by Alex Kidwell
“In this moment, I am extremely glad you can’t look into my eyes,” he said, just barely audible to Victor, head bowed as he carefully arranged his silverware. “Because the expression I was giving you just then was most definitely not decent.”
Victor smirked. “Perhaps I’ll have to take a photograph for later reference.”
It took him a moment to get it, but then Randall sat back, letting out a small huff of realization. “Because you can look into someone’s eyes that way,” he presumed, long fingers playing with the stem of the water glass. “A photograph, a movie, they’re just images, and so you can look without seeing anything. How fascinating.”
“Yes,” Victor muttered, seemingly embarrassed. “I don’t like to ask people for photographs, but… they’re nice to have.”
Randall simply held out his hand. “Let me see your phone.”
Victor’s rapid blinking had a startled twitch to it, but he didn’t hesitate in finding his phone and handing it over. Randall flipped through it, finding the camera application and holding the phone up in front of himself. Normally he would avoid such things, but in this case, he simply looked straight into the camera and took a picture without worrying about how terrible he would look, how his hair was out of place or he had an odd smile. Then he removed his glasses and did the same thing, thinking of the same expression he’d had earlier, wanting Victor to see. When he was done, he handed the phone back to Victor without a word, slipping his glasses back on.
“I hope you ordered that garlic bread I can smell,” he commented, looking around. “I bet it’s fantastic.”
Victor didn’t seem to hear him. He was too busy cradling his phone in both hands, staring down at the first photograph Randall had taken. He switched to the second and stared at that for some time, before flipping back and forth between the two. His smile looked a bit wobbly as he said, “You have stunning eyes, Randall.”
There was a sudden tightness in Randall’s throat, a soft hook in his stomach that seemed to demand he reach out, taking Victor’s hand in his own. “You are the most amazing man.” His smile too was shaky, but he gripped Victor’s fingers tightly. And for a moment, they just sat there, Victor staring down at his phone, Randall holding his hand. The restaurant didn’t exist. The whole world just faded away, until they were the only ones left.
He wanted a thousand days of this. A thousand times a thousand. The realization hit Randall like a punch, inevitable and completely consuming. As if in that moment, he couldn’t imagine a future that didn’t include, in some way, exactly this. Victor holding his hand.
“I suppose it must seem a bit silly, getting overcome at seeing someone’s eyes,” Victor said ruefully. “I could look into my mother’s eyes. Since we were both alike, our abilities cancelled one another out. It made it difficult to understand why, at a young age before I fully grasped the concept, I couldn’t simply look at other people if I could look at her. On the day I was born, my father took a photograph much like you did, so that I could see him.”
For someone who had grown up completely intertwined with family, Randall simply couldn’t imagine. It seemed impossible to grasp growing up so isolated that your only time looking fully into your father’s face was through a picture. He almost couldn’t think of anything to say, the lump in his throat seeming to swallow his words completely. He pulled Victor’s hand up to place a kiss against his palm. “I don’t think it’s silly,” Randall murmured. “You found a way to connect. There’s something lovely about it.” Lovely and incredibly sad.
“They never looked into each other’s eyes,” Victor replied. “It was an agreement they made when they started dating. Father was much like Jed, actually, not in personality but in ignorance of the supernatural community when he met her, but he adjusted quickly enough. When I was still young, about three, I think it was, my mother had shielded me from other people up until then. She’d wanted my first vision experience to be with someone that I loved, so she had me look into my father’s eyes.”
Victor’s slightly queasy expression said enough. “I wasn’t old enough to grasp what I saw,” he continued, “but I was told I wouldn’t stop crying for days on end. I’m pleased I had the opportunity, though. I knew him so fully that I felt like I’d been around him for a lifetime.”
There were tears in Randall’s eyes, he realized at once. But he smiled a little at Victor. He laced their fingers together and brushed another kiss to his knuckles, resting his chin against them, trying to think of anything to say that might sound like more than a platitude.
“I’m sorry,” Victor said hurriedly, before Randall could say anything. “That’s not exactly pleasant date conversation.”
