Nymphaea

Chapter 6: Blind date

The new season started. Stephen did not have much time to brood over anything or indeed to think much at all. One tournament followed the other and in between, he had to make sure he saw Melissa as often as he could.

Both being befriended by Paul and Anne, Julie and he flew over to join the christening ceremony of their twins together. It unintentionally turned out a good way to keep up the picture of the happy family in public as a photographer had been engaged to take pictures of the ceremony that mysteriously found their way to the press later and Melissa was seated on Stephen’s lap throughout the whole event.

The boys had seen the light of day two weeks earlier than expected but that was not unusual for twin-pregnancies. They were healthy little squallers nonetheless.

Stephen played in the Pot Black Cup, a special tournament aired on TV that he had never succeeded at winning, because the matches contained one frame only whereas he preferred longer matches in which he could increase his performance slowly. He supposed that was why he was so successful at the World Championships: that was the tournament with the longest matches – with up to 35 frames in the final. In his second attempt to become world champion, most people had thought he would not make it. He had missed easy balls, and even potted the one ball that was not supposed to leave the table the – queue ball. He had had a really bad run in between. His nerves had been totally messed up.

Then, at one point when his opponent needed only two more frames to win the tournament (it was 16 frames to 11), he pushed his luck too hard and made a mistake. This suddenly supplied Stephen with enough confidence to use his chance and pot all kinds of difficult balls. He had battled with his nerves so far not only because of the general pressure of wanting to win, but also because the audience seemed more on the side of his opponent (the TV-announcer had called it a final between the most popular and the most successful player in the world, Stephen had been told afterwards). But, by lifting his game up to another level, more and more people were applauding for him and he won one frame after another (some he saved only with the last shot, but they were won nonetheless), reaching a final score of 16:18. Such matches could be hell, but it was a great feeling to emerge from them as the winner.

After the Pot Black Cup, he left the London Grand Prix at the quarterfinals. That was no shame as it was Paul who kicked him out (not that it did not hurt).


Finally, one morning in early November, he woke up at half past five. Stephen was not exactly one of those snooker-players who regularly slept until ten o’clock or something. Still, he would have taken another two hours of sleep if they had been offered to him, especially in the middle of a tournament (he was currently in Belfast to play the Northern Ireland Trophy – or better yet, to win it). Yet, he knew trying to go back to sleep would be in vain.

A certain sequence of numbers was dancing in front of his inner eye. His heart beat faster. To hell, it was way too early in the day for that, why was his body too stupid to give him a little rest?

He got up and turned on the morning programme on TV that apparently had just started. He decided to take a shower. Whilst the foam was carried away by the hot water, Stephen decided on pancakes for breakfast. He had regularly made them with his mom, until she had died of breast cancer when he was twelve.

He called the reception desk. No, the kitchen was not open yet, so the early breakfast was out. He tried to follow the morning news but could not focus. Where had he put the letter? Right, in the most important piece of his luggage - it was in his queue-bag.

In his apartment, he had hid it under the small bookshelf. There was just enough space to place his hand flatly under it. He had pinned it to the wood there, fearing that the Secret Service might search his apartment. Strictly speaking, it might have been smarter to hide it somewhere outside his apartment, but then again, it was his only possession that related to Ayve, and he wanted it near. He had done as he had been told and burned the mobile number that was included on an extra sheet anyway. So, what if the Secret Service took possession of this? Well, they would know that Ayve had developed an interest in Stephen. That was the content of this letter. They would definitely find a way of putting this information to a use. Shit. Stephen should have burned everything along with that number. Yet, exactly because of the content, he just had not been able. He carried it with him wherever he went.

It had not been the classical letter; there was no greeting or any of such formalities. “I lied,” it read. “I cannot guarantee you that I will not back out of this, but I have developed an interest in you. I’ll give both of us the chance to think about this reasonably, one last time. Although you don’t know much about me, you have already glimpsed a bit of my wavering personality, make sure you can cope with that.

I will turn that mobile phone on 100 days from now. Call me, if you think you know what you’re doing. But memorize the number and then burn it.”

Well, it was the coldest love letter Stephen had ever received; yet it was the one that touched him the most. This half of a sentence ‘I have developed an interest in you’ had sent warmth into regions of his body that he would rather not have felt in public (he had been standing in the lobby of their Shanghai hotel reading the letter, after all).

