The house has been transformed for you, Giancarlo, much as I have been by you. Much as my life shall be by your being here. Look at my walls. Look at this place. Not everything is where it should be, and rather than... fussing over it and spending hours (I am embarrassed to ever say how many hours) rearranging everything, I get my hands dirty with the dishevelment. It's ... thrilling...
The den has been converted into a spacious library-bedchamber. Perhaps I should have done this years ago. Two sofas were arranged -- I do not know that I have ever laughed as much -- blankets, coverlets, pillows, everything for your comfort dragged out here. You feel well here. Here... I do not worry so much. You are well. The pain goes away. I do not think to worry why my chamber pains you to begin with. I distract myself from all of this by making this miracle possible for you.
I made love to you again. Here. On the sofas. Gentle. Slow. It eased into sleep. A last kiss of your name on your forehead. I remained with you. I held you as you slept.
It is getting harder and harder to leave you, Giancarlo...
My life so transformed by you. What would it be like if you were not here?
But I left you in the last part of night. As I felt the chill come upon my skin. As I felt my universe slow. I made it downstairs. Barely. When I woke at twilight, I was on my floor.
I have to tell you...
The house softly stirs with you. And as evening approaches, there is the crest of Life approaching. It is the hour you expect him. You have come to expect him now. And you hear the sounds of his approach. Down from below. An entrance to the house, perhaps that's where the garage is...
In this space, at the ground floor, a small home has been made. Something we created together, shared together. We laughed as we struggled to move books and shelves, sofas and tables. We stood around, hands on our hips, wondering what would be the best arrangement. We decided together, and somewhere along the way, your home became mine too. I don't know when it happened or why I am so comfortable here, but it's all mine. This house and you.
He comes out of the kitchen, still wrapped in a towel. A sandwich fills a hand, glass in the other. A quick shower was all the time he spent on the second floor, just enough to lather and rinse. Later and later he sleeps during the day, knowing he'll be up all night to spend precious time with you.
But goodness, you never sleep.Up all evening with me. All night. A catnap in the morning before you go. Then you're off all day, handling business. And I sleep. Aren't you tired, Provence?
The sofa creaks as Cesare plops against it, setting his drink next to himself. He coils his legs akimbo, setting book across the tautly pulled towel at his lap.
I have no good answer for this. I wake early, it is true. I make my phone calls. I explain ...somehow... that I have things I must settle. Some business. Something I must tend to. The city is fine. My city is fine. Poitiers still goes to bed early. I made my apologies. I rescheduled my appointments. I must look like an ass. Surely, everyone is seeing that I do not leave my house. Those who watch me know someone is here.
Worrying keeps me awake.
... There is no yawning with Alire. There are the bright eyes, the warm eyes as he looks at you. He smiles so much these days. The sun rises on his mouth, crests upon his face, shines in his hair. He does not seem ... tired. Not at all.
I have to tell you...
There are so many books. Every where you go, there are more of them, Giancarlo. Pull open a drawer, you find ancient tomes. Wander the lower room, you find secret libraries. There are bookshelves everywhere but in the kitchen. What do you read now? The botany or astronomy or cartography selection? The Qaballah? The poems of Sephardic scholars? And that's not even in the main, private library.
You hear him coming, from down the hall, past the kitchen. You hear his steps. He is humming something. That voice. You remember him singing... the first time he met you...
No one on this earth can do Gregorian Chant or plainchant quite like Alire d'Avignon...
"Bonjour, Giancarlo," he says. He is leaning against the lintel of the doorway. Looking at you in your towel. Looking at you reading. "How are you feeling?" he asks softly, Italian lilting. He pushes off the doorway, coming to join you.
Dressed in ivories, carmel browns, camel. Golds and earthen tones. Nice slacks, nice shoes. Shirt, with a jacket over it. As if he had been out. But... he always dresses this way.
"Mmph!" Cesare grins, glancing at a clock. "You..." he swallows, "...are early!" And I am not dressed. Pity that.
