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[Jul. 29th, 2009|04:45 pm] |
23rd December, 1997
Eliot tugged his beanie down further on his head and scrunched into scarf and coat as he trotted down the snowy street, chanting, "Cold, cold, cold, oh my god, cold," under his breath. Streetlights made the snow yellowish, but bright Christmas lights strung everywhere made little spots of color bounce everywhere. He liked Christmas though he didn't celebrate it; it was so bright and cheerful, and Scott's family always made a big deal of it. Scott had been over to his house innumerable times during Hanukkah for dinner. They'd always shared holidays and birthdays.
Ahead rose the building holding the studio. Eliot increased his speed, dodging late-evening shoppers and slow-moving traffic. Up the steps, and he pulled out keys to unlock the main door, hopping from one foot to the other to try and keep whatever warmth he'd worked up moving.
Scott's hands were shoved hard into his coat pockets, the bag hanging over his arm banging into his leg as he half-walked, half-trotted along the street. He had his chin tucked into his chest, trying to keep it inside the scarf he had on which had slipped down, but he didn't want to pull his hand out yet to fix it again. The gloves he was wearing were thin and had a hole in palm where he'd caught them on a packing crate earlier in the day. He was on his way home, his mother's Christmas gift dangling from his arm, nose feeling like it was frozen, and needing to pee like a horse.
As he rounded the corner he saw a familiar figure at the door of the building where Danceworks Unlimited was situated. "Eliot!" he cried out, darting across the street between cars and other pedestrians. He reached the stairs and took them one at a time, a most unusual thing for Scott, but completely necessary thanks to the call of Mother Nature. "Man, am I glad to see you! I really need to pee! C'n I use the bathroom?" he asked, the desperation now mounting in his voice as the chance of being able to go soon started to take shape.
Eliot dropped the keys when he heard his name, and looked over his shoulder to see Scott running his way. He waved, then picked up the keys, shaking off the snow, the jingling a bright sound.
"Didn't your mom ever teach you to piss before you left wherever you were?" he asked with a grin, and did the little shimmy-push it took to get the stubborn doors open. The door gave, and he stepped into the lobby, grateful for the warmth. "Come on. Up the stairs. Second star to the right and straight on till morning, all that jazz."
Scott rocketed past him, a blur of winter coat and dark hair, and clattered up the steps to the third floor while Eliot relocked the main doors, not bothering to turn on the lights. He could find his way around blindfolded. Up the steps and down the hall, and in the half-light he could see Scott hopping up and down, waiting for him. Eliot thought about really taking his time, going very slowly, but it was clear Scott was getting desperate, and he wasn't that much of a bastard. So he got the studio door open and barely got out of the way before Scott bowled him over, running for the bathroom.
Shaking his head, Eliot flipped on half the lights, leaving off the ones in reception. The studio lay mostly in shadow, but he didn't need a lot of light to play the piano. He pulled off his winter gear and unlaced his heavy boots, setting everything off to the side, and padded across the floor in his sock feet.
Pulling out the bench, he sat, and flexed his hands, contemplating what to play.
"Oh that was so good it almost hurt!" Scott sighed in a rush as he came out of the bathroom, refastening his jeans. He'd managed to get his gloves off as he'd crossed the floor, dropping them as he went. His scarf was around his neck still but his coat was on his arm, having collected it on the return journey, from the doorway where he'd shed it in his hurry.
He looked around for the bag carrying his mother's gift, a beautiful soft cashemere cardigan he knew she'd liked, having commented on it when they had walked by it in the window of the small store it was displayed in. He'd gone back and put it on layby the next week, using the money he'd been earning helping the removalists after school, a job his father had lined up for him, and had finally paid it off that evening, just in time for Christmas.
In the half light he finally spied the bag, walking over to pick it up and collecting his gloves on the way, making a path back to where Eliot was now sitting at the piano. "So what're you doing here, man? Aren't you supposed to be home, with y' ma and pa and all them relatives?"
