Confessions. [Callan/Christian]
May. 31st, 2005 11:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
palacechristian.
“Have you been visiting with my sister?” The lift door opened, revealing a tall, dark prince and Callan gave his watch a pointed look.
Dressed in faded denim with a thick black leather belt and a sleeveless t-shirt, a barefoot Christian turned around as if startled. “Wha . . . Oh, your Majesty. I’m sorry. No, no I wasn’t. That's the next floor. I haven’t seen Caeline since lunchtime. I was in Palace, looking for my father. He hides out down here.”
Christian bowed as he spoke and Callan was left wondering as to how the other man could appear so graceful, so assured, dressed as he was. And the barefoot thing was starting to get to him as well. Was the whole family dedicated to it? It seemed so.
“You were in . . .?” Callan was confused and his face showed it as he checked his mistake on the lift display. Christian gave a slight smile.
“Palace.” he said. “It’s the room at the . . . Why don’t you come with me and I’ll show you?” he offered.
Callan nodded agreement and Christian headed back the way he’d come with Callan in tow. “Most people think the business has its name from the Royal Residence up above.” Christian was saying as they walked. “And it’s partially true.” He stopped beside a double door and pushed it open. “But this is Palace also and where the business truly got it’s name from.”
Callan found himself standing in a sumptuous suite with every possibly imagined luxury but Christian was still walking. He opened a second door, this one leading out to a balcony garden that Callan had no idea even existed!
“And this is the potted garden where dad hides.” Christian grinned as he moved to the railing. “Very few people know it’s here, even fewer use it. So dad uses it when he goes to ground. He’s close enough for a real emergency but private enough for, well, privacy. No one bothers him unless they have to.”
Callan moved to stand beside Christian at the rail, laying his hands on the smooth stone. “Does that room see much use?”
Christian nodded, his mood seeming affable enough that Callan risked moving a little closer, albeit casually. “Maybe three-four times a week.” he said. “It’s our most luxurious room and costs accordingly, but the rich don’t seem to mind. It adds cachet to their reputations to namedrop Palace.”
Christian turned his back to the view and folded his arms, crossing his legs at the ankle. “Had a good visit?” he asked. “All’s well?”
“Yes.” Christian casual unconcern was beginning to annoy Callan a little. He tried to un-nerve him a little, preferring the prince to be off-balance around him. “Except there’s no resolution about the marriage.” he said. “And I’m not getting any younger here.”
Christian laughed, completely unbothered by the reference. Then he bit his bottom lip and looked sideways at Callan from beneath his fringe, his expression thoughtful. “Can I ask you something?”
“Certainly.”
“You’re half-Caleran, right?”
Callan nodded.
“If Caeline and I marry, so will be our children. Which got me wondering . . . have you considered the whole genetic angle?”
“What do you mean?”
Christian shrugged, turning his body more toward Callan who had not stirred. “You ever wondered what your lifespan is? Not too many documented cases of intermarriage to work from, I know, but I imagine, just from looking at the . . . surface, that your genetics are pretty much balanced. At least on the outside. What the base genes are, it’s impossible to tell. That’s why I asked.”
“I have no idea what you just said.” Callan confessed easily. “Or what you might possibly be getting at.”
“Well, I’m not an expert.” Christian told him with a grin. “Barely scraped a pass in Gene Tech. at school, but from what I remember you, and any children I might have with your sister, might take after the Eradorian side of the gene pool, or the Caleran, or some point in between. There are genetic tests that can tell you that, you know.” He looked at Callan. “If you’re interested.”
Callan shrugged, but he was interested. It would be useful information to have for long-range planning if not to satisfy the curiosity he’d never bothered indulging before. “So someone could tell me my life-span?”
“Pretty accurately, too.” Christian smiled. “Handy to know, no?” He dropped his arms and laid his hands flat on the brickwork behind him. “Same goes for the children.” he told Callan. “In fact, it’s a pretty simple matter to activate the right sequence of genes if they’re dormant. Used to be done all the time once, for various things. Hardly anyone bothers these days, but the technology is there.”
