Valentine, Eastern Rain, Magpie
Fandom: Once A Thief
Category/Rated: NC17
Year/Length: ~14,470 words
Pairing: Victor Mansfield/Nathan Muckle
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, only having fun.
Beta: thanks to Jennie
Songs for my Valentine give the game away
In rhyme I make you mine, sing all I cannot say
I know mine are the tears I'll never cry
I know mine is the love I must deny
Songs for my Valentine give the game away.
He came into the library today.
He came in again after several weeks and after all the promises I'd made myself I still felt a light sweat break out on my body. I couldn't stay away, had to go to him, drown in the light from him.
The bug creature was with him, walking too close to him as usual. I tried to warn him. I always try to tell him, but he's either too brave, or maybe he's resigned to his fate. They always sacrifice the fairest of the fair to the gods.
This time I beckoned him close, and though I saw that he would rather not, he stooped to be with me, his face approaching mine until I smelled his sweet breath, sucking it down into my own craving lungs as though it were the attar of life itself. His lashes flickered close to my cheek, and his mouth was curved into the suggestion of a smile as he heard me out, perfectly coiled fury, awaiting the opportunity to spring free and devastate the world.
He had my heart in a silver dish, laid at his feet. How could he not see it?
"Victor," I said, and it was hard to find my voice. How is it that he could do this to me, while I was merely common clay beneath his shapely foot? He came closer; my head swam with the nearness of him. I imagined for a second - or less - having the temerity, the daring to lean forward and place my lips to his, and the idea was enough to scorch me, to make me shake and babble like a fool. He smiled in pity and I wanted to scream, `No! That's not what I need from you.'
I didn't. I remained silent, and his eyes met mine. He can compel with those eyes. His pupils glow. I sometimes believe that he is an angel, fallen to earth, tragic without his wings, to study us before he returns once more to his master.
"What?" I jumped. It had been only a second, and already I had lived lifetimes in his arms, worshipping him for his beauty, his kindliness and his sad heart.
"It's LiAnn. She buzzes." How could he not hear it? How could he remain with her when she so obviously meant his destruction?
"Buzzes?" Perhaps, this time, he would listen. If I saved him, he would continue to come and share moments with me, moments like this. I took a deep breath and began to tell him of LiAnn's race and their plot. I'd been to Saskatchewan. I'd seen
He listened gravely. Maybe this time I'd convinced him. I wanted to kneel and kiss the hem of his garment, but when I studied him, I wondered which hem would be politically correct. He dresses informally when he goes amongst us, my prince. I longed to see him clad in his gold and purple, seated on his throne as his subjects make obeisance. I craved the vision of his return to the seraphim, clad in white and born aloft on wings that spread over my poor presence as though to protect.
When he left after our talk, he thanked me gravely for my care and left me speechless, longing and desperate.
As always, I retreated into the stacks after his departure, and tried to relieve myself of the ache for him that never quite fades.
I have never yet found a book in this library to help me fight free of my love for this man.
Mac was here.
I've studied Mac, and haven't ever quite decided whether he is alien or not. His strange, spider-like limbs tell their own tale. I'd believe that he was from the same hive as LiAnn except that I can't hear him buzz. Perhaps that's merely a tribute to the being that designed his silencer system. I choose to believe that he too is a bug, and that Victor my Victor is their target.
This is a plot. They want to take my prince back to the hive with them, there to sire green-eyed larvae that will overrun the earth. Victor is no fool. He discovered a long time ago that LiAnn meant him no good. He was betrothed to her, and now he is not.
That tells its own tale, doesn't it? Mac's limbs are also telling tales.
There must be a way that I can break through his armor, convince him of the deadly danger in which he walks when he is with them. Once there are green-eyed larvae, doesn't he know that she will eat him? Consume my green-eyed god?
How to get through to him? How?
The Alien Queen comes and goes. She thinks that I don't know, but I do. I'm always careful of what I tell her. She wants him too, but she won't have him. If it came to pass that she succeeded in cozening my prince, I would sacrifice myself to save him.
She's behaving strangely to this day, but strange is the norm for her.
She kissed me once, and that wasn't even my first clue. I didn't like it. I didn't. It made me feel funny. Kinda like she'd maybe used her mind probe on me. Maybe she had. I hadn't been wearing my foil hat when in the library. I didn't think I needed to because of the lead, but it seemed that I'd possibly been mistaken. Maybe from then on I should start. I made a mental note to do some research.
I didn't know why she was behaving so differently. She seemed self- destructive. Victor needed to know this, and I told him. He somehow seemed to be overcome.
Usually, I drag home at the end of the day, once I have concluded that there is no further reason to stay. When I eventually leave, Victor has always long since departed. I know. I watch him. Nobody ever takes note of the librarian. They should.
It probably surprises you that I have a home a life of sorts -- beyond the books, the dusty papers, and the bytes of information amidst which I nest; but I do. There are other duties, other responsibilities that I have. I creep in, knowing that she hears me as she hears everything. I know that she will scream her abuse at me, and as usual, I will be calm.
A mother should be respected, shouldn't she? She's born so much, and now that she's bedridden, I should help her. Shouldn't I?
I always bear it, brooding on the threats to Victor, and in the end, I sleep, to wake up unrefreshed, with no solution in sight.
On my way back into work today, I saw his truck, and felt the unmistakable shimmer of feeling from my heart down to my knees. It's Sunday, and he should, by rights, have been at home, or meeting with others of the Nine. Instead, he was on his way in to work. That could only mean one thing. He was coming to discuss his secret fears with me. He'd realized that I could help him -- that I could indeed see beyond the disguises his enemies had assumed, and that I could
Oh, I could.
For Victor, I could do anything. I stopped on an impulse and made a foolish purchase before I cycled over the grass to the door of Headquarters.
I wheeled my bike into the library and propped it up in the sports section. I took my lunch in its brown bag and laid it down in the cookery section. Then I turned to the desk on which lay a host of drab buff folders, deceptive creatures, demure of garb, unappetizing to look at and yet within as juicy as any morsel with their delicious contents. All the knowledge in the world although who would ever know it?
People discard information. They throw it away faster than they would rid themselves of candy wrappers, and I follow behind, gathering it up, harvesting it Insignificant I may be, but the things that I know would topple governments.
My folders lay scattered on the desk, tossed there like so many dead butterflies by the creatures that inhabit this complex. I smoothed them, restoring order within as I greeted each one like an old friend before restoring it to its place. I was deeply engrossed in the assembly of information newly supplied when I sensed the presence behind me. Not good. My internal warning system had failed. I would have to wear that foil hat after all. They were beginning to target me with their mind rays.
An ordinary man would have jumped, or turned perhaps, but I knew that was just what they wanted me to do, so I didn't. I can play with their minds just as easily as they can play with mine. I continued to put my papers in order, tracing the plans for a new stadium in downtown Vancouver, and then moving on to the mayoral proposals for dealing with the drug problem.
"Nathan?" Just the one word and all my intentions fell to naught while his voice shivered over me, a soft and tickling burr that robbed my heart of any steel and left me sick with wanting. Finally, I did turn, and there he was.
He was wearing blue jeans and a soft, fisherman's knit sweater with a roll neck, a blue jean jacket over the top. His jeans were tight against the muscles of his thighs, and the sleeves of the jacket were rolled back to reveal brawny forearms, scattered with golden hairs. I had no defense against him, could only stand and gaze at him, a lonely monster desiring a god.
"Victor." I felt the sweating start on my face, and groped for my inhaler, needing -- as much as anything -- to take the man's eyes from my face - a misdirection that might make me look foolish, but not so foolish as I could look were he to understand my thoughts. I found my inhaler, and then fumbled on the table for the foil that I had fashioned into a hat. I would take no chances that he could read my thoughts. The very thought made my blood run cold.
"Can I Can I help you?" My voice broke and I knew I sounded like a teenaged boy. So much for staying cool. I could see his eyes glaze over even while I was greeting him.
