Thou Shall Not Fall

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6737916/40/Center_of_the_Sun

Just moved that bad boy to ‘In progress’ to ‘Complete’ and feel like an epic boss. Though I totes forgot to tell everyone what happened to Kitty…Part 2 Peeps. Part 2.

Part 1: The Fall of the Good Word

The day had come and gone again, and still ever alone Adam would remain. Jean-Luc had come and gone a few more times, collecting answers that the books didn’t cover—collecting memories that were not his to keep, and ever the careful man continued to have Nightingale drugged through the remainder of his last days.

Gale had come to him one night, nervously twitching as he did, his nose wrinkling like a rabbit with the worry of rejection, but still he asked.

’I’d like to move out, you know…have my own place for a while. I’ll work too, if it would please you, and continue school. All of the other students my age live by the University, and I…well…’ What the white haired youth could not say was how he felt the odd man out now, and how he wanted to give the pair privacy during her recovery. He hovered over her like any good caretaker, but truthfully he knew it wasn’t his place—it was his father’s. Once, it had belonged to Adam, but with little contact from the angel in the past few weeks Gale wondered if he was to ever return.

’I don’t know son,’ Came Jean-Luc’s reply, looking over the morning paper at his boy; a man child really, but still very much a child in his eyes, ’You have been so sick lately, I’d like to keep you close.’

Gale ran a hand up through his hair sighing as he did, knowing his father was right. He couldn’t shake this groggy feeling, the space between his ears felt hot many nights, and if he wasn’t sleeping he was throwing up. He tried to avoid mirrors as much as he could, as every time he caught his reflection he hardly recognized the boy on the other side. He tried then to mask his disappointment, but clearly failed as the Professor spoke up once more.

’We’ll not write it off yet, son. Let’s just think about it hmm? And think they did, but within three days time Gale was given grant of Rosalind’s old apartments by the University square. But with the renovation only half way complete, Gale still slept in his childhood room surrounded by his old toys, and books that he lost faith in.

The St. Laurence estate sat tall and grand on the edge of the row, lifted as high as the homes went on this part of the town, and the tallest peak was of the old garden clock tower that until this night was turned off so that those recovering could regain their strength. However, just before the stroke of midnight a change in the night air pulled Nightingale from a feverish dream.

“He’s not well, look at him. Even in his sleep he’s suffering. Perhaps we should wake the Professor?” One of the nursemaids stood at the Young Master’s bedside, with her knuckles white against the sheet, and looked over at the Mad Madame Mim who seemed stone-like by his illness.

“Non’ Ma fleur, He is only restless is all, dreaming. Trust me. I’ve seen much worse.” Though on Mim’s marble carved face she wore her worried well, and like any true soldier (as often women of her station were compared) she tried not to let it show. “Shhhh, Mon Petit Oiseau That is enough.” But still Gale arched his back in his sleep, struggling with some unseen force as the nightmare plagued him. And closer to the stroke of midnight, the more he fought until finally the Clocktower gave way, and Gale’s eyes opened once more.

“There now,” Mim soothed as Gale panted with his nightclothes clinging to him like the pale strands of his hair to his skin from the night terror. He shivered as he sat up in the bed, and let Mim hold him only for a moment before he pressed from the bed, “Young Master…” She called out after him, looking worried as she did, but Gale needed air.

“I just need the gardens, Mim. I can’t.. you don’t understand.” The dreams had been so real, real enough that still his heart broke at the sight of Adam hanging there from chains covered in his blood. For weeks now he felt the presence of the dread in his home, and tried hard not use it as an excuse as to why he wanted to leave. But something was forcing him from this home—just as it has for many years.

Nightingale caught his breath as he ventured down the hall, not knowing where he was going, but ever thankful for the still chiming clock. Though only three more marks until 12 he wondered if it wasn’t trying to keep something secret. Why was it only now it started to ring again? He knew his father had ordered it off for the remainder of the year, but still he was thankful for the refuge it offered. Clocks, as strange as it sounded always seemed to be able to pull him from the deepest darkness, but at the same time the ones at school that ticked heavily nearly put him to sleep in class.

