Zachary’s Day Out #8
Zachary was sitting on the coffee table, holding the wooden lion and roaring. Alastair was standing on the couch, balancing one of the toy soldiers atop the lamp on the end table nearby.
“I think you’ll find,” Alastair said, “that you can’t possibly reach the great Lord Nelson up here. He has foiled your plan and taken shelter atop his magical column!”
“Lion!” cried Zachary, and demonstrated his lion leaping high into the air to reach the admiral.
“Oh no!” Alastair exclaimed. “I had not reckoned with your incredible jumping power!”
“Lion,” Zachary declared again, and bumped the lion into the toy soldier, whereupon Alastair pantomimed the soldier falling from his height back down to the table.
“Oh, who would have thought that the hero of Trafalgar would be laid so low by a beast of the jungle?” To Thomas’s great entertainment, he rolled the toy soldier around on the table in toy agony.
Thomas cleared his throat and the boys looked up. Zachary called out, “Mama! Stair!”
Sona came over and picked Zachary up. “Alastair, you shouldn’t let him on the furniture with his shoes.”
Alastair waved dismissively.
“Has it been all right?” she said, surveying the disorder of the battlefield before her. “I see he’s tangled up all your soldiers.”
“Not at all,” said Alastair. “He’s playing with them exactly as he ought to.”
Zachary was perhaps not quite done with the lion and the soldiers, but the return of his mother distracted and pleased him enough that he allowed himself to be taken away and put back in his pram.
Sona thanked them, told Thomas his mother wanted to see him more often, and departed after a few grateful maternal hugs of Alastair, and Thomas, as well.
She departed after extracting a promise from Alastair that they would come down to Cirenworth to visit soon. With a great sigh Thomas flung himself down onto the couch next to the coffee table. “Well,” he said, “that turned out better than it seemed like it would.”
Alastair’s mouth quirked, but he didn’t reply immediately; he was busy gathering up the toy soldiers from where they’d fallen.
Thomas watched fondly as Alastair wiped each down with a damp cloth and replaced it neatly in the wooden storage case.
When Alastair noticed Thomas watching him, he raised his chin.
“I may let Zachary play with these as he likes,” he said, “but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to maintain them in good condition. ”
“It’s all right,” Thomas assured him. “You feel responsible for them, and that means taking care of them.”
Alastair put the soldier he was holding down and came to sit on the couch next to Thomas.
Thomas put a hand up and wordlessly stroked the side of Alastair’s face; there was a little rough stubble that grazed his palm, and then Alastair kissed his hand, and Thomas shivered.
“Thomas,” Alastair said, “I am amazed by you.”
“Oh?”
“You have saved me, again,” said Alastair.
“It seems you are always saving me, even when I don’t know I need to be saved.
I learned to be stubborn and difficult when I was young, because that was how my father was, and how I protected myself.
I never had the enjoyment of playing or losing myself in a moment. But I have that with you.”
Thomas let his finger slide down to Alastair’s throat, and then to the collar of his shirt. He ran his finger along the seam where Alastair’s skin met fabric. “You can always be playful,” Thomas said softly, “with me.”
“And now you’ve saved my brother, too,” Alastair said, closing his eyes at Alastair’s touch. “What would I do without you? I’d be lost.”
“Well,” said Thomas, “you’ve been found,” and while it was not the most original romantic line he’d ever uttered, it was enough to find Alastair kissing him, fervently and hotly.
They fell back against the cushions of the couch, Alastair sprawled atop Thomas, and for long moments they kissed and held each other, and Thomas marveled that he had this beautiful man in his life, with his dark, dark hair and eyes, and his lips that were like a poem.
And that Alastair was his, and just his.
Soon enough they grew breathless, their hands seeking more and more urgently, their gentleness turning into intensity. But Mrs. Killigrew was still in the kitchen, Thomas knew, and therefore debauching themselves upon the couch was a bad idea.
Alastair seemed to realize it at the same time, and they separated with a slight sticky noise.
Alastair, his cheeks flushed dark red, raised an eyebrow.
Thomas reached behind him and discovered that he’d been sitting upon a licorice whip left by Zachary.
He held it out to Alastair. “Do you want to eat this licorice whip together, one of us at each end?”
Alastair considered Thomas. His eyes were hooded, his lips curved into the teasing smile he saved for Thomas and Thomas alone. “No,” he said. “If I’m being honest, I’d rather go up to our bedroom for a while.”
“That is what I love about you,” Thomas said, tossing the licorice away and rising to his feet. He took Alastair’s hand and began to lead him upstairs. “You are always full of excellent ideas.”