At 4 a.m. the two middleaged men sleeping together holding hands.
In the half-light of dawn a few birds warble under the Pleiades.”
Ginsberg, Olivier thinks. Allen Ginsberg. He’s grasping for the title, but it’s just out of reach. He watches Auriel sit on the stool, stock-still, for several moments. Then Auriel take a deep breath and looks right into Olivier’s eyes.
“136 Syllables at Rocky Mountain Dharma Center,” he says.
Of course, thinks Olivier. He can’t conjure up a memory the two of them shared with this poem, but he can feel it in the energy between them; at some point in time they read it together, or heard it recited. He gets the impression of their hands pressed together, the inkling that his own heartbeat must have notched up at the words. But the only concrete memory he can access is from his Intro to Poetry course during his freshman year of college, years before he ever met Auriel.
“I’m sorry,” says Olivier.
Auriel cocks his head to the side. “What for?”
“For forgetting you. For not knowing how to love you.”
Auriel’s brows draw together in confusion. “But you do know how to love me.”
Olivier shakes his head, tears springing into his eyes. “I don’t.”
“Come here,” Auriel says, gesturing for Olivier to join him onstage. “I’ll remind you.”
Olivier stands up and walks to the stage. He places his hands on the edge of it and jumps up, twisting so that he lands sitting on the edge, his feet dangling; it turns out that he is barefoot. He turns and sees that Auriel is pushing the stool aside, leaving a large portion of empty stage bathed in warm light. It’s an invitation, loud and clear, and Olivier scrambles to accept it. He finds himself standing before Auriel, lit up from the inside out, waiting for guidance.
Auriel begins to undress Olivier, unbuttoning his shirt, taking care to undo the cuffs and place a sweet kiss on each wrist. The shirt slips back off of Olivier’s shoulders and flutters to the floor, landing without a sound. His pants are next, with Auriel unzipping the fly and pressing his mouth to Olivier’s thighs, biting gently at the sensitive skin. The pants gather at Olivier’s ankles and Auriel lifts Olivier’s feet, one at a time, freeing him from the confines of his clothing.
“Will you help me undress?” Auriel asks, his voice steady and familiar.
Olivier nods, his hands already reaching for Auriel. He strips him slowly, revealing Auriel’s tan skin inch by inch, tracing his hands over it reverently. As the clothing disappears, the body beneath comes into focus, and Olivier finds himself aching for this man. It’s not just the obvious parts of him that cause Olivier’s cock to stir; the gentle curve of an ankle, the divot beneath a collarbone, the thin sweep of dark hair leading down to the groin…these details arouse Olivier as much as the defined abs and the hard cock.
When they are both laid bare, they press together, eyes closed and bodies entwined. Olivier presses his face into Auriel’s neck and rocks his hips forward. They both gasp at the feeling of their hard cocks rubbing against one another.
“Like this,” murmurs Auriel, reaching for Olivier’s hand and guiding it to their cocks. They wrap their hands around each other, stroking slowly, the tips of their fingers brushing against each other on every pass. Olivier rubs his thumb over the tip of Auriel’s cock, feeling the precum gathered there.
“God,” moans Olivier. All of a sudden, the leisurely pace Auriel has set seems almost unbearable. Olivier thrusts up into Auriel’s hand, simultaneously squeezing around Auriel. “I need more, please Auriel…”
Their hands speed up, their hips thrusting together, both of them panting with the exertion. Auriel catches Olivier’s mouth in a kiss so tender and passionate that it brings tears to Olivier’s eyes. He kisses back, caught in a feedback loop of pleasure, and all at once he feels the pull of wakefulness.
God no, don’t take me away from him, Olivier thinks. And then he’s awake, still on the bathroom floor, his cock painfully hard. He struggles to stand and makes his way to the shower, cranking up the hot water and stepping beneath it. He strokes himself once, twice, three times, and then he’s coming all over his own hand. He stands there until the water has long since washed his cum down the drain. It is in the space between one moment and another, standing beneath the punishing spray, that Olivier is struck by a realization.
I want to be with him.