He wore that same, slightly suppressed smile that he always wore when he came down here, and a thought occurred. Dropping my file on the table, I raced to the shelf where I'd stored my lunch. I looked longingly at my purchase of earlier, but now was not the time. This was altogether too important. I fumbled in the brown paper bag and remove my apple. It was wrapped in foil, and I disrobed it hastily, replacing the apple in the bag. It would have to take its chances. Victor was far too important.
My fingers worked swiftly, smoothing and folding the sheet of foil as he looked on, one eyebrow raised in inquiry.
"Nice hat," he murmured, smiling, and I looked around, wondering if he meant that. His was almost finished when he began talking again. "Nathan, I need information on the import and export of items containing mercury over the past year, can you do that?" I paused momentarily. I could do it, yes, but should I?
"Mercury quicksilver. Why do you need the information? They use quicksilver to facilitate their change. It's not safe to tell them where unless" A thought struck me. I took my courage in both hands and inhaled swiftly, then moved over to where he was leaning, perfect and relaxed, against a stack of almanacs.
I said nothing, merely placed my offering of foil onto his cap of dusty brown hair to sit, a shining yarmulke, gleaming like the crown he never wears, opaquing his thoughts against those outside who would dare to steal them. He laughed uneasily and batted me away, but I gritted my teeth and persisted.
"They can't know your thoughts. The invasion could come at any time, and without you, it will all be for nothing." He seemed stunned at my kindness, although why I don't know. I'd told him so much about the things that are threatening us. Nostradamus was very clear about the threats, and Victor must have met with him. The Nine meet everyone.
"Yeah, my thoughts, right." He waved his hands a little, an aimless gesture quite unlike him. My suspicions were now darkly certain and somehow terrifying. This could be an attempt to infiltrate the system, and if so, where was my Victor? Where was my white knight, clad in leather armor to ride to the rescue of mankind?
I decided to test him. As yet, he still wore the protection I had offered, but that could be because it was too small to block whatever with any degree of reliability. I contemplated freeing my sandwich from its wrapping, but egg mayonnaise might speedily become contaminated. I restrained myself and moved surreptitiously towards the files that he required.
He began to walk towards them then, but I grabbed them, holding them to me as though I were a barrier he could not pass. I skipped behind a conveniently sited ladder, hoping to use it as a fortification, but alas I was too slow. His hand clamped the back of my collar and despite my struggles, hauled me around to face him.
"What the hell's your problem, Nathan? Come on. It's Sunday. Give me a break." I stood, quivering, trying to discern if his pupils were round or oblate. He bared his teeth and I sucked nervously at my inhaler. His teeth seemed right. There was a test if I only dared to employ it.
As he let go of my collar, I did the unthinkable. He expected me to retreat, but I didn't. Instead, I ducked forward and kissed him, searching for the tell-tale taste of bitter almonds that would reveal him as alien. I'd been kissed by the queen. Well did I know the flavor of the Nazarians.
I couldn't sense it. He stood, stunned, his hand still against my neck although he was no longer hauling on my collar, and I
I pressed forward. It was done now. He would know, and I would take this one kiss from him. I did. My tongue probed to taste him. Just for a minute I could believe that this was mine, and then, of course, he flung me against the stack to lie panting and groping once more for the inhaler that had dropped from my nerveless fingers; I found myself needing Ventolin as never before.
"Just what the hell are you doing?" His blank amazement was momentary, and then he looked downward. My telltale arousal revealed all, and I watched his face change soften. "Oh, Nathan. Nathan, I'm so sorry."
I hung my head and turned away, back to the stack where my impulse buy of the morning lay waiting. I took it to him and gave it to him, my prince. Then I went to find his data.
When I returned, he was still waiting, holding my gift, and he seemed lost as he stood, a shimmering icon, gilded by my love for him.
In his hand he held it. He hadn't thrown it down. It was a rose, blood red and velvet petals barely opened to reveal a tender heart, the stem encased in opalescent cellophane and plunged at the tip into a dagger-like plastic container allowing it to suck at the water within. It was ephemeral, but at that moment it was perfect, and it was my token for him alone.
Returning with the information that he required, I passed it over.
"Thanks." He turned, dreamlike, and left, my rose in his hand and my foil still on his head.
I sat down and wept for my one, perfect moment.
Eastern Rain
Author's Notes: Thank you to Sebastian for her precise and speedy beta. She deserves great praise. Thank you to dossier for info on hypothermia, and realitycek for the Styrofoam when I was having a blank spell. The Shetani are a Masai concept. They are demons that sometimes break through the fabric of reality and terrorize humanity. They lurk in shadows and cant often be seen. Nathan is quite right to fear them. The song is what started me off. Its an old, old song - around 1969, I think. It was written by Joni Mitchell and recorded by Fairport Convention. I heard it, and Nathan told me that it was his song. He was right.
Rain came from the east one night, we watched it come
To hang like beaded curtains til the morning sun
Water dripping on our clothes
You with raindrops on your nose
Asking softly, please dont go away, love
Until the rain is done, I say, Ill stay, love.
The job had been a bust from the very start. Vic had objected to going out on his own, and as usual, the Director had brushed away his complaints.
Mac and LiAnn are doing some very important work for me, she had said in her most patronizing tone as she fluttered her fingers at him. Shoo!
Hed gone with a bad grace, knowing that Mac was currently putting on his tux to accompany LiAnn to a high society dinner, and that Jackie would be there with Dobrinsky. As hed watched them go, his face set in a mutinous, glowering stare, Dobrinsky himself had materialized at his shoulder - reminding him of a vulture hovering around the dying.
Too bad, Ace. Into every life a little rain must fall.
Grinding his teeth, Victor Mansfield had set off to spend the night staking out a warehouse somewhere in the back of beyond.
While he was making his way out to his truck, seething, there was a sudden flash in the sky, followed almost immediately by a dull rumble as thunder chased lightning through the heavens, counterpointing his anger. As Vic clambered into his pickup with a supremely bad grace to set off to the area where his target would be found, it began to rain.
Guess Dobrinsky was right, he thought, as he put the truck into gear and set off. The rain shimmered in the late afternoon sunlight, making the streets slick and shiny, causing the vehicles to kick up a spray that glittered as it hung in the air. It painted a rainbow over the leaden sky to the east, a childs crayoned drawing, and beyond skulked the grey cloud mass, a beast that perched on the rooftops contrasting the gaudy ribbon that offered a promise of fairy gold Victor knew all too well would never be realized.
Its a metaphor for my life, thought Victor, grimly ignoring the beauty of it as he drove to keep his appointment with the Directors latest villains-du-jour.
It was 8:30 in the evening, and the golden sunlight that had made the raindrops dance had long since departed, leaving behind the cold, clammy reality of a torrential downpour that chilled to the bone, and flattened rather than nourished the vegetation.
Vic was trapped. Hed left his truck and gone to investigate the area where hed seen most of the activity occurring. Hed taken out one of the guards and now he was in close - way too close - standing pressed and taut against a stack of crates that he knew contained guns. Hed seen the weapons as the men he was observing had displayed them proudly to a distinctly foreign sounding gentleman. Hed gotten enough information to call for back-up and was attempting to withdraw to a safe enough distance to do exactly that, when the guard hed previously rendered unconscious had suddenly put in an appearance, blood still leaking from his temple, determined to gain his revenge.
Damn it all. Hed tied the man up. Vic had been sure that the crook would be out of commission for long enough to let him get out and summon assistance, but no. Somebody up there hated him, he thought, and in answer came a distant roll of thunder; apparently the heavens were in agreement with his assessment of the situation.
I am so fucked, he thought to himself as he fought for his life.
It was his last thought.
I dont really like going home, so I tend to prolong my tasks here at work for as long as I can - usually in the hope that I can see Victor. Often it pays off. He will come and use the library in the mistaken belief that hes alone, and then depart, never realizing that I was here amongst the stacks, watching his movements, drinking in the concentration that paints a frown on his intense face.
I know that hed rather not meet me face to face. I know that I annoy him, and that he thinks me a crackpot. Ive learned to stand back from him, offering him only the honest adoration of a humble subject, for fear lest one day he might become angry with me and never again permit me to see him. The consequence is that I remain in the shadows, or lurk in the dark, and watch, and long for what I know I will never have.
