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Cupcake Kissin’ 30 – Alex Ankarr
If only he had the good sense that could immediately cause him to push back and resist Mack’s advances. But one moment goes past… two… three… and it’s too good to manage that, quite yet. Mack isn’t smooth or delicately subtle and arousing, with lips and hands, particularly. It’s not about skill at eliciting a response from Caspar, not about drawing it out and playing him like an instrument. No, what’s so compelling, what’s sucking Caspar in is the intensity of it. It’s that Mack seems as caught up as he is, his hands as wild, his mouth as fast, wet, fierce, urgent. If it was more graceful it would be easier to pull away.
But isn’t being able to fake passion a pretty subtle art, in the arts of love, itself? Caspar supposes so, and wishes that that thought hadn’t occurred to him so easily, too. Really. Is he going to be this easy? A pushover, a casual conquest for someone with the charisma and the fame and the looks to barely remember him a month from now?
He’s always felt that he’s overburdened, maybe a little too much even, with pride. Paying his own way, working his way through, doing the right thing, all of that. You can take it too far, it’s true. But on the other hand, on occasion it’s extremely useful. On occasions like this one, for an example.
It’s not easy, but he makes his fingers stop their digging in, his pelvis stop its rhythmic sway and grind. (That echoes Mack’s, and if they were dancing – they might as well be dancing – it would be enough to get them arrested for obscenity, even on a modern dance-floor and an oblivious crowd.) Then he pulls away – ass first, and that’s not going to be a dignified look from the rear, although fortunately there’s no-one to see. Mack doesn’t seem to notice, or at least acknowledge. He still has his hands on Caspar’s face, is nipping and sucking at his upper lip, and Caspar just yanks himself free. It’s not as if anything about it is going to be dignified, there’s no point even trying.
He backs away, rubs his face, and is stuck, completely, for anything to say. Certainly anything that’s going to make this very awkward situation any easier at all. It takes a moment for him to remove his hands, to peep out and get a look at how Mack is responding.
He wonders if he looks the same, as wrecked as Mack does. Mack is red in the face – not surprising, all the exertion and this sudden embarrassment. He looks a lot less perfect than he did ten minutes ago – perspiring visibly, face a little shiny with it, blankly wide-eyed and staring, with his groping hands fallen limp.
Well, someone has to say something, Caspar guesses. He opens his mouth to speak, but Mack gets in ahead of him, burning a trail away and walking, fast, over to the stove, where he stirs at something bubbling (and smelling very good) at what looks like complete random. ‘Sorry. I guess that was a bad idea. I mean.’ He doesn’t go on, and Caspar isn’t sure exactly what he’s supposed to take from that.
He hates that he’s just stood there twisting his hands, and stands up straighter. ‘Ah, it’s okay,’ he offers. ‘It’s just, I mean… I’m seeing someone.’ He isn’t actually really sure that it’s a completely valid reason – as if he needs a reason. Two or three dates don’t exactly constitute a heavy-going relationship, after all.
And at that, the line of Mack’s back tenses up a bit, his shoulders hunched. What, he’s pissed off? Well, Caspar supposes most celebrities get to be kind of entitled, after a while… maybe. ‘Oh. Right. I see. Anyone I know?’
And now Caspar feels a little bit embarrassed, like he’s claiming Sam as some kind of boyfriend, and if that gets back to Sam and it’s not how he feels about the whole thing then… What the hell, you can over-think things. ‘I imagine so. Sam, Sara’s assistant?’
‘Oh. Well, congrats. That’s great. I guess…’
And now, now Caspar is mad. Because there’s the whole elephant doing the dozi-do in the middle of the room issue that they’re not even addressing. Really, they’re not even going to mention it, like Caspar is the only one who isn’t quite free and single here? ‘And so are you, right?’ he plunges in. Even though a careful, sane, business-like little voice in the back of his head is telling him to just shut up, shut up, let sleeping dogs lie and don’t aggravate potentially useful and profitable customers. Even if they’ve just made moves on you and managed to put you in the wrong about it, somehow. When they’re totally the ones who are in the wrong, god damn.
He doesn’t listen at all to the little voice. (He very rarely does listen to the little voice. All the brains and none of the sense of the family, Aunt Gertie used to say fondly.) ‘And you, too, huh?’ he says, deliberately. When all he gets is a slightly puzzled, barely eye-contacting look from Mack, turning back from busily, heavy-handedly casually getting plates out of a high enamelled rack, he isn’t backing down. ‘You’re seeing someone,’ he continues. Yeah, it’s coming out in the open. No way he’s being the only bad guy, here. Or the bad guy, period. ‘Adam, right? He’s been into Honey Bunny’s with you before. Sara says you guys are together. You were just talking to him on the phone. Right?’
He has to add that last ‘right’, because he has a feeling if he doesn’t really press the point, then Mack isn’t going to acknowledge it. It’s going to be as if he didn’t even say anything, and they’ll move right along, and it won’t even have been underscored just what a potentially two-timing casually-seducing asshole Mack has been. Or tried to be, at any rate.
Maybe he’s feeling a little resentful. He’d probably be less resentful if he hadn’t got so hot and bothered, if he hadn’t been so close to succumbing. Before he found his wits and his will-power, anyway.
© Copyright Alex Ankarr 2014
No unauthorised reproductions allowed. All rights reserved to the author. No inspirations for characters drawn from real-life individuals, no resemblance to real individuals intended.
Photo credit: Lyn Whitfield on Flickr, public domain.