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17

Where Did You Learn How to Dance, Signor?

There is a boy sitting alone in a bathroom.

He has lost track of time. He isn't sure how long he has been in this bathroom. He's sitting in the bathtub, fully clothed. His dress shirt and his tie and his pants and his socks are wet and sticking to his skin. He feels terribly uncomfortable, but he forces himself deeper into the water, until it spills over the edges of the tub. He cannot tell the difference between his tears and the bath water. He is holding himself tightly, staring into the ripples. It is his birthday. He turns sixteen today. But he doesn't have anybody to celebrate with.

Nobody throws him a surprise party (he wouldn't throw a party himself because he wouldn't know who to invite).

Nobody buys him a cake.

Nobody brings him presents.

Nobody sings for him.

Nobody stops him to look him in the eyes and say, Feliz cumpleaños.

He has no reason to celebrate anyway, he thinks. There is no reason to celebrate something like a birthday—just another year gone by that he will be forced to remember. Another year in which he was alone, in which he accomplished nothing, in which he was not able to see his younger brother. He could be dead for all he knows. He wonders if his younger brother's hair is as messy as his. If his skin is still fair. How his voice has changed. His voice was always so nice, the boy wishes his younger brother could sing happy birthday to him.

He hugs himself more tightly and slides down into the water, until it is at his chin. He considers plunging his entire head in for a moment, but forces himself not to. He continues to stare blankly in front of him. He hates this silence, he hates this place, he hates this life. He hates being so alone, but he cannot imagine being anything but.

Suddenly, there is banging on the door.

He holds back a scream. Pushes himself as far back from the door of the bathroom as possible. His heartbeat becomes fast and he cannot breathe. He hears the banging and when he closes his eyes he sees his father looming above him—he sees him swinging his large arm, feels it colliding with his already-swollen cheek—recalls himself sitting in his room hoping that his father will not come in. He hears himself gasping for breath, When will it end, When will it end, Is there no escape from this?

The banging comes again and this time he cannot hold back his scream. It is terror and agony and he shakes violently. He doesn't want his father to hit him. Not again. He doesn't want to have to stay home for days so that nobody sees his bruises. He doesn't want to make up stories so that his little brother won't know. He wants to be alone.

A voice comes from the other side. It is a voice he recognizes. As it travels across the door, his heartbeat begins to slow. He is still panting, but the voice calms him. If only slightly. It is a woman's voice. She is calling his name. He screams at her to stop banging the door, and she stops instantly. She is from Belgium and she is a therapist and she has been trying to cure him since his arrival in Granada. She is kind and beautiful, and he does not dislike her, but he knows that he cannot be cured. He isn't sure what she thinks about him, but it hurts to imagine. He tells her to leave, tells her he doesn't want to see anybody. Though he cannot express how relieved he is to hear her voice and know that she is there. At least somebody is.

"I brought you a cake and some candles to blow out," she says. "It's your birthday, isn't it?"

The boy is astounded, and he stares at the door silently.

Then she starts to sing "Feliz Cumpleaños" for him, and he begins to sob.

Romano was still staring at the flames. He watched them lick at the firewood and dance with each other and spread their warmth through his chilled skin. He wrapped the blanket more tightly around his shoulders and sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning back against the sofa. He heard sizzling from the kitchen and could smell the reassuring, familiar scent of tomatoes. Toni had rummaged through the cupboards and the refrigerator and found enough ingredients to make a simple dish of rice with vegetables and tomato sauce. He was humming while he cooked, the music harmonizing with the raindrops against the windows and the crackling of the fire.

It's so warm.

Does he feel this warm?

Romano couldn't remember the last time he had felt so comfortable. He was warm from the inside out. He would have been able to sit and listen to Toni hum forever. For the rest of his life. Staring at these flames, engulfed by their dance. They didn't say anything to each other while Toni cooked. They didn't have to. They were soothed in the silence, and Romano wondered if Toni was replaying the images in his head, too. If he was recalling what it had been like to stand on that cliffside, made so small by the vastness of this lighthouse and the world around it. When Romano closed his eyes, that was what he saw. That, and Toni, smiling at him, the red flower in his hair.

Toni brought him a plate of food and they sat down beside each other and ate.

"I'll have to thank President Kirkland once I get back," Toni mused. "Perhaps I should buy him some nice wine. What do British people like to drink?"

"Anything, probably," Romano shrugged.

"Maybe some nice chocolates?"

"Some tweezers."

"Roma!"

