Christmas Delights 3 (36 page)

"I am telling you the truth," said Rex, stepping
closer.  "I like it a lot—really.  I'm very pleased with what you've done
so far, and I think it will be amazing when you finish."

They stared at one another for a long, heart-thumping
moment.  He could see the red of Gene's lips, the paleness of his skin near his
eyes, the streaks of paint on his cheek, and the way his hair and eyes never
quite seemed the same color as the last time he'd seen them.  It must be a
trick of the light, but it endlessly fascinated him.

"In that case, thank you."  Gene turned and
applied another thin streak of color to the wall, creating the gentle curve of
a vine, curling upwards as if to face the sun.  "But you might want to
wait until it's done to decide what you think."

"I'll try.  You know, I like how you take your time and
work so carefully," said Rex, trying not to feel shaken, to keep his voice
(and himself) on an even keel.  "Coffee?" he asked, moving toward the
stove.

"Yes please."  Gene finished his vine, hesitated,
and put down his paints and paintbrush on the table.  He climbed carefully down
off the kitchen chair.  "I brought some sugar, if we're out again.  It's
in my jacket pocket.  I'll just fetch it…"

"No need," said Rex, his mouth twitching in a
slightly besotted smile.  "There's plenty—oh, shit."  He opened the
crock of sugar and stared down in dismay at an army of indignant ants running
around inside it.  "I don't know how they keep getting in!"  He shut
the lid in disgust.

Gene laughed.  "Perhaps that should be my next
project—tackling the ants!  I can do that, you know."  He smiled shyly and
hopefully.

"Can you?  It would be a great help.  Finding an
exterminator is on my list, but I haven't managed it yet.  I get the feeling
the ants plan to tear the place down around our ears."

"No, that'll be you," said Gene, giving him an
impish smile.

Rex stared at him, hardly able to believe that shy Gene had
just teased him—or that his blue-gray eyes could sparkle so.  Rex burst out
laughing.  He so longed to reach for Gene, to pull him close and kiss him.  But
he didn't want to frighten or push him, so he restrained himself. 

Not yet….

* * * * *

The ants required a lot of hard work, stern magic, and
apparently frustration and grubbing around in dirt.  Rex saw the magician
kneeling in odd places in the house, looking serious and pissed-off.  But the
ant population dwindled almost immediately, so that instead of regularly seeing
long black lines of ants marching through the building, Rex only occasionally
saw a single scout.

"How did you do it?" he asked over one of their
coffee breaks together.

Gene shrugged, looking self-conscious.  "I killed some,
but there are a great many.  I had to convince them to move outdoors.  It's not
easy, in this weather."

Rex gaped at him.  "What?  Convince—?"

Gene shook back his hair gingerly, scraping flyaway strands
back with his careful fingers.  "Oh yes.  I had to use my magic to
convince them it wasn't safe to live so close to us."

"But…couldn't you just kill them?" he asked.

Gene looked chagrinned.  "They…there are an awful lot
of them.  And the queens and eggs.  I just had to convince them to move.  It
wouldn't do to have a million dead ants below the house.  They'd…smell
bad," he said awkwardly, looking like he didn't want to meet Rex's gaze.

Rex let the subject drop, but he was inwardly certain that
Gene hadn't been able to bear killing the colony.  How could anyone have such a
soft heart that even ants were subject to his tender pity?  It made Rex wish
there he could earn some of Gene's gentle concern.  Perhaps then he wouldn't be
so out of reach….

* * * * *

Eventually the other Masons arrived: Gene's father and
brother.  They were big, boisterous men with loud voices and big laughs.  Gene
seemed to shrink further back into his shell when they were around. 

Rex winced the first time he saw the older brother, with his
straw-colored hair and his muscular build, roughly throw an arm around Gene's
shoulders.  He didn't seem to mean to be intimidating; it was as if it hadn't
occurred to him that not everyone had a Saint Bernard's attitude toward life.

Around his family, Gene seemed to become smaller, more of a
shadow.  He kept his head down and worked more slowly and often more clumsily
than he did while alone.  He grew self-conscious and seemed to expect himself
to make mistakes, to struggle just to get through simple assignments.  His face
pinched tight and pale, and he looked frustrated and disgusted with himself,
where his brother and father could laugh boisterously and not ever seem to
doubt themselves.

