Sorcerer Hunters Fan Fiction ❯ Sanctuary ❯ Things Should Be the Same ( Chapter 3 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Miko No Hoshi 
Gateau tries to make Marron feel at home, but realizes a problem of his own.
Anime/Manga: Sorcerer Hunters Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Hentai | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 05.07.2003 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.3K | Visits: 344 | Status: Work In Progress
Gateau tries to make Marron feel at home, but realizes a problem of his own.
Anime/Manga: Sorcerer Hunters Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Hentai | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 05.07.2003 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.3K | Visits: 344 | Status: Work In Progress
Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the universe, not including Marron, Gateau, or Sorcerer Hunters.
Notes: Thanks so much for the reviews, and special thanks to Fala-san who sent me an e-mail about the first two chapters. I hope this third one can do the first two justice.
Sanctuary
Chapter Three
Barely four months ago Gateau's father had chosen to relocate himself to the warmer region of Florida. Having retired early and with quite enough money to sustain himself and his posterity, it was a good idea. Plus, it left the house all to Gateau, and that was fine with him.
It was a large estate, built by Gateau's fourth-generation grandfather back in the time of southern plantations. It was set back so that the rear western side faced Lake Monroe, and past that the mountains. Its large brick exterior set amid the various floral garden and resembled something out of a magazine. Too perfect.
Too many times Gateau had walked its dark halls. He knew there were cracks in the ceilings where the plaster was separating. He knew where the marble floor was cracked in three places. He knew what part of the deck was becoming dangerous, rotted from the wet air off the lake. Without care it would crumble in the long off years; he hadn't had a reason to care.
It had been lonely. Silent. He hadn't gone out very much. Marshal, the one live-in servant, did all the shopping but he never spoke outside of formalality and the maid that came twice a week to clean was far from fluent in English. Still, she did good work.
Three days a week Gateau worked in the family company. His title was the very impressive CEO but he really did little more than paperwork and the occasional business lunch. The rest of his time had largely been spent on his search for Marron. Now, he had found him.
The first day had gone fairly well. Together they had rearranged Marron's meager belongings in the western bedroom. After seeing exactly what the other had brought, Gateau had promised to take him shopping the next day and would no matter how much he objected. The remaining hours had been spent touring the house and grounds, Marron nodding in appreciation when shown the expensive objects or spacious room.
The ballroom had especially taken him, walking to the middle of its marble floor and tilting his head back to look at the crystal chandelier. Soft light brushed over his pale features, creating color that wasn't there. The tiny smile he gifted Gateau with brought a sudden rush of memory of Marron's senior prom. They had left after the second song. It had been one of their last nights.
As the sun began to set dinner was served. Gateau took relief in not eating alone, though his company was less than talkative. Once again he looked across the table. Marron picked at his food, sitting rather stiff, eyes cast down at the linen tablecloth.
"What's wrong?" Gateau questioned, laying aside his fork to look directly at his friend.
"Nothing."
"Come on, give me a little more credit than that!"
"You have really changed," Marron stated. He stopped pretending to eat and looked up.
"What?"
"You've," he paused for words, "grown up Gateau."
"Yeah, well, it happens," he gathered their dishes as an excuse to leave the dark scrutiny of those eyes.
Marron followed him to the kitchen, watching from the doorway as Gateau dropped things into the sink. Maturity showed well on the man, Marron thought. The teasing heir was perhaps not completely gone, but very much subdued and it was clear this was not the same person who had tried to tempt him with a 'quick go' in the back of his Firebird. There was something lost though, and that was what bothered Marron the most.
He shook his head to clear it and stepped away from the door. Turning, he examined one of the oversized paintings on the wall. Gateau soon left the dishes to see where his guest had gone. He entered the dining room just in time to see Marron cover a yawn with a delicate hand.
"Ready for bed?" he asked. It occurred to him that he had never said those words without meaning something entirely different. Marron just nodded, but he had noticed too.
~*~
Marron stepped inside the room, Gateau's presence at his back. The blond flipped the light, hesitated a moment as if there was something he wanted to say, then settled on a simple:
"I'm glad you're home," and then he was gone.
Marron closed the door behind him, finding the lack of a deadbolt a somewhat frightening reality. Crossing the floor, he sat on the edge of the bed and looked around. The night before he had fallen asleep staring at a cockroach as it scampered ever closer to his resting place. Now he was looking at a silken bathrobe tossed across the back of a chair that probably cost more than his monthly rent had been.
