Who: Dex Kessinger and Bertram Eden What: A collision, a reconciliation, and a vision (or, The last supper flight of The Winged Sandals… [Part II]) When: 22nd Dec/4th Jan, depending on how you look at it [slightly backdated] Where: A London street, then Dex's home Rating: PG-13, heading enthusiastically toward NC-17 (adult themes), but never quite making it there
The days that followed after his talk with Gabriel, Dex had become extremely busy. There were plans of a new dig site in Egypt that he was considering going on when Spring hit. He thought it would be good for Sam and hopefully become a bonding experience. He would have to see what Katherine thought of going to Egypt for a month or so, but that was a question for later. He had also been busy with the museum as they were gearing up to do a show and were wishing to borrow some of his artifacts from his personal collection. He had also been thinking of New York and taking Sam so the boy could do his own search of his parents. He knew he needed closure and he hoped it would help him. Again, something else to ask Katherine about. She didn’t have to go, and might enjoy a break.
None of that, however, took away his thoughts on Bertie. The man was still very much there in his mind. Oh how Dex wished the man was a woman instead. Someone he could marry and be happy with. Not that he wasn’t happy with Bertie, quite the contrary, it was just a relationship that was extremely difficult to navigate in these days and times.
Something needed to be done about that.
It was Bertie who clouded his mind this day as he walked along the streets. His walking cane swung with each step and lightly clacked against the pavement, absently nodding to passersby who greeted him. It was in this state that he did not see the gentleman in his path, did not sense him or smell the familiar scent that would have had him side-stepping in the crowd of people but instead he ran into the being, the other bouncing lightly against his chest as his arms came up to grab shoulders so that the one he had ran into did not go flailing to the ground.
“Bertie…” he said the moment his eyes registered just who it was he held. “Forgive me..I..was not paying attention to where I was going…” How coincidental that the one man he really needed to speak to, that he had made his mind up to do so but had been so busy was the one he had literally run into. Coincidence or fate?
Bertie had been distracted as well, with investigations for once rather than ghosts or poetry. He still had no information for the terrifying Miss Shiverthorn, and now that they'd moved into the new year, with the holiday rush ended and thoughts of unfinished business on the minds of many, Bertie's apprehension that he would be yanked unceremoniously into another alley and held at knifepoint had increased daily. The weekend in the country had been a pleasant escape, but now that he was back in London, the presence of alleys seemed ever-present and nerve-wracking.
His nerves were not yet such that he registered a sudden collision with a fellow pedestrian as a threat--rather, his first thought was to babble profuse apologies, which caught on his tongue at the moment he recognized the hapless gentleman's face. And the arms holding him, for that matter. It had not been so long that Bertie had forgotten them. He thought, in fact, that it was rather unlikely he ever would.
The sudden buoyant feeling of hope and pleasure was quelled abruptly as Dex revealed that it was an accident on his part as well, and not - as a brief flight of fancy might imagine - that he was clasping Bertie with sudden unquenchable passion in the middle of a public street.
Bertie had, perhaps, been reading too many popular novels of late.
Apologies stifled, Bertie choked on a greeting as well, torn between the more formally polite but undesirably distant 'Mr Kessinger' and the familiar but perhaps unwelcome 'Dex'. Conversation seemed a treacherous landscape populated by pitfalls. Bertie told himself firmly to get hold of himself, and swallowed.
"It was my fault, I beg your pardon, I was distracted." He couldn't stop his eyes from drinking in Dex's face, thirsty for the sight of him even if Bertie had been the one to prematurely take his leave at their last meeting. It had seemed prudent, but he missed Dex's company and conversation--the way he so often made Bertie laugh, or bubble over with enthusiasm for some topic or another, and then seemed wholly surprised that he'd done so.
He tried to imagine where Dex might be going, failed utterly, and invented something instead as an excuse to open conversation. "Are you visiting the museum collection today? Have they acquired any new artifacts on which they wish your opinion?"
It was a poor substitute for 'how are you?' which was Bertie truly wished to ask, but it took less liberties, so he would begin there.
