The wood-panel floor of the treehouse is carefully nestled between the twin trunks of a tree, about ten feet off the ground. A panel in the center of the floor opens to allow a rope to drop down and give access to those welcome.
The house itself is fair-sized and sturdily built, mainly of pine panels. One wall is largely open, covered in metal wire mosquito-screen with two large, thick blankets nailed and tacked as drapes and insulation for the cooler times. This makeshift window faces west, toward the lake, and a section has been carefully cut and taped up to allow access to a wooden windowbox attached outside.
Nearly half the floor -- right up to the trapdoor -- is taken up by the bed, a mattress filled with straw, topped with a thin but soft featherbed, all capped by a large nest of blankets, quilts, and pillows. The other side of the room appears to be mainly the kitchen, such as it is -- a small 'pantry' box of food, a few pans and dishes, and a clay pot redolent of woodsmoke and coal. In the corner away from the window on that side is a very simple wooden box with a lid, and atop that is a cobalt blue wine bottle acting as a vase for random wild blooms. Three rows of shelves line the wall above the cooking area, the vast majority of the space on them covered with carefully arranged shiny baubles of various kinds.
Did someone call for 'tall, dark, and handsome'? Well, dark's fairly well covered, at least. Jet-black hair's pulled into a long, loose tail at the nape of his neck, a few stray strands about the face occasionally drifting into his almost equally dark eyes, the irises of which are a brown deep enough that one needs to look closely to find the pupil. Nut-brown skin that sets off the white of his teeth and eyes -- it could just barely be mistaken for a very deep tan, if one really tried. Tall is a miss; he's still several inches off six feet, and he probably won't ever get there. Handsome... well, not a classic beauty, to be sure, but well-proportioned, with a stunning, frequent grin and deeply expressive features. Slim, but in perfectly good shape.
He's clad in... well, black leather pants. Somewhat faded, well broken in, but nicely cut and really =quite= nicely fitted. A simple cream shirt hangs untucked above them, long sleeved and fastened with a row of small, black stone buttons. Over that, he wears a decidedly well-worn old black trenchcoat, almost too big for him -- the cuffs hang down half-over his hands, when he lets them, and the hem hangs perilously close to his heels. Scuffed black leather boots with worn soles adorn his feet; there's a seemingly random collection of bracelets, all on one wrist, and several piercings along the upper section of each ear -- little silver hoops. His right ear also bears a rather delicate silver earcuff.
He's a big guy -- that's the first impression this man gives. Standing at an even six feet, his build is certainly sturdy, with broad shoulders and beefy arms. There isn't a scrap of fat on him either, and the calloused hands look like they've seen their share of hard work. The second impression he gives is one of youth. His clean-shaven face has a boyish cast, slightly round but with a strong jaw and squarish chin. It's a strange mix of lingering adolescence and budding maturity. His eyes are pale blue, clear and bright, expressive in a way that hints at soulfulness, though he often looks somewhat preoccupied. A tousled crop of blond hair frames his face, windblown and sun-bleached in an array of shades that could only come from nature: the color of honey and wheat sheaves streaked with gold.
His clothing isn't fancy, but he keeps it in good repair, with careful patches covering the places where it's gone threadbare. The black breeches of a dense cotton weave are tight enough to show off the musculature of his legs though loose enough to remain modest. The linen shirt he wears is clean but dingy with age, left unlaced at the collar, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A leather thong around his neck seems weighted down by some kind of pendant, a glimpse of which can be seen through the loose lacing of his shirt. It seems to be made of polished wood, but its shape is indistinct.
Serendipity is stretched out on his back on the mattress, kept decent only by a couple of the sheets, and barely at that, hair splayed over the pillow and such around him while he regards the ceiling with a furrowed brow and a look of confusion. "Y'know," he remarks thoughtfully, "I know there was somethin' I wanted t' talk 'bout with you, but I can't seem t' remember what it was, now..."
Martin glances up from his writing -- which he's been doing an awful lot of lately -- and blinks a bit. At first, he doesn't reply, instead just watching Ren, the play of his hair upon the pillows, the way the sheet drapes upon his body. "I find myself forgetting most of the words in my vocabulary, now that you mention it," he says, eventually.