Jumping from his settling, the book is set aside, and hands brush on the towel. "Wow," he grins, looking at you. "Did you have an important meeting today?" Feet quickly cross the space between you, his arms resting heavy at your shoulders. A sigh. "And yes, I am fine, bello, grazie..." voice lowering to a whisper. Close to you again. The first kiss will come soon enough.
The sun is still out...
I know where every ray of it lands. I can feel it, hear it...
When you jump up, his blue eyes flare. Look at you. Dieu. How you move, agile. You are so handsome. So. And then you are in front of me, your arms on my shoulders. Do I look silly, Giancarlo? With my constant smiling? I feel as though my face is going to crack. I am just so unused to this. So.
His hands are at your side, and the kiss follows as you knew it would. "Good," Alire murmurs there. "I like this room we have made," he grins now. "Maybe we should take apart one of the beds and set it up here..."
That would mean you would be staying...
"Hmm," a chuckle, "... they thought it was important," he whispers. "I...knew that what was important... was here... waiting on me." Another kiss. "What would you like to do tonight? It is my turn to cook... what would you like..."
"I already have a sandwich," he replies, face turned upwards, towards the sun. Cesare instinctively offers you his cheek, his throat. There, he enjoys your kisses and nuzzling best. "Do you want me to make you a sandwich?" It's a hope. He can imagine that you prefer sit-down dinners and prepared meals. "Or, maybe we can share," he grins, cheek at yours, "...and have dinner a little later?"
"And...I do like the idea of staying here," Cesare smirks, "...but I feel like the guest who does not know when to leave," he chuckles, remembering old sayings.
His hands slide against your skin, the towel. The towel's position precarious now. Fingers clasp, and as throat is offered, he does indeed nuzzle there. Smiling. Mouth at the line of your jaw, parting. Trailing against your neck. "I can share yours," he confirms, voice and mouth at your ear. He closes his eyes, and holding you here, like this, how easy it would be to start dancing.
And then you mention it. The guest. The staying. Alire opens his eyes. "And if the host were to say," he murmurs, "...that he did not wish his guest to leave..." It holds a question. What then, Giancarlo? Would you stay? A kiss to the side of your neck, he straightens, last kiss to the line of your jaw, nearest your ear. "Giancarlo," Alire says, and then straightening he looks to you. "I do not... know what ... sort of life you have in Venice or... if... Poitiers may... make you happy." He is serious now, as you know he can be. "You staying... being a part of my life," my life, "... would make me happy."
Alire is nervous. He looks to you. He waits upon your answer. He fears that he will hear again...
... You ask too much, Alire, you ask too soon...
You smother me, Alire, you hold too close...
This has turned so serious, bello. He watches your eyes for a moment, wondering the source of such passion. A smile comes, to set you at ease. Cesare's hand comes to your cheek. You have pulled away to say something important.
"I had no plans to leave you, Alire," fingers at your hair. "You are so handsome," he whispers, closing his eyes, "...so wonderful. Where, on this planet, would I ever go? What could make me happier? What could make me wish to leave?" The eyes open again and his smile is radiant. It leaps from the corners of his eyes and lips. From the high cheekbones that glow. "Tell me," brow tightening in interest, "...tell me where it is that I could be happier? It does not exist, Alire. I know that already. I have never been so happy." You know I have been around a while. What is there that would take me from your arms?
He waits a moment. Exhaling dispels some tension, and Cesare looks between you. "I have been many places, bello," his Italian comes, "...oh...seen so many things. Been...with others." He shrugs. It all pales. "I have never...loved...anyone...as I love you now," his gaze lifting to meet yours, unafraid. "As fast as I have loved you. And I have never felt so loved...so wanted, sweet..." his rough hands cup your cheeks. "No man has made me feel as you have." Cesare sighs again, the lines in his face falling away. "No man. Not ever. Not in a hundred and twenty years..." lest you forget.
A step back and Cesare smiles. "I will not go, until you tell me..."
...until you tell me, Alire d'Avignon. This I promise. I will not leave the Templars, I will not leave your bed. Not until you tell me that you no longer love me....
