life.lines
It had been 5 months, Brian was still in a stupor, and Stefan was fed up with it. Releasing a growl from the back of his throat, he stood up and began to pace. It wasn't right for Brian to be so withdrawn. His grieving was affecting songwriting, and if their livelihood didn't depend on it, Stefan wouldn't have cared. But people depended upon their creativity for their paychecks. And it aggrivated the hell out of him, and there was nothing he could do about it.
Somewhere behind him a door slammed just seconds before a hand landed firmly on his shoulder. Physically startled from his revelry, Stefan whirled around almost hit Steve. He sighed heavily and leaned against the Mancurian briefly.
"Jesus, man, you scared me." Instantly Stefan regretted uttering the words as a mischievious smirk lit up Steve's face. Oh God, what was the man up to now?
"Scared you, eh? Thinking about me again? Stefan, you really shouldn't, mate. You aren't my type." A grimace crossed Steve's dark face as Stefan's fist connected sharply with his upper arm. "Dammit, Stef! If I get a bruise, you are going to pay."
The threat was half-hearted for he was already turning away from Stefan as he went to settle on a chair at the wooden table in the hotel room where the band was staying. Dublin was to be the last stop on the small tour they had started 6 months ago before they took a 2-month rest. The rest was to be immediately followed by an intensive, in-studio production. Yet, from the way Brian was carrying on, it didn't look as if it would happen.
"Steve, are you worried about Brian? I mean, he's only going through the motions. It's a good thing we've played to undemanding audiences, otherwise we'd be in serious shit. We've got to snap him out of this depression that he is in, dammit! I hate seeing him this way. It tears me to pieces."
Steve looked up and stared slightly at Stefan. Did he think he was the only one that Brian's sorrow affected so strongly? Gregori's death had destroyed something volatile in the band, and Steve wondered daily what could bring that something back.
"You're right. We've got to somehow get through to Brian. Come on, let's think." And then they both sat down, their heads together, to try to contrive some scheme to wake Brian from his misery.
A large hand pounded against the table just in front of Brian's head. Startled he jerked to sit upward, staring into Steve's angry face.
"Dammit, man! Wake up! It's been 5 months. Get up, get out, get over. This isn't healthy."
With a sneer of disgust, Brian climbed to his feet and went into the kitchen to fill his glass again. "It's easy for you to say that. You weren't the one to lose Gregori. You didn't hold him in your arms every day for over a month just to have him rip himself from your grasp. You don't understand the pain of seeing him dead while you live. You don't understand the guilt I feel. You don't fucking understand!" A burst of rage filled him when he heard Steve head back toward the door.
"You're right, of course. I don't know what it was like to lose Gregori. I don't know what it was like to hold him then lose him. But what you don't understand is that I know of your pain. Both me and Stefan understand. We've lost you, Brian. And the agony with that loss is that you are still alive. You are still within our grasp, but you don't want us to hold you." Quietly he pulled the door shut. His strength deserted him, and he leaned heavily against the door. Behind him, a glass shattered followed by a gutteral moan.
The sound brought tears to Steve's brown eyes, but he forced himself to stay still. He would not run into the room to gather Brian close, to soothe away his pain. He'd tried too many times over the past 5 months, only to be pushed away with a cold mask of distrust. Steve knew that if Brian pushed him away once again, he'd never survive it.
Brian stared at the closed door and slowly moved his eyes down to where the smashed glass sat in a puddle of liquid. He moaned pitifully at the waste of it, automatically equating it to Gregori's short life. At first he had been angry with Steve and his presumptions. But the anger had died a quick death when he saw the true pain and sorrow cross the man's face. The loss of the anger left a great gaping hole in his chest, and Brian fell to his knees, for he had nothing to hold him upright. The tears that had disappeared just weeks after Gregori's death came back with startling force. He couldn't lose Steve. Steve was his lifeline.
Weeping raggedly he called out for the drummer, his voice sticking in his throat. A deep, shuddering breath gave him more oxygen. Steve's name ripped from his throat in an anguished scream.
Familiar arms wrapped around Brian.
The smell was as beloved as the memory of Gregori's smile. Words of nonsense were whispered in his ear as Steve gently rocked him back and forth.
"Why? Why did he leave me? What did I do wrong?" The pain still evident in Brian's voice jarred Steve. He had known Brian still suffered from the unexpected blow of Gregori's death, but he hadn't realized until that moment just how deep the wounds went. Instantly he deduced that if Brian had the answers to his questions, his sores would heal more readily, and be less likely to scar.
