A Breath of Innocence

by K. A. Merikan

  Leon wouldn’t be discouraged. “Oh, come on. I bet the globe guy’s staying over too. Does she need to ask you for permission?”

  Mark didn’t even understand why his adrenaline levels spiked this high, but maybe the peace of his everyday life made his body overreact to small stressors? There was nothing to worry about, because he was here not only to enjoy Halloween and the lips of a pretty twink, but also to help Griffith out when he needed a hand. Without thinking, Mark passed by the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of Coke and made his way to where Leon and Griffith were talking in the hallway.

  “You seen the opener anywhere?” he asked.

  Griffith glanced his way, and it was as if he’d been thrown a lifeline during a raging storm. He walked past Leon, as if an excuse were the only thing he needed. “Of course. We actually got a few just for this party, but you know how it is. Everyone just puts them in random places.” He led the way back to the kitchen. Leon wouldn’t give it a rest and followed his dream prey.

  “Can’t you open it with your knife skills?” Leon asked with a pinch of annoyance, which resolved all of Mark’s doubts about the creeper’s intentions. He’d gladly cockblock Leon until he got tired of barking up the wrong tree.

  “Why would I wreck a perfectly good knife?”

  Sure, maybe Mark wasn’t an amazing choice of man himself, but there was nothing he hated more than opportunistic predators looking to exploit someone’s weakness instead of finding a willing fuck. Or pay for their pleasure, if that was where their morals stood. Mark was pretty disillusioned in this matter.

  If Griffith chose to engage with Leon or Mark, that would be his choice, but Mark wouldn’t try to poach him. Despite Leon’s attempts, Mark wouldn’t leave their little group of three after that, chattering away with Griffith and the few remaining guests about all kinds of silly stuff, but eventually everyone left and even Nisha bid farewell to her guy before drunkenly going off to her room. Once Griffith tucked her in and returned to the kitchen, the apartment appeared hollow after hosting such a huge number of people.

  Griffith took off his suit jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves, watching the carnage of crumbs and dirty plates. “All these dishes…”

  Leon crept into the kitchen like a cockroach that wouldn’t die, no matter how many times Mark chased it away. “You can just do them tomorrow. Party’s wrapped up now, right?” He looked at Mark, as if that stupid passive-aggressive line was supposed to pressure Mark into leaving. Not a chance. Mark was a Vincitore, and Leon hadn’t even seen half his arsenal of rudeness.

  “I can stay and help tidy up. The dance room is pretty messy too.”

  Griffith’s eyes were back on Mark—bright and so tempting it was hard to look away. Hadn't Mark vowed to himself that he'd look for the 'real thing' instead or falling between every pair of thighs that spread for him? Old habits died hard, especially when a blond prince with sweet lips was the bait.

  Would it be so bad if Mark relaxed a little about this whole celibacy thing? It didn’t have to be either that or a constant string of new lovers. Then again, wasn’t that exactly what had turned Mark’s life in El Encanto into an endless string of conquests? After losing Charlotte, Mark had fooled himself into thinking that something better awaited him beyond the horizon, so he’d stopped connecting with people, always on the chase for a better, more attractive, more interesting partner.

  “That would be so incredibly helpful. Thank you,” Griffith said, seemingly just an impulse away from clapping his hands. The fact that he wasn’t saying any ‘are you certains?’ made it evident that he did want Mark to stay and was desperate enough to be that little bit rude.

  So where Leon was told to go, Mark was invited to stay. The acceptance was so pleasant he’d be happy even if he ended up washing dishes until morning.

  Leon tapped his fingers on the bottle he was holding and put it down. “All right. I’ll be off then. I’m driving to my parents’ tomorrow,” he said, even though he couldn’t entirely keep the sour tone out of his words.

  Griffith offered him a perfect smile. “Of course, that’s understandable. Tell them I said hello.”

  “I will,” Leon grumbled and was gone after a few more goodbyes.

  With a deep sigh, Mark stood by the sink and started working on the dirty dishes. Griffith came back after locking the door and stood in the doorway, examining the extent of the mess. “Well, I didn’t expect there to be this much rubbish.”

