i. lundi: matin
ii. lundi: après-midi
iii. lundi: soirée (à la belle étoile)
iv. lundi: nuit
chansons
merci
Gus Knickel/Johnny Jóhannsson (Buried on Sunday/My Life as a Dog)
This is a sequel to Chansons de marin. Adult themes and slash: you’ve been warned. And, um, if you don’t know Gus or Johnny, don’t read this. It won’t make any sense, and there’s not enough sex to make it worth your while.
©2005 AuKestrel
Morning comes too soon for Gus: morning and Monday. He hits the alarm just as it goes off, before it can wake Johnny, stares at the ceiling for a long moment, sighs, and rolls out of bed to make coffee. He knows, from years of experience, that if he doesnt get up immediately he wont get up at all, much as hed like to just roll over and bury his face (etc.) in Johnny and pretend morning is still far, far away.
Mondays, he concludes, staring grimly at the coffeepot as it begins to sputter and drip, were invented by people with no lives.
He has to quell his impatience, get a grip, and it would be easier if he were a patient man to begin with. But suddenly the prospect of more two- and three-hour meetings with politicians, with the people who killed Dexter, with people as unlike Johnny as its possible to be, fills him with distaste.
No, he decides, getting out the cream and sugar: revulsion is an even better word.
Theres a soft padding of feet and he looks up in time to see Johnny beside him, sliding his arms around Gus waist and kissing the back of his neck. Mmm.
Gus turns, feeling the beginning of a (reluctant) smile as this particular Monday begins to redeem itself. Coffee? he says, his turn this time to say it against Johnnys mouth.
Mmm, Johnny says agreeably, threading his fingers into Gus hair and stroking it gently. The kiss that follows is just as gentle, slow and unhurried as Johnny, Gus is learning, and its with a sense of renewed wonder that he follows Johnnys lead, lets Johnny set the pace.
I didnt mean to wake you, he says against Johnnys hair when Johnny pushes his robe aside to nuzzle his neck, then his shoulder, and, really, he didnt.
Bed was cold. Johnnys voice starts out muffled as he raises his head, ending at Gus mouth again.
If he hadnt known, hed have guessed at this point that Johnny had been married from the assurance of his touch. Of course, the way he pulls Gus into his mood is, Gus assumes, something unique between them or Johnnys dead wife wouldnt actually be dead.
He wonders what her name was.
The mood-pulling isnt, apparently, entirely foolproof, despite Johnnys seemingly effortless good humour.
Johnny breaks the kiss, lingering at the corner of Gus mouth for a delicious moment. Whats the schedule today?
Gus frowns reflexively. Meetings, he says, his voice not much more than a growl. Ours, then theirs. Going over drafts.
Hes startled when Johnny grins big, clearly suppressing laughter.
What?
Youre not a morning person, Johnny says, cupping a hand along Gus jaw, smoothing his thumb over Gus chin. Why dont you go back to bed? Ill bring coffee.
Gus stares at him a moment, emotions chaotic, thoughts jumbled: but uppermost is that same sense of wonder hes been feeling so regularly since he met Johnny that the real wonder is hes not already used to it.
Cream, no sugar, he says at last: its not that he craves novelty, exactly, but its never something to be passed up.
Johnny kisses him again, lightly, and turns him by the shoulders, giving him a little push.
Gus doesnt mean to doze off, he really doesnt: while the first meeting isnt until 10:30, he and Noelle made cursory plans to meet beforehand, and at the time he assumed it would be for breakfast.
But the next thing he knows is the scent of coffee and toasted bread: Johnny found the bagels. He looks at the clock in alarm but its only been twenty minutes.
He could get used to this.
He stretches; Johnny sets the mug and plate down on the nightstand and sits, one leg tucked under him, at the foot of the bed, holding his own mug and making no attempt to drink from it yet.
He takes his black: Gus wonders if sugars involved.
He stretches again, then pulls himself up, sitting cross-legged and balancing the plate in his lap.
For a morning person which Johnny appears to be hes a considerate one, making no attempt at conversation, staring into his own coffee for long moments, looking at Gus occasionally with a smile Gus isnt even sure Johnnys aware is on his face. By the time Gus is halfway through his own mug, his outlook on life has improved considerably, and not just because Johnny, sleep-tousled and bundled askew in his robe, is a wonderful sight.
Gus drains his mug decisively and puts the plate with the half eaten bagel on the nightstand, along with the mug. Johnny starts to smile, the smile growing broader as Gus takes his mug too. His eyes widen in alarm and he puts up a hand as Gus puts it to his lips.
Jesus! Gus sputters, the warning too late, and Johnny begins to laugh.
Amma always said its not coffee unless the spoon stands up, he says apologetically, taking the mug back from Gus and leaning in to kiss him gently, as if to take away the taste.
Are you sure the spoon didnt just dissolve? Gus asks, but at least his question is answered. Hes not sure, however, that he could ever brew coffee that strong: Johnnyll have to take over the coffee making.
And doesnt that have a nice ring to it.
He takes the mug a second time, holding it gingerly just to hear Johnny snort again, and by the time hes turned back, Johnnys leaning over him, pushing him back and loosening the tie on his robe.
The coffee tastes a lot better on Johnny.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Despite the coffee, and despite Gus near-miss Johnny wonders what Gus would say to kúmenkaffi Johnnys cock has been getting heavier and heavier just imagining the feel of Gus up against him.
One track mind?
Yeah.
By the time Gus is turning back to Johnny, Johnnys already over him, untying his robe, pushing it aside. Hes been catching glimpses of Gus cock, hanging soft against the dark hair between his legs, and he wants to see more, see it begin to fill, see (and hear) Gus moan, yeah, just like that when Johnny draws a finger down his breastbone to his belly, Gus arching beneath him, supple and lithe.
He knows hes not much for figuring things out, months in the caboose notwithstanding, but while he was making coffee (and boiling coffee and finding bagels and trying to keep his mind off Gus, naked, for just a few minutes) it had occurred to him to wonder why it was so natural for him to lean in and kiss another man, why the prospect of going down on Gus was at least as hot, if not more so, than going down on Zoë, and maybe even why he was contemplating taking any of it (all of it?) further (maybe even all the way).
He wondered, too, watching the coffee boil in the microwave (Zoë, being from Winnipeg, had never acquired a tolerance for the Icelandic-style brew that was the norm in Gimli, so Johnnyd learned some adaptations early on regular coffee, boiled, was pretty good, but a microwave would do in a pinch, and if he was staying more than a few more hours in Ottawa he was going to have to find some real coffee), what it would feel like to be inside another guy, what it would feel like to have Gus inside him, and when, exactly, hed gone crazy.
And would Gus really feel like going cross-Canada with him after a few days, or weeks?
And if he did, could he?
Johnny was (finally) getting the idea that Gus was pretty important, or was, at least, involved in things more important than fishing rights or mayoring.
So assuming Gus didnt follow in Zoës footsteps, and assuming he still wanted to go, and assuming he could actually go, what then?
The microwave had beeped again, steam condensing in the window; hed pushed the questions aside and put the bagel halves in the toaster.
Which brought him to here and now with Gus under him and Johnny with questions and no answers except the feel of Gus cock sliding alongside his and the rich scent and taste of Gus and coffee and bagels surrounding Johnny every time he breathes.
Gus, lower lip caught (again) in his teeth, has his eyes closed, concentrating, or so it seems to Johnny, on the sensation. Johnny imitates him, closing his eyes and thinking of the heat between his legs, the strength of Gus cock, pushing back against his, the graze of hair at the base of his cock, his balls
Oh, yeah
Theres a hitch in Gus breathing: he opens his eyes and Gus is looking at him the way he looked in the Thai restaurant. Johnny closes his eyes again, overwhelmed, his stomach flipping the way it does when he hits a big wave with the boat.
Sit up, Gus whispers, hands on Johnnys shoulders, pushing the robe off and him backwards at the same time.
Johnny takes a breath, settles back on his haunches, opens his eyes again.
Gus is still looking at him, his hands rubbing Johnnys arms, gentle enough to raise goose bumps, and Johnny feels the hair prickle all the way up his spine to the base of his scalp. He swallows, riding the warm rush that follows, rubbing both hands on Gus chest, then down his belly to where Gus cock is pulsing
Gus groans, straining under him, when Johnny rubs the wet spot on his belly into his skin, and when Johnny lifts his fingers to his mouth to taste that, too, Gus moans, a deep sound that vibrates through both of them. Touch us, he whispers, touch me, God, Johnny
Johnny just nods, licking the last of the salt from his fingers, then reaching down to gather first Gus, then himself, into the loose circle of his hand. Gus bucks hard but Johnny settles further, onto his heels, and begins to move, exploring them, feeling the two of them together, the way first Gus foreskin slips back, then his, twisting his wrist to see if he can make them go the other way.
Gus is strong, so strong under his hand, so alive that Johnny thinks he can feel Gus heartbeat, or maybe hes just hearing his own, thudding in his ears. Gus cock is straining against his and Gus is trying to move them both faster, his hips jerking, one hand grasping Johnnys hip.
His stomach flips again: hes doing this to Gus, him, and theres no pretending there, nothing to hide, no way to hide it. Unconsciously he grinds down, then realizes thats good, thats it, his balls hitting the root of Gus cock and making Gus shudder, jerking against him. He does it again, letting go of himself and still working Gus, slick-shiny and wet; and Johnny licks his lips, swallowing hard.
But its too late: Gus shudders again, fingers digging into Johnnys thighs, back arched, and Johnny cant tear his eyes away but doesnt know where to look: Gus cock, thick and proud and wet, jerking in his hand and spurting rich cream, gold and ivory in the lamplight; Gus face, eyes shut tight, mouth held tight in ecstasy.
Johnnys never felt this power before, never held someones ecstasy in his hand, never seen what he was doing, what he could do
The idea of fucking Gus, fucking Gus and holding Gus cock again while he comes, with Johnny inside him, is suddenly so real Johnny can almost feel it, wishes he could feel it, feel all of it, and when Gus hand, warm and wet, closes over Johnnys cock, its like Gus read his mind. One stroke, two, and Johnnys spurting too, all over Gus belly and chest, Gus strong fingers pulling it out of him, Gus voice a dark murmuring heartbeat in the back of Johnnys head: Thats it, come for me, come on me, God, Johnny
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Johnnys nuzzling Gus neck, hardly moving from where hed slumped on Gus afterwards, chest to chest; and Gus can feel their heartbeats synching. Hes murmuring too, nonsense noises, Gus thinks, and he finds the energy somewhere to raise a hand, cup the back of Johnnys head, stroke his hair, rub his thumb through the soft bristles behind Johnnys ear where the hairs trimmed close to the scalp.
He feels Johnnys tongue on his neck, licking gently, then sucking, as if Johnny cant get enough of the taste of him.
Gus understands.
Been thinking, Johnny whispers after a while, his breath warm and cool in turns. His hand, spread flat on Gus chest, is rubbing softly, almost as if Johnny doesnt know hes doing it.
Gus has always thought of himself as a loner, an introvert, and in support of that theory, there were many times he felt crowded by Noelle and she wasnt the first of his lovers to engender that feeling.
How is it that with nothing at all between them he feels nothing but peace with Johnny?
He waits, almost daring his brain to come to its senses, conjure the discomfort, the near-panic hed feel sometimes when Noelle would collapse on him afterwards and he would have to think of an excuse to move, to roll over, anything, just so he could breathe air that was free of her.
His brain doesnt cooperate; his body, entwined with Johnnys, is too comfortable, and Johnny
Maybe the difference is the lack of expectation, or the relaxation Johnny seems to feel, or maybe its the fact that Johnnys so transparent, so awed, so delighted, and so unable to hide anything that Gus is secure perhaps for the first time he can remember and as certain as he can be that there is in fact nothing to hide, that Johnny wouldnt know a hidden agenda from a lobster pot.
He puts his other arm around Johnny and turns his head to kiss Johnnys temple and feels Johnnys mouth stretch into a smile against his neck.
Thinkings good, Gus whispers finally, because he hasnt acknowledged Johnnys words, too busy luxuriating in Johnnys presence.
Mmmm, Johnny says agreeably, and burrows down further against Gus neck.
Thinking? Gus says, smoothing Johnnys shoulder with his thumb, idly wondering about the significance (if there is one) of the tattoo there.
Johnny laughs, a sharp uncomfortable gust, and shakes his head. Nothing, he murmurs. Never mind.
Gus kicks himself, hard didnt he say he had to stop comparing them? and twists to kiss Johnnys cheek, running his hands down the long muscles in Johnnys back. Im sorry, he says quietly. I was wool-gathering. I feel so good I cant think straight.
Theres a quiet chuckle against his neck and then Johnny nods. I get that, he whispers, and then Gus feels tongue again.
No real reason, he thinks hazily, that they couldnt just stay in bed all day.
He wonders if Noelle would buy a sudden cold. The flu. Malaria.
Johnny sighs, startling Gus; when he rolls to one side, Gus grabs his elbow. Wherere you going?
Johnny looks surprised but not guilty: Thought I might be making you late, he says, one side of his mouth lifting, adding an extra dimension to the husky cadence of his voice. His eyes move down Gus chest and his hand lifts, again unconsciously, Gus suspects, touching the remnants of the semen that smeared between them.
Id tell you, Gus says quietly, covering Johnnys hand with his own. He wants to tell Johnny he wont wouldnt play games with him, either, and he thinks he means it, but he cant put the words together.
Johnny raises his eyes to Gus again and he turns his hand in Gus, clasping it, while he leans in. Gus leans up, meeting him halfway, and he has to admit that Johnnys tactile nature is more appealing to him than hed have ever thought.
Just as Gus is about to suggest a shower, the phone chooses that inopportune moment to ring. He grimaces at Johnny, who begins to move away, and Gus captures his wrist with one hand, pushing his thumb up to Johnnys palm, while he answers with the other.
He doesnt know why he wants Johnny to stay; he doesnt know what he thinks will happen if Johnny, say, goes into the bathroom without him turn into a cat and leap out the window, seven storeys down?
But, again, Johnny doesnt seem to mind, covering Gus hand with his own and raising it to his mouth, brushing across Gus knuckles with his lips.
It takes Gus a few seconds to remember hes holding the phone.
Mon cher amour! Noelles cheerfulness has a forced quality: yesterday could he have discerned that? Would he have cared? Are we meeting for petit dejeuner?
No, Gus says lazily, smiling at Johnny. Ill meet you at your office.
Very well, and he can almost hear the clicking as she rearranges her schedule. About dinner tonight
No can do, Gus says firmly. I already told you
Auguste, you cannot behave in this way, I have told you already
I ran into a friend whos staying with me for a few days, Gus interrupts. Theres a long silence while Noelle digests that. He adds the detail shes waiting for next, feeling benevolent: Hes heading to Montréal and I thought Id go up with him. When they first began discussing the possibility of confederation, Noelle had an attractive assistant who was gone the next time Gus came to Ottawa.
Since then Gus has been careful not to notice Noelles assistants.
But what about the referendum? Her voice is lifting, a sure sign hes caught her off guard and shes now feeling her way: she was expecting the friend to be a she and hasnt regained her footing.
We need to get through the negotiations first, Gus says, finally taking pity on her. How about if I meet you at nine-thirty? He cant blame her for not trusting anyone, even him, although hes wondered more than once exactly whom she thinks he could find to do what she does, especially at this late date.
And dinner?
Not tonight, Gus says again. If they want semi-formal, the negotiations should be over, and preferably the referendum. If they want casual, we can do tomorrow night.
I will have Sylvie arrange it, Noelle says, conceding without any particular animosity in her voice; and thats another advantage, that they were together long enough that she understands what no means to Gus. Half past nine, then, and all of us after lunch, do not forget.
No, Gus says wryly, more to himself than to her, and he cuts off her cheerful voir! by hanging up.
You were right, Johnny says, before Gus can speak. She doesnt sound like its over.
Its been over for years, and Gus pulls Johnny back against him, wrapping both arms around him. Shes just the possessive type. At least when Im around. He wills Johnny to understand, and if there is a God hed thank him (or her) that he at least paved the way for Noelles incursion. Believe me, before all this, I was on the Christmas card list and that was the end of it.
Johnny reaches up for Gus arms, but not to push them away: instead his fingers curl, holding onto Gus like Gus is the safety bar in an amusement park. He doesnt laugh, or even grin, as far as Gus can see, but hes relaxed against Gus. Are you possessive? Gus says, more to lighten the mood than anything, that and searching for a clue to what Johnnys thinking: for someone so transparent, Johnnys startlingly opaque this morning or perhaps its the subject.
Theres a long silence, but Johnnys not tense under him, and hes rubbing Gus arm with his thumb. I dont think so, he says finally, sounding thoughtful. I mean, not probably not afterwards. I dont really I dont know. He laughs, a small sound in the silence thats suddenly too big, and says, During, uh yeah. I think so.
Johnnys dead wife is rapidly becoming a fixation with him, Gus realizes, and not an entirely healthy one. He wishes to hell he knew what her name was, and thats pre-Biblical, isnt it: knowing your enemys name gives you power.
I dont think wed be human if we werent possessive during, Gus says quietly, and Johnny, whod tensed up after all, at the end, relaxes again after a few seconds.
Gus is now certain that Johnnys dead wife was probably the first, the only serious relationship in Johnnys life, which would explain a lot; and the other thing thats not fucking fair is that he has to drag out the pastoral marriage counseling for a fucking ghost.
Are you? Johnny asks after a few more moments, and it takes Gus a few seconds to realize what Johnnys asking.
Very, he says, somewhat thickly, pressing his mouth against Johnnys cheekbone, licking just a little. Johnnys cheek lifts beneath his lips, the now-familiar grin, and Johnny twists around in his arms, pushing Gus back against the pillows.
Okay, yeah, Johnny whispers against Gus mouth, me too.
And there, again, is the diffidence Gus wishes he could banish even while hes trying to tell himself that the Johnny in his arms is the sum, the product, of his life, and that, if that dead woman wasnt between them, he might not feel this way about Johnny, and that Johnny damn well wouldnt be the Johnny rolling over with him, the Johnny spreading his legs (again!) beneath him, the Johnny moaning, so fucking eager, into his mouth. That Johnny wouldnt, couldnt be this Johnny, a Johnny, Gus is willing to bet, whos never had a decent blowjob in his life, a Johnny who probably had safe, normal, sane sex, once or twice a month, with a safe, normal, sane woman who didnt have the sense to appreciate this Johnny, writhing beneath him now and gasping for breath, hands in Gus hair and hips moving urgently under the ministrations of Gus tongue, and lips, and hands, and mouth.
Just the way Johnny gets off, so fast, so surprised, tells Gus more than Johnny will ever know, and this time he draws it out as much as he can, deliberately loosing Johnnys cock at the penultimate second, deliberately licking the crease at Johnnys hip, deliberately tickling him just enough to back him down.
Johnnys breath is coming in gasps now, and Gus has to breathe, himself, because truth to tell its been a long time (if ever) since he got off like this, almost coming, himself, just from watching/feeling Johnny come, especially when Johnny comes without even being touched
Johnnys skin is moist, a fresh clean sweat breaking out all over him, and Gus recognizes the signs of irrevocability. He reacts fast, grabbing Johnnys cock with one hand, pushing Johnnys pelvis up with the other, his tongue and his thumb hitting Johnnys hole simultaneously, and Johnny seizes up, choking Gus name and thrashing, hands pulling at the sheets, while Gus thrusts his tongue as far in as he can, in time with Johnnys cock, pulsing in his hand.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Its not that Johnny didnt believe Gus, because its clear, even from the way Gus wouldnt let him leave, the way Gus didnt want privacy for a phone call, that its over. And if she cant quite let go, well, its also pretty clear that Johnny can just fucking get in line, because he understands that only too well, still wanting to hang onto Gus with both hands.
So he does, leaning back against Gus, warm and strong behind him, warm and strong around him, his arms as tough as Johnnys, still a fishermans arms for all the dinners (not tonight in a tone that sent a thrill up Johnnys spine) and confederations and important meetings.
But when Gus asks if hes possessive, he has to think, and think hard: its the kind of question thats a test, and chances are good, even if its multiple choice, the answer will not be, never is, D, all of the above. If its an essay question, just forget it and start with the make-up credit right away.
Or it could be that Gus was just making conversation, because a few seconds after Johnnys less-than-quick response and more-than-lame question, Gus doesnt mince words: Very.
Yeah, okay, if he came ho if he came back to the hotel room and Gus was writhing on the bed with someone, say, tonight, no, he would not be all open-minded and he would not shrug it off, because hes the one Gus should be writhing on the bed with if thats what he wants to do, because Johnny was here okay, not first, but now, and possession is nine-tenths of the law, which was why Zoë left in the first, or second, place.
He pushes her out of his head, pushing himself around at the same time he feels Gus lips on his cheek, leaning up and in, pushing Gus down and over, because if its okay to be possessive with Gus, he might as well be possessive and enjoy the hell out of it.
And its okay to use lips and tongue and teeth on Gus where he never would have thought to, or dared, before, and its okay to let Gus take control, too, roll him over and push his legs apart; in fact, its so much better than okay that Johnny has to try hard not to come already.
Maybe, he thinks hazily, maybe its just that its been so long since he had sex that he forgot how good it was; or maybe he has to find that thought again after Gus licks his way down Johnnys chest, like an arrow, straight to his cock or maybe its just that he never had sex with a guy or maybe maybe Gus is sucking his cock, tongue and lips and hands and a throaty moan around him that Johnnys never heard before, a moan that says Gus gets off on giving Johnny head as much, okay, almost as much as Johnnys about to
Gus mouth is gone, gone gone gone, and Johnny pounds the mattress, tossing his head back, and then Gus is back, his breath warm on Johnnys thigh, his tongue moving there just enough to tickle but not so much Johnny loses it.
