Vestige

Chapter Seven



The phone rang as early morning light pierced the Venetian blinds and slanted across his face. Caleb sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes and feeling across the bed for Felix’s body. He found his side empty, and looked around confusedly before he heard a pan clatter to the floor in the kitchen and Felix swear loudly in Spanish. Caleb laughed silently and grabbed the clamoring phone.



“Yeah?,” Caleb half-yawned, half-growled, sounding like some sleepy bear. “Who’sit?”



“Is that how I raised you to answer the telephone, Caleb Bennett?,” Dorothy asked him curtly. Almost 1400 miles away from her and Dorothy still had the power to send a chill through his chest. He could just imagine her standing there in her pressed power suit and sensible, no-nonsense heels, nail click-clacking on the phone. Which meant, if he had been within her grasp, she would have beat him with a belt.



“Dotty? What the hell do you want?”



He could sense her lifting her chin up high, her eyes cold steel. “I think a sister has a right to call up her little brother when he runs off to Florida in the middle of the week without informing anyone. Your work just called me wondering if you were sick or dead or temporarily insane. Since you’re obviously very much alive, and you sound well enough to me, I suppose I should opt for choice number three.”



“I’m opting for choice number four,” Caleb told her through his teeth, “None of their damn business. Or your damn business for that matter. I came here because I needed a break from all of this shit.” Caleb scratched absently at the hairy skin between his nipples. “How the hell did you even know where I was? Goddammit, Dotty, I told you to stop hacking into my credit card receipts.”



“Well, I wouldn’t have to if you talked to me,” Dorothy challenged.



“I…” Caleb groaned and dropped his head against the headboard roughly. “I can’t do this with you anymore, Dorothy. You’ve got to stop treating me like I’m five years old. I’m not going to sit here and explain to you why I came here, or why I left without a word to anyone. You’ve got that special woman intuition crap, figure it out.”



“You’re burned out from work and from life in general,” Dorothy explained to him, as though Caleb had no clue about his own feelings. He half expected her to materialize before him and motion him to lie down on a sofa while she figured out the workings of his mind. “So you thought going down there with your little music man would make everything better. The problem is, when you get back here, everything will be the same. There’s no sense in running away from your problems.”



“I’m not running from anything,” Caleb bit defensively.



“What would you call it, Caleb? You woke up one morning and ran off to Florida without a word to anyone. You can lie there in the sunshine for a few days but that won’t change anything. Your problems will still be here when you get back.”



“Then maybe I won’t come back,” Caleb snapped. “Maybe I’ll just stay here with my music man and let go of that Goddam city once and for all. There’s nothing for me there. That’s dad’s city, not mine. It’s your fucking city.”



“Caleb---”



“Leave me alone,” Caleb growled, “Just get the fuck out of my life.”



And he hung up on her. He expected to feel some kind of liberated surge pulse through his body, but all that came was a cold, hollow feeling in his chest. All he could seem to think of was Dorothy when he had been young, how she had been the one there to dry his eyes and kiss his scrapes and bruises. It was no wonder she felt so protective of him now; through his entire life she had been there with him, protecting and correcting him. And now he was grown and she hardly knew what to do with herself.



Caleb considered calling her back, but decided against it. Her pride had been wounded, and maybe her heart as well, and Dorothy had never been the most forgiving creature. The best thing to do was talk with her in person when he returned to the city. Because he knew he would be going back, no matter what he had told her. He was not the kind of person who could leap without looking; he could not pick up his life and move it across the country. He simply didn’t have the courage.



“Breakfast is ready, mi amor,” Felix announced from the doorway, sweatpants low on his skinny hips and an apron wrapped around him. Caleb smirked as he read the apron, probably something Dorothy had bought long ago when she had been into flea shops and bargains. “Kiss the Cook” it proclaimed on the front, and when Felix turned around, Caleb found a small flap over his bottom, the apron further suggesting, “’s ass.”



“Kiss the Cook’s ass,” Caleb laughed.



“Maybe later,” Felix cheerily said, “Right now, come and eat breakfast.”







They wandered the beach aimlessly, every now and then Felix stooped down to pick up a seashell, holding it childishly against his ear. Caleb enjoyed seeing the man by the shore, believed that Felix belonged near the sea, where he could dig his toes in the sand and strum his guitar.



He played the instrument along the boardwalk, and unlike in the city, where people avoided him like a parasite, people milled around him, laughing and dancing. A teenage girl even approached the musician and requested a song, which Felix happily played to the delight of her friends. They made flirtatious eyes at the man as he played, and were swooned by him. When the song ended, three of them ran up and pressed kisses to his cheek before running down the boardwalk giggling.



“Sweet girls,” Felix murmured as he and Caleb walked along. He looked content, more serene than Caleb had ever seen him. He was dressed in swimming trunks and flip-flops, and he walked with a confidence that Caleb could not imitate. “I think I like it here, amor,” Felix continued. “The sunshine, the people, the ocean. All of them feel good to me. Almost right.”



“I can tell,” Caleb told him, “You fit in here.”



“And what about you?”



Caleb looked around the boardwalk. He watched the old people shuffling into shops and sitting in doorways to avoid the heat. He watched teenagers racing each other on rollerblades and skateboards, the boys boasting, the girls watching them attentively. He watched the couples walking together with their tiny tots in tow, their chubby little legs stumbling, their faces smeared with sunscreen.



“I enjoy this place,” Caleb answered, “But I doubt I could ever live here. Everything is so slow… Putting me here is like putting a rabbit in molasses. I just want to keep running, but I can’t move.”



