Warmth

He seems surprised to see me, but immediately puts his phone away and comes toward me, a smile on his face. My own face is cold from the biting wind outside, my eyes wide with tension and anxiety. I apologize, my voice shaking, I don’t want to impose. He reminds me of his invitation, stepping close enough that I can feel the warmth of him. I’m unable to meet his eyes. “Please,” he asks, “Look at me.” I take a deep breath and lift my head to meet his gaze. His eyes hold mine and I can’t hide the need I feel. He nods and wordlessly locks the shop door, and turns the sign to closed.

He takes me by the hand and guides me back to his office. It's cluttered and quiet, the sounds from the street muffled through thick concrete walls. When he slides the coat from my shoulders he notices the folded piece of gauze taped to the inside of my elbow. He runs his thumb gently just below the tape, raising an eyebrow in question.

I feel tears ready to fall. He pulls my forehead against his chest, and he too smells of leather, and more strongly of tobacco. I inhale deeply, and immediately I feel the knots in my shoulders loosening. He takes my face in his hands, kisses my forehead, the tip of my nose, then my lips. Gently, so gently, he treats me as if I might easily be broken into a thousand pieces. 

I press my lips harder against his, I don't want his gentleness or his sympathy. I’m tired of being fragile. I don’t want to think about tests, and scans and specialists. I want his mouth, his hands, his cock. I want the warm, coffee smell of him to replace the sterile, clinical smell of the doctor's office. I dig my hands into his sweater, trying to pull him closer.

He pushes me away, hands on my shoulders, looking hard into my eyes. “Are you sure you want to do this? With a man you’ve never shared more than a few cups of coffee with?”

“I want this,” I whisper without hesitation.

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