Of Kith and Kin

Chapter 2 – Lovers in the Garden: Budding

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Los Angeles, some other lifetime ago:

Stepping out of her car, she felt the warm evening settle around her. It was a stark contrast to the too cold air conditioning of her car, and the too cold forced air of her office. She'd spent the day bathed in cold, and the heat of the Los Angeles evening was a welcome shift. As the warm fingers of air worked their way in through her clothes, she began to relax. Moving onto the sidewalk, she walked toward his house.

It was small and pink and otherwise almost indistinguishable from the others on his street. The butterflies returned as she opened the waist-high gate that led to his front door. Oh, God, what if this was a mistake? What if he was only trying to be nice, and didn't really want to be bothered by her, practically a child still, but pretending with all of her might to be oh, so grown up. What if he wished she hadn't come? She swallowed and bent her head, studying her feet as they carried her forward.

She slipped up the steps to his front door. It was solid and wooden, with three panes of glass laid into the center in a staggered pattern. Before she could raise her hand to knock, there was a dark flicker behind the glass and then he was there, in front of her upraised hand, in front of her eyes, tanned and beautiful, more beautiful than she'd remembered. Her mouth popped open for a second as she stared, until he broke into his signature slanted smile.

"Looks like you survived your first day," he said, opening the door wider for her.

Her mouth snapped closed as a smile broke free on her face. She had so wanted to play this cool, to be casual and worldly with him, but she couldn't. His smile invoked her own, every time, and like a fool, she grinned, as he reached for her hand and led her into his home.

The moment he touched her though, the smile fled her face, chased away by the blush that began in the pit of her stomach and snaked ever upward until it flushed across her cheeks, making her feel like an unsophisticated child again, so eager to please him in any way.

"This is nice," she said, her back to him as he closed the door behind her.

The room, in fact, was not nice. I was sparsely furnished with thrift store décor, chipped coffee table and worn couch, a bookshelf made of cinderblocks and planks of wood. She had a hard time imagining him comfortable here. His world has always been so pristine, immaculate. She wondered if he'd had the entire place fumigated and steam cleaned before he'd accepted the lease.

He chuckled as he watched her inventory his home, her eyes belying the thoughts behind her words.

"It's kind of a dive, actually," he said. "But the rent's cheap and it's close to campus. Come on, I'm making dinner." He tugged her hand into his again, and walked her past the dingy couch and the built-in glass curio, which housed a collection of books, some fountain pens and welled ink, and what looked like a flute, but she couldn't be certain; she didn't have enough time to look.

"So, how long are you here for?" he asked, as he pulled her into the kitchen. It was tiny, the space made smaller by the two-person table tucked into the corner. She cocked her head at it, noticing the plates and napkins already laid out. There was a water glass holding a handful of geranium blooms, pilfered, she guessed, from a bush somewhere nearby. Their red blossoms exploded against the dull white paint of the wall. It took her a moment to recognize what she saw, to name it: he was making an effort. For her.

"Uhm, twelve weeks," she said. "My, uh, internship is over in ten, but, uh, I don't go back until mid-August."

"Oh," he answered.

She turned to look at him and saw that he was watching her. His eyes flicked away almost before she caught him, and then he turned his attention to the stove.

"So, ah, there's beer in the fridge," he said, the words trailing up at the end, like a question. "There's sodas or…wine." He peeked under the lid of a pot, poked at it with a fork, then closed it again. The poof of steam from his peek sent a waft of warm, almost popcorn scented air toward her.

"Basmati rice?" she asked.

He turned and smiled at her. "Yeah, do you like it?"

She nodded and as her brain caught up with her eyes, she realized what she'd been seeing in the five minutes since she'd walked into his house: he was eager. The thought registered, producing a flutter in her chest and making her stomach clench. The blush returned and she looked down at her feet again, trying to escape his gaze.

"What are you drinking?" she asked, walking toward the refrigerator.

"Ahm…" he paused a moment, pouring dark oil into a hot pan. "I'll have a beer," he said.

There was a six pack of Tsing Tao on the shelf and she pulled out two, scanning the battered white fridge for an opener.

"I need-"

"Here," he said, pressing the metal church key into her hand.

She flicked the tops off of the green bottles and looked around the kitchen.

"Up there," he said, nodding toward a narrow cabinet to his left.

She stood next to him and leaned up, on tip toes, trying to reach the pint glasses. Something sizzled to her right and the smell of sesame oil, ginger and garlic filled the air. Stir fry.

Her fingertips glanced off the glass and she arched, stretching further.

"Let me," he said and moved behind her, pressing against her to reach the glass. Her body responded, growing heated and rigid at the contact, her heart pounding and her breath held, silent.

She heard, and felt, the shaky gasp of breath from him, pressing his chest further against her back. Her body released its tension, her arched wrist sagging against the cabinet, her back pushing against his chest until there was no more space between them. Her head rested beneath his chin and she slowly lowered herself back onto her heels, her body flush with his. She felt his head dip down next to hers, felt his nose stroke against her ear, as he breathed her in, taking her into his lungs, and her spine danced with energy, excitement.

He breathed her name against her ear, a rough whisper full of need, then nudged it again with his nose before dipping down to place a light trail of kisses from her earlobe to the crook of her neck. Her hands fell to the counter as he placed one hand on her waist, the other in her hair, sweeping it off her neck. He kissed, then nipped, then licked the sensitive skin, then blew on it, producing a bloom of goose bumps across her skin.

His hand snaked up her side, around her front, pulling her tight to him, pressing her hips into his thighs before wrapping his other arm around her waist. She sighed as his hand ran up her body, over the flat of her stomach, brushing roughly over her breast, his fingertips burrowing under the V-neck of her shirt, his palm coming to rest over her heart. He had to feel it pounding and for the life of her, she couldn't bring herself to care. What mattered was this…connection. His skin against hers, his mouth on her flesh, all of it. Him.

He held her there and she trembled, swallowed. If she turned around, there would be no going back, she knew that. If she turned around, he would possess her, body and soul, heart and mind. She would abandon herself to him, make a house of herself for his shelter, make a meal of herself for his hunger.

If he discarded her, she would be lost. If he didn't…it would be worth it.

She pressed her hand to the counter and pushed back against him. She turned around.

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AN:

Beta love, as always, belongs to FarDareisMai2 and Krismom. How I got so lucky, I do not know. htothem gave this a pre-read and made me glow. All three are magnificent writers. You can find links to their stories in my favorites list.

I have the best readers in fandom. You have no idea how much you rocked my world with your warm reception to this tale. Thank you, so, so much.

There's a youtube playlist for this. Link in my profile.