The Matchmaker is Grounded - 1. The Matchmaker is Grounded

Although not having the tang of chlorine up his nose would make Eli quite happy, there was still something soothing about the water slap-slapping against his hands as he swam. What he really needed, he supposed, was for someone to invent a waterproof ipod-like system. That was the down-side to swimming: the silence. Other than the occasional low murmur of voices and the splashing of other swimmers, the pool was a very silent place.

The quiet solitude was the primary reason he had decided to swim, but having some kick-ass music to go along with it would make the whole routine much better.

His mind clearing enough to think was usually a sign that Eli was beginning to tire, and, figuring he'd exorcised enough stress for one day, he headed to the side. Arms he worked over carefully every day pulled him out of the water with minimal fumbling and he shook his head to remove excess moisture, plucking off his goggles with a pop of suction. He'd have rings, but here it didn't matter. A few red marks were nothing. The people who used this particular pool at this time of day usually couldn't see well anyway.

"Hey, Dad!"

Eli looked up at the hail and smiled. A teenage boy crossed the deck, slinging a backpack over his shoulder. He had an olive tone to his skin, wavy, black hair that always gave the impression of having just woken up, and a small if supple physique Eli didn't really understand given the boy's capacity to put away food. Both Matt's parents had been fairly chunky kids in high school. Where had he gotten his metabolism from?

"Hey, kiddo," Eli replied warmly, giving the teen a one-armed, wet hug. "You're early."

"Naw, you're late," Matt quipped, smiling back. That smile was totally his mother, soft and pulled up more on one side than the other. He maneuvered the waiting wheelchair in place with practice ease, spinning his father around once he was in place on the towels draped over the seat and back to keep the pleather from becoming slippery.

"Let's get pizza tonight!" said Matt, steering for the locker room.

"Pizza?" Eli questioned, peering out from under the towel he scrubbed against his hair. "It's a school night."

"I know, but I feel like celebrating."

Eli lifted an eyebrow as the boy preened, smirking in a secretive, self-satisfied way. "Oh?" he asked. "And why's that?"

"Because!" The boy's shout echoed around the pool deck, drawing attention, but he was impervious to the curious stares. Halting the wheelchair, he danced around to the front, brandishing a stapled set of papers. "I aced my test! Nooo!" Yanking it back, Matt scrutinized the edges. "Don't touch; you'll get it wet, and I'm framing this baby."

Amused, Eli chuckled. "So, all that extra tutoring did some good, eh?"

"Yep." And he babbled on for some minutes about the classmate he couldn't seem to stop talking about, making Eli frown a little. Before he could say anything, however, Matt raced back around to push enthusiastically for the locker room. "C'mon, Dad!" he said. "Hurry up! I'm hungry."

"You're always hungry," Eli grumbled, but he tucked his arms in to allow his son to whisk him about the narrow aisles.

Matt knew most of the older men by name, greeting them and receiving smiles and nods back. Eli was the youngest one by about twenty years, which made Matt seem even much more of a baby, and the old men, most of them single, doted on him shamelessly. They didn't speak much to Eli, because he didn't encourage the chat, but he knew them by face and habits, just as they surely knew to expect Eli on week-day afternoons.

Eli had a routine that he stuck to. It was such a pain getting out of the house that he didn't tend to leave, unless he had to, but he'd finally acquiesced to his therapist's nagging and started working out again. Habits were all too easy to break, though, and Eli clung stubbornly to his routine, because otherwise he knew he would just sit around in the house and mope, that trap of dark melancholy he'd fallen into before Matt came into his life.

Being out in public still made Eli self-conscious and awkward. In this quiet suburb of the city his handicap still brought him attention wherever he went. He knew people stared and it made him nervous and clumsy, which just made everything worse.

He could dress himself, but it was slow, transferring from the wheelchair to the bench so he could prop himself against the wall or lie down if he was tired enough to make his balance questionable. Matt fussed, as he always did, and Eli had long ago given up on discouraging the teen's help. The boy did want to become a doctor, after all, and he was so impersonal about his assistance that it was practically impossible to feel embarrassed. It was the nudity that never failed to make Eli blush and fumble with self-consciousness. It was simply mortifying to accept help from a child, and his child at that. Life was not supposed to work that way.