Serendipity glances sidelong at Martin, and grins, edging himself over an inch or so, more to highlight the unused space beside him than to increase it. "Want me t' help you hunt for 'em?" he offers, and gives a full-body stretch, from fingertips extended above his head down to toes, at least as much as performance as for the feeling of it. "There was somethin', though. 's on th' tippa my brain."
Martin smiles crookedly, casually taking in the visual of that stretch without even a smidgeon of self-consciousness. "I should finish this passage," he replies dryly, and hesitantly looks away so that he can do that, writing patiently and precisely. "I'm almost done. Do you remember what it was about?"
"You," Ren replies, apparently willing to await the promised break in Martin's work. "...maybe us, too, but mostly you." He turns onto his side, the better to watch the blond write. "You should tell me more 'bout your life. Like you were gonna after the funeral, in Millinockett, if we hadn't got distracted then..."
Martin frowns faintly, clearly thinking about something though this doesn't disrupt the slow and steady pace of his writing. "I can't recall what I was going to tell you," he says mildly. There's no hint of hedging or concealment there, but an honest admission. "Hmm, I wonder what it could've been."
"You might notta decided," Ren replies. "I mean, I asked in th' morning, an' by the time we got home..." He trails off, and shrugs, grinning again. "Not that I'm complainin'. But I still want stories."
Martin is quiet a time, a smile playing upon his lips to show he's listening as he writes to the end of his passage. Then he glances over his work before folding the papers and tucking them into a carpetbag along with his old leather book. "I'll gladly tell you a story. What do you want to know about?"
"You," Ren repeats, the grin flashing briefly brighter. "Tell me 'bout you. Y'know, when you were little, when you weren't so little, just things 'bout you." He pats the spot beside him invitingly.
Martin sets his bag aside and crawls over to the bed, mindful that his boots are off before he gets tangled up in the blankets. Lying out on his side, he props his head on one hand and regards Ren fondly. His other hand reaches out to play upon the man's chest as he says, "Well, my family were travelers, traders in the midwest plains. I don't know if I ever told you, but I have a ton of brothers and sisters."
Serendipity shifts back over, a little closer, and listens. "How many, an' where're you in 'em?" he inquires, with interest. "I got twelve older sisters, m'self."
Martin winces and says with genuine sympathy, "I'm sorry. I have eight. Sisters, that is. Four brothers. I'm the seventh born, so by the time I came along, there wasn't much I could do that was interesting. Everyone else had already cornered the market on first steps and adorable antics."
Serendipity laughs. "Wasn't so bad. I got t' be youngest, only boy, an' there was th' whole bein'-predicted thing, too. Plus Ma'd been pretty sure she was done for like five years, so I was somethin' of a surprise." He pauses, doing some quick arithmetic. "Man, you were right in the middle, huh?"
Martin nods gravely, still toying with Ren's chest lightly. "Five sisters older, two brothers older, the rest younger." He shakes his head, looking faintly mystified. "My poor father. He'd get to where he'd just point vaguely and says, "You! You know who you are. Come here...""
Serendipity reaches out and pats Martin's cheek lightly. "You poor thing," he commiserates, only half teasing.
Martin grins, leaning down to press a kiss lightly to Ren's lips. "I managed," he drawls. "It just made sense to move on when I got older. There were more than enough hands to help with the trading."
Serendipity steals another kiss, and then drapes his arm loosely over Martin's waist. "Don't blame you," he agrees. "Find some place people could at least remember who you were, yeah?"
Martin nods amiably, easing closer so that his body lays snugly and warm against Ren's. "For the longest time I thought my name was 'hey you, the blond one.'" He delivers the words gravely, but there's humor dancing in his eyes. "So it wasn't terribly exciting, I'm afraid."
Serendipity grins at this, watching Martin talk. "Where'd you go when you left, an' how'd you decide? An' what exactly was it made you leave when you did, 'stead of some other time?"
Martin says guilelessly, "I don't really know. I guess one day I just decided it was time to move on, and I told my mother and father I was leaving. They told me to keep my feet on the ground and the wind at my back, and that was that. Must've thought about it awhile before heading out, but it was just like one day the horizon was calling. Must've just gotten restless."
"When that happens t' me," Ren remarks, "'s just Coyote sayin' it's time to move on." He draws his hand idly along the slight curves of Martin's waist and the side of his torso and hip, back and forth at no notable speed.
