Author's Notes:
I know, I know, it's been a while right? But hey, my muse finally let me finish the next chapter! Woohoo!
This one is a little bit longer than usual (like 1.5x), but I couldn't find a good place to break it up.
Act I Scene XIII
Operas Don't Have Happy Endings
"I'm not sure I can trust you any more."
In spite of the teasing tone, Nathiel couldn't help but glance at Ambryn's expression for reassurance, grateful that his complexion hid the rush of heat to his face. The human mage had a teasing smile on his lovely lips, jade eyes dancing as he seated himself on the couch and crossed one leg over the other.
"I . . . didn't want to intimidate you."
Damn that fucking leech elf anyway, standing around outside the apartment building like some kind of psychopath stalker, waiting to ambush Ambryn. He'd been getting off on seeing the two of them kiss, the sick little voyeur. The evidence had been right there in the front of his pants.
Nathiel still felt a thread of aggravation at the memory of Ambryn's eyes widening, dropping below the blood elf's belt.
"It's ten inches – you can have it all if you want it," the bastard had said shamelessly after a moment, grinning, putting his hands on his hips.
Nathiel would have punched him if he hadn't seen his lover's jade eyes drop below his own belt, expression turning thoughtful. Of course, his mollification had been short-lived as realization that he'd been found out set in.
"So, how big are you really?" Ambryn asked, amused expression still on his pale, pretty face, distracting Nathiel from his thoughts.
"Fourteen . . . inches." Nathiel cleared his throat. "I would have told you . . . eventually."
Ambryn laughed, the bright sound ringing through the room, and held out his hands, expression turning rueful. "I'm not angry at you. I actually think it's kind of sweet. Underhanded, but sweet."
Looking into that smiling face, Nathiel couldn't help but smile back. He prowled toward the couch, but didn't take Ambryn's hands, mock-tackling him instead with a low growl, careful, so painstakingly careful with Ambryn's fragile body, mesmerized by the feel of soft skin under his hands, kissing that graceful neck and rolling onto his back, his giggling lover nestled securely in his lap, wrapped in his arms.
"Do you think he'll be all right?" Ambryn's tone was soft, pensive. "It wasn't that long ago that we found him. The Outlands are dangerous."
Nathiel fought down a surge of irritation at the way the corrupted quel'dorei continued to crop up, tucking Ambryn's head under his chin as he held him. "He seems like a capable hunter, and . . . there's much more in the Outlands for him to . . . feed on." The words tasted faintly revolting.
"I'm sorry." Ambryn's tone was repentant. He turned, shifting in Nathiel's lap, finger tracing whimsical designs on his shirt. "You're so good to me."
Nathiel tightened his embrace slightly. "I wouldn't change a thing about you." He chuckled after a moment. "Even if it means picking filthy, smelly blood elves up out of the snow every so often."
He didn't tell Ambryn the other part that was bothering him, the way the leech elf had promised he'd be back, that he'd wait, even if he waited forever, because it was stupid and there was no reason to be threatened by the fervor in those unnatural fel green eyes. He fully intended for the pale-skinned fucker to be waiting until he went to his grave.
One way or the other.
He was distantly aware of the the sound of Ambryn's sigh, and then that warm, sweet, delightful mouth was light on his, and he forgot everything but the human in his arms, deepening the kiss, watching those glorious jade eyes slide closed, closing his own as well. He didn't need to open them to find the buttons of Ambryn's shirt, callused hands sliding over his lover's ribs, soft skin beneath his touch as he delved inward with his tongue, tangling in the motions of the dance that ensued. His fingers slid under Ambryn's waistband, cupping his bottom, lifting, and Ambryn obediently shifted, straddling his thighs.
Nathiel opened his eyes, sensual heat smoldering in him as he watched the flush of warm blood under pale skin, rosy color flooding into Ambryn's lovely face. He ran a light finger over his human lover's entrance, and smug, masculine satisfaction combined with lust to make his heart beat faster as Ambryn arched, hips grinding pleasurably against Nathiel's crotch. Nathiel's cock was a thick, hot, hard slab down his thigh, straining against suddenly tight trousers. He didn't release Ambryn's mouth as the mage arched, but stayed with him, kept control, knowing he was driving Ambryn wild and reveling in it. He tapped his finger against that bud in the valley between Ambryn's legs, stroked it, and let him only briefly up for air.
He would never give this up. Never.
He was dimly aware of Ambryn's gentle hand curved around the back of his head, the fingers of the other hand at work on the buttons of his trousers, and he let Ambryn's mouth go at last, kissing his chin, his jaw, suckling on the pulsating vein at the right side of his throat, breathing deeply and drawing in the clean scent of him, soap and desire and just the slightest trace of mint mingling with a taste and smell he could only define as Ambryn.
He pulled off the human's shirt, tugging it down off of his shoulders and arms, grabbed his bottom with one hand and wrapped his other arm around Ambryn's back, and reversed their positions, laying Ambryn on his back on the couch, not bothering with the button on his trousers, just grabbing the waistband and pulling down, following the retreating fabric with his lips, closing his mouth briefly around his lover's penis and testicles, dragging his tongue along the inside of a soft thigh, down a perfectly curved calf, throwing the slacks aside and pressing a kiss to the inside of each of Ambryn's ankles as he took them in his hands, then licking and kissing his way back down to that vertex between those marvelous thighs, hands sliding down to the backs of Ambryn's knees.
Nathiel hunkered down, lingering for a moment on the curves of that that divine rump, mouthing the soft flesh, grazing it ever so lightly with his teeth. He grinned in anticipation, licked his lips, and prepared to partake of Ambryn's most intimate treasure.
His head jerked up and back at the sharp and completely unexpected taste of strawberry on his tongue. He blinked, staring at the pink bud and feeling just the littlest bit betrayed.
"Sorry. I – I thought . . ."
Ambryn's tone told Nathiel that his shock and slight disappointment were written all too clearly on his features, and he felt chagrin as he looked into his lover's apprehensive eyes. Ambryn had his bottom lip between his teeth, apology in every line of his face.
"It's just . . . different," Nathiel managed after a moment, working up a smile. It wasn't as though he didn't like the taste of strawberries. He just . . . didn't like them there. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and went back to Ambryn's lips, trying to forget the strong taste in the lightly sweet, subtle flavors that belonged to his lover. He was fully hard again in heartbeats, lust as strong as ever.
It wasn't as though he was really settling, but . . . well, he had been kind of looking forward to that part.