On the day that my life changed forever, it all began as usual. I arrived into work in time to replace the piles of books, files and folders that had been dumped higgledy-piggledy on my desk by people whose values are rather less than they should be. I was collecting literature for the Director, who wanted to know about incidences of tooth decay in certain areas of the city, when Victor arrived, somewhat out of breath.
I hadnt seen him during the daytime for a long while. Hed taken to coming into the library only in the evenings when he believed that I had left, and avoiding it unless specifically detailed by someone.
His appearance was downcast, and he seemed abstracted, barely responding to my greeting with a grunt. He needed information about one Piero Castellani. I found him the references that he needed and left him to study the materials with which I had presented him. There was much information about Castellani. The Agency had been monitoring him since 1977, and Victor seemed to need to read every report, and cross check each conclusion a hundred times. When I loitered near him, hoping that I could serve him in some way, he growled at me, and I retreated to observe him from a distance as he pored over hand written reports, making notes on his laptop.
Eventually, just as I had concluded that it was hopeless, and that I would see him leave without any further interaction between us, he seemed to recollect my presence.
Dont you ever go anywhere else besides here, Nathan? I was engrossed, seemingly ordering leaves in a binder whilst surreptitiously studying the way his long fingers tapped restlessly on the table, admiring the grace of his hands, and the fine golden brown of the hair that grew along the smooth skin of his forearms. His voice, smoky and jaded in the intimacy of the room, took me by surprise, making me jump.
I go home, I said, mysteriously, wondering what the heck he meant by his question.
Its just that I never see you anywhere else but here. Dont you have a girlfriend or anything? The warning bells began to sound within the dark confines of my mind. Was this really Victor? Why did he want to know these things? Surely hed have reports on my habits from his minions. Then it all became clear to me. Of course he knew the answers to the questions he was asking me. That was the whole point. He was verifying that I was indeed Nathan Muckle, and the person that he expected me to be. He was not trusting blindly to luck. I was proud of him. Perhaps he was preparing to give me a mission. I would not be found wanting.
I dont have a girlfriend at the moment. My mother I made a futile gesture. Victor knows a little about my mother, but its still an embarrassment to me when I have to remind him of my circumstances. I reached for my inhaler and gave myself a shot of Ventolin, more to take his eyes from my face than for any other purpose. It worked. His eyes slid away from mine to follow my hands and I breathed again, although, as ever, his presence bathed me in sweat.
He studiously avoided looking at me again, and I was left to admire the way his lashes curled onto his cheeks, forming little fans, seemingly too heavy for the translucent lids that bore them, thick little sprays of darkness that lay over the fine skin of those cheekbones. My heart hammered loudly. Surely he would hear it. I backed away, afraid that the sound would be too loud and would frighten him, but suddenly he was standing up, closing up his laptop as he thanked me for my assistance.
I wanted to put out my hand and keep him there. I wanted to tell him that there was more information on Castellani. I knew that some existed; Id seen it recently, but I couldnt recall exactly where, or who had it. Someone had used the file and it wasnt where it should have been. Someone had sent mind rays to cloud my consciousness. I felt as if Id failed him. As it turned out later, I had.
I let him go, staring after him, letting my eyes soak up the sight of him departing, strong, tall, graceful as a windblown reed.
I returned to my work, and it was some time later that I found the file that had been nagging at my memory. My first thought was to check my watch and see what time it was. Victor was to go to Etobicoke to run surveillance on the warehouse that belonged to the Castellanis, but the file Id just found would change all of that. The file detailed all the careful preparations that had been made to exchange a shipment of stolen arms for a large sum of money, but it noted that the date for the exchange had been altered. Instead of tomorrow night, the sale was planned for tonight, and that meant that Victor was going alone into a situation that he might have difficulty handling. I had to tell him somehow, but I was at a loss to know how.
My first move was to go and find the Director, but at 8 pm she had almost certainly left. The Castellanis were hosting a charity ball that they were all going to attend -all except for Victor. My mind raced. This was suspicious. First isolate the Prince and then
Oh, God, Victor.
I didnt wait any longer. Nobody was available to help. Nobody but me.
I grabbed my yellow slicker and raced out into the rainy night in search of a cab. A minute later, I dashed back inside and found the roll of aluminum foil that I keep under my desk these days, then I went back to await the coming of my transport.
Darkness was split by fire over and over again, and the rain became streaks of shimmering crystal in the taxis headlights as we swung out of Toronto and into Etobicoke. The thunder was almost directly overhead, and low, rumbling shocks made me uneasy. Was it too late? Were they already breaking through to take him? How could the world care so little for one so precious?
As the cab pulled onto the service road that led to the industrial estate housing Castellani Enterprises, another vehicle approached, the headlamps dazzling, fracturing the sodden darkness as if they were blossoms of fire. Idly watching it pass, as my eyes grew accustomed to the dark once more, I could see that it was a Dodge pickup, color rendered indeterminate by the darkness. Its a truism that all trucks, like cats, are grey at night. As we drove on, I wondered if it had been Victor in the Dodge, but that surely couldnt be. There was no chance that he would be leaving a stakeout so early.
The cab driver swore at the weather, and then again at the swathe of muddy water cast up by the speeding truck. I didnt respond, watching as I was for signs that Victor might be in trouble.
As the cab pulled up in the lot beside Castellani Enterprises, I had my money ready, and almost flung it at the driver in my haste to be away from there and look for Victor. He merely grunted, driving off to cause his own backwash, kicked up by tires that seemed almost sentient in their perfect aim. Water ran over me, down my slicker, wetting my pants and filling my shoes. I didnt pay attention to it; so desperate was I to find Victor.
I made for the warehouse, running crabwise as I headed into the cold, lashing torrents of wet. *Theyd* worked the weather perfectly. No chance of interruptions, they had thought, not if we make it unpleasantly cold and rainy -- but I knew what theyd done, and there was no way that I was going to be discouraged by a few drops of rain. Had it been the full Fimbulwinter and the twilight of the gods, still would I have tried to find Victor. Without him, what was the point of living on?
There were no lights on in the warehouse, and I discovered all was silent, locked tight as I did a circuit of the place. The warehouses brooding black bulk loomed at me, inscrutable, and gave me no hint as to where my prince might be. I couldnt see Victors truck anywhere, and wondered if it could have been Vic stealing home as I was approaching earlier, but Vic wouldnt do that. He was detailed to watch until midnight, and that was still two and a half hours distant.
Id completed a circuit of the building, and was looking around to see if there were any others that I could search. There was a patch of shrubbery between this and the next; low growing cotoneasters and junipers had been planted in an attempt to provide ground cover to keep the weeds at bay and achieve a no-maintenance garden. I could have told them that it was a bad idea to have them planted so close to the warehouses. The Shetani are always seeking a way into our world, and its as well not to give them a place to hide. However, I didnt think that the Shetani would be crowded there at 9:30pm on a Friday night in the midst of a thunderstorm of epic proportions, so I decided to push my way through the bushes to get to the neighboring building rather than going around by the pathway, and thats when I tripped and fell over something that lay beneath the junipers.
I fell full length, crashing into the scratchy branches of a cotoneaster, and for a moment I lay stunned, winded, feeling particularly stupid and unworthy of my prince. The obstacle that I had fallen over lay inert at my feet, and I pushed it, kicking out to remove it from my path. It yielded a little and I sat up, absently reaching out to push the thing away from me. I felt smoothness, skin-like, rubbery, cold to the touch, and wet. I jerked my hand away and for a moment was so disoriented that I couldnt think what to do. Then, I took a suck at my Ventolin inhaler, and rummaged in my backpack for my flashlight.
The thin beam illuminated strings of water, shimmering and hissing their path to the earth. Beyond the veil of water lay a man.
The skin was purple-blue in the narrow beam of my flashlight. I played it over the limbs that were sprawled out, creeping with it up an arm to the shoulder, and then the face, and oh, God!
Oh, God!
He wasnt dead. Please tell me he wasnt dead.