...and you cannot say it...
...or I am not Montrachet...
Could you love a man who can never die?
It is there, moments from the tongue, but it halts there. Would you change your mind? Not everyone can do so. Not everyone can bear what it means. What it means to love me. What it must mean to be with me. To bear the solitude. The periods of silence. The ruling of a city that I am tied to. That I may not leave, I have given myself to her, Poitiers.
Could you love a prince?
Could you love a man who ...does not know how to explain how he is what he is...
Alire's eyes narrow as you speak and he has begun to smile again, unconsciously. Your smile, it is infectious. How could he do anything but smile when you look that way, smile that way, speak that way? His eyes burn at the corners. Do you notice the reddening. I have not cried so much in all my life. Twice now, that you have been with me. Such intensity. It wells deep, rushes to the surface in a wave. Alire turns his head, face held by your hands, his mouth placing a kiss upon your palm, then the belly of your wrist. Swallowing, the tightening throat not relaxing. "Then you will be here forever," Alire whispers, voice rough with all the effort not to have the blood spill again. But you can see it. How could you not see it. Holding his face as you do. As close to him as you are.
Alire closes his eyes. He kisses you, trembling mouth pulling gently at your own. You must tell him, Alire. You must.
"I will never tell you to leave," a little smile. "I should never want that," he whispers. "I love you. I cannot imagine how I moved through this world alone, as I have done. So long. You have... changed everything. You have brought the sun back to this house and to me. You... you have done this." Tears are swallowed. There is only the reddening at the corners of his eyes. Could be due to the emotion. "You have made everything different. Wonderful." I am rambling.
I do not know how to tell you. I clear my throat. I smile helplessly. What am I to do? I have never told anyone.
How do I learn to speak after being to silent, so long?
"You... have... things to move. You.... would share this house with me?"
..I will never ask you to go...
I would lay upon that stone for you. I am laying there still...
There is no end of loving you, until I myself come to an end...
He can be as spontaneous as the next man. Perhaps more.
"Yes," Cesare laughs, holding your upper arms now, "...yes, yes, yes!" he laughs, hands sliding down to yours again. Ah! Finger comes to your eyes. "My martyr," he grins. "Some have the stigmata," he laughs, "...you? You cry tears of blood." Cesare's brows arch brightly, as if he finds some joy in your holiness.
"You will never be alone again, bello. I promise this," his hands swaying with yours. "As long as you will have me, I will be here, with you. In Poitiers."
"Here," he whispers, "I want to show you something, hmm? I do not know, if you will ever see it, but this...is where I have been."
Cesare's hands leave yours and he takes a step back. There is magic upon him, seeming to gather as he brings his hands together, cupping the air.
Closing his eyes, Cesare breathes a few words and pulls a hair from his own head. Fingers hold it gingerly as he cups his hands together once again, and in his palms, a swirling circle of air forms, something coming into existence...
Oh, I am no martyr...
I am no saint...
The blood I weep is borrowed, stolen, unholy. I am no martyr, though I have paid a martyr's price. I go to say 'Non'. I start to explain. But you are already moving, moving to show me something dear. And I delay...
... He must be mute. They must have taken his tongue. For he never says a word. He doesn't even scream. Why won't he confess? Doesn't he know it would be easier if he would just confess...?
Alire brings his hands up to his eyes as you free them. A whisper of apology, forgive me, comes the French. Maybe to himself. Maybe to God. Maybe to you. And then fingers steeple and he watches you. Smiling, wondering. You are amazing. As he lowers his hands, a single bloody tear moves over a high cheek, and he watches you, your swirling light.
Magician, will you understand? Before you say 'Yes' ... there's so much for you to know. So much for me to speak. I do not know how it will come, how it will go. He looks at the circle of air, the thing that is Becoming. His eyes lifting from your hands to your face in quick glances...
There is strain there. And why not? It is not easy to pull Something ex Nihilo.