  Mark shrugged. “We’ll get through it fast, and you won’t have to worry about it tomorrow.” He glanced over his shoulder, hesitating for a moment. “Thanks for inviting me. I didn’t really have any plans, and this was a lot of fun.”

  Griffith rubbed his pale hands together. “No, thank you for staying. It’s really so kind of you.”

  Mark focused on the task at hand, not wanting to ponder over Griffith’s assessment of him. Very few people would call Mark kind, or even a good person. What would Griffith say if he knew what really happened between Mark and Charlotte? “Least I can do. Did it all work out how you wanted?”

  Griffith laughed and put on the kettle before gathering some of the plates with unfinished food and starting to shove the leftovers into the trash can. “I might have gone a bit overboard. With everything, essentially. But people enjoyed themselves, so I’m not complaining.”

  Mark had definitely enjoyed himself in that wardrobe. Should he say that? Would it intimidate Griffith the same way Leon’s continuous attention had seemed to?

  He settled on: “I won a competition tonight, but never got a prize.”

  Griffith looked up, his host self back in place. “Oh, that’s right. It was an epic win. What would you like? Other than the chance to spend some quality time over the sink with yours truly?” he asked with a wide smile.

  Mark licked his lips as his brain offered him the image of Griffith bent over the kitchen island with his pants pooling around his ankles and his own cock working its way between the globes of that beautifully-shaped ass. A fuck would have definitely been a worthy prize, and with Griffith having been so responsive in the closet, that possibility wasn’t entirely off the table. But then again, Mark would never exploit the weakness of a boy who didn’t yet know what he wanted, just to get his way with him.

  “I want to see you dance again.”

  The professional smile dropped from Griffith’s mouth, and he briefly stalled, as if the answer surprised him to the point where he needed to reset his mind. “Oh. Sure, absolutely. There’s nothing I’d love more.” His lips quirked, and this time the expression seemed entirely genuine, as if the appreciation for his craft unlocked a secret door to a Griffith few people ever got to see.

  Mark snorted. “You sound so serious. Tell me more about that. There were other dancers here today. Did you meet them in classes?” He’d like to visit any class that involved Griff prancing around in just those flesh-colored leggings.

  Griffith was quick to grab the tea towel, and he started drying the dishes Mark had washed, but it seemed like an excuse to stand closer. “I’ve always loved dancing. Since I first saw ballet in television as a kid. The way the dancers moved... it was unreal. It’s such a demanding sport,” he added, as if he needed to explain his lively interest in classical dance and make it appear that bit more masculine.

  Seeing Griffith in his element had been a revelation, but peeling away the layers of his passion was even more intriguing. So the stiff upper lip law student wasn’t all that uptight.

  “Can’t you try? I mean… I know I’m no expert, but your dancing was pretty epic.”

  Griffith gave a short laugh. “No, no. I’ll never learn to do the kind of things professionals can do because they start so young. My dad didn’t want me to dedicate that much time to it, so I only started going to actual classes at twelve. But hey, I know how to hit a ball while riding a horse, so that’s something.”

  “W-what? Wait, it’s that game, what’s it called… polo?”

  Griffith laughed an
d gently slapped Mark with the tea towel. “Wow. Didn’t know you guys have it in America. A cowboy version with lassoes?”

  “No, I’ve just heard about it before. My dad schooled me on the Ralph Lauren logo. And then—” my other dad? Too soon. Too much. “—a friend of mine wanted to learn shooting a crossbow from horseback. Is polo fun?”

  The scowl twisting Griffith’s face said it all. “It’s like riding a horse, but you’re constantly distracted by the ball and other players, so you can’t really enjoy it. Can you shoot a crossbow? Because you did an excellent job with the knives. Some of the people thought you went to a circus school or something.”

  “Do I look like a clown? I’ve practiced with the crossbow. My friend’s really into all that survivalist stuff. But enough about me. Your dancing is so impressive. Most people don’t have that kind of control over their bodies.” He wiped his hands on the towel when he finished with the dishes.