The body that lay face down beneath the shrubbery in the deserted industrial park was that of Victor Mansfield.
I didnt know what to do. He was naked, and bruised, and definitely unconscious. I told myself that he was unconscious, but I knew that he might well be dead. I was trembling so badly that I dropped the flashlight, and for a moment I was in darkness again as the thing went out. I fumbled painfully, smacking my head against a branch as I groped for the light. As I picked it up again, I flicked the switch. Nothing. I tightened the base and for once, things went my way. The light came on again, and I moved to where Vic lay.
There was a pulse, weak and fluttering beneath the marble of his skin. He was alive, but wouldnt be for long if I couldnt get him to shelter. I didnt know what to do.
The warehouse was locked up; Id already tried the doors, but this was a desperate time, and if there were security alarms then so much the better. I staggered upright and took off my slicker, tucking it around him before lurching away to try the door again.
Mac could open the door in an instant. Id seen him picking locks. Hed begun to teach Vic the stuff he knew as well, but all I knew was the theory of it. It would have to suffice. I couldnt see a way to enter the main door, short of breaking the window, but there was a cargo door that sported a padlock, and that might be more vulnerable to my onslaught.
I checked around and found a huge stone, then, having tested it out, I proceeded to whale the shit out of that padlock.
Some seconds later, the thing fell apart, and I was into the building.
Rain outside, but inside we dont mind at all
Shadows by the fire slowly rise and fall
Kisses fade and leave no trace
Whispers vanish into space
Love will send me on a chase to nowhere
What matters if I were the first to go there?
Once inside, I made haste to find a place to take Victor. The huge roller door admitted me into a bay that was piled high with white Styrofoam sheets and piles of packing materials, wooden crates and cardboard boxes. I raced to the door closest to where Victor lay and propped it open to keep it from locking before returning to grab a large, collapsed cardboard box. As I checked around and found a reel of tape to strengthen it, I prayed that it would suffice. Not daring to wait any longer, I dashed out into the sodden night with it, and sought my fallen prince.
Uncaring about the well-being of the plants that surround us, I laid down my cardboard and knelt in the loamy soil to roll Victor onto it. It wasnt easy. He was flaccid - completely limp, and the pallor of his body became distressingly evident once I got the light on him. The struggle seemed to take forever. Victor was no lightweight, and I was certainly no Adonis. Between the grunts of exertion and the hiss of the falling rain, I manhandled him onto my makeshift stretcher and began the pulling, sliding motion that would carry him clear of the night and into shelter.
The box was close to disintegrating by the time that I succeeded in getting him out of the weather. As I closed the door on the night and checked that he was still breathing, I wondered just how I could help him survive. He looked so pale, the bruises -and there were many - stood out, livid on the blue-white perfection of his skin.
Hed been battered and stripped, then thrown out into the cold to die of exposure. He lay now, a marble god on a pallet of dirty brown cardboard, and somehow his dignity remained intact despite his disheveled nudity. My eyes were drawn to the sturdy body, limp and awry on the pallet Id made. He had blood on his face, and some of the loam had stuck to it, crusting around the oozing wound on his cheekbone.
Id wrapped my slicker around him to keep him and his pallet dry, but his legs were protruding, the well-shaped feet blue with cold. I had to warm him somehow. First, I dragged him into the room that served as an office. There, I constructed a kind of nest from sheets of Styrofoam, and wrestled him onto it. There were a number of ragged blankets that seemed to have been used for packing, and I laid him on one, removing the waterproof that covered him so that I could use another to dry his chilled limbs. Discarding that, I threw over him the other fabric Id managed to find, chafing his hands and feet in an attempt to warm him.
There was no phone in the building. Id searched the length and breadth of it. All I could find was the isolated phone jack in the inner office. I could tell that it was a conspiracy. What business would be without a phone?
He lay, skin cold and clammy. His body was hypothermic and shocked, as much from the cold as from the beating hed obviously sustained. Id done all the stuff that the books said, with a single exception. I knew, because Id read, that the best way to restore warmth to a hypothermic subject was by sharing body heat. My mouth was very dry as I willed him to wake up - not to make me do this.
I had aluminum foil. I unrolled it and began to cover him with it. There wasnt enough of it to swathe him the way that one would wrap a premature baby, but there was enough to cover his torso. That would assist him in holding onto the heat that he still had, but he needed more. He needed me to drive the cold out from his bones.
A nugget of information floated into my distracted brain. Fifty percent of body heat is lost through the head. Id fashioned a kind of turban for him, and now I wrapped foil around his head. It would have to suffice. I piled him with blankets and sacking, contemplated the Styrofoam beads, discarded them and then thought wildly about how next I could warm him up. I knew what I had to do, but I really didnt want to do it.
Id loved him for so long. Id wanted him - wanted him desperately. Id found a way of coexisting with him without either of us losing dignity. Id followed him, watched him, longed to know how the smooth skin would feel against mine. Touching him was something that he barely tolerated, and so Id never
His pulse was slow and thready. His breathing was shallow and he was blue. It was time and more for me to put up or shut up. Sighing and trembling, I began to remove my clothes, revealing my skinny shanks as I doffed my pants, my shirt, my underwear, then, with a sob that I couldnt suppress, I climbed into the makeshift nest to press myself up against my love.
I rolled up against him, my arms around my sleeping prince, and the chill from his body made me gasp. He was in my arms, and I knew I could help him this way. I plastered myself against the satin of his back, curling around him and hugging him back against me. My hands moved over his flesh, chafing and stroking as I tried to give him the heat of my body.
My lips pressed unbidden against the down on the back of his neck as I nuzzled into his hairline. Unwanted, I felt my penis rise, and chastised myself as a jerk. This act of love should have been selfless, and somehow I had debased it, was still debasing it as I forced myself against him, unable to stop.
Warmth was seeping between us, reluctantly, and I was so hard that his firm weight against me was almost painful. I wanted to serve him. I wanted to abase myself before this man who had been given into my care. He was mine to worship. He existed for my hands to stroke, my flesh to heat, my cock to slide against the firm, full buttocks and make me groan with my love of him.
My mouth roamed over his skin, tasting, though I told myself that I was merely checking his body heat. I took the baby-soft lobe of his right ear in between my lips, caressing it with my tongue as I traced the long, strong thigh, learning with my fingertips the unashamed masculinity of him, my fallen warrior.
Raising my fingers up to his feathery hair, I ran them curiously over his head, learning the texture of it, the way Id always longed to do. His face was a little less pale now, and his parted lips were regaining a little color. I wondered; did I dare? It would be too much presumption, but I couldnt help myself. Leaning up on my elbow, I reached around and kissed his still lips, tasted them, shed a tear as the bitter knowledge struck home that this was all I could have.
I would give him everything, and yet I was stealing from him. It was more than I could bear.
I love you, my prince, I told him, my voice an awed whisper in the darkness of the room, and the words burst blue-white before my eyes, and rippled, and vanished to be lost wherever such promises go. He answered then with a tiny gasping moan, the first sound that Id heard from him since my discovery of him. I redoubled my efforts, begging him, pleading with him to live, for himself if not for me. There were no further sighs, but the flame within him burnt a little brighter. I could see that his skin was not so waxen.
Even so, I was pressed against him, my cock crying protest at being left unattended, crammed between the cheeks of his butt as I poured my heat into him. It was as though my sex were a conduit - a fiery brand that stroked hot against him, pulsing and quickening and all consuming.
I could not stop.
I could not, could not.
The fierce feeling that pulsed through me made my blood sing, my heart pound so hard that I believed that I would die, and gave me pleasure so keen that it flayed me skin from bone and left me shuddering in lonely completion. I couldnt believe what Id done.
Using an edge of one of the blankets that covered him, I cleaned him of the fluid that Id spurted onto him, defiling his soft skin with my crudeness. I shivered at the thought that he might know of my act, even while I pressed kisses to his eyes and whispered to him how much I loved him.