In his palms, a globe takes form. A dome of glass, filled with something moving. A scene within. All becomes clearer as Cesare stands there, working to conjure this orb, his hands tightening and shaking.
Look carefully, Alire, at his gift. Inside the glass, a bird's eye view, is a room. Dark and dank, there is a table, books, and such a muss. A library or the study of a messy professor. The image is still, suspended in the orb, as if a fixed hologram.
And Cesare sighs loudly.
"Here," he whispers, looking a little weary. His eyes only open after he speaks, the illuminated world perhaps a little much. "For you. So you can know where I have been and what I leave behind..."
Fingers uncurl, and indeed, it is a glass orb upon three little metal feet. Within, the image of a room, but not a picture. A spyglass into some world...
Oh, Giancarlo...
Look at what you have done, what you are able to do. Do you know how amazing you are? Perhaps... it has taken a magician to get to me. There is a little self-directed humor at that, a wistful smile and his eyes burn again.
I wish I would not cry so much. I did not cry like this when I was on the Stone of Chinon, nor since. Why now?
"Gian," he whispers, the most-informal, the intimate. And a strong hand comes upon your own. "It is..." Alire shakes his head, but then his curiosity, his keen mind, his thirsty eyes marvel at it. "...incredible, this art you have. This gift," he murmurs, looking to you. It is too much. I will treasure it. And he holds it in his hand as gently as a baby bird. As if it would break if he so much as breathed on it too much. "I have so much to tell you," he says, almost sing-song... as if he were part of that spell. Enchanted. "So much to tell you... about who I am." A pause. "What I am. I have... watched you pull something..." he shakes his head in amazement still, "...so incredible from aether. From ... nothing to Something. I do not know how... to ... even begin to tell you the... things I must tell you..."
To answer your questions, Giancarlo...
"Your ... one-hundred and twenty years... to tell you why... such a thing, such time... was not shocking. Well, it was shocking," he corrects in a whisper. "But... how ... accepting I was. And you should know it." Alire nods, jaw tightening a little and then he swallows. "You should know it before you... leave anything behind." Maybe you will not want to...
Ah, I am terrified...
Shhh... Alire... have you forgotten how to be silent?
You want to say something, but it's not coming forth. Cesare watches you take the gift, but stares as you speak and not speak at the same time.
"Is it alright?" he wonders, not having told you what it is you hold. "It is..." he shrinks a little, "...my room in Venezia. Where I live." No, it is not much. "My books and studies..." he tries to explain, now worried.
"...and...when I go..." to get things, "...you...will be able to see me. In my room."
"It... is amazing," he whispers. I treasure it. Look at how I hold it. "This room in Venezia. You ..." he peers into the globe, and he laughs, suddenly. "You have as many books there, as I have here..." That's probably accurate. "I would love that room. I wish..." I wish I could go there with you. "... I wish I did not have so much business in Poitiers. I would like to see your Venezia. Maybe... we can go there...together...for Christmas..."
You explain and he understands more. Alire looks to you. Amazed. Startled, more. "Truly?" And then he smiles. Relieved. Oh so relieved. "I will... have it with me always. And... you will not get homesick. You can... always see it, it will stay by my bed." He looks back into the sphere. "I see... a clock...and it is a loft, oui? I can see some stairs. You live like a young Titian," he murmurs. "But you are an artist of Matter."
And now he is distracted from his story...
Alire is beaming when he looks to you and he holds the item to his chest. His free hand reaches out for you. "It is beautiful, and you... who made it. I love you..."
He takes your hand, putting it to his lips. A full kiss spreads at your palm, his lips parting and closing as his face dips. "I love you too," he replies, taking same hand to guide you around to his sofa, where the sandwich sits.
"Christmas it is," he whispers, "...I wish you could go with me to get a few things." But what to get? He seems a little wistful of the place, glancing at it in your hand. "I know, bello, it does not look like much, but it has been my home for a long time. I will miss it..." but Cesare smiles knowing he shall be here. "I don't know what to think," he laughs and admits, "I am nervous of leaving my home, but...I want to be with you here."