The room was too much, Marron thought, for someone like himself. The high nine-foot ceilings were trimmed in white molding that stood out against the maroon of the walls. To the left of the entrance was the closet, with its double doors and glass handles, his clothes not acquiring half. To the right was the bathroom; that door had a lock. The furniture was all made of dark cherry wood, including the large chest of drawers, the dressing table with its rotating oval mirror, and the queen sized bed that occupied the middle of the room.
The bed was dressed out in colors coordinating those of the walls. Its comforter was scarlet, made of some modern fabric that was smooth to the touch; it hung to brush the floor and had drooping bows where it separated to accommodate the posts. The pillows were plentiful, also of deep red, and if one turned back the cover, there were black satin sheets.
The decadence was somewhat overwhelming. Reaching back, Marron pulled the tie from his hair, letting it fall about his shoulders. Standing he picked up his brush from the dressing table. He ran it through his hair a few times; he looked in the mirror. Reflected there was someone he didn't want to know.
Setting down the brush, he pulled his sweater over his head. For a moment he simply stood there holding the garment, unsure where to set it down. Finally he settled on laying it on the chair. Sliding off his pants he sat them there as well. Purposefully he avoided looking in the mirror. As he had started to lose weight looking in a mirror when somewhat unclothed had become unpleasant.
Wearing only a pair of short blue boxers, these too were faded from the many washings, he stepped into the bathroom. Once again he was amazed at the extravagance. The room had obviously been redone since its original design. The walls held the same red as the bedroom, but the floor changed from dark hardwood into a more modern small tile pattern that alternated between black and scarlet. The sink was set on a cabinet of custom marble of the same colors, finished out with shining brass knobs and tap. Marron had a hard time ignoring the large mirror that hung above it as he crossed to the tub.
It was a replication of something more antique, or perhaps an authentic redone so that it connected to the water pipes. The body of the tub was shining black and the hardware was again brass. There were four feet on it shaped like lion's paws and made of the same gleaming metal. With shyness yet to be overcome, even alone, Marron removed his underwear, folding them and placing them on the lid of the toilet. He plugged the drain and turned on the water. When the tub had filled he stepped in.
Marron let the water cover him. Such a comfort had been something denied for such a long time. Scooting backwards he rested against the tub. Drawing his knees to his chest he sighed, wondering if any of this was the right thing.
~*~
Gateau stripped down and flopped back into his bed. He listened as the water ran next door. He had put Marron in the room next to his own, though he wasn't exactly sure why. Pulling the pillows from their too-perfect positions, he slipped beneath the cool sheets. Folding his arms behind his head, Gateau stared at the textured ceiling.
He had Marron back, but things were not the same.
~*~
It was by odd circumstances that he and Marron were in high school at the same time. There were four years difference between them, but it all worked out with Gateau starting school late (and not quite passing /every/ grade in one try) and Marron's staring early. Marron had come to Vernon High from a boarding school where he had resided since first grade. He had been quiet and withdrawn, preferring books to friends and having no use for those termed 'jocks'.
They met for the first time in what the student called Bright Hall. It was the long narrow hallway that ran on the east side. Unlike most other areas of the school, Bright Hall was lined with ceiling to floor windows allowing the morning light to stream in and reflect off the white tile of the floor. Opposite the windows were a line of green lockers; it was here that Marron had been standing when Gateau rounded the corner at a fast paced jog.
They collided in a rather hard way. Gateau's large form gave him the advantage to remain standing as Marron was knocked to the ground.
"Sorry," Gateau automatically responded before looking down and losing all his words. The boy before him was one of the most beautiful creatures he had ever seen. His long black hair fell about his shoulders, reflecting in the sun, framing his pale face. His knees were folded beneath him in a somewhat feminine manner, one manicured hand placed on the floor for balance. Piercing eyes looked up, precious metal gold.
Before Gateau could even offer a hand the other boy had stood. He was rather thin, the belted pair of khaki pants accenting his shapely waist, and also tall though still a good six inches from matching Gateau's height. With an ethereal grace he stepped out if the way, turning back once again to unlock his locker. After a moment of unabashed staring, Gateau found a more proper apology.
"Uh, sorry 'bout that. I'm late for class and I got Mrs. Pace and she's a real b--uh, unpleasant type person if you come in late." The other nodded, still facing his closed locker. It then dawned on Gateau that all Vernon's classes, save for the variable lunch hours, were held at the same time. "Don't you have class?"
