WARNING; Rated M for future m/m and adult themes, this is not going to be a CG/Ana fic. It will be a CG/Taylor
**Song is Please, Please, Please by the Smiths. I own nothing**
Chapter 37;
Jason watched Christian sleeping, his eyes watching each individual rise and fall of his lean chest. Between them remained the pillow, soiled by Jason's cum which had set in the hours which had passed since they had sex. Christian was beautiful, there was no other word Jason could use to describe the man. His face was angelic; strong jawed with high cheekbones, his pale skin setting off the wonderful russet tones in his copper hair. In his sleep he was serene, cupid bow lips loose and slightly turned up in the corners as though he was having a happy dream for once and smiling.
Jason was so envious of this perfect man. In comparison, Jason Taylor was battered and broken, his body a map of scars which reminded him constantly of the battles he'd fought, both physically and mentally. Christian was scarred too but Jason had come to learn that most of Christian's scarring was internal and caused by his adverse childhood in Detroit, not through war or self-harm like Jason's.
He lifted his forearm and studied his veins curiously, remembering his days of dabbling with addiction. The army had straightened him out; though it had near killed him at the time and he'd hated his father for chucking him out of the family house. The withdrawals and dope sickness he had endured in the homeless shelter had been horrific but he'd had to do it if he'd wanted to see his sister and mother again. When he thought about reaching for another needle, for that last hit, he remembered his mother crying as his dad threw him out, called him a Junkie and disowned him.
Would Dad think his war hero son being a Junkie was better or worse than being a Faggot?
Jason dropped his arm on his abdomen and looked at Christian once more, sound asleep and at peace after what had been a bloody wonderful shag. Jason couldn't deny how attracted he was to this man but what scared him was where this was headed. With Elena in custody and being investigated for the abusive messages Christian was receiving there would soon be no need for a bodyguard and Jason would soon need to leave. And that was a painful thought. So painful that Jason found himself looking at his arm once more and sighing.
He'd been clean most of his adult life, the military had provided Jason with a purpose and a more stable environment than he'd had at home, which said everything when he found himself being shot at on a daily basis. When he left the Corps, however, he'd slipped up when his doctor prescribed him Xanax to help with his insomnia and anxieties. His wife had been the one to take him to the doctors, worried for Jason's mental health coming out of the Marine Corps. It seemed fitting that she was the one who also called the ambulance when Jason had taken 20 tablets before scoring smack. Stupid, stupid man. And here he was, looking at his arm for fucking injection sites because he was too scared and anxious to admit to himself that he liked Christian. He really liked Christian. And he wanted him; more than he'd wanted any woman in his whole life. The thought of losing that made him feel sick.
Slowly, Jason sat up and slipped off the bed, grabbing his underwear from the floor and pulling them on. With a second glance back at Christian, he headed through to the foyer. He cracked his back and neck as he walked, helping himself to a glass of orange juice as he thought more about leaving Christian once this job was done and closed, moving on to the next job god knows where, trying to see his daughter maybe even visiting his parents and checking in on them.
He carried his glass of orange juice over to Christian's piano and took a seat, lifting the fallboard up delicately and examining the cold, ivory keys. Growing up Jason had always had a passion for music, he remembered his kindly kindergarten teacher telling him that he'd a natural beat and rhythm when he'd opted to dance with his twin, Sophia, during playtime than play with the other boys his age. This had sparked massive issues for Jason's conservative family. His father had been incredibly displeased to hear that Jason was artistic and musical.
"What good'll music do for him, Mary? Might as well call him Elton John now and be done with it. No. Not my son."
What his father hadn't appreciated was that music was therapeutic. The sheltered housing he'd ended up living in as a young man had a broken, out of tune piano donated by some old couple who'd been downsizing properties. It was the first time he'd felt allowed to play an instrument and it had felt right. It played like shit but it felt so amazing to sit there, high as fuck and just do something. Getting clean off the smack, Jason would focus on making up little songs on the shelter piano when he wasn't too dopesick. It wasn't until he was in the army that he got to try out a working keyboard and he found he was able to play music he heard on the radio. He wasn't good, but his team could identify what he was trying to play.
Christian's piano was like its owner; utter perfection and beautiful. Tentatively, Jason pressed down on a D chord, the sound echoing in the air, as though it were dancing. He felt it deep down in the pit of his stomach, his left hand pressing down gently on the ivories next.
Slowly, he began to play a simple melody and soon he felt the choking anxiety of his imminent future evaporate; it was just him and the piano, there was no one else around him. There was no ex wife and daughter to worry about, his parents scolding words and conservative words didn't bother him, he wasn't in a sexual relationship with his client let alone in a sexual relationship with a man to whom he was experiencing feelings beyond lust. It was just him and this piano.
"Good times, for a change," Jason mumbled, humming along to the sound the keys made under his fingers, "See the luck I've had would make-"
Suddenly, Jason heard the bedroom door close and the distinct sound of sweaty feet tapping on the cold marble approaching him. He froze up and stopped playing, tucking his hands under his thighs and staring down at the keys in silence.
"You play beautifully," Christian whispered softly, laying a hand on his bare shoulder, "Were you classically trained?" He obviously noticed Jason's cocked smirk and laughed softly, "Stupid question, sorry."
"Are you classically trained?" Jason asked, looking up at Christian before laughing also at his thin smile, "Of course you have."
"Grade eight, with distinction," Christian admitted, sitting on the bench beside Jason, "I could play piano before I could talk. Music's very therapeutic that way to me."
"…same," Jason nodded, watching as Christian's hand quickly played out a melody similar to the one Jason had been playing, "How often do you play?"
"Before you came into my life, every morning when I couldn't sleep. When you moved in I didn't want to wake you," Christian admitted, still playing as he spoke, demonstrating to Jason his sheer talent. He was envious of Christian suddenly, wishing he had been given the opportunity to explore a pleasure he'd been denied because his father deemed it 'fruity'.
"Come on," Christian encouraged, "I know what you were playing."
"Yeah?" Jason frowned, looking into his grey eyes.
"Yes," Christian nodded firmly, looking down at the keys now as he played once more, "Good times for a change. See the luck I've had could make a good man turn bad. So please, please please, let me get what I want this time."
Jason sighed and turned back to the keys, watching Christian's expert fingers dancing before him. They looked like they belonged there, long and thin and working with ease to produce such a beautiful sound. And his voice…geez was there anything this man couldn't do?
Christian's eyes found Jason's and he silently encouraged Jason to join in, no doubt sensing that he needed this connection, that he needed reassurance that things would get better.
Jason took a breath and cleared before joining Christian, his hand clumsier and slower that his but Christian adapted for him. "Haven't had a dream in a long time," Jason mumbled lowly, his voice rougher and croaky compared to Christian's perfection, "See the life I've had, could make a good man turn bad. So, for once in my life let me get what I want. Lord knows, it would be the first time."