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[Canaan]

Though we’re tethered to the story we must tell
When I saw you, well, I knew we’d tell it well

--------------
June 2022




“If I’d never heard your voice
Never known its pleasant sound
My time on earth would be
Dissonant discord
If I’d never heard your voice…”

The soft sounds of Isaac’s dogwood drawl drifted as slowly as the early morning mists rolling over the smooth, mirrored surface of the distant lake. The color of that brightening brume was matched by the smoky tendrils of the small fire he’d let burn low within the brick ringed confines of the pit.

He’d beaten both the sun and Kyle up by over an hour to properly stoke for the flames and set out the cast iron in order to cook a lumberjack’s breakfast of Canaan’s favorite fixings. The sizzle and pop of bacon provided an acoustic background as he reset his fingers on the beat-up old pawnshop guitar with intent to practice that first verse one more time.

He’d been introduced to the guitar during the carnival days. An old timer who went by the moniker of Half-Time had taught him the rudimentary skills along with the simple, beginning chords all novices cut their teeth on.

Calloused hands roamed over the simple two-tone color of the guitar’s neck and body while sensitive fingers traced over various nicks and cuts, scratches, and defects. The guitar was by no means perfect, but neither was Isaac and, like the knife thrower, each nick and cut, each bruise and blemish told their own story. He wondered what stories this guitar had seen along its path to arriving in his hands. Had hearts been won beneath its strings? Had they bled the agony of love lost? Good times with good friends or solitary travels where notes and lyrics spoke with a louder voice than the lost owner ever could? Or an eclectic combination of triumph and tragedy, of love won and hearts broken…of life itself?

Isaac paused his ruminations to give a small adjustment to one of the strings and spared a glance down to Boomer who was Isaac’s only audience at the moment.

“I know…” The drawled words a confession that his skill was no where near the equal of his Lover’s. “But we’re gettin there…” He added as Boomer placed a beseeching paw upon Isaac’s knee. “You askin me to stop or you askin for a snack?” He playfully asked and gave a scratch behind the mutt’s ear. “Soon.” The simple answer to both requests came after a moment spent soothing the pup.

Behind him loomed an incomplete construction, the beginnings of a barn and the genesis of something Isaac didn’t quite yet know how to name. He only knew he felt the creative vibrations in his sinews and veins, felt the need flow with every beat of his heart. It stood unfinished, but already a monument to his absence of late. Running down the wood for such a process had been tiresome. He’d promised his sister no living tree would be felled for such a construction and so they’d toiled hauling logs from the lake bottom, making deals with other locals to trade labor for logs so he could make good on that promise and build the whole thing out of reclaimed timber.

‘Course, this meant a slow, patchwork style of construction too.

The style and slowness mirrored Isaac’s own life. A piece cut and fitted here, another hoisted and hammered into place there. But, like the barn itself, it had only been recently, only in the past couple of years, that Isaac had begun to feel complete, begun to feel a part of something…begun to feel like he belonged. The reason for those feelings was the same reason for the song and the breakfast, the same reason he smiled more these days and the same reason those streaks of blue seemed a more permanent fixture within the thunderstorm gray of his eyes.

Canaan Devillier. And the night a dare became an anniversary.

Isaac continued and pushed the first verse into the second, making sure to keep his eyes on his fingers as they traveled along the strings to ensure they were in the proper position. Playing piano and throwing knives allowed him a certain dexterity that naturally lent itself to the guitar when it came to ambidexterity and coordination. But this song was for the man he loved and so he wanted it to be perfect.

Just as he did the campfire breakfast he was making. He leaned forward, setting the guitar and that third verse aside for the actual performance which would come soon enough. Biscuits with a heaping amount of gravy, bacon, eggs, all the staples of the Deep South, were present and piled high on the platter after being transferred from the cast iron griddle. Boomer got a treat for his patience with a toss of bacon the mutt’s way and Isaac smiled as the strip was gobbled down in the blink of an eye.

His gaze lifted from the dog to watch the mists continue to roll and swirl across the lake’s surface as he produced a blade and scored the skin of an orange, not unlike the ones he and Canaan had shared in Greece and in the comfort of their own kitchen. Fingers tore into the skin and began to peel as he took in the serene picture before him and noted that nature herself mirrored a similar sense of serenity within himself.

He lost himself in the reverie of several intimate memories and it was only once the blade had bit into the flesh of the orange and bled its juice onto its edge that he shook his head and surfaced from them with an accompanying bite of orange.

The tray of food was left by the fire along with a stern look Boomer’s way to ensure it stayed on the plate as Isaac turned to fetch Cane.

Inside, he moved through their shared home and into their bedroom where the man yet slumbered and took a moment to simple watch him where he slept, to appreciate his presence and silently acknowledge what Cane meant to him in a private moment meant only for his oft protected heart.

[Canaan]

Canaan Devillier had something of a love/hate relationship with mornings, early mornings especially.

See, the man loved his sleep. He loved his bed and his pillow. He loved the way the sheets got tangled around him like they meant to hold him hostage, keep him trapped there just a little longer. Always a little longer. And who didn’t love collapsing at the end of a long day into the blessed arms of sweet slumber in absolute comfort? Because that’s what this place was for him. Always had been. Sleep was solace. It was sanctuary. It had been a safe place to go to when his waking moments were so bogged down with grief the only thing for it was to escape into the deep dark of Dream.

But at some point…that had begun to change, and if you’d asked him to point a finger at a specific moment in time, he couldn’t have told you when, exactly, it had happened. Sometime between an exhilarating job interview and the heady, humid night in June he’d worn his heart on his sleeve and thrown all caution to the wind. No longer did Cane yearn for the chimera of the dream-spun, not when his reality was so much more than he could have ever imagined.

These days, when he opened his eyes in the morning he was greeted by Isaac’s familiar form sprawled out beside him or looming above him like he was now, and it was a sight so welcome he knew he could never grow tired of seeing it; in fact, it continued to stun him time and again. This was real. And it belonged to him.

Isaac enjoyed these kinds of moments the most. The kind of moments where he could sit and watch, where he could simply admire the man he loved just being. It was almost a crime to wake the Cajun up, what with that serene look upon his face and that divine tangle of sheets wrapped round his hips. He loved seeing people do what they loved, and he knew how much Canaan enjoyed falling and staying asleep. Despite his own penchant for rising early to not waste a moment in the day (there were always tasks and chores to be done, animals that needed tending and so on) he understood sleep’s soporific seduction as that siren’s call beckoned one to escape the current moment.

Eventually, though, he leaned down to claim the man’s mouth with a kiss so he could partake in the citrus notes of the succulent fruit he’d been eating. Shared. Always shared.

A sleepy noise crawled up Cane’s throat, half protest, half pleasure as the bright spark of citrus stirred the ever-present bed of coals that burned for Isaac inside him. The knife thrower knew damn well how easy it was to stoke that particular fire. The space between his brows came together in a display of surprise but smoothed just as quickly as delight took root, his mind’s eye playing for him snatches of various memories in which oranges features significantly. They had a tree of their own now. He’d planted one after the encounter by the stove. Hell, he could still feel the ghost of Isaac’s hands…

Waking up to you feels like a pinch-myself moment

His eyes opened, barely, and he smiled against the other man’s mouth. Cane loved sleep, yes. But there was nothing he loved more than waking up to Isaac. Stirring gently, he rearranged himself into an even more indolently comfortable position than before and reached up to catch Isaac by the back of the neck, prolonging the kiss.

“Don’t go getting any ideas.” Isaac’s drawl rumbled in the quiet space between them.

Naturally, Cane had every intention of disregarding the warning. He lifted his other hand to skim up the man’s muscled shoulder and let himself get caught up in all the other intoxicating scented that clung to his skin. Behind the orange there was a hearty Southern course that made his mouth water with anticipation, but even stronger than everything else was the crisp, clean scent of wood smoke.

“But you taste good enough to eat,” he protested. His fingers inched higher still, delving into the wheat-blond hairs at the back of Isaac’s head, twining tighter with intent. But that was when he felt the keen edge of a blade rasp through the scruff blanketing his jaw. His breath caught in his throat. He didn’t let go, but neither did he continue.

“We’ll see if you’re singin that same tune once you’ve tasted what’s waitin’ for you. This is just breakfast …for now,” Isaac both promised and teased, but didn't pull away. Not yet. He basked in the warm touch of his lover’s rugged hands like a lion stretched out beneath the warming glow of a Serengeti sunrise. It anchored him, ground him in the here and now as much as it stoked certain coals and threatened to ignite an equally hot inferno within himself.

That honeyed drawl was thick enough to drown in; Cane wanted to lick it off his lips, and he did, leaning up to catch the man’s mouth for another indulgent kiss. For a split second he felt Isaac yield, sag into the kiss and the desire backing it, but then he drew away, and this time Cane let him go, albeit reluctantly.

Isaac tapped the blade twice against Cane’s chin as he straightened. “I got some chords that I gotta get out before you scramble them all to hell in my head.”

Cane propped himself up on an elbow and smirked, smug as anything, and watched the man back away from his magnetic pull. A flood of emotion rushed to fill the newly vacated space, crashing hard against the shores of his heart. The riotous waves carried with them the unbridled strands of a song that filled his chest with a happiness so full it ached.

But you, ooh
Take me higher than I’ve been, laying hands on my skin
It’s true, ooh
Nothing compares to you

“Certainly know how to rouse a man.”

“I know how to put em down, too,” Isaac said in response to the double entendre, his own a concoction of deadly carnality and lethal pleasure. A slow southern smile surfaced.

"Yeah you do."

Cane’s mind was as dirty as they came, but for as much as he enjoyed a good tumble with this man, right now he found himself hungry for Isaac’s music more. More even than the food he knew was waiting for him downstairs. But…that didn’t mean he had to completely give up the chase. Hazel eyes narrowed playfully at Isaac’s calculated retreat, meant to entice him, he thought, more than anything else, and Cane was hardly one to deny his lover the things he wanted.

Isaac led him on a merry hunt through the house, bleeding into shadow when the Cajun drew too close, only to step back into the light just out of reach again. By the time they reached the back door, they were running and the sound of their laughter spilled into the yard the same way they did, tripping and falling over one another as the Showman finally let himself be captured.

He wrapped the man in a tight bear hug from behind and buried his face against his neck to hide the blisteringly bright smile he wore. For a long time, Cane just held him, breathing in his scent, pulling it deep and letting it settle the nervous tension coiling in his belly for what was to come. Today was a most special of days.

Isaac’s hands squeezed Cane’s forearms first, low at the wrists as he pantomimed a struggle against the constriction of his lover’s arms and then urging as his fingers pushed upwards to the bulge of muscle near the elbows as he allowed himself to settle back against his captor’s chest and enjoy the feel of his arms around him.

As it happened, Cane had had no luck smothering the smile; it was still there in all its resplendent glory when he raised his head to survey the appetizing scene before him. It was early yet, but the promise of the day’s heat lingered in the air. The yard was beautiful and serene, the chickens quiet. The trees were still. It was as if nature itself was holding its breath for them.

“Long time ago you promised you’d spoil me. I remember. Gotta say, Love, you’ve yet to disappoint.”

“Not about to become a liar, neither.” Isaac’s voice was soft as he twisted to press a kiss to Cane’s jaw. The Cajun gave him another squeeze before turning him loose so Isaac could funnel the already piled high plate into his rugged hands. “Anymore’n I’ll ever tolerate bein a disappointment.”