He tries not to laugh, chokes on it anyway when he feels Gus breath on the base of his cock, warm on his balls, and hes drawn up so fucking tight he cant breathe
And then Gus hand is on his cock and his tongue
Christ almighty, his tongue is up Johnnys ass again, and about the only thing better than the second time is knowing that theres obviously going to be a third, and a fourth, and a fifth time, and hes coming so hard his toes hurt, Gus tongue pushing, Gus hand pulling and theres nothing but stars in the darkness.
The other best part about sex with Gus, Johnny thinks hazily, when he can think, is that Gus understands the point: even while Johnnys blissed out, Gus is on top of him (again), rocking against him, ass flexing under Johnnys hands, voice rough and broken and hot fuck you and so good and God, take it, take it, Johnny and its almost as good as coming again when Gus braces himself, hands digging into Johnnys hips, and then flings his head back, baring his throat in a way that begs for Johnnys mouth, collapsing on Johnny a few seconds later, his words a warm velvet whisper against Johnnys neck.
And maybe they just saved time not saving time, because Gus showers with him, casual and naked, shaves, naked and casual, and when he catches Johnny watching him, in the mirror, he winks and leans in to rinse.
And hes just as casual, just as accepting, when Johnny crosses the bathroom in two strides and pulls Gus back against him, nipping his shoulder and enjoying the hell out of the way Gus fits against him, the way Gus ass feels against his cock, the way Gus feels against him, skin to skin.
Its good, he whispers, and his voice sounds ragged even to himself, but when Gus turns in his arms, whispering back that, yeah, its all good, its so good, his voice sounds ragged too.
Its going to be a long damn day, Gus says, his voice warm, intimate, his lips finding that spot behind Johnnys ear again. Hope I dont give away our fishing rights all over again because all I can think about is you.
And when Johnny pulls away, unsure, Gus grins and pulls him back. And itd be worth it, Johnny, I promise you.
Johnny tries to match Gus grin, but every once in a while that panic comes back, whats he doing, whats he doing here, and whats he gotten himself and maybe Gus into?
Worth it, Gus says again, voice deepening, sliding a leg between Johnnys. Worth it, Johnny, just to think about your face when you
Johnny feels his skin heating and stops Gus words with his finger, then his lips, and Gus probably gets a kick out of Johnnys lack of experience, and, fairs fair, Johnny gets a kick out of the idea of Gus watching him
Shit, he says, pushing Gus away, I am making you late, and
Im choosing to be late, Gus says, and hes got a sparkle in his eye that nearly kills Johnny. Look, truce? He holds his hands up, palms towards Johnny. Ill get dressed, youll get dressed, maybe Ill make it out the door without undressing you all over again, and maybe I wont, but either way Im happy. His grin is so infectious that Johnny cant resist grinning back, letting himself relax too. Hes not used to it being so well, uncomplicated; and how much of that is Gus and how much of that is because they just met?
Gus, apparently deciding that Johnnys also happy either way, is rummaging in a drawer.
Johnnys never met anyone who actually unpacked in an hotel room before.
His own bags still by the door, and hes not too surprised when Gus says, after he dumps it on the luggage rack, Plenty of drawers, Johnny.
He shrugs, finding his underwear and a clean pair of jeans, and says, Nothing fancy in here. Gus, whos pulling on a tank top kind of undershirt that Johnny thought only old guys wore, shrugs back, and Johnny has to remember late and meeting so he can tear his eyes away and pull his pants up the rest of the way.
When he turns again, anything hed thought of saying dies on his lips: Gus is putting on a clerical collar, reaching up to fasten it in the back with an ease that Johnny can tell is not just instinctive but practiced.
He stares, and stares more Gus is pulling on an open-necked shirt over it, then shrugging into a suit jacket, and the collar wider, thank God, than a Catholic collar, although Johnnys not sure just now what difference it makes, because
a priest is a priest, representative of God, and what is a priest doing doing here, in bed with in bed with him, with a guy and what the hell was Gus thinking, what the hell is Gus thinking, and why
When he was ten, his Sunday school teacher had been the simple type, getting them ready for confirmation probably needed the simple approach, so shed been all about following the rules even if you didnt understand them because they were there for reasons human beings couldnt know but God did and
Playing by the rules all his life and he thought for the past few days, maybe even months, that maybe he didnt always have to, but damn it all to hell, damn him to hell, he did because this this is what happens when he doesnt, theres a reason for marriage and sex outside marriage is
Johnny sinks to the bed, his fingers digging into the sheets, and then he realizes where he is, where they were, what they did, and jumps up as if the sheets were on fire. He looks around, anywhere but at Gus the bathroom, the tiny kitchen, the couch and theres nothing, nowhere that they havent, that he hasnt
Johnny, Gus says, and his smile fading, like hes been smiling for longer than Johnny knows, and hes been saying Johnnys name more than once. Then Gus hand is reaching for him, fingers spread, and Johnny jerks back, shaking his head, because it was bad enough before but now
Johnny, Gus says again, insistent. Im sorry. I didnt know it was an
Youre a priest, Johnny says, trying not to choke on the word, trying to stay calm. Youre a a oh, my God, Pastor would
Faded blue eyes, kind enough in a lined, sunworn face but there was never, never any question where Pastor stood on the question of Heaven or Hell, and there was never any question of faith, or the Bible, or
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Gus has to think fast, fast and hard: its not that Johnnys opposed to sex between men, clearly, but
Im Anglican, he says quietly. Not Lutheran, Johnny.
Does that even make a difference? Johnny asks, and he sounds so incredulous that Gus has to stop himself from smiling.
Yes, he says, as quietly as before. Yes, it does, Johnny.
How? Its the same God, isnt it? Its the same rules, the same, uh
Possibly, Gus says. Possibly not. It rather depends on ones point of view; otherwise there wouldnt be Anglicans, or Lutherans, or Baptists. Or Catholics, for that matter.
But you but we youre
There are different kinds of sins, different degrees of sin, he wants to say, and, really, the concept of sin is pointless unless someone actually buys into it.
But Johnnys spent his whole life not questioning that life, at least until three years ago; and not questioning himself, not until two nights ago, anyway, or maybe a little before that, maybe when he decided to go on this this adventure; and certainly its never occurred to Johnny, as uncomplicated, even innocent as he is, to question the tenets of his faith, whether he believes them or not. And belief, while it can follow hard on the heels of questioning, is better left to, and practiced by, those who dont question.
Gus has often thought hed make a better Jesuit than almost anything else, but then thered be that vow of chastity
And hes twenty-one, suddenly, and its late at night in a smoke-filled pub and theyd filled hours playing darts and discussing nothing more than original sin and what it really meant, with forays into Sumerian mythology and the Gnostic gospels, and while Gus sometimes misses the simple faith hed had then, he doesnt miss the man the boy, really he was.
What we did, its dont you think its wrong? Johnny is saying, more earnest, Gus believes, than Gus himself ever was.
Theres a pain in Gus heart; and he wishes No, he says quietly, decisively, gathering Johnnys hands in his; and Johnny (thankfully) doesnt resist, not physically.
But
I believe its sacred, Gus says, more firmly still, tightening his fingers around Johnnys.
Sex? Sex is is sacred? Thats Johnny breaks off, shaking his head.
Probably not the time, Gus thinks, to bring up the Great Marriage; and he shakes his head too. What we do, what weve done, is sacred, Gus says, whispers rather. Were not hurting anyone, and the reason the reasons we do it, those reasons are here he touches Johnnys head, and here, and he touches Johnnys chest, where his heart is beating fast enough, hard enough that Gus can see the pulse in Johnnys throat. If you believe God gave you free will, if you believe you have the ability to know the difference between right and wrong, what is wrong here? What between us is wrong, Johnny?
Johnnys eyes are overbright: Gus smoothes his thumb across an eyebrow, feeling moisture there and wiping it away.
I dont I dont know, Johnny says, and although hes confused, hes also pulling Gus hand towards his mouth. I dont between us, no, but anyone can say that, anyone can believe that, its got to thats why there are
Im not talking about adultery, Gus says firmly, choosing the word deliberately, and Johnnys quick intake of breath tells him he hit home; and he turns his hand so his palm is resting against Johnnys cheek, so he can hold Johnny in even this small way. Or murder, or coveting what is my neighbours, Johnny. Between us, you and me, what sin have we committed? What commandment have we broken, you and I? If you believe in absolute moral laws, that is.
Dont dont you? Johnnys voice is so quiet Gus has to strain to hear him.
Yes, Gus says, trying not to remember echoes of a conversation with Noelle, too similar and yet so different and no.
You youre not like- youre not like anyone Ive ever met, Johnny whispers. Any minister, or, um, priest, or or anyone
Neither are you, Gus murmurs, but Johnnys not listening.
But doesnt it doesnt it matter?
Of course it matters, and Gus gives up and pulls Johnny close, holding him tight, giving him what he wishes he could have given of course it matters: what we do, how we treat each other. And they that have done good shall go into life everlasting: and they that have done evil into everlasting fire.
Johnny turns his head, holding Gus almost as tightly But spiritual righteousness and and he seems to give up too, or perhaps give in, suddenly lowering his head to rest in the curve of Gus neck. And salvation only through the grace of, uh, God, so
What do you believe, Johnny? Gus spreads one hand wide on the other side of Johnnys head, holding him close; and the close-cropped hair above Johnnys ear is prickly-soft against Gus lips. He closes his eyes, holding Johnny for dear life; and he whispers, What do you believe? Thats what matters here not me, or my collar, or whether sex is a sacrament.
Johnny chokes, and it takes Gus one terrified moment to realize that hes actually laughing. He leans back, pulling Johnnys face up to his with a hand under his chin. Johnnys still grinning, and Gus feels an answering grin on his own face, the tension suddenly shattered, gone as if it had never been there. It might have made Christianity more popular, he says, and Johnny starts laughing again.
Definitely would have made church more popular. And, uh, catechism.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Catechism aside, and, yeah, it would be funny to add Grade 7 sex ed in, but Johnnys never really had to think about what he believes, aside from the usual, where Gods in heaven and the Devils in hell and good and faithful people go to one and bad and unrighteous people go to the other.
What makes good good? Its a question hes never thought of before now. And as for what he believes
Well, two days ago hed probably have had more answers than he has now. Three years ago, more than that, even.
Right now
Why? he asks Gus, finally looking at him, looking past the collar for the first time. Seriously, I mean
Johnny, and Gus isnt smiling either, always. I will always take you seriously. And despite the fact hes still wearing that collar, Johnny closes his eyes and leans into the kiss that follows, trying to ignore the fact that hes that theyre men, that Gus is, uh, Christs representative on earth, that that if you dont have faith its a sin to brush your teeth
God forgive him, he cant ignore how Gus makes him feel, all over, inside and out even inside out.
Gus pulls back, looking at him, then holding Johnnys face in his hands the way he did before, when Johnny came back to the hotel. Its a lot to digest, Gus is saying, his voice gentle and warm.
Yeah.
Yeah, he says slowly, his hand curving around Gus wrist even though hes not sure he should, or that he should want to touch him.
But really, seriously, if its wrong its wrong, whether Gus is a a priest, or whatever Anglicans are or or not, and if its not wrong
Im not sure, he says finally, looking at Gus again. Not right now.
I know, Gus says quickly, nodding in case Johnny didnt get it, and Johnny feels his heart swelling again, and if someone walked in and told him theyd just proven the earth was flat it would probably be a good time for him to buy even that. I didnt mean tell me right now what you believe, Johnny, or even tell me at all, ever. I meant, I mean, that the important thing, really, is what you believe. The rest is immaterial.
From the other room, where its been sitting on the kitchen counter, Johnnys cell phone buzzes, and theres so little noise, just the two of them looking at each other, breathing, that it sounds unnaturally loud.
Gus squeezes his hand and lets him go, and Johnny makes it to the counter in time to see Lars name flashing.
He has stop and remember who Lars is.
The phone call is short, thank God no one got lost or even in trouble at the Hockey Hall of Fame, and only Chase threw up on the bus. Theyre leaving Toronto in about a half hour and he just wanted to touch base, make sure Johnny was okay, and is he in Montreal yet?
No, Johnny says, trying not to stutter, still here, stuff stuff I had to do, I mean, things I had to see, and, no, this isnt going well at all. Theres some yelling in the background, however, so with any luck Lars doesnt notice. He asks if Johnnys heard from Eric, which he hasnt, come to think of it, and then says he has to go, sorry, hell call later.
Gus leaves a few minutes after nine, after a few words between them, one quick kiss thats too much and still not enough, and apparently not in the least worried about being late. Johnnys willing to bet hell walk, too, and not bother with a taxi.
He spends a few minutes looking at the tourist brochures on the desk, trying to keep his head in the here and now, trying not to think about what he believes, because he knows the harder he thinks about it, the longer he thinks about it, the less hell figure out.
Of course, he never did think much about the future until Zoë and even then not enough.
He decides to strike out for the part of downtown he hasnt seen: hed done Parliament the day he ended up at the canal, ended up meeting Gus, ended up
Ottawas nothing like Winnipeg, with its old streets, narrow, some still cobbled, and cars parked wherever they can seem to nose in. The further he gets from the hotel and the canal, the less touristy it seems to be, and he wonders if this is what cities in Europe are like.
Hell see those one day too. After he sees Canada.
He remembers Eric hasnt called yet and then wonders what Eric will make of Gus, and vice versa, then remembers today and now. Hes repeating it to himself, under his breath, when the smell of coffee hits him. Its real coffee, so its like someone broke a stick over his head, and it doesnt take him more than a half a minute to track it to its source: a Scandinavian shop, big warm sweaters hanging in the windows, small painted horses displayed on shelves, probably for the tourists but definitely one of those off the beaten path deals.
When the plump blonde woman behind the counter looks up and sees Johnny, her eyes narrow briefly and then she smiles big.
Coffee? Johnny says, but she is already moving from behind the counter. Howd you know
You look like you havent had a decent cup in weeks, she says warmly, pressing a cup into his hands, pushing him into a chair by the table with the pot. Hvaðan ertu? Ísland?
No, Johnny says, confused and happy, taking a sip and burning his tongue, but he doesnt care because he hasnt had a coffee like this since the last time Auntie Auntie made breakfast for him and Eric, the week before they both left. Gimli.
Ah, Western Iceland, she says, nodding. I live here half the year and Ísland half the year. But no one here makes good coffee.
Johnnys breathing in the steam and the scent. You dont sell it then, he says disjointedly, remembering his quest only after her words sink in.
I make it, she says, winking at him. I buy it from a place I will tell you and I roast it some more.
I need to make it too, Johnny says eagerly. Im Ill be camping and I can roast the beans too, but
She laughs, her eyes sparkling. You can boil it, the way our ancestors did, or the place I will tell you, it has these for the stove, and she holds up the small pot, which Johnny suddenly sees is electric.
He ends up buying a sweater, in greys with black and white, from her he has five or six at home but then it occurs to him that Gus might like one, or at least find it useful, because theres not much to choose, as far as hes ever heard, between the climate in Canada and the climate in Iceland, and the ones he has at home like this are warm enough even for the prairie winters and two mugs, with blue horses on them, because he likes the colours and he wants to remember her, this shop, and the the normalcy it gave him for a few minutes when he needed normalcy, and, maybe, some perspective or something.
And he ends up buying (too much) coffee at the place she sends him, a careful note on the back of one of her cards that the woman in the coffee shop smiles at. Johnnys afraid for a few minutes hes going to end up with stuff he cant or doesnt need to carry, but in the end its nothing but a little brass hand grinder, tall and thin, and a small stainless steel pot with two compartments, and an airtight plastic container for the beans. The woman shows him how everything works, even sets the grind on the hand grinder mill, she calls it a mill and runs a batch through the little pot just to show him, let him taste the coffee and see if its what he likes.
Its a hell of a lot closer than microwaved filter coffee, but he doesnt say that, just thanks her (too much, probably) and to prove, he guesses, that she knows her market, or maybe to seal the deal, she even gives him a package of caraway seeds.
He was always bigger on cardamom, himself, and Auntie Auntie used to tease him, when he was a kid, that he must have more Viking or Swede in his blood than the rest of them, but he takes the caraway anyway because echoes in his head from this morning its all good, isnt it?
And why did he spend all those years making coffee for Zoë when he could have had this, his own coffee, all along, and she could have had hers? Maybe he wasnt as much into win/win as he thinks he is, or thought he was, anyway, and maybe the lose/lose thing wasnt all Zoës fault.
And why did none of this occur to him ten years ago? What is it about Gus that that sends his mind spiraling in directions he never knew existed because he never thought they might?
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It takes everything Gus has, and then some, to concentrate on Noelle and the lawyers, and when they take a break, it takes all his willpower not to phone Johnny, make sure hes make sure hes okay, and, maybe, make sure hes coming back.
Which is ridiculous, on and off the face of it, because he knows Johnny, in some indefinable way, and he knows that, really, its he who wants (needs) Johnnys presence, perhaps to assuage his own guilt not that he set out deceive Johnny but he did, whether meant or not, and while last rites might conceivably be needed at a hockey game, hed thought he was going to a curling match and perhaps to reassure himself. And neither of these things is fair to Johnny, who needs time to sort things out.
Hes not sure if hell ever be to the point he was, once upon a time, when he believed in a benevolent, beneficent God interested in the affairs of men, but even so its hard to see Lars phone call as anything but fortunate: Johnny needed space and Gus, too close to the situation, wasnt seeing it; and hearing about (he guessed) the mischief a bunch of boys could get up to had been enough to ground Johnny, enough that they could share a (very chaste) kiss, enough that they could speak of dinner, later, with nothing more than a betraying flush on Johnnys part.
Hed ended up walking to Noelles office, an upscale job near Parliament: shed obviously parlayed her own experience in Solomon Gundy to some political advantage, and while he waited for the lift the stairs in the building, a new architect-designed job, were very inconveniently placed it occurred to him, for the first time, really, to wonder how shed gone from nothing to this and how much Dexter, or perhaps Nelson, had had to do with it.
Itd been clear that she and Dexter were close, friends if not mentor/protégé, and equally clear, if hed cared, which at the time he hadnt, that her studied surprise at the Belgian deal revelation had been somewhat rehearsed. He knew, now, from looking back that Dexter had known, and had done his best, without betraying confidences, to rectify a situation hed clearly seen as wrong; but Gus had also been sure, even then, that Dexter had told Noelle things he couldnt, wouldnt tell the islanders, not even Gus.
However, he was now starting to wonder why Noelle hadnt told him about the Belgian deal: she was bound by no promises, and clearly no ethical concerns; and Dexter, who had a way of seeing all possible solutions to all possible situations very quickly, might have probably did tell Noelle for more than one reason.
He reminds himself that no, lifes not fair; but his inner irrationality retorts that Dexter should have had more time, and Gus, too, to get to know Dexter, to go beyond that instinctive and nearly instant bond theyd forged, to examine it and see what lay beneath it, and, hell, to just fucking enjoy it
Water under the bridge, and Dexter would be dead either way (but not that way, that inner voice growls) and Gus well, suffice it to say Gus is feeling less than conciliatory when he finally makes it to Noelles office; and they dont accomplish much of anything in the way of strategy.
However, when the lawyers show up, people Gus can talk to without the baggage, the history, the new (and old) questions, he feels energized, and they seem to pick up on it. They hash out quite a few terribly dull clauses and come up with what Gus, at least, thinks are reasonable suggestions for the financing of the subsidies to absorb the costs of (re-)entering the Confederation.
Still, hes relieved when the break a real coffee break, with silver(plate) service and china cups brought in by Noelles definitely-not-attractive assistant whose name he pretends not to remember is over and the temptation to call Johnny is definitively removed; and he takes his coffee black, on a whim, even though theres no way it could approach the brew Johnnyd come up with was that just this morning?
Lunch passes automatically, Gus only needing a quarter of his brain to get through it, part of the rest wondering what Johnnys finding to do and whether Nelson will have the balls to show up this afternoon. In some ways he hopes so: Nelsons always good for a distraction, if nothing else; and Gus thinks hes probably gotten a concession or two just from the internecine warfare rife in the Cabinet that is, apparently, centred on (surprise!) Nelson. That Nelson survived the Solomon Gundy debacle is a testament, however, to how deeply hes entrenched or, possibly, how deeply the bodies he knows about are buried.
After lunch, and at a loss for twenty minutes to fill, Gus finds a remote bathroom and jerks off, starting out savage but taking it easy on himself at the end, letting his brain fill with images, sensations even, of Johnny, Johnny and him; and when he comes, he feels only a little like crying and a lot (again) like finding a phone, seeing where Johnny is, how he is
Hes washing his hands when the door opens and, of course, its Nelson, who smiles sardonically and raises an eyebrow. Gus breathes in deep, the smell of sex insensibly cheering him up bringing to mind Johnny, he supposes, or perhaps the sea and he grins back, winks, and leaves without giving Nelson a chance to voice any of the numerous sarcastic and condescending clichés that are invariably at his command.
The feeling of being (finally) back on his game, caring about what hes doing and simultaneously being able to hide it from the Government, carries him well through the afternoon, and afterwards the lawyers seem cautiously optimistic: true, theyd made concessions but, again, the Government made more, some without seeming to realize it. Gus is too cognizant of how these things work to think for a moment that they didnt in fact realize it but as long as the end result is as much autonomy for Solomon Gundy as he can manage, he doesnt actually care why they conceded.