“Thank you for telling me.” Randall found he really didn’t want to let go of Victor. “I just….” Letting out a slow breath, he shook his head. “I can’t imagine.” His thumb made absent circles against the back of Victor’s hand. “What were your parents like?”
Victor seemed relieved for the question. “I take after my mother more, so I’m told. She grew up here in America, taken care of by my grandmother. My grandfather is the one who passed the medusa gene on. He’s been in a nursing home for quite some time now. My father was a tailor. He was a very methodical man, and he didn’t give up his trade even when he married into money. You would have liked them, I think. They certainly would have loved you.” He tightened his grasp around Randall’s hand. “What about your parents?”
“I would have liked to meet your parents.” And he would have. To see if Victor’s laugh came from his mother, if the way he would get so focused on his research made him look like his father, if he had his mother’s strength and his father’s kindness. Yes, Randall very much would have loved to meet them both. “Maybe, someday soon, we can go visit your grandfather. I don’t know much about your family, obviously, or what happens to medusas as they age. But if you wanted to go, I would go with you.”
Victor just nodded silently, letting Randall continue speaking.
His parents were a subject Randall didn’t often speak of. He ducked his head, gathering his thoughts. “My father,” he started, “had the worst sense of humor. I mean, absolutely wretched. He told puns. Terrible, horrible puns. And I laughed at every single one.” He stared off into nothing as he thought back fondly and dredged up memories he’d thought had been shut away. “He was a woodworker. He would make the most beautiful things. I remember Edwin’s crib had all of these carvings….” He frowned, head cocking to the side as he pulled up a remembrance he honestly hadn’t thought of in years. “Fairy stories, I think. I used to sit in Edwin’s room and trace my fingers over all the wolves and the fat, chubby sprites, and make up names for them all.”
God, he hadn’t thought about that in years.
“My mom was a lot like Anthony. She was strong and brave; she took care of us. She would go hunting and come back with enormous deer, and we would always get the best parts. But she saved the heart for my dad, because it was his favorite. Every time. And she’d put it on a plate and tell us how they met. Every single time. They never got tired of talking about it.”
He realized Victor was half grinning as he listened. “And what was the story of how they met?”
“Once upon a time,” he started, as his mother always had, and he couldn’t help but smile. It was painful, yes, and his voice wavered, but he smiled nonetheless and buried a kiss in Victor’s palm. “There was a brave wolf who was out hunting. Only this brave wolf got lost from her pack. And she couldn’t find her way home.” Randall paused, breathing out a quick laugh. “This is when Anthony would always ask ‘but why couldn’t she smell her way back?’ And mom would tell him that sometimes, when you are very far away, everything will smell strange and you won’t know which way leads home.
“So the very brave wolf began to howl. It was all she could think of to do. She howled up at the sky….” Hesitating, Randall laughed again, “Which I will not be demonstrating to you now, but she howled, and she asked the
stars to show her the way home. When the very brave wolf looked over, she saw another wolf, the handsomest wolf in the world. His coat was silver, and he shone in the moonlight. When she howled, he howled too, and it was like their voices were as one. And do you know what the brave wolf smelled then?”
As often as he had heard this story, as many times as his mother had recounted it, Randall always recalled being utterly taken in by the telling. Victor looked just as entranced. “What did she smell?”
“Home.” Randall gave a little shake of his head, missing them with an ache he thought he’d forgotten. “I’m sorry. It’s such a silly story. She just loved telling it.”
Victor was silent for a moment as he digested the story, his thumb making absent arcs over Randall’s knuckles. When he spoke, he seemed hesitant, but like he had to know the answer. “And what do you smell now?”
A grin flashed across Randall’s face, painful and sweet, and he breathed a laugh that caught in his throat. Carefully, he lowered his nose to Victor’s wrist, taking a deep breath. Parchment paper and tea, the faint tang of his smoke, sunbaked scales over rocks, all the things that made up Victor. All the things that meant him.
