It had gotten to that point in the evening when Tim had reached the stage of drunkenness that I can't help but find endearing and flattering; he watched me wide eyed, almost respectful. He was in awe as I spoke and every time I stopped talking he would pout at me. He laughed hysterically when I told him about my student claiming to have found a fossilised shoe and he whispered how sexy he thought I was across the table at me. I could hear the restaurant staff complaining to each other that we would be here all night but they would be proven wrong. I wanted nothing more than to get Tim home.
He told me animatedly about the new story he was working on, or at least he thought he was telling me. It was a bit of a jumbled slur across the table because of his excitement. He reached across and took my hand causing me to jump. There were a few side glances from other diners and I found myself not caring what they thought so I held his hand. Tim looked down at his hand as if he had no idea how it had gotten there. He seemed pleased all the same though.
There was still another half bottle of champagne and I poured another glass for Tim. He gave me a cheeky smirk from behind the glass as he drank and I knew what he was thinking, where this would inevitably lead to.
"Champagne too much for you," he teased, looking to my empty glass. I wondered if he knew I had only had one glass or whether he simply believe I was one behind him. I was surprised he hadn't been on the floor at this stage but he seemed to be carrying himself well. He hadn't been drinking in quite some time and wasn't as immune to it as he had been.
"Oh please, one of us has to be responsible," I admonished him and he seemed to shrink a little, staring into the bubbly liquid in contemplation before setting it back on the table.
"Yeah," he said softly, the mood having changed dramatically. "Can we go now?"
"Sure," I replied, attempting to understand him but I knew to give up before trying.
He watched me pay the bill before resigning himself to staring at the floor as the waiter brought my receipt along with some mints. I offered him one and he took it, smiling at me hazily.
"Thanks."
"Yes, fuck," I whimpered. "Tim."
I kissed the back of his neck and lent forward to kiss his cheek, pulling him tighter to me in my arms. He was warm and sticky beneath me, panting desperately and biting the bed sheet he clung to in his fists. He tried to re-position himself beneath me, bringing his knee up to rest on all fours and I had to change the angle I penetrated him from, it was definitely better for me but it must have made him uncomfortable. Then again he was so out of it I was surprised he was still conscious. The champagne had taken a little while to hit him and now I doubted he knew his own name.
"Oh god, Tim."
"Ivo, please."
Having sex with Tim was one of the few times in my life that it had ever been intimate or romantic. Everyone in the past was out of convenience, usually found in shady bars and nightclubs across town to try and protect my reputation. If I had ever know that I would ever have someone like him beneath me, everything would have paled in comparison.
He was quiet beneath me aside from the occasional whimper and I thrust harder to try and force sound from him. I regretted it when he let out a shriek of pain and I stilled immediately.
"Please," he cried shakily. "Please stop."
My insides twisted horribly when I heard that and I pulled off him.
"Tim," I said hesitantly and turned him around to face me. His eyes were glazed over and he could barely focus on me.
"I'm sorry," he said sadly. "I'm sorry, please don't," he slurred. "Hurts."
I was surprised, he usually liked it quite rough and I had been gentle with him up until now.
He tried to move on the bed and whimpered again and I held onto him to help him sit up, only now noticing the small amount of blood that was on the bedsheet.
The sight of it caused my stomach to roll.
"Tim," I shook him gently and he looked at me with a smile.
"Mmm."
"Tim, you're bleeding."
"Mmm," he gave a brief acknowledgment before closing his eyes.
I'd stayed up all night to watch him and make sure the bleeding had stopped and wasn't serious. My mind was racing through all sorts of thoughts of internal bleeding and blood clots but I was too afraid to take him to hospital. There was no other explanation for his injuries and Tim loathed hospitals.
I thought back to the first time I had heard that awful whimper for me to stop. I could rarely get it out of my mind.
I had known what I was doing when I bought the champagne, knowing how willing and compliant he is when drunk. When he is like that I can be rougher and he won't mind, I can profess my love for him and he won't remember. He loses his inhibitions and lets me ravish his body and his mind. I wondered how much of this he would remember.
He cuddled closer to me on the bed, oblivious to what had gone on and who was beside him. He was seeking comfort from the nearest warmth. I moved an eyelash from his cheek and kissed his forehead, going to the kitchen and making him breakfast for when he woke.