“So?” Callan cocked his head to one side, tucking an errant strand of hair behind his ear. He didn’t mind being ‘educated’ by someone else; a king could hardly be expected to know everything and part of his daily life involved briefings of one sort or another. “You’re saying that, even if the ‘superior’ gene was dormant in your children, it could be activated? That they could enjoy the prolonged life span.”
“Yep.”
“Wow.” Callan blinked and fell silent.
“For you, too, if it’s not active.” Christian added, then he allowed the silence to enfold them.
Callan processed and filed the information away, idle fingers circling the ridges in the stone capping on the railing. He hid a little smile behind a cascade of dark hair. “So, does this mean your mind is almost made up?”
He heard a quiet chuckle. “Almost.”
Callan laughed as well, allowing it to fade into silence as Christian added, “Of course, activating dormant Caleran genes might have side effects.”
“Like what?” Callan turned to face Christian sliding one leg up onto the railing as he sat.
“Talent. Or a Gift, maybe. Or none. Depends what’s there. Did your mother . . . Sorry. None of my business.”
“If she did, I don’t know about it.” Callan peered into the darkness, the better to make out Christian’s expression as he asked, “Do you have one?”
“Yes. I’m telekinetic.”
“Tele . . . ?”
One of the smaller potted shrubs rose a little and floated across from the table on which it had been resting to land in Callan’s lap. “Oh.”
He twisted and carefully rested the pot on the stone behind him. “Not something I’d want to be showing off at Court.”
“Start a panic?”
“Probably. But it’d be handy nonetheless. I could tell some miscreant nobleman I was going to strip him of everything and then actually do it!” Callan chuckled.
“I pinned Harry to the ceiling once.”
For some reason the economical sentence touched Callan’s funny bone and he near enough doubled over laughing, wiping tears from his eyes and holding his sides. “I’d have love to have seen it.” he sputtered.
“Was kinda amusing, yeah.” Christian agreed, getting to his feet as the still-chilly night air started raising goosebumps on them both. “Time to go in, I think.”
The both reached for the door handle at the same time and Callan’s firm fingers folded over the back of Christian’s hand. He didn’t let go. Christian turned to see why and found himself pinned against the glass. Leaving his hand where it rested on the doorknob, Callan brought his other up to card gently through Christian’s inky locks. “Beautiful.” he breathed.
“I . . . no.” Christian protested right before Callan’s mouth descended, claiming his own in a punishing, but brief, kiss.
“And why not?” Callan traced the curve of Christian’s full bottom lip with a finger.
“Because.” Christian was apparently having trouble thinking straight, which was good as far as Callan was concerned, it meant his kisses affected the other man. “Because . . . you . . . I . . .”
“What?” Callan nibbled on his jaw, their hips locked together and evidence of the extent of Christian’s reaction pressing hard and hot against his thigh.
“We’re both . . .” Christian struggled a little but in light of his recent revelation, it was nothing compared to what he could have done to get free if he’d really wanted to. “ . . . Dominating personalities.” he managed.
“Oh, don’t stand on ceremony.” Callan chuckled, deft fingers finding and pinching lightly at a nipple through the tight stuff of his t-shirt. He licked a moist swathe down the side of Christian’s throat. “Say what you mean. I want to fuck you and you want me to but think you shouldn’t want me to.” He nibbled at Christian’s earlobe. “Because you’re going to be a king and I am a king and,” he shrugged. “Who fucks who, eh?”
“Something . . . like . . . that.” Christian moved again and Callan, after taking another, longer, deeper kiss, took pity and released him but didn’t move away.
“You’ll work it out.” he told the prince confidently.
Christian, who was busy tugging down his shirt, abruptly turned and yanked open the door. If Callan didn’t know better, he’d have said the other man was fleeing. He gave a chuckle. Yes, he’d work it out. If he hadn’t already.
Callan’s soft laugh followed Christian down the hallway and echoed in his ears long after the lift door had silently closed.