During the conversation with the lawyers he supposes, for lack of a better word, that its a debriefing Noelle interrupts to bring up dinner again, the next night, and Gus waves a hand at her: Call me, Noelle; and nothing earlier than seven. The head lawyer wrangles a commitment to a meeting the next day, but Gus is successful, at least, in arranging it for the early afternoon instead of the morning.
Because if Johnny has decided, or does decide, that all of it is good (or even any of it), Gus is going to give Johnny no chance to regret that decision any time soon.
He slings his coat over his shoulder and walks back to the hotel, too, trying to move back into the real world, preparing himself to give Johnny the time, the space, whatever it is that he needs; trying to remember, himself, the price of his own hard-gained wisdom and the care he has, needs to have, for Johnny, not just his heart, or his head, but his soul.
With that said, however, he cant deny the relief he feels when he hears the sound of the television as hes pulling out his keycard: the sound of television, and then the sight of Johnny, lounging on the couch, and (oddly enough) the smell of coffee.
Nor can he deny the relief he feels at the smile that lights up Johnnys face, even his eyes, when he sees Gus; and the more-than-relief he feels at the sight of Johnny untangling those legs, yes, just as long as Gus had imagined, to come to his feet (bare!), hitting the off button on the remote and still managing to meet Gus halfway across the room; and relief is simply not the right word to describe the feel of Johnny in his arms again, the taste of Johnny in his mouth again, the smell of Johnny-and-coffee around him again, like a blanket.
Just in time, Johnnys saying, and the grin on his face is absolutely boyishly enchanting as he takes Gus by the hands, leading him to the couch.
For what? Gus says, laughing despite himself and turning with Johnny.
Its not a real coffee table, but its close: the woman in the coffee shopd sent him to what she called a real bakery, and it was, a hole in the wall with a guy bringing sacks of flour in the back, and up front plain pound cake (none with cardamom, unfortunately, but this wasnt Gimli, after all, or even Winnipeg), sweet braids, and even brown butter cookies. They called them something else, something beurre, but Johnny knew what they were.
He realized, in the shopping for cookies and cake, that he was having fun; and that he was looking forward to Gus return, even though hed kind of lost it that morning, and things might need some explaining, or smoothing over, or something; and he still didnt really know which way was up.
But he was also pretty sure Gus wasnt going to hold it against him: hed been amazingly, remarkably, incredibly nice about it all, not to mention understanding, and (almost more remarkably) hadnt tried to push Johnny one way or the other, or tried guilt trips, or, really, done anything but make sure Johnny knew, or at least could start to figure out, which way was up.
Which, yeah, the not-thinking had proceeded apace, but when he heard the door open, the first, almost the only thing that had occurred to him was that Gus was back; and that probably said a lot right there about the conclusions his brain was reaching.
Well, that and the second thing that had occurred to him, or his body, which was to greet Gus more than halfway, arms, lips, and some tongue just to top it off.
But he already knows how easily he can be distracted by Gus so he breaks the kiss, taking Gus by the hand instead, telling him that hes just in time, not that there is a time, but he has to say something, and its four oclock somewhere, isnt it? Heck, its four oclock in Winnipeg.
Gus is turning with him, a smile on his face Johnnys never seen before, a laugh Johnnys never heard before, and how wrong can it be to want to get to know all the expressions Gus has, all the sounds he makes? and it takes all his willpower to push Gus onto the couch and not follow him.
Coffee time, Johnny says triumphantly and hes back at the coffee table, hands full: the little coffee pot, on a plate; cream, too, on the same plate, because Gus takes it; the mugs with the horses on them, their handles looped through his middle finger; and the drip coffee pot that came with the room, with regular coffee.
Gus is still watching him with that smile on his face and Johnny feels the heat rising in his own face, not sure why, really, except that being the focus of Gus attention like this, not in bed, is a pretty cool thing that leaves him just a little off-balance. He goes back to the kitchen and slices the cake briskly, trying not to think about the man behind him on the couch and how he looks.
When he turns, Gus is still looking, and even the plate of cake and cookies doesnt distract him. He waits until Johnny puts it down, then pulls Johnny down beside him on the couch, pushing him into the cushions and leaning over him, into him, kissing Johnny in a way that reminds Johnny of the amazed smile Gus had just now.
Okay, so hes been hard, off and on, all afternoon, even though hes been trying to not-think about what hes supposed to be not-thinking about, but its all coming together now that Gus is back, both the physical feelings and the feelings inside, and it doesnt feel bad, or wicked, or sinful, and it hasnt, which might be one of the things thats really (when alls said and done) been bothering him.
You found coffee, Gus says, and its like the words mean nothing: Gus is looking at him, still with that smile at the corner of his mouth and in his eyes, Gus is looking at him like a man would look at land after weeks at sea, Gus is touching his face and holding him like theres never been anything but the two of them.
Johnny cant even gather his wits enough to try to apologise for the morning, or to explain (or try to), and he doesnt get a chance: Gus leans in to kiss him once more and then sits up, pulling Johnny up too, and turns to the table, not letting go of Johnnys hand. Are the spoons safe?
Johnnys brain is so not firing on all cylinders that he just gives up and laughs: he has no idea what Gus is talking about. Gus laughs too, Johnny guesses just because he is, and then the penny drops: Oh! Uh no, see, I made your coffee too, and now hes laughing because Gus is.
But Gus catches his hand when he reaches for the glass-and-plastic pot; and his voice is that thick warm melted honey and butter voice when he says, No, I want to try your coffee, and Johnnys glad he wasnt holding the pot because hed have dropped it.
And what does it say that the sound of that voice nearly has him sliding to his knees, sliding Gus pants down his hips, sliding his mouth down onto Gus warm, smooth, strong cock? Whats happened to him, who is he, and why does going down on Gus right this second sound better than ten thousand cups of coffee or slices of cake?
Your voice, hes saying, like the idiot he is, you dont know what but Gus doesnt laugh, not now, just looks at him again, his eyes liquid and dark, nodding too.
Yeah, and hes got Johnny in close, I know, believe me, I know. Yours too, Johnny and the rest of his words are lost in Johnnys mouth, Johnny swallowing the words like he can take them inside, let them stay there, grow there, warm and sweet and full of Gus.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The afternoons are stretching out in a bright glorious haze as far as Gus can see, sun burning off a fog bank, and sunset and the horizon so far off as to be immaterial, coffee and cake and Johnny today, tomorrow, and for how long after that?
Johnnys stretched across him, on top of him, and theyve found a rhythm, their rhythm, as unconscious and as natural as the first time he kissed Johnny in that alley near the café. But this time its Johnny lifting Gus shirt, his hand warm on Gus skin, his fingers brushing a nipple, already tight, and hes not sure, really, which of them moans.
And its not that hed press, hes not, and he wouldnt, but it hasnt escaped his notice that hes still got the collar on and Johnny hasnt looked at it, hasnt seemed any more aware of it than he was yesterday when Gus wasnt wearing it. Truth to tell, Gus is drawing conclusions from that and he cant help thinking (at this point) they might be plausible.
more, Johnnys saying, husky and urgent against the skin stretched across Gus ribs, hands pushing Gus shirts up, baring Gus nipples to the sudden coolness of the air, then the welcome warmth of Johnnys mouth, sucking and licking with the same urgency that was in his voice, his other hand unbuckling Gus belt.
And, God, its hard not to just let go, let Johnny have his way, have Gus way, have Gus all the way, but
Coffee he says at the same moment Johnnys whispering his name, asking, begging Gus to let him in, fingers now fumbling and finding Gus zipper, and Gus chokes, trying to remember what hes supposed to be doing coffee, and and, God, they should, they have to talk and this this is unfair, this is taking advantage and
But the advantage seems to be Johnnys, and thats fair, he argues with himself, because Johnnys not stupid, hes not running blind, Gus is still half dressed with that goddamn collar still around his fucking neck and Johnny Johnnys hand is inside his pants, slipping into the fly of his boxers, Johnnys oh God found his cock and now Johnnys sliding down Gus body, sliding to his knees, oh fuck, on the floor between Gus legs and
Gus tries once more, or he thinks he does, but Johnnys mouth is so warm, so warm and wet and willing, so eager, that maybe he doesnt quite get out what he meant to: all he hears is a choked exclamation, and then his hands are in Johnnys hair, smoothing across Johnnys face, feeling oh, fuck yeah, feeling, touching, Johnnys mouth where its stretched around his cock; and he pushes in, just a little more, just a little more, and Johnnys sucking just a little harder where Gus is smoothing his fingers; and Gus lets his head fall back, lets out the sound he wants to make, a low soft moan and Johnnys name.
Faster than thought, Johnnys loosened his grip on Gus cock and is kissing Gus wrist almost feverishly, words tumbling out so fast theyre mixed up and falling over each other Sorry, Im sorry, I cant cant not, Gus, God and he doesnt sound confused or upset, just incredibly hot; and when his mouth closes over Gus cock again, when his hand goes around the base to hold Gus still, to pump, down and up and then to move, abbreviatedly, while Johnny moans around him
Gus is only human, after all, and man simply wasnt meant to resist this much temptation; and so he shuts his eyes and lets Johnny pull it out of him, lets Johnny have it all, and if he could come twice, or harder, he would, just from the sounds Johnnys making as he swallows, and moans, and swallows again.
And it was so fast, and unexpected, that it takes longer than it should for him to catch his breath, retrieve his brains, or at least his sense, and by that time Johnny, still kneeling between his legs, hand working at his crotch by that time Johnnys past hearing, or caring; when Gus reaches for him, trying to help, or maybe trying to give back some of what Johnny just gave him, Johnnys gasping for breath and trying to smile Sorry, I oh God m okay, I but Gus ignores him, hauling Johnnys zipper down by main force, sliding fingers under the waistband of Johnnys briefs and closing them around Johnnys cock just in time. Johnnys hand is moving with his while Gus steadies them both with an arm around Johnnys shoulders; and he watches Johnnys face, leaning in to capture the last gasp Johnny makes before he freezes and moans, deep in Gus mouth, shaking in Gus arms, his cock leaping in their joint grip, rhythmic and strong, so strong theres no question, if there ever was, that Johnnys getting off on more than just his own (and Gus) hand.
And Gus is so touched, and not a little shaken, that he milks Johnny for every last shudder, every last gasp, every last drop, warm and thick and flowing over their hands and fingers; and while Johnnys still trying to catch his breath, he keeps Johnnys eyes locked on his while he raises their hands to his mouth and slowly, deliberately licks every drop he can. Johnnys eyes close for a long moment, and when he opens them theyre bright, wet at the corners, and his breathing is uneven. Gus hopes he wont pull away, pull back and try to try to apologise again, but he doesnt: he just closes his eyes again and sighs, a long shuddering sound, and the shoulders under Gus arm finally relax.
Gus leans in closer and kisses Johnnys eyelids, the corners where the moisture has gathered, then the middle, each in turn, and Johnny sighs again and turns his face into Gus chest, holding onto Gus shirt with both hands. Gus wants to tell Johnny its okay but it might not be, so he just holds on, resisting every impulse he has to rock back and forth, to pull Johnny up off his knees, to slide down to the floor with Johnny: this is Johnnys call, and he cant, or shouldnt, try to shape his reactions, or forestall them, or do any of a dozen other things he wants to and cant, not not until he knows.
It seems to be for ever but its really only a few moments before Johnny sighs again and his hands relax, smoothing down the fabric of Gus shirt where hed grasped it. He lifts his head and it seems only natural to lean in; and before Gus can stop himself, draw back, mindful, Johnnys reached up further, meeting him halfway, and Johnnys whispering against his lips that it is good, its so good.
Close enough, Gus decides, and he slides to the floor with Johnny, pushing the table back and pulling Johnny into a warm, tight hug, burying his face in Johnnys neck and breathing in deep. Youre amazing, he mouths, and although theres no way Johnny can hear him, his arms tighten around Gus.
They end up having the coffee on the floor, leaning back against the couch, after the necessary zipping and tucking. Its still warm; and Gus didnt expect to like Johnnys coffee as much as he does, strong, for certain, but much better than the well, he wouldnt say it to Johnny, but sludge would be a good word to describe it, the stuff this morning. Along with the cake, not too sweet, and the cookies ditto, theres an odd harmony that appeals to Gus on more than just a gustatory level.
I like this, he says without thinking, but Johnny doesnt seem surprised to hear it: he just nods, then well, the actual term would be snuggle, Gus is pretty sure leans his head on Gus shoulder, eyes closed, his arm around Gus waist.
Nothing not to like about a coffee table, Johnny says, and he sounds not quite drowsy, but certainly very content, and theres a smile on his face that looks so intimate that Gus has to lean down, brush Johnnys lips with his own, see if it feels the way it looks. Johnnys arm tightens, his eyes flickering open, then closing again, and he grins more broadly even while he leans up further, supple, pliant and, yes, damn it, sweet.
He doesnt want to bring it up and understands has always understood the perils of taking the easy way out; and, in the end, taking the hard way out is even more costly in some ways. Still, he puts it off, hesitates, a hand on Johnnys chin, his thumb feeling the sharp bone under the skin there.
Johnny reaches up, mirroring him; and then, surprising Gus yet again, he says, I I didnt really mean to do that, jump you
If youre apologizing, and Gus cant keep the grin off his face, Im going to be so disappointed.
No! God, no, just that I Even in the fading light he can see Johnnys blush.
Actually, I was going to say we should go out and find dinner, and be awkward, and talk seriously, but this was much more fun. Of course, now were back to room service for dinner, because Im damned if Im letting you out of this room tonight.
Order in pizza, Johnny says, voice husky, a smile Gus can feel against his arm. I dont think I can I can do serious, Gus, not
Johnny
I dont didnt know, Johnny says, sitting up suddenly and turning to look at Gus, clear-eyed, clear-voiced. Not not with you, not not like that. I this morning, I didnt
Gus listens, incredulity growing: Johnnys not, he is not going to fucking apologise Johnny, no
Look, Gus, and Gus is so surprised that Johnnys raising his voice, that Johnnys interrupting him that he actually closes his mouth, for a second, but its long enough I I freaked this morning, okay? And it wasnt because of you I mean, it wasnt your fault that I He breaks off and swallows hard, but Gus cant think, suddenly, of a single solitary fucking thing to say.
Thing is, and Johnnys voice is softer now, it didnt I wasnt thinking is what it was, about me, I mean. And I wasnt I didnt think today, either. But what you said, about free will, about right and wrong, I did a lot of not thinking about that today, and the thing is that I just I wanted He stops and takes a breath, and then raises his eyes to Gus. I wanted to see you again. And Im not sure what Im not sure about the right/wrong thing yet, but its true, were were not hurting anyone. He stops and laughs, if you can call it that: its nothing at all like the delighted, delightful sound he usually makes, but a short, sharp thin sound, like wind heralding a storm; and his mouth is pulling into a self-deprecating twist that Gus never, ever wants to see again. So this morning, Im sorry, because I think the, uh, the real problem is that I just wasnt thinking. About anything that that I should have thought about before.
And Gus is, suddenly, sharply, furiously angry all over again. You mean the minor, inconsequential, detail that youve missed for the past, what, thirty years of your life that youre not entirely straight? Or that people who claim to have all the answers dont? Or that bad things happen to good people, and far too many good things happen to bad people? And that the point of so much of what passes for Christianity in this world today is to reconcile those good, poor people to their lot in life while the bad garner riches, and power, on this earth; well, at least we know, dont we, that theyre going to hell, or that theyre not living righteously, and thats a comforting thought to take with you to your cold and lonely bed at night, isnt it, old son?
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Gus voice is shaking Gus is shaking. Johnny stares at him for a few seconds, then moves, quick as a blink, to straddle Gus, to take Gus face between his hands, to kiss Gus, to offer him the only comfort he can, the only comfort he knows how to give. And in the back of his head he wonders what he, what any of them would have done if Pastor had ever said anything, ever, like that, or even a tenth of it: he thinks the roof of the church might have blown off.
And its very true that most of the time, when people are doing things for your own good, Johnny, it never seems particularly good from the other side, Johnnys side, that is.
It depends, he supposes, pulling Gus in close, feeling Gus arms go around him, slowly, not quite sure, on why those people are so convinced they know whats for your own good.
Its not, he says after a while; and when Gus lifts his head to look, Johnny shakes his head. Its not a comfort, not really. Its just a cold and lonely bed.
Gus face changes, and he opens his mouth, but Johnny silences him with a kiss. You, he says against Gus mouth, are a good man, and he turns his head just enough that he can cradle Gus head against his.
No, Gus whispers, but he doesnt try to move. I try to be, Johnny, and thats all that I can say.
Tell me again what you said this morning. About free will, and how we know the difference between right and wrong. About how what we do matters, and and why we do it, Johnny whispers back. People people do a lot of a lot of things for your own good and it never really feels good, at least on my side of it. Why you do things matters too, right? It has to matter, why, not just that you do it, but not the way they said, not the were saved and youre not way
And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?
Yeah, Johnny says, pulling back to rest on Gus thighs, exactly, but you said before that
Gus tries to smile, but his face is twisting again in a way thats just wrong, in a way that twists Johnnys heart, so Johnny reaches out to touch his mouth, trying to touch Gus, touch his heart, something. In some ways, Gus says, his voice unsteady, Im the moral relativist you think I am, and in some ways, Johnny, I am not. There are absolutes I believe in and I believe in them even when
He breaks off and Johnnys got both his hands back on Gus face now, because Gus looks like hes being torn apart from the inside and Johnny has no freaking idea why.
even when I shouldnt, and Gus is looking through Johnny, far away.
Why? and suddenly Johnnys shaking too. If if you dont believe, why even bother?
I dont know, Gus says hoarsely; and then a tear slides down his cheek. Sometimes I dont even know.
But you do bother, Johnny whispers, tracing the path with his tongue. So you do believe.
In something, Gus says, the left side of his mouth lifting, twisting again, breaking Johnnys heart. Myself, I suppose.
I I cant think of a better thing to believe in, Johnny says, trying, himself, to hold back tears, watching another one slip down Gus cheek.
Depends on whos talking, Gus says, his voice flat, his eyes still looking at something far away, politicians, lawyers, liars because sometimes the people who believe in me end up dead, Johnny, and it should have been me, or or Nelson, or, God forgive me, Noelle but, especially, me, because because it was my belief, is my belief, and it is, should be, should have been my sacrifice. I wasnt I wasnt prepared, Johnny, for someone else to die for my beliefs.
Just you, Johnny whispers, and he doesnt try to hold back any more: he feels warm salt at the corner of his mouth, and a blood-warm drop on his arm, and he wonders why tears taste like blood and blood tastes like tears; and suddenly he remember Gus telling him that life began in the ocean.
Not ashes to ashes, or dust to dust, but water to life; and he doesnt even know he said it out loud until Gus thumb is on his face, smoothing, blending the paths of the tears falling until his face is wet all over; and Gus voice is as soft as dusk: Johnny, dont
Theres a sharp rap at the door, loud enough to make them both jump, and Johnny reflexively slides off Gus, trying to straighten his knees. Gus sighs, a heavy sound, squares his shoulders, and wipes his face on his sleeve before getting to his feet.
And Johnny cant say why, any more than he can say why it happened with Zoë the sniff? the sleeve dragged across his wet face? but its happened, and the realization leaves him shaky and breathless, Gus brief conversation with the man at the door nothing but a dim murmur, a distant waterfall compared to the roaring in his ears, rapids foaming and swirling and taking Johnny down into the currents to be tossed any which way.
Gus comes back over to the couch, tossing an express service box on the armchair, then reaching down to help Johnny to his feet. Lawyers, he says, answering Johnnys look. Second draft. Maybe the third by now. He braces and pulls: strong arms, strong back.
Johnny looks again: the box is big enough to hold a binder. You have to tonight?
No, Gus says shortly. Not tonight, and I told them, but were meeting tomorrow afternoon and I guess they thought
Wait a minute, Johnny says, holding up one hand, bending to rub his knee with the other. You youre doing all this yourself?
Of course not, and that impatience is still in Gus voice: impatience and something else. Ill go over it, of course, and when I we get back to Solomon Gundy, Zedall go over it; and, of course, the lawyers here are working for me for Solomon Gundy.
Dont you have help? Johnny says, probably sounding almost as impatient as Gus. Even a junior A coach from Manitoba gets assistant coaches, Gus.
Theres no one else, damn it
This is this is one of those, uh, absolutes? Johnnys not trying to irritate Gus, just trying to understand, but its spiraling downhill, water down a drain: Gus is frowning intently and Johnny shakes his head, trying to clear it, trying to understand.
He feels ten times worse when Gus sinks to the couch, dropping his head into his hands; and Johnny puts a hesitant hand on his shoulder. Its not not my business, he says awkwardly, trying to remember that they just met, and that Gus sure as hell knows what hes doing. Sorry just uh, just wondering whats going on, what youre doing
Hell if I know, Gus says wearily, rubbing his hands over his face, pressing above his eyes with his fingertips, and oh yes Johnny knows that pain. Im not one of those people with all the answers, Johnny, and Im just trying to put things right but I dont really know what right is, not here, and I dont know if things can be put right. I dont even know if this is what Dexter would have wanted, or if he would have cared, or if he would have just told me to do what I thought was best. You see, I I didnt really know him long enough. Well enough.
Dexter is the the guy who died? Johnny asks cautiously, shifting his weight: foots still asleep. Instead of you.