Sitting down on the floor, Steve gathered the smaller man more firmly against his chest before beginning. "Brian, you know Gregori was ill." A nod greeted his statement. "Alright. Let me tell you a story." Steve then proceeded to tell a tale of an abusive childhood, a torturous youth, and an agonized ending. "He had a history of cancer in his family. The fact that he continually smoked for 10 years before he died did nothing to reduce his risks. Just 2 weeks before you met him, Gregori's grandfather died of cancer. I don't know what type of cancer because Dr. Franatovich wouldn't tell me."
Brian stirred in his arms, snuggling his face closer into Steve's neck. "How did you know about his past?"
Steve breathed deeply, wondering if he should tell him that he had contacted Gregori's cousin. As a hiccup sounded from the fragile creature in his embrace, Steve decided instead to tell him of everything that he had been oblivious to in the past 5 months.
"We liked Gregori, too, Brian. Stefan didn't trust him. He had a feeling he'd hurt you, and in a way, he was right. Gregori did hurt you." At that moment, Brian stiffened in objection. Steve was quick to disengage the tenseness by running his hand over Brian's back. "But Gregori hurt you out of love. I asked the doctor what Gregori would have been like in the last months of his life. The picture he painted wasn't an attractive one. Gregori would have looked like a living corpse. His temper would have gotten hostile, while his memory would have faded. He wouldn't have remembered you, and if he recognized you, he would have belittled you. Not because he was angry with you, but because he wouldn't have understood what was going on around him.
"Gregori did you a favour by walking out of your life when he did. He also did himself a favour. He wanted your memories of your time together to be pure, not haunted with regrets. And because Gregori knew what his grandfather went through, remembered the way he felt watching the man he loved die slowly each day, he sought to spare you that. He sought to spare himself.
"If you think about it, Brian, you'll realize he was right in what he did. The pain he would have experienced and inflicted would have greatly outweighed the pleasure that he had with you. You've grieved for him. Let his memory keep its place in your heart, but move on. Learn from the unselfish way that he loved you, and apply that to someone else. Don't let that love die in vain."
Quietly they both sat on the carpeted floor of the Dublin hotel for hours, lost in the thought of what Steve had just said. Brian remembered when he had first held Gregori in the darkened corridor of the Vertigo Klub. Remembered that he had wondered when he would have someone to hold him as he had held Gregori. Remembered the bitterness that had washed through him. Gregori had eased the bitterness, but hadn't cleansed it. Steve did that. Steve had cleansed his soul, repaired the damage to his being, and began the healing of his heart. Damn, but if felt good to be whole again.
Taking an easy sigh, Brian spoke, his voice hoarse reflecting the inner turmoil he had battled. "I need a woman." The unexpectedness of the blunt statement initiated a flood of relieve in Steve. Chuckling through his sudden tears, the drummer hugged him tighter, knowing that Brian was his way to returning to the land of the living.
The gig in Dublin was over, Brian was headed to France, Steve was going to Emily in Manchester, and Stefan was flying home. He had debated over the choice for weeks: Go home or go to Luxembourg. Finally Stefan decided he needed the heedy embrace of home during the holidays rather than the casualness of old acquaintances.
The flight had been short, but after a six-month tour of Europe, he was exhausted. All he wanted to do was claim his bags, call a cab, go home, and sleep. Vaguely Stefan was aware that the plan would cause him to miss another meal, but what topped his priorities was a bed. With sheets. And pillows. Lots of pillows. The image was so stark that he groaned aloud at the sheer hedonistic feeling that swept over him.
A niggling at the corner of his mind forced him to slant a glance across the aisle. An elderly woman stared at him in shock before giving him a decidedly judgmental and lofty "hmmm". Savagely Stefan fought the blush that threatened to consume him. Jesus, that was all he needed. A blush would indicated guilt of some kind, and the old biddy would latch onto it with a tenacity that Stefan knew wouldn't be readily relinquished.
With a jerk, he realized he was being quite cynical, something that hadn't affected him overly much since he had helped form Placebo. So why should it strike up now? And so severely? Gregori. That was the only plausible answer.
Forcing the deceased boy from his mind, he slipped on his headphones and settled back to listen to ABBA's greatest hits. Inwardly he danced joyfully to the music, feeling a sense of peace overwhelmed him. Finally the freedom of happiness. And he knew where to put the success..at the feet of his family. He was going home.
