Cat's Quill (13 page)

"I...." Tomas swallowed, giving himself a swift mental kick. He could do this. "I thought if I wrote it, people might think I was, um...." Those bloody leprechauns stared back at him when he examined the tea towel. He chose to ignore them. "You know... gay."

Cathal looked at him blankly. "Gay?" Wherever he was from, he obviously had no idea what the word meant. Fuck, that meant Tomas would have to spell it out.

Another gulp of coffee did nothing to steady his nervousness. This was definitely not the reaction he'd been expecting, especially after the effort it had taken him to admit it. Speaking slowly, Tomas forced himself to meet Cathal's gaze straight on. "Gay," he repeated. "That I'm... interested in other men." Cathal was watching him very intently, as though waiting for him to elaborate. "Romantically and sexually," he finished somewhat lamely. There, it was done, and he was out.

"Oh," said Cathal, frowning. "I'm sorry, but I don't understand why this would be an issue. None of us choose who we fall in love with, and what does it matter whether it is with a man or a woman?"

Where the hell was he from? Tomas stared at him, trying to force his brain and his voice to work, ignoring the slow flush spreading through his body as Cathal's gaze didn't falter. "Some people don't think that way."

"I see." Cathal looked Tomas up and down. "So," he continued softly, "are you?"

"Am I what?" A strand of hair fell over Cathal's eyes, and Tomas wanted very badly to reach over and brush it from his face. He took another sip of coffee, feeling uncomfortable. It wasn't that he didn't like the way in which Cathal seemed to be focusing on him so intently, which was odd in itself, as he normally hated being the center of attention even in a one-on-one situation.

Cathal smiled, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Interested in another man romantically and sexually?"

Why couldn't he have just asked Tomas if he were gay? That would have been much easier to answer. Wouldn't it? Tomas licked his lips slowly, his mouth still dry. "I might be." His mind screamed at him not to be such a bloody idiot, but he ignored it and blurted out something else, something that was supposed to be safer and would change the subject. "It wasn't the only reason I didn't write them kissing."

"Of course it wasn't." It was difficult to tell whether Cathal was agreeing or teasing. "So...." Cathal was still watching him intently. He seemed somewhat flushed himself, or maybe that was wishful thinking on Tomas's part? After all, Tomas had only said he might be interested in someone. The statement wasn't specific enough to be an admission one way or another. "Are you going to tell me the other reason, or do I have to guess?"

Instead of answering, Tomas dug into his bag and pulled out his writing journal. Leafing through it, he found the scene he was working on and handed the journal to Cathal. "I have the same problem with this scene," he explained. Damn his bloody muse, who sure as hell wasn't going to take the same excuses Tomas had made last time, especially after what he'd just admitted to Cathal. "I umm...." He swallowed, noticing how Cathal seemed to be almost devouring the words he was reading, even though it was a snippet out of context. "I've never been kissed by another man," he finally said.

Cathal looked up at Tomas, his voice soft, wistful. "Neither have I." His head lowered again quickly, his attention once more taken by the words on the page in front of him. "I really like this," he said finally, the journal still open on his lap. "They both feel so awkward and yet it's obvious they have some kind of feelings for each other." He blushed, pink dusting his pale skin to spread from his cheeks down his neck and throat to disappear into the top of his loose shirt. "At least it reads like that to me."

"They do," Tomas said, crossing his legs at the ankle and then uncrossing them again. "I just...." How could he explain this without feeling like a complete idiot? "I don't want to ruin it by writing something I know nothing about." God, why had he put it like that? Maybe it wasn't too late to just ignore this whole conversation and find a large hole to bury himself in.

"I see." Cathal wiped his palms on his trousers and then turned the page of the journal back and forth, his eyes scanning the words again. "Maybe I could help?" he suggested. "Can you tell me what the story is about so I can get more of an idea of what this kiss should, er... involve?"

"Involve?" Tomas's voice sounded strained to his own ears. He coughed, clearing his throat before speaking again. "Umm, it's about a writer who meets someone he thinks might be a muse."

"I see." Cathal nodded slowly. "Why does he think that?" He edged closer to Tomas, the book still balanced carefully on his lap.

"He's drawn to this person he's not long met." The explanation sounded somewhat weak now that Tomas had to actually explain it to someone else. "It's like they have a connection...."

"Like Alan and Roger in your other book?" Cathal frowned. "That doesn't explain why--" He checked the name. "--Deimos might be a muse though, but then I haven't read enough."