When he began to shiver I knew that I was getting somewhere, although he was still unconscious. Id rolled him over and was now covering him as best I could, my body pressed tight to him now that I was not in danger of disgracing myself. To hold him in my arms was a gift so perfect that my skin tingled with it, and I buried my face in the crook of his neck to stop myself from kissing him, ravishing him. The tremors that shook his body made me at once elated and scared. I knew enough not to move him. He was warming up, but there was precious little heat in that damp place. I had to find some way of getting help for him.
So, in the end, I torched the building.
It seemed to combine all of the elements that I needed right then. It would warm him, it would attract attention, and hopefully someone would come and take him to a place of safety.
Id wondered about lighting a fire, and in the end discarded the idea; what fuel there was lay in the contents of the crates out in the warehouse, and in the packaging that was strewn around. I didnt think that there would be enough fuel to last, and the smoke would be punishing. Id laid a final kiss on his lips and crawled out to don my clothes once more - then Id gone outside to see if there would be assistance from any other part of the estate. Id found wooden pallets and dragged them back under cover, but they were waterlogged and whether they would burn was moot. Id found a drum that was partly filled with pitch; that was better. Pitch would burn if I could kindle it.
Id contemplated leaving him to go for help, but what if he died? I couldnt do it. The painful thought of how his loss might feel was a dull ache that would flare until it blinded me. No, that wasnt an option.
I rifled through the desk. There were some papers that meant nothing. They would burn, as would the desk itself, I had no doubt. I manhandled it through into the body of the warehouse.
Slowly, my bonfire grew, until at last it towered above my head. I had a vision of my own immolation - to warm Vic at last with my hearts blood as my hair became flame and the glow behind my eyes owed itself to fire as well as love. It was a sacrifice that I could make for him. Like the phoenix then, reborn in a beauty pleasing to him, I could offer him that which he had never before wanted, and know that it was welcome.
All was ready. The kindling - such as it was - had been laid, and I retreated into the office where my prince lay sleeping still. I dragged him to the door, so that, at need, I could be ready to pull him out of the building; he awoke at that moment, gazing at me with foggy eyes as though unsure if I were angel or devil. I looked at him with my heart in my mouth; his face was somehow unmade and seemed lost in his confusion, but his eyes were huge, dark pools that glistened in the half-light, and the pure, innocent curve of his cheek, from his jaw up to his bruised cheekbone took away my breath and speeded the pulse that pounded in my ears.
Lie still and dont move, I told him, placing my slicker over the pile of sacks and blankets that concealed him.
Nathan? Is that you, Nathan? I could hear his teeth chattering as he spoke, and it was a good sign, I thought. Hes not going to die. I wont let him.
Its me. Dont worry. Youre safe, Victor. I just have to go and set the building on fire. The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them, and I closed my eyes in horror at the thought that he might have picked up on the sheer frivolity of the idea, but he had closed his eyes again.
Swiftly, I left the office and returned to my bonfire. I breathed a prayer that we would be rescued, and flicked the lighter that would start the blaze. Twice it went out, and then at last it seemed to catch.
There was a fitful glow from within the stack, one that grew stronger with agonizing slowness. I was becoming impatient, ready to approach it again to see if I could reorganize it and have it burn more fiercely, when there was an explosion, and the pitch caught, sending a smoky, red flame up in a pillar to lick and caress the roof. Watching from the door that led into the office, I felt my own fierce glow of pride in response. The heat was beginning to increase.
He called me then, terror in his voice, and I closed the door, laying wet sacking along the bottom to prevent the smoke from pouring through to choke us. He was afraid, and his face was set in panic. I raced to soothe him, wanting to mean something to this man who was so far above me. He had begun to sit up, disturbing my careful attempts to keep him warm, and I had to sit beside him, press him back into his nest and I stroked his face as I attempted to soothe him.
Dont worry, Victor. I wont let you come to harm. He recoiled, and the fire outside roared. There were a whole lot of sounds that I had never associated with fire. There were the expected roaring and crackling noises, yes, but we could hear others - a singing that was high pitched to the point of pain, and beneath it, a humming, as though there was a swarm of bees hell bent on our destruction. No, I thought, LiAnn has no idea that were here. She wont send her cohorts tonight.
As the fire took hold of the building for real, I knew that I had to get Victor out. There was no more time to waste. The smoke was beginning to seep under the door now, and the heat had become almost too much.
He was a lot better color now, though still confused, and I knew that he was going to make it - that I had saved him. I just hoped that the sight of the burning building would be sufficient to coax the fire brigade out from their cozy station. If not, then the makeshift shelter Id contrived for Victor wouldnt be sufficient and he would be in great danger of hypothermia once more. I bowed my head and willed the Etobicoke Fire Department to respond to the flames that must now be visible from miles away. I wished and hoped. I may well even have prayed.
Alex Trebek heard my plea. How could I have doubted him? I knew that the partition wall between the office and the warehouse proper wouldnt last much longer, and I opened the door on the night, dragging Vic out on his pallet, covered in Styrofoam and cardboard to keep the rain from him.
He was afraid, I could tell, and who wouldnt be? The fire was a beast whose sleep Id stirred, and which was now angry enough to consume us. The heat from the melting partition was fierce, and as I began to close the door on the office where Vic and I had lain together, the fire burst through to wash it clean.
Good that the site was cleansed in fire. There was no way that those coming after to investigate would know of my weakness. I alone would carry in my heart the memory of him lying against me, and the way my arms felt as they held him to me.
Vic wouldnt lie down, so I sat behind him, and wrapped my arms around him to support him and to hold the Styrofoam over him to keep the rain at bay. I was beginning to worry when, at last, I heard the sound of the fire trucks and knew that my gamble had paid off.
He was cold, and grateful for my warmth as I crouched behind him, arms holding him as though he was mine. I nuzzled into his hair below the makeshift cap Id fashioned for him, and waited, my breath hot on his clammy skin. For the last few minutes, I felt his life pulse beneath my hands, felt the feathery strands of his hair against my lips, and believed that just for one minute I saw the face of my beloved smile for me in gratitude.
When they brought the space blankets and padded covers to wrap him in, he smiled his dazzling smile, and thanked me. I followed him, fulfilled and yet bereft. I had loved him. For a little while he had been mine to save, mine to care for, and now it was over.
He was gone, back into his own orbit, a star that I - lonely planet that I was - could only watch in the firmament.
Morning comes up from the east, we watch it come
And, far away now, rolls the angry rain gods drum
You with daybreak in your eyes
Afraid to speak for telling lies
I watch you search for some reply to lend me
Now the rain is done youve stopped pretending.
The ambulance and the fire trucks were making vast amounts of noise, and the fire was still screaming at the heavens. Whatever had been in the boxes within that warehouse was well and truly gone now. Vic, wrapped in thermal blankets, was being loaded into the ambulance, and I was going with him. Wherever they took him he would need a friend, and I was the one. It was my only role. I would have it.
The thunder was gone, and with it the driving rain. To the east, a glow on the horizon was heralding in the new day as the sun promised itself, pink against the leftover clouds. Victor was wrapped in his cocoon of warmth, and now the bruises he bore showed less against the healthy pink of his skin.
I smiled a little tentatively and fumbled for my Ventolin.
Thanks, Nathan. His voice was husky always, but the sound of it then was gasoline and sugar, a jaded whisper that promised me everything and nothing within the same breath.
For you, my prince, I would give everything, I thought, but out loud I said, I found some papers after you left, and had to come after you. Anyone would have done it.
Yeah? And I thought that you were the studious type. I didnt realize that you were an action man, Nathan. His grin creases his nose, and makes him look like a boy playing hookey. You saved my life. I wont forget that.
I gaze at him, mute. Some things are beyond forgetting, my prince. You are one of them. When they bring the transport to take me home, I take with me the feel of him, the sight and the sound and the taste. It will serve me forever in the empty life I know will come.
Magpie
Beta: Thank you to Pic for her swift and accurate beta. If there are still mistakes, blame me.
Author's Notes: Thoth is the Ancient Egyptian bird headed god of librarians. He was a scribe, a scholar, and was rumoured to have come from Atlantis. Nathan naturally knows all about him.
