On the Relative Significance of Bodily Proxemics

On the Relative Significance of Bodily Proxemics: A Research Problem.

The study of spatial territory for the purpose of communication uses four categories for informal space: the intimate distance for embracing or whispering (6-18 inches), the personal distance for conversations among good friends (1.5-4 feet), social distance for conversations among acquaintances (4-12 feet), and public distance used for public speaking (12 feet or more).

Larry Fleinhardt: Evariste Galois. Brilliant mathematician, not unlike yourself, tackling the hardest problems in his day, but he got distracted. He got caught up in politics, in romance…

Charlie Eppes: I know where you're going with this.

Larry Fleinhardt: …And at the age of twenty, he was killed in a duel, and who even knows what he might have accomplished.

Charlie Eppes: I would say I'm actually pretty good at avoiding duels…

Charlie leaned in a little closer. And the wheels scraped along the floor, just a few centimeters.

So Charlie leaned in again, and again, the chair rolled away from him.

This time, Larry sighed a little, which might have been the result of the air being pushed out of him as his diaphragm bumped up against the desk. That or Larry was just frustrated.

He was pretty well trapped now. Unless he backed up.

"I could probably increase the font size," Larry offered, and his voice was a little strained—a little tense, slightly breathy, like it was when they were walking uphill while arguing about something, when Larry was busy pretending he wasn't arguing but was simply offering another viewpoint different from Charlie's own, in which he had no special interest one way or the other. Larry had a thing about denying his own investment in his ideas, which was really pretty irritating, especially when he was right about something, and Charlie finally had to admit it, and then Larry would gloat and pretend he wasn't gloating, because all knowledge was good knowledge, wasn't it? Right. And Professor Larry Fleinhardt had moved beyond ego investment.

Larry was sitting very, very still, his shoulders hunched up and his head bowed, like a turtle pulling into his shell. Charlie nearly laughed, but managed not to, barely, instead insisting, "No, I'm fine. This is fine." And it really was, because Charlie had pretty much resigned himself to not being above ego investment.

"Oh. Well, good."

Larry's curls brushed against Charlie's chin as Larry tipped his head to the side, thinking, pondering, choosing his next words, Charlie was sure, very carefully. Weighing his options.

The most obvious thing for Larry to do at this point would be to excuse himself, go get some more coffee or go to the bathroom, and Charlie would step back—he would have to or it might become awkward enough to require acknowledgment. But Larry had to at least suspect that, habits being fairly deeply ingrained, they could end up back in this same position again when he returned, so if Larry was smart—and that was inarguable—he would likely return only to offer Charlie the hot seat instead. And Larry would then perch on the edge of the desk. In which case, Charlie had a contingency plan.

And yet… Charlie noted that Larry had not yet moved, and they'd been at this a good ten minutes now, one centimeter at a time.

"Well, I'm out of ideas, I have to say."

And yes, here it was—the subtle shift, Larry's hands on the desk, ready to push off, signaling, "I'm getting up now," and Charlie was prepared to move, but then Larry—didn't.

"Ah, the hell with it. This is ridiculous, don't you think?" Instead Larry ducked, his chair abruptly spinning around, and then Larry was looking up at him, and Charlie hadn't moved, so Charlie was still in Larry's space, proximately speaking, though now it felt a bit more like Larry was in Charlie's space.

Could two egos occupy the same space at the same time, or was that a paradox?

Charlie hoped he looked suitably oblivious as he stepped back a little.

"I can't—I really can't be expected to work under these conditions, Charles."

Charlie tried to look sympathetic, and apparently failed.

"You—I see you're not taking this very seriously, but serious, it is—well, it's inappropriate is what it is, actually. Highly--"

"Inappropriate?"

"Yes—" Larry frowned and waved his hand back and forth in front of Charlie as if he was swatting flies in the air between them. "Yes—this—I don't even know precisely what to say, what to call this thing you're doing. Inappropriate, yes, it is that, and I have to ask myself, then, is it the work? Is it me? Because I do realize that I'm not the most professionally charismatic person in the world, though I do have my moments—for instance, at the last AIP, my address on accretion disk drag in active galactic nuclei went over particularly well, I thought, with more than a smattering of applause, I might add—but regardless, when I first proposed your involvement in this research, I seem to remember genuine signs of interest on your part—I was delighted to see genuine enthusiasm. But perhaps I was foolish to think you would take this as seriously as I do, or as you take your own research, and I won't ask how that's going, by the way. Of course, I've long suspected that the FBI might come to corrupt your sense of the purpose of applied mathematics, skewing you towards a short-term, instant gratification approach to problem-solving that—"

"Skewing or screwing?"

