Nymphaea

Chapter 8: Peace

It was freezing cold when Stephen stepped out of the plane in Dresden a month later. On his way to the luggage carousel, he dialled Ayve’s number on his mobile. He had not been able to contact him since he had first tried two weeks ago. Of course that had made him anxious but he didn’t loose faith. Yet, by now, he really needed an address that he could tell the taxi-driver to go to in a few minutes.

One ring, two rings, three rings… click. Stephen gave off a little sigh of relief. “I’m sorry,” Ayve said before Stephen was able to remark anything. “I should have told you that I wouldn’t be available.”

“Yeah, that would have helped,” Stephen replied, stepping into the hall of the airport. “I’m gonna skip the part of asking you where you’ve been and getting something like ‘the northern half of the planet’ for an answer now. Where are we going to meet?”

“Well, I’m sitting comfortably in a hot bath in our hotel room, so I would suggest meeting here.” He named the place.

“That’s not fair!” Stephen protested, spotting his bag. “You could have waited for me.”

A small laugh could be heard from the other end of the wire. “I’m sorry, but after four weeks of coldness I thought I deserved this.”

“Stop hinting things that you are not going to explain afterwards, Ayve. After all, I’m just a human being, in case you haven’t noticed - I’m curious.”

“Right. Well, I’m going to dive a bit now. Just come and knock at the door. It’s room 105. In case you’re asked, it’s booked in your name. Bye.” Ayve hang up.

Stephen got himself a cab and named the hotel. They went through green parts of the town with old, low houses and then they entered the part Stephen had already been to, crossed the Albertplace, actually, where Stephen had first seen Ayve again, and went over the Elbe to the other side of the city where the greater portion of the famous baroque buildings were situated.

As it turned out, Ayve had picked a hotel right there in the centre of the city, near the river.

When he opened the door for Stephen, he was already dressed. Stephen was a little disappointed. However, he looked good as always and the way he wore his shirt, with two or three buttons open… made Stephen weak.

Ayve smiled at him, understanding Stephen’s way of looking him over. He took Stephen’s bag and let him into the room.

The moment Ayve had closed the door behind them and put his bag in the closet, Stephen jumped at him, standing on his tiptoes to reach Ayve’s lips, and conquered his mouth. After a few stormy moments, he sank into Ayve’s arms, putting his mouth close to Ayve’s ear. “Four weeks is a damn long time.”

Ayve smiled. “Anticipation can culminate in something very pleasant…” They kissed again.

Stephen started unbuttoning Ayve’s shirt. “I know it’s still the middle of the afternoon, but I’ve been forced to be patient long enough, right?” he looked at Ayve impishly.

An hour later, they lay naked on the bed, Stephen half covered by Ayve’s body, enjoying a shiver from time to time as Ayve let his fingertips slide over Stephen’s back and his tongue caress Stephen’s ear. Stephen loved the part when Ayve’s fingers would reach his neck or his bottom.

They had not gone to the very end this time. However, Stephen did not regret a thing. They had enough time to do whatever they wished during the next days. Furthermore, he could not say that he had ever had greater pleasure than Ayve’s lips and tongue could give him…

He was actually very turned on when he fantasized about doing the same in return but it had not yet come to this.

“Would you do me a favour?” Ayve asked Stephen with his all-consuming voice.

“Sure.”

“Will you give me a full body massage? I’m always so tense…”

Stephen grinned. “I can try…”

He seated himself on top of Ayve and started kneading Ayve’s back with his knuckles, feeling Ayve’s body relax under his hands and hearing his breath slow down. It was magical to see Ayve melt under his touch. Stephen took his time to work on every single part of his immaculate body: hands, arms, shoulders, neck, back, butt cheeks, thighs, lower legs, feet.

Stephen bent down to kiss Ayve’s bottom. Ayve’s breath increased immediately. Stephen slowly licked over each side of Ayve’s butt and then carefully he drew ever closer to that special body part he had not yet touched. The reaction of Ayve’s body told him he was not going too far. In fact, Ayve really seemed to enjoy this. It excited Stephen. Ayve smelled of the bath essence.

After a while, Stephen worked his way up to grab Ayve’s hands and kiss him. They both breathed heavily. Stephen felt his erect penis on Ayve’s back. He placed it on Ayve’s bottom, carefully.

Ayve’s body tightened. “Don’t go farther than this,” he said.

“I won’t,” Stephen promised. He had not planned to do that. He had hardly a plan at all. All that he knew was that it felt damn good to rub his penis against this particular part of Ayve’s body, just to have a vague idea of the possibilities and to feel Ayve’s body join in his movement.

