Chapter 20 #3
‘But in this house, we favour talent over renown. Don’t we, Father?’
‘Where did you develop said skills?’ Milton asks after an inscrutable glance at Charles.
‘I went to a very selective art school run by Vincent De Cenvint. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.’
‘I can’t say that I have.’
‘Oh.’
Loris’ incredulous pout is perfect. Not offensive, but judgemental enough to hit a proud nerve.
‘Loris is the future! Which is why I’ve decided to manage him.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I’ll build his reputation in London. I can get him into the right events to meet the right people. We’ll also work on his website tonight. And before you ask, yes, he’ll pay me.’
‘With the money he makes looking for inspiration?’
‘My grandad is the founder of Les Croissants Chauds,’ Loris replies, credibly invested in the tall tale. ‘You don’t have to worry.’
‘I will be the judge of that. Charles, I don’t like this.’
Charles brushes the objection aside, holding his father’s stare with more poise than he ever has, which brings Milton to temporarily yield.
‘We will discuss it tomorrow. Do not stay here too long. It was nice to meet you, Lawrence.’
‘Likewise, Marton.’
Charles snorts and gets the darkest glower as a result.
‘It is “Sir” for you, young man.’
‘And it’s Loris for you, Sir. For everybody, really.’
Smoke is coming out of Milton’s ears, but he swallows his anger. Expressing a strong emotion in front of the person triggering it is the very definition of weakness by his standards.
He gestures at the bench, muttering, ‘I told you to stop wearing that red jacket,’ and bolts out of the room.
Charles counts six steps, then rushes to close the door. He leans his back against it and snorts again.
‘I will get an earful about you.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Oh, don’t be! That gave me back three years of life he had cost me. Who’s Vincent de Cenmething?’
Loris edges closer. ‘Up to you. Whoever you need him to be in this parallel universe where you manage my career.’
‘I thought it best to justify in advance the time we’ll spend together. If the past five minutes haven’t put you off all things Ledwell-related.’
Charles scrunches his nose, but he’s not truly worried. He may not be fluent in Loris, his current expression is filling him with a heady energy that could power all the lighting systems of the house if they malfunctioned.
‘I now find it remarkable that you’re only an occasional twat.’ Loris thumbs Charles’ bottom lip and leans next to him, their shoulders pressed together. ‘Hey, Sofia blinded me earlier, but… Fuck. Putain. Cazzo. Kurwa. You live with a Dalí! Why is it hidden upstairs? And the bronze?’
‘There’s already a Moore and a Dalí downstairs.’
Loris produces the same sound he did earlier on the street.
Charles smiles and moves to face him. ‘You still owe me a couple of “Fuck, you live with Sofia” translations.’
‘True. Let’s see if I remember.’
Loris brings his hands under his chin, points at Charles, brushes his chest and knocks his fists together. He then starts spelling letters with his fingers but wriggles them after two.
‘You can sign?’
‘Clearly not. I looked it up online back then, to impress you, but I haven’t rehearsed since before… What? Why are you looking at me like that?’
Whatever ‘that’ means to Loris, Charles can’t answer.
He’s no longer fluent in his own feelings.
Not when Loris outshines the wonders exhibited around them.
Not when he provides Charles with truths that even Sofia never helped him fathom – like how he’s as precious and special as the painting.
Loris considers himself lucky to be with Charles.
It’s obvious in his gaze. It’s been obvious from most things he’s done this week, but Charles is a slow learner when it comes to loving himself.
Now that his insecurity has followed his father outside the room, he’s getting a strong sense of how important he’s become to the man who’s revolutionising his existence. And the one thing that matters is to keep on pampering him.
Loris accepts a kiss as a response and hugs him closer, but Charles resists to lift his jumper.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I don’t know.’ Charles opens Loris’ jeans.
‘I have no idea what I’m doing. I should have looked it up online, to impress you, but I’ll wing it.
’ He drops to his knees but doesn’t feel the floor.
Everything seems abstract, apart from Loris’ contracted abdomen five inches away from his mouth. ‘Focus on Sofia if I’m doing terrible.’
Loris grips his upper arms and squishes them hard. ‘Can you lock?’