Stephen had not considered anything. What was there to think about? He had already spent nearly a decade on dreaming about being with Ayve. What was more, he had spent half of that time trying to forget him. He had had several relationships with women - the one with Julie lasting nearly three years – and still his night-time strolls in dreamland were not joined by nicely shaped women (or any another men) but by Ayve. Stephen felt he had long ago been deprived of any control over this feeling.

Half past six. This was no good. In the end – Ayve could be anywhere. Stephen would never know whether he called at the wrong time. It might seem impatient and reveal his need for Ayve if he called that early, but on the other hand, Ayve knew about Stephen’s feelings. So why should he wait?

His hair had not dried yet, but Stephen did not care. He slipped into his mantle, rummaged about for as many coins as he could find, put on his shoes and left his room. Silently he made his way down to the lobby and out of the building.

Some people enjoyed this, the anticipatory thrill, but Stephen was really wondering why as an adult he still had to go through this teenage-excitement – butterflies in his stomach, heart beating hard enough to make him fear suffocating because his body was so shocked from all the adrenaline that it was hard to breathe, head too light to think properly. No, Stephen did not find it enjoyable at all. The only thing that kept him going was the idea that if he could not be with Ayve, could not enjoy his embrace; then he would stay alone. It seemed clear to him somehow that he had travelled too far down this road. He had lost himself in this. Therefore, if he reached a dead end here, he would not be able to turn back. There was no way he could feel like this for any one but Ayve, and he really could not imagine himself sharing his life with a person he did not have passionate feelings for, as indeed he knew many people did. No matter if this was idealistic, this was his life and he would try everything he had to make it special.

Special Ayve was for sure. Stephen smiled absentmindedly as he headed towards a nearby phone box. He did not want to make this call from a phone associated with his name. You never knew.

It was raining and an unpleasant wind was blowing. Luckily, the phone box was deserted. As Stephen approached, he quickened his pace to reach the shelter it offered.

His hand trembled as he put in a coin and started to dial. Had he memorized the number correctly? Had he accidentally pressed the wrong button? Hell, he was a mess!

The phone rang. Silence. It rang again. Silence. And a third time. Was it as he feared? That Ayve would not answer? But he had said he would turn it on today – so if he did not wish to speak to him he simply would not have activated the mobile and Stephen would be informed that the number was presently not available or something, right? And that was not the case.

At the fourth ring, Stephen heard a click at the other end of the wire.

“Hello.” Ayve’s voice, not much more than a whisper, as it had been in Shanghai, its tone telling Stephen that he had been awaiting his call.

He sank down to the floor in relief.

His hand searched for a hold on the cool glass; his tongue licked his lips. “Ayve,” he breathed.

“That desperately longing for me?” Ayve asked softly.

Stephen blushed but decided to be honest. “Yes,” his eyes watered, “yes, I long for you. Where are you?”

Ayve hesitated. “I’ve just returned to Europe.”

“So you were still in China the past months?”

“ –Yes.” Ayve smirked inwardly that was actually true. Just that he had let the time pass by at a place no human had ever laid eyes on. However, this was not what he wanted to think about now.

“Do you want us to meet?” he asked instead.

Stephen overflowed with joy. “Of course I want that!” he replied, trying not to sound overly excited.

“When?” Ayve calmly wished to know.

“Well, I don’t know – as soon as possible! W-When do you have time?” Stephen’s hands started trembling again as he fumbled with his hair nervously. He got up to make sure there was still enough money left.

“I’m not bound to a schedule, Stephen,” Ayve replied, a downcast undertone in his voice.

“Right.” Stephen had the feeling that he had said something wrong. He struggled to make his brain work. “I’m in a tournament at the moment, but that’ll end by the day after tomorrow.”

“So we could meet then?” Ayve suggested. “I’ll wait in your hotel room in the evening for you to return from the final. Or do you think that will distract you too much in the match?”

Stephen smiled feebly. “That’s in my mind now anyway. If I get through the semi-final after talking to you today, I’ll be able to play the final under these circumstances just as well.”

“Okay, Sunday night in Belfast. I’ll know where to go.”

“Right.” Stephen closed his eyes and breathed heavily. He did not want this to end. He wanted to stay the remaining two days in this phone box hearing Ayve’s voice until they would stand face to face, but he could not think of anything else to say. His mind was blank.

“Ayve?”

–“Yes?”

“Will you leave the mobile switched on, now?”

–“I guess so.” How Stephen adored this soothing, dark voice.

“So, I can call you any time?”

