Title: Addicted to you
Author: Lady Charena
Fandom: Kung Fu – the legend continues
Codes: P/P, R
Sum: same as in “to ease all woes”, but now from Peter’s POV
Disclaimer: This story's mine, but I do not intend to touch the rights of the owner of the characters from KF-TLC I've used. No moneymaking, no offence meant.
Even so, I am still dying to meet you
I want to meet you everyday
I don't know what to do with this feeling
I want to be mature enough to deal with my own feelings
But it takes time for that to happen
I feel sad when I can't meet you
I feel good when I am with you
These feelings are addictive
…can’t get the hell fast enough out of here! Where’s Pop? Whenever I turned I saw him standing slightly detached from the others, looking for the world all composed and comfortable. His eyes would meet mine, losing that guarded look. It helped me a lot to stay calm.
Even if I’d been warned I didn’t believe Zia would prevail. Walking away I still I feel her eyes directed at me, burning holes into my back. And her smile… I suppress a shudder and try to banish her from my thoughts. At least for now. I’m pretty sure Pop wants to talk about her, but I can’t handle right now more of it or I’m gonna explode in blind rage. And I don’t want my father to be in the midst of it. Even if I know he wouldn’t care, maybe even welcome the release of my anger. Strange thing to hear from a man who controls every emotion…
Finally outside. Fresh air hits me like a slap, cools my overheated face and with a sigh I let go of the anger, feeling exhaustion taking over. The past few days had been from hell. I’ve been questioned over and over and filled reports until late into night. Though I didn’t mind much about the last part, work’s been better than nightmares. Zia added just a few new to my already varied selection… There I go again, can’t I put that damn woman out of my mind? I’d better find Pop. Maybe I can lure him into spending some time with me right know, to work out or simply listen to my chatter. Something to keep me from thinking too much.
Someone calls my name and I turn, my heart searing – but no, it’s not Pop. I say something proper, shake hands and get the hell out of the courthouse. There he is. Just a few steps away, smiling a tender, special smile only meant for me. Suddenly a burst of love for this man explodes in my chest and for a moment all I can do is stand and watch. I will him to come to me and hug me, touching me to soothe away…
Slowly releasing the breath I didn’t notice I was holding, I avert my eyes, running my fingers through my hair. Hold it Caine, I reprove myself. Pop’s maybe reading your every thought...
All the sudden he stands in front of me, near enough so I can feel the heat radiating from his body. I open my mouth… though I’m not sure what I’m gonna say… but he stops me, crossing my mouth with a finger.
For seconds I image myself open my lips and sucking his finger in…
“We will speak of it, Peter,” he says and his eyes capture mine with ease. I worry what he might read in my gaze… “But not now. Come,” he continues, gently brushing the back of his hand across my cheek. I try to lean into his touch, but it’s already gone and Pop’s ready to turn and walk away from me.
I grab for his shoulder, stop him. “And where do you want to go, Pop?” I ask, forcing a shaky smile to cover the shiver that just runs through my entire body, little sparks of high voltage, just from a touch to my cheek…”Home? Or…” Please, don’t dump me now, Pop… “…we could have a late lunch somewhere…” Christ, I hate sounding that whiny but I can’t help myself. I’m sure he has things to do, maybe patients waiting for him or…
He sends me a look over his shoulder. “Are you hungry?”
I just shake my head once, too tired to lie – which wouldn’t work with him anyway - waiting for the final rejection.
“Then I would propose that we return home.”
Well, not exactly the answer I wanted, but I think that settles it. “I’ll drive you,” I offer, hoping he’ll agree so I have at least the few minutes of the ride. “But afterwards I better return to the precinct. I’ve got a lot work to do,” I add. Simply don’t want him to feel pressed into entertaining me. Pop’s hand covers mine and squeezes gently, effectively stopping my thoughts. Instead a rush of arousal surges through me and I tense, fearing he would read my feelings...
“I thought you said you… ‘took the afternoon off’?” he asks.
“I did… but…” The words won’t come to my blazed mind. I’m drowning in the love I see in his eyes…
“What is it, Peter?” he urges as I fumble with an explanation.
Finally I manage a smile… or something similar to it. “I… I’m not good company today, Dad. And I’m pretty sure you’re not finished with your new… lodgings…” That should take his mind to other things… but obviously it doesn’t work.
“It will have to wait. Come, Peter,” Pop answers lightly, slipping out of my grasp and starting to walk down the street where the Stealth waits.
After a moment of stunned immobility, I close up to him.
