Bodies in Motion

 

I lifted my attention from the physics journal I was perusing as I heard a car pull up to the curb outside.  I folded my arms on the desk, giving at least the appearance of being absorbed in the journal as I listened to the sound of a car door slamming.  Bright whistling accompanied footsteps into the fire hall.  I did not look up, but idly turned a page, waiting patiently. 

"Hey ya, Spengs. S'up?" 

I glanced up just as he jumped over the low gate to his office.  Face flushed from the cold November air, hair windblown, he smiled at me quizzically.  "Why are you down here?  Fumes drive you out of the lab?"

I closed the journal and, resting my elbows on the desk, settled my chin on my hands and eyed him thoughtfully.  Peter slipped out of his jacket and tossed it on a vacant chair.  Moving up behind me, he slid his arms around my shoulders and pulled me back enough to press his chilled cheek to mine. I could feel him shivering.  "Ahhh," he breathed through chattering teeth, "you feel good, 'gon...better than a hot water bottle."

I placed my hands over his cold ones and rubbed gently.  "You should have waited.  Ray was not in such a hurry for that part."

Peter pulled one hand out from under mine and with one cold finger, pushed my glasses up my nose. "Should've got some superglue," he commented, "put a dab of it right about here…." His finger rubbed up and down the bridge of my nose.

"Very amusing, Dr. Venkman."  I tilted my head back against his shoulder and turned to look up at him.  "You need some cocoa, I believe."

"Nope."  He grinned at me and pressed his nose into my hair.  "Just need you, Dr. Spengler.  How's Ray?"

"Fever's gone," I reported.  "He's rather bored, but I would not let him get out of bed just yet."

"Good.  Glad you sent Winston to the movies.  He's done more than his share of taking care of poor old Sneezy."  Peter exhaled a breath, warm against my neck.  I knew what he was thinking.

"Raymond is fine, Peter."

"Yeah, I know."  Peter's grip on me tightened minutely.  "When our boy Stantz gets sick, he goes all out, doesn't he?"

"It was a very normal case of the flu.  It only bothers us where Ray is concerned because few things can keep him that calm and quiet for any length of time." 

Peter snorted at my rather unsuccessful attempt at a dry, humorous tone. "Like you weren't just as worried," he murmured, pulling me back further until he threatened to tip the chair over.

"I was worried," I admitted calmly.  "But Raymond is strong and, like someone else I know, he is a fighter…." I reached back and mussed the already tousled hair.  Peter did not try to duck, but instead lowered his head close to mine, reveling in the touch.  Then he sneezed, and I felt the light spray against my neck.  He caught the grimace that crossed my face, and he began to laugh.  I gave him a rebuking look in return and pressed my hand to his forehead.  No fever yet.  But knowing Peter, he would soon be in bed and requiring a good amount of my attention...and my patience. 

"Peter...."

"I'm not going, Egon," he declared firmly, letting go of me and straightening up as if he feared I was going to haul him over my shoulder and take him to bed.  "Not unless you're going with me," he added, breaking into a grin.  He threaded his fingers into my hair.  "You're not busy right now.  And my electric blanket's on the fritz..."

"You are quite incorrigible."  I did not resist for a moment as his hands, warmer now, combed through my hair.  When I felt his lips nip softly behind my ear, I realized I had better extract myself now or I would most certainly give in.  Peter's powers of distraction were considerable...and in regard to me specifically...well, he did know me well enough to know exactly how to pull me away from even the most engrossing experiments, if he truly wanted my entire attention.

"Peter, I wanted to talk to you..."

"Mmm hmmm."  A much warmer hand had found its way under my shirt collar. "Talk away.  I'm listening."  The hand delved lower.

I hovered for one almost unbearable moment on the verge of yielding to Peter's obvious wish to make the most of a lazy afternoon.  But first things first.  "Peter..." Squirming gently out of his hold, I scooped up the physics journal and held it before his eyes.  He blinked, frowned at it, then groaned in realization and buried his face in the top of my shoulder.  I cleared my throat and read aloud, "Personalities and Compatibility in the Lab, by Dr. Peter Venkman."  I laid the journal with care on the desktop.  "I do believe that was one I was never asked to proofread."

