Stars Dancing [Dreams-To-Lovers Romance]

RYST

I was aglow with silverly light. I was a dagger of light. No, I was surrounded in gold. It was bursting. It was every orgasm I'd ever had, and it was no orgasm at all. It was exploding light.

I sat up, grabbing my head and rocking. Someone was behind me. A strong arm wrapped around my middle and pulled me against something warm and comforting. The best thing. The most belonging and wonderful golden warmth that could exist. I felt long, slow deep breaths behind me. No, the deep breaths were within me. I felt his presence.

Is it the marriage again, Methela? I felt him say.

I shook my head. Not right. Too much. Too much. It was too big. I gasped for breath. Something pushed down onto me. I had to see it. What — what? It had been a word. "Wife," I whispered. "Wife, was the trigger."

Wife, I really like it. Keep calling me that, I felt to him.

The word "wife" felt it like a love song, like a gentle whisper against my being.

Methela, methela. My wife. My heart. My love. My love. Wife. Wife. I love you.

Yes. That was what I wanted. And it was so much more. We were so much more. I belonged to him. Not just with him. I belonged to him.

I felt him. He knew what I had just thought. The greater part of him, the whole of his being, everything that was Nayth in this world and beyond agreed. But my Nayth, the man who held me in his arms hitched a little. Possession wasn't something he was comfortable with. A man doesn't possess a woman. He would not have a harem. That was ridiculous.

We didn't need to have a conversation because we were working it out within the field of light. It wasn't about possessions or contracts or who owned what, or assets. It was about belonging, and our world didn't understand belonging to each other.

Belonging wasn't because we owned. It was because we chose.

We had just chosen each other. We'd both said, "Will you marry me?" And we'd both chosen, "Yes." I saw it then. We'd keep choosing again and again for decades and centuries and eternities beyond. It would always be a choice, and we had already chosen "yes." I saw it in the light. It was something too big to see.

Nayth's right arm was around my waist while his left hand traced down my left arm. I hadn't realized that my arm was raised, reaching out in front of me. His hand surrounded mine, finger pointing just like mine. My index finger pointed straight out in front of me.

I suddenly realized that Nayth didn't see the light, and he was trying to see what I was seeing. I relaxed my shoulders and leaned against him. I felt him. I felt what he was to me. That feeling that was my Ahtah. What he had always felt like to me. Solid and sturdy. I'd had nightmares years ago, and he'd always taken me out of them by my waist and held me to him. Completely safe. Completely sure.

Certainty. Certainty. That was Nayth Carmidee. I knew it with all of my being; Nayth Carmidee is certainty in the flesh. How could he be so certain in a world of unknowns and endless possibilities? He knew what I was thinking, and it didn't matter to him at all. He was just faith and certainty.

And he was certain about me. He directed me to our outstretched hands and pointing index fingers. He wanted to see it. What did I see?

I let go of my awareness of Nayth and returned to the big thing. It was easier with him behind and around me. His surety wrapped around me when I usually felt like I'd get lost in the giant tangle. I stretched to see it, looking forward, my left hand open as if to reach forward and pat something big on the back.

It was so big, that thing. That giant tangle. A silver light. Me like a dagger. A golden glow. Nayth was that golden warm sun. The two of us, not two, one, but not one, two. I gasped and blinked my eyes, sitting up straighter.

"That's it," I gasped out breathily, "That's the big thing. The big thing I can't fully see. It's about us. Worlds colliding. You have two worlds. I have two worlds. We are two worlds colliding. It's about marriage. Us. And it's about more than us. It's about worlds. You and me. Peydran and Ren. All of this like dominoes in a line. Falling into place. Centre Oasis. We built a whole new oasis. Years and years of events are stacking up, and it's only barely begun."

"It's about you and me and how we've been two stars on a collision course for years, and we aren't done colliding. We'll keep choosing. And every decision point is another domino. We have to decide. You said 'Wife,' and it awakened something within me. I want that, I want it more than I should want anything. And it's about Centre Oasis, and my house, and our bed there. And a wooden box with an ankh on it. Every dream I had. And so much more. And the Shurwinn. It's about everything. But it's about us. That's the big thing. We chose to find each other, and we will keep choosing it." I sat up, facing him, looking directly into his face.

"Nayth: WE WILL NEVER BE SEPARATE." It felt like a rumble of the firmament. All creation shook with the declaration of it. It was not an emotion. It was not a man and a woman in love. It was a fact of the universe and the Cosmos boomed with the knowing of it.

My eyes roamed his face. "How, how did you know to say the words, 'Lovers are never separate?' I remember exactly when I first heard those whispered words. But you, Nayth? Did you dream it too? Tell me! Tell me what happened!"

