What star shines yonder in the east?
Will slams open Marlowe’s door. Where was that no good thief? The place looks as it had the last time he was here. The table in the center of the room was filled with random items and papers. Will quickly pushes the rest of that day’s memories from his mind.
He sees papers strewn about Marlowe’s room, some crumpled, some not. An ink quill is seemingly thrown across the room spilling its night black contents across the wood planks of the floor. There are chairs tipped over and curtains swaying in the breeze from the open window.
“Marlowe!” Will yells and slams the door closed behind him. A low moan comes from somewhere off to the left behind some sheer golden curtains. Will stalks over and throws the curtains aside.
He freezes. He had found his man. Sprawling across the bed. Naked. Because of course Master Christopher Marlowe would sleep in the nude. Lanky blond hair falls across the smooth expanse of his back. His face in shadows and arms flung out over the edge.
Will’s eyes involuntarily trace the lines of Marlowe’s body from his broad shoulders down to his dirty feet.
“Master Shakespeare.” Will jumps.
Marlowe rolls over, his hair falling across his sleepy features. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company. So early in the morning as it appears to be?” He stretches an arm, and runs his fingers through his hair. The arm continues its momentum and rests behind his head. Will’s face flushes but his anger overrides his embarrassment.
“You stole my lines, Marlowe. It’s not enough for you to have all the best actors, but you have to stoop to stealing my lines?”
“But stay! What star shines yonder in the east? The lodestar of my life, if Abigail! “But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the East, and Juliet is the sun!
Will spits out the lines and looks up at Marlowe, glaring at him and breathing heavy. "Clearly not,” Marlowe says. “My lines are better.” Will yells inarticulately, throws his hands up and storms back towards the door. “Put some breeches on!”
Marlowe smirks and grabs his breeches from next to the bed. He takes his time to saunter back through the curtains. Will had picked up his papers from the floor and was going through them. He is completely engrossed in reading one. His mouth is open and moving slightly, mouthing some of the words. Will’s hair is perfect as usual but he hasn’t shaved yet. His face is still flushed ruddy with anger. Marlowe walks up behind him to see which of the tragic pieces of trash he had picked off the floor.
“Burn it,” says Marlowe, right behind Will’s ear. Will hadn’t heard him come up behind him and startles. His hand comes around as if to hit Marlowe, but settles for grabbing his shoulder.
“S'death, Kit! I think I just died a little.” Will looks down and notices Marlowe isn’t wearing anything more than breeches. He looks back up.
“One can hope,” says Marlowe with a smirk. He leans forward. Will takes a step back, his hand still on Marlowe’s shoulder.
“Did you just call me Kit?” Marlowe quirks his head to the side and takes another step forward. Will takes another step back and bumps into the table.
“Are we so… intimate…Will?” Marlowe’s eyes have a dark glint to them and he licks his lips. Will glances down at Marlowe’s mouth. He remembers the last time they were here against the table, their positions reversed. Was Marlowe going to kiss him again? Will grabs the edge of the table to steady himself. His other hand still outstretched, pressed against Marlowe’s shoulder and upper chest as if to stop him from advancing further. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but no sound comes out.
“What are you afraid of, Will?” Marlow brushes Will’s hand off his chest and steps closer still. “You’ve come here to my home on flimsy pretenses. What. Do. You.” Marlowe leans in. “Want.” He breathes the last word across Will’s lips. Will swallows and glances down and back up. “Kit…” Before Will even realizes what he’s doing, he closes the distance in an instant and kisses Marlowe. Like a hungry man gone too long without a meal. His hand grabs a handful of Marlowe’s hair as his mouth crushes the other man’s to his own. Marlowe leans into Will, pressing their bodies together.
Will’s other hand drifts across Kit’s chest to rest behind his neck. Kit’s hands are on Will’s waist. Will’s emotions have broken through his reservations and guilt. For once, he doesn’t care about religion or rules or anything but Kit’s lips on his. To hell with other people’s opinions.
They separate for a moment looking into each other’s eyes. They are both breathing heavy. Kit caresses Will’s cheek with his thumb. Will he run away again? It seems something has changed in Master Shakespeare’s eyes. Kit kisses him again, harder and with little bites. Will reciprocates.
Kit’s hands deftly untie Will’s shirt and he runs his hands down Will’s chest and hooks his fingers into the waistband of his breeches, pulling him closer still. Will’s eyes are closed in ecstasy. He kisses his way across Kit’s face and down his neck. He wraps his arms around his waist and kisses across his collarbone. Suddenly, Kit pulls away. Will’s breath hitches. He opens his eyes and looks up into Kit’s eyes.
Kit takes Will’s hand and pulls him towards the gold curtains. He looks over his shoulder with a serious and dark look in his eyes. Will lets Kit pull him along. He moves the curtain aside and pulls Will into his arms.
The curtains fluttered shut behind them.
