by Anne Barwell
"I'm getting into character." Cathal reached over and brushed Tomas's hair from his face. "You're a writer, so you need to be Mark. That leaves me the role of the muse." His voice was barely a whisper. "This scene is too good for it to be abandoned like the other one." His eyes dropped to the page and back again. He licked his lips, his fingers tightening on Tomas's knee. Tomas's breath hitched.
"Yes, it is." He swallowed again, reaching out his own hand to caress Cathal's cheek, echoing Mark's actions in his book. "I don't want you to leave," he whispered, his words following the script, his heart speeding up.
Cathal closed his eyes as he followed Tomas's cue, slipping into a role that could have been written for him. "I think I'm in love with you," he murmured.
Their lips brushed together, tentatively, awkwardly. Tomas pulled away, unsure, his breathing growing ragged, Cathal's skin warm under his fingers, soft but for the slight stubble across his lower cheek, blond facial hair almost invisible. Tomas leaned in again, his lips parting this time in invitation as he pressed their mouths together. Cathal moaned softly, opening his own lips, leaning into it, his fingers threading through Tomas's hair.
Wet skin, soft and inviting, tasting of coffee and something else Tomas could only describe as uniquely Cathal. It felt right, better than anything Tomas could have imagined. He whimpered, pulling Cathal to him, convincing himself for that moment they weren't playacting, that this was real, that the man in his arms was someone who loved him.
The need to breathe drove them apart. Cathal's eyes opened with a start, searching Tomas's. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
"Don't be." Tomas traced Cathal's lips with his fingers, committing the scene to memory, allowing himself a photograph he realized he wanted frozen in his mind forever. "I'm not."
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Chapter Eight
Instead of answering, Cathal kissed Tomas's fingertips, removing them from his lips one by one, and then, threading his fingers through Tomas's, he rested their joined hands on his own knee. Leaning in, he kissed Tomas again, this time on the lips. Tomas moaned softly, losing himself in the sensation, embracing Cathal, pulling him closer.
Something sharp dug into his leg and pain raced up his thigh. Breaking the kiss, he glared down at whatever had dared interrupt. Blackthorn glared back at him, a low growl deep in her throat, pressing her paws down onto his leg, the pressure from them reminding him of her presence although she'd now retracted her claws.
Cathal muttered something under his breath but kept holding Tomas's hand, stroking it with his thumb. Blackthorn edged herself between them, watching both of them in turn. She growled again. Tomas pushed at her, but she refused to move. This was ridiculous. The first time he'd kissed someone, and better still someone who had kissed him back, and the moment was lost to some bloody cat.
After several minutes of said cat eyeballing both of them, Cathal sighed. "I'm sorry, Tomas. Maybe we should just talk for a while instead." He let go of Tomas's hand slowly. Blackthorn purred loudly, stuck her tail in the air, and walked away, settling down about half a meter away, still watching both of them carefully. While Tomas didn't blame him for not wanting to give the thing a show, he could have quite cheerfully roasted the cat over an open fire.
"We could," Tomas finally said, wanting to tell Cathal how much he'd enjoyed the kiss and how he'd like to do it again. "Can you stay awhile? I'd like to spend some time together and get to know each other."
"I'd like that, and I can stay while it is still light." Cathal gestured toward the Thermos. "Could I have another cup of coffee? It was very good."
"You have to be home by dark?" Tomas couldn't help but raise an eyebrow while he grabbed the Thermos and poured Cathal more coffee. He seemed a little old for a curfew. Though appearances could be deceiving, he would put Cathal's age close to his own, if maybe a couple of years younger, but that still made him in at least his mid-twenties.
"While the light is still on the tree, yes." The wording was odd, and Cathal looked somewhat apologetic. "I broke rules a long time ago, and now I am on somewhat of a short leash." He glanced at Blackthorn. The cat curled herself into a ball and closed her eyes, looking bored. Cathal dropped his voice to a whisper. "I enjoyed the kiss. I'd...." He blushed, his voice lowering still further. "I'd like to do it again sometime."