"Yes."
"Then why, you know, aren't you there?"
"My locker," he stated quietly, letting the lock drop from his hands to look back at Gateau, "I can't get it open."
"Oh," Gateau beamed. Reaching over Marron's shoulder, he caught the lock and gave it a rather hard jerk. It fell open in perfect agreement.
"Thank you," the shorter boy stated quietly. Opening the small metal door, he withdrew a large hard-back book that Gateau recognized as the one he himself would have been holding if he had not left it...somewhere.
"History?"
"Yes," the reply was quiet and succinct as Marron started to walk down the hall. Gateau fell in step beside him.
"That means we're goin' the same place. Don't worry about Mrs. Pace, I was just kidding," he added this though the other didn't seem worried at all. "Are you a freshman?"
"Yes."
"Thought so. Know anyone here?"
"My brother."
"Oh. Well, you wanna eat lunch with me and the guys, you know, we might--"
"No, thank you."
And that had been the end of their first conversation. The teacher had forgiven them both after considering Marron's excuse of being new and Gateau's somewhat believable story of getting lost yet again while navigating the rather large three story school. She had placed them both in the back of the class, unknowingly giving Gateau yet another reason to ignore her completely.
It had been a slow process to win him over. At first it was the acceptance of constant rejection, even the smallest suggestions of a movie after school or a drive in the country was instantly shot down. They had shared two classes that first year, and the second had been Gateau's saving grace.
Repeating Algebra and failing, Gateau was assigned to a student who was doing tutoring to offset the expenses of his school supplies. Said student was Marron.
~*~
Gateau smiled at the ceiling. Being forced to spend four hours a week with the younger boy had suited him just fine, and he had passed math in the end. It had taken three weeks to get Marron to go to lunch with him, another two months before he had gone to the other's house, and nearly a year before they went on anything near a date.
He had learned Marron's habits, his quiet tendencies, and most of all, his fast possessiveness of those he chose to take in as his own friends. When the comfortableness set in and Gateau realized he was not going to lose the other, he had dropped whatever bit of an act he had upheld before. Their relationship advanced to the next level and it seemed that every comment the blond made revolved around sex in one form or another. Most of the time he was turned down flat, but on rare occasions Marron gave in.
Gateau's eyes widened, a sudden fact dawning. His heart contracted.
It was an uneasy night for both of them, and the morning after held little hope.
~tbc~
Notes: Well, nobody's told me to stop yet...so I'll keep going. Objections? Suggestions? Murder intentions?
Notes: Thanks so much for the reviews, and special thanks to Fala-san who sent me an e-mail about the first two chapters. I hope this third one can do the first two justice.
Sanctuary
Chapter Three
Barely four months ago Gateau's father had chosen to relocate himself to the warmer region of Florida. Having retired early and with quite enough money to sustain himself and his posterity, it was a good idea. Plus, it left the house all to Gateau, and that was fine with him.
It was a large estate, built by Gateau's fourth-generation grandfather back in the time of southern plantations. It was set back so that the rear western side faced Lake Monroe, and past that the mountains. Its large brick exterior set amid the various floral garden and resembled something out of a magazine. Too perfect.
Too many times Gateau had walked its dark halls. He knew there were cracks in the ceilings where the plaster was separating. He knew where the marble floor was cracked in three places. He knew what part of the deck was becoming dangerous, rotted from the wet air off the lake. Without care it would crumble in the long off years; he hadn't had a reason to care.
It had been lonely. Silent. He hadn't gone out very much. Marshal, the one live-in servant, did all the shopping but he never spoke outside of formalality and the maid that came twice a week to clean was far from fluent in English. Still, she did good work.
Three days a week Gateau worked in the family company. His title was the very impressive CEO but he really did little more than paperwork and the occasional business lunch. The rest of his time had largely been spent on his search for Marron. Now, he had found him.
The first day had gone fairly well. Together they had rearranged Marron's meager belongings in the western bedroom. After seeing exactly what the other had brought, Gateau had promised to take him shopping the next day and would no matter how much he objected. The remaining hours had been spent touring the house and grounds, Marron nodding in appreciation when shown the expensive objects or spacious room.
The ballroom had especially taken him, walking to the middle of its marble floor and tilting his head back to look at the crystal chandelier. Soft light brushed over his pale features, creating color that wasn't there. The tiny smile he gifted Gateau with brought a sudden rush of memory of Marron's senior prom. They had left after the second song. It had been one of their last nights.
