Coming Out On Top

by Kyn_Moonlight

URL: http://www.area52hkh.net/ask/kmoonlight/ontop.php
Summary: Two stubborn, arrogant boys being stubborn and arrogant

He thinks I'm attracted to him.

I am, but there's no way in hell I'm letting him know that.

I glance over and take in that smug self-assurance. He just knows he's right, knows he's so damn good at his job that no one in this galaxy, or back home for that matter, can compete. And it's true. Because he is.

I can't help admiring him for it.

I can't help hating him for it.

Yes, smirk that 'I'm so wonderful' smirk, so perfectly careless and posed for maximum effect to let us bask in his glory. All right, he did it again, saved all our asses, and did it with style, and cleverness, and room to spare -- not to mention far too many sarcastic comments at my expense.

Now the little, humble shrug, as an afterthought. It's half apology for being so much more wonderful than the rest of us, and half invitation for all of us to tell him so. It's unbelievably haughty and condescending, but it's also unbelievably compelling and sexy when he does that. I want to rush in there and tell him how wonderful he is too. But I won't.

The worst thing is that I can see there's a deep channel of self- doubt and confusion and hurt running under the veneer of overbearing arrogance. He hides it well. Maybe even from himself, sometimes. I can see it because in those fleeting seconds between perfection, when I catch flickers of imperfection and fear, they're mirrors of my own.

Like now, when he glances away from his adoring fans to look at me. Seeking my approval, my admiration. Those half-hooded, almost sultry eyes focus in on me in a way that's anything but casual. I give him a small, tight smile and nod in acknowledgement. I'm torn, because part of me, the part drowning in my own deep river if insecurity and pain, knows that my appreciation will help ease the pain and fear he can't show to anyone else. But another part of me, my carefully built shell of confidence and strength and indifference, knows that it will just feed his superior attitude.

Instead, I pretend his accomplishments don't impress me. I don't want to see him dismissing my praise in a show of false humility, giving it no more weight than that of the others. My respect is a hard thing to win, and just because he walked into my life and grabbed it so easily, without trying, without working at it, that's no reason for him to know it. Damn it, I want him to have to work as hard to earn my esteem as I'm working to gain his.

Ironically, I'm pretty sure he's attracted to me too. I've caught the looks of appraisal and appreciation that fall far outside our working relationship, the shrouded hunger I know so well. But it doesn't matter, because he's too high and mighty to admit it anyhow. I'm SO not going to be the first one.

I look at him again. He's smart, good looking, sexy, so hot and so very cool in his own offbeat, careless way. When I think that there's even a chance that he could want me, that we could be touching each other everywhere, making each other shudder and scream in pleasure, filling each others' needs, easing each others' pain, I want to reach out and grab it all, make it mine and make him mine.

One thing stops me. That smug, cocky, arrogant ego that doesn't need yet another person building it up. And, I'll admit, my own as well, that can't take another person tearing it down. To acknowledge his vulnerability is to admit my own, and I can't give him that kind of control over me.

I can't give him the satisfaction. Even if it means I get none myself.

- -

"Hey."

He's talking to me. Following me out.

"Hey."

"Are you OK?"

Me? "Yeah. Just fine. Perfect. Thrilled. Why?" Do I sound snappish? I really don't care. No, actually, it's better that way. Anything to keep that necessary distance.

He shrugs. "I just wanted to be sure."

His voice is tired, proud, with an undertone of lingering anxiety and confusing warmth.

When I turn to look, his eyes, face, his whole body match that voice. I guess being the hero's not such an easy thing.

"I'm fine."

"So you said. I was just, um, a little concerned. About you. But, there's no reason to be, because you're, you know, fine."

He's nervous, babbling, being less than perfect in front of me, and if I'm not mistaken, making an overture of sorts. Maybe I can cave and do the same. Just this once.

"I am, thanks to you. You... you did good." I stop myself from gushing his praises.

He smiles as if ten other people hadn't just told him the same thing.

Like my approval means more to him than theirs did. Like it maybe means as much to him as his concern does to me.

I mentally flip a coin between the confident facade I have to keep and the desires I have to keep hidden, between making the first move and playing it safe.

"You doing anything, later?"

"Nope."

"Want to," casual shrug, "Get together?"

"Okay."

That coin I tossed tumbles down, unheeded, to disappear in the deep river of mutual need.

He just better not think he gets to be on top.