“Have you been visiting with my sister?” The lift door opened, revealing a tall, dark prince and Callan gave his watch a pointed look.
Dressed in faded denim with a thick black leather belt and a sleeveless t-shirt, a barefoot Christian turned around as if startled. “Wha . . . Oh, your Majesty. I’m sorry. No, no I wasn’t. That's the next floor. I haven’t seen Caeline since lunchtime. I was in Palace, looking for my father. He hides out down here.”
Christian bowed as he spoke and Callan was left wondering as to how the other man could appear so graceful, so assured, dressed as he was. And the barefoot thing was starting to get to him as well. Was the whole family dedicated to it? It seemed so.
“You were in . . .?” Callan was confused and his face showed it as he checked his mistake on the lift display. Christian gave a slight smile.
“Palace.” he said. “It’s the room at the . . . Why don’t you come with me and I’ll show you?” he offered.
Callan nodded agreement and Christian headed back the way he’d come with Callan in tow. “Most people think the business has its name from the Royal Residence up above.” Christian was saying as they walked. “And it’s partially true.” He stopped beside a double door and pushed it open. “But this is Palace also and where the business truly got it’s name from.”
Callan found himself standing in a sumptuous suite with every possibly imagined luxury but Christian was still walking. He opened a second door, this one leading out to a balcony garden that Callan had no idea even existed!
“And this is the potted garden where dad hides.” Christian grinned as he moved to the railing. “Very few people know it’s here, even fewer use it. So dad uses it when he goes to ground. He’s close enough for a real emergency but private enough for, well, privacy. No one bothers him unless they have to.”
Callan moved to stand beside Christian at the rail, laying his hands on the smooth stone. “Does that room see much use?”
Christian nodded, his mood seeming affable enough that Callan risked moving a little closer, albeit casually. “Maybe three-four times a week.” he said. “It’s our most luxurious room and costs accordingly, but the rich don’t seem to mind. It adds cachet to their reputations to namedrop Palace.”
Christian turned his back to the view and folded his arms, crossing his legs at the ankle. “Had a good visit?” he asked. “All’s well?”
“Yes.” Christian casual unconcern was beginning to annoy Callan a little. He tried to un-nerve him a little, preferring the prince to be off-balance around him. “Except there’s no resolution about the marriage.” he said. “And I’m not getting any younger here.”
Christian laughed, completely unbothered by the reference. Then he bit his bottom lip and looked sideways at Callan from beneath his fringe, his expression thoughtful. “Can I ask you something?”
“Certainly.”
“You’re half-Caleran, right?”
Callan nodded.
“If Caeline and I marry, so will be our children. Which got me wondering . . . have you considered the whole genetic angle?”
“What do you mean?”
Christian shrugged, turning his body more toward Callan who had not stirred. “You ever wondered what your lifespan is? Not too many documented cases of intermarriage to work from, I know, but I imagine, just from looking at the . . . surface, that your genetics are pretty much balanced. At least on the outside. What the base genes are, it’s impossible to tell. That’s why I asked.”
“I have no idea what you just said.” Callan confessed easily. “Or what you might possibly be getting at.”
“Well, I’m not an expert.” Christian told him with a grin. “Barely scraped a pass in Gene Tech. at school, but from what I remember you, and any children I might have with your sister, might take after the Eradorian side of the gene pool, or the Caleran, or some point in between. There are genetic tests that can tell you that, you know.” He looked at Callan. “If you’re interested.”
Callan shrugged, but he was interested. It would be useful information to have for long-range planning if not to satisfy the curiosity he’d never bothered indulging before. “So someone could tell me my life-span?”
“Pretty accurately, too.” Christian smiled. “Handy to know, no?” He dropped his arms and laid his hands flat on the brickwork behind him. “Same goes for the children.” he told Callan. “In fact, it’s a pretty simple matter to activate the right sequence of genes if they’re dormant. Used to be done all the time once, for various things. Hardly anyone bothers these days, but the technology is there.”