Eliot pointedly looked down at Scott's big booted feet, then lifted his head. No matter how many years he'd been coming there, he never remembered to take off shoes. He moved over on the piano bench to give Scott room to sit and remove them.
"We had dinner already, and did the family things, the traditional things. I made my escape as soon as I could, because my aunt Julia wears on my nerves, and I'd rather make myself scarce than fight with her." He slanted a wry grin up at Scott. "That's pretty traditional, too." He gave a one-shouldered shrug and began to play Sex and Candy, the first song that came to mind. "You doing last minute shopping?"
Scott sat down obediently, lifting first one foot and unlacing his work boots, then the other, carefully putting them down again on the floor. The run up the stairs had cleaned most of the dirt and snow off them, but they were still wet, so he wouldn't dream of putting them on the piano.
"Yeah, just picked up mamma's gift," he said, proudly picking up the bag containing the cardigan and holding it open for Eliot to see. "It's that one I told you about? She saw it in the window and liked it, so I been paying it off, with the money from working for Pa's buddies. Been good, with Christmas and all people have been getting stuff delivered," he added, knowing it was completely unnecessary as Eliot knew where Scott was most days, Scott having missed a few classes with the working.
Eliot leaned in a little closer so that he could see inside the bag and not stop playing. "That's pretty. It'll look nice on her. She'll like it."
He straightened and slid his eyes quickly over the broad expanse of Scott's shoulders, shown off very well by the black turtleneck he wore. Working for his dad had helped Scott fill out even more; he'd been heavier, more muscular than Eliot for a while now, thanks to working out for basketball, and all the dancing he did. That, with the little goatee he now wore, made him look older than seventeen. Eliot didn't feel so guilty now about looking.
"What did you get the rest of your family?"
Scott went through the list, ticking off on his fingers as he recited his family members and the things he thought of, and managed to get for them for Christmas. He loved Christmas, the one time of the year they were all always there, and his mother would sit at the piano and play carols with them all singing along, his father a fine baritone, and his little baby sister with quite a good soprano. His father wasn't tired and his mother was able to play what they all wanted, Eliot was always with them, which Scott really loved, and others from the neighbourhood would often come over to join in the sing-a-long. It was about the only time Scott would actually not find it a chore to sit still for a long stretch.
"You still coming over?" he asked, nonchalant, and the question unnecessary, but Scott asking it anyway once he reached the end of his list.
Eliot switched over to playing Push, then smiled. "Don't I always? We always share holidays. Besides, I like those cookies your mom makes--the ones with the crazy name. Snickerdoodles. Always makes me laugh, man." He chuckled under his breath, unable to resist. "So yeah, I'll be there. Early, because if I don't, you'll have eaten everything."
Scott's smile widened when Eliot said 'snickerdoodle'. He didn't know why, it was just the way Eliot said it that sounded different, not even his folks said it like that so Scott didn't know what it was. "Y' know I'd save you some, especially if you asked real nice now!" he teased, nudging the other with his shoulder, his eyes flickering over Eliot's face and down to his hands. He'd always admired Eliot's hands. The long fingers seeming to stroke the keys rather than push on them like Scott felt his own did. Even his mother had commented on Eliot's technique, saying he was a naturally gifted player and was able to coax music with feeling from the keys, not just bash out a piece.
Since Eliot had been going to college they had still had that in common, Scott trying to finish school Eliot working on his library degree. Scott had never really liked books, and Eliot's love of them had him puzzled, but he'd often enjoyed laying stretched out on the floor of the studio with Eliot reading to him, sometimes, depending on the story, ending up standing up and performing to the words, the story winding itself around them as Eliot read.
"Plus Mamma always makes extra when she knows you're comin' anyway!" he added with a grin.
"She has to, for anyone else to have a chance at anything," Eliot teased. He'd never seen anyone eat as much as Scott; even when he and his brother were teens, he didn't think that they ate as much. Scott had some crazy metabolism. He glanced down at Scott's flat belly, his trim waist. Whatever he ate never went to fat, anyway.
