The Precipice

            Blaine meets Sylvia the next morning.  He had expected to find Douglas in his “usual” spot at the table and had jumped about a foot in the air when he had discovered a tiny white haired woman in her 60s instead of the strong scent of coffee and spice that accompanied the majestic older man.  Sylvia simply laughed at him and Blaine immediately liked her. 

            ‘He's at work, dear.  I'm guessing that he didn't let you know to expect me in the morning?'

Her voice is soft but strong, and she smiles at him when he shakes his head, unable, temporarily, to control his tongue or breathing enough to speak.

            ‘Typical.  Men – you're all useless!  I'm Sylvia, the housekeeper.  You must be the young Mr. Anderson.'  She looks him up and down, and Blaine feels himself straighten under her scrutiny.  ‘Come on then – let's get you fed.'

She cooks him a “Full English” breakfast and he falls a little bit in love with her cooking, though a small part of him yearns for the simplicity of a simple bacon roll and strong coffee.  They chat throughout breakfast, and when Sylvia discovers that Blaine has yet to see much more than his temporary bedroom, the open-plan kitchen/diner and the large main bathroom, she takes him on a guided tour of the rest of the apartment.  The place is much larger than he had imagined: 4-bedrooms and 5 entertaining rooms – it even has a separate library, complete with a little galleried landing.  The biggest surprise comes when Sylvia shows him the separate 2-bedroom “Guest Apartment”.  Blaine suddenly feels incredibly intimidated and confused – why does Douglas have so much space when he lives by himself? 

Sylvia leaves around midday and Blaine spends his time curled up in an antique red leather wingback chair with his thoughts, a T.G. Green mug of coffee, and a sweet-smelling well-thumbed copy of Frederico García Lorca's poetry in the original Spanish. 

¿Quién segó el tallo

de la luna?
(Nos dejó raíces

de agua.)

¡Qué fácil nos sería cortar las flores

de la eterna acacia!

The heat leaches from the coffee into his fingers and the old tome is heavy in his lap - it helps to ground him as his thoughts meander, interspersed as they are with fragments of poetry and bitter-sweet sips.  The light, though Winter-cold and cool in tone, is perfect for reading.  He curls his legs under himself, and slowly, slowly he lets himself begin to properly process the events of the past few days. 

Se mueren de amor los ramos. 

La noche de anís y plata 
relumbra por los tejados. 
Plata de arroyos y espejos. 
Anís de tus muslos blancos. 

Se mueren de amor los ramos.

He stumbles through darkness – fierce Anger, aching Hurt, brutal Betrayal, and shattering Doubt all vying for equal attention.  His mind is filled with the buzzing of a thousand thoughts, like wasps, they swarm – crawling beneath his skin, too tight and hot/cold.  Hot/cold.  Hot/cold.  His breath comes in stuttering shudders and wetness moistens his cheeks – drip, drip, drip.  But he is safe here with the books and the thick, dusty smell of vanilla.  He is safe here.  But he cannot stay here forever.  Eventually he has to return to the reality of his world before Douglas.  He cannot stay in this fairytale.

Se mueren de amor los ramos.

-+-

            Douglas finds him curled, and tiny, in the library, fast asleep.  The light is fading fast with the day and the long shadows emphasise the length of the boy's eyelashes, as they lie fanned out across his cheekbones.  He looks so very young in sleep - his skin glowing pale in the dying light, his lips slightly parted. 

He cannot bring himself to wake the lad. 

Eventually he manages to tear his eyes away from the still form of the Adonis before him, and retires to the kitchen.

-+-

            It is completely dark when he wakes – his eyes feel puffy and his lips dry.  Blaine stretches tortured and cramped limbs slowly, teasing knots from muscles.  He feels his way to the door without incident then makes his way through the corridor towards the light spilling from the kitchen. 

Douglas in a tailored grey suit is something to behold – he has removed his jacket and is cooking; his back to Blaine.  The waistcoat emphasises the broadness of his shoulders and his narrow waist - the silk at the back clinging across the expanse as he moves.  His shirt sleeves are rolled to his elbows – Blaine spots the wink of cufflinks on the counter top next to a discarded silk tie – and he finds himself staring, fascinated by this version of Douglas. 