Pop’s in the car even before I can take the keys out of my pocket. I join him and joke: “Don’t even think of it.” I can’t prevent a grin as I see him struggle with the seat belt. Yeah, I know, it’s childish, but to see something as simple as belting himself in gives my Pop a hard time…
He gazes at me, hazel eyes slightly puzzled. Looking like a curious bird, he inclines his head slightly and obviously waits for an explanation.
“I won’t let you drive.” And I just know Pop remembers…
The skin around his eyes wrinkles as he tries to hide his smile, then he leans forwards to gently cuff my jaw. In an instant I feel better, watch him shaking his head in mock desperation.
For seconds my gaze clings to his lips. “Where to?” I ask giving him a glance that tells him I’m not going to buy it. You can’t fool me every time, Dad.
This I didn’t expect. He hardly ever visits me, despite my bugging. I wait for an explanation, but it seems I won’t get one. He succeeds with the belt, keeping his eyes straight ahead. After a moment I turn the key with a sigh. Leave it to my Pop to be cryptic… “Okay. Whatever you want.”
* * *
It’s a silent ride, but the detached look in my father’s face and my growing exhaustion keeps even my mouth shut. I wonder what he’s up to. Another lecture about wearing myself too thin? About… I feel a knot of anxiety coiling in my belly. With dismay I see my hand shake as I fumble with the key to open the door to my apartment. Pop’s fingers close around mine and I can’t stop myself from turning and looking at him to ascertain his reaction. But I find only mild concern in his eyes, no disappointment about my lack of control. The silence is too much and I say the first thing coming to my mind: “Kelly’s maybe here.” Christ, this sounds like I'm apologizing. He doesn’t expect me to live alone all the time, so why do I feel like I should beg his forgiveness? Too late I realize that maybe he’d preferred to be alone with me… But of course Pop won’t give me an answer.
I get inside at fast as I can, with him following close behind. I spot a sheet at the table and pick it up, reading the short note in Kelly’s handwriting during I get rid of my jacket. “Kelly’s working late and will meet a friend from school tonight. Means she won’t come,” I add pointlessly. My nervousness increases and I crush the paper to a tight little ball, tossing it to the floor as I slump with a sigh onto the couch. We’re alone. I’m finally alone with my Pop – and I don’t know what to do… I fear he’ll see my confusion and so I close my eyes, trying to relax.
“I will make tea.”
I nearly jump at Pop’s voice, sounding so awfully casual. “Tea sounds… okay. But I don’t think I have any of the stuff you’d usually drink. Sorry, Pop.” I wince at the lack of enthusiasm in my words. I hope he won’t mind, but I’m unable to meet his eyes right know and keep them shut.
“This situation can be easily solved, my son,” I hear my father say. Who’d guessed he wouldn’t…
* * *
Pop’s voice wakes me. I must be even more tired than I though, ‘cause it couldn’t take that long to make tea for me to fall asleep like an overwrought kid. I get up a bit from my slumped position and pain shoots through my shoulders and my head. Craning my neck I’ll hope for Pop catching up the clue and giving me one of his massages…
As if reading my thoughts his hand comes to my neck, strong fingers pressing into strained muscles, soothing away the tension. With the other hand he picks up a cup, urging me to take it.
The smell isn’t quite inviting and I brace myself to another dose of my father’s over-all-cure-for-stressed-sons as I take the cup from his hand. Cautiously taking a sip I nearly spit it back – the taste’s even worse than the smell. “Whoa, this stuff’s awful, Pop. Geez, no wonder you won’t drink it.”
Of course he won’t let me get away with it. I see his lips curve in the smallest of smiles. “It will help you to relax.”
It’d take a lot more than a few herbs… With a sigh, I drown it in one large gulp. My agitation rises again, for I feel unable to stand his touch any longer. I put the cup down and slip out of my father’s grasp. “A hot shower would do the same,” I say, directing my anger to the one person I shouldn’t… I get up. “Without leaving a foul taste in my mouth.” I wince at the cruelness of my own words.
Pop’s face shows no reaction, but he rises too. “Then I would advise you to take your hot shower.”
There’s no reprove in his voice though I feel it. I turn to look at him but there is no anger in his eyes and I avert my face, unable to look at him. “Sorry,” I murmur. “I didn’t mean to… it’s just I…”
I stop as he reaches for me, cupping my jaw to make me meet his gaze. “Peter…”
It’s too much, too intensive. “Sorry, Pop,” I interrupt before he can say more. “I’m… I’m not used to… being pampered. Not anymore. I mean… you…” I stutter, feeling like the world’s biggest fool.
