The sunlight curled its warm fingers through Ennis's hair, tousling the already-unruly waves and illuminating the strands into white brilliance with its touch. His eyes were closed in relaxation, hands clasped behind his neck to form a cushion against the rock he'd propped up on, legs crossed at the ankles. Jack ran an idle index over the intricate lettering on the wine bottle following the curves of the word Riesling, enjoying the flavor in his mouth and its linguistic description with his finger, the tactile and oral pleasures mixing to create a sensual drowsiness. The brightness filtered through the glass of bottle and showed that it had been almost drained of its content, now a vessel for the pure sylvan air.

"Wine helps me dance, you know," he commented, nail carving along the R.

Ennis just grunted, a flicker playing over his lips, did not open his eyes. Jack shot him a look when he heard the note of skepticism curling at the edges of the utterance.

"They say wine flows in your blood after you drink it, and that is what feels so good? Well, dancing is in my blood, too—my father was a dancer. Before the war, anyway." Jack used his hands to carefully levy himself upright. Stretching his foot before him, he tapped Ennis with his toe, trying to catch his attention.

"Would he approve of your alcoholic dancing shoes?" Ennis said, still refusing to open his eyes.

"That isn't really any of his business. He tried to stop me from dancing and that was his first mistake." Jack slowly raised his right leg up, holding it close to his body in a beautifully contortionistic stretch. "I left home before I was even apprenticed; I would have been happy to go anywhere. But, luckily, Niko took me in."

Ennis slitted his vision, watching Jack's form move in its slow, earthy rhythm. "

"You've never painted with… a few spirits?" Jack asked, sweeping his body down in a fast scissor motion, leg swinging out behind him and arms thrown out to his sides.

"Ach so… ja. Aber… "

"Aber nichts," Jack said, voice distorting as he curved his body back, spine bending into a feline arch. "I posit that wine is the elixir of the arts." He stretched so far back that he landed on his elbows, and arched down slowly like melting metal; when he was on the ground once more, he came to rest on his side, facing Ennis.

"How did you find this place?" He asked. "It is beautiful… perfect seclusion."

Ennis opened his eyes slowly, with care; he tipped his head back but did not blink against three o'clock's brightness. "Ich…" His gaze moved from the aerial to the terra firma, skimming over the grasses beginning to grow at the edges of the quarry, the border between forest and meadow, twilight and glory. "I came here when I was young."

"Oh?" Jack glanced at Ennis, noting the rarity of his expression—his features were cut fine in the light, skin smooth and unmarred by worry, like a palm held open under the sun, a fist unclenched in the warmth of the day. Jack didn't move a muscle, silliness and irreverence forgotten; he barely breathed, aware that even the most insubstantial touch might upset the balance, just watched and waited.

Ennis picked up his glass of wine, rolling the stem, taking a small sip. "My father brought us here. He loved the city; that is why he came here. But he had grown up in a small Stadt up north where you could hardly walk two steps without falling into forest like this."

Jack rolled fluidly onto his back, interlacing his fingers over his chest. His lips tugged up at the corners when he heard Ennis continue without further prompting.

"He did not want his children to grow up knowing only the buildings and streets, so we came here at least once a week. My mother would read to us, Karl would fly his kite in the meadow over there," Ennis gestured with his left hand to the flat expanse that lay at the outskirts of the trees, "and Elena would pick flowers." Ennis smiled, touching two fingers to his neck. "We always went home wearing necklaces of flowers like we were kings of the forest."

Jack's reply slipped soft from his lips. "That sounds wonderful."

"It has been many years since I returned here. After my parents died, we moved to Dresden, and then Karl brought me to Vienna. But when I realized we needed to catch the afternoon light… this was the first place I thought of." Ennis brought the glass to his lips, taking a long draining sip; it was unclear whether he was dousing the memory or pulling it up into clearer relief. Jack tilted his head upwards, the gentle smile fully formed and playing over features.

Ennis's brow furrowed. "Was?"

"Also… " Jack shrugged against the vibrant grass. "I was enjoying the sound of your voice. It is usually your eyes or brush that speak for you."