“So?” Callan cocked his head to one side, tucking an errant strand of hair behind his ear. He didn’t mind being ‘educated’ by someone else; a king could hardly be expected to know everything and part of his daily life involved briefings of one sort or another. “You’re saying that, even if the ‘superior’ gene was dormant in your children, it could be activated? That they could enjoy the prolonged life span.”
“Yep.”
“Wow.” Callan blinked and fell silent.
“For you, too, if it’s not active.” Christian added, then he allowed the silence to enfold them.
Callan processed and filed the information away, idle fingers circling the ridges in the stone capping on the railing. He hid a little smile behind a cascade of dark hair. “So, does this mean your mind is almost made up?”
He heard a quiet chuckle. “Almost.”
Callan laughed as well, allowing it to fade into silence as Christian added, “Of course, activating dormant Caleran genes might have side effects.”
“Like what?” Callan turned to face Christian sliding one leg up onto the railing as he sat.
“Talent. Or a Gift, maybe. Or none. Depends what’s there. Did your mother . . . Sorry. None of my business.”
“If she did, I don’t know about it.” Callan peered into the darkness, the better to make out Christian’s expression as he asked, “Do you have one?”
“Yes. I’m telekinetic.”
“Tele . . . ?”
One of the smaller potted shrubs rose a little and floated across from the table on which it had been resting to land in Callan’s lap. “Oh.”
He twisted and carefully rested the pot on the stone behind him. “Not something I’d want to be showing off at Court.”
“Start a panic?”
“Probably. But it’d be handy nonetheless. I could tell some miscreant nobleman I was going to strip him of everything and then actually do it!” Callan chuckled.
“I pinned Harry to the ceiling once.”
For some reason the economical sentence touched Callan’s funny bone and he near enough doubled over laughing, wiping tears from his eyes and holding his sides. “I’d have love to have seen it.” he sputtered.
“Was kinda amusing, yeah.” Christian agreed, getting to his feet as the still-chilly night air started raising goosebumps on them both. “Time to go in, I think.”
The both reached for the door handle at the same time and Callan’s firm fingers folded over the back of Christian’s hand. He didn’t let go. Christian turned to see why and found himself pinned against the glass. Leaving his hand where it rested on the doorknob, Callan brought his other up to card gently through Christian’s inky locks. “Beautiful.” he breathed.
“I . . . no.” Christian protested right before Callan’s mouth descended, claiming his own in a punishing, but brief, kiss.
“And why not?” Callan traced the curve of Christian’s full bottom lip with a finger.
“Because.” Christian was apparently having trouble thinking straight, which was good as far as Callan was concerned, it meant his kisses affected the other man. “Because . . . you . . . I . . .”
“What?” Callan nibbled on his jaw, their hips locked together and evidence of the extent of Christian’s reaction pressing hard and hot against his thigh.
“We’re both . . .” Christian struggled a little but in light of his recent revelation, it was nothing compared to what he could have done to get free if he’d really wanted to. “ . . . Dominating personalities.” he managed.
“Oh, don’t stand on ceremony.” Callan chuckled, deft fingers finding and pinching lightly at a nipple through the tight stuff of his t-shirt. He licked a moist swathe down the side of Christian’s throat. “Say what you mean. I want to fuck you and you want me to but think you shouldn’t want me to.” He nibbled at Christian’s earlobe. “Because you’re going to be a king and I am a king and,” he shrugged. “Who fucks who, eh?”
“Something . . . like . . . that.” Christian moved again and Callan, after taking another, longer, deeper kiss, took pity and released him but didn’t move away.
“You’ll work it out.” he told the prince confidently.
Christian, who was busy tugging down his shirt, abruptly turned and yanked open the door. If Callan didn’t know better, he’d have said the other man was fleeing. He gave a chuckle. Yes, he’d work it out. If he hadn’t already.
Callan’s soft laugh followed Christian down the hallway and echoed in his ears long after the lift door had silently closed.
