The World in an Hourglass

aka the masquerade fic

Kris usually works behind the bar.

Over the last five years, he has done practically every miserable job available in the food industry, going from mopping the floors to washing dishes to waiting tables, so when he finally managed to get a bartending position with decent pay, he jumped on it and stayed there. It’s the best job there is. He means to keep it.

That’s why when his boss tells him he needs an extra waiter for the party Saturday night, Kris says sure, why not. There is no way he is refusing that man any favors.

Allison says it’s a costume party or some shit and Kris thinks vampires and Wookies and chicks dressed as bunnies, but when the guests start to arrive Kris realizes that it’s not a party at all. It’s a ball.

A masquerade ball.

~

For the first half of the night, Kris serves drinks in the ballroom. It’s much easier than serving at a party. People aren’t hopping around and dancing here; they are mostly chatting to boring music, and all he has to do is walk around slowly, holding up a tray, and he can do that in his sleep. But half the guests are hanging out in the garden, which is decorated with hundreds of twinkling lights for the occasion, so after a while he is sent out to serve them.

He sees her the moment he steps foot in the garden.

She is standing under a willow tree, tall and regal and so completely different from every other woman at the ball. From what Kris has seen so far, masquerade is a code word for unashamed nudity for women; he has seen one too many pairs of breasts on display tonight. He’s been trying to steer clear of the corners where they have gathered in flocks, swishing their skirts and giggling stupidly, but they are going through champagne faster than seems humanly possible and Kris finds himself being summoned every ten minutes. It is beginning to get to him.

The woman under the willow tree has been nursing a flute of champagne for the last hour at least. It must have gone stale by now, but no matter how much he stays in her line of sight, she does not summon him. So Kris studies her from afar, taking in every detail he can see in the limited light.

Her gown is a dark purple color. It is not revealing enough to put her breasts in people’s faces, but it shows off the curve of her shoulders and is tight enough to draw attention to her waist. She is wearing a black beaded necklace, very elaborate, like a spider web, covering half her neck and trickling down her shoulders. Her mask looks like a second skin around her eyes; it’s blue and purple and black, changing tone every time the light hits it at a different angle. It keeps drawing Kris’ eyes.

She is definitely out of Kris’ league. And really much too tall for him. But that doesn’t stop Kris from spending the night watching her.

It’s a boring job, he reasons. He has to focus on something to pass the time.

It’s almost midnight when he loses sight of her. He drops off the empties at the kitchen and picks up a new tray, and as soon as he is in the garden, he makes his way towards her spot, only to find it empty. He looks around, trying to look casual and probably failing, but doesn’t see her anywhere. Maybe she went inside, he thinks, and finds himself going towards the sliding glass door leading into the ballroom, but before he can enter, a woman in the corner calls him over to grab a glass of red wine from his tray. He offers her a tight smile, looking pointedly away from her breasts spilling out of her dress, and turns away as soon as is polite.

He must have turned too fast, because for the first time in his career he collides with someone and loses his grip on his tray. He hears a gasp, and when he looks up, a pair of familiar deep blue eyes meets his, wide open in shock. Looking down reveals that he has managed to dump at least two glasses of wine on the purple gown he liked so much. Kris is so shocked, he forgets to blush.

~

“I’m so sorry.”

He looks stupid, he knows he does. His hands are flailing around her in an attempt to find some way to help, but he doesn’t even have a napkin on him, he can’t just touch her like this. And what is he going to do anyway, lick the wine off? He doubts that she would go for that.

She is looking down in shock, her stomach sucked in because of the cool liquid seeping through the fabric, and her lips are moving without a sound. Kris stares stupidly at them for a moment, because they are the most perfect lips he has ever seen in his life, but then he recovers and takes control of the situation.

Depositing his tray on the ground, he puts on his most professional face and says, “Please, follow me.”

She does, surprisingly enough. Kris leads the way to a side entrance, holding the door open for her, and takes her to a bathroom that is normally off limits to guests. It’s the least he can do for her.

He follows her inside; the room is big enough to have a couple of chairs against one wall, so he doesn’t think he’d be intruding. The cupboard produces a hand towel and he hands it to her as a peace offering.

“I’m really, really sorry,” he repeats.

The look she gives him in return is calculating. “It’s okay,” she whispers finally in a raspy voice.

Kris watches her wipe off the gown, but when she puts a hand down the neckline of her gown to wipe it from the inside as well, he jerks his eyes up to her face instead. He realizes that the mask she is wearing is not actually a mask. It’s paint. Kris can see the colors swirling and merging around her eyes. There’s glitter around the edges, catching the light, and there are some rhinestones and feathers stuck to the sides of her face. It’s quite ingenious.

“You like it?” she asks, and her voice makes Kris flush with lust. He has no idea why she is talking like that, low and husky, but it’s certainly doing things to him.

“What?”

“The mask.”

“Oh.” Kris looks into her eyes, feeling stupid. “Yes. It’s… Did you do it yourself?”

She nods slowly, a smirk playing on her lips.

