We needed the break.
We filled our time with being tourists and reading old magazines Violet had stockpiled just in case she desperately needed that recipe from 1991 or an article about Yugoslavia’s potential political upheaval. Ezra had deigned to allow me to interview him for my research, awkward with my interest and certain that I was just being nice or something. Stretched out in bed with Oscar, listening to the low rumble of the TV one room over, I asked, “Does Ezra still think I was just trying to make him feel included?”
“Hm? Oh. The interview.” Oscar propped himself on one arm, slipping his fingers across my bare chest as he sighed. “Most likely, though he says he doesn’t. He has a complicated history with his abilities, and a lot of it is tied up with some old shit his family pushed onto him about his value as a person.”
“Maybe we should go back to Avesford for a day, just to kick his family’s collective ass.”
Oscar stroked my jaw, drawing his fingers down to pinch my chin. “There’s that Texan streak in you that you keep trying to sublimate under layers of beige and tweed.”
“Hey! I wear other patterns. Like plaid. And I have a few really snazzy striped shirts.”
“Snazzy,” Oscar sighed, flinging himself onto his back dramatically. “Next he’s going to say twenty-three skidoo or something!”
“Hello, Mister Cravat? The pot’s calling, and it has something to say to the kettle.”
Our mock-fight devolved into a rib-poking match which segued into kissing, into touching. Into the feeling of falling and being held all at the same time when Oscar pushed me onto my stomach and stroked his hands down my back. We kept quiet as we could for Ezra’s sake, but when Oscar’s tongue touched my hole, his fingers digging into my ass to hold me open, the volume from Ezra’s room shot up so I’m pretty sure we failed.
Well, at least at being quiet.
Neither of us was going slow, both needing the other too much to take time. We’d been needy for one another since the night before, once the first scalding burn of our time in Avesford had cooled to a dull ache of awareness. We’d had one another in the kitchen, the shower, and even in the bed once already. Now, stretched out beneath Oscar’s ministrations, I felt like he was not just seeking out pleasure and giving it but looking for control, for something familiar and understood.
And if I could give that to him, I would. Gladly and as often as he needed.
After, both of us languid and warm, unwilling to move once we’d cleaned up, Oscar burrowed into my side again and slung his leg carefully across my uninjured side. “I wish we could stay like this,” he murmured sleepily.
“It’d be kind of awkward to film the show. I’m willing to give it a shot, though.”
“Arse,” he chuckled sleepily. “I mean feeling like this. And…”
When he didn’t say more, I glanced down to see if he’d dozed off only to find him staring up at me. “Hey, what is it?” I whispered. “Talk to me.”
“Sometimes I think about moving back here,” he admitted slowly. “Sometimes I miss it.”
Tipping his chin up so he couldn’t avoid my gaze, I said, “Oscar, if you want to quit the show, we’ll call CeCe right now. If you want to move it to England, we’ll figure it out. Hell, if you decided you wanted to open an ice-cream stand with Ezra and sell popsicles to tourists on the beach, I’d… Well, I’d stay home in the air conditioning, but I’m all in. I love you.”
Oscar pushed up suddenly, forcing me back to avoid getting bonked on the nose by his forehead. “Seriously? An ice-cream shop on the beach?”
“I panicked,” I muttered.
Oscar snorted softly, scooting back in to tuck his head under my chin. “These past few months have felt like I’m in a car going downhill and the brakes are shot. I just wanted to find out about my past, why I’m the way I am.”
“And that’s beyond reasonable. We all deserve to know ourselves.”
He sniffed, poking my ribs gently as he mulled his thoughts over. “When we started the show, it was under duress. Well,Iwas under duress. I didn’t want to disappoint Ezra. And,” he sighed, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, “I didn’t admit this even to him, but I wanted to prove I was legitimate. I know I’m very devil may care about what people say, and it’s not that. It’s just…”
“It’s just,” I murmured when he fell silent, “that, for the first time, you had the chance to be you, without your grandmother controlling your abilities.”
Oscar searched my face with an intense, watery gaze before he sank back to lay on the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. “If I walked off the show, would you be okay with it?”
“I told you I would.”
“I know, but sometimes people say things that they mean but it’s just such an abstract situation that, when they’re confronted with it being a reality, they change their mind. Like the time I asked Ezra if he wanted to try that hot sauce we saw in New Orleans that was purple. He said sure, but when he saw it on his plate he chickened out.”
“Okay, not quite the same,” Julian laughed, “but I grok. To answer your question though, yes. In absolute honesty, I would support your choice if you walked off. Would you be mad if I did the same?” I asked, stretching out alongside his lithe form. “Or Ezra?”
“I’d worry,” he admitted. “But I couldn’t be mad if you were doing what was best for you.”
“I feel the same.” A jaw-cracking yawn surprised me, creeping in when I took a breath to speak again. “Christ, I’m exhausted.”
“Hold me a while?” he murmured. “Make me feel grounded.”
He slept on my chest, a soft snore rumbling with each inhale after a few minutes. The room was dark save for the glare of a streetlight, silent save for the rumble of whatever Ezra had dozed off watching. I brushed a kiss across his forehead and closed my eyes. Sleep came faster than I’d expected, and when I opened my eyes to squint at the white light piercing my lids, I realized it wasn’t daylight as I suspected.
The crying woman was bent over Oscar. Except now, she was smiling. Her eyes were sad, but there were no silvery phantom tears. Instead, her expression was one of wonder tinged with fierce longing. It took me a moment to focus, to see that she was stroking her hand over Oscar’s sleep-wild curls, cupping his cheek. Her lips moved soundlessly, her attention solely on Oscar. After a moment, she stood and looked at me. With a small smile, she made ashhhgesture with one finger to her lips.Let him rest, she said, lips moving without sound.
She melted into the dark, leaving a waft of lilac and clove, of spring grass and rain and a tinge of ozone.
In my arms, Oscar slept on.
