He’s at his usual place behind his desk, his long fingers clacking away at the keyboard. A rapid succession of action, which looks like a shooter game, moves across the monitor, the sound silenced by the bulky headphones atop his head.
Leaving is still an option. He’d never know. Yet, I cross the room, hovering behind him.
Once he ends the round as a winner, I tap his shoulder, expecting some surprise. But this is Lev—calm, cool, collected—and he merely twists in his chair and slides his headphones down to loop his neck. “Hey,” he greets gruffly. “What are you doing here? It’s late.”
One in the morning, to be precise.
“Couldn’t sleep. Figured you wouldn’t be either.” My gaze drifts from his face to the paused game. “Fun game?”
“Could be better. Want to try?”
Try? I stare at the screen, deciphering the images making up a first player shooting game. From my short time down here, the rapid succession of keys told me I’d fail at this.
“You said you always wanted to.”
Without waiting for a response, Lev nudges his chair back a few inches, and large hands encompass my waist before any of it processes in my overtired mind. He moves me between his legs, backs me up, and settles me over his lap.
I’m sitting on Lev.
Lev’s hands are on my hips.
What. The. Fuck?
He’s barely interacted with me for half the week, and now, he’s pulling me onto his lap like nothing’s changed? Lev makes my head spin, and not always in a good way.
Logically, I understand why I’m sitting on him. There’s no second chair, and teaching me is probably too difficult while standing. But still…
He seems unfazed as he loops one arm around to pull the keyboard closer, and he takes my right hand, resting it on top of the mouse before covering it with his own. He directs me to the keys, murmuring instructions about which key does what, but my out-of-body experience makes focusing a challenge.
I’m sitting on Lev, and his hand is on mine, like this is normal.
“You think you got it?” Warm breath blows across my nape. His chest comes against my back as he straightens, shifting me into a better position. His hand slides off mine to instead rest on my thigh, keeping me stable—which is useful, considering I’m seconds from toppling over.
He slips the headphones from his neck onto my head, keeping the ear closest to him bare. “So you can hear both meand the game. Now…go.” He taps the space key to un-pause the game, throwing our character into deadly chaos.
My fingers start jabbing at keys with no actual pattern or process. The sound of enemy’s gunfire ricochets in my ear, my other picking up his murmured instructions. Too soon, the screen flashes red with my virtual blood splattered across it, and aGAME OVERtakes over the monitor.
He grunts. “Go again.”
Without checking if I’m prepared, he restarts the round. It’s more of the same, with me dying quickly, but after successfully taking out one enemy soldier.
“Good,” he hisses. “Keep it up.”
His compliment, while simple, embeds in my senses in a way that feels like more, praise I didn’t realize could affect me.
After the third round, I managed to kill a handful before dying myself.
“You’re getting it now.”
I play four more rounds, managing to stay alive longer and longer each time. By the end, my fingers are somewhat managing to coordinate my hits. With every kill, Lev’s warmth disappears as he leans away to give me the space to play, throwing out suggestions less and less.
After the next round, my hands slump onto the desk. “That was intense.”
“Did it tire you out?”
I twist to speak directly to him. His legs are spread around mine, arms tense along the armrests, hands curled around the edges. The veins in his arms pop, and my gaze follows them up over his chest to his face, realizing too late he’s caught me checking him out.
“A bit. Thanks.”
