About Well-Met by Moonlight

by Zoey Daniels
12 pages / 5600 words
Available file types - html, lit, pdf, prc

Isaac and Rhys were once lovers, but things don't always go as planned. When a chance meeting in a snowstorm brings them together again, though, something magical happens. All it takes is a touch for these two to find all that they've missed together, but can anything so wondrous be real?

Sample

Someone is playing the Moonlight Sonata when it happens, against all expectations, that they meet again. 

The music, rich and layered on harpsichord and violin, is slow and somber and somehow oh, so gentle, like the caress of a lover's hand when they find you all unaware.  Two who never thought they'd see one another again happening to turn a corner on a moment's whim, thinking to find nothing more than another empty street or deserted marketplace… and there they are, facing each other down over the cracked and cluttered cobblestones. 

Dark notes fill the air before Rhys' eyes, like the flakes of thickly falling snow blanketing the streets stretched out before him. 

The slowly growing blizzard fills him with wonder as well.  He hasn't seen snow, actual snow, thick and fluffy and pure, virginal white, since he was… oh, how old?  Not very.  Only around eighteen, or maybe nineteen.  Twenty at the most.  Years blend together after a while.  You forget things you once swore you never would.

Except he has never and will never forget him, the only man to ever find his way into Rhys' heart.  Stubborn bastard, he was there before Rhys could think to shove him out.  He's fought the intrusion -- tried freezing with icy scorn and roasting with fiery anger -- but it never works, and now he's glad.

The square in which they meet is deserted.  Not only late at night, so late that soon it will be "early", but it's coming close to a feast day -- isn't that what they used to call holidays? -- and the world is choked with falling snow.

He sees Isaac first -- Isaac hasn't spotted him yet, so he has time to stand quietly, tuck his cold hands in his pockets, and watch Isaac for as long as he wants.

Isaac looks so young.  So very young.  He always did -- one of those annoying types who looks twenty until they're seventy, and then suddenly goes "distinguished" overnight.  He's as -- not beautiful, no, not handsome, either -- fascinating as ever he was, standing tall and slim with a shock of dark hair trailing over his cheekbones and almost covering his inky-dark eyes.  Isaac smiles, pretty mouth curving up almost boyishly -- Rhys is the only one, he thinks, who ever saw the wistfulness there in equal measure.  Or the wonder.