Vision Quest (8 page)

"It's late?" Arik said, more question that statement. He set his heel on the floor and brushed at his chest.

Blaze answered without checking. "Just after six."

"Oh!" Arik turned back with a grin. He locked up their gazes, let himself get lost in azure blue so as not to wonder why he'd yet failed to try and count the tiny freckles that sunlight had warmed out of Blaze's skin. "Let me take you for dinner. Somewhere nice. With crystal glasses and desserts that neither of us can pronounce." He smiled and reached for Blaze's cheek, seeking out that fan-fucking-tastic spark of soul. "I have a jacket. Well... it probably won't fit you worth a fuck. But we could ask the concierge for something. Or, you know, to hell with the jacket. You can borrow a button-up and roll the sleeves."

Suddenly grinning, Arik slid out of bed. "After all, isn't this the scene where I get to woo you with escargot and sherberts?" He wiggled his eyebrows at Blaze's expression. "Show you just how awesomely cool I am at ordering wine? Maybe even—"

"We should talk."

Arik nodded. "A nice quiet table then. There's a restaurant just a few blocks from here. It's probably late for reservations but if the hotel can pull some strings—"

"I'm sure the hotel has room service."

Blaze's voice was quiet and calm, but it had a backbone of insistence in it that told Arik it was only being presented as a suggestion. Arik's arms fell to his sides. "No, I know. It's just ... I thought ..." He paused while anxiety shut down his tongue.

For thirty years of his life, Arik had fought away the madness. And that's what it was—fucking madness. Imaginary creepings of pseudo-religion-inspired hallucinations, and fears granted entry into consciousness. If Arik paused too long to listen, if he let them get a finger hold, before sanity would understand what was happening, Arik would tumble headlong into the same terrifying pit that had consumed his father. He'd be the one mumbling fanatical bullshit masked as prayers, or pontificating with strangers over worlds that did not exist and abilities outside the realm of normalcy.

Arik was a businessman. He had savings and an investment portfolio. He had furniture from Italy and a car from Germany. He was normal and whole and it was really, really, really fucking
important
that he stay that way.

Wasn't it?

Blaze unfolded himself from the bed, lean legs so perfectly shaped to his body that they had an illusion of length even with his small frame. Then Blaze stood, ignored clothing, or sheets, or anything at all that might have offered a sense of propriety to his naked form. Not that Arik's current state of undress was any more modest. They stood, face to face, stripped bare and filthy.

"You shower. I'll order," Blaze said quietly. "Then I'll shower, and you'll pay." Blaze's touch was light and warm when he put his open palm on Arik's chest. "I even promise to ask for crystal glasses."

*~*~*

The heat from the shower still leeched off Arik's skin. That should have been enough to stop the constant shivers of chill from rifling across his shoulders. It wasn't. The hoodie didn't help either, nor did the pyjama pants, or the socks. Arik would have sold damn near everything he owned to have been graced with a suite that had a fireplace at that moment. Even the fake logs and the gas-enhanced flames of the usual variety found in that kind of hotel would have sufficed.

Instead, Arik crossed his arms over his chest, closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall, listening to Blaze's quiet voice sing an unknown song in a thick, foreign accent. Even though the tone was gentle and the volume low, there was an underlying darkness that spoke of sadness and loss, pain and grief. It made Arik want to climb under the covers, bury his face in the sex-spattered sheets, and weep.

There had been very little exchange between Arik and the suited porter when the man had arrived, uncorked the bottle, flourished the napkins, and then stood smiling patiently while Arik had signed for the delivery. Blaze had ordered more food than any two men could possibly eat: salad and soup, appetizers and bread. A peek under the steam-capturing lids over the entrees had revealed both steak and chicken, pasta and potatoes. Between it all, a bottle of Bordeaux sat breathing. An odd choice, considering the meal, but somehow fitting for the mood.

A curtain of steam followed Blaze out of the bathroom. A towel was wrapped around his waist and tucked with the requisite fold to keep it in place. It was the flush of pink that covered Blaze's skin and the smiled he offered Arik before he shook his hair that drew Arik's attention, though. As if the man had semi-boiled himself in the water. And enjoyed every moment of it.