Cane scoffed. “Quite literally impossible, mamour.”

Isaac settled in to watch as Cane threw himself into one of the camp chairs with his plate. He enjoyed watching people and things eat, too. A man could learn a lot by watching how a man or animal or monster went about consuming its food. What it liked and what it didn’t, how it hunted, how it scavenged. Like sleep, it was a primal thing and the knife thrower watched on as his lover finished off the first plate and went back for seconds.

For himself, Isaac kept the fair light and chose to take small bites from a biscuit. He ate enough to keep his physical body raw-boned and whip thin. It was the Primordial, that darkness within, that consumed and consumed and consumed.

He gave a light laugh as Boomer’s patience paid off two-fold when Cane tossed another bit of bacon at the dog. “See? I told you good things happen if you wait.” Though his words were for Boomer, he could just have easily applied the sentiment to himself in that moment.

Breakfast as a whole was divine, the conversation easy, light. Cane went back for even more bacon after his second plate, and with the dog’s help they finished off the gravy in its entirety. As the meal came to its inevitable end, Isaac brushed his hands clean and cleared his throat.

[Canaan]

“Been workin on something for you.” He reached for the bruised and worn neck of the old hand-me-down guitar propped against his chair. “Don’t go kickin me off the stage right away, neither,” Isaac added with a bit of a laugh and a smile that helped push away the nerves that always fluttered within him whenever he performed for his lover. Cane laughed, too, but only because the notion was absurd. He couldn’t get enough of his man’s music, and Isaac knew it.

Nicked and scarred fingers gave a slow strum of strings, and he took a brief moment to make sure everything was in tune. “I know we ain’t big on anniversaries, but I couldn’t let the day you changed my life for the better go by without tryin to show you how much I appreciate and love that you did.”

Canaan sat back in his seat, gaze hot and expectant on Isaac looking like a fucking dream with that guitar cradled in his lap. He reached aside, a clumsy calloused hand drawn over their dog’s head as Isaac met his gaze. So much sky-streaked blue in those storms. His heart beat hard in his chest as Isaac teased the proper chords into being. He didn’t need a pick, didn’t need anything but his hands and his heart to play the instrument; he knew it would be more than enough to guide his voice as well.

“If I’d never heard your voice
Never known its pleasant sound
My time on earth would be
Dissonant discord
If I’d never heard your voice…”

Each of the lyrical lines were delivered with a quiet, somber gravity and vulnerable tenderness that Isaac allowed almost no others to ever truly glimpse, let alone sit in audience and witness uninterrupted. Cane soaked it all in in satiated quietude, rapt with attention.

“If I’d never touched your hand
I’d mistake love for a blade
Didn’t know what to expect that night
But it was someone I could
Hold through my whole life…”

Isaac produced a shy smile and finally looked back up at Cane now that he was comfortable enough with the song and sure the sight of him wouldn’t send his fingers sliding slipshod across the strings. Cane’s heart throbbed. He lived for those smiles. The knife thrower continued to smile at him while he plucked and pulled the heartfelt notes from the instrument, much the same way he plucked at Cane’s heartstrings.

“If I’d never seen your face
Never known my other half
I’d be half the man I have come to be
You’re the reason why
Love makes people sing
Today is our anniversary…”

Professing his love for another had never come easier for Isaac than it did in that moment as he brought the short little song to its natural conclusion. The words left his lungs with gratitude and acceptance, with tenderness and appreciation, with partnership and devotion.

“Love you…love you…love you…” The notes lingered alongside his profession in the small space between them, in the still air with only the crackle of the low burning fire for company.

The song was beautiful. Its sweet and simple perfection resonated deep within the Cajun’s soul. The last verse in particular struck a notable chord and threw into wild relief the jarring shift in his worldview.

Two years earlier he’d have scoffed at the notion of an ‘other half’. He would have loudly, brashly proclaimed himself whole, that he didn’t need anyone. But it was only after meeting this man that he realized something had indeed been missing. Not only did he feel more complete with Isaac in his life, but he also recognized that he would suffer his loss in the most profound of ways should it ever come to pass. Isaac added a rich depth and fullness to Cane’s existence that no one else had ever achieved and that he could never quantify. It didn’t make any sense, but then… he’d stopped trying to understand the inexplicable. Their love was unfathomable, their connection an enigma.

Got me questioning everything I knew, ooh
‘Cause nothing compares to you

Which was part of the reason he’d come to the decision to write a very particular song for Isaac himself. But that would come later.

“I love you.” Isaac spoke the words this time rather than sang them.

“Play it again,” he begged, just as he’d done the year before. The demand produced a switchblade smirk on his lover’s face. It didn’t matter that Isaac’s skill with the guitar wasn’t perfect. In Cane’s eyes he was a maestro. Every pluck of the string, every chord and conversion, every sweetly deep note he sang was perfection; he could listen to the man play for hours, especially this song.

“First one’s free…second one’s gonna cost you.” Isaac winked at him and reset his hands about the guitar.

“You know I'm good for it.”

He and Isaac weren’t big on overt celebration, they had no plans to get dressed up for a night on the town. But they still found little ways to show their love for one another, to mark the day as special amidst the sea of equally delicious and enjoyable days they’d experienced together since. It was this one in particular that had truly set fire to the tinderbox of their lives, a dare turned declaration, and there was no turning back once they’d experience the heat of its flames.

Cane recalled Mac’s voice from a few nights earlier, their words rattling around inside his head. “Y’ain’t got no prayers of outrunnin’ a devil from Georgia.” He pictured their slow smile, all molasses. It was a knowing sort of thing that had reaffirmed in Cane’s mind that there was nowhere else he’d rather be. Because Mac was right, of course, not that he’d ever dream of trying.

This moment was everything.

The fresh air, the stillness of the surrounding forest, Isaac’s studious expression, the way his slender pianists fingers stirred the strings to life, Boomer’s contented sigh, the way the early morning sun filtered through the canopy overhead leaving dappled light scattered across the lawn like gold, and Cane just watching him. Just loving him and feeling that love returned. He wished—yes, wished—that he could freeze this moment and live in it forever. This was his paradise. A dream made real.

Nothing comes, nothing comes close to this
Looking up, looking up even if it exists
My heaven is on your lips

The song in Cane’s heart mingled with the one Isaac was finishing for the second time, and when the last notes dissipated, he couldn’t stop himself from lurching out of his chair to invade the showman’s space. Kneeling, he slotted himself between the man’s knees and gripped the arms of his chair, leaning in to steal a kiss from right off his mouth. Isaac laughed.

“I fuckin love you, you know that?”

“Mmm,” Isaac hummed as if Cane had said the most delicious sounding thing in the world. “I like the sound of that. Say it again.”

“I. Love. You.” Each word whispered against Isaac’s lips a prayer. After another kiss, Cane continued. “Y’got half a dozen songs clamoring around inside my brain after that. All of ‘em for you. Yours was perfect, mamour.” He touched his forehead to Isaac’s, who shifted to set the guitar aside so he could run his hands through Cane’s hair and let his fingers find his favorite scales on the back of his neck.

“Jesus, I hadn’t planned on singin for you til later tonight, but damn if I don’t have the urge to lay it on you now.” The want of it was so big and bright inside him Cane thought he might burst. Now, now, do it now.

“That the truth, eh?”

Cane drew back to peer into the blue-streaked summer storm of his lover’s gaze. “Mm. But if I do that, I guarantee we ain’t never makin it to work today.”

“I can’t wait to have my own private concert and backstage party, then.” Isaac’s drawl was thickened honey. He stabbed a finger beneath the Cajun’s chin to prop him up so he couldn’t forward to claim another kiss. He was curious about the song, but Cane seemed bent on not playing hooky today. “You are the boss,” he added with another kiss.

“C’mon,” Cane enticed as he got to his feet. “The dog did a fantastic job lickin the plates clean, but I know you’re dyin to get em in the sink.”

Isaac followed suit, rising and taking the plate of leftovers with him. Cane got the rest, but left the pan and griddle. “You know me too well, Lover…” He chuckled and eyed what was being left behind, trying not to twitch as Cane herded him back into the house.

“I can think of a thing or two we can do to distract you before we gotta get ready for work…”

“You know me too well,” Isaac repeated, but with a dangerous serration edging his words this time. “Too well indeed.”

[Canaan]

--

He’d been here before. Not quite this exact spot, but in this building, watching the clock, willing time to move faster. It’d been under similar circumstances, too.

Back then it was all so very new, the effervescent rush of new relationship energy and its inexorable ability to consume the mind, but now it was something more--something that went deeper than the heady pull of carnal lust. The swiftly moving currents of desire had carried them far out to sea where they’d gone on to explore its vast reaches, and a love like this, he’d learned, would take a lifetime to map. Its endless shining waters stretched from horizon to horizon and reached fathomless, crushing depths. It was fitting they played at being sailors in their free time; destiny dictates all Captains go down with their ships. What a privilege it would be to drown in these waters.

Cane stroked the cool metal of his fountain pen over the (relatively) new ink decorating the inside of his forearm. The tattoo was comprised of nine crossed staves, the matrix of Fate containing within its woven fibers every rune, every letter, an entire language of power to which he’d been inexplicably drawn. It was etched beneath the circular scar tissue encompassing his left wrist where his hand had been reattached following an adventure with Skid. Both marks were reminders. One encouraged him to enjoy the moment, that everything he knew and loved could be gone in the next. The other symbolized possibility, that what was done in the past affects the present, and the things that are done in the present will affect the future. Caution and hope in perfect balance, an equilibrium he’d only secured after surrendering himself to a love like none other.

A love that had changed everything.

“Your handwriting is still terrible.”

“Hm?” He glanced down at the clipboard in his lap. The sheet music he’d been filling out was flawless, every note, every symbol drawn with perfect strokes. So sure in his ability to transcribe the song in his head he’d not bothered with a pencil, skipping straight to the immutability of ink. The same could not be said, however, of the lyrics scrawled between the margins of the bars. Cane sighed. “Who asked you, anyway?”

Lirssa’s laugh seemed to echo through the cavernous room, currently empty, as its usual occupants were all between classes. Oh, how he missed that sound.

Her ashes were located on a shelf in a small, burnished bronze box back home, but it was here that he felt closest to her. Cane could feel her shift beside him on the couch where he was seated on the mezzanine, looking out at the main room of the Children’s studio.

She pretzeled long legs beneath her, as was her way, and let herself tip sideways into a comfortable lean against his frame. “You did, Boss.”

That word jogged a memory from earlier that morning. The slow heat of Isaac’s southern summer drawl crawled to the forefront of his mind. You are the boss.

“He calls me that.”

“I know.”

And what did that say about him? That he was giving the ghost of her memory pieces of his lover to parrot.

“It’s what people do, Obi-Wan. We mimic the ones we love in small ways, assimilate unconscious patterns, learn to enjoy some of the same things they do. Like poetry.”

Cane snorted and resumed scrawling lyrics onto the sheet music. “I read poetry before him.”

“You didn’t write it,” Lirssa teased.

“This is a song!” he insisted. But the girl practically vibrated with amusement beside him because the truth was that this song had, in fact, started out as poetry. An attempt at it, anyway. He’d made a valiant effort, but music had infected the lyrics before long as it was wont to do when the Cajun’s mind was trained on Isaac. The man filled him with so much joy and affection he couldn’t help but manifest song. Eventually he’d abandoned his plans for the most epic of love letters for a beautifully written song instead. The lyrics were no less meaningful and the gesture no less romantic, but someday—someday—he’d get around to writing the man a poem. Something hot and sultry. Something to blow Pablo Neruda out of the water. For now he’d seduce romance Isaac through song.

