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INTERLUDE (NC-17) Complete!
This deals with a connection of the soul that transcends time and gender. There is sex that is pretty graphic--but it is part of the story.
The closing chapter, And He Loved Me, was partially written by Mark. Anything written by "Dylan" was written by Mark.
---
And by and by my Soul returned to me, And answered "I Myself amd Heav'n and Hell"
Omar Khayyam
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4/4/2004, 2:46 am
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Prologue
I lay there looking up at the ceiling, thinking. My head felt cloudy, foggy; my thoughts seemed disjointed. I wasn’t all that sure I was actually awake. But that was how things felt sometimes, almost like a dream…surreal. I closed my eyes and felt memories rush in and out of my head—veiled, shadowed in mist one moment, and the next so real I could smell his hair, taste his skin. But were they memories? Or were they dreams? Or fantasies? If they were dreams, they lingered long after I was awake. If they were fantasies, then they consumed my mind—and my body. And if they were memories, then… then there were just no words.
---
And by and by my Soul returned to me, And answered "I Myself amd Heav'n and Hell"
Omar Khayyam
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4/4/2004, 2:47 am
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The Precipice of Eternity
I just stared. I couldn’t do anything but just stare. It was an unreasoning moment. A moment of pure reaction, no thought. I just stared.
It was as if a flash of light had blinded my eyes. I saw nothing. I saw only him. It was as if he were surrounded by an aura, a glow of light that rendered my eyes blind to everything but him. I felt sweat form on my brow and a wave of fear sweep over me. I was having some sort of cerebral hemorrhage! A stroke of some sort! Wasn’t that one of the symptoms? Flashes of light? Ordinary objects suddenly surrounded by auras? I was about to die and the fates had determined that he would be the last thing on earth that I would see.
So I just stood there and stared. I couldn’t do anything but just stare. It was an unreasoning moment. A moment of pure reaction, no thought. I just stared.
He turned suddenly and somehow, against all the odds in the universe, our eyes met. Even at this distance I could see that they were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. They held the cool green of a forest. I could almost feel the breeze blowing gently through the trees, could almost smell the pine. I closed my eyes against the onslaught to my senses. Surely I would die now. My time had come.
I don’t know how long I stood there. Time had stopped for me. I was standing on the precipice of eternity. The hour of my death had come. What purpose would be served by any further measuring of the moments?
“Are you all right?” The voice was followed by a light touch on my arm. I nearly jumped from the electricity of it. Against all instinct, against any vestigial feeling of better judgment that I had, I opened my eyes.
They were definitely green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green almost going to blue, but not quite. And they were barely inches away from my own. I caught my breath. I knew those eyes. Knew them as if they were my own. I had seen them so many times, gazed into them so many times, fallen into them so many times… But I had never seen them in that face.
“Are you all right?” The touch, so light it was barely there, was still on my arm as the voice echoed itself. I must have stared, stared into those eyes for God knows how long. Time had still not returned to me, had still not returned to measuring the moments.
And he smiled. It was a slow smile, a tentative smile, a smile filled with questions and uncertainties. I felt the smile, felt it right through my skin, felt it go right through my flesh, right to my soul. And a slight blush colored his cheeks. It was the blush of a rose, delicate, soft to the touch, fragrant to the senses. It crept up his cheeks carefully, as if it was unaccustomed to being there, unsure of finding its way.
I felt myself smiling in return. I could see my smile from outside myself. I could see it slightly crooked, rueful, self-mocking. “I’m not quite sure…” I could feel my brows knitting slightly, forming a puzzled expression.
“It’s just… you were staring at me.” His blush deepened and his eyes dropped for a second, breaking the contact that had held us both for so long. “And I thought for a moment that I knew you, or that you might know me…”
I wanted to scream “Yes! Yes, I know you! Of course I know you!” because that is how I truly felt, felt right down to the depths of my soul. Yet… I also knew, knew right down to those same depths of that same soul that I did not know him. So I merely said “No…I don’t think so.” I felt my head shake slightly, regretfully.
His eyes narrowed slightly and he looked at me carefully, thoughtfully, as if trying to pull forth a memory. “Are you sure? Because I could swear…” his voice trailed off.
I realized that his fingers had remained on my arm all this time. I realized it because my arm suddenly felt cold, and I noticed he had dropped his hand. Cold, except for a slight burning where his fingers had touched… I covered the spot with my hand, rubbing my fingers over the skin, as if trying to touch him by touching where he had touched. He noticed, of course. And he did something impulsive. Impulsive, I say, because it couldn’t have been planned, couldn’t have been thought out… He covered my hand with his.
I sighed, a deep sigh, a sigh that came from the very bottom of my lungs—and from the bottom of my soul. Because when that hand covered mine, when that hand that belonged to that person whose eyes belonged to someone else covered mine, I felt a wave of warmth sweep through me, felt like I was being wrapped in arms so warm and safe that nothing in the world, nothing in the universe could ever trouble me again. And that was the last thing I remember feeling as my brain shut down completely and blackness overtook me.
---
And by and by my Soul returned to me, And answered "I Myself amd Heav'n and Hell"
Omar Khayyam
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4/4/2004, 2:48 am
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A Heart Enslaved
He pressed his lips against mine. There was no gentleness in his kiss, no tenderness, no softness—only passion and hunger. My body responded to his hunger, desire rippling through every nerve. There was never enough time for subtleties. No time for whispered words of love. But we both knew that, accepted it as part of our reality. But we also knew the words were felt if never spoken.
He was a slave in my father’s house. Born of a slave taken in a northern raid. His eyes bore the evidence of his heritage. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not an ordinary green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. And they were looking into my eyes right now.
“I grow so weary of these stolen moments.” His voice was husky with passion, passion tinged with frustration.
I touched his cheek…so pale by comparison to my own. I ran my hand down his neck, over his bared shoulders. Even the hot summer sun had not managed to bronze his skin. As I undid the clasp at my shoulder and slipped out of my robes, I marveled anew at the contrast of his skin against mine. Compared to him, I resembled a Nubian slave girl! I pressed my body against his. How warm he was!
“Be grateful to the gods that they permit us any moments at all” I whispered against his lips as I pulled him down onto my bed, onto me.
Even rushed, even as we hurried to make the most of our stolen moments, the force of his passion consumed me. The slightest brush of his fingers inflamed my senses. His hot breath seared my skin where his lips touched.
He was not my first lover, nor my only lover. I was no great beauty, but my father’s status made me very desirable. Eventually I would marry and the man whom I chose (for it was widely known that this choice was mine alone) would receive much more than a bride to grace his bed. The gods had not seen fit to bless my father with sons. And I was his only daughter. All of my father’s wealth and property—and the accompanying status—would one day go to my husband. This made me desirable in the extreme. Each man whom I took to my bed had hopes to either capture my heart by demonstrating his prowess and devotion while in my bed, or to plant his seed within me—thus ensuring his place since I would be duty bound to wed the sire of my child.
But neither thought was in his head as he moved within me, his strong, quick thrusts sending hot, rippling waves of heat through my body. I knew this. He wanted me. He wanted ME! Not my father’s wealth. Not my father’s status. He wanted ME. And I knew this, because he never demanded anything of me, never asked for special favors, never asked for more moments than we could steal. To him, each moment with me, however brief, was all that he desired. His eyes spoke those words, as clearly as if they had been shouted from the steps of the temple of Athena!
But we both knew the consequences if he were to be found in my bed. My body was mine. My favors mine to dispense with as I pleased—so long as I dispensed them within my own class. Were he to be found in my bed, he would be castrated then beheaded. If he put a child within me, that child would be cut from my womb and I would be left to die with it. But it was a risk we both accepted—just as we accepted the necessity of brief, hurried encounters when both of us wanted nothing more than to spend forever in each other’s arms.
He pressed his lips against mine. This time there was gentleness in his kiss, tenderness, softness—the passion and hunger were spent. My body lay within his arms, my breath as short and gasping as his. Yet still there was no time for subtleties. No time for whispered words of love. We both knew that, accepted it as part of our reality. But we also knew the words were felt if never spoken. I looked into his eyes. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not an ordinary green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. As they looked back at me, they spoke the words his lips dared not.
Even as I stared into his eyes he was rising from me, the warmth of his body’s connection to mine being replaced by the cold of separation. I watched him as he dressed, as he once more donned the tunic that clearly spoke his status. His body was lean, underfed—as was the case with most slaves, even in such a wealthy household as my father’s. But it was strong, muscular. His 18 years looked like more, each of his years twice as hard as one of mine. But when he smiled—a smile that changed his face from sharp planes and angles to soft light and shadows—there was something behind his eyes that made me catch my breath. It was recognition, familiarity… It was as if those eyes had always looked at me, would always look at me—even into the next world.
A chill ran through my body as that thought ran through my head. I felt a sudden strong sense of foreboding. I reached for my robes, but found my hand moved only in slow motion, as if Cronos had suddenly given my body a different rhythm of time from the world around me. I opened my mouth to warn him, to tell him to hurry, to flee by the hidden pass—but my lips barely moved. Yet everything around me moved in the correct time.
The door to my chambers opened suddenly and I saw Nikos enter—followed by two of my father’s guards and the master of slaves. A quick twist of Nikos’ lips confirmed my sense of foreboding. Of all my lovers, past and present, Nikos was the most jealous. He wanted to be my only lover. How many times he had said as much to me, had pressed me to discard the others and take only him to my bed. But though he was a handsome man, a strong and virile lover, he had none of my heart—and he sensed that.
I turned my head—it turned so slowly that I thought I must scream with the impatience of it! I turned my head and looked at the one who did have my heart. His eyes met mine and in that instant I knew—as did he—that it was the last time our eyes would meet in this world. And I drank them in… took in every detail as if I had never seen them before. And I vowed that I would see them again, vowed that my soul would find his in the next life. I vowed that if it took all of eternity I would look into those eyes again and again. Such beautiful eyes. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not an ordinary green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. And they spoke the words his lips had never dared speak. They said, “I love you.”
The blackness enveloped me. It was cool, comforting. It erased the cruel images from my eyes, erased the pain from my soul. And I welcomed it, embraced it, surrendered myself to it as I would surrender myself to a lover.
---
And by and by my Soul returned to me, And answered "I Myself amd Heav'n and Hell"
Omar Khayyam
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4/4/2004, 2:56 am
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wanderingsoul
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Déjà Vu
My head was pounding. I opened my eyes slowly, fearing what I might see. My dreams had left me with a vague sense of unease, left me feeling as though I had received bad news but could not recall what it was. I turned my head and saw the bright red lights of the digital clock. I reached for my glasses, cursing the day I had given up contacts, missing the feeling of being able to actually SEE as soon as my eyes opened. I slipped them on and winced. God! My face actually hurt! Damn these migraines! Weren’t they supposed to be something only women got? I laughed shortly, wincing again as pain shot through my head. Joanne was always pointing out to me how “in touch with my feminine side” I was--must be I was more in touch with it than even she knew!
I groaned slightly as I read the numbers on the clock. 9:30 in the morning! And I was still in bed and my head was pounding like a bass drum! I sat up and was rewarded for my efforts by flashes of light behind my eyes as the room swam around me. Oh yes, this was going to be one hell of a migraine! And what the HELL had I done to earn this one? I hadn’t had one drop to drink that I could recall…
I got up slowly and made my way to the bathroom. I turned on the light and cursed again. Damn these hotel rooms! Did they think they were lighting an airport runway, for god’s sake? It was a *******ed bathroom! Who needed to see so damned well in the bathroom? And there was no way of dimming the lights. One switch. You either had all 10,000,000 watts or you had nothing. I slid off my boxers and stepped into the shower. The water came out cold and I nearly yelled as it hit my skin. But the pain that shot through my head as my body felt the cold water’s attack reminded me that yelling would only cause my head to split completely in two. It seemed to take forever, but finally I had the water adjusted to my customary “cool” of just about body temperature. Joanne always complained that I was trying to freeze her to death. Maybe, subconsciously, I was.
I let the water wash over me. It felt just slightly cool, refreshing, and it seemed to momentarily ease the pounding in my head. I sighed. This was much better.
I cursed as I heard a knock on the door to my room. “****ing Christ!” Yeah, I had to watch my language more—or so Joanne constantly reminded me. But there was no one around to hear me except the ****ing lunatic who was banging on the door to my hotel room at 9:30 in the morning!
Of course, I could just ignore it, let the cool water continue to numb my head. But something told me this person would just stand there and beat on that door until either it caved in or my head did!
I cursed to myself and stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel. I wrapped the towel around myself as I padded to the door, leaving a trail of wet foot prints behind me. I didn’t bother to look through the peep hole. I was too annoyed for that. “Just a minute!” I yelled as I tuned the handle and opened the door. “What is…” the words died on my lips and I just stared. I couldn’t do anything but just stare. It was an unreasoning moment. A moment of pure reaction, no thought. I just stared.
His eyes were only inches away from mine. And they were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. I knew those eyes. Knew them as if they were my own. I had seen them so many times, gazed into them so many times, fallen into them so many times… But I had never seen them in that face. Or had I? Déjà vu swept over me.
He smiled. It was a slow smile, a tentative smile, a smile filled with questions and uncertainties. I felt the smile, felt it right through my skin, felt it go right through my flesh, right to my soul. And a slight blush colored his cheeks. It was the blush of a rose, delicate, soft to the touch, fragrant to the senses. It crept up his cheeks carefully, as if it was unaccustomed to being there, unsure of finding its way.
“I just came back to see if you were all right.”
Back? I must have asked the question with my eyes, with my face.
He tipped his head a little to one side and nodded slightly. “You didn’t want to see a doctor last night.” He grinned, a boyish grin that went straight through me. “You were REALLY sure about that! Thought you were going to punch out the manager!”
I could feel myself frowning as I tried to make sense of what he was saying. I didn’t remember anything like that at all.
His grin fell away and concern shone in his eyes. “When you passed out in the lobby…” He broke off, those amazing green eyes traveling slowly down my body, taking in—apparently for the first time—my wet and towel-wrapped state. “Oh…I’m so sorry! Here I am making you stand half naked in the doorway!” The blush on his cheeks deepened to a rich crimson. “I’ll just go. Obviously you are ok or you wouldn’t be standing here.” He turned to leave.