“I, too, was distracted,” Dex remarked, removing his hands from Bertie’s shoulders, though his arms ached to pull him in and hold him. Still, they were on a very public and crowded street, so there would be none of that.
His eyes roamed over the young man’s face, taking in everything, wanting to know how he was doing. “I am,” he said of visiting the museum. “And they have. They’ve asked for a bit of my own artifacts to help with a showcase, I’ve thought of just letting them have what I have,” he smiled and then took a look around them and realized that they could not have a conversation where they were at.
“Would you like…” he paused. “Would you accompany me to the museum?” He said, his eyes back to Bertie. “I would understand if you would wish not to, but I...I was going to invite you over for dinner anyway. I wanted to speak with you,” he said and then waited for an answer.
The way Dex was looking at him gave Bertie the boldness to ask what he otherwise might not have. Nothing he had planned for the moment couldn't wait, when this was the alternative he'd been offered. "Or I could accompany you to the museum now, and we could have dinner later," he suggested, nearly holding his breath for the answer.
Dex let a small smile touch his lips as Bertie seemed to read into the situation what he had wanted. He relaxed slightly and gave a slight nod of his head. “That would be an arrangement that I would delight in,” he stated. “Shall we, then?” He asked and started to walk once more. “I have to admit that running into you is quite the coincidence,” he said. “As I said, I was wanting to ask you to dinner, so we could talk,” he glanced over at Bertie.
Bertie knew that most likely the talk would be of friendship, and a careful groundwork of rules for when they were in one another's company, but he could never seem to stop the hope from kindling every time Dex hinted at enjoying his company. Which Bertie knew he did, in fairness--Dex was honest to a fault, and Bertie knew it wasn't that creating a necessary distance between them.
"That's very generous of you, with your collection, I'm certain the museum would be grateful," Bertie began, trying to choose a safe subject, but he found he couldn't keep to small talk, even if it was of Dex's collection of antiquities, which he did love hearing about. Halting, he began to speak again before realizing he would block the street, and hastened to catch up as Dex looked curiously back.
"I want you to know that I understand," Bertie rushed out, his eyes on the grime-covered street at his feet, words tangling over themselves. "And I'm sorry for running off, the other day. It was the wrong thing to do, and the height of rudeness to you. I do wish to be friends, and while I know I said that, I was the opposite of friendly, and treated you most unkindly. For that I cannot apologize enough."
Bertie bit his lip and risked a glance up at Dex. "I have no excuse for my behaviour, save that I was off-guard, I suppose, and acted without thinking. I can only beg your forgiveness, and ask for a second chance. I hope...I hope dinner might be a step in that direction, in making it up to you and proving myself willing to be a friend. Not willing," he amended quickly. "Most grateful. I've...I've missed your company."
Dex was quiet as they walked, nodded about his generosity about his collection. But then Bertie was stopping and Dex was looking over his shoulder curiously. He slowed his steps, shortened his stride, and wondered briefly if Bertie was having second thoughts. He would not beg him to come, he would not make him. If Bertie decided it was not a good idea, he would let him go and Dex would have to accept it.
Gratefully Bertie decided to catch up to him and he felt a bit of relief loosening up his chest. He listened as Bertie spoke. He gently shook his head and gave a small smile.
“Bertie..please,” he spoke softly. “Don’t apologize. You did what you had to in the moment, everything was...overwhelming,” he said, brushing off the apology. “There is nothing to forgive you for. In fact, it is me that needs to ask for your forgiveness.” He took a breath and continued walking.
“I sometimes worry too much about things that I probably shoulder,” he started. “I worry about status, my name, what my son will think…” he trailed off. “I...we were getting close and I started to worry about things. Things that might not even matter.”
"It does matter," Bertie said quietly. "Your reputation. Your position. Your son. I was selfish, to want you for myself, when so many others have demands on you. I thought only of how you made me feel, and our time together. When we part, you have duties and responsibilities to return to, and I...I'm a distraction, and even a danger to you. I should have considered more than what I wanted."