Yes, Dexter was the sacrificial lamb, Gus says, voice so close to breaking that Johnnys hand tightens on his shoulder to stop him from coming apart. Damn it, Johnny, will you sit down?
In a flash hes up, and gone into the bedroom; hes back with the bottle from the nightstand almost before Johnny can blink; and Johnny does blink, more than once. He doesnt say anything but thanks and swallows three pills dry, which makes Gus, on his way back from the fridge with more water, laugh.
Its a short, dry laugh, not anything hed look forward to ordinarily, but it beats all hell out of broken.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This was not how Gus had intended the evening to go, although it well, certainly it had started out better than hed thought so they were probably ahead.
But not by much.
Johnnys swallowed the ibuprofen dry, something he must be accustomed to doing, and Gus hoots in disbelief, but twists the top off the water bottle anyway and hands it to him. Johnny takes it with another murmured thanks and drains half the bottle, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and offers it to Gus, as natural as breathing.
Gus feels tears, still near the surface, pricking his eyelids.
He drains the rest of the bottle and tosses it at the sink. It misses by a few inches and ends up on the counter, and he shrugs at it, turning back to Johnny, whos looking up at him, eyes larger than usual, almost apprehensive.
This isnt what Id planned for this evening, Gus says, holding his gaze: its almost like a confession: he feels lighter, at least, for having said it.
Im
Johnny, if you say youre sorry again Ill
sorry but what?
Gus makes a wordless sound, frustration and impatience with himself combined, and Johnny quiets immediately. Gus pushes aside both curiosity and further anger, aimed this time and perhaps unfairly at the dead woman haunting him: if he had to have a ghost, why couldnt it be Dexter?
Let me start again: this isnt what either of us, in all probability, had planned for the evening. Almost without thinking, he reaches for Johnnys chin, holding his face in one hand; Johnnys eyes are still huge. Its not good or bad, Johnny. It just is. I probably forgiveness has never been one of my strong suits and I should have remembered that a while ago.
Johnnys hand has crept up, holding Gus; it takes effort for Gus to remember what hes saying. You you were just caught in the Crossfire, he starts to say, and cant finish; and then Johnnys lips are on his palm and hes being pulled down to the couch, flat on his back, and Johnnys moved a pillow and his legs so Gus head is in his lap, resting on Johnnys thigh with a pillow under his shoulder.
Just take it easy, Johnny says, his voice low. Catch up on the playoff standings, yeah? Unwind, think about dinner, and hes palming the remote with his other hand. But when Gus squints at the sudden light in the room, Johnny switches it off almost immediately, shaking his head.
Turn it back on, Gus says quietly. Id love to check the standings. Not that he cares, since Montreal hasnt had decent goaltending in eight years, but the givings all coming from Johnnys side and its wrong, its all so wrong that the only way he can think to right it is to go along, and thats wrong too but hes too fraught to figure out an exorcism just now.
You have a headache? Johnny asks, voice still low; and since hes put two and two together very competently, Gus doubles it.
Do you get migraines?
Johnny blinks, and his hand freezes in the act of raising the remote. Uh. No, not not for a while, once in a while you too?
Gus doesnt remember much about his grandmother but he does remember the darkened rooms, the whispering and tiptoeing, the strain on her face that even a child could see. My grandmother.
Yeah? Its funny, I ended up with them, not my sister, and they said usually its girls women
You have a sister? Gus raises his head, only to have it pushed back down; and Johnny leaves his fingers on Gus temple.
Yes, its suddenly quite clear that Johnnys had experience with pain.
Had, Johnny says, clicking on the mute. Erics mom its why he lives with me.
Gus feels very, very foolish: why had he assumed Eric was Johnnys wifes nephew? And hadnt Johnny said I thought you said he was with his father.
He is, Johnny says, just a trace of wistfulness in his voice. Summer adventure before university, you know? Max is Max is kind of a wanderer; we wanted to keep Eric and he wanted to stay, mostly: I think he felt more like he belonged in Gimli than anywhere else.
Gus doesnt know what else to say, so he falls back on years of funeral experience. Were you close?
Uh twins, Johnny says, not looking at Gus, or at the television. Yeah.
Its one of the things Gus likes best about life, really: never knowing whats around the next corner, that and the life lessons the universe doles out on a more than regular basis. The single piece of useful advice he got upon ordination that he strives to remember is that everyone has a tragedy. It might be Dexter or it might be burnt toast but since you have no way of knowing which, the only thing to do is remember, period.
And Johnny must be older than Gus thought he was, if Erics about to start university.
Because, really, such revelations are always better with a healthy dose of irrelevancy added in.
Its a good thing Eric has you, he says.
And me him, Johnny says, quickly, almost thankfully: he was probably waiting for insincere platitudes, or, maybe, since hes spent this much time with Gus, hed give him the benefit of the doubt and assume that they were more or less meant.
Its just as well the death of his wife has already been broached: Gus would be even harder put to it today than he was yesterday to sound sincere about that.
He hadnt noticed a ridge or even a tan line on Johnnys finger.
He probably took the ring off as soon well, think about it as soon as he could, probably after moving to Winnipeg.
Its like we got switched, Johnnys saying, his voice distant but not sad. The men and women in our family I was happy in Gimli, she never was; and Erics been Eric was happy there too. She ran away when she was sixteen, and she only came back after she was dead. She wouldnt have wanted that but it there was a mix up and I dont think she would really have cared, she would have wanted us to have that. She was the real Viking. We should have done a boat for her. Eric His voice trails off; and Gus pulls Johnnys fingers down to his lips. Johnny presses his fingers lightly against Gus mouth and then slips his hand down to cradle Gus jaw, his thumb stroking Gus cheek. Good, the Kings lost. One more and we wont have them in the finals.
The juxtaposition is so unexpected that Gus turns on his back to look at Johnny and then laughs out loud, a real laugh this time. Johnny looks down at him, a answering smile on his face, and pats him. Whos we? Gus asks, putting his head down obediently. Edmonton?
Johnny snorts. Uh, no. Calgary. WHL. Im Im, uh, not heartless. I
I understand, Gus says. Heartless is the last word that could be applied to you, I think, so dont worry.
You a Habs fan? Johnny asks after a few moments; his fingers are still warm, relaxed, against Gus cheek. Gus just nods: his five oclock shadow is more of an oddment, really, but it still feels nice against Johnnys fingers. Figured.
And a card-carrying member of the White Rose Society?
Nah, thats only if youre a Leafs fan.
Theyre doing okay this year, Gus says mildly. Johnny snorts again and Gus rolls onto his back again to look up at him: and hes somewhat surprised to feel the absence of stress in his shoulders.
Theyll cave in the semi-finals. Buffalos going to surprise everyone.
Buffalo?
And suddenly hes laughing, and sos Johnny, and when Gus leans up on an elbow, Johnny leans down, meeting him halfway. A long, breathless kiss, and the weights entirely gone from Gus shoulders and he sighs, taking a deep breath, leaning up to kiss Johnny lightly one more time before rolling off the couch and coming up on his feet.
Johnnys watching him, still a shadow in his eyes: but Gus has regained his equilibrium, and some perspective. Yes, they need to talk, but Gus also needs to act, and Johnny well, Johnny needs a very gentle hand, and some honesty a lot of that; and to learn, or be taught, that Gus is not Johnnys dead wife.
And the best thing about finding his feet again is understanding why hes been so unusually impatient: the guilt over Dexter will always be there, and he knows that, has even talked about it once, or twice, with his bishop; but the anger that was something he clearly hadnt wanted to admit, especially to himself. He knows from (bitter) experience that it needs to be channeled safely; and, right now, it needs to be channeled deep underground and away from Johnny, who reminds Gus of a seedling, leaning towards the sun, roots none too sure of their welcome in the earth yet.
He turns his hands outward, palms up: I could use some fresh air. Come with me.
He tries to make it a request but Johnny doesnt seem to care how he said it, or, perhaps, why: a smile lights his face as he comes to his feet; but then he stops, looking down; and begins to gather the remains of the coffee table.
Leave it, Gus says. Well get it later. He wants to be outside, in the fresh (for a city) air; he wants to see the setting sun gild Johnnys hair, dance in his eyes, warm his skin. But Johnny, already with plates and mugs in his hand, shrugs; and Gus gives in, taking both pots. But when Johnny tries to go back for more, Gus spins him around, pushing him against the counter, leaning in and breathing deep before his lips find Johnnys. Enough, he whispers. Lets go.
And Johnny tastes so good, feels so good, that Gus contradicts himself and kisses him again, longer this time, slower too.
I want to see the sun in your hair, Gus says, his breath ghosting across Johnnys lips, taste the sun on your lips; and when we get to Solomon Gundy
In public? Johnny tries to say, but the words are lost in Gus mouth; and its hard for him to believe any of it.
Hes maybe said such things, in the past, to Zoë, and even to Gus, without thinking, but now hes not sure if he can. Twenty five hundred kilometers seems like more than a lifetime, and the caboose would be twice as far away
When we get to Solomon Gundy, theres a cove, Gus is saying, his lips on Johnnys cheek, then just in front of his ear, his tongue darting in, out; and Johnnys breath catches. Its one of my favourite places in the world; and I want to take you there, strip you naked, taste the sun and the sea on your skin; and I want to hear you say my name, Johnny, when you come, I want to hear your voice and the waves together when I come.
And Johnnys pretty sure that Gus eyes, right now, are the colour of the sea after a storm; and hes pretty sure hes about to come in his pants; and hes damn sure that nothing else has ever felt so good, so right, as Gus mouth closing over his. He breathes in deep, already sure he could tell Gus from a million others by his smell alone, even if the tang of the salt air hes never smelled is nothing but his imagination.
Hes groaning; or they both are; and the counter is the only thing holding him up, the counter and the weight of Gus body against him, and Gus arms around him; and hes holding onto Gus, too, so he doesnt fall, and its too late, and why doesnt he remember it being like this, like a wildfire in his belly? And when Gus pulls back and looks at him, the fires in his eyes too, burning steadily, leaving more than cold grey ash that crumbles at a touch.
Fresh air, Gus says, sounding drugged, his voice slow, a finger touching the side of Johnnys mouth; and the fire leaps higher: he did this, he, Johnny, and when Gus looks at him hes seeing nothing but Johnny, stripped naked, maybe even to his soul; and hes not looking away. He probably ought to be embarrassed about before, that he was beating off on his knees after sucking Gus off, but Gus hadnt seemed upset or even surprised by that: hed gone after Johnnys cock almost the way Johnnyd gone after his, his callused palm warm and rough in just the right places.
He lifts his hand too, running his thumb along Gus lower lip; and Gus catches it in his teeth, a gentle nibble, a quick flicker of his tongue. The way his eyes close, like Johnnys ice cream, or chocolate mousse, just pushes Johnny higher, makes him push harder against Gus, feeling Gus hard length against his own.
Johnnys pretty sure he didnt have this much sex on his honeymoon.
Not that kissing is sex.
At least he never thought it was; but when Gus sucks two of Johnnys fingers into his mouth, his tongue warm and soft and curling around those fingers, Johnny knows Gus has just redefined sex for Johnny, not to mention just about everything else Johnny thought he knew about himself, and the world, two days ago.
And then Gus hand is at his waist, the button never done up from before, strong clever fingers making short work of the zipper, burrowing under the elastic of his underwear, cupping him just just right, and Johnnys getting the tongue on his fingers and the hand on his cock mixed up, oh God, so fucking mixed up so good
God, Gus breathes against the side of Johnnys face, pulling him close, working his cock harder, I love to watch you come, youre so fucking gorgeous
Johnny grabs for Gus arms, ends up with Gus shoulders, then his hands find Gus head almost by instinct: Gus, on his knees, is swallowing Johnny whole and Johnny cant stop his hips from snapping forward, cant stop himself from pouring it all out, into Gus mouth, down Gus throat, feeling Gus jaw working under his fingers, feeling the hum in Gus throat that wrings another spurt from him before he goes boneless, his knees beginning to go weak. But Gus slides back up his body, hands and mouth pulling his pants up, then dragging Johnnys shirt up and licking Johnnys chest, then pulling Johnny into another kiss, holding him up and kissing him deep. And it was bad enough he wanted, needed to taste Gus earlier; but now he wants to taste himself on Gus. Its probably no more fucked up than anything else hes done in the past two days, or two hours, so he goes with it, leaning in; and Gus lets him explore his mouth, rubbing Johnnys arms gently.
But when Johnny reaches for Gus belt, Gus slides his hands down Johnnys arms, catching him by the wrists. No, he says against Johnnys lips. Later. Right now I want to see the sun in your hair.
Johnny flushes, the heat breaking over him like a wave, and he cant help grinning: Isnt that how we this
And then Gus is laughing and kissing Johnny, all over his face, like a dog, and Johnnys laughing too. Yeah, he says against Johnnys face, yeah, thats exactly how.
You sure? Johnny says softly, combing his fingers through Gus hair.
Yeah, Gus says again, no longer laughing, pulling back enough to look at Johnny. It feels so good to be feeling so good. He runs his fingers down the length of his cock, eyes closing and teeth catching in his bottom lip; and Johnnys sudden intake of breath is echoed by Gus.
You feel good, he whispers, following Gus fingers with his own. You feel so good.
Ah Gus pushes into Johnnys hand and Johnny cups him, rubbing with his palm, natural as breathing. Johnny, please I want
Me too, Gus, I want
This. You, and Gus has both hands on Johnnys ass, grinding them together, his cock hard against Johnnys softness; and Johnny moans. No way he can get hard again, not so soon, and then he understands what Gus means: it doesnt really matter what, where, even how it just feels good, so good, to feel this good.
By the time Johnnys found socks and run a wet hand through his hair Gus erection has gone down enough that he can only see it if he looks hard; and that thought makes him grin. Gus, watching, grins back, even though he cant know why Johnnys smiling; and after Johnnys boots are on, he offers Johnny a hand up.
They find a wall near the end of the canal by the river; the locks are closed for the evening. The suns setting over their shoulders and the reflection makes the river beyond look like its on fire, or at least glowing. Gus, breathing in deep a few times, isnt in a talkative mood; but every time Johnny sees Gus glance at him, he feels warm inside.
Never been one for cameras, Gus says after a while, pulling one leg up on the wall and clasping his hands around his knee. Seeing you in this lights making me rethink that. He rests his chin on his knee and just smiles at Johnny. Without thinking, Johnny reaches to touch his clasped hands. Gus turns one hand over and takes Johnnys hand, resting the other hand on the top of his knee, under his chin. Another smile and then he looks out over the water, still holding onto Johnnys hand.
And theyre holding hands.
and Gus has his collar on; and Johnny wonders if lightning struck him if it would miss Gus, being ordained and all; and if Gus realizes he has the collar on still, and what hed think if someone came by, noticed them.
Gus tugs at his hand, murmurs something that sounds like cmere, and Johnny slides over so theyre sitting shoulder to shoulder, and Gus puts a hand on Johnnys thigh, and the warmth spreads out and up, up through his gut and into his throat.
He swallows hard and puts his hand on top of Gus.
Not too much later Gus turns and pulls Johnny back against him, and they watch the sun set reflected in the river. The street lights flicker on; and Johnny can feel Gus heart thudding against the back of his head. It feels like the two of them alone in the world; even the occasional dog walker doesnt really register with him. Nothing does except the feel of Gus chest up against his back; and Gus hands, crossed over his chest, holding onto Johnnys forearms; and Gus chin on the top of his head, his soft breathing stirring Johnnys hair every so often, gentle and warm.
You miss home, he says after a while, and Gus hands tighten fractionally on his arms before relaxing again.
Yeah, and Johnny feels Gus lips pressing against his hair for a moment. The smell of the sea, the waves its quiet here. My homes right on the water you can hear the waves all night, even when the sea is calm.
Johnny closes his eyes, letting Gus voice wash over him: he can almost hear the waves, imagine the scent of fishing boats (which he knows) overlaid by the tang of salt air (which he doesnt). He sighs; and Gus pulls him closer, his embrace turning into a hug, dropping his head down to the side of Johnnys neck; and Johnny feels him press a kiss there too.
Youre so restful.
Mæli þarft eða þegi, and Johnnys whispering, for no particular reason.
Gus snorts, turning his head just enough to catch Johnnys ear with the tip of his nose, his lips warm and soft.
Its a saying we have speak needful words or none.
Needful oh, I like that, and the next thing Johnny knows Gus has caught his chin and is pulling Johnnys face toward his own. Im needful, and Gus voice has dropped into the same register as before, when he wanted some of Johnnys coffee. Nice old-fashioned word. His tongue is flicking in and out, barely touching Johnnys lips, first the top, then the bottom; and Johnny cant move, cant think, cant remember there are joggers and dog walkers and Old-fashioned need. The positions awkward but it doesnt matter, nothing matters but the softness of Gus lips, the gentle slide of his tongue, the shakiness with which Gus inhales: Johnny feels shaky too.
Its a long kiss. Breathless too, and when Gus pulls back its only to find the corner of Johnnys mouth with his tongue, taste Johnnys chin, run his hand and then his lips down the column of Johnnys neck, his fingers barely brushing Johnnys collarbone. And Johnny arches up into his touch, still (or again) breathless, and is only saved from moaning out loud by the far-off hoot of a boat horn.
Yeah, Gus breathes against the skin of Johnnys neck, taut because Johnnys trying not to make any noise. I want to see you naked in the moonlight; and I want to hear you come, I want to hear my name traveling across the water on your voice. I cant I really cant wait to get you to my island, Johnny. Im so needful.
Gus! Johnny says, and his voice sounds husky and desperate even to his own ears, and if it wasnt impossible hed be teetering on the edge already.
Just like that, Gus growls, only louder, and he reaches up to take Johnnys ear in his teeth, sharp edges and a wicked tongue tickling. More desperate still, Johnny drags in a breath through his nose and tangles his fingers in Gus hair, his turn to pull Gus toward him; and Gus surges, like a tidal wave, bearing Johnny backwards, onto the grass; and when he tries to move away, a surprised intake of breath, maybe even shocked, Johnny growls growls! and pulls him down, ignoring the damp grass between his shoulder blades, ignoring the stone poking in his back. None of it matters, not with the breeze freshening on the night and Gus warm and solid on him, under his hands, and Gus mouth
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Gus isnt sure which of them would have come to their senses first; hes relatively certain if it hadnt been for the pair of Airedales gamboling down the walkway, pursued by a (thankfully) far-off owner, he might have taken Johnny right there on the grass. Hes damn sure Johnny would have taken him, too: disheveled, the rivet on his jeans undone, his eyes are glazed and he blinks several times when Gus pulls back to sit up, bringing Johnny with him one-handed, the other tugging at Johnnys shirt.
The last time Gus felt like this, it was because it was the first time hed ever felt like this.
This time its because its Johnny.
Johnny, still dazed, even around the mouth and it takes much of Gus self control not to lean in and kiss him yet again is blushing: Gus can feel the heat from his skin. Im I never
Wait, Gus whispers, leaning his forehead against Johnnys. Wait; I want to give you always, Johnny, but some of it will have to wait until we get home until we get to my island.
And suddenly he can see Johnny, tangled in blankets on his couch, waking up and blinking, that soft amazed smile on his mouth, one bare foot on the floor. The vision is so real, and perfect, he has to close his eyes for a few seconds; when he opens them, Johnnys still blushing, his eyes closed too. Gus kisses him on the forehead, smoothing his thumb across Johnnys cheekbone, across his lips, stopping in the middle where Johnnys lower lip dips down and smoothing the curve of it.
The dog owner races by. Gus care was for nothing, after all: they dont even merit a glance.
But its really just as well, because the bed at the hotel is much more comfortable.
Johnny takes a breath, not quite a sigh. Guess we should, uh
Dinner? I was thinking we could pick up a pizza, grab some beer.
Yeah, Johnny says, but theres a hesitation in his voice.
Or ? Gus prompts softly, as if its completely unimportant, but hoping (the eternal failure to accept the human condition) Johnnyll gift him with this too, the honesty that comes from trust.
Or really? When Gus nods, rubbing Johnnys knuckles with his thumb, Johnnys mouth relaxes. That the, uh, Thai place? If if you want, I just
Gus honestly hadnt thought of it at all, but realizes almost immediately (accompanied by a warm heady rush) that Johnnys associations with pad thai and drunken noodles are all good, and he cant do anything but be glad, glad and grateful; and he laughs out loud, not able to keep, not wanting to keep, the happiness inside. That sounds wonderful.
Johnnys answering smile is shy, so shy that Gus wants to push the ghost haunting him them into the canal, but its not that easy, never that easy; nothing worthwhile ever is. And it wasnt only his grandfather teaching him that lesson, but Zeda too, and Dexter.
The smiles fading: Johnny notices everything about him, and hes got to remember that. Are you going to try drunken noodles tonight?
Maybe, Johnny says, and the smiles back. Will they do a one on the spicy?
Anything, Gus says, and hes not talking about noodles, but it doesnt really matter. He brushes some grass off Johnnys back, reaching at the last to cup his ass, a quick caress. Johnnys reaction almost lands them in the grass again: a soft groan, a thrust of his hips, and his eyes closed by the time Gus looks at his face.
Self-control, and he hasnt had to exercise this much since he was twenty-one: he takes Johnny by the face, because he loves to touch him, and because he knows its safer, and kisses him, too long and not long enough but as long as he keeps his hands above Johnnys shoulders, he can keep his head, and Johnnys, above water.