One for sorrow
Two for joy
Three for a girl
Four for a boy
Five for silver
Six for gold
Seven for a secret never to be told
There was a magpie at the window. The solitary bird was sitting, proud as punch, devouring the scraps that I'd left for him the night before, and looking at me through his black, knowing little eyes. He was the only one that I'd spoken to, the only one I'd seen since the night that the rains had come, and I'd saved Victor.
Somehow I just hadn't felt like getting up the next day - or the one after that. I hid in my room from the realization that my life had changed, knowing that if I were to step outside its safety, the weight of my own inadequacy would crush me. Mother had been uncharacteristically silent for the most part, and caring for her hadn't been arduous at all. As for me, I no longer cared if I ate -- or about much of anything else for that matter. I was self contained and clean in my misery, wrapping the events of that night about me like a shroud. I relived each moment of that night with loving care.
I could see him now, naked and cold, a perfect sculpture. My hands tingled recalling the cool silk of his skin against mine, and the feel of his body beneath my fingers. I could sense again the soft flesh, beneath it the hard ivory of his fine bones, and the touch of him against me, filling me with sparks of light, fierce joy that I should be the one to save him.
Thing was, now that I'd saved him, I'd fulfilled my purpose in life, and lacking a purpose, I withdrew.
Vic was grouchy. He'd recovered from his bout of exposure, and his bruises were beginning to fade, but for all that, he felt wounded. His heart was sick, his mood uncertain.
He was due back into work today, yet he felt no desire to go back to the agency. He lay on his bed, listless and idle, water bottle in hand, and thought about nothing in particular. He'd been betrayed - sent into mortal danger without a second thought and had survived only because Nathan had cared.
And that was his real problem, right there. What to do about Nathan Muckle? Vic Mansfield wasn't a fool; he knew exactly how the skinny, bird-like librarian felt about him. He'd successfully suppressed the knowledge up until recent events had wrenched Nathan and his - for Victor at any rate - fortunate crush out of the dark corner of his psyche, and into the spotlight. His attempt to sort out his own feelings was proving to be horribly difficult.
The phone on the bedside table rang, its strident trill scratching along the length of Victor's spine disagreeably as he gritted his teeth and ignored it. Since he'd disabled the answering machine he was spared his boss' exhortations. After a while, the intrusive sound died away and left him to his uneasy thoughts.
He liked Nathan. The tricks that Vic had played on him in the initial stages of their relationship had long since been regretted. Nathan had, despite his obvious nuttiness, assumed the role of a friend, most especially since his recent heroic efforts on Vic's behalf - efforts for which Vic still had to thank him. Victor was nothing if not fair, and the devotion that the oddball librarian had shown him was touching. He had been hurt himself too many times to mention. He wouldn't be responsible for inflicting pain on Nathan if he could avoid it.
So what was he going to do about Nathan? Vic didn't know. He didn't have a clue.
Rolling over onto his back, Vic gazed up at the ceiling, his forehead creased in a frown. As he stared abstractedly at the light fixture, the phone shrilled once more, and with a snarl, he ripped it from the wall and threw it through the door where it burst against the hallway wall.
I'd collected mother's tray, and thrown away the untouched breakfast. She'd ignored me when I asked if there was anything I could get her, so I decided to heat up the last can of tomato soup for her. Ordinarily I would have made her something more filling, but today I was in no mood to go out for groceries. The soup would be fine. I'd go tomorrow to buy food.
The magpie was tapping on the window again, and I made him some popcorn, laying the bowl out on the sill for him. He didn't seem to be afraid of me, merely surveying the offering with his bright, beady little eyes as though it were his due. Almost, I expected him to start telling me secrets, but he didn't; he merely walked purposefully to the dish and began to peck.
I didn't close the window. The weather was bright, and the freshness that swept into the kitchen was welcome. As I poured the soup into the bowl for mother, the magpie paused and observed me minutely. Under such scrutiny, I found myself telling him about Victor. Who knows what guise the old ones assume when they go among men? I was sure that he would help me.
As I left the room with mother's soup, I built a fantasy whereby the bird king would help me achieve my heart's desire. It could happen. The Sidhe have been known to help humanity without constraint on occasion, and this would be for Victor, the prince. If anyone could command their loyalty, it would be Victor.
The stairs creaked, and I waited for mother to yell at me for making too much noise, but she was silent, and I thanked heaven. I didn't want any arguments today, I was altogether too fragile, my emotions were raw and I would bleed.
I pushed open the door to her room, and called to her. She was still in bed, unmoving since I'd come by with breakfast, and I did something I don't ever do. I stepped right up to her bed and shook her.
"Mom, I've brought you lunch. Do you need anything else? Are you not well?"
She didn't respond - didn't even move, and I began to worry. Carefully putting the tray down on the floor beside her, I shook her again, hard, and there was still nothing. She was sick. I stood looking at her for several minutes and then raced downstairs to the telephone.
Victor had only stirred from his bed to dress himself that morning. Now it was past noon, and still Victor lay abed. He'd dressed in jeans and T-shirt earlier in the day, but made no attempt at socks or sweater. He'd found another bottle of water and retreated to his bed, there to fester. Now, to all intents and purposes, he could have been asleep, so deep in thought was he.
When the front door clicked and opened, he sighed. He'd wondered when this would happen.
As the slender silhouette appeared in the doorway, he didn't react other than to roll his eyes and sigh theatrically.
"I imagine that you have an explanation for your lack of enthusiasm to return to work?" The throaty voice was pitched low and intimate. The Director undulated forward as though she were water, flowing through the space between the door and his bedside to sit primly beside him and tap his chest with one blood red fingernail.
He closed his eyes - Canute, telling the sea to go back - and attempted to disregard her presence. He failed, as he'd known he would. At last, as she ran her hand down the side of his face, he turned towards her, maddened, and growled.
"What the hell do you want?"
"Your undying obedience, Victor. There's nothing else that you have that I need." Her greedy eyes belied her words as they drank deeply of his strong body and beautiful, tormented face. "You let me down."
"You set me up. If it hadn't been for Nathan I'd be dead." The words flew from him in a rush, each one desperate to be free of him as they tumbled from his lips.
"It was unfortunate. The person responsible has been disciplined. It's important that you put it behind you, Victor." She smiled, the kind of smile that he imagined a vampire might wear the second before she tore open one's neck and drank one down into oblivion. He said nothing, awaiting her next ploy with ill-concealed impatience.
She appeared to be content to sit and await his pleasure, one slim, black-silk-encased leg crossed over the other, short black velvet skirt riding high on lean thighs to reveal the lacy tops to her hose, cleavage shadowed between the lapels of her leather, form-fitting top. He growled again, and she deigned to look at him, red hair flaming, mouth a crimson slash, stark contrast to the otherwise monochrome picture she made, slut-queen from the alien hive.
That must have come from Nathan, he thought, and almost laughed. Seeing his expression lighten, she studied him keenly, and Vic was sure that, had he been Mac Ramsey, she would have touched him, fondled him. He was grateful for the fact that she knew better than to give him similar treatment.
"Why did you come?" His voice was gravel in honey, breaking her focus on him; causing her to smile sourly.
"I came to tell you that you have a job to do."
"I don't..." He raised himself onto one elbow, attempting to gain equality through adjusting his height. "I don't want a job."
"One thing that I know you are not, is disloyal, Victor. You owe Nathan a favor," she purred.
"Nathan? What about Nathan?"
"Oh, didn't I say? Nathan is in trouble, Victor. His mother died today, and he's fragile - very fragile. I thought you might already have rushed to his side." She rose to her feet, perfectly poised on heels that were taller and more slender than any he'd ever seen despite years worked in Vice, prowling to his window to peruse the street outside. "Poor Nathan is in a tailspin. His life is coming to an end."
Abruptly she turned and swayed out of the room, the faint click of the catching lock announced her departure from the apartment as Vic muttered a curse and swung his legs around to sit upright.
Nathan needed help? He owed Nathan. He would go.
They'd come and taken her, leaving behind a hole into which I would fall unless I went directly to my bed and hid beneath the covers.
