Page 24 of Shaman

The bodyguard shot him a concerned look as he was shut out. Damn him.

“Ian?” Alec called from the direction of the kitchen. “You home?”

“Yes.” He didn’t trust himself to smile and kiss and be kindly. He dropped his bag in the hall and went straight to the bedroom, then the en suite bathroom, cranking the shower on. He took a deep breath and could smell something pleasantly seared from the kitchen – Alec had been experimenting with dinner again, and no doubt the results would be delicious. Alec shouldn’t have done that; should have ordered takeout for his ungrateful, miserable wretch of a boyfriend.

“Ian?” The patter of bare feet moved toward him, and Ian paused with one hand on the hem of his shirt, turning to face Alec as he reached the bathroom doorway.

Alec came to an abrupt halt when his gaze landed on Ian’s face; he caught the jamb with both hands and his smile dropped away. “Your lip. Did you fall?”

“No. It’s nothing. I was sparring.” Ian started to shed his layers of shirts, letting them drop to the tile. Behind him, steam began to billow out of the open shower door, a wispy shield between the two of them as he unbuttoned his jeans.

“Sparring? Were you at Dartmoor?”

“I haven’t exactly gotten the hang of being a man yet, have I?” Ian said, bitterly.

“Babe,” Alec said, and came into the room. Through the mist, right up close into Ian’s face, his own tilted back, glasses fogging so Ian couldn’t see the beautiful seawater color of his eyes. “Are you still beating yourself up about this? I thought you were feeling better.” He reached for Ian’s shoulders–

And Ian took a step back.

He knew it was a terrible thing to do the moment he did it, but couldn’t take it back.

“Ian,” Alec said, despairing, hurt, angry.

“Let me take a shower. I’m disgusting.” But only some of that was something thatcouldbe washed off. Most of it was just him, the ugly stain on his past, his soul.

Alec retreated…but the awful, betrayed note in his voice chased Ian into the shower. Looped again and again in his head, driving home that he was no use as a partner, nothing but a cold fish who failed to provide what his boyfriend needed.

The hot water felt delicious against his tired muscles, sluicing down the tense line of his back, but he could find no delight in it. He hung his head and watched the water ripple down through his long hair where it fell over both shoulders; the swirl around his feet and down into the drain.

He had to do something.

Something had to change.

He didn’t luxuriate, like he might have in a different situation, but washed off and stepped out onto the mat. A quick toweling, a half-hearted drying-off of his sopping hair, and his favorite silk robe, and then he went in search of Alec, bare feet leaving damp prints across the hardwood.

Alec stood at the sink in the kitchen, shaking water out of a colander of pasta. He didn’t glance over his shoulder when Ian cleared his throat softly; didn’t acknowledge him at all. He moved to the stove, and the simmering skillet of pinkish sauce that smelled heavenly. “I marinated the chicken last night, so it would be tender. And then I deglazed the pan with red wine. Added a little heavy cream.” He dumped the penne into the sauce and stirred it with a big wooden spoon. “Hopefully you’ll like it.”

“Alec–”

The spoon landed on the countertop with a clatter as Alec spun to face him, his face locked up tight against his hurt. “Jesus Christ, how are we back here again? We talked! I thought we….” He trailed off into a frustrated sound and turned back to the pasta. “If this is the new normal…if we’re just gonna be…brokenfrom now on…”

“Stop.” Ian strode around the island and moved to stand next to him. “Nothing’s broken.” Except for him; he’d always been that way. “I told you–” When he touched Alec’s shoulder, he turned an angry look up to him.

“Yeah, you told me. And I told you we wouldfightthose people. And then everything went back to the awful way it was.” His shoulders slumped, a bitter smile tweaking his mouth. He reached up and pressed the pad of his thumb, lightly, to Ian’s split lip. “You go every day and let those bikers hurt you.” He let his hand fall away. “But when I try to help you, you shut me out. I don’t know what to do anymore, Ian.”

“I’m trying to protect you.”

“From yourself?”

Yes. God, yes. “They have photos of you,” he said instead, a shudder moving down his spine. “They know who you are to me, they–”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alec sighed, turning away. He stirred the pasta some more. “I know. You said. I just…”

Ian felt the bricks go up between them, a wall of his own making, which he didn’t begin to know how to disassemble. “Alec,” he murmured. “Darling.”

Alec sighed again. “Let’s just eat.”

~*~

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