The sun crested harmlessly over the limestone green waters of the Grand Canal. It slivered bronze and gold upon the rivulets. From above, the golden serpents of ancient Roman gods would gleam, these rivers, each one spilling into the wide waters of the Canal and the Lagoon.
     The light moved over the southwestern quarter, not warming the side of your building until the late afternoon. By two or three o'clock, you could feel the warmth settling in upon the roof, sliding downward until the sun began to slip into the waters, dipping golden feet until they turned roseate. And from rose to red. From red to magenta. Magenta to indigo.
     And for all of that time, Alire did not move. He did not move at all. He did not breathe. He did not twitch. He did not shift in his sleep. There was Nothingness given shape. He became a statue. Sleeping Adonis on the riverside.
     Until the slipping of the sun...
     As the light trailed away from the side of your building, slipping to the Rio di Verona and its juncture with the Rio di Sant'Angelo, his fingers twitched. Were you there to see him, Giancarlo the Magician?
     His golden hair takes on a gleam at sunset, as if each strand was traveled by his re-entering soul. The heavy body of the 14th century knight seems less stony. There is life there. A reanimation. Alire was Somewhere Else.
     Now, he is here...
     Alire shifts in awakening, awakening that seems very like mortal sleep, and the piles of blankets and coverlets piled on and around him, partly for comfort and partly to protect him from the warmth he knew would eminate from the stone of your building, become alive with the first motion. Words have not yet occurred to him. His soul is only beginning to whisper to him. Wake, Alire, wake. For it is the dawn of a new night...

     So this is how it will be, Giancarlo. What have you discovered and brought to your home, your bed? A man, not dead. Half living in a world that never stops. How frightening it must be. To be so vulnerable and so feared. A likely target if any knew, and utterly at someone's whim.
     He had showered and fed himself. Cesare took a quick bath in his little shower, then read for a while. Ever so often, Alire, he came to see you. To rearrange the coverlets. To turn off the candles...then to light them once more. A glass of water was set next to you. And when Cesare paused, he flipped through a tome that spoke of the Living Dead. The Undead. Those Damned.
     But that was purely informational. To see what the World thought. He shall make up his own mind. He always has.
     But now, the day is put away. His hair is still damp, and his body nude. You shall find him as you left him, Alire. He can appreciate continuity, when you seem to have none. A jolt to a world where you don't know what you'll find.
     At your shoulder, there is warm breath. Kiss placed at your skin. Cesare smirks at himself, then twists to see his little clock behind him.

     Now you know what he was doing for you. How he felt when you were in his home that soon became a home situated for you. How little things changed before you came to him. And you saw him, you saw him even before the sun set. He willed himself awake for you. Trying to give you that continuity that would fit in with your universe.
     Alire slept comfortably, and comfortably he wakes. The sound of you stirring, he heard that, his fingers twitched. The smells. The condensation of your shower. And then you kiss him. And the sun rises.
     Visible gold in the hair, visible light from the eyes that open. Blue as the Aegean sea. Immediate focus. There is Sleep and there is Waking. And there you are.
     His skin is pliant to your mouth, muscle beneath it, sturdy but yielding. Alive. For all intents and purposes. Alire draws his first breath of the day, and it sparkles within and without. There is relief, there is joy, there is warmth. "Hello again," Alire murmurs, and his voice is trailed by the first, slow smile of the day. Slight, but deep. You know it is deep. It runs right through him.
     Blue eyes make a quick survey of his surroundings. Oh, that is right. We are in Venice. We. And I am on your pallet bed. Alire rolls over onto his side, golden brows knitting together as he cannot go as far as he was expecting, thoroughly wrapped as he is. He looks down at himself, smirks and looks to you.
     And then his eyes widen, his look sharpens. You are not dressed. A hand fumbles to open or part the coverlets for you, for you to come into them with him. "It is so good to see you, amice," he says, shaking off the cobwebs yet. "You have had a good day?"

     "I have," Giancarlo smiles, content to be exposed to the world. A hand stills yours upon the covers. "It's better now. I felt all by myself, but at the same time, not," he confesses. You were here. "Be careful," Cesare reminds, hand lifting to the ceiling right above you. It's still an alcove.
     "How are you?" he whispers, happy to stare at you. To see you revive. It's something he'll need to get used to. "You...are alright? Sleep..." it's not really sleep, is it, "...alright?"