The walk to the Thai place is, strangely, unhurried, although every time Johnnys fingers brush Gus hand Gus has to count to five, sometimes ten, to keep from turning, finding an alley, sinking to his knees and tasting Johnny all over again. The Thai place is barely enough of a distraction: Johnnys nostrils flare with the scents, and he closes his eyes and breathes in deep; and when the woman behind the counter takes his order, the shy smile is back. It takes Gus a few seconds to remember his own order he cant take his eyes off Johnny.
A couple of blocks up he sees a dep and motions to it with his head. Lets get some beer.
Cheaper, Johnny agrees, following his lead across the street without a moments hesitation.
Gus tries to remember when, if, anyone has ever been this in tune with him.
He cant.
Labatts? Molsons? Johnny says, obviously guessing: theyd had draft, the first night, a sort-of local cream ale.
Im not picky, Gus says. I even drink Moosehead.
Johnny wrinkles his nose, as Gus had known he would, and he smiles at Johnny, letting all his delight out.
Johnny blinks once, twice, and sways towards him: and Gus is moving too.
Fortunately someone goes by them to the register; Johnny takes a deep breath and turns to the coolers lining the far wall.
Gus is in line when Johnny returns, a half rack under his arm; and Gus mentally applauds his foresight. Its a red box, though, and he cocks an eyebrow. Ahead of them, the clerk is chatting with the customer, something about the third prescription this month.
I think this is the stuff we had the other night, Johnny says, shrugging. Better than Moosehead.
Gus grins. Better than Molsons.
I thought you werent picky.
I am about the important things.
What kind of Canadian are you? Johnny says, mock outrage. Beer and hockey, eh.
The unexpectedness and exaggeratedness of the syllable make Gus laugh out loud; fortunately the clerk is looking at them indulgently.
Yes, that was an argument for confederation, Gus says, putting his purchases on the counter. Solomon Gundian lacked panache.
Johnnys already opened his mouth to respond when his eyes fall on the boxes on the counter: two tubes of KY and a box of Durex Maximums. He looks from the counter to Gus; and then his eyes fall to Gus throat and he turns bright red.
Gus often forgets hes wearing it: its second nature. And aside from the curling, the only reason he hadnt put it on, the other night, was because hed just had a shower and more or less forgotten since hed hung it up when he changed. Although given Johnnys reaction, it was fortuitous: hes quite sure they wouldnt be standing here right now if hed been wearing it to begin with.
And its not that he enjoys discomfiting Johnny; he suspects that there will be many more instances in the future, in fact, what with Johnnys newly discovered status as bisexual and not quite the straight guy hed apparently thought he was all these years. But Johnnys innocence is something he prizes, and something he hopes, fiercely, will never be tarnished or lost, no more than it already has been. This is Ottawa, he says quietly. Not Gimli. Hes starting to think that Gimli must be even smaller than Solomon Gundy, and he sympathises: certainly it would be all over town, and was, the first time Gus bought a box of condoms. Fortunately, however, Gus had never much cared what anyone else thought of him.
Johnny, however, left his birthplace for the city partly, Gus suspects, because he couldnt take the well-meaning sympathy and attention following his wifes unexpected, and largely unexplained, death.
Johnnys blush goes darker, then begins to fade; and he pushes the box onto the counter. The clerks already scanned the condoms and is waiting patiently for the beer. Gus pulls out his wallet, waving Johnnys hand away; and out of the corner of his eye he catches a glimpse of the front of Johnnys jeans.
He doesnt smile; he wouldnt. But all the same its a relief: theres upset and then theres upset and turned on, and of the two, the latter is infinitely preferable.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Gimli a small town? Gus asks once theyre outside; and the darks as welcome as the cool breeze on his cheeks, still flaming; and he wishes he could drop his pants, too, let the breeze take care of his hard-on.
Hes never been so embarrassed and so turned on in his life. For a minute, okay, for a few seconds, he seriously thought he was going to come if he so much as blinked; and he still cant believe a a priest, a man of God and the clerk didnt even look at them, or look surprised, or anything else.
In Gimli, everyone knew everything: when the pregnancy tests were bought, what brand of condoms you used, and if anyoned ever bought KY jelly for anything Johnnys pretty sure it would have been in the paper the next day.
Summer people didnt count, of course, and lots of kids bargained with them: condoms or porn for beer and liquour. It all worked out; but Johnny hadnt been one of those to need to bargain, and he could have gotten anything he needed from Sigrid or one of her friends (or, later, boyfriends) anyway.
Yeah, he says belatedly, realizing Gus is still waiting for a response. Very. Uh, most of the most of us have lived there all our lives, and our parents and grandparents. My we lived in my parents house and it it wasnt their parents house only because my dad wasnt the oldest and didnt want to farm anyway, but my cousins still live there, outside town
Hes babbling, and he cant shut up, but Gus is only nodding. Solomon Gundys like that too. It was all over town the first time I bought condoms, and since I wasnt seeing anyone, it was an even bigger scandal. I was fifteen.
Johnnys surprised into looking at him, but Gus isnt smiling.
No way Johnny could have bought condoms when he was fifteen. Hed had enough trouble at twenty-three, before they started trying, and that had been a relief on so many levels
They were for a friend, actually, Gus goes on, sounding thoughtful. Odd how no one thought of that; and of course I knew better than to offer it as an explanation. But it was true.
Did you get in trouble?
At that, Gus laughs, finally, almost uproariously. Good God, no. My grandfather never worried about such things, and I doubt anyone who was brave enough to mention it to him would have, since they wouldnt have cared either. Now if my grandmother had been alive, I might have gotten an admonition to be careful, but she wasnt by then.
Careful?
Johnnys head is spinning again.
He got the talk, such as it was, from Sigrid when they were eleven; and again when she lost her virginity, at fourteen; and aside from that, and knowing that there were a few days a month that neither Sigrid nor, later, Zoë was at all sane, and sex ed tapes at school, everything else was learned from the summer porn magazines and the things other boys talked about. Johnny listened, he was always good at that; but looking back, now, hes starting to think he wasnt backward as much as uninterested.
Sigrid loved sex, and he knows thats partly why she ran away: she couldnt stand the limits Gimli placed on her freedom, on her need to be unfettered, untrammeled, ships in her eyes since she was old enough to know; and Johnny knows there are still some in Gimli whod call her a tramp, although not to his, or his fifty-seven cousins, face; but it had never been like that. Sigrid was a law unto herself; and sometimes Johnny wondered in the days after she left, trying not to cry into his pillow at night because the loss was so much bigger than hed imagined, even though shed told him, tried to prepare him he wondered what had happened to girls women like Sigrid in the olden times, if they ever found adventure or if they were bound by duty and tradition to a role theyd never been born to.
Even their names defined them: she was always Sigrid and he was always Johnny, never Johannes, except to his family; but some of them hadnt spoken much English, even though they were third-generation Canadian by that time, so no one ever raised an eyebrow at it. But no one else ever called him Johannes, except Sigrid, once in a while, if something was blood-oath serious.
Im uh, glad you didnt get into trouble, he says lamely: Gus is watching him, eyes shadowed by the street light.
Where did you go? Gus asks. I want to follow you, Johnny, and I cant.
No, you dont, Johnny says, startled into honesty. And it was it was just Gimli.
Yes, Gus says steadily, moving a step closer. I do. Did someone buy condoms for you?
No! Johnny says, feeling the heat rushing into his face again. No, I not then. And when in Hartford, all the guys had them, it wasnt I just in Gimli I could never have bought them at fifteen, thats all.
What if youd needed them?
Johnnys not sure what Gus is asking, really, or why hes pressing: his back is to the wall, literally: he feels the rough brick catching his jacket and he pulls the beer in close, holding it in both his arms. I I didnt. Not then.
What if you had?
I oh. Oh. Uh, Sigrid my sister shed have gotten them, or something. She could do anything.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Gus isnt sure if Johnny knows the pride is shining through his voice; and hes almost more relieved than he can say that Johnnys thinking about fifteen, and his sister Sigrid and Gimli, and not her.
Im glad, he says, up close to Johnnys mouth. Im glad you had someone to do that for you.
She could do anything, Johnny says again, and Gus isnt jealous, this time, that Johnnys eyes are looking through him.
Does Eric take after her?
Johnny stops and looks at him, then, puzzled, as if no ones ever asked him that before. Yeah. In well, in some ways, yeah. Hes hes brave, and a little crazy; and he feels everything. And he knows he knows things he shouldnt, or couldnt. Hes Auntie Auntie says hes an old soul.
He sounds like he takes after you too, Gus says, his voice too soft: its breaking, and he doesnt want it to, doesnt want Johnny to hear it.
Johnny laughs, genuine mirth in his tone. No, Im pretty ordinary. Uh, dinner? Its getting cold.
Theres a microwave, and Gus closes the distance between them, retaining only enough sense to protect Johnnys head from the brick with his hand before losing his mind and any claim to common sense. Its Johnny who brings them back to reality this time, Johnny who (gently) pushes his other hand away from his jeans, rescuing the bags from the restaurant and the drugstore, Johnny who reminds him the hotel is just across the bridge.
When a police car drives by a few moments later, Gus is doubly relieved: insanity may run in his family but theres no need for Ottawa, and Nelson, to know it, at least not now, and public indecency would certainly undermine his credibility, such as it is.
They have to talk; he has to know everything, everything about Johnny: when he did (finally) lose his virginity; to whom; what the hell his wifes name was; who Johnny needed, who Johnny loved, who Johnny had, besides his sister.
Eric, that much is certain; the dead wife, for a while; the woman he calls Auntie Auntie, which may or may not be some Icelandic thing; but who else?
The friend
The friend, best, Johnnyd started to say, the one who ran off with his wife.
Theres been no mention of parents, or of Erics grandparents. Johnny may have been orphaned, same as Gus; but someone raised him. Later than Gus, then: he must have been independent, or self-sufficient, at least, when it happened. And it wasnt as if Gus didnt miss them; but hed grown up with his parents and grandparents in the same (huge) house and the rest of the town around him, so their loss was an ache (still) but not a hole.
He suspects, now, that he probably got on much better with his grandfather, at least as a teenager, and a very cocky young twenty-something, than he would have with his father, whom he remembers, dimly, as not being one to laugh much. Zeda, always cryptic, said something about the Hanoverians the last time he brought his father up, several years ago; and since Gus had been half-drunk at the time, he hadnt felt up to cracking her code: mad King George, hed supposed, and poured himself another whiskey. Zeda, disapproving, was easier on his head than Zeda, cryptic, even when he wasnt drunk.
Johnnys been dead silent, he realizes as they approach the hotel, the doorman springing into action with a murmured Good evening, sirs. But then, so has he; and he doesnt dare, at the moment, look at him; and Johnnys looking at the floor, even at the lift, in the lift.
A woman joins them; she says something to Gus that makes no sense, and he stares at her for a long moment before his brain kicks in enough to allow him to say meaninglessly, No, not at all.
As soon as the doors close behind her, hes got Johnny in the corner, kissing him too desperately, only the sharp bulk of the beer between them keeping him from more; and Johnnys kissing him back just as hard, saying things that make even less sense than the woman before: hes apologizing, something, and Gus cant, wont make sense of that either, not now. Now all that matters is the soft ping announcing their floor; and the seemingly endless length of the corridor stretching ahead of them; and his hand, fumbling with, and dropping, the keycard, rescued by Johnny. He feels lightheaded, watching Johnnys long fingers push the card in and pull it out, and he stares at the card when Johnny holds it out to him, holding the door open too.
Im sorry, Johnny says again, whispers, really; and the words sound like theyre at the end of a tunnel, echoing in Gus head.
I am too, he wants to say, but doesnt: it would only make things worse; and he goes in, setting the bags down on the counter/table that separates the kitchen from the entrance; and he runs his hands through his hair, watching Johnny go past him, taking the beer to the kitchen counter, ripping the box open and leaning down to put bottles in the refrigerator.
Gus takes off his jacket, mindlessly, and then the collar, equally so. His shoes he puts under the table, where hes been leaving them, and he strips off his socks too: all automatic motions, his Ottawa hotel ritual. The feel of the carpet under his bare feet is almost enough to ground him, but he still feels the inexplicable desperation, the sadness, the need he cant articulate. He thought hed found his feet but hes off balance again and hed welcome the swell of the waves, the creak of wood, beneath his feet right now: hes been on dry land too long, hes lost, hes losing his sea legs.
Johnnys folding the box flat, as if from long habit, and carefully putting it in the cabinet under the sink, next to the small garbage bin. When he turns around, its slowly, and, Gus imagines, reluctantly; but his eyes are clear. He says something about the bathroom, a question. Gus stares at him: again, the words arent making sense; but then he realizes what the question is, must be, and he shakes his head, and Johnny disappears into the other room.
He cant think: he feels drugged, and not in the way hed come to enjoy in Amsterdam; his brain feels like the synapses are firing through mud, getting lost halfway there, hopelessly mired and struggling.
Theres a buzzing and hes about to laugh at himself: now the hallucinations are auditory? But its Johnnys phone, still on the counter, insistent. He picks it up without thinking, moving swiftly into the bedroom, calling Johnnys name
Who is it? Johnny says from the other side of the door. No, never mind, just answer it it might be Eric.
He finds the release mechanically: he remembers the last time he answered it. He starts to say something polite, something about Johnnys phone, but doesnt get a chance: a womans voice interrupts at the first sound of his: Johannes?
Oh, he should have known.
No, he says, voice steady: the caller IDd said Auntie, and it doesnt take him that long to add two and two, even in his current state of fugue. Sorry, this is a friend of his; he asked me to answer. Hell be right out.
And who are you? the voice enquires, sharp but not unkind.
Gus, Gus says, and suddenly hes back, the mud gone, the confusion washed away. Gus Knickel.
I didnt know Johannes knew anyone in Ottawa, she says after a pause.
Gus sorts through all the possible responses and goes with simple: He does.
Has he heard from Eric? she asks then, and he likes that: she doesnt ask for explanations from him (although Johnny probably wont get off so lightly).
Not that Im aware of, he says with perfect truth, and Johnnys coming out of the bathroom, drying his hands on his jeans. Heres Johnny now.
Eric? Johnnys saying and Gus shakes his head; Johnnys face falls as he takes the phone, then brightens again. Oh, hi. Sæl. Nei. Nei, ekkert mikið
Gus can only imagine, hearing her voice, indistinct but the tone clear; and Johnny closes his eyes briefly. Yeah. Well, Max said when they got to Singapore, probably not before then. Yeah. Of course, but
No. No. Eric would kill us.
Of course I will. Yes, I am, honestly, but hes not alone
Johnnys patience is astounding, Gus reflects: in his place, Gus would have already hung up. He rubs a hand on one of Johnnys shoulders, whether for comfort or just to touch him he cant say, and goes back into the other room to make a stab at dinner.
I will, Johnnys saying, following Gus. I promise. Yes, even then. Im sure hell call soon. Já, allt í lagi. Sofðu vel sjáumst.
He closes the phone and looks around distractedly. Id better, uh, charge it
Gus grins, nodding at the outlet just above the table: I think thats meant for laptops and cell phones and such.
Shes worried we havent heard, Johnny says, going into the other room. My, uh, my aunt. Shes not sure hes safe with Max. He comes back in with the charger and plugs it in. Max has spent his life there, and Im pretty sure theyre fine, more or less that was the point, kind of
Hes nervous, Gus realizes; and realizes, too, that Johnny doesnt know hes back: last he saw, Gus couldnt string two words together and Johnny probably thought the world was imploding.
If hes spent his life there, theyre probably fine, he says, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms.
Yeah, thats probably, Johnny says, looking at him sideways, a little cautiously, and maybe a little surprised.
The microwave beeps; by the time hes got the noodles in bowls, Johnnys gotten out two beers. Gus pulls the other chair up to the table in the kitchen and Johnny takes it around the other side and sits down across from him.
Then again, low blood sugar could be part of it.
He cant think of anything to say until hes finished a heaping bowl of noodles and theyve each cracked a second bottle of beer.
Johnnys equally silent, although for (Gus is sure) reasons that have nothing to do with low blood sugar and everything to do with uncertainty. Hes playing with a bottle cap, idly, rolling it between those long fingers, tapping it on the table, turning it over with a flick of a fingernail and catching it on the back of his hand.
Since Johnny hasnt been the fidgeting type up until now
Gus sighs and Johnny looks up quickly, his fingers stilling.
Johannes, Gus says, quietly, and Johnnys eyes widen.
How oh.
Yeah. Gus reaches for the bottle cap, covering Johnnys hand with his own. The words arent coming, but he has to trust that they will, or that Johnny will understand anyway. I like it. It suits you. Youre caught between two worlds: old and new, past and future, even straight and gay.
Johnnys mouth has gone slack in surprise: after a moment, he closes it suddenly.
Im not caught between anything except my head and my heart, Gus continues, but Im afraid Ive caught you there too.
No, Johnny says, his hand clenching under Gus. Im not caught. I just am.
Gus holds the fist in his hand, rubbing Johnnys thumb with his own. My real names Augustus.
Johnnys hand relaxes suddenly. It suits you, he says after a moment. Render unto Caesar His grin is as unexpected as it is welcome, and Gus blinks, simply too shocked to respond for a few seconds. A joke, and about that
He doesnt remember getting to his feet, or getting around the table; and hes not surprised Johnnys already there, on his feet and moving into Gus arms as naturally as a candle takes a flame, flaring hot and settling to a slow, steady burn; and for the first time its not only real to Gus but its taken on something permanent, a life of its own.
Johnnys just (just!) kissing him, but not with the care hes come to associate: this time Johnnys embrace is urgent, even desperate; and Gus has to back them both down because hes not doing this again, not until
Please, Johnnys saying against his mouth, his cheek, his ear; and Gus holds him tight, one hand spread in the small of Johnnys back, the other stroking up into Johnnys hair.
Wait, Gus says, the second time theyve been here today, and it would be funny, if he felt at all humourous, that hes the one saying wait, urging caution, trying to resolve anything; but at the same time he knows that he probably no, actually never cared (enough) before.
And thats a revelation too: he sinned with Noelle, and it took now, this, Johnny, for him to understand, to know; and again hes grateful for forgiveness and for judging not, lest ye yourselves...
Why? Johnnys saying, and his voice is as worried as his eyes, drawing back to look at Gus.
Gus loves that he can look Johnny in the eye; and that Johnny looks back.
No, its not that, Johnny. Not at all. Not ever, I think. He puts his hands on Johnnys shoulders, and Johnny reaches up to hold Gus wrists, still looking at him, still trusting.
Its not the first time, and wont be the last time, that Gus has felt unworthy, but, thank God, hes rarely felt unequal to the task: once, only, and never again, if hes learned anything at all from Dexter.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Johnny doesnt know what to think, or what to do, so he just waits, hoping Gus does, trusting Gus, and its hard to believe he is, or can: part of his souls opened up again, the part that Eric didnt, couldnt know about; but Gus seems to know it from the inside out, even to Johnny being caught in between so many things.
His denial had been automatic: he still wasnt sure why he couldnt let anyone feel sorry for him, not even Auntie Auntie, not even Eric, why he tried to pretend, even with Eric, that the move to Winnipeg was anything but running away.
But Eric, and Auntie Auntie, had supported him more than hed thought, and in gratitude hed made sure to keep Eric in Gimli as much as possible, to keep in touch with AJ and, yes, Sam, as much as he could so Eric didnt lose any more because Johnny because Johnny couldnt do what he ought to have done, ought to have been able to do.
Sigrid had really been the only one whod ever not taken pity on Johnny, but she hadnt needed to. They knew each other, in the way twins do, and there was no way, or need, to explain it.
But Zoëd never gotten it, and she had, must have, taken pity on Johnny, more than once, he thinks now: what had she seen in him? Why had she married him? There was no question the knees were permanent; did she love him, once upon a time?
Did he love her?
Because this this thing with Gus, so different, so full, so real is it just that its been so long and he cant remember any more? Or is it that it is different, different because its real?
Or, says Pastor, his sinful nature is fooling him into wishing
hoping
Johnny was never meant to be alone, and neither was Sigrid. When youre born a twin, thats a given. Sigrid had Max, and Eric; and she gave Johnny Eric, when she couldnt have him any more, so Johnny wasnt alone either.
Johnnyd had Sigrid, then Eric but not Zoë, probably never Zoë. Even when the telescope was new, shed never bothered to come up after the first time.
Eric treated the telescope like theirs, not his, as Sigrid would have; and that was something Johnnyd been grateful for even though he didnt know what it was he was being grateful for.
Gus is still looking at him, searchingly; and then he says, I only mean wait because this is too too important, Johnny, to fuck up. I dont mean that Im having second thoughts or that youve done anything wrong. I just mean
Johnny can feel his heart beginning to pound: hes hearing what he wants to hear, or Gus is saying
youre too important to fuck up, or fuck over; and I think Im a lot harder to live with than you ever thought of being. Johannes Gus voice is very quiet, and his eyes are sad; and Johnnys almost more startled by this than by Gus use of his real name. Im not used to someone caring about me, what Im thinking; Im not used to someone paying this kind of attention to me. Outside the bedroom, anyway.
How could anyone not, Johnny wants to say; instead he just rubs his hand over Gus forearm.
And I already am fucking you up, Gus whispers. Its not meant, but I am.
Unless youre running away with my best friend, I dont think you could, Johnny says, and it comes out louder, harsher than he intended.
You dont have a best friend, Gus says quietly. Youre very alone, Johnny. That also makes you vulnerable, and it makes it imperative for me to be responsible for you.