Was he going crazy? Was that it? Or was this death coming ever closer? Panic sat in when he thought of the last. He still had so much to do in life, and finally for the first time was offered the chance to do it. No one, besides his father, reminded him of how sick he was, or how he was to die at any moment. It has been many years since his last doctor visit where he had been ordered to his bedchambers for weeks.

An icy chill chased his spine as his entire body went cold, and without even turning around he felt a presence behind him. The hall was empty besides a voice, long and hallow as it whispered his name, and it took nearly all of his strength not to just turn to face it.

Nightingale, sing sweet Nightingale. He really was going crazy wasn’t he? But the prickling of a thousand tiny needles danced over his skin as he drew closer to the wing his father forbid him. However, he wanted his dad now. At 20 years old, he still knew there was only one person in the world that could make everything all right again.

Gale, the door. Look at the door. A pain fired up through his spine that rattled the inside of his skull as it ventured around his Clockwork eye, and the sensation had him fold to the floor a moment.

“No.” He whispered, “Stop it.” It was easy to confuse his sanity with his Toumind abilities, but this was a mixture he had almost never known. The gears spun inside his skull like never before, and now there was only one name beating against his mind like a drum.

Adam

Adam. Adam. Adam. Adam. The voice kept pounding and with every syllable so too did his head. Adam, Adam, Adam…Aman Finally, when he was able to regain himself he caught sight of the small light at the end of the hall. The shadows that moved behind it enough to pacify his curiosity only long enough so that he could stand. His father’s bedchamber was a few doors down, but this was something different…a room, like many in the estate, he had never known. However, when he opened the door there was a flight of stairs that seemed to never end—and those he knew even if it were only in his dreams.

He shouldn’t, and knew so. But when the clocktower finally released the last chime of the night he knew that it was fate. Yet, just as he started on the first step the voice of the Captain came up like a vengeful goblin with his laughter as he spoke to another, and Gale quickly moved to hide behind one of the many eerie sculptures his father collected.

“He’ll be dead by tomorrow.” The Captain spoke to one of his mindless soldiers as he ran a rather large feather over his hand, “Clean this. Return it to me.” He offered the soldier the feather, that was stained brown now—but of the sort that had once been red. Blood.

Gale knew those feathers, and upon the realization his heart started pounding so heavily that he was afraid it would be heard. His whole body trembled, and when just enough time passed from the last of the steps he slipped out of the shadow and into the door before they had the chance to remember it hadn’t been locked. No. No no nonono.

“Adam?” His voice felt foreign on his tongue as he used it, feeling his way through the darkness now without any light, but the motions were natural as they turned a switch on the wall as if he had seen it done a thousand times. “Adam…”

The Old text Eli had, the sort that was of the old religion always unsettled him. The thought of a single man strung up on a wooden cross was enough to terrify him, but to think of the sort of man he was made Gale realize that this feeling—this dreadful pitiful feeling he felt now had to be the same. Because there he was, his once beautiful savior, strung up on chains as if he were some sort of sacred symbol that had to be destroyed.

“Adam!” He nearly choked, but did manage to close the distance between them. The smell alone was enough to nearly knock him off his feet, but the blood on the floor, the broken bones…nearly brought him to his knees.

“Adam can you hear me?” He didn’t know where to touch first, or what he should even do. But his hands came up to cup the man’s face, and the trembling digits surveyed him for signs of life. “Adam, wake up. Please wake up. What have they done?” He needed to get to his father, the Captain went too far this time, and somewhere along the lines Gale found reason to blame himself. The Captain killed people, he buried them in the backyard that came sniffing around the Professor’s boy, but this…Adam was his friend.

“I need to get you down. I…I…I’ll be right back. I’m going to get help.” But when he turned away from angel he met the devil’s eyes as the Captain stood there blocking the exit.

