Daffodil
DISCLAIMER: Don't own Gulcasa, Roswell, or Nessiah (Sting does). I own the idea for this living situation, though.
(10pokes prompt #5 – pancakes; the sun is always shining when I'm with you)
Of course, Nessiah didn't tell Gulcasa why they were going for an early-morning walk. If he did, his lover would get all balky and sulky and retreat immovably into the shelter of the house. Every time Gulcasa asked—with less and less patience—what the point was, Nessiah just answered, "You'll see".
Someone else would probably be annoyed with him by now, but… well, when you loved someone this truly and deeply and hopelessly, even their flaws were endearing.
Nessiah made a point to take his time along the soft trail in the woods, then bent when he found the little patches of red berries.
"What are those?" Gulcasa wanted to know, kneeling to take a closer look.
"They're strawberries," Nessiah told him. "Wild strawberries." And he lifted some of the little fruit on the curling green stems and leaves so that Gulcasa could look at them more clearly, enjoying the way the little verdant tendrils poked and tickled his fingers. The berries were only about the size of the raspberries in store cartons, ridiculously cute and tiny. They were also much sweeter than store-bought strawberries, which tended to be a little too sour for Nessiah's taste.
Carefully, he picked a handful of the little berries, then set down the wicker basket he'd brought along. Opening it, he took out a cloth napkin, and folded it carefully around the berries before placing them carefully inside.
Gulcasa swore softly. "You have me out here at the crack of dawn looking for fruit?"
Nessiah smiled and rested his elbow on his thigh, the side of his face on the heel of his hand and his curled fingers. "Oh, Gulcasa. You took me into your home, me and someone practically a complete stranger to you, because I begged you to—knowing when you did that I was helpless, and would only be a burden on you until I recovered. You didn't hesitate when it came to that, so what's a little walk like this to you?"
That made Gulcasa laugh, as Nessiah had known it would. "…I suppose that's true."
He stood, and Nessiah got to his feet, too. He closed the distance between them in shy steps and rose on his toes as Gulcasa leaned down, fitting his mouth softly to his lover's as the curious woods looked on.
--
Nessiah had known at least a little bit what a good relationship was like before he'd met Gulcasa. Mostly that had been because of Roswell; there weren't many people who'd been able to tolerate him in their living spaces for long before that point. He knew what it was like to be cared for and looked after, to look after and care for someone else, in an easy and undemanding way. Looking back at his and Roswell's year-long college affair, Nessiah had decided that it was probably much like that of a comfortably married couple: an easy and sweet kind of love that stemmed from friendship first.
Even with that, though, he'd been entirely unprepared for the way things were with Gulcasa. To be loved both deeply and implacably, brightly and burningly—it was like, like juxtaposing the Appalachian mountain range with a brushfire. And he'd never felt so cherished, so adored in his life. He and Gulcasa were perfect equals on so many levels, and Gulcasa would amiably follow his lead on some matters, but then when something happened to shake Nessiah and tear at the edges of his world—or even when he just felt bruised and vulnerable from day-to-day living—Gulcasa would just cradle him and make him feel precious and breakable and coddled. Protected. Loved.
They must have been together for months before Gulcasa had confessed that his heart had taken that first stumble the first time Nessiah had ever looked at him. Nessiah had wanted to accuse him of making it up, but the words had felt true, and after a brief silence he'd managed to admit that the second he'd met Gulcasa's eyes, he'd been a goner.
"I look weird," Gulcasa would say.
"You look exotic," Nessiah would correct. "Take my word for it, it's very sexually intriguing."
So much blood crossed in Gulcasa's veins in so many improbable combinations that he could hardly be anything but exotic. There was a good deal of Spanish, and roughly as much Japanese—that much he was sure about; both sides of his family were Jewish, further back than he cared to keep track. There had to be at least a little European, too; Gulcasa was easily the tallest person Nessiah had ever met at his six feet and five inches. Scottish, Nessiah liked to think, or maybe old, old Nordic. There wasn't anyone else in the world with the bright scarlet hair, the slightest hint of olive in the skin, and eyes like bottled honey that ran in Gulcasa's family.
"Considering the number of men and women chasing you with hearts in their eyes, I still can't imagine why you ever went with someone like me," Nessiah had said one night while they lay naked together, watching the ceiling and cooling down.
Gulcasa shrugged. "What can I say? You're the only one I noticed. It was fate." He smiled and brushed soft kisses across Nessiah's belly in the way that made him shiver all over with pleasure. "Just goes to prove God's got a strange sense of humor."
Nessiah loved every little thing about Gulcasa. He couldn't help it. He melted over his lover's tender moments and his stubborn ones, smiled at his difficult moods, and understood and accepted all Gulcasa's beliefs—even if he didn't particularly share them. He loved how Gulcasa was always, always strong for him… and he loved that in the dark and secret hours of the night, he could make such a powerful man tremble with no more than a touch.