Tomas opened his mouth to explain more, how Deimos seemed to appear and disappear out of thin air, how he seemed otherworldly, how Mark kept thinking about him all the time. Cathal placed one hand on Tomas's knee, his breath warm against Tomas's face. "Cat? What are you doing?"

"I'm getting into character." Cathal reached over and brushed Tomas's hair from his face. "You're a writer, so you need to be Mark. That leaves me the role of the muse." His voice was barely a whisper. "This scene is too good for it to be abandoned like the other one." His eyes dropped to the page and back again. He licked his lips, his fingers tightening on Tomas's knee. Tomas's breath hitched.

"Yes, it is." He swallowed again, reaching out his own hand to caress Cathal's cheek, echoing Mark's actions in his book. "I don't want you to leave," he whispered, his words following the script, his heart speeding up.

Cathal closed his eyes as he followed Tomas's cue, slipping into a role that could have been written for him. "I think I'm in love with you," he murmured.

Their lips brushed together, tentatively, awkwardly. Tomas pulled away, unsure, his breathing growing ragged, Cathal's skin warm under his fingers, soft but for the slight stubble across his lower cheek, blond facial hair almost invisible. Tomas leaned in again, his lips parting this time in invitation as he pressed their mouths together. Cathal moaned softly, opening his own lips, leaning into it, his fingers threading through Tomas's hair.

Wet skin, soft and inviting, tasting of coffee and something else Tomas could only describe as uniquely Cathal. It felt right, better than anything Tomas could have imagined. He whimpered, pulling Cathal to him, convincing himself for that moment they weren't playacting, that this was real, that the man in his arms was someone who loved him.

The need to breathe drove them apart. Cathal's eyes opened with a start, searching Tomas's. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Don't be." Tomas traced Cathal's lips with his fingers, committing the scene to memory, allowing himself a photograph he realized he wanted frozen in his mind forever. "I'm not."

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Chapter Eight

Instead of answering, Cathal kissed Tomas's fingertips, removing them from his lips one by one, and then, threading his fingers through Tomas's, he rested their joined hands on his own knee. Leaning in, he kissed Tomas again, this time on the lips. Tomas moaned softly, losing himself in the sensation, embracing Cathal, pulling him closer.

Something sharp dug into his leg and pain raced up his thigh. Breaking the kiss, he glared down at whatever had dared interrupt. Blackthorn glared back at him, a low growl deep in her throat, pressing her paws down onto his leg, the pressure from them reminding him of her presence although she'd now retracted her claws.

Cathal muttered something under his breath but kept holding Tomas's hand, stroking it with his thumb. Blackthorn edged herself between them, watching both of them in turn. She growled again. Tomas pushed at her, but she refused to move. This was ridiculous. The first time he'd kissed someone, and better still someone who had kissed him back, and the moment was lost to some bloody cat.

After several minutes of said cat eyeballing both of them, Cathal sighed. "I'm sorry, Tomas. Maybe we should just talk for a while instead." He let go of Tomas's hand slowly. Blackthorn purred loudly, stuck her tail in the air, and walked away, settling down about half a meter away, still watching both of them carefully. While Tomas didn't blame him for not wanting to give the thing a show, he could have quite cheerfully roasted the cat over an open fire.

"We could," Tomas finally said, wanting to tell Cathal how much he'd enjoyed the kiss and how he'd like to do it again. "Can you stay awhile? I'd like to spend some time together and get to know each other."

"I'd like that, and I can stay while it is still light." Cathal gestured toward the Thermos. "Could I have another cup of coffee? It was very good."

"You have to be home by dark?" Tomas couldn't help but raise an eyebrow while he grabbed the Thermos and poured Cathal more coffee. He seemed a little old for a curfew. Though appearances could be deceiving, he would put Cathal's age close to his own, if maybe a couple of years younger, but that still made him in at least his mid-twenties.

"While the light is still on the tree, yes." The wording was odd, and Cathal looked somewhat apologetic. "I broke rules a long time ago, and now I am on somewhat of a short leash." He glanced at Blackthorn. The cat curled herself into a ball and closed her eyes, looking bored. Cathal dropped his voice to a whisper. "I enjoyed the kiss. I'd...." He blushed, his voice lowering still further. "I'd like to do it again sometime."

"I enjoyed kissing you too." Tomas offered Cathal a scone, then refilled his own cup. "I'd like to kiss you again." He kept his voice low to match Cathal's.

Taking the scone, Cathal smiled. "I'd like that too, but today I think we should just talk." He cleared his throat and ran his hands through his hair; it was obviously a nervous gesture. "So, as we were discussing your book, is there anything else you'd like some help with?"