Toni pushed against his shoulder and held in his laughter, while Romano shrugged again and shoveled the food into his mouth. He couldn't recall having felt this hungry in so long. He had forgotten what hunger, what an appetite, felt like. It seemed as if the rain had brought it back to him. They ate ravenously. When they were done, Toni took Romano's plate with his own back to the kitchen and put water in the kettle for tea. But he did not sit back down when it was done. He sauntered back to the living room, handed Romano his cup of tea, and began to wander around the room. First to the photos above the fireplace. Then to the bookshelf.

"President Kirkland reads a lot, it seems," he said. Romano watched him walk, sipping his tea. "Ah! One of my books is here!"

"Seriously?"

"¡Sí! My very first novella!"

Romano chuckled to himself as Toni sifted through the rest of the books excitedly. Then he moved to the dresser and opened the first drawer.

"Oi. You sure President Eyebrows won't mind you looking through his stuff?"

"Eh, it'll be fine," Toni said with a wave of his hand. Romano sipped his tea incredulously. The first drawer, apparently, was filled with souvenirs from different parts of the world. Italy and Spain included. Little postcards and flags and knick-knacks. It was a terrible cluttered mess, which to Romano seemed very uncharacteristic of Arthur Kirkland. The second drawer was filled with more photographs—too many for Toni to bother looking through. They both figured it would be strange to sit and look through President Kirkland's photo albums.

When Toni opened the third drawer, he let out a soft gasp.

"What?" Romano called.

"Mira." With a groan, Toni pulled something large and heavy from the drawer, placing it on top of the dresser. Dust flew around him and he began to cough as he waved it away, and Romano narrowed his eyes. "It's a record-player."

"A damn old one, apparently."

It was a gramophone, large and gold and rusty, with a turntable to play records. Toni's face lit up looking at it, his hands on either side, caressing the old record-player and running along the edges.

"Que bello."

"Well? Does President Eyebrows have any records to go with it?"

"A ver..."

Toni reached back into the drawer and pulled out a pile of records, just as dusty and old looking as the phonograph. Romano wasn't particularly excited about them, but he couldn't stand how enthralled Toni appeared. It made his heart flutter.

"Frank Sinatra...The Beatles...Queen..."

"Some of those are pretty modern relative to those old things, actually."

Toni fell silent, focused on looking through the records.

"I don't think you'll find Juanjo Dominguez in there," Romano laughed.

"Ah!" Toni cried out so suddenly and loudly that Romano jumped in his seat, nearly spilling the rest of his tea.

"What?!"

"Mira, mira." Toni held up one of the records, his face beaming. "Carlos Gardel."

"¿Quién?"

"The King of Tango." Toni turned over his shoulder and threw Romano a crooked smile, making his face hot and his limbs itchy. "¿Te gusta el tango, querido?"

Looking away, for reasons even he couldn't explain, Romano pouted and shrugged.

"It's all right, I guess."

Nearly bouncing where he stood, Toni took the record from its case and placed it gently on the turntable. Romano forced himself to stare into the flames. He wasn't sure what would happen if he looked back at Toni. After a few moments of silence, followed by some scratchy, unpleasant sounds, the grainy sound of a guitar began to fill the room. It was followed by a smooth, vibrating, just-as-grainy voice. Toni clapped his hands together in delight, making Romano again jump in surprise. When he glanced back at him, huddled beneath his blanket and clutching his mug of tea, Toni was dancing.

He was stepping forward and backward, left and right, his feet moving in intricate patterns and his hands twirling up and down to the rhythm of the music. Wearing his pajamas and his thick white socks and his messy hair. He looked beautiful and graceful but clumsy and lost at the same time. It was clear that he wasn't entirely sure what he was doing, but he didn't mind. He was dancing because it made him smile.

You're not very good...

But I can't stop watching.

You're like a beautiful movie.

Don't stop.

Where did you learn how to dance?

¿Dónde aprendiste como bailar, Toni?

He moved throughout the room, sometimes clapping his hands, twirling and nearly tripping over his own feet. Romano followed his movements, and at one point he found himself holding back tears.

Even when I'm happy, they come.

He turned away, wiping his eyes hastily.

"Romano! Do you know how to dance?"

"Of course I don't."

"Ven, let me show you."

"No, you're not even Argentinean."

"Ven, ¡ven!"

"No."

But it was clear that Toni was not going to accept that answer. He twirled his way around the sofa to where Romano sat, curled up in his ball. Toni crouched down, whisked the blanket from Romano's shoulders, and stole the mug of half-finished tea from his hands.

"Hey, stop it!"

He did not stop. He grabbed Romano's arm and forced him to his feet, the smile on his lips never wavering. Romano's face was red and he felt exceedingly uncomfortable, but Toni was determined. He put his hand on Romano's waist, and directed Romano's hand to his own shoulder.