He loved, loved, loved the way that Gulcasa had accepted both him and Roswell into his home without question on the night that had left Nessiah shattered with little hope of ever fully healing. His heart just ached over the way Gulcasa had so carefully and painstakingly acknowledged his wounds and gone about the business of putting him back together. And he could be nothing less than grateful about the fact that Gulcasa kept all his struggles to continue accepting silent.
Nessiah wasn't stupid, and he wasn't shortsighted. He saw the way Gulcasa's eyes went hard and cold and unreadable sometimes around Roswell, and could feel the way he still held back sometimes when they were alone in the house together or when they went to bed. Gulcasa had always been a little possessive; that was just the way he was. By asking him to bring Roswell home with them, Nessiah had silently been asking him to bend a little. Gulcasa was trying so hard that it was painful to watch sometimes.
It wasn't that Gulcasa didn't like Roswell—Nessiah knew that Gulcasa liked him, and maybe that was the problem. One thing Gulcasa believed very strongly was that for every person in the world, there was one person who was meant to love them and be loved by them, one person only. Nessiah had always disagreed with that. There were different kinds of love, different degrees of love. Nessiah loved Gulcasa with everything he had, and that didn't stop him from loving Roswell, too—the love was just different, that was all. Not as passionate. Softer, quieter, less intense. If not for that night, they could have remained friends and nothing more, but—
They couldn't go back now. Nessiah still needed both Gulcasa and Roswell, and knew he would fall apart again without them. It wasn't the same, could never be the same, but—he knew that Roswell had begun to feel something for Gulcasa, and was sure that Gulcasa felt something for Roswell… something he was having difficulty coming to terms with.
Nessiah hoped he came to terms with it soon. You couldn't make three halves into a whole unless they were all willing.
--
"First you drag me back and forth across the woods and field, and now you want me to do what?" It was a protest, almost a complaint, but Gulcasa offered it wearily and halfheartedly.
"We still need apples," Nessiah told him gently.
"The tree doesn't belong to us. The tree is sitting on the other side of the fence that marks the property of the nastiest conservative in all of Michigan," Gulcasa pointed out, raking both hands through his hair and making it stand up in sexy spikes. "The one who goes apoplectic and breaks out in hives when straight people admit to doing anything other than the requisite nightly missionary. If we get caught here he's gonna kill us."
"I'll be quick—and we won't cross the fence. Just let me stand on your shoulders a little," Nessiah cajoled, leaning into Gulcasa's side with a smile—he knew his lover would cave in soon enough. "You didn't squawk when you knew it would take two to heal me, or when you had to spend months without sex because I flinched away from your every touch. Compared to that, this will be as painless as breathing." He looked up at Gulcasa, widening his eyes a little. "Please?"
"I don't know why I let you sucker me into these things," Gulcasa said with a sigh, but he was already kneeling. "Take off your shoes."
Nessiah did, readily, and carefully balanced on his lover's shoulders while Gulcasa took hold of his ankles and rose to his full height. He was even more careful in selecting his apples—it would be too easy to topple and injure himself if he didn't maintain his stance properly.
"I'm done here," he announced after he'd taken hold of a few round red fruits. "We can go back now."
Gulcasa lowered himself back to the ground with a sigh; Nessiah slipped his shoes back on and put the apples in his basket and they walked placidly along the sidewalk towards the house.
Nessiah could tell that Gulcasa was thinking about something, and that it was worrying him; he didn't ask, but just watched his lover's face patiently as they went. If Gulcasa had something to say, he'd spit it out sooner or later.
Eventually, he sighed. "…It's impossible to fit three lives together perfectly," he said a little awkwardly, staring at the ground.
Nessiah placed a careful hand on his arm. "That may be true," he replied gently, "but you can always fold or tear at the edges so that the pictures fit the frame." He moved his fingertips up and down along the curve of Gulcasa's bicep. "Just look at us… strong and social, quiet and private… the carpenter and the jeweler. There are so many little contradictions just between us, and we've made it work well enough. Things will get easier. We just have to keep trying."
Gulcasa nodded and didn't say anything.
--
When they opened the door, Roswell was already in the kitchen, his hair tied back haphazardly and his old, worn apron covered in flour. He'd been mixing pale batter in a silver bowl, but stopped at the sound of the door, and looked at Gulcasa and Nessiah with very wide blue eyes.
"Today we decided we'd help out with breakfast," Nessiah said, and smiled as he opened his basket to show the results of his and Gulcasa's morning forage.
Roswell flushed pleasantly and accepted the basket, peeking into it to take stock of the fruit.
"Thank you," he told them when he looked up, and crossed the room to embrace them both at once. He kissed Gulcasa first, then Nessiah, so that Nessiah could still taste Gulcasa on him when their lips met.
It was strange, Nessiah realized as he sank readily into the circle of warmth the three of them formed. He'd never noticed the empty space there before Roswell had come to fill it.