“Last Christmas I gave him a book filled with all the songs we’ve ever sang for one another. Original, borrowed, didn’t matter none. They’re ours. I transcribed ‘em by hand and put ‘em all together, just like this.” He tipped the pages toward her, then laid the clipboard back in his lap. “With room to add more ‘cause God knows I can’t never shut the hell up about him. I have my way, we’ll have a whole bookcase of ‘em before we’re finished.”

Of course, the niggling fear that something would come along and cut their time short cropped up as it always did in moments like this one. You couldn’t dance as close to the flames as he did without learning to expect the burn. But instead of lingering on whatever might break, what might go missing, the inevitability of pain, his thoughts turned to another set of lyrics…and he smiled.

Lirssa nudged him. He could feel her eyes on him, alight with mirth and curiosity but Cane didn’t turn to look at her. It would ruin the illusion. Right now her presence was so tangible he could reach out and touch it; she was touching him and he could feel the warmth of her skin bleeding through his shirt, but if he looked at her now she’d disappear and he’d be left with even less than a memory. Maybe he was crazy for indulging this bruised and damaged part of his mind, but didn’t everyone have some kind of unhealthy coping mechanism? It could be worse. He could be an addict. Was it really all that terrible he had conversations with someone who wasn’t there?

He fingered the corner of one of the sheets. “I was gonna save it for another time, a random Tuesday.” As opposed to a day like today. That their anniversary happened to fall on a Tuesday this year was entirely coincidence. They were neither of them terribly concerned with ceremony. Love notes found their way tucked into pockets and under toolboxes. Others only appeared after the bathroom mirror had fogged up enough to reveal a hidden message. Some were verbose, and some had no words at all: a fresh boule of bread on the counter, sun-steeped sweet tea in the fridge, a new box of paints set beside an easel, a hot Southern breakfast cooked over a campfire.

He dragged the pen’s tip across the toothy paper, scrawling a few more words onto the page. This wasn’t the first time either of them had said I Love You with a song. Back then it was all pounding hearts and shaking hands. That night on the porch of the Red Dragon Inn would be forever etched into his heart and mind. They were both of them terrified, afraid to let go of what little control they had over their lives in a world which had, until then, all but brutalized them. But it was through that surrender, through a love so strong they’d created a new world that was all their own. Isaac’s devotion had shown Cane there were not versions of love, there was only love. That it had no equal and that it had been worth searching for, even if that search had taken him a lifetime.

God damnit, he couldn’t wait another second.

He glanced up at the clock and swore.

“Still impatient, too.”

Cane grumbled. Lirssa patted his arm with another laugh. When she raised his head from his shoulder, the air stirred with the scent of her hair. It was something… floral and understated, so uniquely her that he’d never smelled it anywhere else since she’d—

No. No, he wanted to hold on to this for a little while longer.

“You’ll let me go someday, Obi-Wan.” Though he couldn’t see it, he could hear the girl’s starshine smile in her voice. “I’m not missing anything, you know. Light is not held in one star,” she reminded him.

“Or in one place,” he finished.

Lirssa lifted a hand from his arm to touch his chest. “The light is there.”

For a moment, the hollow emptiness of the warehouse seemed to melt away, only to be replaced with the expansive barrenness of the open prairie. The memory stirred by her touch was so vivid he could all but feel the heat of the relentless noonday sun beating down on him.

When you love somebody you trade souls with them. They get a piece of yours and you get a piece of theirs. That’s why it hurts so bad when they die, ‘cause a little piece of you dies with ‘em. But that little piece of them is still inside you and they can use your eyes to see the world.

When Cane opened his eyes again he was back in the gym. Alone. For a moment he was still, waiting for the tide of time to recede. Then he blew out a breath. He wasn't sure where (or when) the flicker of memory had come from, or even who it belonged to, but it buoyed him all the same. Whatever it was, he'd needed it. Though his memories of Lirssa were still painted in the sepia of loss, he came away from this particular encounter heartened by the notion that she wasn't completely gone. That part of her was still with him.

He quickly jotted down the last few lines of the song above their respective bars and, when he was finished, surveyed his work with a proud (if not terribly giddy) smile. So what if he had plans to play Isaac a very special song later that night? There was nothing in the rules that stated he couldn’t give him two in one day. Besides, this was more a love note than anything else. A love note that would ensure Isaac’s attendance at tonight’s private concert.

Another glance at the clock told him Isaac still had a classroom full of students, but much like the first time this had happened, he couldn’t wait another second.

“So won’t you give me tonight and the rest of your life…” Cane sang the chorus quietly, out loud but to himself as he made his way through the halls of the gym until he reached Isaac’s classroom. The Showman’s steady antebellum drawl filtered through the crack in the door, punctuated by the staccato thunk of sharp blades finding and sticking their targets.

[Canaan]

“…class is almost finished with just a few more sessions to hone your skills fore it’s time to perform.” Isaac explained what passed for a graduation ceremony to the small group of senior students assembled in a school yard huddle around him. Wheeler wasn’t big on pomp and circumstance but knew well enough to know that those who had stayed…those that hadn’t been scared off or run off…deserved a taste of thrill that came with a performance.

“We’ve gone from coddled baby birds…” Isaac paced as he spoke, the throwing knife held in an offhand moved as he gestured, the steel an extension of himself as both lethal instrument and teaching aid. “Desperate to have everything put in your beaks…” The dogwood drawl was slow and easy, the stretched syllables measured and purposeful as he brought each student under the weight of that gray gaze. They didn’t squirm anymore. They didn’t nervously look away. “To something approximating a performer.”

“So, you’d take us on tour, eh? Fellow carnies on the road?” Bryce grinned with his hand sticking up in the air like a gangly weed just begging to be cut down.

“Showman, Bryce.” Isaac answered with a hint of menace flashing like thunderbolts within the storms of his eyes. “Showman. Not carny. As ole Chris Christ once said, Carnies are ride jocks and crooked agents that are here today and gone tomorrow. Difference between a carny and a Showman is the difference between chicken shit and chicken salad.” Isaac paused for a moment as the other students chuckled and Bryce glared about at his classmates. The knife thrower had stepped off the Midway but nothing and no amount of time would change the fact that having been with it and for it once meant he was forever a part of that particular pageant. The Midway had its own Mystique. Had its own way of doing things, its own language within a language and it was a holdover from a time slipping further and further away. He’d carried certain traditions into his teachings and kept the old ways alive a bit longer and it was a role he took quite seriously.

“Showman.” He repeated with a nod towards Bryce. “An since you ain’t lookin for permission to ask your questions I’ll go ahead and take that hand as a sign of volunteerin.”

“Wait…what? I didn’t…” Bryce jerked his hand down in a hurry and looked around again as the group of students collectively took a step away from him in all directions to further single him out. They’d all learned along the way with Isaac that volunteering usually put you in the way of deadly objects. Bryce let out a long, petulant sigh that revealed he was no stranger to being voluntold. “Where this time? The board? The wheel?”

“Here.” Isaac answered with a stab of his blade into the wooden table where the remainder of the throwing knives gleamed. “You’re throwing today. First outta the chute.” Isaac left the blade to wobble to and fro stabbed into the block as it was with latent energy.

“Uh…okay…” Bryce stuttered. It didn’t seem like punishment, but it was clear he was wary. “What’s the target?”

“Me.” Isaac threw the first blade with that single word flung over his shoulder as he stalked towards the simple target board. “Blindfolded.” He added as he turned around and tugged at his sleeves to expose the bare skin of both forearms. A sizzle of energy surged through the other students as they whispered and talked and all shuffled and moved to get the best view. None had ever had the opportunity to throw at Isaac despite having served as his targets numerous times. “Hope you don’t miss.” Isaac added with a challenging smirk before standing ready.

“Yeah. But what if I do and stab you?” Bryce muttered to himself as he picked up the blindfold first and tied the black cloth over his eyes and then reached for the knives.

“I’ve had worse.” Isaac’s drawl was laced with wry amusement as a few memories surfaced before he rolled a shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Guess we’ll find out. Nervous?”

Isaac knew he was putting Bryce on the spot, but he also knew that though the class had been challenging, they had met those challenges. He knew they all possessed the skill now to throw in the dark if they had to and hit their target. Hell, they might need it one day. Now it just remained to be seen if they believed it themselves.

Isaac taunted the young man, though in doing so he let Bryce locate on the sound of his voice and measure the direction and distance, comparing it to what he’d stored in his memory a moment before donning the blindfold. “You all hold your phones…have those things memorized no matter the environment. In here you’ve learned to do the same without all the distraction. Time you mastered your own intuition and skill without staring at a screen to tell you what to do. Gotta be a balance.”

Another student leaned into whisper to another. “Do you think he’s one of those weird off the grid survivalist guys?”

“I mean—I heard he does live in the woods…”

“No talking.” The words thrown like his blades.

Isaac fell quiet as he watched Bryce take a steadying breath and turn to face him. It was time Isaac placed the same amount of trust in Bryce as the Showman was demanding the student have in himself.

No more words. No more training wheels.

Bryce cocked his arm back and centered himself, angled just a bit more to the left as he felt his center of balance shift. He could hear so much more too, he realized, when he concentrated and focused. He could hear his friends whispering, the creak of the floorboards and everything in between. He took a moment’s more thought and then, right when he felt as if he was taking too long, he let the blade loose in an end over end throw that ended with a resounding thud and then…silence.

Nothing.

Not one word from Isaac.

Nothing but an audible and collective gasp from the class.

“What? Somebody say something. Oh shit…Did I kill him? Is he dead? He’s fuckin dead, isn’t he? Is he coming to kill me?” Bryce asked and reached for another knife even as he turned to take a step back to tug the blindfold down off his face and see the class with wide grins, see Isaac still very much alive and standing at the board staring at a knife…Bryce’s knife…still humming just beneath his arm and just outside his ribs.

“Nah.” Isaac answered with a wide grin of his own. “I’m still breathin.” Another glance to the knife as he came forward with a bit of a chuckle. “Couple inches the other way an…” Shoulders merely lifted in a shrug as the rest of the class clapped and cheered for their friend. “Bout time you break em into pairs and get ‘em organized.” He instructed Bryce who was all grins now.

Cane smiled, too, from where he was lingering patiently at the door, proudly surveying the scene in silence so as not to disturb the class in progress. The boy had done it. He’d thrown against Isaac… and lived. He watched on as Isaac clapped Bryce on the shoulder in a rare job well done gesture before turning to look at his shirt where the knife had come so close.

The students had plenty to say about their weapon-wielding instructor, that Isaac was a ‘no-nonsense hardass’ and ‘too quiet not to be a serial killer’, among other things. Their wild speculation was a source of constant amusement for Cane, who always enjoyed hearing whatever new theory the kids came up with from week to week. It was true his lover wasn’t the sort of teacher who offered hugs at the end of every lesson, but he was good at his job and he taught them well. Students who, at first, couldn’t have thrown a blade if their life depended on it now hurled their weapons with confidence and ease. Their success was a testament to Isaac’s skill both in and out of the classroom.

He couldn’t help the flutter of excitement that stirred in his belly when Isaac’s eyes found his with a question hidden within his storm-churned gaze. It would have been easy enough to drown in that look, but the Cajun just shook his head in silent answer and moved along to set the clipboard of sheet music on Isaac’s desk for the man to look at after he dismissed his class. He wasn’t here to interrupt, only to deliver a message and hopefully drive his man to distraction in the process.