Martin replies, "Maybe it was God's way of pointing me in the direction I needed to go." He leans down to give Ren another kiss, then settles in beside him, drawing the kin into his arms. "I ended up taking a job doing salvage in Manhattan Bay. It was a job lots of young men fell into. The money was good. No one cared much about where you came from. I took it because it was there. It was something a seventeen year old boy could hook up with."
"Seventeen's plenty old 'nough for just 'bout anything you wanna do," Ren muses, snuggling in with no resistance whatsoever, catching the hem of Martin's shirt on the next traversal of his fingers and pushing it up to bare as broad an expanse of the trader's torso as possible. "What's th' salvage like? 's one thing I've never done. Haven't made it down t' old new york yet."
Martin takes the hint and draws away long enough to pull the shirt off, exposing the entirety of that neatly defined, muscular torso. He certainly works hard to keep his not-so-girlish figure. He then settles in again, drawing Ren close to him. "You spend most of your time out on the boats," he replies. "It's cold, cramped, smelly. The only way to put up with the drunken surliness is to stay half-drunk all the time yourself. Then you go in on shore leave and blow all your money on more booze and the dock girls -- or boys, depending on whatever catches your fancy. Then it's out again for more of the same. You go looking through the old buildings that are submerged, rifle through other people's belongings, and take what you can make money off of."
Serendipity hehs, fingertips tracing the edges of those well-defined muscles. "You make it sound so inviting," he remarks dryly, adding, "...not easy t' imagine you havin' t' pay for it, y'know. Shoulda been able t' save some money there." He actually sounds serious there, though his eyes give the teasing away.
Martin wraps his hand around Ren's and brings those teasing fingertips to his lips. "Ah, but paying for it was part of the lure, Serendipity. "The knowledge that once he or she collected the money and left, you were a free man all over again. Never have to get attached, never have to care about any of them. It was... easy. That way."
"Money doesn't =hafta= be involved in that," Ren muses, "...though I s'pose if you put it that way, it'd make it -- more clearly d'fined."
Martin smiles crookedly and nuzzles Ren's hair as he says fondly, "You're so innocent in some ways." He actually says those words without laughing, too. "We'll say it makes it more clearly defined, yes. An amiable business arrangement between two strangers and nothing more."
Serendipity giggles. "I don't remember th' last time someone said I was innocent when I hadn't been accuseda somethin' first," he remarks, giving a very un-innocent little wriggle to punctuate it.
Martin laughs and nuzzles yet more, gently but with the underlying message that he will not be swayed from this point of view. "You asked if I'd ever been in love before, and I said no, and that's why. Where I come from, love didn't ever enter into it."
Serendipity nuzzles back, subdued for only a moment by recalling the circumstances under which the question had come up. "...well, it never did 'til recently for me, either, but neither did money, either. 's all I'm sayin'." He pauses, then adds, "Although, there =were= a few people who left money behind, when I was younger. Always thought that was funny."
Martin laughs again, then sighs, and his fingers stroke Ren's hair fondly. "Well, now you know. It never affected you, did it?" He draws back so that he can look at Ren's face with an expression of mild wonder. "It did affect me. For the worse, I imagine. I think I must have become very jaded."
"Nah. I just figured hey, if they wanna give me money, all th' easier t' get along in the world th' next day or two. I woulda fucked 'em anyway, 'cause I wan'ed to, so why should I care if they left stuff b'hind?" Ren replies, with a little shrug. He shifts a hand to toy with a few strands of Martin's hair in unconscious mirror, and studies him. "Like how?"
Martin considers the question thoughtfully, amidst another nuzzle. Then he says, "I'm not sure how to describe it. I think, growing up, I was raised to believe that such things were a bond between people. That I should believe there were things in life like love. Sure, it was often a practical thing, as practical as everything else that kept our family together, but it was there. Then to go to a place where it was nothing more than a commodity to be traded and sold... It wasn't about attraction. There was no bond. It was a dose of physical pleasure to stave off the ache inside of a soul starving for some kind of spiritual nourishment." He pauses, then ducks his head. "Which must sound utterly corny."
Serendipity considers that for a while, resting his head against Martin's shoulder. "...well, sex 'n' love aren't the same thing. I mean, y'can't sell love, right? Like, maybe your mom's pie's the best, 'cause she makes it with love an' all, speakin' of corny, but you c'n go buy a pie an' it wouldn't be as good as hers, but it might be a pretty good piece anyway, yeah?" He grins. "...then later you c'n visit home an' have hers too."
