Leeds rained. Rain in England was a torrential thing. The water fell straight down when it was heavy, and misted on the air when it was light. Sometimes the mist combined with the heaviness and soaked even the densest of fabrics—even fabric that was protected by an umbrella.
Sebastian stood at the window of Grelle's temporary flat, sipping a his tea and watching the downpour. The noise of it was loud on the slate roof.
Dispatch had put them up on the waterfront, and the flat—a former dockyard building—had a view of the River Aire, lazy and dark grey with the weather. A pair of black ducks cut trails through the water, necks bobbing as they sought out shelter further downstream where human development had encroached less on the trees and bushes that lined the banks. There were no trees here, in the city center, where the river was flanked by brick and mortar. This had been the haunt of fishermen, merchants, and sailors—the poor and the dirty. Now all the buildings had been converted into flats and hotels, expensive restaurants and office spaces. That's what happened when artists moved into poor areas. They'd make it beautiful, make it trendy, and then the wealthy would swoop in wanting a piece, and price the artists out, and they'd move on to begin the accidental gentrification process of other areas.
"Gods, you look like you're contemplating the nature of the universe again," Grelle remarked, moving by him as she tied a ribbon around her neck and the high collar on her shirt. "Easy does it, love."
Sebastian gave her a smile over his shoulder, and she returned it.
"I like contemplating the nature of the universe," he said.
She came to the window, wrapping her arms around his middle and resting her cheek against his back, along his spine between his shoulders. He lifted his free hand and set it atop one of hers, pressed her closer. He brushed his fingers across the pale skin on the back of her hand, eventually linking them with hers.
"You'll be all right today?" she asked. "In the rain on your own?"
"I don't mind the rain, Grelle," he replied. "Nor a bit of solitude."
She clicked her tongue at him and pulled away—offended, probably, but only as much as she would be by his teasing. He cinched his fingers round hers, though, and pulled her back, hugging her hips to his and smiling down at her. She gave him an indignant expression.
"I will miss you," he said.
Her lips pressed together, and she shook her head, annoyed, but only just. Sebastian set his tea on the windowsill.
"I miss you every moment we're apart."
A skeptical eyebrow rose at that. Laughing, Sebastian wrapped his arms around her, dragged his fingers down her spine that arched a little under his touch. Grelle settled her forearms against his chest, her fists by his chin, and she held him at bay, though they were already tangled and touching every inch from the waist down.
"I don't believe you for one second," she said.
"Not even one?"
She shook her head. He ran his fingers along her jaw, her neck, watching the invisible lines he traced while her eyes stayed focused on his face. He looked at her eventually and found a smile hidden on her mouth. He kissed it free.
"Must you go?" he whispered, pulling back only far enough to speak.
"I'm here as a consultant to the new branch, not to entertain you," Grelle replied. She gave his hair a playful tug at the back. He laughed.
"No," he said, "but I am here to entertain you."
That smile snuck around the corners of her mouth again, and Sebastian moved to hunt it down with another kiss, but Grelle rolled her hips against his and sent his mind somewhere hungry for a moment. She chuckled, knowing full well the kind of effect she had on him.
"Gods, you're proud," she said. "Do you know that?"
"Nobody's—"
She rolled again.
"—hngh—perfect."
Grelle laughed outright, and had Sebastian been human or perhaps more sensitive, he might have been embarrassed. As it was, his only thought was of keeping her a little longer, of making some use of their time. They had an eternity of it, and yet he felt as though it was wasting. He wanted her close to him always.
"Your tea's getting cold," Grelle said.
He leaned toward her, linked their lips together, licking into her mouth when her lips parted. Grelle sighed. Her fingers rushed through his hair, and she held on, and they clung to each other like that—safe, for the moment, from the rain outside. Safe in their borrowed flat.
The moment she pulled back, Sebastian's fingers found their way to the ends of the thin, black ribbon round her neck. He went to unlace the bow, but she stopped him.
"I have to go, love," she said.
"Then make me a promise."
"What's that?"
He smiled. "When you come back, we pick up right here."
Grinning, she touched a kiss to his cheek. "Promise."
Sebastian released her then, and she collected her coat and her umbrella, giving him a wink as she slipped out the door. He returned his attention to the window, but his mind was occupied with thoughts of Grelle.
He left the flat eventually, though the rain had not eased in the slightest, took a shortcut through the churchyard of Leeds Minster and headed up the gentle incline deeper into the city. Leeds was relatively compact for a city of its population, and the city center was perfect for pedestrians, not that it mattered to a demon how far he had to walk. In spite of the rain, the streets were as busy as ever, occupied by people in such a variety of shapes and styles and histories that Sebastian found himself marveling at them.
Leeds was a place of brick and stone, of the progeny of immigrants and factory workers. In the wet, all its colors were deeper and more vibrant. Masonry covered with the soot of exhaust, but somehow made more charming in its efforts to be clean.
He walked through the shopping area around Trinity, eyes focused up in spite of the rain. At street level, the city was glass shopfronts and modern remodeling. But starting at the second, the buildings became stonework in orange and red and grey and white and black, each unique, each original—Victorian, Georgian, some made to look as though they were. It reminded him of himself and Grelle in a way. Old things posing as new ones. Convincing on one level. Showing their true colors on another.
He took himself to the Art Gallery and Henry Moore Institute, spent a good long while admiring the collection—the photography in particular—so long, in fact, that the museum closed before he had finished. On his walk back to the flat, he stopped into Nando's to pick up something for dinner. Grelle had already returned by the time he came through the front door with take-out chicken.
"How was your solitude?" she asked.
Sebastian did not respond, instead setting the food down atop the kitchen table, taking Grelle's hand, and leading her over to the window.
"And where are we going?" she chuckled.
"Where we left off," he replied.
He wrapped an arm around her waist and hugged their hips together. She kept her eyes on his face, surveying him with amusement, holding still to let him slide their bodies into the exact position he desired. Once he was happy, he lifted his fingers to the ends of the ribbon round her neck and pulled until it came untied in one even motion. He pressed his fingers into her throat then, smoothed along the underside of her jaw.
"You are the most enchanting creature on which I have ever laid my eyes," he said.
"Thank you, love."
"Mm."
The sound purred in the back of his throat. He leaned down to kiss her and found her soft and pliable beneath his lips and hands. Perfectly cold. When she kissed him back, he purred again, and the sound made her chuckle.
"What?" he asked.
Tilting back a little, she smiled as she spoke, smiled as she slipped the ribbon from her neck and then freed the buttons on her blouse one by one. "I know you're never happy about the comparison, love, but you're an animal." He only proved her point when she had to lift his chin to raise his gaze to her eyes. "You know that?"
"Nobody's perfect," he said again.
She pulled him away from the window, over to the sofa where she sat him on the cushions and herself in his lap.
"I never said you weren't perfect," she replied.