He makes his way over to the table, which is devoid (for once) of blue-prints, and makes a point of scraping the chair slightly as he draws it back so that Douglas is made aware of his presence.  The man in question turns and Blaine's breath catches a little at the sight of Douglas with his top button undone revealing the long, pale column of his neck. 

            ‘How was work?'  Blaine is secretly glad that, for once, he manages to sound casual.

            ‘Busy.  It's always hectic after a holiday – the clients get edgy when the office is shut.'  He sounds tired and Blaine has to physically stop himself from getting up to embrace the man.

            ‘I guess that's a good thing though?  Better than it being too quiet.'

            ‘Exactly.'  Douglas smiles and turns back to move a pan of something from the hob.

Blaine catches the smell of vegetables as Douglas drains the cooking water away and he wonders what is in store and how often Douglas cooks for more than one. 

            ‘Get up to much?  Sorry I forgot to tell you I'd be back at work today…'  Douglas lets the statement trail off, leaving Blaine to fill-in the unspoken implications.

            ‘I just did a bit of reading.'

Blaine is certain that Douglas would be able to see the redness of his eyes but Douglas, ever the gentleman, does not call him out on it.  He watches Douglas plate up – the aroma of the roast chicken causing his mouth to water and he suddenly realises how hungry he was.

            ‘Can I help with anything?'  Blaine kicks himself mentally for not asking sooner, but thankfully Douglas merely smiles and shakes his head.

-+-

            The next few days pass smoothly and all too quickly for his liking – Blaine seems to fit so neatly and effortlessly into Douglas' life.  They grab breakfast together at a tiny little café on the riverfront run by an elderly Italian couple – coffee and a Danish pastry with the day's paper, then Blaine walks Douglas to the office before setting off to explore the sights New York has to offer.  They meet for lunch at a different address each day – usually a quirky little venue where they grab a “slice” or a sandwich and Douglas makes Blaine tell him about his adventures that morning then delights in suggesting activities to occupy Blaine for the afternoon.  Blaine enjoys his outings as a proper tourist but there is always a part of him that is permanently on edge when he nears certain areas of the city where he may run into someone he knows. 

He never does.

As the sun begins to set Blaine heads back to Douglas' offices (the reception staff quickly know him by name) and he waits with Douglas' PA, Penny, chattering about the latest celebrity gossip until Douglas emerges from his last client meeting of the day.  From there the pair head straight to the Club for a drink (which always turns into a couple) before heading back to Douglas' to cook (or via somewhere where they can grab something “to go” on the way if Douglas has had a particularly hard day).  

            On New Year's Eve, Douglas has to work – a particularly important client from China had flown over specifically for a face-to-face, Blaine spends his day discovering Central Park.  He had been disappointed when Douglas had broken the news that he would not be around for their usual lunch, and that he would probably not be home until after 11pm.  He had seemed genuinely remorseful, but Blaine had understood – business was business, at least that's what everyone always said.   It had not made it feel any less painful.  He had been surprised that he had not been asked to accompany Douglas but the thought had been immediately quashed by a darker one -

            As what exactly, Blaine?  Douglas can't exactly take a teenager to a business dinner with him without an explanation.  You are not a couple.  Stop acting like a child.  You're getting attached.  He is not yours.  He's a grown man who owns a business, who has been more than generous letting you stay with him after you screwed your life up.  If anything you are an inconvenience who is outstaying his welcome.

So when he had received a text message from Charlie he had not hesitated to welcome the distraction.

Charlie: Anders!  8pm my place?  Or have you got plans?  ;)

Blaine:  I'm sure I can find a way to join you.  ;-)  What are you thinking? - B

Charlie: Wear something cute – I'm popping your clubbing cherry.

Blaine:  What makes you think I'm a clubbing virgin, Charlie? - B

Charlie:  Seriously?

Blaine:  I've been clubbing before. - B

Charlie:  Not in NY, baby.  See you at 8.  Remember – wear something cute – I never pay for my own drinks, Anders.