“No, wait!” And I did something impulsive. Impulsive, I say, because I know I would never have planned it, would never have done it if I had thought. I reached out and grabbed his arm. My fingers burned from the touch of his skin and my first instinct was to let go immediately. But I held on, held on more tightly than I should have, more tightly than the situation warranted. But something told me to hold on for dear life, to NOT let him get away. And the words “this time” seemed to follow that thought.
He stopped. He really had no choice unless he wanted to drag me behind him down the hall. He looked at me and smiled, a crooked little smile, somewhere in the middle between that slow, tentative smile and that devastating boyish grin. “I couldn’t get away if I wanted to!” He laughed, looking down at my hand, which was gripping his arm so tightly my knuckles were white. Again, that feeling of déjà vu nagged at me.
He tilted his head to one side again, and looked over my shoulder. “Maybe I could come inside?” His voice was very soft and it seemed to caress my skin. I blinked a few times, wondering where THAT thought had come from.
I laughed, and noticed that my head didn’t seem to want to split in two this time. “Sure, that might be a better idea. My luck I’d be standing in the doorway and my towel would fall off—just as a bunch of schoolgirls on a class trip were walking by!”
He laughed and he walked past me. “It would be such a shame if that towel were to fall off…” I looked up quickly and I noticed him raise one eyebrow slightly. He pushed the door shut behind him and stopped. He covered my hand with his—my hand that still clutched his arm in a white-knuckled grip. I felt a wave of warmth sweep through me—and yet again that vague sense of déjà vu gnawed at me.
“You have that look on your face again.” His voice was gentle, concerned. And he did not move his hand.
“What look is that?”
“That same look you had on your face just before you passed out last night. I can’t quite describe it, but it is the same look. Are you sure you are ok?” He reached up and felt my forehead with his other hand, the one that was not still covering mine.
I nodded, my eyes not leaving his. “I get migraines pretty bad sometimes. Considering how my head felt this morning, that must have been what happened last night.” I paused, shaking my head a little. “But man! I don’t remember passing out, or any of what you mentioned. Must have been one HELL of a migraine! Probably a good thing I DID pass out!”
He ran his fingers lightly across my left brow, down over my left temple. Odd…he touched the exact place where I got my migraines. I wondered if I had rubbed that spot or something, if I had given him an unconscious clue. “How is it now?”
I frowned for a moment, trying to feel my headache, to see how bad it actually still was. I shook my head quickly, much like someone trying to shake something loose inside their head. “It’s gone. Odd. Doesn’t hurt at all. And when I got up, when I was in the shower just before you knocked, I thought my head was going to fall off it was so bad.”
He was silent. I met his gaze and I could see he was looking deeply into my eyes, trying to see beyond the surface, as if he were trying to look into my soul. I could not look away. I was mesmerized by his eyes. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. And I knew beyond a doubt—though I didn’t know HOW I knew—but I knew that I knew those eyes. Knew them as if they were my own. I had seen them so many times, gazed into them so many times, fallen into them so many times… And I knew I was falling into them now.
---
And by and by my Soul returned to me, And answered "I Myself amd Heav'n and Hell"
Omar Khayyam
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4/4/2004, 2:58 am
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Until Eternity Ends
I laughed as the water hit my face. He was usually so serious. But he was in a playful mood now—and that made me happy to my very soul. Of course, much of his mood probably had to do with the fact that it was such an unbearably hot day. Well, that in itself would hardly cause mirth and merriment! But we had come across a stream with a deep hole…
Actually I had found the hole accidentally. He had thrown back his head and nearly roared with laughter as I had waded innocently into the stream, certain of the best place to cross—and had promptly disappeared under the water, fully clothed and carrying my mandolin upon my shoulder. He had offered his hand to me, to help me back to shore—for he knew I was a poor swimmer, having been bred and born in the mountains where lakes were scarce and streams were shallow. But a devil prompted me and I took his hand—and pulled him in with me.
We had both scrambled to dry ground and had lain there laughing at each other’s bedraggled appearance. And the thought had been simultaneous. Why waste a nice cold stream? After all, the sun was high and hot and we had been walking for days. We took our clothes off and laid them on the nearby bushes to dry. I lingered a bit, pretending to fuss over my mandolin, but I was really watching him as he walked into the stream. The scars on his back were like white lines against his tanned skin. I winced as I saw them—as I always did. That anyone could hurt him, that anyone could deliberately cause him pain… I felt my throat tightening at the thought. But his life had not been easy. Not that mine had been filled with bread and honey either! But no one had ever beaten me. Well, not with anything but a fist—and they had all been fair fights, most of which I had started. But he had been beaten regularly, “kept in his place” as they had said. He had told me about it shortly after we had first met.
**
I had just been thrown out of the local inn for fighting (I did that a lot, bad temper). And I
mean literally thrown out! I landed right at his feet. He caught my mandolin as the landlord
threw it at my head. I was glad he had caught it. It was an expensive one. I had spent almost
all of the money my father had given me on that mandolin. It was finely crafted and turned
even my poor playing into music that could soothe the most savage breast or delight the most
dismal soul. I would never have been able to replace it.
He had given me his hand to help me rise (I wasn’t at my steadiest at that moment) and I had
nearly pulled him down on top of me for his efforts. “Careful!” he had cautioned with a
laugh, “It would be a shame to have me toppling down on top of you! Especially since I
would most likely land upon this beautiful instrument and crush it to bits! Then where would
you be?”
I laughed. “I would be cast adrift upon the world without a penny to my name and with no
means to earn another. I would be utterly undone!” Drunk I might be, but my tongue was
still glib, still smooth. It was, after all, how I made my way in the world.
I stood up and smiled hazily at him. I swayed slightly, my feet unsteady from drink. Then I
noticed his eyes. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a clichéd green. They
were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. And I caught my breath. They were
the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen in all my life. But that wasn’t what caught my breath.
It was that I knew those eyes. I had seen them before, though I could not for the life of me
recall where. But I couldn’t look away, so strong was the pull, so overwhelming was the
sense of familiarity. I just stood there and stared.
He raised one dark brow at me, questioning. I noticed my hand was still in his. I had not let
go when I stood, and neither had he. “If you keep looking into my eyes like that, I’m going to
think you want to kiss me.” His voice was teasing, a slow, amused smile spreading across his
lips.
And as I slipped into a drunken stupor, I heard myself reply, “I do.”
**
When I awoke, my head hurt. I opened my eyes and was grateful for the darkness that
surrounded me. I raised my head to look around, and groaned as things started spinning
around me.
“Lie back down before you wretch all over my bed.” The voice was deep, soft and was
accompanied by a hand on my chest, pushing me backwards. I did not argue. A damp cloth
was placed upon my forehead by a very gentle hand and I heard myself sigh as the coolness
began to soothe my throbbing head.
I raised my hand to my face, to touch my eye. It felt swollen shut—which was probably
contributing to the pain in my head. I vaguely remembered the fight that had gotten me the
swollen eye. My memory of getting thrown out of the inn was a little clearer, but not much. I
looked up at him. He was looking down at me, a concerned but slightly amused expression
on his face. I glanced quickly around, trying to determine exactly where I was. I was in his
bed, according to him. But where was his bed? But it was dark and my eyes were not the
best right now. I gave up trying to figure it out.
“Where am I?” I asked wearily, closing my eyes again. I really wanted to sleep and I
wondered why I had even woken up.
“You are in my bed.” The tone of his voice as he answered was gently teasing, and familiar.
I frowned. “I assumed as much when you suggested that I not wretch all over it.” The
pounding in my head lent annoyance to my voice. “Where is your bed?”
He chuckled slightly, but replaced the cloth over my forehead with a fresh, cool one. “My
bed is in my wagon.”
Wagon? Only wagons I had ever seen that people actually slept in were in Gypsy caravans. I
opened my eyes to stare up at him. “You a Gypsy? Can’t be. Gypsies don’t have green
eyes.” My words sounded foolish, even to me.
He laughed heartily. “So I have been told all my life! But we are Romany, not Gypsy—that,
too, I have been told all my life.” He opened the door to a small cabinet built onto the wall of
the wagon. He withdrew a jar containing something that looked like white powder. He
opened it spooned some of it into a glass. He added some water from a pitcher—the same
water that undoubtedly cooled the cloth that soothed my head. He stirred the powder into the
water. I watched it swirl around, realizing that I was thirsty as hell.
He held the glass out to me. “Drink this and you will feel much better.”
I eyed the glass suspiciously. “What is in it?”
He smirked. “Poison.”
I grinned and took the glass. “Good! I feel like I should be poisoned right about now!” I
raised the glass to my lips, sniffing slightly. It smelled sweet. I shrugged and downed the
liquid in one gulp. I gagged a little. It did not TASTE as sweet as it smelled! “What the hell
was that?”
He laughed a little. “Just some herbs. Secret Romany recipe. If I tell you, I will have to cut
out your tongue.”
I grimaced, but then grinned. “I would miss my tongue.” My tongue was instrumental in
how I made my living. My mandolin and my voice. Without them, I would be reduced to
abject servitude. Well, not quite, perhaps. My father was not precisely poor. Not that he had
any great fondness for me, but he would hardly let me starve. But I would have to return to
him then. And that was NOT something I was ever going to do.
He smiled slowly, his eyes never leaving my face. “I’m sure others would miss it also.”
The light from the lantern cast soft shadows on his face. I found myself watching the
flickering light dance across his face, watching it illuminate his eyes. They were green. Not
the green of an emerald. Not a clichéd green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue,
but not quite. I was caught by them… caught by a sense of familiarity that was vague, almost
unformed.
“How is your head?” he all but whispered the words. He lifted the cloth from my forehead
and gently rubbed his fingers along the curve of my left brow. Odd that he knew exactly
where it had hurt the most. Although my left eye being swollen shut might have given him a
clue.
I considered his question for a moment. I touched my eye again. My eye hurt, felt sore to the
touch. I moved my head. It didn’t throb and the room did not spin. “It is better,” I answered,
a note of surprise in my voice.
He nodded and smiled again, that slow smile. I reached up to touch his lips. It was an
instinctive gesture. I didn’t plan it, didn’t think about it. It just seemed…right. He covered
my hand in his. His hand felt warm and I could feel the heat from him traveling through my
hand, up my arm and through my entire body.
“My name is Anton, by the way.” His eyes had not left my face. Now they looked into mine.
He ran his hand slowly over my forearm, his thumb and fingers caressing my skin gently. I
could hear a strange combination of wisdom and wonder in his voice as he continued. “The
Romany have many beliefs you English would not understand. They are part of us, taught to
us from birth, imbedded in our souls even before then. One thing we believe is that our souls
are not new, that they have lived many lives before us and will live many lives after us—until
the final day when the god of all things calls us home.“ His voice was deep, melodious—and
I noticed that he spoke with a slightly different accent. No, it was more of a difference in
intonation, really, than pronunciation. His words rose and fell at slightly different points than
I was used to hearing. It was almost melodic—and it captured me, held me, played to my
natural musical ear.
“Sometimes two souls become so connected in one life, that they seek each other in other
lives. They wander through their existence searching, longing for the one they need.” He
shook his head, and I could see sadness in his eyes. “Sometimes this is a tragic thing, because
sometimes they do not find each other and spend and entire lifetime aching for their other
half. I have known people who have so ached—right unto the moment of their death. For
them, death is welcome.”
He hand still caressed my arm, but he reached up with his other hand and traced the curve of
my cheek with one finger, brushed my lips lightly. “But sometimes this is a wondrous thing,
because sometimes one soul finds the other.” His smile changed, seemed almost rueful. “I do
not begin to understand why it is that some find each other and others do not. This is known
only by the god of all things. And I also do not understand why a soul chooses a particular
body to be born into. But I accept that all things are with purpose.” He paused and just stared
into my eyes for what seemed an eternity.
I felt as though his eyes were searching my soul, seeking every detail of my soul’s existence,
past and present. A chill swept through me as his words took on meaning, as they played
underneath that vague tug of familiarity I had first sensed in the yard of the inn.
“What is your name?” His whisper was so soft I barely heard it.
“Devin.” I matched his whisper.
“Devin, your soul is the one mine seeks. I do not know how I know this, but I know it more
surely than I know anything. I felt it when our eyes first met. I felt it when I heard your
voice. I knew it for certain when your hand touched mine.”
I stared at him. My lips parted to speak, but I had no breath to force the words from my
throat. I sensed the truth in his words. I had felt it when I had first looked into his eyes.
They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a clichéd green. They were a dark green,
almost going to blue, but not quite. And every time I looked into them I felt a pull, a
reaching…
And as his lips touched mine, I knew his words to be true.
**
I noticed the scars on his back when he rose to dress the following morning. They were white
against the tan of his skin. I winced as I saw them. I must have made some sound also,
because he turned to look at me, one eyebrow raised in question. He must have read the
question in my eyes, for he returned to his bed and sat on the edge, his back slightly to me. I
reached up and ran a finger along one of the scars.
“Who did this to you?”
His eyes hardened briefly. “The husband of my mother.”
“Why?” I traced each scar, from each beginning to each ending. There were more than I
cared to count, so I did not count them.
“Because the husband of my mother is not my father. I am not his son and I needed to know
my place.” He smiled, and it was a bitter smile. “You noticed yourself that my eyes are not
Romany. The caravan of my mother’s family passed through the grounds of a nobleman. His
son found my mother’s beauty irresistible. A gypsy girl is nothing. What can she say to a
nobleman’s son? Of course, he found her irresistible for a short time only. She was heavy
with shame when she was wed to her husband.” He paused and I could see memories
walking across his face, flickering in his eyes.
“It would not do for be to think myself better than the rest of our family because my father
had been a son of a nobleman. And he reminded me of this often. My eyes were a constant
reminder that non-Romany blood flowed in my veins. If I met his gaze, he would beat me.
He would curse my soul and thrash me with the whip he used on his horses.”
He took a deep breath, and his soft lips drew a hard line. “As soon as I was able to make my
own way, I left them. He tried to stop me, tried to make me too weak from being beaten to be
able to go.” He stiffened and a look of pride and determination made him seem to fill the
wagon with his presence. “But I was a man, and he could no longer make me a boy. I took
this wagon, the wagon of the husband of my mother, and I left him lying on the ground. This
time it was he who was too weak from being beaten to rise.”