When they emerged from the locker room, the lifeguard ambushed them. What else could it be when the man had obviously been lurking outside the doors waiting? This, too, was routine.

He opened his mouth, but Eli cut him off, already knowing what he would say. "I'm not interested." How many times did he have to turn the man down before he got a clue? "My son and I are going out."

"Yeah," chimed in Matt. "We're getting pizza. Wanna come?"

Eli's head twisted around and up so fast he was mildly startled not to get whiplash. "Matt!" he hissed.

"Come on, it'll be fun," the teen continued, ignoring his father. "If you come, then we can get anchovies."

The lifeguard swallowed, looking nervously between father and son, finally venturing, "I ... don't like anchovies."

"Damn."

"Matt."

"Sorry." He wasn't. "Dang, I mean, but, that's okay! Dad'll still let me get what I want, and then you two can share! Right?" He lifted an eyebrow challengingly, but towards his father or the stalker-lifeguard, Eli couldn't say. Just say no, he thought. No. You're not wanted.

"That sounds like a deal." There was that slow, amused drawl again and Eli cursed mentally.

"This is an outing for Matt and myself."

"Dad!" Now Matt sounded scandalized. "You're being rude." He frowned down at his father and then beamed again at the other man. "We're going to Mama's. You know the place?"

"I certainly do. Meet you there, okay?" He smiled into Eli's scowl and walked away, hips swaying, and Eli couldn't swear the man wasn't watching them out of the corner of his eye and laughing.

"You are soo grounded, mister!" Eli snapped as Matt pushed him towards the exit.

"Aw, c'mon, Dad. He's hot. You should be thanking me."

"What do you know about hot guys?" spluttered Eli, once the shock following that statement had worn off enough for his jaw to work.

Matt sighed. "Dad, if I had a body like that, I'd be beating off girls with a stick. I don't know why you're not drooling all over him. He watches you all the time."

That was the last thing Eli wanted to think about, some perv checking him out. It all added up to the man being a stalker.

"You are fifteen and --"

"Sixteen."

Eli paused to eye his son with a sideways look. He frowned. "You aren't sixteen." The frown he received was identical to his own, not that he would admit it.

"Yes, I am. Remember? I got my license now."

"Fine." Eli blew out a frustrated breath and scowled. "Sixteen, but you still wouldn't know anything about it!" The wheelchair got moving again, crunching over some loose gravel in the parking lot. "I thank you to stay out of my love life."

"What love life?" Matt countered. "In all the time I've been living with you, you've dated what? Twice? When was the last time you got laid?"

"Matt!"

The teen shook his head, unphased, and fished out his keys to Eli's modified van. These he pointed at his father. "It's not healthy."

"I am in a goddamn wheelchair!" Eli snarled, thumping his fists angrily on the chair arms. It galled him to be petulant, but his son shouldn't be able to make him feel like a child, and his instinctive, defensive reflex was to snap back.

Matt rolled his eyes, unlocking the door to let it slide open. "Dad! Geez. Get over it."

"You are not my shrink! You're a smart ass and you don't know half as much as you think you do."

Leaning against the side of the van, Matt regarded his father coolly. "You better be nice to him."

The lift whirred upward and Eli rolled off without another word to get situated behind the steering wheel. "He's your guest," he muttered.

"That's right, he is," agreed Matt, dropping into the passenger seat.

"Fine."

How he got through that dinner Eli was never entirely sure. Matt's enthusiasm was hard to resist, and Lucifer --

"No way, that's not your real name!" Matt had protested.

"I think your dad would like it if it was," had come the answer as the lifeguard leaned over to leer at Eli. "But, no, you're right. It's Michael."

Eli had rolled his eyes, but the lifeguard's friendly demeanor slid under his skin and Eli relaxed in the unexpected company. Michael wasn't put off either by Eli's reticence or by Matt's chattiness. Instead he proved to be the owner of a quiet, sly humor, and Eli found himself laughing more than once.

Michael was surprisingly good company ... and then that company began to stretch and stretch and stretch until Eli was seeing him everywhere! Michael was at the grocery store, at the Center, at the physical therapist's office, at church, the pool ... everywhere!

Eli was at the gas station and who came out to pump? Michael!

"Quit stalking me!" he yelled out the window.

