A Fugitive's Guide To Romancing dangerous Men[BxBxB+]

19: The Song

After grinning foolishly at Cerin’s acceptance for several moments, Bruce realized he needed to respond. “I need to get cleaned up first. Do you need to?”

“No, I am quite clean.” He said, holding up his gloved hands.

Taking a closer look, Bruce had to acknowledge that the man hadn’t broken a sweat despite all the work they had done.

“Okay, if you don’t mind waiting for me to wash up. I’ll make us some lunch,” Bruce said and opened the front door, gesturing for Cerin to go inside.

Bruce wondered how Miles would react to someone entering their home but he decided what the man didn’t know won’t hurt him.

Thankfully, cool air inside greeted his heated skin as he followed his guest into the living room after picking up the pitcher and glass.

“Feel free to look around or make yourself comfortable,” Bruce gestured towards the couch.

“Thank you, you have a lovely house. It feels like home.”

Bruce blushed at the praise. He had never invited anyone over in all the time he had lived there. Miles didn’t count.

Receiving positive feedback from Cerin over his house was a heady feeling. He was inordinately pleased to hear the man already felt at home.

“I’ll be back down soon.” He headed for the stairs after putting the pitcher and glass into the kitchen sink.

“Please take your time,” Cerin said, examining the sparse decor.
Bruce hurried up the stairs and debated what to do. He could just wash his face and hands and change clothes, or he could take a quick shower. Feeling a droplet of sweat trickling down his back made up his mind, and he began to remove his clothes in preparation to bathe.

Showering as quickly as a soldier, Bruce was back in his bedroom, drying off in a short amount of time.
He stood in front of his closet, wearing only boxers, and pondered what to wear.

Cerin was wearing a pair of slacks, a light gray button-down shirt with red buttons, boots, and, oddly, the white gloves. Bruce contemplated the gloves for a moment before opting to don an outfit similar to his guest’s.

He rather liked the aesthetic.

Several minutes later, as he sat on the bed tying his shoes, soft piano music began to echo up the stairs and into his room. Almost without thought, he finished the last looping pull of the knot before being drawn down to the first floor.

Bruce crossed the living room and fell onto the couch with hair still damp, cheeks pink from the hot water. Across from him, Cerin sat on the piano bench, his hands moving smoothly across the keys.

Cerin’s appearance complemented the Rosewood piano perfectly, with his coppery-red hair bringing out the beautiful highlights in the wood grain. It was like him and the piano were made for each other.

The music that issued forth from beneath its raised lid was nothing short of other-worldly.

He had never heard it but it was familiar. It resonated from deep within his soul and he proceeded to hum along softly.

Cerin didn’t seem to take note of his audience at first, focusing solely on the music. With eyes closed, he rocked back and forth to the melody, brows lowering at times in concentration as dramatic bars were played.

Eventually, he seemed to become aware of Bruce’s presence when the song mellowed into more of a lilting lullaby. The pianist smiled serenely at his listener and invited the younger man to join him on the bench with a tilt of his head.