"I enjoyed kissing you too." Tomas offered Cathal a scone, then refilled his own cup. "I'd like to kiss you again." He kept his voice low to match Cathal's.
Taking the scone, Cathal smiled. "I'd like that too, but today I think we should just talk." He cleared his throat and ran his hands through his hair; it was obviously a nervous gesture. "So, as we were discussing your book, is there anything else you'd like some help with?"
A helpful suggestion ran through Tomas's mind, but he squashed it quickly. They had only shared a kiss. He did not want to scare Cathal off by suggesting anything further. It was important they get to know each other first. Cathal took a bite of his scone, his Adam's apple bobbing as he chewed. Staring at it, at the pale complexion of Cathal's skin, Tomas wondered what it would be like to kiss him there. Grabbing his coffee, he took a quick gulp. "Umm, now they've kissed, I'm not sure what should happen next." He retrieved the journal from where it had fallen from Cathal's lap onto the grass. "I know the overall plot, but it's the day to day details I'm hazy about."
Cathal nodded thoughtfully. "If you want them to have a relationship that is going to last, it might be better if they get to know each other properly rather than rushing into anything." The last of the scone disappeared to be followed by more coffee. "It's difficult to love someone you don't know, although the heart does not always listen to that reasoning."
"No, it doesn't." Tomas leaned back against the tree, flicking through the pages of his journal. "There is more to the plot than just their relationship though," he revealed.
"Considering Mark thinks Deimos is a muse, I had thought there might be." Cathal's expression was perfectly straight-faced, although the corner of his eyes crinkled in amusement. "So, is he?"
"Hmm?" Tomas met Cathal's gaze blankly, his brain caught between attempting to remember what exactly had been said and working out the color of Cathal's eyes. They seemed to shift between blue and green depending on his mood, a reflection of the countryside around them and yet unique like Cathal himself. When they had kissed the second time, the color had deepened to a shade reminiscent of the depths of the ocean during a storm. Tomas had been caught in a boat once a few years ago when he'd been talked into going fishing; being exposed on the turbulent waters with little protection had been both scary and exhilarating.
"Is he a muse?" Cathal helped himself to another scone, pushing the last one toward Tomas. "He certainly doesn't seem to have the knowledge of Mark's world that he should, but there could be other explanations for that." He split the scone open and picked out a sultana, tongue curling around it to disappear back into his mouth.
Forcing himself to stop staring, Tomas swallowed, his hands gripping the sides of his journal, the leather binding damp under his fingertips. "I don't know yet. I'm waiting for Deimos to tell me." He'd long given up on planning too much of his novels in advance as the very mention of the word "plot" seemed to lead to arguments with muses who did what they wanted anyway. "I'm sure he will when it suits him." He paused, noting the bemused look on Cathal's face. "Don't tell me, you think I should know because I'm the writer, and the characters aren't really real?" It was a topic he and Ethan had debated many times over, both refusing to waver from their point of view. But then Ethan wasn't a writer; he didn't realize what was involved in the writing process and had gone as far as to tell Tomas that he was a little eccentric at times.
"Do you believe they are real?" Cathal's question seemed serious enough, although Tomas found himself checking to make sure he was not being made fun of. No, Cathal seemed to be taking this whole conversation at face value. Tomas did not get the opportunity to talk to other write
rs often, and although Cathal had not shared a manuscript of his own, he appeared to respect Tomas's views and wanted to discuss them further.
"That would depend on your definition of reality." Tomas was still cautious in his reply. "They are real in my mind," he explained further when Cathal nodded slowly, waiting for elaboration. "If they weren't, I couldn't write them realistically, and after all, how can I expect readers to believe in something I don't?"
"Belief is important," Cathal agreed. The hedgehog edged out from under the shade of the tree, and he threw it a few crumbs. "It is also very much tied into how you define reality." Drawing his knees up close to his body, he rested his arms on them now he'd finished his coffee and scones, his attention still intently focused on Tomas. "I think that if you believe in something, it's real on some level. If Mark believes Deimos is his muse, maybe he is. In the end, I'm not sure it matters who Deimos is, just that he inspires Mark to write and become the person he needs to be in order to express his thoughts and emotions."
