At Covent Garden Station Part 13
Part 13
The faint snick as the office door closed behind him seemed to echo around the room as Elijah stepped forward to face Chef Bean, seated imperious behind his vast, cluttered desk; elbows resting awkwardly on piles of receipts, floury hands clasped and thumbs pressed lightly against his lower lip, Bean raised an eyebrow in silent questioning and Elijah blushed, tucking his hands in his pockets and averting his gaze.
“Wood, this is the third time this fortnight you’ve been late to work; with quarterly assessments approaching, not to mention your own exams, this behaviour is unacceptable.” Elijah opened his mouth to reply, but fell silent again at a gesture from the Head Chef, who raised his palms as if in benediction and gave a sigh.
“You’re a damn good chef Elijah; I don’t want to see you mess this up.” Bean leant back in his chair, dropping his hands to rest in his lap and nodded his head towards the chair in front of the desk, indicating Elijah to sit down. Hesitating, Elijah grasped the back of the seat and slowly pulled it out from under the desk, sinking into it and clenching his hands in fists on his thighs, head bowed.
“Is there anything you want to talk about?” There was a moment of silence and Elijah looked up in slight surprise, meeting the Head Chef’s gaze, his green eyes glittering with some hidden emotion that betrayed the tight, disapproving line of his mouth.
Elijah remembered something that Dom had told him several weeks ago, after a particularly stressful day had him near tears, trying his best and still never seeming to be as good as he should be; ‘Bean can be a bit of a wanker sometimes, but he never wastes energy on someone who doesn’t have the potential. No point lecturing a guy who won’t get anything out of it, you see.’
“No Chef.” Bean raised an eyebrow, the concern in his features fading to doubt at Elijah’s stammered statement, but the American leant forward in his chair, spreading his hands flat on his knees, “I’ll get it sorted, I promise.”
“You’ve got a week Elijah.”
“Thank-you Chef.” With a moment’s hesitation, Elijah stood and moved to the office door, resting his hand on the handle and taking a deep breath before tugging it open sharply and hurrying back into the chaos of the kitchen. Sean watched the door swing slowly shut, the sudden burst of noise muffled once more, and frowned; he had never before felt uncertainty in his decisions for the restaurant, but this time was different. He knew he couldn’t let Elijah go, but the reasons for letting him stay were far more complicated than he would admit.
∞∞∞
The air was warmer tonight, with just a hint of winter chill in the breeze that scuttled around the alley’s corner. Elijah left his jacket unbuttoned, tucking his thumbs into his belt-loops and slowing his pace from the usual hunched, scurrying movements that kept the winter weather from freezing him too much.
His eyes felt heavy and itchy, barely able to keep them open after the long hours taken up with extra responsibilities he had offered to take on board these next few weeks; Elijah knew how lenient Bean was being with him and was desperate not to make a mess of the one job he really felt appreciated in.
Glancing down the road to check for traffic, he stopped with a jolt, noting the street name and realising he had automatically headed not for his own flat, half an hour’s walk to the East of the area, but to Orlando’s flat closer to London’s city centre, yet still within reasonable walking distance; he had been far more pleased with the luck of how close they lived to each other than he was quite prepared to admit even to Orli.
The momentary indecision of which direction he should continue was dispelled when his phone buzzed against the back of his hand and, digging it out of his coat pocket, there was a message from Orlando; well, two messages actually because he rambled as much when he typed as when he spoke. No matter that no-one was present to make him feel shy; the young model was more than able to get nervous by himself, only ever seeming relaxed and comfortable in front of a camera.
With a small laugh, Elijah dropped the phone back into his pocket and adjusted the straps of his rucksack, stepping out into the road and hurrying on down the street, shadows dancing around him as the streetlights flickered on one by one.
Deep drifts of autumn leaves lined the edges of the pavement and Elijah couldn’t resist trampling though them; the crackling and crunching as gold and red leaves flew up from under his feet reminded him of playing in the park with his sister when they were younger. Hannah was the only one in his family who had supported his decision to become an actor, lending him a few hundred dollars to help with the first few months’ rent on his London flat; when his parents found out they forbid her to send any more and though she had managed to sneak the occasional cheque to him by airmail, their father had been keeping a close eye on her bank account since.
Pausing at the edge of the path Elijah frowned, pressing his thumb against the bridge of his nose; the odd tumult of emotions had further muddled his overtired brain and a slow, dull headache was forming. He drew in a deep breath of mild air and rolled his shoulders, feeling the bones at the base of neck creak and pop.