As the sun began to set dinner was served. Gateau took relief in not eating alone, though his company was less than talkative. Once again he looked across the table. Marron picked at his food, sitting rather stiff, eyes cast down at the linen tablecloth.
"What's wrong?" Gateau questioned, laying aside his fork to look directly at his friend.
"Nothing."
"Come on, give me a little more credit than that!"
"You have really changed," Marron stated. He stopped pretending to eat and looked up.
"What?"
"You've," he paused for words, "grown up Gateau."
"Yeah, well, it happens," he gathered their dishes as an excuse to leave the dark scrutiny of those eyes.
Marron followed him to the kitchen, watching from the doorway as Gateau dropped things into the sink. Maturity showed well on the man, Marron thought. The teasing heir was perhaps not completely gone, but very much subdued and it was clear this was not the same person who had tried to tempt him with a 'quick go' in the back of his Firebird. There was something lost though, and that was what bothered Marron the most.
He shook his head to clear it and stepped away from the door. Turning, he examined one of the oversized paintings on the wall. Gateau soon left the dishes to see where his guest had gone. He entered the dining room just in time to see Marron cover a yawn with a delicate hand.
"Ready for bed?" he asked. It occurred to him that he had never said those words without meaning something entirely different. Marron just nodded, but he had noticed too.
~*~
Marron stepped inside the room, Gateau's presence at his back. The blond flipped the light, hesitated a moment as if there was something he wanted to say, then settled on a simple:
"I'm glad you're home," and then he was gone.
Marron closed the door behind him, finding the lack of a deadbolt a somewhat frightening reality. Crossing the floor, he sat on the edge of the bed and looked around. The night before he had fallen asleep staring at a cockroach as it scampered ever closer to his resting place. Now he was looking at a silken bathrobe tossed across the back of a chair that probably cost more than his monthly rent had been.
The room was too much, Marron thought, for someone like himself. The high nine-foot ceilings were trimmed in white molding that stood out against the maroon of the walls. To the left of the entrance was the closet, with its double doors and glass handles, his clothes not acquiring half. To the right was the bathroom; that door had a lock. The furniture was all made of dark cherry wood, including the large chest of drawers, the dressing table with its rotating oval mirror, and the queen sized bed that occupied the middle of the room.
The bed was dressed out in colors coordinating those of the walls. Its comforter was scarlet, made of some modern fabric that was smooth to the touch; it hung to brush the floor and had drooping bows where it separated to accommodate the posts. The pillows were plentiful, also of deep red, and if one turned back the cover, there were black satin sheets.
The decadence was somewhat overwhelming. Reaching back, Marron pulled the tie from his hair, letting it fall about his shoulders. Standing he picked up his brush from the dressing table. He ran it through his hair a few times; he looked in the mirror. Reflected there was someone he didn't want to know.
Setting down the brush, he pulled his sweater over his head. For a moment he simply stood there holding the garment, unsure where to set it down. Finally he settled on laying it on the chair. Sliding off his pants he sat them there as well. Purposefully he avoided looking in the mirror. As he had started to lose weight looking in a mirror when somewhat unclothed had become unpleasant.
Wearing only a pair of short blue boxers, these too were faded from the many washings, he stepped into the bathroom. Once again he was amazed at the extravagance. The room had obviously been redone since its original design. The walls held the same red as the bedroom, but the floor changed from dark hardwood into a more modern small tile pattern that alternated between black and scarlet. The sink was set on a cabinet of custom marble of the same colors, finished out with shining brass knobs and tap. Marron had a hard time ignoring the large mirror that hung above it as he crossed to the tub.
It was a replication of something more antique, or perhaps an authentic redone so that it connected to the water pipes. The body of the tub was shining black and the hardware was again brass. There were four feet on it shaped like lion's paws and made of the same gleaming metal. With shyness yet to be overcome, even alone, Marron removed his underwear, folding them and placing them on the lid of the toilet. He plugged the drain and turned on the water. When the tub had filled he stepped in.
Marron let the water cover him. Such a comfort had been something denied for such a long time. Scooting backwards he rested against the tub. Drawing his knees to his chest he sighed, wondering if any of this was the right thing.
~*~
Gateau stripped down and flopped back into his bed. He listened as the water ran next door. He had put Marron in the room next to his own, though he wasn't exactly sure why. Pulling the pillows from their too-perfect positions, he slipped beneath the cool sheets. Folding his arms behind his head, Gateau stared at the textured ceiling.
