Part Ninety-four
Feb. 28th, 2025 08:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
luthier_balloonistOriginally posted here
“Good lord, it’s freezing.” Barir stamped his feet in a vain attempt to warm them. His rooms were chilled, the fire burning low in the grate and doing little to counter the draft coming through the window. Kay knelt to build it up, while Barir pulled out glasses and brandy. He still felt a little shaken, though he tried to convince himself that it was the cold burying into his chest; he had not quite adjusted to the bitterness of the English winter. That was all it was, of course. It had nothing to do with Derby’s offhand comment.
Get a hold of yourself, man, he thought, and turned up the light on the gaslamp, chasing away the darkest of the shadows, and poured two measures of brandy. He had drunk quite a lot at the Bell, more than usual, and was distinctly lightheaded, but at that moment he didn’t much care.
“You did mean a nightcap, then,” said Kay. He stood up from the now crackling fire with a groan, his knees cracking audibly. “I wasn’t sure if there was a double meaning.”
Despite the chill in his chest and the nervous thump of his heart, Barir smiled. “It could be both,” he said, handing Kay his drink and trying for the light, flirtatious tone he so often used. It sounded forced to his ears. “I certainly wouldn’t complain.”
Kay’s lips quirked upward slightly. He took a sip of brandy, then leaned down to press cool, soft lips to Barir’s. “I have wanted to do that all evening,” he said.
“Mm. You could have done. You may have noticed that nobody would have cared.”
“I'm not sure I will ever get used to that. It was all so very blatant.” He took another drink and set his glass on the mantelpiece, a concerned line between his brows. “I know I'm not the most sociable of men. I hope I didn't cause any offence this evening. I seem to, often unintentionally.”
Barir had been aware of Kay's wariness and tension through the evening. He knew that the man found it difficult to be among crowds, particularly strangers, and so he knew that Kay had made a great deal of effort. “You offended nobody, I assure you. I think Tom Cambridge was rather taken with you, in fact.”
Kay made a disbelieving sort of noise. “I highly doubt that, with the way he was draping himself all over that blond chap. Who could hardly take his eyes off you, I might add.”
For a moment Barir considered telling Kay that Luke had told him, in no uncertain terms, that he had no interest in anything except an occasional quick shag. He decided not to, detecting a hint of jealousy in Kay's voice. Though it was pleasant, to think of Kay being jealous on Barir's account.
“Oh no,” he said instead. “Luke and I don't match at all. No, put that from your mind.” He set his drink down, wound his fingers about Kay's necktie and pulled him down for another lingering kiss. “And even if he was looking, I hope I've made myself clear: I have eyes for you alone, Mr Tumoe.”
Kissing did a great deal to dispel the cold from Barir’s chest, as did being pressed up against Kay’s solid chest. For a moment Barir wanted to ask Kay to stay, to cram into his narrow bed with him for the night, but they had done so too often recently, and it would be dangerous to become lax. He pulled away reluctantly.
“Drink,” he said. “I don’t want you to freeze on your way home.”
Kay blinked, and his gaze refocused. “Yes,” he said, clear reluctance in his voice. He trailed calloused fingertips along Barir’s hairline. “Tomorrow, you’ll call on me? I have no rehearsals, no need to go out at all.”
Barir took Kay’s hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to his palm. “I can scarcely wait.”
Kay gave him one of those barely-there smiles. “Are you quite sure that you’re alright? I fear that Derby fellow upset you.”
There was a sickening, swooping sensation in Barir’s stomach, as there had been when Derby had made his off-hand, teasing little comment. “You did that for a time didn't you, Barir?”
Blast it, Barir did not want to think of Marcus. If he could go the rest of his life without ever thinking of the man again he would be better for it. He had asked Jenny (in a manner that he had hoped was calmly curious but he knew had missed the mark) whether she knew if he was still in London. She didn't know, and Barir didn't much want to ask around in case word got back to Marcus somehow. With any luck the man had gone back to America to enjoy whatever success he had found there.
“I'd really rather not talk about it,” he said, forcing lightness into his voice. “It was some years ago, and I was a young fool.”
Kay was frowning still. Barir squeezed his hand in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. “The man in the balloon,” he said slowly, and Barir's heart dropped. “The one who upset you at that bloody gala. Is that—”
“I said I didn't want to talk about it,” Barir snapped, yanking his hand back. Kay looked startled at his tone, and Barir tried to calm himself. His throat felt tight and his eyes hot. “Please, my dear. It's ancient history. I’d really prefer to let bygones be bygones.”
“Very well,” said Kay, though Barir could see that he wasn't going to forget in a hurry. “My apologies.”
They finished their drinks, and Kay took his leave. Barir wanted to pull him back, to ask him to stay, to understand, somehow, without Barir ever having to say anything. Kay kissed him, soft and lingering, and said, “Until tomorrow. But not too early, I beg you. I care for you very much, but I will not open my door until after nine o’clock.”
Later, Barir huddled beneath his bedclothes, his eyes aching with tiredness but unable to sleep. The wind whistled and moaned through the gap in the window. The fire had died down, and he still felt cold, despite the layers of blankets and the warming brick for his feet. The darkness pressed on him. He thought determinedly of the following morning, when he would call on Kay and spend the day in his warm, shabby flat, curled together on the sofa or in bed together.