"I'm not stalking you," Michael replied calmly, with that infuriatingly sexy grin. "I just happened to run into you in a premeditated manner."

Eli rolled up the window and flipped him off, fuming. If the pump hadn't already been connected, he would have left, but then that would have thrown off his whole schedule. "Why does everyone find this so goddamn funny?" he demanded, thumping the steering wheel.

Through all his years volunteering at the Center, Eli had met all kinds of people, from dock workers, bus drivers, and bums, to doctors, lawyers, and teachers, and to a one they'd either laughed or shrugged it off like it didn't matter.

"This isn't a joke!" Eli invariably protested. "That fucking man is fucking --"

"Fucking is what you should be doing," observed Marcia dryly.

Eli's jaw clicked together and he ground his teeth, eyes flashing angrily. "Fuck you, too."

"No, thanks." She flipped another page on the manifest she was reading, blindly copying notes onto a pad with her other hand.

"When I end up dead in a ditch somewhere," Eli snarled. "You'll all be sorry. All of you! Goddamn it."

There was a knock on the window and Eli jumped. He looked over and Michael was grinning at him from outside. Eli had to roll the window down enough to grab his receipt which gave his stalker time to say something, but he didn't. Eli huffed and drove away.

When he got home, there was an unfamiliar car, some beat-up, rusted, tin can, parked in front of the comfortably old home he'd bought from his grandparents. It wasn't a big house, but it had already been modified for a wheelchair following his grandfather's stroke, so Eli hadn't needed to make many changes. As he'd done most of the construction himself, he was confident in the designs, and he had a lot of good memories of the place.

Other than grumbling to himself about the unsightly vehicle, Eli didn't think much about it. He'd just come from his monthly meeting for his missing limbs club, something his shrink made him attend, and Eli was ready to go home and watch a horror flick to get his mind off how depressed those people always made him feel.

Rolling inside the house, he heard voices -- two, familiar voices -- coming from the kitchen.

"Matt!" called Eli, slamming the door to the garage behind him. He could hear the boy running, and really, a herd of elephants couldn't make more noise than a single, teenage boy. Then Eli snapped, "You did not invite that man to dinner!"

"Of course I did!" Matt looked hurt. "He's my friend."

"Matt!" growled Eli.

"He wants to be your friend -- well, your boyfriend, but he's my friend, too!"

"Don't even start with me!" Eli replied sharply, reaching up to rub a spot on his temples where a jackhammer had just taken up residence. "This is my house and I will not have him in here!"

"You are being unreasonable!" Matt complained, and what was it about teens and whining? They must practice that tone of voice. "Why won't you just admit that you like him, too?"

Eli whapped his son with the newspaper in his lap. "I do not -- don't you --"

"Oh, come on, Dad! Who was telling me about the new lifeguard in the skimpy speedo?"

"He's barely older than you are!" Eli sputtered, the first thing that came to mind, however poor it was as a rebuttal.

"He's twenty-one," Matt countered. "He fixes cars, and he's really strong, and he prefers to bottom, so there!"

Eli just stared at his son. He could feel his face heating and damned if there wasn't a thing he could do to stop it.

"Dad," sighed Matt, rolling his eyes. "You needn't look so shocked. It's not like I haven't looked at your porn. You don't hide it very well."

"Y-You've done what?" Eli stammered, mouth gone dry. His wits seemed to have scattered. "Did you just say ...? Your mother will fucking kill me!" he blurted as he saw his son nod.

That got a more pronounced eye-roll. "Jesus, Dad."

"Watch your mouth."

"Da-ad! Michael likes you. Will you just give him a chance? I like him, too. Not like that, but he's nice. I bet Mom would like him."

Eli stared at the wall, chewing on his lip as he scowled. "You aren't going to leave me alone about this, are you?"

"No."

"God." Grabbing his bangs, he stared at his son. God help him for the boy being so stubborn. He did not get it from me.

"Fine. Fine! One date." He repeated for emphasis, "One. Date. And I don't want to hear another word about it. Ever."

Matt was nodding, grinning and all but bouncing up and down in glee. "Okay!"

"You swear?"

"Swear!" He darted behind the wheelchair, yanking back to lift the front wheels off the floor and make his father yelp. "Come on, then! We're making spaghetti!"