“You are not going anywhere.” He spoke as simple as he could, and watched as Gale backed up to protect Adam, “And neither is he boy, he’s half dead. If not already. Blocking my view you are.” The old stale scent of the Captains cigar made Gale realize how sick he felt, but when the cold iron smell of Adam’s blood replaced it he was pulled back down.

Everything beneath the golden glare of his glasses burned a beautiful amber, and Spencer never thought that he’d find such peace in trying to understand the mutual understanding of the human relations between demon heat centers as he did now. The atomically reactive core of the living specimen only seemed to counter how the demon related to its surroundings, and though he tried to warn himself to keep tabs on the time—Spencer lost himself completely.

‘Promise?’ Gale asked so suddenly that it was clear he worried if too much time passed, Spencer would change his mind, but in truth the young scientist wasn’t even aware as to truly what he promised. All that mattered was the way it lit up his partner’s face in saying so, and would reward him with the loyalty that never failed to be there.

‘It’s a costume party, Spencer. You will have to dress up…I was thinking of going as the moon, and maybe you could be the sun? Perhaps we could get Apple a costume too? She could be Tot, and I could rotate around her, while we both are centered around you.’ Spencer wasn’t listening anymore, though he could almost imagine the way Nightingale held his lips in anticipation for the idea to be shot down, but why stop there? Why would it matter what they wore, they were going together—he could go naked and still his rather well equipped endeavor wouldn’t be the topic of conversation.

Spencer wasn’t certain what it was he agreed to, but when the package came with flashy gold metallic fabric outlined with what he assumed to be some sort of yellow crystal he thought for certain Nightingale had lost his mind. The jacket was long, with an embroidery of the sun’s golden rays across the back, but the worst part had to be the headdress. For two weeks they bickered back and forth, both assuming the costume to be the worst, but neither able to truly think of a proper solution; Spencer still agreed to wear it, swallowing his pride as if he were about to enter a tank of sharks dressed as a vat of blood. Gale felt guilty, but for the remainder of the time that passed the horrid costume sat in the corner like a phantom of light in Spencer’s otherwise somber lab. The thing was eerie in the way it perched on the chair, the fabric so stiff that it appeared a body sat vacant without a soul to animate.

‘I’m really looking forward to this Spencer, and you’ll have a mask on…just…’ Gale laughed, ‘Just with a lot of gold feathers too. I’m sorry. Next year I’ll order you something a little more sophisticated.’ Spencer wasn’t listening anymore…again, he was far too lost in the way the demon’s blood reacted to the little ribbons of water dropped inside, and soon pulled Gale’s attention back in.

For weeks Nightingale chirped at how excited he was for the party, how it meant the world they were going together, and how his father always talked about this event as his favorite. He knew Master St. Laurence lived the extreme, that if his horrid ‘You Are My Sunshine’ costume was up to standards then he truly wouldn’t be the only one looking like a fool. However, when the moment came to take it from the dusty corner the little glimmer in the soft amber light of the lamp caused a flicker of thought to ignite inside the Lyndon-Pryce heir like a fire, and he turned from the gossamer gold to find himself emerged completely in his true passion.

Through the looking glass goggles, or so Gale called them; he could measure the heat of the room. Everything in its entirety was gold. Various elements of the room burned brighter than the rest, and even when the sun set for the night he was still bathed in the invisible lights of the way the glasses made him feel. Here he could see the separation of the heating element from the cooling department in the demon’s chest. He could see the way her heart beat, and marveled at how cold the blood must be before it passed through the vessel. Like a snake he wondered now if she should in fact be classified as a reptile by the signature her body heat gave off. It was marvelous! Why hadn’t he thought of it before! 

