Fic: Widdershins, (The Eagle AU), part 16/17
Title: Widdershins, part 16/17
Pairing: Esca Mac Cunoval/Marcus Aquila
Rating: NC-17
Length: 8.5k
Warnings: 1950s non-PC language
Summary: The Eagle AU - Esca's a house master and history teacher at a 1950s boys school on the English/Scottish border, where welcoming the new Latin teacher proves to be a challenge
A/N: For awarrington. Sorry this took so long, life and people kept getting in the way, including a random stranger who snuggled up against me in a coffee shop and started reading over my shoulder before asking what I was writing D: Ideally I'll post the last chapter for Valentine's Day ♥
Was this it? Esca's nerve had failed him countless times during the three days of train travel, every interminable wait at every station the opportunity to hop off and run across to the other side of the platform to catch the next arrival back home. Each time he'd remind himself he didn't have a home, strictly speaking. No ties, his roots shrivelled and gone, his claustrophobic group of rooms within North House now the domain of another master. It was as freeing and invigorating as it was alarming. And now, after all that way, watching snows turn into towering dark green mountains turn into cities into rolling fields into miniscule, medieval-looking villages, he was here, getting out of the taxi to look at the small set of farm buildings set behind a crooked metal gate.
“Um, I don't know, you take what you need? Si?” The taxi driver beamed at him, taking a somewhat more generous portion of Esca's outstretched lira notes than he'd expected with a satisfied nod and a thumbs up. “Can you wait? Uh, sinque minutes?”
He held up his hand, fingers held out, as the driver nodded and Si, signore'd at him a bit more. “Alright. Grazie.”
His one small suitcase had sat next to him the whole journey, an impromptu picnic table or somewhere to complete the crossword he'd eked out for a full day, or acting as a pillow late into the night, Esca being too cautious with his finite funds to fork out for a sleeper carriage. Poor old thing was looking a bit done in. He hauled it out the back of the taxi along with his overcoat and jacket, turning to take a deep breath and look once more at the main farmhouse.
It wasn't exactly what he'd expected. It almost could've been a Scottish farm if it hadn't been for its single story and the sun blazing down on it so dazzlingly. A bit crumbled here and there in the corners, roof tiles dusty rather than moss-covered, a gritty, heated wind tugging at Esca's hat as he stood there taking it all in. Always the winds. It was as if they'd chased him here. He clutched at his bedraggled feather for courage, putting it back in his pocket and turning back once more to the taxi driver to check he was still there before resolutely starting to open the gate. He could do this. No MacCunoval would travel all this way only to turn back, and Esca was buggered if he'd be the first to do such a thing.
Jesus Christ, it was a pack of wolves. Soon as he got the gate open, a swarming rabble of dog in various shades came racing around the corner of the house towards him, baying and growling and skipping in excitement. Not a one of them looked like any breed he'd ever seen, all a mixture of blotches and uneven ears, stubby tails and long, feathery ones, some up to his thighs and some barely ankle-height. He'd grown up around dogs enough to not be too worried, looking fixedly ahead and not acknowledging them at all as they sniffed and bristled, growling at his ankles, but the sheer number did little to settle an anatomy already in a state of agitation. Looking back over his shoulder, the taxi driver stopped counting out the cash he'd relieved Esca of to give him another jolly thumbs up, which gave him the courage to push on.
No bell, only a peeling sign hanging from one rusty nail reading 'Aquila', Esca's heart jumping into his throat until he could barely swallow. At least it was the right place. He raised a knuckle to knock politely, the dogs starting to bark afresh, more friendly now, jumping up to nose at his hands and suitcase in search of treats.
“Give us a second, lads. You know if anyone's home?”
The larger dogs grinned happily at him, tongues lolling, the smaller ankle-biters baring their teeth at his audacity in daring to speak. Esca tried again, using the heel of his hand to thump harder making the dogs bay all the more loudly, Esca wondering if he should put his jacket on to look smart. The heat persuaded him it probably wasn't a good idea as he was already sweating through the armpits of a shirt he'd worn for three days, his only bathing or laundry a quick, cold splash and rinse in the train's tiny lavatory sink.
“Basta, basta, mamma mia, silenzio!”
It wasn't Marcus's voice, that was certain, but the idea that it might even be his uncle was enough to send Esca's pulse sky-rocketing. He quashed the impulse to turn tail and make a run for it, straightening his shoulders and tie, hoping he looked halfway presentable, even if he did have three days' worth of beard and reeked like a polecat. Then the door opened, and Esca found himself looking into the eyes of an old man about his height that looked nothing like Marcus at all.
“Si? Posso aiutarti?”
Grumpy, too. Esca swallowed nervously, grabbing his phrasebook from out his back pocket as every phrase he'd practised over the journey's duration swiftly exited his mind.
“Buongiornio, signore. Um, sto cercando Signore Marcus Aquila?”
A frown, the white haired man he was talking to seeming as if he was annoyed with Esca's interruption. “Marcus Aquila? No, mi dispiace, ma non c'e.”
“No Marcus? Oh. Uh, Signore Flavio Aquila? Is he home?” Esca smiled weakly and flipped frantically through the phrasebook as the man shook his head in incomprehension. “Mi scusi, ma non parlo italiano.”
The old man raised an eyebrow and twisted his lips in a 'You don't say' expression, waiting impatiently and shifting from foot to foot, kicking dogs trying to sneak into the house out of the doorway as Esca found the correct page. “Ah, alright, here we go. Parla inglese?”
A sour look. “No.”
“Worth a try. Flavio Aquila, is he here? Posso parlare con Signore Aquila?”
A machine-gun rattle of rapid Italian followed that Esca had no hope of following, so he put his suitcase down, his coat and jacket draped over it, and folded his hands together as if praying. “Please, per favore, it's very important. Very important. Please. Singue minuto.”
A tut. “No, no. 'CHEEN-kway'. Cinque. Momento, prego.”
The door was slammed an inch from his nose, the dogs looking up at him expectantly as Esca felt his face heat even further than it already had. Miserable old git. He only had a book to help him, for Chrissakes, and at least he was trying. Behind him came a merry toot! toot! as the taxi driver raised a hand out his window and drove off, Esca shouting and waving at him to stop. It was to no effect, the dogs chasing him then prancing around his ankles wanting him to do it again as he skidded to a halt behind the gate, watching the taxi zoom off into the distance. It might be the most staggeringly beautiful place he'd travelled through in the past few days, but, so far, Esca's experience of Italy wasn't going quite as brilliantly as he might've hoped.
“Fuck, bugger and shit!” Esca kicked at the gate with a clang! and swore some more at the wide expanse of blue sky above, patting fractiously at his pockets for a smoke until he remembered he'd not had one since walking out of Cranholme. No fags. No taxi. No Marcus. “Ugh! Shitting, buggering hell, stupid bloody country!”
“Ahh, bravo, signore, bravo, molto bene!”
It was a different voice, Esca spinning around to see a man standing at the door. He didn't look like Marcus, exactly, a froth of white hair too long and scooped back off a high, wide forehead, shaggy white beard, and pale blue eyes beneath eyebrows as bushy as his beard, but the height was similar if not more impressive, as was the glint of hidden thoughts of the world shining out from behind them. It had to be Marcus's uncle, he knew it immediately.
“Signore Aquila?”
“Si, Flavio Aquila. You're English?”
“Yes.” Esca started to make his way back to the door, almost falling flat on his face after tripping on one of the more aggressively friendly terriers. “Um, you speak English? Parla inglese?”
“Some. You know my nephew, I believe? Benvenuto, mio amico inglese. Any friend of Marcolino's is a friend to this house.”
One hand was thrust out towards him and Esca took it, going rigid with surprise when it pulled him into the man's body, a brush of beard on each of his cheeks as the man gripped his shoulders and kissed him. Twice. Esca had seen it happening around him over the last few days, but it was the first time he'd had anyone welcome him in this fashion, and he croaked out awkward thanks.
“You come inside.” A rough, dry hand clasped his neck, resting there in an over-friendly fashion. “Come, come. Bring your things.”
“Thank you, don't mind if I do.”
The shadow of the house claimed him as he followed Marcus's uncle inside, something akin to diving into a deep pool of cool water after the arrid air of outside, tiled floors polished to a gleam beneath his feet, rough-hewn walls whitewashed with tiny windows set high preventing too much heat from touching the air in here. Here was his exotic, the furniture low and fashioned in dark wood with colourful cushions and throws, the walls plain except a burst of pattern from painted tiles around a fireplace set in a far nook. Marcus's uncle gently pushed him towards a settee, inviting him to sit.
“I should introduce myself first.”
“Such English manners. Sit, please. You'll need a drink.”
“Coffee?” Oh, God. Esca managed a faint smile. “Lovely, thank you.”
“Or water. You are thirsty?”
“Water? That would be perfect, thank you.”
The deep-set eyes twinkled at him from beneath those scraggy over-hanging eyebrows in a manner that suggested Marcus's uncle was finding him terribly amusing for some reason. “Please, no more thanks. You are my guest, Signore . . .”
“MacCunoval. Esca MacCunoval. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, sir.”
“Mac . . . ?”
“Cunoval. Esca's fine, if you don't mind the informality.”
“Esca.” A pat at his shoulder. “And you will call me Flavio, si?”
Esca nodded, his heart beginning to slow finally but beating unevenly as he tried to relax back into the strange, low settee, feeling grubby and uncouth. Flavio looked him up and down for a second before craning his head back, raising his voice to call out 'Massimo!', the man who'd answered the door appearing a second later.
“Sissignore?”
“D'acqua, per favore.”
“Sissignore.”
“So, Esca . . .” Flavio crossed his legs, one ankle propped on the other knee, battered leather sandals almost falling off dusty feet, the leg of his white linen trousers gaping open to show six inches of deeply-tanned ankle. “How do you know my Marco? The school? What it is, Cran . . .”
“Cranholme. Yes, that's right.”
“You teach also?”
“Yes, history.” Esca didn't want to be rude, but the sense of urgency that had carried him all the way here was bursting out of his throat, demanding to be attended to. “May I ask if Marcus is here?”
“No, he is not.”
