Love's Mercy

2 Looking So Long

"Sweet boy..." they whispered, their palm over his face. "Dear Alfred, make love to me, I beg of you."

Alfred breathed softly, though strenuous all the same. His hands enclosed of their waist as their cheek pressed to his, and their kiss in the moment after. He turned to kiss them, as it felt as though he had always needed to; if not but to taste of them as a lover, not only a friend. Alfred felt his mind were no longer his own, but rather belonged to the desperation overwhelming to hold them, have their body against his own, and exchange the purest form of want for the other.

"Ask me again, only this time, do not plead. I should do anything you say, for whatever you wish it is my dream to make true," he said, and breathed of his lover's skin. "How is it I am so fortunate as to know you, to love you is greater even yet..."

"Speak not as if I were your dream, I want to be everything to you."

"Want for nothing- you have ever been all that I could need," Alfred said, and dropped lower his hands where they lie. A delighted gasp were pulled from their lips, one of which Alfred only stole by way of his own. They held to his hair, their fingers pushed through his curls indelicately as they pleased. Alfred wanted to weep for the pleasure of such a motion was what he had longed for. A lover's need, and their will entangled with his own in order to make the other feel wonderful as he did.

Is this alright? Are they truly of my same mind? Alfred thought as the clothing between them were rid of quickly, and their bodies rejoined as if they could not dare separate once more. Is it alright for me to love another, now? Has it been long enough, has my heart yet told me to find love anew? I need find nothing, for it has been here all along.

"Like that, Alfred," they guided his hands lower, and Alfred became of a rushing heat. "Please- how long I have wanted you."

"As have I," Alfred whispered as he followed the guidance he were given, his hands to travel the lines and valleys of his lover's body, and wherever they did elicited a pleasured sigh. "Your voice itself, I love as dearly as I do you. Tell me you love me, Giovanni."

Alfred awoke at the hour of night in which even the dead did slumber, his heart clutched of a certain panic he could not attribute to anything immediately. "What am I-?" he said aloud, and looked quickly about the room he were in. The darkness came easier to his eyes as he found the paintings on the walls were those he had seen many times- those that hung in Giovanni's room. He sat in a chair before a hearth that had become nothing more than low burning embers, a blanket had been placed atop him. He turned towards the extravagantly carved, four-postered bed that was the centerpiece to Giovanni's already eccentrically designed chamber, to see the sorcerer slept soundly tangled in an innumerable amount of sheets. Despite the warmth of the season, Giovanni frequently reminded Alfred, by way of complaints, that their blood has been perpetually chilled. Their day had passed monotonously, he realized, and he had fallen to sleep without his recollection.

Suddenly, Alfred remembered the reason for his waking.

Another dream. Was that... No, it cannot be. He heard Giovanni shift about in their sleep, and he turned back to glance their way. It- it cannot be! A flush overtook his face, the cold of the room was made insignificant at an instant. He forced his gaze to the wan light of the hearth. Utterly, utterly impossible. I would never, no, they would never- we? There is no question of the matter! It will stay a dream, for such a thing is not possible. He attempted to beg his mind to wander for the sake of his sanity, but it could not be persuaded.