Climb the Ocean
By Ephemera and Byrne

London
Part Ten

Walking arm in arm around a museum probably wasn't that high on most people's list of things to do on a Friday night, but as Oliver tugged on his arm, pointing to a cabinet that had caught his eye, it was rapidly climbing Tom's personal chart, and Oliver seemed happy with it. Constant rain showers nixed their original plan - more walking - and it pleased Tom that he'd been able to show up with a back up plan in place. It might be silly but he still wanted to be a good host and make sure Oliver had a good time out and about in London as well as in the hotel room.

Becka had recommended a good Italian restaurant near the museum, and Tom had spent a good part of his literature seminar passing notes with her, planning the evening. He'd wanted to show some off the South-American stuff off to Oliver. As it turned out, those galleries weren't open this late, so they were roaming through Ancient Egypt, which was new to them both, letting odd things take their interest and everything else just form a pleasing background. Right now the interesting thing was a collection of mummified cats: sacrifices to Bast, according to the plaque. The detail on the coffins and the fine painted faces of the miniature mummies was pretty amazing, but the over all effect was just creepy. He turned his head slightly, keeping his voice low in the quiet room.

"You think that's more or less freaky than people who have their pets stuffed?" he asked.

Oliver looked at the mummy critically and raised an eyebrow. "I dunno, really. I mean, stuffing your pet is just...ew. But at least it's there, you know? And you can see it the way it was, curled on the floor or something. But these ones," he gestured to the case and shrugged. "Guess the pharaohs didn't want to be lonely? Sort of making sure they had their pets in the afterlife?"

He looked at Tom and blinked. "I'm being overly analytical, aren't I?" he asked, looking faintly embarrassed. Tom let the back of his hand brush against Oliver's thigh by way of reassurance.

"I asked. Want to know how you think, what you think; not a test." He gave in, and found Oliver's hand, curling his own round it, warm and dry and just right. "I guess wanting to give the kitties eternal life makes killing them ok - beats turning them into fur coats, at least."

Oliver looked faintly horrified. "Oh man, could you imagine? Like 101 Dalmatians, only worse." He shuddered and pulled a face. "Imagine a fringe of tails, all along the bottom. Ick." He tugged on Tom's hand and pointed to the other side of the display room. "We should move along before I spoil our dinner."

"Ew - that is pretty gross. In fact, want to skip the rest of the Living Dead and go find something less…dead?"

Oliver had managed to turn them so they were almost facing. Tom glanced around the dimly lit gallery, and not spotting anyone paying them the blindest bit of attention, leaned in to give him a gentle kiss. He tried to keep it light and short, aware of the guard sitting in the doorway of the room and that anyone might walk past. Oliver's mouth was so damn tempting it was hard to pull away, but he forced himself. Oliver's look was delicious too, just tinged with a question.

"Because. 'Cos we can. Because you're beautiful. and 'cos I'm well on my way to getting addicted to you." Tom murmured, leaning down a little to speak close to Oliver's ear. He straightened, and cleared his throat. "This way?"

Oliver kept his gaze, not letting him go so easily. A hand worked its way around the back of Tom's neck and Oliver kissed him again, hard. "Love you," he whispered fiercely.

Before Tom could do more than catch his breath Oliver took his hand and led the way through the room, looking for something more alive than mummified cats. His eyes were shining, Tom noticed. The hand gripping his was firm, like Oliver had no intention of letting go. His own hand squeezed around it.

Ancient farming methods weren't a whole lot more interesting than modern ones, at least in terms of producing pretty things to look at, and they soon found themselves back in the high-ceilinged sculpture room. Everything here was on an enormous scale, and there was no escaping the sheer impressiveness of the monolithic figures. It was busier here, and brighter.

They came to a halt beside a shiny black stone scarab beetle that had to be almost two metres long. Tom couldn't help but reach out a hand and run it lightly over the smooth surface. Two and half thousand years. Christ. He leaned back, Oliver's arms coming to rest around his waist, looking down the length of the room.

"What are you thinking?"

"Lots of stuff," Oliver murmured. "That's a big bug. I feel small and insignificant here, with all these monuments around me. That I love you. That there are a lot of people. That I'm happy, being here looking at dead things and monuments to dead people, 'cause you're here. That I'm vaguely hungry. You?"

Tom didn't turn round, just stroked over Oliver's clasped hands.

"That you're the most important thing in this room. That I love the feel of your arms around me." Loved that Oliver tightened his embrace a little at that. "That I love you. That I'm probably boring you to death, and maybe we should brave the rain and find dinner." He smiled. "And that that's one huge ancient bug."

"It's big," Oliver said with a chuckle. "Not bored. And yeah, getting hungry."

Tom looked down, sliding the sleeve of Oliver's top back a little to check the time. "Yikes - you realise why you're getting hungry? We've been in here nearly two hours!"

"Really? Wow, that was fast." Oliver let his arms slip away, dropping a quick kiss on his neck. "You said the restaurant was close?"