**
I smiled at the memories of our early days together. He had never lain with a man before that first night with me. Yet our bodies had joined as perfectly and as easily as if they had been crafted as a pair. We fell together naturally in other things as well. He was a storyteller, weaving worlds of wonder with his words. I was a singer of ballads and teller of epic tales. Sometimes I would play softly while he captivated the village children with his tales of foreign lands and magical creatures. I would listen to him as I played and I often found myself losing myself in the melody of his voice. But if I missed a note or two while so transfixed, not one would notice—for they were also held captive by his presence.
We enjoyed several years of bounty. We had enough food in our bellies, enough wine and ale to satisfy our thirst, enough coin of the realm to purchase comforts at the inns along our traveled road. And most of all, we had each other. Two souls that had found each other out of all the immense number of people on this world. I would sometimes wake up early in the morning just to watch him as he slept, just so I cold see his eyes the first moment he opened them to the world.
But lately things had not been so bountiful. It seemed that the people in the small villages had no use for travelers. While we were not precisely driven away, we were eyed askance. The larger towns had always afforded us a ready source of income. There was usually something going on, and crowds gathered readily for traveling entertainment. But there was a sense of unease in the streets and no matter where we stopped, only a few people at most gathered to listen—and they seemed to be looking over their shoulders all the time. Even the inns did not seem to want our patronage. While they did not turn away our coin, they made it clear we should move on as quickly as possible. But that was not a problem long, for our coin became scarce and we soon ceased to squander the few coins we had on creature comforts.
Over the past month, things had taken a real turn for the worse. With our bellies sometimes going empty for a day, maybe two, we had finally sold the horse and wagon for enough coin to feed ourselves for the summer. Hopefully, our fortunes would improve before winter and we would be able to replace our transportation and our shelter. But Anton never complained about our circumstances—and neither did I. We had each other, after all. And as he often joked, if we starved, we starved together!
**
“Are you going to stare at me all day?” His tone was amused. “Or come play with me?” There was a hint of a proposition in that last bit. Again he splashed me.
I gave myself a mental shake as the water hit my face and smiled broadly at him. “I COULD stare at you all day… but it would be much more fun to play with you.” I swam over to him and made as if to kiss him—then pushed him under the water. He retaliated by grabbing my ankles and pulling me under with him. When we came to the surface, his lips were on mine.
I wound my arms around his neck, partly to keep my head above water—he could reach the bottom and still be above water, I could not. I parted my lips slightly, and he slipped his tongue between them. Our tongues touched and I as I tasted the sweetness of him I was amazed anew at how such a small thing as a kiss could be so overwhelming. It had never been so with anyone else. Yet when his lips touched mine, as soon as the taste of him was on my tongue, I could no longer see anything, hear anything, smell anything, taste anything, feel anything, sense anything but him. He absorbed me completely with just a kiss.
Yet it was more than a kiss that I wanted. I wrapped my legs around him, rubbing my self suggestively against him. He chuckled against my lips and I could feel it vibrate through his body. His arms tightened around me and he carried me to the shore. The water lightened me, but his life had made him strong. He could pick me up easily—and had done so on more than one occasion when I had drank too deeply. And there had been other occasions as well… such as this one.
He made a pretense at dropping me as we reached the shore, but easily caught me and hoisted me up over his shoulder. I laughed. “Anton! One of these days you are going to really drop me!” It was a little trick of his he liked to do—to remind me how big and strong he was, most likely.
He slapped me on my behind. “The day I can no longer throw you over my shoulder will be the day I die!” He turned his head and kissed my bottom—his lips hot against my skin. I smiled as I felt the heat from his lips spread through my body. Truly amazing what one kiss from him could do…
He set me down on the soft grass and sat down, pulling me down beside him. He ran a finger along the curve of my cheek. “Devin, do you know how much I love you?”
I looked up at him—it seemed that I was always looking up at him. The sun was high in the sky and made the beads of water on his skin glisten like jewels. I looked into his eyes. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a clichéd green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. My breath caught in my throat. I wanted to tell him that no matter how much he loved me, it could not possibly be as much as I loved him. I wanted to tell him that nothing in my life before him had any meaning, that he filled my senses with the slightest touch of his hands, of his lips. I wanted to tell him that I would never want to live one day without him. But I had no breath, his eyes took that away from me. I could only nod my head stupidly.
But he understood. I knew he had read everything in my heart, everything in my soul as his eyes had looked into mine. He always did.
The smell of the clover in the grass tickled my nose as he gently entered me. I arched my back slightly, instinctively pushing back against him, trying to force him deeper inside me. “Easy, Devin” he whispered as he leaned down to kiss the back of my neck. “I want to take my time. Don’t rush things.”
His breath was hot against my skin, which was still cool from the stream—and the contrast sent a chill through my body. My response to him was a moan that came from deep inside my body. He was always so gentle, sometimes too gentle. I wanted him to be rougher sometimes, to take what was his to take. But I tried to still myself, to keep my body from tensing on him, to keep myself from trying to force him to an urgency he did not want. I wanted more than anything to please him—my own pleasure was secondary.
He pushed himself deeper into me, slowly filling me with his hardness. I felt my body tensing despite my best efforts. It wasn’t the tension of pain, though his size made pain an unavoidable partner with pleasure. It was the tension of anticipation, of trying to hold my own desires in check so that he could pleasure himself as slowly as it pleased him.
He groaned as I tightened around him. “Devin, you will make me come before I have satisfied you.”
Satisfied me? Didn’t he realize after all this time that he satisfied me with his touch alone? That a brush of his lips against mine sated my hunger as thoroughly as a Hunter’s Moon feast?
I did my best to explain this to him—my words coming out in a combination of gasps and groans—as he slowly pulled himself almost completely from me and then pushed himself back inside me. His thrusts were long, even strokes, slow but firm. But as his pace quickened and his stokes shortened all attempts at rational speech ended. My fingers tore chunks of grass from the earth as he thrust harder into me. I heard my voice—it had to be my voice, though I had no sense of speaking—calling out his name, begging him to thrust harder. And for the first time since we had been together, he did as I begged. He pushed himself into me with such force I saw stars behind my eyes. My entire body throbbed in response. I could feel my muscles tightening against the onslaught of his flesh, could feel my body shaking—as much from pleasure as pain. I felt him shudder within me as he reached his climax.
He slowly let his body rest on mine. As always, he didn’t press his full weight upon me, but made sure our bodies touched as completely as possible. It was his way of completing the connection between us, his way of acknowledging that we were well and truly one heart, one body, one soul. He kissed the back of my neck lightly. I could feel his breath slowing, calming. But mine was anything but calm. My body was trembling from head to toe. I tried to slow my breathing, to still my body. I did not want him to notice this state in me. I did not want him to think he had not satisfied me.
But Anton seldom missed any signals my body sent. He slid off of me and turned me to face him. He smiled into my eyes and pressed his lips to mine. I moaned and slid my tongue into his mouth. I meant to rub my tongue sensually against his, meant to massage it slowly, to savor the feel of him, the taste of him. But my desire for him was NOT sated. I thrust my tongue hard against his, my fingers wrapping around strands of his hair, holding his mouth tightly against mine. My breath was not slowing, it was quickening. I felt his hand run slowly down my side, felt its heat against my hip. I gasped against his lips as he took my swollen flesh in his hand and massaged it gently.
I felt his lips smile against mine. He pulled away from my kiss, slowly, his lips brushing lightly against mine in a sweet, lingering caress. Then he looked into my eyes. I caught my breath—because no matter how many times his eyes met mine, no matter how many times I gazed into those beautiful eyes, I could not help but feel swept away by them, drawn into them as if they were the one thing in my life that could save me from being lost forever.
I opened my mouth to speak, but he placed a finger over my lips. “As much as I live for every word form your lips, my Devin…” he began, his voice barely more than a whisper, “it is not your words I want now.”
I made a small, whimpering sound as he pulled away from me, removed his warmth from me. He stretched, reaching his arms above his head, extending his legs fully. It was as if every muscle in his body flexed. I was transfixed by that sight. Even as lean as we both had become, he was beautiful to the eyes. Then he laid down on the grass, on his stomach, and stretched again. His shoulders seemed to grow broader than possible as he folded his arms in front of him and rested his head upon them. He smiled slowly as he looked up at me from under his long, dark lashes and raised one dark brow. “Do you know what I want, Devin?” he asked softly.
My heart heaved in my chest. I exhaled a breath so hot and sharp that I thought it would cut my very throat. I reached out my hand to touch him. It was shaking badly!
He laughed gently and unfolded one of his arms and reached out to rub my throbbing flesh. I twitched from his touch—it felt so hot against my skin. “Devin…” he said in a coaxing tone. He slid a little closer to me, pressing his thigh against mine.
I ran my hand down over his buttocks—and he pushed himself against my hand as he pulled me gently, urging me to him. I groaned and he parted his thighs, offering me a clear, unmistakable invitation. It was one he had not offered before—not in the three years since I had first fallen at his feet. I moved between his legs, his hand still wrapped around my flesh. I leaned forward and he pressed me against him. He released me and folded his arm back under his head and sighed. As he sighed, he raised himself slightly and rubbed himself against me. “Devin…” the coaxing tone had turned to a soft plea.
My hands shook as I positioned myself to enter him. I had never done this with him. I wanted him so badly every muscle in my body ached for him. But I didn’t want to hurt him. Again, he read my mind.
He reached his hand back again, this time rubbing my bottom firmly, pulling me closer against him. “Now, Devin…please…”
There was not a force on earth or in the heavens that could make me refuse him now. And he knew that of me—knew I could refuse him NOTHING.
I pushed myself gently into him, slowly, only a very little. I felt his body tense and his hand left me, to grab at the same grass I had torn from the earth moments ago. I pulled slightly from him, and teased him a bit, using just the tip of my swollen erection. He tensed around me at first—and I fought the urge to come right then. Then with a deep breath, he folded his arm back under his head and I felt his body relax. I moved slowly inside him, and I could feel his body fighting the urge to tense. But his self-control was far greater than mine. He kept himself relaxed as I buried my full length in him.
I paused, taking several deep breaths, trying very hard to control the shudder that threatened to ripple through my body too soon. But I wanted him so very much. I pulled back slowly, feeling the moist heat of him massaging me. I pushed back into him and he moaned deeply, pushing himself back against me, urging me deeper inside him.
Any semblance of self-control I possessed left me at that moment. I took him hard, as hard as I wanted him to take me. I held nothing back, my thrusts were hard and deep and my pace urgent, hungry. I moaned his name, moaned my love for him with every thrust. I wanted to make myself part of him. I felt overwhelmed by the feeling of being inside of him—almost as overwhelmed as I felt when he was inside of me.
A feeling of complete and utter satisfaction swept over me as I released inside of him. A shudder of heat rippled slowly through every muscle, every nerve of my body. I collapsed on top of him, my body shaking, my breath coming in short gasps. I felt a burning at the back of my eyes and was surprised to feel tears slipping down my cheeks and on to his skin. I moved off him and turned away. I didn’t want him to see those tears.
But, of course, he could always sense my every emotion. He put his arms around me and turned me back to him. Without saying a word, he wiped the tears from my cheeks with his fingers and kissed where they had been. He tightened his arms around me and held me, held me so close that it felt as though our bodies were one.
“I love you, Anton.” I whispered the words against his chest. “I don’t want to live one single day without you.
“I will be with you until eternity ends, my Devin. Even death will not part us.” He spoke so softly I barely heard him, but as I fell asleep in his arms, the sun still high in the sky, I felt those words wrap around me, hold me safe. And I knew them to be true.
**
We had plenty of coin in our pockets now. But summer was nearly over and soon the nights would be cold. We both felt the press of winter, felt its cold breath on the back of our necks as we walked along the road. The road was showing signs of heavy travel, deep ruts lined both sides and the dirt was packed hard. I smiled and put my arm around Anton’s waist. “Looks like a town coming. The road is too well traveled for a simple village.” My voice held enthusiasm.
A town was always a welcome sight. There was always something going on in a town, a lot of people about. And people would always gather around us and listen to me play and sing and to Anton tell stories. And if the last few towns had been less welcoming than usual, that couldn’t last forever. This town would be profitable. We would earn enough money here to buy another wagon and a horse or ox to pull it. And so I told Anton, my voice warming to the prospect.
He put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close to him, planting a quick, light kiss on top of my head. “Devin, you are always so optimistic.” He smiled down at me. “Have I told you today how much I love you?”
I grinned at him, then tried to turn it into a frown—but my lips nearly split from the effort. “No, you haven’t. If you keep forgetting like that I will have to find someone who will not neglect me so.”
He smirked at me. “Go ahead. Find someone who will put up with you! And you better be sure he is strong enough to haul that sweet little bottom of yours out of trouble when you get too deep in your cups! You are not all THAT light, you know! Like lifting a small horse over my shoulder.”
I gave up on the frown. “And you just LOVE my little cheeks so close to your lips!” I was rewarded with a sound slap on my little cheeks.
It was good to laugh. There hadn’t been much to laugh about lately. But things were bound to turn around. They always did.
**
Anton stopped suddenly, his eyes narrowing.
“What is it, Anton?” I followed his gaze, but I didn’t need to see what he was looking at. My nose wrinkled. “Smells like something burning.”
Anton nodded and started walking again, but more slowly. His brow was furrowed now, and his lips tight.
I placed a hand on his arm. “What is wrong, Anton?”
He covered my hand with his. “It is death, Devin. I smell death.”
All I could smell was smoke. But I had come to accept that Anton’s senses were sharper than mine. I stopped. “Should we turn around? We have enough coin to keep us fed for some time, Anton.”
He shook his head, as if to shake something from it. Then he looked down at me and smiled. “No, my Devin. I think we should go on. I am being fanciful. Doubtless I am hungry!” He laughed. “Perhaps there is a good inn ahead where we can spend some of that coin on a good hearty meal, enough ale for both of us to drink ourselves senseless and a nice bed for the night.” He raised one brow and grinned. “It has been a long time since I have had you in a bed, my Devin.”
I returned his grin. “That would be a change.” I stretched up and kissed him. “Something soft for my knees…” I shot him a look from under my eyelashes. He laughed.
