Toran followed him through the corners and pillars, maneuvering the guests and avoiding suspicion. He stood silently behind Brennan’s tall frame and watched a long golden finger reach to punch a button which opened the elevator’s door. Brennan stepped in and he followed; silence stretched between them as Brennan pressed a button. “May I ask where we’re going, sir?” he asked awkwardly.
Brennan glanced over his shoulder, focusing his eyes to a corner in the steel box before returning his gaze to the steel doors in front of him. “To the penthouse.”
His throat contracted and a silent ‘hick’ left his lips. A wave of jitters seized his hands, one he quickly slid into his pockets to hide. ‘Oh my God!’ kept repeating mechanically in his mind like a ticking time bomb.
His body won’t keep still no matter how wooden he willed it to be. He felt the metal box ascend smoothly and swiftly up the building until they reached the penthouse which was never leased to even the wealthiest of clients. It was Brennan’s.
The steel doors smoothly slid open and Brennan entered. He followed. As both men entered the massive suite, the first thing Toran saw, or rather, attracted his attention, was the ridiculously large bed covered in black sheets with black pillows – a four poster bed without curtains – only white marble posts built around the corners of the bed.
Quickly, he snatched his gaze from the distracting view to the ceiling high, double paneled glass windows revealing the city outside like an open secret. He’d never know what people saw in glass windows and lack of privacy and discretion curtains and blinds could give.
Brennan’s tastes ran from modern to antique, and although the furnishings were tastefully expensive, there was an air of humility attached to it. He had no personal picture of a pet, or a mother, a sibling, or a father. No one. Not even of Brennan himself. “He seems to have a love for mirrors though.” Toran mused, already counting a total of five mirrors strategically placed in the bedroom alone.
He didn’t need to enter the bedroom to know, having already seen it from where he stood; that corner – or lack thereof – was a sham.
“Here.” his dark voice whispered too close to his ear, startling a gasp out him. Brennan pushed a glass of wine into his hand. “Thanks.” As Brennan turned away, he took a discreet sniff then sipped. It tasted like wine and nuts. “What’s this?”
“Sherry.” Brennan replied, pouring himself a glass. He slid a hand into his pocket and watched him. “Do you like it?”
Toran took a sip of the sherry, loving the warm afterglow and nutty flavor. “It’s alright.”
An easy smile curved Brennan’s lip. He moved to stand in front him, his dark green eyes turned thoughtful, “You’re always on edge around me. Why is that?”
“Can you blame me?”
“No. But if you are uncomfortable, you may leave.”
Toran stared at him with a look of mild scorn, “You’re the one who invited me here.”
“And you are free to leave whenever you please.”
“No. I’m not uncomfortable. Just…wary.” Toran murmured. “Is this the reason you invited me?”
“Were you hoping for something else?” Brennan countered mildly, striding back to the bar to keep his glass.
“This drink is dry and tastes like bile.” Toran commented stiffly.
Brennan’s voice curled tightly with laughter. “That’s rather an expensive bottle.”
Toran’s eyes darted to the dark pinkish amber liquid in the pear-shaped decanter next to Brennan and remained blissfully silent.
“You want me, Toran.” He began without preamble.
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Feel Me
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