Pop stops me with a gentle finger across my lips. I tremble with the effort not to grab and kiss him… The mingled love and pain in his eyes is almost too much for me to take.
“I would very much like to… pamper… you, my son,” he says. His voice is low and almost… sensual.
No, must be my imagination. He wouldn’t… I can’t help myself but lean forward, into his touch. “Why?” I whisper, lowering my lashes to prevent him from seeing too much.
Sensing it more than actually seeing it, I know he shakes his head. “Because I love you, Peter.”
My heart skips a few beats. Running his fingers up my jaw to my cheek, he releases me. Taking my arm he steers me towards the bath. Blinded and deafen I’m willing to let him do with me whatever pleases him…
At the door I regain a kind of control back. “Whoa, wait a minute, Pop. What’re you doing?”
“I will take care of you.”
Again there is something in his voice I don’t quite understand. And I won’t again allow my imagination to rush to conclusions. “Don’t you think I’m a bit too old for that?” I protest, even if I don’t really mean it. “Come on, I’m not a baby anymore, Pop. I can do this for myself.”
He doesn’t answer, simply looks at me until I blush and have to look away. Then he pushes me through the doorway and into the room. “Take off your shirt,” he orders and leaves me standing stunned to view the contents of a nearby shelf.
I undress quickly and as he turns to face me again, he holds a bottle with shampoo in his hand. “Gonna wash my hair?” I ask. “Can’t remember you ever doing it.”
Pop takes a stool from a corner – I don’t know or mind how it came into the bathroom – and moves it in front of the basin. “Only when you were a very small boy,” he answers, patting the seat as if I’m still a kid. “Sit down.”
I hesitate; feel compelled to ask if he’s sure, even if I’d love the very idea. “You’re serious about this?”
He gives me one of his patent shrugs, takes a towel and folds it, placing it at the rim of the sink. Guess, that’s my answer. I sit down and put my head gingerly back until my neck rests on the towel. It’s awkward but exciting, to watch my father from this angle. I feel strangely exposed to his eyes and I have to fight against a sudden attack of arousal.
Pop takes a small bowl from the shelf, Kelly used it once to who-knows-what and moves it behind my head. I can’t see what he’s doing but I guess he fills it.
Warm water slowly slides down my scalp and I involuntarily utter a deep sigh. I feel my father’s hand brushing the hair back from my forehead and preventing me from getting any water in my eyes. I close my lids to better savor the sensations.
Suddenly his hands are gone and I open my eyes, afraid I might dream. But he’s still there, working shampoo into soft lather between his palms. He didn’t roll his sleeves and the wet fabric clings to his wrists, but it seems he doesn’t mind. An intense look of concentration crosses his face and again I close my eyes to hide my feelings. Seconds later, he starts to spread the foam onto my hair, his fingertips gently massaging my scalp. His touch soothes away the headache I felt building since ever leaving the court.
I’m in heaven. It’s both thrilling and comforting, ‘cause I know of his strength. He could crush my head, but his touch is so gentle… Heat flows from the fingertips that rub little circles on my scalp and runs through my entire body. Arousal floats my being. Christ, he’s my father, I can’t… Suddenly I image the same strong hands spreading lather down my chest, rubbing my nipples, and sliding deeper down… I almost groan and dig my nails into the soft flesh of my palms to fight against the arousal, but can’t prevent a small sound escaping my throat. “This feels great, Pop,” I murmur to cover up my slip. “I’m melting.”
He doesn’t answer and so I can hope he senses nothing unusual from me. Taking a couple of deep breaths I manage to… I feel lightheaded. Disturbing images flash suddenly in my mind. I see myself at the shower, Pop on his knees in front of me, his lips open to take me in. I see him turning me to face the wall, his hands sliding down my back, caressing… parting my cheeks, his legs pushing mine further apart… I almost cry out.
Holding my breath I wait for the inevitable question from my father – but it never comes. Through lowered lashes I steal a glimpse onto his face. I can tell he enjoys washing my hair from the preoccupied look in his eyes, but his mouth is set in a stern line, the lips almost bloodless.
Suddenly he pulls back his hands, looking at them with a mixed expression of wonder and horror. He lifts his head and stars into the mirror above the sink.
“Why did you stop?” To my utmost relief my voice sounds almost normal and I smile as his eyes shift to my face. I wonder if he knows I can see it.