     "The light is on," he says with his eyes open, "..then the light is off," he closes his eyes, "...and then it is back on. I am here," Alire smiles, "...and so I will say that I slept well. I sleep well when I wake well." Alire's eyes trail upward to where your hand lifts. Ah, alcove. Alire smiles and his hand settles beneath your own, fingers lifting to capture, to stroke in idle motion.
     "You were not alone," no, though he does not realize it, he does not remember it, his soul was here. His soul shone in your living room. The sunlight, remember? "Are you alright..." Alire wonders. With this. With knowing this. With seeing it. His blue eyes wonder as they wander over you. He falls into staring. So beautiful, Giancarlo. "Gian, tell me about your day..." Alire begins, and he wants to hear it all. What you did, where you went. How you occupied your time. What you felt.

     He blushes for your interest, waving his hand off. Fingers curl around your own, and his face is near to yours. "I am alright," he whispers, honesty there. "I have reason to worry now, understanding...how things are." A smile. "As for my day...it was nothing spectacular," words realized as he said it. He should be grateful. "It was good. I rested near you. I sang to you. We talked about opera," Cesare smirks. "And I told you of birds. Then, I went downstairs, made a breakfast, a small lunch, si. I read books...a little on magic. I read of the burden of the half-living..."
     Giancarlo kisses your jaw. A sigh. "I showered, thought a little, then returned here, beside you. I know now, Alire," he says softly, looking down, "...with you is where I am supposed to be. It is...all so clear."

     The burden of the half-living. Alire feels your concern, even as you speak it, admit it, show it. He is concerned, but not for himself. He does not think of it this way. Nor has it ever seemed a burden to him. "Non, no reason to worry, Gian." Alire smiles a little, eyes closing as you kiss him. He sighs, he turns into the kiss, returning it upon your chin. "To me, it has always been comforting," he murmurs this, his voice lingering in his chest. "The routine. The regimentation that made time seem to pass. I never thought of it as a burden. I do not want you to think of it like this. Or that you need to be worried because I sleep so soundly, that I am vulnerable. We are all vulnerable, my magician." Alire brushes a kiss against your mouth. "Try not to worry."
     Alire smiles broadly. "You took good care of me while I was sleeping. Merci, ami." Carefully, he shifts, arm coming up out of the blankets to reach toward the water. "It sounds like a relaxing day. I am sure I was in a corner somewhere enjoying watching you. I only wish I could remember, ne c'est pas?" And then you speak of knowing. I nod to you. I understand. "And I am thankful for your love. I am... grateful that after knowing what you know, you wish to be with me. I know... it is not an easy thing to decide, and I know you could only truly come to it having examined it." Alire smiles, knowingly. Scientist to scientist. I understand.
     "What is it that you see, with the way as clear as it is, Giancarlo..." He truly wishes to know.

     "Actually," Cesare smirks, "...the way is not clear. Just...that my path to you. How we came to be...was written, bello. Something tells me this..." A shrug and then a chuckle, "I am not being so reasoned here," he confesses. "Sorry. Love is love. Destiny is destiny. I have examined little," Cesare admits. "This is not about examination. It is the opposite. Total opposite. I have asked no questions, I want no answers."
     The water looks refreshing. Cesare watches you take a drink, then smiles. "You're a wonderful man, bello. Why would I ever choose to leave a man like you?" Cesare doesn't really expect an answer to that. It is hyperbole, an explanation of his feelings.
     "Too hot?" he wonders, pushing at the blankets upon you. He's nude for a reason....and you're drinking the water...the water that doesn't seem to disappear. "Would you like dinner or to go out? I could make you some food..."
     Cesare stops. "Oh," he whispers. Maybe not food. "I mean...if you want food? Pasta, hmm?" Quick and easy.

     The rise of blood to the skin's surface is always so noticeable. He is not pale so much as he is Swiss by way of Provence. Any blush gives him away. It colors him immediately, lifting to his cheeks and spreading over his features, eventually his neck. "You are kind to say," Alire says, smile tracing over his mouth, sending the blush downward until it dissipates. "I ... do not know much about destiny. But, I am thankful to... whomever or whatever led you to find me in Prague, and made you want to seek me out again in Poitiers." You did find him. You found him in both places. How did you see him in the first place? "What made you look my way," Alire wonders, another swallow of water and he sets the glass aside. Interested, he looks to you, blue eyes fastening on your face, noting each and every feature, the color of your eyes and the shape of your mouth. "Non, not hot. I should take a shower soon... or a bath," it is Europe, showers are sometimes hard to find. "And I am happy to stay here, but you are already living out of boxes..." Alire pauses briefly. "How would you like to take the gondola to your favorite restaurant. We will eat there, drink wine, enjoy the weather and the view." He smiles at you.
     "How did we pass in Prague, happen into the same church," an old one at that, "...and upon one another's paths..."

