Mesozoic.”
The cunning bastard; she knew exactly what he was doing. When all else fails, stoke her curiosity. Which, of course, worked. She got to her knees. She’d been cold before, but now felt overwarm. She crabbed off the blanket and away from the fire and got to her feet. She lifted the long edge of the blanket and snapped it as if smoothing the wrinkles.
“Get up, get up, I’m trying to move the blanket,”
Lijah cracked up at her abrupt change in attitude and rolled off to the side, ready and willing to oblige. Elsa moved furniture around, pulled the sofa forward and spread the blanket out in front of it.
“There,” she pointed. “Sit there. No. On the floor. Lean against the couch. Wait. Lean forward.” She stuffed a pillow behind his back. “Okay, lean back. Better? Comfortable?”
“Bossy,” said Lijah, chuckling, nodding. “I like it.”
She kept barking commands like a drill sergeant, all the while her own smile kept breaking through.
“Make room,” she said, swatting at his legs until they made a V. She stepped into the space, turned and plopped down on her butt, narrowly missing his lap. She scooched back hard, drawing a pained oof from Lijah and a firm hold at her hips. She nestled her back against his chest and drew up her knees. Her hands, one gloved, the other bare, she rested on top.
“Can you see?” asked Elsa.
Lijah shifted her slightly to the side so that both of her hands were in plain sight. With his chin, he tilted her head to the side to expose her neck and nibbled his way up to her ear. “Ready,” he said.
Elsa reached back her naked hand, found the nape of his neck and ran her fingers up through his hair, and down his face to cup his chin. She slid her thumb in his mouth which he sucked, then bit the tip as she withdrew it. Without glove or sheath the sensations were like she’d never experienced; hot and soft, of course, but it was the surround sound wetness that amounted to a revelation.
Elsa slid her wet thumb down Lijah’s neck, then continued the descent over her own neck and chest to his hand at her hip. She lifted his hand to her mouth, slathered his thumb and repeated the gesture, his jugular to hers, and down onto her breast.
Lijah gripped her hips and adjusted her position to accommodate his arousal. “Quit it.”
Elsa laughed low in her throat and rocked against him.
“Quit that too,” he said, gripping her hips even more firmly and setting her a few inches distant.
“Complimentary aims, Lijah. I want to see you bleed.”
He pulled her back against him and hugged her tight. “A sneaky sadist. And here I thought you were stalling.”
Elsa tilted to the side, giving him full view of her hands, and proceeded to remove her glove. She bit each fingertip, working the leather loose, raising the glove free by half an inch across all five fingers. After that she could use her bare hand to finish the job. She loosened the glove from all fingers in turn until she could pull the glove free in one smooth motion. Glove off, tossed to the side, she wished again she’d worn a nicer pair of sheaths, but no matter. She peeled it off from the wrist in a single pull and tossed it out of sight too. Done. She’d done it.