Fic: Widdershins, (The Eagle AU), part 17/17
Title: Widdershins, part 17/17: Epilogue
Pairing: Esca Mac Cunoval/Marcus Aquila
Rating: NC-17
Length: 5k
Warnings: None this time, that I can think of
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. Thank you everyone for all the lovely feedback and support, which has been the engine that kept this chugging along. I've loved every single comment and have taken them all to heart. Grazie mille and love to all ♥
A/N2: awarrington suggested I post a quick note about where the title comes from for anyone who doesn't recognise it. Wikipedia sums it up well, but in brief, it's a term used to mean moving anti-clockwise, towards the left, or generally in a different direction to the usual one. In (mostly archaic) Scots and Welsh usage, it can also be used to mean someone's contrary by nature or goes against the norm i.e. “Don't mind him, he's always been a wee bit widdershins.”
April, 1962
To stroll the scalding sands, the cracked rocks, the pebbled, palm-shaded pathways and ancient walls of Kos is to walk in the sandal prints of Hercules and Hippocrates, perhaps even those of St. Paul. If you choose to do so you're in some good and some, perhaps, equally bad company: The Persians, Macedonians, the Romans, the kings Ptolemy and Mithridates, the Arabs, the Francs, Venetians and Ottomans are amongst those who have fought for or over Kos since its first mythical involvement in the Battle of the Titans. More recently it's been held in both Italian and British hands, handily so for M and myself as small remnants of both languages remain in the islanders' current vocabulary.
You might agree that's a mightily turbulent political history for a relatively small island of sage-scented breezes, almonds, figs and olives, one that was once renowned for the quality of its fine silks. That it is the sacred land of Asclepius, the god of healing, is easy to believe, because the tranquil nature of Kos was, and thankfully is, seldom broken. Find a taverna with a big banana tree to drink your retsina and eat your soutsakakia beneath while you watch fishermen casting their nets into the clear seas beyond, and it's difficult to believe there's been anything other than peace here since its first-known settlers in the Early Bronze Age.
Esca stopped typing and rolled the paper up to read it over, wrinkling his nose as he did so. He should've paid more attention in his English classes, and there was such a thing as too much history in a place. He was beginning to believe he should've picked a far less complicated island for this month's column. Too late to do anything about that now, but he should've learned this lesson years back. Egypt had been a right bugger and he'd eventually had to break their visit up into three parts.
He turned around to squint into the sun up the stairs to check that the villa was quiet, windows shut, before reaching back to forage in his jacket pocket for a smoke, picking up his watered-down ouzo for a quick swig as he did so. He shouldn't be writing out here as it was, too many distractions, the sound of the waves sloshing lazily against golden sand lulling him into restfulness, sparkling light dancing invitingly off the brilliant blue water calling to him to take a quick dip even though the wind was a bit too cold, not to mention the stack of unread reference books waiting for him upstairs that had to go back to the library in a couple of days. Esca sighed, taking a puff on his fag that sent his head spinning now he was limiting himself one or two per day, and he eased his typewriter on its makeshift table out the way to stretch his legs out, letting the warm breeze waft his shirt open, digging his feet into the sand. Difficult to feel too sorry for oneself, sitting on a deserted beach a little drunk and settling down to do the five or six hours' actual work he managed per month.
A piercing whistle from above startled him out of a daydream, and Esca turned in his rickety chair to see Marcus raising a hand from the patio at the top of the stairs. He gleefully drowned his smoke in the dregs of his ouzo, tossing it all off into the roots of the fig tree he'd been typing under, unspeakably relieved at any excuse not to write. It only took a few moments to bag up his typewriter and gather up his notes to start up the stairs, watching windows opening as Marcus began to air the place out.
“Good morning. Or is it lunchtime yet?”
“Shouldn't you be writing?”
Marcus had started unpacking groceries in the tiny kitchen, efficiently placing everything in the small larder and old-fashioned ice box. Esca put his typewriter down on the long table in the living area next to his books on Greek history and the scruffy notebooks he'd been filling all month, crossing over to stand behind Marcus to wrap his arms around a waist that was a good few inches rounder than it had been once.
“I have been. Two whole paragraphs.”
“Two? Goodness me. You must be exhausted.”
“Knackered. Although,” As Marcus turned in the circle of his arms to start kissing along Esca's jaw, “Now you mention it, I've got a wee bit left in reserve if you're feeling frisky.”
“I'd hoped you might.”
There was grey speckled through the tufty dark hair now, flecks of it in the short beard scruffing against his face, but the kiss was every bit as passionate as it had ever been, Marcus's big hands cupping his jaw and neck to draw Esca deeper into it. The thin, coarse cotton of Marcus's fisherman's tunic did nothing to hide the heft of his shoulders, nor that thick throat tanned a deep olive, Esca moving down to suck and bite as he worked his hands inside the drawstring of Marcus's loose linen trousers.
Bed. It had been their only rule wherever they'd stayed, that in whatever two-bedroom apartment or villa they'd chastely rent, there had to be the one big bed, after a few misguided attempts at cheaply reliving the days of cramming themselves into beds barely meant for one grown man. Esca had stripped Marcus totally by the time they'd stumbled into the cool, shaded main bedroom, watching Marcus lie back to spread his legs and stroke himself as Esca eased out of his few garments. A lot less to take off in a warmer climate, but he almost wished he could take more time, enjoying the view, long limbs and brown skin from countless days spent naked on deserted beaches, all waiting for his touch.
There was so much he'd learned in the past years. How every minute spent on Marcus's neck and chest with his tongue and teeth would reduce the body beneath his into a babbling, squirming mess. How fingers would twist and plead in his hair the longer he suckled and lapped at Marcus's balls, how sensitive they were, drawing up tight as he fucked oiled fingers into Marcus's arsehole and sucked one fluid oval into his mouth entirely, then the other as Marcus whimpered and cursed at him to do more. It wasn't as if any of it was a chore, but the benefits far outweighed the efforts involved, Marcus already on the edge and quivering with need as Esca moved into position and started to push in. Three thrusts and Marcus was already coming with a frantic shout, Esca reaching down to smear the thick liquid over that soft, warm belly as Marcus opened up fully now to let him all the way in.
