Fall is Coming...
Chapter six
Storm Clouds
He stands in the door-frame, his bare feet crossed at the ankle as he leans one-shouldered against the greyed-out, rotten, old wood. His hands are clasped around a chipped mug that holds the feebly steaming remains of the bitter, dark coffee that is, virtually, his life-blood. The reedy vapor trickles weakly skyward, the virgin-whiteness of it quickly lost to the aged-pewter of the encroaching storm clouds above.
He sighs.
It's a soft, melancholy sound that is well matched to the ingrained grief that pales his beautiful face and he shivers, the tremors tightening the long, lean musculature of his graceful body as the first rain drops start to fall.
The drops are languid and tumble earthward in fat, wet splats to soil the brittle wood of the veranda.
He blinks as one splashes against his cheek, cold and cruel as it drags a path through the dirt and grime that clings to his skin, yet he does not move to wipe it away, but leans forward, steering his body into the path of the unrelenting watery missiles.
He turns his face skyward, and the miserable grey of the day shadows his pallid skin, hollowing his eyes and sharpening the high lines of his cheekbones till he looks sculptured rather than human-birthed.
He is leaner now than he was, for life has been hard on him but he is still strong, still mostly un-broken...because he has to be.
His eyes give him away though. He can maintain the facade, build and rebuild the walls that defend him, even as all of heaven and hell's dominions line up to tear them down but he cannot hide his pain from that turbulent green-gold gaze.
The rain soaks his hair now, flattening it to his head as he stands amid the downpour and he gratefully uses the deluge to mask his tears as he finally lets go and allows them their inevitable release.
It is there that his lover finds him moments later. It is as if some invisible thread has pulled the darker-haired man to him. Some heart-tether that ties them irrevocably to each other. Binds them together. Body and soul.
The slighter man moves unflinchingly to the one grieving. He takes the mug from his trembling hands, discarding it quickly and steps forward enveloping the man who is has become the symbiotic other half of himself.
Their embrace is known, matched, mirrored and perfect and the casual observer would think it has been easy won but it hasn't. It is a thing of deepest need, unending emotion and brittle, bitter pain but is thankfully salvaged by hope and peace, serenity and true love.
He wraps his arms fiercely tight about the sobbing man and draws his head down giving him leave to nestle his face to the crook of his neck. His hands stroke and sooth, the soft physical affirmations of his undying love reflected in the heart-felt stream of quiet reassurances that whisper from his mouth.
'I am here' and 'I will never leave you' caress the broken man's temple. 'It is not your fault' and 'No one could have done more', brush gently on urgent lips.
It takes time...longer and longer each time...but slowly the sobs retreat and there is just the boneless exhaustion that always follows the ruination but he is ready for it.
He tightens his hold and pulls softly, giving as much of his strength to his exhausted companion as it takes as he rescues him from the raging storm.
He will hold him now. Pillow him, warm his chilled flesh with his own heat until the demons are chased from them.
This he can do because they are meant to be and though he knows God hears him not, he gives thanks that they have this.
Each other.
Forever.
Chapter ends