"Hey!" Eli protested, but he knew it was a lost cause. "Matt! Damn it. Put me down, you brat!"

The house did smell delicious, even if the kitchen looked like a small, localized tornado had terrorized the pantry. More dishes than Eli thought he owned littered every available surface, and they were all absolutely filthy, as well as the counters, floors, and walls. Standing at the stove was Michael, wearing an unfamiliar frilly apron knotted around his hips. He had a distracting smear of something pasting his hair to his forehead. The heat from the bubbling pans on the stove had flushed his face, but he smiled brightly in welcome. Eli could only wonder if he'd heard the argument over the loud R&B music blaring from the radio on top of the refrigerator.

"Dad!" hissed Matt into his father's ear.

Eli swatted around that general vicinity, chasing his son away and shooting him a disgruntled look when thumped back to all four wheels. He ground his teeth to force out, "Evening, Michael."

If anything, Michael's smile grew even more devastating. "Hey, Eli. Matt invited me for dinner." He glanced quickly over to the hovering teen. "It's almost done."

"You got anything besides noodles in this mess?" asked Eli, looking about suspiciously. If he'd looked up, he would have seen noodles hanging from the ceiling, but he only saw the slightly apprehensive look to Michael's face.

"Da-ad!" whined Matt. He darted around the men to grab a sticky, stained 3x5 card. "We used this! Mom gave it to me."

Raising his hands, Eli shook his head in surrender. He was never going to hear the end of this. Never. "Just -- Okay, but I hope you two plan on cleaning up in here. I'm sure there's a health code violation, or two, under all this mess." He wagged a finger at his son. "And you know how I feel about rodents."

"It's not the rats," Matt corrected cheerfully. "It's the ants." He grinned at Michael. "Ants make Dad squeal like a little girl." Laughing he danced out of his father's reach, avoiding the swat. The interaction between father and son made Michael smile. It was even more devastating when it was real.

Eli sniffed haughtily and jerked the wheelchair around. "I'm going to change. Matt, set the table."

He returned a short while later to a mound of pasta mixed with orange-red spaghetti sauce, an equally large portion of salad greens fresh out of the bag, and some bread, the insta-bake rolls that came in a tube. And there was a beer by his plate.

"Thank God," muttered Eli. Rolling up to his spot at the table, Eli popped off the lid and drained half the bottle in the first swig. He looked up, feeling eyes on him, and saw Michael hastily moving his gaze. Hm, thought Eli.

Michael wasn't bad looking. Granted, he'd never be on the list of America's Most Beautiful, but he had a strong face that looked as if it would weather the years gracefully. He had soft brown eyes a shade too dark to be called hazel, a wide, full mouth, and a square jaw with a cleft chin. Eli already knew he had broad, sculpted shoulders and arms, a not-quite six-pack, and he must shave or wax or something because with that tumble of black-brown curls, he ought to have more body hair.

Michael was an average-tall, strong-looking man that made Eli all too aware of how his muscles had atrophied since he'd been confined to a wheelchair. There was nothing worse than pity, except maybe a pity fuck, and damned if he was to that point yet.

Matt had evidently coached his guest, because Michael said grace, and it was the same little, 2-second prayer that Matt always used. It was going to be unfortunate when this 'relationship' Matt was pushing so hard for failed, but Eli supposed it would be a good lesson for the meddlesome brat.

Although it looked like slop, the spaghetti turned out to be quite good. Matt explained how they'd tried to make meatballs, but the balls had stubbornly refused to hold together, turning the sauce into something thicker, like stew. Eli tried to hold in his laughter, but gave up after a series of bad jokes followed that story.

They lingered over dinner, throwing the slightly burnt bread crusts, denying Matt beer, and laughing more than Eli could remember laughing in a long, long time -- excluding that impromptu pizza dinner. That didn't count.

He had enjoyed himself, he would recall later, but the camaraderie vanished in an instant. Michael was telling a joke and Eli was laughing. He'd slipped sideways, clutching at the table, so close to Michael that he could smell his cologne and see the individual hairs on his arm. He froze, staring upwards as Michael stared down at him with a look that could almost have said how badly he wanted to kiss Eli, they were that close. Awkwardness settled over the room and Eli pulled away to fiddle with his napkin, not looking at anyone.

"Dad," Matt spoke up suddenly. "Can I go to Tommy's?"

