In the globe, a tranquil setting floats quietly among the snowflakes. A dark large room with a loft, a figure resting comfortably on a mattress on the loft floor. There is not much space there: not even tall enough for a man to stand. Whomever goes upstairs must crouch, sit, or lie.
     And that's just what the young man beneath the blanket does. A sign is near him, saying, "Reading in bed is boring," and a book has been tossed aside. He's attempting to sleep, but something stirs him.
     No phone is picked up. Giancarlo sits up, brown hair mussed. He looks tired as he leans back upon his elbows, looking around in the darkness. A light barely illuminates things, and it must be downstairs.
     "Si...Cesare..." he says, Italian florid and sleepy. He speaks into the room proper, a magical way of 'answering the phone.'

     "Caesar," Alire plays upon the name, and he smiles, and you miss it. But he can see you. And they feed off of one another, these sensations. His heart lifts, now it is in his throat. "I like that. May I use it?" Cesare is not the name he knows you by, of course. You are his Giancarlo. The student who... also has guns. We seem to have secrets, amice, but maybe... this is not a bad thing.
     "I am sorry you are bored, I will be in Venice soon. Not soon enough," he answers it himself. "And so, my Caesar, I am in the old family estate in Provence. Not so far now. You are almost all packed. I love this gift. I look at you all the time."

     Ah, but does he brighten. The illumination comes up slightly, just enough to give you a better view of his chest and face. "Bello Alire," he purrs, grinning now. You are most definitely missed. "Of course," he says about the name, "...a name between us." Giancarlo falls back against the bedding, giving you a momentary horizontal view. But, his hand rises, and with it, the perspective in the globe changes. Now, you can see him from above.
     Hands slip beneath his head, and indeed, the view is complete to the edge of the blanket. It is much like talking on a celphone, but better.
     "Are you having a good time in Provence? I cannot wait to see you..." he grins, shifting instinctively beneath the covers.

     It is a pity that it is not a two-way trick, for you would see how the change in vantage, how seeing you so clearly, and of course seeing you in bed, does to him. His color lifts, his words stick to his tongue, blood is moved, and in his gut there are, not butterflies, but something more like comets, fiery. It is as if I am there with you, hovering over you...
     "I arrived here just tonight, but yes... it has been good," he finally says, and softly, his eyes moving over you all the while. "I am in one of the herb gardens, but I would rather be with you in that loft right now. What am I doing so far away, Giancarlo?" He smiles but it is intense. No, no, I should not be in the garden. There is no soft place to lie.
     You do not sense the movement, but maybe you hear it in the phone, he is heading out of somewhere, the garden presumably, and likely to his own room. "I think another night and maybe I will come to see you early, if that is alright. I promise... I will not get in the way of your packing. I will lie in bed the entire time, on that mattress there and you can come and go as you wish." And he makes a double-entendre by accident. Or. Was it? He's not saintly, no matter how he may come across.

     pHe has gotten a response! Giancarlo smiles, clearly realizing the results of his small magic. "I would love if you came early," that left for you to pick up. "And yes, I am almost done with my boxes. Maybe we can see my city, bello, if you come earlier? Or...we can remain inside, if that's preferable," his hand alighting upon his stomach.
     "I will meet you in the train station, yes? Is that still good, Alire?"

     "If your hand dips any further, amice, I am going to drop either the phone or the globe," Alire laughs. Have mercy on me. Or. Not. Maybe there is some torture worth bearing. And, well, I should know a little something about that, non? "Ah," he sighs, coming to his room, a large and comfortable room, very dark in furnishings -- dark wood, heavy wood -- but with saffron-painted walls.
     "And yes, my Caesar, that is still good. I will be in, I think, close to four o'clock if my calculations are right? I am driving, but it is the same bridge. I will park at Santa Lucia...where shall I look for you?"
     Can you hear him in motion? The creak of a bed with his weight. The sound of his breathing as he is in progress of getting comfortable for the evening. In bed. "The first night, I will not want to go out," Alire grins, it turns into soft falling laughter. "Maybe we can take some time the second day... hmm? Maybe take a late afternoon stroll..."

     "That is good," he smiles, one hand still behind his head. "I will be there, under the clocks," Giancarlo refreshes, "...with the smile. I cannot wait, bello." His beautiful blonde. Eyes close for a moment, as if remembering.
     "I don't think I shall want to go out either," he confesses, arms folding across his chest, as if giving himself a hug. Eyes open again and he looks away distractedly, not really needing to see much of anything. Wandering images of you, more than likely. "Oh," he thinks, "I will shop before, so there is dinner for us." Good plan. "Wine...fruit. Anything else you should want, bello Alire?"

     "We will be in Venice, we should have some fish. It is a pity that it is too early for figs. But fish, and fruit and wine, and.... I will think of something..." He has his own kind of magic, your blonde. Culinary. "Under the clocks," Alire softly echoes, "... with the smile I have been missing for a week now, the longest week I have known in many years. So, two days more. I will... endeavor to endure," he teases.
     A long exhalation and he is also in bed, the globe set upon the pillow beside him. "You cannot see me, no? But I shall tell you where I am," he murmurs. "I am in one of the guest suites, in an old villa along the coast of Provence. In a bed that is overlarge. And you, you rest like a jewel on the pillow beside me. And I don't know what I would have done had you not given this little gift to me. I should have been in Venice on your heels, I think. And you would have gotten nothing done, caro mio."