Again I receive no answer, but Pop turns on the tap and rinses his hands. He takes a second towel and dabs at a trickle of foam, sliding down my forehead. I fully open my eyes to look at him – and he avoids my gaze.
No… he can’t… he didn’t sense what I was thinking, did he? “Pop?” I ask nervously. “Everything alright?” I can’t help but frown… and his hand comes up, to smooth away the tension with a featherlike caress, that both serves to calm and reassure me.
“It is nothing, Peter,” he says with a smile and I have to close my eyes to hide my relief.
I love you, Pop. I need you, Father… forgive me for loving you too much, for wanting too much…
He starts to rinse the shampoo out and I know it’s over… that scaring, thrilling moment of intimate closeness…
A touch to my upper arm guides me to sit up and I oblige both with relief and regret. Water trickles down my neck, shoulder and down my chest and I open my eyes. Pop moves to catch it with the towel and I feel his finger brush my skin. Fingertips travel teasingly along my ribs and I cannot suppress a shiver. I hold my breath.
“Peter,” he whispers. “I…”
It is too much, I push his hand away and see him step back, surprise evident in his eyes, the towel dangling loose from his fingers. Frenetically I search for words to explain… “It’s… uh… that’s sufficient, Dad. I’ll dry… you don’t have to…” I know I make little sense and avert my eyes. “I better change.” Suddenly all I want is to escape. I rise and leave the bath without another word.
* * *
I hide in my bedroom as I hear the door of the bathroom. Finally I gather enough courage to leave it and step into the living room. Pop’s at the kitchen area, neatly folding a little paper bag and about to put it back into his satchel.
Our eyes meet across the distance and a too familiar feeling of fear rises in my chest. “You’re… you’re not leaving, Pop? You’ll stay, won’t you?” I ask, hating the pleading sound of my voice but am helpless to prevent it.
I see his gaze travel my body, taking in the clothes I’ve changed into and suddenly his fingers closes around the strap of the satchel, almost tearing it off.
“I will only stay if you wish me to stay.”
I almost slump down with relief. “Okay.” It’s not the answer I dreamt of, but it’s definitely better than nothing. “I… really like having you around,” I add, feeling the nervousness creeping back as he continues to look at me as if he hadn’t see me for a long time. He’ll stay if I please him, I think. If I’m an obedient son. “I’ll even… drink more of this stuff… I mean the tea you made, if you want me to.” I’d do everything he wanted me to do. “It’s not that bad, really. I just--" I stop and shrug. “It helped somehow… but… your pampering… I liked even more. I mean… washing my hair… it really felt good.” Christ, I’m a stuttering idiot, he’ll never stay…
He smiles. Amusement shines in his gentle eyes and I run out of words. Obviously he… doesn’t mind or… even thinks I need more… pampering. Heaven, I don’t know if I can take more… alone him touching me right now. He could be surprised by my reaction... I almost laugh and feel my cheeks grow hot. Brushing my hair back I have to look aside.
He drops the satchel and comes to me, standing close… too close. Slowly he lifts his hand and runs the knuckles of his hands down my cheek. I squeeze my eyes tight and hold my breath.
“You are greatly disturbed, my son.”
With the tip of a finger he brushes my mouth, traces the outlines of my lips and I sigh contently.
“It’s just… too much of everything. Zia…” No, I don’t want to think about her, not now, not when I am touched like this by my father. I tighten my lips, but Pop rubs them with the pad of his thumb till I relax again. “No, I don’t want to think about her. Not now,” I speak my thoughts aloud, just to prevent myself from sucking his finger into my mouth. I open my eyes and wonder what he can see. Suddenly all the energy seems to leave my body. “I’m so tired, Father.” I know, he will hear the plea in my voice...
He gently cups my chin and leans towards me, to place a kiss onto my cheek. Without thinking I move my head and his lips brush the corner of my mouth. A touch… almost to fleeting to be aware of it but my skin feels burned…
“I do not think you require more tea, but you must try to rest.”
There is a tremor in my father’s voice… or maybe it’s just my wild running imagination. I nestle my face against his strong shoulder. “Sleep sounds fine,” I murmur, marveling in the feel of his body so close to mine. “I didn’t get much last night. But I’m afraid I’ll… I’ll dream.”
He pulls me even closer to him and hesitantly I slip my arms around his waist, hoping he’s gonna to let me hold him.
“I will stay to guard your dreams,” he whispers, his mouth near my ear. “You will be safe.”
