you've walked those streets a thousand times
Title: Still You End Up Here
Characters: Percy T. Agathon, James Marquis
Time Period: November 2033
Summary: How they met: Percy and James
Author note: We've decided that Boskirk = Colonial!London.
It was a late winter evening in Boskirk. James sat behind the counter at his bookstore and glanced out the windows, hearing the organic hum of the city, watching all the people walk by. A few stopped and peered at the displays in the front window, rubbing their hands together in the cool night air. His employee, Jane, had decided they'd highlight the books for each reading group. That month's choices were a biography of Virgon's first prime minister, a work of magical realism, and a memoir by a science librarian. Frost had crystallized on the windows overnight for weeks now; his gaze wandered to the large clay pots perched in front of the windows. James had carefully tamped down the dirt to help the perennials weather through the winter. He grew chives in the summer, snipping the flowers and placing them in glass jars around the store, using the thin green strands to add flavor to his food. His husband had grown flowers in those window pots before-well. James didn't want to think too much about Lucas, who had died a few years ago.
He picked up the handwritten list by the register. A pile of boxes near the front door needed his attention; he'd picked up quite a few hardcovers in decent condition at a recent estate sale. He scratched a line under the item on his list and wandered over. The strand of bells attached to the front door heralded the arrival of a young woman as he picked up the first box. She tugged her thickly-knit scarf away from her neck and immediately went to the travel section without catching his eye. “Please let me know if I can help you find anything,” he called out politely. She looked up, startled, then flashed him a quick, wordless smile and returned to her browsing.
James wrapped his arms around the box, which was heavier than he'd remembered, and began to make his way to the back. The bells chimed again. Perhaps the young traveler had not found what she'd wanted. A voice rang out: “Excuse you, I need some help.”
Startled, the book seller turned around. The woman had moved on to the postcard selection; the person who had spoken to him was a man, blond, broad, not very tall. James lifted an eyebrow and looked at him. “You can wait, dear.” The man's eyes-were they green? hazel? widened at the response. James walked down the aisle and placed the box on the cluttered sorting table on the back, shifting aside a stack of cookbooks. He smirked to himself, then ambled back, taking the time to straighten up a shelf of dictionaries.
The blond man hadn't moved from where he stood, though his arms were now crossed in front of him and he was stroking his beard. “Yes?” James said, amused. The bells rang as the browsing woman left, her arms empty, one hand clasping her phone.
“I'm...” the man locked eyes with him, looked away, then looked back. James grew more amused as he felt a quick up-down gaze sweep over him. So this one likes men, he thought to himself. Hello there.
“I'm looking for a book of poetry by women who served in the Cylon War,” the customer said, his words pouring out in a rush. “I've looked everywhere for it, no one has it, but someone at the gallery said you might...”
James grinned and smoothed down the front of his sweater vest. Artists always thought they were the center of the universe, or so his friends had told him. He didn't mind. "Some Great Happiness?” he said. “I have that, yes. You've come to the right place.”
He walked to the poetry section, then stood in front of it for a moment, lost in thought. As a book seller, he'd learned to mentally catalog the books that came through here by size, color, even scent. If memory served correctly, and it usually did, this volume lacked a dust jacket and was olive-green in color. James tugged the ladder over and glanced over at the customer as he climbed. Oh yes: eye contact had shifted and now he was staring at James's ass. The older man exaggerated his movements slightly, pulled the book from its position on the highest shelf, then climbed back down. He licked his lips and blew the dust from the book, then walked back to his counter.
The younger man reached for the book at the same time as James extended it to him. Their hands brushed and both men smiled in surprise. The customer opened the book and gazed at the table of contents, then brought the book up and breathed deeply.
James felt a twinge. It wasn't often that he met someone who loved old books like he did, loved their smells and textures and the way that words danced off the page into the grooves of his thoughts. He breathed deeply and studied the man in front of him. His ears were slightly flushed from cold. James longed to touch his neatly-trimmed beard, the way it brushed the collar of his coat as he examined the book.