He switched over to Hey Jealousy. "Ruby coming too? She's nice. Pretty hair."
"It is, yeah," he agreed with a bit of a dreamy smile. "Feels real nice too. She might, depends on her folks, and her Gramma. She's in hospital, so if she's allowed home Ruby can come over. If they don't let her out then they're going over to visit with her in the hospital." Scott didn't like hospitals. Had no reason for it, they just creeped him out and Eliot knew it, and fortunately Ruby did too, and didn't ask him to go there with her if she had to go. "That'd suck, having to spend Christmas in there," he added softly, his head now propped on one hand so he could look at Eliot and what he was playing, his fingers of his free hand resting on his thigh, their legs pressing comfortably together where they sat on the piano stool.
He enjoyed watching Eliot's profile when he was concentrating, like when he was playing, or reading a book, or watching a movie. "No chance you and Merri are going to get back together again?" he asked.
Eliot hummed thoughtfully. "No, I don't think so. Four months was a pretty good run, and we parted on good terms. Better to call it done than let it limp along and drag both down." He glanced over to Scott's face, half in shadow, heavy brows, sharp-cut cheekbones, strong jaw. He'd grown up well, but then Eliot had always suspected that he would. "Having a girlfriend is nice, but probably won't go looking for another one right away. If someone happens to show up, good, but if not, that's okay, too."
Scott never had to work to attract anyone; all he had to do was to show up. He had good looks and a friendly, easy charm that pulled people to him like bees to a flower. Not that he was the least flower-like. The thought made Eliot smile. But as easily as he drew them he just as easily moved on. As far as he knew all Scott's girlfriends were short term, and none of them were ever angry with him when they parted ways. It was a gift he had, and it would be easy to be jealous of it, but it was just Scott.
Scott saw the corner of Eliot's mouth tuck up as he smiled at something. His jaw tilted a little as he looked at Eliot. "Penny for y' thoughts," he said, wondering what it was that would put a smile like that on Eliot's face. He knew what it was when Eliot was reading, or dancing, or talking, or running his long fingers over the spines of books in a bookcase, but right now, playing the piano as he was, Scott was left in the dark a little, not just metaphorically. They knew most thing about one another but Scott knew there was more to Eliot than he was letting on, and it piqued his curiosity when he saw little things like the smile, wanting to know how he could do that, put that smile on those lips. "As long's y' got change that is!" he added with a lazy grin of his own.
"They're not worth even change from a penny, ma petite fleur," he said, his smile turning to a grin. "So you don't have to scramble to find it. You should be grateful that I'm saving you the effort. Not many are as thoughtful and considerate a friend as I am."
Scott frowned, both because he wasn't sure what Eliot just called him, and he was pretty sure there was a lot going on in his friend's mind but it was clear he didn't want to share. That irked him, sometimes, that Eliot didn't want to tell him something, as they shared everything, Scott always telling him what was going on, Eliot sometimes having that small, distant look in his eyes that left Scott a little frustrated, but never saying anything.
"What did you just call me?" he asked, putting a grin on to cover up the frown. "Should I be knocking you on your ass right about now?" he added, the threat one they both knew was completely in jest.
Eliot took his hands off the keys and jestingly brought them up in fists. He and Scott had never really fought; they'd wrestled around, cuffed one another, but nothing ever serious. He'd been in fights, serious ones, during high school, but he'd never started any of them. And usually didn't finish them, but he liked to think that he got in a few good hits of his own.
"I called you 'my little flower,'" he said with a grin. "Because you're sooo sweet. Gonna make something of it, Daisy?"
Scott blinked, then his eyes widened as Eliot called him Daisy, his hands darting out and grabbing Eliot's wrists, holding them and not letting him go. "Daisy, huh?" he grunted, pulled Eliot's arms down, managing to get both wrists gripped in one hand while his other darted to Eliot's ribs, knowing just the place to get him that he would be writhing on the floor if he fought back.