Even during all that time, even on occasions after he'd been sucked into a puddle of molten bones and shuddering sensation, Esca never managed to welcome Marcus's massive prick into himself this easily, sliding all the way in until his balls nestled comfortably against Marcus's cheeks, Marcus hazily grinning a cum-happy smile up at him as he squeezed around Esca and hiked his hips higher. For a few years they'd fucked, and screwed, and humped in ecstatic freedom, all in remote enough locations where they could scream their stupid heads off with the intensity of it, but over time it had mellowed into this, a slow grind buried to the hilt as Marcus sat up enough to kiss, murmuring words of love to each other that Esca understood in a handful of languages now. Because of Marcus he'd learned to make love. It seemed to him to get better every time.
Head pressed into Marcus's sweat-damp chest, hands gripping his hips, Esca rocked into him in an inch-deep fuck that pressed up along that spot inside Marcus that made his soft cock twitch with every stroke, the air in the room heating up as the sun climbed outside and they both began to pant. If Esca could keep it going long enough, restraining himself from anything else but concentrating on the feeling of Marcus's tight, oiled gut enveloping him totally with each push inside, he knew this alone would have Marcus hard again soon, the tanned column of muscular throat above him already stretched back and gulping as Marcus groaned and shuddered. It wasn't the slow, drowsy sucking or stroking that they'd woken up with every morning for over a decade, mouths fastened on one another's as they'd cover themselves in a mess to be cleaned up in a shared shower once they'd crawled out of bed, nor the late night laughing, fumbling, too-much-wine tumbles into that bed they'd take each night. This was always different, something that still felt like a stolen moment.
“Ahh, too much, per favore, piu dolcamente, lentamente . . .”
Esca complied with a kiss at Marcus's ankle, softening his grip on Marcus's semi-hard cock and stroking it more gently, his thrusts slower and longer as he'd withdraw nearly all the way, allowing Marcus to tighten around the tip of his dick before shoving back in.
“Sometimes it feels like I could fuck you forever.”
A laugh that sent ripples of vibration around him, Marcus's grin flashing up between them before Esca's thumb rubbing over his stiffening prick made him moan. “Sometimes it feels like you do. No fishing for me this afternoon, I think.”
“No?” Esca slammed back inside harder this time, picking up his pace as his fingers dug into the scar on Marcus's thigh. “You don't fancy sitting on your little wooden stool all day after this?”
“Surprisingly, no. Oh, dio mio, Esca, si, scopami, dai.”
Marcus was fully erect against Esca's palm now, a clear drop of fluid leaking out of his thick cock as Esca squeezed it hard before smearing the liquid with his thumb and raising it up to Marcus's mouth to suck at. Marcus always looked so wanton like this, well-fucked, gasping and sweating his way to his second climax, cum-hungry and fucking himself on Esca as he moved to meet Esca's every thrust. Sometimes they'd prop up Marcus's hips on the pillows so Esca could hammer away at his hips from behind, but this was always going to be how Esca loved it best, looking down at Marcus's flushed, lust-drunk beauty spread out under him, how the muscles in that heavy, solid torso would bunch and contract whenever Esca hit just right.
It was coming on him, feet and legs cramping, sweat dripping off his soaked hair onto Marcus's stomach as Esca left Marcus's cock to his own hand and grabbed Marcus's hips again to start ploughing his way in faster and harder, the smack of flesh on flesh loud, the scent of them both an intoxicating testament to how deep inside he was. How necessary this was, how perfect, each slam inside stoking the fire in Esca's groin to flashpoint as every muscle began to tighten, the inward coil of orgasm hardening to a point of near-pain. Eyes closed and his breath rasping in his throat, Esca sensed Marcus coming again as a low moan signalled a tightening of the band of flesh surrounding him, waves of muscle contracting around his swelling cock until he wanted to weep. One thrust more, then another, and he was gone, arched back and stomach tight with thundering pleasure as he emptied into Marcus's gut.
“Mm. Fuck, it's hot in here. Com'e stato per te?”
As usual, any use of his shoddy, badly-accented Italian earned Esca a kiss on his head, where he'd collapsed in a sweating mess over Marcus's body to get wrapped in strong arms. “E stato stupendo, mio luce.”
“Stupendous? Well, molto bene. Oh, no,” As Marcus shifted to allow Esca's softening cock to slide out of him before rolling Esca onto the bed. “Not yet. I don't even get a full minute these days.”
“Nature calls, amore mio.” Long fingers stroked his wet hair back and Esca kept his eyes closed for the long kiss that followed, tugging at the base of Marcus's beard to pull him deeper into it before the mouth on his moved away. “And don't go to sleep.”
“Can't promise that.”
Esca stretched out across the bed to let the fan start drying his damp skin, enjoying Marcus's departing figure, the dance of perfect muscles beneath golden skin, brown buttocks as taut and full as they ever were. He couldn't help the broad smile of an entirely smug satisfaction taking him over as he watched a trickle of his own cum working its way down the back of a strong thigh as Marcus moved around the door towards the bathroom. Two paragraphs drafted out, the last of a toe-curling climax fizzing and popping under his skin, and the finest views in all of the world. Life couldn't get better than that.
-
“So, what exactly is this?”
“Fish.”
“I know, but what kind of fish? And what's this in it?”
Marcus tutted under his breath, soaking up the oil and juices on his plate with a piece of olive bread. “It's fish, Esca. Eat it.”
“Hm.” Esca poked at it suspiciously, the colour of the fried skin a strange pinky-red underneath the brown, crispy bits, the fish's eye glaring up at him balefully as he inspected its stomach's contents. “Next place, we're getting a chicken. There's only so much you can hide in scrambled egg.”
“It's fennel and lemon, that's it. I'm not trying to poison you.”
“But -”
“Madonna, just eat the damn fish or make a sandwich.”