Tomas had not really thought about it in that way before, but it made sense. Picking up his pen, he turned to the back of his journal and noted down Cathal's theories, sure that he could incorporate them into the story somewhere. Realizing what he was doing, he looked up, suddenly embarrassed. "Is it okay if I use some of this conversation in the story? I'll credit you, of course, as having had some input."
"That's fine." Cathal shook his head. "But there's no need to give me any credit. I enjoy talking with you, and I don't often get the chance to discuss ideas such as these." He sighed, shifting his arms and stretching his body out, his shirt riding up slightly to expose the lacings at the top of his trousers.
"Why not?" It seemed odd that same-sex relationships were acceptable where Cathal came from, but subjects such as this appeared not to be. "I can't believe someone wouldn't want to spend time with you. I've been hoping all day that you would be here when...." The words were out of his mouth before he realized what he'd said. "I mean... um...." His voice trailed off, the damage already done.
"Thank you." Cathal rewarded him with a shy smile. "I'd hoped that you would be here too." He edged closer, placing his empty cup in front of Tomas's bag, his fingers playing with the zipper on the side pocket for a few moments until he noticed what he was doing and stopped abruptly. "I've been somewhat ostracized amongst my people since...." He shrugged. "I keep to myself mostly, apart from a few friends I can trust. It's lonely, but at least that way I get to keep the little freedom I do have."
"Your people?" Tomas felt his anger rise that they had treated Cathal in this way. What the hell could he have done to elicit that kind of behavior? Did the short leash he'd spoken of and the reference to having to be home before dark mean that he was under some kind of house arrest?
Cathal glanced around nervously, lowering his voice. "I'm not from around here, but don't ask me to tell you any more than that, because I can't." He lifted his head, his tone stubborn. "It is not safe for you to know, and I will not put you at risk. I know what it's like to have your life ruined and to lose what you hold dear, and you deserve better than that."
"Don't tell me what I deserve or don't." Tomas snorted. "I think that's my decision to make, not yours." Cathal flinched at the anger in Tomas's voice, even though it was not directed at him but at whoever was responsible for whatever had happened. Tomas took a couple of deep breaths and reached over to place his hand over Cathal's. "What happened, Cat?" he asked softly. "What did you do that they thought was so bad?"
"I broke the rules, and apparently society has them for good reason." Cathal closed his eyes but didn't pull away. "I did what I thought was right, and I stand by that decision. People are more important than any damn rules, but unfortunately we got caught and they decided that 'transgressors needed to be held up as an example in case others were tempted by the same evil'." After finishing what sounded suspiciously like a lesson that had been repeated several times, his voice suddenly grew distant and sad. "The punishment the elders chose for my part in it is a reminder of that and, according to them, fit the crime." He opened his eyes again but didn't meet Tomas's. "It was still preferable to what was done to those who were with me. They lost each other, Tomas. It was too high a price."
Tomas searched for words that might comfort Cathal, but he couldn't find any. Nor did he want to ask anything further, his curiosity taking a backseat to the need to offer comfort in whatever way he could. He edged closer, deciding that it didn't matter how his desire to hold Cathal was taken; it would provide what words couldn't.
"No." Cathal shook his head, removing his hand from under Tomas's and putting space between them. "I have said far more than I should have, more than I have in a very long time. You listen to me, and you care." A smile creased his lips, although his eyes remained misty. "I should be more careful. I'm sorry; it's just been so long since I've had anyone to talk to like this."
"Anything you tell me remains between us." It was important that Cathal knew he was safe, that Tomas wouldn't betray his trust. He reached out his hand, but Cathal folded up the tea towel and placed it between them, marking a line he appeared not to want to cross. "We can talk about something else if you'd prefer."
Cathal stood, wiping his hands on his trousers. "Yes, I know I can trust you," he said softly. "But I have said enough." Gazing at the sky, which was beginning to cloud over, he held out one hand. Tomas stared at it. After what they'd talked about, the kiss they'd shared, he wanted to shake hands?