Eliot had big hands but thin wrists, and it was disgustingly easy for Scott to hold both in one hand. He let out an undignified squawk and began to wriggle and pull away while trying to protect his ribs, laughing helplessly and trying to say, "Cut it out" and "Not fair" and "Oh my god, I hate you so much" but not having much luck with any of them. He kicked Scott in the shin, hard, and managed to get to his feet and free one wrist, but he didn't get far; Scott was a lot stronger than he was, and Eliot wasn't going anywhere.
"Now we see the violence inherent in the system! Help, help, I'm being repressed!" he said, once he'd caught his breath.
To Scott being vertical was only one option and when Eliot stood up he decided to counter the move with one completely the opposite, and probably enough to surprise even Eliot. "I'll show you repressed!" he mock growled as he wriggled till he was off the piano stool and heading to the floor, pulling Eliot with him, all the time his hand trying to recapture the other, flailing hand of Eliot's that had escaped. He cushioned Eliot's fall to the floor with his own body, not intent on huriting his friend, just surprising him enough to get him to tell him what he'd been thinking. "C'mon, if you don't tell me I'll swap places with you quicker 'n you can blink!" he grunted, Eliot weighing enough to cause Scott to feel the impact of him as he landed on him.
Eliot oofed as he landed on Scott and then scrambled to get away, but Scott had a hand wrapped in the oversized sweatshirt Eliot wore, and still hadn't let go his wrist. He knew that if Scott pinned him, there'd be no getting up or away unless he wanted to fight dirty, and he didn't. He flung himself to the side and with a little wiggle/duck/twist, pulled out of the sweatshirt, momentarily free of the tickling. He wasn't sure what he'd do next, but he was marginally freer. "I knew that I should've never let you follow me home or fed you. This is the gratitude I get. You turn on me like a mad dog," he said, pulling at his wrist.
The sweatshirt was now caught on Eliot's arm where Scott was holding him and tangling up Scott's hand that was holding on, meaning he couldn't use it to assist in the tickling attack. "I needed a pee and you took pity on me!" he huffed, launching himself up over Eliot and trapping him, mostly, the sweatshirt now tangled around their arms between their upper chests, Scott's free arm now steadily attacking Eliot's side, fingers mercilessly tickling him as he writhed beneath Scott's weight. "I warned y', I did!" he grunted in answer to Eliot's pleas to stop and get off. "Said if you didn't tell me I'd squash ya!"
"Oh god, you're heavy, get off me, you monster," Eliot said, muffled, then grunted and tried to buck him off, twisting to get away from those merciless fingers. "I'm going to piss on you, I swear!" The tee shirt he'd worn beneath the sweatshirt had ridden up as they wrestled around, and the floor was cold beneath his back. "All right, I give!"
"Give what?!" Scott cried out, almost victorious, but still determined, or at least he thought it was, because having Eliot wriggle and writhe beneath him was having an affect on him he hadn't expected, but wasn't overly shocked by, just surprised. He stopped, his fingers giving one more sneaky tweak before he rolled off to the side that had their arms still linked by the tangled sweatshirt. "Jesus, man, aren't you cold?" he teased seeing Eliot's bare torso, lifting his head to look at him for a long moment before looking up at Eliot's face. He let his head thunk back down on the floor as he tried not thinking what he was thinking, his free hand scrubbing at his face and tugging at the front of his hair, his fringe if it was ever long enough to form one, but usually kept cut short at his mother's request.
"Give me the shivers if y' don't put some clothes back on," he said, knowing it wasn't shivers from the cold he was meaning, the small frisson of excitement sparking through his skin.
Eliot lay starfished on the floor, panting for air. "I kept telling them that they should stop feeding you, to keep you small, but no, no one listens to me," he managed. "But maybe it was too late already." He shook his arm. "Let go," he said. "I gave up."