It was a blow, not unexpected since Esca had guessed as much from Massimo on the doorstep, but he schooled his features carefully not to show how horribly disappointed he was.
“I received a, how you say,” Flavio tapped his fingertips on his knee in a staccato rhythm. “Telegramma to say he travels in the area of his birth, and will return home shortly. He does not say why he has left his position so soon. You know why?”
The pale, shrewd eyes bored into him, Esca gratefully looking away to accept a glass of water off Massimo, gulping half of it down before answering as diplomatically as he could. “Grazie, thank you. I'm sorry, sir, but perhaps that's something you should discuss with your nephew?”
“Ah, so you do know.”
“I've got something of an idea, but don't know the ins and outs, so it'd be better to wait and talk to Marcus.”
“'Ins and outs'?”
“Sorry, the details.”
“Va bene. And you visit us to see Marco or to know the country?”
“Bit of both, I suppose.” It wasn't a total lie. It looked like he'd be playing the tourist locally for awhile longer if Marcus wasn't here. “I was hoping he'd know of somewhere where I could stay? A small hotel around here, maybe?”
“No!” A chuckle, so much like Marcus's that Esca's belly lurched in recognition, a heavy hand slapping his shoulder as Flavio grinned the same naughty boy grin as Marcus and shook his head. “This is Italy, where new friends become family, si? You will stay here, with me.”
“Oh, I couldn't possibly put you out -”
“Not at all. You will stay until Marco returns home, yes? He will be pleased to find a friend waiting for him.”
“Then, thank you, that would be . . .” Wonderful. Terrifying. Nerve-wracking. “Lovely.”
-
“You could not sleep?”
Esca joined Flavio on the farmhouse's wide veranda out back, accepting a cup of wine and a cigarette with a smile of thanks. He should've been out like a light, freckled and pleasantly exhausted after a day's weeding the vegetable patch, having eventually worn Flavio down enough to allow him to lift a finger around the place. “I can't get used to it being so hot at night. Back home it's cold in the evenings even in after a hot summer day.”
“This? This is not nearly warm, Esca.” Flavio looked up at where the few curling shoots on his bare vines were illuminated by the oil lamp on the table in front of him. “You see? Barely spring. Wait for the summer, where in the nights you lay wet sheets across yourself and beg the Lord for His mercy.”
“Sounds lovely. I've been freezing since I was a baby.”
It wasn't so stuffy out here, the warm, herb-scented winds gently lifting Esca's hair and drying the sheen of perspiration on his forehead. He'd only been here three days and already he felt comfortable like this, skinny legs stretched out, his half-buttoned shirt thrown over his shorts, one of the dozing pack of dogs resting its chin over his foot. It had taken all of a few hours to realise that Flavio didn't hold much with propriety, emphasised again when a tanned, wrinkled and very naked Flavio with nothing but a face flannel to protect his modesty had appeared in the doorway of Esca's tiny room, asking if everything was to his liking before leaving to start his bath.
“You'll miss it in a few months, if you stay in the area.” Flavio's eyes glittered in the flickering light of the lamp, his fingers long and gnarled with age as he took at thoughtful draw on his smoke. “Will you? Is there a Signora Esca waiting for your return?”
“No, no Mrs. MacCunoval.”
“I see.” Maybe he did, maybe Flavio saw far too much. Esca couldn't figure out what was going on behind those observant eyes so far. “I never marry. Too many beautiful womens to tie myself to one, eh? My brother, Marco's father, he said I was mocking of marriage to ignore it so completely. I say to him, no, I respect it too much to pretend when my heart does not belong to one woman. Si?”
“Makes sense to me.” The wine was slipping down Esca's throat too easily as it had done every evening here so far. Every mouthful made him marvel at it all the more, but Flavio's cigarettes were too strong for him, out of the habit now. Esca took one more draw and stubbed it out, settling back with his glass as Flavio sighed into the night.
“I do not think my Marcolino will marry. Not since Mimi. He is big and handsome, no? Would make many beautiful children.”
It wasn't the most relaxing of bedtime topics. Esca stared into his wine and felt like a liar. “There's time, he's young.”
“Age is not the problem, I think. How well do you know him?”
At least the dark might disguise some of Esca's discomfort as he fought the urge to squirm in his seat. “Oh, I'd say pretty well, on short acquaintance.”
“I was reading his letters from the school, I think maybe he mentioned you.” Flavio lifted one of a small pile of unfolded letters on the low table, shoving a pair of half-moon spectacles onto the end of his nose and dragging the lamp closer. “Momento, I must try to translate . . .”
The old man's lips moved silently as Esca waited for whatever Marcus's description of him had been. Some miserable, anti-Italian short-arse giving him a hard time? A clumsy oaf throwing himself down icy steps, forcing Marcus to save him? He didn't doubt it'd be bad, as he hadn't been precisely welcoming, for reasons that had seemed so vitally important at the time.
“Here, I will do my best. 'The other peoples here are strange, so unlike the peoples of home, so tied up in their manners and what is proper, their . . .'”, Flavio tutted, frowning to himself. “The word, I don't know it, the judgments they have made?”
“Prejudices? Preconceived notions?”
Flavio waved a hand, indicating Esca had probably got the drift of it. “He goes on, 'But there is one who is more like an Italian, he was that first I met who helped with the car, and he makes me laugh to myself as I write of him. Proud and funny, quick with his tongue, fierce in his moods. He does not like me, but he speaks with me as if he cannot stop himself then becomes with fury at himself for doing so, frowning at me for a full day after. A cloud of tobacco smoke,”
Flavio grinned and puffed on his fag with a wink, “and liquor fumes follow him all the day. Very Italian, in stature as much as in spirit, if not in looks. You would enjoy him.'”
Flavio placed the letter back on the pile. “I think this must be you.”
“I hope so. It's very flattering, thinking I'm like an Italian.”
Christ, how was that possible for him to think? It would've been the gravest insult a couple of months back. The warmth was taking Esca over again, his toes curling against the dusty flagstones of the veranda as he thought more about Marcus's words and how being singled out in a letter home was probably the nicest compliment anyone had given him. He wasn't the sort of person usually noticed much by others.
“You think? Many other inglesi would disagree and take very much offense.”
“Ah, but I'm not inglesi.”
“No?”
“No. Not fully Scots, either. I'm stuck somewhere in the middle.”
“Ah, va bene. Not such a bad thing. It frees you from the ties of the one land.”
“Perhaps.”
They sat in silence, the wind picking up sending the lamp's flame sputtering and bobbing, shadows dancing behind Flavio like a chorus of demons. Esca shook his head at the offer of another cigarette, finishing off his wine and getting to his feet.
“No, thank you. I should try to get some sleep.”
“You should. I'm past the age where sleep comes easy, so I sit and I think. All night, I think and I worry.”
“Worry?” Esca perched on the back of his chair. “About what?”
Flavio looked at him for one long minute, rolling a mouthful of smoke around his mouth before allowing it to trickle out his nose. “You will keep my confidence?”
“Of course.”
“I worry for Marco. He is so strong, so ostinato, but has a soft heart. You see, I thrive on being alone. I have three widows in this valley that will cook for me and,” Flavio's eyes twinkled as that cheeky boy smile flashed across his face. “Welcome me into their beds.”
“You old dog. Three?”” Esca slipped back into his chair.
“Women have always loved the Aquila men.” Flavio slugged back a mouthful of his wine as if toasting himself. “But, I worry for Marco. He should not be alone, not as he is, such a romantic, like his mother. His heart needs its match and I fear that he will never find it.”
It wasn't Esca's place to say anything too detailed, every word making him feel as if he was staying here fraudulently, taking advantage of an old man in a strange country. “Again, he's only young. What, thirty one?”
“Ventinove, twenty nine.”
“You see? He's got time. All the time in the world.”
“As I have said, his time, his age, is not the problem. I believe you know what the problem is, my friend.”
Esca watched mutely, Flavio picking up Esca's cup from the table and pouring him another glass of wine, a dull roaring in Esca's ears as Flavio reached across the table to pat his bare knee with a gnarled hand.
“We all have our nature, si? My own is not one that most have approval for. I am the black dog of the valley, the scourge of other men's wives.”
“I'm not sure what you want me to say.”
Flavio shrugged, blowing a stream of smoke up towards the vines. “Then say nothing.”
Esca closed his eyes, feeling the wind layering his face with a fine coating of dust, his mouth full of that sinewy, blackcurrant and bitter chocolate taste of the wine, his skin tight and warm with the remainders of the day's unfamiliar sun. He opened his mouth, pausing as he found the words.
“Perhaps I can reassure you that Marcus might not be alone his whole life.” He opened his eyes, looking into Flavio's, finding only calm acceptance there. “'Least, not if I can help it. It all depends on him.”
“Esca . . . what did you do?”
“Something I hope I'm able to make up for.”
“Then you can start tomorrow, when he arrives home.”
Flavio smirked around his glass as Esca coughed into his, wiping over his mouth. “What?”
“We have no telephone here, but the next place, that of our closest neighbour, does so. Marco left word there that he'd be returning home tomorrow, and the news reached me this evening.”
“And you're only just now telling me? Christ, you scheming old fox, you.”
Flavio was enjoying this, Esca was sure of it, a hearty chortle of glee answering Esca's accusation. Maybe because he didn't get enough entertainment, stuck all the way out here with only one grumpy housekeeper and a few farmhands to keep him amused when he wasn't out terrorising the valley's womenfolk. “Assolutamente. I wanted to be sure of what was coming.”
“I'm glad one of us is.”
“Here, more wine, you'll need it to sleep now.”
Esca stuck his glass out, giving Flavio a sour look that seemed to amuse Flavio further. “Thanks to you, I can't imagine I'll sleep a wink.”
“There. Your health, my friend. Dum vivimus vivamus.”
“'Let us live while we live.'” Esca lifted his cup. “Cheers.”
They clinked glasses, Flavio nodding his approval. “I see his touch is already on you. If you've won him once, you've no fight ahead. His heart is as loyal as the most faithful of dogs and, once won, remains yours.”
“I hope you're right.”
“Of course I am.” A hefty slug of wine as Flavio looked slyly at him over the top of his cup. “I am a wise old man.”
“You're an old something or other, that's sure enough.”