“Devin, you keep looking at me like that and your knees are going to get very bruised very quickly!” He put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me against him. We continued down the road. I put my arm around his waist, wanting the warmth and security of his him. I was uneasy. And I could feel that he was also. But neither of us would admit that to the other.
As the day went on, the smell of burning grew stronger, as did our sense of unease. I clung closely to Anton. He slowed his long-legged pace to match mine, to let me stay close to him. But by now, even I could smell something wrong in the acrid smoke. There was a sickening sweetness underneath it.
We saw the first of the dead animals just before nightfall. It was a horse. It was barely off the road, as if it had been hastily shoved out of the way. That was odd in itself. Horse carcasses would usually fetch a decent price. Not many could afford to just leave the carcass by the side of the road. The stench was unimaginable, though, and we hurried by.
The other animals we saw weren’t as noteworthy—mostly rabbits and an occasional cat or dog—but it was the sheer number of them that caused notice. And the fact that their carcasses were untouched by scavengers was also odd. A sense of strong foreboding started to take hold of me. From time to time I would glance up at Anton, and I could see he felt it too.
Still, our hearts lightened when we caught our first sight of the inn. We had both been walking for so long and the road we had followed had been dusty and we were thirsty. We had passed several streams along the way and a couple of wells, but with all the dead animals about neither of us had wanted to venture a drink from them. An inn promised food, drink and a bed—all of which would be welcome indeed.
As we drew closer, things started to appear out of place. There was a large bonfire off to the side of the inn, unwontedly close to the stables. And again, that acrid smoke was tainted with an undertone of sickening sweetness. My grip on Anton tightened involuntarily. He smiled down at me, but I could see the concern in his eyes.
As we entered the yard, we stopped. My empty stomach almost wretched. I could see the bonfire clearly now. And I could see legs sticking up, burning, some little more than charred bones, but some clearly identifiable as having belonged to a horse, or a cow—I could discern several of each. As we stood there a young lad wearing a handkerchief over his face threw what looked to be a cat onto the fire. It crackled and burned as it hit the flames. I turned from Anton and heaved the meager contents of my stomach onto the ground.
Anton was instantly by my side, his hand on my back as I wretched uncontrollably. He helped me to my feet once I had done. Neither of us spoke as we entered the inn. Something was very wrong.
The landlord looked at us askance, staying well back from us. When Anton asked for a room for the night, instead of immediately taking the coin proffered, he scrutinized us carefully, his eyes traveling over the length of both of us. I felt myself getting annoyed at the intensity of his gaze. I must have tensed, must have given evidence of my thoughts because Anton laid a hand on my shoulder.
“I suppose yer can ‘ave the one at the top o’ the stairs” he said grudgingly. He gestured for Anton to put the coin on the table. He didn’t reach for it until Anton had withdrawn his hand.
“We’ve been traveling long, might we get some good strong drink and a warm meal?” Anton’s voice was polite, but the landlord reacted as if he had demanded the contents of his purse.
“There’s naught but some stew from las’ meal. If yer wan’ I’ll bring it up t’ yer. The public room’s closed—not that yer would wan’ t’ be mixin’ wi’ others jus now.” He looked over his shoulder, as if fearing something behind him. He clearly meant something, but I had no idea what. I opened my mouth to ask him, but Anton’s grip on my shoulder tightened.
“That would be much appreciated, thank you.” He gave me a gentle push toward the stairs.
Once in the room, I turned to him. “Well that was odd!” I exclaimed. “Seemed as though he didn’t really want our patronage. Did you see how he looked at both of us? As though we might have something foul and suspect growing somewhere on our person! And why is the public room closed? And why WOULDN’T we want to be mixing with others? It’s how we live, for God’s sake! I—“ Anton silenced my mouth with a soft kiss. I sighed against his lips and dropped my things to the floor, my arms slipping around his neck.
When we broke to catch our breath, Anton smiled at me, shaking his head. “You know, my Devin, that is sometimes the ONLY way to silence you.” He ran his finger along the line of my cheek. I covered his hand in mine and smiled into his eyes. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a clichéd green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. I never ceased to be amazed at his eyes. I reached up and brushed my fingers over the corners of his eyes. They had the power to grasp my heart and pull it from my chest. As if reading my mind, he rested his hand on my chest, just over my heart. He took my hand that still held his and placed it over his heart. No words were needed.
The landlord soon arrived with a tray with two good-sized bowls of steaming stew, a couple of crusts of bread—and two wonderfully large tankards of ale. He left them on the small table and hurried from the room. I stared after him. “Odd fellow, that one.” I commented, shaking my head. Anton nodded over the top of his tanker of ale. I laughed. “Don’t be drinking it down in one swallow—I’ll not share mine with you!” I saw him raise his brow and I laughed because I knew he knew I would share ANYTHING with him.
The stew was actually very tasty, though the bread was a bit stale. Still, it was a good hearty meal and it felt good to eat our fill. Our tankards empty, our bellies full, we sat down on the bed. It was most likely NOT the most comfortable bed in the inn—but it felt like heaven to us. And despite my joking about having something soft beneath my knees, we were both content to merely lie in each others arms for the night. Anton drifted off to sleep first—he always did. His arms were wrapped around me and I pushed myself back against him, fitting my body to his as closely as possible. I kissed his arm lightly and sighed as I followed him to sleep.
**
We were both startled awake by the sound of a woman shrieking. “Bubo! God save us!” She shrieked it over and over until the words became clear even to our sleep-clouded ears.
“Mother of God!” the words seemed torn from Anton’s lips and they shocked me—both because I had never heard such fear in his voice, and because I had never heard him utter an oath. I looked at him. In the light of early dawn, I could see his face was pale, as if all the blood had drained away from it.
I put one hand on his shoulder, the other on his thigh. “What is it, Anton? What is wrong?”
He looked at me and his eyes held fear he did not try to disguise. “The woman… she said ‘bubo.’” I looked at him in confusion. He looked down at my hand on his thigh and he placed his hand over mine. He rubbed his fingers over mine. I could see they were shaking. I waited for him to continue. I could see him gathering his thoughts.
“My people tell of such a thing.” When he spoke his voice was unsteady, his tone hushed. “A bubo” he said the word in almost a whisper, “is a foul swelling on the body.” He touched briefly the area high inside his thigh, then under his arm. “It is filled with the pus of evil and even lancing does not bring relief from it’s poison.” He shook his head. “And once it appears, death soon follows.” He looked into my eyes and I could see the depth of his fear. And I felt a chill pass through me. I had never seen such fear in his eyes. Anton feared nothing—neither man nor beast.
“And it is not an easy death, my Devin. My grandfather spoke of the bubos erupting, spewing their foulness, spreading a blackness over the skin. And then there is a great coughing of blood.” He crossed himself, something I had NEVER seen him do. “It is said that once a bubo has appeared in a village, a plague will spread—the village is damned by the god of all things. All will die.”
I could feel my body shaking, could feel his fear spreading to me. I put my arms around him and pressed my face against his neck. His arms went around me and held me more tightly than they had ever done.
“It’s all right, Anton,” I whispered against his skin. “I won’t let it hurt you.” My words sounded ridiculous even to me. I knew nothing about this sickness he spoke of. But I could see the fear in him and knew it must be a terrible thing to affect him so. I just wanted to reassure him that everything would be all right, that nothing would happen to him.
“I promise, Anton. I will keep it from you.” I had no idea how I would do that, but I could not keep the promise from my lips.
His arms tightened around me. “My Devin,” he whispered against my hair, “That is a promise you cannot keep. Only the god of all things can promise that—and he makes no such promises.”
We sat there in silence, listening to the shrieking of the woman and the sounds of panic that spread through the inn. The dead animals on the road, the bonfire in the yard, the landlord’s unwonted scrutiny—all signs we had not read, had not known to read.
**
We left the inn in silence. There was panic all around us, people grabbing their belongings and fleeing. One woman—we assumed it was the one who had been shrieking, was weeping alone in the yard. Beside her, lay a man—not much different in age from either of us. We could see the mottling of his skin even from a distance, could see a trickle of blood and spittle at the corner of his mouth. Anton crossed himself again as we turned away.
Her pleas for help went unheeded. I looked back at her and paused. How was it that no one would help her? Anton took my arm and led me away. “There is nothing that can be done for her or the poor soul upon the ground. Only the god of all things can help them, my Devin.”
It was with heavy hearts and heavier steps that we left the yard of the inn and headed back down the road in the direction from which we had come. There was no point in going on to the town. The woman and the man had worn the clothes of town dwellers. It was like as not they had come fleeing the plague that had caught them in the yard of the inn.
As we walked, I glanced up at Anton and caught him looking at me with such sadness in his eyes that my breath caught in my throat. I could see his thoughts in his eyes. It was not for himself he feared. No, Anton feared nothing for himself. But I knew there was ONE thing he feared: losing me. And that fear was in his eyes now. A chill passed through me as I found the same fear, as I faced my own fear of losing him.
**
It was little more than a full day later that I noticed a change in Anton’s steps. I noticed he had slowed, and that his long stride—a stride I often struggled to match—had shortened. I suggested we stop and rest as we came to a small stream running beside the road. He looked at me gratefully as we set our packs down. He sat on the grass by the stream and leaned back, his eyes closing. I noticed his face was flushed. I laid my hand upon his forehead and found it burning. I said nothing but went to the stream and wet a cloth. I returned to him and gently laid it over his forehead.
He smiled. “I remember, my Devin, when I first laid a cool cloth over your forehead. It was in my wagon, the first night—when we found each other.” He laid back on the grass and sighed. “That is a night I will remember to the end of this life and into the next. I never expected to find you, my Devin. I thought I would be one of those who would search forever for their missing half.”
He opened his eyes and reached up and touched my cheek. “Then you looked into my eyes and I saw my soul looking back at me.”
He coughed suddenly and I felt a chill pass though me. I removed the cloth from his forehead. It was hot, burning. I went to the stream and rinsed it in the cool water. He was sitting up when I returned, watching me. I met his eyes and the chill passed through me again. His eyes were so beautiful. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a clichéd green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. And they were looking at me so hungrily that I nearly fell to my knees. It was as if he were trying to absorb me through those eyes, to drink me in, to pull me into him completely. I couldn’t look away from that gaze. I didn’t want to look away. I wanted to let myself slip into those eyes, wanted my soul to slip into his soul.
He broke the gaze finally, turning his head away and rising slowly to his feet. I could see pain in his face as he rose. I reached out to him. He pushed my hand away. “No, my Devin.” He smiled sadly at me. “You mustn’t touch me, mustn’t be close to me now. I am feverish and,” he touched the area high on the inside of his thigh—an area I had caressed with my lips many times, “I have a bubo.”
I took a step toward him and opened my mouth to speak, but he held up his hand. “No, my Devin. For once you must listen to me.” He smiled and I could see the love in his smile. “You are always so headstrong, my Devin. No way is the right one but yours.” He paused and his smile faded. “But I am right in this, though you will not see it. You must leave me, my Devin. I will die soon. There is nothing you can do for me, though I know you would give me the last drop of your life. But you must leave. If you stay with me, you will also die. If you leave me, you may die also, but there is a chance you will not.”
I stood for a moment. I considered the truth of his words. It had been scarcely a day since we had left the inn. The plague illness had followed him, had caught him quickly. I could see that death was stalking him. But surely if the plague had followed him, it had followed me as well. I felt fine now, but surely I would soon feel its cold fingers on my skin. But it did not matter. Even if God himself told me that if by leaving him now, I would be spared, I would not go.
And I saw by the expression in Anton’s eyes—those lovely eyes that held my own soul—that he knew I would not leave him. He sighed. “Devin…”
I smiled at him and closed the small distance between us. I slipped my arms around his waist and laid my head against his shoulder. “Anton, as if there is anything on this earth or in Heaven or Hell that could make me leave you.”
He ran his hand over my hair and kissed the top of my head. “I know.” He laughed slightly, his laugh turning into a ragged cough. But still he held me close, still his hand stroked my hair. “I hope that when our souls meet again mine will find yours much more reasonable. You have been quite a trial to me this time around, you know.”
I laughed, but I felt hot tears stinging the back of my eyes. “And I hope yours will not be so foolish as to think for one moment that I could EVER leave you. Not even death will take me from you, Anton.”
**
For two days now his body had been racked with fever. There had been no opportunity to seek substantial shelter—and even had we found it, it was not likely it would have been offered to us, not with Anton clearly infected with the plague sickness. We had found what shelter we could under a small group of trees, not too far from the stream. The cool water from the stream was the only thing that eased his suffering at all.
He had a swelling under his arm now, as well. Against his protests, I had removed his pants to ease the pain from the first bubo. I had hoped that if it burst it might ease his suffering, that once the pus had evacuated itself from his body he might recover. But even that had not eased his fever. If anything, it had increased. He was coughing blood now, his breaths becoming more ragged with each cough.
I removed the now hot cloth from his head and rose slowly to wet it once more in the cool waters of the stream. He moaned and I could hear his teeth chattering as the fever that heated his skin pulled the warmth from his blood. I returned to him and laid the cloth over his forehead. I had covered him with the two blankets we owned, plus all our spare clothing. I removed my shirt and covered him with that as well.
I brushed his damp hair from his forehead. I let my fingers play with it, let the dark strands slip slowly through my fingers. It was so soft. I ran the fingers of my other hand over his lips. Lips that could rouse me to passion with the barest touch and could sate my hunger as completely as a Hunter’s Moon feast. He opened his eyes and looked at me. He had done this frequently since the fever had taken hold, but always his eyes were vague, unfocused—and I knew he did not truly see me. But this time was different. I could see recognition in his eyes, knew he saw me.
I smiled at him. His lips twitched into a matching smile. He raised a hand to my face and ran his finger along the curve of my cheek. Tears sprang to my eyes at the familiar gesture. I fought them back, not wanting him to see them. His brows knit. “My Devin… I do not want to leave you alone. I—“ he broke off, a fit of coughing taking his breath.
I laid my hand upon his forehead and waited for the coughing to subside. He fought his breath, fought to gain it back—and I could see that he would not fight much longer. I wiped the blood and spittle from his mouth and gently kissed his lips. “Don’t worry, Anton, my love. I won’t be long behind you.” His eyes met mine and I saw in them comprehension and a strange relief—as if the thought of my dying were less troubling than the though of my being alone without him. I smiled because for once it seemed we were in complete agreement on what was best for me.