Still, the flavored fluid did its job well, eliminating the need for the small bottle of virgin olive oil he'd planted surreptitiously next to the couch while Ambryn was getting ready this morning in anticipation for what he planned for later, and Nathiel let out a heartfelt noise of pleasure as Ambryn's delicate, slick inner flesh glided pleasurably around his shaft with welcome pressure, each noise his human lover made resonating with something deep inside him.
He started out with a moderated, steady pace, intent on making it last, taking his time making love to his beau's rapturous body. He wasn't in a hurry, not at the moment. They still had the lion's share of the afternoon and all night long with no engagements, no distractions. He kept his gaze on Ambryn's face, drinking in the sight of him, expression awash in pleasure as the human mage surrendered himself, offered himself willingly, and somewhere in accepting that surrender, in the hands that glided over his chest and shoulders and through his hair, in the mouth that he kissed, in the sounds that Ambryn made, Nathiel lost control, the need welling up in him too great to resist, an ache for completion that wouldn't be denied any longer, that raged stronger with each stroke, each kiss, each cry, each caress, each hot breath.
He felt Ambryn's body contract rapidly around his pulsating shaft, thrust inward, and came, seed flooding from his body, ecstasy slamming through his veins. He opened his eyes, looked into Ambryn's sultry, satisfied jade gaze, and smiled, just basking in the afterglow. There was no hurry, no rush. Nathiel nuzzled the side of Ambryn's neck, just drawing on the scent of him as he held him close. This would never end. He would come back to it again and again, this familiar bliss, and the thought was sweeter balm than any ambrosia.
"I'm going to go wash," Ambryn said quietly after the silence had drawn long.
Nathiel let out a contented sigh against the underside of his jaw. "Mmm." He opened one eye and raised his head, regarding his lover lazily. "That uh . . . strawberry stuff. Do you have more of it?"
Ambryn blinked, looking at him uncertainly. "Yes."
Nathiel gave him a slow grin. "Can I . . . have a look at it?"
Ambryn blushed, and nodded.
He brought it out of the bathroom, a small glass bottle full of pale pink liquid, and Nathiel took it from him, still smiling, watching as Ambryn gave him one last uncertain look, and then went back into the bathroom, the sound of running water emerging from the half-open door moments later. Nathiel waited until he heard the change in the sound that indicated Ambryn was under the showerhead.
Then he walked around the couch, opened the window, and chucked the bottle sidearm with all of his strength before closing it again. Even more satisfied now than a moment ago, he sprawled on the couch to wait.
He didn't wait idly of course, gaze wandering over the room. They'd had sex against two of the four walls in here already. That left two more, the door as well if he counted it separately. His smile widened as his gaze dropped to the carpet. He could definitely check that off the list. That left the dinner table, the chairs, the slender table against the wall near the door, and the chest of drawers in the corner. Nathiel glanced thoughtfully at the small table near the end of the couch. Too small and light to bear their combined weight and withstand the force of his thrusts, but it would still be close enough to count if they did it over it . . .
There was a knock at the door. It was too solid to be Annatta, and she would have tried the handle first anyway, accustomed to walking right into Ambryn's apartment like she owned the place. The knock came again, not overly quick, but firm, rhythmic, confident. Nathiel grabbed his trousers, slid them on without bothering with buttoning them, and crossed to the door, curious.
He looked down, and blue eyes widened slightly as they met his silver-eyed gaze. Something sparked in them without being reflected on the chiseled face, and vanished. He was muscular, masculine, and he held himself confidently, like a fighter, blond hair cropped short, tall for a human, though he was still a full head shorter than Nathiel.
If Nathiel had met him at a bar more than a few months back, before he'd stumbled across Ambryn, he wouldn't have hesitated to offer to buy him a drink and try to talk his way into the human's bed. As it was, his presence here and his manner told Nathiel one thing.
He was competition.
"Is Ambryn here?" There wasn't any aggression in the low voice, just frank inquiry as he met Nathiel's gaze.
Nathiel's eyebrows rose briefly and he glanced down at the blotches of white moisture caught in the dusting of night-blue hair on his tight-muscled purple abdomen, running his fingers through the evidence of Ambryn's climax, bringing them up to eye level. "Yup."
The blue eyes started to narrow, blazing for just a heartbeat before the blond mastered himself. It was enough to confirm Nathiel's guess. "I'd like to talk with him."
"He's actually in the shower at the moment." Nathiel fought down the urge to punch the human in the face despite the cold anger roused in him just knowing what he was here for. Ambryn didn't seem all that fond of him killing or crippling assholes. Doubtless he'd be less than enthusiastic if it happened on his doorstep. "I can tell him you stopped by."
"Nathiel? Who is it?"
Nathiel felt a muscle twitch in his jaw.
"Ambryn – it's me." The human's voice carried abominably well – the words too fast for Nathiel to crush his throat. A smile crossed the human's lips.
Nathiel glanced over his shoulder. Ambryn leaned out of the bathroom, eyes wide, towel clasped to his chest. "Hector?"
"Hey sweetheart." Hector's smile widened. Nathiel felt his right hand clench into a fist, stopping the motion before his arm did more than shift slightly because he'd almost punched Hector in the face for daring to use the endearment.
"This isn't a good time." Ambryn vanished back into the bathroom. Nathiel could hear the tension in his voice.
"I'm starting to think it never is." Hector put his hands on his hips. "But hey, if I'm going to marry you some day, I'm going to have to take the bad times with the good, right?"
The blue eyes flicked back to Nathiel for just a heartbeat, and the rage that been about to explode cooled in an instant, not fading, but channeled by understanding. Nathiel grinned after a moment, but there was no warmth in it. "Funny."
"I'll be here all week, and the rest of Ambryn's life." Hector's tone became downright jovial.
Not fucking likely. Nathiel bit the words back.
"Hector." Ambryn's voice drifted out of the bathroom, a note in it that Nathiel didn't recognize. "There's a café a block down the street and two blocks left." There was a moment of silence, and then "Twenty minutes."
"I'm always willing to wait on you, beautiful." Hector's eyebrows rose, smile widening, and he gave Nathiel a wink. "Twenty minutes."
Nathiel slammed the door in Hector's face.
Ambryn was still wrapped in his towel, standing next to the bathtub, gaze on the floor, clearly lost in his own thoughts, expression pensive. He didn't look up as Nathiel entered, didn't see the thunderheads gathering in his features.
