Chapter 5
Zeke awoke to the smell of incense seemingly pressed against his muzzle. It was a pleasant, homely scent,; the kind of scent his mother would make. Whichever mare had crawled into bed the night before had some good taste. Or stallion. Drunken musicians never discriminated.
Zeke had draped his forehooves around his bedmate and refused to let go, holding them close and nestling his nose deeper into their chest, trying to pull in as much of the smell of incense as he could.
Brasta had not moved from the spot on the bed all night. Blinking awake, he let out a yawn as he glanced around the darkened room. However, as he tried to move, he soon found he was... well, trapped.
Brasta's eyes glanced over to the figure he was curled up against, and he struggled to get out of bed as his face turned a lovely shade of puce. "Zeeeke.."
"Urrgh," Zeke groaned, holding Brasta tighter.
"Zeke... let... go.. of.. me."
"No," Zeke mumbled drowsily, shaking his head weakly and tightening his grip on his fellow stallion.
Brasta groaned, and tried to climb away, extracting one limb from Zeke's grip at a time. This would have worked brilliantly, except for one thing- the guest bed had no footboard, resulting in Brasta falling off the end of the bed and onto his stomach. "Errrgh..."
Zeke, meanwhile, ignored his partner's injury and rolled back under the covers; snoring gently and twitching on occasion.
Brasta was getting more than irritated now. Getting back onto his hooves with some difficulty, he trotted over to the bed, glaring sternly down at the zebra. "Zeke, wake up. Now."
"Just five more minutes," the zebra grumbled, pulling together his sheets and holding them close to his body.
"Fine.," Brasta growled, before heading out of the room. As he walked along the hallway to his kitchen, he couldn't help but think, as usual. He had brought Zeke home with him, gave him the guest bed, and somehow managed to end up... cuddling with him? The worst part was, he had liked it, after a while; just the feeling of somepony warm and soft lying near him. That wasn't wrong was it? Just sharing the same bedspace. It's the same thing he would have done for anyone obviously having a bad dream, right? Right. Especially somepony who looked so cute- somewhat endearing, when sleeping. That little anxiety and slight colour in his cheeks when thinking back to it meant nothing, of course.
Shaking his head with a sigh, Brasta made his way to the kitchen, and put his tea kettle on the stove, turning up the burners and grabbing his tea bags from the pantry. Good, strong peppermint tea- that's what he needed to clear his head.
Several minutes later, Brasta found himself sunken into his armchair, reading his Morning Office in an attempt to curb his thoughts. "Benedictus Dóminus, Deus Israel: quia visitávit, et fecit redemptiónem plebis suæ: Et eréxit cornu salútis nobis: in domo David, púeri sui. Sicut locutus..." Try as he may, he wasn't succeeding particularly well. The Canticle of Zechariah couldn’t keep him attentive this morning. Instead, his thoughts kept straying back. Dear Lord, what if Joana had seen him bringing Zeke home, or any of his other parishioners? What if somepony had come knocking this morning, seen him with Zeke, and made certain assumptions? "Aghh... this isn't helping." he said, shutting his breviary halfway through the Benedictus. If this kept up, he was going to go crazy, and it wasn't even eight o' clock yet!
His mental rambling was suddenly broken by the sound of a whistling tea kettle. "Sweet Theotokos, I need my tea." he groaned, heading back towards the kitchen.
Five minutes later, Brasta found himself in his kitchen, drinking his favourite tea with a buttered scone. In short,: normal breakfast for him. Now that he'd shaken off the morning dust, his head was a bit clearer. The fact that he found Zeke somewhat cute while sleeping was simply an observation. Nothing more. Right.
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Zeke, erstwhile, was mentally beating himself in his half-sleep. If word of this got out, he'd be lucky if he got hired to do school dances. In a genre ruled by "gangsters" and thugs, having his... occasionally ‘gay’ moments were pretty much heresy. It most certainly didn't help the morning wood that Zeke had been absently begging to go away, but such was such.
Maybe he wasn't really a coltcuddler. Maybe he was just so comfortable in his sexuality that he engaged in riskier ‘gay’ stuff more often. Like shopping for scarves or makeup or something. Or literally cuddling with colts. Okay, he really wasn't helping his case much. Scrunching his eyes up, Zeke rolled around a bit more, groaning. "Gaaah..." With a mumbled stream of expletives, he crawled laboriously out of bed.
The morning light pierced his slightly hung-over eyes, but Zeke trudged onwards, aimlessly wandering the halls of the rectory. It wasn't a massive building, nothing worth exploring, but Zeke found a good enough reason for it.
Finally, Zeke stumbled into the kitchen, smiling as he saw Brasta’s familiar face seated at the table.
...And there went Brasta's clear head. Still, the priest couldn't help but brighten at the infectious smile on Zeke's face. "Good morning, sleepyhead."