Nevertheless, Tomas pulled himself to his feet, a knot growing in his stomach, and shook the offered hand, the action more awkward even though it was far less intimate. "I'd still like to see you again," he said finally. "Will you be here tomorrow?"
"I'll try," Cathal promised apologetically. He let go of Tomas's hand, shaking the last of the scone crumbs from his shirt. "I'd... I want us to be friends, more than friends if we can be. If that is what you want." Blackthorn stirred, opening her eyes, although Tomas thought it unlikely that the cat had been asleep at all during their conversation. She seemed to be watching Cathal. Could she be a part of what had happened, there to ensure that Cathal did not break any more rules? No, it was crazy. She was a cat, nothing more.
Suddenly Cathal gave Tomas a quick hug, breaking it before Tomas had registered what had happened, and darted past him toward the tree behind him. "Cat?" he spluttered. "What?"
Tomas spun around, determined to follow. The faint sound of music caused him to pause for a split second, delicate, almost ethereal, the thread of melody calling to him yet bringing with it the strong feeling that it was out of his reach. "Cat?" he called, but there was no reply. He walked around the back of the tree quickly, but there was no sign of Cathal or that he had ever been there.
But this time Tomas was not left alone. Blackthorn yowled, a pitiful sound full of loss and regret. She stared at the tree and then Tomas. Tomas flinched at the accusatory stare from the animal but glared back. Blackthorn flicked her tail in the air, turned around, and began walking slowly back across the empty field.
The sky above darkened still more, dusk approaching with a vengeance. Tomas sighed, stuffed his journal and the empty tea towel into his bag, and swung it over his shoulder, hooking the Thermos under his arm. There was no point in staying here now. He'd go back to the inn and take refuge in his room for the evening. Heidi would probably be cooking dinner, but Tomas found he had quite lost his appetite.
* * * *
Heidi and Donovan were sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee when Tomas attempted to sneak past the open door toward the stairs. Whatever was on the menu for tea smelled spicy and delicious, he thought, unable to resist the temptation to stop and pour himself a cup of coffee. He sniffed the air and sighed at the added smell of garlic bread cooling.
"Do you want to join us?" Donovan sounded amused. "You can sniff for as long you want then. If you think the smell is great now, it's even better once it comes out of the oven." He copied Tomas's ac
tion, a look of pure bliss washing over his face. "Heidi's special sausage casserole is to die for." The look changed to a grin. "I knew I kept her around for a reason."
The comment got him a flick over the head from the end of the tea towel Heidi had draped across her shoulder. "You can do the dishes tonight for that." She gave him a mock glare. "Or you could get off your ass and fix my dishwasher. It's been over a week; paying for a tradesman would have been faster."
"And more expensive," Donovan pointed out. "I'm waiting on the parts. I told you that already. It will be fixed by the middle of next week, promise." He gave a mock bow. "When have I ever let you down?"
Heidi raised an eyebrow. "Let's see," she said. "There was that time two months ago when you told me you'd--"
"Women!" Donovan snorted. "They don't appreciate what you do for them, just focus on the shit that's complicated and takes longer." He patted the spare seat and grinned at Tomas. "Are you going to take a seat or just stand there overdosing on the smell of garlic and sausages?"
Shaking his head, Tomas picked up his coffee. Images of the kiss he and Cathal had shared kept replaying in his mind, what Cathal had told him merging with jumbled thoughts of the novel he was writing. "I'm going to my room. What time should I come back for tea?" He needed some space and maybe a long hot shower to make sense of how he was feeling.
The kiss had been real, not playacting. Or had it? Cathal had said he wanted to be more than friends, and yet he'd still disappeared. Tomas shivered. The memory of Blackthorn's yowl after Cathal had gone was something he would not forget in a hurry. That bloody cat knew something. Absently Tomas rubbed his hand over the spot where Blackthorn had dug her claws in. It was still tender. He and Cathal had only been kissing; there had been no need for Blackthorn to be so damn overprotective or whatever the hell the reason was behind what she'd done. He frowned. Cathal had backed off after that too.