Dead. She was dead, and I had no frame of reference for what would come after. My life stretched out before me, featureless and blank, and the dizziness that beset me when I contemplated it was huge - too immense for me to withstand. It might as well have been a cliff from which I was to leap. I was afraid.
When the doorbell rang, my first thought was that it would disturb mother.
My second was that it would disturb the magpie, which still sat on the sill, having followed me somehow.
The third was that it didn't matter any more, and that they could ring and ring forever. I turned to face the wall and willed the sound to stop. I'd been concentrating on honing my telepathy, hoping that my ability to shut out the outside world might someday stand me in good stead. Today was the day. The sound faded and died, leaving me alone in my vast expanse of nothing.
I rocked, holding myself together with my arms wrapped around my chest. So much emptiness sucked at me. How could I remain whole? Even as I felt myself beginning to fly apart, the bird tapped on the window, and the doorbell began to buzz once more.
I met the bird's eye. He sat, white flash on glossy black, and stared me down as if he wanted to tell me something. It occurred to me that I knew who he was. I stared. How had he found me? What did he want with me?
Thoth, the Atlantean, master of mysteries, keeper of records, mighty king, magician, living from generation to generation was honoring me with his presence, and if nothing else, I had to greet him as befitted his rank. Again, I heard the doorbell, and I knew that he wished for me to answer it. Sighing, I arose and descended the stairs.
The person outside had stopped leaning on the bell, instead opting to hammer directly on the door. I stood with my forehead pressed against the smooth wood and waited, for what I didn't know. When the person yelled my name, I raised my hand to the lock and held the catch without turning it.
I needed to admit this person. Thoth himself had come to tell me that this visit was no random event. I needed to open the door and let him in... I needed...
"Nathan, come on. I know you're in there, Nathan! Come on! Let me in."
With an understanding that was sudden and complete, I knew who it was behind that door - could hear his voice calling my name. The tears started in my eyes, trickled into my sinuses, and gave me a headache as I leaned, immobile against the door. I must have moaned, or made some sound, because suddenly I could hear him, very close this time.
"Nathan, come on, man, let me in. It's Victor."
I must have unlocked the door, because I felt it shift against me - felt it push me back as he came through the narrow space that emerged. All at once his strong, solid body was blocking my light, his arms were around me and he was telling me that it would be all right, not to worry.
That's when the tears came in earnest, and I cried against Vic's shoulder while he patted and soothed.
Vic's tall, but so am I. I had to stoop to lay my face against the smooth leather he was wearing, and yet as he held me against him, his arms around my shoulders, I felt small.
He stood in my narrow hallway and waited for me to stop needing him. His presence seemed miraculous, but I could feel his breath on my neck as he stood patiently. He was solid beneath my hands, beneath my cheek, and I could smell him beneath the scent of leather, a clean, warm scent that I remembered as my heart squeezed painfully in counterpoint.
What he was doing there, I had no idea. For the time being, I didn't want to know. I'd be disillusioned soon enough. I clung to him as though he were the only safety I'd ever known, and the tears flowed harder than ever because I realized that he was, and that he'd never know it.
Vic stood at Nathan Muckle's door and wondered what the hell he was doing. Possibly he'd allowed himself to be manipulated yet again by the female Fuehrer of his nightmares. Strike that! Definitely. He was here because she'd decided he should come. But, no, he realized. He really couldn't have stayed away. The man had saved his life, and Vic knew that Nathan loved him.
He rang the bell and waited. There was only silence. Maybe he was out. That was it; Nathan wasn't there; he should go home and come back later.
Vic turned to leave, walked a step or two and shook his head. He owed Nathan, and he knew that the man was at home. His bike was locked up beside the porch. There was no way he'd gone out without it. Sighing, Vic pushed the bell again, leaning on it this time. There was still no response, but Vic could sense Nathan's presence within the house, knew that he was there, within, and knew that Nathan would not leave.
Again he rang, and then for some reason began pounding against the wood, calling out Nathan's name. He could feel Nathan's presence just beyond the door as though he could reach right through the wood to touch him, and he suddenly realized how completely distressed Nathan was.
"Come on, Nathan, open the door. I know you're in there," he yelled, pounding some more for emphasis. There was a pause. Nathan was behind the door, each breath he took in synchrony with Victor's suddenly ragged breaths. "Nathan, come on."
As the door opened, Victor practically fell through it, and found himself face to face with Nathan.
Nathan's height and the skinny frame made him seem like some demented stork as he moved through the darkened stacks at Agency Headquarters, but his appearance today was beyond pathetic. The normally pale skin seemed grey, translucent, and far too tight for the slack, seemingly dazed features. His hair stood at odd angles, and he looked to be awaiting discontinuity. Vic swallowed.
Nathan stood before him, hunched and drooping, and Vic couldn't think of anything to say. He reached for the other man, drawing him in, not knowing what else to do. When Nathan sobbed and flung himself against Vic, he realized that he had done something right - maybe.
Nathan clung to him, his head against Victor's shoulder, and Vic could feel his body heave as tears came. Nathan made no sound, leaving Vic to pat his back and fill the silence with murmured platitudes.
When at last Nathan stopped weeping, tears had run down Victor's neck and inside his jacket to soak into the soft fabric of his T-Shirt. He pushed Nathan back, gently, and wordlessly led him to the living room, his hand on Nathan's arm. As Nathan sank onto the couch, Vic looked around for something - anything - he could give the man to calm him. Seeing nothing, Vic sat down beside Nathan, fatalistically.
"Are you one of the Thirty Two, Victor? How did you know I...?" He snuffled and subsided. Victor didn't respond, mainly because he didn't know what the other man was talking about. He sat, watching Nathan wrestle with his misery.
Nathan frowned. "I thought that the Thirty Two slept eternally in the halls of Amenti. What brought you here?"
Vic laughed nervously. "Are you kidding, Nathan? Come on."
Nathan cocked his head on one side, his feathery hair and bony nose rendering him more birdlike than ever as his red eyes blinked. Vic didn't think, didn't analyze. He acted, sliding his arm back around Nathan's narrow shoulders and leaning to press his mouth against the surprised lips.
Vic had never seduced another guy, never kissed a man, nor been held by any man except for Nathan, here, now. He'd no idea why he was doing this except that Nathan was hurt and in pain, and he thought he might be able to ease the sorrow he could see trembling behind the bloodshot eyes.
The kiss was a total mystery to Vic - the why of it, not to mention the how. He felt Nathan's bony jaw beneath his fingertips, rough with fair bristle indicating he hadn't shaved for a while. The lips against his were surprisingly soft as they parted, supplicant, begging his caress. The kiss continued on and on, and took his breath.
Vic had drawn away, trying to find some level on which his actions made sense, when his eyes were drawn to Nathan. Dust motes flew in the shaft of sunlight that spun through the small window, illuminating Nathan's face as much from within as from without. He seemed entranced, eyes closed in a rapture that tugged at Vic's conscience even as it spoke to him of power, of control.
Kissing him again, Vic wondered about many things. Will I break you or take you, Nathan? You don't have much of a choice, do you? Think that I can heal you? Think that you'll ever break out and have a life, or will you stay here, forever locked into the petty chains that tyrant mother of yours wrapped around you? Will this be the only time you ever have what you want?
Everything suddenly made sense. I'm going to do it. I'm going to let him have what he wants because I know how it feels to want and not to have. This is something that I can give him that will cost me nothing. I can do this, damn it, because I feel so powerful, because I belong to him.
Victor's fingers tangled in the feathery hair as he orchestrated the kiss. His mouth sucked gently at Nathan's, and the movement of his tongue was making Nathan do interesting things with his breathing. Asthma seemed to be forgotten, Vic noted, pleased with himself as he deepened the kiss, attempting to divine with his fingertips what to do to elicit more of the breathy little gasps from Nathan.
The world turned lazily, and the power throbbed in his hands, fizzed beneath his tongue as he bathed in the love that Nathan offered him. Vic pulled away, trying to regain his composure. He'd not intended this. Hadn't even imagined it. It was something from beyond him, compelling him to suspend his knowledge of himself and ride the currents that bore him away. Nathan hurt, and he could help. He would.