-
Esca took one more look around the small room, fingers worrying at a small nick where he'd just shaved for the first time in a week. He'd then tidied his room three times, unpacking and refolding and arranging, needing something to do with his hands and the nervous energy making him twitchy until he was ready to scream from it. The rough stone of the walls had been painted with white wash a hundred times over, patchy and flaky in places, nothing to decorate the pale expanse other than a small window cut deep in the stone, and a wooden crucifix, its unsettlingly handsome Jesus staring down at Esca from it. He sat down on the small bed, then lay flat, crossing his hands behind his head as he looked up into the carved face gazing benignly down at him.
“Fat lot of help you are.”
The lovingly-depicted lean muscle of Jesus's torso had been reminding him of Marcus's all week so far, taut and rippled in the throes of passion. Esca closed his eyes and tried to calm himself, and it worked, a drowsiness overtaking him for all of five minutes before the dogs started baying outside in the minute before the front door distantly slammed shut. Marcus. Oh, Christ, God, whoever, help me. For once in my pathetic existence, just this once, make something easier. That's not too big an ask, is it?
The wooden face didn't alter, gentle eyes regarding him with an all-too-human pity. Esca cursed and pushed himself upward, hugging his knees into his chin and screwing his eyes closed as his heart fought to exit his chest. Rapid-fire Italian conversation was filtering out of the front room now, echoing along the flagstones of the long hallway towards him. Marcus's voice, so familiar and, at the same time, so alien now, the speeding, lilting cadence of his native language perfectly suiting that gorgeously masculine timbre. Esca took one more breath, reaching out to take the grubby feather from where it was anchored on his bedside table beneath the lamp, before boosting himself up and out of the bed. Time to face the music.
Marcus's back was towards him, one hand leaning on his stick, his shoulders so broad, the back of his neck crying out to be kissed and nipped at. A rush of emotion engulfed Esca, too much at once to sort out, love, overwhelming desire, and guilt, and hope, bittersweet regret . . . Flavio caught sight of Esca over Marcus's shoulder as he embraced his nephew once more, slapping Marcus on the shoulder and stepping back.
“You have a visitor.”
“Me? Why are you speaking . . .” Marcus turned as Flavio nodded in Esca's direction, Esca worried he was going to black out if his heart continued to race like this for much longer. Marcus stiffened once his eyes settled on Esca, a blink, his brow ruffling in alarm. “Esca.”
“Hullo, Marcus. Or should I say buongiornio?”
Pitiful. He really was, stuffing his hands in his pockets and awkwardly shifting from foot to foot. Marcus's expression deepened into a frown, not smile, not even a hint of pleasure at seeing Esca in those eloquent eyes of his. “This is a surprise.”
“A good one?”
A pause that went on a beat too long. “Of course it is.”
“Coffee, I think, and something to eat.” Flavio clapped his hands, Marcus and Esca staring at each other for a long second before Marcus cleared his throat and broke away, nodding at his uncle.
“Si, Zio, grazie.”
“Why don't the two of you take a walk while Massimo and I prepare some pranzo? Go see what has changed in these last months away.” It must've occurred to Marcus that his uncle was meddling, his eyes narrowing as he glared at his uncle, who gave him a blithely over-innocent smile in return. “Shoo. Go on, now. Stretch out your leg before the muscle sets.”
“Your English is much improved.”
“This is Esca's fourth day as my guest, and we have had much to talk about.”
“I can imagine.” It was a acerbic mutter, Esca's cheeks flushing as Marcus looked down at him again without a smile. “Va bene, let's go see the horses. May I assume you know your way?”
“To the paddock?” Marcus gave him a tight nod that didn't help calm Esca's nerves one bit. Fine. He deserved it. “You lead, I'll match your pace.”
The sun outside soothed frayed nerves, Esca having acclimatised enough now to recognise a buttery warmth rather than pure heat, Marcus loosening his tie and rolling up his cuffs one by one as they walked in silence. Marcus's gait seemed more awkward than Esca had remembered, perhaps a result of travel, his one leg stiff as his figure leaned more heavily on its stick, but his beauty was all the more breathtaking for the short absence, his eyes more vivid, his skin glowing as if he'd soaked up the sun itself. His mouth more captivating, even if it was set in a thin line whenever Esca glanced up at him from a foot away.
“So, uh . . . long journey?”
“Not as long as your own.” It was barely polite, a veneer of civility although every syllable soured with ill-temper, a muscle working in Marcus's jaw.
“I wouldn't recommend three days in the third class carriage to my worst enemy. Beautiful scenery, though. Your country's stunning.”
“I agree.”
“It must be nice to be home.”
“You would think so, wouldn't you?”
“Marcus . . .” It might've been that his fingers were shaken off as Esca reached out to touch Marcus's elbow, or simply that the forward and sideways motion of Marcus's limp pulled it out of reach naturally. Either way, it spurred Esca on, realising that polite chit-chat wasn't going to do the trick. “Aren't you even a tiny bit pleased to see me?”
He'd known green eyes could be warm as a luscious pea soup, as full of fire as sunlight refracting off an emerald ring, welcoming and familiar as a thick smear of sharp-sweet mint sauce on a freshly-grilled chop. But, for the first time, Marcus's eyes were ice cold as they gazed down at him with the full force of a frigid mountain waterfall, chilling Esca to the bone despite the way the warmth of the late morning was making his shirt cling to his back.
“Why are you here, Esca?”
“I have something to return to you.”
“Perhaps I no longer want anything you have to offer.”
“Alright, that's enough.” Esca grabbed Marcus by the arm, halting him in his tracks and slowly managing to tug him around to face him. “You're angry, and you have every right, but sulking and sniping at me's not going to fix anything.”
His hand was definitely shaken off this time, no question about it, Marcus brushing him off like he was swatting a persistent fly. “What is there left to fix?”
“That's a fine attitude.” Esca longed for a cigarette more than in any other moment over the past few days, no curtain of smoke out here to hide behind. He set his jaw, and summoned up the talent he'd had since childhood of sticking firmly to his guns no matter what those around him were telling him to do otherwise. “You can bully me all you want. I'm not leaving till we're us again, like we were -”
“There was never an 'us', not in your mind.”
“If I may please finish what I was saying?”
“You may, but you're wasting your time.”
Marcus started off towards the paddock again, faster now as Esca trotted a few steps to catch up. “I'm here for you, Marcus, and I'm staying, no matter how long it takes.”
“Even if you're not welcome?”
“Your uncle's made it quite clear that I am.”
A snort as Marcus squinted off into the wind. “A serpent making his home in the roots of the tree.”
It was rude of him to laugh, Esca knew it, but the savage bitterness of Marcus's words shocked him into a quick, humourless bark of surprise. “For chrissakes, Marcus, I made a stupid mistake because I was scared out of my wits. Comparing me to the Devil? A bit of an over-reaction, wouldn't you say?”
The otter-sleek head dropped, Marcus's shoulders so ridiculously broad as he sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I know, I do, but it's difficult to stop the words coming.”
“We're not getting anywhere bickering like this.”
“Agreed.” That one word was so glum, Marcus leaning on his cane and looking out across the valley with eyes full of sorrow as if the valley itself held all the miseries of the world. Esca longed to see his smile again, that one that'd have his stomach turning cartwheels as his heart sang songs. He wanted to beat it out of Marcus, to shake him, to kick him, whatever it'd take to spur him out of this black mood.
“Here.” An idea suggested itself to him and Esca turned his back, leaning forward enough to neatly present his arse to Marcus, hands propped on his knees. “How about this?”
A startled blink at him as Esca looked back over his shoulder. “Mi scusi?”
“Give it a good kick. Come on, get it out of your system in one go.” A hint of dimple at one cheek as Marcus rolled his eyes then swatted at Esca's bum with his cane. “Ouch. There. Honour satisfied.”
“Is that all it'll take? You're sure?”
“No, but it's a start. Maybe once a day?” He made imploring eyes at Marcus, figuring it couldn't hurt. “Till I'm forgiven?”
The smile appeared at that, a hint of that melancholy still shading Marcus's eyes as he reached out, ruffling Esca's hair before wrapping an arm around his neck and pulling him into Marcus's side for a untidy hug. “Madonna, Esca, what shall I do with you? You're infuriating, and impossible to remain angry with.”
“This. This is all you should do with me.”
They were just out of sight of the house, the pastures a flat yellow-green dipping down in a sweep towards the valley, the farm's tended fields lying below according to Flavio. Nobody around for miles, so Esca didn't let go, wrapping both arms tight around the taut waist and hanging on for dear life as Marcus sighed again and eventually drew Esca fully into a hug. It was a small moment's perfection, an oasis after the week's hellish longing and self-recrimination. Marcus's scent and warmth poured into Esca as he pressed his face against Marcus's chest and breathed deep, feeling Marcus's nose nuzzling its way into his hair to do the same. Marcus's heartbeat was as unsteady as his own, fluttering against Esca's cheek like a caged bird as he squeezed tighter, dizzy with relief.
“It's barely been a week but I'd forgotten how perfectly you fit me. What did you have to return?”
It was murmured into his scalp in the soft tones of a lover, Esca burrowing deeper into Marcus's arms, not wanting to move for a lifetime. “Doesn't matter.”
“That won't do. I demand it, whatever it is.”
“We've discussed before how bossy you are, haven't we?”
“We have.”
“I'm busy at the moment.” Two hands stronger than his would ever be physically removed him from Marcus's torso, Esca grunting in annoyance as he was slowly but surely pushed away. “God, you're a stubborn fuck. I came to give you this back, because I don't need it anymore.”
He dug into his trouser pocket, eventually locating the small, crumpled feather with his fingertips, drawing it out to place flat in Marcus's hand. Marcus stared down at it, picking it up to look at, his eyes liquid with emotion. “I was so angry with you.”
“Of course you were. I hurt you.”
“Very much.” A sniff as Marcus tucked the feather into his shirt pocket. “Don't ever do it again.”
Esca's heart took off like a firework, a meteor burning a trail across the sky, leaping out of him to soar and leaving his chest a bloody mess behind it. “Meaning you're trusting me with the chance that I might?”
“I'm very certain that you will.”
