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Post by Carlos Castro on Jun 9, 2008 15:46:08 GMT -5
Carlos chuckled deep in his chest, even as he wondered if Destler could feel his own desire.
"I don't think you'll have to do that," he said. "Would it be inelegant to say I am?"
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Post by Erik Destler on Jun 9, 2008 15:49:54 GMT -5
"Inelegant perhaps. No less stirring."
He had to still himself for a moment, fight the urge to pull the scarf away and claim the boy's mouth, if nothing else. After a moment his grip on Carlos relaxed and he stepped away, bringing searing fingers to the young tenor's cheek.
"Not yet."
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Post by Carlos Castro on Jun 9, 2008 16:12:01 GMT -5
Carlos felt Destler's absence palpably, but he held himself still. He knew well the advantages of delay--but had they not delayed enough?
But he nodded, leaning slightly into the hand.
"I will wait, then," he said, his voice somewhat strangled. "But don't be long."
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Post by Erik Destler on Jun 9, 2008 16:18:48 GMT -5
"I will work as quickly as I can, my dear. In the meantime..."
He stepped away, back into the shadows for a moment and returned with a new sheet of crisp manuscript.
"Another performance in the cafes--just something for you to pass the time with. This piece requires no accompaniment, your voice alone will carry it. It is more difficult than the last, the range is much broader, both low and high. It...is a love song."
He held the sheet out.
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Post by Carlos Castro on Jun 9, 2008 16:50:38 GMT -5
Carlos took the sheet, his eyes scanning it before flickering up to Erik's.
"This... is beautiful," he said. "I will enjoy singing it."
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Post by Erik Destler on Jun 9, 2008 21:44:02 GMT -5
The composer nodded slightly and slipped back into the shadows.
"I will be nearby, as often as I can, and I will soon come to take you away to my house."
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Post by Carlos Castro on Jun 9, 2008 22:47:40 GMT -5
Later, Carlos was not certain he liked the sound of that. But in this moment, he wanted nothing more. As if, rather than a murderous skinning genius, Destler was some sort of fairytale prince. With a castle.
Perhaps, Carlos thought with an inner giggle, he was a frog who must be kissed and didn't know it.
"I will sing for you, then," he said, because it was the only thing he could think of to say. And besides, wasn't that a gift in itself?
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Post by Erik Destler on Jun 9, 2008 22:52:13 GMT -5
"Oh, but you must always sing for me. Your gift, of course, will be shared with the world, but you will be singing, always, only for me. Now then...I must go before I am tempted to stay longer." he chuckled and sank back into the shadows again.
"Well...perhaps I will remain until you are sleeping, if you like. I will play for you."
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Post by Carlos Castro on Jun 9, 2008 22:58:39 GMT -5
Once again, Carlos was pulled between the competing feelings of affront and lustful appreciation. He saw no reason, at the moment, to sort this out, however. Like so much else in his life, he had determined to ride it out. That did not, of course, preclude ambition, or getting what he wanted.
"I would like that," he agreed. "Er... excuse me. One moment."
He grabbed his pajamas from the end of the bed (where they were neatly folded) and retreated to the bathroom. He didn't always wear them, but they were silk, and it was better than climbing into bed full clothed.
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Post by Erik Destler on Jun 9, 2008 23:03:32 GMT -5
Destler was slightly grieved by the man's going into another room to change--but it was the safer course for both of them, he knew.
When Carlos returned and was ensconced in his bed with Mephisto curled up on his chest, he struck up soft strings and curled them warmly around the room.
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Post by Carlos Castro on Jun 9, 2008 23:26:16 GMT -5
((Aww, so domestic!))
There were, Carlos thought, much worse places to be than in a warm bed, with a warm cat and live music gently carrying you off to sleep. It could be better--there could be a non-feline male joining him. But that would come, so to speak.
He struggled to stay away, to hear the entire song, but to no avail. Within minutes, Carlos was out.
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Post by Carlos Castro on Jun 16, 2008 1:01:11 GMT -5
**NEW NIGHT, POST ALLEY**
Carlos barreled into the room, disturbing Mephisto's nap. The cat's lazy blue eyes regarded him resentfully as he flew about the room, lighter than his build would suggest, throwing things into a pair of suitcases.
"We're leaving," he announced. "It's not safe here."
It wasn't safe anywhere, Carlos was fairly certain. Panic gripped him; he could still see the body, the bloody hands, the patchwork face. To think, he'd watched those hands tease such bliss from his instrument and imagined them on his own flesh. He shuddered. All those feelings... lies. Manipulations. The revelation wasn't that Destler murdered, that he was mad, dangerous. The revelation was the visceral knowledge of all those things.
He'd have to be careful, from now on. He'd been in danger before, and ignored it. Willed it away. Now, it was different. Deslter had seen him. Knew that he knew. He was a liability now. He'd only ever been a sort of prize, he realized. He'd been foolish to think...
He shook his head and gathered Mephisto in one arm, the cat protesting.
Carlos was getting another room.
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