Martin arches a brow. After a moment's silence, he says, "There are many paths upon this road I am not going to go down, but using the pie analogy very lightly, I suppose you're right. Though pie and sex aren't exactly the same thing. You don't create children from eating pie. There are a whole host of diseases pie won't give you. It gets complicated in the details."
"...an' if it's not literally pie you don't want it from your mom, yeah," Ren agrees, wrinkling his nose a little, then grinning again. "And anyway, you don't create children with guys or girls who're doin' stuff to avoid it, an' if you don't watch out where you get your pie, it might give you food poisoning, but not real often. Also your friends could make pie for you, an' that'd be pretty good too. An' now I'm gonna let the pie drop. =Everything's= complicated in the details."
Martin sighs, and nuzzles Ren, murmuring, "You're incorrigible. Maybe I'm a fool for holding sex as something more important than that. I don't know. You've seen how I eat, and yet I can't rightly say that I've ever felt for pie the way I've felt about sex."
Serendipity nuzzles back. "Well," he replies, "you keep incorriging me..." He twists and leans half onto Martin to steal a kiss, eventually continuing, "...not a fool, an' anyway, 's nothin' sayin' it =can't= be more'n pie. Just doesn't hafta be. Nothin' wrong with it either way, 's all."
Martin comments gravely, "Except when there is a communication breakdown." He sighs, and cuddles Ren to him, mostly chastely, or at least holding back on the lewd intentions. "Maybe you've lived a charmed life, but I've seen people hurt so badly. I've been one of those people. But I've seen people damaged far worse. Maybe it's different for people whose blood is solely human. I don't know."
Serendipity is quiet for several seconds. "...I've hurt a few people," he admits, quietly. "But I never did anythin' t' lead 'em to think it was more'n it was. I mean..." He hesitates, studying the ceiling for a moment, apparently debating whether to continue, the impression strengthened as he moves his gaze to study Martin's face for a moment or three, almost warily, before he continues, as if it were some great secret. "I mean, I =can= be subtle, y'know. If I want to. I just figure my way's more honest; everyone knows the score. Yeah? But I guess even so, y'know, y'can't-" His eyes flicker to the other side of the treehouse, to the shelves covered with their collection of shiny baubles. "...y'can't always help how you feel, I guess."
Martin smiles faintly, and he strokes the pad of his thumb along Ren's cheek, regarding him with simple, uncomplicated affection. "Sometimes," he replies. "It's something that requires honesty, and people aren't always honest with themselves. Some people, try as they might, can't separate their emotions from the act."
Serendipity turns his head just a little bit, without breaking contact with the thumb, so that its movement passes across his lips, and he kisses it softly.
Martin's expression brightens, his eyes alight and intent as he studies Ren. Lowering his voice to a whisper, he adds, "But I don't think that's such a bad thing. As long as you know where you stand."
Serendipity meets the gaze, studying Martin in return; it seems as though his eyes want to glance away several times, but he doesn't let them. The look is hard to read, although affection and desire play prominent roles there, and a tiny smile hovers around the corners of his lips. "Yeah?" he murmurs back.
Martin nods slowly, not breaking that eye contact. "Yeah," he whispers. "In my faith, sex is sacred. It should not be given away lightly. The Lord did say not to cast pearls before swine, and so I can't in good conscience condone treating something so important as anything less than divine." On that note, he leans in to press a kiss to Ren's lips.
Serendipity returns the kiss without anything even close to resistance, pressing in closer against Martin until it's all skin to skin -- or skin to fabric, where the bond's still clothed. When the kiss breaks, he grins just a little, staying virtually nose to nose, and murmurs, "Y'know, technic'ly, this isn't standin'."
Martin smiles warmly, tilting his head to steal another quick kiss as his fingers curl through Ren's hair. "It's not pie either," he teases back, his voice low and rumbly in his chest. "Now hush. I want to show you divinity." There is another kiss, this one deeper, wrought with a rather specific intent.
The tone of voice elicits an answering little rumble somewhere in Ren's throat, and he melts right into the kiss without protest, a hand sliding itself up to tangle into the roots of Martin's hair as well. Martin may be the theologian, but apparently Ren's an eager enough divinity student.