Kris looks down, feeling out of his depth. He shouldn’t be doing this. He can’t even flirt properly. He is no match for a woman that beautiful and confident. He hears her throaty chuckle and flinches inwardly. He should never have walked into the bathroom with her. What was he thinking?

You weren’t thinking, a voice inside him says. You were reacting. When was the last time you did that?

Never, is the answer to that question.

Kris makes himself look up and take a step forward. No one ever died from rejection, he tells himself. He once wanted to be a rock star, sing to thousands. He can meet a woman’s eyes and take her refusal like a man.

But the thing is, she doesn’t look like she is about to reject someone. She looks… curious.

Kris finds the courage to step even closer to her, making himself stop biting his lip. She doesn’t say anything as he reaches up to touch the rhinestones going down her right temple.

“Nice,” he breathes.

Her lips curve up in a small smile.

Kris is about to take a step back, because there is not enough courage in the world to make him be forward enough to start anything without a hint from her, but she grabs his wrist in a surprisingly strong grip and leans down to kiss him. Kris thinks he sees her roll her eyes as she leans in, but he is not going to stop and ask.

Kris has to reach up to place his hands on her shoulders, touching her necklace and the soft skin of her neck. She tastes slightly of champagne, but mostly it’s just her, not too sweet or nice, but a unique taste that Kris thinks he’ll likely remember for a long time. Her lips are soft and her mouth is wide. She kisses him hungrily, and even though he knew she’d be strong and sure, he is still surprised at the way she goes for it, eating his mouth and using and abusing his lips until he has to pull back and touch them to make sure they haven’t bled. He wouldn’t have cared if they did, because her eyes are lit in a very promising way and her hands are pulling him close, and he could never say no to what is on offer.

She makes a sound in her throat, guttural and almost growling, and Kris finds himself being kissed within an inch of his life. One of her hands lands on his belt buckle, making Kris’ hips stutter and jerk helplessly. She maneuvers him toward the chairs and pushes him down into one. As Kris tries to think through the fog in his brain and work out the logistics of the gown, she falls down on her knees in front of him and spreads his legs open. Her blue eyes gleam as she watches him flush and bite his lip.

She is nothing like any of Kris’ ex-girlfriends. Her hands are wide and strong and confident as they travel up the insides of his thighs and settle on his cock. She is completely unashamed. Kris is blushing, but she looks like this is a daily occurrence for her. And maybe it is; how would Kris know? He just knows that it’s turning him on in the worst way.

She doesn’t tease him for long. In one practiced move, she has his fly undone and is reaching inside to finally touch his skin. Kris almost jumps out of the chair at first contact and then has to grit his teeth so he doesn’t come like a teenager. Her grip is perfect, is all he can think, and once she pulls him out and swallows him whole, he is not even capable of that kind of basic thought. All that is going through his mind is hot, hot, hot, burning hot.

She is not kidding around, playing with him or trying anything. She knows what she is doing. She knows how to give a blowjob in a way Kris doesn’t know to receive. His cock has never been in anyone’s throat before and his brain short-circuits the first time she swallows around him. He has no idea how long he lasts, he prays for it to have at least been a respectable length of time. To him, it lasts a moment and a lifetime, and then he is coming down her throat, eyes still fixed on her beautiful lips wrapped around his cock, his whole body ablaze. She doesn’t release him until he slumps down in the chair, completely spent, and it takes him a couple of minutes to catch his breath and open his eyes even after she does.

Her mouth looks bruised, now beautifully matching the color of her gown. She is sitting back and watching him with a satisfied smile, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. Kris reaches out to trace the lines of her face. She licks his finger as it passes her lips. Maybe he really did come his brains out, but Kris thinks she must be a goddess, no mere human could be so perfect.

“I can… I should…”

He looks down to find a way to return the favor, but the gown is so voluminous, it looks impossible to navigate. She shakes her head, two steps ahead of him as always.

“Just kiss me,” she whispers, rising up on her knees to meet him halfway.

Kris obliges.

~

Kris has always enjoyed kissing. It is something he knows. And if the noises she is making are any indication, his mystery goddess agrees. They kiss for what feels like forever, soft and slow, and then fast and messy. Kris is pretty sure he will never enjoy kissing anyone as much as he has enjoyed these lips; clearly they are made of sin and they push him until he is completely shameless and unexpectedly wanton. When he pulls away, it’s not because he wants to, but he has to. His lungs are screaming at him to stop and breathe properly, and she doesn’t look like she is doing any better.

They stare at each other, trying to catch their breaths, and she licks her lips slowly. Kris groans, his body insisting that he go back in and keep kissing her until he dies of asphyxiation. She smiles, like she knows exactly what he is thinking, and extends a hand to his face to push his sweaty hair back and caress down his cheek.

Her nails are painted black and she has a tattoo on her wrist. He takes her hand in his to get a better look. It’s an Egyptian symbol. Kris lets his fingers trace the lines and then follows it with his tongue, wondering if he’ll be able to taste the ink or if it’s a permanent one. There is no taste of ink, only the salt of her skin, and Kris licks once more, just so he can commit it to memory.

