T is for Touch

He was used to nights like this. Russell Dunbar, pressed just a bit too close as they walked the hall leading to his apartment. He was drunk; Timmy carried the brunt of his weight, arm draped about the man's shoulder now in paid protection, a diminutive bodyguard at best. But then, it was never truly his body he was protecting.

There were emotions at stake.

"That bouncer was a jerk," Russell slurred, sliding key in lock. He face planted his front door before he could open it, leaving Timmy to complete the task. He led his boss inside; upon flicking on lights he was met with a heavy groan of blinded agony. The lights dimmed as Timmy watched drunken stumbling towards the sofa.

"That girl looked eighteen, didn't she?"

"Parts of her," replied Timmy. "Sir, I've work in the morning. I trust you'll slither in by noon, as usual?"

"Y'know, I don't ask for much…"

Timmy hung his head, conceding to the fact he would not be leaving quite so quickly.

"A little companionship. Sure, I've got you, but there's only so much I can pay you to do."

"I do have my limits, sir. Frankly, I've grown a bit uncomfortable at having such a familial relationship with your escort service." As Russell flopped upon the sofa, Timmy offered in kind, "Shall we...be partaking of their services this evening, sir? They are on speed dial."

"They don't mean it when they talk to you. Like this, you and me, two people connecting in a big, lonely city. Romantic."

Timmy paused a moment in reflection. "Uhm. All right…"

"I mean organic connections, n-not ones you have to pay for."

"Are you...not paying me…? You know what, nevermind. Yes, sir, it's been a lovely evening as always. Terribly organic. You sleep this off, I'll see you in the morning." Timmy turned.

"Sometimes I wish somebody would just...touch me. And mean it. Like, really mean it."

There was a sudden clarity in Russell's voice that held Timmy's feet in place, a softened sincerity in the words, and he turned slowly to look upon the man who sat straight in shallow light, staring into space. Quite lost, it seemed.

Yes, Russell spoke quite softly now, lingering on words that floated out with thoughtful hesitation. "You ever been with someone like that, Tim? Who just wanted to know what it was like to...to feel you? Not pull anything, just...just touch you because-"

"Yes, I understand," spoke Timmy. Quickly he added, "It always...leads to something, I suppose. Something fleeting. It's not for lack of trying."

"I try," said Russell, seeking Timmy's figure. He asked in earnest, "Don't I try?"

Timmy took steps nearer, sighing out thoughtfully. How to handle this gently? "Mr. Dunbar...if you seek sincerity in a partner, perhaps you're looking in all the wrong places."

"Where else am I supposed to look?!"

"I don't know, sir…" Timmy sat beside Russell, near yet holding space. "Perhaps somewhere other than strip clubs?"

"I ask out every woman I see everywhere, are you kidding me?!"

"Winning strategy, process of elimination."

Russell groaned long and low.

"Quantity over quality," Timmy quipped.

"Well, at least I get laid," shot Russell.

Timmy stood, prepared to leave; there came a hand upon his arm. As his gaze drifted down towards Russell, his eyes diverting towards legs that shook, Timmy sought answers.

Russell muttered simply, "Stay." His fingers slid then...slowly down the curve of Timmy's arm. And carefully, quite deliberately it would seem, his fingertips rested gingerly at Timmy's wrist.

Here Russell's eyes closed down hard, fingertips on skin setting nerves aflight. Here he fell to great relief as Timmy sat back down beside him, just a touch closer than before.

"There was somebody," said Timmy softly, earning Russell's full attention; two bodies eased down in surrender. "In college. A professor. She was older, quite intelligent. I'd make every excuse to talk to this woman, make physical contact with her and it...it wasn't sexual. At the time. I admired her, she made me feel as if I truly mattered…"

"At the time?"

"What?"

Russell snickered lightly. "At the time, it wasn't sexual. You sex'd up a prof?" Timmy's squirming forced further laughter. "You've got a thing for authority figures, huh?"

"No, it was just…"

"Older authority figures...okay, figuring out Timmy's kinks, this is fun."

"Why do I talk to you?"

Russell's laugh was far from mocking, and Timmy tried to place the sound coming from his boss. A chuckle, an endearing sort of thing, the laugh you might give a child with which you were pleasantly amused, upon a face full of joyful glee. A moment ago, Russell had been so melancholy in his drunken state, and now...

What had changed?

Timmy wished to urge himself away. He had work in the morning. He had a boss to answer to.

But the boss in question was right here, smiling his direction with eyes that glimmered in a peculiar sort of glow this evening, one he found intriguing and magnetizing, beyond his better judgement. Perhaps it was merely the alcohol creating such a glow.

Soon it was that he was smiling back at him, a gentle laugh escaping his lips.

If only either of them had read between the lines. Two men lay trapped at sea, peddling for shore; for tonight, a smile exchanged was enough. Seeds buried back on land. Hearts grew, waiting.