"Stand like this—now grab my hand. Don't worry. I'll lead. I'm not very good at dancing by myself, but I can tango with a partner," Toni winked.

"Oi—bastard!"

Before Romano could gather his wits, he was being led around the room, his hand clutching Toni's shoulder and his other hand squeezed in his fingers. Forward, backward, spinning around. Toni's hand moved from Romano's waist to the small of his back, pulling him closer, until their foreheads brushed. Romano was wide-eyed and tense. But even his surprise could not hide the fact that he did, in fact, know how to dance. And he did, in fact, know how to dance the tango.

"Neno, you are a natural," Toni murmured. Romano watched Toni's lips as he spoke, watched them move, watched his tongue twisting and turning behind them. They began to move together in perfect harmony, Toni taking the lead. They were careful to avoid knocking anything over, moving throughout the living room and into the kitchen as Carlos Gardel's voice spurred them on. Soon they were sweating and Romano had lost sense of why he had been reluctant in the first place—his pout replaced by a smile, his embarrassed blush replaced by an unbearably happy one. While he felt Toni's breath on his lips and closed in on his body and they danced together. Let himself be spun, be dipped, arching his neck back while Toni's lips grazed his skin.

"Eres loco," Romano said, out of breath.

"Tal vez..."

The music was cut off as the song ended, and they realized it had been much more than one song—five, maybe six. They were panting, sweating, grasping each other. The rain was still falling. The next song was slow and seductive, its piano melody rippling like water in the air. They understood each other without having to say anything. Toni pulled Romano in tighter, gripped his hand, and began to shuffle in a small circle. Romano leaned his cheek against Toni's shoulder and put his hand on his chest. They were slow now, hardly moving at all, lost in each other and lost in the music. They couldn't tell if they were moving to the rhythm or not. They were just moving. Fingers intertwining. Romano breathed in the sweat of Toni's neck as Toni buried his lips in his hair. Squeezed his fingers more tightly. Pulled him even closer. Then he kissed the side of his head. Then he kissed his temple. Then his cheek. While Romano curled against him and they danced their slow dance.

"Romano...Romano..." He was whispering in his ear now. His words dripping with heat and passion. Romano sighed out against his shoulder.

They danced like that for hours. Into the middle of the night. While the rain continued to fall and the fire burned low and darkness encased them. Romano knew that there were tears on his cheeks but he didn't particularly mind them. The voices in his head were silent. He was thinking of nothing but these precious moments. Held so close, wrapped up in Toni, dancing to a slow tango. He closed his eyes and fell against Toni. Felt Toni's fingers grasping at the cloth of his shirt. Breathed in.

Then Toni began to hum along. His voice moving along Romano's skin, filling his head, making him dizzy and blind. He held Toni more tightly and squeezed his eyes shut. Toni continued to hum.

There was nothing else.

Nothing at all.

Neither of them knew how much time had passed. But when the fire was almost completely gone and the rain was coming down harder than ever and there was absolute darkness outside, Toni put his fingers beneath Romano's chin and pulled him up to face him. Romano, in spite of himself and in spite of everything around and inside him, let his eyes flutter closed and tilted his head up further. Reaching, grasping. His lips trembled as Toni's hovered above them. While his thumb moved along his jaw. Toni whispered his name and Romano's fingers dug into his shoulder. Toni began to wipe the tears from his cheeks, lips still hovering, breath still caught and swallowed on Romano's tongue.

"Bésame," he said.

"Lo que quieras."

He brought his lips gently down upon Romano's. Drowning him, destroying him. Romano clutched at Toni and pulled him down harder, until he could feel Toni's breaths on the back of his throat and taste every detail of his tongue. One hand on Romano's cheek and the other on the small of his back, Toni closed out the space between them, brought their hips together, forced Romano to take a step backward. Their tongues twirled around each other, explored each other, as Romano took another step back. And another. Until he felt the pressure of the sofa behind his knees and stumbled back upon it, dragging Toni with him. Their legs became tangled and their breaths collided as Toni settled between Romano's hips and kissed him. Romano couldn't help but notice that Toni's heartbeat was in perfect rhythm with the music.

He wrapped his arms around Toni's neck and pulled him down until he felt suffocated—suffocated in the most passionate, most eager of ways—beneath him. His body sank into the sofa and Toni pressed his hips down, putting his lips to the corner of Romano's mouth. Saying his name again. Sighing it, voice trembling with pleasure as he slid his hand beneath Romano's shirt. Romano felt the coarseness of his fingers and sucked in his breath. Held it for a few moments, before he felt Toni's tongue against his throat and let out that breath. Exhaled out into the cold, dark air. He dug his fingers deep into Toni's back as Toni pulled his hair, forced his head back, then plunged his tongue into his open lips. Swiped it along his lower lip, bit down, pulled harder. "Toni—!"

