Title: Soul Heart
Summary: Decisions, Decisions. AU.
"Hey Gil. You seen my blue shirt?" Warrick yelled loud enough for Gil to hear him from the other room.
Gil breezed toward the bedroom, not at all disturbed by the tone of voice of his lover. While stepping over the threshold, a vision hit him leaving his capacity to breathe in oxygen short-circuited. Warrick, rummaging through a drawer, had on a pair of khaki pants, the waistline riding low on the hips and the tip of his backside showed above the belt looped onto his pants. Movement flexed his muscles, creating a curve of the spine. Gil's eyes rose up to the top of his reddish, curly hair, took a leisurely stroll down the length of the tall frame, to end up gazing at the long and narrow feet, toes curling into the carpet.
Poetry in the making, a variation of the art form, a constant reminder of Warrick's presence living in his condo and sleeping in his bed. Gil was foolishly in love. Seven months of togetherness, Gil still amazed that Warrick was actually here by his side.
Eyes dragging away from Warrick - - he couldn't stare all day, could he - - Gil focused on the six-drawer chest and pondered. "Try the third one," indicating the drawer normally reserved for his clothes.
"How did that happen?" Warrick, tilting his head to the side, glancing at Gil with innocent eyes, lips pursed in a bratty pout. "Baby, I know you're the boss man, but these long hours are killing me."
Petulance. Gil recognized the signs. People that knew Warrick, and Gil knew him better than most, knew of his tendency for becoming irritated with increasing work stress especially when he sought answers that continued to evade him. Warrick's persistence for trying to find the evidence and the ability to think outside the box, were qualities Gil appreciated and had endeared Warrick to him. Handling petulance was a cakewalk in the park.
"I don't control the criminal elements." Gil walked deeper into the bedroom. Coming up along Warrick's side, he nudged the muscular shoulders.
Warrick turned and gave Gil a quick peck on the mouth. "You can talk to the man. The sheriff needs to hire more investigators."
Tasting Warrick on his lips with his tongue, Gil became even more aroused, and sadly, he realized they just didn't have the time. He settled for skimming down Warrick's arm with his fingers. "We have Greg. As soon as he passes his proficiency test, he'll become a full time investigator," he said moving away and beginning his own search.
Where did he put them? Gil days of knowing exactly where he'd put things seemed to have disappeared with Warrick moving into his home. Not that Warrick caused a disruption in his household or that he was untidy. Warrick the complete opposite, could be anal for wanting everything organized just so. Gil discovered his skills for keeping mundane details in order rated a poor second as compared to his lover.
"It's about time," Warrick mumbled, sounding distracted.
"Yeah. Adding Greg to the team will give us some relief without blowing up the budget from hiring more personnel."
"Details, details, details." Business practice for containing cost defied Warrick's logic.
Lowering his body to his knees, he looked under the bed. His muscles silently creaked with the strain. Ah. Either he had to slow down working those long and hard hours, or he had to cool down his over zealous behavior in bed. Age got a lot to do with it and Gil didn't thrive in disillusionment.
Shoes found - Gil sat on the edge of the bed reaching for one.
"What the fuck!"
Warrick pulled out a black velvet covered square box. "What's this?" he asked, eyes narrowing in like a laser beam.
Oh. He'd forgotten about the box. This wasn't how he'd meant for this to happen. Or was it.
Gil put all of his attention on the sparse hair running down a bare chest as Warrick strode over to the bed and knelt in front of Gil. Held the box up for him to see and asked, "You have a woman I don't know about?"
He asked the question as though it was a joke. The expression on his face was anything but comical and relaxed. Eyes pleading for an explanation, the soft glow dimmed with worry.
Another endearing trait of Warrick's: his ability to leave the heavy dose of machismo at the door. Out came the softer side the world probably wouldn't ever see. And transforming to this side of his nature gave Gil pleasure, like having Warrick sitting between his outstretched legs while listening to music, or watching the television. Or laying his head in Gil's lap, moaning to fingers stroking hair and body.
Gil spread his legs wide, thrilling to the heady power of having Warrick kneeling between them, feeling the weight of an unanswered question, the line of tension simmering. He banished from thought the memories of yesterday's relaxation, of how it had been between them before this moment.
Warrick leaned an arm on Gil's thigh; the box hovered conspicuously for his attention. Gil slumped forward, resting his forehead on Warrick's, "Open it," he whispered.
Resting back on his bent legs, Warrick pushed the lip upward. Gil waited no more relaxed than Warrick. Inside, more black velvet material, which cradled an ancient and beautiful ring.
"Wow," said Warrick, removing the ring from the box. "Beautiful Celtic design. Well preserved. What are these markings?"
"They represent the ancient writings found on the British Isles. The people called the language Ogham. Each mark symbolizes a particular character of the alphabet and it can take up to several markings to denote the whole character and its meaning. There was a time ancient Irishman frowned on the written word. History and events were presented in oral presentation by the bards."
"Never thought about being hooked up with an Irishman." Warrick studied the ring with interest.
"Actually, I'm Irish and English."
"Yeah, I remember. Who's WG?"
"William Grissom, my grandfather. The story has it that my grandmother saw this ring and wanted it for my Grandfather. They were poor and she made the jeweler hold on to that ring until she could save enough money to purchase it. My mother said she had loved it for its elegance and simple style of beauty. It reminded my Grandmother of her heritage."
"It's a handsome ring. Your Grandmother must've really loved your Grandfather." Warrick looked off in the distance.