“I cannot say whether I’ll always be available, but you can try.” This was an encouraging thought – to be able to contact Ayve. “By the way, you needn’t bother using phone boxes every time. This mobile phone officially belongs to the owner of a gallery, so as long as you don’t call me five times the day, it will pass as an interest in art, should anybody check your calls.” This was even better news.

Yet, there was a question left – the most important one.

“I’d like to know one thing before we start this, Ayve,” Stephen introduced it.

“I can’t answer that yet, Stephen,” Ayve cut him off gently. “I told you I was wavering. I’ll try my best not to treat you unfairly, but…” he broke off. “When it comes to feelings I am the last person I would advise anybody to rely on. I’m sorry.”

Well, that was no big news, although Stephen had hoped for more. “It’s all right”, he pretended.

“Just use the next meeting. Make me feel for you. I’ll grant you freedom to do whatever you want with me. I have a strong desire to be with you, does that comfort you?”

Stephen licked his lips again and smiled. He felt feverish. “Yes, that’s… yeah, that’s making my knees weak.”

He heard Ayve laugh softly. “Well, that’s something. I don’t mean to hurt your feelings after all. I’m just no good at this.”

“You’re improving,” Stephen replied, relieved that Ayve was starting to speak more openly about himself. Anyhow, it was strange to tell a much more experienced man anything about handling feelings. It was good that he could not see Stephen blush again.

“Don’t trouble yourself with such thoughts, Stephen.”

–“Pardon?” Stephen replied, putting in another coin.

“Don’t worry about what you’re saying to me.”

–“How do you…” he broke off. Of course.

“I need you to understand that I don’t want you to feel inferior. You have an equal right to speak your mind and if you tell me to stop reading your thoughts or sensing your emotions then that is what I will do.”

Wow. Stephen was taken by surprise. This was indeed something he would have liked to see Ayve say. This meant so much to him that it seemed inappropriate to be hearing it in a lonely phone box on a rainy morning.

“You… you needn’t do that. Your words are enough. I trust you.” Stephen’s voice was croaky. He was mentally exhausted.

“I need to go and prepare for the match now,” he said.

“Okay, we’ll meet on Sunday.”

“Yes.” Stephen hesitated.

“Good bye.”

“ – Bye.” Ayve’s voice had returned to a whisper. Then Stephen heard a second click and the call was over.

*

Two days later, Stephen left right after he had given the after-match-interview. He was known not to give big parties after winning tournaments so people were not surprised by that.

Usually, he tried to walk back to the hotel to calm down on the way (It was exciting to play a final. It put him under a lot of pressure, so his mind always felt a little as if he was high.), but tonight he took a cab. He wanted to get back as fast as possible.

His whole body was in an uproar, excitement flooded his veins because of both his victory and his meeting with Ayve. Of course, a part in him feared Ayve would not be there. That idea drove him nearly mad. He didn’t care to wait another second.

He got out of the cab after giving the driver a nice tip, crossed the entrance hall as fast as possible (there was no need to go to the reception desk; he had kept the key) and took the elevator. Some people greeted him on his way, but he was in too much of a hurry to be held back by them.

In the elevator, he tried to control his expectations, preparing himself to find his room empty. Still, he kept an easy pace as he walked down the corridor towards his room.

He used the key card, licked his lips nervously and entered.

There he was, stepping through the door, his hair glimmering in the almost orange light emanating from the corridor that entered the room with him. He had taken off the bow tie and waistcoat already that were compulsory in snooker.

Ayve stood in a dark corner near the window, watching Stephen cast an anxious look about the room until he noticed his shadowy figure and gave him a relieved yet nervous smile. Stephen shut the door and leaned his queue-bag against the wall. The only light now came from a tall candle that was burning on a nearby table, standing next to a bottle of white wine and an empty glass. Ayve held a second, half-emptied glass in his hand.

He left his corner, approaching Stephen. Oh, this really made him feel alive. How he had longed for this…

He put his glass down. They eyed one another. Carefully, Ayve put his left hand on Stephen’s cheek. How he adored these soft, round features of his face – his lips, his blue eyes, his thick eyebrows that did not darken his view but made it deeper, more meaningful. This richness of his features continued in his body. He only slightly surpassed the usual size of a Western European man, but he had an extraordinarily well built figure and his slim, boyish waist was followed by an enticingly round bottom. Even the small details that kept him from perfection added to his charisma.

“Do you know how attractive you are?” Ayve asked Stephen.