“I won't, I wouldn't.”
Esca moved to rub his head into Marcus's chest, needing to touch and to reassure himself that this was real, because it hadn't seemed possible until a few minutes back. A heavy chin rested on top of his head as strong arms went around him again, and all he could hear was Marcus's voice and his heartbeat beneath it.
“You can't help yourself. You're afraid to give yourself to love. I understand that, much as I hate it, but perhaps if we are patient . . .”
“We don't need patience.” Esca was definitely taking the coward's way out this time, saying the words firmly into Marcus's chest because it was easier that way than trying to do it to face to face. “I love you, Marcus. I'm in love with you, I've been head over heels in love with you for weeks.”
There was a pause, then the arms around him tightened, a shuddery breath huffed out against his head. “I wish you'd told me at the time.”
“I didn't know how you felt till right at the last moment, while I was busy losing my head in blind panic.”
“No, I told you before that.”
“No, actually, you didn't.”
Esca grinned as Marcus's mulish frown was communicated throughout his entire body.
“I most certainly did.”
“I don't think so, I'd have remembered. Wait - in English?”
“Ah.” A chuckle, lips soft against his forehead. “Possibly not.”
The touch that coaxed his chin upwards wasn't needed, fingertips brushing at the skin of his neck as Esca craned his head back for a kiss, Marcus's mouth finding his immediately as the fingers moved to curve into the nape of his neck. The kiss itself was the sort that relieved a physical pain, a smoke after waiting all morning for the shop to open, a hot meal on an empty stomach, Marcus's lips and tongue as necessary and vital as water, as air as Esca pushed upwards to bury himself in the kiss. It wasn't enough to convince him that all was well, but it was a chance that Marcus was giving him and he took it, kissing and touching with every ounce of the love and passion that had carried him all the way here.
“I love you. I do, with all of me. I wouldn't be here if I didn't.”
He whispered it against Marcus's lips, and looked up as lust-dazed eyes turning dark and hot opened above his to gaze down at him. “I believe you.”
“Good.”
Marcus rested his head against Esca's, their noses rubbing, lips brushing against each others as they stood there, the warm winds circling them and tugging at their clothes as chattering spools of blackbirds spiralled overhead up into an unblemished sky. It was a moment Esca doubted he'd ever forget, weak with a tentative happiness at a second chance he knew would be his last.
“What now?”
The mouth against his smiled. “We can talk more in bed. Afterwards.”
-
It wasn't the grand, trumpets-blaring, cannons-blasting fuck to end all fucks that Esca had imagined over the long, lonely nights in Flavio's small guest bed, guiltily tugging at himself under the covers before going to sleep with unshed tears drying in his eyelashes from the fear that it'd never happen again. It was so different, so slow, undressing each other in between long kisses, caressing and tasting, rediscovering, before falling back into Marcus's wide bed and into each other's arms to wrap around each other.
Esca couldn't think what he'd ever done in life to deserve the warm, solid perfection of Marcus against him, but this was transcendental, lying to face each other able to kiss and to speak words of adoration as they stroked each other, shifting and moaning. Esca was lost in Marcus's eyes until that very last second where his closed of their own accord as he started to come, gasping, stuttering out Marcus's name. It seemed to go on forever, golden swells of light and pleasure bouncing around him as Marcus milked him harder and murmured words of love against his throat.
Better still, he was lying close enough to watch how Marcus's eyes became black circles ringed with a thin line of green as Esca had smeared the mess he'd left over Marcus's stomach with his fingers before reaching down to coat Marcus's cock with it, Marcus cursing softly and shuddering in arousal. Esca pushed Marcus flat, working over that magnificent chest with his mouth as his fingers stroked harder. Now, moving down to lap and suck the residue of his taste off Marcus's skin and further down still to kiss and nuzzle into Marcus's scarred thigh as the strong body beneath him started to quake. Esca suckled at each of Marcus's balls in turn as they drew up tight, biting into the firm inner thigh beneath his chin as Marcus began to thrust up into his hand.
Esca wanted to touch and taste everything, to shower Marcus with adoration, stroking his fingertips through the glossy silk of Marcus's dark pubic bush as he nuzzled his way between Marcus's arse cheeks. With one forceful thrust Esca pushed his tongue inside of Marcus deep as he could, his hand tighter around Marcus's cock as it swelled and pulsed, and Marcus gave a gurgling, choking howl as he started to shoot over Esca's knuckles. The spasms took a long time to stop, Esca working deeper with each one, his fingers encouraging each warm spurt. He finally drew away with a last kiss, another at the softening tip of Marcus's spent cock before moving up to delve into an open, gasping mouth.
“You're not smoking.”
Marcus had snuggled down into the bed, his head lying on Esca's naked chest as he stroked up and down over Esca's thigh.
“Nope. Gave it up.” He combed through Marcus's mussed hair with his fingers, not sure if he'd felt happier or more satisfied than like this, sprawled in a bed that fit them both, his declaration of love over and done with, the cold of his home thousands of miles away and Marcus's warmth wrapped around him. “Sort of.”
The head under his hand moved, Marcus propping his chin up on Esca's chest and smiling up at him, eyes sparkling and full of life. “Sort of?”
“Your uncle keeps getting me drunk and I tend to slide a bit at that point.”
“Hmm, yes, my uncle. What have you two been discussing in my absence?”
“Oh, everything. Every single embarrassing thing you ever did as a child and while growing up. We laughed about each one and made fun of you.”
“Ha ha, very amusing. Satisfy my curiosity, please.”
“He worries for you. See?” Marcus groaned and dropped his head back to Esca's chest again, Esca ruffling through his hair. “I knew you wouldn't like it. I told him he might not need to worry, if you forgave me. He wants you to have children, though, and I'm not going to be any help at all where that's concerned.”
“Porca vacca, so you spoke of it all.” It was grumbled into Esca's chest. “And children? Flavio would run like he was chased by a rabid dog if a single one came near.”
“He said you'd been back to where you grew up.” Esca paused, not wanting to cross an unacceptable boundary, but it was probably time. “Did you see her? Mimi, is it?”
A sigh against his skin, followed by a kiss as Marcus settled in against him. “Si. Does it bother you?”
“No.” It did, a bit, if he was honest with himself, Esca imagining some petite, dark-haired Italian beauty who Marcus would've taken one look at before promptly forgetting all about him.
“It shouldn't. She's fat with her fourth child, the others running around her ankles, an adoring husband at her side who'd place his arm firmly around her shoulders every time I so much as looked her way.” Esca could see that Marcus had opened his eyes now to stare at the wall, the thick fringe of minky eyelashes apparent beneath the ridge of brow. “You should know it's not the children I want. It's a life with someone who look at me how he does with her. I thought you had begun to, but this whole last week I've been telling myself I was wrong and a fool for ever believing otherwise.”
“You weren't wrong. This face,” Esca reached down to tilt Marcus's chin up, smoothing his thumb over where he knew a dimple lay beneath, then tracing the full upper line of Marcus's top lip. “This beautiful, handsome face . . . there's nothing in the world I'd rather look at.”
“I need you to be sure.”
Flickers of remembered pain moved across Marcus's face like shadows, reminding Esca that this was a man who'd probably experienced enough pain for a thousand lifetimes. So silly and cruel that someone as small and insignificant as him could've caused so much as a minute of it.
“I've left my job, my home and my country, just to come to you. Surely that's worth some credit? Marcus, listen to me . . .” Esca shifted, scooting down to face Marcus, wrapping an arm over him as a hand moved over his back and down to palm his bum. “And you can cut that out, too.”
“What? I'm not permitted to simply touch?”
Two fingers were stroking between his arse cheeks, idling in the slight fuzz there, Marcus's face as innocent as an angel's although the pain in his eyes had been replaced with all sorts of delicious wickedness. “I'm trying to ask you something, and you're distracting me.”
One fingertip eased its way between his cheeks to rub slowly but surely over his pucker. “Me? No. You're mistaken, Mr. MacCunoval.”
“Marcus . . .” The finger stopped rubbing at his warning tone, but didn't withdraw, Esca's prick already beginning to make its presence known against Marcus's. “Is that it? Your finger's still pretty much up my bum.”
“Not yet, it isn't. I'm waiting to be asked something.”
Perhaps it wasn't how he'd pictured this, either, none of Esca's great scheme of whisking Marcus off his feet working out as he'd planned it throughout every day's waiting, but maybe this was better in its way, arousal heating him through, Marcus's cock growing hard against his as the finger started to move again. Even though it wasn't a night-shaded veranda, two glasses of wine, a moonlit walk and a romantic speech pledging himself for as long as Marcus would have him, perhaps this was a perfect start in itself.
“I told you about my nest egg.” Esca hissed softly as Marcus grinned at him and rubbed at his arsehole harder. “You're not planning to make this easy on me, are you?”
“No.”
“You're a nuisance.” But he lifted his leg enough to give Marcus better access, two fingers rubbing circles around his hole now. “Well, I've not got much, but it's what came from selling my dad's shop, and then the family home when Mam died. I've put away every penny I could since, it's why I'm such a scruffy bugger. Ooh, fuck, I can't talk when you're doing that. I can't even think.”
Marcus had spat onto his fingers and had now worked one into Esca up to the knuckle. “Try harder.”
“It was my escape fund. Ooh, God. Um, I'd wanted to keep saving till I could get away and not come back. It's ours, now, for us.”
It stopped the motion of Marcus's knuckle as it twisted and fucked into him, Marcus's hand pausing against Esca's inner thigh as he looked up at Esca in question. “Che?”
“There's a whole world out there, full of history and beauty, and I wanted to see it all before I died stuck in bloody Scotland freezing my arse off.” Esca pushed Marcus's finger deeper into himself with a grunt, staring deep into Marcus's eyes as he squeezed around his knuckle. “I realised last week that none of it would mean a thing without you. I'd rather live and die in a muddy hole somewhere, if it was with you. So, whichever and whatever you want, the world or a cave or back to a shithole like Cranholme, I'll take us there, so long as I get to be with you.”
“Truly, Esca?” A smile lit Marcus up and Esca felt himself falling in love again, suspecting it might happen over and over, something far too wonderful for a pitiful sod like him. “You would give me the world?”