When Scott's fingers unwrapped from around his wrist, Eliot rolled up and to his knees, shaking his hand out of the sweatshirt and at the same time, tugging down his tee shirt. He sat on his haunches and turned his sweatshirt right side out again, pulling it on once more. His sides ached from both laughing and the rough dig of Scott's fingers. Eliot scruffed a hand through his hair, trying to put it back into order, but that was a pretty useless attempt; it did what it wanted.
"You should have more respect for your elders, boy," he said with mock severity. And then he really looked at Scott; he looked oddly thoughtful, or maybe, he was thinking odd thoughts. "What?"
"What?" Scott shot back, not about to say anything and sitting up with ease. He bent one leg, his socked foot sliding along the floor, closer to his butt, as he leaned an arm on the raised knee.
"You looked like you were either constipated, or in deep thought," Eliot replied. "It's hard to tell with you, sometimes." He rubbed a hand over his face. "But anyway. I don't go back on my word, so. What I was thinking. I was just thinking that you're never without a girlfriend. That you've got looks and charm, and they're like bees to a flower. And then I thought it was pretty damn funny, you being a flower, so I had to call you one in my very crappy French. And because I didn't want to say, I was assaulted and mauled unmercifully. It's tragic, my life."
Scott grinned at Eliot, the man's moans something that was water off a duck's back. Eliot didn't have any problems with getting girlfriends, though Scott wondered sometimes what he got up to with them, his own escapades always related but Eliot a little more reticent in his sharing. Scott had never really noticed it till lately, but he'd shrugged it off, figuring Eliot was telling him all he needed to know, even if Scott wanted to know more.
"Poor baby!" he drawled instead, leaning back on his other arm, his leg closest to Eliot still drawn up for the moment. The hand that was dangling lifted, wrist turning until his finger tips were pointed upwards and he lightly rubbed the top of his forefinger and thumb together, the simulation of the 'worlds smallest orchestra' for the whine. "Can y' hear 'em?" he stage whispered.
Eliot rolled his eyes and smacked Scott's hand. "Yeah, yeah. No sympathy from you, you hoodlum."
With grace and ease, Eliot rocked up to his feet, then held out a hand for him, to help him up. "Come on, little flower, we should probably head back out. I think aunt Julia is probably gone by now."
Scott took Eliot's hand and was on his feet quickly, letting go the hand almost as soon as he'd taken it. "Yeah, y' better get back to 'em," he agreed. He reached for his coat and dragged it on, looking for his scarf and gloves, and tugging them on too. "Thanks, for, y' know, being here," he grinned, knowing he'd probably have struggled to make it home, the cold of the night air having had a greater affect on him than he'd expected when he'd left the store after collecting his mother's gift. He reached down and picked up his work boots, smart enough to remember he better carry them across the studio and put them on out in the reception area.
Eliot closed up the piano and nudged the bench back into place. He felt better for having played, better still for having talked with Scott, even though he'd be feeling the wrestling and tickling for a short while. He hummed as he padded across the dance area, light on his feet. When he reached the reception area, he shut off the studio lights, leaving them in darkness except for the light of the recepton desk's lamp. He sat down on one of the chairs and pulled on his boots, bending to lace them up. "What's the plans for tomorrow?"
"Gotta help Dad down the Kitchen, taking the baskets out in the truck. Then doing the deliveries for the store, and then the Secret Santa tomorrow night after dinner." Scott talked as he tugged his boots on, after removing his gloves so he could do the laces up. "Got a few more of them this year," he added, his mouth twisting into a sad smile.
Each year his father had been helping out, with a whole lot of other dockworkers, getting together gifts for families who didn't have them for their kids, and taking them around at night, after most folk were in bed, and leaving them on the porch. It was the one night they knew things were safe, almost like the crooks grew a heart and didn't touch the items left out, the police being given a list of places they were going to to help them keep the patrols up in those areas that night.
He finished lacing his boots and stood up, pulling his gloves on and adjusting his scarf again, tucking it inside his coat to try and keep it in place this time. "What're you doing? Keeping Aunt Julia entertained?"