He sighed and closed his eyes. It was almost as if he had forced one last moment of comprehension from his tortured body and feverish mind—just so that he could be sure I would be all right.
I pulled back the blankets and clothing that covered him—sure now that he would not need their warm much longer. I lay down beside him. I opened his shirt and rested my head upon his chest. “I love you, Anton.” I whispered the words against his skin. “I don’t want to live one single day without you.” I knew I would, though, but not much more than that. The swellings under my arm were growing and fever was already taking hold of my body.
I felt his arms go around me, his hold weak but still firm. He drew a deep breath “I will be with you until eternity ends, my Devin. Even death will not part us.” He spoke so softly I barely heard him, but as I felt his breathing slow, felt his soul slipping from his body, I felt those words wrap around me, hold me safe. And I knew them to be true.
I felt a great sense of peace fill me as I drifted towards consciousness. I felt as if I were held within arms so strong and safe that nothing could ever harm me. As I opened my eyes, as the sunlight of the morning reached out to me, I heard a voice whispering, a voice so soft I could barely hear it. “I will be with you until eternity ends…”
Last edited by wanderingsoul, 4/4/2004, 3:02 am
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And by and by my Soul returned to me, And answered "I Myself amd Heav'n and Hell"
Omar Khayyam
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4/4/2004, 3:00 am
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Many Times Before
I felt cold as he removed his hand from mine. I didn’t like the sudden feeling of separation from him. It felt wrong. I could feel myself frown. He smiled and raised his hand and ran a finger along the line of my cheek. The fingers of his other hand still lingered on my temple, gently massaging my skin, as if trying to erase any last traces of pain from my head. He brushed his thumb lightly over my lips. My eyes had still not left his. I could feel my heart beating, could feel the blood rushing through my veins, as my pulse pounded in my ears. I felt light-headed, almost dizzy, but I did not look away from his eyes. They held me steady, anchored me, kept me from falling. I didn’t look away, not even as he leaned closer, not even as his lips touched mine.
It was a long, slow kiss. It felt tentative, his lips barely touching mine, brushing softly over my lips like the gentle caress of a butterfly’s wings. His fingers slipped into my hair, and I could feel him playing with the damp strands, sliding them slowly through his fingers. I felt a ripple of heat pass through my entire body. It was an unexpected response, yet it felt oddly familiar.
My lips parted slightly, instinctively. He slipped his tongue in between my lips and into my mouth, sliding his tongue sensually along mine. I returned his kiss, my lips brushing his, my tongue rubbing against his. I pulled him closer to me, my fingers tangling in his hair. I heard a soft moan of pleasure and I realized with surprise that it had come from my lips! As he felt my response to him, his kiss deepened. His lips pressed harder against mine, tenderness turning to passion as he thrust his tongue hard against my tongue. It was as if he had been moving tentatively, unsure of what my response would be. Now he knew.
He pulled back suddenly and looked down into my eyes. He searched my eyes as if he were searching my soul, reaching inside me, looking for something. I could only stare back at him, my lips parted, my breath quick and hot. He ran his hands slowly down over my shoulders, down my arms, down my sides. My skin tingled where he touched, and my body shivered. I felt his fingers slip inside the towel that was still around my waist, felt them warm against my skin as the towel fell to the floor.
His hands were on my hips, so light was his touch that I could barely feel it—yet the heat from his hands burned my skin—and sent another unexpected response through my body. I felt myself harden. He smiled, that wonderfully boyish grin of a smile that went right through me. He must have seen the surprise in my eyes, must have seen that I had not expected myself to respond to him like that. He raised one dark brow and the smile went slightly crooked. “I’m sorry… looks like that towel fell off. Such a shame.”
He pulled me gently against him, his hands slipping around to the cheeks of my ass. He held me firmly as he slowly moved his hips, rubbing himself against me. I could feel the hard outline of his own erection against mine. I drew a sharp breath, once more surprised at the wave of heat that shot through me. My hands acted on their own, their movements driven by instinct, abandoned by thought. They slipped down his shoulders over his chest. I could feel his nipples hardening as my hands rubbed them through the fabric of his shirt. A soft sound of pleasure passed through his lips, which had found their way to my ear. His warm breath against my ear made my knees feel weak. I watched my fingers as they undid the buttons of his shirt, watched them tremble as each button came undone. It was as if they were someone else’s fingers. Yet as they moved slowly over his bare skin I could feel every detail of that smooth skin, every pore. I watched them trace small circles around his nipples, and realized that they must truly be my fingers since I could feel them tingle with every brush of those hard pink buds.
I pushed the shirt from his shoulders and he released his hold on me long enough to allow it to slip down over his arms and to the floor. He smiled at me, and I could see desire in that smile, could see it in his eyes—which had darkened almost to blue, could see it in the faint flush of his cheeks. He put his arms around me again, his hands back on the cheeks of my ass, rubbing them now, his fingers gentle but his touch tinged with hunger.
He leaned down and kissed my neck, right where it met my shoulders. I moaned slightly as his tongue found a sensitive spot, and I wondered fleetingly—with as much thought as I could scrape together—how he had found that spot so quickly, so unerringly. I felt the back of my legs against the bed and I realized I hadn’t even felt my feet move. He pushed me gently onto the bed and for a moment I just lay there, looking up at him.
It was as if I were seeing him for the first time—yet it was as if I were seeing him again, after a long time. My eyes absorbed every detail of him from the soft, almost golden hair that fell just past his ears, to his incredibly expressive, oddly dark eyebrows, to his lean, softly muscled, still slightly boyish body. All these things were new to me. But his eyes… They were not new. I knew those eyes well, had a strong sense of this, was certain of this. And they never left my face, those green eyes… Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. They never left my face as I watched him remove the rest of his clothes, as I watched him climb into bed with me, as I opened my arms to welcome him into my bed and into my heart—as I had done so many times before.
His lips touched mine gently and I could feel passion in them. I parted my lips slightly, and he slipped his tongue between them. Our tongues touched and I as I tasted the sweetness of him I was amazed at how such a small thing as a kiss could be so overwhelming. It had never been so with anyone else, not even with Joanne, though she could set every never ending in my body on fire. Yet when his lips touched mine, as soon as the taste of him was on my tongue, I could no longer see anything, hear anything, smell anything, taste anything, feel anything, sense anything but him. He absorbed me completely with just a kiss.
I ran my hands over his shoulders, my fingers kneading into the soft skin, feeling the hard, yet immature muscles beneath. I made a little moue of disappointment as he pulled his lips from mine. He looked into my eyes again. Again, I felt as if he were searching my soul.
“What is your name?” He whispered the words, never taking his eyes off mine. He brushed back a strand of hair from my brow, his fingers lingering there, tracing my hairline, tracing each eyebrow, as if seeing them with his fingers, as if memorizing them by his touch.
“David.” I whispered my response, my breath barely forming sound.
He smiled, this time it was a slow smile, filled with wonder. “David.” He repeated the name. My stomach fluttered at the sound of my name on his lips. And I was struck by a strong sense of déjà vu once more.
“David, you and I have met before.” He pressed a finger to my lips as I opened them to speak and shook his head slightly, his blonde hair falling over his eyes.
“No, not in this life. But our souls have known each other before.”
He ran his finger over my lips, his touch was so light I could barely feel it. "Many times I have kissed these lips.”
He ran his finger over the curve of my cheek. “Many times I have traced this soft line with my finger.”
He brushed his hand over my hair. “And many times I have run my fingers through your hair, have felt it slipping through my fingers like strands of silk.”
He ran a hand over my chest, his fingers brushing lightly over my nipples, sending a ripple of response through me. “And many times—more times than I can remember, I have made love to your body.” He shook his head slightly. “No, not THIS body… but YOUR body, whatever body your soul has owned.”
“Last night, when I saw you, I could have sworn I knew you. And I thought I saw that same sense of recognition in your eyes.” He frowned slightly, his brows knitting. And I noticed again how out of place they were, so dark when his hair was so golden. “But it was vague, more of a tease than anything else. But when I fell asleep… when I dreamed… I dreamed of you. Not of David, but of the one whose soul is yours. And in that dream, we were making love—as we had made love many times before. And in that dream, I knew we had known each other even before then.”
I looked in his eyes and I could see the truth in them. And I could see something else. I could see my reflection in his eyes. And in that reflection, I could see his reflection. Like the endless reflections of two mirrors face to face, stretching into infinity, into eternity.
He smiled once more, and it was almost a sad smile. Then he leaned down and kissed my neck, just where it met my shoulder, once again finding that sensitive spot. He lingered there, sucking softly, his teeth brushing gently against my skin. I closed my eyes, a moan of pleasure rising from my lips. He rubbed his body against mine, just slightly. It was more of a pressing against, than a rubbing against, really. But I could feel his arousal, hard and hot against my hip. I heard a groan of pleasure from his lips as he pressed against me and it sent an answering groan to my lips.
His lips moved down from my neck to my chest, his hand moved from my chest to my stomach and down to my swollen ****. I gasped as his hand stroked me lightly. I was already hard—had been from the moment his lips had touched mine—but I felt myself swell even more at his touch. “Mmmm” the sound was almost a sigh as it left his lips. The sound from my own was definitely a sigh as I lay back, my eyes closing. His touch was amazing. I could feel the strength in his fingers, but at the same time, they were so very gentle—and so very familiar.
I felt his lips once more on my chest, felt his tongue running along my skin. I shivered from the sensation, yet I was anything but cold. “Ohhhh…” I breathed, as I arched my back slightly, pushing into his hand. His response was to bite me lightly, nipping the skin right below my belly button. Not so that it hurt, but just hard enough to make me jump a little. I could feel him smiling against my skin. I felt myself smile in response.
That smile was completely wiped from my face in the next second as I gasped and exclaimed “God Almighty!” I felt as though my entire body had just been plunged into fire. His tongue licked around the base of my swollen ****, and continued licking upwards, in a spiral motion all around me. His tongue felt warm, electric. Everywhere he licked burned and throbbed. He stopped just short of the top, pausing to let his hot breath caress me. I could feel his lips almost touching me, teasing me with their closeness. I tried to push my hips upward, push my throbbing erection toward his mouth. I wanted what he was teasing me with—wanted it so bad my whole body pulsed, vibrated with the desire for it, the need for it.
“Does that feel good, David?” His words were soft, whispered so close to my skin that every syllable made me twitch with desire. My response was little more than a groan as I reached for his head, my fingers tangling convulsively in the soft tendrils of his hair. His response was to run his tongue slowly over the tip of my ****. Then he slipped me into his mouth, his lips pressing firmly against my skin, so that I would feel every millimeter of their progress from the tip on down. And as he took me further into his mouth, his tongue licked around me, in that same spiral pattern that had driven me so crazy before—only this time it was reversed, spiraling downward as he drew me deeper and deeper into the liquid heat of his mouth.
Then he pulled his mouth from me. “Not this time, David, not this time. This time I want…”
I opened my eyes and looked at him. Even though I still wore my glasses, my eyes were blurry as I looked at him. My breath was ragged, panting. He leaned over me, looking into my eyes again with those incredibly beautiful, achingly familiar eyes. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. And I nearly cried from the beauty of them—and from the love that looked out from them, love that could not possibly be from this life only, love that HAD to reach back through time.
“Do you know what I want, David?” His voice was soft, seductive. He moved beside me and lay on his stomach. He raised himself up on one elbow and reached over and stroked my ****, his fingers gentle and teasing at first, then firmer as he wrapped his hand completely around me. “David…” he said in a coaxing tone. He slid a little closer to me, pressing his thigh against mine.
I turned a little, my pulse racing. I reached out and ran my hand down his back, over that incredibly soft skin. I noticed my fingers were shaking. As my hand slipped down over his ass he pushed himself against my hand. At the same time, his hand still wrapped around my ****, he pulled me gently, urging me to him.
I groaned and he parted his thighs, offering me a clear, unmistakable invitation. It was an invitation I had never had before. Not from Joanne, and certainly not from another man. But it felt… right. I groaned, all the resistance I should have felt leaving my body with that one groan. I moved between his legs, his hand still wrapped around me. I leaned forward and he pressed me against him. He released me and folded his arms under his head and sighed. As he sighed, he raised himself slightly and rubbed himself against me. “David…” the coaxing tone had turned to a soft plea.
My hands shook as I positioned myself to enter him. I had never done this. I wanted him so badly every muscle in my body ached for him. But I had never done this—at least not with THIS body. He must have read my mind, for he reached his hand back again, this time rubbing my ass firmly, pulling me closer against him. “Now, David…please…”
I groaned and closed my eyes. I pushed myself gently into him, slowly, only a very little. I felt his body tense and his hand left me, to grab at the bed sheets. Driven by an instinct I didn’t know I had, I pulled slightly from him, and teased him a bit, using just the tip of my swollen erection. He tensed around me at first—and I fought the urge to come right then. Then with a deep breath, he folded his arm back under his head and I felt his body relax. I moved slowly inside him, and I could feel his body fighting the urge to tense. But he was in control of himself—and to a great degree, in control of me. He moaned as I buried my full length in him, breathing my name softly against the pillow.
I paused, taking several deep breaths, trying very hard to control the shudder that threatened to ripple through my body too soon. But I wanted him so very much. I pulled back slowly, feeling the moist heat of him massaging me. I pushed back into him and he moaned deeply now, pushing himself back against me, urging me deeper inside him.
Any semblance of self-control, and feeling of uncertainty I possessed left me at that moment. My thrusts were hard and deep and my pace urgent, hungry as I abandoned myself to him. I moaned his name with every thrust. I wanted to make myself part of him. I felt overwhelmed by the feeling of being inside of him. I reached beneath him, taking his **** in my hand. I could feel it throbbing as I stroked it in time with my thrusts. I vaguely heard him moaning my name through the pounding of the blood in my head. I felt a sweet tightening of my muscles, felt that fleeting moment of pure tension—then felt an incredible sense of complete and utter release sweep over me as I came inside him. At the same time, I felt a heat on my hand, and I realized he had also come.
I collapsed on top of him, my body shaking, my breath coming in short gasps. I felt a burning at the back of my eyes and was surprised to feel tears slipping down my cheeks and on to his skin. I moved off him and turned away. I didn’t understand them, didn’t know why they were there. But I knew I didn’t want him to see them.