“Mama will love this. How much is it?” With the question, James pulled back from his daydream, and they completed their transaction. He slipped a bookmark for the store inside the cover, wrapped it neatly in brown paper and string. It wasn't a particularly valuable book, but it was rare enough, and he didn't mind taking the time. The two men stood in their respective places, smiling bashfully at each other.
“What are you--”
“Do you--”
As they interrupted each other, they both smiled again, wider this time. James gestured. “You first, now.”
The blond man tucked the book into the satchel slung over his shoulder. “I know it's late, and you're at work, but could I ask you to dinner?”
James grinned. “You can. Just give me a few minutes to close up. It's about that time anyway.” He pointed a thumb at the comfortable, worn-out armchairs in a corner of the store. “Make yourself comfortable-and, by the way, my name is James.”
“I'm Percy.” His eyes-hazel now, James could see-lit up.
***
Ten minutes later, they walked out of the store. Percy waited on the sidewalk; the bells jangled in farewell as James locked the door behind them. “Where to?” James asked, tugging on his fingerless gloves and winding his scarf around his neck.
“Um, well. I'm only in town for a few days, so I don't really know what's good around here,” Percy replied. “But I walked by this delicious-smelling Caprican place not too far from here, if you like that sort of thing.”
“I do!” James smiled happily. He wasn't sure which one Percy meant, since there were quite a few nearby, but Caprican cuisine was one of his favorites. The two men walked through the still-lit streets companionably, James describing the books he'd recently acquired at the estate sale. Percy told him about some of the other used bookstores he'd been to recently and, chuckling, admitted when asked that he hadn't asked out any of the other bookstore owners.
When they arrived at the restaurant, James stifled a groan. Percy had intended for them to go to Kranz's, the newest, hottest joint in Boskirk's foodie scene. The reservations list was three weeks long and entirely filled up by the glittery, lithe fashionistas that lived in the theater district nearby. Percy's face fell when James informed him of this and his eyes grew worried.
“Oh, honey,” James said quickly, “it's okay.” He reached over and slid his hand into Percy's coat pocket, where it joined the younger man's chilly fingers. He was rewarded with a smile as he rubbed his fingertips over Percy's palm. “I know a place where we can get some burgers.”
Just down the street was a diner staffed by students from the many local universities. James laughed as they walked in. “Not the various flavor profiles you were hoping for, perhaps, but it's good food.” The host waved them into a corner booth and they sat next to each other, knees pressing lightly together as they ate. Percy winked at James when he ordered his burger without onions; they shared a plate of sweet potato fries dipped in spicy sauce. When they'd finished their meal, James pulled out his wallet, but Percy refused to let him see the bill. “No,” he said insistently, his eyes crinkling happily, “it's on me.”
They left the diner into the cloudless, starry night. James reached for Percy's hand again. “Have you ever walked by the waterfront?” Percy shook his head and lifted an eyebrow quizzically.
“It's one of my favorite things to do on nights like this,” James said, “and I rarely get the pleasure of company,” he added, wondering how far he could go with this man. He guided Percy past pet shops, antique dealers, clothing boutiques, a few cigar vendors. They made it to the waterfront. It was too late in the season for pleasure boats to be out, but there were still police making their rounds, a few stalwart ducks bobbing in the inky waters. James pointed out his favorite constellations; Percy told him about growing up on Aquaria and how he'd used his father's telescope to look at the sky. James learned that Percy's parents were in the military, which explained the book he'd bought, and smiled when Percy talked about his younger years looking for his dad and mama among the moons and stars. They walked further, James coaxing Percy to follow him under a bridge. Traffic rushed by on an overpass connecting the north and south banks of the city.