Bertie took in a breath, exhaling a puff of mist and recalling all the reflection he'd done over the weekend, when he hadn't been diverted by other things. "It's only...when you speak, I hear poetry. When you tell stories, I imagine adventures I'd never dreamed. When I'm with you, I feel safer than anywhere else, and forget to be afraid. I suppose..." He shook his head and sighed again, trying to force his mouth into a rueful smile of good humour, and only failing somewhat in the attempt. "I suppose that's what you mean by getting close. Closer than is perhaps wise, when you..." Bertie swallowed and nodded. "Samuel."
“You can’t help what you wanted, what you feel,” Dex said. “Where you thought you were only thinking of yourself, I was only thinking of myself and what others could say how it would effect me and it was wrong. It’s true that you are a distraction,” he gave a small chuckle. “But you were, are, a good distraction.” He ignored the danger comment. Danger was in all aspects of life and he would just have to handle it when it came.
He felt things in the rest of Bertie’s words, things that in a way he wished he didn’t feel. It would be better if he hadn’t, better if he could just leave Bertie alone, but he did and he couldn’t...didn’t want to. He instantly wished they were somewhere more private, somewhere where he could maybe kiss Bertie and let him know that he felt those things. Instead, he had to focus on using words. “You make me feel things,” he finally said. “Good things.” He took a breath and let it out slowly. “I’ve done nothing but think of you since our last time together,” he sighed. “And I find that I am quite miserable without you..”
Bertie reached to nearly brush Dex's hand, stopping the motion before they touched but not before Dex could see it, and his lips twitched into a small smile. "I'm sure I was terrible company this weekend, moping about and reading poems that made me think of you," he confided. "There's one about a river god you might like. About how nothing is the same after you've touched it, and changed it."
Bertie sighed at that thought, not wanting to get too lost to sentiment before they'd sorted themselves out. "You're good for me, too," he said quietly. "You make me feel too much, almost. Do you think...would you like to speak, over dinner, of making some...arrangement? One we might both abide by, as much as we can? I want you to be happy. If that means some compromises on both our parts, but that I can continue to see you...I can manage that."
Dex smiled at the near touch, his eyes meeting Bertie’s for a moment before moving off. People were always watching and he needed things to be safe for them both. It felt good, however, to see that almost touch and the look in his eyes and it helped to elevate his mood. “Believe me, I was of no good company either,” he sighed. “There was a lot of drinking and grumbling on my part.”
“Meeting and talking over dinner would be nice,” he nodded. “If an arrangement can be made, that would definitely make things better,” he smiled. “And Bertie,” he glanced over at him. “I only want for you to be happy as well, so please do make this and any arrangements about yourself as well.” He wanted to make sure Bertie didn’t only try to please him, whatever arrangements they could make he wanted it to be in Bertie’s favor as well. “My cook had said she would be making a stew and bread to help warm me up from being out in the cold today. Does that sound suitable to you?”
Hope kindled anew, a candle flame in Bertie's chest. "I suppose I must be glad that someone is keeping you warm," he said, unable to help the sparkle of teasing in his eyes. "And doubly glad that it's a cook. That sounds..." He sighed, a weight seeming already to lift from his shoulders. "Like more than I could have hoped for," he finished quietly. "And I look forward to it."
Bertie met Dex's eyes again with another smile, and then cleared his throat and looked away before his eyes could linger too long and he walked into a carriage. "Now, tell me of this showcase? What pieces would they use from your collection? I'm getting to learn some of them, I think, however slowly," he laughed. "And I can't help that I always seem to be distracted when you speak of them. But tell me all, I want to hear everything about it."
* * *
The stew was excellent and hearty, the bread hot from the oven, but the warmth in Bertie's stomach was all for the company he kept, and the intimacy of the private dining room where they'd taken their meal, so as to be able to talk freely and uninterrupted. Each time he caught Dex's eyes he felt that warmth blossom anew, and if he weren't careful there would be some horrible romantic drivel in verse to come out of this night, which the Times would want to publish at once with far more enthusiasm than Bertie's veiled allusions to werewolf packs and water dragons.