Blaine:  I'm not exactly 21…and my fake ID is not exactly up to NY standards… :-S - B

Charlie:  Leave all that to Uncle Charlie. x

-+-

            The club in question is in a converted church and Blaine can appreciate the irony of the building's repurpose to gay bar.  The interior is covered in gothic art and neon pink crucifixes which make Blaine feel more than a little uncomfortable, until the first few drinks anyway.  Charlie had not been joking when he said that he never bought his own drinks – a policy he takes very seriously and enforces upon Blaine the instant they are inside.

            ‘The thing is, Anders – we are two, very attractive young men in New York, and they,' he makes a sweeping gesture that incorporates most of the rest of the men on the dance floor, ‘they want to thank us.'

            ‘Thank us?'  Blaine has to shout his question over the heavy drum and bass music and he has a feeling he will not be able to talk tomorrow.

            ‘For allowing them to, of course.'

Blaine frowns slightly and Charlie, clad in skin tight leather trousers and a slim-fit emerald green shirt which has the effect of making his eyes positively glow, simply winks at him slyly. 

            ‘Watch and learn, Anders!'

He follows his blonde friend to the bar and watches as Charlie leans onto the polished silver surface so that the material of the shirt is drawn tightly across his shoulders and his leather-clad ass is on display.  Blaine swallows nervously as he watches – he still has no idea what Charlie said to the bouncer but Blaine had not been asked for ID, and he certainly did not look 21, even if he had put effort into what he was wearing.  Charlie had taken one look at his original outfit – the best he could do with the limited clothing he had packed to come up to New York originally (he had arranged for Burt to drop off his things at Douglas' office earlier in the week feeling that a face-to-face would be too embarrassing and emotional) – and had forced him to change.  Though Charlie was a little taller, they were actually a very similar build and fortunately Charlie's clothes had fit Blaine.  The result was that Blaine was now dressed in extremely tight (even for him) black jeans, and a form-fitting blood red shirt which made him feel self-conscious and on display. 

Blaine has no idea how Charlie does it but somehow after a minute or so, the blonde is heading back towards Blaine with two drinks and two men in tow.  Thanking the men for the first drink is awkward, but Charlie handles most of the talking – he gets close to the shorter of the two men on the pretence of being able to be heard over the music – and Blaine awkwardly sips at the drink (amoretto sour) whilst the taller man watches him. 

            ‘Anders, this is Taylor!'  Charlie shouts as a way of introducing Blaine to the man who apparently bought him a drink, ‘and this is Mike!', before he returns his attention back to “Mike”.  Mike seems to enjoy how close Charlie is and it is not long before Charlie takes Mike's hand and leads him to the dance floor, giving Blaine a look as he passes.

Blaine finishes his drink and, not really wanting to be left alone with a man he does not know and risk losing Charlie so early in the evening, motions for Taylor to follow him to the crowded dance floor.

-+-

            He has no memory of getting back to the penthouse but he appreciates how it has started to feel like “home”.  He takes a moment to admire the carving on the ornate double doors that have come to represent everything that Blaine has started to love about New York before opening them and entering the apartment.  His vision swims a little and he tries his best to be stealthy as he heads towards his room when he recalls that Douglas may be back from his business dinner, and may be sleeping. 

            ‘I was starting to worry.'

The concern and relief in Douglas' voice is palpable and Blaine finds himself smiling at the sound.  He spins to face the taller man in time to catch the almost predatory look and slight flush of what he recognises as arousal that flickers across Douglas' features as he takes in Blaine's appearance.  After a night of not paying for a single drink Blaine has become very aware, very quickly, how attractive he apparently is.  It is a novel concept and not one that he has particularly put much thought into before.  However, now, high on life and revved up from a number of downright dirty dances (that got dirtier as the evening progressed) he feels keenly the want that rages through his teenage system.  He leans seductively against the wall and gives Douglas a look that could only be described as smouldering (or as Charlie dubbed it: his ‘fuck-me-eyes'). 