James stepped closer, dropping Percy's hand. The young man looked at him, his eyes dark in the shadows. James leaned in, closed his eyes, and kissed him tenderly. He slid his hands around Percy's waist. Percy returned the kiss, his hands wrapping around the older man's shoulders. A long moment passed and James broke away to breathe deeply. He smiled and pushed his glasses back into place. Percy silently reached up and brushed a finger across James's lips.
“Well,” James said, his voice slightly raspy, “can I take you to my favorite coffee shop in the city?”
“Not yet,” Percy replied, and tilted his head in for another kiss. This time, he nipped at James' lip, brushing his beard over the other man's cheek, before their mouths met. Then he pulled away and beamed. “Alright, now.”
James pulled off one of his gloves and offered it to Percy. “Wear this on your other hand,” he ordered. “It's a little ways away.” Percy followed his instruction without complaint; they resumed holding hands and walking together through the quieter streets. James took a different way back, this time showing Percy the memorial to veterans in front of an old church, pointing out his favorite spice and tea shop. When they arrived at James's bookstore, Percy turned to him, their hands still joined, the question plainly written on his face.
“I live above the shop,” James explained, reluctantly letting go of the other man's hand and retrieving his keys. “The best coffeeshop in Boskirk is my kitchen.” He unlocked the door leading to the stairwell, then held it open as he ushered Percy inside. James tapped a light switch and they went up the narrow stairs, Percy accidentally jostling a framed watercolor hanging along one wall. Just as Percy had enjoyed the view of the other man's ass when he'd asked for the book of poetry hours ago, James enjoyed watching Percy's gray jeans hug his ass as he ascended the stairs. At the top of the landing, James draped Percy's coat and satchel on an empty hook, then hung his own jacket next to them. “Shoes off, please,” James added, placing his boots neatly on a woven mat. Percy leaned on a nearby wall for support and awkwardly yanked off his shoes before following James into the kitchen.
James took a sweeping look around, glad that he'd taken the time to put some dried lavender in a vase on the dining table that morning. He gestured to a chair. “Please, be my guest.” He leaned in and ran a finger along the man's bearded jaw, then kissed him lightly. Percy's eyes were closed when James drew back; as the young man smiled and his eyes opened, James noticed his long eyelashes, the way his eyes were a greener shade in the light of the apartment.
“So what brings you to Virgon?” James asked as he walked into the kitchen.
“I'm an ice artist,” Percy answered as James pulled mugs, saucers, and his coffee press from a cabinet.
James titled his head, inhaling the wonderfully earthy scent from the coffee he'd ground the previous day as he prepared their hot drinks. Percy continued. “I make sculptures in ice. They're being exhibited at the Athena Museum downtown for the next week or so, you must know the Athena, it's got this lovely little gallery dedicated to arts of the seasons...”
The coffee percolated while James put a plate of pastries he'd made that morning on the table in front of his guest. Percy's words trailed off. "Roasted squash with sugar and chocolate," James elaborated. He knew that anything wrapped in puff pastry was a delight. Back in the kitchen, he pulled out a heavy tray made by his friend Elspeth, then carefully loaded it up with a pitcher of heavy cream, a bowl of sparkling sugar, two square plates, a stack of cloth napkins, and two mugs filled with the now-ready coffee.
“Midnight snack is served, darling,” he said with easy familiarity to Percy as he placed the tray on the table. “Or rather,” he added, glancing at a clock, “three o'clock in the morning snack. You must be hungry,” he said teasingly.
Soon the pastries were gone, and James prepared ginger-mint tea for them, and they learned about each other's lives. Percy had been raised by his father's parents and was recently divorced; James showed him a photograph of himself and Lucas, admitting that he'd been alone since the car accident three years ago. They'd been together since college. Percy took his hand and rubbed his thumb gently over the other man's palm, his artist's calluses rough against the bookseller's skin. “You're not alone anymore, James,” he said softly. James vaguely registered the streaks of color in the sky, the sunrise framing the man's face through the kitchen window, as they embraced.
