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Date Posted: 00:49:33 02/22/02 Fri
Author: Tristan
Subject: What....?
In reply to: Corum & Valhorek 's message, "In search" on 19:22:16 02/21/02 Thu

Tristan could only nod in silent agreement to Marz’s promised revenge against Tegol. He knew he wasn’t expected to say anything in reply, that Marz just had to say it aloud, to promise himself more than anything. So he just sat there and held his hand, mentally praying to all the gods he would have normally sworn he didn’t believe in, thanking them that Marz was safe again, safe from the destructive powers his rage could have easily turned upon himself since he had so little control over it.

He let Marz hold him, even though he felt it should be the other way around. But he knew that his normally self-assured lover liked to always feel as if he were in control of things. Especially after he’d openly wept in front of both Tristan and Corum, clinging to Tristan while feeling completely, horribly helpless and probably not knowing what to do.

They clung to each other now, Tristan closing his eyes and tightening his grip when Marz whispered that he loved him. But something strange started to happen. He suddenly felt as if he were embracing all of Marz, every bit of him, and with everything thing he had, too. He was confused at first, but it was a lovely confusion, a euphoric haze of mental passion, almost erotic in its intensity.

He heard Marz moaning softly as if they were making love, and he felt a single tear slide out from behind his eyelash and race down his cheek. He felt his breath coming quicker, but he couldn’t be sure whether it was his own or his lover’s, and soon he couldn’t even tell whose thoughts belonged to whom, whose spirit swirled within him, or whose magic it was tingling through his body.

A knock coming from the other side of the door brought him hurtling back down, snapping him out of the most incredible high he’d ever experienced in his entire life. He sat back, blinking wildly, his fingers sliding but still gripping the sleeves of Marz’s tattered shirt.

When Valhorek entered, he was still too dazed to move back anymore, and the healer had to actually move to the other side of the bed to begin working on Marz. After awhile, his hands did drop, and he tried to pay attention to what was going on. “See that he drinks this,” the healer said, handing him a packet of herbs after he’d mostly finished working on his patient. Tristan nodded slowly to the instructions and the promise that Val would be in the kitchen if he were needed.

Once the healer left, Tristan stared curiously at the herbs in his hand before stuffing them into his pocket. How was he supposed to mix him the medicine if he didn’t have any tea or java? Sighing, he kissed Marz and promised him that he’d be right back, standing and hurrying out the door, walking towards the kitchen as fast as he could go without looking like an idiot.

While brewing the tea, he ignored the looks of all the others sitting at the table, his hands shaking somewhat as he mixed the herbs into the hot liquid. Quickly, he raced back to the room, doing his best not to spill the medicinal drink as he shut the door with the heel of one boot.

“Here, drink this,” he said, handing Marz the steaming tea as he moved to sit down cross-legged beside him. His hands rested in absently in his lap, while he sat there, staring slightly off into space, too deep in thought to even notice whether or not Marz complied with his command.

“What was that?” he finally asked, somewhat softly, even for him. He reached out and laid his hand against Marz’s cheek, but all he could feel was the warmth of his lover’s skin against his palm. He had for a while now convinced himself that Marz was his new drug, the reason he could stay clean for so long without hating himself. But what they had felt together mere moments ago had been far more powerful than any form of opiate he had ever indulged in, in his entire life.

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