"I have a lot to tell you, Methela. Come," he led me to the closet. It was dark outside, and I asked the auto for the time. It was 2:30 in the morning. The closet light was dim.

"I hope it was okay that I unpacked your things?" Nayth asked. The left portion of the closet was partially filled with my clothes.

"Fine, yeah. Most of this I've never worn."

"And not a bra or panty to be found. You're definitely committed to the no-underwear philosophy," Nayth chuckled.

"Ha!" I barked out. "Well, that's partly my tailor Mauren. She asked probing questions about how old my unworn underwear were and what types of bras I preferred and styles of bandeaus that are most comfortable. And did I have loungewear that was less than six months old? And how long had I been wearing that workout gear? I thought I was going to have a whole trunk of undies, but no, not a scrap! I think I love that woman too. Oh, these are nice," I picked up a cute pale pink v-neck camisole and slid it over my head. It was exquisitely soft and baggy and paired with pale blue short shorts.

"Alright, come on. I want to show you something." Nayth instructed and led me out to the living area. One of the wooden walls had a sliding door—or rather, most of the wall was a sliding wood panel and behind it was shelves of instrument cases.

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"Woah, Nayth, how many instruments do you play?"

Pulling out a guitar and tuning it, he replied, "Hmmm. Maybe ten? But that's just enough to get by on Floria, Mom's home world. I can passably play a couple dozen. But guitar is really my best. Violin or fiddle too. And keyboards, a bit."

He began playing something lovely. A strumming melody that broke my heart open and set my soul free. I closed my eyes. I could feel it. The song was that feeling. The feeling of golden light. Warmth. The warmth that Nayth was to me. The way that golden light made me feel. Peaceful. Content. All was right with the world. I saw a forest of golden ginkgo and maple. There were red maple leaves falling down, and down, and down. Was I dreaming? Was I awake?

A single note from a guitar string faded. My eyes opened.

"What did you see?" Nayth whispered.

"A memory of a dream. The best dream. What is it? What is that song?"

"The first song I wrote for a competition. I was fourteen. I knew I had to write it. I knew I'd enter it in the competition. I knew I wouldn't win, but that I'd do it anyway. Have you heard this song?"

He started playing something fast with a bouncing beat. I shook my head. He commanded his auto to play that same song over the speakers and started dancing. He grabbed me up by the hips and started through a series of dance steps. There was the clapping and stomping of a line dance. Twirls and backwards and forwards.

When the song ended, he began again, "The guy who wrote that dance song won the contest, not me. Not with that song, though. There's a lot of songs like that in mom's world; it's a typical Floria flower festival dance. People write songs and make up line dances that are super-easy for tourists to learn. Anyone can learn that dance in a minute and then walk out into the street for a festival and feel like they're a part of the fun. Anyway, that's not the song that won the contest. Here's the winner."

The guitar became more than a guitar. It was a drum. It was ten guitars strumming. It was arpeggios then staccatos and fingers flying. It was cresting crescendos then all forte. It was furious. It was more sound than should have ever come out of one instrument. His eyes were closed and his head was back as music poured out of instrument and man. Man and sound and guitar were one being.

I realized I was standing up with my left arm raised and my right hand patting my hip as the pounding beats stopped, and the music turned softer— coaxing and gentle. Then it was soft like a lullaby or a waltz or a breeze. His eyes opened and focused on the strings.

It turned into something like a whisper against the ear. Like a sigh at the end of passion. Like a gasp just before a needle stick. Like a slow burn that left the room.

A strum of a cord lingered. The sound died. I opened my eyes and saw his hooded eyes looking at mine.

"I never had a chance of winning that contest at fourteen. Took me a year to learn how to play this song. It's called 'Tempest' by Miguel Lauton. Do you like it?"

"Ah? Ha?" It was kind of a chortle and a gasp at once. "That isn't really a song, is it? It's every hurricane of desire you've ever felt and the denouement without climax, isn't it?"

"No, the perfect storm," he said softly, "two storms in one. . . an extended denouement." Man and song were still one, and the words were layer upon layer of entendre.

I floated on the memory of the music, carried out on a current. I'd been taken to the edge and left waiting. The sound and the feeling held me like a dream.

"Dancing to this type of music? That's the heart of Floreno, the dance of my mother's people, though this piece is particulary complex," Nayth continued.

"Wait, but what about your song?" I asked. "It wasn't 'Tempest,' I know, but it's so beautiful. It's like it's quintessentially you. It's like I've been listening to it for years, even though I've never heard it before. As though it's always been there in my dreams."

He nodded. "And that's how my whole life feels sometimes. That song is called 'Before Dusk.' It's not really something anyone would dance to. Well, maybe you could just sort of slow dance and sway to it, but it's more wistful. Like a lover just went out over the sea. Or you're thinking of someone no longer here. Not really a lullaby, but something you'd want to hum if you missed someone. That's more like Dad's home world—Sturm. Not mom's wild, passionate world of dance— Floria."