With a quick check for any traffic, Elijah waited as a lone car sped past, the headlights too bright after the soft sodium glow of the streetlamps, then crossed the street to Orlando’s flat-block. Tucking one hand in his pocket, he pushed the bell for Orli’s flat; the phone was picked up almost immediately and Elijah was greeted with a muffled crash and a brief bout of cursing before Orli mumbled an embarrassed ‘hello?’.
“Hey, it’s me.” There was a pause and Elijah could see his boyfriend’s puzzled expression in the silence; “That was quick?” Orlando was also one of the only people who could turn pretty much any statement into a question.
“Yeah, I was kinda on my way here when I got your message.” Another pause and this time Elijah pictured the slow smile that would creep over Orli’s mouth, a little crooked and hesitant as he ducked his head to hide it. There was a buzz and a click and Elijah tugged the door open, taking the stairs two at a time to the second floor, but taking a minute to catch his breath before walking normally down the hall and testing the door to the flat.
As usual, Orli had taken the catch off and Elijah stepped inside, scanning the room quickly before setting his bag down and slipping his coat off; hanging them both on the hooks beside the door, he tugged his shoes off and moved to the kitchen, where the young model was tying up a plastic bag that clinked with the remains of whatever it was that crash had signified the breaking of earlier.
“Hey there.” Orlando jumped slightly in surprise when Elijah spoke, spinning around to face him, but grinned anxiously and gestured with the bag when he saw who it was, “Hi, yeah…erm, I sort of, you know, knocked over a…a glass when I was answering the phone.”
Elijah grinned back, stepping into the kitchen then frowned and hurried to Orlando’s side when he saw a streak of bright scarlet across the palm of his right hand. Snatching the bag of broken glass out his boyfriend’s grasp, Elijah lifted his hand carefully, inspecting the cut that was still gently seeping blood.
“Orli-“
“It’s nothing; I just nicked it on a shard of glass.” Orlando tried to free his hand from Elijah’s, wincing as the stretch of his fingers pulled at the edges of the wound and the American tightened his grip around his wrist, placing the plastic bag on the work surface and pulling Orlando closer to the sink.
He twisted the tap on, testing the water to check it wasn’t too cold, and held Orlando’s hand under the flow, gingerly brushing away the flakes of dried blood around the cut to make sure it was clean. Looking up, Elijah saw Orlando biting on his lower lip, his nose wrinkled slightly and his gaze averted, focussed intently on the collar of Elijah’s shirt.
“I don’t think it’ll need stitches Orls, just bandaging; where’s the first aid kit?”
“In here somewhere,” Orlando nudged the door of the cupboard under the sink with his knee and stepped back enough to let Elijah rummage through the contents, straightening up a few minutes later with a dusty green box, still in its plastic wrapping.
Elijah raised an eyebrow, a smile flickering across his lips and Orlando blushed, pushing his glasses more securely onto his nose with the back of his wrist and shrugging, “I tend to end up in hospital more then I use a first aid kit.”
With a small chuckle, Elijah sat down at the table and motioned Orlando to sit opposite him. Stripping away the dusty cellophane case, Elijah flicked open the box and pulled out a packet of gauze and a long roll of bandage; they sat in silence as Elijah worked at bandaging the wound, Orlando’s eyes watching the movements of his boyfriend’s hands rather than the gash in his palm and the faint pinkish tinge that lasted through several layers of fabric.
Orlando offered up an apologetic smile as Elijah secured the end of the bandage with a small safety-pin and tidied away the first aid kit, clenching his uninjured hand and remaining silent until Elijah came up behind him and slipped his fingers into the open neck of his shirt, pressing a hard kiss to the corner of his jaw.
“I’m sorry ‘Lij.” He leant back, his head resting against the American’s chest, exposing the long line of his throat. Frowning slightly, Elijah pressed his palms flat on Orli’s shoulders, his fingers splayed across the thin skin at his collarbones, his thumbs tracing small circles at the base of his neck.
“For what?”
Orlando’s shoulders tensed beneath Elijah’s hands as he half shrugs and gives an odd laugh, “For being so clumsy; for messing up the evening before it even started; I don’t know really.” Twisting in his seat, Orlando looked up at Elijah and raised his good hand, entwining their fingers and placing a soft kiss on Elijah’s knuckles.
“I didn’t even ask how your day was or anything.”
Elijah immediately pulled away, balling his fists at his sides and biting down on his lower lip, hard enough to taste the copper tang of blood. Jumping up from his seat, Orli moved to Elijah and tugged him close, one hand gripping the front of his shirt and the other cupped around his neck, the muscles down his back tense until he felt his boyfriend’s arms wrap around his waist and they both relaxed into each other’s embrace.
“’Lij?”
