ostro_goth | RP post: In Tuscany with Charlie

RP post: In Tuscany with Charlie

[[From here.]]

There are a few things here that were not invented in Teja's time, and unknown in his parents' house; but apart from electricity and glass windows, this place is timeless. There is a large kitchen with an old fireplace; there is a fountain outside, and trees lining a drive towards the road.

After Demeter has opened the door for them, and Teja and Charlie have stepped through, Teja starts looking around, and exploring the place she has prepared for them.

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Charlie smiles at the kiss, and shakes his head, threading his fingers into Teja's air, right at his temples. "Neither of us are, really. We both can, but then we can do a lot of things."

He rests his hands around Teja's waist, since it's convenient, and the right height.

"I like this counter," Teja murmurs, leaning in to kiss Charlie again; it is just the right height for them to comfortably embrace, and see eye to eye. A quiet shuffle of feet, and tilt of hip, brings him even closer.

"She would not have chosen the house, surely, for the height of the counter?"

Pause.

"We both can do many things that are not our first duty, or the trade we live by," he then admits. "You can fight, and throw a man on his back; I can raise a kitten by hand."

"Mmm, so do I." He touched the ends of their noses together, and tilted his head to kiss Teja. "I don't think she would. But she might."

He leaned back, putting his hands behind him, and almost smiling. "We can both do more than that. Though getting you on your back is fun..." he teased, giving another small and content kiss.

"Oddly, it is," Teja says, giving a small, pleased shiver at the memory of that moment -- the sudden, physical closeness, the heat of pleasure, and the forbidden memory that had struck him like a bullet from a fire-arm, fast and powerful. Indeed, the memory of being on his back underneath Charlie, in the snow, almost rekindles some of that heat, that pleasure.

He kisses Charlie once more. "Shall we look at the rest of the house?" he then asks.

Charlie smiles, both at the shiver--so he can shiver, with whatever emotion is causing it--and at the kiss. (The knowledge he'll store for later; the kiss he's enjoying now.)

"Sure." He hops down, and sighs at the loss of equal height; weren't people from the ancient world supposed to be shorter than modern people? Apparently Teja missed that memo. (Careful, or he might be caught staring.)

"I like it when you look at me in that manner," Teja says, smiling at Charlie, and holding out his hand.

Count proudly re-emerges from the pantry, carrying prey in his mouth -- in the shape of a small green ball of plant matter.

"This is me wondering why you're so tall." He takes the outstretched hand, smiling to himself; it's a good feeling, to just be able to hold someone's hand.

Charlie notices the cat, and chuckles at Count, bending to pick him up. "Congratulations, O fierce hunter. You caught a vegetable," he chuckles, giving the cat little scritches anyway.

Count proudly drops the dead brussels sprout into Charlie's hand, as one of those gifts of prey cats give to their humans.

"Most of my people were that tall," Teja says. "A poet among the enemy quipped that his six-footed verse was hampered by the presence of the Goths, who were a foot taller; but he was exaggerating. Also, one might think his mind never again was what it was, after my Adalgoth's shepherd's crook hit him upon his head, in the sack of Rome, under Totila."

~~Also, we blame the author of Teja's canon for not having got the memo; but he lived in the 19th century.~~

Charlie pockets the now safely dead vegetable, and puts Count up on Teja's shoulder; it's broader and less likely for him to fall off.

"That's odd, to me; most people still think the majority of those who lived around your time were quite a bit shorter than people are in mine." He looked up at Teja with a small grin, shaking his head. "I can see why he said that, though."

"My Adalgoth killed wolves with that staff, back in his mountains," Teja says. "I wish he had killed that noxious poet, also, instead of merely stirring up his brains."

He opened the door to the left off the counter; it led to a sitting-room with yet another fireplace, and tall, old-fashioned chairs, and a high-backed sofa.

"Don't like poetry?" Charlie asked, poking head into various doorways. He found a bedroom through one, though he merely smiled and left it open a little.

"That looks comfortable," Teja says, peering into the bedroom, also.

"I like poetry -- but not the acrid, contemptuous kind that Piso wrote!" he declares.

He opens another door.

"Ahhhh -- a bath!" he says, with great approval.

"It does." Charlie leans back against the doorframe to listen to Teja, watching him open other doors.

"You might like Keats. I like that sort of poetry, on occasion." Though he chuckled mildly at the sound of great approval, upon finding a bath. "Well, did you expect there not to be one?"

"But it is a very pleasant one, with a tub that offers room for both of us," Teja says.

Pause.

"What sort of poet is or was that Keats?"

"Was. He's classified as English Romantic, but it doesn't mean all his poems are about romance. He posed some interesting psychological questions."

"All these words mean nothing to me," Teja says. "It was long after my time. Do you know one of his poems?"

Nothing would speak better for a poet, than his poesy!

Charlie has to think a minute, on that; ~~to give the mun time to google it~~ but he comes up with the majority of one verse, and shrugs as he thinks it through.

"...What little town by river or sea-shore, / Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, / Is emptied of its folk, this pious morn? / And, little town, thy streets for evermore / Will silent be; and not a soul, to tell / Why thou art desolate, can e'er return."

"What happened with those towns -- was there war, or pestilence?" Teja asks, caught up in that enticing shred of a tale.

Charlie smiles, but shakes his head. "Now's about the moment when I tell you I was a psychology major, not literature." He brushes his hand against the side of Teja's jaw.

"The whole thing is much longer; and the speaker doesn't know what happened. Keats wrote it on seeing a collection of Greek vases. Though it does make you think."

"It truly sounds very strange," Teja says. "I would know more of it!"

Pause.

Then, he reaches over to return Charlie's caress. "Shall we have some wine by the fire?"

"You can read it, anytime." He rubs his cheek into Teja's hand, turning to press a kiss into his palm. "That would be nice, to just relax."

He smiled, standing on his toes to kiss his lips gently. "Mmm. I love you."

"Wine, or kisses?" Teja asks, teasingly.

But he leans in, and returns the kiss -- why not first the one, then the other?

"What, I have to choose?" Charlie answers, equally teasing. "In that case....wine."

He sticks his tongue out at Teja playfully, pulling him a little closer by his waist. "Unless you want to convince me otherwise..."

Teja pulls him into his arms, warmly; then, he dips his head, and dips his tongue between Charlie's lips.

"There is a song about kisses and wine," Teja murmurs, "but it is about the lifelong love of a man and woman, much as my people would have seen it -- not about such as us!"

Charlie responds to that kiss, arching his back and pressing against Teja: there's no real words for how much he really does like being kissed like that. "There are...very few songs written for people like us. Even in my time."

He kisses back just as deeply, almost desperately; the last one caused a very sharp spike in his heartbeat, making him blush lightly.

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