"I'm sorry, but . . . would you come with me?" he asked in a small voice.
Nathiel blinked, temper utterly disarmed, because he'd been expecting to be asked for understanding, to wait here, had even been prepared to say yes despite the fact that just the thought clawed at his gut and it would have been a lie.
"I should be brave enough to face him, to tell him that what we had was over seven years ago when it ended then." Ambryn closed his eyes, genuine pain and regret crossing his features, a welter of emotion that it hurt Nathiel just to see. "I should be able to do this myself, but I-"
"Shhh." Nathiel had Ambryn in his arms in a heartbeat, the last of his anger slipping away. He settled himself on the edge of the bathtub and pulled Ambryn across his thighs, just holding him, because, a little to his own surprise, he understood. Ambryn wasn't confused about who or what he wanted. He felt pain because he could never return the feelings of someone he'd cared for, still cared for a great deal, someone who still meant a great deal to him. He didn't want to tell them that. He didn't want to hurt them.
For a moment Nathiel pitied Hector. He almost felt sympathy for Belauq. Almost, except Belauq had tried to take away the very treasure that he held in his arms now. The anger slipped back in, but it energized him, made him think clearly, because if this human was anything like Belauq, he wouldn't give up easily either.
"I wouldn't let you go without me," Nathiel said quietly, truth in every word.
Ambryn relaxed against him with a sigh. "I'm such a coward. You're so good to me."
Nathiel smiled faintly, ruefully, because he had a feeling his life from now on might be a little bit easier if Ambryn was a coward.
"No," he said softly. "You're just good. I wouldn't change that for the world."
It was forty minutes rather than twenty. Nathiel didn't feel a hint of guilt over that. Ambryn was sitting on the couch when he emerged from the shower, jade gaze lost somewhere beyond the walls, hands clasped in his lap, pale and still. He looked up when Nathiel came to stand in front of him, but the smile he tried to muster crumbled. There was hurt in those lovely eyes, and Nathiel would have gone down to that café and beat the blond human to within an inch of his life if he thought it wouldn't make things worse. As it was, he still gave the notion serious consideration.
Ambryn closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and stood. "I . . . um . . . I'm ready."
Nathiel smiled gently at him, wrapped his arm around his lover's waist, and walked him to the door.
The walk down the street to the café was quiet. He could feel Ambryn leaning against him, the pace slow. Ambryn was dreading this. It was all too easy to see.
Hector glanced up from the table where he was sitting, a glass of water in front of him, barely touched, a tray of olives, flatbread, and a selection of those complicated spreads humans delighted in putting on their food at one elbow. His eyebrows rose slightly, a hitch in the smile that spread across his handsome face.
"Couldn't escape the warden, eh?" The blue eyes were cool.
Ambryn looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "I asked him to come, actually."
"I can assure you, you're perfectly safe with me." Hector gestured at the seats across the table. "I wouldn't do anything you wouldn't want me to."
"Hector – I don't want to hurt you." Ambryn's word were quiet. "I-"
"Then don't." Hector's smile died at last, and he sat up straight from where he'd been leaned back in his chair, expression serious. "I still love you, Ambryn. You're the only thing that makes me whole, keeps me sane, gives me the strength to drive forward. I've spent the last seven years of my life working toward the moment when I could come to you and free you from Tybalt's crushing hand."
"Hector, I-"
"You can't break my heart." Hector's smile returned, but it was a little sad. He stood, rounding the table.
Nathiel couldn't help himself. He tensed.
Hector got down on one knee, there in front of everyone, the people on the street on the other side of the windows, the other patrons of the café and the staff, and took Ambryn's hands in his. "You can't break my heart, my sweet, beautiful Amber, because you've already got the whole thing." He looked up into Ambryn's face, expression earnest. "Even now, you still have feelings for me. I know you do. I can see it in your face, your eyes, hear it in your voice, in the way you breathe. I can feel it through your skin, the pulse of blood in your veins."
"I do."
The two quiet words were like the world falling out from under Nathiel's feet. He thought his heart would stop. He was frozen, unable to believe his ears.
Hector was smiling, blue eyes brilliant, countenance radiant.
"I still remember those afternoons in my room and yours, the picnics, the horseback rides through the country, the luncheons at your aunt's house." Ambryn's voice strengthened. "It's like . . . like walking through an old house. The walls, the carpets, the pictures, the furniture. It's all familiar, and comfortable, and so beloved, and so, so dear." Ambryn drew in a deep, shaking breath. "But I don't live there anymore, Hector. And no matter how much I wish it would, no matter how I try to make it fit, to make myself fit back in that time, that place, I can't. I'm not who I was then. I can't go back to it."
For a heartbeat, Hector's expression was utterly still, like a man dead who didn't even know it had happened, alive in one moment, passing so swift it had left no mark upon him.
It was Ambryn who let out a sob.
Hector took in a deep breath, raised one of Ambryn's hands to his face, and held it there, squeezing his eyes shut, agony written in every line of his body. A single tear traced a shining trail down his face.
But when the blue eyes opened, it wasn't acceptance, nor grief in them. There was no loss, only grim determination, handsome face hardening into something coldly statuesque.
"I don't believe you," he said quietly, reaching up with his other hand, a tear from Ambryn's face catching fire in the late afternoon sun as it shattered the light there on his finger. "Or you wouldn't feel anything. You would walk away with no regrets. You still love me, Ambryn Dellani, and I will make you see it, make you admit it, and I will show you that I am worthy of your love." He stood, not releasing Ambryn's hand, holding it over his heart. "Give me just one chance, and I won't take you back to the past, beloved, make you fit into some old memory. I'll build you a future."
"Stop it." The words were out of Nathiel's mouth before he'd even realized they were on his lips, emerging a harsh growl. He was on his feet, fists clenched, fighting to keep from doing something Ambryn really wouldn't forgive. "Can't you see how you're tearing him apart? He doesn't want this!"
"You've known him for a few months. I've known him for years." Hector didn't look away from Ambryn's features.
"No – Hector, I can't! Don't-"
"Tonight. If you can walk away from me after tonight, if your heart is really so far beyond my reach that I can never get you back, then I will never ask you to look at me again. I will leave, and trouble you no more with my presence. But if you can't – if you can't bring yourself to cast away everything that we were, everything we could be, then I want you to admit to me and yourself that you still love me, and that we still have a life and a future together."
"Not a chance in hell!" Nathiel had had enough. He grabbed Hector by the front of his shirt, using his grip as leverage to lift the human off of his feet. "Elune help me, if you don't stop hurting him I will tear you to pieces with my bare hands!"