“It’s, erm…fuck…” Elijah pressed his face into Orli’s shoulder and tightened his grip around his hips, his breathing shallow and erratic as he fought back tears. Stroking his fingers through the short curls of hair at Elijah’s nape, Orlando adjusted his hold and led them both into the living room, guiding the young man to sit on the sofa and settling down next to him.
Shifting back against the cushions, Elijah pulled the other man closer and draped his legs across Orlando’s, tucking his ankles around Orli’s calves so they entangled together. He took a deep, shaky breath, squeezing his eyes shut to blink away the drops of moisture and rested on hand on Orlando’s forearm, his little finger just grazing the edge of the bandage.
In a low, steady voice Elijah recounted everything that Bean had said to him that morning, the trouble he was having with his flatmates, his fears that he wouldn’t keep his job much longer and when he finished, he curled himself into Orlando’s hold, eyes stinging from lack of sleep and unshed tears and ears ringing from his headache.
There was a moment of strange silence as Orlando’s thoughts battled for dominance in his mind, the bold impulsive person he hid behind when in front of the camera facing down the shy, unobtrusive character he was so used to being in every other part of his life.
“Move in with me.”
The voice filtered through the white noise buzzing in Elijah’s head and his breath caught, stomach somersaulting and his legs suddenly oddly numb.
“What?”
Orlando’s brain suddenly caught up with his mouth and he blushed crimson, ducking his head and babbling inanely; much as he tried to get himself to shut up, the words just kept coming and as Elijah’s silence continued, the twisting sensation in his gut grew, certain that he had just made the biggest fool of himself ever:
“I mean, come on Lij you flatmates make you miserable and I hate to see you like that, you deserve so much more and there’s plenty of room here, it’s not like you don’t spend nearly every weekend staying here as it is and-“
“Shut the fuck up and kiss me.” Orlando’s gaze shot back up from where he had been staring determinedly at his hands, his eyes widening momentarily behind his glasses before Elijah pressed his lips forcefully against his own, small hands cupping his jaw, rough fingertips rubbing soothingly over his cheeks.
The American pulled slowly away, resting their foreheads together, his breath quick and shallow, hot against Orli’s mouth, which curled into a smile around his whispered words. “Is that a yes, then?”
“That’s a hell yes.”
Orlando ducked his head, hands slipping around his boyfriend’s waist and tugging him closer, his lips tickling over the tendon in Elijah’s neck. “How did I get so lucky?”
Elijah laughed and sat back, tugging gently at the curls of hair at the nape of Orli’s neck so that he raised his head to meet his gaze. “My incredible, gorgeous boyfriend just asked me to move in with him and you think you’re the lucky one?”
He grinned, a little shyly, and Orlando smiled back, leaning in for another brief kiss then drawing back and hesitating almost imperceptibly before pressing their mouths together once again, a deeper more purposeful kiss that left them panting.
They shifted on the sofa, Elijah’s knees pressing into the cushions either side of Orlando’s legs, their chests just touching, hands eagerly fumbling with shirt buttons. Orlando pulled at the collar of Elijah’s shirt, the thin cotton falling aside and baring the pale skin of his lover’s shoulder which he pressed his mouth to, teeth grazing lightly over the flesh and leaving thin red lines there.
Elijah placed a hard, hot kiss onto Orlando’s neck then pulled away with a gasp, sliding off the sofa and tugging the other man to his feet as well, not noticing as he stumbled against the coffee table on their way past.
The bedroom was lit only by the dim light of the streetlamps outside filtering through the cream linen curtains draped across the window, enough illumination for Orlando to avoid walking into most of the furniture but still dark enough to hide the clutter that had accumulated on every surface.
Their mouths met again, urgent and messy, and Elijah slid his hands up to Orlando’s shoulders, pulling free his shirt and quickly following it with his own as Orlando’s fingers tugged at their belt buckles. The mattress creaked under their combined weight and Orlando winced inwardly, silently cursing not having bought a new one in over seven years, a fact he was still surprised didn’t seem to faze Elijah at all.
He was also surprised at how easy intimacy with Elijah was; he had had a few lovers before and they had always demanded more of him than he was ready to give, inevitably ending in them walking out - apparently being a male model gave one a certain reputation that Orlando certainly didn’t live up to.
With Elijah though, there was an instinctive realisation between them as to how far either of them was ready to move; with Elijah it didn’t feel awkward or indecisive to say stop, to hold back and keep things at the level of slow, sensitive explorations of each other’s bodies in the semi-darkness.
There was always a sense of wonder in the way that Elijah held him, roamed his body with questing fingertips, pressed kisses down the line of his throat and chest and left angry red teeth-marks in his skin as they climaxed. Even after nearly three months, Orlando was still getting used to someone needing him just as much as he needed them.