I've had two hideous days at work so worked on a moment of tenderness between Dair and Adam to cleanse myself...and I have no idea where this goes in the story, yet...
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Sometimes I would watch Dair as he worked. Always quietly. Always in a way that would cause him no disturbance.
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Sometimes I would watch Dair as he worked. Always quietly. Always in a way that would cause him no disturbance.
The first time I did this was by accident. I returned from repairing the door to a shed to find him seated on an old lounging chair he kept in his studio, hunched over and his legs crossed. It was late and dark so I thought he was resting, but as I approached and before I called to him I noticed he was focused on two pieces of glass -- his left hand held one that was a red as deep as blood and gleaming like a ruby; his right hand held one that was pale and shifted between a soft blue and a clearness as clean as a freshly cut diamond. His face was caught in a frown as his eyes shifted from one to the other, holding each at slightly different angles so their colors changed with the light.
I stopped. Almost held my breath for fear I would startle him.
He held them side by side, then one atop the other, then switching them around, using the light from a lamp beside him to shine through them, then the harsh overhead light. I saw he wore the gloves I had found for him. I had thought he did this only to silence my concerns...but this time I began to believe he did not want his blood to mar the beauty of the pieces he so lovingly gazed upon.
He reminded me of the youngest children in my skiing classes. So focused on doing everything just right. Turning their feet just so. Holding their poles at the proper angle while drifting down the beginner slopes. Even on snowboards, they held this sort of focus. A focus only someone innocent can manage. Blocking out the world and all its distractions.
He was so beautiful there. Just sitting there. Shadows behind him. His dark eyes searching for something. Inspiration? Agreement? Acknowledgement? I wanted to know but dared not break the spell.
Finally, he shifted and slowly rose to his feet to climb off the recliner to head back to his workbench. I silently moved closer to keep him in view and found him crouched before a small mound of shattered glass that gleamed in shades of amber. He would pick one up to look through then place it back on the pile, never toss, never drop. Over and over he did this...until he found the one he wanted. Then he stood up and turned on a strong lamp above his bench and, from what I could tell, looked at all three resting side by side in the palms of his hands.
I had been hungry when I arrived home, and somewhere in the back of my mind I still was, but to see him like this cast aside all other concerns. I felt as if I were seeing him fresh and new.
I silently maneuvered to the lounger and sat to watch as he laid the pieces together and turned to another small pile of red glass to go through the same process. Then he did this with the blue, each time placing another sliver of glass with the others.
I was so focused on watching him it took me several moments to realize there were a dozen sketches of me tacked to the walls, each from a different angle catching a different expression of my face. Exactly right and well-detailed. I could not remember him ever doing them. Had he taken photographs of me without my knowing?
I saw him weave a little and take in a deep breath. His whole being still focused on the glass spread atop his bench, he backed up to the lounger. I could see he was planning to sit so I straddled it to let him glide down at its foot. He shifted back and felt my leg and looked around at me...and his face became a smile. His dark eyes grew lighter and open. All without the least bit of shock or surprise.
His voice was a whisper of reverence as he said, “I’m trying something new. Dunno if it’ll work, but why not?”
I replied in the same tone, “Do you wish to tell me of it?”
“Let’s how it goes, first. ‘Kay?”
I smiled and nodded and drew him into my embrace, running my hands softly over his arms and chest.
“Your muscles are tight,” I said. “And I think I hear your tummy saying it wishes to be fed. Have you eaten anything, today?”
He took in a deep breath and gave me a gentle shrug.
I nodded. “Then it is good I took a steak from the freezer and brought with me some of that potato salad you like. And we can begin with a nice mushroom soup. Would that be satisfactory, monsieur?”
“I would love it,” purred from him.
“Then as you take a nice hot shower...” He looked at me, feigning insult, so I added, “To remove the dustings of glass I see on you. Very hot. Very careful. By the time you are done, dinner will be served. No need to dress; we are very informal.”
He chuckled and caressed the line of my chin with the backs of his left fingers as his right hand wound itself in with mine. He was almost back into my world.
I stopped. Almost held my breath for fear I would startle him.
He held them side by side, then one atop the other, then switching them around, using the light from a lamp beside him to shine through them, then the harsh overhead light. I saw he wore the gloves I had found for him. I had thought he did this only to silence my concerns...but this time I began to believe he did not want his blood to mar the beauty of the pieces he so lovingly gazed upon.
He reminded me of the youngest children in my skiing classes. So focused on doing everything just right. Turning their feet just so. Holding their poles at the proper angle while drifting down the beginner slopes. Even on snowboards, they held this sort of focus. A focus only someone innocent can manage. Blocking out the world and all its distractions.
He was so beautiful there. Just sitting there. Shadows behind him. His dark eyes searching for something. Inspiration? Agreement? Acknowledgement? I wanted to know but dared not break the spell.
Finally, he shifted and slowly rose to his feet to climb off the recliner to head back to his workbench. I silently moved closer to keep him in view and found him crouched before a small mound of shattered glass that gleamed in shades of amber. He would pick one up to look through then place it back on the pile, never toss, never drop. Over and over he did this...until he found the one he wanted. Then he stood up and turned on a strong lamp above his bench and, from what I could tell, looked at all three resting side by side in the palms of his hands.
I had been hungry when I arrived home, and somewhere in the back of my mind I still was, but to see him like this cast aside all other concerns. I felt as if I were seeing him fresh and new.
I silently maneuvered to the lounger and sat to watch as he laid the pieces together and turned to another small pile of red glass to go through the same process. Then he did this with the blue, each time placing another sliver of glass with the others.
I was so focused on watching him it took me several moments to realize there were a dozen sketches of me tacked to the walls, each from a different angle catching a different expression of my face. Exactly right and well-detailed. I could not remember him ever doing them. Had he taken photographs of me without my knowing?
I saw him weave a little and take in a deep breath. His whole being still focused on the glass spread atop his bench, he backed up to the lounger. I could see he was planning to sit so I straddled it to let him glide down at its foot. He shifted back and felt my leg and looked around at me...and his face became a smile. His dark eyes grew lighter and open. All without the least bit of shock or surprise.
His voice was a whisper of reverence as he said, “I’m trying something new. Dunno if it’ll work, but why not?”
I replied in the same tone, “Do you wish to tell me of it?”
“Let’s how it goes, first. ‘Kay?”
I smiled and nodded and drew him into my embrace, running my hands softly over his arms and chest.
“Your muscles are tight,” I said. “And I think I hear your tummy saying it wishes to be fed. Have you eaten anything, today?”
He took in a deep breath and gave me a gentle shrug.
I nodded. “Then it is good I took a steak from the freezer and brought with me some of that potato salad you like. And we can begin with a nice mushroom soup. Would that be satisfactory, monsieur?”
“I would love it,” purred from him.
“Then as you take a nice hot shower...” He looked at me, feigning insult, so I added, “To remove the dustings of glass I see on you. Very hot. Very careful. By the time you are done, dinner will be served. No need to dress; we are very informal.”
He chuckled and caressed the line of my chin with the backs of his left fingers as his right hand wound itself in with mine. He was almost back into my world.
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