Sometimes he'd forget Warrick had never known his father, who'd had abandoned both mother and infant son. His mother had died when he was young. His memories of her slight, but his Nana filled the void as best as she could. A male child needed a strong father figure, something Gil understood all too well.
"From the stories my mother told me, I believe it was so." Gil took the ring from Warrick's fingers and stared at it. Noting tiny scratches embedded on the gold. He remembered the day the ring came into his possession; how his mother had desired that he would one day wear it in honor of family and marriage.
"So, man. Tell me the meanings."
"I will in a minute." Gil touched Warrick's bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. He roamed the texture from one side to the other in almost an absent manner.
Gil didn't live by traditions, and his decision to live life as he saw fit met with disapproval by his mother. He had disappointed her. She had been looking forward to having grandchildren and a daughter-in-law to increase the small number of family members.
It took a while, but she finally understood her son was normal and different. That he had this uncanny aspiration in the field of science that had made her the proud mother. That she'd accepted his choice in lifestyle, which was once repugnant to her, showed the love she had for her son. No, Gil's traditional values were of anything but routine. However, society's attitude became less restrictive and acceptance a bit easier on those who made unordinary choices. And really, he didn't give a damn.
His relationship with Warrick and family was as untraditional as they came.
Warrick caught the thumb and sucked it inside his mouth, then let it go. He waited as though he sensed the rumination Gil went through. Warrick had long patience with him and he knew Warrick wouldn't demand an answer to anything Gil wasn't ready to speak on.
"We're going to be late for work."
"Just so you'll know, I've an * in * with the boss."
"Would you do me the honor of becoming my husband?" See, untraditional to the hilt, the words came tumbling from his mouth.
Warrick jerked, his face frozen in shock. He eased away from Gil, looking down at him, lost for words.
In silence, he walked over to the chest and collected his blue shirt. Threw it over his shoulders, and he started buttoning it, half way facing the wall. Gil sat in the same spot on the bed, watching him as he slid to the carpet, his back resting lightly against the chest. First, he reached for his socks and covered up his slim feet. The shoes came next.
Gil hadn't expected he would've blurted out his proposal in that manner. With Warrick finding the ring and his love for Warrick, the timing should have been right. He thought Warrick would have felt the same.
But marriage: asking someone should happen when you're sure of the answer and it takes place in an appropriate manner, with candlelight, dinner, wine, and well... His first marriage proposal and it seemed success rated in a fat zero.
Waiting for a reaction made the nerves in his body quiver, Gil just couldn't watch anymore. He crossed his legs and stared at the design in the carpet, picking out the beginning and the end of each new color in the image.
A pair of dusty brown colored shoes interrupted his view.
"You going to tell me now?"
The answer went straight to Warrick's midsection. "Soul Heart, that's the meaning of the markings."
He felt the pressure of hands grabbing him, forcing him onto his feet. Those hands pulled him into the circle of Warrick's arms and crushed him against a hard body. The kiss, powerful and fierce, had the taste of ownership written over it.
"I love you too," Warrick gasped between the kissing.
The response wasn't what he wanted to hear. Relief filled Gil, though. He didn't care whether Warrick wanted marriage or not, all that matter, he hadn't scare Warrick away. He hoped.
"We had better get going," Gil finally said, loosening his arms from around Warrick's waist.
"Really. Now you want to go to work." The green colored eyes had lost some of their wariness. They widened and a slick grin crossed Warrick's face.
He knew that look. Warrick was up to no good. Right on cue, Warrick dipped his knees. He rode upward pressing against Gil's groin. Gil held on for the ride, and allowed kisses on his cheeks, forehead, and his mouth.
As Warrick moved away, Gil tried not to think of the disappointment and the ache in his chest. His watch and keys were on the dresser. He went over to get them having the need to put distance between him and his lover.
Finding what he was looking for, he dropped the keys into his pants' pocket. Reached for the watch, ready to slide it onto his wrist. Warrick caught his hand and stopped the motion in midstream. Gil occupied with inner thoughts hadn't heard Warrick moving behind him.
Warrick slid the watch slowly onto his arm, while pressing hard against his back. He tongued the side of his neck, making Gil shiver in response. Gil wished they had time to make clothes disappear.
"You really should warn a guy before making an offer like that." He whispered into Gil's ear and pressed the side of his face next to Gil's temple.
Gil's eyes blinked toward the mirror. Saw the reflection of a serious man; smile limped, eyes probing, he remembered Warrick's lack of response. He knew that much of himself was inside of himself including the words he thought and the feelings he had for Warrick. Sharing called for more than mere action and sex in bed. He turned within Warrick's embrace and said:
"if your kisses were not
for any lips but mine
trembling and submissive;
if your lingering saliva
did not blend in my mouth
its infinite taste;
if together our lips
naked like bodies,
and bodies together
like naked lips
did not form on body
and one breath,
our would not be love,
our love would not be!"
Warrick listened intently and stilled.
He said, "Baby, I would love to be your husband. Now do me the proper honor and hand over that gorgeous ring."
Warrick opened his hand. Gleaming, the ring laid against the texture of the skin.
Gil plucked it away. Traditions. He was planning to do it right this time. He would take his lover to a fine restaurant, wine and dine him, and ask him again, properly, for his hand.
The name of the poem recited by Gil is entitled, "Our Love," by Xavier Villaurrutia. Excerpt used without permission. The full poem is part of an anthology by Spain and Spanish America authors. The book name is "Love Poems."
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