Stephen felt Ayve’s hand on his butt, kneading it, touching his thigh. It took him a while to get to the climax but when he finally did, it thrilled him to know his cum ran down between Ayve’s legs… He pushed himself up to kiss Ayve again. “I love you.” The pleasure drove tears into his eyes. “I love you…” Stephen felt Ayve’s left hand on the back of his head, stroking him.

He shoved his hand under Ayve’s belly and onwards, finding Ayve’s sex aroused. He licked his lips unconsciously. “Turn around,” he whispered. Ayve obeyed. Stephen felt his tongue dart out of his mouth instinctively, licking the tip of Ayve’s sex as if it had a will of its own. Stephen’s brain seemed to be on vacation. There was no clear thought left in him, only this rush…

They had been lying next to each other for a while, drowsy. It was around seven in the evening when Ayve proposed to take a shower and go out for dinner.

They took their time washing each other. Their eyes were glued to their bodies. Ayve preferred to leave the bathroom for the drying part to make sure they kept themselves under control.

It was a Chinese restaurant where they finally found a free table. After having ordered their dinner, the usual procedure of finding a decent topic to start a conversation took place in Stephen’s mind.

“What I’ve always ached to know is, what is this organisation that you were sent to me by?” he finally brought his question forward.

“That’s quite simple,” Ayve replied. “The problem with a long life is that you tend to be alone, because the people that befriend you die one after the other and you grow tired of lying to people about yourself. You cannot tell everyone that you meet that you are immortal – things they don’t understand scare most people.

“This organisation was founded to place people in a situation where they have at least a certain amount of social contact. It was started by elders and – to be honest – it’s not truly fulfilling its task anymore. It’s funny what kind of people make use of this opportunity to socialise nowadays; some of them are hardly able to protect themselves, much less anybody else. They wouldn’t have been admitted a century ago.”

Their drinks were served.

“So there are differences between you?” Stephen tied in with what Ayve had said.

“Sure.”

“But you will not tell me how that comes to be, will you?” Stephen dug carefully deeper.

“Well, there are several sources of that phenomenon. I can tell you about one. It has to do with a certain emotional energy that you carry. You start off with a certain amount of emotion that has to do with not having finished life, with having to get something done before death that prevents you from actually passing over to the other side. You die but you have enough energy to hold on to life. Your body might die but your spirit – or whatever you wish to call it – doesn’t. And if you’re equipped with a strong will and energy you will be able to restore your body. To get that far is the qualification for this existence.

“But then it depends on the energy that you carry, how powerful you are going to be. Perverted as it may sound, a long, torturous death may be an advantage, as it leaves a great emotional heritage.”

“Have you died in that fashion?” Stephen dared to ask.

Ayve nodded subtly.

Stephen left the matter alone. They avoided talking about anything that had to do with Ayve’s past or nature for the rest of the evening.

*

The next days passed by uneventfully. They spend an afternoon strolling hand in hand over the Christmas fair, sipping mulled wine and drawing in the smell that came over from the sweets stalls. It was perfectly unspectacular. Just what Stephen had wished for.

They did not talk much. Stephen had decided to stick to small talk in order not to bother Ayve with any big questions. It paid off; Ayve was calm, gentle, and warm-hearted.

The next day they went to the Old Masters Picture Gallery. Stephen had not been able to persuade Julie and her brother to visit it last time although he had wanted to, having a secret passion for the history of art. In Ayve he had in fact found the perfect guide. Although he was not the kind of person to show off his knowledge, Stephen needed only to drop a remark about a detail of a picture to make Ayve tell an anecdote about its origins, its painter or the like. He seemed really knowledgeable in this field.

They had agreed on ending their short trip on the twenty-first, so the night of the twentieth had been long… Stephen woke up some time late in the morning to find himself uncovered lying on his belly. Ayve was lying next to him, fumbling around on his back. “What are you doing?” Stephen asked amused, turning to look at him. Ayve held a roller pen in his left hand and smirked brightly. Looking over his shoulder, Stephen could spot that Ayve had been scribbling something on his back in black ink but, naturally, he could not see what it was.

“I’m not done yet. Turn back,” Ayve demanded.

“Is that your way of marking your territory?” Stephen mocked him.

Ayve smiled back and shrugged. “Think what you will.”

Stephen yielded to him and lay down again. It was actually quite pleasant lying there, feeling the soft tip of the pen move over his back. Of course, it didn’t rest there. He felt how it moved in long lines down to his bottom as well as over his slightly muscular upper arms.

“But you spare my face, right?” Stephen asked.