"Here, come sit," he murmurs, lowering to the floor by the sofa. Sandwich is put to the side opposite where you will join him. "I know," he finally says, picking up your last comment, "...it is...shocking," he nods at you, "...as you say. And I will not do...things...that will bring you harm or attention," Cesare adds. "No magic in public, if you say. And...I will try not to...sparkle too much." It sometimes happens. "And I know...it's all very strange," he confesses shyly, looking down, "...but...you won't regret it, bello," Cesare's eyes to yours again. "I promise." Being with an unaging magic user...how much stranger can it get? "There are other mages, but...I do not associate with many, bello, so you will not have to...see others." If it disturbs you too much.
You are sweet to worry. And I had not thought of that. Being with a magician, what it might mean. How it might seem so strange, and that you are...
You are as worried as I am...
There is a sudden understanding, a realization. He blinks at it. So simple, it startles him. You and I, my love, we are one in this too. So many things we have in common, already...
Alire settles beside you. So much bulk, and yet it moves so easily. With such grace. He listens to all you say, blue eyes lift to you. And smiling, even though serious, he shakes his head. "Regret, my Giancarlo... there would never be." He leans in, a kiss given, a kiss taken. Warmth of your mouth. "I like it when you sparkle," he whispers. And then he grins. "You... have reminded me what.... light was like." True light. Light of a pure sun.
Lines show at the corners of his eyes. That intensity again. It wells once more. "I ... understand... you are nervous. I ... would not want to leave Venezia either." He chuckles a little, his hand holding yours, fingers stroking. Constantly moving. "I... must seem like I am asking a lot. That you should leave your own home... to move here..." Maybe you would not be happy here. Poitiers is very different. "I wish I could go too... but..."
Truth comes hard...
My mouth wants to freeze...
Shhh, Alire. Quiet...
"I am not holy," he begins suddenly. "I ... am not a martyr, my Giancarlo." He grasps your hand. He looks down from your face to the sphere he holds. Your world... I hold your world in the palm of my hand. And I must tell you the truth. It is so much...so much responsibility. "I am... not a priest though... I have lived as one. With my books and my gardens and... nothing more. But there is something you must know. I would not have you ... sacrifice..."
Ah, that word. I cannot say that word...
He stares both at you and past you, in space and at the form he has come to love and to need. "You... had questions...I should answer..."
Oh, God, whatever it is, just...let it pass quickly.
He is nervous. You hold the orb and he clutches at your fingers. "I don't remember having questions," he admits, shrugging. He smiles faintly, but then lets the corners of his mouth return to more serious forms. "There...is something else? Someone?" he wonders...
"No," that answer comes swiftly, a little wide-eyed. "No," he says in a calmer whisper, a chuckle, eyes crinkling at the corners. No. Not for many centuries. "No, there has been no one, Giancarlo. No one for me. I haven't even made love until I was with you, for over a hundred years..." And he looks to the globe he delicately cradles, your world. My lover's world. I would die to keep it safe. I would die, I said that before -- and I was one of the few who lived. "You wondered: how did I come to be so quiet," he has an acute memory, "... how I learned to sing. What it would be like... to love me." He finally sets your little globe upon the table, gently. It doesn't even make a sound. He looks to you.Are you ready to flee now? But you stay, so far you stay, he takes your hands.
"I am older than you are," he says quietly. "Much older. But I am no magician like you. I ... feed off the life of others," Alire murmurs, eyes looking from your face and to your hands, joined with his. "I cry blood because... that is what fills me. Sustains me. Keeps me alive. Existing here, where I have now... for seven hundred years."
And he waits for you to scream. He braces for that. He waits for you to kill him. He is ready to die, if that's God's will. He doesn't fear death. He fears only your rejection.
The young man next to you stiffens a little. He did not hear you correctly, si? Eyes scan, the processes running. Hearing. Did I hear? No, I am not mistaken.