Characters: Percy T. Agathon, James Marquis
Time Period: November 2033
Summary: How they met: Percy and James
Author note: We've decided that Boskirk = Colonial!London.
It was a late winter evening in Boskirk. James sat behind the counter at his bookstore and glanced out the windows, hearing the organic hum of the city, watching all the people walk by. A few stopped and peered at the displays in the front window, rubbing their hands together in the cool night air. His employee, Jane, had decided they'd highlight the books for each reading group. That month's choices were a biography of Virgon's first prime minister, a work of magical realism, and a memoir by a science librarian. Frost had crystallized on the windows overnight for weeks now; his gaze wandered to the large clay pots perched in front of the windows. James had carefully tamped down the dirt to help the perennials weather through the winter. He grew chives in the summer, snipping the flowers and placing them in glass jars around the store, using the thin green strands to add flavor to his food. His husband had grown flowers in those window pots before-well. James didn't want to think too much about Lucas, who had died a few years ago.
He picked up the handwritten list by the register. A pile of boxes near the front door needed his attention; he'd picked up quite a few hardcovers in decent condition at a recent estate sale. He scratched a line under the item on his list and wandered over. The strand of bells attached to the front door heralded the arrival of a young woman as he picked up the first box. She tugged her thickly-knit scarf away from her neck and immediately went to the travel section without catching his eye. “Please let me know if I can help you find anything,” he called out politely. She looked up, startled, then flashed him a quick, wordless smile and returned to her browsing.
James wrapped his arms around the box, which was heavier than he'd remembered, and began to make his way to the back. The bells chimed again. Perhaps the young traveler had not found what she'd wanted. A voice rang out: “Excuse you, I need some help.”
Startled, the book seller turned around. The woman had moved on to the postcard selection; the person who had spoken to him was a man, blond, broad, not very tall. James lifted an eyebrow and looked at him. “You can wait, dear.” The man's eyes-were they green? hazel? widened at the response. James walked down the aisle and placed the box on the cluttered sorting table on the back, shifting aside a stack of cookbooks. He smirked to himself, then ambled back, taking the time to straighten up a shelf of dictionaries.
The blond man hadn't moved from where he stood, though his arms were now crossed in front of him and he was stroking his beard. “Yes?” James said, amused. The bells rang as the browsing woman left, her arms empty, one hand clasping her phone.
“I'm...” the man locked eyes with him, looked away, then looked back. James grew more amused as he felt a quick up-down gaze sweep over him. So this one likes men, he thought to himself. Hello there.
“I'm looking for a book of poetry by women who served in the Cylon War,” the customer said, his words pouring out in a rush. “I've looked everywhere for it, no one has it, but someone at the gallery said you might...”
James grinned and smoothed down the front of his sweater vest. Artists always thought they were the center of the universe, or so his friends had told him. He didn't mind. "Some Great Happiness?” he said. “I have that, yes. You've come to the right place.”
He walked to the poetry section, then stood in front of it for a moment, lost in thought. As a book seller, he'd learned to mentally catalog the books that came through here by size, color, even scent. If memory served correctly, and it usually did, this volume lacked a dust jacket and was olive-green in color. James tugged the ladder over and glanced over at the customer as he climbed. Oh yes: eye contact had shifted and now he was staring at James's ass. The older man exaggerated his movements slightly, pulled the book from its position on the highest shelf, then climbed back down. He licked his lips and blew the dust from the book, then walked back to his counter.
The younger man reached for the book at the same time as James extended it to him. Their hands brushed and both men smiled in surprise. The customer opened the book and gazed at the table of contents, then brought the book up and breathed deeply.
James felt a twinge. It wasn't often that he met someone who loved old books like he did, loved their smells and textures and the way that words danced off the page into the grooves of his thoughts. He breathed deeply and studied the man in front of him. His ears were slightly flushed from cold. James longed to touch his neatly-trimmed beard, the way it brushed the collar of his coat as he examined the book.