Once they'd both eaten and discussed other matters - Samuel, some of the cases Bertie knew of which had been printed in the papers, the holidays and new year events - Bertie cleared his throat and decided he ought to speak of what they'd put off politely until after the first bowl of stew. Dex seemed always to force him--no, that was the wrong word--Dex made it possible for him to be brave, and encouraged him to be so. Bertie ducked his head and looked up at Dex through his lashes, still a little shy in speaking plainly, and wet his lips.
"I suppose the first thing I ought to ask," he began tentatively, "is whether or not you'd wish the...physical aspect...of our relationship to continue, and what limitations you might want to place on it, for the safety of both your reputation and your son. You have a great deal more to lose than I, and...much as I wish your company, it would break my heart for you to pay such a cost."
Dinner was better than what Dex had expected. In fact, the day had turned out rather well and for the first time since his last conversation with Bertie he felt more relaxed and happier. The aggravated dragon had gone back to it’s corner and was sleeping...for now. It wasn’t the dinner itself that had him feeling as he was, but the company. Bertie gave him life in a way that no other had before.
When dinner was over, the two settled to speak of their relationship and what it was they both wanted. He smiled as Bertie took the leap to speak first, liking the confidence he showed in his presence.
“Yes,” he said with a nod, without hesitation. “Until the world opens its eyes to same-sex relationships such as ours, we will have to be...discreet of course. But I think…” he furrowed his brow as he thought of what Gabriel had said. That perhaps his son would take the secret, that he was good with keeping the secrets of what they were, that he might be okay with another. “I need to think on it some, but I think letting my son know might be a good idea,” he said with a small smile. “If you are going to be more in my life, more than just someone I meet for certain pleasures, I think that Samuel should know about you. How do you feel on that?”
Bertie's eyes went wide, but he found his voice relatively quickly. "Terrified," he admitted honestly, with a short laugh. "But flattered. That...it would be an honour, and responsibility, to be so known. As someone...in your life," he phrased carefully, though they did seem to be hinting in that direction, that this would be more than a few stolen nights, if things went well. "It would be your decision, of course, he's your son, but...I would do my best to convince him that I'm worthy of your regard," he said finally, once he'd delved a little deeper into how he felt, past the initial alarm.
If they were moving toward that goal, however, there was something Bertie needed to get out in the open. "There's something else I need to tell you," he began, reaching to fidget briefly with his drinking glass before subsiding to meet Dex's gaze, wanting to be as honest and open as he could.
"I have a friend--an intimate friend--who...feeds," he explained, picking his words with deliberate care, "on me. Through...certain acts. It's not as it is with you," he said more quietly. "We are good friends, but are agreed that neither of us want anything more. But he does find nourishment in me, and I am humbled to be someone safe he may trust, as he faces the same challenges you and I are facing now, in greater number. I wouldn't want to continue on, without you knowing. It seemed less important before, when things were so uncertain, but..." Bertie gestured somewhat helplessly between them, as if to somehow put into gesture the feelings and trust they were revealing to one another. "It's important now."
“I shall think on it some more, test the ground with my son about certain relationships and see how he feels,” Dex stated. He hoped he wasn’t asking for too much from Bertie, but Dex needed a certain set of ground rules if they were to have any resemblance of a relationship.
When the ‘intimate friend’ came into the conversation, he tensed and his jaw clenched. He had not been expecting that at all. He was quiet for a few moments as she searched out his feelings. When he did speak, his voice was more steady than he felt inside.
“I am a dragon,” he started slowly. “In this you know. Have you done any research, if there is any to be had, you would know that all of my kind are very territorial, not over the land that they claim as their own, but over things that we collect and the people we...care about,” he explained. “You want me to share you with another?” He rose an eyebrow. “Will be a very difficult thing for me to do,” he frowned. “Sharing is not exactly in my nature..”
Bertie's instinct was to get closer, to touch and soothe and comfort, but he didn't want Dex to feel as though Bertie were manipulating him, or attempting to do so, so he stayed where he was while he considered his reply.