“If you'll let me.”
Pairing: Esca Mac Cunoval/Marcus Aquila
Rating: NC-17
Length: 8.5k
Warnings: 1950s non-PC language
Summary: The Eagle AU - Esca's a house master and history teacher at a 1950s boys school on the English/Scottish border, where welcoming the new Latin teacher proves to be a challenge
A/N: For awarrington. Sorry this took so long, life and people kept getting in the way, including a random stranger who snuggled up against me in a coffee shop and started reading over my shoulder before asking what I was writing D: Ideally I'll post the last chapter for Valentine's Day ♥
Was this it? Esca's nerve had failed him countless times during the three days of train travel, every interminable wait at every station the opportunity to hop off and run across to the other side of the platform to catch the next arrival back home. Each time he'd remind himself he didn't have a home, strictly speaking. No ties, his roots shrivelled and gone, his claustrophobic group of rooms within North House now the domain of another master. It was as freeing and invigorating as it was alarming. And now, after all that way, watching snows turn into towering dark green mountains turn into cities into rolling fields into miniscule, medieval-looking villages, he was here, getting out of the taxi to look at the small set of farm buildings set behind a crooked metal gate.
“Um, I don't know, you take what you need? Si?” The taxi driver beamed at him, taking a somewhat more generous portion of Esca's outstretched lira notes than he'd expected with a satisfied nod and a thumbs up. “Can you wait? Uh, sinque minutes?”
He held up his hand, fingers held out, as the driver nodded and Si, signore'd at him a bit more. “Alright. Grazie.”
His one small suitcase had sat next to him the whole journey, an impromptu picnic table or somewhere to complete the crossword he'd eked out for a full day, or acting as a pillow late into the night, Esca being too cautious with his finite funds to fork out for a sleeper carriage. Poor old thing was looking a bit done in. He hauled it out the back of the taxi along with his overcoat and jacket, turning to take a deep breath and look once more at the main farmhouse.
It wasn't exactly what he'd expected. It almost could've been a Scottish farm if it hadn't been for its single story and the sun blazing down on it so dazzlingly. A bit crumbled here and there in the corners, roof tiles dusty rather than moss-covered, a gritty, heated wind tugging at Esca's hat as he stood there taking it all in. Always the winds. It was as if they'd chased him here. He clutched at his bedraggled feather for courage, putting it back in his pocket and turning back once more to the taxi driver to check he was still there before resolutely starting to open the gate. He could do this. No MacCunoval would travel all this way only to turn back, and Esca was buggered if he'd be the first to do such a thing.
Jesus Christ, it was a pack of wolves. Soon as he got the gate open, a swarming rabble of dog in various shades came racing around the corner of the house towards him, baying and growling and skipping in excitement. Not a one of them looked like any breed he'd ever seen, all a mixture of blotches and uneven ears, stubby tails and long, feathery ones, some up to his thighs and some barely ankle-height. He'd grown up around dogs enough to not be too worried, looking fixedly ahead and not acknowledging them at all as they sniffed and bristled, growling at his ankles, but the sheer number did little to settle an anatomy already in a state of agitation. Looking back over his shoulder, the taxi driver stopped counting out the cash he'd relieved Esca of to give him another jolly thumbs up, which gave him the courage to push on.
No bell, only a peeling sign hanging from one rusty nail reading 'Aquila', Esca's heart jumping into his throat until he could barely swallow. At least it was the right place. He raised a knuckle to knock politely, the dogs starting to bark afresh, more friendly now, jumping up to nose at his hands and suitcase in search of treats.
“Give us a second, lads. You know if anyone's home?”
The larger dogs grinned happily at him, tongues lolling, the smaller ankle-biters baring their teeth at his audacity in daring to speak. Esca tried again, using the heel of his hand to thump harder making the dogs bay all the more loudly, Esca wondering if he should put his jacket on to look smart. The heat persuaded him it probably wasn't a good idea as he was already sweating through the armpits of a shirt he'd worn for three days, his only bathing or laundry a quick, cold splash and rinse in the train's tiny lavatory sink.
“Basta, basta, mamma mia, silenzio!”
It wasn't Marcus's voice, that was certain, but the idea that it might even be his uncle was enough to send Esca's pulse sky-rocketing. He quashed the impulse to turn tail and make a run for it, straightening his shoulders and tie, hoping he looked halfway presentable, even if he did have three days' worth of beard and reeked like a polecat. Then the door opened, and Esca found himself looking into the eyes of an old man about his height that looked nothing like Marcus at all.
“Si? Posso aiutarti?”
Grumpy, too. Esca swallowed nervously, grabbing his phrasebook from out his back pocket as every phrase he'd practised over the journey's duration swiftly exited his mind.
“Buongiornio, signore. Um, sto cercando Signore Marcus Aquila?”
A frown, the white haired man he was talking to seeming as if he was annoyed with Esca's interruption. “Marcus Aquila? No, mi dispiace, ma non c'e.”
“No Marcus? Oh. Uh, Signore Flavio Aquila? Is he home?” Esca smiled weakly and flipped frantically through the phrasebook as the man shook his head in incomprehension. “Mi scusi, ma non parlo italiano.”
The old man raised an eyebrow and twisted his lips in a 'You don't say' expression, waiting impatiently and shifting from foot to foot, kicking dogs trying to sneak into the house out of the doorway as Esca found the correct page. “Ah, alright, here we go. Parla inglese?”
A sour look. “No.”
“Worth a try. Flavio Aquila, is he here? Posso parlare con Signore Aquila?”
A machine-gun rattle of rapid Italian followed that Esca had no hope of following, so he put his suitcase down, his coat and jacket draped over it, and folded his hands together as if praying. “Please, per favore, it's very important. Very important. Please. Singue minuto.”
A tut. “No, no. 'CHEEN-kway'. Cinque. Momento, prego.”
The door was slammed an inch from his nose, the dogs looking up at him expectantly as Esca felt his face heat even further than it already had. Miserable old git. He only had a book to help him, for Chrissakes, and at least he was trying. Behind him came a merry toot! toot! as the taxi driver raised a hand out his window and drove off, Esca shouting and waving at him to stop. It was to no effect, the dogs chasing him then prancing around his ankles wanting him to do it again as he skidded to a halt behind the gate, watching the taxi zoom off into the distance. It might be the most staggeringly beautiful place he'd travelled through in the past few days, but, so far, Esca's experience of Italy wasn't going quite as brilliantly as he might've hoped.
“Fuck, bugger and shit!” Esca kicked at the gate with a clang! and swore some more at the wide expanse of blue sky above, patting fractiously at his pockets for a smoke until he remembered he'd not had one since walking out of Cranholme. No fags. No taxi. No Marcus. “Ugh! Shitting, buggering hell, stupid bloody country!”
“Ahh, bravo, signore, bravo, molto bene!”
It was a different voice, Esca spinning around to see a man standing at the door. He didn't look like Marcus, exactly, a froth of white hair too long and scooped back off a high, wide forehead, shaggy white beard, and pale blue eyes beneath eyebrows as bushy as his beard, but the height was similar if not more impressive, as was the glint of hidden thoughts of the world shining out from behind them. It had to be Marcus's uncle, he knew it immediately.
“Signore Aquila?”
“Si, Flavio Aquila. You're English?”
“Yes.” Esca started to make his way back to the door, almost falling flat on his face after tripping on one of the more aggressively friendly terriers. “Um, you speak English? Parla inglese?”
“Some. You know my nephew, I believe? Benvenuto, mio amico inglese. Any friend of Marcolino's is a friend to this house.”
One hand was thrust out towards him and Esca took it, going rigid with surprise when it pulled him into the man's body, a brush of beard on each of his cheeks as the man gripped his shoulders and kissed him. Twice. Esca had seen it happening around him over the last few days, but it was the first time he'd had anyone welcome him in this fashion, and he croaked out awkward thanks.
“You come inside.” A rough, dry hand clasped his neck, resting there in an over-friendly fashion. “Come, come. Bring your things.”
“Thank you, don't mind if I do.”
The shadow of the house claimed him as he followed Marcus's uncle inside, something akin to diving into a deep pool of cool water after the arrid air of outside, tiled floors polished to a gleam beneath his feet, rough-hewn walls whitewashed with tiny windows set high preventing too much heat from touching the air in here. Here was his exotic, the furniture low and fashioned in dark wood with colourful cushions and throws, the walls plain except a burst of pattern from painted tiles around a fireplace set in a far nook. Marcus's uncle gently pushed him towards a settee, inviting him to sit.
“I should introduce myself first.”
“Such English manners. Sit, please. You'll need a drink.”
“Coffee?” Oh, God. Esca managed a faint smile. “Lovely, thank you.”
“Or water. You are thirsty?”
“Water? That would be perfect, thank you.”
The deep-set eyes twinkled at him from beneath those scraggy over-hanging eyebrows in a manner that suggested Marcus's uncle was finding him terribly amusing for some reason. “Please, no more thanks. You are my guest, Signore . . .”
“MacCunoval. Esca MacCunoval. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, sir.”
“Mac . . . ?”
“Cunoval. Esca's fine, if you don't mind the informality.”
“Esca.” A pat at his shoulder. “And you will call me Flavio, si?”
Esca nodded, his heart beginning to slow finally but beating unevenly as he tried to relax back into the strange, low settee, feeling grubby and uncouth. Flavio looked him up and down for a second before craning his head back, raising his voice to call out 'Massimo!', the man who'd answered the door appearing a second later.
“Sissignore?”
“D'acqua, per favore.”
“Sissignore.”
“So, Esca . . .” Flavio crossed his legs, one ankle propped on the other knee, battered leather sandals almost falling off dusty feet, the leg of his white linen trousers gaping open to show six inches of deeply-tanned ankle. “How do you know my Marco? The school? What it is, Cran . . .”
“Cranholme. Yes, that's right.”
“You teach also?”
“Yes, history.” Esca didn't want to be rude, but the sense of urgency that had carried him all the way here was bursting out of his throat, demanding to be attended to. “May I ask if Marcus is here?”
“No, he is not.”
It was a blow, not unexpected since Esca had guessed as much from Massimo on the doorstep, but he schooled his features carefully not to show how horribly disappointed he was.