“Mama will love this. How much is it?” With the question, James pulled back from his daydream, and they completed their transaction. He slipped a bookmark for the store inside the cover, wrapped it neatly in brown paper and string. It wasn't a particularly valuable book, but it was rare enough, and he didn't mind taking the time. The two men stood in their respective places, smiling bashfully at each other.
“What are you--”
“Do you--”
As they interrupted each other, they both smiled again, wider this time. James gestured. “You first, now.”
The blond man tucked the book into the satchel slung over his shoulder. “I know it's late, and you're at work, but could I ask you to dinner?”
James grinned. “You can. Just give me a few minutes to close up. It's about that time anyway.” He pointed a thumb at the comfortable, worn-out armchairs in a corner of the store. “Make yourself comfortable-and, by the way, my name is James.”
“I'm Percy.” His eyes-hazel now, James could see-lit up.
***
Ten minutes later, they walked out of the store. Percy waited on the sidewalk; the bells jangled in farewell as James locked the door behind them. “Where to?” James asked, tugging on his fingerless gloves and winding his scarf around his neck.
“Um, well. I'm only in town for a few days, so I don't really know what's good around here,” Percy replied. “But I walked by this delicious-smelling Caprican place not too far from here, if you like that sort of thing.”
“I do!” James smiled happily. He wasn't sure which one Percy meant, since there were quite a few nearby, but Caprican cuisine was one of his favorites. The two men walked through the still-lit streets companionably, James describing the books he'd recently acquired at the estate sale. Percy told him about some of the other used bookstores he'd been to recently and, chuckling, admitted when asked that he hadn't asked out any of the other bookstore owners.
When they arrived at the restaurant, James stifled a groan. Percy had intended for them to go to Kranz's, the newest, hottest joint in Boskirk's foodie scene. The reservations list was three weeks long and entirely filled up by the glittery, lithe fashionistas that lived in the theater district nearby. Percy's face fell when James informed him of this and his eyes grew worried.
“Oh, honey,” James said quickly, “it's okay.” He reached over and slid his hand into Percy's coat pocket, where it joined the younger man's chilly fingers. He was rewarded with a smile as he rubbed his fingertips over Percy's palm. “I know a place where we can get some burgers.”
Just down the street was a diner staffed by students from the many local universities. James laughed as they walked in. “Not the various flavor profiles you were hoping for, perhaps, but it's good food.” The host waved them into a corner booth and they sat next to each other, knees pressing lightly together as they ate. Percy winked at James when he ordered his burger without onions; they shared a plate of sweet potato fries dipped in spicy sauce. When they'd finished their meal, James pulled out his wallet, but Percy refused to let him see the bill. “No,” he said insistently, his eyes crinkling happily, “it's on me.”
They left the diner into the cloudless, starry night. James reached for Percy's hand again. “Have you ever walked by the waterfront?” Percy shook his head and lifted an eyebrow quizzically.
“It's one of my favorite things to do on nights like this,” James said, “and I rarely get the pleasure of company,” he added, wondering how far he could go with this man. He guided Percy past pet shops, antique dealers, clothing boutiques, a few cigar vendors. They made it to the waterfront. It was too late in the season for pleasure boats to be out, but there were still police making their rounds, a few stalwart ducks bobbing in the inky waters. James pointed out his favorite constellations; Percy told him about growing up on Aquaria and how he'd used his father's telescope to look at the sky. James learned that Percy's parents were in the military, which explained the book he'd bought, and smiled when Percy talked about his younger years looking for his dad and mama among the moons and stars. They walked further, James coaxing Percy to follow him under a bridge. Traffic rushed by on an overpass connecting the north and south banks of the city.