* * *
"Stefan Joergen, why must I fatten you up every time you come here? Don't you have time to eat?" His mother rebuffed him not five minutes after he arrived home. His mother was as beautiful as ever, and Stefan found himself staring with admiration. He had come from this woman. He had her genes, and he continuously marveled at that particular miracle.
"Perhaps he is eating, but not what you think." The voice came from the kitchen door behind Stefan. And only one person would say something like that in front of his mother.
Kijsa.
Turning around, he found her leaning nonchallantly against the door jamb, her arms and ankles crossed, a mischievous smirk on her lips.
"You still haven't grown into any manners, have you, brat?" Regarding him from her amber eyes, she resisted the urge to taunt him.
"Obviously you haven't either, otherwise you would hug your sister."
"My sister can just as easily hug me. Marvelous thing about hugs. They work both ways, and anyone can give one." Pushing herself upright, Kijsa let out a quick whoop before vaulting into Stefan's arms. The two hugged fiercely, and when Kijsa pulled back, there were tears in her eyes.
"I wish you wouldn't stay gone so long. I miss you." She pouted. "And you hardly ever call me anymore." It had been a pact between two teenagers. Stefan would call home every week and talk to Kijsa. After his first week in Luxembourg, he realized school was going to be a struggle. Kijsa had helped him through it though. Helped him face his insecurities, helped point out his strengths, and bolster his courage. It had been her suggestion to try the sports. They were fun and helped alleviate his boredom. That is, until he discovered music. That had been his saviour.
Smiling suddenly, Stefan remembered it had been Kijsa whom had purchased his first bass. It had arrived at his door just in time for his birthday. In turn, he had bought her that pottery kiln he knew she had pined for.
Instead of addressing her comment about his laxity in calling, he forced her mind to something else. "What are we doing tonight, Kij? Going to that club in town? Why are you looking like that?" Stefan anxiously searched her face as she squirmed slightly in his arms. "What aren't you telling me??"
"Oh Lord! Kijsa Lofn! Answer him before he jerks your shoulder out of socket. And Stefan, be more careful. You know how easily she bruises." Once again their mother had taken control of the situation.
After he released her shoulders, Stefan crossed his arms over his chest and quietly raised an eyebrow. Even in her apparent uncertainty, Kijsa's stubborn streak was clearly evident in her eyes, and Stefan knew she wouldn't speak before she was good and ready.
Sighing heavily, he gave up the argument and walked into the living room to find his father. Stefan regarded his father as he watched the t.v. He'd aged in the last year. White was more readily visible in his hair, and lines appeared sharply about his eyes and mouth.
"Father."
Gustaf Olsdal glanced up with a nod to his middle child. "Stefan." It took less than a second for the aging man to spin back around. "Stefan!" He jumped to his feet and wrapped his son in a fierce hug, bouncing him about the room. When he was finally settled onto his feet, Stefan started telling his father about all the restaurants they frequented. A retired restaurant rater, Gustaf loved to hear his son describe the restaurants he had not, and never would, visit.
Stefan was in the middle of detailing a swanky hamburger joint outside of Brussels when his mother called for Gustaf.
"Coming, Anna." And with that, the man excused himself to go to his wife's side.
The stress and weight of the tour pushed on the bassist's shoulders, forcing him to collapse on the worn love seat. He had the heels of his hands buried in his eyes when he felt hands begin to knead his shoulder muscles.
"You were always so good at this, Kij." His sister continued in silence for several more minutes until, with a sigh, she stilled her hands on his shoulders.
"I'm dating someone now. Actually, we're, um, engaged, although I haven't told Mother or Father. I wanted you to know first." When she stopped, Stefan put his hands over hers and squeezed reassuringly, urging her to finish. "I'm going to marry Rurik Algot."
The name triggered violent reactions in Stefan. It was almost like reliving the loss of Nicky all over again.
His sister was marrying his old friend.
His sister was marrying his old boyfriend.
His sister was marrying the man whom had taken Stefan's virginity.
Stefan avoided his sister for the next 3 days. He felt hollow and berift inside, and he had no idea as to why. Things hadn't worked between him and Rurik. They never would have worked between the two of them. But they had had such wonderful times, he reflected with nostalgia.
Rurik had just discovered his attraction to men, and Stefan was just embarking on acting publicly. The times of discovery between them were some of the most remarkable Stefan had ever known. But maybe it was so special merely because it was his first time. He wasn't sure though.
Damn.
Stefan needed to talk to someone, and since at that particular moment he wasn't talking to Kijsa, it was Steve he wanted to turn to.
