#eccentricbiologist

[sicknastypuppeteer-blog]

When John steps into the living room, Bro slides a piece of paper and a few photographs across the coffee table. The piece of paper, if John looks close enough, is the deed to a house. In Venice. The four photographs are photos of an old Victorian-looking black and white painted house that almost looks like a miniature castle. In the back is a pond surrounded by woods. The pond is surrounded by a metal gate, preventing anyone without a key from getting in or out. Though the house looks a little aged and broken, it certainly has hope in it. A large, handsome, beauty-queen smile stretches across Bro's face and he just waits for John's reaction.

[sicknastypuppeteer-blog]

In no time at all, Bro is leaning down to scoop up his boyfriend. Nothing about him looks particularly angry, but he does seem a little on edge. He just wants John to feel better, is that too much to ask? Apparently so. With a nuzzle and a kiss, he brings John up to the roof. Rain falls down in large, heavy droplets. No words are spoken as he sets John down near the edge of the roof. He sits down first, arms up on the railing thing to keep people from falling off, then moves John onto his lap. Still no words are spoken. Just complete, utter silence and rain. But with that utter silence comes sweet, gentle kisses placed against John's skin, coaxing him to calm down, to smile, to be okay again.

[sicknastypuppeteer-blog]

Bro emerges from the bathroom slowly, the white door creaking open. He isn't dressed normally. Instead, a black suit takes place, complete with an orange vest and a white tie. Even his belt and shoelaces are orange. Speaking of which, those fucking shoes are so shiny that you can practically see yourself in them. In fact, if Bro held his shoes up, he COULD see his reflection. There's something else, though. He's removed his shades, and more importantly, he's slicked his hair back. He looks damn good, if I do say so myself. Of course, though, John is turned around when Bro leaves the bathroom. So he has to sneak up behind his boyfriend and capture him in a hug. Which he does.

Hey, Sunshine.

[sicknastypuppeteer-blog]

Bro leaves the balcony, going to his collapsed boyfriend. Poor thing. He scoops him up gently, as gently as he can, and carries him to the medium-sized bathroom. He figures the shower will be too harsh on his sensitive skin, so he sets John down near the bathtub and begins to fill it up with warm water. While it's filling up, he begins to strip the other, taking his time with John's pants so he won't hurt him more. Damn, that's a mess.

You okay babe?

[sicknastypuppeteer-blog]

O hurry where by water among the trees

The delicate-stepping stag and his lady sigh,

When they have but looked upon their images -

Would none had ever loved but you and I!

Or have you heard that sliding silver-shoed

Pale silver-proud queen-woman of the sky,

When the sun looked out of his golden hood? -

O that none ever loved but you and I!

O hurty to the ragged wood, for there

I will drive all those lovers out and cry -

O my share of the world, O yellow hair!

No one has ever loved but you and I.

[sicknastypuppeteer-blog]

Between the hands, between the brows,

      Between the lips of Love-Lily,

A spirit is born whose birth endows

      My blood with fire to burn through me;

Who breathes upon my gazing eyes,

      Who laughs and murmurs in mine ear,

At whose least touch my colour flies,

      And whom my life grows faint to hear.

[sicknastypuppeteer-blog]

He's a fuckup. He's such a fuckup and John is literally, well, seemingly, proposing a second chance. Bro's heart has literally exploded. A second chance is something he's never received. He fixes his shirt and rubs his eyes, making sure they aren't red before absolutely racing out of his room. Thankfully he has his keycard in his pocket, or else he'd be shit out of luck getting back. He still knows John's room, and he knocks on it only twice, and very softly. No need to disturb John.

[sicknastypuppeteer-blog]

Come home.

Those two simple words. That's all Bro needs before he's stepping back towards the hotel room. He doesn't have the liberty of taking his time. He needs to see John, and he needs to see him now. To make up for his dick move. God he's a douche, he really is sometimes. There's no elevator in this hotel, but there are stairs. Damn. Stairs. Still, Bro hops up those fuckers two at a time. He finds the room by habit, not even remembering the number. Two, three, four knocks on the door. He hopes John is still home, otherwise it's a useless effort and he's officially stuck in Venice without his boyfriend.

They're still boyfriends, right?

He hopes so.

John, it's me.