by T. R. Hamby
She took his hand and stood up. “Let’s have s’mores later.”
He still looked confused. “Are you--”
“If you ask me that one more time, Mel, I swear--”
And he finally laughed. “All right, all right.”
He stood up, drawing close to her, and took her face in his hand again. He kissed her gently, and she leaned into him. She brushed her hands over his shoulders, and she could feel the tension begin to lessen already.
They tumbled onto the couch, kissing playfully, laughing. Then they were on the stairs, removing clothes, Mel scooping her into his arms. He carried her into the bedroom, throwing her onto the bed and making her shriek. Then she was dragging him to the bed, hovering over him and kissing him. He began to sit up, gripping her waist, but she put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down.
“Relax,” she murmured, brushing her hair over her shoulder. Tonight she wanted to be in control. She wanted Mel to relax; she wanted to please him, distract him.
He looked at her curiously, but allowed her to kiss him. They both sighed, and Mel tangled his fingers into her hair.
She broke away, ducking her head and nipping at his ear, his neck. He chuckled breathlessly, and she knew he was feeling teased. His hands wandered to her chest, and she straightened, closing her eyes at his touch. His fingers traced the curves of her breasts, and she took his hands and leaned into them, arching her back. He hissed, and they grinned at each other.
“I love your breasts,” he purred as he cupped them, making her moan.
“Really?” she murmured, feigning disbelief.
“Very much.”
She leaned her head back, enjoying his touch for a while longer, before gently brushing his hands away. Then she bent down, leaving a slow trail of kisses down his chest, his stomach. When she got between his hips he let out a breath. He held her hair, breathing heavily as she went down on him. Nora savored it, listening to his little moans, his swearing under his breath. He certainly seemed distracted now.
He was gentle, though he knew her well enough to know she liked having her hair pulled. She, on the other hand, was relentless, and he eventually pushed on her shoulder.
“Fuck, Nora,” he breathed as she slid up to kiss him. He ran his hands up her waist, over her back, and she shivered. She straightened again, sliding him inside her. They both swore, and she immediately began to move while he gripped her hips. Then he straightened too, wrapping an arm around her, moving with her.
She was breathless, dizzy. They were so close to each other, so intense, so frantic. She pushed him back down and he chuckled, bewildered.
“What are you doing to me?” he breathed.
She grinned, her heart racing.
She could have asked him the same thing.
Mel
He woke up in bed. There was something different. He frowned, staying quite still. Nora was sleeping beside him, her back to him, her curly hair spread out over the pillow.
It was morning. That’s what it was. Mel could see Nora clear as day, because the sun was shining through the window.
He had slept through the night. They had fallen asleep together, and he had slept all the way through. Not a single nightmare, for the first time in months.
He let out a breath. Fuck, what a relief. Not a single dream. He felt lighter than he had in weeks. And after what they had done last night, Mel felt...refreshed.
He turned, slipping his arm around Nora, smelling her scent. He couldn’t get enough of holding her, especially when they were in bed together. He hoped it would continue back in Rome--maybe between piano lessons.
She stirred. “You ass,” she mumbled. “You woke me up.”
He chuckled, kissing her neck. “I’m sorry.”
“No you’re not.”
“I’m happy.”
She paused, then turned towards him slightly, brushing at her eyes. “Oh?”
He felt a little pang; there was hopefulness in her voice. “Yes--I slept through the night.”
She looked at him, surprised. “You did? Oh, thank god...you must feel great.”
He smiled. “I do. I forgot what real sleep was like.”
“And now that you’ve gotten it you’re disturbing mine,” she said, raising an eyebrow, and he laughed.
“I’m sorry, diletta. I’ll let you sleep.”
“No, I’m just teasing. I’m awake now.”
He kissed her neck, and she sighed, stretching out underneath him. He then pulled away, admiring her--her brown eyes were so warm in the daylight. She stuck her tongue out, and he chuckled.
“What did you do to me last night?” he joked, playing with her hair.
She smiled smugly, though there was a hint of pleasure on her face. “You really enjoyed yourself?”
“Very much.”
“You seemed surprised.”
“I was.”
She looked curious. “You’ve been...around for all of human history,” she said slowly. “And yet you can still be...surprised? In bed?”
He smirked. “Physical attraction is important. But the person is what attracts me most. And you are...very surprising.”
She blushed, smiling, and reached out and brushed at his hair.
“What are we doing today?”
Mel thought. “Our flight’s at four. I thought we could explore the city...do you like art? There are some museums…”
“That sounds lovely.”
It turned out she had a degree in art history. They visited two museums, discussing the different paintings, Nora’s knowledge matched with Mel’s experience. Then they got lunch, and talked--endlessly. Mel asked about her childhood, her singing, her family. Nora in turn asked questions--what was Mel’s favorite era? Had he known any historical figures? What was it like up there?
“What’s your favorite music?” she asked after lunch, as they were walking to the car.
He frowned. “That’s an innocuous question.”
She looked at him, reached out and touched his fingers. “It’s an important one.”