James stepped closer, dropping Percy's hand. The young man looked at him, his eyes dark in the shadows. James leaned in, closed his eyes, and kissed him tenderly. He slid his hands around Percy's waist. Percy returned the kiss, his hands wrapping around the older man's shoulders. A long moment passed and James broke away to breathe deeply. He smiled and pushed his glasses back into place. Percy silently reached up and brushed a finger across James's lips.
“Well,” James said, his voice slightly raspy, “can I take you to my favorite coffee shop in the city?”
“Not yet,” Percy replied, and tilted his head in for another kiss. This time, he nipped at James' lip, brushing his beard over the other man's cheek, before their mouths met. Then he pulled away and beamed. “Alright, now.”
James pulled off one of his gloves and offered it to Percy. “Wear this on your other hand,” he ordered. “It's a little ways away.” Percy followed his instruction without complaint; they resumed holding hands and walking together through the quieter streets. James took a different way back, this time showing Percy the memorial to veterans in front of an old church, pointing out his favorite spice and tea shop. When they arrived at James's bookstore, Percy turned to him, their hands still joined, the question plainly written on his face.
“I live above the shop,” James explained, reluctantly letting go of the other man's hand and retrieving his keys. “The best coffeeshop in Boskirk is my kitchen.” He unlocked the door leading to the stairwell, then held it open as he ushered Percy inside. James tapped a light switch and they went up the narrow stairs, Percy accidentally jostling a framed watercolor hanging along one wall. Just as Percy had enjoyed the view of the other man's ass when he'd asked for the book of poetry hours ago, James enjoyed watching Percy's gray jeans hug his ass as he ascended the stairs. At the top of the landing, James draped Percy's coat and satchel on an empty hook, then hung his own jacket next to them. “Shoes off, please,” James added, placing his boots neatly on a woven mat. Percy leaned on a nearby wall for support and awkwardly yanked off his shoes before following James into the kitchen.
James took a sweeping look around, glad that he'd taken the time to put some dried lavender in a vase on the dining table that morning. He gestured to a chair. “Please, be my guest.” He leaned in and ran a finger along the man's bearded jaw, then kissed him lightly. Percy's eyes were closed when James drew back; as the young man smiled and his eyes opened, James noticed his long eyelashes, the way his eyes were a greener shade in the light of the apartment.
“So what brings you to Virgon?” James asked as he walked into the kitchen.
“I'm an ice artist,” Percy answered as James pulled mugs, saucers, and his coffee press from a cabinet.
James titled his head, inhaling the wonderfully earthy scent from the coffee he'd ground the previous day as he prepared their hot drinks. Percy continued. “I make sculptures in ice. They're being exhibited at the Athena Museum downtown for the next week or so, you must know the Athena, it's got this lovely little gallery dedicated to arts of the seasons...”
The coffee percolated while James put a plate of pastries he'd made that morning on the table in front of his guest. Percy's words trailed off. "Roasted squash with sugar and chocolate," James elaborated. He knew that anything wrapped in puff pastry was a delight. Back in the kitchen, he pulled out a heavy tray made by his friend Elspeth, then carefully loaded it up with a pitcher of heavy cream, a bowl of sparkling sugar, two square plates, a stack of cloth napkins, and two mugs filled with the now-ready coffee.
“Midnight snack is served, darling,” he said with easy familiarity to Percy as he placed the tray on the table. “Or rather,” he added, glancing at a clock, “three o'clock in the morning snack. You must be hungry,” he said teasingly.
Soon the pastries were gone, and James prepared ginger-mint tea for them, and they learned about each other's lives. Percy had been raised by his father's parents and was recently divorced; James showed him a photograph of himself and Lucas, admitting that he'd been alone since the car accident three years ago. They'd been together since college. Percy took his hand and rubbed his thumb gently over the other man's palm, his artist's calluses rough against the bookseller's skin. “You're not alone anymore, James,” he said softly. James vaguely registered the streaks of color in the sky, the sunrise framing the man's face through the kitchen window, as they embraced.