     Giancarlo laughs, almost blushing. "We have made love in my dreams every night I've been here. Maybe I shall be too tired by the time you really arrive..." Not that it would stop him. He sighs, hands flat upon his stomach now. "You are handsome when you are resting, Alire," name said upon a wistful breath. "I miss watching you next to me. I cannot believe...I feel this way." Already. "Does this mean I am in love?"

     There is laughter, and it is for a shared desire, and for a shared emotion. He does not wonder whether he is handsome when he is resting. He is not so needy that he should need the validation, nor is he so vain that he should like it said ad infinitum. He accepts it with a smile that he wishes you could see and he whispers a 'grazie' before his voice sounds again, "I am glad you do," feel this way, "... and for the blessing of it, I am just so... grateful for you, amice. And I do love you. I want you with me." Such a simple desire and yet... there is so much behind it, so much to it. It is not so simple to do, to have. "And when we make love in your dreams again tonight, I will feel you in my arms. This... is how I will lull myself into sleeping. By knowing that I will be with you then. Until I am with you in this world, in two days."
     Do I sound over-romantic? I do not care. How long it has been since I have had anyone to talk this way to. I don't care if it is sentimental. In the dark, when two are alone with one another, one may be as sentimental as one wishes. And in the darkness of our own homes, we will not have to be silent.
     I am beginning to understand the price I have paid ...for having been ...so very silent, amice.
     "How is your head these nights, my Caesar..." And believe me, I will be using this name when we are in bed together. I can't resist that. But... no jokes on Gaul being divided into three parts. But I may have to say: I came and I conquered. At least once.

     His smile in the globe is content. You feel the same. "Oh, I am feeling alright," he nods affirmatively. "I have packed, done some cataloguing, and know what I will bring with me. I have an...interesting bag that will help me carry what I want to Poitiers. I may sell a few things, so I can buy furniture there. Just...the essentials," he grins, "...a bed, sheets..." and he wiggles his eyebrows.
     "I cannot think of much else," Giancarlo adds. "A desk. Shelves and such. Perhaps a few things for the kitchen, so I can cook..."

     "Good, good," he murmurs. He says nothing else of that now, nor of the possible help that Samuel may give. That conversation is for Venice. For you and he alone and not you and he and whomever may be listening on French Telcom. "I will get you a housewarming gift, too... so... if there is something you want, just tell me. A potted plant?" Alire grins. "A cat or a dog?" And he chuckles. Not normally this prone to teasing. What has gotten into him? He has... a sense of humor...
     "We will get you to Poitiers... and it will all go well. Bed and sheets are, of course, the most important necessity..." and he sighs. "I am in knots, Giancarlo. I want you so much... " He pauses for a moment. And then he softens and smiles. "It is funny. It had been so long... before you came to me and we made love... so long. And now, it has only been a week and it seems forever. I think of that first night, when we started kissing after the saffron mullet fish, our mouths numb, and I just... It is good it is only two more days. I should lose my mind otherwise."
     So intense. So sudden. This has all been so sudden. Burning like a nova. But I know that it is right. With you it is right. And it is love. And I do not want to waste moments of it, parted like this...

     "Oh, the fish," Cesare blinks, grinning brightly now in the globe. "Ah, bello...I didn't know what to do. I was such a mess. I wanted to kiss you so much, but did not want to be an impertinent guest," he laughs.
     "Ah, but it was...it is wonderful...now. How we are lovers, Alire." A glad sigh for that. His knee comes up beneath the blanket, foot on his mattress. He is quiet a moment, falling into memories again.
     A grin. And he's back. "I spend much of my time, remembering what it is like when we are together and imagining when you arrive. Or, what it will be like..." Cesare's voice slows, "...to spend our lives together. You and I. All the things we can do..."

     "We were a mess," Alire corrects, for he was right there with you. "It was all I could do just to finish the dinner," he remembers. And he falls into that a moment or two. When you grin and wake, he wakes too. "It will be a good life," he believes, "... and a magical one, thanks to you."
     And I should let you go, it is late, but I will watch you as you sleep. "Leave a little light glowing tonight, Giancarlo," Alire murmurs, "I want to watch you sleep. Maybe watch you... as you are dreaming about us again tonight. Put us there... in your loft, on that mattress, wrapped in that blanket. I will close my eyes in a little while and I will think of myself there too."

     Oh, must it end already? Giancarlo looks faintly disappointed, but understands and smiles. He does seem sleepy. "I will leave the light for you, bello. I cannot wait until you get here," he say softly, saddened that again, he must wait. "I will dream of us," he does affirm. "Will you...call me later? Maybe in a few hours?"

     "I will, ami, si," he blends French and Italian without a thought. "In a few hours, I will wake you up." And suddenly Alire grins. "It will be almost as if I were there, no?" And he laughs. And he blushes rather furiously.
     Next time, you should really make this thing work both ways...

     "Nothing as if you were here," Cesare corrects, laughing too. "If you were here, it would be far more abrupt and...eventually pleasurable."
     "So, buon nocte," the old form, "...Alire. I love you." The smile and gentle blink follows, knowing soon he shall hear silence.

     "Buon nocte," Alire murmurs. "And I love you."
     And all the things I do not say, amice...
     You give me strength...
     You set my course and you right it...
     You make flat the earth beneath my feet...
     You are an old heart's salvation...
     Why must everything I say or think come out sounding like a prayer? I should really start reading... newer books...

Posted by Criseyde at May 29, 2003 07:01 PM