"What's the matter? Afraid of a little competition?" Hector smirked in Nathiel's grip. "Are you really so afraid that one chance to win his heart is all I need? Kill me then. I can't live without him anyway."
Nathiel snorted, breath blasting from his nostrils. "Be sure and tell your god you asked for it," he snarled as he drew back his fist.
"That's enough."
Nathiel's fist halted in mid-punch. A gentle hand was resting lightly on his arm. He looked into Ambryn's eyes, and to his dismay, he saw once more a hint of that chill in those jade depths, hardening them.
"Swear on your honor." Ambryn didn't look at Hector. His expression had gone calm, too calm, as though he'd withdrawn somewhere deep inside. "Swear that if I walk away from you tonight, that this is the end. You will accept my word."
Nathiel looked to Hector, and found his own misgiving reflected in the human's blue-eyed gaze. Still, he nodded. "On my honor," Hector said quietly.
Ambryn didn't stumble until they were out of sight of the café, that terrible, chill strength abandoning him, and Nathiel caught him up between one step and the next. Ambryn made no sound, but his body shook with his soundless tears.
Nathiel should have felt satisfied. He already knew how this would end. All he felt was a little cold, and a little sad, and more than a little frustrated, because he knew that this was the only way to end it short of Hector's blood on his own hands.
If he'd thought there was even a chance Ambryn could still love him afterward, he'd have done it in a heartbeat.
Ж
It wasn't the grace or the beauty of the spaces she passed through that struck Shaenae, but the luxury. Gilt twined around the richly carved legs of the chairs, gleamed in the inlay on the table, adorned the fresco on the ceiling of the room where she waited outside the office of Ambassador Dellani. The silver pitcher of water on its tray was brightly polished, sparkling with beaded moisture, glasses of cut crystal throwing back fiery brilliance as they caught and refracted the luminance from the silver lamps.
It was designed to impress. Shaenae only felt mildly discomfited by the blithe display of such wealth – it felt almost gratuitous in its opulence.
"The ambassador will see you now." The human woman wore a suit that was clearly tailored to fit her, giving an impression of formal wealth that fit the surroundings far better than Shaenae's hunting leathers and forest cloak, her high-heeled shoes secured with thin straps clearly intended for show and not for long use. She was slender, not muscular, and her hair was pulled back, tight and controlled, her face, in its doll-like perfection, clearly touched by cosmetics. Her smile was utterly impersonal.
She, like the surroundings, made Shaenae slightly uncomfortable.
"Thank you." Shaenae rose to her feet and followed the smaller human towards a door. Beyond that was an office and a pair of double doors, a large desk off to one side, a large mirror behind it. The human knocked once on the polished wood of the doors.
"Enter." The voice from beyond the door was male and matter-of-fact.
The human male on the other side was dressed in elaborate steel-gray robes, the high collar reaching up to the bottom of his chin, the fabric embroidered in intricate patterns of runes. His hair was short at sides and back, the blond hair on top tightly curled close to his skull. He studied her as she entered with dark, animal eyes, standing behind the bulk of his massive desk, the large window behind him giving a view of the spires of Dalaran. He didn't smile.
"Thank you, Eanté. That will be all."
"Very good, sir." Eanté nodded and withdrew, closing the doors behind her.
"Hunter Shaenae." The Ambassador's face still had no smile. He held up a sketch, done by a scribe's hand in Valiance Keep, twin to one of the two faces in enamel on the portrait she bore. Those brown eyes were even more predatory than before.
"You will tell me exactly how you've come to have a likeness of my son, why you possess it, and why you're searching for him. If I do not like your answers or I am dissatisfied as to their veracity, your people's propensity for vanishing in plain sight will become pronounced to a degree that will surprise even you. Is that in any way unclear?"
Ж
Nathiel couldn't help but admire the lines of Ambryn's back above the edge of the towel despite the circumstances. He leaned against the door frame of the bedroom, and watched as the human sorted through his wardrobe, tossing out several shirts that were actually rather fetching in Nathiel's opinion, including one in a light, sheening lavender he thought would look extremely appealing. They lay discarded on the bed, a panoply of color.
Nathiel briefly considered seducing Ambryn on top of them, shucking his own clothes to make love to him again and again. By the time Hector arrived, Ambryn would be asleep, exhausted.
Only that wouldn't solve the problem, and he knew it.
Still, he wondered at this sudden inability to pick clothes when he'd seen Ambryn cheerfully throw on -
Nathiel started, straightening, because the formal shirt that came out of the closet was steel-gray, high-collared, with long sleeves embroidered around the oversized cuffs in elaborate runes. Ambryn was looking at it with a resigned expression on his face. He dropped the towel, and Nathiel forgot to follow its progress to the floor, unable to shake the certainty that this particular garment bore a family significance.
It was a calculated move, designed to remind those who saw it of that family connection, and in this case, Nathiel suspected, of a certain Ambassador in particular. It made him a little sick at heart to see it, because the expression on Ambryn's face wasn't a happy one as he shrugged into it. It was well-made, but its colorlessness was in sharp contrast to what he was accustomed to seeing his lover wearing.
Ambryn wasn't dressing to go out to a show; he was donning armor for a confrontation.
Nathiel couldn't hold it in any longer. He crossed the room, saw Ambryn look up to meet his gaze, and saw sadness in those jade eyes. He bent his head, pulling Ambryn to him, and kissed him, deep and long.
He let Ambryn up for air at last, felt the human lean against him, and, to his surprise, Ambryn chuckled.
"You know, I think that's the first good memory I've actually ever had while wearing this shirt," he said quietly.
Nathiel smiled as he held him. "I can do better."
"Mmm." Ambryn tilted his head back, got up on his tiptoes, and Nathiel obligingly leaned down to meet the brief kiss pressed against his lips. "Later."
"Or now," Nathiel replied complacently. "We've still got, what – twenty minutes?"
Ambryn giggled, and then sighed. "I shouldn't laugh."
"I like it when you do," Nathiel said gently, taking Ambryn's chin gently between his thumb and forefinger. He kissed him once more, then let him go and watched as Ambryn finished dressing.
The bed, he decided for tonight. They could do the rest of the furniture another time.
They cuddled on the couch as they waited for the knock on the door. Nathiel held Ambryn close in his arms, fearing, more than anything, the return of that dread chill. But while Ambryn's gaze remained slightly sad, for now at least, he was the warm, welcoming lover Nathiel had come to hold dear.
