Author's Note: This is a present for Jill. Thanks to her and to Susie, for encouraging me to post it.
He has no idea.He sits across the table from you - a world of carved-out scars and burnt cigars away.
The loose-limbed sprawl across two chairs, the slow-stoked glow of a smile on his face, the way his eyes turn to you and speak to you in silence.
Vin doesn't know what he does to you.
Especially now, when he's so thin. So pale. So broken, bruised and hurt.
It frightens you and beckons you, calls you to him.
Trouble flies to him like a moth to a flame, Nathan says, and now you are that moth.
You stayed with him while he was out of his head and rambling. It scared you to think of him somewhere, out there, alone, where you could not follow.
You held him then - you had to - while he was too weak to hold up his head as he sweated and retched and raved. Somewhere deep inside, you were glad for this. Glad to have your arms around him, to slip your hands beneath his shirt and feel the slim, hard planes of his stomach, the narrow line of his hips, to press your palms to his chest as he clung to you.
You ached for him then, and were glad to have your worry hide your shame.
He's better now, mostly, and there's light in those eyes beneath the sweep of those long lashes.
It shines on you, and you grow toward it like a plant long starved for sun.
You watch his fingers turn the glass - empty now - the amber fire just passed between those lips, but lingering there - the afterglow of promise. You want to take those lips between your teeth and hold them hostage.
Make them give up all their secrets.
Make them promise you the world.
Vin's fading now, slouching further into his chair, and you reach out to halt his long slow slide into sleep. His hair falls in waves across his face, like a wedding veil, and you sweep it back and lean in close.
"Time to go."
You stand to leave, and he rises too, wavering happily in the grip of the whiskey - just enough to smooth the edges in a body scant hours out of Nathan's clutches.
You take him by the arm and head him toward the door, and when he leans into that smallest of touches, you are melting.
And then, outside, you weave along the boardwalk, together, laughing at nothing at all.
You are hypnotized by the white perfection of his teeth as they smile at you, and you push him into the narrow space between the buildings and turn your gaze toward the sky. A long thin ribbon of velvet, dark and soft above your head, and Vin so soft and dark beneath your hands. You push him, hard, against the wall and your mouth finds his.
And you are rough and strong and demanding, and he is melting now, into you. And when you pull away, he slides down to sit, knees jacked up, hands hanging loose between them. You follow him, your fingers still laced in the folds of his coat, seeking yielding, soft compliance in skin both animal and human.
You're facing him, here in the half-dark, on your knees, before the altar.
Waiting for something - be it blessing or curse.
And he smiles at you, and you are humbled as he takes your face in his hands and kisses you.
It can't be here.
It's too dark and you want to see his body beneath yours when it is time. So you pull him to his feet and he follows you.
He trusts you - he always has - and so it is with you as well.
You're in the open now, beyond the plumb and line of town, and you reel together among the rocks and scrubby thatch across uneven ground. You feel the long loose sway of him beside you and you stop and bring his lips to yours once more. His mouth is open now, and your tongue slides inside - along his teeth and you hear him moan - a small quiet rasp of need and surrender. You are sinking now - into the sun-banked warmth of sand, and your hands are alive and shaping the path of your desire.
You could not stop now.
Even if the world were to end this very minute, you and Vin would go on.
Nothing has the power to define your love for him.
You think of Sarah and those long, languid days and nights you shared in Indiana's verdant fields. That was another you, beneath those other stars. You were green and lush and alive back then, and when she died, you died too.
This arid land defines you now - this God-forgotten country where everything withers away to dust.
But now you know.
There are angels here.
Not easily seen when the sun is bright and blinding.
Not white and pure and hovering just out of reach, but brown and tan beside you - the colour of dust and sand.
They wear buckskin coats and laugh without making a sound.
And when they touch you, it is heaven, for they take you up and save you.
They give you life and they make your heart sing.
And they are hard and rough beneath your hands and you are knife-sharp and quick.
And deadly.
And they love you for it.
The End
March 2006