Isaac moved quietly from student to student as knives resumed thudding into wooden targets. He was quick with a corrective word…even a nod of encouragement here and there (credit his morning for his good mood) and so it was easy to lose himself in another student’s throw when the Cajun’s minor interruption proved non urgent. But the clipboard on his desk… that piqued his curiosity enough for another glance.

Distraction accomplished.

Cane wore a smug smile all the way back to the door. Of course, he made eyes at the man the whole time, too, prowling slowly along the fringe of the room like a predator keeping a cautious eye on a fellow threat. Or, perhaps, looking at him like he was something to eat. But Isaac drifted all the way back round to his desk to investigate the clipboard without ever giving Cane the satisfaction of looking his way. No easy meal today. He knew was he was doing and Cane knew a part of Isaac relished the denial as much if not more. Damn him.

After the Cajun was gone, Isaac let the bulk of his attention fall on the gift that was more love letter than it was actual sheet music. His expression softened as his fingers ran across the notes, read their sounds with tactile tenderness.

“Class dismissed.” The words were soft, the drawl a gentle breeze of warm breath while the pages and notes and words and poetry and love held his attention. He finally looked up when he still heard knives clanging and cleared his throat. “That’ll do for the day. You learned what a knife feels like…and that we ain’t learning to be chicken shit. Now git.” That last word was like a bolt of lightning that sent the students hurrying for the door, grateful for the early out.

[Canaan]

Isaac tracked Cane back to the man’s office. Their connection meant one could never drift too far from the other and the trek was easy enough through the gym’s halls. Rather than knock, he drew one of his own knives and angled the point high above his head and, with a little bit of leverage, teased the door slowly open and slipped in as he created the opening. He found the man propped against his desk rather than slotted in his chair behind it, almost like he’d been waiting for the Showman to arrive.

Of course he’d known he would come.

Cane sat there and drank him in smugly at knifepoint, his expectant expression playing host to a number of unspoken emotions churning inside him at the sight. Amusement, delight, the charged heat of desire that simmered incessantly just beneath a thin veneer of restraint. There was so much love written there, too, so much happiness he saw mirrored in the summer sky of Isaac’s gaze that it hurt. Contentment was new enough to the both of them it still itched, like new skin freshly formed over an old wound. They hadn’t healed one another, but they had found a safe enough harbor to let down their guard and find rest.

“Seems you’ve made plans for tonight?” Isaac said, indicating with a tilt of his wrist the sheet music attached to the clipboard. “Figured I’d cut class and get an early start…”

The comforting familiarity of Isaac’s meandering drawl cut through Cane’s reverie, a colorful fishing lure that hooked and reeled him back into present, if only for a moment. He wasn’t quite done reminiscing. “Mamour,” he rumbled gently in greeting, his smile skewing a little boyishly pleased both for the question posed and the admission of cutting class early.

“Course maybe I shoulda known I’d find you here grinnin like a fox in the hen house.” Isaac’s lazy drawl was a bit more pronounced like a spring swollen river winding its way toward the sea. “Interuptin class and daring to drive me to distraction,” he added as he ran amongst the trees contained within the Cajun’s expectant expression.

Was Wheeler giving the man what he wanted? Or was he playing the recalcitrant role and withholding just enough to ignite the Cajun’s curiosity? An old saying…don’t play with fire…but Isaac had never really been one for rules in the first place. He felt it too, that sense of satisfaction that filled him with repletion. For Isaac, long used to wounds scarring over, this new itch was one he did not want to fade.

Being called a fox only made Cane smile all the more, looking every bit the sly predator he was being made out to be. “So you’re sayin it worked, then?” he inquired of distractions.

The shrug of his shoulders came with a humorous bob of silent laughter and quiet amusement. It was a rare, unguarded moment for the wayward scion, though they appeared to happen with greater frequency whenever the Cajun was in close proximity.

“Doubtful you’d have been so effortless in doin it if you didn’t already know the outcome…” Wheeler answered, the smirk which hung from his princely mouth curved like a reaper’s scythe and remained switchblade sharp. “...and the answer to that question.”

Cane shrugged blithely. “Ain’t my fault you make it so damn difficult to be professional.” His gaze dipped from Isaac’s face to the knife in his grip, so natural an extension of himself that it seemed almost as if his hand had been made to hold it. Though the same could be said of a paintbrush. This was his lover: destruction and creation in equal measure. His gaze touched briefly on the clipboard next before moving to the opposite side of the room where a trio of holes decorated the drywall. He’d refused to have them patched, enjoying the reminder. They’d even played a part in inspiring the lyrics of the song he’d just given to the other man.

I slip and wonder who I’d be
If I never found you and you never found me

How terribly far they’d come from that first meeting all those years ago: Isaac a tightly strung cord, liable to snap if plucked the wrong way. He’d held everyone at arm’s length back then, brandished his cool demeanor like a weapon that kept others at a safe distance and wore solitude as his shield. And Cane had been no better—a walking wound, bleeding all over everyone and everything he came into contact with; hollowed out and shaped by years of poorly managed grief into someone he no longer recognized.

“Ahh… my fault then.” Isaac accepted the accusation with a pleased glint that matched the one which ricocheted off the blade still lightly held at his side. The smile which cleaved through the handsome planes of his face also held a certain serenity. For Cane, it was like the comfort of a cool spot beneath a shade tree on a hot southern summer afternoon. Distance and time might have separated them, but a youth misspent amongst the dogwoods and magnolias bound them in its own unique way in this life.

“You’re damn right it’s your fault,” the Cajun insisted playfully.

“Already said that,” he teased.

Certainly there was no one else who’d harried Cane so agreeably over the years as Isaac, no one who’d captured his attention so thoroughly and entirely. How many months had been spent quietly fanning the flames of curiosity through stolen glances like sips that had hardly sated their parched souls? How long had they danced around one another, brushed hands in the halls, haunted doorways like hungry wolves eager for a bite?

“But I’ll plead guilty,” Isaac continued, conceding with a smirk that swaggered its way across his generous mouth. “I can do that kinda time if you’re the one doin the sentencin.”

“Oh… M’pretty sure I can handle that many hats. Judge, jury… I’ll even play executioner, if ya like.”

The suggestive bob of Cane’s brows was meant to tempt him closer, but Isaac was enjoying the bit of space, the gratification delayed by sheer will, determination, and stubbornness. He felt the magnetic pull, the gravitational force that existed between them and forever had them circling one another, closer and closer until the inevitable crash and the two of them would become one. He felt it… and resisted its pull, for now, because he liked this game as much as Cane did—which was the reason they continued to play it even so long after they’d finally had one another (having broken years ago under the ridiculous pretense of getting drinks together at a bar).

Masochists, both of them; and they were so good at it, too.

“Question is, magistrate…” For such a gentlemanly drawl of syllables, Wheeler could certainly soak the words in bourbon infused banter. “You gonna throw the book at me?” Isaac’s head canted to the side as he inspected the Cajun, judged the distance between the pair, the weight of the knife in his hand and the direction his words might prod the man in. “Or see if I’m willing to throw myself on the mercy of the court?” The words were front loaded with suggestion, though light on action. Masochist? Yes, but it seemed Isaac had a thread or two of the infamous Marquis woven into his psychiatric tapestry. Everything in balance…until driven to the point where he wanted it all. Something Cane knew how to do—and well.

Dammit, but if the urge to erase the distance between them was growing more difficult to resist by the moment… especially after Isaac drew attention to the quiet threat of the knife, because it certainly wasn’t the first time they’d found themselves in this position.

But the men who’d found one another in this room years earlier were not the same two that occupied it now. Who might they be today if Isaac hadn’t come through that door looking for a job, if Cane hadn’t been willing to bring him on. Cane’s gaze moved from the knife to a set of holes in the drywall to his right. They were his reminder that his life had changed for the better because they’d found one another. Because they’d each gone out on a limb and taken a chance on something new.

“Hell if I know. Doubt any option we come up with would jive well with the boss hat I gotta wear, too. But then… there’s been a lack of professionalism from the start, though, huh?” His smile softened some for the memory.

“Oh?”

“Tall glass of water like you walks in here an’ threatens to make me bleed. Well.” The shape of his mouth grew a wicked edge. “Whatever’s a man to do?”

“Had to make sure you knew I was serious,” Isaac answered and lifted a single shoulder in a shrug. The sight of the marks took him back to that moment like it was yesterday.

“I’d’ve liked to kiss you then and there.” Amusement rimed his expression.

“Good thing you didn’t right away…I’d have hated to been hired for my…other…talents. Man’s gotta have his standards after all.”

Cane grinned. “What I can say is negotiatin your pay wasn’t even remotely what was runnin through my mind when you were throwin them knives at me.” He lifted his chin to indicate the weapon in Isaac’s hand now, gaze licking over the sharp-edged blade with interest.

Isaac chuckled. “Do I even want to know?” He noted the Cajun’s eyes dropping towards the knife once more and it was almost as if that interest began to heat the metal.

Pinned beneath the weight of Isaac’s idle wonder, he could only smile at first. The day being what it was, and he with his habit of wearing his heart on his sleeve, it was on the tip of Cane’s tongue to wax poetic about fate and other more romantic notions that would no doubt soften the glow of superheated emberlight building between them. But he decided he’d much rather coax the coals to sprout bright tines of flame instead.

“Nah, cher,” he drawled, crass magnolia mouth injecting each word with sweet southern heat. “I was surely not thinkin about what your…other…talents might be. Had I been privy to your unparalleled skills in the art of suckin dick, we’d’ve defiled my desk a lot sooner’n we did. To hell with standards.” But then… they both knew all too well that some passion couldn’t—wouldn’t—wait for more appropriate venues.

The vulgarity of admission, that concupiscent confession, bit into Wheeler’s veins like the bite of a viper and injected him with a carnal cocktail of lust and love that momentarily threatened to darken the storms in his eyes. It stoked a growl deep in his throat which vibrated in the soft valley between collarbones and beckoned the hungry wolf forward even as he tightened his grip on the blade at his side.

“Perhaps you should have tested that along with my throwin accuracy.” The chide was lust-laced and thick on that gentrified tongue.

“Maybe…” Cane agreed, though his mind suddenly took a hard left turn that drew him up short, churning with all the possibilities, the what-ifs. “How different would this all be if we hadn’t…” He trailed off, losing interest in the rest of the thought. His gaze climbed back up to Isaac’s face as he pushed himself up from his lean against the edge of the desk to stand, arms unfolding from where he’d had them crossed over his chest.

Isaac’s soft-spoken drawl filled the space as Cane’s voice trailed off. “But we did.” One breath into the other, one life into the next…that was how they lived. One breath into the next, one heartbeat harmonizing with the rhythm of the other. “And that’s what matters.” He’d have gone to his lover then at the prospect of that unspoken thought but, like so often, his Cajun had the same idea.

“You’re right. And… there’s at least one thing that hasn’t changed.” The Cajun sauntered closer, as heedless of the knife as he’d been the first time they met.

“What’s that?” Isaac’s antebellum accent was as soft as the brush of a willow’s branch dipped over the water. Heedless the Cajun might be, but that did not prevent Isaac from raising the weapon with the man’s approach. There was a look of challenge within the thunderstorm of the wayward scion’s stare, a dare to see if Cane would continue that cocky saunter and fearlessly press into a lethal stab held back on a hair trigger.