On the windowsill, bathed in sunlight, their glossy feathers shining green-blue-black, sat two magpies. Trance-like, dissociated, Victor turned back to Nathan, who half lay, gazing at him with something that looked a little like adoration, and a little like wonder, and a whole lot like a starving man regarding a hot meal through bullet-proof glass. Vic smiled, and flicked Nathan's cheek delicately, wondering if he would burst like a soap bubble and wink out of existence at his touch. Nathan's face was rapt. He turned his cheek into Vic's hand, making it a caress, making it as much as he could have. Victor permitted it, feeling strangely ambivalent, watching his own actions from somewhere high above.
When Nathan reached for Vic, it was at first as though he were trying to sneak the action by without it being noticed. The man unfurled long arms casually, but when he caught Vic's forearms with his hands, he clung to them tightly, agonized need suffusing the pallid face. On one level, Vic recalled a stick insect upon which he'd lavished attention as a child, and on another, he basked in the need for him that hung like incense around him. Victor worship was something he hadn't experienced. He looked upon it, and it was good.
Victor permitted Nathan's touch, and leaned forward to lay waste to him with his mouth, relishing the heat of it as Nathan's opened immediately to accept his caresses. Nathan was vanquished with the slip and glide of Victor's tongue, the firm press of mouth on mouth and he cooed like a dove.
When the hungry grasp released his arms, Victor turned and slid his hands beneath Nathan's shoulders, pushing them up to cradle the man's head in them. As he stretched his body out over Nathan, Victor listened to the moans that shuddered from his throat; drinking of them as though they were prayers.
Nathan's arms had fluttered briefly, obviously nervous, afraid to alight, but as Vic went to town on him, they settled to enfold him. Stroking clumsily, patting and touching, Nathan sought to learn the form of Vic's presence and reproduce it for himself in times to come.
"Come on, Nathan. There's joy in the world. Don't despair so much that you turn your back on it." The words had formed themselves, unbidden. Vic frowned, considering that the message was one he would do well to take to his own heart. Again he kissed the other man, seeking a greater truth; finding it in the clumsy earnestness of Nathan's desperate response to him.
The gangling body was straining against him, and Victor could feel how very much he was desired. The emotion was an aphrodisiac. He was hard himself, aching and trembling and flushed with a passion that he almost disbelieved, and yet couldn't deny. Shivering with the urgency that consumed them both, he murmured into Nathan's gasping mouth.
"Do you have a bed, Nathan?"
The beet-red blush that seemed likely to ignite the cushions on the overstuffed couch became a shy nod as Nathan struggled to rise, all arms and legs, as uncoordinated and precious as a foal. Vic stood to permit him movement, his usual coordination severely impaired by the urgent desire to lose himself in the hard flesh of this strange boy who seemed to adore him. Together they moved, Vic following as Nathan stumbled up the stairs.
Arriving in the sunlit bedroom, Nathan turned to face Victor, his desire swirling within his eyes, as he stood defenseless. Unbuttoning his shirt with an odd grace, Nathan slid from all of the clothing that covered him to stand naked for Victor.
He was more muscular and attractive than Vic had expected. Cycling had built up the muscle on leg and thigh, and hefting the heavy tomes around the library had put lean strands of flesh on his arms and shoulders. As Nathan straightened his shoulders beneath Vic's inspection, standing - perhaps for the first time - straight and unashamed, he was transformed. His pale flesh was translucent marble; his hands quivered with the effort not to conceal, and his genitalia stood out, proud and urgent. Victor caught his breath.
At the window, birds fluttered and tapped. Vic glanced towards the pane of glass, perceiving the birds beyond but none of the message they brought. He slipped his own jacket from his shoulders to fall forgotten on the rug.
"Are you sure?" Nathan's voice was soft, his touch to Vic's chest even softer, obviously remembering a time when to touch Vic was to invite his anger. Vic returned no reply; merely stepping in closer to breathe Nathan's breath, to feel the heat that radiated from him. Slowly, he raised the hem of his T-shirt to pull it up, strong shoulders flexed, sinewy arms raised above his head provocatively.
Close, so close that to move nearer would bring them into contact, Vic stood, his body strong and perfect in the sunlight, and his hands dropped to his waist, flicking the button of his jeans open, pulling down the zipper, and sliding the soft, white-blue denim down his thighs. Nathan gulped, and the tableau broke as Vic stepped back to remove the remainder of his clothing. On the sill, two birds were content to toss popcorn at each other.
Naked, Victor waited, not sure how far, how fast to take Nathan. Nathan reached again, hands trembling and palms damp, to curl them around Vic's forearms. He flinched, awaiting the blow and the words making it clear that he'd overstepped his bounds. Vic didn't speak, allowing the tension between them to draw out long, longer, and longest. In the matter of a moment, Nathan was shaking, and at last, Vic took pity on him.
"It's okay, Nathan. Come on." The hands that held his forearms slid up to curve around his biceps. Vic stood, accepting, as the hands moved in to splay over his chest, palms concealing the coppery nubs of his nipples, and down to sweep the planes of rib and stomach. Nathan groaned, and closed his eyes, seeing with the palms of his hands the fine texture of Victor's skin, feeling the firm texture of flesh covering bone.
Vic stepped forward at last, and from a stately pas de deux it became a frenzied meshing of limbs as mouth sought mouth, hands clutched and groped, and bodies strained until sinews cracked.
Nathan was oddly beautiful, made reckless by passion. Desire slammed through Victor, telling him that he was the conqueror, and that Nathan was clay for him to mold. I want him, thought Vic. I don't know why, or how, but I want him. I'm not imagining this. I have this man in my arms, and he loves me, and that's enough. With a laugh that was partly proprietary, and partly fear, Victor pushed Nathan down until he lay on his back on his unmade bed. Carefully, he knelt between Nathan's long, splayed legs, and lowered himself to lie over him.
Nathan's breath fluttered, too fast, and the heart beneath Victor's was beating so loud and audibly that Vic felt battered as he strained to ride the other man's shivering, bucking intensity. The length of Nathan, unmistakably male, pressed convulsively, imploringly against him, and he felt himself losing the initiative as Nathan began to devour him, his mouth sliding down to browse on his throat, his neck, his shoulders.
"Come on, Nathan, let me..." Abruptly, Victor was rolled over to lie stunned and breathless, while Nathan kissed, tasted, fucking worshipped him -- bathing him in distilled adoration as he offered shy smiles, warm, trembling, translucent skin, and need, and love, and longing, and loneliness. Finally, arms tight around each other, their mouths were glued together as they rocked in unison.
Vic reached for Nathan's cock, intending to bring him over the edge with his hand, but Nathan had found a rhythm, and moaned an objection to Victor's plan. Nathan avoided his hand and slid against him, slick, hot strokes that made Vic tingle. The sudden stiffening of his limbs, the bursting splash of hot jism on his belly, and Vic knew that Nathan had reached an orgasm of sorts. He felt sad, as though he'd failed Nathan. Close himself, Victor found it impossible to stop, clean up and go home with his dignity still intact. Jerking his own hips Victor came, bone tingling, liquefying pleasure snaking around him as he mingled his ejaculate with Nathan's.
Nathan shuddered with emotion, loving Vic, gut wrenching adoration in his eyes, need on his face. Vic was no match for the love that suffused Nathan, seeped from his pores, surrounded their entwined bodies. He felt limp and complete, as Nathan laid his head down on Vic's chest. Victor closed his eyes, permitting the other man to pet him. He was loved.
It was all he needed. Maybe it was all either of them would need.
Holding Victor in my arms, I felt at peace. This wondrous experience had been given to me, and for that I had to thank Thoth, god of librarians. I mumbled my lips over Vic's face, shivering with joy as he accepted the caress, moved into it. As I continued to rain kisses over his face, he smiled gently, the kind of smile that crinkled his eyes at the corner and lit up his face.
There was a sound from the window. I turned, dragging my eyes away momentarily from Vic's dark beauty to see what the commotion was.
On the sill were seven magpies.
End
| Back to My Stories –|– Email Dr. Ruthless |
