Ok, MILD sexual content follows, but then again that's the name of the game
. . . if you haven't guessed already this is VERY A/U, and quite a bit pre-
seaquest. Trust me kids, we'll get there . . .
***************** PREVIOUSLY:
"Miguel?" asked the voice. It was low and cold, accented thickly with the flavor of Cuba. Miguel's eyes grew wide.
"Dad?" He asked, and Ophelia's eyes grew wide as well. Thinking quickly he motioned her off to finish getting ready and took the phone out onto the terrace. "What's going on?"
"We're coming out to see you." His father spoke simply, and Miguel felt the tremor that shot through him. This simple statement terrified him to the core, more than anything else ever could.
*****************
"Wh . . . Why?" He finally managed, catching the phone before it slipped from his hands. His fingers had loosened their grip on the receiver at the news, and he found himself propped up against the end table. Before the answer came Ophelia re-appeared. She had slipped on a strappy black dress and heels, and had pulled her hair back into a messy twist. She was securing a dangly earring as she walked, and a look of concern still danced across her face. She finished with her earring and placed a hand on Miguel's hip.
"What's going on?" she whispered, and Miguel realized he was still on the phone.
"Dad?" he asked.
"We'll be there in a day or so." The man on the other end replied. Miguel lay the receiver back down on the cradle and allowed the shock to wash over him. After a moment he could feel Ophelia's hand on his hip and hear her soft voice saying his name.
"Guel, hon, what's going on?" she asked, and he shook his head as though to clear out the cobwebs.
"Nothing, nothing. We're late, we should get going . . . " he spoke, fiddling with the contents of the end table absently. After a moment Ophelia reached out to still his hand.
"Guel . . . "
"Really, we're late. C'mon." he replied, finally moving over to get their coats. Ophelia looked at him suspiciously for a moment before flipping off the light switch and following him out of the room.
Nearly twenty minutes later they stepped out of the cab and onto the street. It was bustling with people, the evening crowd just starting to appear. Together they made their way across the street to the restaurant where they were to meet Jack and Ellen. As they approached they saw the other couple was already waiting for them. Jack reached up a hand and greeted them jovially, and Miguel groaned quietly and waved back.
"And it begins . . . " he whispered, causing Ophelia to chuckle.
Jack Springfield was an investment banker and the brother of Miguel's best friend from college. He wasn't what Miguel liked to call a friend, more of a casual acquaintance that insisted on the occasional dinner date. Jack's wife Ellen was a slight woman with a tremble in her voice and a penchant for doing very little but laughing at Jack's awful jokes.
"Miguel! You're looking old . . . " Jack spoke, slapping Miguel hard across the back with a chubby hand and causing him to cough.
"You're looking good too, Jack." Miguel replied, stifling the true response that welled up within him.
"Shall we?" Jack asked, gesturing into the restaurant. Miguel wrapped an arm around Ophelia's waist and they led the way through the door.
Soon they were seated at a table. The waitress had taken their drink orders, and Jack had already made several inappropriate jokes when he dropped the big bomb.
"Look at you two. You must be at it like rabbits." He spoke, stopping everyone dead in their seats. Even Ellen looked a little surprised, but Jack just leaned in closer. Miguel could feel the color drain from his face, while at the same time he felt as though he were on fire. He felt Ophelia's hand on his leg, urging him to relax, but he could still feel the embarrassment welling up inside of him. He remained silent, and Jack balked. "What, not at all?"
This comment struck Miguel deeply, and his eyes fell to where Ellen was picking nervously at her napkin. He wished then that the floor would open up and swallow him. He focused intently on her frail hands folding and re-folding the small piece of blue fabric, tuning out completely. He thought Ophelia said something then, and whatever it was it smoothed out the situation, as Ellen's hands stilled and Jack sat back in his seat. He tuned even further out, and suddenly he was on the street with Ophelia. He heard her say goodbye and then felt her helping him into the cab before crawling in after him.
They rode home in silence. Once they arrived back at the apartment, he was vaguely aware of climbing the long staircase to their third floor flat. As they readied for bed, Miguel began to notice that Ophelia was watching him closely. He sat down on the bed as all his feelings suddenly came crashing down on him. Ophelia looked over from where she was changing.
"Guel, what's wrong?" She finally asked, slipping on her tank top and sitting down next to him on the bed. He shook his head, laying back and sighing deeply. Ophelia frowned. "Is this about what Jack said? Because you know I understand."
She lay down next to him and switched off the light. In the dim moonlight she could see the sadness in his eyes. He shook his head.
"No, it doesn't have anything to do with Jack." He told her, reaching out to take her face in his hands. He kissed her gently, drawing her closer and closer until their bodies were pressed tightly together. He kissed her again, this time rolling on top of her. She reached up and pulled off his shirt, and he was suddenly clad in nothing but boxers. Despite the heat of the balmy summer night he trembled against her and she paused.
"You're shaking." She told him, reaching up to push back his hair. He nodded, kissing her again. Again she paused. "We don't have to . . . "
"No, I want to. Please." He asked, a strangely desperate look appearing in his eyes. She nodded, and he bent to kiss the nape of her neck. As he kissed her throat, her shoulder, behind her ear, his shaking grew worse and worse. Finally he was trembling so violently Ophelia grabbed his bare shoulders to steady him.
"Stop, Guel. You can't do this." She spoke, and he raised his head to argue. She caught his eye and he lowered his head again quickly, resting it on her shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her and they lay there in silence for a moment before Miguel spoke up.
"I want to so bad, Ophie. I love you so much, but . . . I . . . " he trailed off, and Ophelia felt a tear land on her skin. She stroked his hair until his body was wracked with sobs. Clutching his head to her chest she attempted to soothe him.