Ennis's brow furrowed deeper; he worried at his lower lip, wringing his hands in his lap. Taking a breath, he laid down beside Jack, propping himself up on his right elbow so that their faces were even. He weighed his words carefully; when he gave them to Jack, they carried the significance of his careful and long-drawn consideration.

"That is because, with you, my eyes listen and my brush speaks."

Jack's breath caught when their eyes met, cobalt skies skimming crested earthen mountaintops. "They say… they say that an artist's eyes are never at rest."

Ennis smiled, a sunrise breaking through the mountain's peaks. "And they are right. Even as I speak I cannot stop myself from observing everything that is around me." The words tumbled out as if he could not help them. "I cannot stop myself from observing you."

Jack ran his tongue over parched lips. "What do you see?"

"Well…" Ennis raised his hand, "your left eyebrow dips just a bit below your right." His knuckles gentled along the path of his narration, his voice low and rustling. He traced a thumb over the outer edge of Jack's ear, tracing the delicate bone structure and Jack shuddered deep in his spine, undone by the simplicity of the contact. "Your ears are shaped like butterfly wings."

Ennis leaned closer, bringing them within breathing distance, his throat working as he bridged the distance between them. "The shadows always gather at the bottom of your eyes, just below your eyelashes." His voice had dropped a register, scratching in his throat as he struggled to breathe evenly. "The corners of your lip turn up just a bit." His fingers trembled over the surface of Jack's lips, "Curved like cupid's bow… like nothing I have ever seen."

Ennis's whisper might have been Jack's own. "Sind… perfekt."

Jack only had to part his lips and they were joined, the mountains falling to meet the sky, hands seeking and finding anchors in the flesh. The flavor of wine sparked on their tongues, bodies clinched close, thighs to hips to chests, tasting and discovering in each other in physical sensation that bordered on rapture, the aroma of crushed grass sharp underneath them. A kiss that spoke more than a language could ever contain, an art that can only manifest in the moment of love's finest revelry.

Jack pressed closer to Ennis, knees catching, the hollows of their ankles brushing, legs tangled up into a disarray of intimacy. He ran his thumb pads over Ennis's face, lingering in the sharpness of his cheekbones, raising his head up so that he could look at Ennis in the full light. He was flushed, warm, smelling of wine and desire and perfection, eyelids dropped down but not concealing the flash of amber that was like Jack had swallowed the sun. The wind caressed the leaves that canopied them, soughing quietly.

Ennis saw Jack backlit by a corona of brilliance, luminescent even in the shadows, eyelashes and eyebrows like heavy smudges of charcoal on the canvas of his pale skin. He was like the light that God had never seen fit to grant Ennis. "Mein Engel," he whispered, raising a hand reverently, "My dark angel."

Jack barely heard the words, lost in Ennis. "I wish I could see as you do."

Ennis looked away, strange emotions rising to take hold of him; but looking back at Jack, drawn ineffably, he saw a grim reminder that felt like cold water trickling down his skin.

"But I have also seen this," he whispered, grim, touching the purpling bruise that leaked discoloration through Jack's temple.

Jack blinked, confused at first; he shuttered down when understanding came. Brushing Ennis's inquiry away, he covered the mark with his own hand, trembling. " i Es ist nichts /i ."

"Ach ja?" The skepticism has returned in full force. "It does not look like nothing."

"What, you do not believe me?" Fear came out as anger, mangled, torn and bloody.

"I didn't say that…" Ennis said, trying to verbally backpedal, but Jack was already back on the attack.

"Und… wer ist Alma?" The question was out of his mouth before he knew what he was saying. It was the question he'd been afraid to ask; the question he didn't really want to know the answer for.

Ennis started to sit up, successfully distracted. "You know who she is." A pause. "Don't you?"

Jack shook his head, lips compressed. "You mentioned her but once."

Ennis swallowed. "She is my…" He rubbed his hand over his face, heaving a sigh, and tried once more. "We are to be married in early May."

He nodded and stood perfunctorily. "We'd best be getting back. Wouldn't want to keep her waiting."

"Jack…"

The shutters closed down full, locked tight; the cobalt drained into hard glinting sapphire, cut sharp and unyielding.

They walked all the way back to the city in complete silence.