Ayve laughed softly in his ear and kissed his cheek. “Now that you mention it…”

Stephen gave him a slap. “More of that!” Ayve said mockingly. Stephen turned around, catching him in a tight embrace, first wrestling and then kissing him.

“I fear we need to get up now,” Ayve finally said. “It’s close to eleven o’clock; we have to be out of the room by twelve.”

Stephen went to the bathroom and tried to mirror what was drawn on his back. In a frame of beautifully drawn flowers, there was something that looked like an old script. Stephen had no recollection of having seen something similar before.

“You’re not going to tell me what this is, right?”

Ayve shook his head, smiling.

“And what if the Secret Service turns up and body-checks me now?” Stephen tried to take it comically.

Ayve played the surprised. “Do I have to be jealous now? Is my Stephie regularly playing doctor with some well trained agent?” he questioned him reproachful, arms crossed, smiling benignly.

Stephen looked at him in wonder. “What’s up with you now?” he demanded to know. “Since when are you the goofy type?” Stephen went back to the bed, bending down to kiss Ayve amusedly.

They started dressing. “So, when and where are we going to meet next?” Stephen looked at Ayve.

“Well, since you seem to like art we could meet in cities the next times that are famous for their galleries…”

Stephen was delighted. He embraced Ayve. “And you could teach me a bit about drawing and painting? You know, people always said I was good at that, but I never had the time, so… I’d be the best pupil…,” he gave Ayve a pleading look.

Ayve shrugged. “If that’s what you want.”

*

Since the Masters were taking place in January, Stephen was forced to accept another gap of a month until he could see Ayve again.

He had agreed with Julie to spend the 24th and 25th together traditionally celebrating Christmas. As Melissa was nearly a year old now, she was responsive enough to be the centre of attention and therefore spending whole days together playing happy family did not feel too strange. In the end, they had had three quarters of a year to get used to the situation and had done well.

At the beginning, Julie had withdrawn a bit, had tried to minimize the contact with Stephen. However, at the christening of Paul’s twins they had overcome their problems in a long conversation, and lately they had even built up a friendly relationship.

After using the remainder of the year for practice, Stephen spent Sylvester and New Year’s Day with Paul and his family. He had provided himself with a set of drawing pencils and was using his time scribbling pictures of the Irish landscape in front of Paul’s house while Paul was busy helping his wife with the babies.

Stephen was testing himself; he wanted to see if he really could draw or if he had fooled himself about that so he would not embarrass himself in front of Ayve. He knew Paul would give him an honest opinion.

Paul’s opinion was quite positive. He whistled. “That’s pretty skilful, really,” he stood behind Stephen who was sitting on the stairs to the front door, looking over Stephen’s shoulders. “I’m impressed. You’ve got a good eye for proportions and stuff.”

After having lost the final of the UK Championship in December, Stephen was luckier in the Masters.

He flew off to Venice the day after. No, they had not picked that town because of its image as ‘city of love’ or something. They did not plan to make a romantic trip in a gondola. They wanted to stroll the narrow streets, enjoy the architecture, visit the theatre and a temporary exhibition, and last, but not least, celebrate Stephen’s 25th birthday (after all he had been celebrating Melissa’s first birthday at the beginning of the month already).

Ayve had admitted, when they had talked about it on the phone, that he liked the dark atmosphere of the town, the tenseness and also its interdependence with the sea, that amazing natural power.

Of course, they could have picked other places. But they were pretty much bound to Europe as most tournaments were held there and Stephen couldn’t afford jet-lag. So, New York City, to name one US-American place famous for its museums, fell through the cracks. That Europe itself contained hundreds of places worth a visit went without saying, but Venice really was a museum itself and, moreover, culture was concentrated on that spot. Ayve had reasoned in January the town wouldn’t be as crowded as at other times and Stephen was happy to go along with Ayve’s suggestions as this might be a good way to experience Ayve in a surrounding he was familiar with, somewhere he was more likely to act naturally and give away his interests.

After sceptically examining Stephen’s drawing equipment, Ayve suggested going shopping. He led Stephen to a place with a great assortment and taught him what all the single pieces were good for, what Stephen had to consider when buying and using them. Looking him up and down, he noted that he didn’t see Stephen scribbling away nicely in black and white for the rest of his life, that he seemed more like someone who might enjoy working with oil colours as that left more room for spontaneity. Still, of course, that was Stephen’s decision and buying all the equipment for that here wouldn’t make sense anyway.

