When All is Null and Void

Chapter Thirty-Five

"Come on in," Titus replied, not taking Alaric's hand.

Alaric allowed the moment to pass without acknowledgment and stepped in. "I've never been to the Estate outside of a Gala. Granted, I've never been to the Estate before a few days ago, either, so..." he shrugged and turned to look at Titus. "Where do you want to do the interview?"

The Peony Gardena voice urged him. All official interviews were conducted on the backyard terrace, and Titus knew he should lead them there. The lighting for photos was prime under the shaded pergola. But anyone could walk in--even his mom. And she would know without what sort of occasion this was. So Titus made the choice that led them to the small couch in his room, the door closed tight.

Mouth dry, Titus had his leg in a figure four on his knee, arms crossed to keep from shaking like a wind-swept leaf. Alaric sat with notebook in hand, having already scribbled notes about their awkward conversation on the way up here. Only small talk, but Alaric said everything was important. Titus was important.

"I like to write on paper, even if it's sort of expensive," Alaric said with a smile and a nod. "I feel like I'm an actual reporter when I do it."

"Mm," Titus replied. If he wasn't so damn nervous he might have said something witty. Instead Titus bit at his fingernail.

With a gentle shift of weight, Alaric brought his calf onto the couch and Titus was hyperaware of the heat emanating from Alaric. "We should just start then," Alaric said, as if he hadn't noticed Titus had rammed himself into the arm of the couch. "I asked you about your dream job," he dropped his voice to a low murmur, "and your friendships." He tapped his chin in gentle contemplation. "What's your greatest achievement?"

The tiniest of fissures settled in Titus' discomfort. With as much mock comedy as he could muster, he replied, "Does being alive count?"

"Probably not," Alaric said. "Though it is a blessing to have theTitus James in the world." He wrote down something, and flicked his eyes up to look at Titus. "What's your concept of perfect happiness?"

"Are these really questions that would be in an interview?" Titus scratched at his ear, and the muscles on his ribs shuddered. He popped his fingers before running a hand through his hair.

"This is more of a 'get to know you' type of interview." Alaric shifted in his seat, under the guise of lifting the pressure off his leg, but Titus watched as, in slow motion, the boy's knee landed even closer to Titus. He couldn't scoot any further away. Did he want to?

"Perfect happiness is somewhere on a beach with--" he caught himself--"Someone."

Alaric wrote it down, nodding. "What's your most treasured possession?"

Titus rubbed his middle finger, fiddled with his ring. He wouldn't be able to say anything about it. But he didn't have anything else he could claim to be his most treasured possession. Nothing was as special. His ability to Hop was everything. Titus rubbed at the band and frowned. "Recently get married or something?"

"No," Titus said, dropping his hand into his lap. Alaric's gaze followed Titus' hand as it fell to his lap; it stayed there for a moment before Alaric seemed to realize how inappropriate his staring--and where--was. He returned his eyes to Titus' face, with only the slightest tinge of red on his ears.

"I don't have a most treasured possession."

Alaric frowned and took notes. "Greatest love in life?"

Titus frowned. What sort of question was that? "People hurt each other. Things hurt us. We hurt ourselves. I don't believe in love." Titus' ears burned as he realized that wasn't the question Alaric had asked.

Alaric shifted again, and lightning struck as their knees came into contact and their eyes locked. Titus stood and walked across the room to the mirror. Alaric stayed on the couch, and Titus watched as a tiny bloom of hurt shadowed his face. Somehow Titus didn't get the feeling this was an interview anymore. "I think we should finish this interview somewhere else," Titus attempted to say, but his heart was pounding so hard his voice shook. His brain was all shorting wires and sparking cables cut by whatever had passed between them.

"Did I do something wrong?" Alaric asked. He was standing now—when did I stand, why is he so tall and so—having left the couch to come closer to Titus.

"No," Titus said. "No, no, it's not you that did something wrong. I just shouldn't have—"

Alaric touched Titus' hand with such feather lightness he almost didn't feel it. "You deserve to be known." Those words were starlight and flint and blazing fire.

He wasn't sure how it happened. One moment they were three feet apart, and the next their lips had come together in feverish embrace. Hands were moving and probing, curling through hair with might and gentleness. Alaric's lips were hot against Titus', and he tasted of mint and honey and his sweet cologne embraced them and pulled them together. Alaric's presence weakened Titus' resolve. And then Alaric's hands were on Titus' bare stomach, cool and sturdy fingertips brushing with comforting certainty. Heat and ice trembled together in his gut.

Pressed against the wall, that desire ate at Titus and he ached to consume Alaric as clothes fell away and hands slid and clasped and brushed tender skin. Alaric's hands settled on the raised skin on Titus' back, and the consuming embrace turned to gentle probing. It was a moment before Titus understood and it all came crashing to a halt. Their lips were still brushing but the world hung for a moment before it spun and lost control. "Titus..." Alaric's minty whisper sent a chill down Titus' spine. It wasn't passionate and desire-ridden. "What..."

Titus hiccupped and pressed Alaric away. "You have to go."

"No, wait, wait..." he attempted to come in close again. Concern and misunderstanding laced his tone, not lust and heat. "Are you okay?"

They stood there as heaviness passed between them. The wall of secrets and lies was prepared and growing. Titus turned and gathered his clothes, attempting to gain is dignity, but Alaric's hand came to rest on the scar. Titus flinched, even as he wished for it to stay.

He yanked himself away and reacted the only way he could. "Get out! LEAVE." Anger lashed out, but for what reason?

Fear and desperation transformed Titus into a fragment. He took Alaric's notebook from the couch and hurled it to the door. "Please. Just don't write about this."

Alaric still hadn't dressed and the pathetic sight of his bare skin pushed the tears out. Titus shivered as the report broke eye contact and dressed with genteel calm.

As he passed Titus, the heat and flames of before had become nothing but a barren tundra of ice. Even as Alaric whispered, "I didn't mean—" but the words never came, and Titus slammed the door before he could hear more.