Chapter six
It was like a twenty-four hour sugar rush. Like waking up on the first day of summer vacation and knowing the next two months were entirely his. Like Christmas and his birthday and the premiere of 'Fellowship...' all at once.
Andrew wondered if this was what love felt like.
The intricacies of The Plan did not allow them much time alone. Even when Jonathan wasn't around, there was often some vital piece of work that kept Warren occupied and out of Andrew's reach. Some days, they were lucky if they could find even a few seconds in which they could be together.
He could feel it physically, crawling under his skin like the little red spider mites that scurried over the stone steps that led down to the Lair from outside. A defiant itch that could only be eased by Warren's touch.
Yet with every passing day it seemed harder to satisfy. Even when they'd spent a full half hour sprawled across the beanbag chairs making out like crazy, he'd been left wanting more.
He knew there was more, plenty more, than what they'd already done. His research had not stopped with the discovery of the name for people like him and Warren. There'd been things on the 'net that had left him feeling fizzy and eager to try them out, if only Warren would let him.
It was maybe a little disheartening that Warren had shown no inclination to progress beyond kissing. Sometimes his hands would roam over Andrew's back or scrape the nape of his neck, raising goosebumps all down his arms, but they stayed resolutely above the belt. Andrew had given this careful consideration. There was enough porn in the Lair to show that Warren had a healthy interest in sex, and he had taken care to ease Andrew's insecurities about his feelings for the blonde. Andrew himself had been very enthusiastic about the kissing and stuff, and he was certain he had not been giving the dreaded Mixed Signals that Warren had complained about when he talked about girls.
The only logical conclusion was that Warren was being protective. He did not want to move things on too fast. He was waiting for some sign that Andrew was ready for s-e-x, and would not dream of forcing Andrew into anything he wasn't ready for.
Andrew thought it all dreadfully romantic.
He'd realised one evening, as Warren had kissed him sweetly before reluctantly turning away to his workbench, that he was being courted. Which was wonderful and amazing and made him giggle like a loon, but had one downfall in the sense of the not having of sex. And Andrew was ready for sex, dammit. Way ready. Willing, too, and hopefully able.
There'd been pleasant daydreams of subtle seductions, Warren plying him with wine and then leading him to the bedroom where they'd do pleasant things under the blankets in soft-focus. Warren would be the worldly, sophisticated Cardassian to Andrew's brilliant but naïve doctor, just like the stories he'd read online.
Evidently this would not happen.
Andrew was beginning to wonder if he should be the one to make the first move. Which was sort of disappointing since he'd been looking forward to being the seducee, but Andrew was getting kind of frantic. Unlike Warren, he could not hide the excitement that was brought on by their kisses, and he was beginning to think that he might soon burst from the frustration.
It would have been nice to have wine, and candles and music, and hours of soft slow passion. What he had was one hour on a dreary Thursday afternoon while Jonathan was out picking up supplies.
Warren was in the leather lounger, pencilling notes into the margin of some textbook. So smart, his Warren. The apprehension was terrifying, really, but Andrew thought about how long he might have to wait if he did not act immediately, and that was it.
Andrew seized the day. Then he crossed the room and seized Warren's book, tossing it aside like it didn't matter in the least. He ignored Warren's look of outraged surprise and climbed astride his lap, knees pressed tight against the chair arms, wedging them both firmly into the seat.
"Hey!" was Warren's initial response, followed by, "wha-what are you doing?" He still held his pencil between two fingers, like a cigarette.
Andrew slid into a knowing smile, arching one eyebrow and pressing his hips forward. Clearly, Warren's strangled squeak indicated his surprise at the thought of innocent Andrew putting the moves on him. Andrew liked that.
Emboldened, he dipped his head to capture Warren's lips with his own, a delicious wet kiss that set Andrew's insides gurgling like a glass of alka-seltzer. As he pulled back, he rocked his hips once more. He'd looked up the word 'tumescent', and felt a surge of smug giddiness at the thought that he now knew how to describe the hardness that he pressed against Warren's groin.
Warren still looked perplexed, like he was trying to reconcile his assumptions about the callow, quiet Andrew with the blonde fiend who was currently straddling him.