"Ah," Blaze sighed. "Awesome. The food's here. Just give me a minute to put on some—"

"The goat came to life," Arik blurted. And once the words started, Arik couldn't stop the spew. "I mean, not really, of course. It's not like it found its feet and ran off to join the circus. But I saw it animate. I saw ... abuse. I saw skin being torn and things being broken and ... God, Blaze ... the sounds." He caught Blaze's eyes, expected disbelief and fear, and saw none of it. Arik's teeth caught the inside of his cheek, and he chewed.

"But that's not the weird thing. That kind of moment is easily written that off to bad coffee or too much sun, you know what I mean?" Arik paused, doubting his ability to make the words sound like his head wanted them to. "I think that what I saw at the course was part of what we saw on the television at the bar. The breaking and the distorting, and the wet—" Arik cut himself off, scrubbed at the side of his face with one hand, and yanked the bottle of wine out of the holder with the other. Then he started pacing beside the table—back and forth, back and forth—with the bottle of wine gripped in his fist. "I mean, I know it probably sounds stupid."

Arik stopped, stared again; unblinking and begging with his eyes. "They're related. I don't know why or how, but I know they are. I know it." He nodded. Repeated the words. "I know it."

Blaze stepped forward. "I believe you."

"Why?" Arik huffed the word as though Blaze's belief was more ludicrous than the vision.

"Because I do," Blaze smiled. "Because I've seen all kinds of things over the years, and I know that—"

Arik cut him off with a snort. "Oh, the drama you must have seen in the, what, twenty-five or so years you've been alive?" He tilted his head and made a duck face of annoyance. "Seriously. Not to get off topic or anything but ..."

Blaze spread his fingers towards the cart that held their dinner and scooped both wine glasses off it. He held them up, cradling both bowls in his palm, stems dangling, and nodded at the bottle of wine before answering, "I'm older than I look."

"Oh? Do tell," Arik prompted. He poured a couple of inches in each glass with all the care due of a Bordeaux over a carpet somebody else owned.

"Yep, when you're done talking." Blaze grinned at the look Arik shot him over the glasses. "Have you seen these kinds of things before?"

"Not with that kind of intensity, no," Arik admitted.

Blaze sat down on the arm of the couch, adjusting the towel to fall between his legs. "With what kind of intensity, then?"

Arik shrugged and sat across from Blaze, on the coffee table that spanned the front of the couch. He reversed Blaze's previous movements and readjusted Blaze's towel to allow for a far more daring view, grinning at Blaze's chuckle. "Mostly just... well," Arik took a small sip of wine before setting the glass aside. He began to trace light circles along the inside of Blaze's bare thigh. The sharp intake of breath Blaze gave him for the effort made Arik's gut clench with delight. Whether it was Blaze's attention that spurred the bravery for Arik to continue, or just the need to finally spit it out, Arik wasn't sure. "I call it my 'watch, review, record' mode. I see things that I know will have importance later, and I make a note of how and why in my head. Then I store it up and set it aside so I can recall it when I need it."

"For example?"

Arik's lips twitched. "Little things. Weird things. Things that end up relating to one another. Like, yesterday morning, before I met you, it was everything red. The week before my father jumped, it was things with wings."

Blaze frowned. "Jumped?"

"Off a bridge," Arik explained with an eye roll. "God was calling, you see."

"So foretelling, more or less—"

Arik cut him off before Blaze could finish, frowning. "Tell that to our young mini-golf guide, Craig. That was obviously not foretelling. If it was anything at all, it was a taunt." Arik dropped his voice to a creepy, snarling parody of himself. "You can see it, dumbass, but you can't do a damn thing about it. Enjoy the view."

"Or it was," Blaze suggested. "Maybe it was the start of something huge. Maybe that really was the warning. Have you thought about digging into it, rolling with it, trying to figure out if there's some kind of indicator, or path, or—"

Arik snorted. "No. See, the thing is? I don't really pursue it. I'm more inclined to shut it down when I feel it creeping up on me."

Blaze laid a palm over Arik's fingers, holding them in place, and it was only then that Arik realised his previously light touches had become more of a dig. "Can I ask you why?"

"Long story." Arik stood; started pacing.

"I have time," Blaze prompted.