Timmy sank his head further against the back of Russell's sofa. "You'll get there, sir. You just have to be yourself."

Leaning back, flopping his head towards Timmy with a groan, Russell admitted defeat. "That's the worst advice you've ever given me, dude, and...seriously, your advice sucks."

"Not… that self. The other one."

"There's another one?"

"There must be." Timmy didn't elaborate. He knew what he meant. It was a comment laced in personal gratification; surely, if he was still here, there must be more to this man.

He couldn't possibly have such poor judgement.

Such poor taste.

In...people. In f...friends? Timmy was granting Russell such a curious look that the man beside him hummed low and nervous, forcing Timmy's eyes away. There fell silence, long and heavy. Reality was setting in.

Russell had to do something. "So that blonde chick was all over you…"

"Her name was Tawny."

"That was a sure thing, man, why didn't you take it?"

"She was drunk off her rocker."

Russell made an elaborate gesture. "I'm...not...are we on two different planets, here? A drunk girl solicits you for sex and you're sitting here with me , are you insane? Wh...did you wanna have sex with me instead of Tawny?! I mean, my schedule's clearly free, so…"

"Listen, you know how- thank you for the offer."

"Any time."

"You said you wanted somebody to...to truly want you. That woman, while certainly physically attractive, was intoxicated. Drunk senseless, her friend had to come peel her off of me, now tell me she actually wanted to know me in any sort of meaningful way."

Russell whined, holding back words. He wanted desperately to speak, finding no compelling argument that would satisfy Timmy's sounder morals.

"Do you think she would have been sitting here engaged in half the amount of dialogue we are, right now?"

"So...you're saying I was the better choice?"

Timmy squeaked out in hesitation. "Iiii...didn't say that…"

"Ya kinda did."

"Mm. How drunk are you, sir?"

Russell chortled now. "Why, you gonna try and solicit me since you missed out on blondie?"

"No...I…" Timmy rubbed his eyes, suddenly questioning his own advice. Why wasn't he with Tawny? How much had he drank this evening? "It's just that the drunker you are, sir, the quicker you fall asleep…"

"You want me to fall asleep first so you can draw something goofy all over me?" Russell gasped lightly. "Wait, is this a sleepover? You wanna do hair and nails? Yeah, I could see you with a perm!"

Timmy resisted smiles. "The drunker you are, the quicker you fall asleep, the faster I escape your clutches."

Russell examined Timmy's face. Ah, a slight sarcastic smirk...he hadn't lost him yet. Russell's head tilted forward in an easy way, his smile soft and warm. Casually, a hand fell now through his hair, shoving it back in one smooth stroke. Relaxed; his eyes fell back to Timmy now, as if he hardly noticed he was there at all. Quite deliberate, it would seem.

If Timmy hadn't known any better, he might have mistaken Russell's ease for flirting.

But then, of course, he...he knew better.

"Glad you're here instead of there," came Russell's soft declaration, easy and light.

Timmy felt relaxed, somehow, at this offering, echoing in kind: "Yes."

"She made you feel like you mattered?"

Timmy blinked rapidly Russell's way. "What?"

"Your prof chick, she uh...she made you feel-"

"Oh." Timmy squirmed slightly. "Yes, but...foolishness of youth, you know."

"You matter, Timmy."

There came a glance of eyes; a stunned Timmy.

"I mean…you matter to..." Russell crossed an arm uncomfortably, rubbing a shoulder to release a sudden bout of nerves. "Uh...I should say that...more...often. When I'm not...plastered."

Timmy focused eyes on a remarkably soft Russell. An honest Russell, whose words were more sincere than usual, more kind and real and loving. He watched as eyes drifted now quite suddenly towards sleep. "Thank...thank you."

"Mm-hm."

And as he lost him to the liquor, Timmy stood on slow feet, hesitant feet that felt the need to draw still closer rather than away. He took one step...then turned instead towards the figure on the sofa, intrigued.

He watched slow breaths move in and out of lungs that worked so diligently to berate him day to day. Eyes drifted towards lips that mocked and ridiculed. It wasn't the first time he'd watched him sleep for just a moment on nights like these...it wouldn't be the last.

But tonight, fingers acted out on sudden impulse.

Timmy Patel reached down, for just a moment, brushing light against Russell Dunbar's cheek. His body ached, a sort of pull the likes of which he found indescribable, all at once uncomfortable and familiar. Uncomfortable, yes, and yet he found it difficult to pull away now, to reclaim these fingers as his own, in much the way this man had taken control of his life.

Timmy took a shallow breath, retrieving fingers that felt new and confused. He held fingertips like hot coals, cooling in the air between two souls, then turned and kept walking, willing his mind to not think better of it.

Russell heard the door close; he lay upon the sofa, fingers easing slow against his cheek, and fell into sleep.