Chapter Text
Smooth hands and nimble fingers caressed tired and tortured skin. Over his neck and rubbing his shoulders, skilled hands went to work.
“You should moisturize more,” said Dakota whose suave voice was tempered with amusement.
Cavendish buried his face deeper into his pillow. He never knew how Dakota convinced him to do this. It was indecent! It was breaking regulations! And it was everything that he wanted. What were regulations when Dakota was massaging him? Cavendish’s heart skipped a beat as Dakota pressed harder in all the right places. A moan escaped his lips.
“Feel good?” asked Dakota.
Cavendish couldn’t see but he knew that his partner was smiling. How was he to respond? If he said yes, it would give Dakota the satisfaction that he was right. If he said no, Dakota knew he would be lying and if he knew that he might be tempted to stop. Cavendish didn’t think he could bear it if Dakota stopped now.
“Yo, Balthy. You feelin’ okay?” He ran his finger up his spine.
Another moan, a desperate touch starved ‘give me more, give me more, more, more, more’ moan. He heard Dakota chuckle.
“You do like it!” His voice was light and teasing. Dakota’s hands were everywhere, touching him everywhere. He made him feel like he was on fire. Lower and lower went Dakota’s hands. He knew just where to touch to send him moaning, groaning, into a maddening state. Cavendish never felt so alive and so vulnerable. Dakota massaged his lower back and then his hands moved even lower until he was groping his -
And then he woke up.
Balthazar Cavendish was in his sleep clothes, still in his bed, and the grasp he had on his pillow was constricting. Beat-red, Cavendish slowly released his pillow and gasped for air.
“Blasted dreams,” he mumbled into his much-abused pillow.
He could still feel Dakota’s touch on his skin. Cavendish moaned. Of all the people he had to be attracted to, it had to be bloody Dakota! Cavendish cursed into his pillow. Why Dakota? Of all the ruddy people in the world, both in the past, present, and future, he was attracted to a short, curly-haired, tracksuit wearing person! Dakota was laid back, Cavendish prided himself on being a man of action. Dakota wore a bloody tracksuit for missions, he dressed for success. Dakota bathed when it pleased him, he took two showers every morning. Dakota ate whatever the hell he wanted, he put his feet up on the table and on the dash, and made constant nut based jokes that were at best tasteless.
And yet, everything about the dolty snack-hound screamed an effortless and enviable cool attitude towards life.
Cavendish flipped over onto his back and stared into the darkness, wishing that it would swallow him whole. Why Dakota? Why him? Why? He sighed. It had to be some sort of cosmic joke, he was sure of it. Some greater power with nothing better to do thought it would be funny if his heart were set aflame by someone like Vinnie Dakota. It wasn’t fair.
What really wasn’t fair were the dreams. It’s not like he wanted them! But his subconscious saw fit to make his sleeping hours miserable. The dreams were always the same. Dakota would hover over him. His words were peppered with concerned phrases like,
“You feelin’ okay?”
“Why don’t you lie down?”
“I can take care of you if you want.”
Phantom touches from Dakota still lingered on every inch of his body. Cavendish could protest all he wanted to but somehow, Dakota would manage to have him lying half naked on his bed. Then came the touching. He was always touching, caressing, soothing every ache he had and then just as it was starting to get good, Cavendish would wake up.
Cavendish rubbed his face. He craned his neck to look at his watch. It was barely three. He turned over onto his side. He had to sleep and if there was a decent bone in that greater power’s body, it would allow him to sleep without any more interruptions.
When his alarm went off at seven, Cavendish had to resist every urge he had to not throw it against the wall. Sleep had brought him no relief. He felt worse than before. A terrible ache traveled through his body. Dragging himself out of bed, he made his way to the bathroom where he caught his reflection. Every flaw seemed to be magnified tenfold. Dark circles surrounded his eyes. His pallid skin made him appear ghost like and washed out, his eyes were puffy and watery, a wiry frame and a weak chin. To say nothing of his receding hairline. Cavendish scoffed.
“Who would ever want someone like you?” he asked his reflection.
Cavendish sat on the edge of the tub. He didn’t want to shower or get dress or do whatever pistachio related mission they had today. What was the point? That agent Murphy, a devious and nefarious mastermind, would surely thwart them again. However, a decision as serious as dereliction of duty was not to be made on a whim or on an empty stomach. Cavendish left his sleeping quarters and made his way to the kitchen.
The sunshine yellow walls with dazzling white trim hurt his eyes. Everything was too bright and cheerful. And speaking of cheerful, Dakota was already at the table. He was dressed in his red and orange tracksuit and was reading the comics section of the newspaper. Dakota was, surprisingly, a morning person.
“Gotta get up early if you want the good stuff,” he always said.
On the table, there was quite a spread. Eggs, hash browns, bacon, donuts…the kitchen smelled like the inside of a deep fryer. Cavendish wrinkled his nose in disgust as Dakota shoveled a powdered donut into his mouth. His partner looked up, did a small smile and wave, and upon swallowing the fatty food said, “Hey sleepyhead, grab a seat. I got us breakfast.”
Perhaps it was the grease, the sleepless nights, or Dakota being so damn pleasant but Cavendish had no desire to eat. He shook his head and shuffled over to the counter to start his tea only to find his kettle was missing.
“I already made you tea,” said Dakota helpfully.
Cavendish grumbled a ‘thank you’ before grabbing his mug and sat opposite of his partner. He avoided looking at him. His tea was warm, slightly bitter and earthy. It was just the thing he needed if he were to spend the day with Dakota.
“So we got our mission for today.”
Oh, joy. What would it be today? Protecting pistachios from llamas? Delivering them from point A to point B? Whatever it would be agent Murphy would be there and it would be a sound and devastating defeat.
“Hey, you feelin’ okay?” Dakota reached out to touch him. All at once, Cavendish could feel his hands groping him. He instinctively smacked Dakota’s hand away.
“Ow! What was that for?”
What was he to tell him? ‘Well, Dakota, if you must know, I’ve been having erotic dreams about you for the past few weeks and I find being in your presence to be completely unbearable.’ No. No, no, no, no. He couldn’t say that. With his luck, Dakota would think he was joking and laugh at him. He didn’t think he could take it if Dakota laughed at him. It would be too much to bear.
“I believe I’m coming down with a cold,” he excused himself. “Would hate for you to catch it.”
“Oh.”
Dakota seemed to believe it but it was difficult to tell what went on that fluffy head of his. Whatever he was thinking of, he seemed to be thinking quite hard about it. As though the next sentence out of his mouth depended on him thoroughly analyzing his statement.
“If you’re feeling bad,” Dakota said slowly, “I can handle the mission.”
“WHAT?” Cavendish yelped.
“If you’re feelin’ bad, I can handle the mission today. Why don’t you lie down?”
Cavendish stood up far too fast and his head started to spin. Everything went blurry. He grasped the back of his chair for support and said as forcefully as he could, “I am in perfect condition for our mission.”
Dakota wasn’t convinced. “I can take care of you if you want,” he offered.
“No!” Cavendish shook his head and stood his ground. “No, that will not be necessary, not necessary at all! I will get ready post-haste and we shall continue on, understood?”
“Uh, yeah sure, whatever you say.”
Cavendish allowed himself a graceful retreat from the kitchen table. He returned to his peacefully dark and warm room and all but collapsed onto his bed. He sighed into his pillow. How was it that Dakota knew what to say, even unintentionally, to get his heart racing was beyond him. Was he to be tortured during the day now? He didn’t know how he was to carry on.