Tom nodded. "We can walk there, easy. Might get a little damp though."

They started walking in the general direction of the main entrance and Oliver winked at him. "Just another reason to get you out of your clothes is all. Can't have you getting sick. Want to watch movies in bed later?"

He carried off the innocence for about three seconds and then matched Tom's grin. "Actually, that huge holdall I left back at the hotel does have those videos I promised you in it. Videos, a weekend's worth of clothes, and all my notes for Tuesday's presentation." Tom suddenly realised he'd never actually asked. "Um - assuming it's ok for me to stay again, and to stay and study in your room while you're working tomorrow? I figured you wouldn't mind, and then I don't have to go back home this weekend and waste hours on the train, and... I should probably have asked this like, a week ago, but - um - sorry?"

"Good Lord." Oliver gave him a look that two parts amusement and one part consternation. "Like I'd let you go? Just be glad you brought things to wear--we'd have had to go clothes shopping if you hadn't, 'cause I'm not letting you leave."

Other people in the room be-damned. Tom tugged them into the lee of some Greek statue and pulled Oliver close, kissed him, hard and fast. "Thank you." God, but it was good to hear that.

Oliver smiled and gave him a slow look, up and down, making Tom feel like he was being undressed. Slowly. Lingeringly. "So, what movies did you get? Something that doesn't take much concentration, I hope - I get a little distracted when we're in bed."

Tom stepped close, into a discreet hug, and then they started moving again, falling into step. Oliver's arm was warm around his waist. "Well, we have all my Eddie Izzard tapes - got to get you educated - and I think I grabbed Holy Grail, Fight Club, and The Crow. We have a weird collection of films. Oh, and Aliens for the spooky factor."

"Mmm. You do realize that spooky has a direct translation in my mind that's something close to 'Cling to Tom and hope he distracts you from the creepy stuff' right?" Oliver teased. Just as Tom was about to assure Oliver of his willingness to distract he was interrupted by a loud rumbling, the vibration going right through Oliver and into Tom's arm.

"Jesus, was that you? You must be starving! Did Brett hold lunch to ransom or something?"

Oliver grinned sheepishly, his cheeks pinking. "Was just a busy day, really--lots of meetings, lots of people, and a few sandwiches." Laughing brown eyes were turned on him. "Take care of me?" Oliver pleaded. God, he was adorable.

"Yes, sir." Tom teased back. "To the restaurant!" He hooked his arm through Oliver's and set off with a flourish.

They paused in the portico of the Museum on the way out while the flock of tourists they'd gotten tangled up in found their coats and their travelling partners on the front stairs. Tom took the chance to pull Oliver close again, breathing in the scent of him. "Promised you pampering, didn't I? Pampering and massages and everything else."

He could feel the soft shudder that ran through his lover's body; Oliver was nothing if not responsive.

"Food," Oliver said sounding like he was trying to convince himself more than Tom. "Then massages and...everything else." His eyes were slightly glazed over; adorable.

The walk to the restaurant passed quickly enough, though they were a little damp by the time they got there. The rain had eased enough that having to strip down to avoid pneumonia didn't seem likely, fortunately. It was a nice place, warm and inviting but still affording them a quiet corner where they could talk in peace. Oliver insisted on ordering wine, choosing a bottle of Australian shiraz that Tom would never have picked because of the price alone. He tried to protest but Oliver quelled him with a look. "My treat. It's nice stuff," he said firmly.

"Well - thank you. I guess I'm not really used to this whole being wined and dined thing - and this is the third night in a row it's been your treat." Tom found Oliver's hand under the table, and tried for a lighter tone. "This would be the whole American dating thing exercising its influence, wouldn't it?"

Oliver nodded slowly, their fingers tangling. "Yeah, I guess it is. Plus, I *like* treating you--it's only food, and we have to eat." Oliver looked at him, his eyes serious. "If it bothers you I'll stop. But it's...I can afford to. I want to treat you the way you should be--special."

"Yeah, but you're special and I *can't* afford to treat you back." He was probably going to blush if Oliver kept up with the compliments. "Not that I don't like the being treated, it's just - I don't know. It's different."

Oliver squeezed his hand, his fingers started tracing patterns on his palm. "Okay, let's look at this. You can't afford to, but want to. I know that, and that's fine--someday you *will* be able to afford it. I can afford to now, so I do. It's not a--a--a contest or anything; just the way things are. Besides, you can make it up to me, you know." There was glint in Oliver's eye that Tom was getting to know very well.

"Just so long as you know that I'm not *just* letting you buy me dinner so I have an excuse to, um, make reparations later." The arrival of the waiter interrupted Oliver's immediate response.

Tom didn't know if the waiter had heard him, but Oliver was blushing hard enough to earn them both a speculative look. As he withdrew Oliver took Tom's glass and poured the wine, giving him a wide grin. "Just drink it, okay? And eat your salad. You'll need your strength later, if I'm going to get that massage." Oliver eyed his Caesar salad and raised an eyebrow. "Hope you don't mind garlic breath."

