Stark

In hindsight I should be more careful.

Down amongst the bustling crowd, beneath the podium, I tried to get a glance at the speaker. A coarse, harsh voice vibrated around the stadium like a game of ping pong, it echoed in my ears, the voice of a man who had come too far to give up. Above the ponytail of the girl in front of me I could just make out his angular bone structure, dark bushy eyebrows, and silver tinted hair; across his face was the expression of disgust as his eyes glared down on us. To be honest he sounded insufferable, trailing off on a tangent about taxes and upper-class benefits. All nonsense that I had heard before in my politics degree, all nonsense that I wish I had paid attention too before I graduated. The first few months after graduation had lead me to journaling this dictator’s speech for a small news company in my hometown; a lifetimes worth of debt well spent am I right?

His name was Stark. Stark meaning sharp, blunt, bald; he really did suit it. As he stepped down from the stage a chorus of vial remarks went soaring through the air like an army of arrows but by the look on his face, Stark had his armour all prepared because he left untouched. In a staggering fashion, he made his way across the floor, I guess that’s what comes with old age. The silver streaks in his hair were more prominent as he approached me, the grey threads of a man nearing on 50 years. Brushing past me and my notepad, I saw the skin overhanging his eyelids and the hollow sockets where his soul would have been, if he had any.

I had only just turned 21. No one takes the younger generation that seriously; especially this man who believed in the death penalty. But if I wanted to prove that I had some potential I needed to scout Stark out and grill him until I could break away some of that armour and see what was behind those empty sockets of his. Pen in hand I slithered through the crowd, almost losing my bag on the way, I finally made it to the exit of the building. There he was. Black sunglasses now displayed on the bridge of his nose and his silver ringed fingers brushing his hair, catching the light each ring shone like a warning signal. So I approached.

“Excuse me Mr Stark,” I said in the most proper voice I could muster, “may I take a moment of your time for a few quick questions?”

Pushing his shades down his nose further, he looked me up and down and muttered in a cold voice, “I don’t have time for the likes of some high school magazine.” With that he propped his sunglasses back where they had been moments before and returned to his neutral expression.

High school? I’ll have him know I am now able to drink. I had stood in that arena for 2 hours listening to the drivel of middle aged white men in black suits, so I was not going to go home empty handed.

 “I beg your pardon Sir, but I have gone to university and I know for a fact that you have only had two interviews in your whole career, none of which have looked good for you, so I would suggest taking my offer unless you want more insults thrown at you because next time I don’t think it will just be insults.”

With that I straightened my posture and glared at him. Again the glasses came down and even though he had expressionless eyes I could almost see respect curling across his lips. His thin, crisp, peony lips. Stroking his hair once more in one great swoop, he nodded.

“You have twisted my leg, Miss…”

“Firth. Anna Firth,” I piped in, almost too enthusiastically.

“Miss Firth,” he continued, “I have business to attend to as of now, but I have a slot between 5 and 6 this afternoon, come to my office and I will answer a limited number of your questions.” As quickly as I had turned full predator, he rushed into his black Porsche and was down the road before I could thank him. Not that I wanted to thank the old brute anyway.

It was 4:50pm and I was standing outside the doors of the office block. It seemed to stretch upwards for miles, reaching up to the sky; ironic really, I thought a man like that would going in the opposite direction. An assistant showed me in. Her face was as tired as his, but she looked like she had seen some more troubling times, most likely as a result of Stark himself. 5:00pm on the dot his door opened, and I entered.

The room was dark. Really dark. The blinds were closed, and the walls were painted a dark pebble grey; the only thing that could guide me towards his desk was the reflection of his silver hair in the light from the corridor. The door slammed shut behind me and it was just him and me. Me and him. Alone.

“Miss Firth,” the cold voice came, “I almost expected you to be too scared to come.”

“Not likely Sir, I have been waiting for an opportunity for a long time now.” I stated. Hold on. I didn’t want to flatter the narcissistic grinch, so cutting in very quickly after, I remarked, “But that opportunity didn’t come so I had to settle for you.” There we go.

I almost saw some life spark behind his eyes. Did I almost make this heartless man smile?

Getting down to business I sat on the armchair opposite him and asked him my list of questions. Every answer sounded rehearsed, every pause to think was exactly 5 seconds as if they were put on to make it sound more genuine. Were my questions really that predictable?

“I heard you talking about taxes at your speech this morning, what do you plan to do to help those most badly effected by your decision?”

He stifled. The pause was much longer than 5 seconds. His thin, crusted, peony lips opened and closed before the words were able to come out of his mouth. “Who said I planned on helping those people?”

I stood up immediately. “Good day Sir.”

I began to walk towards the door, my strides were much larger than I would have liked but I was committed to my angry strut. Before I could make it do the door, Stark’s hand was on the door handle.

“Miss Firth was it something I said?” the look on his face almost read disappointment.

“Was it something you said?” I coughed sarcastically, “you basically just said that you don’t care about anyone, you basically just said that you thought you were better than everyone else!” I felt my skin flushing, I was getting hot and bothered now. “how could you be so selfish? How did you even get into this profession if you can’t even think about the people you are supposed to be leading?”