When he was close enough, Cane hooked a finger through one of Isaac’s belt loops and tugged him in close until their bodies were flush. Isaac shifted the angle of the blade upwards so that point drove up beneath his chin with enough controlled force to lift it without piercing the deep tissue and driving through the jaw.

But just because Cane had been the one to break first didn’t mean he’d given up entirely. He met the challenge in his lover’s gaze head on, fearless and provocative, a dare for a dare, even as the point of the knife found the vulnerably soft underbelly of his chin. His pulse kicked up a notch, pupils dilating with excitement.

Otherworldly creature that he was, Cane could practically smell the threat of violence stirring between them, and he drew the scent of it in over his tongue on a silent breath. This was another game they played, one full of razor sharp edges, cruelly blunt teeth, and expertly tied knots. A sliver of hard granite splintered the Cajun’s encouraging, verdant gaze. Do it. He enjoyed the thrill of the threat, of knowing what would happen if Isaac spilled blood, how it would change the entire trajectory of their afternoon.

“Your face is still so pretty I want to break it,” he replied.

There was a moment’s hesitation, a single vibration of electrical current as Cane’s response reached back into Isaac’s past, a past he’d wanted to forget, to have been consumed by the void…a past that wanted him, for however brief a moment it was, to drive the blade up and protect himself in ways he hadn’t been able to as a child.

As close as they were in that moment, Cane didn’t miss the shift in the current, however brief, but it didn’t stop him from leaning forward to press a hungry kiss to Isaac’s wanting mouth.

Maybe he didn’t know the exact reason for the brief hesitation, but Cane knew his lover well enough to recognize he’d somehow trodden dangerously close to a deeply rooted nerve, and all of the coiled tension inside him unraveled. The tightly drawn bow of his shoulders relaxed slowly as he exhaled a slow breath. Despite the threat of the blade, he tightened his grip on the man’s belt loops to ensure they stayed connected, whatever the outcome of the kiss.

Fortunately, it had come at the perfect time to scramble Isaac’s thoughts, to shake him from the past and ground him in the present as it always had. The knife pressed a beat longer but then fell away as the kiss seized him completely.

Keeping his head bowed close, their foreheads touching, Cane sought to soothe whatever might remain of the sting by reminding Isaac of their first date. “You said… First time we ever got drinks together, you said my face was pretty,” Cane began, resonant voice quiet for their proximity. “You were so close to me in that bar I could feel the heat comin off your skin, but we kept gettin interrupted with distraction after distraction, so I finally kissed ya ‘cause I couldn’t stand it no more. Y’stuck me with a knife…an’ then ya bit me. Motherfucker,” he accused, a smile creeping into his voice, heard if not seen. “I remember lookin at’cha, tonguin that blood on my lip an’ thinkin to myself you had the most beautiful goddamn face I’d ever seen, an’ I couldn’t wait to go fuck it up.”

Aw, hell. It sounded a lot more sappy out loud than it had in his head. Cane snorted, giving the man a light shake.

What had surfaced within Isaac lasted only moments, echoes and scattershot ricochets of past trauma and mistrust. Earlier in their time together they would have seized control of him, pushed him to distrust and recoil. But in this context the words had meant something different, and the intent behind what was said and what he saw in the Cajun’s eyes were both something he wanted, something he chose—something they both chose. He reminded himself when the words were repeated. Reminded himself that this was what he wanted. So now, when these moments came, they passed with all the impact of a cloud momentarily passing before the sun, a brief moment before the sun’s warmth—before the Cajun’s warmth—returned to his skin and the feeling subsided. It was a testament to the pair of them and their bond.

“You deserved it.” He murmured and gave a teasing push beneath his jaw to remind him he still held a knife to his throat. “Maybe you need a reminder as to why ya did…” Isaac gave the Cajun another little jab with the blade even as he angled for another kiss.

“Mm, yeah. Think I might need a reminder or two…” Cane grinned. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“Brought my bike.” The words drawled against the bearded jaw of the Cajun. “Where we headed?”

“I brought my bike, too,” he rumbled back, angling his mouth to steal another kiss as Isaac’s question stirred to life the first few bars of a song he couldn’t wait to sing. The first line was the perfect response. But just like earlier that morning, he knew that if he started singing now… all his plans for the day would be shot to hell, so Cane just gave his lover a light nudge to propel him in the direction of the door. “Let’s go home.”

Isaac went with the nudge and purposefully led a step out of reach as he retreated towards the door. “Surprised you even wanted to come to work…”

That dogwood drawl sounded so sweet from such a smart mouth as Isaac taunted him on their way out. The Cajun rumbled something low in response, for Isaac’s ears only, though he made sure to help himself to a handful of the other man’s backside along the way, and for once he didn’t care who in the office might see.

[Canaan]

-----

Of course, a world of endless possibilities lay between them and their home on the hill. What started as a companionable drive along the winding tree-lined back roads leading to the lake became a high stakes competition that saw them racing up the coast instead, trading the Elysium-green of their sanctum for the vast expanse of the shining sea, glittering like a jewel beneath the luminous, neon blue of the cloudless summer sky.

It was moments like this one Cane would shape into memory, create a near tangible thing he could pull out time and again when he wanted to remember. And like a stone that’s been turned so many times its edges have been rounded, he would rub his fingers over its time-worn surface and recall the relentless heat of the sun on his skin; the way his body was electric with the sensation of the wind biting at him, snapping the loose folds of his favorite shirt against his back until it went numb; the vibration of a vintage four stroke engine screaming beneath him as he hardlined the needle into triple digits; Isaac’s helmeted head twisting back to look at him over his shoulder from up ahead. The first breath of ocean air after removing his helmet, the roar of the surf in his ears, wet sand between his toes and the rush of cold water chasing his heels.

He would remember the exquisite joy of watching Isaac strip down,

of being lured into a swim,

the taste of salt on his tongue,

skipping rocks from the shore,

Isaac’s hand in his.


-----


Speed.

It had a liberation to it. Even the simple sound of the word almost compelled one into motion as if it were the triggering word of a magical spell. For Isaac speed had meant freedom, growing up it had meant escape. He had been enchanted with it his whole life…at once racing to get away if only to find a sedate swimming hole and extend the freedom he’d been able to speed to, to escape what he’d sped away from. He had kept the old Indian in the garage this day, took out its modern, smoked black cousin instead. And so, when he found himself on his bike and that lean, rangy frame perfectly married to machine, he felt that same freedom, that same daredevil desire to go just a little faster. He taunted his lover as he gained the lead in their every changing places, both jockeying for pole position from the very start. Matte black helmet and blacked out visor kept his grin locked away even as it meshed with the black shirt contoured to his torso as he twisted back to look for his lover. A hand extended in that moment, mockingly beckoning with fore and middle fingers a moment before he shifted and shot forward to make the catch up all the harder. Only when he saw the Cajun coming on strong did Isaac finally twist forward and lean into whipping wind and liberating speed.

Isaac ultimately gave way, happy to have the Cajun lead him to the beach where the pair shared a glorious afternoon of swim, sun and sand so much unlike the desert he’d been in when first finding the Cajun. It reminded him of memories from his childhood, good ones rare as they were, of Tybee Island, times with his father and family, with Josie that were miles away from itching wigs and hospital rooms. He kept the memories unspoken, enjoyed them for what they were even as his focus remained on Canaan and the holding of hands.

What had started out as a simple breakfast and song, a little something on an anniversary that neither of them claimed to care much about, was becoming a truly happy day for the Showman. A day without regret.

-----

[Canaan]

It was only when the growl of hunger hollowed out a home in their bellies that the spell was broken and the sea delivered them from one moment into the next: a picturesque lake house surrounded by the verdant flush of an ancient wood, a house they’d made their home through years of blood and sweat and, yes, even tears. They’d filled it with all the things they loved, family and friends, music and art, plants and creatures, with room enough to grow as the years stacked up like treasured tomes around them.

Cane had enjoyed their little detour up the coast, but the truth was there was nowhere else he’d rather be than right here in this hallowed holt with Isaac and the dogs, sipping spiked sweet tea and admiring the unmatched view from the dock where they lounged in a pair of comfortable chairs made by Isaac’s own hands.

It was evening; the lake was a perfect mirror of the bruised sky, reflecting thin wisps of cloud cover like gauze over a wound, placid and motionless but for the occasional leap of a fish breaking the surface as the waters cooled. And yet Isaac found himself watching his lover rather than the sunset. The molten patina of colors was beautiful, he would not deny nature’s beauty, but he chose to watch the way they stained his lover’s face, coated him with a resplendent glow of gold and crimson. A barefoot nudge kept Boomer in place, the mutt content with the occasional rub that barely a protest erupted from his or his new companion, Pearse. No doubt the relative silence had been helped along by the copious amounts of scraps shared from his and Cane’s plates during dinner.

With as impatient as he’d been all day to arrive at this moment, Cane thought he’d be more restless than he was now that it was here. Anxious or keyed up, the tense sort of apprehension that usually filled him before a performance. But instead he was as calm as the lake was still, steady and more sure of himself than he’d ever been before.

As he shifted in his seat to set his jar of tea aside the dogs stirred from where they were stretched out on the cool, wooden planks of the dock in front of him. Boomer lifted his head, mouth falling open to let his tongue loll, panting quietly in the nighttime heat. Pearse just twitched, glancing briefly in their direction before shutting his eyes again. Cane grinned at the pair and just barely stopped himself from making a noise that would call either of them closer, lest Isaac tease him for wanting to pet the beasts by choice. He’d a reputation to maintain here! Instead of beckoning the dogs, he twisted in his seat to better face Isaac, who was already watching him. Leaning into the arm of the chair, he fixed his handsome whip of a man with an expectant expression.

“You ‘bout ready for me to play some music at’cha?”

Isaac nodded quietly. “Always.”

The Cajun’s resulting smile was bright enough to put even the stars to shame. “Well, all right then.” The hazel of his eyes shone like the surface of the lake, reflecting the sky, full of dying embers. Behind them, the moons sat like small fires on the hill just barely peeking over the tops of the trees.

Isaac was content to sit and simply watch the way the light played off the contours of his lover’s face. He memorized the way the crimson and golden light suffused Cane’s face with a timeless gentility. The fresh colors of yet another unique sunset brushed across his face as if he were a heavenly canvas and the fading rays determined to paint one last great work of art, to speak it into being via the love language of pure light. He could picture that profile across the ages…see it in all the various lifetimes lived out from ancient battlefields to boardrooms, schoolhouses, hospitals, cabins, and farms…they could live a million of them and he’d always be drawn back to such illuminating moments. It was these simple moments of the soul that Isaac had come to cherish most. He dared a glance to the horizon, a brief moment to see the crescent cut of the moons within the dappled purple of the sky’s penumbra where their fine lines and soft light appeared as if they were the fingernails of the gods themselves dipping down into the molten light to cling to the last vestiges of the day.

The warmth of Cane’s magic stirred the still, night air. At the shuddering sensation of heat, both dogs looked up again.

“Sorry, not this time, boys.” The Cajun’s dilatory drawl carried with it a hint of humor. “I’m fixin to play, but not with y’all.” They’d been expecting to see the tennis balls that usually accompanied the faint flex of power, but this time the only thing he’d conjured was his favorite guitar.