A helpful suggestion ran through Tomas's mind, but he squashed it quickly. They had only shared a kiss. He did not want to scare Cathal off by suggesting anything further. It was important they get to know each other first. Cathal took a bite of his scone, his Adam's apple bobbing as he chewed. Staring at it, at the pale complexion of Cathal's skin, Tomas wondered what it would be like to kiss him there. Grabbing his coffee, he took a quick gulp. "Umm, now they've kissed, I'm not sure what should happen next." He retrieved the journal from where it had fallen from Cathal's lap onto the grass. "I know the overall plot, but it's the day to day details I'm hazy about."

Cathal nodded thoughtfully. "If you want them to have a relationship that is going to last, it might be better if they get to know each other properly rather than rushing into anything." The last of the scone disappeared to be followed by more coffee. "It's difficult to love someone you don't know, although the heart does not always listen to that reasoning."

"No, it doesn't." Tomas leaned back against the tree, flicking through the pages of his journal. "There is more to the plot than just their relationship though," he revealed.

"Considering Mark thinks Deimos is a muse, I had thought there might be." Cathal's expression was perfectly straight-faced, although the corner of his eyes crinkled in amusement. "So, is he?"

"Hmm?" Tomas met Cathal's gaze blankly, his brain caught between attempting to remember what exactly had been said and working out the color of Cathal's eyes. They seemed to shift between blue and green depending on his mood, a reflection of the countryside around them and yet unique like Cathal himself. When they had kissed the second time, the color had deepened to a shade reminiscent of the depths of the ocean during a storm. Tomas had been caught in a boat once a few years ago when he'd been talked into going fishing; being exposed on the turbulent waters with little protection had been both scary and exhilarating.

"Is he a muse?" Cathal helped himself to another scone, pushing the last one toward Tomas. "He certainly doesn't seem to have the knowledge of Mark's world that he should, but there could be other explanations for that." He split the scone open and picked out a sultana, tongue curling around it to disappear back into his mouth.

Forcing himself to stop staring, Tomas swallowed, his hands gripping the sides of his journal, the leather binding damp under his fingertips. "I don't know yet. I'm waiting for Deimos to tell me." He'd long given up on planning too much of his novels in advance as the very mention of the word "plot" seemed to lead to arguments with muses who did what they wanted anyway. "I'm sure he will when it suits him." He paused, noting the bemused look on Cathal's face. "Don't tell me, you think I should know because I'm the writer, and the characters aren't really real?" It was a topic he and Ethan had debated many times over, both refusing to waver from their point of view. But then Ethan wasn't a writer; he didn't realize what was involved in the writing process and had gone as far as to tell Tomas that he was a little eccentric at times.

"Do you believe they are real?" Cathal's question seemed serious enough, although Tomas found himself checking to make sure he was not being made fun of. No, Cathal seemed to be taking this whole conversation at face value. Tomas did not get the opportunity to talk to other writers often, and although Cathal had not shared a manuscript of his own, he appeared to respect Tomas's views and wanted to discuss them further.

"That would depend on your definition of reality." Tomas was still cautious in his reply. "They are real in my mind," he explained further when Cathal nodded slowly, waiting for elaboration. "If they weren't, I couldn't write them realistically, and after all, how can I expect readers to believe in something I don't?"

"Belief is important," Cathal agreed. The hedgehog edged out from under the shade of the tree, and he threw it a few crumbs. "It is also very much tied into how you define reality." Drawing his knees up close to his body, he rested his arms on them now he'd finished his coffee and scones, his attention still intently focused on Tomas. "I think that if you believe in something, it's real on some level. If Mark believes Deimos is his muse, maybe he is. In the end, I'm not sure it matters who Deimos is, just that he inspires Mark to write and become the person he needs to be in order to express his thoughts and emotions."

Tomas had not really thought about it in that way before, but it made sense. Picking up his pen, he turned to the back of his journal and noted down Cathal's theories, sure that he could incorporate them into the story somewhere. Realizing what he was doing, he looked up, suddenly embarrassed. "Is it okay if I use some of this conversation in the story? I'll credit you, of course, as having had some input."

"That's fine." Cathal shook his head. "But there's no need to give me any credit. I enjoy talking with you, and I don't often get the chance to discuss ideas such as these." He sighed, shifting his arms and stretching his body out, his shirt riding up slightly to expose the lacings at the top of his trousers.

"Why not?" It seemed odd that same-sex relationships were acceptable where Cathal came from, but subjects such as this appeared not to be. "I can't believe someone wouldn't want to spend time with you. I've been hoping all day that you would be here when...." The words were out of his mouth before he realized what he'd said. "I mean... um...." His voice trailed off, the damage already done.