His facial expression changed. The skin above his eyes began to sag a little more but his eyes started to burn, glow with a fire I had never seen before. I had really stepped my foot in it this time. No one had ever spoken to him like this before; or at least no one who had lived to tell the tale.

Suddenly, his hand grabbed my waist while his other caressed my face and his lips moved towards mine, overlapping them in peony wrapping. I was so shocked, disgusted, and stunned, I was so, so, so…

His rough hand rubbed my back and the dry skin on his knuckles scuffed my soft cheek, tingles ran down my spine as I felt his skin against mine. His tongue was inside my mouth, it was spiralling around, intertwining with mine in an erotic dance; my plump lips felt tender against the stubble that scattered his jaw. His sharp, blunt, bald jaw. He pushed my body up against his and I gripped his arms to stabilize myself. Hard, strong, rippling biceps were in my grasp, feeling the veins between my delicate fingers I moved my hand up and down to take in the extent of his masculine physique. Without realising it I had moved my hands down to his torso, outlining his core muscle, I just wanted to unbutton it to see how good it felt.

I focused back on what his hands were doing. They were at my chest, slowly unbuttoning my baby blue blouse that I had freshly ironed for the interview. The man that had disgusted me just moments before was stripping me and I wasn’t stopping him. What was I doing?

My blouse was on the floor before I knew it was gone and his hands were on mine placing them on his own shirt buttons. He wanted me to take his shirt off. This was my chance to end whatever was going on. This was my chance to run. So, I started to unbutton his white shirt.

Soon enough we were back at the desk. I was in my underwear and Stark was only in his black trousers. Lifting me up from between my thighs, he propped me onto the sturdy desk and lay me down so that my back was against his important paperwork. With his ripped body leaning over me, I could see the ripples of age cutting through the muscle, a few hours ago it would have appalled me but now it just made me want to kiss him more. So I did.

I heard the clock chime 8 o’clock. We lay sprawled out on the floor just behind his desk, papers were scattered everywhere, clothes littered the floor and my heart had jumped into my hands. My leg was wrapped around his torso and his arms were wrapped around me; my fingers circled the chest hairs that sparsely covered his chest, each one a beautiful silver that glittered. What had I done?

A long time passed before we finally got up from the floor and retrieved our clothes. In dismay I looked down at my panties and bra which had been ripped off in a mad fashion, each one torn at the seams. With a smirk on his face, he opened his draw and pulled out a spare pair of boxers and black shirt (the baby blue might be a bit see-through without a protective barrier). When I had finally gotten into a suitable condition I got my notebook and bag and headed for the door.

“Miss Firth,” came the same rasping voice, “I don’t believe you got all you wanted out of our interview. I have another slot tomorrow if you want?”

I turned back to look at this middle aged man. His eyes were hooded, his eyebrows a jungle of grey and the wrinkles that stroked his forehead. I smiled.

“Yes Sir, I don’t think I dug deep enough today. I might need to dive further tomorrow.” With a schoolgirl giggle, I opened up the door and left behind the room where I had become a real adult.

Months passed after I returned the next day to finish what we had started. I met him everyday at our slot. Most days we would make love, eat strawberries and pasta on the floor and forget about the rest of the world. How was I so in love with a man who was so bad for me?

Every time I would mention his political views he would recoil into the stone-cold man I had seen on the podium the first day we had met. How could I love a man who didn’t care for anyone? Did he even care for me?

On one Saturday, many months later I looked at him as he was leaning over me, and I asked him whether he loved me. The eyes that scarcely showed emotion, whimpered in pity.

“Anna, I love you more than I care to admit,” he breathed, “you loved an old man who was hated by all those who laid eyes on him. I cannot fathom how you do it but I am so happy that you verbally abused me that Monday morning.”

I giggled from my position on his desk. I loved this man. He loved me. But he was a ruthless leader, a harsh dictator, and a heartless military commander. I couldn’t love a man like this.

“Sir,” I murmured, “I cannot tell you how happy I have been these past months. I cannot tell you how in love I am. Which makes it worse that I have to tell you that I can no longer be with you.”

The look on his face said it all. He knew this day would come. He leant up and held out his hand to help me to my feet. He kissed me. A full on French kiss with all the feeling that both of us could muster. Tears began to trickle down my face. Leaving those thin, crisp, peony lips made my heart break in two. I grabbed my bag and I opened up the door and left behind the room where I had left my true love.

Months passed by. I had kept my head underground and not done another report. I didn’t watch the news in fear of seeing him and I didn’t read the papers in fear of hearing what he had done.

*knock knock*

I opened the door to see a glimmer of silver flash across my eyes. A stark jawline cut the air in front of me. It was him.

“Miss Firth, I want to try,” his coarse voice chimed, “I know I have done so much wrong in my lifetime, but I will try. I will try to be the man you deserve if you will have me?” Those hooded eyes that had been the Grimm reaper to many poor souls had asked for the chance to change his ways. Can a leopard really change its spots? But I looked at him and knew I couldn’t live without him, so I reached out my hands and wrapped them around his chest which was in a very expensive black Moss Bros jacket.

“if I remember correctly I have had you many times,” I sniggered into his padded shoulder.

“Where were we then?” he said with a high school grin. We quickly closed the door and before I knew it another pair of panties were ripped.