"Easy solution," Tom shot back, leaning over to dab his tomato in Oliver's dressing. He had to smile at Oliver's raised eyebrow. "Well, if I'm your date, then officially I think I'm required to steal your food. And you have to feed me desert. It's all in the rules somewhere." This time he did stick his tongue out.

"I'll keep that in mind when I order it," Oliver said dryly. "Chocolate, I hope. Or maybe something with berries?"

"Not something creamy?" He could so totally get used to the sight of Oliver with that smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I think we should save the creamy stuff for when we're not somewhere so public, yes?" But there was a hand on Tom's thigh, quickly moving up to tease him before retreating.

"Well, if you're going to be all sensible about it..." He caught the wandering hand, pressing it against his leg in a one handed hug. "Damn - you want me to change the subject, too?"

Oliver chuckled. "Might be wise--it's been a long day without you. How was school? Anything cool happen?"

"Literature seminar of doom was literature seminar of doom, basically. Oh - I had a message from my mum when I went home to get my stuff and get changed, though. And yes, I was good and rung her back instead of running around trying on every item of clothing I .. really shouldn't be admitting to that, right?" He couldn't really get too embarrassed about Oliver knowing that he wanted to make a good impression though, not really.

Oliver shrugged. "I changed my shirt four times. Just so you know. How's your mom? Everything okay?" His eyes were serious and warm, and his hand stroked Tom's thigh gently. Contact.

"She's ok. Had the tests yesterday, bitched about the general disorganisation of the place and how none of the nurses seemed to know what was going on. That's 'situation normal' in other words. Gets the results late next week. And um, she says hello."

That earned him a blink. "She does? Oh. I mean...wow. I knew you told her I was coming, but I didn't--wow." Oliver looked at him closely. "How did she seem about it? About us?"

Tom found Oliver's hand and gave it a squeeze. "She rang last night, so she asked where I'd been, and I said staying at the hotel with you. Which, ok, was maybe a little bit too much information but I'm a bit old to be pretending to be staying over with a friend, you know?"

Oliver nodded. "Yeah, suppose so."

"So, she asked were things going well then, and I may have babbled just a bit, cos she interrupted me to say that yes, apparently it was going well--" He smiled at Oliver's grin and went on, "and she said I wasn't cutting classes, was I? and that I did lie about, I'm afraid. To which she said good, and to say hello."

"Oh," Oliver said, looking happy. "She didn't sound like she was planning horrible things to do the older American guy who was leading her boy down the path of wickedness?"

Tom practically choked on his wine. "Um, no; no threats of violence. I think maybe she's saving that for when I start thinking about following you home?"

Oliver gave him a long searching look. "Wouldn't mind if you did, you know. Follow me home," he said softly. "For a visit. Would like to show you Boston."

"I'd like that. A lot." There was no way he was keeping the sappy smile of his face right now, "See your city, your place - meet some of your friends? One day, yeah?"

"Yeah," Oliver said with a wide grin. "That would be cool. We could hang out--I'd take you to a ball game, and you could get tortured by Janet in person."

"Oi - so I only get to meet the friends who want to embarrass us both to death? No fair!"

"Well..." Oliver started, then paused, looking a little uncomfortable.

"Love?" He was not going to panic. Really. Not. "You could always keep me locked up in your tower or something?"

"No," Oliver said, shaking his head. "It's just...well, I don't know if you'd want to meet many of the others right now. I kinda got an e-mail today from Kerry. He's sort of freaking out about you and me--thinks I've lost my mind getting into a long distance relationship. And he's worried that I've fallen too far too fast." Oliver looked a little sad, staring at his plate and playing with his lettuce.

"Ouch." Tom reached over and took Oliver's hand between both of his. "Although - not his decision, right? And, well, so far I'm thinking the falling? Fairly mutual - yeah? That's a good thing."

Oliver smiled at him, lifting Tom hand up to kiss his fingers. "Of course it is. I love you. You love me. Just wish other people would either mind their own business or trust me to know what I'm doing, you know? I sent him one back telling him thanks for his concern but I'm a big boy, and I'm happy. If he wants to talk about it more I'll deal with it when I get back."

He frowned slightly. "Though I'm really not sure where all this sudden concern is coming from. Do me a favour? Remind me to check my e-mail when we get back--Jess will probably know, and if he's as upset as he said he is he'll have been in touch with her. She might try to get a hold of me."

"Ok," Tom nodded. "Hey, it's a good thing that you have friends who care enough to worry, right? Maybe annoying that they don't get it but good that they care. I wouldn't want to see you get hurt by some stupid floozy in a foreign country either." As he spoke, Tom lifted Oliver's hand to rub along his cheekbone, giving it a brief kiss before letting it go.

Oliver smiled again, the sweet, slow one that made Tom feel special and loved. "Yeah. You're right, of course. But for now--" Oliver glanced up as the waiter appeared with their meals. "Now let's just enjoy our meal."

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