  Griffith smiled and pulled out a roll of trash bags. “I used to practice several hours every day, other exercise included. Didn’t do much good to my school performance. I don’t want to lose those skills just because I’m at uni now.”

  Most people worked and spent their time off consuming media, drinking, partying. But this boy, who could have had everything handed on a platter? He wanted to do something of his own, and the passion in his gaze was like a beacon calling to Mark. If he flew any closer, the bright fire of Griffith’s drive could end up burning his wings.

  He felt a thread of connection forming between the two of them, something Mark shared with very few people. When Domenico had first agreed to train Mark, that was what they’d done. Relentlessly, for many hours every day. Shooting practice, fighting skills, getting out of binds, and even lessons on human anatomy—so that Mark understood which places on the body were most worth hitting—had been part of the curriculum. Domenico had even given Mark the painful lesson of dislocating his shoulder so that he learned what to do in such a hopeless situation.

  “I did a lot of physical training with my dad,” he said in the end.

  Griffith nodded and led the way to the dancing room, which now stood empty with the exception of trash and decorations. “You seem close to him.”

  “He’s been a big influence in my life.” It was an understatement. Domenico had shaped Mark into the man he was now and helped him through the growing pains. “But you said you started dancing classes late in your life. Did it take time for you to realize you wanted to do that?” he needed to distract Griffith, because the less Mark said about his life before Bristol the better.

  Mark started gathering the salvageable decorations into his trash bag.

  Griffith ripped a bag of his own off the roll and proceeded to collect the items on the other side of the room. “Not really. It was more about my dad wanting me to do well in polo and horse riding, so the dancing seemed like a waste of time that I couldn’t afford because of school. I did dance. You know, copying people from music videos and so on, but it wasn’t the same without an instructor who’d correct me.”

  Mark couldn’t help all the fuzzy feelings rising in his chest when he listened to Griffith. For once, dilemmas that didn’t involve the possibility of death didn’t make him feel alienated but brought comfort instead. Griffith was a normal, well-adjusted guy, and his problems, while difficult for him, were nothing in comparison to having the choice between smashing someone’s teeth in or bashing their knee. Mark could listen to this forever.

  “I can imagine. But at least you ride so well,” Was he being too complimentary? Griff didn’t seem to mind.

  “I do. Maybe if I get lucky, I’ll get to be a riding double for some famous actor in the future? Who knows?” Griffith said, tossing into the bag lamps, cards, small boxes imitating books, and other Harry Potter paraphernalia used for decoration.

  “Is that what you’d like to do? Why do you study law then?” Mark pulled on a long dark blue… curtain? He wasn’t sure, but the piece of fabric wrapped around a hook in the wall was tied to the beam under the ceiling on the other end.

  “Oh, you know, I need to think about my future. Only so many people can land those movie and theatre jobs, and even then they don’t provide a stable inc—that’s not a decoration,” Griffith said when he noticed Mark holding the fabric.

  “Huh? What is it? Something kinky?” Mark wiggled his eyebrows, delighted with the way Griff flushed red at the sole suggestion. His pale skin was so quick to show emotion Mark was back with his mind in the gutter.

  “Silly. It’s for acrobatic exercise. I’ll show you,” Griffith said and kicked off his shoes, reaching out for the silk as if it were his birthright.

  Mark passed Griff the fabric, which he’d unlooped from the hook. He took hold of Griff’s tie and pulled it open. “Don’t want you to suffocate in that.”

  Griffith froze, and his Adam’s apple bobbed against Mark’s hand, but he wasn’t running away. In that moment, from up close, the rosy flush on his cheeks looked like raspberry syrup slowly dripping into a pot of cream, and his lips were pieces of fruit that Mark wanted to taste again.

  “That wouldn’t have been my best performance.”

  Mark’s fingers itched to pull more items of clothing off Griff, but he’d wait and make sure the skittish boy was in the right headspace for it. “Show me what you’ve got,” he whispered and stepped back, putting away the trash bag. More cleaning could wait.