"Uh, sure."

"Cool. Thanks. Good night, then." Out of his chair in a flash, Matt swooped to kiss his father's cheek and was half-way out the door before Eli came to his senses.

"Hey! It's a school night!" he hollered. The sound of the front door closing seemed to mock him. "He is soo grounded."

Michael laughed softly. "He's a sweet kid." His smile turned slightly wicked. "Must take after his mother."

"Oh, hardy har har," Eli replied, scowling.

"You know, you are quite attractive when you pout."

"I do not 'pout.'"

Michael's grin broadened and he leaned over, poking Eli gently on the tip of his nose. "See? Adorable."

"I am not --" Eli began, rearing back in his chair, but the space was just as quickly filled with tall, dark, and handsome, smiling that devilish smile.

"I'm going to kiss you now."

Eli had a second in which he sucked in a startled gulp of air and his eyes widened, and then there were lips covering his. They nibbled and teased, not pushing or demanding more, not even when teeth plucked at Eli's lower lip, making him groan. No matter how soft he made his mouth, Michael didn't go further, and in his impatience, Eli's hand shot out to grab his molester by the back of the neck and force him closer, the kiss deeper.

Hands clutched the armrests of Eli's wheelchair, Michael bent over in what had to be an uncomfortable position, but Eli didn't relent, not until he was panting, gasping for breath, his vision blurring at the edges from the lust coiling inside him. When had he last felt that? It was the same, and yet different.

He let up and Michael straightened, looking at him thoughtfully. "It's been a long time for you, hasn't it? Now, shh, no need to get pissy." His finger alighted on Eli's lips, making them tingle. "You are good for my ego, is all."

His voice was deep and husky and Eli closed his eyes for a brief moment. He pressed his lips together on a moan even as embarrassment colored his cheeks. He was panting, chest rising and falling rapidly. A small part of his mind wondered how there could be blood enough to rush both to his face and his groin at the same time.

He opened his eyes when the wheelchair rocked, looking down and sucking in a startled breath to find Michael kneeling before him, giving Eli a look he'd never thought to ever see again: hunger.

Michael used his chin to nod towards Eli's groin, that small gesture causing the object of his desire to twitch. "Let me take care of that?"

Eli groaned. His hands curled around the arm rests. What man could resist the offer of a blow job? Lord! "I can't ... I'm not returning the f-favor."

"I'm not asking you to."

"Oh, God."

Michael smirked. "I'll take that as a 'Yes. Oh, God, yes.'" There was no hesitation now as he moved aside the foot supports, wrapped Eli's legs around his thighs to drape lifelessly, and moved into position.

The ease with which Michael worked the wheelchair and handled the limbs Eli couldn't feel kindled a small knot of fear in Eli's stomach. He had no illusions regarding how helpless he was, and he hated it, hated it so much! He'd been raised to be dependent on only himself, fully secure in his ability to stand up to anyone and anything. The stupid accident had been totally his fault, and everything after nothing more than a terrifying, unending nightmare. He'd still not forgiven God for not just killing him and being done with it.

"Shh, don't think about it."

Eli glanced back down at the purr against his stomach. Michael's eyes looked even darker at this angle. He had draped himself over Eli's thighs and his mind mentally calculated the visible weight, his mind assigning a value his body didn't feel. When had Michael opened his fly?

He blinked, rapidly, and Michael's voice rumbled, "You're thinking again."

"Fuck!" Eli panted. He hadn't felt this alive in ... in he couldn't think of when. He shook his head. "Do it, if you're g-going to ... ooohh!" His head fell back as what was left of his spine liquefied. Hot, wet suction pulled at the tip of his cock, a tongue dancing and twirling around the underside.

His body wanted instinctively to dig in with his feet, tense his thighs and jack his lips, but nothing happened, and frustration brought a whine to the back of Eli's throat. Michael paused and hummed, and Eli lost it, groaning deeply, feeling those lips part in a smile before Michael abruptly sucked more of him into his mouth.

"Oh, God. St-stop, oh, God. Ngh. Don ...!"