But Larry was getting dangerously good at ignoring him.

"Charles, be honest now. Am I boring you with this research? Is this… restlessness—it's becoming clear to me that—well, admittedly, it's not clear to me at all. I can't say I understand it. Nevertheless, I'm tempted to read it as significant, and if it is, that's a problem, but not insurmountable, I think, if we address it now, before it becomes—"

"Unprofessional?"

Larry stopped talking and leaned back in the chair, folding his hands over his stomach and slouching down in the seat, turning the chair slightly to the right and then to the left, so that his knees brushed against Charlie's legs twice.

Larry nodded. "Yes, precisely. Because, if necessary, I can find someone else to do this work, and you can devote yourself more fully to other arenas—other problems—in other rooms—" And now, Larry was smiling softly, on the edge of a grin—"the bedroom, for instance. Or we could consider a larger office, with separate desks."

Now Larry was definitely grinning, and Charles leaned forward again, closing the small space between them so when he looked in Larry's eyes, his own vision was a little blurred, and as his eyes tried to focus, he happened to glance behind Larry at the monitor.

"This—this is entirely wrong."

"I think I said as much, Charles. And despite rumors to the contrary, you're not, as it turns out, entirely irreplaceable."

But Charlie was typing, now, one hand on either side of Larry, and doing his best to peer around and over Larry's head. The answer came to him, as it often did, in a cascade of inferences that, alone, barely registered, but together, were—

"Eureka," Larry exclaimed, having craned his neck around to look.

And Charlie nodded, still typing, now only peripherally aware of what Larry was saying as he worked the equation, nudging it in the right direction in small increments.

"Make no mistake, Charles. This changes nothing—well, it changes everything, what you've done here—it's an astounding leap, certainly. But regarding you and I, I can't stress enough that I meant what I said. This is not a win-win situation we have here, not by any means. I realize that personal relationships defy quantification, but professional ones do not, and, simply put, your moments of brilliance—however much they might impress, are—is that even possible? I suppose it must be, it's right there in black and white—at any rate, simply not just compensation for the levels of distraction you—"

Charlie at last took his hands from the keyboard and used them to grab and hold Larry's head in place as he kissed him, hard. He kept his eyes open, though he could see the numbers in his head just as well as on the screen. It was a mystery why he hadn't made the connections before, though he suspected that he'd been too close to the problem. But now that he had—

"Really, untenable." But Larry was breathless and looked pretty pleased for someone who was essentially in the middle of firing him.

Charlie had maneuvered himself so that he was straddling Larry's lap, their bodies pressed up tight against each other.

"If you really want me to leave…." Charlie offered, lifting up slightly and shifting his hips forward just enough to bring their erections together as he lowered himself again. The back of the chair hit the edge of the desk with a dull, plastic thud, and Larry gasped.

"You don't play fair. You really don't play fair at all, Charles. And that's really—really—"

He kissed Larry again, closing his eyes this time and Larry put his arms around Charlie's back, his hands moving low to grab Charlie's belt, his fingers working their way under it and tugging Charlie's shirt out, then moving up to his bare back, stroking a long line up his spine.

"So, I take it I'm staying?" he asked, when Larry broke the kiss.

Larry shook his head and sighed, pressing his forehead against Charlie's. "I can't say I've made up my mind just what to do with you."

"Hmm. Well, I have some ideas about that."

"I don't doubt that. Do any of them involve my getting up from this chair?"

Charlie shook his head, no, liking the way it felt to move Larry's head, too, like they were one person, connected at the brain and cock.

"I've never tested it, but it is a rather expensive chair. I suppose it won't break." Charlie noticed that Larry sounded more curious than concerned.

"Very ergonomic," Charlie agreed, leaning into Larry so the chair's back tipped like an airline seat.

Larry's arms tightened around him and he looked panicked for a second, then giggled. "Now where did I leave my center of gravity?"

Charlie made a rough guess and placed his hand between them and over Larry's cock. It was awkward, trying to unzip them both, but Charlie liked the way Larry squirmed and occasionally sighed, and sometimes tried to thrust into his hand, which was impossible with Charlie's weight holding him down.

