Free Under a Falling Star by Fabian Black Page B

stood guard by the entrance door. It lay in pieces on the stone flagged floor with him kneeling amongst its constituent parts, a sword grasped in his hand.
    I helped him up from a mess of greaves, breastplate, helm and gauntlets. He stammered apologies, saying he hoped he hadn’t damaged a valuable historical artefact. He hadn’t meant to touch it. It was just he had been impressed by it and had wondered if it were real or fake - plastic made to look like metal. He had touched the hilt of the sword and somehow dislodged it. In trying to prevent it falling forwards he had managed to bring the entire suit crashing from its pedestal.
    Poor Tay. His face was a mask of embarrassment and horror. I assured him that the armour was an aluminium replica and undamaged. It represented the town’s mediaeval past and the grand castle that had once reputedly graced it, though no hard evidence of a castle had ever been found.
    I locked the museum door and asked if he would like a coffee. He nodded acceptance and I led him to my office where I had a kettle for my personal use. I filled it and switched it on and then turned to him with a smile, trying not to rake him from head to foot with appreciative eyes. If anything he was even more attractive than I remembered and a certain part of my anatomy reacted accordingly. I was glad to have chosen casual, loose fitting cargo pants and an over shirt to wear to work that day instead of my usual snug trousered suit, shirt and tie ensemble.
    ‘What brings you here on a cold Christmas Eve?’ I asked as I waited for the kettle to boil. He gave a shrug and said he’d had time to kill on his day off work and thought he’d check out some local history. He hadn’t realised the town had its own museum until he’d met me. He then said he’d have come sooner only he’d been working double shifts because of staff shortages. A wash of warm colour highlighted his cheekbones at that point and my heart rate picked up speed. Could it be possible he was as interested in me as I was in him? Our eyes met and held for a second and the colour in his cheekbones deepened. He looked away first leaving me wondering whether I’d imagined the spark of interest.
    He turned his attention on the large 3D jigsaw model of a T-Rex that adorned my desk, asking if I’d done it. I nodded and he asked what material it was made from, reaching to touch it as he did so. I had visions of it disintegrating before my eye and playfully smacked his hand telling him it was made of wood and it had taken me the best part of a week to complete, so no touchy. He took no offence at my words or action, ruefully admitting he had a compulsive habit of touching things best left alone.
    We drank our coffee and talked with comfortable ease and I liked him better with every passing second. He was anxious about the armour, apologising again for wrecking it. In order to reassure him I reassembled it, describing each piece and its function as I fitted it back onto the iron frame.
    I offered him a guided tour of the museum and its exhibits. He seemed genuinely interested, asking questions as he perused the cases. He stood close by me, I could feel the heat from his body and again I blessed the providence that had made me choose clothes suitable for hiding an erection. I aimed several discreet glances at the crotch of his jeans, but his jacket did a similar job to my shirt and I was unable to ascertain whether my proximity was having a similar effect on his cock.
    We toured the ground floor first and then the upper galleries. As we descended the narrow staircase on our way back down, him ahead of me, he lost his footing on the last few steps. I shot out a hand to steady him, but a fraction too late to save him from making an undignified landing on his bottom at the foot of the stairs.
    I pulled him to his feet and he thanked me, making no effort to free his hands from mine. Looking me straight in the eyes he made a comment about needing a minder to