Dont pity me, Johnny says through his teeth. Dont.
Where do you see pity? Gus shakes him slightly. Where on earth what on earth are you talking about? I feel sorry for your wife, that she didnt fucking appreciate you; I feel sorry for Gimli, for losing you; I feel sorry for Eric that youre not his father. Feel sorry for you? I may want to not strew your path with polar bears or I may want to find that best friend of yours, punch his face into a brick wall, but I dont feel sorry for you.
Dont, Johnny chokes, and to his chagrin tears are overflowing; and they feel cool on his hot, hot face.
See? Gus says, his thumbs on Johnnys cheeks. Youre a little crazy, very brave and you feel everything. But you dont show anything, or you try not to. I see it, what you try to hide: I see how you worry, I see how you react, I see how you feel when I kiss you, when I touch you and when I get lost in the past and you think its something youve done.
You see everything, Johnny gets out, and then his face is buried in Gus shoulder and Gus hands are on his back and hes home, for the first time in years.
And Gus goes on, just like Johnnys not snotting up his shirt, and Im not used to that. Im not used to feeling like this.
Thats so surprising Johnnys breath catches and he pulls back to look at Gus. But
Yeah, Gus says, holding his eyes, holding Johnny by the shoulders again, steadily. Im not used to feeling like this.
He waits a minute, Johnny guesses for it to sink in, which, God, how can it? then says, So Im still working on this issue. And I do have issues, Johnny. But for starters, Im a moody bastard, and Im a prick sometimes, and Ive always been that way. Its nothing to do with you: Ive spent a lot of my life alone. Im trying to be aware of your feelings. I want you to try to be aware of mine: when Im upset, its not because youve done something wrong. I dont like games played with me and I dont play games with people I care about. Do you think you can trust me enough to believe that and to relax?
Johnny thinks hes already down two kidneys; what else is there? Liver? Corneas? heart?
I can uh, yeah, I can try. He swallows hard, noisily; Gus strokes Johnnys throat with his thumb, then leans in to kiss the path he traced. His lips are warm and gentle, and Johnnys hands find their way to Gus hair, his fingers tangling there, his heart pounding so hard he cant hear, can only feel Gus tongue, on his pulse, then in the hollow of his neck.
Im not quite finished, Gus says unsteadily, finding Johnnys mouth by touch alone. Not quite
Okay, Johnny breathes, opening his mouth, letting Gus in.
Im really not, Gus says against Johnnys cheek, breathing almost as hard as Johnny; and Johnny can feel Gus heart thudding against his chest. And Im a jealous bastard, Johnny: Im jealous of your wife, and I know shes dead, but she had you, and you loved her, and she didnt deserve you. Thats how I feel about her and I cant pretend its not.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Yeah, that was more or less what he was expecting: Johnnys pulled back, staring at Gus as if hes sprouted two heads. Shes gone, he says, clearly bewildered.
Were you never jealous of someone whos gone? Gus says, but Johnnys expression doesnt change. Was she?
What the fuck was her name?
I dont think so, Johnnys saying slowly. She never we never talked about Sigrid, but I dont think so.
Okay, I am, Gus says, his voice hard. Not of Sigrid, or of Eric, just so were clear. But she left you.
He can see Johnnys confusion, his eyes falling to the floor; and then he pulls away from Gus and reaches for his beer, warm now, and drains it.
Gus watches him drink for a moment, then gets another beer from the fridge and hands it to Johnny when he sets the empty bottle down. Johnny takes it and drinks down half of it; and it occurs to Gus that hell fit in just fine at home.
If they can get through this, that is.
And Johnnys shifting his weight: Gus has spent his own life watching everyone, everything, almost as carefully as Johnny watches him, and perhaps thats one reason its so endearing: hes never seen anyone else expend that kind of attention. Its one reason he thinks, even now, that his calling was genuine.
Youve been standing too long, he says. Lets sit.
Johnny shrugs; but when Gus moves to the couch, Johnny points into the bedroom with two fingers of his left hand, holding the neck of the bottle loosely in his fingers: I ought to put it up.
Let me get you some ice, Gus says, and ignores Johnnys protest. By the time hes back, Johnnys boots are off and hes on the bed with one knee up on a pillow from the armchair. Gus hands him the ibuprofen and a glass of water and puts the bag of ice on his knee. The exhalation that forces out of Johnny is more telling than the celerity with which Johnny swallows the ibuprofen.
And while were on the subject, Gus says, settling next to Johnny on the bed and stretching his own legs out, I know your knees are fucked up. You dont have to pretend theyre okay.
Im not, Johnny says, eyes flying open. I just forget. Theyre usually fine; I wrenched one in practice last week and its been acting up since.
Gus takes a drink of his own beer, then slides down to lay next to Johnny, finding his hand. Johnnys eyes are closed again: its been a long damn day; and its not looking to get any shorter, actually.
I never knew a minister priest? Johnny says, who said fuck.
Gus turns his head to find Johnny looking at him smiling at him.
Priest, Gus says, trying to keep a straight face.
So if sex is a sacrament, fuck is, uh, part of the liturgy?
The best part, Gus says before he cant stop the laughter; and Johnny laughs too.
After a while, after the beers are both gone, again, Johnny says in a careful voice, I think she left me because she thought she had to. I dont know what it was... I dont think she knew, really; if shed known, I dont think shed have left.
His hand is gripping Gus tight, of a sudden: its the only place theyre touching.
Known? Known what?
Wed stopped trying, Johnny says. I mean, we had some tests, what we could afford, and everything was, you know, normal; but she never, uh, got pregnant. After a while we just didnt think about it; then Eric came and we still didnt think about it. But they told me
She was pregnant, Gus says, after the silence stretches too thin.
Johnny looks at him again, amazed: How how do you know?
Gus cant say: itll sound mystical, treacly, or full of shit. Im sorry.
Yeah, Johnny says. I dont if shed known, I dont think shed have left, thats all.
That still hasnt got much to do with the price of eggs, old son, Gus says quietly. She still left, whether or no, and Im still angry about that. I think you deserved better.
I think she thought so too, Johnny says, his voice distant. She was she was saddled with a nephew she didnt sign on for, and we had enough, but never much more than that, and she tried to go into business aromatherapy, once, only it kept putting me to sleep, and other things. I think, in the end, I just I wasnt what she signed on for.
Gus brain is racing, but all he says is, And your friend? She signed on for that? What was he?
Johnny pulls his hand away; Gus rolls over, propping his head up on that hand and finding Johnnys again with his other hand. I think some of your thoughts are very Christian, Johnny, and maybe valid; and I think they speak to the generosity of your soul. But I think youre denying some of your own feelings about this too. And denial works for a while. It can work for a long time. But facing your feelings isnt wrong, and it isnt going to bring her back. Its not going to change a damn thing, in fact, except to make you feel more, or less, guilty about the whole mess.
Johnny stares at the ceiling for a long time without blinking; his eyes are bright.
A mechanic, he says at last, in a voice barely audible. We we used to rebuild car engines, in high school
When he closes his eyes, a tear runs out of the corner, straight down the side of his face and into his ear.
An echo, long-dead, Gus had thought, of the daily prayers during Embers, surfaces in his head: give thy grace and heavenly benediction; that both by their life and doctrine they may show forth thy glory, and set forward the salvation of all men.
This man, at least; even back in the day, Gus had thought all men was probably overreaching.
Mindful of Johnnys knee, he moves closer, sliding an arm under Johnnys neck and pulling Johnny against him; and Johnny, clearly not caring about his knee, rolls over onto his side, his back to Gus, both of his arms holding Gus other arm against his chest.
Gus presses his lips to the back of Johnnys neck: hes out of his depth, but what else is new? Hes committed and probably has been, he begins to understand, since the moment he released Johnny, realizing he was straight, and Johnny Johnny took a leap of, yes, faith, that in retrospect is mindboggling and terrifying and utterly remarkable; and he took it for, and with, Gus.
Well, Gus isnt planning to run off with anyone but Johnny any time soon, so hes safe enough there.
And a mechanic cars hed thought the tattoo was hockey-related, a rookie taking a dare; but now he wonders (what with spark plugs and all) if it was something else.
I take it you never talked to him about it, Gus says after a few minutes of silence; Johnnys tension hasnt lessened and his own muscles are starting to ache just thinking about it.
Johnnys head jerks; Gus cracks his neck in startled sympathy. Im not saying you should have, he says mildly. I was just wondering.
I left, Johnny says, and that dry dead laugh follows, the one Gus would banish forever if he could. It was easier. Eric would have would have figured out something, eventually; I even I even let them, Eric and Auntie Auntie, I let them think it was more, and when the Winnipeg offer came in again, they wanted me to take it. You see, one of Erics best friends was his son. I didnt really I didnt know what else to do.
You were a sacrificial lamb too, Gus says, and he doesnt want to go there but cant help it: Johnnys voice, so soft, so broken, sounds so much like Dexters, at the end, that Gus is fighting tears as well.
No, Johnnys saying, I didnt want to be there any more. It wasnt a sacrifice. I was I was really lucky that the doctor on duty was on a rotation from Winnipeg; I was lucky the coroners my third cousin once removed; I was lucky Auntie Aunties the mayor, you know? Its weird its so weird even there that things worked out for me; it used to drive Zoë crazy, that I didnt worry about things, they just worked out; it would have made her crazy after, too, to know it worked out like that, but she loved Eric too, so really I dont think shed have minded that much.
Zoë.
Life.
Well, fuck that shit.
And she loved Eric so much, did she, that she was running off with his best friends father? In a town like that, did she think any of them would ever be able to live there again, live through it, live it down?
No, she didnt care, no matter how much Johnny defends her; but if Johnny admits the truth, then he has to admit that he married a lie, or was living a lie, and thats something thats never easy to understand, or admit.
He wonders, too, why she married him; its easy for him to see, cynic that he is, why Johnny must have fallen in love with her: sexually inexperienced, shy, easy-going; and, possibly, she was the first or even the only woman hed experienced sexual feelings for, or at least with, and given his nature (and his religion), it was inevitable hed fall in love, or believe himself in love.
Of course, she was also carrying a child Johnny believed to be his, which cant help influencing how Johnny sees the situation. Gus, again cynically, would bet the baby wasnt his; to him, outside looking in, it seems much more likely that she left because she discovered she was pregnant. And perhaps it was ethical, at least, that she didnt deceive Johnny by having him raise a child not his own, but neither does it makes sense, to his overactive mind, that she and Johnny didnt, for so long seven years? Ten years? and she and the best friend did.
If he was his great-grandmother, a notable and feared Victorian with the robust disregard for human goodness that characterised many of her generation, hed even go so far as to say she didnt want Johnnys baby. He wishes suddenly that Zeda were handy: shed know, and in the back of his head is the idea that aromatherapy involves essential oils.
Zoë.
The irony just might kill him.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Johnny feels Gus lips on the back of his neck; if he wasnt trying so hard to get hold of himself hed turn over, feel them against his own lips, where they ought to be; but Gus has had (or should have had) enough of this shit.
Im sorry, Gus says quietly, behind his ear; and the pause is long enough that Johnnys jaw starts to tense again. I am sorry you didnt get the chance to have a child, raise a child.
Not a child, Johnny says raggedly. Zoë didnt understand, had never understood. Ours, our child. But Erics the same hes Sigrids, so hes mine too. I didnt ever just want a kid for the just to have a kid.
All Gus says is Ah, and then his lips are pressing against the skin behind Johnnys ear.
Johnny closes his eyes and presses back against Gus. Theyre already so close its just about useless but he tries, anyway: its the thought that counts.
Erics part of you, Gus whispers after a while. Is that it?
Yeah. Exactly. He doesnt feel so much relieved as drained: how would he have felt if Zoëd ever gotten it? Relieved, he thinks. Re-leaved, like you can turn the pages back in a book and try again, explain it better, if you had another chance, use the right words this time.
Ive never subscribed to the theory that everything happens for a reason, Gus says, his breath whispering across the short hair behind Johnnys ear, sending a shiver up his spine: goose walking over his grave, Auntie Auntie would say. I think its the Anglican in me: He hath not dealt with us according to our sins: neither rewarded us according to our iniquities.
Johnnys never paid much attention to words in church, prayers and litanies: theyre words you say, in order, and sometimes you stop and think about them, but most of the time theyre just words, syllables.
When Gus says them, Johnny hears them; he doesnt know if its that theyre different or if its the old-fashioned language that sounds so right in Gus voice; but when Gus stops, he waits a few seconds and then says, And is there more?
A lot more, Gus says, and his chuckle is a warm vibration against the back of Johnnys neck. I didnt mean to preach at you, Johnny.
I like it, Johnny whispers, pulling Gus hand to his mouth and pressing a kiss on Gus palm, then holding it between his own. I like it.
Gus is silent for a moment; then he pulls Johnny back against him, his mouth close to Johnnys ear, and his voice a warm burr.
But as the heaven is high above the earth: so great hath been his mercy towards us.
We found trouble and heaviness: we were even at deaths door.
The waters of the sea had well-nigh covered us: the proud waters had well-nigh gone over our soul.
The sea roared: and the stormy wind lifted up the waves thereof.
We were carried up as it were to heaven, and then down again into the deep: our soul melted within us, because of trouble;
Then cried we unto thee, O Lord: and thou didst deliver us out of our distress.
Johnnys amazed; and a little frightened. Hed stopped looking for the lightning bolt but wonders now if its still there, hovering. When he says it out loud, Gus doesnt laugh, but says, Well, you know, Yahweh was probably a storm god, or a thunder god.
Really? Like Thor?
And he doesnt mind, at all, that Gus is laughing now; or that Gus is nuzzling him behind his ear, saying ridiculous things, nonsense all of it, but making Johnny smile too.
Im not sure about that, he says after a while. Sometimes it seems like its just things happening. Im sure a lot of people call out to God and he doesnt deliver them.
Did Zoë call out? Did she know?
Sometimes he cant sleep at night, wondering.
Why do you think that is? Gus says, but he sounds interested, not like a priest at all; and his fingers tracing a lazy circle on Johnnys palm.
I dont know, and he wants to add that hes not the expert here, but he doesnt: Maybe theyre not good enough. Except
Yeah, and he feels Gus nodding. Slow to anger, and of great mercy
Johnny wrestles with that for a few moments and then shakes his head. I God cant be too busy and he does he has to care.
Mmmm.
Or he doesnt exist at all, Johnny says, trying not to laugh but too nervous to hold it back. Gus, what kind of religion is this?
The kind that believes God created us with intelligence and the ability to reason, Gus says quietly. I dont pretend to be the poster boy for Anglican religious theory, Johnny; I believe you have to find your own path, not be given it, thats all.
Is it the same God then?
Are you asking the Anglican priest or Gus Knickel?
I theyre not the same?
Not always, Gus says, and his sigh is so deep Johnny feels it in his bones. But he cant stop now, hes trying to get this. Okay, if theres a God, he says carefully. A God like the one in your prayer if that God exists, is he the same God as the other churches have?
Gus is quiet for a long moment, then nods. Yes.
And if theres not, Johnny says, closing his eyes and trying to think, if theres not, then thats thats why it matters, what we do, how how we treat each other.
It matters either way, Gus says, but essentially yes. Animals are sometimes kinder to one another than humans are. Its an interesting paradox.
Johnny nods: his brains too full to take in much more. And this God this God doesnt care if you and I are if were if you
An exemplary priest should be married, or chaste, Gus says. Ive never managed to attain either, but I try. I dont I really dont pick up incredibly hot men by canals every day, or every week, even. I try to reserve that for the feasts of the saints.
Johnny cant help it: he giggles, and he hasnt felt this carefree, this light, in years; and maybe Gus was right, the only thing it would really do, talking, was make him feel more, or less, guilty.
Theres a lot of blame, and guilt, to go around, he thinks immediately, suddenly ashamed: Zoës dead, and a baby with her, and they it never had a chance; and theres nothing funny in that, nothing funny in Zoë not being able to just tell him, not giving him a chance to be an adult, or not not giving him really a chance at all.
None of this is ending up where he thought it would, or should; and he still cant figure how Gus does it, makes his mind go in directions it never has, probably never would.
The shoulds he should ha leave for another time, because right now hes more mixed up than he was before.
But that wasnt the point, anyway; the point was getting stuff clear between them. And he hopes to hell its clear enough for now, because hes had (way) too much Zoë for one night, and Gus sure as hell has a lot more important things on his plate than Zoë-and-Johnny.
He tries not to remember the package on the chair, still there: but its too late.
I dont think I want to talk about her any more, he says to Gus hand.
Okay, Gus says, nodding again; and he pulls Johnny back once more. The warm and cool air hes breathing on the back of Johnnys neck is an odd hypnotic rhythm. He counts the breaths for a while, then counts by twos; then wonders how Noah kept all the animals from fighting.
Gus probably knows that too, or at least has some theories, but hes too comfortable to ask.
Johnny. Johannes.
Gus, he says back, smiling. Augustus.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Its too late: Johnnys out, crashed, like hes been out to sea for a week in a storm.
And, really, he has; but its probably more like years.
Its not what Gus intended, and he cant honestly say he wouldnt rather the evening had ended up somewhere quite different, but he feels right about it: they talked, and he knows (finally), and he told Johnny, in words even Johnnys innocence couldnt mistake, what Johnny was getting into with him; and Johnny told him
So much.
He hugs Johnny tight, Augustus still echoing in his ears; and Johnny makes a small contented noise, his fingers still intertwined with Gus. Its tempting, so tempting, to just drift off here; but he really cant, or at least shouldnt. He checks the clock and gives himself five minutes. The idea appeals to him: five minutes, five senses. He closes his eyes, starting with smell.
Spicy, some kind of spice coffee, yeah, underneath the warm yeasty smell of the beer; fish and oyster sauce, red chilli paste, lime and cilantro He breathes deeper, and theres a tang underneath it: the salt on Johnnys skin?
He breathes in again and touches his tongue gently to Johnnys neck, letting the flavour roll onto his tongue, into the back of his mouth: garlic and more salt; a husky dark note beneath that that Gus allows himself to fancy is coffee. He licks, slow and quiet, and this time tastes the soap from this morning and beneath that, finally, Johnnys skin, naked to his tongue; and he leans in to inhale deeply.
He still smells the tang of the sea; and the wind of the prairie; and a blue sky chased with clouds; and a meadow warmed by the summer sun.
He closes his mouth and listens: can he hear the hum of bees, looking for flowers? Or is that the gentle wash of the surf on the sandy beach, overlaid by the rasp of the waves on the rocks at the point?
He becomes aware that hes still holding Johnnys hand, or Johnnys holding his. Without opening his eyes, he laces his fingers through Johnnys, feeling the sides of Johnnys fingers with his own, the skin more sensitive there than on his fingertips, or Johnnys: their calluses arent in the same places, but theyre similar. Johnnys got a callus on the outside of his index finger, in the middle, rough and horizontal: a tool he uses? Tying, tightening skate laces? His fingernails are short, cut almost to the quick but lacking jagged edges: bites, then trims? Whatever he does, he trusts his fingers to do what he needs, not his nails. Theres another callus on the outside of his palm: skate laces, then. His fingers are long, so long, almost as long as his legs; and theyre flexible, and relaxed, and they curve over his hand, entwining with his fingers as naturally as breathing.
Reminded, he takes another breath, trying to memorise how Johnny smells, luxuriating in how Johnny feels, pressed against him in more places than he can count and completely relaxed in his arms.
He opens his eyes then, finally, to a blur; they uncross after a moment as he shifts back, rubbing his nose in the soft, bristly short hair behind Johnnys ear. Its glistening in the light from the lamp and it fades to a golden down on Johnnys neck, above his collar. There are faint lines crisscrossing Johnnys neck, a testament to years of farmers tans and an outdoor life. If Gus neck lacks the same its only because Solomon Gundy gets a lot less sun that, and Gus has always worn his hair longer than Zeda thinks he should.
It takes more resolution than he thought he possessed to extricate himself from Johnny, withdraw his arm, settle Johnny on the pillow; and he remembers, when he gets up, to go look for the bag of ice. Its melted, of course: Your sacrifice wasnt in vain, he tells it, picking it up; and Johnny stirs at the sound of his voice, then rolls onto his stomach, resting his face on his arm.
Gus turns away before he can succumb to temptation again. He tidies the kitchen, putting the mugs and bowls to soak and rinsing out the beer bottles. He ponders coffee for a moment, or tea, even, but its too much trouble and he goes with another beer instead.
He sits down with the package from the lawyers, and, really, he has good intentions. But he cant settle down: he doesnt want to think about confederation right now.
He finally decides a shower might wake him up enough to concentrate; and hes careful to pull the door all the way closed so he doesnt wake Johnny. And as it happens the water does wash away a lot of his stress, tension he didnt know he was carrying.
When he emerges, wrapped in one of the robes, Johnnys still on his stomach on the bed, still dead to the world. Gus watches him for a moment and makes a quick decision: he puts the beer down on the nightstand and fetches the package from the lawyer along with another pillow from the couch. He settles carefully onto the bed but the mattress is a good one and Johnny doesnt do more than stir again, moving closer to Gus, as if he senses Gus is there, somehow, even in his sleep.
It feels good to have him there, even asleep; and Gus opens the package quietly, feeling more relaxed than hes felt in several hours.
The paralegal or secretary is organized: this time Gus finds a pen, a highlighter, and a pad of small post-it notes in the package along with the draft. He starts at the back, knowing how much legalese (not to say bullshit) is contained in the first two-thirds; and knowing, too, that if theyve managed to incorporate todays changes, thats where hell find them.