"Hmm," he chuckled. "It's a song born of two worlds. So, I guess that is quintessentially me. Two worlds in one. But—" he strummed forcefully on the guitar strings.

"This sound!" he declared dramatically, slightly mocking. "The declarations of sound of the Floreno dance! The true heart of the dance of the Florians!"

"Floreno? But that wasn't a song, it was a storm! How do you dance to a storm? It's as though you'd need, what, a, a— tap dance? And a two step, a fox trot, and—and ten other things all blended together?"

Nayth nodded, "In a way, yes, flurries of all different forms of dance. When you're good at Floreno and good at the martial art of Flauta, you can do pretty much anything you want to with your body."

Challenge accepted. I dropped forward into a plank, rolled to my back and rolled backwards through a somersault, pushing into a handstand. Then I folded my legs into a lotus, tucked my neck and rolled forward. I came up onto my knees, legs still tucked into my lotus and with my palms on the floor, rolled my right side onto a bent right elbow, lifting my knees off the floor. I balanced on my hands alone, with my legs in a sideways lotus.

"You mean like this? Is this part of Flauta martial arts?" I looked up at Nayth whose mouth was agape.

He backed up, with his hands in front of him. "Woahhhh. Things are starting to make a lot more sense… Madrano. Madrano. Woahhh. Do you and Peydran spar like this?"

I collapsed onto the floor in a puddle of giggling pretzeled limbs. "What!? Like this? Peydran and I don't spar much, really. And not in a lotus ever. That's, uh, more for lovers. Though I should probably tell you about merging with him at the Moreland's dining— "

I broke off at the wary look in Nayth's eyes. "What?" I asked again, probing. His expression shuttered, and he stilled. "You're hiding something from me, Nayth Carmidee."

I could feel him within me. Inside, he was chuckling. "This is like at dinner. You're all soft smiles and warm kindness, but there's something wicked in there that has a joke I don't know. You think something's funny, and you don't want me to know about it."

In Nayth's mind, I caught a glimpse of his hands around Peydran's neck. Peydran, half naked and wearing only black tights. Nayth grinned with his hands around Peydran's throat.

"Are you a closeted homosexual strangler, Nayth Carmidee? Do you get off on strangling naked gay dancers?!" I accused, laughing hysterically.

All humor left Nayth's face. My laugh died instantly. Something was in the room that I didn't understand.

Nayth's shoulders fell, and he hung his head, muttering, "I should've known. I doubt I can keep anything from you." Then he looked straight at me.

"I thought there was a choice?" he questioned, pointing at his head. "I thought we could choose what went between us?"

I blinked and stepped back. "What? I— You want to keep something from me? I'm sorr— I'm sorry, Nayth. I didn't mean— I wasn't trying to invade your privacy. I really didn't— that's not what—" I shook my head. "No— that's not what I want, if there's something you want to keep private, keep it. I'm not going to—"

"Stop, Ryst, stop. Okay? I don't think it's that simple. I don't think you forced something out of my head, okay? Look at me, Ryst Nova."

I opened my eyes and realized he had come over to me and taken my wrists down from my face so he could look in my eyes. "I think we're just figuring this out okay, love? And I think that part of me still wants to hide. It's the violence thing. No, I am not a closeted homosexual. No, I am not a strangler, not for fun in bed, and not as a murderous side gig."

He chuckled. "I don't actually want to kill Peydran. I love him possibly as much as you do. And I don't think I could kill him, even if I tried." He said it emphatically. Like it was a fact.

Nayth had 6 inches and over forty pounds on Peydran and was a dual Niner in Flauta and Strith— the martial arts of Floria and Sturm. I pulled back from him and searched his face. Looking over his hard body which was honed like a sword. Or like a dancer. Or like a sword in a dancer's hand.

I remembered the image of Nayth's hands around Peydran's throat. Peydran in tights. Peydran dancing. "Irony—it happens." Peydran dancing like flowing water.

"You watched Peydran dancing to techno didn't you?"

His eyebrows raised. "Dancing, you call it? Really, Methela?"

Peydran was an incredible dancer. Honed. Flowing. Watching it was watching liquid grace. You forgot one of his arms ended in metal. Peydran was a Blacker. Peydran was 100% muscle. He'd had to be. He had to train after cybernetic surgery. He'd been focused. . . he'd been driven. . . he'd had to be. . . All humor left me as well.

Four years ago. His accident. The surgery. The hospital. The endless questions. "Ryst, why were you in a coma?" A flat look and the questions had stopped.

Eyes narrowing, I opened a video call.