Stephen smiled, a little embarrassed. “Hello, good to see you, too,” he managed to answer quick-wittedly.

Ayve gazed at him amusedly.

“Are you aware that I’m a man?” Stephen went on in an attempt to relax the situation.

-“I thought you wanted me to take a closer look? And don’t tell me you’ve never been eyed like that by a woman!” That insecure smile of Stephen’s was tempting. Ayve went on. “But of course, if you want me to stop… I already told you – this is your evening. You decide what we are going to do.” Ayve moved his thumb over Stephen’s skin.

Stephen felt a rush of blood to the head. He decided, eh? Why did Ayve push him in that direction, then?

In the end, he did not mind. Conversation between the two of them always tended to be starchy - maybe Ayve was one of those people who warmed up after the sex… besides, Stephen hardly had the mind to fence with words now anyway. He had been imagining what this night would be like for the last two and a half days (not to speak of the nine and a half years before) and frankly speaking, his body had contributed quite a few ideas…

Stephen seized the collar of Ayve’s shirt. Thanks to his victory, he had enough adrenaline in his veins to say, “Do you want to skip the talking?” Ayve’s hungry eyes gave a clearer answer than his tongue. “You decide.”

Stephen embraced him, pulling him down to kiss, softly at first and then more demandingly. It thrilled Ayve to give up control – to be directed by this young man. After all, Stephen was not the only one in this room with a creative imagination and the transmission of Stephen’s matches in the last days had provided Ayve with plenty of visual material to inspire him…

“Could we settle down somewhere? I’m not sure whether you can hold me in case my knees give way…,” he admitted his weakness. Stephen laughed out. This was too good to be true. Ayve jelly-legged because of him!

He led Ayve to the bed, pushed him down, and crawled on top of him. More kisses. Warm and playful, the tips of their tongues caressing each other, their lips addicted to the touch. The feeling of the excitement below... Stephen feared to shoot off just because of his awareness of what was going on here.

Ayve was here with him, and Ayve had said he wanted him for more than one night.

He unbuttoned Ayve’s shirt. Then he made himself leave Ayve’s embrace for a second to turn on one of the bedside-lamps. He wanted to see it all.

More kisses. He took off his shirt and gave himself up to the touch of Ayve’s hands as they moved along his back. Their whole bodies were in movement, slowly up and down, enjoying the friction of their skin against each other, inflaming their lust more and more. He loved the way Ayve’s hands were placed on his bottom, squeezing it gently, drawing his loins closer to Ayve’s.

This was going much too fast. Stephen did not know how long he would manage to hold it. He forced himself to push Ayve’s arms away and lifted himself so that he knelt over him.

He unbuttoned Ayve’s shirt and touched his chest. His pale skin did not quite fit with his dark hair but he was just muscular enough to be called masculine without being too much beefcake. He was damned sexy (and that thought by someone who had found most gay porn pretty disgusting because there were hardly any attractive men in such movies!).

Then, Stephen opened Ayve’s trousers. He wanted to see his sex. That idea thrilled him immensely. Ayve wore no underwear. It was no problem dragging the light woollen trousers far enough aside to see it all. Ayve watched him intently but he did not object.
His sex stood erect, without any particularly remarkable features, a usual sized, nicely shaped penis (regarded from the perspective of a former teenager, used to comparing himself to other boys). However, it was special because it was Ayve’s and because Ayve lay there wanting him.

Hesitantly, Stephen put his fingertips on Ayve’s sex, slowly moving up and down, letting his thumb move over Ayve’s already wet glans every now and again. Finally, Ayve surrendered himself, closing his eyes, breathing heavily. Stephen liked the touch of his hard, smooth penis. He was thrilled by the way he was given control over somebody else. Leaning over Ayve, he kissed him once more, enclosing his sex with his hand.

He would have loved to see him come, but he had gone too far already – Ayve gave off a low moan all of a sudden while they were still kissing passionately, and Stephen could feel in his hand that it was too late. He went on kissing, wiping his hand on the sheet.

“Well, that went fast,” he joked murmuring into Ayve’s ear.

“Your fault. My hands are clean,” Ayve replied mockingly.

Their eyes locked. Ayve’s face was perfectly relaxed. Stephen drank it in, this affectionate expression. How he had longed to see Ayve like this.

Ayve stroked his chest and belly with the upper side of his forefinger. “So, how would you like to proceed?” he asked, his eyes wandering to that place of lust between Stephen’s legs and back to his blue eyes.