Felix considered this, pausing by a storefront and looking in. Caleb assumed he was browsing for something, and his hand went to his pocket and touched the bulk of his wallet. But Felix grabbed his arm and pulled him close, watching their reflections. “Look at us,” Felix murmured, and Caleb studied their reflections casually. He noticed how he towered over the man, and for the first time, he noticed the differences between them. Felix was small, short and lean, with a crop of black hair that fell rebelliously over his brow and curled at his cheeks. His skin was dark and lovely, the color of sweet coffee, and there was a perpetual stubble on his face, as though he had missed a shave; though Caleb had watched the man shave just that morning.



Caleb was tall, broad, thick with muscle. His hair, curly and honey blonde, tickled at the nape of his neck. He did not consider himself a handsome man, though he had been told before his face resembled the face of a statue. Square jaw, sharp nose, piercing eyes.



“We’re so different, Caleb.”



“Yeah,” Caleb agreed, “But that’s okay. That’s good. I need someone like you, Felix.”



Felix slipped his arm through Caleb’s and leaned his head on Caleb’s shoulder. He smiled, and his reflection smiled back. “We look nice together, hermoso.”



“You’d make a leper look nice, babe.”



“Charmer,” Felix laughed, nudging Caleb’s side with his elbow.



Watching Felix’s face, reflected in the glass, Caleb experienced a strong, overwhelming sense of déjà vu. He had seen that face before, in his dreams, a face with that same beauty and sweetness. He had tasted those lips in the mist of sleep, and Caleb felt the world shift around him. A terrifying experience. He could distantly hear his name being called, and arms support his body as he tilted towards the ground.



When his vision returned, he was looking up into a cloudless blue sky, listening to the whispers of countless people around him. And then Felix’s face filled his sights, twisted with concern and hesitant relief. That sweeping sensation tried to spread through him again, but Caleb forcefully pushed it away. He felt Felix kiss his mouth, his dry lips trembling with a name.



“Montezuma,” Caleb almost wept, before the world returned to black.







“Montezuma.”



The room is all low candle light and flickering shadows, filled with the scent of crushed flowers and perfume. Gifts from the man that speaks his name and closes the distance between them. Gloved fingers stroke Montezuma’s bronze cheek, and the man shivers, terrified and deeply aroused by just that simple touch. The man - the God - kneels down before him, Spanish eyes bottomless. “Montezuma,” he whispers, tracing steel fingertips over the emperor’s aged face, “I have come to you.”



Montezuma does not speak, does not dare speak before such a creature. His mouth trembles as the God rises slowly and presses their lips together. He can feel the God gripping his robes in his powerful hands, can taste the distant spices on his Spanish tongue as it moves inside of him, stroking playfully at his teeth, playing with his own tongue in a sensual tangle.



The emperor has never felt such a painful want in all of his life. He feels as though he will die beneath that crushing kiss, before the God pulls back and presses his face into Montezuma’s throat. When he had first arrived, Montezuma had assumed that he was just another Spanish devil, come to steal his land and harm his people; but now he knows the truth.



Hernán Cortés is a God. A beautiful, awesomely powerful God. Montezuma cannot help the trembling of his body as Cortés bites his throat and pushes the silken robes from the emperor\'s shoulders. "Ah, Cortés," Montezuma whispers to him, but Cortés silences him with another kiss, grinding their mouths together and taking Montezuma to the earth.



"Montezuma. Montezuma..."







"M-Montezuma..."



"Caleb. Caleb, stop."



"Montezuma. Ahh, Montezuma," Caleb sobbed brokenly, writhing on the bed, his face slick with sweat and tears. "Montezuma, please."



"Caleb, shut up!," Felix screamed, slapping the blonde\'s cheek roughly. Pain flared through the darkness and screamed through his broken mind. Caleb\'s eyes flashed open, and for a moment, he could see the man from his dreams standing there. His robes were covered in blood, and his face was a mask of hate and raw, seething anger. He pointed at Caleb accusingly, mouth working soundlessly, before he drifted away, as though made of smoke.



Caleb lay there, shivering and cold, his mouth hanging slack and his raw eyes wide and horrified.



And then Felix was there, pressed against him, those lips warm and soft on his battered cheek. "Caleb, ah, you scared me." Felix was crying on him, his hands slipping across Caleb\'s body restlessly, his lips traveling his face. "Caleb, what happened? I was... I was afraid that you..."



"I\'m fine," Caleb murmured, "I\'m fine now, Felix."



But Felix did not seem to hear him. Those lips were all over him, and though it had been Caleb who had lost consciousness and Caleb who had experienced that vivid dream, he pulled Felix into his arms and returned his kisses softly, quieting him. “Felix, Felix, calm down,” he murmured to him, holding the slim musician in the crook of his arm, kissing his mouth slowly and tenderly, feeling Felix melt a little against him, his trembling quieting.



“You can’t do that to me,” Felix sighed into his throat, “Never again, Caleb.”



“I was just hot,” Caleb told him, hoping that the lie sounded convincing, that Felix would not press him for the truth. The man seemed eager to accept the words, nuzzling into Caleb’s throat; he seemed too relieved just to hear his voice, that it did not matter if the voice spoke lies to him. “That’s all. Just got a little woozy.”



Caleb noticed that he was in the beach house, laid on the bed stripped down to his boxers. He could not imagine such a tiny man carrying him all the way, but was too exhausted to question Felix on how he had gotten there. “You kept calling for… Montezuma,” Felix said suddenly, “Were you dreaming?”



“Yeah,” Caleb murmured, watching the shadows shift across the ceiling, sure that he could almost see the man’s face in them. “Just dreaming.”