Days passed, or so it felt; And as the costume remained abandoned on the chair so too did his track of time. Without a second thought the night of the party was upon him, but Spencer let those few precious moments pass without a second thought. Without a single worry that he was in fact forgetting something rather important, something that had the Young Master of the St. Laurence legacy waiting by the door with a single white rose in his hand. He knew this meant more to him than it did Spencer, but still Gale wanted to make it special. His friend worked so hard sometimes that he knew Spencer forgot what it was like to live, and tonight he would make sure the boy at least smiled.

Nightingale had spent the entire day preparing for this event. Starting the morning with a long bath, buffing his skin until it was almost appeared polished, and letting the lavender soaps soak into his skin. He washed his hair, and let it dry by the fire while evening the thin nails on the tip of each finger. It felt like years since he rewarded himself with a bit of pampering, allowing the servants of the house to help him dress, and for their little bit of praise to ignite a bit of color to his cheek. At the mention of his much he looked like a prince, Gale turned to face the mirror.

His costume the exact opposite of Spencer’s perhaps had been for a mistress. The wide billowy fabric of the pants gathered at his ankles while hanging low enough on his hips to ignite a blush on the maidens of the house. The many charms of the silver coined sash only added to the fire, with singing out at every motion he made, and at the same offered an anchor for the fabric against the pale lines of his waist. Silver cuffs hugged his biceps, leaving imprints when he flexed, and the gossamer fabric shimmered in the light as it trailed behind him as if he wore wings. A little half vest covered only a thin line of his shoulders and cupped his chest, and the silk lining taunted his nipples to harden when a draft caught him. However, staring now at himself it wasn’t the transformation added by the costume he stared at the most; it was how truly beautiful it made him feel.

For months now, nearly a year, his nights were spent in hardening his body. He knew of suffering now of bodily pain and not of a phantom illness. What fevers had taken from his form as a child, the eternal youth of brute strength returned. He filled out the lines of his body, the curves not so soft, and the outlines of his defenses deep. Despite the fact he thought of himself now as a character from the books of desert sands, and barbaric nations, he felt as if he belonged to something more peaceful. With a hand he touched his hair a moment admiring the contrast, and when the pearled silver of the fabric that almost looked blue he felt for the first time in his entire life—normal. Even with the matching patch that covered his Clockwork Eye, he felt as if he belonged in the here and now. He felt at peace.

With a grin he grabbed his half moon shaped mask, the coin purse that he would carry for the night only adding more charm to the already decorated sash around his hips, and Nightingale took off into the night with his heart flying as fast as his feet. Tonight was the night; this was it. This was the night he’d waited for, for what felt almost his entire life, and with the opening of the door to Spencer’s lab he let the warmth of the lantern light mask the cool nature of the silver of his own internal flame.

The goggles fogged the surroundings, Spencer realized, and figured the shadow passing over the distant lights simply that stupid pain of hunger playing tricks on him once more. Damn this thing; this need to stop, to eat, to sleep, but if nothing more Spencer Lyndon-Pryce was a master of selfish whims; and refused even his own body the satisfaction of stopping now.

“Oh, now you turn.” He cursed the demon baby inside, his attention stolen a moment to the blurry white light that now moved along the distant wall, and down the stairs into his lab’s chambers. For a moment he lifted his head confused as to what sort of thing would cause the lanterns to flicker in such a silvery way, and quickly dismissed the idea of his sanity. It perhaps was a dust particle on the lenses, only this, and nothing more. However, with one more glance he noticed it growing closer…slowly, enchanted really, and finally the young scientist removed his goggles to see Gale standing there like some ethereal being with his hands folded before him nervously and the fabric moving around him like mist.

“Oh, Gale! Look!” He said after a moment. Something was different about his friend, but he couldn’t be bothered with such a thing! Not now at least! “Look what I have discovered. Come. Here. Closer. See for yourself.” He pulled the goggles back down and began to explain what it was Gale was about to see. “There is another pair over there. I got you a bigger size. I figured you would need them to fit your….well…that.” No matter how much time passed, Spencer never felt comfortable calling Gale out on his obvious handicap; no matter how much Gale tried to make him comfortable about it.

