© Copyright 2012 Lydia Nyx
Lyndon had research to do. He initiated romance but didn’t really understand how humans implemented the concept. He visited various shops to speak with the clerks and looked through magazines. He discovered humans had various things they equated with romantic encounters: candles, flowers—which he already had covered—dim lighting, wine, and chocolate. Lyndon had never used any of these items with his sexual partners, but this encounter would be special.
When Timothy arrived home in the evening, Lyndon had all these items, through extensive use of trickery, acquired and arranged.
He had turned the lights down low after discovering a knob on the wall for controlling the level of light. He’d lit all the candles he’d gotten, which were significant in number. He figured the more candles he had, the more romantic things would look. He sat on the couch waiting, with an assortment of wine and boxes of chocolate on the table in front of him. He’d grabbed as many different kinds of both as he could find.
Timothy looked surprised. So surprised in fact he dropped his coat and briefcase.
“I thought the apartment was on fire!”
Lyndon smiled hopefully. “Candles are romantic.”
Timothy looked around the room, then at the bottles and boxes piled on the table. “What in the…”
“Chocolate and wine,” Lyndon announced. “You said we should have dinner.”
Timothy walked over to the table. “I was thinking something a bit more substantial. This isn’t exactly ‘dinner.’ ”
“You didn’t bring your flowers home?” Lyndon asked, concerned their absence would ruin the romance.
“I’m keeping them in my office, something to look at.” He eyed Lyndon. “And I’ll have you know, I was harassed mercilessly for the rest of the afternoon. I’m the talk of the department.”
“Is that good?”
“It keeps them occupied, at least.”
“Did I embarrass you?”
“No. Everyone knows I’m gay. They’re just nosy. They approve of you, by the way. Sylvie thinks you’re handsome.” He turned away and started peeling off his jacket.
Lyndon rubbed his chin. “I am, aren’t I?”
“I’m going to order some food. And put out a few of these candles before they set off the sprinklers.”
Timothy got some ‘real food,’ though he did have some of the chocolates, and a few glasses of wine. Lyndon became fascinated by the way his mouth worked, how he closed his lips around the candies, the way he sipped his wine, even the way he talked. Timothy had turned the lights on so his every movement and expression showed clear. Lyndon couldn’t remember being so mesmerized by a man’s mouth.
Timothy controlled most of the conversation. He talked about his work, about his day. He talked about his family and about Valentine’s Days he’d had in the past.
When he’d finished talking, Timothy leaned against the arm of the couch, a glass of red wine in his hand. He gazed at Lyndon, who sat near him. Lyndon had been gradually inching closer as the evening progressed. He couldn’t remember being so shy with a man, either.
“So,” Timothy said. His voice was pitched low and reminded Lyndon of the color of the wine in his glass. “Is this very romantic evening leading where I think it is?”
“Do you want it to?”