It was a long time before Barir fell asleep.
“Good lord, it’s freezing.” Barir stamped his feet in a vain attempt to warm them. His rooms were chilled, the fire burning low in the grate and doing little to counter the draft coming through the window. Kay knelt to build it up, while Barir pulled out glasses and brandy. He still felt a little shaken, though he tried to convince himself that it was the cold burying into his chest; he had not quite adjusted to the bitterness of the English winter. That was all it was, of course. It had nothing to do with Derby’s offhand comment.
Get a hold of yourself, man, he thought, and turned up the light on the gaslamp, chasing away the darkest of the shadows, and poured two measures of brandy. He had drunk quite a lot at the Bell, more than usual, and was distinctly lightheaded, but at that moment he didn’t much care.
“You did mean a nightcap, then,” said Kay. He stood up from the now crackling fire with a groan, his knees cracking audibly. “I wasn’t sure if there was a double meaning.”
Despite the chill in his chest and the nervous thump of his heart, Barir smiled. “It could be both,” he said, handing Kay his drink and trying for the light, flirtatious tone he so often used. It sounded forced to his ears. “I certainly wouldn’t complain.”
Kay’s lips quirked upward slightly. He took a sip of brandy, then leaned down to press cool, soft lips to Barir’s. “I have wanted to do that all evening,” he said.
“Mm. You could have done. You may have noticed that nobody would have cared.”
“I'm not sure I will ever get used to that. It was all so very blatant.” He took another drink and set his glass on the mantelpiece, a concerned line between his brows. “I know I'm not the most sociable of men. I hope I didn't cause any offence this evening. I seem to, often unintentionally.”
Barir had been aware of Kay's wariness and tension through the evening. He knew that the man found it difficult to be among crowds, particularly strangers, and so he knew that Kay had made a great deal of effort. “You offended nobody, I assure you. I think Tom Cambridge was rather taken with you, in fact.”
Kay made a disbelieving sort of noise. “I highly doubt that, with the way he was draping himself all over that blond chap. Who could hardly take his eyes off you, I might add.”
For a moment Barir considered telling Kay that Luke had told him, in no uncertain terms, that he had no interest in anything except an occasional quick shag. He decided not to, detecting a hint of jealousy in Kay's voice. Though it was pleasant, to think of Kay being jealous on Barir's account.
“Oh no,” he said instead. “Luke and I don't match at all. No, put that from your mind.” He set his drink down, wound his fingers about Kay's necktie and pulled him down for another lingering kiss. “And even if he was looking, I hope I've made myself clear: I have eyes for you alone, Mr Tumoe.”
Kissing did a great deal to dispel the cold from Barir’s chest, as did being pressed up against Kay’s solid chest. For a moment Barir wanted to ask Kay to stay, to cram into his narrow bed with him for the night, but they had done so too often recently, and it would be dangerous to become lax. He pulled away reluctantly.
“Drink,” he said. “I don’t want you to freeze on your way home.”
Kay blinked, and his gaze refocused. “Yes,” he said, clear reluctance in his voice. He trailed calloused fingertips along Barir’s hairline. “Tomorrow, you’ll call on me? I have no rehearsals, no need to go out at all.”
Barir took Kay’s hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to his palm. “I can scarcely wait.”
Kay gave him one of those barely-there smiles. “Are you quite sure that you’re alright? I fear that Derby fellow upset you.”
There was a sickening, swooping sensation in Barir’s stomach, as there had been when Derby had made his off-hand, teasing little comment. “You did that for a time didn't you, Barir?”
Blast it, Barir did not want to think of Marcus. If he could go the rest of his life without ever thinking of the man again he would be better for it. He had asked Jenny (in a manner that he had hoped was calmly curious but he knew had missed the mark) whether she knew if he was still in London. She didn't know, and Barir didn't much want to ask around in case word got back to Marcus somehow. With any luck the man had gone back to America to enjoy whatever success he had found there.
“I'd really rather not talk about it,” he said, forcing lightness into his voice. “It was some years ago, and I was a young fool.”
Kay was frowning still. Barir squeezed his hand in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. “The man in the balloon,” he said slowly, and Barir's heart dropped. “The one who upset you at that bloody gala. Is that—”
“I said I didn't want to talk about it,” Barir snapped, yanking his hand back. Kay looked startled at his tone, and Barir tried to calm himself. His throat felt tight and his eyes hot. “Please, my dear. It's ancient history. I’d really prefer to let bygones be bygones.”
“Very well,” said Kay, though Barir could see that he wasn't going to forget in a hurry. “My apologies.”
They finished their drinks, and Kay took his leave. Barir wanted to pull him back, to ask him to stay, to understand, somehow, without Barir ever having to say anything. Kay kissed him, soft and lingering, and said, “Until tomorrow. But not too early, I beg you. I care for you very much, but I will not open my door until after nine o’clock.”
Later, Barir huddled beneath his bedclothes, his eyes aching with tiredness but unable to sleep. The wind whistled and moaned through the gap in the window. The fire had died down, and he still felt cold, despite the layers of blankets and the warming brick for his feet. The darkness pressed on him. He thought determinedly of the following morning, when he would call on Kay and spend the day in his warm, shabby flat, curled together on the sofa or in bed together.
It was a long time before Barir fell asleep.
