Her Melting Point

Do It Differently

"Do you need anything?" Jackie asked.

"No, thank you," Alexander said.

He hiked up the trouser leg to avoid getting it dirty; and she caught a glimpse of a large tattoo hugging his calf. She could only see the bottom of it: columns of letters and symbols - she thought she could distinguish possibly two or three African alphabets; some Urdu writing, Indian or Pakistani; and what looked like some Eastern European writing, Latin letters with those additional accents and little 'tails' - trickling down from the main image, spanning across his gastrocnemius muscle, currently hidden under his jeans. 

Michael's comment echoed in her mind - and she fled.

***

With the final arrangements in order, Michael put away the paperwork in his stylish messenger bag. The three of them were sitting on the window seat. The deep sill was one of the first things that had made Jackie fall in love with the cottage.

"Normally, I'd invite the two of you for brunch with a shameless amount of sangria to celebrate, but I feel like such a gooseberry," Michael said, pressing his hand to his chest dramatically.

Jackie threw him a death glare.

"I know you've got your bike," the agent addressed her, clearly unfazed by the telepathic threats she was sending his way. "How are you going back, Mr. Fergusson? Now that you're... wounded."

"I'll walk, thank you," Alexander answered and shifted his gaze on Jackie.

Michael bit his tongue, despite quite obviously planning to offer Fergusson a lift a second ago.

"What a pity," the agent said and grinned. "We should have dinner then. To celebrate?"

Jackie was preparing to lie that she'd love to, intending to politely and 'regretfully' cancel at the last moment. She was almost certain that, unlike her, Alexander would have no qualms simply refusing the agent.

"Sounds good," Alexander said and took out his mobile. "How's Thursday at 7? I can make a reservation in the Serpent's Nest."

"Oh Jackie, we have to go there!" Michael clapped his hands. "It's the restaurant in the Nidhogg Hall. But they are always booked!"

"I've got an in," Alexander said, his eyes on his phone now.

"I've forgotten you're related to Lady Anna! By law, that is." Michael cheekily clicked his tongue. "And probably to the Bjornssons themselves, somewhere there, a few generations back. Surely, someone's Uncle or someone's Grandfather was born in the vestry. Weren't the Fergussons the Bjornssons' serfs, or something?"

Silence rang in the room, suddenly deafening - and then Jackie remembered. There had been some sort of a half-hushed ugly story about Alexander's mother and one of the Bjornsson men, which involved an attempted assault and a later physical altercation between several members of both families. It had happened before Jackie's time; but people never stopped discussing it.

"Dinner sounds ace! It's decided then," she said in an unnaturally chipper tone and jumped to her feet.

Alexander immediately rose as well. Michael hurried said his goodbyes and was gone, escaping the tangible tension in the room.

"Are you alright?" Jackie asked Alexander when the entrance door banged closed.

She could see muscles dance on his jaw.

"He didn't grow up in Fleckney," Alexander commented even more flatly than usual.

"I'm sure he wouldn't have said it, if he had. He just doesn't know." Jackie shook her head. "I'm sorry it reminded you of your parents."

Alexander nodded. Jackie impulsively stretched her hand and brushed it down his upper arm in a comforting gesture. He jolted - and shrank away from under her touch.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have, without asking," she said remorsefully.

"I'm OK with you touching me," he said. "Just not like that."

An instant wave of shame made her lower her head.

"I apologise," she muttered. "Like you said, I'm not your teacher anymore. It's botching up my sense of boundaries. I shouldn't have overstepped."

He faced her and studied her down his nose. "You haven't." He frowned, and his eyes seemed even darker, intent on her, as if searching for something. "You did exactly what a good teacher would do."

She saw the exact moment when he arrived at some sort of an internal decision - and he picked up her chin with his curled index finger. Her breathing hitched.

"If you want to comfort me, do it as a friend or a lover," he said. "I'm not a child anymore."

He tilted his head, and their faces were once again very close - and she couldn't even blink, to say nothing of moving in any way.

"Besides," he murmured, and his breath brushed at her mouth. "Every time you touch me, all I can think of is... this."

Some strange note, like a twang of a guitar string, rang in her head, when he pressed his mouth to hers. And then she shivered, when he, first, brushed his warm lips across hers; stroking, first, her bottom one, then the upper one. Then he opened his mouth ever so slightly, and he was catching Jackie's lips, caressing them lightly, in tiny feathery nips. His hands fanned on her back, and he slowly drew her closer. And then the very tip of his tongue softly flicked at her lips, in the centre dip of her bottom one - and her knees buckled.

A shocked gasp burst out of her; and he chuckled, low in his throat. It turned out that her hands were splayed on his pectoral muscles - and she felt some sort of a low thrum rumbling in his chest that lingered after that laugh.

"Alexander..."

"A bit more, first," he said and cupped her jaw, angling her face. "Then we can talk."

Her choked 'But–' halted him; and it felt as if zaps of static were bouncing between their lips.

"Yes?" he asked - and she could hear that he wasn't anticipating a response. He wasn't wrong.

She knew how rare his smiles were - and she could never have imagined that he could wear this sort of an expression. A playful lopsided smirk quirked his lips. For once, he was making direct, prolonged eye contact - and his eyes shone.

"What." He inched closer. "A–"

Jackie closed her eyes.

He chuckled again, murmured, "Menace," and kissed her.