Nine
They settledinto a routine. Every morning they breakfasted together. They took walks on clear days before Sebastian led Henri through warm-up drills. On Mondays and Wednesdays Sebastian disappeared for a few hours for lessons, and occasionally holed up with his laptop to recite non-English words. Sometimes he joined Henri in the music room; other times Henri worked alone. The room seemed empty without Sebastian.
Sebastian burst in, belting out what might have been French. Henri stopped pecking on the piano keys, mesmerized by the sheer power of the man’s voice. Longing filled him, and despair. Without understanding the words, he felt the pain of loss. Tears gathered behind his eyelids. Damn, how he’d love to be able to affect listeners with the tone of his voice alone.
Sebastian ended the tune and started teaching while Henri swiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “I don’t suppose I need to explain your lesson.”
“No.”
“Sometimes words move an audience, other times, mood. Set the mood. Don’t tell them what to feel with words—make them feel it clear down to their souls with music.”Tension builtin the room so strong a knife could slice it in two. Henri stopped playing, but didn’t turn to face Seb, sitting on the bench beside him. “Why won’t you kiss me again?”
Sebastian answered too quickly. “Because it’s not my place to.”
“Why not? We’re grown men. You don’t have someone who’ll object, do you?”
“My patron….”
“Surely he doesn’t control your love life.” Something about the way Sebastian said “patron” caused unease to stir to life in Henri’s belly, like the way Henri used to say “my manager,” with an added shiver for good measure.
“I was hired to help you improve your technique. It’d be unprofessional to get involved with a student.” For all of the man’s acting lessons, the words came out forced, unnatural.
“I’m only going to be your student for another week.” Yeah, then what?
“Then I’ll miss you.” Sebastian toyed with the piano keys, no real tune emerging. The set of his jaw belied his indifference.
“I’m not asking for involvement. I want a kiss.” Henri exaggerated a pucker. “One little kiss, then I’ll shut up.”
Sebastian huffed out a sigh and laid on the drama, hand splayed against his chest. “If that’s the price I have to pay. The things I do for my art.”
As before, he brought their lips together for minimal contact. Henri would have no evasion. Lacing his fingers in Sebastian’s curls and using his grip as leverage, he brought their mouths firmly together, ignoring Seb’s “Mmmmmph!” of surprise.
Taking advantage, Henri coaxed Sebastian’s lips open with the tip of his tongue. Sebastian stiffened, keeping his mouth firmly closed. After a moment his resolve and rigid stance melted. He parted his lips to allow Henri’s tongue inside.
Tentative at first, Sebastian grew bolder, and while not matching Henri’s fervor, he became a willing participant in their intimacy. Sebastian pulled away first. Henri didn’t stop him.
“I…. I suppose you can tell I haven’t been kissed much.”
Telling someone they kissed like an amateur? Even if they asked? No, not happening. “Really? You could have fooled me.”
“Really.” Sebastian stared straight ahead, his face and ears flushed a deep crimson.
“As you said before, I’m only here for a little while. I could teach you if you like.” Boy, could Henri teach him.
The offer hung in the air while the grandfather clock in the corner ticked off the minutes. “Lead on.”
Henri held out his hand and stood, waiting long moments until Seb joined their palms. He led the way to the settee and settled on the overstuffed seat. Seb sat down beside him. Henri placed his palms on either side of Sebastian’s face. When Sebastian would have brought their lips together, Henri held him still. “Today it’s me teaching the lesson. Follow my lead.” He nuzzled noses, then skimmed his lips across Seb’s eyelids, his forehead, and down his nose. He captured Seb’s full lower lip between his teeth and lightly tugged.
To the tempo of one of Seb’s waltzes, he slid his tongue against Sebastian’s, and though the contact left him wanting, he didn’t push for more. The kiss went on forever, Henri allowing the novice to explore to his heart’s content. They ended the kiss and held each other, saying nothing. Henri’s heart pounded out a staccato beat. The sun sank and the room darkened, but still they sat, Henri rubbing his hand lightly over Sebastian’s back. If Sebastian gave any indication of wanting more, Henri might come in his pants.
At last Sebastian murmured, “I guess we should be getting to bed.” He gave Henri a final, brief kiss. To his credit, he didn’t run, he ambled away at an unhurried pace.
Henri went to bed so hard he ached. No way could Sebastian be a virgin. No fucking way. In his dreams Henri laid Sebastian out on his bed and worshipped every nook and cranny of the man’s body with his tongue. His sheets needed washing the next morning.
* * *
“Seb?” Henriapproached Seb’s room to peek through the partially open door. The man kept his room as neat as the rest of the house. Unable to resist, after tapping and calling, “Seb?” again, Henri tiptoed into the room. No personal effects littered the dressers. The whole place screamed “museum.” From the white comforter and curtains to the lace doilies on the table, nothing in the room captured Sebastian’s warmth. How could he stand being in here? Henri’s room back home was his comfort zone, filled with books, magazines, his favorite chocolates, and a porn collection to die for. Where were Seb’s dirty little secrets? A cabinet beckoned. Henri opened the door to find a stereo, CD cases stacked neatly underneath. Pavarotti shared space with Judy Garland, Yanni, Domingo, and every single Hookers and Cocaine CD, cases well-kept but worn.
Why had Seb lied about knowing who Henri was? Ice water froze in Henri’s veins. Damn, Sebastian was another fan, out to make money off the down-and-out rocker.
