Dominance and Submission (boyxboy)

Chapter 2: Eager to please...

Chapter 2 

 You could learn a lot from a man during a twenty minute drive across town. It all came down to the way he carried himself. Did he fumble and fidget? Did he keep up mindless chatter or try to fill the silence with small talk? Did he gaze through the window with his chin propped in his hand or did he put his legs up on the dash and make himself comfortable?

It also all came down to the words he spoke. Was it intelligent conversation or was it simply about the weather? Did he speak about himself or did he want to know about your life? There was a reason for everything a person did, no matter how small and no matter whether they knew it or not. Your actions in close proximity to another person for any period of time housed aspects of your personality even if it was just in some small way. Your manner could exude confidence, anxiousness or even uncertainty and no matter how hard you tried to cover it up with a façade of nonchalance or seemingly easy banter, I could read you in a heartbeat.

I could read people. It was something I did as a game when I was a kid and it was something I did without thinking as an adult. It helped to know those around you. It helped to understand them, because that knowledge could be advantageous in more ways than you could imagine.

The night before we'd been so eager and desperate for release that I'd overlooked a lot about him. There was no time to just observe, but now in the silence, I only had my mind to dictate my actions—so I observed, and ten minutes into the ride, what I'd learned about Cam was significantly less than I usually did with others during the same length of time.

He bit his lip often and kept his hands locked together firmly in his lap, which spoke of his nervousness and of course his anxiety, but his shoulders contradicted my conclusion. They were too relaxed with not an ounce of tension. His breathing was also under control and not once since he'd strapped on his seat-belt had he glanced through the window. Instead, his eyes were on me.

He watched me with the focus of a hawk on his prey; but it wasn't with thirst, hunger or even desire. It was just bald curiosity—nothing more, nothing less. He spent a time watching just my face—his eyes roaming over every inch of it as though he were taking in my every expression; even where there was none. Then he watched my hands— he watched them on the wheel, he watched them on the gear-stick and he watched when I ran one through my hair.

I think what surprised me about his staring wasn't necessarily the fact that he stared, but the fact that he stared without caution. He didn't sneak glances or take a quick turn in my direction. Instead, he was completely relaxed against the seat, with his head turned boldly my way.

It completely went against the profile of him I'd already built in my mind. This wasn't the shy boy from the bar. Now that we were far away from prying eyes, he was bolder and I was intrigued.

He was like a child, watching with abandon—his big eyes taking everything in without judgment. What was even more uncharacteristic was the way his cheeks dimpled whenever I glanced over at him. There was no quick averting of his eyes or blood rising to his cheeks, he just watched and smiled and bit his lip and crushed his hands together and I just couldn't read him.

I frowned. The boy was an enigma. Then I smiled; this should be interesting.

Ten minutes later we were standing in my dining room as I watched him look around; he hadn't had much of a chance to do it the night before after all. 

"You want anything to drink or—"

He shook his head before I could finish—his curls rearranging themselves around his face.