"What does it look like I'm doing?" he finally answered, ignoring the quiver in his voice that betrayed just how petrified he still felt. He emphasised his point with another small thrust of his hips, concentrating hard to catch any responding twitch from Warren.
Instead he was met with a nervous staccato laugh and a "whoa, whoa, whoa" from Warren, who grasped Andrew's hips with strong hands in an effort to keep him still.
Immediately Andrew felt nauseous. What if Warren didn't want this after all? He jumped out of Warren's lap like he'd been burned, backing up a couple of steps for good measure.
"Oh God," he breathed, wondering where the words had gone. "Warren... Warren, I'm so sorry." He felt like he was being boiled from the inside out, skin tight and hot and red like a fried tomato. He barely registered Warren's apologetic expression as the guy clambered up out of his chair. "I just thought, I thought you wanted to but you were waiting, like you wanted to be sure I was, you know, and I was and I thought you didn't know and do you hate me now?" He jammed his hands in his pockets, wishing his tumescence weren't so tumescent.
Warren stumbled a half a step towards him.
"Andrew, slow down," he cautioned. "You're like, way ahead of me here, and I'm trying to catch up." There was another flutter of panicky laughter before Warren reached out and laid his hands on Andrew's shoulders. "You wanted to..." He trailed off and made a vague gesture between the two of them. Andrew nodded. "Wow. That's, that's... wow."
"Did you not want to?"
"I, I..." Warren appeared to think very hard for a moment. Andrew waited patiently: Warren always had the right words, so he had to be allowed time to think of them. "I want to," he announced after some hesitation, "but not just yet." Andrew sagged a little, an odd mixture of relief and disappointment roiling inside him. "It's so soon, you know, and I guess there's still some stuff I have to figure out." Andrew got that, he really did. Struggling with one's sexuality was not to be taken lightly. He should know, after all. He nodded again, and offered Warren a sympathetic smile.
"That's cool, I guess."
Warren's hands slid down, gently pulling Andrew's hands from his pockets until Warren could twine their fingers together.
"It'll happen," he assured Andrew. "Just be patient. Wait for me."
And Andrew would. He would do whatever Warren asked, because Warren had done so much for him, and he wanted nothing more than to make his Warren happy.
~~~~~
tbc
It was like a twenty-four hour sugar rush. Like waking up on the first day of summer vacation and knowing the next two months were entirely his. Like Christmas and his birthday and the premiere of 'Fellowship...' all at once.
Andrew wondered if this was what love felt like.
The intricacies of The Plan did not allow them much time alone. Even when Jonathan wasn't around, there was often some vital piece of work that kept Warren occupied and out of Andrew's reach. Some days, they were lucky if they could find even a few seconds in which they could be together.
He could feel it physically, crawling under his skin like the little red spider mites that scurried over the stone steps that led down to the Lair from outside. A defiant itch that could only be eased by Warren's touch.
Yet with every passing day it seemed harder to satisfy. Even when they'd spent a full half hour sprawled across the beanbag chairs making out like crazy, he'd been left wanting more.
He knew there was more, plenty more, than what they'd already done. His research had not stopped with the discovery of the name for people like him and Warren. There'd been things on the 'net that had left him feeling fizzy and eager to try them out, if only Warren would let him.
It was maybe a little disheartening that Warren had shown no inclination to progress beyond kissing. Sometimes his hands would roam over Andrew's back or scrape the nape of his neck, raising goosebumps all down his arms, but they stayed resolutely above the belt. Andrew had given this careful consideration. There was enough porn in the Lair to show that Warren had a healthy interest in sex, and he had taken care to ease Andrew's insecurities about his feelings for the blonde. Andrew himself had been very enthusiastic about the kissing and stuff, and he was certain he had not been giving the dreaded Mixed Signals that Warren had complained about when he talked about girls.
The only logical conclusion was that Warren was being protective. He did not want to move things on too fast. He was waiting for some sign that Andrew was ready for s-e-x, and would not dream of forcing Andrew into anything he wasn't ready for.
Andrew thought it all dreadfully romantic.
He'd realised one evening, as Warren had kissed him sweetly before reluctantly turning away to his workbench, that he was being courted. Which was wonderful and amazing and made him giggle like a loon, but had one downfall in the sense of the not having of sex. And Andrew was ready for sex, dammit. Way ready. Willing, too, and hopefully able.
