| When the screech of the train whistle momentarily drowned out the wail
of his violin, Artie grimaced and applied the bow mercilessly. He'd bought
the Paganini score in San Francisco, and he was determined to master it.
The Wanderer cut through the dark night. They must be in Kansas by now, Artie decided, but the night outside the parlor car window provided no clues. Even in the daytime, much of the landscape between San Francisco and Chicago was unidentifiable. The violin music filling the parlor car was the only touch of civilization in this rough country. "Damn," Artie exclaimed. One of the strings had broken, and he lowered the violin to his side. It was late. Jim, exhausted from their last mission, had gone to bed hours ago, but Artie had been too restless to join him. Instead, Artie had finished their report before he'd taken up his long-neglected violin for practice. Rubbing the back of his neck, Artie glared at the broken string, but he brightened when he recalled that he had spares. Jim had bought them at the same store where Artie had bought the score. Trust his partner to be practical when Artie's attention was distracted by a new piece of music! Unfortunately, Artie had tossed the strings in a drawer in their shared quarters. Much as he hated the thought of disturbing his partner's well-earned rest, he was reluctant to put aside his violin because of a broken string. Cautiously pushing open the door of the bedroom, Artie paused. Jim was sitting up in bed, the lamplight shining over his shoulder and a book open on his lap. "Artie?" Jim looked up when Artie walked in. "You coming to bed?" "I broke a string," Artie said. He crossed the room and slid open the top drawer of the cabinet on his side of the bed. "I thought you were asleep. What are you reading?" "Aristophanes." Jim closed the book, marking his place with his hand. "My partner, the Greek scholar." Artie found the string, and he sank down on the bed to replace the broken one on his violin. "I swear I'll keep your secret, Mr. West." "It's a translation." Jim paused before he added, "It's a pretty good one. I bought it at that bookseller you like on Montgomery Street." Artie smiled. "If you know it's a good translation, you must have read it in the original Greek." "Yeah, I did. Ages ago." Jim put the book aside. "It's late. When are you coming to bed?" "I'm not sleepy," Artie said. He raised the violin to his shoulder and cautiously bowed the strings, adjusting them to the correct degree of tension. "Besides, I haven't practiced in a couple of weeks. Suppose I get an invitation to play while we're in Chicago, and I'm not prepared?" Without waiting for Jim's answer to his facetious question, he lowered the violin to his side. "Sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you. I'll go back out to--" "Stay," Jim said quickly. He drew one leg up against his stomach, and stretched the other out in front of him. "I like to listen to you practice." Artie looked at him doubtfully, but Jim's expression was open and sincere. Perhaps Jim was as restless as Artie was. He rose from the bed and placed the violin on his shoulder. Not the Paganini this time. He closed his eyes, allowing inspiration and music to fill him, and when he drew the bow across the violin, the music spilled out, filling their shared bedroom. He knew nothing other than the music for several minutes, and he was breathing unsteadily when he reached the crescendo. As the final notes faded away, he opened his eyes and allowed the violin to fall to his side. "Thank you." Jim's expression was serious, and his right hand gripped the bedclothes. "That was beautiful, Artemus." He unclenched his fist and smoothed his hand over the bedsheet before he added, "You were playing Paganini earlier, weren't you? But I didn't recognize this. Who was the composer of what you just played." "Oh." Artie glanced down at his violin. "I wrote that piece." He swallowed before he permitted himself to look at Jim. "For you." His right hand closed around the neck of the violin so hard that his fingers ached, and he flushed. He honestly hadn't intended to let it slip that he'd been thinking about Jim when he composed the piece. He hadn't been sure what he was going to do with it, but now it was too late to take it back. "For me?" Jim looked away, a disconcerted expression on his face. "It was…" Lifting his head to meet Artie's gaze again, he smiled. "It was wonderful. No one has ever done anything like that for me before." He put out his hand, and his voice was rough when he said, "Come to bed, Artemus." Artie carefully laid the violin on the bedside table. His fingers seemed to have thickened; although he'd undressed for Jim a hundred times, his fingers wouldn't function correctly as he unfastened the buttons on his shirt now. Or perhaps it was the heat in Jim's eyes. Or the way Jim had sprawled his legs apart; the thin sheet that covered his lower half did nothing to conceal his aroused state. "If I had known—" Artie allowed his shirt to fall to the floor before he sat down on the edge of the bed to remove his boots. "Was it the Aristophanes or the violin music that aroused you?" He stood up again, peeled down his trousers and undergarments, and turned to show himself to Jim. "You," Jim said, his eyes bright as his gaze caressed Artie's bare flesh. "You arouse me." "Good to know." Artie sat down on the edge of the bed, Jim reached for him, and their lips met. After, Jim sprawled on his back, and Artie sprawled on Jim. "Mmm, sugar, that was nice." He rubbed his cheek against Jim's flat belly. "And I thought you were sleeping. If I'd known you were still awake, I would have come to bed sooner." "Who could sleep with all the racket you were making?" Jim murmured drowsily, his hand sliding down to tenderly rub the back of Artie's neck. "You know, it's been weeks since you called me 'sugar.'" Artie chuckled and kissed Jim's perfect navel. "It doesn't exactly trip lightly off the tongue when you're in full Secret Service agent mode." Crawling up to lie beside Jim, he tugged up the sheets to cover them both. "It's not that I'm less fond of you when you're bruised, bloody, and oddly exhilarated after taking on a bar full of villains, but--" "You're right." There was a smile in Jim's voice. "I would hate for you to call me 'sugar' when I'm putting the cuffs on a counterfeiter." "Or when we have Colonel Richmond at our dinner table." Artie smiled and wrapped his arms around Jim's waist to pull him into an embrace. "Or when we're accompanying President Grant to a speaking engagement." "I get the idea." Artie kissed Jim's right temple. "I estimate that we have three days before we receive our next assignment. I propose that we spend those days indulging in romance." His hand strayed down to cup Jim's ass. "Get it out of our system, so to speak." "Romance?" Jim asked with a chuckle. "Artemus, I know you, and what you really want is to fuck my brains out for the next three days." He turned his head and kissed Artie's mouth hard. "Romance. Fuck your brains out." Artie squeezed Jim's buttocks with both hands. "What's the difference, sugar?" |
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