Victor
Love in the Storm
1645, France
His small tugs on my black curls smell metallic. The blood on his hand wets it a little bit as he braids a long single rope down my back. No longer can I resist, and I take his golden hand. I turn my head to him a bit, and lick his long, slender fingers. He closes his eyes, his eyebrows risen to heaven in the pleasure. Behind him is a painting of cherubicly plump ladies in slight cloth, turned are their heads to heaven, too, but a heaven farther from their eyes. My heaven is right here on this earth. Its in my mouth, right now. I will never have to wait.
Then like the crack of a whip, our quiet, unmoving solitude is shattered by a burst of blue light, an earsplitting shock of sound. Saya gasps and goes still as stone. A low rumble of thunder, and he lets out the most heart-wrenching little sounds as like a scared child would make. Another crack of lightning follows and he is off running down the hallway away from the bedroom, seeking out some dark place of safety.
Where is he going? I think. The only place of safety is me.
I smell for him, walking as if floating down the hallway, led by his scent. The metallic scent on his fingers is still in my nose. The metallic scent twists and unfurls with the eternal scent of dirt and rain on his skin. Even after twenty-five years, the scent of his origins as a rice farmer's son can not go away. Yet even after all the heavy work he endured as human, he still gleamed as a holy vision on that early sunny day, his pure beauty untainted by roughness or hard climate. It was this vision of him which captured me as surely as looping a cord around my neck and pulling me to him. Irresistable and special he was. And still is.
I dip my head in each room, looking for him. The braid on my back moves against my muscles, reminding me of him with every stroke of movement, and causes my heart to curl and choke more with wanting to feel his skin, wanting to hold him close and kiss his smooth shoulder to distract him from the rain. My steps quicken with the breath of my longing heart.
Entwined with the sound of my shoes tapping on the tile, I start to hear the slow, concentrated, but worrisome breaths of him as I alight into the hall leading to the grand garden viewing room. His breaths sound labored, as like a sick animal on its last day. My heart drops, and my mouth droops into a silent sad sigh as I finally see him in the dark corner. I get down on my hands and knees and crawl to him, as to not scare him further, or even startle him.
He is indeed curled up like a flower bud, his face hidden by his hands. He is trembling and crying, his pure fear a fuel stronger than gasoline to this fire of his pain. I scoot against the wall and uncurl his arm to wrap around my front and press his face to my chest. Immediately his warm red tears roll down to my stomach. His shivers become my own. Gently, I rub his back, and wish the shirt was not there so my rubbing would be more soothing to him.
"Victor..." I hear his weak voice say into my chest, "Victor, Victor, make it go away..."
I shake my head and bury my lips into the sweet smelling hair on top of his head, "that's something even a demon can not do, my sweet--"
And then I know what I must do.
I unwrap him from my body gently and settle him against the wall, alone. "Mon beau petit fleur, where are you going?!" he asks in our newly adopted French language, alarmed. I stretch as if I have just woken up, a good full stretch. I stare out of the double doors to the garden. The heavy rain of the angry storm trails down the glass as if issuing me a challenge. The storm rages another earsplitting crack, and the blue streak of lightning flares in the garden, fat and laughing in my face. Laughing and making my beautiful Japanese man cry. And I am furious.
I've had enough. The doors swing open into the garden. The wind comes in violently and throws my long braid back.
"My beau, what are you doing?!" Saya cries out.
I look back at him calmly, and smile. "I'm stopping it," I say gently. Without another look, I stride into the garden, and into the fountain I go.
"But you just said..." I hear him say in panic, "HEY!" His voice is closer, and this is exactly what I desire.
I want him to see. He will see. There is nothing at all to fear. Not anymore. His beau will show him that there is nothing that can hurt him. Nothing will hurt him so long as I am around. I will protect him from everything, even acts of nature which can kill a human being.
Up into the sky I look. The sky is angry and quarrelous, rolling and churning like a raging sea up above. It spits disgusting rage filled drops on my face, trying to blind me. My arms open in challenge to it. "You!" I scream at it, "hit me! STRIKE ME!!"
The sky goes violent blue. Just before my skin goes aflame in whistling hot fury, I hear the sweet cry of my lover screaming his darling name for me in blinding terror: "BEAU!!"
The next instant, I feel the smooth marble of the fountain on my shrieking skin, and pain like pins pressing into me from the water coming down from above. And then I am lifted up and I feel the softness of him, his slender hand over my heart, his hair a mess over my face as his ear presses to my neck, searching desperately for a pulse. I want to linger in this semi-dead appearing state just for a few moments longer, to impress this new fear in him. I want him to know, the only fear he needs to have is the fear of losing me. Because the only fear I have is of losing him.
He gasps as I breathe in casually, a fake show of this situation being light to me. Inside, I want to burst out and squeeze him and tell him I'll never make him fear again. But I must show him my determination and bravery. I must show him how strong his beau is. How strong he can be, too.
My eyes open to him looking at me with the most heart-stoppingly sad, fearful face. He's coughing and crying, looking down at me. "STUPID!" He cries at me in his native tongue, "what if you died?! What if you left me all alone?!"
I bring myself up to his lips and kiss him gently, lovingly. He kisses back, desperate. He holds me closely and just weeps.
"Don't ever you worry," I whisper in his ear, kissing it lovingly, "you don't have to be scared. You'll never have to be scared of anything more. We can't die. We'll never die. You'll always be with me. I had to show you, my precious one."
"I know," he weeps back, "I know now. Please, please don't ever do something like that again."
I part from him a bit, and stare at his beautiful face once more. "Let's go inside from this awful rain now, I feel cold," I say, cupping his dear red-stained cheek with my hand.
He nods, and the tiniest of smiles forms for he knows I am really okay, because I am joking. He picks me up and carries me, and we leave the garden. The rain may pound down for many hours more, but he will not be afraid. The lightning may come and split the heavens, but he will never have to be afraid again. With his beau near him to protect him, he will never have to fear or cry forevermore of such things, because I'll make sure he is safe. I'll make sure he'll never have another crying face. This I promise and pledge with all of my self. With my soul, my eternal loving spirit.