Metronome
This one's a story I wrote some time ago. I wanted to write something short and focused on the idea of a metronome (hence the title). It was supposed to be just an exercise for practice, but I ended up liking the result. Hope you guys enjoy it as well!
The touch of gentle, yet firm paws on my shoulders is the only thing that brings me back to reality.
I stretch without moving. My body remains peacefully seated on the bench, but it feels as if my thoughts are adjusting back to my physical limits, filling the space they should have been occupying. There’s a brief moment of expansion, like a yawn, which happens just as I notice the cold touch of the piano keys under my fingertips. Its smooth surface is comforting, but not as comforting as the paws on my shoulders.
I give into both touches, for some reason.
“You’re doing an amazing job today, dear.” His silky voice reaches my ears and they perk up at attention. “Very focused.”
There’s something about the way he pronounces that last word that sends a shiver down my spine. That’s not a rare occurrence in the slightest. Since these classes began, I’ve got used to shuddering whenever he addresses me with just the right hint of praise in his words.
I think… I think I’m beginning to understand what’s going on, even though a part of me rightfully believes things would feel even better if I didn’t.
The grip of those paws on my shoulders shifts. A comforting massage. I make my best not to let out a shameless moan as I’m sitting there in front of the piano, but my body melts like butter.
“Can’t say the same about those wandering eyes of yours, though,” the arctic wolf standing behind me whispers.
He’s right, of course. I’m not entirely sure what I’ve been looking at for the past few minutes. Perhaps I forgot. I open my mouth to answer, but end up closing it. I like it more when I hear his words, rather than producing my own. His voice is just too good.
And I want to keep listening.
… that’s right. I was listening to something.
“Oh, dear. You’re still completely out of it, aren’t you? Poor little thing.” One of his claws moves to my chin. It taps it gently, guiding my gaze upwards. “Here, let me help you. I’m sure you’ll soon understand. Again.”
Beneath the velvet touch of his words, sometimes an edge of dominance shows like a storm cloud in a clear sky. I don’t shudder when that happens, but something stirs inside me, something hot and wild and submissive – and at this point I’m not sure if I want him to notice or not.
He’s probably noticed, anyway. But I was listening to something.
“There, there. Be a good kitten for me and try to actually see for a second.”
My glassy eyes adjust back to reality. Right, I’m still sitting on the piano bench. My paws rest on the keys. And my eyes are easily guided back to the thing I was told to watch just a few minutes ago. It’s stopped moving now. My eyes had been… following it…
The mere memory is about to send me spiraling down again, but his words come to rescue me and anchor me to reality, even if it’s just for a short while.
“You were so good at following the rhythm back and forth when it was moving,” he says, sweet words dripping into my ears like precious, golden honey. “And then you remembered. And then you remembered. And this is where you are now. And by now, the only thing you need to do is…”
Remember. Yeah. That’s why I was spiraling down again. Tick, tock. That’s why I’m spiraling down yet again. Tick, tock. That’s why I’m… tick… falling…
… tock…
Gentle tap on my chin again. Claw moves dangerously close to my mouth. Something feels wet close to it. Might be my tongue. Might be drool.
I don’t know. I’m not entirely aware of what my body is at this point.
“Such a good kitten.” Another shiver down my spine. His paws on my shoulders are the only thing that prevents me from toppling like a tower that’s been built too tall. “Hearing the sound even when it’s not there. Keeping it in your mind. Like a real professional.”
His mouth gets closer to my face and I feel his warm breath as it caresses my ears. Under any other circumstances, I’d wriggle like a worm and whimper like a lost puppy.
“But you know what they say,” he adds before I have time to think about other metaphors for how awfully pent up he’s making me. “Practice makes the master, hmm?”
His claw slips into my open mouth, caressing my tongue. It guides my head upwards, upwards. My eyes meet the metronome and the memories come back. Tick, tock. I remember the… Tick… Not moving. Tock. Remember. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock, tick tock.
“And you’re going to be practicing for a long, long time, pretty kitten…”