He wasn't entirely sure what to say, as the image of Zeke sleeping peacefully kept popping back into his mind, as well as the feeling of- No. This wasn't the time.
"Hey, man," Zeke groaned. "I'm starving."
Brasta glanced over at the fridge. He wasn't heavily stocked on food, and needed to go to the grocer, but he had enough. "I'll whip up something.," he said, heading towards the fridge. Because, loathe to admit as he was, he was hungry too.
Zeke followed, glancing into the fridge, raising an eyebrow, and sighing. "Ya got any tea leaves? Not mix, leaves."
Brasta's eyes lit up. "Hold on a moment..." He rummaged through his cabinet, before levitating out a small tea caddy. "Got some in here.," he said, lifting the lid of the tin container.
Without further ceremony, Zeke stuck his head in and immediately began chewing on a mouthful of leaves, contemplatively.
Brasta looked at him as if he'd grown another head. Normally, somepony made tea, not ate it. "Something on your mind?"
"I'm a cow," Zeke giggled, exaggerating the chewing and mooing to the ceiling.
Brasta rolled his eyes. "I suppose I should be lucky you're not eating all of them."
"Don't tempt me," Zeke cackled.
"I'm not." With that, he continued searching his pantry, getting out flour, salt, milk, and baking powder. "You're awfully chipper this morning..."
"Man, I got some good sleep in," Zeke said. "Good enough to wake a brother up..."
Brasta suddenly looked very embarrassed. "Yeah, I bet you did..."
"What's up?" Zeke asked, raising a quizzical brow. "Why ya gettin' flustered?"
Brasta just shook his head. "Not flustered- just... glad you slept peacefully, that's all."
"Uh huh," Zeke smirked.
"Yes. That's it. Only it." He wasn't sure if Zeke knew exactly why he's slept so peacefully, but he wasn't going to bring it up unless he asked.
"Right. So... This morning, totally nothing happened?"
Brasta thought for a minute, panicking slightly. So he did know. But still... technically, nothing had happened more than cuddling. "Nothing happened this morning."
"Well, I had this big ol' pillow, and then it went away somehow..."
"Err..." Brasta's eyes became fixed on a crack in the floor tile. "Shall I explain?"
"Go on," Zeke murmured, sitting on his rear.
Brasta swallowed. Ergh, why am I so flustered? "Well, last night, you were kind of stumbling half-asleep when we walked back from the cinema. When I brought you and led you to the guest room, you kind of... clutched onto me a bit." He rubbed his neck with a hoof. He wasn't sure who this was more embarrassing for; him or Zeke. "In your sleep, you started mumbling something about 'Papa' and sleeping on my bed. Then, when I tried to leave, you were sort of agitated- it looked like you were having a bit of a nightmare, in fact. So, I came back, just to calm you for a second, and you kind of clutched onto me more and, well, pulled me into bed."
Zeke's face blanked a little bit. "I... I called you what?"
"Err... you called me "Papa."
"Shit," Zeke murmured. "I was really out then..."
Brasta shifted slightly. "Yes, I kind of figured that.."
"Yeah. Papa... Papa, well, he tried hard and stuff, but he wasn't, y'know..."
"All that affectionate, I suppose?" Brasta finished.
"He tried. He was a doctor."
"Hey, I'm not trying to rag on your Papa or anything, okay?" Brasta said, backpedaling slightly.
"He tried. Didn't save Momma."
Brasta's face fell. "So that's what you were talking about..."
"No... I'm just sayin', he tried as a papa and he failed."
Brasta bit his lip slightly at the look on Zeke's face. It wasn't sad; but it was a look of grim realisation of a hard truth. Brasta felt the urge to want to make him smile again. "Well, despite his failure, at least you turned out just fine from what I can see."
"Blame Momma for that," Zeke chuckled.
"Not as much blame as congratulate." he said in reply, finally glad to see the zebra light up once more.
"Nah, man," Zeke chuckled. "She was just the right kind of crazy to survive and thrive in the hood, ya know?
Brasta rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but a very special kind of crazy, I'd imagine." Like you, he almost said.
"Exactly..."
There followed a moment of awkward silence once again.
Zeke stiffened up, sighing. "Well... Can I get a hug, bro?"
"Err.. sure." Brasta said, reaching forehooves out tentatively towards Zeke.
Zeke pulled the other colt into a tight, powerful hug, squeezing Brasta as hard as he could and tightening his own eyes, shivering.
Brasta felt slightly crushed by the hug, but returned it just as fiercely, ignoring the slight redness in his own face.
Zeke's eyes bulged out of his head as he was smushed by Brasta's grip, his hooves trailing down the other pony's back.
A moment later, Brasta let go of Zeke, panting slightly, face flushed, presumably from lack of air. It had nothing to do with close contact with the other stallion. Not at all.
