A Welcome Burden (Gay Fantasy)

Chapter Two: Reaper of Souls

            Richelle knew her place and didn't push any further, giving a slight nod, “Fine. Just be careful, would you? You’re my only sibling left.”

            She watched Kris lift the work shirt he had slept in and dropped it to the side of him, and splashed the scalding water onto his face and shoulders.The various battle marks he’d earned over the many years gleamed, strewn across his toned, muscular body. His battle renown had earned him the title of Deity in Raython, a land only rumored to exist, as he never gained more than one wound in a decade or more.

            The lack of sentiment from Kris was a nasty habit; it was something that had developed when they were just children. “Perhaps you should smile more, might help you with the Oliver and Damien situation.”

            A vast swift of air surrounded Kris and filled the bathroom, quickly settling down just as fast as it came. Richelle had gone, leaving only a circular drift of dust hanging low in the air. Perhaps he hasn’t given his sister the credit she deserves. Retiring the thought, he paraded into the bedroom once more and changed his clothes; wearing an elaborate dark suit he had recently picked for the Asia de Cuba occasion.

            The Audi q5 tended the same compartment he had left it coming home from work. It wasn't much for him, not taking liking to objects of such kind. Neon green lighted numbers showed him the time of seven-ten as the engine veered to life. Half an hour later he cursed at himself impatiently in his head, wishing he had routed out the streets beforehand.

            A pair of darkly lined royal blue eyes followed Kris the instant he made entrance through the elegant twin doors of the restaurant, catching everyone’s attention in the lavish lobby. Oliver, with one knee over the other, sat straight up in the ashen colored chair he occupied, watching Kris’s physique with his penetrating eyes. An unsettling feeling had come over Oliver lately that Kris was someone he knew, someone from his past that he thought he would never see again. It’s the same feeling that overtook him when he thought about what would happen if his mother showed up in front of him; though he knew that was impossible - she had been killed in a horrific car accident that left him with a scar on his right shoulder. He hadn’t had much memory of her, but he felt like the scar reminded him that she was real, at some time or another.

             To Kris’s surprise, Oliver wore a suit almost like his own, having thought he would somehow fashion up his clothes to his own liking. His bright copper hair molded smoothly on his neck from the gel he slicked it back with, adding on a few years to his appearance.

            “We’ve got the best table set up especially for you, Mr. Sykes,” said the host politely. Oliver stood and they followed the waiter to the table. They walked through a grand main dining room that was a perfect reflection of modern and cultured. The walls were a brilliant, deep crimson with silver crystal chandeliers. The tables were elegantly decorated with thin black china brushed with silver and crystal wine classes atop a perfectly white table cloth. At the end of the main dining room, there was a staircase leading up to a loft three quarters enclosed by wall or bamboo screen, above the kitchen.

            “Here we are, sirs,” Lenard, the waiter, greeted by bowing his head when they reached the top of the stairs.

            Multiple pairs of eyes gazed around, watchingthem as Kris and Oliver disappeared behind the bamboo dividers that provided them with privacy from the looks of amazement, admiration, and even disgust as they took their seats.

            “Would you like something else other than water to drink, sirs?” Lenard asked positioning a thick white napkin on Kris’s lap.