“I received a, how you say,” Flavio tapped his fingertips on his knee in a staccato rhythm. “Telegramma to say he travels in the area of his birth, and will return home shortly. He does not say why he has left his position so soon. You know why?”
The pale, shrewd eyes bored into him, Esca gratefully looking away to accept a glass of water off Massimo, gulping half of it down before answering as diplomatically as he could. “Grazie, thank you. I'm sorry, sir, but perhaps that's something you should discuss with your nephew?”
“Ah, so you do know.”
“I've got something of an idea, but don't know the ins and outs, so it'd be better to wait and talk to Marcus.”
“'Ins and outs'?”
“Sorry, the details.”
“Va bene. And you visit us to see Marco or to know the country?”
“Bit of both, I suppose.” It wasn't a total lie. It looked like he'd be playing the tourist locally for awhile longer if Marcus wasn't here. “I was hoping he'd know of somewhere where I could stay? A small hotel around here, maybe?”
“No!” A chuckle, so much like Marcus's that Esca's belly lurched in recognition, a heavy hand slapping his shoulder as Flavio grinned the same naughty boy grin as Marcus and shook his head. “This is Italy, where new friends become family, si? You will stay here, with me.”
“Oh, I couldn't possibly put you out -”
“Not at all. You will stay until Marco returns home, yes? He will be pleased to find a friend waiting for him.”
“Then, thank you, that would be . . .” Wonderful. Terrifying. Nerve-wracking. “Lovely.”
-
“You could not sleep?”
Esca joined Flavio on the farmhouse's wide veranda out back, accepting a cup of wine and a cigarette with a smile of thanks. He should've been out like a light, freckled and pleasantly exhausted after a day's weeding the vegetable patch, having eventually worn Flavio down enough to allow him to lift a finger around the place. “I can't get used to it being so hot at night. Back home it's cold in the evenings even in after a hot summer day.”
“This? This is not nearly warm, Esca.” Flavio looked up at where the few curling shoots on his bare vines were illuminated by the oil lamp on the table in front of him. “You see? Barely spring. Wait for the summer, where in the nights you lay wet sheets across yourself and beg the Lord for His mercy.”
“Sounds lovely. I've been freezing since I was a baby.”
It wasn't so stuffy out here, the warm, herb-scented winds gently lifting Esca's hair and drying the sheen of perspiration on his forehead. He'd only been here three days and already he felt comfortable like this, skinny legs stretched out, his half-buttoned shirt thrown over his shorts, one of the dozing pack of dogs resting its chin over his foot. It had taken all of a few hours to realise that Flavio didn't hold much with propriety, emphasised again when a tanned, wrinkled and very naked Flavio with nothing but a face flannel to protect his modesty had appeared in the doorway of Esca's tiny room, asking if everything was to his liking before leaving to start his bath.
“You'll miss it in a few months, if you stay in the area.” Flavio's eyes glittered in the flickering light of the lamp, his fingers long and gnarled with age as he took at thoughtful draw on his smoke. “Will you? Is there a Signora Esca waiting for your return?”
“No, no Mrs. MacCunoval.”
“I see.” Maybe he did, maybe Flavio saw far too much. Esca couldn't figure out what was going on behind those observant eyes so far. “I never marry. Too many beautiful womens to tie myself to one, eh? My brother, Marco's father, he said I was mocking of marriage to ignore it so completely. I say to him, no, I respect it too much to pretend when my heart does not belong to one woman. Si?”
“Makes sense to me.” The wine was slipping down Esca's throat too easily as it had done every evening here so far. Every mouthful made him marvel at it all the more, but Flavio's cigarettes were too strong for him, out of the habit now. Esca took one more draw and stubbed it out, settling back with his glass as Flavio sighed into the night.
“I do not think my Marcolino will marry. Not since Mimi. He is big and handsome, no? Would make many beautiful children.”
It wasn't the most relaxing of bedtime topics. Esca stared into his wine and felt like a liar. “There's time, he's young.”
“Age is not the problem, I think. How well do you know him?”
At least the dark might disguise some of Esca's discomfort as he fought the urge to squirm in his seat. “Oh, I'd say pretty well, on short acquaintance.”
“I was reading his letters from the school, I think maybe he mentioned you.” Flavio lifted one of a small pile of unfolded letters on the low table, shoving a pair of half-moon spectacles onto the end of his nose and dragging the lamp closer. “Momento, I must try to translate . . .”
The old man's lips moved silently as Esca waited for whatever Marcus's description of him had been. Some miserable, anti-Italian short-arse giving him a hard time? A clumsy oaf throwing himself down icy steps, forcing Marcus to save him? He didn't doubt it'd be bad, as he hadn't been precisely welcoming, for reasons that had seemed so vitally important at the time.
“Here, I will do my best. 'The other peoples here are strange, so unlike the peoples of home, so tied up in their manners and what is proper, their . . .'”, Flavio tutted, frowning to himself. “The word, I don't know it, the judgments they have made?”
“Prejudices? Preconceived notions?”
Flavio waved a hand, indicating Esca had probably got the drift of it. “He goes on, 'But there is one who is more like an Italian, he was that first I met who helped with the car, and he makes me laugh to myself as I write of him. Proud and funny, quick with his tongue, fierce in his moods. He does not like me, but he speaks with me as if he cannot stop himself then becomes with fury at himself for doing so, frowning at me for a full day after. A cloud of tobacco smoke,”
Flavio grinned and puffed on his fag with a wink, “and liquor fumes follow him all the day. Very Italian, in stature as much as in spirit, if not in looks. You would enjoy him.'”
Flavio placed the letter back on the pile. “I think this must be you.”
“I hope so. It's very flattering, thinking I'm like an Italian.”
Christ, how was that possible for him to think? It would've been the gravest insult a couple of months back. The warmth was taking Esca over again, his toes curling against the dusty flagstones of the veranda as he thought more about Marcus's words and how being singled out in a letter home was probably the nicest compliment anyone had given him. He wasn't the sort of person usually noticed much by others.
“You think? Many other inglesi would disagree and take very much offense.”
“Ah, but I'm not inglesi.”
“No?”
“No. Not fully Scots, either. I'm stuck somewhere in the middle.”
“Ah, va bene. Not such a bad thing. It frees you from the ties of the one land.”
“Perhaps.”
They sat in silence, the wind picking up sending the lamp's flame sputtering and bobbing, shadows dancing behind Flavio like a chorus of demons. Esca shook his head at the offer of another cigarette, finishing off his wine and getting to his feet.
“No, thank you. I should try to get some sleep.”
“You should. I'm past the age where sleep comes easy, so I sit and I think. All night, I think and I worry.”
“Worry?” Esca perched on the back of his chair. “About what?”
Flavio looked at him for one long minute, rolling a mouthful of smoke around his mouth before allowing it to trickle out his nose. “You will keep my confidence?”
“Of course.”
“I worry for Marco. He is so strong, so ostinato, but has a soft heart. You see, I thrive on being alone. I have three widows in this valley that will cook for me and,” Flavio's eyes twinkled as that cheeky boy smile flashed across his face. “Welcome me into their beds.”
“You old dog. Three?”” Esca slipped back into his chair.
“Women have always loved the Aquila men.” Flavio slugged back a mouthful of his wine as if toasting himself. “But, I worry for Marco. He should not be alone, not as he is, such a romantic, like his mother. His heart needs its match and I fear that he will never find it.”
It wasn't Esca's place to say anything too detailed, every word making him feel as if he was staying here fraudulently, taking advantage of an old man in a strange country. “Again, he's only young. What, thirty one?”
“Ventinove, twenty nine.”
“You see? He's got time. All the time in the world.”
“As I have said, his time, his age, is not the problem. I believe you know what the problem is, my friend.”
Esca watched mutely, Flavio picking up Esca's cup from the table and pouring him another glass of wine, a dull roaring in Esca's ears as Flavio reached across the table to pat his bare knee with a gnarled hand.
“We all have our nature, si? My own is not one that most have approval for. I am the black dog of the valley, the scourge of other men's wives.”
“I'm not sure what you want me to say.”
Flavio shrugged, blowing a stream of smoke up towards the vines. “Then say nothing.”
Esca closed his eyes, feeling the wind layering his face with a fine coating of dust, his mouth full of that sinewy, blackcurrant and bitter chocolate taste of the wine, his skin tight and warm with the remainders of the day's unfamiliar sun. He opened his mouth, pausing as he found the words.
“Perhaps I can reassure you that Marcus might not be alone his whole life.” He opened his eyes, looking into Flavio's, finding only calm acceptance there. “'Least, not if I can help it. It all depends on him.”
“Esca . . . what did you do?”
“Something I hope I'm able to make up for.”
“Then you can start tomorrow, when he arrives home.”
Flavio smirked around his glass as Esca coughed into his, wiping over his mouth. “What?”
“We have no telephone here, but the next place, that of our closest neighbour, does so. Marco left word there that he'd be returning home tomorrow, and the news reached me this evening.”
“And you're only just now telling me? Christ, you scheming old fox, you.”
Flavio was enjoying this, Esca was sure of it, a hearty chortle of glee answering Esca's accusation. Maybe because he didn't get enough entertainment, stuck all the way out here with only one grumpy housekeeper and a few farmhands to keep him amused when he wasn't out terrorising the valley's womenfolk. “Assolutamente. I wanted to be sure of what was coming.”
“I'm glad one of us is.”
“Here, more wine, you'll need it to sleep now.”
Esca stuck his glass out, giving Flavio a sour look that seemed to amuse Flavio further. “Thanks to you, I can't imagine I'll sleep a wink.”
“There. Your health, my friend. Dum vivimus vivamus.”
“'Let us live while we live.'” Esca lifted his cup. “Cheers.”
They clinked glasses, Flavio nodding his approval. “I see his touch is already on you. If you've won him once, you've no fight ahead. His heart is as loyal as the most faithful of dogs and, once won, remains yours.”
“I hope you're right.”
“Of course I am.” A hefty slug of wine as Flavio looked slyly at him over the top of his cup. “I am a wise old man.”
“You're an old something or other, that's sure enough.”