Two minutes later a sweet voice answered the phone. "Hello, Uncle Stef! Guess what Daddy got me? Guess, guess, guess!"
Stefan smiled softly at the enthusiastic four-year-old voice and promptly answered: "A pony."
Shrill laughter and bubbly giggles greeted that response. "No, silly! He got me---" In the background Stefan could hear Steve.
"Emily Elizabeth, who are you talking to, goofy girl?" The old nickname never failed to make Emily grow haughty, and now was no exception.
"I am not a goofy girl. But I guess since you are my daddy, only you can call me that."
"But what about me? Can't your Uncle Stef call you that too?" A giggle was his answer, and he could almost see her nodding her curly brown head vigourously. Still smiling, he could hear the exchanging of the phone, and then Steve was on the line.
"'Allo, mate. How's the family?" The smile was evident in his voice, and suddenly stark longing shot through Stefan. He wanted to be as happy as Steve. He wanted to be the smile behind someone's happiness. He wanted a relationship, and by god, he'd have one. With resolve he told Steve what he had called for.
"Kij's getting married. To Rurik. Algot." There was a brief pause and then a low whistle. Stefan had told Steve several years ago about Rurik when all three of them had run into each other. Before Emily was born, Steve always went to Sweden with Stefan, and on one journey downtown, they had bumped into Rurik. To Stefan's mind, the meeting had been insignificant and smooth, but later, Steve had commented on the tension between the two of them. That was when Stefan had told him of his involvement with Rurik years ago. In return for the confidence, Steve had shared the story of his first time, and that day bonded them stronger than their mutual interest in music.
"How are you holding up?"
Stefan grimaced. "I've ignored her for the past 3 days. I'm pouting. I'm sulking. I'm miserable. I'm jealous. I'm desperate. I need a relationship. I need something else to focus on. I want to get back in the studio." Steve inhaled as if to say something, but Stefan rushed on. "But I'm not going to steal this vacation from Brian. He needs it more than I need to be distracted. It's not as if I want Rurik. I've never wanted him after he humiliated me that way, but it was so special between us, and it feels as if he's betraying me. I'm so damn possessive, and I can barely stand the sight of him anymore. I don't want him. And I can't see how Kijsa would want him. Maybe that's it. Maybe I'm just cautious on Kijsa's behalf. Maybe I'm just not sure I trust him to treat her the way she needs to be treated. She so very special, and I'd hate for the bastard to use her the way he did me. Damn. It's all so complicated."
Groaning aloud, Stefan slid his hand back and forth over his closely-shorn head in frustration and leaned back against the couch. "I'm tired, Steve. I'm tired of being alone. I'm tired of journalists that hate us on sight. I'm tired of groupies that only want to fuck me. I'm tired of being alone. I want to be something to someone. I want to be with someone. I want to be the reason someone smiles. I want to be safe in the knowledge that I love someone with the same intensity and depth that they love me. Is that so much to ask for?" Astounded Stefan listened to his voice crack hoarsely. He was quite unaware of his sister standing in the doorway behind him.
Tears welled in his eyes as he waited for Steve to answer. "No. It's not too much to ask. And you'll get it, Stef. If you want something to be pure, you can't rush it. If you do, it'll sour ahead of its time, and you'll end up regretting it. Trust me, I've experienced that, and the only thing I got good out of it was Emily. Don't push yourself or a relationship." Quietly Stefan accepted Steve's wisdom and slowly hung up the phone.
"Damn," Stefan muttered softly. "He's right. Aw, shit." He buried his face in his hands and tried to block out the surrounding noise. He marginally succeeded until he was jerked back by the feel of hands on his back.
"Stefan, I want you to meet a friend of mine tonight."
Several hours later, Stefan sat across from a dark blonde named Caleb. Stefan had to admit that the man was fabulously built with a classic face. It was a wonderfully sculpted face with an thin mouth, high cheekbones, and the sexiest feature: dimples. These were deep, deep dimples that were showing even when Caleb wasn't smiling.
Only one problem: Caleb was straight. He had to be. What with the way he was checking out all of the women who walked by, there was no way he was a homosexual. And suddenly, Stefan felt cheated.
He cast a glance at his siter and prayed that the evening would be over with soon. He was miserable, Caleb was looking decidedly uncomfortable whenever there wasn't a woman to check out, and Rurik and Kijsa couldn't keep their hands off of each other. All in all, Stefan would label the night to be an absolute failure. But he kept doggedly on, trying valiantly to stir up conversation with Caleb, if only for Kijsa's sake.
