Koschei deposits all his work on the long laboratory table and strides over to his husband. He straddles his lap and gazes at him with marmish incredulity.
“Yeah, luv, as soon as you can explain to me how you couldpossibly forget all the reasons. Shall I catalogue them alphabetically or by subject?”
“It’s not a reflection of you, I promise,” he says, taking his husband’s face in his hands and kissing his forehead before pressing their heads together. “Just a bad head day. You know how it goes.”
Koschei removes his reading glasses and settles himself more firmly on Jack’s lap.
“That I do, husband, but you miss my point. I am prepared to lavish you with reasons for your greatness. Gird your loins, or rather, don’t, for I’m about to charm off your knickers.”
He clears his throat, theatrically.
“The High Classical Greeks have striven in vain to sculpt your perfect face and body. But this barely touches upon the beauty of your mind, heart, and soul. You have the mind of a scientist, an artist, and an intellect. The heart of a poet and an adventurer. The soul of one who secretly, for all his playful transgressions, wishes to warm his feet by a hearth cozied up with a special someone.”
He wriggles a bit.
“Lucky for you, here I am, dearest friend, father of my children, hero of my hearts. You may now express your accolades in return.”
Icarus 