Drawn back by the sound of that voice, Isaac’s smile curved like a lazy summer hammock when his eyes found Cane again, anchored to the source of that timeless timbre. “You tease them.” The playful chide drawled with an equally indolent accent and was delivered from a fainéant posture which echoed the landed gentry of a bygone age. He gave another nudge to the Boomer in order to placate the mutt. Isaac would have to give the dogs an extra treat each to make up for such cruelty.

Cane settled the beat up twelve eleven string in his lap, having inched his way to perch on the very edge of his seat so he could lean into the instrument the way he liked. Calloused hands brought the strings to life, filling the space between them with a meandering, finger-picked melody, littered with bits and pieces of last year’s song, the one he gave to Isaac this afternoon, and even hints of Isaac’s sweetly played tune woven throughout.

There was quiet anticipation which thrummed deep within Wheeler’s still waters though those who knew him, those like Cane, would see the lightning flash of desire and celebration within his eyes. He smiled watching the other man lean into the instrument…it was a sign that Cane was intent and serious. He loved when his lover shared his love of music with him, for him and at him. Where Cane’s life notes were practically a symphony of sunrises and sunsets, an orchestra of light and life Isaac felt his own notes were more somber, sharper edged and eclipsed by tenebrous tones and lightless pitch. In that way they harmonized, in that way they made their own beautiful and dangerous music.

Isaac took a moment to reposition his chair, angle it towards the Cajun so he could better watch the man play the conjured guitar. “I love your songs.”

“Music’s always been my answer to whatever the universe throws at me,” Cane replied, wearing a lopsided smile. “It’s what gets me through all of life’s little moments, be they good or bad. Hell, I write about everythin.” And it was true, though he wasn’t telling Isaac anything he didn’t already know.

Over the years the Showman had gotten to hear him humming in the shower, while cooking meals and out fishing on the boat, as they passed one another in the halls of the gym, or singing along to the music being played in stores and restaurants they frequented. It wasn’t out of the ordinary to overhear him singing a line or two about even the most ridiculous of things, like the chickens or what a pain in the ass Kyle was being on any given day--he’d managed to find a surprising number of words that rhymed with chicken nuggets and barbecue.

The art of song was in Cane’s blood; it may have even made up portion of his soul. ’He is half my soul, as the poets say.’ Perhaps it was the reason why he couldn’t help but share it with his lover at every turn. The words of yet another poet came rushing to the surface as if to confirm. ‘As for me, I give nothing to any one except I give the like carefully to you / I sing the songs of the glory of none, not God, sooner than I sing the songs of the glory of you.’

That Isaac never hesitated to bend his heart to him was the kindness Cane loved most in him; he not only tolerated the fire and fervor of his emotions, but welcomed their every expression. Always, he’d said. That word resonated deep inside him, vibrating in his chest and echoing across several memories with sweet satisfaction.

Yes… Cane hoped for always, too.

He picked his way through another run of buoyant notes, coaxing quiet, directionless music from the guitar. “I didn’t have the words in the beginning. Even with a handful of languages under my belt, you had the unique skill of leavin me speechless.” He grinned.

The wayward scion sat and listened as the Cajun picked his way through a variety of notes, some familiar, some touching with agreeable symmetry and some new. Never directionless, they were signposts on their road together, quiet pauses for reflection or marking time till they were ready to play it forward once again. “Mmm…the quiet ones are always comfortable in that speechless space.” Isaac teased and turned his attention to the Cajun’s fingers. “Gotta watch out for us,” Isaac added as a more familiar tune trickled out into the otherwise quiet lakeside scene: a softer, steadier version of the frenetic and tumultuously paced portion of the song Cane had played for the very first anniversary they’d celebrated.

“I don’t know if you remember it," Cane said. "But there was somethin I said back then, up on that stage in front of everyone.” The part about throwing himself into the fathomless ocean and trusting the tides would take him where he was meant to go.

“Course I remember.” Isaac spoke with eyes lingering on the man’s hands. There were stories there, countless stories woven into the callouses and skin, the scars, and the lines. Some of them he knew, some of them he’d put there himself. And there were others, others he’d yet to discover, to uncover, to hear those particular notes come to life and be given to song.

Cane smiled. “It was my own spin on the quote ‘leap and the net will appear’, which has kind of…” He trailed off, dark brows furrowing briefly as he cast about for the right arrangement of words. “It’s been…” Third time’s a charm, Cane. “You make me feel like I’m running toward something instead of away for the first time in my life. And this idea of—of divin in, of jumpin an’ fallin, and—” He stopped again, shaking his head with a low laugh. It was not the ramble of an anxious man, it was as if he was simply too giddy to stay focused.

The words felt like Cane had just constructed a home in the truest sense, a verbal creation built on a foundation of mutual understanding and acceptance, walled with love and support, and roofed with limitless possibilities. It made Isaac’s heart sing in that quiet way of his. “Like when we went cliff divin…look…leap and land…”

“Exactly! Hell. What I’m tryna say is these words’ve been with me since then… since that moment on stage. I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to sum it all up in one song; to be honest I’m not sure I ever will, but this one… it feels like I got close.”

Isaac’s smile stretched as he reached out to nudge his lover on the knee with his foot. “Then you better share 'em cause I’m wanting to hear what you’ve kept inside. And I know that…whatever you’re wantin to say…they’ll be the right words for it.” Isaac’s faith never wavered when it came to the Cajun.

[Canaan]

Cane winked at him then, the fleeting flirtation preceding a discrete glissando into the opening chords of a song that turned out to be less a curation of perfectly arranged verses and more a conversation, a confession..

All I wanna be is with you in your arms
In our room, living small in a big house
I’ve been having dreams, have you had them too?

I see me and you
By the door rushing in from the rain
At the back of the garden
Do you see that too?

Forever ain’t forever if we’re not together
I don’t wanna put a load of pressure on you
I just wanna tell you, I just wanna tell you
Without you I don’t know what I’d do

The deep basso of Cane’s voice was neither somber, nor even serious, but there was a jagged, private edge to his voice meant for Isaac, and Isaac alone. In this moment, they were the only two souls in the entire world, and these words belonged solely to him.

It had taken only a few syllables to fully capture the entirety of Isaac’s attention. The stars faded, the moons winked out and the world shrank, zoomed straight in on the lake and then the dock and then the pair of men and then just simply his lover and then nothing but his adroit fingers and siren mouth. Cane was the wayward scion’s entire world in those moments between the syllables and the confession carved out of such beautiful lyrics. It was the only time in his life he’d ever wanted to go to Church.

I’ve only got one life and I want you in it
Oh, tell me that you’ll never let me go
Or bury my body or send it down the river
Oh, I could never do it on my own.

Sometimes I get sad at the front, at the back
In the middle of the happiest moments
‘Cause good things can go bad easily

So I don’t wanna slow down
Wanna jump, wanna fly, wanna fall
I wanna hit the ground runnin
Do you wanna marry me?

Even bowed over his guitar the way he was, a canvas of sweat and abandon and bare collarbones, Cane’s eyes never left Isaac’s face. His giddy voice seasoned with all the hallmarks of the south stretched into those higher notes, raw with bliss and still riding a smile he just couldn’t quit as he asked the question at long last. But instead of waiting for the answer, he plowed right through to the chorus again with a happy croon that carried over into the bridge, at which point he finally closed his eyes and let himself sink bodily into the rolling beats of the song. He never could keep still.

The sensation of the song, the meaning and emotion behind it settled on Isaac about the same time as that beautiful question was asked—though how like the bastard to not even give him a moment before pushing through to repeat the chorus. As the passionate display cruised back into slower moving waters, Cane met his gaze again, and as he continued to sing softly, Isaac felt another pulse of the Cajun’s power. The heat of its signature produced a tiny drawstring bag, nearly weightless, now resting atop his knee, but he was so taken by the moment, the song, and of course the man he barely registered it. It would have fallen when he shifted forward were it not for his reflexes and an otherworldly need to protect whatever sacred contents had just appeared.

We only get one try, I don’t wanna miss it
Oh, tell me that you’ll never let me go

I’ve only got one life and I want you in it
Oh, tell me that you’ll never let me go
Or bury my body or send it down the river
Oh, I could never do it on my own.

No, a life ain’t a life, ain’t a life, ain’t a life without you
No, a life ain’t a life, ain’t a life, ain’t a life alone
Whoa, a life ain’t a life, ain’t a life, ain’t a life without you
Oh, I could never do this on my own

As the song eventually wound down to its reverent end, Cane pressed his palm to the strings to still the quiver of the lingering notes and offered Isaac a devastating smile. His eyes smoldered, a forest on fire, burning with wonder and love that left Isaac feeling helplessly, hopelessly, and perfectly in love with him.

Isaac’s attention dropped to the tiny satchel, which he worked carefully open. “Beautiful.” The only word he could manage when he spied the perfect circles of gold nestled within. There was the realization of this moment, this perfect moment that he never thought he’d have, never thought he’d deserve.

And there it was…the gleaming gold darkened by self-doubt. The self-doubt inflicted by abuse, the self-doubt that always made him question his worthiness, was always quick with that laconic tongue to douse any moment of happiness or joy and leave behind a bleach existence because that was what he deserved. He didn’t deserve this man. Didn’t deserve this moment or these golden rings, perfect circles without beginning or end.

In the still-ringing glory of the after is where the tension finally trickled in for Cane, a slow turn of the key that wound him tighter and tighter as he watched the flicker of demurral darken his lover’s watery gaze.

Self-doubt was a hell of a thing. He’d fought his own battles against the insidious whispers over the years, but he knew Isaac was still occasionally plagued by the effects of its poison. It was a not a war Cane could win for the other man, but he would suit up for battle and fight alongside him for all eternity if that was what it would take to help him see his worth. That his beautiful, kind, and gentle man, with all of his perfectly imperfect flaws, deserved to have every good thing that came his way, that he was worthy of love and respect and happiness—a life overflowing.

Isaac rolled across the storm-tossed seas of various emotions and trying desperately to keep the whole thing from capsizing and going down.

He didn’t deserve a man like Canaan. But he was sure as hell grateful to have him, and he wanted this. The desire for it pushed against the past and, in that moment, he bored a bit of his lover’s flame and burned through and burned away that bit of darkness from his soul so that it, no matter how small, could stain him any longer. Just one of the innumerable gifts he could never thank the Cajun enough for.

Those few seconds it took for Isaac to burn through the surreptitious shadow of doubt felt like an eternity, but Cane was waiting there with a winning smile when it was over. Truly, there was nothing better in the world than to see his partner grow and flourish.

Isaac gently guided the rings from the bag, first one and then the other. “These are perfect,” he murmured. Thunderstorms shot through with clear blue while wet tears brimmed the edges. “Perfect.”

“I thought so too,” Cane said of the rings’ perfection. “Figured maybe, if you wanted, we could get somethin inscribed on the inside.”

Isaac’s free hand instinctively lifted to the brand he bore on his chest. He would, if Cane wanted to of course, but what mattered to him most had already been inscribed upon his flesh and was etched upon his soul in alphabetic file.

“Course.” Isaac finally spoke after a moment and dabbed an eye with the back of a hand several times towards the temple. “We can do whatever you want,” he added as he traced a thumb around the limitless circle of gold. Cane beamed.

Then another thought struck Isaac, one born from love and concern.

“But what about Aoife…does she know?”

The invocation of the songbird’s name was like a song itself, softly spoken with such care and consideration it made Cane’s heart ache. He stared at Isaac for a long, protracted moment, struck speechless yet again by the simple fact that he could be so lucky as to love a man whose consideration for others was so pure and honest.

