To You and Back

Bonus Part 3 To Paris

Spring was not just in the air, it also seemed to be in the very fabric of reality that evening. From the balcony of a high-rise building, a lone figure stood looking out over a city bathed in the golden highlights and lowlights of sunrise, from the gilded tips of trees in the nearby park to the glass faces of dazzling towers. Boxes of marigolds and tulips ran along the railing of the balcony, their faces turned up toward a watercolor sky of pastels, their perfume occasionally drifting pass on a whim. No sound of traffic or nature reached these heights, only the sound of the lazy breeze, whirling around the sharp corners of manmade structures.

Peter reached through the drawn heavy blue curtains to open the glass door and stepped out onto the balcony. A table had been set outside, with a peach-colored tablecloth, place settings for two, a basket of wildflowers in the center, and a heavy candle in a tall glass cylinder, currently unlit. Beside it was a metal stand with a bottle of champagne nestled in ice. Moving around the table, he advanced on the lone figure, whose yellow hair glimmered in the slanting sunlight, strands disturbed by the warm, fragrant breeze.

"You're late," called the figure.

Peter slid his hands around the other man's waist and leaned into him. "Will you punish me?" he whispered in the pink ear.

Charlie scoffed. "You'd like it too much, and then what's the point?"

"That would be the point."

Charlie gave a breathy chuckle as he turned within Peter's arms, twinkling dark and blue eyes meeting. "You're incorrigible, Mr. Townsend."

"You wouldn't love me if I weren't, Mr. Hill."

"That doesn't say anything good about me, does it?"

Peter laughed. They kissed. Charlie slid his hands down Peter's arms to take his hands. "Dance with me," he said.

"There's no music."

"We don't need it."

Peter smiled as he allowed himself to be pulled into another embrace, one hand around Charlie's waist, the other gripping Charlie's hand. They began to sway to the sounds of the wind.

"It's unusual for you to plan a date. Not that I'm complaining," Peter murmured in his ear.

"Sounds like complaining to me," Charlie murmured back.

Peter smiled. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you had an ulterior motive."

Charlie's eyes, which had been closed as he leaned his chin on Peters shoulder, opened. "Maybe I do."

"That's fine," Peter said. "I'm just glad we're not in strife anymore. We're not, are we?"

"No," Charlie said. "We're not. Part of tonight is my apology."

"And the other part?"

Charlie closed his eyes once more. "You'll see."

They danced in silence for a while, turning in slow circles around the balcony. Around them the sky slowly darkened, the pastels bleeding together into a velvet blue. Below them, the city shimmered with lights.

"Do you know," Charlie murmured softly, "you're my longest relationship?"

"Am I?" Peter murmured back, his breath on Charlie's ear. "We've only been together for two years."

"Counting when we first met," Charlie said, "and when we met again."

"And if you didn't count that? What would your longest relationship be?"

"Three years," Charlie replied. "I was in Italy for the summer, and I met him on the train. It was lust at first sight." Charlie grinned as he felt Peter's body stiffen. The old jealousy was a hard thing to shake. "He came back with me, and we even lived together for a while," he went on deliberately. "I still think about him sometimes." He bit his lip to hold back a laugh as Peter's hands tightened around him. "He used to work on a vineyard, and would come home all tan and sweaty and the sex was—"