“I suppose at least it's not squid.”
“Will you ever forget about the squid? Basta, Esca, that must be four years ago.”
“And it's haunted my nightmares since, thank you.”
A dish of warm, wormy pasta sauced with a thick, grey glop that had turned out to be the ink of the squid chopped up in it, whose dead suckers managed to attach themselves to his teeth with the few nauseating bites he'd managed. Esca had proven enough that he would try new tastes, but the squid incident had been a sticking point. Generally he'd encouraged Marcus's hunter-gatherer thing, soft-eyed with love as he'd sit flipping through his notes on a beach and watch Marcus for hour after hour, sitting on his wooden stool and staring out at the water with endless patience and stillness as he waited for a fish to bite. Or the way Marcus would return grinning his head off from a day's limping around scrubby hills with the local farmers he'd made friends with, proudly brandishing a handful of dead rabbits that he'd go do medieval things to out back with a big knife before producing a stew later on, thick with the scents of the bay leaves and thyme studding the dark broth.
“It's alright, actually.” Esca reached out with a foot, covering warm, bare toes with his own under the table. “A bit like haddock.”
“I'm faint with praise.” The toes rubbed against his own, a dry gust of the early afternoon's wind coming in the open windows to send shivers running over his skin. “Have some bread.”
“I wish you'd stop trying to make me like olives.”
Esca started to pick the black nuggets out of the chunk of bread he'd torn off, flicking them off at Marcus one by one as Marcus rolled his eyes and scooped them up off the table top to eat. “I fail to see why I should go without simply because you have the palate of a breastfed baby. If you don't like my choices . . .”
“I know, I know where the market is, pace. I'll get the coffee on.”
A grunt as Marcus continued to clear his plate, so Esca paused long enough to lean down and press a kiss to the top of Marcus's head, an arm snaking around his waist to draw him into something deeper as he smoothed his hand down a long slide of strong back. “You know, I wouldn't be this fat if I didn't like the food service around here.”
“You're skinny as my leg and you only like the food service because it's naked.”
“And handsome. My two favourite things.”
“And here I was thinking you were in love with my soul.”
He tweaked Marcus's nose for that, catching a dimple with his thumb. “I am. Your big, muscly, naked and very handsome soul.”
“Va bene. Oh,” As Esca turned to go off to the kitchen with a slap stinging his arse. “The mail's caught up with us. It's on the counter.”
“Ooh, goody. Money. Let's go crazy and actually buy ourselves something this month.”
“Such as?”
Esca stopped to lean against the doorway, Marcus's eyes looking him over with an appreciative gleam. “I don't know. I can't remember what people with money buy. Hats?”
“I could do with new brushes.”
“Ugh, boring. I mean something frivolous. Something we don't need.”
That smile still had the power to melt him from the toes up. “There's nothing I want that I don't already have.”
“Enough of that sloppy stuff, Romeo. Put your thinking cap on while I'm in the kitchen.”
There was a postcard from Fiona on top of the bundled mail, from London, red buses crossing Tower Bridge, only a few lines scrawled on the back of it about a business trip with her married boss that suggested the scarlet woman thing was coming along a treat. Esca put aside a thick envelope from Joyce. Her monthly updates were always long and gossipy, Esca eager for any mention of Stew, but he'd save it and the Cranholme newsletter Joyce always included for later on tonight, over a bottle of wine before getting pissed and swaying to old records in Marcus's arms until the swaying turned into more. A letter from Flavio, which Esca placed on his tray alongside two cups and his sugar bowl, always making the point to add his three or more sugars in front of Marcus no matter how much Marcus huffed and disapproved at him for doing so. A man needed a hobby. That was his.
The cheque from the monthly magazine that had picked up his columns was meagre as ever, as was another one in Marcus's name for the splotchy, vivid watercolours that accompanied Esca's descriptions of their travels. A chance meeting in Venice six years ago with an ex-pat journalist Esca had once known in Cambridge who'd taken one joyful look at Marcus before whisking them off to his palazzo, a boozy laugh-filled supper that had ended in a proposition of a threesome kindly but firmly turned down, and a promise to call his editor the next day. Esca's scribble-filled journals had turned into their only income, a messy mix of history and their travels with whatever bad jokes Esca could work into it without his editor taking notice. It was enough, eked out day by day with Marcus's contributions keeping their bellies fuller than they probably needed to be. But the accompanying letter had him racing out to thrust it at Marcus before the moka pot had stopped spluttering at him.
“Read this. Back in a mo.”
“What is it? Esca?”
“Read it, idiota, you'll see. It's sort of exciting.”
“A book?” Marcus was beaming at him proudly as he came through to the kitchen with the letter, leaning on his stick. “That would be something.”
“They're only thinking about it and nobody'll buy it, I mean, who's going to be interested in a book of my stupid shite, but still. Just imagine, my name on a book. I might even give you a credit if they stick a picture or two in.”
“A credit?” Marcus chuckled, rubbing his nose into Esca's ear. “I'd expect a full, adoring dedication.”
“Might risk the image of us as platonic, proper, gentlemanly chums out on a lark I've been working to maintain.”
A kiss pressed beneath his ear as Marcus hugged into him, velvet-soft cock pressing against Esca's hip. “The world should know of our love.”
“The world doesn't approve of our love and would need smelling salts.” The coffee needed attending to, Esca working his way out of Marcus's arms. “And it's not definite yet, so don't get all excited.”
“But we should go out to eat tonight. A celebration.”
“That we should. Here, you've got a letter from Zio Flav. Go read it, I'll be done in a minute.”
-
There was something off about Marcus's face when Esca next entered the room, a pallor underneath the tan, a frown set in deep lines as Marcus scanned the letter, muttering some of its words to himself.
“What's wrong? What's happened?”
“Flavio's taken a fall from a horse.”