Ж
Ambryn clung to Nathiel, battening guiltily on his warmth, using it to fight off the chill threatening to settle in his belly. He knew it was his imagination, especially after having it dry-cleaned repeatedly and then languishing in his closet these past years, but somehow the shirt still seemed to smell faintly of incense and dying roses. The fabric was silky, smooth, light, the garment designed to be comfortable even while presenting a formal appearance.
He wanted to burn it.
He couldn't. It was a weapon, and in a small way he was horrified at his own foresight at holding onto it. He was horrified at what he was about to do. This could only end one way, and he knew it, but that didn't make it any easier. If anything, that knowledge made it all the harder, because he'd seen the way Hector looked at him.
He'd said Ambryn had his heart. Could he really rip it out then?
Ambryn squeezed his eyes shut, a single shiver running through him, and he felt Nathiel's embrace tighten around him, felt Nathiel's lips press lightly against his brow. Unable to stand it anymore, he lifted his head, met them with his own, and the knock that tolled through the air tore through the sweetness, a firm beckoning toward the painful future, delivered from a once-golden past.
Hector smiled as the door opened, his bright blue eyes brilliant with determination. He was dressed formally, a dark suit tailored to accentuate his muscular body, and he held out a hand. "Shall we go?"
Ambryn took a deep breath, his arms wrapped around himself, and nodded.
Ж
"Nath looks like he wants to kill something," Reiyad muttered.
"Somehow that doesn't surprise me," Annatta murmured back as she watched the kal'dorei in question brush past Hector's extended hand, grab Ambryn by his hips, and lift him easily into the carriage before following him in.
Ambryn had looked worried. Annatta was only reassured by the fact that Reiyad had said himself that Nathiel would like her to come along. Apparently he thought the human suitor was trouble. In that at least, Annatta found herself in agreement with him. The rune-carved rod was a bit ostentatious, but thankfully in a city of mages no one would look askance at a powerful magical weapon since it was as much a symbol of status as a tool for mayhem. Still, her mother had looked at her sideways when she'd asked to borrow it.
Annatta turned to the driver and used it to point. "Follow that cab."
"Ain't heard that one in a while," the carriage driver muttered after his passengers had gotten back inside. He flicked the reins, and the carriage rattled into motion across the cobbles.
Ж
The Lay of the Spirits was considered a classic in Dalaran. After the last war, it had been one of the first to return to the stage. The music was beautiful, the melodies enchanting beyond mere magic, and the Dalaran Symphony was one of only two in the world recognized officially as such, the other in Stormwind.
On any other occasion, Ambryn might have enjoyed it. He knew the plot well, its bittersweet, tragic appeal stirring something in him each time he saw it. He even knew some of the songs by heart.
Now, however, it only made him feel worse and wish for the night to be over already.
It wasn't an overly complicated tale, but like most epic classics, it ended badly.
If Hector had noted his choice of apparel, he chose not to comment on it, smile never flagging. "So are you fond of opera, elf?" he asked jovially while they were in line to get in.
"Not much experience with it," Nathiel replied with a shrug.
"This should be an enlightening opportunity for you then. I know for a fact that this is one of Ambryn's favorites." Hector reached over and placed his hand against the small of Ambryn's back. His handsome, chiseled face was warm, smile charming. "I remember the first time we went to see it together. Your father was absolutely livid when I finally got you back home."
Ambryn remembered all too well. He'd thought it a grand prank at the time, his arms wrapped around Hector's waist as he clung to him in the saddle, the horse galloping by moonlight, the hour well after midnight. He remembered his father waiting in the doorway, his furious glare skewering both of them.
Hector had reigned up, but hadn't dismounted. "I hope the evening finds you well, sir," he'd called cautiously.
"Ambryn, come inside," Tybalt had said quietly. "And boy, if my son had been hurt, I would have-"
"Tybalt, dear." Marianne's tone had been fond. "Hector looks quite chastened already, and it's not polite to threaten to burn down the neighbors' home and slaughter their livestock." She'd raised her deep emerald eyes. "But Hector dear, try to be a little more timely, and as parents, we appreciate it when we're asked permission. Otherwise the next time there may not be an opportunity to beg forgiveness."
Hector had bowed his head. "Then I take this opportunity to beg forgiveness, Lady Dellani, and I assure you the next time I will ask permission."
"Don't expect me to grant it," Tybalt had growled as Ambryn climbed down from the horse. "And Ambryn - you're grounded for a month."
"Yes, sir." Ambryn had hung his head, but it was his mother who followed him up the stairs.
"You know better," she'd said as he slipped into his pajamas. "There are still demons spotted in the far reaches of Alterac. If one of them had come in looking for an easy meal . . ."
"I'm very sorry." Ambryn had bitten his lower lip.
"We worry about you, just like your brothers and sister." She'd hugged him. "Your father and I love you very much."
Ambryn realized abruptly that Hector had said something. He blinked, stirred out of the memory. "Sorry?"
Hector's smile turned nostalgic. "You still get lost in your thoughts I see."
Ambryn stepped back from the hand that rose toward his face, feeling chilled. He could sense Nathiel's concerned look, but he didn't meet his gaze.
Ж
Annatta drew in a deep breath, and then another, trying to calm herself, because she'd been mere heartbeats away from raising the rod in her right hand that was doing double-duty as an ornate cane and blasting the pretentious knight into smoking pieces.
I am Quel'dorei. I am a descendant of KingDath'Remar Sunstrider. I will feed upon nothing but the sun. I will feed upon only purity. I will not be corrupted. She repeated the words in her mind, seeking calm. It was one thing to see Nathiel touching Ambryn in such a manner, but that blond pig-
"Are . . . you okay?" Reiyad asked quietly, expression openly apprehensive.
Annatta drew in another deep breath. She realized the rod was shaking in her hand, her grip white-knuckled. "I'm delightful," she managed between clenched teeth.
If she aimed right, she could take out both males with one shot . . .
Annatta drew in another deep breath and strove for calm as they trailed behind a dignified goblin missus and her four pups, all dressed in little suits that they tugged at and made faces in. A Tauren paused politely to allow the two of them to enter the line first, dressed in a long, formal kilt and a black waistcoat with a white shirt and black bow-tie.
I am Quel'dorei. I am a descendant of KingDath'Remar Sunstrider . . .