Olivier spends most of Wednesday in bed, smoking and dozing. That night his dreams are less structured, just fleeting glimpses of intimate scenes. He dreams of worshipping Auriel’s body; massaging his calves and the arches of his feet; kissing along the crease where his thigh meets groin; licking over peaked nipples. It’s pleasant and hazy and everything is drenched in a warm light. Olivier wakes up smiling.
9
Auriel
The week passes slowly for Auriel. He’s not used to being alone, completely at the mercy of his own whims. He allows himself to sleep in each morning, to wake naturally to the sweet sound of gulls and ocean waves rather than the harsh blare of an alarm clock. He makes himself steel cut oatmeal, sprinkling dried fruit and fresh berries and slivers of almonds into it. Once he’s cleaned the kitchen, he spends hours walking barefoot along the beach, periodically sitting and staring out at the waves as they crash against the packed sand. He breathes deeply and tries to stay present.
Stella and Hattie text him several times a day, checking in but pretending that’s not what they’re doing. Auriel sends back monosyllabic messages to let them know that he’s fine.
Somewhere toward the middle of the week Auriel decides that it’s time for some human contact. He pulls on shoes and walks along the narrow sidewalks that lead him into the miniscule coastal town of Bayside. A coffee shop catches his eye and he pushes the door open carefully, surprised by the tinkling of bells that alert the sole barista of an incoming customer.
“Welcome in,” the barista calls. She has very tan skin and long, dark hair cascading out of an honest-to-god scrunchie at the top of her head.
“Thanks,” says Auriel, approaching the counter with trepidation. It’s been a while since he’s had a conversation, and there is something jarring about breaking the quiet routine he has developed over the past few days.
“What can I get for you?” asks the barista.
“Um, do you have any herbal tea?”
She whisks a laminated menu from the other end of the counter and hands it to Auriel. “Here’s the tea list. The four at the bottom are herbal.”
Auriel peruses the list and settles on a chamomile concoction that he suspects might help him maintain the precarious Zen-like state he’s been attempting to cultivate. He sits at the counter as he watches her prepare his tea, and once he has a matching teapot and cup in front of him he takes a deep breath and says, “is it cool if I hang out here for a bit?”
She gives him an odd look. “It’s a coffee shop. You can hang out as long as we’re open.”
“Oh, right. I meant, like, does it bother you if I sit up here?”
“Nah, you’re good man. But I should probably know your name if we’re gonna chat.” She looks at him expectantly.
“Auriel,” he says.
“Nice to meet you, Auriel. I’m Maria.” She chats with him idly as she tidies up. They are the only people in the shop, and save for the folk playlist in the background, it’s quiet. Auriel discovers that Maria is a Bayside native; she just moved back after going to college in New York City and is taking some time to decide what she wants to do professionally before she commits to a career path.
“What did you study?” Auriel asks.
“A little bit of everything. I got a liberal studies degree, so I was able to piece together whichever bits of the humanities interested me. I mostly focused on philosophy though,” she says.
Auriel swallows the sip of tea he just took and tries to center himself.
“You okay?” asks Maria.
“Hmm? Oh, yeah. Sorry. It’s just…” He pa
uses for a moment, but then Auriel decides, what the hell, and starts talking about Olivier. “My boyfriend studied philosophy. Uh, my ex-boyfriend.” He stares down at his tea, his pulse pounding in his ears.
Maria makes a sympathetic noise. “Recent breakup?”
“Yeah,” mumbles Auriel. “That’s kind of why I’m here.”
Maria raises an eyebrow, prompting him to elaborate.
“My friend told me to get out of town for a bit while I, um, process. She gave me the keys to her parents’ beach house and I’ve just been kind of…”
“Regrouping,” says Maria. “I get that. It’s more common than you’d think, you know. People coming to small beach towns to get over heartbreak or whatever.”
“Really?”
“Oh yeah, for sure. I bartend a couple of nights a week and you wouldn’t believe how many people spill their sob stories after a couple of drinks.” She smiles at him. “Looks like all it took for you was half a pot of tea.”
“Yeah, well, I’m a particularly pathetic brand of heartbroken.”