“What? No. Is he . . .” Esca placed the coffee tray down on the table, moving to rub over Marcus's shoulders in sympathy, looking at the letter himself although he was only able to pick out an occasional word. “I mean, he's getting on. A bad fall -”
“He's recovering. Shaken, of course. His hip,” Marcus winced, reading it over again. “Has taken the brunt of it. Foolish old man's most upset about his favourite colt. A snake bite, went into convulsions and snapped a leg.”
“Ah, damn. Maybe we should go back and visit. Make sure he's alright?” Marcus placed the letter down, covering Esca's hand on his shoulder with his own as he turned to draw Esca down into his lap, Esca shifting upwards to not put too much pressure on Marcus's injured thigh. “Are you okay? I'm sure he'll be fine. He's a tough bugger, it'd take more than that to bring down the likes of Flavio Aquila.”
“I know.” Dry, rough hands took Esca's and squeezed them as Marcus's head moved to lean against to his shoulder with a sigh. “I can't help worrying.”
“What are you not telling me? Is he ill, too?” Esca nuzzled into Marcus's hair, dropping a kiss there. “What's going on inside this head?”
“He's asked for us.”
“Fine by me. I said we should visit.”
Another sigh like Marcus had the weight of the world on his shoulders. “No, not a visit. He wants us to return home to help out and take over things.”
“Permanently?”
“Si. Permanently.”
“Oh.” He got up to pour the coffee, pushing a cup over towards Marcus before pouring his own. Marcus didn't seem to notice four heaped spoons of sugar being mixed into Esca's coffee, scanning the letter over again, and Esca knew it had to be serious if four spoons didn't warrant a single comment. “A permanent move. That's . . . somewhat unexpected.”
“I'm sorry.” Marcus sighed, placing the letter down and rubbing over his eyes with shaky hands.
“What? Don't be silly. You've nothing to be sorry for, and you're supposed to be worried about your only living relative. I'd think less of you if you didn't.”
“You said you wanted to see the world.” Marcus's brown fingers turned his cup this way and that, green eyes focussed off into nothing as he stared out the window and lifted the cup for a sip. “We've barely touched a fifth of it.”
“We've seen more than most.”
“But I can't ask you to give up your dream. I wouldn't, and won't.”
“Don't give me that noble bollocks.” Esca nudged at Marcus's ankle under the table until a worried, drawn face swung his way. “I said years back I'd even return to a freezing hole like Cranholme, so long as I got to be with you. It's not like you're dragging me off sheep farming on the upland moors, and nothing's changed, I'd go even if you were. A bit of gardening under the sun's not going to kill me, now, is it?”
“You'd go? Without complaint?”
“Of course I would. He's family.” Esca grinned suddenly. “Hey, maybe he'll let me take over the vines. I think I'd be good at that.”
Marcus started to chuckle, fingers sliding across the table to tangle in Esca's, a grateful squeeze. “It'd be making use of a lifetime's hard study.”
“I'm practically an expert already.”
“Come.” The hand in his tugged as Marcus got to his feet and pulled Esca up with him. “Come here.”
They hugged together, Marcus's chin propped on Esca's shoulder, rocking from foot to foot for a long moment until Marcus nudged his way with his nose to Esca's mouth for a quick kiss.
“What was that for? I'm not complaining . . .”
“It didn't work out quite so well the first time I asked you to follow me home.”
Esca's ears burned at the reminder, his harsh words to Marcus ringing in his mind as loud and clear as they had ten years back, 'There's no point. No future with you and me in it.' How he hadn't even had the courage to watch Marcus walking away from him, how it had felt like his world was crumbling around his ears and the staggering pain once he'd realised Marcus had left for good. “Yes, it did. Eventually.”
“It did.”
He'd been right when he'd thought that he'd never get used to these kisses, that they'd never be anything but miraculous and pulse-raising, opening his mouth beneath Marcus's as the winds made the blue curtains in the windows of their small rented villa flutter, the grumbles of a cluster of chirping birds outside fighting over the last of the morning's toast filtering through on the sunny rays dancing across the floor tiles. A minute, nothing more, as his heart filled up to overflowing with emotion he'd never imagined possible back in his dusty room, huddled alone with his hot water bottle hugging his whisky.
“I've got one thing to ask, though.”
Marcus wiped the damp from their kiss off Esca's lips with a calloused thumb, smiling into his eyes. “Anything.”
“Is there a big rush back? I mean, can we take a week or two, or do we need to be there immediately?”
“I don't think so. Massimo's there fighting off the valley's widows who are all descending to play nursemaid, and clashing saucepans with one another.” The small crease of a frown appeared between Marcus's eyebrows as he looked down at Esca in question. “Why do you ask?”
“I thought we could stop off one place on the way back. Only quickly, a few days.” Esca swallowed on a dry throat, gathering the courage to spit it out and have done with, something he'd come close to asking with each monthly hop they'd make from one place to another. “Sicily?”
“Ah.” Marcus's shoulders either relaxed or slumped, Esca couldn't tell which. “You want me to take you to Vizzini?”
“I think it's time. If that's alright with you, I don't want to drag you there if it's going to bring up too many painful memories.”
The thumbs stroking along his jaw cupped his chin, drawing his mouth up to be kissed, before Marcus closed his eyes and laid his head against Esca's. “Don't you know by now that I'd follow you to the ends of civilisation if you asked me to?”
“I do. Don't want to take advantage of it. And you should also now that you shouldn't follow me anywhere if you don't want to get lost.”
“I was lost the moment I set eyes on you, Esca MacCunoval.”
“If you don't stop talking like that, I'll have to drag you to the bedroom and make sure you can't fish tomorrow, either.”
“Do you see me stopping you? I thought perhaps you were going to ask me if we could go home first. Visit the old place.”
“Cranholme? Fuck, no,” As Marcus nodded against his head, Esca moved to tighten his arms around Marcus's waist, sliding a hand down to palm one perfect bum cheek. “I've no desire to set foot anywhere near that place ever again.”
“Va bene. It was worth clarifying.”
“Besides, I am home.” Esca pulled back to look into the face of a man who was the moon and stars, the sun, the air and the song of birds, the silken seas they'd sailed together and the blood hardening his prick and the beating of his heart. “I'm with you, aren't I?”
