Carpe Diem

A/N: Sorry this one took so much longer to get up, but I really wasn't entirely certain where I wanted this chapter to go, not to mention I was busy with other things this weekend. Also, the concert in this chapter is basically a combination of what I can remember of similar concerts my parents dragged me to when I was little. And every song mentioned by name I have heard at one. Seriously. You'll see what I'm talking about. And a very big thank you to brilliantbean and Young Sage for their reviews, they are very much appreciated. And to Young Sage, specifically, the 'cliffhanger' you are referring to is really just a hint at something I was thinking about exploring later in the story. It really isn't very important at the moment. And, to be honest, it might never be. But, on to the chapter.

A Very Important Date

The insistent drip drop drip of the leaky faucet distracted him from the task at hand. No matter what he tried he could never seem to fix the wretched thing. And it always decided to bother him when he was most easily frustrated. And shaving was really a very time consuming affair to begin with. For him, at least. But there was nothing he could do about it at the moment as that particular faucet was situated in the kitchen, and he was in the bathroom. Shaving. So all he could do was keep on shaving. And then he was done and he could cross one more thing off his list.

He checked the clock. Plenty of time. He continued with his preparations; calmly, methodically. What went next? Ah, right. Tie. There: he was finished. And now to pick up his date.

---

He glanced at his watch for perhaps the fifth time in the last minute. Where was he? He didn't forget, did he? Oh. There he was. Rushing out the door and waving at him with a great big smile on his face and a gleam of excitement in his eyes.

“Sorry I made you wait,” he said, “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Jim said as he led Patrick in the direction of their reservation.

“Thank you for actually calling this time.”

Jim blushed at the reminder of his previous ineptitude. For the remainder of their relatively short jaunt to a modestly upscale restaurant. They both ordered the fish, again. And their conversation was lively and cerebral as ever, to the delight of each. That they were environed by people with whom they would not usually associate—that is to say, persons of less refined taste—went unnoticed. After some amount of debate, and a very convincing argument on Patrick's part, Patrick paid the bill and both departed for the night's entertainment. A concert. An organ concert. Specifically, the dedication of the brand new organ in the downtown cathedral. An ordeal spanning several years, recently concluded with the finishing of the magnificent instrument of God and music.

There was no small crowd milling about the exterior of the grand cathedral, yet to say that a great multitude had gathered would be hyperbole. Suffice it to say that a crowd, numbering in the several dozens, had gathered in anticipation. They were a quiet, subdued people, the enthusiasts. Each reveled in the discussion of prior such concerts with one another, and delighted in both criticism and praise for the various performers.

But Patrick and Jim were much too distracted by each other to pay any mind to those around them. They continued their conversation, of course, with the occasional digression to tangentially related anecdotes of specific encounters either had thought noteworthy enough to warrant its sharing. They entered the building in hushed whispers that echoed throughout the cavernous hall. They took their seats in a pew, near the back. The crowd around them hushed as the lights dimmed and the speaker approached the pulpit to commence the dedication.

“Did you look at the program?” Patrick asked.

“No,” Jim said, “I like to be surprised.”

The music began: a Bach prelude and fugue. Lively, excited, full of energy and youth. Jim's hand rested on Patrick's knee. Next: a transposition of Debussy's Claire de Lune. Jim's hand moved farther up Patrick's leg. Patrick swatted at Jim's advances, a blush staining his cheeks. The music continued in the background. The deep bass tones reverberating through the floor; the high trebles piercing through the air. The acoustics were wondrous; the affect, exquisite. And next: Enya?

“What the hell?” Patrick whispered to Jim.

“Let's see,” Jim said as he flipped through the program for the first time, “It just says 'Surprise Selection.'”

“Umm, I think maybe I'd like to go, now.”

“I think I 'd have to agree with your assessment,” Jim agreed as they both rose from their seats and headed quietly for the exit.

The sun had since set and the street-lamps been lit as they entered the outside world, the grand organ but echoes in the background.

“Well,” Jim began, “At least the beginning was good.”

“Yeah, I guess. But why. . . what were they thinking with Enya?”

“I have no idea.”

“That was just plain weird.”

“Yes. Yes it was. May we never speak of it again.”

“Are you kidding? This is going to be my favorite anecdote from now on.”

They arrived at Patrick's apartment.

“Do you, uh, want to come up?” Patrick asked.

“I'm not sure,” Jim said, “After what happened last time.”

After some begging and pleading and a sultry look or two, Jim consented. They ascended towards the upper echelons of the building. They entered the apartment, as before. Jim, at first, headed for the more familiar comfort of the living room sofa, but was cut off by Patrick. He was pressed against the wall in a warm and sensuous embrace that was not quite so uninviting or unwanted as Jim had anticipated. He was caught off guard by Patrick's advances such that he hardly noticed as he was led into the bedroom. Patrick's hands roamed all over Jim's body as he gently laid him on the bed.

No words. Only a look. A nervous glance. A confident stare. A smirk. A blush. Patrick worked at removing Jim's clothing. Calmly, confidently. Their shirts fell to the floor in a crumpled heap next to the bed, but Jim could hardly notice for where Patrick had placed his hand. He could hear as Patrick slowly undid the zipper, the sound echoing in his mind. Softly, deftly. The pants were off and another zip and another pair joined his own on the floor next to the shirts.

And there they were. On the bed, almost naked. Bodies pressed against each other in a passionate embrace. Their bodies gyrating, undulating indefatigably to that most natural of rhythms. Their hands found new places to explore, to feel, to devour. Patrick pulled away. Reached over to his nightstand, opened the drawer.

“It's been awhile,” Jim said, “Be gentle.”

“But of course.”

The rest of their remaining clothing was removed, yet their bodies stayed distant a moment more while Patrick prepared for what was next. His fingers slid coolly, gracefully inside Jim's body. The coolness of the gel quickly warmed. His body acclimating to the intrusion. More fingers. More acclimating.

“I'm ready,” he said.

The fingers were removed, and Patrick placed himself in front of Jim's body, his eyes boring into the other's. Patrick introduced himself delicately, bit-by-bit.

“Wait a minute,” Jim said in a sharp cry, a tinge of pain and displeasure to his voice. A moment passed. “Okay, I think.”

Patrick continued until he was fully inside. And then he waited.

“Okay,” Jim said in as calm and collected a voice as he could muster given the situation, “You can move.”

And so Patrick began. Slowly at first. A steady rhythm that increased in tempo as time progressed. There were moans; quiet and subdued at first, but eventually unrestrained and free of any sense of propriety. An air of concupiscence hung about the room, about their sweat covered bodies. A primal sexuality. Desire in its purest, basest forms. Bodies writhing against each other in pleasure almost too intense to bear. Their bodies quickly approached that peak they had for so long desired, the tempo ever increasing. The moans increased in intensity. Their bodies still connected.

And then it was over. They were collapsed upon one another seeking support. They fell down onto the bed, into the covers, into fatigue. Patrick held onto Jim's body, pressed against him, as sleep overtook him. Jim lay awake awhile more, his mind still not quite comprehending. Weariness soon caught up with him as well, and they were asleep in each others' arms.