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"Mr Linus Baker,"
Arthur's voice had that puckish bent to it that was as charming as it was delightfully ominous. The last time his voice sounded this way, Linus ended up pinned underneath him on the beach successfully ignoring the insistent press of sand in favor of the insistent press of Arthur's lips on his. This particular voice told Linus that Arthur Parnassus was up to no good.
Arthur lay sprawled on the couch, his long legs notched over Linus' lap. Two glasses of wine ago, his ochre shirt had been unbuttoned past his clavicle, baring a tiny grey-blonde tuft of chest hair. His throat and cheeks were flushed with said wine and 2 hours of subtle physical contact with his… partner. They were too old for the word boyfriend, Linus thought. And there was a pleasant formality to the word "partner". It sounded like they were a set of two. Like they weren't to be separated.
"Mr. Linus Baker," Arthur repeated, tasting the name as it formed in his mouth. "Why do you love the sea so much?"
Linus drew a hand up and down Arthur's leg in thoughtless appreciation as he concocted an answer. The joy of physical contact felt so vital, Linus had no idea if he could go back to living without being able to show Arthur dozens of small affectionate touches every day. Every time Arthur hummed at the contact was a tiny miracle— especially in moments like now where he leaned toward Linus expectantly. As if Linus was about to impart some profound secret, not the next round of a cheeky teenagers game they were probably too tipsy to be playing.
"It's… I… it's magnificent. and it goes on forever and I can't understand it, but I don't have to understand it. And I love it because it's where you all are. I've been to a fair amount of places, but it's the first place I've been that felt … I suppose the word is "belonging"? It's like air, I didn't even question it until it was gone and then suddenly I couldn't breathe."
"You're secretly a bit of a poet aren't you, Mr Baker?"
"Hardly." Linus murmured into his wine glass, trying and failing to hide the rising blush. "Your turn, dear. Truth or dare?"
Arthur took a long swig of wine and looked up at the study's bookshelf in vacant consideration. "Truth."
Linus had a question in mind, but finding the words for it was a different matter.
There's a difference, Linus always thought, between insecurity and a frank assessment of one's strengths and potentials for improvement. The first came from self pity, the second was evidence-based. For example…
Fact: Linus Baker was not a skinny child
He was frequently reminded of that by his mother and his grandmother and a slew of the other kids at school. Those reminders were supplemented by stories and films and interactions that fuelled the belief that Linus was incapable, unintelligent, lazy, and fundamentally unlovable. Therefore, a not insignificant part of Linus believed that he was incapable, unintelligent, lazy, and fundamentally unlovable.
The first 3 of those, Linus worked diligently to subvert. He was good at his job. His reports were detailed, deliberate, thoughtful. He may not be traditionally clever, but his A Levels were good enough. And he read and read and read. He learned. He did his work sufficiently. But the last belief proved much harder to dispel. One couldn't accomplish their way out of being unlovable.
"The night that you dropped off the record player. You said you thought about me constantly." Here he paused, trying to formulate the question. Arthur moved on his seat, a slight smile shifting onto his face.
"I did. And I do."
"That wasn't my question. What I mean to say is: What were you thinking about?"
"That night? That night, I was thinking that I wanted to dance with you so badly I couldn't tear my mind from the possibility." Arthur's eyes were barely concealed flame as he swirled the dregs of his current glass and looked up at Linus with his head cocked, explaining.
"I barely contained the instinct to ask, believing that you would think it inappropriate." He looked away at that, chuckling to himself through the next thoughts. "After I left, I kept jumbling the words from Lucy's bedtime story and he asked if I had left my mind behind with you. He was right, of course."
Here, Arthur's voice steadied into a low, sweet tone Linus found himself increasingly enamored with. "Also I desperately wanted to kiss you, but that was a near-constant thought by that point."
There was still some self deprecation in the laughter, but it was mostly something warmer. Something huskier and more appreciative.
"I'm surprised you didn't notice how frequently my eyes dropped to your lips."
"I just assumed I had salad dressing on my face"
"Every time?"
"I started carrying a kerchief about it"
Arthur let out a rather undignified and entirely attractive guffaw. "I was wondering why Chauncey started asking about them. He said that modern businessmen have kerchiefs of various different materials and they need to be laundered properly. He even added it to the list of bellhop laundering tasks."
Linus' heart squeezed brilliantly at the mention of a moment that felt so— well— Chauncey. He missed him. He missed all the children honestly, but this night with just the two of them was so long in coming. One night away would be fine enough for all of them, and actually good for him and Arthur.
Arthur was still talking, "But yes. That's my answer. I couldn't stop thinking about kissing you. It's still hard, honestly. You are distractingly kissable."
Linus had been curious, but hadn't expected… that. Arthur's voice colored with blushy affection at the memory, and Linus was reminded that he had made Arthur just as flustered and nervous as Arthur had made him. That didn't… well it shouldn't be possible.
Fact: In an empty classroom just after the bell rang, the first boy Linus Baker kissed said that no one would believe him if he told them.
He hadn't planned on telling anyone, so the words seemed unnecessarily cruel. He allowed himself a rare moment of anger with that. But he had still met the boy the next Thursday to kiss him again. The kisses were toothy and strange and infinitely better than nothing. 3 Thursdays later, the boy hadn't come back. 4 Tuesdays later, the boy saw him in the hallway and acted as if they had never met. Linus took it as a cue to never go back again.
Now, curled up with a partner more wonderful than he could imagine, Linus could not stop the wonderment from creeping into his own voice, "No one's ever talked about me that way before."
"You are nearly impossible not to kiss. Until we've kissed of course, then it's impossible to stop kissing you. Like so," Arthur said demonstratively before pulling Linus' hand to his mouth and trailing many tiny kisses up his wrist and the soft underside of his arm.
