“Now,” Seb continued, his quiet murmur as soothing as Tessa’s bowls, “imagine you’re picking apples. There’s one way up high over your head, nearly out of reach. Loo, loo, loo, loo….” He ran up the scale. Henri joined him on the second “loo.”
“Nice, now keep going, stretch, stretch, reach for it.” Seb pushed Henri’s chin up higher, so far he almost couldn’t swallow. “Breathe from your diaphragm. Take a deep breath, let it out slowly.”
Seb circled. Henri followed each movement with his eyes. “Loo, loo, loo, loo….” Henri hit his limit. Seb kept going.
He made a full circuit and returned to stand in front of Henri. “I have lessons this afternoon. I want you to practice while I’m gone. Keep thinking of picking apples, reaching for something on a high shelf. Believe it or not, it works.” Without another word he swept out of the house. A few moments later the VW rumbled down the driveway, fading from Henri’s hearing.
“Damn. I thought he’d never leave.” Henri dashed into the kitchen and flung the pantry door open. Spices, dried lentils, a bag of potatoes, canned soup, canned tuna, spaghetti noodles, a bottle of wine. Aha! There! Way in the back, on the top shelf. There all the time, and Seb didn’t share. “Mr. Healthy, my ass.
“Loo, loo, loo…,” Henri sang, standing on tiptoes and wriggling his fingers. Almost there! “Loo, loo, loo….” He bounced on his toes. Just one more half inch and…. “Gotcha!”
He snagged the chocolate bar and danced away with his prize. Junk food! Finally! Chocolate goodness exploded on his tongue the moment he peeled the bar open and bit down. Oh damn. Now that was good.
Holy shit! Had he actually bypassed wine for chocolate? Huh. Must be some kind of breakthrough. Wait! He stopped nibbling and reached into the pantry again, stretching for all he was worth. “Loo, loo, loo, loo, loo, loo… loo!” Hot damn! Chocolate and a high C. Wait until he told Seb. Well, not about the chocolate. His throat felt a bit sore, but… a high C!
Seb would be so proud. Wait a minute. Why? Why was the man so concerned? Sure, Lucas paid him for lessons, but Henri’s dance teacher certainly hadn’t put so much effort into seeing him succeed. And Henri wanted Seb to be proud of him. What the hell?
He sank down onto the kitchen floor, munching his pilfered treat.
Now if Sebastian rewarded Henri with chocolate, he might do better with his vocal training. He grinned. What if Sebastian rewarded him with kisses? Or maybe more. Oh yeah. What if, instead of running the other day, Sebastian had fallen to his knees and taken Henri into his mouth? Oh hell yeah!
But… Sebastian cared. He acted like a friend. Fucks were easy to find, friends weren’t, and fucking a friend was a damned good way to lose the friend. And yet, just conjuring the man’s satiny smooth tenor crying out in ecstasy had Henri hard and throbbing.
Was it wrong to want a man he considered a friend? Or did he want the manbecausehe was a friend? Safe. Sebastian made him feel safe, and like he was worth more than his bank account or fame. Then again, exactly how much was Lucas paying him? Probably enough for a helluva lot of chocolate bars.
Henri’s elation crashed and burned. Sebastian had told the truth. Henri was a student, nothing more. A fat wallet full of cash, like he was to everyone else. He picked himself up off the floor and marched to his room for his keys. Might as well make Sebastian earn the money, and learn to keep his hands to himself. But first, time to ride to town and replace Sebastian’s chocolate stash.
Never let it be said that Henri Lafontaine owed anyone anything.
* * *
“Have youever danced close to someone?” Sebastian strolled into the room, swaying to the smooth jazz Henri had playing on the stereo.
Henri shot a glance to the grandfather clock. Wow! He’d been wrapped up in composing and hadn’t noticed the time. His newly acquired high C had called for some revisions. “Not really. There was an awkward high school prom thing my mother insisted I go to.” He’d been photographed a million times with the school homecoming queen on his arm. He’d have preferred her brother.
“You don’t talk about your family much. Are your parents still alive?” The question from anyone else might have seemed nosy. Sebastian wasn’t nosy, merely interested. He’d get an answer.
Henri fought off a sigh. “Yeah. We’re on the outs right now.”
A wrinkle appeared between Sebastian’s brows. “Make amends.”
What? “But….”
“But nothing. I have no family. It’s just me. Christmas, Thanksgiving, I’m alone. I’d give everything I have to be able to sit down at dinner with my parents, or call them, share my good days, get their advice. Don’t take your family for granted, or one day they’ll be gone, leaving you with nothing but regret for things you did or didn’t do. Now, come here.” Seb jabbed a button on the stereo. Music too slow to dance to wafted from the speakers.
“Why?” And what did this have to do with singing?
“We’re going to dance.”
Dancing? With Henri’s two left feet? No, Seb would dance, Henri would make a fool of himself. “Why?”
“I need the practice, and you need the experience. Why do you think so many songs mention dancing? It’s the most intimate thing two people can do outside the bedroom.” Was this Seb’s version of a come-on?
Henri’s cock accepted the perceived invitation. Not now!Visions of the girl who’d posed as his high school sweetheart filled his head, allowing him to dampen down his urges. She’d kept him laughing the whole time at prom by whispering naughty things into his ear, like, “See that guy over there. I’d do him, would you?” She’d been one of the few people he’d been honest with. And one of the last people he’d trusted completely. Imagining Seb in her pink taffeta dress didn’t help him reel in his libido. The man would look good in anything.
Or nothing.
“Follow my lead.” Seb offered his hands.