“Spencer…” Gale started, but was quickly silenced. However, he still gave a little jingle of his hips to try and capture Spencer’s attention of the costume, but failed miserably as the boy went on about his work.

“I know. I know. I need to eat, sleep, and go home. But I will have you know I did wash at least.” Gale could tell, in the way Spencer’s hair stood up in little tufts atop his head. How the dark brown strands curled over the base of his neck, and looked rather shaggy around his eyes that the boy hadn’t brushed it. He looked wild, compared to the perfected polished son of an empire that he normally embodied, but Gale truly couldn’t say it was a poor change. His excitement colored his face something beautiful, gold really in the way it shinned, and for the moment he could easily push away the disappointment he felt. But Spencer was in his element, and truly in this—he was more the sun than any costume could ever dress him to be.  

“It’s amazing really,” Spencer continued on about the demon’s heat signature, and Gale pressed from his stance to slip on the goggles that were far too big for his face to join in with the boy once more. The work table that Spencer worked on was rather tall to fit his posture, custom built just for his tall lanky figure, and without his shoes Gale had to stand like a dancer on the tips of his toes to lean over the table comfortably. He wore tiny bells around his ankle that twinkled with the motion, but it was the light scent of lavender vanilla that pulled Spencer back to reality, “Do you see the way the blood changes color.”

Spencer went silent a moment as he let Gale examine the demon, and pulled off his glasses that were starting to hurt his face. The indents of the goggles pressed into the tops of his cheeks, and when he removed them to rub away the pain his eyes traveled the line of Gale’s bare spine as it dipped into the low set fabric of his pants. The room suddenly grew warmer as he followed the curves of Gale’s backside, and the way his breath made his shoulders rise and fall.

“Um…Gale.” He moved around to the other side of the table, putting a little distance between them as the bow-tie around his neck suddenly felt like a noose, and the room was far too hot. Spencer realized he couldn’t speak any more. He couldn’t ask him why he was dressed like some slave of those naughty shorts his father collected. Gale looked up from his perch on the edge of the table, and leaned on his arms until the silver cuffs he wore almost appeared ready to burst beneath the muscles they clung to. The goggles comically too large for his face made his eyes seem too large for his head, but he realized that wasn’t what made Spencer stare at him. With a smile Gale pulled them off, and though he should have been disappointed, he knew Spencer forgot.

“You don’t like it?” He asked taking a step back and giving a little spin. The charms and bells twinkling like wind-chimes as he came to stand before Spencer. The Scientist did his best not to let his desire show, but his eyes traveled the length of Gale’s body following the lines of his hips until they rounded the ample swell of his backside while the Moon Prince gave a little show.

“Gale…I…” Lord he needed out of his tie, but felt a chill chase him as the heat was slapped with the cold hard truth of his failure. “I forgot, I’m so sorry. I-” He ran a hand through his hair, only messing it up further, and Gale realized how pale he was; as if he were to be sick at any moment, “I’ve not been sleeping. I didn’t sleep. I was here all night. Erm…two nights I think. I just.” He returned a look of pure panic and would have fallen to his knees if that was what it would take to be forgiven, but Gale didn’t look angry. The pale haired boy was polished in masking his pain, and though he was disappointed; he couldn’t truly be hurt. This was Spencer’s calling. This was Spencer’s life. He was the sun, and truly he was just the moon that only ever eclipsed him on very rare occasions.

“It’s ok, you’ve been busy.” He started, but it wasn’t enough. Spencer shook his head, and reached out to touch Gale’s shoulders. “I’m sorry I…” Quickly he pulled his fingers away as if burnt. That was the most skin to skin contact they had ever shared, and even the little touch was enough to turn things in the Lyndon-Pryce heir he was too ashamed to admit. Gale’s skin was soft, but he was a man. Men were not supposed to have such soft skin, and when Gale lifted his chin a little he could almost smell the sweet scent of his soaps as they warmed over his pulse.