"Please, it's all right. I know you want to. It's okay . . . "
***************** PREVIOUSLY:
"Miguel?" asked the voice. It was low and cold, accented thickly with the flavor of Cuba. Miguel's eyes grew wide.
"Dad?" He asked, and Ophelia's eyes grew wide as well. Thinking quickly he motioned her off to finish getting ready and took the phone out onto the terrace. "What's going on?"
"We're coming out to see you." His father spoke simply, and Miguel felt the tremor that shot through him. This simple statement terrified him to the core, more than anything else ever could.
*****************
"Wh . . . Why?" He finally managed, catching the phone before it slipped from his hands. His fingers had loosened their grip on the receiver at the news, and he found himself propped up against the end table. Before the answer came Ophelia re-appeared. She had slipped on a strappy black dress and heels, and had pulled her hair back into a messy twist. She was securing a dangly earring as she walked, and a look of concern still danced across her face. She finished with her earring and placed a hand on Miguel's hip.
"What's going on?" she whispered, and Miguel realized he was still on the phone.
"Dad?" he asked.
"We'll be there in a day or so." The man on the other end replied. Miguel lay the receiver back down on the cradle and allowed the shock to wash over him. After a moment he could feel Ophelia's hand on his hip and hear her soft voice saying his name.
"Guel, hon, what's going on?" she asked, and he shook his head as though to clear out the cobwebs.
"Nothing, nothing. We're late, we should get going . . . " he spoke, fiddling with the contents of the end table absently. After a moment Ophelia reached out to still his hand.
"Guel . . . "
"Really, we're late. C'mon." he replied, finally moving over to get their coats. Ophelia looked at him suspiciously for a moment before flipping off the light switch and following him out of the room.
Nearly twenty minutes later they stepped out of the cab and onto the street. It was bustling with people, the evening crowd just starting to appear. Together they made their way across the street to the restaurant where they were to meet Jack and Ellen. As they approached they saw the other couple was already waiting for them. Jack reached up a hand and greeted them jovially, and Miguel groaned quietly and waved back.
"And it begins . . . " he whispered, causing Ophelia to chuckle.
Jack Springfield was an investment banker and the brother of Miguel's best friend from college. He wasn't what Miguel liked to call a friend, more of a casual acquaintance that insisted on the occasional dinner date. Jack's wife Ellen was a slight woman with a tremble in her voice and a penchant for doing very little but laughing at Jack's awful jokes.
"Miguel! You're looking old . . . " Jack spoke, slapping Miguel hard across the back with a chubby hand and causing him to cough.
"You're looking good too, Jack." Miguel replied, stifling the true response that welled up within him.
"Shall we?" Jack asked, gesturing into the restaurant. Miguel wrapped an arm around Ophelia's waist and they led the way through the door.
Soon they were seated at a table. The waitress had taken their drink orders, and Jack had already made several inappropriate jokes when he dropped the big bomb.
"Look at you two. You must be at it like rabbits." He spoke, stopping everyone dead in their seats. Even Ellen looked a little surprised, but Jack just leaned in closer. Miguel could feel the color drain from his face, while at the same time he felt as though he were on fire. He felt Ophelia's hand on his leg, urging him to relax, but he could still feel the embarrassment welling up inside of him. He remained silent, and Jack balked. "What, not at all?"
This comment struck Miguel deeply, and his eyes fell to where Ellen was picking nervously at her napkin. He wished then that the floor would open up and swallow him. He focused intently on her frail hands folding and re-folding the small piece of blue fabric, tuning out completely. He thought Ophelia said something then, and whatever it was it smoothed out the situation, as Ellen's hands stilled and Jack sat back in his seat. He tuned even further out, and suddenly he was on the street with Ophelia. He heard her say goodbye and then felt her helping him into the cab before crawling in after him.
They rode home in silence. Once they arrived back at the apartment, he was vaguely aware of climbing the long staircase to their third floor flat. As they readied for bed, Miguel began to notice that Ophelia was watching him closely. He sat down on the bed as all his feelings suddenly came crashing down on him. Ophelia looked over from where she was changing.
"Guel, what's wrong?" She finally asked, slipping on her tank top and sitting down next to him on the bed. He shook his head, laying back and sighing deeply. Ophelia frowned. "Is this about what Jack said? Because you know I understand."
She lay down next to him and switched off the light. In the dim moonlight she could see the sadness in his eyes. He shook his head.
"No, it doesn't have anything to do with Jack." He told her, reaching out to take her face in his hands. He kissed her gently, drawing her closer and closer until their bodies were pressed tightly together. He kissed her again, this time rolling on top of her. She reached up and pulled off his shirt, and he was suddenly clad in nothing but boxers. Despite the heat of the balmy summer night he trembled against her and she paused.
"You're shaking." She told him, reaching up to push back his hair. He nodded, kissing her again. Again she paused. "We don't have to . . . "
"No, I want to. Please." He asked, a strangely desperate look appearing in his eyes. She nodded, and he bent to kiss the nape of her neck. As he kissed her throat, her shoulder, behind her ear, his shaking grew worse and worse. Finally he was trembling so violently Ophelia grabbed his bare shoulders to steady him.
"Stop, Guel. You can't do this." She spoke, and he raised his head to argue. She caught his eye and he lowered his head again quickly, resting it on her shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her and they lay there in silence for a moment before Miguel spoke up.
"I want to so bad, Ophie. I love you so much, but . . . I . . . " he trailed off, and Ophelia felt a tear land on her skin. She stroked his hair until his body was wracked with sobs. Clutching his head to her chest she attempted to soothe him.
"Please, it's all right. I know you want to. It's okay . . . "