     There comes a bit of reticence. "I don't really know, bello," Cesare replies honestly. Questions seem to bother him, even when they are his own. "I don't know. It was business, as I said..." he reminds, "...and I found you instead. I stepped inside the church and wanted to go further." It bothered him. "And eventually, I could see you."
     Cesare sighs and rolls onto his back, letting you leave his view. His arm comes to rest on his forehead, and knee bends slightly. "And when we sang," he closes his eyes, "...it was like being in a choir perfect. Like...I was supposed to sing with you. We were..." in the same choir. Matched voices.
     That is insanity, Cesare. Silly, unreal, and illogical. But true.
     "When I left...I didn't want to go. I wanted to know more about you. To...be with you. But I left," he nods. "Tore myself away. It didn't make sense, and I had things to finish..."
     Eyes open. "I think I need dinner, good wine, and you," Cesare says, sitting up on his elbows now. "Let's go out..."

     "Not everything has to be explained, my magician," Alire comforts. Comforts you and comforts himself. "You and I..." he smiles. "... we are living proof of that. We are, my love, two inexplicable beings." A magician and a vampire. Alire's smile becomes a short, soft laugh as he realizes it is true.
     Alire lifts up upon his elbow, careful not to bump his head, and he looks to you. "Dinner, good wine, the best wine, I will spare nothing for your pleasure, singing, and you will have me, and I will have you. It is as it should be. This... is a destiny...much to my liking, Giancarlo."
     His hand finds you. His mouth finds you. The kiss is full, wide and warm, tasting of nothing but clear water. When Alire parts it, he exhales, he smiles. "I will shower, and then we will go."

     The kiss was needed. Cesare closed his eyes and let his arms float around your neck. "Alright," he whispers, content in your replies. "I will show you Venice, yes? Have you not seen it in...a while?" smile there, now that he knows.

     "I think," blue eyes drift upward, counting, "...I was here last in 1998." Alire grins. "Not so long as all of that, but too long." The kiss is followed by another, his arms surrounding you, strength on all sides. "But I have never seen it with a true and talented guide," he continues. "I want to see your Venice. Our Venice," he corrects and he grins. "I want to see it... as through your eyes. The better to know you. And I will love it, as I love you. I am certain. You will pick your favorite place, hmm... to eat. The best food in Venice, the best wine..."

     "I don't know about the best food and wine," Cesare laughs, his body warm as he wraps around you. "What do you think I am?" He is no decadent. "But, there is this nice place...not so far. They give me extra pasta," he nods. They must know his status. "And they have good chianti, hmm? And it's their house kind," he assures.

     "Then that is the best," Alire notes. "It is not the price, ami. It is the ...value." He even winks a little. No, he is not such a one as to judge a place by its price-tag. That is not where the value is. That is not what is important. It is the richness of the experience. "Extra pasta, good chianti and a kind house sounds like the secret treasure of Venice. We will go there."
     It is decided.
     Alire holds you to him. He feels the solidity of your form, the earth and air, fire and water of it. His arms tighten around you. "I love," he murmurs. He speaks the obvious. He does not care.
     A hand lands upon your back, a solid, but gentle press. "It is now, or it is never," Alire smiles against your neck, he leaves a kiss there. "I get out of bed now, or I stay here the rest of the night..."

     "I am having the same problem," Cesare grins. "I am thirsty...a drowning man. But I know that I have reached home and will always have all that I need." No rush required. "So, let's eat, talk...walk a little? See our city."

     "Si... la nostra citta," Alire smiles, his hand pats, and with a roll he untangles from the coverlets. Well, somewhat. "You had me wrapped better than Ra," a mummification of coverlets. But in the end he is freed, and he does rise. Glorious. Golden. "The bathroom?" he wonders. He smiles. He flushes red. And he does not mind that he is standing naked. Open. Vulnerable.
     He stands before you, the scars faintly visible. The first time he stood before you, he felt as if each one were blaring red, neon, each and every mark visible, glaring. But now...
     They are there. They are a part of him. They are evidence of a rite, a torturous passage. But he is not embarrassed by them. Not with you.

     "By the kitchen," Cesare points downward. "And the hot will not last too long," he warns. "There is a blue towel there for you and shampoo too," he says, lying back upon the bedding. "I can give you a shirt, if you want?" He's not sure what you've packed.

     "It is okay. I prefer cold." How else do you think he remained celibate for centuries on end? "And I have three night's worth, I think?" In that small bag? He is a master of packing. But then, he would be. Templars were used to living on the fly, so to speak. "I will be back, and dressed," Alire notes. "And we will go."
     He moves to the stairs and he glances back to you. He smiles. And as he descends, his voice sounds, a song hummed last night, in the waning hours of darkness. He remembers it, do you?
     And it winds upward, even as he heads downward. Audible, even as the pipes groan with the start of the water. It breaks only after he steps into the chilled water. Breaks into laughter.

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