  Griffith’s teeth pulled over his full bottom lip, as if he’d gotten shy all of a sudden. “Just bear in mind that this isn’t the perfect outfit for this, and that I haven’t warmed up,” he said but was already stretching his legs in a dance-like move.

  Without waiting for an answer, Griffith grabbed the fabric with both hands and put himself into a spin. His legs lifted off the floor, and for a moment he curled up, as if intending to stay in the fetal position, before suddenly spreading his legs wide and turning his entire body upside down.

  Mark couldn’t so much as sigh in awe before Griffith hooked one of his legs on the silk above him and used it as leverage to climb even higher. That same movement was repeated three times, hypnotic in its vitality. The elfin creature that somehow walked among humans twisted all the way up to the beam where he rotated his body and tangled his other leg in the blue silk before looking down with a wide grin.

  “That’s how we got Nearly Headless Nick all the way up here.”

  Mark had no words. This was magical. All the skills he'd been taught by Domenico were utilitarian in nature. Griff, on the other hand, was beauty. His body was flexible, strong, and so perfectly controlled he could have easily learned fighting. Yet there he was, just being his gorgeous self and creating art where Mark’s skill lay in destruction.

  Griffith, who always looked tense or agitated, was genuinely happy when in motion, and if Mark only had a splinter of the warmth radiating off Griffith now, he would be content forever. Mark unstrapped the holster, put the plastic gun on the table, and hesitated for only a moment longer before grabbing the hem of his turtleneck. He’d make sure the unraveling of his torso seemed like an ‘accidental’ spectacle.

  “Show me.”

  Griffith looked down at him, his lean legs in a partial split, with the dark silk twisted around those tempting limbs. He went still when he spotted Mark, but hesitation only lasted a moment. In a breathless feat of aerial ballet, Griffith made a controlled descent, using his limbs to rotate his body instead of simply sliding lower. Mark approached him, expecting for Griffith to land, but the angelic creature halted its movement above the floor, hanging face-down and glancing at Mark with a brilliant glow in his eyes. They were almost face to face—one with his feet firmly on the ground, the other—conquering gravity.

  “Do you dance?”

  Mark snorted at the memory of Domenico forcing him to learn the Waltz, the Tango, and Foxtrot. The three classical styles, which Domenico claimed where the bare minimum a young man should know. Mark had only gotten swayed when Domenico convin
ced him he’d learn better control of his movements through dance.

  “Come down and find out.”

  Griffith laughed and finally let his toes touch the floor. “Okay, get a good grip on it,” he said, offering Mark the silk.

  Instead, Mark got a grip on Griff. He slid one hand between Griff’s shoulder blades, and entwined their fingers, pulling Griffith into the smooth steps of Foxtrot in the hope that he’d be familiar with it and follow. They didn’t need music when both their hearts drummed such a loud and fast rhythm.

  Griffith sucked in air, as if he feared he was about to drown, but his feet instantly slotted into their place in the steps. He too seemed to know what this dance was about but pliantly followed Mark’s lead, his slim fingers squeezing on Mark’s hand as the two of them moved across the large room like one body. In this moment, the trash, the dirt, and the forgotten decorations ceased to exist, and they were in a ballroom, completely alone.

  Never before had Mark understood the extent of the appeal of moving together this way, but now he effortlessly glided over the wooden floor with a boy he wanted to charm, and saw all the endless hours of practice pay off for once. He didn’t have to think about the steps. He could focus on looking into Griff’s eyes and communicating without words. Would Griffith understand what Mark was trying to say as they swirled under the tall ceiling?

  Smooth, slow, with ease. That was how Mark would fuck him.

  Griffith’s cheeks burned, but he never looked away, as entranced as Mark was. It seemed that with each spiraling movement, they stood closer, their chests touching, Griffith’s sweet breath caressing Mark’s face, as if they were only moments from leaning in to meet in the middle.

  “Is there anything you aren’t good at?” Griffith whispered in a voice like the tap of raindrops against leaves.

  “I’m a pretty shitty cook.” Mark chuckled and slowed down, enjoying how much control he had as the lead. “And I can’t climb that silk.” he said and brought them to a standstill, because all good things had to come to an end.