"I..." he cocks his head, "...do not understand, bello...?" word said to make sure that you are still together. You are still his. Feeding? Metaphor? How do you feed from people? Ah, Alire, you speak riddles to me again.
Giancarlo smiles, looking down. "Bello, um...start again, please?" You are speaking, but I am not understanding. Please, say again, love...
There was a moment, perhaps it was when I heard you say 'bello' to me as if you thought this was ...collapsing. Ruined. And for a moment, I thought I had too. And I panicked. I think I panicked. But how would I know? The world became calm, as it does when I am distressed. The world settles, and I am strong. That is me. The stone of Chinon. I became the stone after a while.
I do not know how to tell you...
I have no choice now...
"I think," Alire murmurs after a moment of stroking fingers to your fingers, "... it would be easier with... visual aids." Blonde eyebrows lift, and he looks to you. "Will you come with me, Giancarlo? Will you come downstairs..." A pause. "I want to tell you ... the whole story..."
"What story, bello?" Cesare asks, not sure what the sudden wistfulness is about. His hand tightens around yours, as if asking 'what is it'? "I will go with you anywhere, Alire," he whispers. "Anywhere." He is nervous, but if there is something you wish, he is hard-pressed to deny it. A small smile forms at his lips - courage! - and Cesare turns about, wondering which way to go.
"My story, mio caro," he says. "I'm sorry," he says softly, suddenly. "I am not doing this well." You are making a mess of this, Alire d'Avignon. You have him nervous. You have him wondering. You have him thinking you are insane. Alire closes his eyes. There is an exhale. An inhale...
Have you thought of how this sounds? How crazy this sounds. And you have only known him for... what is it now? A week? And you are telling him this, and you are acting like this. No wonder you have been alone, Alire d'Avignon...
Cobalt blue eyes open, and the mouth you have come to know so well, with its slight but warm smiles, its subtle but often intense expressions, twists in a self-depreciating smirk. "I am making a mess of this evening, I am sorry. Ah.. non... with your headaches," Alire murmurs, "I think we should stay here. I ... forgot... for a moment... but..." No, he shakes his head, and he moves to sit upon the couch, the bed for you that you and he together made. He brings you with him. "I just... I do not know how to explain the... blood, what I do. I know you have questions. That is ... all, caro. I just... wanted to explain. And I have worried you."
No wonder you have been alone...
The signs of worry are on his features, but they do not trouble him so much for him to speak. Cesare moves with you, eager to follow whereever you go. Some part of him sighs for the avoidance of downstairs, and he settles on the couch with you, arm slinking around yours, head at your shoulder.
"I will listen to whatever you want to say, Alire," Cesare confesses, still wrapped in his towel. "Whenever you wish to tell it," he looks to you. "Tonight, or next year, or twenty years from now..." No rush. We all have stories to tell, and they can come when they need. "We have time." I have time. You are young. "And I am not going anywhere."
"You will think..." Cesare adds, "...that I think...that the color from your tears," sweet tears, "...is odd. But do not. I have seen so much, bello," he tries to explain. "I have seen..." he grins, "...tombs and ghosts. I have seen darkness visible. I have caused clocks to speak and matter form from nothing." He knows the odd, the occult, the world outside of mortals. "Much is odd in the world, my bello...but...I specialize in the odd," he smiles. "So, do not think me like other people, with the limitations of..." his hand waves, "...thinking and knowledge that most people have..."
I do not know what fortune of Yours, O Father, after so long has brought this man to me. After so many years of preying on your children, your blessed sons and daughers, feeding from vows as much as blood. I do not know, O Father, why You have blessed me now. But Your wisdom is beyond my understanding, I... less than holy. I only thank You with a humble heart, and pray that it is a fortune I earn.
Alire takes comfort in your smile, in your words. There is sudden relief on his features, from his eyes, to the relaxation of his jaw and the muscles of his face. The tiny signs of his tension. "The real and the unreal," he echoes. And Alire nods. "I did not mean to scare you... let's ... not talk of it ...the past... anymore tonight..." Or...even almost talk of it. He takes your hand, he closes his eyes, he kisses your wrist. "... I want to talk about our future..."
