Page 5 of Collin: Episodes 7-9
You’re flying off into space. Collin heard the warning. He was warning himself. And yet he was distant from it. He wanted to be here. He wanted it to be real, and yet some part of him was pulling back, preparing for pain.
He was going to go do something. But what it was he hadn’t yet told himself. And he knew it. Internally, he turned his back on the thought that was coming. He didn’t want to see it.
Mr. Reevesworth entered the kitchen, freshly showered. “Collin.” His voice was soft, affectionate. He held out an arm. Collin went to him at once.
Mr. Reevesworth kissed the top of his head. “Only three place settings, boy? Trying to tell me something? Or is Émeric staying with Artemis?”
“I don’t know, sir. I just…I just set three places.”
“I think Émeric is coming out here. As much as I love you on your knees, I think you’d better sit beside me tonight.”
“Yes, sir.”
Collin added the fourth plate setting to the table.
Mr. Moreau arrived next, blinking a little from being in low light too long. He joined Collin in dishing food onto the plates. Within a minute, Damian, also freshly showered and subdued, appeared. He went to Mr. Reevesworth first, and the two had a moment, mostly just leaning together, foreheads touching, hands tangled together, and then they parted. Mr. Reevesworth drew out his chair and checked with Mr. Moreau, then waved to both his subs to sit.
The food was good. Why didn’t it taste as sublime as normal, though? He loved this, this companionship, the warmth, the quiet. There was little conversation. Both Damian and Mr. Reevesworth were in post-scene withdrawals, and Mr. Moreau seemed to be in his own little world, but each man was aware of everyone else, passing the Parmesan cheese, fresh in a grater, pepper, extra olives, and pickled vegetables with a general wish to make the meal pleasant for their companions. It all made Collin’s throat ache with need.
Collin cleaned up, Damian joining him. Mr. Reevesworth and Mr. Moreau disappeared together. Left alone in the kitchen, Collin and Damian worked together quickly and quietly with an ease that felt old even though it was new.
“I am sorry,” Damian said as they finished. “I wanted to have given you a better example today. And don’t”—Damian raised his hand, a little bit of authority in his voice—“don’t cheapen this by letting me off the hook.”
Collin gulped back the very words Damian had anticipated. It left him with nothing to say. He twisted the towel in his hands and looked down at the floor. It was still clean.
“Thank you for being there for me.”
“You’ve been there for me.” Collin swallowed awkwardly.
“Hug it out?” Damian asked.
Collin flashed him a smile. He met Damian halfway and wrapped him in a two-armed hug. If it’s the last time, make it good, Collin. He closed his eyes against the thought and shoved it away. Instead, he squeezed Damian tighter and then stepped back. “So, are you going to go sleep on that swamp of a bed of yours?”
“It’s comfortable!” Damian retorted, but he was grinning. “And yes, after the working over our dom gave me, I’m going to need every layer of softness it’s got.”
Collin waited in the soft dark of the sitting room, the city lights spread out below on two sides. He heard Mr. Moreau’s almost silent footsteps on the wood floors and carpets. He turned.
Mr. Moreau had two tumblers in his hands. He set them on coasters on the closest table between two sculptures that made Collin think of martial arts movies without really being able to say why.
“It’s Moscato. This one is only 5.5% alcohol. I drink it when I want wine but also a fairly clear head. Would you like to try?”
“You didn’t have to.”
“Consider it a sign of respect, Collin.”
Collin accepted one of the glasses from Mr. Moreau’s hand. He picked up the other glass for himself. Collin tasted the wine. It was pleasant. Notes of fruit and honey layered into the flavors. He allowed himself a second taste and set it down. Even if it was a weak wine, he didn’t want to be influenced for what was coming next. That thought he had been avoiding was hurtling toward him.
He turned to face Mr. Moreau and dropped to his knees. His eyes found the stripe of wood floor in front of the man’s bare feet and fixed on it.
“Collin.”
“I would like to know what I’ve done wrong, sir. And I’d like to be able to set it right.”
“You’ve…you’ve done nothing wrong, Collin.”
“Please, sir. We both know that I have. Tomorrow—” Collin swallowed hard and breathed past the hard knot in his chest, “Mr. Reevesworth is going to punish me for my mistakes today. But…”
Words left him. He had to say it. He had to lay it out. His fingers spasmed against his thigh. He dug his nails down into his pants. It wasn’t bare skin. It didn’t hurt enough.