"That you want to claim me as yours is one of the reasons I feel so strongly about you," Bertie said at last. "I want to be collected...am I allowed to say I'd like to be hoarded?" He offered a small, lopsided smile. "Since we're laying out our boundaries, I wanted you to know, because your opinion on it will matter to me. I suppose I only don't think of it as sharing because it's...poetry and tea, and occasionally newspapers, and...oh, I'm saying this all wrong." Bertie waved his hand in apology, as if to clear his rambling of the moment before. "What I mean is that he has someone, someone else, who holds a piece of his heart, and his esteem, and I...I have someone who holds mine."
Bertie bit his lip, weighing his his options and trying to fairly consider both Gabriel as a close friend and Dex as a partner. "If you'd like some time to think about it, I understand. And if you have rules, or limitations you'd like to put in place...I wouldn't want you to be unhappy. I don't want you to feel as if you have no say. If we are to be something, then your wishes count for a great deal with me. And I want to respect your nature, as both a man and a dragon."
Bertie's heart was beating faster now, though not from fear. "I wouldn't want to share you, either."
Dex wondered who this other ‘friend’ of Bertie’s was. Was it someone he knew? If it were someone that fed from Bertie, and he believed it wasn’t a vampire, than he was almost certain that he knew who it was, or at least knew the species. It irked him if it were to be the man he thought it was, but only if because that man had been in his study and let Dex ramble about his ‘lost love’.
“Bertie, regardless of how you view it, it is sharing,” he said with a shake of his head. “I do want to ‘hoard’ you all to myself, that is how I am. To let you sleep with others, regardless of the nature…” he blinked and then shook his head. “I don’t know what to think on the matter. If this person has others that they are with, then why should you continue? But if this is the way that it is, then it is possible that I may find others as well,” he sighed. It wasn’t an ultimatum at any length, just that if Bertie was to see others, than he might as well. “And if I am being perfectly honest, it might do me well to find a woman to put on my arm for certain things,” he frowned again. “This is all very difficult to navigate…” which is one of the reasons why he had stepped away to begin with. He refused, however, to step away again. He had claimed Bertie, or was trying to. “Who is this other person...if you can tell me.”
"Oh." It was a small, shocked sound, although of course Bertie had thought the same thing, that he ought to offer the same freedom to Dex if he were to continue intimacy with Gabriel, and it was entirely fair. He just hadn't thought that Dex would be so quick to want it. Or to think of women, who would be his public companions as well as private, and in time become much more to him than Bertie ever could be. He tried to keep the dismay and unhappiness from his voice, and thought he managed to sound only a bit dazed, which could perhaps be blamed on wine. "Yes, of course."
Bertie began to offer Gabriel's name, and then realized what a great confidence it was, and that it was not his to speak. He didn't know the nature of Gabriel's relationship with Dex, and when a man could be ruined by a few words, it was not Bertie's place to put him at such risk, even if Bertie believed wholeheartedly that Dex would never be so malicious. "I'll ask him," he said quietly. "He's...guessed, how I feel about you, but I haven't told him. I'd like to extend him the same courtesy."
It really was difficult to navigate, although even as despondent as he felt at the moment, Bertie also refused to give up now that they had granted each other a second chance. "I'll write tomorrow," he offered. "It's only fair that you should know. And until you decide where the boundaries should be, or we agree on some compromise, I'll refrain from meeting with him privately. If it is sharing in your mind, and you do not wish to share, then..." He exhaled in frustration, but it was for the situation, not for Dex. "I'm sorry. I wanted to be honest before anything else, but I feel I've ruined the evening." Bertie gestured woefully at the table. "And it was such lovely stew."
“Bertie, I don’t want to be with anyone else,” Dex said gently. “But if we are to have an ‘open relationship’ as it were, it would only be fair for me to find some form of joy with someone else as well,” he sighed. “If only for me to keep my territorial part of myself subdued.” It wasn’t what he wanted, but if Bertie wished to continue seeing the other man he would have to figure out something.