His fingers tingled, and he grasped her hand before she could take it away. “Sinatra. It relaxes me.”
She flushed at his touch, and he smiled. “My dad liked Sinatra.”
“What do you like?”
“Anything, really. Opera, classical, jazz, rock, pop.”
“Heavy metal?”
She giggled. “So...what do you do, when everything else is done? When you’re not on the phone or meeting anyone...or hunting down bad guys?”
He thought. He was very aware of her hand in his, and how soft it was.
“Sometimes I play video games,” he said, and she chuckled. “Most of the time I go out with friends. And I make jewelry.”
Nora looked around at him, surprised. “Oh, you said that, didn’t you? That you make it. You do it in Rome?”
He nodded. “I have a collection of jewels in my apartment. I make necklaces, mostly.” He took a deep breath and shrugged. “I like pretty things.”
She was nodding. “You made my ring.”
“Yes. A few years ago.”
She looked at him and smiled. “You’re very talented.”
He smiled, too. “For a while it was what I was known for. The other Angels would seek me out for it. King of Stones, they called me.”
“I remember.”
She squeezed his hand, her brown eyes studying him. Mel couldn’t quite decipher her look, and he was curious.
They talked all the way to the airport, through the gate, on the plane. Mel felt so relaxed, so focused on her. All those dark memories were far in the background, not even touching him--and he knew it was thanks to Nora. For the first time in months, he was content.
They landed in Rome, and he took her out to eat again. He was pleased to see that she seemed happy too. The abortion and the mugging seemed far from her mind.
“Can I stay the night?” she asked as they rode back to his place.
“You don’t
have to ask,” he replied. “You’re always welcome.”
“Do you want me to stay?” she asked quietly, and there was trepidation in her voice.
He looked at her. She was avoiding his eyes, picking at a nail. Her ring glimmered on her finger.
He reached out and took her hand. “Yes. Please.”
He could tell she was relieved. She looked away again, playing with his fingers, and he watched her. Her hair was loose and tumbling down her shoulder, and she was wearing a pair of jeans and one of his sweatshirts--he hadn’t noticed that before. She made it look good, and he couldn’t stop staring. He thought of last night, how she had hovered over him, and he resisted the urge to shiver.
They finally got back to his place. It was dark out, and the apartment was dim, but Mel didn’t bother turning the lights on. He closed the door behind them, and then seized Nora around the waist, pulling her close and kissing her roughly. She had her hands on him too, gripping his neck, kissing him hard and moaning. Then they were yanking their clothes off, stumbling to the bedroom, laughing.
God, he hoped this would last forever.
Michael
Two Months Later
He didn’t like his brother’s apartment in Rome. There was a glare on the windows, and it made it hard to see in. He preferred checking through the window before coming in, in case Mel was...busy. He had dropped in when he had had guests before, and Mel had been furious.
He was standing on the building facing opposite Mel’s. It was spring, and the weather had started to warm. The humans were shedding their coats in exchange for shorts and T-shirts. Michael had done the same, to blend in. He didn’t need the mortals taking notice of him.
He leaned on the railing. It was the right time of day to be spying through someone’s window. He could clearly see Mel, who was dressed in his work clothes, drinking from a glass and playing on the piano. He had gotten that ridiculous thing two months ago, and Michael couldn’t understand why; Mel had always been shit at playing anything.
Mel suddenly looked up, set his glass down and walked to the door. He let a woman in--the same woman who had seen him kill Ricci two months ago.
Michael frowned. So he was seeing her now? The last time Michael had been by all he had seen was the piano, so he must have missed something. Of course, he hadn’t actually come in to talk to Mel then, so he wouldn’t have known...not that Mel would have told him anyway.
They had hit a dead end with the Ariel case. Michael had pored over the internet, browsing hundreds of Ariels. Nothing was coming up. The only other thing he could do was patrol Via di Castagna, waiting for a sign, a mistake--anything. Mel was also working hard, patrolling Via di Parete--Michael had seen him there a couple times. He couldn’t help but wonder how Mel found the time for it, when he had his day job, and now a new lover, in the mix.
Mel and his guest embraced, and then talked. Mel fixed her a drink. Then they went to the piano, and seemed to engage in a lesson. The lesson didn’t last long, though--soon clothes were coming off, and Michael turned away, rolling his eyes.
Typical Mel. It didn’t seem like he went long without finding another woman to sleep with.
“Mi scusi, signore,” a voice said behind him. Michael turned, and a small man was standing at the door. “You can’t be up here--this is private--”
Michael pointed to a spot behind him. “Cos’e quello?”
The man looked around, and Michael rolled his eyes again. Humans were so easily fooled.
He leaned back until he was tipping over, focusing, landing in Berlin. He caught himself before he could fall onto the carpet. He was in his apartment, the only one he had. Unlike Mel, he didn’t have apartments and houses stashed throughout the continents. Michael didn’t need them when he could flip through space. Mel could do the same, if he tried, but he was notoriously bad at it. He had gotten caught between dimensions before, and Michael had had to come get him.