“I will make it up to you. Forgive me. I’ll get dressed.” Spencer started for the costume, but Gale touched his arm; holding him there a moment, and shook his head.

“No, Spencer, it’s okay. Really. You look exhausted, and really I think you might just need to go sleep. When was the last time you ate?” He hadn’t, and Gale knew this from the hungry way he looked now. His large blue eyes were reflective of the desire burning inside them, and for a moment Gale’s heart trembled in his chest searching for a sign that perhaps it was for him. Foolish of him to think that way, but he knew the love he felt for this young man was one-sided; it always would be.

“I am. Tired, I mean.” And with that Spencer hung his head, the shame fanning over his face like his dark lashes, and he released a sigh that was enough to tell Gale how horrid he truly must feel.

“Then go home. I’ll be fine. I’ll tell everyone you got caught here, and perhaps that you are not feeling well. I’m sure Sylver will be there.” Spencer still heard the disappointment in Gale’s voice, and it broke his heart. It killed him to think he let the boy down, but at the same time he realized there was little now that could be done. Besides…he had been working, and ultimately his research was more important. And in that he felt more guilt than in letting Gale down. Sometimes he hated the way he thought only of himself, but Spencer was conditioned to do so. However, just as he started in on the train of thought he found it broke again by the tiny bells around Gale’s ankles…Gale’s words sank in.

Sylver Belmont would be there, and suddenly enough hate built up in him to take away his senses.

The firelight burned against Gale’s skin, the lanterns illuminating his hair, and the warm light through the thin fabric of his attire left very little to the imagination. The half moon mask sat over his covered eye so beautifully, and gave the boy a sense of surreal beauty that he was already known for. Perhaps it was the exhaustion talking, the high of his success, and the disappointment in Gale’s face that made Spencer reach out and take Gale’s hand in one of the single most desperate moments of his life.

“Wait.”

“Spencer—”

“Just…”

“It’s really okay, I’ll be fine.”

“No. It’s not that. He… I…”

Gale looked up at him, and through the mask it made Spencer feel that he was staring down the face of a stranger. That this was a character in one of those novels you read about, one that imprinted their feelings onto another as he found himself outlining Gale’s pale lips with his gaze. Calculating the distance between them, he for once didn’t think of the consequences that would follow. For once he simply let his body react, and the hold on the boy’s arm lightened while his other hand came to free Gale of his mask.

“Uh-” Was all Nightingale could manage before he found the distance between them closed, his body pressed into Spencer’s while the swell of his chest curved against the boy with a gasp. He felt frozen, he felt warm all at the same time, but truly Gale felt the world around them part. The fires brightened, but the noises they made from the hissing ports or crackling hearth all faded into nothing as the sound of his heart beat like a drum.

Spencer, frozen solid in his stance didn’t move his lips, but kept them pressed into Gale unknowing as to what came next. He acted out of instinct, and out of impulse; but truly knew nothing of how to deepen a kiss. He could break it, he knew that, but as he stood frozen he wasn’t certain he could pull away. Gale, sensing his discomfort smiled in the kiss, but just as he felt Spencer start to pull away he followed standing on the tips of his toes to reach him.

No, his mouth commanded despite the silence between them, and he parted his lips to receive the boy who now desperately clung to his shoulders. Nightingale, dare not touch, not yet, but when Spencer started to give into the kiss he found his way forward just a little more to meet Gale in the middle. He’s never kissed someone, Gale realized and touched the boy—to coax him, to let him know this was right and that this was natural. Gale ran his hands along the thin narrow waist of the scientist, finding the place where his backside meets his spine and trailing it with the tips of his fingers. Spencer’s lab coat brushed the backs of his fingers, and Gale flattened his hands along the small of the boy’s back.

