Tracer

8: Tempted

"Jason," Liz chided quietly. "I don't understand your issue. Between us, we couldn't come up with enough for Passage. Mr. Desmon has done all he could to ensure us Passage. I think this Gift is a beautiful thing. We should thank him for doing it.

"Would you rather tell your father you failed because Wasteland morals offended you?" She laughed softly as he flushed again. "Give it up, Jay. I will not allow you to bring us to ruin. Mr. Desmon," she nodded to him and rose. "Thank you and have a wonderful evening."

Smiling in admiration of this remarkable woman, Desmon nodded back and pushed to his feet. "Miss Liz. Miss Colleen."

"Mr. Desmon."

"Mr. Waters."

"Packer Lyle," Travis smiled.

Desmon ignored Jason and left the room, hoping his mood wouldn't disturb Jymke too badly.

Candles softly lit the room when he entered. Jymke was standing near the fire, wearing a pair of light Duster-skin breeches and a matching robe. Desmon closed the door behind him and took a deep breath. He could see Jymke's eyes shimmering with violet streaks as he crossed the now thickly carpeted floor and stopped in front of him.

"I'm ready," he told him quietly.

Jymke smiled, crinkling the corners of his eyes and moved toward a comfortable chair nearby. "Just your company is more than I thought I could have, Desmon."

Well, that wouldn't do. Desmon stepped close to him and gently breathed out a long sigh. Jymke rocked on his heels, eyes half closed in pleasure. "I would Gift you with all that I am and all that you will have of me," Desmon offered.

Jymke sank into his chair, and Desmon settled to his knees on the floor in front of him. He rested his chin on the Tracer's lap and looked up at him with a winsome smile.

"Ah, Desmon," Jymke laughed, shakily. "You do tempt me."

"That's the idea."

Jymke grinned, revealing those sharp teeth. "So, you would wear my Mark and freely deliver everything that the Gift implies? Surely your Group has some questions."

"Answered or dealt with as much as they can be. Jym," Desmon rose, leaning on him, "we both know how close our uncles are. I'm sure Myron never married because of Jylke."

"Jylke more than cherished Myron," Jymke agreed.

"Do you believe there was no reason behind Myron bringing me along on all those Crossings as a kid?"

Jymke shook his head slowly. He seemed unable to help touching his fingers to Desmon's lips, his cheeks, his hair. "I cannot presume what they might hope would grow between us. Jylke made no mention of such things. You are young, my Desmon. Joining your flesh to mine will change you."

"Myron told me what being with Jylke did to him, and for him. That's not why I want to Gift you."

"I know this."

"So why are you fighting me?"

"Perhaps," Jymke said softly, tunneling his fingers into Desmon's hair, "I fight myself."

"A losing battle all the way around."

Jymke chuckled, slouching back into the chair. He fluttered long, slender fingers to indicate a crystal flagon and two intricately cut goblets on the low table behind him. "Will you pour?"

"Afraid to keep touching me?"

"I'd call it caution."

Desmon grinned and spun on his knees to reach the wine. He poured for Jymke first and presented it with all possible ceremony, cupping the goblet in both hands and bowing his head as he raised it to him.