"My father—" Arik caught a breath and stopped. He swallowed a couple of times to force down the sudden rise of bile. "He was maniacal about things that were beyond the normal realm of consciousness. Books. Pamphlets. Scrolls." He turned and lifted an eyebrow at Blaze. "Yes, scrolls even. Where most religious freaks fear the metaphysical, Dad considered them gifts. But not gifts for one's own use, Blaze. God, no. They were tools. To right wrongs and vanquish evil. To manipulate thought and correct the things he saw as shortcomings in other people. Godlessness. Homosexuality. Whorish behaviour. Fuck, I don't even know. I wasn't that old when he finally flung himself into his deities' arms the hard way. But I do know this—he terrified me. It was easier to deny that there was anything there, than to get stuck being part of any of it. He'd tell me to watch, and I'd tell him that I didn't see anything."

"Did you?"

Arik's reply was a whisper. "Yes."

"Like?"

"Awful things," Arik admitted. "Let's just say that the goat has cousins everywhere."

Blaze nodded. "Things little boys shouldn't see."

Arik parroted the head bob, and Blaze reached for, then handed him back his wine. "Okay. Good to know. Whatever it means, at least now we both have an idea of it." He leaned his own glass forward and tapped it against the side of Arik's. The bright sound of crystal checking crystal pinged through the room—a cymbal, a bell, as though announcing the call to game.

On your mark ... get set ...

Blaze smiled. "Ready to eat?"

"Not quite." Arik took a sip to seal the toast, and set the glass down yet again. He waited for Blaze to sample the wine as well, then followed suit with Blaze's glass. Arik rose, dropped down into the couch beside Blaze and with a circling of arms and a tug, he pulled Blaze onto his lap.

Arik levelled their gazes. "Your turn."

Blaze settled with his legs spread to either side of Arik's. The pajama pants' fabric was soft against Blaze's bare skin, and Arik's hoodie was delicious to squeeze; plush cushion over the hard body beneath it.

Meeting Arik's eyes, Blaze grasped both of Arik's hands and put them on his legs on the outside of the towel. The skin-to-skin buzzing was too much of a distraction if Blaze was going to tell his story with a lick of cohesion and remember to leave out the parts that might be too much for Arik to handle at this phase of the game. Arik was learning more than most, and he was processing faster than many who'd had longer to do so, but the truth was both Blaze's weapon and biggest bargaining chip. He had to use it wisely in either capacity.

"Okay," Arik whispered, squeezing Blaze's hips.

Blaze wasn't sure if that was permission to start, encouragement to get to it, or in response to Blaze not wanting Arik's hands on him. Blaze unhooked the towel, exposing cock and balls, and he smiled with Arik's soft intake of breath. Two could play the distraction card, after all.

"Want to know more about me, hmm?" Blaze asked.

"That was the deal," Arik answered.

Blaze nodded. He fiddled with the toggles that could tighten Arik's hood. "I was born in a village in România. Romania. I'm not sure I could tell you where it was, exactly, even if I had a map. I know it was a long three-day walk to Bucharest, and I know I only made that journey once, and it was after I'd grown into this body, not the body I had when I was a boy."

"You don't have a hint of an accent," Arik said. "Except when you actually, you know, want to. I guess?"

"I've spent a lot of time outside my country. So much time that it's not really 'my' country anymore."

"I really don't see how that's ... You must be one of those men who looks, what, ten years younger than they are?"

Blaze just smiled, tilted his pelvis, and Arik glanced south. He licked his lips. "Are you a citizen, here, then?" Arik asked.

Blaze cocked a brow. "This isn't twenty questions, Arik, unless you want me to answer you only in yes or no."

"Sorry." Arik seemed sheepish. "I'm sorry. Go on."

"Okay. Let's see. I had a big family. Lots of brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles." Blaze read the question Arik wanted to ask, and he gave the real answer: "They're all dead."

"I'm sorry," Arik said, clearly stunned.

Blaze shrugged. "It happens to all of us. But when I was little and everyone lived outside the graveyards, my family taught me things. Animal magic. Curses. Hexes. Potions." Blaze laughed. "I don't remember most of it, truth be told. And most of it wasn't magic at all. It was legend, and it was the shit we used to make money from the people who didn't know what was real and what was fake.

"Though, sometimes ..." Blaze closed his eyes. "There was a girl, once, who was possessed. Laugh if you want, but I saw her do things no mortal could do on her own. Things no mortal would
want
to do on her own. And there was a man, another time, who had been stricken with a love curse. He would only care for those who would break his heart the worst, and it would be love that would kill him, in the end."