The inspiration for Best Laid Plans came from flicking through the plethora of `real life` documentary channels. I'll confess that one of my guilty pleasures is the suspense of watching people salvage something decent from the jaws of disaster, and when one documentary featured a mediaeval-themed wedding, complete with falconry displays, I remember thinking: "Imagine the mess if someone decided it'd be a good idea to release doves at a wedding while a falcon was loose…"
That wedding went off without a hitch, but the germ of the scene remained. And so, Eliott, my well-meaning but chronically luckless wedding co-ordinator was born. Of course, I love my happy endings--at least, once I've tormented my characters enough--so Eliott needed his own Prince Charming. Dylan, however, has secrets of his own…
Well, who said any of this was easy?!
Here's an excerpt!
At least Dylan finally seemed to be taking an interest in proceedings, though Eliott wished fervently that his client’s enthusiasm was for some other reason. Suit fabric. Gaudy ties. Extortionately expensive cufflinks. Anything but the pretty young man kneeling at his feet, face far too close to Dylan’s crotch for Eliott’s liking, and doing things with a tape measure that Eliott couldn’t watch for fear of whimpering.
It was ridiculous. He was sneaking around with a nearly married man; he had no right to feel jealous of some kid.
He was making Veronica feel this way. Regardless of what anyone said, Eliott failed to see how he couldn't be causing this same kind of pain. While she didn't need to sit here and watch someone else paw her man, the awareness that it was going on couldn't be any kinder.
Still, she wasn’t the one watching this, and for that small mercy she should be grateful. As for himself, Eliott figured he’d seen enough when he caught himself staring at the outline of Dylan’s cock through his shorts, monitoring it for the slightest twitch at Henry’s attentions.
Dylan eventually followed him to the dressing rooms, still dressed in the T-shirt and underwear, jeans slung over his arm, as if wandering half naked around a store was a common occurrence.
"You didn’t tell me he was part of the service."
Eliott didn’t reply, just browsed a little more viciously through the assorted garments on the rack, making the coat hangers scrape and whine against the pole. If Dylan wanted to call him on it–if he even noticed–the tailor rescued Eliott from the awkwardness, bustling in with another armful of clothes.
"These will be more in your client’s size." He added them to the rack. "Anything else, just give Henry or myself a call."
Eliott grit his teeth while, in his peripheral vision, Dylan smiled.
"Thank you, we’ll certainly do that."
If Dylan dared call Henry into the maelstrom of tension that used to be the tailor’s dressing room, Eliott thought he might scream. And he didn’t do screaming, he much preferred rational, polite conversation. Dylan just brought out the screaming tendencies in him.
"Then I'll leave you to it." The tailor smiled, leaving the dressing room, even as Eliott tried in vain to think of another reason to make him stay.
He watched the door forlornly, before turning back.
Dylan tugged off his shirt, the action leaving his hair mussed, and even before he looked up, dark eyes locked on his, Eliott's mouth had gone sandpaper dry.
"I get this odd feeling you don't want to be alone with me." A smile tugged at the corners of Dylan's lips. With his head lowered, dark bangs obscured his eyes, but Eliott could imagine the amused glint sparkling in them.
"Why would you think that?" He strode over to the clothes rack, picking out anything at random. "Why don't you try this first? It's a very popular style right now, and the color would suit you."
Arms wound around his waist, Dylan's bare chest warm against him as he pulled Eliott back. Lips nuzzled the back of his neck, the contact searing through Eliott like a lightning bolt. Dylan smiled.
"You're still prettier than Henry."
"That's not funny."
"Wasn't meant to be."
In his defence, Dylan wasn’t smiling anymore, but the predatory hungry look that had replaced it didn’t make Eliott feel any safer. Needy, hot, flustered, yes, but not safe. He decided Dylan was smug enough with himself right now, he didn't need to know how that reassurance had soothed Eliott's frayed nerves like a security blanket.
He wanted to be everything. Not just prettier, but more important than anyone or anything. Selfish and foolish, and while Dylan didn't know, it was tolerable.
Dylan’s kisses were like a drug, addictive from the first taste and with each one Eliott needed a little bit more to get the same effect.
He yanked the cubicle curtain closed as Dylan dragged him inside, as if it'd really help when the tailor or one of the apprentices came in. Eliott never knew them to do that, not when he was attending to a client, but this wasn't the usual sort of attending.
"Want you." Dylan dragged a lick along his lower lip, kissed him hard. "Don't want anyone else's hands on me."
Eliott nodded his head, wordless agreement that neither did he, hands sliding up Dylan's chest, tracing the lines of his collarbones, his shoulders, drinking him in through touch, knowing it would never be enough but content to tease himself. Lifetimes with Dylan wouldn't be enough, let alone ten minutes in a dressing room.
Mine, he thought against the kisses, I wish you were really mine.
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~ Cat Kane's Fiction ~
http://www.morethanfiction.com
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