"Thank you." Cathal rewarded him with a shy smile. "I'd hoped that you would be here too." He edged closer, placing his empty cup in front of Tomas's bag, his fingers playing with the zipper on the side pocket for a few moments until he noticed what he was doing and stopped abruptly. "I've been somewhat ostracized amongst my people since...." He shrugged. "I keep to myself mostly, apart from a few friends I can trust. It's lonely, but at least that way I get to keep the little freedom I do have."

"Your people?" Tomas felt his anger rise that they had treated Cathal in this way. What the hell could he have done to elicit that kind of behavior? Did the short leash he'd spoken of and the reference to having to be home before dark mean that he was under some kind of house arrest?

Cathal glanced around nervously, lowering his voice. "I'm not from around here, but don't ask me to tell you any more than that, because I can't." He lifted his head, his tone stubborn. "It is not safe for you to know, and I will not put you at risk. I know what it's like to have your life ruined and to lose what you hold dear, and you deserve better than that."

"Don't tell me what I deserve or don't." Tomas snorted. "I think that's my decision to make, not yours." Cathal flinched at the anger in Tomas's voice, even though it was not directed at him but at whoever was responsible for whatever had happened. Tomas took a couple of deep breaths and reached over to place his hand over Cathal's. "What happened, Cat?" he asked softly. "What did you do that they thought was so bad?"

"I broke the rules, and apparently society has them for good reason." Cathal closed his eyes but didn't pull away. "I did what I thought was right, and I stand by that decision. People are more important than any damn rules, but unfortunately we got caught and
they
decided that 'transgressors needed to be held up as an example in case others were tempted by the same evil'." After finishing what sounded suspiciously like a lesson that had been repeated several times, his voice suddenly grew distant and sad. "The punishment the elders chose for my part in it is a reminder of that and, according to them, fit the crime." He opened his eyes again but didn't meet Tomas's. "It was still preferable to what was done to those who were with me. They lost each other, Tomas. It was too high a price."

Tomas searched for words that might comfort Cathal, but he couldn't find any. Nor did he want to ask anything further, his curiosity taking a backseat to the need to offer comfort in whatever way he could. He edged closer, deciding that it didn't matter how his desire to hold Cathal was taken; it would provide what words couldn't.

"No." Cathal shook his head, removing his hand from under Tomas's and putting space between them. "I have said far more than I should have, more than I have in a very long time. You listen to me, and you care." A smile creased his lips, although his eyes remained misty. "I should be more careful. I'm sorry; it's just been so long since I've had anyone to talk to like this."

"Anything you tell me remains between us." It was important that Cathal knew he was safe, that Tomas wouldn't betray his trust. He reached out his hand, but Cathal folded up the tea towel and placed it between them, marking a line he appeared not to want to cross. "We can talk about something else if you'd prefer."

Cathal stood, wiping his hands on his trousers. "Yes, I know I can trust you," he said softly. "But I have said enough." Gazing at the sky, which was beginning to cloud over, he held out one hand. Tomas stared at it. After what they'd talked about, the kiss they'd shared, he wanted to shake hands?

Nevertheless, Tomas pulled himself to his feet, a knot growing in his stomach, and shook the offered hand, the action more awkward even though it was far less intimate. "I'd still like to see you again," he said finally. "Will you be here tomorrow?"

"I'll try," Cathal promised apologetically. He let go of Tomas's hand, shaking the last of the scone crumbs from his shirt. "I'd... I want us to be friends, more than friends if we can be. If that is what you want." Blackthorn stirred, opening her eyes, although Tomas thought it unlikely that the cat had been asleep at all during their conversation. She seemed to be watching Cathal. Could she be a part of what had happened, there to ensure that Cathal did not break any more rules? No, it was crazy. She was a cat, nothing more.

Suddenly Cathal gave Tomas a quick hug, breaking it before Tomas had registered what had happened, and darted past him toward the tree behind him. "Cat?" he spluttered. "What?"

Tomas spun around, determined to follow. The faint sound of music caused him to pause for a split second, delicate, almost ethereal, the thread of melody calling to him yet bringing with it the strong feeling that it was out of his reach. "Cat?" he called, but there was no reply. He walked around the back of the tree quickly, but there was no sign of Cathal or that he had ever been there.

But this time Tomas was not left alone. Blackthorn yowled, a pitiful sound full of loss and regret. She stared at the tree and then Tomas. Tomas flinched at the accusatory stare from the animal but glared back. Blackthorn flicked her tail in the air, turned around, and began walking slowly back across the empty field.