The sun is just setting when I arrive at the building. Riding up to the seventeenth floor, I revel in the anticipation that builds inside me, fluttering in my stomach and chest, smiling its way onto my face. A kernel of uncertainty is at the core though. It's unusual for us to meet out here in Crystal City, so I suspect something is up. Likely something good, but you never know.
The elevator stops and I get off, giving my tie one last tug. No matter how carefully I tighten them, they always seem to end up loose and crooked on me. I want to look good. The note said to dress, so I did, in my funeral suit and a tie he bought me just last week.
There's the door--I knock, and realise suddenly that I don't even have a key to this apartment, haven't been here more than three times before. We're usually at my place. I shift from one foot to the other, suddenly more nervous than I thought I'd be by now, after these months of time spent together.
The door opens and there he is. I take a moment to drink him in and it intoxicates me. The sheer size of him overwhelms me sometimes and tonight is no exception. His dark suit hangs perfectly and I want to run my hand over the white shirt to feel the crispness. Backlit by a soft glow, his face seems made of shadows. He smiles and now it's made of light.
"Daniel." Just my name, but the way his voice wraps around it makes me think of how he wraps himself around me in the night, when he thinks I'm sleeping.
"Walter." I hold out my gift, an orchid. I suppose it has a fancy name, but I just liked the colour--a deep fuschia. I should have brought some wine or something else more substantial, but I'm terrible at choosing wine and I just had a whim.
He takes it gravely, studying it and I half expect him to name it right off, to be a closet orchid fancier with a huge green house in his spare room. Then he takes me by the shoulder, draws me into the room, and kisses me.
A man could drown in his kisses. I know--I have, I am. His mouth takes mine with firmness and focus, saying more than hello, hinting at later. I give in to my impulse and slide my hand over the smoothness of his shirt front, imagining the burnished skin beneath.
"It's lovely, thank you." He smiles again, a slight upturn of the mouth. "Come in, sit down, dinner is nearly ready." An arm around my shoulders leads me into the living room. "I'll get you a drink."
A fire snaps and dances before the couch. I don't sit yet, but look around carefully. The room is spare, carefully furnished, elegant, like him. How he puts up with the clutter and sheer volume of stuff at my place is a wonder. But he seems to feel at home there. Could I feel the same way here? Will he give me that chance?
Music plays softly, something with a spring in it. Picking up the CD case, I read "Watkins Ale - Music of the English Renaissance - The Baltimore Consort." Good for us together, not too heavy, not too jazzy.
Behind the couch, a table is set--good china, linen napkins, covered bread basket, six candles, as yet unlit. Walter comes back in with a glass of wine for me and the orchid in a vase. He sets it down among the candles and I sip at the redness, a little cool, and a little dryer than I'd like. His eyes glint behind his glasses and I know he knows that.
"Sorry, did you want some sugar for your wine?"
"How about Hawaiian Punch instead?" I smile up at him. "Or do you not allow any sugar in your apartment?"
"If I didn't, I sure wouldn't let you in."
An insult! I give him the pout he expects and sing a few bars of "Sugar, Sugar" at him.
A steely glare fixes me. "I hope you're not planning to call me that."
"How about 'Honey, Honey' instead?"
He rolls his eyes and I think about pursuing this line of teasing, but something tells me it's not quite the mood we both want tonight.
"I'll be right back," he tells me. "The food is done a little earlier than I expected."
"Can I help?" Will he let me into the inner sanctum?
He hesitates and I set my glass down on the table. So, he goes and I follow him into the kitchen and he hands me the wine bottle and a bowl of steamed vegetables to carry out. He's behind me with a huge pan of lasagna and the smell nearly makes me crazy.
Then Walter lights the candles and we sit, reaching across the table to twine our fingers for a moment before we begin.
Dinner is quiet--we're both healthy eaters and the food is delicious. I can't believe he never made this lasagna for me before; it's going to be at least a monthly feature from now on. We chat about this and that, life and leisure and Lucy's travails with a wood tick. Then our plates are clean and the bottle is empty, so we carry everything back into the kitchen and I watch Walter load the dishwasher. He won't let me help and I don't blame him since I break dishes at home with frightening regularity. We take another bottle of wine and head for the couch, and the anticipation pushes itself back up inside me.
"Let's move the candles," he says and we carry them, flickering and smoking a little, to the coffee table. He turns off the lamps and we sit. Reaching out, I trace his cheekbone with my fingers. He catches them with a kiss as they trail downwards.
"Walter, this is wonderful. Everything." His face flickers with the candles. I want to see his eyes, so I carefully unhook his glasses and lay them on the table. Deep, dark--a man could drown in his eyes.
He smiles at me, slowly and full of intensity. "This is nothing compared to what you do for me." I start to protest but he cuts me off. "Daniel, I wanted to tell you how much I appreciate the way you made me so welcome right from the start, made me feel that your home was my home." He pauses and I take his hand and hold it. "And how you take me out of myself, make me relax and have fun. I know I complain about it, but underneath it all, I need it. I need you." Another pause. I know the words are hard for him to say, so I say them first, as I've meant to many times before.
"I know, Walter, I need you too. I love you." Said and done and cannot be undone now. I feel his fingers tighten on mine and I see the words in his eyes. But he has to say them.
"I love you too, Daniel." He swallows once and looks relieved, like the worst is over now. He is, at times, sheerly adorable. "I know this isn't the exact date, but it's been six months now and I wanted to celebrate."
How did I miss that? Six months gone by and it seems like yesterday and forever. Six candles. I never knew he could be so romantic. I lift my glass.
"To us," I toast. "Walter and Daniel."
He taps his glass to mine and it rings a long sweet note. "Skipper and Professor. Long may we be marooned."
I laugh before I drink and so does he. Then we set the glasses down and turn to each other, beginning with a long, slow kiss, a kiss I hope will never end.
Underneath his tongue, he tastes of spices and wine and himself, a taste I know and crave. Always in motion, we touch and caress, unbutton and untie, pull and push until we're moving up the stairs and into the bedroom.
It's still the same slow kiss. Naked in the dark, we hold each other close, moving together again and again. And still the kiss and I'm drowning, drowning as I pull him down to me beneath the water.
FINIS
K @ August 03, 2003
nasty nasty nasty