Rex missed being alone with him, and the way Gene would meet
his gaze and smile shyly, speaking thoughtfully and with the care that seemed
to mark everything he did—at least when he wasn't feeling imitated and
overwhelmed.  He was a quiet, careful, gentle man, but he didn't seem to see
the good side of that, only the fact that he was easily overwhelmed and would
never be like his brother and father, those two peas from the same big,
confident pod.

"You don't need to be them," Rex tried to tell him
once over their coffee, now sweetened without the threat of ants.  "You're
you."

Gene just stared at him, as if not sure what to think of
these words—not even sure they were real words in the English language.

* * * * *

Carts brought fresh material and rumbled off, carting away
debris.  A collection of experts—plasterers, joiners, plumbers and
bricklayers—trooped through, each leaving the old mansion in better shape. 

Rex repaired the creaking, wobbly stairs on the grand,
winding staircase himself.  Every day he worked on it, bent over and hammering,
holding nails between his teeth for easy access.  He had to shift aside as men
trooped up and down around him watching out for the bad parts of the stairs,
carrying lumber and buckets and ladders, trying to keep from smacking Rex in
the head or tripping themselves.

Sometimes light steps walked up, pausing hesitantly as they
drew near him, and he would realize with a start that it was Gene.  He didn't
shout or holler playfully "Watch out!" just slowly passed, as if he
didn't quite want to leave. 

One day, recognizing the soft tread of his careful steps and
catching sight of his ragged jeans and scuffed work shoes, Rex reached out and
playfully grabbed his ankle. 

"Ah!" said Gene, tugging free from him.  Rex
looked up at him, grinning, and Gene looked down, a shy, sweet smile lighting
his face.  He brushed his hair back and looked away, as if trying to hide his
smile.

"Stay and help?" said Rex, even though he wanted
to say so much more.

Gene shook his head.  "I'm no good with a hammer. 
Sorry.  I always hit my thumb or break something."

Rex tsk'd.  "I don't believe that.  I think you're just
too nervous around your family to try properly."

Gene's friendly gaze narrowed.  "You know, I have been
living with my…my limitations all my life.  I'd appreciate if it you didn't
tell me I'm imagining them."  He stooped, looking down at Rex, meeting his
gaze frankly.  "Don't you imagine I haven't tried when I'm alone?" he
asked quietly.

Rex blinked, and felt ashamed of himself. 
"Sorry," he said.  "I didn't mean it like that.  I just don't like
it when you put yourself down.  I think you're much better at things than you
know.  And I'd like the help."  He gave Gene a quick wink, and was
rewarded by the return of a blush to those pale cheeks.

"Um, thanks," said Gene, edging away, pointing
down the stairs, and then up, the way he'd originally been heading, looking
remarkably flustered.  "But I, ah, have to do—something."

"Something," agreed Rex, and held his hammer
still, watching regretfully as that slender, beautiful man walked upstairs. 
His ragged jeans and baggy flannel shirt hid his body well, but Rex had no
doubt it was perfect beneath all those layers.

As the days grew colder, he noticed Gene shivering
sometimes, and it bothered him.  The mansion had no heat; the fireplaces were
still being cleaned.  Snow occasionally sifted inside, blown from the fierce
wind while workmen trooped in and out of the house.  It lay on the floor like
little sand dunes, taking a long time to melt.

Hard work was enough to warm most everyone, but the repair
and molding work that Gene did often required less energy and didn't keep him
warm.  But apparently he wouldn't put on a coat and stand out even more from
the rest of the workmen. 

It bothered Rex to see him getting blue-lipped and pale in
the cold.  He tried calling Gene for coffee more often, but the magician often
hesitated and refused, as if worried about the appearance of favoritism from
the boss. 

One day, walking back to his hotel room late, Rex saw a
scarf and mittens in a display window and stopped to buy them, feeling rather
guilty, but determined that the handsome magician should stop shivering so
much.  They were pretty and bright red, and it gave him a warm feeling to think
of Gene wearing them.  Even if Gene was reluctant, Rex thought he could probably
convince him that shivering wasn't good for his work, and that gloves and a
scarf wouldn't make him stand out too much from the other men.