Pairing: Esca Mac Cunoval/Marcus Aquila
Rating: NC-17
Length: 5k
Warnings: None this time, that I can think of
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. Thank you everyone for all the lovely feedback and support, which has been the engine that kept this chugging along. I've loved every single comment and have taken them all to heart. Grazie mille and love to all ♥
A/N2: awarrington suggested I post a quick note about where the title comes from for anyone who doesn't recognise it. Wikipedia sums it up well, but in brief, it's a term used to mean moving anti-clockwise, towards the left, or generally in a different direction to the usual one. In (mostly archaic) Scots and Welsh usage, it can also be used to mean someone's contrary by nature or goes against the norm i.e. “Don't mind him, he's always been a wee bit widdershins.”
April, 1962
To stroll the scalding sands, the cracked rocks, the pebbled, palm-shaded pathways and ancient walls of Kos is to walk in the sandal prints of Hercules and Hippocrates, perhaps even those of St. Paul. If you choose to do so you're in some good and some, perhaps, equally bad company: The Persians, Macedonians, the Romans, the kings Ptolemy and Mithridates, the Arabs, the Francs, Venetians and Ottomans are amongst those who have fought for or over Kos since its first mythical involvement in the Battle of the Titans. More recently it's been held in both Italian and British hands, handily so for M and myself as small remnants of both languages remain in the islanders' current vocabulary.
You might agree that's a mightily turbulent political history for a relatively small island of sage-scented breezes, almonds, figs and olives, one that was once renowned for the quality of its fine silks. That it is the sacred land of Asclepius, the god of healing, is easy to believe, because the tranquil nature of Kos was, and thankfully is, seldom broken. Find a taverna with a big banana tree to drink your retsina and eat your soutsakakia beneath while you watch fishermen casting their nets into the clear seas beyond, and it's difficult to believe there's been anything other than peace here since its first-known settlers in the Early Bronze Age.
Esca stopped typing and rolled the paper up to read it over, wrinkling his nose as he did so. He should've paid more attention in his English classes, and there was such a thing as too much history in a place. He was beginning to believe he should've picked a far less complicated island for this month's column. Too late to do anything about that now, but he should've learned this lesson years back. Egypt had been a right bugger and he'd eventually had to break their visit up into three parts.
He turned around to squint into the sun up the stairs to check that the villa was quiet, windows shut, before reaching back to forage in his jacket pocket for a smoke, picking up his watered-down ouzo for a quick swig as he did so. He shouldn't be writing out here as it was, too many distractions, the sound of the waves sloshing lazily against golden sand lulling him into restfulness, sparkling light dancing invitingly off the brilliant blue water calling to him to take a quick dip even though the wind was a bit too cold, not to mention the stack of unread reference books waiting for him upstairs that had to go back to the library in a couple of days. Esca sighed, taking a puff on his fag that sent his head spinning now he was limiting himself one or two per day, and he eased his typewriter on its makeshift table out the way to stretch his legs out, letting the warm breeze waft his shirt open, digging his feet into the sand. Difficult to feel too sorry for oneself, sitting on a deserted beach a little drunk and settling down to do the five or six hours' actual work he managed per month.
A piercing whistle from above startled him out of a daydream, and Esca turned in his rickety chair to see Marcus raising a hand from the patio at the top of the stairs. He gleefully drowned his smoke in the dregs of his ouzo, tossing it all off into the roots of the fig tree he'd been typing under, unspeakably relieved at any excuse not to write. It only took a few moments to bag up his typewriter and gather up his notes to start up the stairs, watching windows opening as Marcus began to air the place out.
“Good morning. Or is it lunchtime yet?”
“Shouldn't you be writing?”
Marcus had started unpacking groceries in the tiny kitchen, efficiently placing everything in the small larder and old-fashioned ice box. Esca put his typewriter down on the long table in the living area next to his books on Greek history and the scruffy notebooks he'd been filling all month, crossing over to stand behind Marcus to wrap his arms around a waist that was a good few inches rounder than it had been once.
“I have been. Two whole paragraphs.”
“Two? Goodness me. You must be exhausted.”
“Knackered. Although,” As Marcus turned in the circle of his arms to start kissing along Esca's jaw, “Now you mention it, I've got a wee bit left in reserve if you're feeling frisky.”
“I'd hoped you might.”
There was grey speckled through the tufty dark hair now, flecks of it in the short beard scruffing against his face, but the kiss was every bit as passionate as it had ever been, Marcus's big hands cupping his jaw and neck to draw Esca deeper into it. The thin, coarse cotton of Marcus's fisherman's tunic did nothing to hide the heft of his shoulders, nor that thick throat tanned a deep olive, Esca moving down to suck and bite as he worked his hands inside the drawstring of Marcus's loose linen trousers.
Bed. It had been their only rule wherever they'd stayed, that in whatever two-bedroom apartment or villa they'd chastely rent, there had to be the one big bed, after a few misguided attempts at cheaply reliving the days of cramming themselves into beds barely meant for one grown man. Esca had stripped Marcus totally by the time they'd stumbled into the cool, shaded main bedroom, watching Marcus lie back to spread his legs and stroke himself as Esca eased out of his few garments. A lot less to take off in a warmer climate, but he almost wished he could take more time, enjoying the view, long limbs and brown skin from countless days spent naked on deserted beaches, all waiting for his touch.
There was so much he'd learned in the past years. How every minute spent on Marcus's neck and chest with his tongue and teeth would reduce the body beneath his into a babbling, squirming mess. How fingers would twist and plead in his hair the longer he suckled and lapped at Marcus's balls, how sensitive they were, drawing up tight as he fucked oiled fingers into Marcus's arsehole and sucked one fluid oval into his mouth entirely, then the other as Marcus whimpered and cursed at him to do more. It wasn't as if any of it was a chore, but the benefits far outweighed the efforts involved, Marcus already on the edge and quivering with need as Esca moved into position and started to push in. Three thrusts and Marcus was already coming with a frantic shout, Esca reaching down to smear the thick liquid over that soft, warm belly as Marcus opened up fully now to let him all the way in.