The night finally came to a conclusion and on the way home, Stefan brought up Caleb.
"The guy was straight, Kij." She started so swiftly that she had to jerk the car back onto the road.
"What did you say?"
He sighed raggedly and repeated the statement.
"That's what I thought you said. Stefan, you of all people should be able to label a defense mechanism when you see it. Caleb is as gay as they come."
Stefan shook his head and responded: "No way. He checked out every girl that walked into that place. And I mean every girl."
His younger sister cast him a spare glance. "'Every' being the operative word. Why would he check out 'every' girl unless he had absolutely no idea as to what the hell he was looking for?" That shut him up quick. Was she right? Was Caleb to the point of being so gay that he almost resembled a straight man? Stefan didn't think it was possible, but who knew! Maybe it was.
He pondered Caleb for several days until one afternoon Kijsa came home from her classes with a huge grin on her face. She cornered him in the bathroom as he was shaving. Suspicion raised steadily inside Stefan as she stared at him happily.
"What? Why do you look like the cat that swallowed the canary?"
Her grin broadened as she answered: "Caleb wants to meet you again." The breath seemed to leave him as he stared at his sister. He wanted to meet again? Oh God!
"When?" Panic clutched at him as his sister laughed joyfully.
"In an hour!" Kijsa laughed again when Stefan's hand jerked, knicking his chin as he swore aloud.
"So, you take classes with Kijsa," Stefan asked some time later as they sat across each other at a small table in a crowded, dim restaurant. Caleb looked up from the menu and grinned at him.
"You're bleeding. Again." Cussing half-heartedly, Stefan accepted the napkin Caleb offered and touched it to his chin. He pulled it back to look, and sure enough, there was blood. He rolled his eyes and focused again on his date.
"Yeah, I take classes with Kijsa. She's a wonderful girl. Very intelligent, sweet, and loving. She's especially fond of you." Stefan smiled a bit abashedly at that statement. He knew Kijsa loved him, and she knew that he loved her. But now it seemed strange, even more so because of the gleam in Caleb's eye. His black eyes glittered as he tilted his head to the side to regard Stefan.
"I should tell you more about myself. I'm a divorced, 32-year-old homosexual. You're surprised at the divorced part." A nod. "Well, I was married for 7 years to a wonderful woman named Elise. It took me 7 years and a son to realize that while I loved Elise and adored my son, I could never be the normal family man. I explained the situation to Elise, and she loved me enough to realize that if she asked I would stay but I'd be horribly miserable. We promptly got a divorce, and she married a gentleman she knew from her brother. My son doesn't know, and he's not to find out, according to his mother. I visit regularly in between my classes and work." He stopped as the waiter approached, and blithely placed an order for both of them.
"I suddenly feel extremely young and naive," Stefan muttered, more to himself than not. Immediately his hands were embraced by Caleb's. He leaned forwared earnestly and squeezed his hands.
"Stefan, I didn't tell you all of this so that you'd feel out of place. I told you this so that you'd know who I am, where I come from, and what I've done. From everything that Kijsa has told me about you, I feel as if a relationship with you is a definite possibility. I had to let you know straight away, if not for you, then for my personal sense of fairness. I couldn't have you walking into something blindly."
A warmth settled over Stefan as he looked into Caleb's eyes. The man really meant what he was saying. And it had been so long since someone had expressed a romantic interest in him. Softly Caleb ran his fingertips over the knuckles on Stefan's hand.
"You've stopped bleeding," Caleb murmured as he brought the hand he held up to his lips.
Stefan regarded him seriously. "That's because all of the blood has gone south."
A knowing, seductive smile curled Caleb's thin lips as he let his hand rest gently on Stefan's thigh.
The next weeks passed by in a phenomenal joy for Stefan. No longer was he uncomfortable around Rurik, though he was never left alone with the man. With Caleb playing the devil's advocate, Stefan knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Rurik's younger personality was now overshadowed by something more mature. He was not the manipulative, opportunity-snatching, sexually-confused prick that Stefan had known years ago. Rurik would take good care of his Kij.
But once Stefan had figured out his sister would be happy, he wasted not another thought on the couple. Instead, he focused primarily on his relationship with Caleb. He was a fantastic man, though just slightly on the old-fashioned side. They had still not slept together, even though there was heavy foreplay from both sides.
Laying in bed one night, Caleb's arm draped over his waist, Stefan broached a question that had been on his mind for days.
"Caleb?"