Maria mulls that over. “You seem to be doing just fine. But if you think you need it, I can hook you up with a free drink on Friday. It’s 80s night, all the local gays make an appearance.” She winks at him.
“God, that sounds about ten kinds of miserable. Thanks for the offer though.”
“Ok,” says Maria, smiling. “If you change your mind it’s at the Barnacle Tavern.”
Auriel looks at her incredulously. “The Barnacle Tavern? Seriously? What kind of a name is that?”
“Hey,” she says, smacking his shoulder playfully, “don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried my Moscow mule.”
Auriel heads to the coffee shop each day after that. He and Maria strike up a friendly acquaintanceship, but he’s still not planning to attend 80s night. It’s Stella, in the end, who convinces him to go.
“What do you mean you’re not going to get here tonight?” Auriel asks, slightly panicked. He’s on the phone with Stella on Friday afternoon, sitting on the beach with his feet buried in the sand.
“I’m sorry, A. My coworker came down with the stomach flu, like, while she was blending a frappe if you catch my drift. I was on my way out but I need to cover the closing shift.”
“Isn’t there anyone else who can do it?” asks Auriel. He knows he sounds petulant, but he’s having a hard time pulling himself together.
“Dude, you’ve been on your own for five days. What’s one more night?”
Auriel sighs. “I was just expecting you to be here, you know?”
“I do know. But I have to stick around until 10. I can head out after that if you want, but I won’t be there until like midnight at the earliest.” There’s a muffled commotion in the background and Stella says something to her coworker.
“That would work, if you’re up for the drive that late,” Auriel says.
“Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can after my shift. But I don’t want you moping around waiting for me,” says Stella.
“I won’t be moping,” sniffs Auriel.
“Uh huh.” Stella knows him all too well.
“I won’t. I have…I have plans actually.” Auriel is improvising, and Stella knows it.
“A second ago your plans were to hang out with me,” she points out.
“Well, I have a backup plan.”
“Yeah? What is it?” she asks.
Auriel casts around for something that won’t sound completely pathetic. “I made a friend here,” he tells Stella.
“Do tell.”
“She’s a barista and a bartender, and she invited me to an event at the bar where she works,” says Auriel.
There’s a muffled crash on Stella’s end of the line, and she swears softly. “Sorry. That sounds great. Have fun, kid. I have to go, I’ll text you when I’m getting close, okay? I can come catch up with you if you’re still out when I get into town.”
“Sounds good. See you tonight.” Auriel hangs up and runs his hands over his face. Jesus Christ, he thinks.
He could skip 80s night. He could stay in by himself, drink a couple of mugs of wine, and watch the battered VHS copy of Titanic—the only movie in the entire house, and because VHSs are archaic and inefficient, it’s on two cassettes—for the fourth time that week. He could come up with some half-hearted excuse to give Stella…a headache, an upset stomach, a sudden bought of anxiety. But there’s a part of him that knows he’ll feel better if he does something social. So when the crab clock shows that it’s eight o’clock, Auriel pulls on a reasonably put-together outfit and heads toward the only bar in town.
From the outside, the Barnacle Tavern is an unobtrusive place. It has a large nautical sign above the door, and a couple of tables outside, chairs scattered by patrons over the course of the evening. There’s nothing about the place that suggests that this establishment is anything other than a small seaside pub. Then the door swings open and the air is filled with Bonnie Tyler singing about her heartache, and the voices of dozens of people chatting excitedly. Beams of neon light slice through the room, and Auriel stands on the doorstep, feeling as though he’s poised atop the precipice of some great mountain. He wants to turn around and go back to the house. He wants to close his eyes and leap. In the end, he takes a deep breath and saunters toward the bar.
“Auriel!” Maria leans across the bar to hug him. Her cheeks are the kind of rosy that only comes from drinking, and her eyes are bright with laughter. She’s wearing a highlighter yellow spandex top with a matching scrunchie in her hair, and enough glitter eye makeup to make Ru Paul jealous.
“Hi Maria,” says Auriel, perching on a vacant stool.
“What’ll you have?” she asks, beaming at him.
“Um…surprise me,” he tells her.