“Nice tattoo,” he offers when she gives him an amused look, and they smile at each other, both looking a little stupid and a lot infatuated. Kris’ heart flutters.

“You were staring at me,” she prompts, playing with his fingers.

Kris nods; no point in being coy about it now. “I couldn’t help it. You were the most beautiful woman in the room.”

Her smile freezes and she looks away. Before Kris can apologize for whatever it was he said that offended her, she gets up and runs a hand over her face. She stands there for a moment, looking into the mirror, and then turns to face Kris.

Her mouth opens and closes a couple of times without a sound, and then she manages to say “Thank you. I really… I should go.”

She walks out the room, surprisingly fast for someone on high heels, and by the time Kris gets himself presentable enough to follow her, she is long gone.

~

A week goes by and Kris begins to fear that he will hurt himself from jerking off so much. But the memories are so vivid in his mind; he starts reliving them every time he closes his eyes. He tries not to dwell on it, but he can’t help but regret letting her slip right through his fingers like that. He should have stopped her. He should have gotten her phone number. He should have at least asked her name.

But life goes on as if nothing has happened—as if Kris’ heart didn’t get bruised beyond recognition. He vows to himself that he will never do his boss another favor if this is what it gets him. He is happy behind the bar. No one ever gives him blowjobs and steals his heart in return when he is there.

It’s a Monday afternoon and he relieves Joey at exactly 7:00 PM, bumping fists with him and asking after his wife as he starts his shift. There are three people already seated at the bar: two women in the corner gossiping over Margaritas, and a man with black hair, his head buried in a book, a bottle of beer forgotten next to his elbow.

Kris busies himself with his usual checklist, making sure everything is ready for a possible crowd that will most likely never come. When he turns around to wipe the counter he hears a soft gasp and a clinking sound of a bottle hitting the glass surface of the bar. He knew that bottle was too close to the guy’s elbow.

The guy has saved his book from the looks of it, but couldn’t get the bottle back upright with just one hand, so Kris lunges to help, their hands colliding and finally holding the neck of the bottle together. When he looks up to share a triumphant smile, the guy is frozen in his spot, looking up at him with huge eyes. Huge, blue, familiar eyes.

His fingers are under Kris’ on the neck of the bottle, so Kris pries them away and turns his hand to look at his wrist. And there it is, the same tattoo, the Eye of Horus as he now knows it is called, because of course he had to check; it is apparently a pretty common design and there is no way to track someone by it. He runs a finger over it unconsciously, mirroring that night, and feels the guy shiver and pull his hand back.

“Nice tattoo,” Kris says.

There’s a pause, and then, “I’m sorry,” the guy replies, his eyes fixed on his book. “I didn’t plan it or anything. It was a masquerade ball.”

He sneaks a glance and then looks away again, looking for all the world like he expects Kris to attack him over this, like he is ashamed to have done it. Kris didn’t think that the woman he met that night was someone who ever got ashamed, and now taking in the original version, he thinks this guy isn’t the type either. He is the kind of person that demands attention in a crowd with just his looks. His hair has blue streaks, he is wearing eyeliner around his already impressive eyes, his nails are painted a dark blue and his black shirt is unbuttoned down to his chest, revealing a couple of silver pendants nestled among the chest hair. Kris can’t take his eyes away, because it’s all so familiar, yet not. He has freckles all over him, which Kris didn’t see the last time because of the make-up. His nose, which Kris had thought was charismatic but still a bit on the large side for a woman, fits much better on a man’s face. And his lips… his lips are the same. Perfect in a way Kris knows no other pair will ever compare.

The picture he makes, just sitting there minding his own business, is completely alien and unapproachable for Kris. But it shouldn’t be, because he tasted that mouth. He heard the sounds this guy made as they kissed, needy and lost—he can still hear them in his mind. Those lips were wrapped around his cock, for God’s sake; he came down this guy’s throat and loved it. It’s hard to shift from she to he in his mind, but the picture was vague enough already and seems to morph and adjust all on its own. Suddenly Kris can see himself peeling that shirt off of him. He wants to see the man naked. He wants to touch him in places he didn’t get to. He wants to hear him talk and moan and shout—

The guy’s voice interrupts his thoughts. “Could you please stop staring?”

He sneaks another quick glance and then looks away. Kris smiles and reaches a hand to hold his chin, the slightest hint of stubble under his fingertips, and tilts his head up, running his thumb over those lips that have been haunting his dreams. Kris shakes his head. “I can’t help it,” he says. “You are the most beautiful man in the room.”

Blue eyes grow wide with shock, and Kris thinks he’ll catch up with it later himself. His courage has been growing without him noticing it seems. He keeps their gazes locked, demanding an answer, and thinks he knows what it will be when the lips part under his thumb and the tip of a pink tongue comes out for a taste. Then the guy smiles, making Kris’ thumb slip and spread the moisture along his lower lip. Kris’ breath stutters and he pulls his hand back, remembering where they are.

“I thought you liked the mask,” the guy says, his voice low and raspy and hot as hell.

Kris could get used to that voice.

“I think I like you better without it.”

The End

August 23rd, 2009