            ‘How was dinner?'

His voice is gravely with having spent the evening shouting, and he notices Douglas swallow at the timbre. 

            ‘Good - Mr. Youxi was very grateful and we won the business.'  Douglas pauses and Blaine licks his lips.  ‘You look…you look like you had an interesting evening.'

            ‘I did.'  Blaine purrs.  ‘Charlie took me out.  It was eye opening.'

            ‘I see.'

Blaine smiles through his eyelashes and catches Douglas' dark eyes with his own.  Blaine's heart is racing in his chest and his motions feel slow, as if he is moving though treacle by the light of a strobe machine.  He pushes himself from the wall and steps towards Douglas, gripping his bicep with his cold hand.  He feels Douglas shiver slightly from the contact or the chill – he is not certain – but a little thrill ripples through Blaine in response.  Douglas' eyes are unreadable but Blaine is too drunk to notice – all he knows is that there is something between them; something he did not feel with any other man in that club that evening; something he wants to understand desperately.  Douglas does not move and Blaine takes it as an invitation.  He leans in as he had watched Charlie do numerous times that evening, and he is certain that Douglas has stopped breathing as he gently presses his body in closer.  The scent of Douglas surrounds and envelops him and he ghosts a kiss across the taller man's pulse point.  He feels Douglas shift slightly as he subconsciously bares his neck to Blaine's lips and something inside Blaine unravels – he presses his lips to the other man's neck and kisses gently.  He feels Douglas' chest as the other man's breathing quickens and Blaine can smell the alcohol on their breaths mingling.  He pulls Douglas closer until their bodies are pressed together and sucks and nibbles the other man's pulse point.  One of them moans – Blaine has no idea whom – but the noise is so hot, and Blaine kisses up Douglas' jaw towards the other man's lips.  He revels in the scrape of stubble against his lips and teeth, and he finds himself rolling his hips against Douglas' as they crash backwards together against the wall behind Douglas.  Blaine presses into him and their lips brush each other's as Douglas finally moves – but not in the way Blaine expects.  Blaine finds himself crashing into the wall as Douglas moves out from under him. 

            ‘God, I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry, Blaine. I should… I'm…I'm going to go to bed.  OK?  I'm so sorry.  I should never have… I'm sorry -'

Blaine frowns in confusion, his body aching from the sudden lack of contact.

            ‘Douglas, wait!'  He shouts as the other man retreats.  He follows and tries to take Douglas' hand but the other man pulls away.  ‘What's wrong?  Did I do something wrong?'

            ‘No, Blaine.  This is wrong.  All of this.  I can't…' 

            ‘Can't what?  Enjoy yourself?'  Douglas refuses to meet Blaine's eyes and he can feel frustration and confusion bubbling though his lust and alcohol flushed veins.

            ‘Don't…'

            ‘Don't what, Douglas?'

            ‘Blaine…' 

            ‘No.  Tell me what's going on because a moment ago you were into this.  Tell me that I'm wrong – tell me that you don't want me.'

            ‘Blaine, please…'

            ‘Please, what?'  The bubbles are roaring now, and Blaine feels himself shaking slightly.

            ‘Let me be strong, Blaine.'

            ‘You aren't denying it.'

            ‘You are a child, Blaine!' 

The words feel like a cane to his back and he struggles to breathe through the tears prickling in the corners of his eyes.

            ‘I'm just some innocent little school boy that you saved to you aren't I?  God, I'm so stupid!'  Blinded he heads for the door – he finds he needs air, the sight of Douglas refusing to meet his eyes suddenly makes him feel sick.

He feels a hand wrap around his forearm but he pulls free.

            ‘Blaine, stop – we should talk about this!'  Douglas' voice is cracked and desperate but Blaine cannot bring himself to face him.

His pulse roars in his ears and for the second time in as many weeks Blaine finds himself running away.  He finds himself back at the bar from earlier as the countdown begins.  He lets himself be swept into the crush of bodies.  He lets the roar of the crowd drown out his thoughts.  He lets himself be lost.

¿Quién segó el tallo

de la luna?