But he seemed to know… He put his arms around me and turned me back to him. Without saying a word, he wiped the tears from my cheeks with his fingers and kissed where they had been. He tightened his arms around me and held me, held me so close that it felt as though our bodies were one.
“How did you know my name?” He whispered the question against my forehead.
I looked up at him, my brows knit in question. I didn’t know his name.
He raised one brow slightly as he looked deeply into my eyes. And again I felt that sense of searching. “When you were making love to me…” I noticed he had not said ****ing… and I felt the rightness of that. “…you said my name. Over and over you said my name.”
I looked into his eyes. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. And the name came to my lips, slipping from them as easily as if it had passed through them countless times before. “Andrew…”
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And by and by my Soul returned to me, And answered "I Myself amd Heav'n and Hell"
Omar Khayyam
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4/4/2004, 3:04 am
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Not Even Death
His hair smelled of spring rain as it fell forward over his eyes as he pressed his lips against mine. His tongue tasted faintly of the sweet red wine we had shared moments earlier. I slid my tongue along his, savoring that lingering taste as it combined with the even headier taste of him. I entwined the fingers of one hand in his hair. It was still damp from the sudden shower that had caught us as we had stood on the balcony, watching the lightning on the horizon. He had swirled me around in his arms, the two of us laughing like children as the rain drenched us both. Then, when the heavens opened up and the rain came in torrents, we had both run inside, discarding our wet clothes on the floor. We had sipped the sweet red wine in front of the fireplace, the wine warming us within as the fire warmed us without.
His hands were on my shoulders, his fingers gently kneading then caressing my skin. I caressed the back of his neck with my other hand and sighed against his lips. He pulled back for a moment and looked down at me, a slow smile curling his lips and lighting his eyes. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. And as I looked up into them I felt myself falling into them, felt the world around me falling away.
He raised one of his dark brows quizzically and turned his head slightly, just enough so I would feel the tug where my fingers still tangled in his hair. I let go with a start, my senses returning to me. I hadn’t realized I had been holding his hair in such a death-like grip! His smile turned to a grin and he leaned down and kissed my nose teasingly. “If you keep doing that I am going to cut it all off,” he said softly.
I matched his grin. “Then how will I make sure you don’t get away?” He disdained any pretense at fashion and wore his hair long, unpowdered. A single ribbon was all that held his curls in check. That ribbon had long since been cast to the floor. I loved to play with his hair, to run my fingers through the curls, to wind them around my fingers. And in the heat of passion I knew I often gripped too hard, pulled on those soft curls. But he never complained, not once. He would just look at me with those green eyes of his and raise that one brow.
Those eyes… they owned me, owned my soul—as did he.
His smile faded and his face grew serious. He ran two fingers along the line of my cheek. He shook his head slightly and more curls fell over his eyes. “I could never get away—even if I wanted to. You are part of me, Desiree. As long as there is breath in me I could no more leave you than my soul could leave my body. Even in death my soul will cling to you until your soul is released from your body. Our souls are eternally linked, my love. Not even death can separate us.”
I felt tears slipping from the corner of my eyes. There was no way I would ever be able to comprehend most of what he said. He was a poet, a philosopher and I… I was merely his mistress. But I could feel the love behind his words, could feel the passion in him.
He kissed the tears from my eyes, his soft lips barely touching my skin. “Why the tears, my angel?” His voice was as soft as his lips.
I put my hands on his cheeks, feeling the slight roughness of his unshaven skin. I smiled, knowing that the reason he was unshaven was because he had spent last night and most of this morning in my bed. “Because I love you, Armand” I whispered, more tears slipping from my eyes.
He tilted his head slightly, and that same dark brow questioned. “And loving me makes you cry?”
My hands still held his cheeks, and my thumbs brushed over his lips—lips that seemed almost too soft to be real. I nodded. The love I felt for him welled up inside me, overflowing, taking speech from me.
He looked at me for a moment, looked at me with his green eyes. They were not the green of an emerald—no, they were not a clichéd green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. They searched my eyes, searched inside my soul. He nodded slowly, as if he had found what he had sought, had seen all that my soul contained—and now had perfect comprehension of me. “I understand, my sweet one. Only when one loves absolutely can one feel absolute fear. I, too, feel that fear, my angel. I fear that my happiness, my absolute joy must fly in the face of god.”
I caught my breath, because he had perfectly expressed what I was feeling. As usual, he had words when I had could only manage silence. I loved him more than life, more than God himself. And I feared losing him more than I feared death, more than I feared God. It was my love and my fear that poured from my eyes. And he had seen both things clearly.
His eyes narrowed slightly, looking for a moment much too serious, far more serious than I had ever seen him look. “I love you, Desiree. You must never forget that. And the day I do not tell you how much, the day I do not show you how deeply, will be the day that I will die.”
I slipped my hands around to the back of his neck as his lips met mine. His kiss was tender at first, but held a warmth, a heat that inflamed my body. I parted my lips slightly, offering him an invitation. His tongue accepted, slipping inside my mouth, hungrily seeking my tongue. I tasted only him now, and he was far more intoxicating than any wine.
I heard him moan slightly as he moved to cover my body with his. He pressed his lips against my neck and I could feel how hot his breath had become. My skin burned where his lips touched. His tongue moved in little circles as it moved its way from my neck to my shoulder.
I ran my hands over his shoulders and down his back, as I arched my back slightly, pressing my hips up against him. My body shuddered with desire for him, desired kindled by the scent of him, the feel of him, the taste of him… All my senses cried out for him. I moaned deeply as his tongue licked around the outside of my nipple. I closed my eyes and just let the heat spread through me as he took my nipple into his mouth and sucked softly. He chuckled softly as he pulled away slightly, his teeth tugging gently. He slipped his hand between my legs, massaging me gently with his palm. I instinctively parted my thighs, offering him unrestricted access to anything that pleased him.
He flicked his tongue lightly over my nipple then traced a path down between my breasts, over my stomach. I shivered and giggled slightly as his tongue tickled my skin—so light was its touch. He paused to run his tongue in a circle around my navel, each pass sending shivers up my spine. My fingers found his hair as he found that sensitive area between my legs. I gasped, my fingers winding themselves in his curls, as his tongue teased me to arousal. Waves of heat spread upwards through my body and downwards through my legs. I felt as though my entire body were being consumed by flames. I moaned deeply, and even to my own ears it sounded like it came from the center of my being.
“Desiree, my one and only love…” he whispered against my skin. His tongue slowly slipped downward, sliding gently inside me. I quivered with desire, raising my hips up, trying to push his tongue deeper inside me. He slipped his hands around me, his fingers kneading my bottom gently as he held me as he pulled his tongue from me and thrust it back inside me. My hips instinctively bucked up against him, trying to force his thrusts, but he denied me that… pulled his tongue from me completely. I heard myself whimper and heard him laugh softly. “My angel of delight… you are as sweet to my tongue as honey from the hive.” He kissed my lips, offering me a taste of that honey still clinging to his tongue.
I wrapped my legs around him, raising myself up to him, my body begging for what I knew was to come. Gently… more gently than I could ever imagine a man could be… he pushed his swollen manhood inside me. I caught my breath as my body reacted to the size of him. He was the only man I had ever known… but I had seen works of the great masters… I knew him to be generously endowed. But had I been completely ignorant, I would have known no less—for he filled me completely, touching every nerve ending, igniting each one as he slid inside me.
He let out a deep moan—almost a groan—as he began thrusting into me. The fingers of my one hand were tangled in his hair, the coolness of the damp curls soothing the heat within me that reached even to the tips of those fingers. My other hand pressed against the small of his back, providing me with leverage as I raised myself up to meet his thrusts. He leaned down for a moment, his lips brushing against my neck, moaning my name softly against my skin. His hair fell against my cheek, cooling, soothing, while his hot breath burned my neck. I felt my breaths matching his—short, hot, panting—as the pace of his thrusting increased. Every nerve in my body felt alive and hungry. I wanted more of him. I wanted him to bury himself deep inside me, wanted him to stay there forever, to become part of my body forever.
I felt my body tense then felt a wave of heat rippling through me, starting in my belly and spreading outward until it reached every muscle, every nerve. I could feel his body tense, his muscles quivering slightly, felt him thrust hard into me—then pause as his breath all but stopped, his body shuddering as he released his warm seed inside me. He all but collapsed on me, his body spent. I ran my free hand up his back, feeling the cool sweat on his skin. He withdrew himself from me slowly, as if he were reluctant to break that connection. I sighed deeply and closed my eyes. I could still feel him inside me. I could still feel his lips brushing my skin, could still feel his tongue massaging me. I could feel the ghost of his touch everywhere.
After a moment, I opened my eyes and saw him watching me, smiling, one dark brow quizzical. I smiled as my eyes met his. Oh, and they were so very green! Not the green of an emerald. Not a clichéd green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. I slowly untangled my fingers from his hair. “Ah, my poor Armand… by the time you are old and grey…”
“…I won’t have a hair left on my head—you will have pulled them all from me!” we both laughed as he finished my thought.
**
His hair fell over his eyes as he turned his head in his sleep. It was a fitful sleep, broken by the fever that consumed him. I leaned down and pressed my face against his hair. It was still so soft, though the black curls had long since turned grey. I inhaled deeply, catching the scent of spring rain that lingered in my memory. A tear came to my eye as I fancied I could almost taste the sweet red wine that had lingered on his tongue that afternoon.
So long ago… yet I could still hear our laughter, could still feel his tongue upon my skin, could still hear his words: “I love you, Desiree. You must never forget that. And the day I do not tell you how much, the day I do not show you how deeply, will be the day that I will die.” Today was the first day he had not said “I love you” to me. The fever held him so tightly in its grip, kept him silent, deep in unconsciousness.
My eyes brimmed with tears, and I let them fall, unchecked, let them fall upon his hair as the rain had fallen on us as he had swirled me in his arms. I touched his hair, feeling the dampness from my tears, remembering the dampness from that spring rain. I stood up and walked to the windows, opening them, stepping out onto that same balcony. The sun was setting. And soon the day would be done. “… the day I do not tell you how much, the day I do not show you how deeply, will be the day that I will die.”
“Desiree…” The voice was faint, barely audible. But I heard it…to me it sounded as clear and strong as it had when he had spoken my name for the very first time…
I hastened to his side, kneeling beside our bed, grateful for the new fashion that had done away with the cumbersome hoops. “Armand…” I put my hands on his cheeks, feeling the slight roughness of his unshaven skin. I smiled, remembering the many times he had missed his morning shave as he had lingered in my bed well into the afternoon.
He opened his eyes and turned his head to look at me. His gaze was slightly unfocused, his spectacles lying carefully upon the bedstand. But they were still the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a clichéd green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite.
And I could see them starting to dim. “Oh, my love, my Armand.” I gently entwined my fingers in his soft curls, tugging softly. “I will not let you get away, Armand.”
His lips turned up slightly… “…never get away… even if I wanted to.” He drew a ragged breath, and as that breath left his body I heard him whisper “Not even death…” I glanced at the window. The sun had set. The day was done. And my love was dead.
I closed my eyes and lay my head upon his still chest, my fingers still tangled in his hair.
A deep sense of sorrow filled me and I turned from it, tried to push it from me. But it surrounded me, isolated me from myself. I could no longer think or reason. I could only feel. Hot tears stung my eyes even as I felt a warmth surrounding me, even as I heard a voice whispering “Even in death my soul will cling to you until your soul is released from your body.” And I knew that soul clung to me now.
---
And by and by my Soul returned to me, And answered "I Myself amd Heav'n and Hell"
Omar Khayyam
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4/4/2004, 3:07 am
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wanderingsoul
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Until Our Bodies Touch Again
I don’t know how long I lay in his arms. Time had stopped for me. It had stopped the moment I had spoken his name. “Andrew.” I said it again, and it caressed my tongue as it slipped softly through my lips.
I pulled away from him, left the warmth and comfort of his chest and lay on my back. I stared up at the ceiling. “I’m married, have two daughters.” He hadn’t asked. Who was I really saying that to? Maybe I was reminding myself.
He propped himself up on one elbow, his head resting on his hand. He looked at me, his eyes searching mine as if they were searching my soul, reaching inside me, looking for something. “And you are happy?” Still he searched my eyes, as if looking to find the answer in them—not in my words.
Was I happy? I knew it wasn’t an idle question and I didn’t want to give him an idle answer. I looked away from his eyes. Their scrutiny was too much. I knew he could see my answer, but it wasn’t the answer I wanted, wasn’t the answer I wanted to give him. I shut my eyes tightly and pictured Joanne and Sarah and Jess. I smiled when I pictured my daughters. Was I happy? I opened my eyes and looked at him.
“Happy enough.” And I was. Not deliriously happy. Not so happy that nothing else in the world mattered. Not so happy that I wouldn’t regret his walking out that hotel room door every day for the rest of this life. But I was happy. Happy enough.
He smiled, and it was a slightly sad smile, but one of complete comprehension. Funny how he had always seemed to be able to look into my eyes and understand me completely. Funny how I thought it was “always.”
He ran a finger along the line of my cheek.
“David, our souls will always seek each other. We are two halves of one whole. We are destined to be together, if not in this life then the next, or the next. But we will always be together. In our dreams our lips will brush. In eternity our souls will entwine.”
He leaned closer and again I saw my reflection in his eyes. And in that reflection, I could see his reflection. Like the endless reflections of two mirrors face to face, stretching into infinity, into eternity. And I had a sense of his words, a feeling of their truth. And the writer in me, the would-be poet captured those words and vowed to hold them until our bodies touched again.
---
And by and by my Soul returned to me, And answered "I Myself amd Heav'n and Hell"
Omar Khayyam
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4/4/2004, 3:09 am
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I’ll Be Seeing You
Her touch on my arm was filled with electricity. I almost pulled away. It made me feel…itsy. Like I always felt before I had to do something new, go somewhere I had never been before, talk to someone I didn’t know. Was a bit like butterflies in my stomach, but worse. No, not worse because it wasn’t a bad feeling, just…itsy.
