LJ Idol Season 6 Free Topic 02 - I See No One Else but You
o/` "Lady, for so many years I thought I'd never find you
You have come into my life and made me whole
Forever let me wake to see you each and every morning
Let me hear you whisper softly in my ear" o/`
-- "Lady" performed by Kenny Rogers
I found him sitting at the old writing desk, piled with books and parchments, studying something. Even after months of exposure to his world, I still could not read their language. It resembled, to me, an amalgam of our Cyrillic alphabet and Gaelic but Diagenou had told me the text should be read right to left, as our Middle Eastern cultures did.
A sudden snow storm had descended and Janvier had built up the fire earlier to combat the chill. It crackled and blazed with cozy golden warmth. A beautifully crafted lead glass lamp on the desk provided the only other light in the room. Its wick illuminated the sharp planes and angles of my lover’s face, which bore a thoughtful expression. A slight smile curved his lips.
He didn’t hear me coming up behind him, or if he had his sharp senses had already noted the noise, cataloged it as non-threatening, and dismissed it. I could see pictures in the book Diagenou had been studying but could not put a name to most of them. It must be a bestiary cataloging the animals found in his world. I did recognize the animal on the last page, though: an okapi, one of the few creatures our worlds seemed to hold in common. I stood behind him a while longer, admiring the painstakingly realistic rendering of the creature.
In the firelight his hair crackled with shots of gold and copper; I never could resist touching it. I looked about for a comb and, finding none, let it flow through my hands in silken strands. It smelled of the forest, of wild things and leather, like a wild horse’s mane. Something of Diagenou always reminded me of a horse in general, untamed and unbreakable, bending only to mutual will and bound only with hard won trust.
His shoulders relaxed marginally and he sighed, emitting a pleased purring sound. “Mmmm, just don’t pour glitter on me…”
I laughed, my hands still entangled in his hair. For the past week, I’d been sneaking up on him at odd moments and either tying a bow in his hair or dousing it with body glitter. It had become somewhat of a lover’s joke, a mild annoyance over which he pretended more upset than he really felt. “All right, no more glitter.”
“Thanks.” A rich thread of irony laced Diagenou’s voice; it was, after all, a promise he did not reasonably expect me to keep…and he would have been disappointed if I had. “The stroking is nice. I love that.”
Leaning forward, I kissed him on the cheek. “You’re very welcome, love. Never, ever cut your hair,” I declared fiercely. “I love it this way, I don’t care whether it’s fashionable or not!”
“I like yours, it’s pretty and soft.” Reaching back with his good hand, he wound a copper colored curl around his fingers. I’d never thought much of my hair: too fine, too wispy, such an odd color, never long enough or short enough depending on the fashion of the times.
Blushing, I whispered, “Thank you” and continued stroking his back. He’d always been tightly wound but the rigors of his occupation provided an outlet for that tension. Recovering from a serious injury and the subsequent infection had left him frustrated and depressed, rather like a caged animal. I worked my fingers gently over the bunched muscles, persuading them into a state of relaxation.
He leaned forward with another soft sigh, chin cupped in his hands and elbows resting on the edges of the battered worktop. The sleeves of his wine colored velvet dressing gown, one of the very few fashionable luxury items I knew he owned, slid back to reveal the prominent scars on his wrists. That he didn’t cover them again or try to hide them meant Diagenou was finally comfortable with me. We’d never spoken directly about them, but I understood how they’d gotten there. Every time I saw them, I wished that I could go back in time and stop them from hurting him so.
I leaned into him and nuzzled his neck. “Dee? What is it you do when you’re not working?” He frowned and his shoulders bunched. I continued stroking his back in a soothing manner and clarified, “What occupies your spare time, makes you happy? I don’t think you read all the time; you don’t look or act like someone who spends all day at their books.”
A wry smile quirked his lips and he nibbled at my knuckles. “Hmm? Well, I can’t jerk off all the time either.”
My hands faltered and a hot flush spread over my face. I laughed to cover my embarrassment and the inexplicable stirring of excitement. Carefully, gently I worked my way over the injured shoulder. “Well…no….but I don’t think you’re very social either. I can’t imagine you sitting in a pub somewhere listening to boasts or telling stories. That’s more Callistus’ thing.”
He winced as I struck a particularly sensitive area and then responded. “I have two unrelated passions: cooking and the zoological gardens. A male of my rank shouldn’t cook, but I spent so much time below the stairs as a kid that I’m a very good cook.”
“I like the zoo too,” I said, “but it’s difficult to get to here. The Jacksonville Zoo is on the north side of the city and you have to drive through a particularly bad neighborhood to get there. It’s just not a good idea for someone with limited movement to go there alone. I fare better cooking, especially lately.” I laughed. “As long as I follow the recipe, watch the food, and don’t make substitutions most of what I make is at least edible.
“Males aren’t really encouraged to learn cooking here either, but Fox can cook. His mother taught him and he spent a lot of time in the church kitchens. I didn’t learn to cook until I was an adult, and I still don’t do it very well sometimes.”