He gave a nod of his head when Bertie said he must ask before giving the name of his other lover. He could understand that. “How is it that this man was able to guess of us, or rather how you felt for me? He knows of me?” He asked, eyebrows raised. He wasn’t sure he liked that, as he had not given his permission to be outed. But still, he was sure he knew who the man was, if only because of the words Bertie had chosen to use earlier.
“You did not ruin the night,” he shook his head. “This was what it was supposed to be. Us trying to set boundaries and make decisions on what we wanted for the both of us,” he offered a smile. “I would much rather prefer the honesty and openness than to be surprised later if I were to find out,” he said. “This is what people do, is it not?”
Bertie gave a rueful little sigh and a smile that was more optimistic than he felt. "I don't know. Is it? I don't know that we have quite the same difficulties as other people. Certainly my parents would be less than understanding if I tried to tell them the dragon I wanted to be with was considering how he felt about an incubus feeding off me on the odd weekend when he needed a bite at tea time."
He stood, feeling they were close enough to balanced that he could go to Dex as he wanted to, and drape his arms around Dex's shoulders. "And I really don't know how he guessed," Bertie admitted, his mouth quirking up at the memory. "I said something at the ball of seeing your collection of artifacts, in perfect innocence, and, well." He ducked his head, laughing softly. "I'm not terribly hard to read, apparently."
Bertie touched his forehead to Dex's for a moment, closing his eyes, and then nosed in for a light, lingering kiss, sighing softly again when his lips parted after it. He hadn't thought he'd be allowed such a privilege again, and didn't want to take it for granted.
"I don't want the territorial part of you to be subdued," he told Dex with unabashed honesty. "I want that part to be mine. As I want to be yours."
But there was Gabriel, and Black Park, and really, Bertie's life had become more complicated of late than he could ever remember. "I'm sorry," he said, rueful smile returning. "I'm not making it easy for you, am I?"
“You are not,” Dex said and then gave a small chuckle. “But none of this is easy for either of us, I’m afraid.” His arm was wrapped around Bertie’s waist and held him close, not allowing him to move away if he dared to do so. He pulled him into another kiss, this time a little bit longer. He had missed this, the simpleness that it was to be with Bertie in this nature. There was no awkwardness, no ‘what happens next’. He was comfortable with him, and his kisses were like a balm to the irritated dragon.
“I want to make my claim on you, Bertie,” he said after pulling back. “But I won’t. Not until I know what you fully want. Your incubus has others, I’m positive, that letting you go might not be so difficult and of course your friendship with him can remain,” he smiled. “I would never take that from you. And if it comes to having to share you, then I can do my best but I can’t make promises.”
“Tell me,” he then said. “What has happened with Black Park? Are you still looking to join their pack?” Because that was another issue he would have to get over.
"I went to their yule party," Bertie answered, nuzzling Dex and reveling in the familiarity of his scent. "I'd say I helped to build the bonfire, but mostly I was underfoot. I ended up being burned by a branch, so don't be surprised when you see the mark--if you see it, later on," he said, lower, with a little shiver of hope and promise in his voice. "And the cook said she knew my favourite tarts, and I spoke with many of the pack.
"And yes," he admitted quietly. "I do want to join them. Although I still don't know if I'll ever turn. Or if they'll have me."
Bertie smoothed his hands down Dex's chest and kissed the corner of his mouth. "I want to hear more about you claiming me," he said, low-voiced. "And to tell you what I want, without reservation. And if that means making choices, then I shall make them."
“They will be idiotic not to have you,” Dex murmured, his eyes closing at the nuzzling. “When you do make the pack, whether you are turned or not, will you still have time for me?” He asked in a quiet voice.
A small smirk played at the corner of his mouth that Bertie kissed and he sighed lightly at the hands. God he had missed all of this. “It’s not as exciting as you may think it is,” he said. “I would just make you mine in a sense that no one else could touch you. In the past, we would mark those that we claimed, though I have never claimed another being before. But, the most exciting part would be me taking you to bed and making sure you’ll never want another to fill you as I do.”
Bertie made a high, hungry noise in his throat that he might have been embarrassed by, had he been thinking at all beyond how much he wanted everything Dex described. "Take me to bed," he said, voice rough and uneven. "I know no one else will fill me as you do. I knew that already."