“Home,” Randall answered simply. “I smell home.”
BY THE time they got back to the house, Randall was feeling fuller than he’d ever been, stuffed with steak and pasta and salad and warm with Italian wine. He and Victor had sat for hours, just talking, sharing bites of food and laughing. They had discussed favorite books, philosophies, even had a friendly argument over art styles, which they’d agreed to call a draw over a plate of tiramisu and cups of strong coffee. They had traded stories about university on the drive back. A story about Victor’s student days and the time he’d wound up accidentally pledged to a fraternity had had Randall laughing so hard his sides had started hurting.
The evening ended, in Randall’s opinion, far too quickly. Before he was ready, they were at the door of the guest cabin, hand in hand, dawdling there with comments about the weather. Randall must have said it was a nice night three times now, as if that was an excuse for not leaving.
And then Victor had suggested they admire the view from his room a bit, and they sat on the balcony overlooking the lake, comfortably ensconced in the twin chairs that sat side by side.
“I know I should let you get some sleep,” Victor murmured over the sound of the lake brushing up against the shore. “But I’m afraid I don’t want to let go of your hand.”
“I know the feeling.” Randall tightened his fingers on Victor’s. Another few moments of silence, dragging out their evening just a little longer. But he could smell the night creeping onward into early morning, and no amount of dawdling was going to stave off time. “I should go,” he finally said, regretfully.
Victor sighed, just as reluctant. He stood and gently tugged Randall out of his chair. “All right,” he agreed. “This has been… this was wonderful, Randall. We should do it again soon.”
He wanted to demand that they do it every night, that he and Victor simply go forward with their lives in good food and excellent conversation and never, ever let go of each other’s hands. But, sadly, Randall knew such things weren’t possible. If they were, he was fairly certain Jed and Redford would have done so by now. “It was perfect,” he agreed as they walked slowly toward Victor’s bedroom door. “I can’t promise the food will be nearly as good, but maybe this week? I’m not sure if it’s too pushy to ask for tomorrow, so—”
“Tomorrow,” Victor agreed in a rush. “Definitely tomorrow.”
A grin broke out across Randall’s face. “Tomorrow,” he said, lightly touching his fingertips to Victor’s jaw. “I’ll cook. Maybe a picnic, away from the herd?”
“Perfect,” Victor breathed. He leaned in close to brush a kiss against Randall’s cheek. “Good night, Randall.”
“Good night, Victor.” They smiled at each other, perfectly polite, perfectly chaste. It was the picture-perfect ending to a first date.
With a growl, Randall hooked his hands into Victor’s shirt and hauled him in, meeting his lips in a hard, hungry kiss. They stumbled backward, back into the bedroom, Randall kicking the door shut as he shoved Victor’s jacket off. The surge of heat that hit him was completely overwhelming, like he’d been waiting to touch Victor for months.
And now he could. Now he was.
“Thank God we’re on the same page,” Victor breathed, in the middle of doing his best to get rid of Randall’s tie.
Biting at Victor’s lips, Randall grabbed his hips and pushed him back toward the bed. “I thought you were just going to let me leave,” he laughed, ducking out of his tie, kicking his shoes off somewhere in the corner. There was a confidence in his movements now, a want that he knew exactly what to do with. “God, I can’t wait to get you out of that suit. I’ve been thinking about it all night.”
“I had much the same sentiment,” Victor murmured. He hooked his fingers into Randall’s shirt, deftly getting the buttons undone. “You do look amazing in these clothes, by the way. I’m almost sad to get rid of them.” He scowled down at one button in particular, looking like he was close to ripping it off just because it got in his way.
“If you want, I can keep them on,” Randall huffed, a laugh caught up in another kiss. With a light shove, Victor was sprawled back on the mattress, Randall straddling his waist and leaning in to capture his lips, the wet press and pull of them absolutely intoxicating. Together their fingers finally conquered the last of Randall’s buttons, and Victor slid his shirt off, letting it drop to the side, forgotten.
