Slowenough and deep enough, Laurie had thought, to tip Sasha over intounassailable peace.Laurie had taken his time, the desperate edgeworn off him by their tussle on the stairs.He’d knelt betweenSasha’s thighs and thrust into him until Sash had been lost in it,writhing, clutching the bars of the headboard.They’d stared intoone another’s eyes for every stroke, and Laurie could have sworn hewas looking through star-filled galactic distances to the core ofSasha’s soul.
Butnothing was certain.He held Sasha close.The wind continued tolash the shadows on the wall, and after half an hour, thenightmares started again.
Chapter Three
Therewas a strange man in the kitchen.Being quite used to this, Sashaleaned his shoulder against the doorframe and watched,smiling.
Just shyof six feet tall, deep blue eyes.Hair of Gallic darkness, likeMarielle’s and Clara’s.A body beginning to fill out into its adultshape, inclined to the skinny side if it didn’t get worked hardenough to lay muscle onto its long bones.Sasha’s own Laurie, ofcourse.
Witheverything shifted very subtly out of place.If Sasha didn’t knowbetter—if he’d walked through here as a stranger and been asked todescribe the man he’d seen—he might have sworn that a short,slim-built blond was making breakfast.Nothing was happening atquite normal speed.An omelette pan whisked out of the cupboard andseemed to suspend itself in mid-air while the stranger whippedround to the gas hob.The air blurred, and the stranger crossed theroom to the fridge in a dance-step that made Sasha want to laugh,applaud and weep at the same time.Eggs appeared, three of them,either in the stranger’s hands or mystically suspended in the weirdvibe of energy around him.The oil in the pan wasn’t quite readyyet, so he casually tossed one egg into the air.Caught it in hisfingertips with a tender dexterity that wouldn’t have woken a chickinside, threw the next and the next and began to juggle them.“Whatwouldst thou have of me?”he enquired, except that—somehow—thevoice wasn’t his, and seemed to have come by a twist of acousticsfrom the far side of the room.
Thestranger answered himself thoughtfully, not missing one beat withhis eggs.“Good king of cats, nothing but one of your ninelives...”He backed up casually towards the counter.A reckless,taunting grin began to light his face.“...that I mean to make boldwithal, and as you shall use me hereafter, drybeat the rest of theeight.”
The eggswere gone.No—Sasha had time to note that they were safely on thecounter top, lined up in a row.A knife whistled out of the woodenblock.The stranger turned the air to fractured mist again and wassuddenly poised in front of Sasha, blade in hand.“Come, sir, yourpassado!”
Sasharaised a palm.“I’ll...pass on the passado, if that’s okay,” hesaid unsteadily.The tip of the long butcher’s knife was hoveringan inch from his skin.“Who are you being?”
Lauriefrowned.Tybalt and the hot streets faded away.“Doomed youth ofVerona.Mercutio, of course.”
“Be my Laurie for me.”
Sasha had never asked such a thing before.The shock of itslackened Laurie’s fist around the knife.He laid it on the tablebehind him.His roles, his transformations, never took himawayfrom Sasha.Nothingever could.Sasha understood that, didn’t he?
ButMercutio wasn’t Laurie.Didn’t see with Laurie’s eyes—had onlytaken in the handsome sight of Sash on a weekend morning, freshfrom the shower, in a pair of faded jeans and the cashmere sweaterLaurie had given him long ago.Mercutio hadn’t noticed that thecalm, amused brown gaze was shadowed.That there were hollows underhis eyes—that his veneer was poorly concealing a punch-drunkexhaustion.“God,” Laurie said softly, stepping forward to wrap himin his arms.“You had a hell of a night.”
“Gave you one too,” Sasha responded, his voice hoarse with ascream he couldn’t remember but could still hear racketing round inhis brain.He squeezed the fabric of Laurie’s shirt, glad to feelbeneath it strong deep-sprung ribs, not Mercutio’s narrow littleframe.Over Laurie’s shoulder he saw letters lying open on thetable top.“I gather you got your part.”
“Never mind me and my parts.Sash, your next appointment withDoc Matthews...”
“The one we were going to cancel?”
“That’s the one.”
Sashaclosed his eyes.“I guess we’re keeping it, aren’t we?”
“Maybe we’d best.I know you’re fine during the day, but...”Hepaused, listening.“Oh, fuck!The pan!”
The oilhad just caught light.Crackling and an acrid stink filled thekitchen.Ancient lessons acquired from the Fitzroy family cook’swell-worn Mrs Beeton flashed through Laurie’s head—he’d been goingthrough a phase of reading anything that came to hand, and Gibson’sbasement kitchen had been a refuge to him.“Wet towel!”he gasped,diving for the drawer.“Asbestos blanket.No, wait—is that for anoil fire, or—”
Sashashouldered him aside.He pulled the tab off the handle of theircompact, state-of the art kitchen fire extinguisher, took aim andneatly sprayed the burning pan with foam.
“Shit,” Laurie commented mournfully, when the fizzing andpopping had died down enough for the sound of birdsong to seepthrough the windows.“That was my best omelette pan.”
“Well, do us both a favour next time and maketoast.”
***
Theirweekend morning resumed.With both the kitchen windows open wide todisperse the haze of smoke, peace settled quickly, a city silenceSasha loved.Their flat was on the second floor, and traffic noiseand human voices came to him filtered by height and distance.Windows he could close if he wanted to, walls of his own...Whatever contagion of exhibitionism he had caught from Laurie lastnight, it was gone, leaving him wondering at himself.He reallywould have let everything happen on the steps outside.
Thismorning he was only too glad of his bright, safe interior.Acrossthe table, Laurie was sitting in a patch of sunlight, as if naturehad arranged for a spotlight to follow him home and watch himbutter his toast.Sasha’s heart filled with pleasure at the sightof him.Could they manage not to leave the house again today?Theycould catch up on lost sleep, make love in the shower.They had allthe groceries they needed.Monday was Sasha’s day off, and maybe hecould swing it so he didn’t have to leave his fortress at alluntil...
Untilhis appointment with Dr Matthews.Laurie glanced up as if Sasha’spulse of anxiety had travelled palpably through the sunlight toreach him.Sasha gave him a smile, reached a foot out till theirbare toes made contact.Sasha didn’t mind the visits to the clinicat all.Laurie always offered to wait outside while Olivia talkedwith him, and Sasha always told him to stay.The fact was that hispresence or absence made no difference.Olivia was sincere andbenign, and about as much help as an aspirin for the plague.Sashawent along to please Laurie, loving him for having sought out andpaid for what he believed was the best.Well, he was right—no-onecould do better.Sasha was happy to sit and chat for an hour,carefully answering Olivia’s careful questions.When it came to hisnightmares, though, setting them out before this civilised womanwas impossible.Sasha gave her the edited version, the parts shewanted to hear.
“The odd thing is,” Laurie said, reaching for the marmalade, “Ididn’t get the Mercutio part after all.”
Sashacame back to surface.Laurie’s toes were stroking the sensitivearch of his foot, and this statement didn’t seem to match thehappy, sensuous action.“What?Oh, I’m sorry, love, I know howmuch—”
“Nope.They want me to be Romeo.”