There'd been pleasant daydreams of subtle seductions, Warren plying him with wine and then leading him to the bedroom where they'd do pleasant things under the blankets in soft-focus. Warren would be the worldly, sophisticated Cardassian to Andrew's brilliant but naïve doctor, just like the stories he'd read online.
Evidently this would not happen.
Andrew was beginning to wonder if he should be the one to make the first move. Which was sort of disappointing since he'd been looking forward to being the seducee, but Andrew was getting kind of frantic. Unlike Warren, he could not hide the excitement that was brought on by their kisses, and he was beginning to think that he might soon burst from the frustration.
It would have been nice to have wine, and candles and music, and hours of soft slow passion. What he had was one hour on a dreary Thursday afternoon while Jonathan was out picking up supplies.
Warren was in the leather lounger, pencilling notes into the margin of some textbook. So smart, his Warren. The apprehension was terrifying, really, but Andrew thought about how long he might have to wait if he did not act immediately, and that was it.
Andrew seized the day. Then he crossed the room and seized Warren's book, tossing it aside like it didn't matter in the least. He ignored Warren's look of outraged surprise and climbed astride his lap, knees pressed tight against the chair arms, wedging them both firmly into the seat.
"Hey!" was Warren's initial response, followed by, "wha-what are you doing?" He still held his pencil between two fingers, like a cigarette.
Andrew slid into a knowing smile, arching one eyebrow and pressing his hips forward. Clearly, Warren's strangled squeak indicated his surprise at the thought of innocent Andrew putting the moves on him. Andrew liked that.
Emboldened, he dipped his head to capture Warren's lips with his own, a delicious wet kiss that set Andrew's insides gurgling like a glass of alka-seltzer. As he pulled back, he rocked his hips once more. He'd looked up the word 'tumescent', and felt a surge of smug giddiness at the thought that he now knew how to describe the hardness that he pressed against Warren's groin.
Warren still looked perplexed, like he was trying to reconcile his assumptions about the callow, quiet Andrew with the blonde fiend who was currently straddling him.
"What does it look like I'm doing?" he finally answered, ignoring the quiver in his voice that betrayed just how petrified he still felt. He emphasised his point with another small thrust of his hips, concentrating hard to catch any responding twitch from Warren.
Instead he was met with a nervous staccato laugh and a "whoa, whoa, whoa" from Warren, who grasped Andrew's hips with strong hands in an effort to keep him still.
Immediately Andrew felt nauseous. What if Warren didn't want this after all? He jumped out of Warren's lap like he'd been burned, backing up a couple of steps for good measure.
"Oh God," he breathed, wondering where the words had gone. "Warren... Warren, I'm so sorry." He felt like he was being boiled from the inside out, skin tight and hot and red like a fried tomato. He barely registered Warren's apologetic expression as the guy clambered up out of his chair. "I just thought, I thought you wanted to but you were waiting, like you wanted to be sure I was, you know, and I was and I thought you didn't know and do you hate me now?" He jammed his hands in his pockets, wishing his tumescence weren't so tumescent.
Warren stumbled a half a step towards him.
"Andrew, slow down," he cautioned. "You're like, way ahead of me here, and I'm trying to catch up." There was another flutter of panicky laughter before Warren reached out and laid his hands on Andrew's shoulders. "You wanted to..." He trailed off and made a vague gesture between the two of them. Andrew nodded. "Wow. That's, that's... wow."
"Did you not want to?"
"I, I..." Warren appeared to think very hard for a moment. Andrew waited patiently: Warren always had the right words, so he had to be allowed time to think of them. "I want to," he announced after some hesitation, "but not just yet." Andrew sagged a little, an odd mixture of relief and disappointment roiling inside him. "It's so soon, you know, and I guess there's still some stuff I have to figure out." Andrew got that, he really did. Struggling with one's sexuality was not to be taken lightly. He should know, after all. He nodded again, and offered Warren a sympathetic smile.
"That's cool, I guess."
Warren's hands slid down, gently pulling Andrew's hands from his pockets until Warren could twine their fingers together.
"It'll happen," he assured Andrew. "Just be patient. Wait for me."
And Andrew would. He would do whatever Warren asked, because Warren had done so much for him, and he wanted nothing more than to make his Warren happy.
~~~~~
tbc