She laughs brightly and goes about mixing him a drink. Auriel looks around the room while he waits, realizing with a slight rush of embarrassment that he’s the only person in the bar who hasn’t bothered to dress up.
“Here,” Maria says, setting a glass in front of him with a flourish.
“What is it?” Auriel asks, eyeing the neon cocktail suspiciously.
“I call it Cyndi Lauper’s Revenge.” She starts babbling about the ingredients and Auriel nods along, taking a sip and finding it surprisingly pleasant.
“You really know your stuff,” he tells her.
“I do my best,” says Maria with a modest shrug. Then her face lights up all over again as she looks behind Auriel.
“My God, Maria, you look ravishing,” says a man with curly, dark auburn hair shaved close at the sides and tumbling about atop his head. He’s wearing bright pink sweatbands on his forehead and wrists, and has about a million glowsticks looped up his arms and around his throat. He turns to Auriel, looking him up and down. “And who’s this?”
“Jeremy, meet Auriel. Auriel, Jeremy,” says Maria. Just then someone ambles up to the bar and demands a round of tequila shots.
Jeremy smiles at Auriel conspiratorially. “That’s Sarah. She always goes overboard on theme nights.”
Auriel makes a noncommittal noise. Jeremy is clearly one of those magnetic people who can strike up a conversation with anyone, and there’s a part of Auriel that wants to engage with this stranger. But he’s also torn, because he’s still solidly in self-preservation mode. Before he can make up his mind as to whether he’s going to stay put or make an excuse to leave, Jeremy says, “what brings you into town?”
And it would be rude to take off without answering the question, so Auriel tries to come up with a response that won’t hurt as it comes out of his mouth. “I…needed to get away for a bit.”
“Ah,” says Jeremy, nodding sagely. “That’s how I ended up here, you know.”
Auriel, who clearly does not know, says, “do tell.”
“I’m from New York City,” explains Jeremy. “A lot of people want to leave their hometowns to go to New York, but all I wanted was to get away. So after high school I came out to school on the West
Coast and after I graduated I came to Bayside to clear my head for a couple of weeks. Then I fell in love.”
“Oh?” says Auriel.
“With the town, not with a person. Well, I mean, I did fall in love, with a couple of guys over the past few years, but my first love was Bayside.”
“Are there…a lot of gay guys out here?” Auriel asks. It feels rude, somehow, to ask. But Jeremy just laughs.
“Not enough, in my opinion, but yeah. There are a few of us. About a third of the guys in here tonight, actually.”
Auriel glances around, then feels his face heat up when Jeremy nudges him, grinning.
“You’re trying to guess, aren’t you?” Jeremy asks.
“I’m…kind of trying to guess,” Auriel admits. He is starting to loosen up, and he hasn’t decided how he feels about that yet.
“Maria told me about you, I think,” says Jeremy.
“Oh?” asks Auriel, taking a hasty sip of his drink to mask whatever emotion is playing across his face in that moment. He doesn’t trust himself one bit.
Jeremy nods. “Are you the one who’s been hanging around the coffee shop for a couple of days?”
Auriel sighs deeply. “Guilty as charged.”
That pulls a laugh out of Jeremy. “From what she’s told me—no, don’t blush, she hasn’t said anything bad—it’s just, it sounds like you could use a distraction.”
“That’s kind of what this whole beach trip was supposed to be,” Auriel confesses.
“Then you should come dance,” says Jeremy, throwing back the drink in his hand and setting the cup down on the bar. He heads off in the direction of the dance floor, and then pauses, turning to make sure that Auriel is following him.
It has been ages since Auriel has danced with anyone other than Olivier, but he has to admit that there’s a certain thrill about stepping out onto a crowded dance floor. He’s not just dancing with Jeremy, to Auriel’s relief. There are about seven people dancing close together, and Jeremy seems to know everyone. The proximity of Auriel’s body to Jeremy and his friends is electrifying, and minutes begin to tick away, bleeding into an hour and then two. As time goes on people continue to approach the group, and Jeremy pulls them in for lingering hugs, shouting jovial greetings over the pounding music. Eventually Auriel extricates himself and heads back to the bar.
Fragile Ground Page 10