"She's leaving tomorrow. Tonight was the last night of Hanukkah. So I'll be spared more lectures on how a man shouldn't be a librarian, how I should turn my talents to more profitable areas. Like accounting." Eliot's tone was scathing. "Numbers. Not my thing." He tugged his jeans legs down over his boots, then stood. "So anyway, I'm free. If you and your dad want a hand, here's two." He held them up and wiggled his fingers. "I'd show you my massive biceps, but I wouldn't want you to get a complex, or anything."
Scott snorted inelegantly. "Right. Well, we c'n always use an extra pair Dad's always said, so what time'll you be ready? We're going down the Kitchen about 2.00, after the lunch rush is over," he said, referring to the meals the shelter served every day. "Course if you want to come over earlier you can. Momma might even have some fresh snickers just comin' out of the oven, if you're real lucky!" He picked up the bag containing his mother's gift and pulled the door open, stepping out into the dimly lit hallway.
"Wait on me," Eliot said, tugging the knit cap on his head. It made his weird hair even weirder, but it was warm. He wrapped the red scarf loosely around his neck, and shoved his arms into his coat, not bothering to button it yet as he hustled out the door after Scott. As he locked the door, he said, "Okay, I can be there at a quarter till, ride down with you guys. Want me to see if Joe wants to tag along?"
"More the merrier!" Scott replied, fingers struggling with the buttons of his coat as he'd put his gloves on again before buttoning it. "I'll tell Pa tonight so'z he can make sure there's plenty of room in the truck for everyone." Already Scott could feel the cold from outside starting to creep into the unoccupied floor, only the heat from below having kept it at bay, but the insistent chill of the night slowly pushing it back.
Eliot jingled his keys, then dropped them into his pocket. "Really, you doofus. It's easier to get dressed if you remember the right order. Coat, then gloves. How do you ever get out of the house?" He reached over and jerked at the gloves, yanking at them until they came off.
"Hey!!" Scott grumbled, but made a much quicker job of fastening his coat, giving his scarf another quick tug and adjustment, all the while the bag with his mother's gift swinging effortlessly from his forearm. Patting himself down, checking his coat was in place, along with his scarf now, he held out his hand for his gloves. "Please? Before I get frostbite?"
Eliot pushed his hands into them, then did a little soft-shoe and jazz hands. "Aren't these the ones I gave you for Christmas a couple of years ago?" he asked, tugging them off and handing them back.
"Yeah," Scott said a little sheepishly, the tear in the palm he'd made earlier that day flapping as Eliot waved his hands. "Gonna have to get Jellycat to mend 'em for me," he admitted, taking them back and slipping them onto his hand. "Damned nail in a packing crate was sticking out and the trolley slipped."
"Huh. Did it rip the skin? The nail, I mean. I didn't notice you favoring it or anything, and it didn't seem to give you any trouble when you were accosting me. And tetanus shots are no fun at all. They use a needle this big," Eliot said, holding his hands about a foot apart. "Maybe bigger. Right into your non-existent ass."
And that was a lie. Scott's ass was definitely not non-existent anymore. Eliot knew that for certain because he'd been looking. It was very, very fine, taut and muscular, along with his legs. Hell, Scott was fine all over--he'd grown up nice. But that wasn't something he'd be likely to share with him. He seldom spoke to Scott about the girls he dated, and certainly never about the few guys he'd been with. Things like that were private, even from Scott, though Scott himself lived under a policy of full disclosure and didn't understand Eliot's reticence. Eliot had heard far more about the girls Scott dated than he really needed to know.
"Naah, I was quick enough to get my hand out of the way, too quick really, as that's how it ended up torn." He looked at the flap, pushing it against his palm, before looking at Eliot. "So no need for needles, any size or shape, in any part of me!" He shoved his hands in his pocket and started toward the staircase he'd barrelled up only a little while ago, expecting Eliot to follow.// |
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