Peter exhaled another groan, this one turning into more of a growl.  "You opened my mail," he said, letting go of me as he straightened his lean frame and moved to sit on the edge of the desk.  He casually picked up the journal, paged through it quickly with an air of disinterest, pausing briefly at the title page of his article.  I saw the fleeting emotions...amazement, embarrassment, and pride...all mingled in the twist of his mouth and sparkle of his eyes.  They were gone in an instant and he gave a snort as if the entire matter were easily dismissed.  He tossed the journal carelessly onto the desk.  "They printed it, yeah."  He turned to me, a brisk smile sliding across his face.  "Want to get some lunch?"

"Lunch." 

Exasperating.  No more accurate word in the language described him. "Peter...." I stood and, grasping his arms, pushed him into the chair I'd just vacated.  My hands wrapped around the arms of the chair, I leaned toward Peter with a stern eye.  "The reason I opened your mail, Dr. Venkman, is because I was going through the mail and saw the return address--The American Journal of Physics--and made the natural and entirely erroneous assumption that it must be addressed to me.  You will have to agree that you have never in your life received mail from them."

Peter's lips twitched, and he rubbed a hand hastily over his mouth. "Natural mistake, Spengs--"

"A careless mistake, nonetheless, and I apologize for opening your mail." I reached back and dragged a chair up, seating myself opposite him, my knees pressed on either side of his.  I closed my fingers around his wrists in a warm firm grip.  "Peter, why didn't you tell me?  I thought...well, I thought you'd gotten more comfortable with sharing your work with me..."

He frowned impatiently and tried to wriggle out of my hold.  "Egon, you're making way too much of it."  Even as he spoke, something in my face made him pause.  His head dropped forward and he unmistakably growled this time, a soft frustrated sound.  "Okay."  His tenor had dropped to just above a rough whisper.  He raised his head and met my eyes in a glance tinged with regret.  "I'm sorry, 'gon.  It's just that...well...ah, hell.  That's your turf."  He jerked his head in the direction of the journal lying on the desk.  "It's where you shine among the stuffiest of the stuffy--"

"Peter."  I sounded more reproachful than I meant to.  I gave his wrists a soft squeeze and, as he met my eyes with some uncertainty, I smiled in affection.  "Did you think I would discourage you?  Or begrudge you a place in my turf, as you call it?"

"Jeez.  'Course not, Spengs.  I knew you wouldn't care in the least.  You'd probably have slobbered all over me like you usually do when I slap together a few paragraphs of psychobabble and fast-talk some overworked editor into publishing it."

"Belittling the hard work you put into your articles, Peter, is something I am not prepared to tolerate."  I released one wrist and caught between thumb and forefinger a wayward strand of brown hair curling against his neck, to give it a small tug.  He made a face at me then dropped his gaze to the alignment of our knees.  He set his freed hand on my gray slacks and brushed his fingers over the wool. 

"I wanted to make sure it was in before you saw it," he said after a moment.  "If I'd showed it to you...you'd have been more excited about it than...than I was.  And if it turned out they weren't interested in using it, you'd have been a lot more upset.  Hell, knowing you, you'd probably have taken a vow right there to never submit anything of your own ever again."  He snorted at the thought.

It appeared to be my turn to experience a measure of frustration.  "Decent of you to go to such lengths to protect my feelings, Dr. Venkman," I said archly, letting go of him to fold my arms.

He looked up at me, startled; then he rolled his eyes.  "Come on, Egon--"

"Peter."  I had not wished to make him feel bad over it; but I did want him to understand something and understand it very clearly.  I leaned toward him, capturing his attention with a demanding gaze.  "We may not have the standard marriage license or the album with wedding photos and a slice of wedding cake decomposing in our freezer, but this is, as far as I am concerned, for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and health...til death parts us."  I curled fingers around the hand on my knee.  "And I will admit that part of me, down inside, wants to believe that not even death can take you away from me."  Hearing the hoarseness in my voice, I swallowed and cleared my throat.  Peter was gazing at me with what seemed an unshakable intensity...almost a wonder...as if he could not quite fathom that I felt that strongly about it.  And even so, I knew he felt as strongly, without having to hear him say it.

"What I am trying to tell you," I continued in a calmer voice, "is that I do not want you to spare me anything that has to do with you.  Even if you fear it will hurt me or sadden me...if it is a part of your life, Peter, I want it to be a part of mine."  I hesitated for the briefest second, an old, old fear that I seldom felt these days waking in me. 