“Dierdre, where are you?” I could hear the smile in her voice and I knew it would be in her eyes, as well. She had beautiful eyes. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. I always wished I had eyes like that. Mine were just blue. Nothing out of the ordinary at all. She said they were very pretty eyes, and I had stopped arguing with her—mostly because Alison would carry on an argument until you absolutely proved her wrong, or until you just gave up. But also, it was partly that I knew she meant it—and it made me feel good.
I didn’t have much to feel good about these days. Steven was god only knew where--somewhere in the North Atlantic as far as I knew. I hadn’t seen him in almost 2 years. The baby wasn’t even a baby anymore. He was walking and had started talking—mostly in his own language of sounds and gestures—but I understood him. A mother always understands her child. Alison would laugh and say I ought to apply for a job as a code breaker. If I could understand Tommy, how hard could it be to decipher German or Japanese codes?
Alison’s boyfriend, Danny, was in the Pacific. He was a marine. She would laugh and say that she thought Danny had gotten together with his “connections” and planned the whole war just to get away from her. When she first said that, I had asked her why he didn’t break up with her if he wanted to get away from her.
“Because he loves me—he just can’t stand the thought of being with one woman for the rest of his life.” And her eyes took on a far away look. “But when he comes home on leave…” She smiled, a wise smile, a smile of a woman who knew men. “Let him sow his oats overseas. When the war is over and he comes home for good, he will be all mine.”
And she would laugh and say what was good for the goose was good for the gander. If he could sow oats, so could she. But I saw the way she looked when she checked the mail, when she looked for a letter from him. She loved him. There was no question of that.
But she wasn’t one to admit her feelings, which was funny because she was always trying to get me to let mine show. But I did show most of the ones I felt. I just didn’t feel the ones she thought I did. And I felt ones I was afraid to show.
Steven had come home once since he shipped out. I had been 8 months pregnant at the time. When he looked at me I knew he didn’t see me the way he had before he had left. He barely touched me. He felt like a stranger to me.
I hadn’t told Alison that. I pretended it was all great between us. I had seen how Danny would greet her when he came home on leave. He would sweep her into his arms and swing her around, his eyes never leaving her. And they never left her. Whenever she was in the room, his eyes were on her. I would hear her giggling—an odd sound from her—in the night. I would hear other sounds, as well, sounds of their love. I hated the way they made me cry. I had thought it would be like that with Steve and me—but it wasn’t.
“I was just thinking.” I knew she was waiting for an answer. She would always wait for an answer.
She smiled and pulled me close. My heart thumped and my breath caught in my throat, like it always did.
“About Steve?” Her voice was gentle, as was the touch of her lips on my hair.
Tears welled up in my eyes. I nodded. It wasn’t a lie. I had been thinking of Steven, just not in the way she assumed.
She slipped a hand under my chin and raised my face to look at her. The tears spilled from my eyes. I tried to look away, but she wouldn’t let me. She never did.
“It’s ok, honey.” She wiped the tears from my eyes. “I miss Danny like that, too.”
I looked into her eyes. They were so beautiful. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. I sighed and rested my head on her shoulder. She stroked my hair and I buried my face in her neck and clung to her. Her scent filled my head. It was sweet—and sensual. Evening in Paris. Danny had bought it for her.
I smiled as her hair fell over my face. It was always getting out of the bobby pins. Alison would laugh and say it was the gypsy blood in her—her hair was meant to be wild and unrestrained. I sighed. It felt so cool and soft against my forehead. I felt my fingers reaching up to touch her hair, felt my fingers reaching for the remaining bobby pins and pulling them gently from her hair.
She laughed softly. “I know, there really is no point in putting them in there in the first place.”
I started a little then pulled away and laughed, it was a little forced, but that would be expected of a woman missing her husband. “Truly, Alison, you should just let you hair stay loose.”
She looked shocked—but the laughter was still in her eyes. “And have my hair just blowing around my face as wild and free as a little girl? Deirdre Wallace, I am shocked at the very suggestion!” She shook her head hard, and her hair fell down completely.
She was beautiful with her hair like that, looking like she had just come in from a windy day—or had just gotten out of bed. My breath caught in my throat, but I forced another laugh. “You look like Esmerelda in the Hunchback of Notre Dame.”
She threw back her head and laughed, a deep hearty laugh filled with the joy of life—just reinforcing the image of her as Esmerelda the Gypsy girl. “Oh, Deirdre, I love you so!” She squeezed me tightly in her arms and kissed my cheek. “If I thought for one moment I looked anything like Maureen O’Hara I would head right on out to Hollywood!” She squeezed me again.
I looked up at her and smiled. She didn’t look anything like Maureen O’Hara. Maureen O’Hara looked like an actress—perfect actress features, perfect actress hair. Alison looked like…Esmerelda, the beautiful but wild Gypsy girl.
**
“I don’t know, Alison…” I protested as she led me out onto the dance floor.
“It’s ok. There are more girls than men these days. No one will mind if we dance together.”
I looked around the room. She was right. There were maybe 5 or 6 men, most of them an assortment of army officers at one table. And there were nearly twice as many girls.
“Besides, maybe a couple of those officers over there will take pity on us and cut in.” Her voice was laughing and I looked up and was completely dazzled by her smile.
I laughed up at her and put one hand on her shoulder and one in hers. “I warn you, though, Steve always said I danced a bit like a cow on roller skates.”
She looked down at me, a slight frown creasing her brow. “Sometimes I wonder how Steve had enough sense to marry you. Seems he can be a complete moron at times.” She started to move and pull me into the dance.
I shook my head. “Alison, believe me. Steve is not far off. I have no real sense of dancing and will tread on your feet.” True to my word, my toe found hers.
She laughed. “Trust me, babe, as good as he is at some things, Danny is no prize dancer! I can barely walk after a night of dancing with him. And you are much lighter.” She pulled me into a small turn and I caught her toe again. She smiled down at me. “Deirdre, hun, you just need to relax.” She slowed her steps to nearly nothing. “Here, just feel the music. Don’t move your feet, just let your body move with the music. Close your eyes. It will help.”
I closed my eyes and tried to listen to the music, tried to feel it. It was Glenn Miller. Moonlight Serenade. I felt her body sway gently against my hands. Her hand that wasn’t holding mine was on my waist. It felt warm—no, it felt hot. I felt it moving against me, guiding me into the rhythm of the song.
I leaned closer to her. Or did she pull me closer? “That’s it, Deirdre.” Her voice was low and soft. “Just feel me, hun, move with me.” I did. I felt her. I felt the heat of her pressing against me. I felt the softness of her hand in mine. I felt the gentle strength of her hand on my waist.
I leaned against her completely, resting my head on her shoulder. Her hair was down, no bobby pins tonight, and it hung about her shoulders and brushed against my face as I pressed my cheek against her neck. I barely heard the music. I just heard her breathing, felt her warmth, felt her swaying against me.
I started as I felt a touch on my shoulder.
“My friend and I were wondering if you girls would care to dance.” It was a male voice. Alison had been right—they were taking pity on us. More likely taking pity on Alison, seeing her dancing with a cow on roller skates.
I looked up at her, wondering if she would read the disappointment in my eyes. Her eyes smiled into mine. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. They never left mine as she said, “Thank you, Captain, but I’m afraid my friend has promised all her dances to me this evening.”
She pulled me closer and kissed my forehead. I closed my eyes and found her shoulder again, my lips smiling against the soft skin of her neck. I felt her lips upon my hair and I sighed and brushed my nose and lips against her ear. I felt her sharp intake of breath, felt her hand tighten in mine, felt her let her breath out slowly in a whisper against my hair, “Deirdre…”
I clung to her, my body swaying against hers, so lost in her that I never heard the music stop.
**
We barely spoke during the walk home. The night was a little cold and we had enough money between us to take a taxi, but both of us seemed to want the cold air. I know I did. I needed it to clear my head—but I needed it more to cool my skin. It burned where it had touched hers. My fingers that had been laced with hers, my cheek where it had been pressed against her neck, my nose and lips where they had brushed against her ear…they felt hot to the touch, as if they still touched her. Part of me wanted to jump right into the snow bank along side the road and watch the steam rise. But part of me wanted to run my fingers slowly over every part of me that had touched her, wanted to feel that heat, feel her. That part of me won.
By the time we got home we were both chilled to the bone. I took off my coat and rubbed my arms. My teeth were chattering. We shared the downstairs flat. Alison’s mother lived in the upstairs flat. It was an old house and even when the heat was turned way up, most of it went upstairs or slipped under the heavy drapes and out the windows. But there was a fireplace in the parlor. And Alison’s uncle had just dropped off a load of wood on the back porch.
“Brrrr! I’ll make some cocoa if you’ll start a fire,” I suggested.
Alison was already opening the damper. “One step ahead of you, babe,” she called over her shoulder.
I smiled as I went into the kitchen. It always made me feel warm, when she said that… when she called me “babe.” I got the milk from the ice box and put some in a pan on the stove to warm it. The cocoa was on the top shelf of the cupboard. It was just beyond the reach of my fingers. I could touch it but not grab it.
“Deirdre, if you do reach it, it is going to come down on your head,” Alison said as she came in from the porch carrying an armful of wood for the fire. Give me a second and I’ll get it for you.”
I heard her drop the load of wood by the fireplace and she was back. She reached up and grabbed it easily. She was so tall compared to me. She smiled. “We really need to get a step-stool. Either that or lower the cabinets.”
I pretended to scowl at her. “My feet reach the ground, that’s all that matters.”
She looked down, her smile warming the room more than the fire would. “Barely!” she laughed. “The milk is scalding,” she said looking over my shoulder. I turned to look and she tickled the small of my back and ran into the parlor.
I jumped and laughed. I was so ticklish and she knew it. “Not fair, Alison!” I called out to her. “I’ll get even with you!” I heard her laugh. I looked at the milk. It wasn’t scalding yet. I thought of getting even with her. I thought of tickling her, thought of my fingers on her skin.
The milk was frothing over the side of the pan. “Damn it!” I exclaimed, roused from my reverie.
**
The fire was warm and inviting. We sat on the sofa, our legs stretched out in front of us, our toes reaching for the fire. My fingers were wrapped around the cup of cocoa soaking up the warmth right through the cup. I set the cup down on the table next to the couch as I watched Alison finish her cocoa. “Want another cup?”
She shook her head. “No thanks, Dee.” She leaned over, reaching across me to set her cup next to mine. I started to wonder why she hadn’t just handed it to me. But as she leaned across me, her right arm resting behind me on the sofa while her left brushed against me, I stopped wondering. I stopped thinking. I stopped breathing. I stopped doing everything. I just sat there, every nerve in my body tingling from her closeness.
It seemed like time had nearly stopped. She moved so slowly, her arm sliding across my blouse. And as she leaned back, it seemed she made a point of moving even more slowly, of letting her arm linger against me. I wondered how long it would be before I would pass out from holding my breath. But in the same thought I wondered if maybe time had stopped for me, if maybe I wasn’t holding my breath, if maybe I had actually died from her overwhelming attack on my senses.
And I let that thought wander around my head. Was this to be my heaven: the closeness of her tantalizing my nerve endings, the scent of her captivating my senses from now until the end of time? Or was it to be my hell: poised on the edge of touch, wanting to just lean forward and fall into the sweet abyss that was Alison—yet caught for eternity in this breathless moment? And I felt a feeling of repetition rush over me, felt the complete certainty that this moment had come before, that it would come again.
“Deirdre.”
Her voice was soft, barely perceptible to my stilled senses. She was staring at me. No, not really staring. She was just looking at me, but her eyes were so intense. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. And they were unbearably close to mine.
As I stared back at her, my lips parted and I finally released my breath. My lips felt dry. My whole mouth was dry. I ran my tongue over my lips instinctively. I heard her catch her breath, saw a flicker in those green eyes. I reached up and brushed her hair back from her face. It was an instinctive gesture, not a considered one. If I had stopped to consider it I would have sat on my hands. But I didn’t. I didn’t consider my other hand either as it reached for her waist. I barely touched her, yet my fingers felt as if I had touched fire—I let them burn.
She ran a finger along the curve of my cheek then brushed her fingers over my lips. I felt her let her breath out slowly. Her eyes were looking straight into mine. “Deirdre…” she whispered as she leaned toward me. “Dee…” she whispered as her lips touched mine.
My hand moved slowly from her waist up her back, pulling her closer to me. Her tongue touched mine and I tasted a sweetness I could never have imagined. I let my tongue touch hers, tentatively, uncertainly. I had never been comfortable kissing Steve like that. But it was different with Alison. It felt natural, right, like…it felt like home. It felt like I had been away and had come home.
Her fingers moved down my neck, their touch light, so light I could barely feel it—yet it sent the sweetest warmth travelling through my entire body. She continued to kiss me, her lips so light against mine yet so complete in their connection to me. I moaned softly as she sucked lightly on my tongue, slowly, gently drawing it into her mouth. I felt her answering moan against my lips as my hand found the zipper of her dress. Her dress fell off her shoulders and I ran my fingers lightly over her skin. It was so soft. I just ran my fingers back and forth from her shoulder, down her back and back to her shoulder. I wanted to touch more of her skin, wanted to feel every inch of that smooth velvet.
Her lips left mine and I felt a sudden emptiness, a sudden loss of that connection. I made a sound of protest that died on my lips as her lips moved down my neck, little soft kisses barely tickling my skin, kisses as light as the brush of a butterfly’s wings. I tipped my head back and her kiss lingered at the base of my throat.
I closed my eyes, feeling as I had felt on the dance floor, feeling my body respond to her, moving in time with a music we both heard, getting completely lost in her.
Then she stood up. I opened my eyes slowly, so lost in her that it was hard to find my way back. I looked up at her. She had pushed her dress back on her shoulders, but as I met her eyes, still feeling as though my head were filled with mist, it slipped down off her left right shoulder. She looked down at me and her head tilted to one side a little, an expression almost of wonder in her beautiful eyes.
The song on the radio changed. I'll be seeing you in all the old familiar places… It washed over me like a river—and I knew I had seen her before. No, obviously I had seen her before! She had been my friend since high school and I had shared her flat since Steve shipped out. It wasn’t that…it wasn’t her I had seen, and “before” wasn’t just “before”—it was BEFORE, as in another time, another place, another life. Not her, but her eyes, those beautiful green eyes. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite.