With some effort, he managed to free them both from their pants and had to shift back again so he had room to jerk them both off, and Larry didn't stop kissing him and stroking his back and his sides where it almost tickled, then up to his armpits where it did tickle.

"Stop that. Please? You know that—Oh, that's—better."

But they had reached some sort of plateau, with Larry unable to thrust with Charlie's weight pressing him down, but trying anyway, and Charlie unable to stroke them both at once because the angle was wrong, and not enough bare skin to satisfy either of them. But it was still good, and it slowed him down, which was also good, because Larry often didn't come as fast as he did, anyway.

His elbow was getting tired and Larry's lap wasn't all that comfortable, and Larry probably wasn't all that comfortable, but he was close, so close—

And he looked down at his hand wrapped around their cocks, awkward and intimate, and then back at Larry, who was watching him with a kind of curious fascination, as if sex was an entirely new discovery they'd just made.

And that idea tipped him over the edge, and Charlie was coming, pulsing into his own hand, and Larry held him close, kissing his face, one hand on the back of Charlie's neck, the other between his shoulder-blades.

And Charlie managed to pull himself together enough to take care of Larry, using sure, hard strokes made easier by his own come, squeezing harder than he liked it himself, and Larry made a sound almost like a laugh, and then inhaled sharply, saying his name, "Charles," as he exhaled, and then thrusting up with enough force that Charlie lost his balance and then Larry did laugh, a choked sound as he grabbed Charlie and kept him from falling.

He still ended up nearly on the floor, and they somehow got up off the chair and ended up on the floor next to the desk, Larry with his back against a file cabinet, and Charlie sitting between his legs.

"That—that—was certainly entertaining," Larry said after a moment, rubbing his hand over his eyes and blinking a few times.

"Are you still mad?"

Larry frowned at him, tucking himself back into his pants. "I was never mad, Charles. I just like to keep things—" Larry shrugged.

"But they aren't," Charlie argued, wiping his wet hands on his jeans. "As a great astrophysicist once said to me, life can be described by math, but not reduced to it."

Larry smiled and put his hand up to cup his face, as he often did, looking thoughtful and tired, the angled light from the monitor above casting his features into relief, highlighting the lines by his eyes, and the soft curve of his jaw. Charlie reached out and traced the geometry with his fingertips, thinking that Larry was not at all beautiful by DaVinci's standards, and yet there was something about him that was, in its own way, deeply satisfying.

Charlie was tempted to try to map out the golden rectangles, one by one, but Larry brought him down to the practical again, glancing down at his stained shirt with a frown. "Entertaining, but messy," he noted, unbuttoning his shirt and then stopping to notice that Charlie's cock was apparently not quite convinced they were post-coital and was already stirring again. Charlie wondered if all mathematicians could see fractal patterns in come, and what it might mean if they could.

"Ah, youth. Not that I miss it—no, it was a time in my life I don't care to repeat, even vicariously. Which reminds me, to return to my earlier point, which, true to form, you not so subtly sidestepped, you should realize that you're not the only prodigy I've met, and not even particularly prodigious except when it suits you—"

"Larry, couldn't you just pretend that good sex isn't an entirely random event and that therefore what you say in the next few minutes might be an important variable in determining what happens next?"

"Hmm? Yes…well, I—I see your point. And all things considered—"

Charlie held up his hand, but Larry just grinned and continued.

"No—hang on, I'm working my way towards a compliment—"

So Charlie nodded, waiting, as Larry patted him on the knee as if trying to think of something nice to say about him. But it wasn't long before the platonic gesture turned into a light caress that grew in intensity as Larry edged his hand up to the inside of Charlie's thigh, tracing his thumb over the seam all the way to his cock. And at last, when Charlie had almost forgotten what he was waiting for, Larry took hold of his erection very gently, almost casually, tracing over the small scar and brushing lightly over the sensitive head as he spoke. Charlie was gratified to hear that Larry's voice had gone soft and breathy, his normal irony at least partly muted by desire.

"I really don't suppose I could find anyone else who's this inspired to genius by my mere proximity. I suppose, if this is the key to your productivity, we could simply have sex more often…."

And with that, Larry moved in and kissed him, saving Charlie the trouble of pointing out that, despite being an above-average judge of human nature, and a really remarkable astrophysicist, Larry tended to seriously underestimate his own charms.

The End.

Feed the Muse.

Many thanks to Sigrid for noticing my em-dash addiction. I promise to get help as soon as I detox from my parenthetical problem. And let's just not mention my ellipses....

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