-
Esca took one more look around the small room, fingers worrying at a small nick where he'd just shaved for the first time in a week. He'd then tidied his room three times, unpacking and refolding and arranging, needing something to do with his hands and the nervous energy making him twitchy until he was ready to scream from it. The rough stone of the walls had been painted with white wash a hundred times over, patchy and flaky in places, nothing to decorate the pale expanse other than a small window cut deep in the stone, and a wooden crucifix, its unsettlingly handsome Jesus staring down at Esca from it. He sat down on the small bed, then lay flat, crossing his hands behind his head as he looked up into the carved face gazing benignly down at him.
“Fat lot of help you are.”
The lovingly-depicted lean muscle of Jesus's torso had been reminding him of Marcus's all week so far, taut and rippled in the throes of passion. Esca closed his eyes and tried to calm himself, and it worked, a drowsiness overtaking him for all of five minutes before the dogs started baying outside in the minute before the front door distantly slammed shut. Marcus. Oh, Christ, God, whoever, help me. For once in my pathetic existence, just this once, make something easier. That's not too big an ask, is it?
The wooden face didn't alter, gentle eyes regarding him with an all-too-human pity. Esca cursed and pushed himself upward, hugging his knees into his chin and screwing his eyes closed as his heart fought to exit his chest. Rapid-fire Italian conversation was filtering out of the front room now, echoing along the flagstones of the long hallway towards him. Marcus's voice, so familiar and, at the same time, so alien now, the speeding, lilting cadence of his native language perfectly suiting that gorgeously masculine timbre. Esca took one more breath, reaching out to take the grubby feather from where it was anchored on his bedside table beneath the lamp, before boosting himself up and out of the bed. Time to face the music.
Marcus's back was towards him, one hand leaning on his stick, his shoulders so broad, the back of his neck crying out to be kissed and nipped at. A rush of emotion engulfed Esca, too much at once to sort out, love, overwhelming desire, and guilt, and hope, bittersweet regret . . . Flavio caught sight of Esca over Marcus's shoulder as he embraced his nephew once more, slapping Marcus on the shoulder and stepping back.
“You have a visitor.”
“Me? Why are you speaking . . .” Marcus turned as Flavio nodded in Esca's direction, Esca worried he was going to black out if his heart continued to race like this for much longer. Marcus stiffened once his eyes settled on Esca, a blink, his brow ruffling in alarm. “Esca.”
“Hullo, Marcus. Or should I say buongiornio?”
Pitiful. He really was, stuffing his hands in his pockets and awkwardly shifting from foot to foot. Marcus's expression deepened into a frown, not smile, not even a hint of pleasure at seeing Esca in those eloquent eyes of his. “This is a surprise.”
“A good one?”
A pause that went on a beat too long. “Of course it is.”
“Coffee, I think, and something to eat.” Flavio clapped his hands, Marcus and Esca staring at each other for a long second before Marcus cleared his throat and broke away, nodding at his uncle.
“Si, Zio, grazie.”
“Why don't the two of you take a walk while Massimo and I prepare some pranzo? Go see what has changed in these last months away.” It must've occurred to Marcus that his uncle was meddling, his eyes narrowing as he glared at his uncle, who gave him a blithely over-innocent smile in return. “Shoo. Go on, now. Stretch out your leg before the muscle sets.”
“Your English is much improved.”
“This is Esca's fourth day as my guest, and we have had much to talk about.”
“I can imagine.” It was a acerbic mutter, Esca's cheeks flushing as Marcus looked down at him again without a smile. “Va bene, let's go see the horses. May I assume you know your way?”
“To the paddock?” Marcus gave him a tight nod that didn't help calm Esca's nerves one bit. Fine. He deserved it. “You lead, I'll match your pace.”
The sun outside soothed frayed nerves, Esca having acclimatised enough now to recognise a buttery warmth rather than pure heat, Marcus loosening his tie and rolling up his cuffs one by one as they walked in silence. Marcus's gait seemed more awkward than Esca had remembered, perhaps a result of travel, his one leg stiff as his figure leaned more heavily on its stick, but his beauty was all the more breathtaking for the short absence, his eyes more vivid, his skin glowing as if he'd soaked up the sun itself. His mouth more captivating, even if it was set in a thin line whenever Esca glanced up at him from a foot away.
“So, uh . . . long journey?”
“Not as long as your own.” It was barely polite, a veneer of civility although every syllable soured with ill-temper, a muscle working in Marcus's jaw.
“I wouldn't recommend three days in the third class carriage to my worst enemy. Beautiful scenery, though. Your country's stunning.”
“I agree.”
“It must be nice to be home.”
“You would think so, wouldn't you?”
“Marcus . . .” It might've been that his fingers were shaken off as Esca reached out to touch Marcus's elbow, or simply that the forward and sideways motion of Marcus's limp pulled it out of reach naturally. Either way, it spurred Esca on, realising that polite chit-chat wasn't going to do the trick. “Aren't you even a tiny bit pleased to see me?”
He'd known green eyes could be warm as a luscious pea soup, as full of fire as sunlight refracting off an emerald ring, welcoming and familiar as a thick smear of sharp-sweet mint sauce on a freshly-grilled chop. But, for the first time, Marcus's eyes were ice cold as they gazed down at him with the full force of a frigid mountain waterfall, chilling Esca to the bone despite the way the warmth of the late morning was making his shirt cling to his back.
“Why are you here, Esca?”
“I have something to return to you.”
“Perhaps I no longer want anything you have to offer.”
“Alright, that's enough.” Esca grabbed Marcus by the arm, halting him in his tracks and slowly managing to tug him around to face him. “You're angry, and you have every right, but sulking and sniping at me's not going to fix anything.”
His hand was definitely shaken off this time, no question about it, Marcus brushing him off like he was swatting a persistent fly. “What is there left to fix?”
“That's a fine attitude.” Esca longed for a cigarette more than in any other moment over the past few days, no curtain of smoke out here to hide behind. He set his jaw, and summoned up the talent he'd had since childhood of sticking firmly to his guns no matter what those around him were telling him to do otherwise. “You can bully me all you want. I'm not leaving till we're us again, like we were -”
“There was never an 'us', not in your mind.”
“If I may please finish what I was saying?”
“You may, but you're wasting your time.”
Marcus started off towards the paddock again, faster now as Esca trotted a few steps to catch up. “I'm here for you, Marcus, and I'm staying, no matter how long it takes.”
“Even if you're not welcome?”
“Your uncle's made it quite clear that I am.”
A snort as Marcus squinted off into the wind. “A serpent making his home in the roots of the tree.”
It was rude of him to laugh, Esca knew it, but the savage bitterness of Marcus's words shocked him into a quick, humourless bark of surprise. “For chrissakes, Marcus, I made a stupid mistake because I was scared out of my wits. Comparing me to the Devil? A bit of an over-reaction, wouldn't you say?”
The otter-sleek head dropped, Marcus's shoulders so ridiculously broad as he sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I know, I do, but it's difficult to stop the words coming.”
“We're not getting anywhere bickering like this.”
“Agreed.” That one word was so glum, Marcus leaning on his cane and looking out across the valley with eyes full of sorrow as if the valley itself held all the miseries of the world. Esca longed to see his smile again, that one that'd have his stomach turning cartwheels as his heart sang songs. He wanted to beat it out of Marcus, to shake him, to kick him, whatever it'd take to spur him out of this black mood.
“Here.” An idea suggested itself to him and Esca turned his back, leaning forward enough to neatly present his arse to Marcus, hands propped on his knees. “How about this?”
A startled blink at him as Esca looked back over his shoulder. “Mi scusi?”
“Give it a good kick. Come on, get it out of your system in one go.” A hint of dimple at one cheek as Marcus rolled his eyes then swatted at Esca's bum with his cane. “Ouch. There. Honour satisfied.”
“Is that all it'll take? You're sure?”
“No, but it's a start. Maybe once a day?” He made imploring eyes at Marcus, figuring it couldn't hurt. “Till I'm forgiven?”
The smile appeared at that, a hint of that melancholy still shading Marcus's eyes as he reached out, ruffling Esca's hair before wrapping an arm around his neck and pulling him into Marcus's side for a untidy hug. “Madonna, Esca, what shall I do with you? You're infuriating, and impossible to remain angry with.”
“This. This is all you should do with me.”
They were just out of sight of the house, the pastures a flat yellow-green dipping down in a sweep towards the valley, the farm's tended fields lying below according to Flavio. Nobody around for miles, so Esca didn't let go, wrapping both arms tight around the taut waist and hanging on for dear life as Marcus sighed again and eventually drew Esca fully into a hug. It was a small moment's perfection, an oasis after the week's hellish longing and self-recrimination. Marcus's scent and warmth poured into Esca as he pressed his face against Marcus's chest and breathed deep, feeling Marcus's nose nuzzling its way into his hair to do the same. Marcus's heartbeat was as unsteady as his own, fluttering against Esca's cheek like a caged bird as he squeezed tighter, dizzy with relief.
“It's barely been a week but I'd forgotten how perfectly you fit me. What did you have to return?”
It was murmured into his scalp in the soft tones of a lover, Esca burrowing deeper into Marcus's arms, not wanting to move for a lifetime. “Doesn't matter.”
“That won't do. I demand it, whatever it is.”
“We've discussed before how bossy you are, haven't we?”
“We have.”
“I'm busy at the moment.” Two hands stronger than his would ever be physically removed him from Marcus's torso, Esca grunting in annoyance as he was slowly but surely pushed away. “God, you're a stubborn fuck. I came to give you this back, because I don't need it anymore.”
He dug into his trouser pocket, eventually locating the small, crumpled feather with his fingertips, drawing it out to place flat in Marcus's hand. Marcus stared down at it, picking it up to look at, his eyes liquid with emotion. “I was so angry with you.”
“Of course you were. I hurt you.”
“Very much.” A sniff as Marcus tucked the feather into his shirt pocket. “Don't ever do it again.”
Esca's heart took off like a firework, a meteor burning a trail across the sky, leaping out of him to soar and leaving his chest a bloody mess behind it. “Meaning you're trusting me with the chance that I might?”
“I'm very certain that you will.”
“I won't, I wouldn't.”