They narrowed a little, as if she were trying to figure something out. And I knew she was feeling the same thing I was, that sense of repetition, of familiarity.
She reached out her hand. I placed my hand in hers. I looked at them for a moment, looked at my fingers wrapped around hers and again that sense of familiarity swept over me and with it a feeling, a memory of being loved so completely it took my breath away. I heard a small sound, almost like a baby about to cry. As she drew me to my feet I heard it again. She traced the curve of my cheek with one finger, the wonder in her eyes changing to something else. She brushed her fingers over my cheek and drew me close. I could taste the tears now as they touched my lips and I realized that small sound—almost like a baby about to cry—had come from me.
She stroked my hair softly, so softly. “Deirdre?”
I didn’t look up, I just pressed closer to her. Her scent surrounded me. It was sweet and sensual. Evening in Paris. Danny had bought it for her… I rested my head on her shoulder and pressed my face against her neck. Her hair brushed against my face, so soft and cool against my skin.
She rubbed my back, her fingers moving back and forth across my shoulders, following the rhythm of the music on the radio. I put both of my arms around her neck, my fingers tangling in her gypsy-girl hair. I felt her start to sway with the music, like she had done on the dance floor. I felt her lips press against my hair and I sighed and brushed my nose and lips against her ear. She was everywhere, she surrounded me, wrapping around me like the music, holding me in arms that made me feel so safe. That sense of recognition, of familiarity flashed through me again—but I didn’t care. I just let myself get lost in her, let everything else in the world just fade away.
**
The morning sun tickled my eyes, teasing me awake, coaxing me from my dreams—like the brush of her fingers against my cheek. But at the same time, it warmed my skin, holding me in my sleep, making me feel safe and loved—like her arms wrapped around me.
I sighed and opened my eyes slowly, blinking away the light. She was still asleep, one arm across my stomach, her lips trembling slightly from her breath, her hair—her wild gypsy girl hair—falling over her face. I watched her for a few moments, watched the morning sun play with the fall of light and shadows across her beautiful face. I could tell the sun tickled her eyes, too. I could see her eyelids flutter, could see her nose start to twitch. Soon she would open her eyes, her beautiful eyes. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. And she would open them and they would smile at me with a light that would cast the sun into darkness.
I brushed a strand of hair back from her face and pressed my lips lightly against her forehead. I couldn’t believe my own happiness. I felt light and gay, like a summer’s day. I smiled and the words drifted through my head, the words of the song that had played that first night we lay in each others’ arms:
I'll be seeing you in every lovely summer's day
In everything that's light and gay
I just wanted this feeling to go on forever. I wanted to wake up in her arms for the rest of my life. I wanted nothing to come between us, not Danny, not Steve. I never wanted Steve to come home.
A shadow drifted across her face, a deep, black shadow that stole all the light away from her. I looked up and saw Steve. He had come home! He was staring at me, his eyes hollow, empty, yet his face a mask of accusation. And I saw his mouth open as if to speak, and a cry of agony and hopelessness, a cry of betrayal shattered my dreams. “Why?”
I woke up, my whole body shaking. I heard the cry again and looked across the room to see Tommy standing in his crib crying. I looked down on the floor and saw Slumber Pup on the floor. I took a deep breath. “Hang on, honey, mommy will get that for you sweetheart.” I ran my hand over the empty pillow next to mine, whispered a silent “Good Morning” to the rumpled blankets and got up to rescue Slumber Pup.
**
She reached across the table and ran a finger along the line of my cheek. “What’s the matter, Dee? You look like you haven’t slept in weeks.”
I hadn’t. Not since that night. Not since the song had ended. Not since she had looked into my eyes and smiled that slightly sad smile, that smile that told me she understood everything.
“I just had a bad dream, that’s all.” I looked down. I didn’t want to look at her. I knew she could always see what I was thinking. She had always understood me completely—and I knew that “always” extended back as far as the beginning of everything.
She reached across the table and covered my hand with hers. I ached as her fingers wrapped around mine. “You want to talk about it, babe?” It always made me feel so warm all over when she called me babe. But this time it made my stomach flip. How could I tell her? I couldn’t. Not now. Not after she had smiled that slightly sad smile, that smile that told me she understood everything, that smile that told me everything I didn’t want to understand.
I shook my head. “It’s nothing, Alison. Just thinking about Steve, that’s all.” It wasn’t quite a lie. I had been thinking about Steve, thinking about how I wished he wouldn’t come home.
She slipped a hand under my chin and raised my face to look at her. Her eyes were soft, her smile even softer. I wanted to reach out and touch it, wanted to brush my fingers over her lips. “He’ll be home soon, honey. Now that the Germans have surrendered, they’ll start bringing our boys in the Atlantic home.” Her eyes flickered and I knew she was thinking of Danny. I felt a sudden stab of jealousy. If Danny didn’t come home then there would be no reason… I stopped myself, tears forming in my eyes. How could I even THINK that? Alison loved Danny! How could I be so selfish to wish him dead so she would love me instead?
She got up and had her arms around me in an instant. “It’s alright, babe.” Her voice was gentle—and soft, like her lips. “They’ll both be home soon.” She laughed. “And they’ll both make fun of us for being such gooses to cry over them when they are perfectly fine and probably drinking it up in some bar right now.” But she didn’t wipe the tears from my eyes, she just held me tightly, pressing her lips softly against my hair.
I just clung to her and let my tears flow. She was right. They both would be home soon…
**
“I think Tommy is going to be a drummer!” Alison laughed as Tommy sat in the middle of the kitchen floor banging on a pot with a wooden spoon.
I laughed too. Alison’s laugh was catching, as was her smile. I looked at Tommy. Steve wouldn’t recognize him. Well, of course he wouldn’t. He had never seen him except for the picture I had sent him soon after Tommy was born. But he had Steve’s curly brown hair and brown eyes. There was no mistaking the Wallace look. But he had my sense of rhythm—poor boy! If he were going to be a drummer when he grew up, there would have to be a lot of miracles between now and then.
Alison reached down and picked him up, pot and spoon and all, and sat him in his high chair. “I swear, Dee, he weighs almost as much as you do already!” She laughed as he poked her with the spoon and called her “Annie Allie.”
I smiled. “He is Steve all over.” He was, too. He would probably grow up to be just like Steve: Tall, muscular, handsome…shallow, insensitive, distant.
I sighed and finished making Tommy’s oatmeal. I added a little sugar, some milk and a little butter. I gave him his bowl and his spoon and sat down at the table. I smiled as I watched him eat. Tommy was doing pretty well, but he needed to be watched or the kitchen would turn into a big bowl of oatmeal. He would end up with oatmeal all over his hands and his face as it was, but I didn’t mind that. As my mother had always told me, everything washes off.
I sighed. Everything washes off. Except Evening in Paris. It was sensual, sweet. It was her scent. Danny bought it for her. I could still smell it, clinging to my arms, to my clothes from when she had held me this morning. That scent never quite washed off. It was always right on the edge of my senses.
The doorbell rang. I shook my head, a little relieved to have my thoughts interrupted. But Alison stood up. "I’ll get it, Dee. You stay with our Little Drummer Boy.”
I watched her as she left the room. Why was everything that was so right so wrong? If only… No, I wasn’t going to wish that again. I leaned my head on my hand.
I looked up. Alison was standing in the doorway, her face was like ashes. My heart stopped. “There’s a telegram…” I looked in her hands; they were empty. My heart started beating again. It wasn’t Danny. Thank God it wasn’t Danny. But that would mean…
I couldn’t move. I just sat there staring at her. She turned and went back to the front door. She brought the delivery boy back with her.
“Mrs. Steven Wallace?” His face was nearly as ashen as Alison’s. I nodded. “I just need you to sign…”
He held out a piece of paper to me. I took it, but I was staring at his other hand, the one that held the telegram. I looked around absently for a pen and one seemed to appear like magic in my hand. I glanced at the paper and wrote something that looked like it could have been written by Tommy. I couldn’t take my eyes off his other hand. It seemed to grow in size, seemed to fill the room. That hand was trembling as he handed IT to me.
I looked up and saw that he was looking at Tommy and then at me. And I wondered how many times he had done that before, had looked from a mother to a baby and back to the mother as he handed her the telegram… I thought, by the look on his face, that the answer would probably be “too many times.”
I reached for my purse, but his look of horror stopped me. I knew he wouldn’t accept a tip, not for delivering THAT telegram. I smiled at him. I could feel my lips trembling. He mumbled something I couldn’t hear and left. IT was still in my hand.
It was still in my hand when Alison came back. I didn’t even realize she had left. She sat down next to me. I looked up at her. “I can’t open it.” My voice didn’t sound like me at all. It sounded like someone else.
She took the telegram from me and opened it. I didn’t need to look at it. I didn’t need to see the words. I read them on her face. I had read them on the delivery boy’s face.
She put her arms around me and I buried my face in her shoulder and cried. I cried for Steve who would never get to hold his son. I cried for Tommy who would never get to play ball with his dad. But mostly I cried for myself. But they weren’t tears of grief or sadness. I had wished Steve wouldn’t come home. Be careful what you wish for—you might get it. I cried because my wish had come true.
**
The morning sun tickled my eyes, teasing me awake, coaxing me from my dreams—like the brush of her fingers against my cheek. But at the same time, it warmed my skin, holding me in my sleep, making me feel safe and loved—like her arms wrapped around me.
I sighed and opened my eyes slowly, blinking away the light. She was still asleep, one arm across my stomach, her lips trembling slightly from her breath, her hair—her wild gypsy girl hair—falling over her face.
No! I woke myself up. I looked over at Tommy. He was still sound asleep in his crib. I got up and walked over to the window. It was barely dawn, but already there was a stickiness in the air that would only get worse. And the heaviness in the air didn’t help lighten the heaviness in my heart.
Danny had called yesterday morning. He was home, well, he had called from the train station in Denver. He was on his way home. Would be here this evening. My sister and brother-in-law Bob were coming to get me this afternoon. I would be able to stay with them until everything with Steve’s insurance and everything else was straightened out. Then I would go somewhere else. Somewhere far away. Maybe New York. And maybe I would stop having the dreams…
I sighed. I needed to pack. It wasn’t like there was much to pack. Steve and I hadn’t even set up house together. We had been married one day and he had shipped out three days later. And we had stayed in a hotel for those three days. Most of the things I had were Tommy’s. I looked through the closet. There really wasn’t much of Steve’s here. I ran my hand over one of his shirts. I should have felt…something. But I didn’t. I didn’t love Steve. I had never loved Steve. I knew that from the moment I first looked into her eyes. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. And from the moment I had looked into those eyes, from the moment I had felt that sense of repetition, of having looked into those eyes many times before, I had known it was Alison that I loved.
**
“But I don’t understand why you have to leave!” Alison cried. She literally cried, tears streaming down her face.
I looked at her, my eyes pleading for understanding, pleading with her to not make me put it into words. “Danny is coming home. Tommy and I will only be in the way, Alison. You know that.” I smiled. It was forced—and I knew she could see that. “Besides, Julie is due any day now and really could use some help around the house. And I haven’t seen her in way too long.”
“Deirdre…” There was a soft plea in her voice. I looked into her eyes. The plea was there also. She reached out and traced the line of my cheek with one finger. Why did she always have to do that? I closed my eyes refusing to release the tears that stung the back of my eyes. I would NOT cry. Not this time. She put her arms around me and pulled me close. “Deirdre, you know I…”
I stopped her. I pressed my lips against hers and stopped the words before they could fall from her soft, incredibly soft lips. I didn’t want to hear them. They wouldn’t change anything. They would only make it hurt worse.
I felt her sigh and my fingers tangled in her hair—in her gypsy-girl hair—letting the silken strands slip through my fingers. I turned and pressed my face against her hair. Her scent surrounded me. It was sweet and sensual. Evening in Paris. Danny had bought it for her… Danny…
The front door opened and we both started. “Danny!” Alison yelled. She was in his arms in an instant.
“Alison, baby!” He picked her up and swung her around, his eyes never leaving her.
I stood there, my throat tightening. I looked at the clock. Julie and Bob would be here to pick me up in about half an hour. Danny wasn’t supposed to be home until later. I was supposed to be gone by then. I had wanted to be gone by then.
Alison looked over Danny’s shoulder and her eyes met mine. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. I saw the slight sadness in them. Even though I knew she was as happy at this moment as she had ever been in her life, there was that slight sadness of understanding, a slight sadness of regret.
I just smiled reassuringly and turned away. I couldn’t keep looking into those eyes. I knew I couldn’t ever look into those eyes again without her seeing that my heart was breaking in two. And even if it was, and even if I knew she knew that, I still didn’t want her to see that.
I picked up Tommy and held him close. He was all I had left of Steve. Not that I had ever had much of Steve. But he was all I had left now. I looked at the clock. Julie and Bob would be here soon. There was no point in my staying any longer.
As I walked toward the back door, I saw the small bottle of perfume on the bureau. A little blue bottle. Evening in Paris. Danny had given it to her. It was her scent. It clung to everything she touched. I ran a hand across my eyes, wiping away the tears that I knew would never stop once they started. Evening in Paris. It still clung to me, to every part of me she had touched and held so tightly only a few moments ago.
I glanced over my shoulder. It was a quick glance. I didn’t want to meet her eyes again. But I didn’t have to worry—her eyes were only for Danny. Her eyes… They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite.
I picked up the bottle of Evening in Paris and held it against my heart, before slipping it into my purse and walking out the back door.
I'll find you in the mornin' sun
And when the night is new
I'll be looking at the moon
But I'll be seeing you
I tossed fitfully, the melody of a song streaming through my head. But it wasn’t a song I wanted to remember. I wanted to move as far away from that song as possible. It filled me with a sense of things incomplete, unresolved. My stomach turned as my body tossed. It was all wrong. But even as the melody drove me away, her scent wound around me, surrounding me, teasing me, calling me back with the promise of her warm embrace. And I longed to surrender to that scent, to fall into to those arms it promised. It was all I wanted, all I ached for. And I reached toward them—but they pushed me away.
Last edited by wanderingsoul, 4/4/2004, 3:20 am
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And by and by my Soul returned to me, And answered "I Myself amd Heav'n and Hell"
Omar Khayyam
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4/4/2004, 3:16 am
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