He had forgotten the letters anyway, and went to a small desk in the corner. Two letters written for Mel: one from Judith, and one from Agatha. He hadn’t had a chance to give them to him yet.
He felt a dull ache in his chest, staring at Agatha’s horrible handwriting. She hardly spoke to him; she hadn’t since that day. Even after all this time it was painful. Judith had come around, eventually, but not stubborn Agatha. Michael was sure she would punish him for his crime for the rest of eternity.
And he deserved it.
When night came he returned to Rome, this time appearing right in Mel’s living room. It was dark, and he could tell Mel was sleeping. He saw a woman’s bag on the counter. She must have stayed the night.
He sat and waited. After a few moments, he heard movement in the bedroom. Then the door opened, and out came Mel, wearing just a pair of sweatpants, his hair tousled from sleep. He was wide awake, though--Michael seemed to have that effect on him.
He closed the door behind him and looked at Michael. “Long time,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. His scar and his necklace were prominent on his chest, constant reminders of Michael’s failures: failure to protect Mel, and failure to protect Mel’s love.
He tried to focus. “Yeah. Been looking for the Angel.”
Mel nodded. “Me too.”
“I noticed.”
Mel’s head twitched. “Keeping tabs on me?”
Michael ignored him. “Two more victims.”
“Where?”
“Via di Corte and Via di Alto.”
Mel swore under his breath. “North and south,” he whispered. “Of course.”
“I know. I think he’s doing it on purpose. He knows we’re here.”
Mel nodded; his face had darkened. “He wants to see how many people he can kill before we find him.”
“Probably,” Michael said.
“Nothing online?”
“No.”
Mel looked impatient. “Any relation to the victims?”
Michael rolled his eyes. “You know that’s not how they work.”
“There has to be something. I’ll start looking--”
“If you think you can do a better job,” Michael muttered, feeling a flash of anger.
For whatever reason, this angered Mel. Michael could feel the temperature change, the air shift, and part of him delighted in it, for then he knew he had made Mel as angry as he often felt.
“You don’t think I can?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.
But Michael shook his head at him. “Don’t start with me. I’ve been slaving away for two months looking for this asshole, while you’ve been playing with your jewels and sleeping around.”
Mel raised an eyebrow. “Sleeping around?”
He gestured at the bedroom door. “I saw her come in. You’re fucking her now, right?”
Mel suddenly looked pale, and he glanced over his shoulder at the door. Michael frowned, watching as he turned back, confused, avoiding his eyes.
“That’s not--we’re--just don’t. Don’t.” And he ran a hand through his hair.
Michael stared at him. That was strange. He wasn’t one to get flustered--especially about that.
They were quiet for a moment. Finally he said, “I just wanted to...update you.”
He hesitated, then reached in his pocket and withdrew the letters. Mel saw them, and he took a step forward, reaching out a hand, his face hungry. Michael felt a pang. The letters were all Mel had of their sisters now, and the hungry look on his face nearly killed him.
He handed them over, and Mel chuckled. “Always a novel from Judith. And I’m expecting chicken scratch from Agatha.”
He said this mostly to himself--he didn’t usually share happy thoughts with Michael. Michael just nodded. Mel didn’t seem to notice; he was at his desk now, stowing the letters away carefully. Michael watched him for a moment, before leaning back, into oblivion, and catching himself on the table in Berlin.
His mind was stuck on Mel’s behavior, and he decided to fix a drink. He didn’t often drink--he
didn’t like the taste--but the effect on his mind was sometimes helpful. It didn’t affect him like it did a human, but it was still calming.
He sat on the couch and sipped, thinking. He had never seen Mel like that before. But it could have been nothing--maybe he just had a lot on his mind. He did have that jewelry business, after all, and about a thousand friends. He was constantly throwing his money into one endeavor or another. And then there was whatever woman he was sleeping with. Michael didn’t know how he kept track of it all.
Still...why was he acting strangely about this woman? Where was the smugness, the quick reply? The snark?
He set his drink down, getting up and walking, automatically, over to the far wall. He had a collection of vintage guitars--a mixture of acoustic, bass, electric. He selected one of the electrics and, almost absentmindedly, sat down and started playing.
Mel was still on his mind.
He wondered what his brother was up to now.
Mel
He went back to bed after Michael left. Nora was fast asleep, and he carefully slipped under the covers, wrapping an arm around her waist. She stirred a little, but then was still, her breathing slow.
He held her, a smile still playing on his face. He was excited to read his sisters’ letters. He knew Judith would be giving a detailed account of life back Home, including what her children and grandchildren were up to. And then Agatha would have a short letter, written in terrible handwriting with equally terrible grammar. She never could get the hang of writing, but Mel didn’t care. The fact that she tried was enough.
Nora stirred again. “Who were you talking to?” she mumbled.
He squeezed her waist. “I thought you were sleeping.”
“I was. You woke me up, as always.”
He chuckled. “It was my brother. Now go to sleep.”
“Michael?” she asked, and there was a touch of disapproval in her voice. “What does he want?”
“I’ll tell you in the morning, diletta,” he replied. “Go to sleep.”