I am moved by fancies that are curled
Around these images, and cling:
The notion of some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing.
- TS Eliot, Preludes
Two beers, or three, he thinks hazily: the pressure on his bladders getting uncomfortable but he doesnt want to move. He can feel Gus warmth along his side and he closes his eyes again, trying to ignore his bodys protests.
Then he wakes up enough to remember with a surge of embarrassment that he fell asleep on Gus, and God only knows
The lights on, still, the way it was the first night, so he gives up all at once, getting out of bed as carefully as he can, even more dismayed to realize he was asleep on top of the covers, still in all his clothes, like some kid after his first six-pack or something.
He stops in his tracks when he sees Gus, wrapped in a robe, asleep against pillows piled at the headboard, papers all over his chest and stomach, a pen under his hand on top of the papers; and on the nightstand a beer, and a highlighter, and some little coloured notes.
He feels even guiltier, if thats possible: for sure Gus has more on his mind than Johnny Jóhannsson. But hes not sure how to stay out of the way, or how to help, or
Well, he thinks, making his way to the bathroom, hes not sure about anything, and he already knew that, so he needs to get with the program: if youre down two at the beginning of the third theres no point in trying to figure out what went wrong in the first.
He strips off his clothes after he finishes: he needs to find a laundromat tomorrow. Maybe he can stop by the shop, see if Hafdís knows a place, thank her (again) for the coffee shops address.
And a showers not the worst idea either, even though he has no idea what time it is. Hopefully the walls are thick enough he wont wake Gus up or get Gus thrown out.
That thought amuses him through the shower, which is really a lick and a promise more than anything else: he bets even a hotel manager, taking on Gus, would end up like a rookie dropping the gloves with Probie.
Hes relieved to see Gus is still asleep when he comes out, and he risks a rescue, moving the papers to the table by the window. Gus doesnt wake, just stretches and turns partly on his side. Johnny turns the lamp down to the lowest setting and goes into the kitchen for a bottle of water.
Gus put the dishes in to soak; that warms Johnnys heart, for some reason well, hell, what about Gus doesnt? so he pays it back, washes them up quick and leaves them to drip dry. For a few seconds he looks for a towel, then remembers that its different now, and that Gus went to went to a lot of trouble, tonight (or last night now), to make sure Johnny knows that.
His mind shies away from the subject and he follows it, finding the box with the cookies instead and getting a bottle of water. He sits at the little table in the kitchen and eats the cookies and tries not to think about much of anything, just how good the cookies taste and how much better Auntie Aunties taste; and he remembers the piparkökur Langamma Sigrún used to make. He wonders if Auntie Auntie ever got the recipe, or if there even was one.
The bag with the condoms is still on the table: he feels the heat rising in his face (again!) when he realizes thats what the bag is. He finishes the water quickly, closes the box of cookies, then drops his head down into his arms, stretching his shoulders and digging his fingers into his still-damp hair.
Gay, straight those were really just words a few days ago.
And a few days ago there was no question in his mind that being gay was a sin, let alone any questions at all about the existence of God. And a few days ago, were those just words too?
And theres no question that a few days ago hed never have thought hed ever be on his knees sucking yeah, sucking cock; or that just seeing Gus naked would make his mouth water; or that a guys cock in his mouth would taste better, feel better than than a womans than Zoë.
He rubs his neck and then pulls, cracking it. He should close the doors, turn the TV on or dig the book out of his bag, read until hes sleepy: thinking about all this isnt getting him anywhere. And the back of his brain is trying to remember the catechism, and thinking that there wasnt anything in there more than the Ten Commandments, the way Gus said.
The hotel is starting to close in on him: the nice thing about tournaments and away games is having things to do. He wishes half-seriously hed let Sigrid and Auntie Auntie teach him to knit: itd be something, anyway. Hes not used to not riding herd on twenty boys, more or less, and he hopes Lars is coping okay.
Its pretty fucked, is what it is, and he shouldnt be up this time of night, or morning if he was home, he could go up, look at the stars, but thered be nothing to see in Ottawa, with the lights and all. Hed left the telescope in Gimli: he wasnt in Winnipeg enough to use it, and even though Winnipeg wasnt a big city, there was still enough ambient light to make stargazing as useless as
Well, shed never said useless, and hes unbalanced about that too: hes not sure its right to feel angry with Zoë. Shes dead, cant defend herself, and (depending on what you believe, which he really doesnt know any more) could either be glad to have shuffled off this mortal coil and he can hear Gus saying that, and it sends a thrill up his spine or she could be suffering torments of the damned in Hell. Either way, he says to himself, sternly, either way shes dead and youre not so just get the hell over it already. She paid; what does he expect?
Hes always thought that if he knew he could maybe deal, handle it, move on... For the first time hes wondering if he might be better off the way he is, or is he just scared to think about it any more than he already has? But would he be happier, or at least less guilty, if he knew why, if there was a way to know?
Hed thought hed been able to let it go; he thought hed moved on.
But its pretty clear now, what with Gus and all, he hasnt been moving: hes in the same place he was three years ago.
Theres a soft padding sound; when he opens his eyes, he sees Gus bare feet on the floor. Gus is standing next to him. Hey, hey says quietly. Didnt mean to wake you.
You didnt, Gus says, moving behind him and pressing his thumbs into the muscles at the base of Johnnys neck. I was thirsty.
Johnnys suddenly in paradise: Gus knows exactly where, how, to touch, how to smooth the tension away, kneading and pulling; and he cant keep back a low moan.
Feel good? Gus says, moving his hands further down, smoothing the muscles at the top of Johnnys shoulders, at the top of his spine.
yes, Johnny says, or tries to, but it comes out more like a(nother) moan.
Gus works steadily for a few minutes; by the time hes moved to the outside of Johnnys shoulders, pressing in and rotating gently, Johnnys a puddle. Thanks, he whispers. Thanks.
He senses rather than sees Gus bend down, warm lips on the back of Johnnys neck: My pleasure, and the low voice, with the laugh inside, the low voice, and the soft lips, go straight to Johnnys cock.
He gets a grip, takes a breath: they both should go back to bed, to sleep.
Another kiss, and Gus is moving to the fridge. He hears the snap when Gus twists the cap off a bottle of water and then he hears the gurgle of water and Gus swallowing.
The idea that hes missing Gus, head tilted back, eyes closed, throat moving, is enough to get him to sit up and turn; and he finds himself with his face in Gus belly: the robe ties too loose and Gus robe is hanging open.
But its a good place to be and he rests his face there, above Gus navel, careful not to rub because he needs to shave.
Gus continues to drink but one hand comes down to cup Johnnys face, holding him there, a thumb stroking the side of Johnnys head. He closes his eyes, listening to Gus stomach: he can hear the liquid gurgling there, which is pretty cool. He tries not to look down, and hes trying to think if he ever looked in the dressing room, or in high school, but he cant help it now.
Gus cock is soft: he can see the curve at the base, pale against the dark shadow of hair.
Johnny licks his lips. He doesnt think he makes a sound but Gus hand tightens on his face, then strokes down his neck. Johnny breathes in deep and turns his head, kisses Gus just above the navel, then dips his tongue into it. Gus shudders, and suddenly both his hands are on Johnnys shoulders, one cold from the bottle of water.
Johnny looks down again: Gus cock is swelling, just a little, the foreskin still loose at the end. Hes seen this before, on himself, but never from outside; and he swallows hard, wondering how it tastes, how it would feel for Gus to get hard in his mouth.
I didnt mean to wake you, he says again, looking up at Gus.
You didnt, Gus says; and his grin is wicked.
Johnny swallows again.
I Can I
Yeah, Gus whispers, rubbing his thumb, rough and callused, across Johnnys lower lip again. Please.
Its enough, too much: his hands find Gus ass by instinct; Gus angles his hips; and Johnny breathes in deep, then licks Gus belly just where the fuzz of hair starts. God, Gus breathes, and Johnny feels that astonishing sense of power again, that he can do this to Gus, that Gus wants this, wants his mouth, wants him.
He presses a kiss at the base of Gus cock and feels Gus quiver. He licks, tasting the soft skin, curling his tongue around to taste underneath too. Hes taking too long: Gus cock is filling rapidly now. Johnny leans in, down, and sucks Gus foreskin into his mouth. He hears Gus draw in a breath through his teeth, and his hands tighten on Johnnys shoulders.
It feels so good: he opens wider, sucking the head in, letting it rest on his tongue, feeling the pulse underneath, feeling oh, yeah, better than he imagined feeling Gus cock growing in his mouth, feeling the foreskin stretch out; and he runs his tongue around it again, not able to just hold still and feel, not able to keep from sucking. Gus moans, and theres salt on Johnnys tongue; Gus hands are in his hair, now, and Gus hips are moving, oh so slowly, guiding Johnnys mouth up and down his cock.
A few more breaths and Gus is big, big and thick and hard, and Johnny has to move a hand from Gus ass to his cock to hold it, help Gus move, slide in and out, slide up and down his tongue.
He can feel Gus control: Gus legs are trembling but hes still moving slowly, slow as he can, and Johnny slows down his sucking to match Gus rhythm. The brush of hair against his hand reminds him: he moves his other hand down between Gus legs, rubbing Gus balls; and Gus jerks, a gasp escaping. His legs spread wider and Johnny groans too, leaning down to lick there, at the base, under Gus cock, just above his balls.
He smells good and Johnny wonders if all guys smell like this, taste like this, or if its just Gus; and he licks again, first one, then the other, enjoying the soft texture of hair and skin on his tongue. He remembers before, the place Gus found on him, and he burrows deeper, lifting Gus balls and licking under them.
The next thing he knows Gus is gasping his name, pulling at him, tipping his head back and leaning down to kiss him. Too close, he says against Johnnys cheek. Sorry. Jesus, I want
Johnny feels a warm glow starting inside him: hes figuring it out, Gus is liking it, liking it too much, and he wants to taste Gus again, feel Gus cock jerk in his mouth, feel the warm bitter spurts on the back of his tongue, hear Gus voice go broken and breathless.
Please, Gus says, at the same time Johnny says it, trying to lean down again. Please
I want
I want
They both break off and Gus laughs, a breathless sound: God, I want I want you. But right now I want you to fuck me, Johnny. I dont want to come until youre deep inside me
Johnny sits back, harder than he meant to, staring at Gus, his mouth suddenly dry.
Hed thought about it but he hadnt he hadnt thought Gus was thinking about it, not not that way.
Gus misunderstands: he takes a quick breath and sinks to his knees, putting his hands on Johnnys thighs, up under the robe. God, Johnny, Im I keep forgetting, youre so youre so fucking hot, youre so goddamn sexy and everywhere I touch you you shudder, you moan, and I want to spend the rest of my life seeing if I can make you sound like that every fucking day. But dont anything you want, Johnny, anything youre comfortable with, I wont push you.
No, Johnny says, shaking his head, the words overwhelming him more than anything Gus could think of doing, no, God Gus, I I didnt I dont know, I didnt do you know? Have have you
Gus stares at him for a minute, then swallows and says thickly, Yeah. Not for a while, but its its so good, its so damn good.
And suddenly Johnny feels that surge of jealousy, jealousy over the past, the guy who had that, did that with Gus, what he wants; and he understands, a little, about Gus and Zoë. I wish itd been me, he says without thinking.
Oh, Christ, Johnny, if Id met you at Cambridge Id never have graduated, Id never have left my fucking bed for the past fifteen years, and the words are tumbling from Gus just like Gus has changed places with Johnny; and the warm glow starts up again, burning hotter now. He leans in and Gus leans up: where their lips meet it feels almost like fire leaping between them. He buries his hands in Gus hair and tilts Gus head back, and Gus moans into his mouth, arms going round Johnnys waist, pulling him even closer.
Johnnys so hard already he could pound nails: hes trying not to think about Gus, spread before him, about Gus ass, about Gus cock in his hand, thick and warm and hard
Gus reads his mind again: one hands on Johnnys cock, swift and sure, and it only takes a few strokes before Johnnys on the verge of coming (already!). Stop, he says against Gus mouth. Please I
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
God, Gus says fiercely, I want everything, I dont even know where to start. Johnnys cock leaps in his grip: without thinking, he squeezes, and Johnny gasps, startled.
Christ, Johnny, Im sorry, Gus breathes, leaning up again to kiss him. Christ
I didnt know you could do that, Johnny says jerkily, his eyes wide.
I didnt mean
No, no, its okay, its good, Johnny says breathlessly. Im not usually so I can usually go longer than, uh, five seconds, honest.
As the import sinks in, Gus feels his own rush begin; and when did he ever come just from thinking? He grabs himself, wincing; then he starts to laugh, deep down and helpless: This is fucking unbelievable. We are in so much trouble, Johnny
Johnny, still trying to catch his breath, cant manage a laugh, but he grins.
Gus wonders what Johnny looked like at twenty-three: bigger eyes, maybe, or thinner face, not so many lines or maybe just pretty much what he looks like now. And if hed met Johnny then, he knows, certain as hes kneeling here, he knows that theyd still be together, that hed still be coming home to Johnny every day, and vice versa; if hed lucked into that, hed have had the sense, even then, not to fuck it up. He knows this.
He gets to his feet, pulling Johnny up with him, into a hug, pulling their cocks together with his other hand, stroking just enough to add Johnnys moan to the kiss, the cherry on top.
And if Johnnys cherry, Gus might as well be; and he knows he can tell by the way Johnny reacts to everything they do he knows that Johnny wont be cherry for long, certain sure; but something about Johnnys face this morning, or yesterday morning, now, something about the wonder on Johnnys face, jerking Gus off on the bed, something about the way he looked at Gus, into Gus, had Gus wanting to spread his own legs, see Johnny above him, feel Johnny deep inside him, touching the deepest, most secret parts of him.
Really, honestly, lets start with the bed this time, he whispers, and Johnny moans again, thrusting into his hand, capturing Gus mouth with his own; and Gus thinks dimly that maybe they could just settle for the kitchen floor, or counter, or chair, after all.
Willpower he has some, somewhere.
He breaks the kiss, finally, and Johnny leans in to nuzzle his neck. Gus hands tighten involuntarily on Johnnys hips when he feels the warm squirm of Johnnys tongue at the base of his throat: for a man whos probably slept with two or three women in his life (tops), Johnnys a fucking natural.
You taste so good, Johnnys saying against his skin, a quick soft mutter that Gus almost feels more than hears. You feel so good. I cant
A few more seconds and its going to be too late, too late for both of them: Gus grabs Johnnys chin, pulls it up, kisses Johnnys nose, avoids the temptation of Johnnys mouth, lips parted, swollen and moist
All right, one kiss, quick or slow, and gentle, and no tongue or just a little
The next thing he knows is the edge of the counter against his ass and Johnny full up against him, touching everywhere they can, his cock trapped between them, Gus cock between Johnnys legs, pushing against Johnnys balls every time he thrusts in.
I cant get enough of you, and for a moment Gus thinks its him talking, but its Johnny, hoarse and earnest, his mouth moving from Gus cheekbone to Gus ear. This is all its so different, it feels so good, so right and, God, I want you, all of you
The words do more than warm Gus heart: they send a thrill, an honest to God frisson through him. Johnnys opening up, a morning glory in the new day, a grey dim pre-dawn turning pale gold. The suns still below the horizon but he can see it now, see where its rising.
Youve got me, he says harshly, because his voice is breaking again; and he catches Johnny to him in a hard breathless hug, repeating the words against the skin of Johnnys face, against the stubble brisk under his lips, against the softness of Johnnys neck where it joins his shoulder.
Johnnys hand is in Gus hair, stroking through it, and Gus wishes he could stand outside himself, see that hand, those beautiful fingers caught there, tangled like seaweed floating in the tide, and if he could hed never let Johnny go. Its a kaleidoscope: the feel, the taste, the scent of Johnny, the vision of the two of them in his mind, all moving together, and hes at peace, inside, at the centre, the world shifting around him but not able to touch him, its just Johnny, just Johnny and him.
Feeling like this cant be wrong, Johnnys whispering, his hands still moving through Gus hair. Theres no bad anywhere how can it be a sin, feeling like this?
Its not, Gus says into Johnnys ear. Its not. We have feelings, sensations, for a reason: the universe wasnt created in black and white, it was created in colour, even colours we cant see. Theres music, and the howl of the wind, and the crash of waves, even the sound of snow falling; and theres taste, and smell: theres an infinite variety of life here, on this one small planet. How much more is there we dont know? How can it be wrong to enjoy this life, enjoy it here, with so much to enjoy?
Then why cant it all be like this? Why cant everyone feel like this? Why does everyone whys everyone so scared?
Theyre looking, Gus says quietly. They might not know it; its different for everyone, the search the quest. Some of them dont know theyre looking.
And Johnny pulls back and looks at Gus, and thats why thats what you do. Help people look, if theyre looking? If theyre not, just just help them anyway?
Yeah, Gus says after a few seconds: the worlds stopped spinning and hes not even dizzy. Yeah, he repeats, calmly, with a certainty he hasnt felt in years. Thats what I do. The sun may be rising for Johnny, but its blazing full across the ocean for Gus, burning off a fog hed hardly noticed, the path across the water suddenly so bright he cant look at it, but he knows its there.
Men of God (and hes never actually liked the self-importance that phrase accrues to itself) toss words like revelation and epiphany around very casually, he realizes suddenly. Maybe its hard not to: half the liturgical year, or at least a quarter of it, is centred round Epiphany, and theres an entire book of Revelation in the Holy Writ.
But this this feeling isnt power so much as certainty, as understanding, as recognition: that man and time converge, here and now, in the infinite; and that the free will granted to mankind was, is, the freedom to choose here, in this moment; and that the universe is, and always will be, perfect, and man will be full of grace in this, this infinite moment, where past and present are Einsteins dreams.
This is the universal awareness of mystics and solitaries, and even saints, and its all of a piece that theres no burning bush for Gus, just his own self, naked, in a kitchen, in an hotel, in Ottawa
with Johnny: and it wasnt that a child would lead, necessarily, but someone innocent, yes, someone able to live in the present as well as the past and future, someone with faith; or perhaps a better word is trust, an instinctive trust in the basic structure of the universe, the commonality of man, not a self-conscious, self-aware faith in God.
Johnnys still looking at him, he realizes: fortunately it wasnt one of those apocryphal three-hour epiphanies. Things work out, he says quietly, echoing words he remembers Johnny saying yesterday two days ago two hours ago? Hes lost all sense of time, and the best part is that now it doesnt really matter.
Johnnys eyes, already warm, blaze to life, sparked by a soft, enchanting smile: Yeah.
Theres a school of thought, Gus says, taking Johnnys hand and snagging the drug store bag with his free hand, that God doesnt exist as a theological concept, or as a separate being, that God just is. That asking if someone believes in God is as ridiculous as asking if someone believes in a boulder in a meadow, or a bird, or a leaf; or wind, or clouds, or tides, or even stars.
Johnny, whod been looking at the bag with some trepidation, looks at Gus now, his eyes huge again; but his hand is warm and relaxed in Gus. Wow.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
He has to think about that, all the way into the bedroom; and maybe Gus did it on purpose, so Johnny wouldnt be thinking so hard about them, or maybe its just Gus, who told him life began in the ocean (also a very strange thing, in Johnnys experience, for a minister to say). But whether or no, his brains grabbed the idea and wont let go: All at once? All at the same time?
Mostly, yes, Gus says, sitting on the bed and dumping the bag out on the nightstand.
Thats thats kind of its like infinity, Johnny says cautiously, perching on the edge of the bed, pulling his robe around him again. Only not the universe kind its more of a real kind. That God is everything, and everythings God, all the time, even when its not alive or its dead or dying or not born yet.
I thought youd like the idea, Gus says simply, shaking a tube out of one of the boxes. It appeals to me too. Its an accessible concept of infinity.
Johnnys brain is disconnecting from his body: he feels like laughing and crying and screaming all at once, that he can sit here and talk about God with Gus when while Gus is
Dont worry, and Gus voice is gentle, confident: at least he knows, or can fake it pretty well, and since Johnnys got some of that himself, he relaxes a little, finds a smile.
Im not, he says, not quite truthfully, but Gus just accepts it: is it that Gus is a guy and does the same thing or just that Gus understands?
Or both; when did he get so black and white about everything?
I mean it, Gus says, twisting the top off and squeezing what seems like a lot of clear jelly stuff into his palm. This isnt just for this isnt just for intercourse, Johnny. Theres a lot we can do with it, with each other, without worrying.
Im not worried, Johnny says again, louder this time, and is it just the idea or is it the sight of the stuff, shiny and wet-looking in Gus palm, thats making him get hard all over again?
Gus pulls Johnny toward him, spreading his legs wide; Johnny lets go the edges of his robe, shrugging it off, and slides between. Gus rubs his hands together and then takes Johnnys hand, moistening it too, then guiding it to Johnnys cock.
Warm wet fingers, slippery and strong; and Johnny gasps, because he didnt think it would make that much of a difference. He swallows and looks up: Gus is watching him, his teeth in his lower lip, his eyes narrowed. Yeah? he says, not quite a question, and Johnny can only nod, nod and thrust again into those warm wet fingers. Try it, Gus whispers, pulling back, letting Johnnys hand take over; and, God, it is different, no friction, warmth and no heat and when he pulls hard, his hand slips off the end by accident.
Yeah, Gus says again, hardly above a whisper; and when Johnny looks up, Gus hand is closing over his own cock, hard (again) too, and Gus eyes are closing, and his mouth is opening, tongue flicking over his lips.
