Snow

but never like this, shifting crowds moving this way and that, not vying for any one person to look at them but rather being cajoled by calls from everywhere, promises of entertainment and food and drink. It was as if everything in the world was there waiting just for them. He saw jugglers and acrobats and fire-eaters and players acting out stories of every kind. There were even singers too, and both he and Alec stopped to listen to them. Alec's face, as he watched them, was wistful, and David saw him glance down at his hands, start to shove them into his coat pockets.

"You sing better than they do," David whispered to him, and caught one of his hands with his own.

"You too," Alec said, grinning at him, and the next verse they both picked up the words, sang them quietly to each other, their voices blending together into one.

Later Alec bought him a cup of something with a name that was all vowels and l's. "From the far hills," Alec said, a wicked grin on his face. It was clear like water but tasted like a flash of light, a bright shocking blur. David blinked, looked at Alec. He could feel the drink rushing warm inside him. Everything looked brighter and Alec was right there, right next to him, his grin grown even wider.

"I like this," David said after his third sip. He leaned in to whisper it in Alec's ear, nuzzled his neck.

"I can tell," Alec said and motioned for another.

Halfway through a play about sheep and miracles David leaned over and rested his head on Alec's shoulder. The world was swimming around him, a dizzy blur. Alec felt so good, so solid.

And he smelled nice and warm and like...like he always did. Like himself, his own special Alec smell. It was wonderful. "I wish we were home," he said, and bit Alec's earlobe gently, licked his neck.

"Hey," Alec said quietly and when Alec turned toward him David kissed him, open-mouthed and eager.

"Mining trash," someone hissed behind them and David reached back with one hand, let his fingers brush against the knee of the man who'd spoken. He heard a crack and then a gasp, a whimper. Then Alec was tugging him up, hurrying them through the crowd.

"What were you thinking?" he said when they were on the street, turning back to look behind them.

"I was thinking about you," David said, and put a hand on Alec's shoulders. They were framed under his hands. Alec looked at him and the worried look on his face faded, his eyes flaring hot.

"You and me." He slid his hands down Alec's chest, leaned in and kissed him. Then he moved his hands lower.

"We're in the middle of the street," Alec said and then gasped, pulled him closer.

"I don't care," David said. "I want you."

Later and forever what he would remember about that afternoon was the way the sun and the sky had swirled together overhead, a color he could remember but would never see again, the cool stone of the arch he and Alec were pressed against, the dark brown of Alec's eyes staring into his when David pushed into him. The sound of Alec saying his name over and over, voice wild and pleading.

Alec was quiet that night and again the next. He didn't touch him at all, kissed him in the evenings quickly and then slept carefully curled away from him.

The third night David got up when Alec fell asleep. He climbed out of bed and sat on the floor, stared out the window looking up at the stars. He heard Alec wake up and roll over when the street lamps outside were starting to flicker, burning low. There was a sharp intake of breath and then Alec's voice saying "David?" softly, almost hopefully.

"Down here," David said and wondered if the sigh Alec made at the sound of his voice was happy or sad. He didn't know what had changed, what Alec was thinking. He wanted to. "Come sit with me."

"I--all right," Alec said. In the moonlight he was all shadows and he sat down near him but not next to him. David moved closer, reached out and put a hand on Alec's leg when he started to move back.

"You have to sit here if you want to see the stars."

"David--"

"I like it when you say my name."

Alec was silent for a moment. Then he reached out and put his hand over David's and pushed it away, as if he couldn't bear his touch. "Except it's not your name."

"It--"

"It isn't. You--people like you have other names. Titles. And we both know I'm not ever someone you were supposed to meet, much less--"

"But I did meet you."

"Always with the obvious," Alec said, and smiled at him then, a strained smile.

"I want to be with you," David said softly. "I'm not sorry about it."

"Of course you aren't. You aren't sorry because people like you don't ever have to be sorry." His voice was bitter now, full of something past the two of them.

"But you do?"

Alec didn't reply. David wrapped his arms around his knees, sat silent, curling himself up tight and staring fixedly at the sky. His fingers were cold. He didn't know what to do, to say, and wished he did.