Stephen hesitated. He did not want it to end that fast, with him just shooting off in the same manner (not that he was not ready for that). He wanted more. Yet, he was reluctant to say it, to cross that line. After all, Ayve had been right in Shanghai – to have sex like that could surely feel humiliating. Anyway, there wasn’t much of a choice, was there? If they wanted to be together, then this was the way.

“Do you think,” he started cautiously, “do you think you could do it a second time?” He looked down to Ayve’s still half erect sex to point out what ‘it’ meant.

“Sure,” Ayve replied calmly when their eyes met again. He stroked a strand of Stephen’s golden hair out of his face. It was a little too short to be put behind his ear. Stephen kissed him, closing his eyes.

Ayve let his hands slide in Stephen’s trousers and massaged his bottom. Stephen broke off the kiss and hid his face in Ayve’s hair, letting out a soft moan. Ayve’s fingers ran over Stephen’s backside, giving him thrills of lust and excitement. His middle finger stroked gently over Stephen’s anus.

“Is that what you want? This soon?” he asked, trying to make sure that Stephen did not push himself too hard.

“Yes, I want it. I want to feel you,” Stephen assured in a whisper close to Ayve’s ear.

“Have you brought any lube?” Ayve asked.

Stephen nodded and got up, with shaky movements. He went to the wardrobe and pulled out his toilet bag. Hell, why did his fucking arm have to tremble like this? He extracted a small plastic bag and put the rest back into the wardrobe. He turned towards the bed and threw a small bottle of lube onto it.

Ayve had fully undressed meanwhile. Stephen looked at his slinky features. He took out a small pack of condoms. “I don’t suppose we need those?” he asked. “I mean, you can’t carry any diseases, right?”

Ayve went over to him and embraced him from behind, slowly taking off Stephen’s trousers so Stephen could feel Ayve’s already hard penis through the thin fabric of his underpants. “Of course I could,” Ayve replied. He took the condoms out of Stephen’s hand.

Ayve threw them on the bed, next to the other sex aid. He let his right hand wander along Stephen’s thigh, whereas his left hand was holding Stephen’s chest in a close embrace. His right hand reached Stephen’s sex and caressed it. Stephen let his head fall on Ayve’s shoulder and felt his body move automatically, pressing his back tighter to Ayve’s loins. They moved simultaneously, Stephen’s hand grabbing Ayve’s behind.

“So this is what you want?” Ayve asked one last time, his voice filled with desire.

Stephen smiled weakly. His body did not leave him much of a choice. His sex, which had relaxed during their little conversation, was back in control. He wanted this. “Yes. Do it with me.”

Ayve took off Stephen’s shorts. He dragged one of the pillows off the bed and threw it on the floor. “Put your knees on this that will make it more comfortable.”

Stephen did as he was told.

Ayve knelt behind him and caught him in his tight embrace again. It thrilled Stephen to feel his hard penis on his back. Ayve was kissing his neck and licking his ear whilst his hands were touching Stephen’s thighs, working their way up to play with his nipples for a few moments and wandering down again. This felt too good to be true. Stephen had placed his arms and head on the bedside and enjoyed Ayve’s treatment.

Ayve’s left hand was carefully holding Stephen’s sex now, pleasuring him, yet making sure he did not come too soon by pausing every now and then. Was this paradise or torment? Stephen could no longer tell.

Suddenly, he felt Ayve’s hand close to his anus. Another wave of adrenaline flushed his brain. He felt the coolness of the lube and then one of Ayve’s fingers that softly touched him on that special place. Stephen stiffened for a moment. Ayve brought his head up to him, still touching him down there, with the left arm now holding his chest. He kissed him gently. “Relax. Trust me,” he whispered seductively. Stephen did.

Ayve’s finger rubbed harder, tempting his anus. Finally, he pushed in, just a bit. He moved slowly forth and back, making his way deeper into Stephen. Stephen’s eyes were closed. He held on to Ayve’s arm, breathing heavy. There was no pain – only this feeling of surrender. However, he could cope with that. He trusted.

Ayve bent towards him. “This might be a little more uncomfortable in the beginning,” he announced. Stephen felt something bigger being pushed into him with more force. He drew in the breath sharply. Once it was in (Stephen assumed two fingers), it actually felt strangely well.

Ayve licked Stephen’s shoulder. Stephen lifted his head. “Could you enter me now?” He wanted this so much. He needed to come. “I can try.”