His lips were warm and his grip was warmer, and Linus tried to lose himself to the feeling. He failed. He tried for a light chuckle instead.
"That doesn't make any sense, but I'd rather not question it right now"
Arthur's thighs tensed beneath Linus' hands. Arthur swung his legs away from his lap, and shifted so he faced Linus closely. Planting a sweet, closed mouth kiss on Linus's cheek, Arthur made eye contact.
His expression was a blend of unfettered affection and gentle concern.
And despite the comfort, the ease Arthur and he had built together— Linus was terrified.
Fact: Linus Baker stopped crying for himself 27 years ago.
It wasn't out of a desire to be steely or masculine or "strong." It just made sense. There were too many things that could have merited it and he frankly didn't have the energy for it.
He did not cry when Daniel from university kissed him at a party and then said he couldn't be seen to date someone like Linus. He did not cry when his best friend Jeremy said he was attracted to fat people, but would never act on that impulse because fatness was inexcusable.
Linus did not even cry when he sat alone in his house on Hermes Way listening to Buddy Holly croon "Because I Love You". He did not cry as he missed the cerulean gleam of the sea or as he missed the children's chaos like a snake misses sun.
He did not cry when the thought dropped into his head that Arthur Parnassus was perhaps the most wonderful, warm, caring man he would ever meet. Linus might never see him again. That moment was the closest he had come to crying for himself in 27 years.
Arthur's voice broke through the reel of memories. His hand was hot on Linus's arm. "What can I do to show you I mean it?"
"I...I don't know." His voice pitched oddly with the words, and Linus was reminded briefly of the boats he saw sailing by the island sometimes. The long ones whose hulls tilted so keenly that it was a physical marvel that they didn't flip into the sea. His voice sounded like those boats looked: impossibly composed, but only just.
"Linus. My darling man. I don't know what more I can do to convince you of your attractiveness. But I would request that you remember I am attracted to you. Very much. And when you talk about yourself in that way, I am affected by it as well."
Linus felt the edges of his temper start to fray. Earnest little flames licked at the edges of Arthur's eyes. He felt a breath and a half away from drowning. He was keeled too far over. He inhaled and let himself fall into the sea.
"Arthur, it's not about you. It's me. There is a lifetime of evidence that points to my inadequacies— a lifetime of proof of my failures and embarrassments. Look at me."
He didn't say, I am not made to be loved like this. But he didn't have to. Arthur heard it anyway. His hands slid down to grip Linus's. His eyes didn't leave Linus, the intensity of his soft gaze suddenly felt overwhelming. The next question came like a gunshot.
"Does being a phoenix make me any less lovable?"
"No! Arthur! Why would— this is totally different—"
"It doesn't sound that way. It sounds quite similar to be honest. For decades, I was told and I believed that being magical means I can never be happy or loved or have a home." Arthur was vibrating with unspent energy and Linus had to hold himself back from reaching for his face.
Arthur's voice quieted with the next admission, "Sometimes I still do when I'm not careful. I'll ask again. Does being a phoenix make me any less lovable?"
It was an impossible question. The answer was "no" obviously, but the context of the question churned Linus' thoughts in the direction of his mother's comments, of the empty classroom, of Charles Werner's chiseled jaw, and of the cellar with too few and far too many scratches in the wall.
"I...can't answer that. You are you and you are a phoenix and you are the most beautiful man I've ever known. They're all the same thing."
Arthur's hand landed open on his chest, pressing tight as if to steady his heartbeat.
"You are you and you are fat and you are the most beautiful, clever, precious man I have ever known. They're all the same thing."
Fact: Linus Baker did not have all the facts.
He ran through the lists of information he had compiled over the years about his body and its lovability. For the first time in a long time, it felt too short. It felt like an inadequate measurement for the nature of the situation— like using gallons to measure sound or inches to measure sweetness or pounds to measure worth. He had gotten information from all the wrong places and absorbed all the wrong truths from them.
Arthur's long fingers wrapped securely around the back of his neck, stroking the soft fold of skin along his hairline. In a slow, precise movement, Arthur's forehead pressed against his tightly. His touch was just shy of burning. This close, Linus could not avoid the sincerity in his tone.
"You are beautiful like the sea, you precious man. I don't even question it. And it would mean the entire world to me if you could try to remember that."
Arthur wiped his cheeks and Linus saw his fingertips were bright with tears. Oh. he had started crying. That made sense, all things considered. 27 years was long enough, he supposed.
Fact: Arthur Parnassus— caring father, flirtatious intellectual, endlessly charming man with horrible philosophical taste— loved Linus Baker. He wanted to dance with him and kiss him and play childish games on their night off.
Arthur nestled into Linus's side planting coy kisses along his neck. Linus turned to kiss the top of his head, which shifted at the last moment. Having planted a sincere little kiss on the bridge of Arthur's nose instead, they both chuckled.
"Truth or dare, darling?"
"Hmmmm. Dare."
"Ooo delightful! Alright. Show me your favorite place to be kissed."
Linus, already flushed with wine and weights lifted, sunk into an even deeper shade of red. Lowering the collar of his shirt, Linus turned to Arthur and spread his fingers over a small patch of skin at the crux of his neck and shoulder.
The word murmbled out from him in barely a whisper, "Here."
"What, darling?"
"Here. I like to be kissed here."
Barely had the words left his mouth before Arthur planted warm lips on his neck. Hair brushing his freshly trimmed nape, and hand on his shoulder for balance, Linus could smell the man's citrusy musk of aftershave and allowed himself to drift thoughtlessly in all the sensations of Arthur's nearness.
Ah well, Linus half-considered, it's never too late to collect new information.