A sound, deep and full of need escaped the youth’s lips like a sigh as he came alive in the other boy’s touch, and something akin to desperation overthrew all of Spencer’s actions. It was the moment when the lamb turned lion, and with a single motion he had Gale against the table with a madness that burned in the name of need. Gale’s fingers trailed up the trembling form of his lover until he could roll the coat from the shoulders of the scientist. It was Gale’s way of freeing Spencer, and without his coat of arms he felt more exposed than ever before. He felt naked even clothed as he was beneath it, and realized that for the past few months he had relied heavily on the coat to shield him from his doubts. That coat was his fortress from the fires of his sanity, and without it now he felt vacant—exposed—and venerable. However, with Gale propped against the table the moon colored youth wrapped his arms around him again to act as a fortress—sanctuary.

“Gale, this…” He spoke between kisses, but trailed off as this is wrong, this isn’t what two men do, this isn’t the way died on his tongue when Gale started a trail of his kisses down the warm pulse-line of his neck. It felt good…really good, and how could anything be wrong when it felt this good? Gale brought his legs around Spencer’s hips to keep him close, and even seated on the edge of the table he truly wasn’t too much taller now than before. Their faces met with enough space between that Spencer need only lift his chin and his friend’s kiss would be there. However, he kept his head down as a heavy pant escaped his lips with a moan. Gale dropped a hand ever so slowly to brush over the heated bulge that Spencer had no means of denying. His knees were weak, his legs ready to give in just from the way Gale kissed over the sensitive skin of his neck while panting little words of encouragement just below the tender shell of his ear.

“Do you want me to stop?” Gale whispered, though he more asked of permission than of anything else, and when Spencer shook his head he cupped the other man through the confines of his slacks. With his head thrown back Spencer gave a pleased sound, a maddening sound of pleasure rising up through him like a plague as the desire overthrew him once again.

“No.” He opened his eyes, the normal wide blue replaced with something dark, something almost sinister as it was akin to the harrowing madness of his profession. Men in his place didn’t get there from fluffy rainbows and sparkling promises. No, men of his greatness overcame their troubles through hard work and dedication—through taking what it was they wanted, and as the contents of the table spilled out on the floor Spencer made it very clear what he wanted…

Out of these goddamn clothes.

He felt as though he was suffocating, and as if on cue Gale undid the tie around Spencer’s neck. Nervously biting his lip as he did so, and the very action nearly made the scientist want to kiss him all over again. However, he needed to be free. He felt as though his skin was on fire, and now free from his shirt he felt as though he could breath again.

Never in all his life would Gale have ever thought to see this man so undone; His bare skin as pale as he imagined, but clinging to his body as tightly as it suggested. His tall slender figure was just as Gale imagined, but Spencer always wore cloths that fit his from. He wore things that were outfitted just for him, and in this he left little to the imagination. Yet, now breathing as he did so, Gale watched the skin pull tighter over the expanse of his chest, and though he would never speak this outright—it reminded Gale of Spencer’s father. Antoni Lyndon-Pryce was barrel chested, and perhaps in his youth Gale would have thought him as handsome as Spencer. That man’s ugly nature and callous ways made him wonder what it was that Spencer could possibly take from him that was good. However, seeing Spencer now the willowy figure appeared as though a few good meals (All within a normal time frame of course) would fill him out in ways that could only enhance the true beauty that was already there.

With his feet to the floor Gale looked up at him, standing now he started on the belt of his pants, but slowed when he heard Spencer’s breath catch in his throat.

“Spencer…We don’t have to do this.” His own voice surprised him at how much it shook, but still the ever sweet and steady constant that was his Nightingale. His, and he wanted to keep it that way. In his twisted dark mind this was his reasoning for his actions. It was wrong to feel this way, but it was somehow right when it was staking a claim.

He shut Gale up with his lips, kissing him now to expel all the doubt they both harbored, and in this motion Gale continued to relieve him of his clothing. With his slacks removed, the belt hit the floor with thud, and Spencer ran his hands up through Gale’s hair to help guide him just where he wanted that mouth to be.