Ayve drew his fingers carefully out. He applied more lube and pressed the tip of his penis to Stephen’s anus. Stephen sighed. But Ayve did not proceed yet. Firstly, he caressed Stephen’s sex very carefully; aware of how close he was to finishing it. Then he held Stephen’s hip with one hand and inserted his penis with the other.

Stephen heard his soft moan as Ayve pushed deeper into him. He grabbed Ayve’s back in an attempt to gain hold of him, perhaps to be more actively involved in the act.

Ayve started to move slowly.

Stephen gave off strange sounds that he couldn’t control. This felt so… good.

Ayve rubbed his sex gently. He moved faster.

This was such a massive feeling! Stephen didn’t know how to handle this. He couldn’t help but burst out in a loud moan when he came.

Ayve pushed in another few times before he finished silently, only his breathing giving away his secret. He embraced Stephen, burying his face in Stephen’s fresh hair, remaining inside of him for another moment. Then he retreated carefully.

He lifted Stephen, put him on the bed and laid himself next to him, his forehead resting on Stephen’s upper arm. So they lay for a while, Ayve absentmindedly stroking Stephen’s belly with closed eyes, Stephen trying to rearrange his thoughts and feelings.

“I could do with a cigarette now,” Ayve remarked, smiling.

“You smoke?” Stephen asked surprised.

“Sometimes,” Ayve replied, getting up. “But some wine will do,” he went to the table and refilled his glass. “You too?”

Stephen nodded.

He was glad Ayve brought him the wine. His body didn’t exactly signal him that it would be very intelligent to move right now. His back hurt with every tiny movement he made. Yet he enjoyed it immensely. Why did it feel so good to have his cum in him? To be wet down there?

Ayve kissed him, touched him again. He looked Stephen up and down. “I’m going to take a shower now. Shall I prepare a bath for you afterwards?”

Stephen nodded. “That would be great.”

Ayve kissed him again and walked naked, only with a glass of wine on his lips, into the bathroom.

Stephen cast a look on his watch – 3 o’clock in the morning. The match had ended after midnight; he was back at the hotel for an hour perhaps. He took a sip of wine and heard the shower being turned on in the bathroom.

He looked down on himself. His skin was sweaty. It was strange – he lived in two worlds now, didn’t he? There was his life as confident, ideal young man, a blond-haired , successful father. Yet, on the other hand there was this different side of him he had just started to explore – the pleasure of being taken by another man and this fascination for all the things Ayve hid from him. Stephen wanted more. He placed his hand on his sex. It started growing even by thinking ‘more’. He shut his eyes. He wanted everything. He wanted Ayve, no matter what.

Another mouthful of wine.

The sound of the shower ceased. A few seconds later, the tap of the bathtub was turned on. Ayve came out of the bathroom, water still dripping from his hair. It was quite a change to see him with a mess of uncombed, wet hair hanging from his shoulders. Stephen laughed silently. Ayve gathered his hair and bound it loosely together.

“How long do you intend to stay?” Stephen asked.

Ayve shrugged lazily. “We’ll see.” He sat down on his side of the bed, at the foot end.

“I insist on breakfasting with you,” Stephen determined.

Ayve smiled. “I would like that, too.”

Their eyes locked again, the two of them being at a point in their ‘relationship’ at which their bodies seemed more familiar with each other than their minds. Ayve got up to refill his glass again.

“How much can you take?” Stephen wanted to know mockingly.

“You won’t get to see me drunk. Dream of something else,” Ayve retorted in the same manner. He turned back to the bathroom, picking up the used condoms halfway (he must have used the second to shield his fingers). The water sound stopped.

Ayve came back and picked Stephen up, to his amusement, and carried him over to the bathtub. He slowly let him sink into the foam.

Stephen’s back stung a bit when it touched the hot water, but Stephen ignored that. “Come in,” he invited Ayve.

Ayve smiled at him knowingly. “I chose the shower deliberately.” He kissed Stephen. “Let’s calm down. This night is old enough, don’t you think?” He got up, giving Stephen another affectionate look and left the bathroom.

Stephen heard him open the window that led to the small balcony.

Ayve enjoyed the soft, cold breeze of the night. He brought a cigarette from his mantle pocket, lit it and took a good puff. The floor was cool as he sat down. Only an iron grid surrounded the balcony, so he could see the lights of the city.

He was not thinking, merely enjoying the feeling that was flooding his veins. This was the addiction that he fought. Maybe it would work this time. Maybe Stephen was better than… the past. He was not the type of guy Ayve usually chose. He had never felt such passion this way around. Was that just temporary, a short mood of his, or could this last, evolve even?