The end was inevitable. Eli slumped against the backrest, mouth open as he sucked in deep breaths. Looking down, he saw Michael rocking against him, saw the bliss wash over him, the gentle sigh with its accompanying sweet smile. Not for the first time Eli regretted the loss of sensation in his legs. He wanted to feel Michael come. Watching was like seeing a movie without the sound, and not the silent movie, but a movie that stirred its viewers through the snap of a twig or the creak of a board or the increased tempo in the soundtrack. Without sound, it was just a pretty picture, with no emotional grab. Was that what having sex would be like?

Realizing he was still clenching the armrests, Eli let go, flexing his hands to work out the cramps. He caressed the fat curls of Michael's hair, body thrumming, but mind swirling in a whirlpool of conflicting thoughts.

"Eli."

He blinked, re-focusing on Michael's face. "Hm?"

The younger man shifted, crouching on his knees to look up at him earnestly. "Eli, go out with me? W-We can take it as slow as you want, please."

Eli frowned, fumbling with his trousers to get himself tucked back in. Hands settled over his and the urge to look was too fast to avoid, but he turned his head just as quickly. He didn't want to look at that pleading face. Michael's hands were rough and callused, the skin dry, the fingernails jagged and uneven. "I don't date."

"I like you a lot."

Why did his voice have to be husky like that? Eli shivered, just a bit, trying to pull away, but Michael didn't let him go.

"Eli."

He had to look. He had to.

"I think I'm in love with you."

Eli goggled for a minute, mouth falling open in shock before he recovered, throwing Michael off roughly. "You're too young to know what love is!" he spat.

"I don't care if you're in a chair -- Eli! Wait!" Michael grabbed the wheelchair, foiling Eli's escape before he could so much as throw off the safety catches keeping the wheels from moving. "I've never felt this way! You're all I can think about. I just want to be with you. Will you at least let me be your friend?"

His voice caught and despite himself Eli looked ... and immediately cursed himself. Michael's eyes were filled with tears. He looked desperate, as desperate as a bad sitcom.

"Can't we at least try? Why do you keep pushing me away?"

"I'm --"

"In a wheelchair, I know." He smirked sadly. "So?" His fingers roughly slid against Eli's. "You're still a man."

Eli looked away, swallowing. "You don't understand."

"Maybe not, but I can be your legs, if you want. If you let me. I can use a wrench, and I'm sure you can teach me how to do any repairs you need. I can clean, and cook --"

Eli snorted, half-smiling despite himself, somehow unable to dredge up the anger at what he should have perceived as pity. Then he sighed and shook his head. "I don't want any of that," he said, glancing back at Michael and watching the young man's face crumble.

"But I could use a friend."

Michael wiped his eyes, breaking off a sigh to look up with almost heart-breaking hope. "Really?"

Like a teenage boy who'd shown up on his doorstep with a suitcase and refused to go home, Eli knew he couldn't kick Michael out of his life, either. It would be too much like drowning a kitten; his heart couldn't take it.

He smiled. "Really. With one condition."

"Anything!"

"Never cook again."

Michael stared, and then he laughed. His hands squeezed Eli's fingers and he surged up to kiss him briefly. "Okay!" He laughed, laying his head on Eli's thighs. "You may regret that, but okay."

Eli was almost positive Michael was crying, but he couldn't feel anything against his legs, just see the slight quivering of Michael's shoulders, so he said nothing. He just carded his fingers through the thick hair, wanting to feel again, but there was nothing.

This was a bad idea; he knew that, and yet, as he joined Michael in the kitchen and they played and joked while cleaning up, his reasoning seemed a distant, illogical thing. Michael made him laugh. Could that be so bad? his heart told him that yes, it could definitely be that bad. When they parted ways as their friendship strained and eventually broke, that would be bad indeed, but it was hard to worry about the future when in the present Michael was licking sauce off the wall.

Something fell to plop on Eli's head and he looked up and stared. "Oh, my God." His kitchen ceiling looked as if a something had died in a very explosive fashion.

"Oh. Yeah," Michael explained with a grin, looking up, too. "I'd always been told that spaghetti's supposed to stick when it's done cooking. We thought, Matt and I, that it'd be even more fun to -- what? Ow! Ow-ow!" He danced, hands going to cover the spot where Eli had towel-flicked him. "Ha-ha, missed!" he cried, leaping out of reach of the next attack, and then howling as his ass smarted.

Eli laughed. And laughed and laughed and laughed.