Romano squeezed his legs around Toni's hips and they trembled together, tongues clashing and fingers scratching. Toni sat up for a moment, half-open eyes on Romano's face and lips parted as he lifted his shirt above his head. Romano, his cheeks red and biting his lip, reached up and put his clammy palms against Toni's chest. Without moving his gaze from Romano's face, Toni grabbed Romano's hand and kissed the tip of his finger. Then he opened his lips and clasped them around his finger, pressing his tongue against the salty skin. Took in another finger, pulled them in deeper, encased them in his lips and his tongue.

Romano's pulse reached dangerous speeds and he felt an overwhelming throb in his lower body. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back as Toni moved his tongue to the inside of Romano's wrist, kissed it lightly, and then dragged his tongue down the inside of his arm. Using his other hand to push his shirt up higher, until his body was exposed and vulnerable. His muscles forced to relax as Toni's wet, thick tongue traversed his skin, his chest, his nipple, down to the rim of his pants. Romano's body jolted involuntarily when Toni squeezed his hips and kissed the spot just below his belly button.

"Roma."

His voice vibrated along Romano's skin, and he let out a loud, heavy breath. Grabbed onto the cushions of the couch as Toni lowered his pants more. Brought a hand to the top of Toni's head and grasped a handful of his hair. Teasing, a smirk on his shimmering lips, Toni put his tongue to the tip of Romano's erection. He bit down on his lower lip as the sensations began to build and Toni took all of him, slowly, into his mouth. His toes curled and his back arched and he couldn't keep the whimper from escaping his wide-open lips. Felt Toni's tongue wrap around him, heightening the pleasure until Romano was aware of nothing else. Toni gripped the inside of his legs and began to take him faster, harder, while Romano pushed down on his head.

"Ah...!"

He moaned and his body writhed, but he wasn't aware of it. Was aware of nothing but the slow tango between his ears and the tingles covering his body and the pleasure that was making him see dizzying colors. The wetness, the agility of Toni's tongue, his fingers digging into Romano's legs, the shape of his lips around his erection. He was panting and lightheaded when Toni lifted his head and brought it back up, touched his forehead to Romano's.

"¿Cómo estás?"

Kissed his upper lip slowly as Romano remained still, then kissed his lower lip. Kissed him again and again, taunting and sensual with the softness of his lips and the way he licked them with his eager tongue. As he pulled down his own pants, he brought his lips to Romano's forehead. Obedient and desperate, still trembling from the sensations, Romano spread his legs wider.

Toni had, not to Romano's surprise, come prepared. He spread lube across his fingers and put them in, though Romano didn't need much preparation at this point. He took in Toni's fingers and breathed out against his lips. Dug his fingernails into Toni's skin as he put his penis inside him, just the tip, then slowly going further. Romano pulled him in tighter until he felt the combination of pain and pleasure that he so craved—being carved out and hollowed so painfully but being sent into a whirlwind of pleasure at the same time.

More, more.

Harder.

Hurt me, destroy me, I want to hear myself cry.

Toni reached up and pulled against Romano's hair again as he thrust into him, making Romano scream in both delight and the numbness of the pain that spread through his nerves. But at this point, Toni knew exactly what Romano liked and what Romano didn't like. With one hand, he dug his nails as hard as he could into the skin of Romano's ass, pulled his hair with the other hand, sank his teeth into the flesh of his shoulder, and mercilessly pounded into him at the same time. It made Romano reel—he was completely blinded.

Harder.

"Harder!"

They were deafened by their moans, their desperate breaths, their screams that nobody would hear. Out here in the Welsh countryside, accompanied only by the ashes in the fireplace and the rain of the clouds.

When Toni pulled out, they were breathless and bruised and Romano had a few bloody scratches along his back and his legs and he could have fallen asleep right then and there. But Toni wouldn't allow it. He helped Romano get dressed, directed him as he spoke in hushed tones to the bedroom, and then they wrapped themselves in each other in the bed. And as Toni smoothed Romano's hair and hummed in his ear, Romano fell asleep—truly, truly fell asleep—for the first time in years.

i fucking love the tango and i wish i didn't have two left feet so that i could dance it.

Translations:

Mira=look

a ver=let's see...

Te gusta el tango?=do you like the tango?

eres loco=you're crazy

Bésame=Kiss me

Cómo estás?=how are you?