Ah, this had to be one of these passing strokes of insanity. False hopes he enjoyed torturing himself with. Ayve + long term relationship = impossible. Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

However, it felt good. Just wait and see.

He leaned back. Another puff.

When Stephen left the bathroom, feeling better and perfectly relaxed, the room was dark. Ayve had turned off the lamp and the candle had burned low, hardly emanating any light anymore. Yet Stephen saw a red glow on the balcony, moving like a firefly. The curtains were dancing in the wind.

Stephen, enveloped in a bathrobe, went out. He caught sight of Ayve sitting on the floor with a musing look in his face, smoking.

“Do you mind the smell and taste?” Ayve asked him.

Stephen shook his head. “I can live with that.”

Ayve gave him another smile, knowing all too well that this sentence meant ‘Yes, I do mind, but I don’t mean to upset you’. He got rid of the cigarette and stood up. It had been growing cold anyway. “Let’s get some sleep,” he proposed, clasping Stephen’s hip with his arm and pulling him back into the room.

*

Stephen turned. He lay on his belly, arms spread over the whole width of the bed, and half lulled in a distant dream. He came up to the surface, awakening because of a cold wind coming through the half-opened window. He opened his eyes. The bed was empty (except for him). Don’t tell me… – not this time!

He sat up. Well, at least there was no breakfast. Or, was there no breakfast this time because Ayve had gotten what he wanted? This couldn’t be! He didn’t want to believe it!

The door was unlocked, suddenly, and opened. Stephen pulled the blanket up to hide his naked body.

Ayve entered the room, shoes muddy, his mantle covered in droplets. It was obviously raining outside.

Stephen relaxed. “Do you know that you scared the shit out of me right now?” he remarked, trying to be calm.

Ayve gave him an empty look and took off the wet clothing. He wore a turtleneck pullover underneath. Stephen wondered if he had ever seen him with something like that before.

Ayve came over to him and sat down on the bedside. He kissed Stephen on the forehead.

Stephen took his hand. “You know, some people use their mouths for speaking.”

Ayve showed no reaction. He lay down, turning on the side, bedding his head close to Stephen’s belly, still holding his hand. “You should get dressed. I ordered breakfast,” he suddenly raised his voice, his eyes closed. “You needn’t hurry though, the kitchen help has just spoiled the eggs, and it’s going to take a little while.” Ayve’s voice was low, somewhere between dozy and powerless.

“How do you know such things?” Stephen asked.

Ayve shrugged. “I see.”

“–How? Can you read their minds from here?”

Ayve shook his head imperceptibly. “I can, but I don’t need to do that. I see.”

Stephen got up to dress. “But how then? And how far does that power reach?” he wanted to know.

“That’s so technical,” Ayve replied.

Stephen bit his tongue. “May I smack you every time you avoid my questions?” he demanded provokingly.

“Try me,” Ayve cast the provocation back. He turned to lie on his back and stared right into Stephen’s face with his empty eyes as he added, “I like pain.” A whisper.

That hit Stephen. Made him realise what he had engaged in. After all, he did not know anything about Ayve’s past and the rumours he had been told had not been exactly… good. Yet, he would not withdraw.

“You’re in the worst mood I have ever seen you in. Why?”

Ayve sat up slowly, straightening his hair. “I’m just tired.”

Stephen took a pullover out of his suitcase. “Why’s that?”

“ – Couldn’t sleep.” Ayve watched Stephen pull the sweater over his head.

“And why?” Stephen pressed on.

Ayve got up and caught Stephen, rearranging his messed up hair. “Because you lay next to me. You with your golden hair.” Stephen glimpsed a hint of last night’s passion in Ayve’s eyes but it did not reach the rest of his face or body.

“I offered to go on; I even wanted you to – you declined.”

Ayve shook his head. “Wouldn’t have made anything better.”

A knock on the door. “Let’s have breakfast.”

Stephen frowned. He went to the door and let the lady from room service in. While the table was set, Ayve stood outside, leaning over the balcony. Stephen could only stare at his back. What would he have given to be able to read Ayve’s thoughts now! Why, if he had the power to make sure nobody could extract information from Stephen’s mind, could he not open up to him?