Through Cane, because of Cane, Isaac had learned how to love with an unclenched fist. He’d come to love Aoife, Saila…everyone in Cane’s life that mattered to the man…originally because Cane loved them. And in time he’d come to love them for who they were and the relationships he’d forged with them. After a moment he clarified. “What do these rings mean to you? What do they mean for us?” Isaac held the inestimable rings as if they were a most prized possession. “And everything that you had before…me? I would never want them to feel…” His words trailed off, his gaze lost in the mesmeric sheen of gold. He didn’t want to make any assumptions in what these rings, in the Cajun’s song, in all of it meant to the man he loved.

“She knows,” Cane replied gently after a long moment. He folded his arms atop the guitar still cradled in his lap, every inch of his body language suggesting he was showing great restraint to keep from launching himself out of the chair and into Isaac’s space as he’d done earlier that morning. Patience was a virtue he struggled with on a daily basis. “Told ‘er a few weeks ago.”

The Cajun’s relationship with Aoife was difficult to define. They’d never needed to put a label on it, though Cane had tried to for Isaac’s benefit when the man was first learning about polyamory, in his desire to be as open and painfully honest with his new lover as possible, but none of the words he’d come up with were a perfect fit. Girlfriend, partner, lover. She was all of those things and none whatsoever. In another life, perhaps, the stars may have aligned; he loved her and she loved him, but in this one their kinship would never cross those bounds.

[Canaan]

Isaac nodded. He had mixed feelings that he was sorting through in the moment and his eyes met Cane’s as he communicated what he wanted to say, speaking right from the heart. Such complex and lasting relationships should be navigated with care, required charts inked with love and understanding. “I just want to make sure she knows that I hold the bond you have with her as a sacred one and I always will. I want you to know that before I accept this. You don’t just belong to me.”

“You’re the only person who’s ever cared enough to even try ‘n understand, let alone respect it,” Cane said of his relationship with Aoife. “I don’t have the words to tell you how much that’s meant to me over the years, mamour, ‘cept to say thank you.”

“It’s important to you,” Isaac answered with a soft murmur. “And that means it’s important to me.” The words were drawled softly and drifted along in the space between them like forest leaves upon slow moving, deep water. “But it’s also important to me aside from you…important cause it’s who I am…who I want to be goin forward.”

Cane smiled as he went on. “She’s happy for us, mamour, an’ I was so damn excited to tell her.” Two simple statements that should ease the Showman’s mind.

“I’m glad.” Isaac picked up one of the rings and held it up to inspect his lover’s face perfectly framed by gold. “Bet you were downright giddy.” He punctuated the agreement with a nod and a grin as he pictured the Cajun’s smile and energy during that conversation.

The smile he wore for Isaac through the little circle of gold was touched, though its shape morphed into something a little more boyishly charmed for the memory stirred up from the night he’d told the little songbird. “Well, y’know, ain’t every day a man gets to share the happiest secret he’s ever kept in his whole life.” Only now it didn’t have to be a secret any longer. It could simply be the happiest thing in his whole life, period.

Isaac’s smile was already half formed and cheated a corner of his mouth higher than its twin for the man’s smile, and then he looked to inspect the other ring as if judging which would belong to each of them by size alone.

Inclining his head with a nod to the rings, Cane answered Isaac’s earlier question: “As for what those mean for us… well, I suppose that’s for us to decide, and we can talk about that, but what they mean to me is… Well, it’s my way of sayin’ I don’t wanna do this with anyone else. I meant what I said in the shadowlands.” So much so that he’d even spoken his wish aloud. “I’m entirely yours, body and soul.”

He hadn’t intended to make anything like a speech, but the words kept stacking up inside him until Cane thought he would burst. “I don’t pretend to know how or why, but we’re here in this moment right now ‘cause it’s exactly where we’re s’posed to be, and whether our forever lasts a lifetime or somethin cuts it short, this is ultimately just one sentence in a story that spans across time.” Bright eyes glittered with unshed tears, but his deep voice remained steady. “No matter where we go or where we’ve been, or how many lives we live, those rings… they’re a promise to all the people we’ve become and those we’ve yet to be, that this you and me exists, and we’ll always be happy somewhere.”

The Cajun’s words were arresting in their simplicity and honesty. Isaac typically eschewed such sentimentality, threw walls up whenever he sensed it as it had too often been an attempt to light the darkness with gaslight and bend him into uncomfortable positions. But when Cane uttered them, told Isaac what the rings meant to him, well…they filled his heart and illuminated the darkness with his Cajun’s unique flame.

“Hearin that…from you...” Another series of tears were dabbed away. “Shit. Makin me cry like this…I’ma cut you for it…”

Something seized in Cane’s chest as he watched Isaac swipe at his traitorous tears. All the air went out of him, lungs squeezing until he ached from the build of pressure. His heart beat against his ribs with such force he could feel its pulsing echo thudding in his ears, behind his eyes, threatening to shatter the dam that held his own tears at bay. They were, of course, no stranger to one another’s tears, but these ones… these ones were the product of happiness. These ones marked a moment so brilliantly, beautifully incandescent there wasn’t a shadow of doubt or darkness that could touch it. By Nature, he wanted nothing more than to make Isaac this happy for the rest of his life.

There were complex, complicated things which swam within Isaac’s chest and churned within his gut. There was happiness there, yes. It had been the source of the few tears that had threatened to spill over his cheeks in their hot, salty wash. But there was more which simmered, more he compartmentalized for the moment of happiness he never thought he deserved. He wanted to enjoy a piece of the moment simply for what it was and who it was being shared with before his past inevitably chased him down, before he had to reckon with it all.

He grinned as the emotions shifted within him. He laughed again, and Cane along with him. “Hearin that from you makes me feel fulfilled, Cane. Makes me feel at home…finally.” Other than Josie he’d never really found home in anyone. “Hell, I never saw myself doing any of this with anyone…yet it all just feels right and easy with you. Like it’s meant to.” Isaac didn’t know if he was making any sense, but the words felt right on his tongue.

*Fulfilled*. It was the perfect word. They had not been two halves of a whole going about life fragmented without the other, nor were they somehow made complete now that they were in one another’s lives, but they were fulfilled, and that was something Cane had never truly felt until now. He was so giddy he thought he might fly apart.

“But we’re not quite where we’re supposed to be,” Isaac chided teasingly.

This time Isaac beat him to the punch, rising from his seat before Cane had a chance to act on his urge to tackle the man clean off his chair. He sat back slowly as the other man approached, quickly setting the guitar aside and sinking into a comfortable, expectant sprawl. Isaac used his bare foot and knee to knock the Cajun’s knee open. A moment later he was planting his own on the edge of the chair between the Cane’s thighs and leaning above him to taunt, tantalize and tease just a bit. Both rings were clenched in a closed fist that took the weight of his slender frame when he learned forward and pressed down over the Cajun’s heart to steer the man’s chin with his free hand.

“Getting closer.” The dogwood drawl was thick with a lustful humidity that weighted the slow tumble of words from that magnolia mouth.

“Nearly,” Cane agreed. Isaac’s predatory prowl and potential perch stoked a deeper, more primeval fire inside him that would eventually grow hot enough to raze all rationale. He never took his eyes from that beautiful face, though one of his hands helped itself to the shape of his lover’s nearer thigh to encourage the man into settling his weight against him.

Isaac caressed Cane’s cheek. “Best story of my life,” he said as one of his favorite lines from The Princess and the Butterfly fluttered into his mind and onto his tongue.

Isaac’s quiet baritone carried a honey-slow swirled of sensuality and desire that felt like it was going to melt Cane’s brain. His eyes closed as he felt the cool brush of a hand against his cheek, and despite the sudden rise in temperature (among other things), a few tears managed to spill free before he could stop them.

“Those who love deeply never grow old, Cane; they may die of old age…but they die young,” he added with a soft smile and lifted his knee to slide it over in order to straddle the man he loved.

Fingers flexed, tightening possessively on the Showman’s hip. Cane helped tug him into position on his lap and slipped his hands beneath the hem of his shirt, scraping calloused flesh along the cool skin of Isaac’s waist around to the small of his back.

“A love deep as this one…” he drawled back, smiling, “Folks’re gonna be askin us if we found the fountain of youth.”

“Let them wonder.” Isaac chuckled. The laughter was genuine, made more so by the Cajun’s giddiness. It tasted sweet on the air like warm sugar cookies pulled fresh from the oven at Christmas time and it was a sensation he wanted to cherish. Oddly enough he thought of his mother then, a rare positive memory of his siblings and his mother in the kitchen. Rare because it was positive. Rare because his mother hardly ever dirtied her hands with the oven. Wheeler went with the easy pull, his body pliable even in its dominant position though his thoughts proved more recalcitrant, stuck on certain things that remained…thus far…safely compartmentalized away.

His parents’ relationship loomed large in that compartment. The strife and resentment built up over years, the distrust and absence of integrity…both to the bond of marriage and themselves as they wallowed in unhappiness merely to keep up appearances. What he’d witnessed had wounded him, shaped him even as it scarred him. Cane had done so much to alleviate and soothe, to wipe clean and heal…and though that compartment within him was smaller it still seemed to hold so much.

“However long we got, and I’m hopin for lifetimes, I’m gonna love you like I do right now.” His last syllables whispered against the Cajun’s lips before he sealed the promise with a kiss.

The hope for lifetimes, plural, sent another wave of giddiness washing through Cane that had him wrapping both arms around his lover in a crushing hug as they kissed. It had been only a whisper, caught and trapped in the hot breaths they passed between them, but Cane felt it vibrate through him like a thunderous roar.

“I love you,” he whispered back. “Pour toujours et à jamais, bien-aimé.”

Isaac felt the echoes of that thunderous roar as they dissipated from Cajun to knife thrower the same way the man’s heat diffused itself through whatever room or space he found himself in. “For all time,” he whispered back in agreement.

“This mean you’ll make an honest man outta me? I never did hear the word ‘yes’,” Cane teased. “And it only counts if the word yes ain’t followed by ‘dumbass’ or ‘you son of a bitch’.” He grinned. Definitely getting that head start on driving this man crazy for the rest of his life.

Isaac’s smile flatlined. He wasn’t angry, just… thoughtful. Pensive. Ruminative. No single word capture the wayward scion’s feelings in that moment.

[Canaan]

Naturally, Cane realized a few seconds too late that his big mouth had tripped a wire…like it often did. Even before he saw his lover’s smile wane into a thoughtful, neutral line, he felt the subtle shift in the build of kinetic energy as everything, including the two of them, stilled.

It was bound to happen eventually. Isaac was many things, including a well camouflaged minefield of emotional hair triggers and cleverly hidden tripwires. Not that he laid in wait to ambush those who got close like an emotional guerrilla—far from it with Cane—but it was why he was so guarded. Not only protecting himself from others but protecting those same others (some of them, at least) from the rawer, rougher parts of him that had assumed protective duty over the years.

The need for time was wrapped up in his DNA, lived through a childhood that was both watchful and wary and matured into a guarded and vigilant adulthood. That Cane understood this, implicitly so, was just one of the many reasons Isaac was still perched on the man’s lap in a moment of raw vulnerability.

“I can tell you what honesty means to me. Part of the reason I fell in love with you is you were honest about who you were and how big you loved from the beginning.” The words started out quiet, a whisper in a windstorm.