Charles looks up and disregards everything he thought he loved about painting and sculpting. Loris is breathtaking, his eyes darkened, the shadows underneath his cheekbones sharpening his jawline, the tilt of his jawline broadening his shoulders.
‘You can hold the door closed, I’ve seen the muscles your back is made of.’
‘You’re crazy.’
‘Certainly. Can I?’
‘Certainly…’
Charles moistens his lips and presses kisses along Loris’ V-line as he pulls down his trousers.
It is crazy, yes. The highest risk he’s ever taken combined with the least experience he’s ever had.
But this is also the most alive he’s ever felt.
It’s like playing an instrument for the first time and he doesn’t expect to have an innate gift for it.
He listens to the sounds Loris is panting, records the reactions of his body and tries to pair them with the moves that provoked them.
But added to his own sensations, Charles is a bit out of his depth.
It’s alright, he will improve over time. He has to excel at it in the future. This might be the meaning and purpose he was looking for, and he’s already addicted to it.
Charles gets up too fast, intoxicated by Loris’ taste, dizzy from the rush of adrenaline that hit him when Loris twitched between his lips. He loses his balance, but Loris holds him, his eyes burning with a fire that adds another year to Charles’ life.
‘Putain… Surreal.’
‘I bet you never had such a view.’
‘Keep some of the credit, Charles.’
‘Yes? What percentage? Wasn’t it a bit sloppy?’
‘I’m gonna review it someday but first, have you got a bedroom? There are things I want to do to you that I can’t possibly do in front of Sofia.’
Charles’ insides burst into flames. ‘Yes, I have a bedroom.’
‘Cool. I’d like a tour of that.’
His parents being home, Charles double-locks his door and puts on some music. He barely has time to set the volume – muffling enough but acceptable under his roof – before Loris starts peeling off his clothes, kissing him as if the survival of the universe depended on it.
They fall naked onto the bed, and Charles sinks the back of his head into his pillow, clenching the sheet. Loris is already running his tongue down his chest and his hand between his legs, strewing the lampshades shadows with flickering fairy lights.
Soon, Charles fears the music isn’t loud enough, finding himself incapable of foreseeing his reactions to keep them quiet.
But he would rather lose everything he possesses than interrupt Loris.
The way he touches or sucks his flesh in the most intimate places beats all the experiences Charles could afford.
And a minute later, Loris begins playing the final movement, his stubble scratching Charles’ skin on the inside of his thigh, and every concrete thought Charles could still form flies out of the room, the house and the terrestrial atmosphere.
‘Can I ask you a question?’
‘Always,’ Loris murmurs, still lying on top of Charles, his hand rubbing comforting shapes against his hip.
‘You’re gay, aren’t you?’
‘What gave me away?’
Charles covers Loris’ smirk with his palm and pushes him until he falls next to him on the mattress. ‘You could be bi or… something else...’
‘Something else?’
‘Please don’t mock my ignorance.’
Loris makes a tight knot of their legs. ‘I’m very gay.’
‘Have you always known?’
‘I understood when I was thirteen, but I suppressed it, because even at my age and rugby level, the macho atmosphere in the locker room was a real turn-off. So I did. I turned it off. Until my knees dumped me. I had to give up on who I thought I was gonna be, so I stopped fighting who I was.’
‘Just like that?’
‘No, it was one hell of a psychological journey. It took me so long to come out to my mum, even if she’s the most open-minded person in the world. I waited until I had someone to tell her about. It made me feel more valid, as stupid as it sounds now.’
‘Someone you had a crush on? Or a boyfriend?’
‘You want to bring my exes into your bedroom?’
‘Hmm… No.’
Charles squints away the vision of a teenage-Enzo and tucks his face between Loris’ chin and chest. The flavour of his skin is unmatched. It should be added to every cocktail and every pie.
‘Hey, what’s your father’s issue with my jacket?’
‘It’s too flashy. The Ledwells should only stand out through their achievements. Whatever. Why are you bringing him into my room?’
‘I’m raising the subject in case you want to tell me about—’
‘Absolutely not now.’
Charles grasps Loris’ hair and straddles him, kissing him senseless, as if the survival of the universe depended on it. Perhaps it does after all. He can’t chance it.
The universe matters, and Loris may very well be all of it.