Even during all that time, even on occasions after he'd been sucked into a puddle of molten bones and shuddering sensation, Esca never managed to welcome Marcus's massive prick into himself this easily, sliding all the way in until his balls nestled comfortably against Marcus's cheeks, Marcus hazily grinning a cum-happy smile up at him as he squeezed around Esca and hiked his hips higher. For a few years they'd fucked, and screwed, and humped in ecstatic freedom, all in remote enough locations where they could scream their stupid heads off with the intensity of it, but over time it had mellowed into this, a slow grind buried to the hilt as Marcus sat up enough to kiss, murmuring words of love to each other that Esca understood in a handful of languages now. Because of Marcus he'd learned to make love. It seemed to him to get better every time.
Head pressed into Marcus's sweat-damp chest, hands gripping his hips, Esca rocked into him in an inch-deep fuck that pressed up along that spot inside Marcus that made his soft cock twitch with every stroke, the air in the room heating up as the sun climbed outside and they both began to pant. If Esca could keep it going long enough, restraining himself from anything else but concentrating on the feeling of Marcus's tight, oiled gut enveloping him totally with each push inside, he knew this alone would have Marcus hard again soon, the tanned column of muscular throat above him already stretched back and gulping as Marcus groaned and shuddered. It wasn't the slow, drowsy sucking or stroking that they'd woken up with every morning for over a decade, mouths fastened on one another's as they'd cover themselves in a mess to be cleaned up in a shared shower once they'd crawled out of bed, nor the late night laughing, fumbling, too-much-wine tumbles into that bed they'd take each night. This was always different, something that still felt like a stolen moment.
“Ahh, too much, per favore, piu dolcamente, lentamente . . .”
Esca complied with a kiss at Marcus's ankle, softening his grip on Marcus's semi-hard cock and stroking it more gently, his thrusts slower and longer as he'd withdraw nearly all the way, allowing Marcus to tighten around the tip of his dick before shoving back in.
“Sometimes it feels like I could fuck you forever.”
A laugh that sent ripples of vibration around him, Marcus's grin flashing up between them before Esca's thumb rubbing over his stiffening prick made him moan. “Sometimes it feels like you do. No fishing for me this afternoon, I think.”
“No?” Esca slammed back inside harder this time, picking up his pace as his fingers dug into the scar on Marcus's thigh. “You don't fancy sitting on your little wooden stool all day after this?”
“Surprisingly, no. Oh, dio mio, Esca, si, scopami, dai.”
Marcus was fully erect against Esca's palm now, a clear drop of fluid leaking out of his thick cock as Esca squeezed it hard before smearing the liquid with his thumb and raising it up to Marcus's mouth to suck at. Marcus always looked so wanton like this, well-fucked, gasping and sweating his way to his second climax, cum-hungry and fucking himself on Esca as he moved to meet Esca's every thrust. Sometimes they'd prop up Marcus's hips on the pillows so Esca could hammer away at his hips from behind, but this was always going to be how Esca loved it best, looking down at Marcus's flushed, lust-drunk beauty spread out under him, how the muscles in that heavy, solid torso would bunch and contract whenever Esca hit just right.
It was coming on him, feet and legs cramping, sweat dripping off his soaked hair onto Marcus's stomach as Esca left Marcus's cock to his own hand and grabbed Marcus's hips again to start ploughing his way in faster and harder, the smack of flesh on flesh loud, the scent of them both an intoxicating testament to how deep inside he was. How necessary this was, how perfect, each slam inside stoking the fire in Esca's groin to flashpoint as every muscle began to tighten, the inward coil of orgasm hardening to a point of near-pain. Eyes closed and his breath rasping in his throat, Esca sensed Marcus coming again as a low moan signalled a tightening of the band of flesh surrounding him, waves of muscle contracting around his swelling cock until he wanted to weep. One thrust more, then another, and he was gone, arched back and stomach tight with thundering pleasure as he emptied into Marcus's gut.
“Mm. Fuck, it's hot in here. Com'e stato per te?”
As usual, any use of his shoddy, badly-accented Italian earned Esca a kiss on his head, where he'd collapsed in a sweating mess over Marcus's body to get wrapped in strong arms. “E stato stupendo, mio luce.”
“Stupendous? Well, molto bene. Oh, no,” As Marcus shifted to allow Esca's softening cock to slide out of him before rolling Esca onto the bed. “Not yet. I don't even get a full minute these days.”
“Nature calls, amore mio.” Long fingers stroked his wet hair back and Esca kept his eyes closed for the long kiss that followed, tugging at the base of Marcus's beard to pull him deeper into it before the mouth on his moved away. “And don't go to sleep.”
“Can't promise that.”
Esca stretched out across the bed to let the fan start drying his damp skin, enjoying Marcus's departing figure, the dance of perfect muscles beneath golden skin, brown buttocks as taut and full as they ever were. He couldn't help the broad smile of an entirely smug satisfaction taking him over as he watched a trickle of his own cum working its way down the back of a strong thigh as Marcus moved around the door towards the bathroom. Two paragraphs drafted out, the last of a toe-curling climax fizzing and popping under his skin, and the finest views in all of the world. Life couldn't get better than that.
-
“So, what exactly is this?”
“Fish.”
“I know, but what kind of fish? And what's this in it?”
Marcus tutted under his breath, soaking up the oil and juices on his plate with a piece of olive bread. “It's fish, Esca. Eat it.”
“Hm.” Esca poked at it suspiciously, the colour of the fried skin a strange pinky-red underneath the brown, crispy bits, the fish's eye glaring up at him balefully as he inspected its stomach's contents. “Next place, we're getting a chicken. There's only so much you can hide in scrambled egg.”
“It's fennel and lemon, that's it. I'm not trying to poison you.”
“But -”
“Madonna, just eat the damn fish or make a sandwich.”
“I suppose at least it's not squid.”