Early on in our relationship, I had sometimes wondered if perhaps I demanded too much of him.  It was something I understood, his natural inclination to keep certain things private to himself.  That was a habit of mine as well...or had been until I had come to be aware of the fact that there was nothing in my life I wished to keep hidden from Peter.  He was, indeed, my life.  If it was within my ability to let him examine every dark corner of my soul, I think I would not hesitate to do so.  But to expect the same of him seemed too much to ask.  It was too much second nature to Peter to keep some things buried inside, away from the examination of even those who loved him best and would forgive him anything.

"I would like it to be a part of my life," I amended more gently, caressing the hand that had gone still under mine.  "I just want you to know that. When you confide in me, Peter...well, it means a great deal to me."  I fell silent, thinking it best not to push him on it.  He was altogether too quiet, his expression closed, eyes shielded by lowered eyelids and the fall of brown hair. 

I made an attempt to ease away from the seriousness of the subject.  "But you are correct in your earlier statement, Peter.  I would have been excited for you.  And I would have been quite displeased had they not accepted it.  It is a superb article, insightful and informative and written in your usual entertaining style."  I brushed the fall of hair back with a sweep of my fingers.  "I cannot even begin to tell you how proud I am of you.  How proud I am always."

One corner of his mouth quirked up and his head ducked even lower, in an attempt to hide the smile from me.  "Jeez...it wasn't that good," he said, but with little conviction. 

I frowned and slipped a hand under his chin to draw his gaze upward.  "Yes, Peter, it is that good.  There is a letter that was in with your contributor's copy, requesting that you submit more articles in the future."  My heart was buoyant with more joy than could be contained; I could not put into words the depth of my pride in him.  "Welcome to my turf, Dr. Venkman."  I slid my arms around him and pulled him toward me. "It is a true pleasure to have you here." 

His arms came around me, hands ascending my back to grip my shoulders. "Sorry, 'gon." 

I knew what the low, brusque apology was for.  I trusted it meant he would be more likely to confide in me about such things in the future, if only because he knew how much it meant to me.  I gave the lean body relaxing against me a reassuring squeeze.  "Thank you, Peter."  I turned my head and nuzzled playfully behind his ear.  "I shall make a fellow physicist of you yet."

"There's really nothing in that article about physics in particular, Egon," he said with a snort, drawing back to look at me.  "It's only--"

"I know what's in it, Peter.   All that time you spent in the lab in college with us, and since then...you were paying more attention than even I had imagined."  He grinned and I shook my head, unable to keep from smiling.  I traced a line from his jaw to his lips, caressing his lower lip with a soft touch.  "You put it all to practical use.  That's an article that companies should consult before hiring researchers for their labs. It's brilliant--"

"If that's a line to seduce me, Dr. Spengler," he cut in, seizing my chair and dragging it, and me, closer, "just want you to know it's working."

"I don't think it's the line that's working, Dr. Venkman."  That was as far as I got before his mouth covered mine.  The kiss was leisurely and gentle...yet I felt an underlying fervency, as if it were all he could do not to tackle me to the floor right there.  When he drew back finally, we both gasped for breath.

"No, it's not the line," he agreed breathlessly, a grin curving his lips. "You just look...and smell and taste...so damned good."  His fingers captured my wrist.  "I'm ready to do some sharing of a different sort right now, Spengs."  On his feet, he pulled me to mine and snagged a handful of my sweater.

From upstairs came a plaintive call.  "Egon?  I need some more juice."

I smiled at Peter regretfully.  "Raymond needs me, Peter.  It's still my shift."

"I know," Peter groaned, slumping against me.  "Egon..."

"Winston will be home soon," I comforted.  "And we can steal some time to ourselves."  I reached around him and plucked the journal off the desk. "Or perhaps if we provide Raymond some interesting reading material to occupy him for thirty minutes or so--"

"Egon."  Peter made a grab for the journal and I swept it above our heads, out of his reach.  "Egon, I've had all the sharing of that I can take for one day."

Journal still extended above my head, I slid an arm around Peter's shoulders and kissed him with all deliberate provocation, simultaneously pressing my hips forward against his.  "Is it still working?" I asked softly.

Eyes closed, he stood just breathing for a moment, lips apart.  Then he opened hazy green eyes to look at me in annoyance.  "Tell him to read slowly.  I'll be waiting for you."  He whipped away and headed for the bedroom. 

I suspected that one look at my flushed features and Raymond would not have to be told.  Journal in hand, I hit the stairs at a run and retrieved Ray's juice glass without concern for the germs he might be passing.  I had a feeling within the next half hour or so, both Peter and I would be well on our way to coming down with the same unpleasant bug.  But as I headed for the bedroom, that thought did not perturb me in the least.

 

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