The man snuggled closer, and Stefan could feel his boxers against his thigh. It was Caleb's bright idea to sleep together before they slept together. The forced celibacy was killing him. "Mmmhmmmm?"
"How important is your job to you?"
The hand that had been rubbing softly over Stefan's belly stopped. Caution tinged Caleb's voice. "What do you mean? Why do you ask, Stefan?"
"Well," he hedged, fiddling with the sheet corner. "I'm going to be leaving for London next week, and well, I thought, perhaps that you could come with me. I mean, that is, if your work will let you."
"For how long?" Caleb interrupted, sitting up.
Glad that it was dark so that his flaming face couldn't be seen, Stefan replied slowly. "You could stay as long as you want, but, I have to stay until the album is done."
"For how long, Stefan?" he interrupted again.
"It could take anywhere from 3 months to a year. It all depends on how quickly and easily everything flows together." Stefan could almost hear his lover's brain working, calculating, trying to figure things out.
Silence echoed for several minutes before Stefan shifted uncomfortably.
"You know, just forget about it, Caleb. I didn't want to ask, but I thought I should try. Don't worry about it. It's ok. Let's just go back to sleep."
Quietly Stefan cried himself to sleep as Caleb lay back down behind him and went to sleep.
Without speaking or touching Stefan at all.
Stefan woke with a head ache...and something tickling his ear. Flipping
his wrist in the general direction of his ear, Stefan muttered under
his breath and rolled over onto his side.
"Stef."
He mumbled again and flopped onto his back and struggled to open
his eyes. God, they felt as if someone had glued them shut. They
were so hard to open, so swollen. Then it all came rushing back
to him: Caleb not answering the request to move London with him
and then crying himself to sleep. Shit. How could he face Caleb
after making such a fool of himself the night before? Well, Olsdal,
you can't just lay here all day and not face him. Suck it up.
He was about to turn towards Caleb's side of the bed when the tickling in his ear started again.
"I know you are awake. I can tell by the tensing of the muscles
in your body. Look at me." The appeal in the voice was simply too
much for his heart to resist. Opening his eyes slightly, Stefan
looked at Caleb and felt his heart breaking all over again. The
concern on his beautiful face was too much for him to handle, and
the tears began once again.
Caleb's fingers trembled as they slowly made their way to his lover's
cheek. "I did this," he murmured slightly. "I hurt you like this."
Tears came to his own eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."
"Hush...shhhhh." Gently Stefan wrapped Caleb in his arms. "No, no,
no..you didn't do it. I did. I shouldn't have asked you that last
night. I know how important your job is to you, how hard you work
at it. I know how important your son is to you, and how you'd hate
to have to leave him. I mean, you even hate not talking to him at
least once a day. So how could I expect you to move so far away
and leave him? It was selfish of me to even think of asking you. I'm sorry, Caleb."
A finger crept up to his lips, effectively stopping speech. Light
gleamed in Caleb's eyes, and he couldn't make out what it meant.
Caleb could see the confusion on Stefan's face so he leaned forward
and kissed his forehead. "I didn't answer you last night, because
you took the words from my mouth."
"What?" Stefan interrupted from beneath his lover's finger. "I don't understand."
"I wanted to ask you how you'd think of me moving to London. I'm
up for a promotion if I want it. If I take it though, I'll have
to relocate. I've been thinking about it for weeks, mulling on it,
wondering how I was going to ask if you'd like that. I mean, I know
London is a large place and that even if I went and you didn't like
it, the chances of me running into you is slight, but I mean, I
would so much rather us living together. That is...if you still
mean what you said last night?" The hopefulness in Caleb's voice
was evident as well in his eyes, and Stefan smiled. There was no
way he could deny those dimples.
"Of course I still mean it." Seduction rose before his eyes, and
without thought of Caleb's inforced celibacy, Stefan began to kiss
his way down Caleb's body. He was such a gorgeously well-built man.
Not to mention well-endowed. God had certainly blessed this man,
and Stefan was suddenly humbled that he was benefitting from such a blessing.
Quietly he whispered, "I love you, Caleb." He knew he meant it.
Immediately he went back to work caressing Caleb's body. Silently
he laughed to himself, this is work that he'd happily do for the rest of his life.
Above him Caleb was making strangled sounds. "Darling, if you don't
stop....I don't know if I can...oh shit." Stefan laughed as licked
once more at Caleb's thighs.
"Brace yourself." He thought he
had killed Caleb by the sound that he suddenly made.
"Get the lube, Stef," he panted.
A wicked grin crossed Stefan's face. "Fuck the lube, babe."