I will have to find another way. There has to be another way. There is One who may know. One that I trust to tell. One that is wise. He will know the way...
Alire exhales, clearing it all away -- the nervousness, the panic -- and he turns to you, smiling. For the first time in so many moments. He lifts his hand to touch your face. "How wonderful you are, Giancarlo," his voice is soft, deep, but there is so much in it. "And I will... never underestimate you again." He grins. "You... really... do not mind being in Poitiers for... a while? Maybe... we can rent a place in Venice. I have friends there... maybe we could... stay there at least for a month every year? I know it is not the same as being there all the time... but... I would love to be there with you."
His smile grows as the feelings of worry dispel. Cesare sighs audibly, sharing the scattering of distress with you. "I don't mind," he whispers, "...like I said, bello, I will miss my room," he grins wistfully, "...but...this is where I want to be. So, we will make a way." Together. Cesare smirks, lifting a finger and spinning it around. "Just like we made this." A space to solve a problem.
"We will convert this room," Alire says, worry dissolving into excitement at the possibilities. "A reading room that is a bedroom," he settles back upon the sofa, feet pulling off his shoes. His eyes are alive once again, taking in you, in everything here. Letting the rest fall away. Let it fall away. "We will make a way," comes his whisper.
Like everyone else. How are we any different, Giancarlo? Even though we may be among the more 'different' of all God's creatures. We... like everyone else... will make our way...
"I am a little nervous," he admits. "I hope you ... don't find me annoying to share space with." He laughs at that. "I have not lived with anyone..." Ever. "Will you need help... with your things? Do you... want to reside here? Or... maybe we can pick out a place together...would you... rather this?"
"We're fine," Cesare laughs, glancing over to see you from shoulder perch. He brings his legs onto the sofa, curling them beneath himself. He sighs once settled again, a sure sign that he's well. "I like here," he murmurs, "...I...just do not understand what is here that makes me have head pains," his voice lowering. "Maybe...it is an old house and there are old paints or other chemicals that I am allergic to."
"I could put a ward on it? Oh, that is a good idea, hmm? Do you have mice or anything? Or insects? I could make wards here for you. It is not a bad idea..." a magical solution at hand, perhaps. "I could," he grins, "...make a ward against nervousness..." his elbow nudging you into humor.
He goes red. It starts at his cheeks, then flares across the bridge of his nose, down his neck, and most likely lower, it's just hidden by the clothing. Light as golden as it is, it only displays the crimson that is available. But even so, he laughs. He laughs at himself. "If you could do that," he murmurs, "... I probably would not know what to do with myself." Eyes sparkle, crinkle at the edges.
"It is an older house... that is true. I think it is from the 1600s. Renovated in the 1800s. There may be something. I will also call the ... ventilation people. Maybe that will help too." He pauses. "So... you could place wards... these are like ...spells? Magic guardians?" Not really knowing what it's all about. And he smirks, "I may have mice. I do not keep cats so... this old house probably has more in it than you and I, this is true. Well, I am fine with you doing what you are able to do, of course, caro. I do not want you to be sick in my house." He pauses again and then dead-pan murmurs, "I am glad it is not me." He laughs then. "I was worried there for that night..." I worry a lot apparently.
Maybe this will go away... maybe I will not worry so much in the future...
"When.... do you think you will be returning to Venice...how much time, caro, would you need?"
He continues to grin, but looks at his hand upon his lap. "I...don't know what I am getting, bello," Cesare admits. "I do not know...what to do. What to bring?" he shakes his head. "I am scared," he whispers, "...it seems...err...presumptuous...to just move into your house," eyes turning to you. "Shall I just go home, though, and act as if I live there and just visit here for weeks on end?" That seems silly as well.
"Maybe we should slow down," his voice lowers. "You may not want me...living in your living room so fast. Or being here all the time. It is exciting," he grins at you, "...to feel as we do now, but ... honestly...can you want a man you hardly know in your house every day and every night already?" eyes narrow. Speak honestly. We do not know each other yet.