He slid into Dex's lap, ignoring the table digging into the small of his back, and claimed his own hungry kiss. "I want you to mark me," he went on, trailing kisses down Dex's jawline that turned careless with teeth and tongue. "I want the pack to know. I want everyone to know. I want to be with you, and I will always have time for you."
He sucked a light flush onto Dex's throat before blindly seeking his mouth again, kissing him with heartfelt fervor. "Take me to bed," he gasped when they broke apart, before laughing, "or on the table, I don't care which. Make me yours again."
The bedroom it would have to be, but only because his son was in the house and though he was suppose to be in bed, it did not mean he would not wander around the house if he woke up. Dex’s bedroom was the only one that that Samuel would not cross into in the middle of the night.
He let out a low growl as they kissed and he instantly thought that he wouldn’t make it to the bedroom. With a swoop of his arm, he was pushing dishes out of the way and then lifting Bertie on to the table while he stood and pushed his chair back, it falling over with a small thud. He stilled for a few seconds, listening to see if anyone came running and when no one didn’t, his mouth seeked Bertie’s in a feverish kiss.
Bertie moaned and pulled Dex down on top of him, hoping desperately and distantly that the table was strong enough to hold them, or they would have a great deal of uncomfortable explaining to do if it should fall. He had no intention of stopping, however, nor even slowing, his hands finding their way under Dex's dinner jacket as their tongues tangled.
Something...
Something was...
A feeling like a draught from another room, a cool breath of air, a chill on his skin. Bertie shivered, pulled Dex closer, putting it out of his mind, until...
A needle in his chest--a seamstress' needle at first, sharp and piercing, until it became one for knitting, with a hook. It pulled, and he arched with it on the table, into Dex's arms, gasping into Dex's mouth. Disorientation hit him in a wave, and he tried to pant for air, but the chill had gotten into his lungs.
His wrist hurt. Not a phantom ache, this one...this was heat and sharp-flaring pain and the feeling of something being very wrong as the light in the room began to fade. He could smell fire and smoke.
No, Bertie thought, and wait, and then he was lost to the cold darkness.
Dex groaned, his hands pulling at clothings, the untucking of shirt and then hands trying to find a way beneath it. He didn’t care about the table or the dishes, and if the table buckled his staff would say nothing at all, because his staff knew to stay hushed, he paid them well for that.
When Bertie arched, he thought it was for him, the gasp to go along with it, but soon he knew that something was wrong. He knew because he could smell it. Fire, smoke, it had him pulling his head up quickly and sniffing the air before he realized that what he smelt was the bracelet on Bertie’s wrist was aflame.
“Bertie!” He said and quickly reached for the wrist and put the fire out, only to find it turn to ash and leaving a nasty little mark on his lovers wrist. A wrist that was attached to a limp hand.
“Bertie…” he felt for a pulse, thankful to feel one. He pressed a hand to Bertie’s cheek and tried to raise him with no luck. “Bertie…?” His tone worried, full of concern...he wasn’t understanding what was happening.
Consciousness came violently, as if Bertie had been backhanded across the face, and he tried to catch himself only to find he was already on his back. For a moment Bertie could still see the death's-head in his mind's eye, and Kathleen O'Wells staring out of a stranger's face, and he tried to scramble up, back, onto his feet, but only succeeded in falling off the table. Or he would have, had strong hands not been there to catch him, and Bertie nearly panicked before recognizing the feel-scent-face of the person with him, a worried crease in his brow and very much alive.
The pain in his wrist, like the pain in his chest, hadn't subsided. Bertie looked down and saw an angry line on his skin, and Zipporah's warding string gone.
"Miss Bakst," Bertie gasped, shuddering and clinging to Dex as a sailor would a line thrown into the sea.
Adrift. Unmoored.
He let himself go limp against Dex, needing more than anything to hear his heartbeat. Closing his eyes and hoping Dex would have patience for long enough that Bertie could gather his wits to explain - so much as he could - Bertie repeated, "I need to see Miss Bakst."