He walked home carrying the brown paper-wrapped package
under his arm, watching his breath in the cold air, and looking up at the
little halos of cold around the gas lamps.  Snow sifted down from the sky,
landing and melting on the cobblestones that got walked on the most, landing
and staying in the spaces between them, outlining the shapes of each stone more
distinctly.

An empty cab clip-clopped by, slowing as it passed, and the
bundled-up driver glanced down at him to see if he wanted a ride.  He waved the
man on; he preferred to walk, to take these few precious moments to enjoy the
solitude and beauty of winter.

It would be Christmas soon.  He was already sending out
invitations.  And even though the house wasn't completely fixed up yet, he had
every belief it would be.  He could picture it in his mind's eye, lit softly by
gas lights and a few tapers, a tall Christmas tree occupying the entrance, the
big ballroom filled with chatting and smiling guests sipping elegant drinks. 
He smiled at the thought of pine-draped handrails on the staircase, of wood
polished to a shining warm gleam.  And for some reason, he could picture
himself standing next to Gene at the top of the stairs, surveying the whole
scene with satisfaction.  Gene would look particularly elegant with his hair
neatly combed, and finally wearing clothes that fitted his body trimly.

Ahead, a short man was walking toward Rex in the snow, hands
stuffed in the pockets of an overlarge coat, collar turned up and his head
pulled down.  A slow-moving wave of joy flowed over Rex, and he stopped for a
moment, not understanding.  Then a tug of awareness reached him, and he
realized: even from this distance, even in the poor lighting and wearing
unfamiliar clothes, he'd recognized Gene, and felt that rush of love for him.

He hurried, picking up his steps, unable to keep a smile
from his face.  "Gene," he said, as they drew near one another.

Gene had a distracted, inward look on his face, but he
startled at the sound of his name, and then looked at up Rex.  Relief seemed to
overtake him, and his gaze warmed.  "Hello," he said quietly.  He
brought his hands out of his pockets bare and cold-looking.  He reached out as
if to touch Rex on the arm, and then withdrew instead.

"You look cold," observed Rex.  "Here, put
these on."  He pushed the package into Gene's hands, grinning like an
idiot.  "You are cute in that coat, though I don't know why you always
wear things that are too big for you."

"Don't you?" asked Gene, taking the package and
turning it over shyly.  "I guess you were never a younger brother,
then."

He undid the string and opened the brown paper carefully,
taking his time, the way he did everything.  And Rex, who had always been a man
who liked things done now, realized he didn't mind waiting.  It hit him like a
revelation: he didn't mind waiting for Gene, now or in general.  He was worth the
wait.

"They're very nice.  Thank you."  Gene wound the
red scarf around his neck, his cheeks reddening with a blush.  "You
shouldn't have."

"Of course I should have."

"Because you worry about all your workers keeping
warm?"  Gene raised a skeptical eyebrow.  He slid on the red gloves, and
Rex was pleased to see they fit his small hands perfectly.  He'd been concerned
about that; he didn't want to buy one more thing that was too big on Gene, that
made him look swallowed up and the wrong size, when in truth, he was the
perfect size.

"No," said Rex softly.  "Because I like you. 
Surely you've guessed?" 

"I, ah, that's nice.  Thanks."  Gene blushed
harder, and he looked so adorable, with the snow falling and landing softly on
his hair, that Rex no longer had the will to resist.

He leaned forward, moving slowly so Gene had plenty of time
to stop him or move away.  But Gene stood stock still, staring at him with eyes
that looked wistful and larger than usual.  Rex took him in his arms and kissed
him gently.  Their lips were cold, and it was a sweet, chaste, short-lived
kiss.  But it was wonderful for all of that, and left Rex's whole being
tingling and rejoicing.

He released Gene and looked at his face closely.  Gene
pulled his lips into his mouth and sucked on them.  He definitely didn't look
as though he'd done anything but enjoy the kiss just as much as Gene had, but
he also looked torn.

"That was…very nice, thank you," he said in a
slightly strangled tone, sounding concerned.  "I wish….  But, um, I think
maybe…maybe we should wait till we're not working together."  He looked
regretful about it, as if he didn't think Rex would remember him that long.