Stephen made their bed and went to the toilet. When he exited the bathroom, the lady from the room service had gone and Ayve had taken a seat at the table. “I didn’t know what kind of breakfast you like so I ordered a variety you can choose from,” Ayve explained, helping himself to a cup of milk coffee, a roll already on his plate. His voice was firmer suddenly and his tone sprier.

Stephen sat down at the other side of the round table. He chose the typical British breakfast, with toast, ham and scrambled eggs.

“So you’re more familiar with continental food,” he reasoned seeing Ayve’s pick and remembering that Ayve often had refused to eat with him, back then when he had still been Stephen’s guard. “Were you born there?”

Ayve raised his eyebrows in a mixture of amusement and surprise. “No. But I spent quite some time there.” Ayve abandoned his roll and took a cup of yoghurt.

“But it’s true that you were born a human and transformed then somehow?” Ayve looked at Stephen, slowly pulling the spoon out of his mouth. Apparently, he was battling with himself whether to answer this or not.

He stirred in his yoghurt. “No, I’ve never been that mortal.”

Stephen quickly swallowed his tea. “What do you mean by that?”

Ayve made an uneasy movement, signalling he was not keen on discussing this topic. “I mean your informants are right, guessing people are not born in this state; that this is not a ‘race’. You indeed have to die to pass over to this existence. And most people who manage that these days are human.” He took his time, sipping his coffee, before he added, “I am not.”

Stephen couldn’t believe his ears. This went beyond his imagination. “But the human race is the only intelligent form of being… how can you not be…?”

Ayve shook his head, smirking. “The human race has taken a liking to the idea of being ‘the only intelligent race on this planet and they have done a lot to assure that, but they are not,” Ayve spoke with cynical undertone. Before Stephen could intervene, he added, “This is not my favourite topic on a Monday morning. Please accept that I will not give you further information on this.”

Stephen seethed inwardly. He turned his face away, biting his tongue. These hints were hardly better than Ayve’s silence. It was like opening a door, asking him to come in and to slam it shut right in front of his nose. “How am I supposed to believe this?” he replied upset. “I mean, you don’t exactly look any different from a human!”

Ayve leaned back in his chair, one arm resting on the table. “I don’t care whether you believe me. You are the one asking questions about things I usually hush up about.” He emptied his cup, totally relaxed. “The question is, regarding all the oddities that you associate with me already – why would you not believe this?”

“Lack of credible information,” Stephen retorted immediately, in a petulant tone. “You said we were equal, remember? So why do I have to beg all the time?” Okay, Stephen’s reaction was a little overblown, but now that this had slipped out of his mouth, he wanted an answer.

“Stephen,” Ayve addressed him indulgently, “you’re stubborn and hurt because you apply the wrong standards. I am not your twenty-year-old girlfriend that will tell you her life story in the course of one romantic night-time conversation. My life is way to complex for that. There are experiences I would not even whisper in the wind on a lonely mountain and people I need to protect. I know your expectancy is high but you surely understand that the older a person gets, the more cautious they will be to give away all the little secrets collected throughout their life?”

That silenced Stephen. This was none of Ayve’s cocky answers that were just meant to put him off the topic; this was honest. It calmed him down on the one hand and still bothered him on the other because he was forced to accept Ayve’s reserve. This fucking felt like a dead end, as if he was banging his head against an impenetrable wall of silence.

Ayve got up and went over to him. He let Stephen lean his head against his belly and caressed him, stroking his hair. “Patience, Stephen,” he whispered. “Shall I give you a little ‘homework’ until our next meeting?”

Stephen looked up at him sceptically, suspecting another attempt to repulse him.

Ayve knelt down before him. He took Stephen’s hands and touched Stephen’s lips softly with his. Then he looked into Stephen’s eyes.

“You should try and figure out why you feel so tremendously drawn towards a man that is so different from everything you know, Stephen. You hurl yourself into this blindly, not having any idea what you might be confronted with. Your present life loses its significance the moment I cross your mind. That’s out of the ordinary, don’t you think?”

Stephen was puzzled. “Do you question what we are building up right now?” he demanded. This whole morning confused him. He did not know if he should be glad to spend time with Ayve and have something at least close to a decent conversation or if he should be sad because things just did not work out the way he wanted.

“Stephen,” Ayve went on, “I have no such intention. All I say is, you should know yourself and what you really expect to gain from this. I know it’s hard to consider a love affair that way but a bit more rationality might help you. I’ll be chaos enough.”

Stephen smirked. “Yeah, I’ve realised that by now.” Ayve kissed him and he gave himself up to it.


***