Ж
The seats were on the top level overlooking the stage, the third of three levels of seating, and they were a single row from the front. The view was exquisite. Ambryn tried not to think about the last time he'd been here.
His mother had been with them. Already frail, there had nevertheless been a brilliance that glowed from her emerald eyes, seemed to radiate from her wasted body. His father-
Ambryn closed his eyes, turning from the memory.
"I haven't been in years, but they say Ostas Quentis is supposed to be one of the finest baritones in a decade. Of course, you'd probably know better than me." Hector's tone was cheerful.
The words were on Ambryn's lips as if they'd been waiting. They were a knife blade with no hilt, and he knew Hector wouldn't be the only one they'd cut. It wasn't enough to make him hold them back. "I haven't been back since Mother died."
The words cut deep, as he'd expected, silence immediately clouding the air.
"I'm sorry." Hector's words were quiet.
Ambryn didn't turn to meet his gaze. He looked down at the stage instead.
A large, warm hand closed around the back of his neck, fingers gently massaging, and Ambryn looked up into Nathiel's tender gaze, feeling the chill abate somewhat.
"It's not your fault," he managed after a moment, glancing at Hector. He looked back at the stage and the orchestra pit below it. Musicians were starting to flow in, and the first slow sighs of violins being carefully tuned rose up, amplified by the natural acoustics of the theater. The bright sound of brass horns carried through them, the thrum of harps and the smooth sound of woodwinds threading their own notes into the morass of sound. Ambryn clasped his hands in his lap.
He went utterly still as the Dance of the Garden opened the performance, ballerinas dressed as nymphs and flowers floating gracefully across the stage. More and more elves had joined the ranks of the ballet in the last several years, naturally graceful and beautiful, swanning among their human counterparts, the ethereal choreography bringing a lump to his throat and stilling his breath.
They circled around the figure of Mother Earth, her voluminous skirts and sleeves of warm nutmeg brown and dark green with accents of deep red accentuating her movements as she turned in slow counterpoint to the dance around her, dark chestnut hair done up in an elaborate crown. It was her rich alto that carried the melody, the backdrop a shimmery descant of sopranos.
Male dancers joined them, dressed in kilts, vines, leaves, and furs, and in their midst came Gilgamesh, wearing his vest of bright gold, white tights likewise gilded along the outside, soft boots of doe leather coming to his knees, his tenor rising sonorously above the chorus line. As always, he was handsome. This particular singer was dark-haired, with brooding good looks.
He danced gracefully to center-stage, where Mother Earth's greeting was interrupted by a high skirl of trilling flutes and a flourish of violins, as Air literally descended from on high on the wings of wind magic. Her soprano was breathy rather than high and pure, a decided change in style from the last time he'd seen this performance, not that it mattered since her part in this scene had no words. Her sequined outfit clung to her lithe body like a second skin, making her glitter as though covered in crushed diamonds, the effect no doubt bolstered by more magic. She was a platinum blond, and it might have been the fact that Ambryn was several years older now, but her dance as she whirled and kicked around Gilgamesh and Mother Earth seemed more seductive and less wild and innocent than he recalled.
As quickly as she had arrived, brushing carelessly through the flowers of the Garden, she was gone again, ascending once more as she danced through the air and off-stage to the left.
Gilgamesh was, of course, instantly smitten, just as he always had been before and would be as long as the opera was repeated. With frequent longing glances over his shoulder that were just the slightest bit overdone in Ambryn's opinion, he begged Mother Earth for assistance.
"If there be a path, then water surely knows, 'neath even barren deserts, the rivers they still flow; and through the vasty skies, the rain doth fall on all the world alike." She replied in her aria, unsmiling, her expression troubled. "If there be a way, then water, your way may show."
A hasty thanks, three notes – no more, and Gilgamesh was on his way, unaware of what awaited him. The lights went down, and applause thundered over the sound of the symphony. When the stage was illuminated again, the scene had changed, obviously with the help of more magic for it to have changed so quickly and completely. Real water curled in elaborate sparkling ribbons over the stage, quick and vibrant, droplets hanging impossibly suspended by more magic, casting rainbows over the pools and streams below. At their center, utterly still in contrast just as Ambryn recalled, was the Spirit of Water, face concealed by a veil, robed in shades of blue.
With his opening solo aria, Ostas stole the performance outright, and for a moment, listening to his baritone, as perfectly and unshakably suspended between high and low as the prismatic water droplets that cast their rainbows through the air, he invoked that rarest of magics, and Ambryn forgot where he was, forgot who was next to him, and let himself be wrapped up in the story.
Gilgamesh appeared. Ambryn wasn't sure whether the tenor was intimidated and dreading following the impressive display, or just as spellbound as the rest of them, because he hesitated, and then caught the line, moving slowly forward over the little bridges. Three entreaties, and the Spirit replied with a powerful line of melody neatly dovetailed with Gilgamesh's trailing note.
"Water is reflection, the truth within your soul, but that which you pursue, it cannot make you whole. A path in truth I know, to the daunting peaks so high, to the place that crowns the world, the mantle of the sky. To this place I can guide you, through Fire's brazen gates, but I ask you, mortal man, to pause, to contemplate. Will you not turn back?" The last stanza was slow, long, an echo of Mother Earth's unease.
With a vehement denial, Gilgamesh refused, falling upon his knees, beating his breast, pleading his love.
"If you've any mercy Spirit, this love I do avow, I beg you for your aid, do not turn me back now." His passion and the music carried the line despite the slightly awkward flavor of the lyric.
"For the sake of love. For the sake of love's regrets. For the sake of hope. For the hope that Fate relents. This gift then I do give, to see you safely tread, to turn away the future feared, and may the gods see this end in joy, and not in dread."
Ambryn felt moisture come to his own eyes as he leaned forward in his seat, not for the line, though it was beautiful, but because of what it foreshadowed. For a moment as the lights went down, the theater was completely, utterly silent, and then the applause was even louder than before, trickling away almost reluctantly as the lights came up on a far different scene.
Black basalt pillars reflected dim, smoky red light, smoldering glows emanating from threatening shadows. Fire wended his way among those pillars, half-seen, a tenor that was a perfect match for Gilgamesh's soaring through the air, but where Gilgamesh was passionate, this voice carried a tone of malice. His hair was a bright, coppery red, his lean, muscular body wrapped in flowing trousers and a half shirt of brilliant orange accented with blood red and deep gold, more gold tracing sinuous lines over his bared shoulder, the right side of his back and chest, and over his arms.
