words—“tender things I’ve ever seen have been between people who had nothing to lose, so they hung on to each other.” Mikhail looked away, and it wasn’t Shane’s imagination—his chin was trembling. “You believed that, and you were a pink brick, so they tried to smash you. Bastards.”
Shane reached out a clumsy hand—to cup Mikhail’s cheek, to clasp his shoulder—he wasn’t sure which, but it didn’t matter. The dancer stepped back, pursed his lips, and was suddenly the perverse little flirt who had claimed that the day was only going to be a day at the Faire in the company of a pretty man.
“The size is good, but the color is for shit. Take it off. I have a whole other look for you.”
“Mikhail….”
“Did I say I was going to spill out my life’s story for you? I am not that man. Now move!”
Shane did as he was ordered—and refrained from pointing out that spilling his life’s story was exactly what Mikhail had demanded Shane do for him. An hour later they were pelting their way through the crowd, trying not to be late, and Shane’s estimation of how much mad money he could spend had risen considerably.
He was wearing fitted black trousers that hooked from a flap over his crotch on either side of his hips, with his prized white shirt over it and a leather jerkin over that. Mikhail had discouraged the idea of black, and the laced over-vest with the little sleeve caps was a naturally shaded gold with green patches at the shoulders. The whole works were bound by a studded brown belt with a little leather pouch to hold his wallet jouncing from the side of it. He had on a green leather hat exactly like the kind he always imagined Robin Hood wearing and a pair of soft leather boots that came up to his calves.
The pile of stuff he had just locked in the trunk of his car would humble the tickle trunk of an affluent pre-school.
It had actually been the dragon that had nearly made them late.
They were just getting ready to go pick up the bags they had left at various vendors—many of them with dresses, yarn, soap, perfume, CDs, and paintings for Benny and Parry Angel, as well as a rather spectacular piece of stained glass packaged for Shane himself—when they passed the large corner booth with the stuffed puppets, and Shane fell in love.
“The three-headed red dragon,” he said before he could stop himself.
And since he was spending money… “And the blue one too. And the set of finger puppets with the little animals… and the angels!” They were perfect. They had curly brown hair and blue eyes, just like Parry Angel and Lila, Jon and Amy’s baby.
Shane had forked over his credit card and turned to find Mikhail’s amused eyes on him, his arms crossed in front of his chest and his hip cocked to the side.
“You are striving for some sort of award?” he’d asked, and Shane flushed.
“Sometimes the only thing that gets you through being a kid is a different world where you can be a kid,” he muttered, taking the giant paper bags filled with expensive toys from the delighted shopkeeper.
He turned back to Mikhail and was unprepared for the soft look again and that sudden vulnerability that he’d seen inside the clothier’s.
“For me, it was dance,” he said softly, and Shane smiled.
“You’re a beautiful dancer,” he told Mikhail, his sincerity resonating through his toes. If anything, Mikhail’s high-cheekboned face became both more remote and far more fragile.
“That is kind to say,” he said, half-embarrassed. “Come, we are late.”
So here they were, running and late, and Shane had to wonder. What was that sharp little triangle of a face hiding when Mikhail looked like a thin pane of glass ready to shatter?
Mikhail and Kimmy’s second performance was no less amazing than the first. In fact, as Shane stood in the sunshine and watched Mikhail extend his amazing body and use the suspended props hanging from the archway to swim in the air as a fish might swim
Shane reached out a clumsy hand—to cup Mikhail’s cheek, to clasp his shoulder—he wasn’t sure which, but it didn’t matter. The dancer stepped back, pursed his lips, and was suddenly the perverse little flirt who had claimed that the day was only going to be a day at the Faire in the company of a pretty man.
“The size is good, but the color is for shit. Take it off. I have a whole other look for you.”
“Mikhail….”
“Did I say I was going to spill out my life’s story for you? I am not that man. Now move!”
Shane did as he was ordered—and refrained from pointing out that spilling his life’s story was exactly what Mikhail had demanded Shane do for him. An hour later they were pelting their way through the crowd, trying not to be late, and Shane’s estimation of how much mad money he could spend had risen considerably.
He was wearing fitted black trousers that hooked from a flap over his crotch on either side of his hips, with his prized white shirt over it and a leather jerkin over that. Mikhail had discouraged the idea of black, and the laced over-vest with the little sleeve caps was a naturally shaded gold with green patches at the shoulders. The whole works were bound by a studded brown belt with a little leather pouch to hold his wallet jouncing from the side of it. He had on a green leather hat exactly like the kind he always imagined Robin Hood wearing and a pair of soft leather boots that came up to his calves.
The pile of stuff he had just locked in the trunk of his car would humble the tickle trunk of an affluent pre-school.
It had actually been the dragon that had nearly made them late.
They were just getting ready to go pick up the bags they had left at various vendors—many of them with dresses, yarn, soap, perfume, CDs, and paintings for Benny and Parry Angel, as well as a rather spectacular piece of stained glass packaged for Shane himself—when they passed the large corner booth with the stuffed puppets, and Shane fell in love.
“The three-headed red dragon,” he said before he could stop himself.
And since he was spending money… “And the blue one too. And the set of finger puppets with the little animals… and the angels!” They were perfect. They had curly brown hair and blue eyes, just like Parry Angel and Lila, Jon and Amy’s baby.
Shane had forked over his credit card and turned to find Mikhail’s amused eyes on him, his arms crossed in front of his chest and his hip cocked to the side.
“You are striving for some sort of award?” he’d asked, and Shane flushed.
“Sometimes the only thing that gets you through being a kid is a different world where you can be a kid,” he muttered, taking the giant paper bags filled with expensive toys from the delighted shopkeeper.
He turned back to Mikhail and was unprepared for the soft look again and that sudden vulnerability that he’d seen inside the clothier’s.
“For me, it was dance,” he said softly, and Shane smiled.
“You’re a beautiful dancer,” he told Mikhail, his sincerity resonating through his toes. If anything, Mikhail’s high-cheekboned face became both more remote and far more fragile.
“That is kind to say,” he said, half-embarrassed. “Come, we are late.”
So here they were, running and late, and Shane had to wonder. What was that sharp little triangle of a face hiding when Mikhail looked like a thin pane of glass ready to shatter?
Mikhail and Kimmy’s second performance was no less amazing than the first. In fact, as Shane stood in the sunshine and watched Mikhail extend his amazing body and use the suspended props hanging from the archway to swim in the air as a fish might swim
Similar Books