Victor paused, and though Randall couldn’t look directly at his eyes, he could see Victor’s eyebrows raised, as if in appreciation. “You are like nothing I’d ever seen before,” Victor said, his hands sweeping up Randall’s chest.
“Scrawny and pale?” Randall laughed, catching Victor’s hands, kissing the tips of his fingers. “Nearsighted? Bad haircut?”
“Beautiful,” Victor corrected. He curled his fingers around Randall’s, holding on tight. But then he reared up suddenly to reverse their positions, pushing Randall down to lie on his back. “I’m sad that I didn’t let myself think of you that way for some time, because by now I might have had quite the list of ideas.”
Victor smiled down at him, but his touch suddenly seemed hesitant. Randall realized that his fingertips were dangerously close to the biggest scar that curved over Randall’s collarbone, holding still, as if asking permission to touch. With a low, almost frightened exhale, Randall tipped his chin back, exposing the ugly knot of scars low on his neck, the lowest of which was closest to Victor’s touch. He couldn’t meet Victor’s eyes and show him his trust. But he could believe that Victor wouldn’t deliberately hurt him. He could demonstrate that in the most basic way he knew how.
He saw Victor lean down and felt the featherlight pressure of Victor’s lips against those scars. There was that flash of terror, the drop in his stomach that made Randall want to do nothing but shove Victor away. It took everything in him to hold still through the sharp jump of pain, the phantom memory of teeth tearing through his skin.
Another kiss then, just as gentle as the first. Randall stared up at the ceiling, forcing himself to remain motionless, blinking back the hot ache in his eyes, refusing to let what happened before resurface and ruin this. The vampires that had hurt him were dead and gone. There was no reason to allow them to continue to have this kind of power.
Victor’s lips ghosted lightly up to the base of Randall’s neck, kissing him again, and again that jerk of pain shuddered through him. But it wasn’t what was happening now. Now it was Victor’s lips, soft and warm against his skin. Now it was a gentle touch, coaxing Randall to relax, to stay in the moment.
All the pain was nothing more than a reflex. A nightmare haunting him.
Closing his eyes tightly, Randall let out the aching breath he’d been swallowing back. He finally unclenched his hands from the sheets, one going up to lightly thread through Victor�
�s hair. Victor slid his tongue along the marks marring Randall’s throat, and he forced himself to see past the pain, to focus only on Victor’s touch.
“Everything okay?” Victor whispered against the scar he’d been kissing.
“I think it’s going to be,” Randall managed with half a laugh, blowing out another shaky exhale.
“You truly are so beautiful,” Victor said again. Randall could feel the curve of Victor’s smile against his skin.
No one had ever called him that before. And Victor said it with such sincerity that Randall couldn’t even find it in himself to doubt the compliment. To Victor, he really was beautiful, as impossible as that seemed. Arching his neck up, legs hooking around Victor’s waist, Randall grinned as he bit sharply at Victor’s lip. “How about you come up with some ideas now?” Another bite, Randall sucking on his lip to soothe away the sting. “Pop quiz, professor. You have a very eager student in bed, half-naked. What do you do now?”
Victor muffled a laugh against Randall’s jaw where he was busy kissing it, his lips trailing down to Randall’s neck. “Is this a multi-choice quiz?”
“A,” Randall’s head fell back, a soft moan lost in his chest. “Fuck him. Hard.”
“What about options B through D?” Randall could feel Victor grinning against his throat, then the slide of Victor’s fingertips toward his belt, stopping on the buckle. A quick little inhale and Randall looked down, gaze lit up with pure want.
“B….” Randall struggled to think of what else could be done in bed. It was hard to think with Victor, positively devilish, between his legs, fingers playing along the skin above Randall’s waistband. “Mouths could be involved. Preferably mine. And yours. Both sets of mouths are an option.”
“Oh?” Victor deftly undid Randall’s belt, sliding it agonizingly slowly through the loops on his slacks before dropping it over the side of the bed. Randall arched up into the next touch, a leisurely drag of Victor’s hands over his thighs. “That could be taken a great number of ways.”