He looked dangerous, hard, and powerful, yet in spite of it, Ambryn couldn't feel antipathy towards him. He wondered, for a brief moment, if Nathiel would be flattered by the suddenly apparent similarity, especially for the end of the opera.
Perhaps.
Perhaps not.
Gilgamesh appeared, but he didn't even get more than a few notes out before Fire cut him off as neatly as a knife, tone hard, dark, and a complete contrast despite the nearly identical pitch and timbre of their voices, tempo fast, almost relentless.
"I know of what you come here seeking. I know of what you have been dreaming – an airy goddess wild and fair, bewitching song and shimm'ring hair. I warn you now that which you seek, can be obtained only in dreams."
"You cannot hold a heart of air, capricious and uncaring. You cannot ascend the heavens, with any feat of daring. Water may guide, but Fire sees, and I will scorch if you proceed. Turn you back, or join the dead, I yield not, this quest has reached its end." Flames shot up through the basalt pillars, lighting them from within as Fire closed on Gilgamesh.
Gilgamesh stepped back but then seemed to regain his composure. "Your power is great, but even you give way, to the strength of water's sway. Water's blessing do I bear, and such as you do well to 'ware, lest all your strength be quenched."
"Such strength has not your guide," Fire returned scornfully. "Every moment you delay, Water's power wanes away, fleeting indeed this power swift, a moment more and you'll have wasted the gift, that would have seen you safe beyond Fire's pow'r." He held out a hand, flames dancing atop his fingers.
Even Ambryn's eyes widened as Fire charged, bursting into flames. Usually this part was a little . . . well . . . tamer.
Gilgamesh dodged nimbly enough, using the pillars for cover as the orchestra thundered, what was usually a robust accompaniment to what normally amounted to little more than a choreographed game of hide and seek among the pillars become a nail-biting roar emphasizing what genuinely resembled frantic flight as Gilgamesh dodged.
Of course, as always happened, he darted to the middle of the pillars, but instead of him looking around and Fire tackling him or knocking him down, the fires in the pillars of basalt flared, strands of flame forming a cage.
Fire held up his hand, and the cage began to close in.
Someone in the audience gasped.
Blue light flared in the midst of bright flickering orange, the threads of fire going out in wisps of steam.
"Why do you interfere? You know what waits. There can be only one end." Fire's song was hard.
Water, still cloaked beneath his veil, didn't move in the slightest, standing between Gilgamesh and Fire. "Once, you were a spirit of hope, like I, and took no part in dread." Water's voice was faintly sad, the slow melody and soft line the complete opposite of Fire's sharp tones, and Ambryn felt tears prick at his eyes all over again. "Remember Cousin, how we dreamed, of beginnings with no end. You set the stars alight, and I calmed their raging heat. Now, you blaze with anger bright, in your despair is your defeat. Remember not just ashes, but that which could still be. Forsake your bitter ways. Dream. Believe."
The flames that licked around Fire flickered out. "Go then mortal, and know your doom is not my making. Thus what cannot help to follow, I shall take no part in. Gain the summit where Air dwells, and plight your worthless troth. I'll pursue you no longer, on this you have my oath."
The lights went down to more thunderous applause and even raucous cheers. When they came back up for intermission, the stage was empty, no basalt pillars, just hardwood floors. Ambryn realized that he'd been sitting on the edge of his seat.
"Surprisingly exciting." Hector's voice was amused. "I thought Fire was going to rip Gilgamesh's head clean off his shoulders there at the beginning of the scene."
"Yes." Ambryn took a deep breath and sat back. He glanced at Nathiel. His big night elf lover had a contemplative look on his features, gaze still fixed on the stage.
"Ambryn. Can I talk to you alone? Just for a minute?"
Ambryn turned back around and found Hector's deep blue eyes on his, smile vanished, handsome features intent.
"Just for a minute," Hector repeated. "Please."
Amrbyn felt it, felt the inevitability of the moment as surely as he knew how the rest of the opera would play out. He knew how this would end, knew there was no avoiding it, and yet it didn't alleviate the dread that coiled in his chest and made it harder to breathe. He closed his eyes for a heartbeat, gathering himself, and nodded. "Yes."
Hector's smile was warm, like the sun breaking brilliant and golden through late afternoon clouds and he took Ambryn's hand, pulling him to his feet.
Ambryn glanced back as the reached the aisle, but Nathiel was studying the program. He obviously intended to give them the privacy Hector had asked for and Ambryn had agreed to.
Ambryn wondered what it had cost him to do that. He fully intended to more than make it up to him later, to give him reason to never ever question that what was about to happen outside of his earshot was to ensure that the two of them would stay together, untroubled. The thought strengthened his resolve. It was time to put this to rest. His hand tightened slightly on Hector's, and the blond knight turned and flashed him that smile once more.
He let Hector lead him up the stairs, and then another flight, followed him silently as they climbed higher.
A small stairwell gave out onto a flat part of the roof, and Hector turned and shut the door. The moon rode high in the achingly clear sky, stars twinkling in the heavens like gems beyond counting, more jewels than all the world could hold, not a single wisp of cloud to obscure them.
"Tell me there's a chance." Hector's voice was calm, warm, his eyes gentle and a little sad. "Tell me there's something I can do to win your heart."
For a long moment, Ambryn looked at him, studied the handsome features, the man who had developed from the youth he'd once known, even fancied that he'd loved at one time. He looked deep into his own heart, searched for even the slightest remaining uncertainty, for any part of him that yearned yet to be with Hector. All he found was a pair of loving silver eyes, looking back at him.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
Hector nodded after a moment, smile turning rueful. "Me too."
Ambryn looked at him for a moment, confused but wary, and started to turn toward the door as the sound of wingbeats drew close. A strong hand gripped his wrist and he jerked fruitlessly, turning a gaze on Hector that was pure ice. A gryphon set down on the broad stone tiles that covered the roof, the cloaked figure on its back dismounting and tossing the reins to Hector.
"Hector – don't." Ambryn tried to pull free once more.
"I can't break the hold he's got over you – not when he's this close. I can't give up either. You'll see. There's still a part of you that loves me, Ambryn Dellani." Hector pulled Ambryn close and wrapped an arm around his waist, lifting him. His blue eyes burned with cobalt fire, expression unyielding. "It's time for me to do what I should have done years ago."
"Hector, no!" Ambryn struggled. "I don't want this. Not like this!"