Cane knew his lover to be an introspective, contemplative man—they were opposites in that regard. Where Isaac needed space and time to sort out the messes in his head and heart, Cane preferred to talk everything to death while soliciting thoughts and opinions from everyone around him—so he knew better than to interrupt Isaac before he was truly finished.

He loosened his hug the moment he realized the conversation was heading for deeper waters, withdrawing his hands out from under Isaac’s shirt to settle once more on his thighs so as to show the man not only did he have his full attention, but that he cared about understanding what was weighing on his heart. A soft, warm smile hooked into place as Isaac took one of his hands, which Cane gave an encouraging squeeze while Isaac gathered his thoughts, preparing to open up about his feelings and his fears.

The black water of deep, slow-moving rivers creeping across the Deep South mirrored the wayward scion in so many ways. They were dangerous and deadly, treacherous to navigate and twice so to go deep diving in. But there was great beauty in them too if one had the willingness to sit and watch. Sit and watch as he had done for so many moments over the years. Isaac knew the swirling eddies, the places where rope swings could be fitted to tall cypress by the brave and foolish and where the fun could be had amidst the danger. The Cajun’s encouraging squeeze gave him faith and confidence to climb a little higher and tie off this particular rope before taking that exhilarating swing.

“What honesty and integrity have come to mean to me…means I walk with heart and eyes open. Kept the former too closed for too long and you’ve played a big role in it opening again…I love you for that.” Isaac continued. “I saw a marriage up close based on a wasp’s nest of lies and false expectations. Swore I’d never do the same. Hell…never thought I’d be on the precipice of one neither.“ He considered the weight of the two rings in his other hand.

“This polyamorous thing…” Isaac paused and tasted the words before speaking them. It had taken him time to come to terms with it in the beginning, now he was having to do some mental recalibrations. “You jus gonna give all that up? Everyone but me? Or it a first among equals thing? I’m askin not cause I’m wantin one way or another…” He didn’t make demands like that. “I jus wanna know where it all stands…how it all shakes out…for everyone. I…I don’t want anyone feelin’ cast aside or hurt.” Integrity. Honesty. What’s right is right no matter one’s personal desires or needs. It stood above all that, and he’d seen how its absence could destroy a thing swiftly and permanently. And he’d been watching others ever since, watching their actions and measuring them against the words. “Cause if you are…gonna give it up…I wanna make sure you’re doing it for the right reasons…changin such a important part of yourself. The potential for change in those connections…We both have done that for other people and it wasn’t right…not for us…or the people.”

Isaac gave a shake of his head and lifted the Cajun’s hand to drag the other man’s knuckles beneath his chin. He didn’t want him thinking this was a denial. “And if you’re not…I think that calls for a larger conversation for everyone involved.” His smile briefly surfaced again as he looked down at his lover. “Knowin those truths…that’s makin’ an honest man.” For Isaac, such truths weren’t to be teased or tested.

Instead, they were to be held sacred—like the man he loved.

“For what it’s worth…” Cane began when Isaac was finished, “I never thought I’d find myself makin this leap, neither. I had me a pretty poor opinion about marriage. Not… not in the same way you did, but it was a poor opinion nonetheless.” He’d had been with his share of women, he’d even loved a few, but all of his serious relationships had seen him paired with same sex partners. Seventy-plus years spent living in a country that not only marginalized but criminalized people like him had engendered a rather jaded and hostile outlook.

“I’ve always loved big, mamour. Maybe even a little too hard.” Admitting one’s faults never got any easier, even after so many years of personal growth and development. He stroked the underside of lover’s handsomely stubborn jaw with a few of the fingers Isaac held up beneath his chin, wearing a gentle but inscrutable smile. The man turned his face into the touch and produced a bantam smile for the admission. “Definitely a little too hard,” he amended.

“Ain’t a flaw.” Isaac’s words a slow, soft drawl of dogwoods on a still summer night. He’d always admired and appreciated how the Cajun’s heart could swell to whatever size room he found himself in. Intended or not, it made things easier on Isaac in moments where it wasn’t in his nature to expand and open.

“Hnn,” Cane hummed in disagreement. “Not sayin I ever deserved to get cheated on, ‘cause no one does, but I was a jealous, overbearin asshole even before I got my heart broke the first time. Shit, I was an angry person with a list of issues longer’n the damn Mississippi, and I was well into my forties before I took a good, hard look at myself an’ realized I had shit I needed to work on. It’s never too late, they say… But some things run deep, you know? Ain’t like flippin a switch. I’ve struggled with some toxic bullshit inside me for decades, but it wasn’t til I found myself in a situation that called for tryin somethin hard or walkin away from someone I loved that I ever really managed to make any headway.”

Slender pianists fingers walked themselves over the Cajun’s chest as he listened to the evolution of Canaan’s heart. Isaac craved a tactile touch of his own. “Some things run very deep.” The murmured words were low and measured, products of his own deep explorations and setbacks, of missed opportunities and stunted growth. “I’m glad our never too lates weren’t all that late.” Isaac chuckled and leaned forward to put his forehead against his lovers to taste the man’s breath in his words and consume their truth like his own personal Communion.

Cane peeked down at Isaac’s hands, first the one traversing his chest, then the one holding their rings, and lapsed into a moment of thoughtful silence, just soaking in the moment of closeness, of shared breaths and hearts. Then, quietly, “I’ve been here in Rhydin damn near a decade, the first half of which I spent makin wrong choice after wrong choice until I barely recognized myself, but for as many regrets as I’ve got under my belt.. I can’t say my experience with polyamory is one of ‘em. I didn’t just grudgingly go along with it so I could be with someone, I actually took the time to understand and learn and work on my heart so I could be a good partner, a good metamour, a good friend. It took years, but I finally learned how to truly love with an open hand.” To borrow his lover’s turn of phrase.

Isaac smiled. “I’m glad you still view it with positivity… hold those that matter close in your heart no matter the term of the word that’s applied.” It was important to Isaac, so very important, that Canaan never betray who he was simply to please him. Survival and solitude had a way of making one selfless given the right sinew and circumstance. It showed first in his way with animals and his sister and then, over time, with a select few others whom he trusted. “I wouldn’t want that…want this any other way.”

The Cajun lifted his head and the dark forest of his gaze from Isaac’s face again, his brow smooth and his expression thoughtful. Expressing himself this way was not easy, but he wanted to make it perfectly clear to Isaac where his heart could be found. “You mentioned me ‘giving it up’. I don’t really look at it as somethin I’m giving up. Makes it sound like… like a penalty or like there’s somethin I’ll be missin out on by marryin you which just ain’t true at all. Polyamory taught me how to let go and love freely, yeah, but it also helped show me exactly what it is I value in a partnership and what I actually want out of a relationship. I chose to explore that life for myself then and I’m livin the one I choose for myself now—’cause it’s what I want. This,” Cane said, tapping a finger against the fisted wedding bands, “you,” he continued, lifting his hand to touch the man’s chest, “our home together and where we find ourselves now… I didn’t change nothin about me to get here, not in the way you’re worried I might have. Nobody’s been cast aside an’ I’m not doin this ‘cause I think it’s what you want. This is a direction I was headin in before you ever even came along.” He’d even said as much before about having been living monogamously with his ex for several years before making the decision to start searching for what he felt was missing.

“I’ve been a monogamous man my whole life, Isaac, an’ after thoroughly explorin the beauty of polyamory and all it had to offer and teach me… what I’ve learned is that wanna build a life with someone.” Not someones.

“I wanna come home to him every night and wake up to him every mornin… or at least to the scent of the coffee he’s made me,” Cane said with a broad smile. “I wanna save scraps from my meals for his chickens and fight with his hateful rooster, savor the sweet tea he leaves in my fridge, buy him art supplies when I notice he’s run out. I wanna have to build him a second barn ‘cause we’ve filled the first one with every sorry creature to find themselves in need, and leave him love notes in the pockets of his jeans, and have him teach me the recipes to all his favorite meals and how to fix an engine or to slide between planes like he does with such frustrating ease. I wanna… fuck him in every jazz club we find, and secretly play fetch with his dog and sneak him treats until he likes me more’n him.” At that the smile hooked into a playful grin that softened back out as he finished. “And I wanna keep writing him poetry that turns into music every goddamn time ‘cause I just can’t help myself.”

Isaac smiled as Cane rattled of his list of wants and was touched by the personal nature of each one, the testimony of a life that had already started being built together, and chuckled an amused sound as the man put his own unique brand of humor on it as he always did.

“I want those things too, my love. Want them and so much more.” Isaac spoke softly, his vocabulary arrested by the genuineness on display. He struggled with feeling worthy of it all and yet, on a deeper level, beneath the surface of that black water, he knew he not only wanted it but also deserved it. “I want to live a life of melody and harmony with you too, Canaan.”

Gently, the Cajun unfurled Isaac’s fingers from where they were closed around the little golden rings. “Good. I love everyone polyamory has brought into my life, bien-aimé, but if you wanna know where it all stands, there’s no hierarchy to define. There’s only you. It’ll always be you,” he confessed with simple serene certainty for which he had no evidence except the unabating belief that this was where he was meant to be. “I want you, Isaac. And I want you to have me in return.”

The gravity of the moment settled on the Showman with comfort and clarity. Looking back on it Isaac would be both surprised at the certainty of the moment and not, because he’d known all along—had known it for lifetimes, and he could see it all mirrored back at him in Cane’s eyes.

“I know you were the one doin the proposin, but it looks like I’m the one with the gold now so…” Isaac spiced his smile with a dash of knavish jocosity. “That means I get to make the rules here.”

“You would try an’ hijack my goddamn proposal.” Cane let him, too.

Isaac grinned and reached for the Cajun’s hand, his fingers reverently tracing the lines of his palm and the swirls of his fingerprints as though he were handling sacred vessels. “I want all that you are and will be.” He spoke while sliding the golden band along the proper finger. “All that you were and have been and for all time.” He smiled with genuine and heartfelt accomplishment as he settled the ring in place without even a tremble or tremor. Another sign that this was the right thing. He offered the remaining ring to his lover.

As he slid it home, Cane repeated, “All that you are, all that you will be, all that you were, and for all time.” He wouldn’t be surprised if some variation of those words found their way into future vows. His heart skipped a beat for the sight of that ring where it belonged, finally on Isaac’s hand instead of tucked away in his wallet as it had been for so long.

Isaac threaded their fingers together and leaned forward to claim yet another kiss, where the two of them lingered to bask in such a halcyon moment.

It was only after some time that Isaac or Cane, neither could remember, put motion into limbs in order to lead the other up the stairs from the dock and back to the lake house, back to their current and future home, where every minute they spent together became a redefining moment, and every moment a cherished memory.


--
3 Years Earlier

“Seems empty now. And big. I don’t have half enough stuff to fill this place."

“I don’t have much—I left behind everything I ever owned when I left Mississippi to come here. But I can help you fill it. We got time.”

“I’d like that. There’s another spot on a lake that I like as well. I’d love your input on that one, too.”

“Not gonna lie. I’ll take a lake over a pool any fuckin day of the week.”

“Good. I was hoping you’d say that ‘cause that’s the place I wanna see you in next. I’m so fuckin grateful for you in my life, Cane. And that you’re willing to stay in it.”

“I didn’t think I’d ever find anyone else. Not like this, not someone I’d want this way. I can’t even put it to words, Isaac, the way you make me feel. It’s too much, like I can’t even breathe when you’re near. I’m glad it’s you. I think it could only ever have been you.”

“Then fuckin show me.”
--


And so, Cane did.