He had Marron back, but things were not the same.
~*~
It was by odd circumstances that he and Marron were in high school at the same time. There were four years difference between them, but it all worked out with Gateau starting school late (and not quite passing /every/ grade in one try) and Marron's staring early. Marron had come to Vernon High from a boarding school where he had resided since first grade. He had been quiet and withdrawn, preferring books to friends and having no use for those termed 'jocks'.
They met for the first time in what the student called Bright Hall. It was the long narrow hallway that ran on the east side. Unlike most other areas of the school, Bright Hall was lined with ceiling to floor windows allowing the morning light to stream in and reflect off the white tile of the floor. Opposite the windows were a line of green lockers; it was here that Marron had been standing when Gateau rounded the corner at a fast paced jog.
They collided in a rather hard way. Gateau's large form gave him the advantage to remain standing as Marron was knocked to the ground.
"Sorry," Gateau automatically responded before looking down and losing all his words. The boy before him was one of the most beautiful creatures he had ever seen. His long black hair fell about his shoulders, reflecting in the sun, framing his pale face. His knees were folded beneath him in a somewhat feminine manner, one manicured hand placed on the floor for balance. Piercing eyes looked up, precious metal gold.
Before Gateau could even offer a hand the other boy had stood. He was rather thin, the belted pair of khaki pants accenting his shapely waist, and also tall though still a good six inches from matching Gateau's height. With an ethereal grace he stepped out if the way, turning back once again to unlock his locker. After a moment of unabashed staring, Gateau found a more proper apology.
"Uh, sorry 'bout that. I'm late for class and I got Mrs. Pace and she's a real b--uh, unpleasant type person if you come in late." The other nodded, still facing his closed locker. It then dawned on Gateau that all Vernon's classes, save for the variable lunch hours, were held at the same time. "Don't you have class?"
"Yes."
"Then why, you know, aren't you there?"
"My locker," he stated quietly, letting the lock drop from his hands to look back at Gateau, "I can't get it open."
"Oh," Gateau beamed. Reaching over Marron's shoulder, he caught the lock and gave it a rather hard jerk. It fell open in perfect agreement.
"Thank you," the shorter boy stated quietly. Opening the small metal door, he withdrew a large hard-back book that Gateau recognized as the one he himself would have been holding if he had not left it...somewhere.
"History?"
"Yes," the reply was quiet and succinct as Marron started to walk down the hall. Gateau fell in step beside him.
"That means we're goin' the same place. Don't worry about Mrs. Pace, I was just kidding," he added this though the other didn't seem worried at all. "Are you a freshman?"
"Yes."
"Thought so. Know anyone here?"
"My brother."
"Oh. Well, you wanna eat lunch with me and the guys, you know, we might--"
"No, thank you."
And that had been the end of their first conversation. The teacher had forgiven them both after considering Marron's excuse of being new and Gateau's somewhat believable story of getting lost yet again while navigating the rather large three story school. She had placed them both in the back of the class, unknowingly giving Gateau yet another reason to ignore her completely.
It had been a slow process to win him over. At first it was the acceptance of constant rejection, even the smallest suggestions of a movie after school or a drive in the country was instantly shot down. They had shared two classes that first year, and the second had been Gateau's saving grace.
Repeating Algebra and failing, Gateau was assigned to a student who was doing tutoring to offset the expenses of his school supplies. Said student was Marron.
~*~
Gateau smiled at the ceiling. Being forced to spend four hours a week with the younger boy had suited him just fine, and he had passed math in the end. It had taken three weeks to get Marron to go to lunch with him, another two months before he had gone to the other's house, and nearly a year before they went on anything near a date.
He had learned Marron's habits, his quiet tendencies, and most of all, his fast possessiveness of those he chose to take in as his own friends. When the comfortableness set in and Gateau realized he was not going to lose the other, he had dropped whatever bit of an act he had upheld before. Their relationship advanced to the next level and it seemed that every comment the blond made revolved around sex in one form or another. Most of the time he was turned down flat, but on rare occasions Marron gave in.
Gateau's eyes widened, a sudden fact dawning. His heart contracted.
It was an uneasy night for both of them, and the morning after held little hope.
~tbc~
Notes: Well, nobody's told me to stop yet...so I'll keep going. Objections? Suggestions? Murder intentions?