Hector ignored him, shoving him up into the saddle and climbing up behind him, keeping him still as the gryphon shifted underneath them, letting out an uneasy sound. Ambryn's eyes went to the cloaked figure that was heading for the door, and they widened. "Don't you dare! Hector, I will never forgive you for this! Not ever!"
The gryphon sprang skyward, wings beating as it climbed, filling the air with thunder.
Ж
Annatta heard the sound of muffled shouting. Enough was enough. She leveled the wand, but Reiyad was there first, kicking the door open with the sound of splintering wood. The man on the other side brought up a crossbow from underneath his cloak, eyes widening.
Annatta was acting almost before she thought about it and Reiyad let out a startled whunf as she shoved him up against the wall, the bolt hissing past her left ear as she leveled the rod in her other hand. The attacker let out a grunt as brilliant golden fire cratered his chest and sent him flying backward, soaring off the edge of the roof, a smoking bundle of burned meat and smoldering fabric.
Reiyad lifted his eyes, and then cursed and tore back down the stairs.
Annatta didn't waste more than a glance herself at the snowy hindquarters of the gryphon as it spiraled higher, gaining altitude. She didn't even think about the rod. There was no way she could risk Ambryn.
Nathiel prowled the mezzanine, waiting. He'd intended to give them a few moments' headstart on him, no more, but Hector had somehow eluded him in the crowd, perhaps by magic, perhaps by cunning. He felt uneasy, on edge. Something was happening. He knew it. But he didn't know where they'd gone, up to another floor, or down to the street. He turned toward the tall windows, eyes narrowing as he caught sight of a white gryphon banking towards the south.
"Nath! Nath!"
Reiyad's voice was a shout, full of urgency, and Nathiel whirled.
"He's taken Ambryn! On a gryphon!" Reiyad was shoving his way ungently through the press of people, most of whom were scattering out of his way. Nathiel glanced down as a hand closed hard on his forearm, had time to look down into Annatta's blazing blue eyes, and then the world was swallowed by light.
It lasted a heartbeat, no more, and he was standing on cobbles that gleamed under the eldritch light of the portal that transported travelers to the outpost beneath Dalaran.
"The stables!" Annatta hissed, her hair coming loose from its elaborate coiffure, gathering up her skirts as she ran full out toward the long, low two-story building in question, dignity abandoned, a walking stick or a cane of some sort in one hand.
She swore as she threw open the door and raced toward the horses.
Nathiel went up, to the loft space.
Muharine raised his head from his talons as the door to his nesting room opened, the hippogryph studying him with wise, inhuman eyes.
"Please," Nathiel rasped. "I need your help."
Ж
Pursuit didn't take long. Perhaps five minutes. Ambryn could tell by Hector's sudden agitation, the way he leaned forward, Ambryn pressed tight to his chest, urging more speed from the gryphon. He wriggled, managed to get an arm free, and braced himself against Hector's shoulder, looking over his back.
Something big and dark was in pursuit, broad wings spread. Ambryn didn't feel even a flicker of fear. He knew in an instant that Nathiel was coming for him. Relief surged.
"You'll want to keep running," he said almost absently for Hector's benefit. "Don't stop."
"Maybe it was a spell after all." Hector's voice was tight, but there was a note of joviality in it. "I wasn't expecting you to change your tune so quickly."
The cold that had been building in Ambryn seemed to settle, no longer deepening. "Tybalt gave you Mother's book. He's the only one who had it."
"There're thousands of copies of that book, Ambryn." Hector's tone was uneasy.
Ambryn's faint smile didn't have even a hint of genuine humor in it. "But only one with the inscription from their first wedding anniversary. The sad part was, I couldn't bring myself to feel betrayed over it."
"Ambryn-"
"This is the end, Hector. I'm sorry that you chose this. It wasn't how I wanted it."
Hector's head turned, blue eyes blazing bright, mouth opening. His expression turned to shock as Ambryn shoved against his chest with all his strength, surprise keeping him from reacting quickly enough to tighten his grip in that instant, and then Ambryn was falling.
The gryphon rolled over with a shriek as Hector yanked at the reins, plummeting earthward in pursuit, toward the branches far below that caught the moon in a million gleaming reflections, crystalline and deadly.
The wind whipping at his robes, Ambryn fixed Hector's face in his mind, determination in every line of the blond knight's expression. He closed his eyes.
"Ambryn! No!"
The gryphon dove right through sparkling silver light.
Ж
Ambryn watched as Hector sawed on the reins, pulling his mount out of its dive, scudding bare feet above the branches away into the south. He drifted slowly earthward, enveloped in a cloud of silken magic.
A large, warm hand, surprisingly gentle, plucked him out of the air, and he found himself pulled across a familiar lap. He shivered, and Nathiel held him close, tapping on the side of the hippogryph's neck. The creature came about with slow grace, antlers a dark tracery against the moon.
Ambryn looked up into Nathiel's face, and gentle silver eyes met his gaze. He smiled sadly. "I wanted us to part as friends."
Nathiel was silent for a long moment. "The . . . opera. What happens next?" he asked at last.
"It ends about as you'd expect. Gilgamesh reaches the mantle of the sky, where he finds Air. She spurns him, and wants nothing to do with him. So, angry, Gilgamesh goes back, passing through the realm of Fire again, returning to the place where he met Water. He kills him."
Nathiel's grip tightened. He couldn't help it. He wrapped Ambryn in his arms and just held him, unspeaking, gripping Muharine's ribs with this thighs.
"Fire comes, having known what was going to happen. He brings Water's body to Mother Earth, who curses Gilgamesh. Then she takes Water's veil, and uses it to conjure a reflection of Gilgamesh, to create a creature like him. She names her Oleander. Gilgamesh meets her, falls immediately in love, and-"
"Her touch is death to him." Nathiel's deep voice was quiet. Long moments passed, broken only by the sound of wingbeats.
Ambryn sighed and nestled his head against Nathiel's broad, warm chest, closing his eyes and listening to the comforting beat of his lover's heart.
Ж
Author's Postscript Notes:
As always, I leave you with a request for constructive criticism. If you see typos, grammar errors, awkward lines, or something just plain sucks or doesn't fit, please let me know that in the reviews! Help me be a better writer, and I'll give you better stuff to read! Comments and questions are always welcome too!
Once again, thanks goes to those folks who have taken the time to write reviews and let me know where I've screwed up, or where something just doesn't work, or just to tell me how much they like it and why. Thanks especially to those who've helped me look at these characters in a different way and understand them better.