Zeke chuckled, still holding onto Brasta, even tightening his grip slightly.
Brasta coughed slightly, eyes watering. However, for some reason he was still enjoying this. Perhaps too much.
Zeke gave one last squeeze before pulling away with a faraway look in his eyes. He looked off to the side, for some reason, shivering. "Th-Thanks, man..."
Brasta nodded. "Y-you're welcome." He noticed the shivering. "You cold, mate?"
"No," Zeke squeaked weakly. "Just thinkin'..."
Brasta stopped. Why would thinking make him shiver? "Erm... about what, if you don't mind me asking."
"Ma."
Brasta's face dropped into a solemn look. "Errm... what exactly happen-" he stopped, shaking his head, "I'm sorry, I-I shouldn't asked tha-"
"She... got raped," Zeke muttered quietly.
Brasta's eyes widened, and an expression of horror and sympathy flashed across his face. "Theotokos protect her." he whispered, glancing at his image of the Mother of God on the wall, before lifting his eyes back up to Zeke. "I'm sorry, I just... I d-didn't want to pry... I-I." He stopped, realising he was babbling. "I'll just g-go now..."
Zeke waved it away, expression neutral. "Man, it was years ago. Shit happens. Happens a lot to zebra folk." Despite his even tone, Zeke’s eyes spoke quite a different story.
"Well, that doesn't make it bloody right." Brasta said, suddenly angry. It was that common? There was something wrong with this city-- and more than the obvious. "I just-" Zeke’s neutral expression dropped into a frown, eyes pleading for Brasta to leave it alone. But Brasta was more than a little incensed. How the blazes could he pass off a rape as something that could simply be mentioned then forgot about? Long time ago or not, things like that left lasting scars on all ponies involved. He had a strong feeling that Zeke wasn’t quite as stoic about this as he seemed. “Shit happens?’ Really? That sounds a little too la-di-da a take on something as serious as this. I mean, surely you must have at least been deva-”
“Brasta. Now is not a good time. Just... leave it, please?” Zeke’s tone was no longer quite as even, instead sounding much more fragile.
Some of Brasta’s anger faded at the suddenly hurt-sounding tone of the zebra, but still he couldn’t help a bit of indignation coming through. “Zeke, are you sure you don’t feel a bit more, I don’t know, angry about this? I mean, sure it was years ago, but-”
"Nope," Zeke muttered, beginning to shiver once more. "Nope, I’m fine..."
"Then why did you tell me about this if it wasn't-"
"I just... because thought I could confide in you." Was I right?, Zeke thought.
Brasta's thoughts stopped. He trusts me? he thought. He trusts me enough to confide in me, after only a couple days? He felt a warm feeling in his chest. He trusts me...
The two of them sat in silence for a few minutes, before Brasta broke the stillness. "Well, onto a happier subject..."
"Errm, shouldn't you be getting back to your own home now? At least, until we-" Go out, he thought to himself. "-hang out again."
"I... I guess so," Zeke murmured. "I mean, I'm free all day, but if ya need me to go..."
"No!" he exclaimed, then looked down. "I mean, no. Don't need you to go yet. Just not sure if you were... recuperated or not."
"I'm good," Zeke murmured. "Just... Wonderin' if ya wanna hang a bit more.
"Oh. Sure!" Brasta said with a smile. There went that little flutter again... which he ignored.
"Cool," Zeke murmured. "Sooo... Like, you got TV here or anything or what?"
Brasta nodded. "I've got a TV in the living room- don't use it much, as I've got my books, but you're welcome to watch it."
"Aight," Zeke murmured. "Show me?"
Brasta led him to the living room, opening a cabinet against the wall to reveal a small tv with remote nearby. "Here you go."
Zeke smirked. "Man, that thing's gotta be like a hundred years old..."
"Ten years, actually."
"Well, tech marches on, brother..."
"My need for it does not- as I said, I mostly stick to my books," he said, glancing back down the hall towards his own room. Unbeknownst to Zeke, it was dominated by a plenitude of bookshelves, heavily loaded down with a ton of tomes.
"What books do ya like?"
Brasta shrugged. "A little bit of everything. Classics, history, philosophy, theology, and some contemporary books." The contemporary meaning his small collection of romance novels- the tame kind, granted, but still...
"Snoooore," Zeke murmured. "I'ma watch TV. I need to catch up on Las Pegasus Five-0 ."
Brasta rolled his eyes. "Fine, you do that. But at about noon, meet me at the door" Brasta glanced up at the clock on his wall. "I have a daily Mass to say, so I'll be back in about thirty minutes."
Yet Zeke was already snoring in a chair, the TV running and his eyes shut tightly.
Brasta rolled his eyes, and headed across the street. Standing at the threshold of the church, he glanced back at the rectory once more before entering his world of incense, chant, silk, and sometimes, divine silence.