"Will we bump into each other and not know what to say? What if I want to look through your closet...it is not my closet, bello. I would be intruding on a space that is not mine." I see that now. "I...do not feel free to change this...or move that. Or put this here," he makes a motion, as if moving something out of the way for something else. "And how would it make you feel? Someone moving your things, changing the house, making it all different?"
"This does not mean..." he quickly adds, "...things would change between us. We are lovers. We...just do not know how to live together yet? And I would not want that...to interfere with our growing to love each other..."
"But!" Cesare smirks, "I do not want to go..." he laughs. "It is like a wonderful vacation..."
You are right. He nods as he hears you. Yes, I was moving too fast again. Thrashing, perhaps, even in excitement and joy. And maybe it would help to... ease you into this reality of mine. By ... coming upon it in small measures, rather than seven hundred years all at once. I hear what you are saying. I understand it.
I am scared, too...
Alire takes a breath, holds it a moment, and then as you smile, as you laugh, it comes... with a smile behind it. "You are wiser than I, caro," he admits it softly, with a little flush. And then he smiles, broadly. "Ah, you make sense. But Venice is too far away. I would never see you," he murmurs. "I do not get out of Poitiers much these days," he continues. "I could get you a place here... Some place nearby but... it would be a place of your own. I could help, I do not mind.... it would be my pleasure and my honor, caro. And then... we will... love," Alire smiles, no... he grins at that. "...and we will make Poitiers our place... and when we are ready," yes, you make so much sense, "... we will... find a new space together, caro." He nods. "That way... neither of us will be scared, hmm? And I am nervous for both of us," he chuckles. "I think you are as wise as you are handsome," he whispers, leaning in, voice near your ear. "And that is very wise indeed."
Ah, but you are smart. "I will not take your money, Alire," Cesare protests even as the sofa does the same. Weight wrapped in one of your luxurious towels. He moves, bending his leg as he straddles your lap, nose soon enough to your own. "I will pay my way," he insists, as if he had money to live nicely in Poitiers, "...and have a small place here, si..." a nod of his head.
Brown eyes are a mirror when Cesare's head bends and his nose touches its mate. "Si, a good idea," he whispers, thinking now. "I will be not so far away. And we can...try to learn as we go, so when...the right time comes..." and he smiles at the idea, "...we can do so with easy hearts." Both of us.
It is not my intelligence that I feel just now...
His hands, those large hands of the warrior you know, the Unaccustomed Lover, land upon your hips. His eyes look to your own as you are so near, but they cannot help the glimpse downward and elsewhere. There is so much of you that I love, inside and out. He smiles, his mouth brushes yours, tries to kiss -- will you let him? "We will learn, and our hearts will be full," he whispers. "And... this is a reasonable area, it's an old part of Poitiers... you will like it, caro," he is excited all over again, for a variety of reasons, and his eyes are bright with it. "It is a friendly city, a good city. And when my work calms down, I will take some time off and will show you more of it. And... you may stay here... as long as you like. When you are ready... then," Alire murmurs, turning his head just a little, a nuzzle, "... you may do what you need to be here." He grins, he cannot help the grin. "And I know you do not need my money or my help but... if you do," he says in a hush. All I have is for you. You have but to ask, but I know you will not, my Venetian. Still... I must offer it...
Cesare nods. His hands do not come to rest on your shoulders. Instead, they remain low, and his hands pull at the towel around his waist. "Agreed," he whispers. "Tomorrow." Tomorrow, we will begin our plan. Tomorrow, I will find a paper and walk around to find a flat that fits my budget.
"Tonight," he smiles, "...we must make up for our redecorating." Last night. With resolution on the table, it is so easy to think of other things. The towel is damp, and covers part of your slacks and Cesare's calves and feet. He tilts his head, a small warning of what is to follow, and closes his eyes as he leans in for the first of many kisses.
Posted by Criseyde at May 29, 2003 07:01 PM