Esca moved to rub his head into Marcus's chest, needing to touch and to reassure himself that this was real, because it hadn't seemed possible until a few minutes back. A heavy chin rested on top of his head as strong arms went around him again, and all he could hear was Marcus's voice and his heartbeat beneath it.
“You can't help yourself. You're afraid to give yourself to love. I understand that, much as I hate it, but perhaps if we are patient . . .”
“We don't need patience.” Esca was definitely taking the coward's way out this time, saying the words firmly into Marcus's chest because it was easier that way than trying to do it to face to face. “I love you, Marcus. I'm in love with you, I've been head over heels in love with you for weeks.”
There was a pause, then the arms around him tightened, a shuddery breath huffed out against his head. “I wish you'd told me at the time.”
“I didn't know how you felt till right at the last moment, while I was busy losing my head in blind panic.”
“No, I told you before that.”
“No, actually, you didn't.”
Esca grinned as Marcus's mulish frown was communicated throughout his entire body.
“I most certainly did.”
“I don't think so, I'd have remembered. Wait - in English?”
“Ah.” A chuckle, lips soft against his forehead. “Possibly not.”
The touch that coaxed his chin upwards wasn't needed, fingertips brushing at the skin of his neck as Esca craned his head back for a kiss, Marcus's mouth finding his immediately as the fingers moved to curve into the nape of his neck. The kiss itself was the sort that relieved a physical pain, a smoke after waiting all morning for the shop to open, a hot meal on an empty stomach, Marcus's lips and tongue as necessary and vital as water, as air as Esca pushed upwards to bury himself in the kiss. It wasn't enough to convince him that all was well, but it was a chance that Marcus was giving him and he took it, kissing and touching with every ounce of the love and passion that had carried him all the way here.
“I love you. I do, with all of me. I wouldn't be here if I didn't.”
He whispered it against Marcus's lips, and looked up as lust-dazed eyes turning dark and hot opened above his to gaze down at him. “I believe you.”
“Good.”
Marcus rested his head against Esca's, their noses rubbing, lips brushing against each others as they stood there, the warm winds circling them and tugging at their clothes as chattering spools of blackbirds spiralled overhead up into an unblemished sky. It was a moment Esca doubted he'd ever forget, weak with a tentative happiness at a second chance he knew would be his last.
“What now?”
The mouth against his smiled. “We can talk more in bed. Afterwards.”
-
It wasn't the grand, trumpets-blaring, cannons-blasting fuck to end all fucks that Esca had imagined over the long, lonely nights in Flavio's small guest bed, guiltily tugging at himself under the covers before going to sleep with unshed tears drying in his eyelashes from the fear that it'd never happen again. It was so different, so slow, undressing each other in between long kisses, caressing and tasting, rediscovering, before falling back into Marcus's wide bed and into each other's arms to wrap around each other.
Esca couldn't think what he'd ever done in life to deserve the warm, solid perfection of Marcus against him, but this was transcendental, lying to face each other able to kiss and to speak words of adoration as they stroked each other, shifting and moaning. Esca was lost in Marcus's eyes until that very last second where his closed of their own accord as he started to come, gasping, stuttering out Marcus's name. It seemed to go on forever, golden swells of light and pleasure bouncing around him as Marcus milked him harder and murmured words of love against his throat.
Better still, he was lying close enough to watch how Marcus's eyes became black circles ringed with a thin line of green as Esca had smeared the mess he'd left over Marcus's stomach with his fingers before reaching down to coat Marcus's cock with it, Marcus cursing softly and shuddering in arousal. Esca pushed Marcus flat, working over that magnificent chest with his mouth as his fingers stroked harder. Now, moving down to lap and suck the residue of his taste off Marcus's skin and further down still to kiss and nuzzle into Marcus's scarred thigh as the strong body beneath him started to quake. Esca suckled at each of Marcus's balls in turn as they drew up tight, biting into the firm inner thigh beneath his chin as Marcus began to thrust up into his hand.
Esca wanted to touch and taste everything, to shower Marcus with adoration, stroking his fingertips through the glossy silk of Marcus's dark pubic bush as he nuzzled his way between Marcus's arse cheeks. With one forceful thrust Esca pushed his tongue inside of Marcus deep as he could, his hand tighter around Marcus's cock as it swelled and pulsed, and Marcus gave a gurgling, choking howl as he started to shoot over Esca's knuckles. The spasms took a long time to stop, Esca working deeper with each one, his fingers encouraging each warm spurt. He finally drew away with a last kiss, another at the softening tip of Marcus's spent cock before moving up to delve into an open, gasping mouth.
“You're not smoking.”
Marcus had snuggled down into the bed, his head lying on Esca's naked chest as he stroked up and down over Esca's thigh.
“Nope. Gave it up.” He combed through Marcus's mussed hair with his fingers, not sure if he'd felt happier or more satisfied than like this, sprawled in a bed that fit them both, his declaration of love over and done with, the cold of his home thousands of miles away and Marcus's warmth wrapped around him. “Sort of.”
The head under his hand moved, Marcus propping his chin up on Esca's chest and smiling up at him, eyes sparkling and full of life. “Sort of?”
“Your uncle keeps getting me drunk and I tend to slide a bit at that point.”
“Hmm, yes, my uncle. What have you two been discussing in my absence?”
“Oh, everything. Every single embarrassing thing you ever did as a child and while growing up. We laughed about each one and made fun of you.”
“Ha ha, very amusing. Satisfy my curiosity, please.”
“He worries for you. See?” Marcus groaned and dropped his head back to Esca's chest again, Esca ruffling through his hair. “I knew you wouldn't like it. I told him he might not need to worry, if you forgave me. He wants you to have children, though, and I'm not going to be any help at all where that's concerned.”
“Porca vacca, so you spoke of it all.” It was grumbled into Esca's chest. “And children? Flavio would run like he was chased by a rabid dog if a single one came near.”
“He said you'd been back to where you grew up.” Esca paused, not wanting to cross an unacceptable boundary, but it was probably time. “Did you see her? Mimi, is it?”
A sigh against his skin, followed by a kiss as Marcus settled in against him. “Si. Does it bother you?”
“No.” It did, a bit, if he was honest with himself, Esca imagining some petite, dark-haired Italian beauty who Marcus would've taken one look at before promptly forgetting all about him.
“It shouldn't. She's fat with her fourth child, the others running around her ankles, an adoring husband at her side who'd place his arm firmly around her shoulders every time I so much as looked her way.” Esca could see that Marcus had opened his eyes now to stare at the wall, the thick fringe of minky eyelashes apparent beneath the ridge of brow. “You should know it's not the children I want. It's a life with someone who look at me how he does with her. I thought you had begun to, but this whole last week I've been telling myself I was wrong and a fool for ever believing otherwise.”
“You weren't wrong. This face,” Esca reached down to tilt Marcus's chin up, smoothing his thumb over where he knew a dimple lay beneath, then tracing the full upper line of Marcus's top lip. “This beautiful, handsome face . . . there's nothing in the world I'd rather look at.”
“I need you to be sure.”
Flickers of remembered pain moved across Marcus's face like shadows, reminding Esca that this was a man who'd probably experienced enough pain for a thousand lifetimes. So silly and cruel that someone as small and insignificant as him could've caused so much as a minute of it.
“I've left my job, my home and my country, just to come to you. Surely that's worth some credit? Marcus, listen to me . . .” Esca shifted, scooting down to face Marcus, wrapping an arm over him as a hand moved over his back and down to palm his bum. “And you can cut that out, too.”
“What? I'm not permitted to simply touch?”
Two fingers were stroking between his arse cheeks, idling in the slight fuzz there, Marcus's face as innocent as an angel's although the pain in his eyes had been replaced with all sorts of delicious wickedness. “I'm trying to ask you something, and you're distracting me.”
One fingertip eased its way between his cheeks to rub slowly but surely over his pucker. “Me? No. You're mistaken, Mr. MacCunoval.”
“Marcus . . .” The finger stopped rubbing at his warning tone, but didn't withdraw, Esca's prick already beginning to make its presence known against Marcus's. “Is that it? Your finger's still pretty much up my bum.”
“Not yet, it isn't. I'm waiting to be asked something.”
Perhaps it wasn't how he'd pictured this, either, none of Esca's great scheme of whisking Marcus off his feet working out as he'd planned it throughout every day's waiting, but maybe this was better in its way, arousal heating him through, Marcus's cock growing hard against his as the finger started to move again. Even though it wasn't a night-shaded veranda, two glasses of wine, a moonlit walk and a romantic speech pledging himself for as long as Marcus would have him, perhaps this was a perfect start in itself.
“I told you about my nest egg.” Esca hissed softly as Marcus grinned at him and rubbed at his arsehole harder. “You're not planning to make this easy on me, are you?”
“No.”
“You're a nuisance.” But he lifted his leg enough to give Marcus better access, two fingers rubbing circles around his hole now. “Well, I've not got much, but it's what came from selling my dad's shop, and then the family home when Mam died. I've put away every penny I could since, it's why I'm such a scruffy bugger. Ooh, fuck, I can't talk when you're doing that. I can't even think.”
Marcus had spat onto his fingers and had now worked one into Esca up to the knuckle. “Try harder.”
“It was my escape fund. Ooh, God. Um, I'd wanted to keep saving till I could get away and not come back. It's ours, now, for us.”
It stopped the motion of Marcus's knuckle as it twisted and fucked into him, Marcus's hand pausing against Esca's inner thigh as he looked up at Esca in question. “Che?”
“There's a whole world out there, full of history and beauty, and I wanted to see it all before I died stuck in bloody Scotland freezing my arse off.” Esca pushed Marcus's finger deeper into himself with a grunt, staring deep into Marcus's eyes as he squeezed around his knuckle. “I realised last week that none of it would mean a thing without you. I'd rather live and die in a muddy hole somewhere, if it was with you. So, whichever and whatever you want, the world or a cave or back to a shithole like Cranholme, I'll take us there, so long as I get to be with you.”
“Truly, Esca?” A smile lit Marcus up and Esca felt himself falling in love again, suspecting it might happen over and over, something far too wonderful for a pitiful sod like him. “You would give me the world?”
“If you'll let me.”