“Will you ever forget about the squid? Basta, Esca, that must be four years ago.”
“And it's haunted my nightmares since, thank you.”
A dish of warm, wormy pasta sauced with a thick, grey glop that had turned out to be the ink of the squid chopped up in it, whose dead suckers managed to attach themselves to his teeth with the few nauseating bites he'd managed. Esca had proven enough that he would try new tastes, but the squid incident had been a sticking point. Generally he'd encouraged Marcus's hunter-gatherer thing, soft-eyed with love as he'd sit flipping through his notes on a beach and watch Marcus for hour after hour, sitting on his wooden stool and staring out at the water with endless patience and stillness as he waited for a fish to bite. Or the way Marcus would return grinning his head off from a day's limping around scrubby hills with the local farmers he'd made friends with, proudly brandishing a handful of dead rabbits that he'd go do medieval things to out back with a big knife before producing a stew later on, thick with the scents of the bay leaves and thyme studding the dark broth.
“It's alright, actually.” Esca reached out with a foot, covering warm, bare toes with his own under the table. “A bit like haddock.”
“I'm faint with praise.” The toes rubbed against his own, a dry gust of the early afternoon's wind coming in the open windows to send shivers running over his skin. “Have some bread.”
“I wish you'd stop trying to make me like olives.”
Esca started to pick the black nuggets out of the chunk of bread he'd torn off, flicking them off at Marcus one by one as Marcus rolled his eyes and scooped them up off the table top to eat. “I fail to see why I should go without simply because you have the palate of a breastfed baby. If you don't like my choices . . .”
“I know, I know where the market is, pace. I'll get the coffee on.”
A grunt as Marcus continued to clear his plate, so Esca paused long enough to lean down and press a kiss to the top of Marcus's head, an arm snaking around his waist to draw him into something deeper as he smoothed his hand down a long slide of strong back. “You know, I wouldn't be this fat if I didn't like the food service around here.”
“You're skinny as my leg and you only like the food service because it's naked.”
“And handsome. My two favourite things.”
“And here I was thinking you were in love with my soul.”
He tweaked Marcus's nose for that, catching a dimple with his thumb. “I am. Your big, muscly, naked and very handsome soul.”
“Va bene. Oh,” As Esca turned to go off to the kitchen with a slap stinging his arse. “The mail's caught up with us. It's on the counter.”
“Ooh, goody. Money. Let's go crazy and actually buy ourselves something this month.”
“Such as?”
Esca stopped to lean against the doorway, Marcus's eyes looking him over with an appreciative gleam. “I don't know. I can't remember what people with money buy. Hats?”
“I could do with new brushes.”
“Ugh, boring. I mean something frivolous. Something we don't need.”
That smile still had the power to melt him from the toes up. “There's nothing I want that I don't already have.”
“Enough of that sloppy stuff, Romeo. Put your thinking cap on while I'm in the kitchen.”
There was a postcard from Fiona on top of the bundled mail, from London, red buses crossing Tower Bridge, only a few lines scrawled on the back of it about a business trip with her married boss that suggested the scarlet woman thing was coming along a treat. Esca put aside a thick envelope from Joyce. Her monthly updates were always long and gossipy, Esca eager for any mention of Stew, but he'd save it and the Cranholme newsletter Joyce always included for later on tonight, over a bottle of wine before getting pissed and swaying to old records in Marcus's arms until the swaying turned into more. A letter from Flavio, which Esca placed on his tray alongside two cups and his sugar bowl, always making the point to add his three or more sugars in front of Marcus no matter how much Marcus huffed and disapproved at him for doing so. A man needed a hobby. That was his.
The cheque from the monthly magazine that had picked up his columns was meagre as ever, as was another one in Marcus's name for the splotchy, vivid watercolours that accompanied Esca's descriptions of their travels. A chance meeting in Venice six years ago with an ex-pat journalist Esca had once known in Cambridge who'd taken one joyful look at Marcus before whisking them off to his palazzo, a boozy laugh-filled supper that had ended in a proposition of a threesome kindly but firmly turned down, and a promise to call his editor the next day. Esca's scribble-filled journals had turned into their only income, a messy mix of history and their travels with whatever bad jokes Esca could work into it without his editor taking notice. It was enough, eked out day by day with Marcus's contributions keeping their bellies fuller than they probably needed to be. But the accompanying letter had him racing out to thrust it at Marcus before the moka pot had stopped spluttering at him.
“Read this. Back in a mo.”
“What is it? Esca?”
“Read it, idiota, you'll see. It's sort of exciting.”
“A book?” Marcus was beaming at him proudly as he came through to the kitchen with the letter, leaning on his stick. “That would be something.”
“They're only thinking about it and nobody'll buy it, I mean, who's going to be interested in a book of my stupid shite, but still. Just imagine, my name on a book. I might even give you a credit if they stick a picture or two in.”
“A credit?” Marcus chuckled, rubbing his nose into Esca's ear. “I'd expect a full, adoring dedication.”
“Might risk the image of us as platonic, proper, gentlemanly chums out on a lark I've been working to maintain.”
A kiss pressed beneath his ear as Marcus hugged into him, velvet-soft cock pressing against Esca's hip. “The world should know of our love.”
“The world doesn't approve of our love and would need smelling salts.” The coffee needed attending to, Esca working his way out of Marcus's arms. “And it's not definite yet, so don't get all excited.”
“But we should go out to eat tonight. A celebration.”
“That we should. Here, you've got a letter from Zio Flav. Go read it, I'll be done in a minute.”
-
There was something off about Marcus's face when Esca next entered the room, a pallor underneath the tan, a frown set in deep lines as Marcus scanned the letter, muttering some of its words to himself.
“What's wrong? What's happened?”
“Flavio's taken a fall from a horse.”
“What? No. Is he . . .” Esca placed the coffee tray down on the table, moving to rub over Marcus's shoulders in sympathy, looking at the letter himself although he was only able to pick out an occasional word. “I mean, he's getting on. A bad fall -”
“He's recovering. Shaken, of course. His hip,” Marcus winced, reading it over again. “Has taken the brunt of it. Foolish old man's most upset about his favourite colt. A snake bite, went into convulsions and snapped a leg.”