Diagenou captured my hands with his. He turned them over in his own, noting the burns I’d gotten from picking up unshielded cast iron and the multitude of nicks and cuts gotten from apparently thirsty kitchen blades. “I can and I do. I enjoy it. One morning I ought to make you shirred eggs with truffles,” he offered impulsively.
“I’d enjoy that, m’love,” I said, sidling up to him and wrapping my arms around him. He’d lost a lot of weight and muscle mass recently and he felt cold in spite of the fire. He cuddled into me and I let my ample padding warm him. “Eggs are one of the few things I can still eat when the chemotherapy causes problems.”
“We’d need truffles, which are slightly difficult to get,” he mused, “but I do make good eggs. I’ll work on it.” It pained him to be unable to help on the days when I simply couldn’t eat anything and he seemed pleased to at least have found something he could offer.
“Mr. Shapeshifter has promised me chickens in the spring,” I told him. “I hope he keeps that promise.”
“Chickens are amusing,” Diagenou said in a tone which indicated they were anything but that. “Are you going to keep them for just for eggs, or for the occasional meat?”
“This is a farm,” I said practically, referring to my home at FoxHeart Acres. “They go in the pot when they stop producing. I’m thinking we’ll get Wyandotts or Rock Bar hens; they’re docile. Rhode Island Reds are too aggressive and Bantams are prickly, difficult to deal with.”
“You won’t hear any objections from me about eating the chickens. In fact, I may be persuaded to catch the fuckers!”
I thought about Mr. Shapeshifter, his obsession with chicken --- it was, of course, his favorite meat --- and pondered. “It’ll be interesting to see how many have ‘accidents’. I’m fully aware that there’s still a fox brain in that head of his.” I chuckled and sheepishly admitted, “I get aggressive over red meat; Mr. Shapeshifter will bite you for the chicken!”
Diagenou grinned wickedly and nipped at one of my fingers. “Bite with caution, I get amorous.”
I closed my eyes and mentally traced Diagenou’s energy patterns as I went back to stroking his hair --- so vibrant, a flame in the dark, dancing and daring me to come close enough for it to burn. “You seem stronger now,” I murmured into his ear.
“I feel much better,” he said simply, enjoying the attention. When I first met him, I never dreamed he’d be comfortable enough to not only allow my touch but to crave it. We’re simply besotted with one another.
“What are your zoological gardens like?” I asked. “Ours vary in quality; some take excellent care of their animals and others…well, I guess they try, but the enclosures are too small. I feel bad for those animals.” Jacksonville’s zoo was in the middle; they’d recently re-designed most of their enclosures to give the animals a better habitat, but their collection of specimens was rather limited and some of the animals, like the red wolves, needed better facilities. The female of the pair was cage bound and would pace herself into a frenzy until she ran into trees.
I rested against Diagenou’s good shoulder and he, planting a kiss there, nestled his chin against the crown of my head. “We don’t have many. The one of which I speak is the Imperial Zoological Garden in the Northbank. It’s one of the ones which tries to reproduce the animal’s habitat.”
“What sorts of animals?” I asked, stealing a hand inside the folds of his robe. It rested there, fingers splayed so that I could feel the beating of his heart, strong and slow.
“Not the gryphons - no one would try to cage one,” he responded dryly.
I’d heard about them but had never seen one…not even pictured in a bestiary. I wondered if the one which lay open before us had an entry on gryphons. “You’d have to be a Steve Irwin kind of insane to pull that one off. I don’t even want to think about what it would be like feeding one. Besides, if they’re sentient they don’t belong in cages.”
“We deal with them at Grimwood,” he said, petting me. For some reason, probably because I strongly objected to the manner in which his parents had handled him, the mention of his home always alarmed me. “They’re reasonable once you get to know them. When we culled, we turned horses out for the gryphons to catch. It worked for us all.”
He leaned, warm and heavy against me, but his hands when I took them were cold. I realized he was tired but prolonging the conversation because he enjoyed talking to me. Carefully, I blew out the lamp and then gently closed the bestiary so that nothing would mar the pages and the spine would not crack. Diagenou barely noticed; his magnificent green eyes were half lidded and he stared entranced out the window. Snow still fell in a lacy curtain, turning the world beyond into a winter wonderland, but a crescent moon peeked through the clouds. It held a kind of quiet beauty not often found in my own world any more and I spent a while admiring it before the cold began to penetrate my wraps. “You’re fading on me, beloved,” I whispered, stroking the hair back from his face, “and it’s much too cold out here. Let us go to bed.”
“Hmm?” Diagenou nuzzled me like a sleepy boy, breathing in the scent of my hair and skin. “I didn’t mean to but” he yawned “evidently I’m tired and should be in bed.”
I banked the fire --- wouldn’t let him do any more in spite of his protests --- and then the two of us climbed between the sheets and blankets. Diagenou curled against me, one large hand cupping my breast and a leg flung across my thighs, and a delicious warmth stole over me. I glanced at the holly and ivy on the mantel and whispered, “Merry Christmas, darling,” as we drifted off to sleep.