He starts to rock me like a child. Safe. Yes. There is no place in the world I could be safer than in his arms… His hands travel up and down my back and his mouth comes even closer to my ear, I can feel little puffs of warm breath as he starts to hum… a unknown, yet strange familiar tone, settling around my like a magic spell. A shudder runs through my body and then I feel myself going slack. His strengths supports me, keeps me on my feet.
It seems he holds me for hours, maybe eternity. I could stay in his arms forever. His fingertips slowly creep into my hair and start anew a massage of my scalp. Blindly I turn my face against the soft, warm skin of his throat, moaning my pleasure.
Then he let go of me and I feel disappointment. He takes my arm and steers me towards the bedroom, finally guiding me down to sit on my bed. Unable to meet his eyes I let him undress me. First the sweater, I obediently rise my arms, then the jeans and I lift my legs to help him getting it off. He pushes me back and I recline on my back. Like he did when I was a child, he tucks the corners of the thin comforter in and brushes his fingertips across my temples. “Sleep, my son.”
Seemingly out of its own will I reach for his hand before he can withdraw, bring it to my mouth and lay a kiss onto his palm. Like I’ve giving him a signal, he bends down to kiss my forehead. I ache to feel his lips on mine… everywhere… and I’m unwilling to let him go.
“I will stay,” he reassures.
But this is not the answer I need to hear and I let go of his hand. I close my eyes and feel him sit down next to me. The last thing I feel before drifting into deep sleep are my father’s fingers, running through my hair…
* * *
Returning to a lighter state of sleep I sense a warm body next to mine. Pop. Without thinking I snuggle up to him, pillow my face on his chest and drag an arm across his waist to keep him close to me. He doesn’t stir and I let myself drift off…
* * *
Something wakes me and I roll over to my back, stretching. I feel a lot better, thanks to Pop. I turn my head, but he’s gone. Running my fingertips across the pillow next to mine I wonder if I dreamt… of him… laying next to me, asleep but holding me in his arms… I bury my face in the pillow and smell a unique mixture of herbs and incense, achingly familiar. My father’s smell. No dream…
Slowly I become aware of a voice… no, voices… outside the room. I lift my head and listen. Kelly? And Pop? Shit. I bold out of bed and dress hastily.
As I open the door I hear my father say: “Please do not mention this to Peter. It will only embarrass him.” I see him passing by Kelly, obviously ready to go.
“What will embarrass me?” I ask, making myself know. But I can already guess… and a savage little thrill starts in my body. Kelly stumbled in onto us. She saw me cuddling up with Pop and now she’s fuming. I can see it in the way she hugs herself, her eyes dark and foreboding. “You’re talking about me, aren’t you? Kelly – I thought you’d be out tonight? What happened to your friend?”
I dare not to look at my father and so I do the only other thing I can do right now – I embrace and kiss Kelly. She sends me a strange look and moves out of my embrace to vanish into the bathroom, telling me she cancelled the date on her way.
I turn to look at Pop, but he’s now at the kitchen area, fingering his satchel, his head bend down. My heart beats wildly as I step to him and start to rub his shoulder. I don’t know what to think… or what the cause might be… but I feel he’s in pain. I remember the way he called my name and smile as he finally faces me.
His eyes leaves mine to search for Kelly, but his hand covers mine.
“I feel way better, Pop. What ever you did, it worked.”
Still Pop avoids looking at me and he doesn’t answer. My courage falters as he takes his satchel and slings the strap over his shoulder.
“Kelly’s date cancelled. Why don’t you join us for dinner? You could get to know her and…” It’s not what I really want, but it’s all I can ask for.
Brushing off my hand from his shoulder, he interrupts me. “I would prefer to go home, Peter. It has been a rather demanding day for me, too.”
I try not to show my disappointment. “Okay. I’ll drive you.” Maybe I can change his mind… but his answer destroys my hope.
“This is not necessary. I will walk.”
Finally he looks at me, but I’m not sure he really sees me. His eyes are bleak, devoid of all expression.
“Earth to Pop? Talk to me.” I try to sound lightly.
He raises his hand and fleetingly brushes his knuckles across my cheek. “You know where to find me if you need me, Peter,” he says, his voice gentle. Then he turns to go.
I follow him to the door. “Thanks for being here, father,” I say, for I sense I cannot hold him back anymore. I bend forwards to drop a kiss to his forehead, for I know he enjoys this little sign of… affection. “And for staying with me.” For holding me, for making my sleep safe – for loving me. I hope he understands everything I can’t say aloud.
Pop simply nods and leaves.
Idly I walk to the window and watch rain running down the glass.