It seems as natural as breathing to lean in, to brace his not-wet hand on Gus shoulder, to lick Gus lips where Gus tongue just was; and as natural as breathing to feel his cock, unbelievably slick, suddenly touch Gus cock, just as slick, just as hard, just as strong.
He doesnt remember what he says, what he does: just that when he releases Gus mouth to catch his breath, hes on top of Gus and theyre theyre fucking, their cocks sliding alongside each other as free and easy as breathing, and if anything could feel better than Gus mouth, or Gus hand, it would have to be this.
Until Gus pulls Johnnys legs apart, so Johnnys straddling him, and thats even better, hes got traction or something, and hes not going to be able to stop, doesnt want to stop
Wait, Gus is whispering again, even while hes got Johnny up against him, holding him close, a hand on Johnnys head. Wait
God, Johnny says, gasping for breath and control. Gus, I cant
We can, Gus whispers, running his hands down Johnnys back, down, down down to Johnnys ass, fingers dipping for just a moment into the crevice there. Johnny gasps again, his body too heavy to support all at once, and he drops onto Gus chest, feeling his legs spread wide, moaning without meaning to, like Gus can just pull anything and everything he wants to out of Johnny.
Thats it, Gus whispers. Its so good
Johnny can only nod, trying to catch his breath, trying not to come; and Gus is kneading his ass, which feels damn good and isnt really helping with the whole not-coming-yet thing. He braces a knee, shifts his weight, and rolls them, first onto their sides, then onto his back, Gus helping when he realizes what Johnnys doing; and before Johnny can think about it, he does the same to Gus, rubbing Gus back, then his ass, then, yeah, touching Gus there.
Its soft, which he didnt really expect; and Gus pushes back against his hand, which he didnt really expect either; but Gus moan, yeah, he was expecting that, cause he knows how it feels.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Gus doesnt know whether to come already or roll Johnny over and fuck him into the mattress: of all the things he expected, this Johnny paying attention, Johnny doing what Gus is doing, Johnny giving back what hes getting this is a shock, and
And why didnt he expect that, from Johnny anyway?
Maybe Noelle needs to join Zoë in that canal, damn it: Johnnys as sensual and unselfish as anyone Gus has ever met, ever.
And if Johnny keeps doing that Gus isnt going to make it to fucking either way.
He distracts Johnny through the simple expedient of leaning in further and licking the base of Johnnys neck, sucking too; and Johnnys throat goes taut under his lips, his head arching back, the moan rumbling through his skin to Gus lips. Gus hums back, just to feel the vibration again, feel Johnny writhe under him.
He really cant remember anything, anyone like this: even his first time he didnt feel this breathless balance, this unwonted sensuality, this joyful timelessness. Nothing matters but right now, and the second beyond that, yeah, that one.
He lifts his head to look at Johnny, because he cant get enough of that either: and the sight of Johnny is headier even than whisky, skin flushed, eyes shut tight, lips parting, on the verge of another moan; chest heaving, nipples hard, drawn up tight, almost as tight as Gus balls.
He leans in to flick a nipple with his tongue, reaching for the tube he left on the edge of the nightstand. Johnnys moan is even more satisfying than the last, and Johnnys hands are suddenly in his hair, pulling him closer, the wiry strength in Johnnys long back arching his whole body up against Gus. Oh, God, oh God, oh God, Johnnys saying, not even whispering any more, like hes forgotten everything else but this, and that, that is exactly what Gus wants.
Its hard to squeeze the tube one-handed but he manages, then licks Johnnys other nipple and sits up on his haunches.
He doesnt dare do more than wipe the lube onto Johnnys cock, wipe and then shift forward enough that the head of Johnnys cock is right there, at his hole; and then he pushes, holding Johnny still, pushes just enough that he can feel Johnny start to slide in.
The sound Johnny makes is indescribable: not a gasp or a moan or a scream, not Gus name, or any intelligible word at all, but all of them together; and his hips buck, out of control, and if Gus wasnt concentrating so hard on remembering how to do this hed have come already and the hell with all of it.
He could swear he feels it when the head is all the way in, the gentle pop after the flared edge pushes past the muscle. Johnny, a natural, has his hands on Gus hips and is moving his own, those same minute, seductive, engaging thrusts from yesterday. Gus takes another deep breath and lets Johnny push up, push him open, and this time the moan, the rumble, the vibration is his own.
Another slow thrust and Gus sinks down in time, and theyre almost there. This was what he wanted, and its worth the wait, and the transient pain, to be joined like this, flesh inside flesh.
Johnnys stilled, his fingers digging into Gus hips; and hes trembling.
Gus shifts, once more, and Johnny slides home; and Gus leans down, trapping his own cock between them, to soothe Johnny, to kiss him, to feel his mouth open under Gus own. And Johnny does, opening for Gus, pushing up into him at the same time; and their moans meet, swallowed by each other.
God, Johnny says into his mouth, Gus I
Good, Gus manages, trying to control himself, trying not to take Johnny as hard as he wants, as he needs, his traitorous hips shifting and pushing despite his resolve: he knows Johnnys feeling overwhelmed. Its good.
I know, Johnny whispers, turning his head, thrusting back up against Gus, his body responding.
Its really good, Gus wants to say, but he cant: Johnnys caught the rhythm now and Gus cock has found the smooth muscles of Johnnys belly, not a back-and-forth so much as a circle, up, in, in in in, then down, out
Johnnys moving faster now, pushing harder, and at the top of the crest is a spark, over and over. With sudden certainty Gus knows hes about to catch fire, and he pulls back, sitting up, breathing hard: its inevitable, but when did he ever give in to inevitability?
Gus, Johnny says, a choked plea, hands pulling at him; and Gus rocks back and forth, once, twice, a reassurance.
I want it all, he says, his voice thick around a tongue that doesnt want to work, doesnt want to do anything but lean back down and taste Johnny, lose himself in Johnnys body, Johnnys body lost in his.
How how can there be more? Johnny gasps, and he sounds so incredulous, so impatient, so fucking hot that Gus has to laugh, his head thrown back, laughing from his belly; and that just makes Johnny gasp again, shaken, shaking in the tight grip of Gus ass.
Theres so much more, Gus whispers. Its all here.
I cant, and Johnnys hands are tight on his hips again: Gus hopes like hell hes leaving bruises, marking him, because he wants something permanent, or at least tangible. He leans in again, biting Johnnys chin, feeling Johnny jerk in response, under him, in him; and he folds Johnnys arms in, shifts his weight to one side and rolls them.
Theres a long breathless moment when Johnny slips out; and a tangle of legs before he feels Johnnys hands on his thighs, pushing him back and up; and the next moment he feels Johnny pushing into him again, steadying himself with one hand.
Its a long, gentle slide this time, a nudge or two, but then Johnnys all the way in. Gus feels him pressing, trying to get impossibly closer; and then Johnnys knees are nudging under him, and he feels the crisp hair of Johnnys thighs under his ass, Johnny tilting him up, up and open, like he was born to this.
Gus thighs are spread wide, wide open, wanton, wanting, and this is so right, so perfect he cant think any more, can just feel: Johnnys hands, strong fingers holding up Gus thighs; Johnnys belly pressing against Gus balls, the rhythm almost too slow; Johnnys balls, high and tight against the crack of Gus ass; the hitch in Johnnys breathing that he can feel, now, inside himself
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
God, he whispers, and Johnny echoes it, moving slow as he can, afraid if he thinks too much itll all be over then and there. The other way was good, so good, he never thought about doing it that way, being able to touch, and see but this way
Its just the way he imagined, only better: Gus splayed out under him and connected to him, Gus teeth in his lower lip, his jaw taut; Gus cock, long and hard and pulsing on his belly, no question, never any question what Gus wants. And Gus takes and Johnny can take, too, and want, and its beyond good, the softness and the strength of him, the solid muscle under him, his solid (God!) muscle in Gus, Gus trusting him, wanting him
Its good, he says out loud, pressing closer to Gus, sliding his knees further up under Gus ass so he can balance with one hand and touch Gus with the other. Youre so fucking good, youre so fucking hot, I cant believe you, cant believe this
Youre better at that than I am, Gus says jerkily, his ass moving like he has no control over it, trying to speed Johnny up; but Johnny cant, not yet. Belief Another thrust and Gus face contracts, and he makes a guttural noise, almost a grunt, surprising Johnny into stillness.
God, no, Gus gasps, please dont stop
Johnny knows fuck all about any of this but Gus cock is laying in a fucking puddle of pre-come, shining on his belly, and he reaches cautiously for Gus cock, pushing in again the way he did just now. Gus cock leaps in his hand and Johnny pulls at it, the lube a little sticky but still moist.
He licks his thumb and rubs the head of Gus cock, then licks his thumb again and swallows hard: his mouth is watering.
When he raises his eyes, Gus is staring at him, jaw clenched tight: Do that again, he says through his teeth, in a rush, like hes afraid to let go.
Johnny reaches down with his thumb again but watches Gus this time, watches Gus and feels Gus tighten around him when he touches the smooth, wet tip, feeling it quiver under him; watches Gus, helplessly, as Gus watches him tasting Gus; watches and then feels Gus growling words he cant hear through the roaring in his ears, vibrations he can feel right down to the root of his cock.
He pulls out, spreading his own knees wide, leaning in to taste Gus, just a lick, just one more, salt and bittersweet. And Gus is trembling, trembling in his hand, under his hand he straightens and drives in again, hard and fast, harder and faster than before. He didnt know how could he? And he tells Gus this, that he didnt know, that he couldnt know, that Gus would feel this, that Johnny could do this to him
Gus is choking on Johnnys name, his hands clutching at Johnnys arms; and then Gus is shaking, his head back, eyes closed, and his cock is jumping, jerking, shooting in Johnnys grip, shooting all the way up Gus chest. Johnny watches, his thrusts slowing, watches in a daze, its like slow motion: a third spasm, and Gus splashes his own chin. A fourth, then another, spattering Gus chest and stomach; still more, ending with a jerk and another spurt, then a dribble in the dark soft hair that feels like rough silk, just above Gus cock, right where Johnny licked him earlier.
Oh, God
Its so real, the sight and the smell, and even the sound of Gus, trying not to be too loud, and he wants to see that cove too, he wants to hear Gus, unrestrained and loud, he wants he wants to do this again, he could do this forever, because just seeing, feeling what hes doing to Gus, just knowing that Gus wants it, wants him
Oh God, he says, not sure if hes saying it out loud or not, not caring: hes lost his balance and is falling forward onto Gus, onto that broad chest painted with Gus come, the smell of Gus and sex making him dizzy and breathless; and Gus is moving up to meet him, still into this, still into him even though he came already Gus is pulling Johnnys head down to his.
Johnny licks the splash from Gus chin, letting the taste roll back across his tongue, pulls almost all the way out and shoves in again one more time, lets Gus tongue search and find his own, lets himself shoot into Gus ass, over and over, not making any sense and not really caring what hes moaning into Gus mouth, over and over.
Its wet between them, wet and warm, and it feels almost as good as his cock, still held in the grip of Gus body, Gus legs still wide apart, Gus hands still on his ass, his back, holding him holding him close.
Johnny feels like hes made of rubber, but Gus doesnt seem to mind: he can feel one thumb, stroking him gently; and Gus lips, next to his ear, are soft and warm. His voice, when it comes, is soft and warm, too, and he sounds half asleep, or maybe half drunk: Amazing.
You are, Johnny wants to say, but he cant even get his tongue to move, let alone his mouth, so he just hugs Gus closer.
His cock is getting softer, and he pushes up in vain: he doesnt want to leave this, lose this. Gus makes a soft sound in his ear, pushing with him: Stay, he whispers, and Johnny wants to, oh God, he wants to.
He holds still, hardly breathing, but its inevitable, gravity and the angle when he finally slips out he buries his face in Gus neck and rocks with him, back and forth: Im sorry, he says against Gus skin, tasting salt, the bare whisper of bristles.
Sokay, Gus whispers. Youre part of me.
Johnny puzzles that one out for a while, and incredibly he feels himself heating up, and he doesnt know why, what the hell is wrong with him.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Gus has to pull his brains back, pin them down: his thoughts have taken wing, sometimes fluttering, like a butterfly in a meadow, sometimes soaring, riding the currents of air high above the earth, unseen and magical. Johnnys skin is heating, like a wave rising between them, and it takes him more than a moment to realize Johnnys blushing.
He cant really remember what he just said amazing, hes pretty sure, and that Johnnys part of him now, yeah his body absorbing Johnnys life, inside and out.
Not that he can remember much of what Johnny said, either, just that Johnny had (finally) let go, Johnnyd talked to him, called him by name, told him how much he wanted him, how hot he was, how unbelievable
Yeah, and there it is, reality hitting, probably; but Gus is still so high, still soaring on those damned air currents, that he cant think of anything reassuring to say. What he wants to say, all he can think of to say, is that he cant believe how hot Johnny is, how right this is, how amazing they are, together; and how the sex has been incredible from, yes, the kiss in the alley, but when Johnny lets go, when Johnnys not surrounded by ghosts or thinking of anything but how it feels well, for a few moments Gus thought he wouldnt be able to keep up (a frankly and compellingly novel idea); and he knew, and knows now, despite Johnnys easygoing (not to say sweet) nature, despite Johnnys seeming pliancy, that hes met his equal.
Hes met, and lost, his equal twice before, once before he really even knew it, or had a chance to know it.
Now he knows it, and Johnny Johnny must know it, will know it, has to know it somehow.
And he has to stay.
Youre part of me, he says again, regaining control of his voice. Part of me now; I have part of you inside me, part of your life its in me, in my body, its in my soul.
He feels another flush race up Johnnys chest and face, where Johnnys burrowed into Gus neck; but he just holds Johnny closer, harder than before. Sacred, he says quietly, resisting the urge to taste the skin just in front of Johnnys ear. I told you.
Like God? And Gus has to hug Johnny close, because he can hear the smile in Johnnys voice, he can feel the smile on Johnnys mouth against his skin.
I I just cant believe Johnny whispers, and he stops; and Gus finally succumbs to temptation and kisses the soft skin right in front of Johnnys ear.
You dont have to believe anything, he says softly, shaping his hand to Johnnys skull, guiding Johnnys mouth to his. Johnnys lips are moist and soft; and Johnnys kiss is as gentle, as sweet, as the first time; and passionate, too, and the kiss is almost better than the sex, a really really close second, anyway, because he knows Johnnys kissing him, now, and not thinking of anything else.
Not about this, uh, the the sex, Johnny whispers, pulling back for a second. I mean I cant believe its hard to believe this. His eyes close for a second, lashes impossibly long in the low shadow of the lamps light; and Gus reaches up to kiss his eyelids, one at a time, then pulls Johnny in for another kiss on his mouth, words deserting him again. He hopes, can only hope right now, that Johnny will understand without words that its real, that belief isnt actually necessary for this, and never will be, not if Gus has anything to say about it.
The kiss turns passionate, somewhat to Gus surprise: Johnnys moaning into his mouth (again) and kissing his chin, his cheek, his jaw, his neck; and Gus is rolling them onto their sides so he can touch Johnnys nipples, one, then the other, so he can move up enough to bite Johnnys shoulder, feel Johnny shudder, so he can hear Johnny moan again when he tastes the skin there, tracing his tongue over the black and red outline.
He wonders if Zoë ever heard that moan. Hes willing to bet, or at least hoping like hell, that she didnt.
Hes hoping, too, that Johnny never said things in Icelandic to Zoë, things Gus has no frame of reference to translate but that delight his soul, the way Johnny says them against his skin, the warm husk of his voice making even unfamiliar syllables sound like home: kærasti and elska þig and other things he cant begin to remember. Fucking, yeah, Johnnyd said that too, and hed almost come on the strength of that alone: the worst thing hes heard out of Johnnys mouth in two days together has been, hes pretty sure, the occasional shit.
I want to be part of you, Johnnys whispering against one corner of his mouth; and Gus moves his head enough to complete the kiss.
You are, and he cant really think of anything else to say, but it doesnt seem to matter: Johnnys rolling them again, Gus on top this time, and he cant fucking believe it, but Johnnys cock is hardening between them.
His own cock responds to that, the thought or the feel or something, and suddenly Gus is starting not to believe it either, whatever it is.
Of course, his advantage is that hes never actually had to believe anything he didnt want to, so he gives himself up to Johnny, licking and teasing his nipples, pressing a wet thumb into Johnnys navel, writhing between Johnnys legs when Johnny retaliates with teeth in Gus biceps, in the muscle above Gus nipple, then (oh so gently) closing over Gus nipple itself.
The KY catches his eye again; and, again, he squeezes some out one-handed, arching his back enough to slick it onto both their cocks, wiping his hand on Johnnys (already wet) belly. Johnny gasps at the sudden slide and Gus takes over, takes Johnny all the way over, and over and over, until Johnnys gasping his name and spilling between them, strong rhythmic pulses; and then he goes too, amazed and dazed and even bemused that he has anything left to give; and wanting to give Johnny all of it, no matter what.
Hes rubbing their semen into Johnnys belly and chest when Johnny catches his hand and pulls it up to his mouth: I want you in me too, he says softly, and this time he seems to expect, or at least tolerate, the blush that follows.
I am, and Gus voice is thick again, and he doesnt want to think about why: he just watches Johnny lick his fingers, and he swallows hard and thinks wistfully that the idea of meeting Johnny at Cambridge, when his recovery time was measured in seconds sometimes, has distinct merit after all, even if hed never have been graduated or even gotten out of bed.
You are, Johnny echoes, rubbing his thumb up Gus breastbone, slick and hypnotic. You have been.
His words are slurring; his eyelids are heavy. Gus captures Johnnys hand, pulls it to his mouth for a kiss, and Johnny tips his head back to look up at Gus. Gus cant help smiling: Johnny, half asleep, is almost as hot as Johnny well, any other way, and hes ridiculously, besottedly infatuated.
If it was anyone but Johnny hed be disgusted with himself, but since its Johnny, all he can do is well, smile.
Feel like a shower? he asks quietly, just as Johnny yawns, his jaw cracking.
They both laugh; then Johnny moves closer to him, closing his eyes all the way. Later, he says, and theres so much warmth, so much relaxation in his voice that Gus relaxes too, even more.
Until Johnny opens his eyes, a shadow behind them, a hand reaching out to Gus chest: Uh, do you should we
Hes not really sure why Zoë felt it necessary to try to control Johnny. He seems easygoing enough; and Gus might just be extrapolating wrongly, too. But if hes capable of hating anything right now, which he doubts, he hates the diffidence in Johnnys voice, in Johnnys face, even in Johnnys body.
Laters fine, he says, forcing a smile; and, too late, remembers Johnnyll notice that and he does, his eyes opening wider, his body rolling, a hand under him
Later, Gus says firmly. Im wiped out and you did all the work. He grins, purposely wicked, and is rewarded with Johnnys face lightening, his eyes and body relaxing. Cmon, just roll over. He climbs out of the bed, pulling the duvet back so Johnny can roll over, then roll back, under the covers now; and his eyes are already closing again when Gus straightens the cover.
Cmon, Johnny murmurs, stretching out a hand. Gus leans in to kiss his palm again.
Be right back.
He uses the bathroom, then wets a washcloth. He can feel Johnnys semen drying, sticky, on his thighs, and thats exactly what he wants, but Johnnys not necessarily thinking along the same lines.
Johnnys almost completely out when Gus returns, and hes not surprised. He cleans Johnny as gently as he can, too gently at one point, making Johnny squirm, evoking a sleepy grin, and a sound too close to a giggle to be called anything else; and he hopes, suddenly and fiercely, that Johnny knows its he whos doing this, Gus, Augustus, not
Well, she wouldnt have done this, anyway, wouldnt have had to; but all the same Gus leans in again when hes done, leans in to kiss Johnny, whisper Johnnys name into his mouth, and other things, words he shouldnt be saying, not now, because its not fair: its almost post-hypnotic suggestion.
But Johnny kisses him back, sleepy and warm; and he murmurs Gus name, smiling under Gus mouth; and theres more Icelandic, Gus thinks; and when he straightens, he feels a hundred times better than he did just five minutes ago, which seems almost impossible.
He tosses the washcloth into the sink on his way to the kitchen to get another bottle of water, and he drinks half of it on the way back. Johnnyll wake up thirsty, so he puts the bottle on Johnnys side and that particular thought thrills him of the bed, then turns the light out all the way and climbs in.
Johnnys warm and, yes, cuddly; and the scent of their bodies, their sex, rises to Gus nose with the warmth; and he goes to sleep with his head on Johnnys chest, and he can smell the sea and hear the waves in between Johnnys heartbeats.
Life Less Ordinary, Carbon Leaf; God, Sean MacDonald; Afternoons And Coffeespoons, Crash Test Dummies; Something About You, Five For Fighting; Gates Of The Country (Acoustic Demo), Black Lab; Fall At Your Feet, Neil Finn; God in my bed (live), K's Choice; Birds & Ships (demo), Billy Bragg & Wilco; Believe, K's Choice; Keep Myself Awake, Black Lab; Innocent, Our Lady Peace; Aunt Martha's Sheep, Dick Nolan; One Prairie Outpost, Carbon Leaf; Ten Million Years, Black Lab; &c.
Thanks to, as always!, TheAmusedOne and Kalena, who suffer through the writing of this with inimitable style. Also, of course, to MissPamela, who requested Gus/Johnny and who is therefore responsible for both Chansons de marin and this sequel. Blame her! And Canada!
Part Three (mercredi et jeudi)