“Ah, damn. Maybe we should go back and visit. Make sure he's alright?” Marcus placed the letter down, covering Esca's hand on his shoulder with his own as he turned to draw Esca down into his lap, Esca shifting upwards to not put too much pressure on Marcus's injured thigh. “Are you okay? I'm sure he'll be fine. He's a tough bugger, it'd take more than that to bring down the likes of Flavio Aquila.”
“I know.” Dry, rough hands took Esca's and squeezed them as Marcus's head moved to lean against to his shoulder with a sigh. “I can't help worrying.”
“What are you not telling me? Is he ill, too?” Esca nuzzled into Marcus's hair, dropping a kiss there. “What's going on inside this head?”
“He's asked for us.”
“Fine by me. I said we should visit.”
Another sigh like Marcus had the weight of the world on his shoulders. “No, not a visit. He wants us to return home to help out and take over things.”
“Permanently?”
“Si. Permanently.”
“Oh.” He got up to pour the coffee, pushing a cup over towards Marcus before pouring his own. Marcus didn't seem to notice four heaped spoons of sugar being mixed into Esca's coffee, scanning the letter over again, and Esca knew it had to be serious if four spoons didn't warrant a single comment. “A permanent move. That's . . . somewhat unexpected.”
“I'm sorry.” Marcus sighed, placing the letter down and rubbing over his eyes with shaky hands.
“What? Don't be silly. You've nothing to be sorry for, and you're supposed to be worried about your only living relative. I'd think less of you if you didn't.”
“You said you wanted to see the world.” Marcus's brown fingers turned his cup this way and that, green eyes focussed off into nothing as he stared out the window and lifted the cup for a sip. “We've barely touched a fifth of it.”
“We've seen more than most.”
“But I can't ask you to give up your dream. I wouldn't, and won't.”
“Don't give me that noble bollocks.” Esca nudged at Marcus's ankle under the table until a worried, drawn face swung his way. “I said years back I'd even return to a freezing hole like Cranholme, so long as I got to be with you. It's not like you're dragging me off sheep farming on the upland moors, and nothing's changed, I'd go even if you were. A bit of gardening under the sun's not going to kill me, now, is it?”
“You'd go? Without complaint?”
“Of course I would. He's family.” Esca grinned suddenly. “Hey, maybe he'll let me take over the vines. I think I'd be good at that.”
Marcus started to chuckle, fingers sliding across the table to tangle in Esca's, a grateful squeeze. “It'd be making use of a lifetime's hard study.”
“I'm practically an expert already.”
“Come.” The hand in his tugged as Marcus got to his feet and pulled Esca up with him. “Come here.”
They hugged together, Marcus's chin propped on Esca's shoulder, rocking from foot to foot for a long moment until Marcus nudged his way with his nose to Esca's mouth for a quick kiss.
“What was that for? I'm not complaining . . .”
“It didn't work out quite so well the first time I asked you to follow me home.”
Esca's ears burned at the reminder, his harsh words to Marcus ringing in his mind as loud and clear as they had ten years back, 'There's no point. No future with you and me in it.' How he hadn't even had the courage to watch Marcus walking away from him, how it had felt like his world was crumbling around his ears and the staggering pain once he'd realised Marcus had left for good. “Yes, it did. Eventually.”
“It did.”
He'd been right when he'd thought that he'd never get used to these kisses, that they'd never be anything but miraculous and pulse-raising, opening his mouth beneath Marcus's as the winds made the blue curtains in the windows of their small rented villa flutter, the grumbles of a cluster of chirping birds outside fighting over the last of the morning's toast filtering through on the sunny rays dancing across the floor tiles. A minute, nothing more, as his heart filled up to overflowing with emotion he'd never imagined possible back in his dusty room, huddled alone with his hot water bottle hugging his whisky.
“I've got one thing to ask, though.”
Marcus wiped the damp from their kiss off Esca's lips with a calloused thumb, smiling into his eyes. “Anything.”
“Is there a big rush back? I mean, can we take a week or two, or do we need to be there immediately?”
“I don't think so. Massimo's there fighting off the valley's widows who are all descending to play nursemaid, and clashing saucepans with one another.” The small crease of a frown appeared between Marcus's eyebrows as he looked down at Esca in question. “Why do you ask?”
“I thought we could stop off one place on the way back. Only quickly, a few days.” Esca swallowed on a dry throat, gathering the courage to spit it out and have done with, something he'd come close to asking with each monthly hop they'd make from one place to another. “Sicily?”
“Ah.” Marcus's shoulders either relaxed or slumped, Esca couldn't tell which. “You want me to take you to Vizzini?”
“I think it's time. If that's alright with you, I don't want to drag you there if it's going to bring up too many painful memories.”
The thumbs stroking along his jaw cupped his chin, drawing his mouth up to be kissed, before Marcus closed his eyes and laid his head against Esca's. “Don't you know by now that I'd follow you to the ends of civilisation if you asked me to?”
“I do. Don't want to take advantage of it. And you should also now that you shouldn't follow me anywhere if you don't want to get lost.”
“I was lost the moment I set eyes on you, Esca MacCunoval.”
“If you don't stop talking like that, I'll have to drag you to the bedroom and make sure you can't fish tomorrow, either.”
“Do you see me stopping you? I thought perhaps you were going to ask me if we could go home first. Visit the old place.”
“Cranholme? Fuck, no,” As Marcus nodded against his head, Esca moved to tighten his arms around Marcus's waist, sliding a hand down to palm one perfect bum cheek. “I've no desire to set foot anywhere near that place ever again.”
“Va bene. It was worth clarifying.”
“Besides, I am home.” Esca pulled back to look into the face of a man who was the moon and stars, the sun, the air and the song of birds, the silken seas they'd sailed together and the blood hardening his prick and the beating of his heart. “I'm with you, aren't I?”