Watching Ayve sketch the picture of an old church in the inner part of Venice that was nearly free of tourists (the main canal was hardly visible because of the masses of visitors, even in January), Stephen couldn’t help but feel ridiculous to even dream of drawing. He would never reach Ayve’s level of perfection. It was nice, though, seeing him sitting there calmly, eyes swaying from the motif to the sheet of paper and back, his left slowly outlining all the small details in the same light fashion his card from two months ago had been drawn in.

Halfway through the picture, Ayve suddenly handed over the equipment. Stephen had only asked him to demonstrate how to do it and now he wanted Stephen to go on. Stephen tried to refuse, saying he would only ruin the picture. Ayve gave him a look that was a mixture of mockery and forbearance.

“No one expects you to draw perfectly when you are just beginning. Don’t worry yourself about such things. It’s not about being the best artist in the world, it’s about expressing yourself. That’s why I said you might enjoy working with other materials that leave you more freedom. In any case, please don’t regard me as a standard that you have to aim at. After all, I was born with highly developed gross and fine motor skills; that’s typical for my kind.”

Ayve was quick enough to add that he would be going and getting them something warm to drink from the café on the other side of the little square to warm them up on this cold winter day before Stephen could even decide whether he should try to dig deeper into this topic. He decided to let it be, remembering that Ayve had said he didn’t want to speak about it before and hoping that more information might slip out of him this way.

Stephen bent over the picture, reluctantly adding a few lines. When Ayve came back, he set two big cups, steaming with hot coffee, on the floor between them before he sat down. Stephen gladly put his pen away to warm his hands on the cup. The air was so cold that their breath froze every time they exhaled.

Ayve looked at Stephen for a few moments. He pulled out a box of cigarettes, took one out, and put the rest back into the pocket of his mantle. He had the cigarette already between his lips and a matchbox in his hands when he took the cigarette out of his mouth again and bent forward to stop close to Stephen’s face instead, his hand positioned on Stephen’s. He stroked Stephen’s nose tip with his nose gently and breathed a kiss on Stephen’s lips. “We should return here. I like sitting here, sharing this peace with you,” he whispered. He gave Stephen another long glance and leaned back then, putting the cigarette back into his mouth and lighting it with a match.

In the evening, they had been out to have a drink after visiting the exhibition. When they arrived back at the hotel room, Ayve caught Stephen around the waist.

“So, what can I do for my Stephie as a birthday present?” he asked, looking Stephen up and down, holding him tightly. “I recall something about a shared bath…?” he smiled with relish. Stephen looked with surprise at him, but was already enjoying the closeness of Ayve’s body.

While the water was pouring into the bathtub, they were kissing slowly, sensually. Stephen was sucking Ayve’s lower lip in, at the same time unbuttoning Ayve’s shirt, gently stroking over his nipples, working his way to Ayve’s back, feeling Ayve bend under his touch. Stephen caressed Ayve’s tongue, sucking it as he would suck a man’s sex, playfully biting it, meanwhile opening Ayve’s trousers, whereas Ayve was freeing Stephen of his shirt. “I really like your way of doing this,” Ayve moaned when Stephen released his mouth for half a second. They licked each other.

“Yeah?” Stephen smiled mildly.

“Yeah. Most people just try to get into my non-existing pants as fast as possible…” Their lips met. Stephen could feel Ayve’s hard sex against his belly. “But your playful, slow way of doing it really turns me on…”

Stephen laughed under his breath. “Really?”

Ayve knelt down, pulling on Stephen’s trousers, taking them off. He kissed Stephen’s arousal through his underwear, closing his eyes. Oh, Stephen’s heart leapt immediately! Stephen massaged the back of Ayve’s head, fumbling in his hair, supporting himself with the other hand on the sink. Ayve freed him of his shorts. He looked up into Stephen’s blue eyes, stroking his smooth chest and his belly with that line of hairs indicating his maleness. Stephen’s body moved without his command, eagerly waiting for what was to come.

The tip of his manhood was touching Ayve’s lips. Ayve looked up at Stephen in amusement, seeing Stephen blush lightly but also seeing the anticipation in Stephen’s gleaming eyes. He shut his eyes; let his closed mouth move over the tip of Stephen’s penis, supporting it with one hand. After teasing him a while, he parted his lips, extending his tongue to join in the game. Only the head.

Eventually, Stephen could not help it, “Ayve, I want more!” he moaned, indicating that he wanted Ayve to suck him neatly. Ayve replied with a devilish grin. When he looked down, Ayve was biting his lower lip seductively, wearing a wide, mocking grin at the same time. Stephen gave him a slack slap on the back of the head that only increased Ayve’s amusement for a second, before he switched back to the seriousness of his ‘task’. He stroked Stephen’s thighs and then he opened his mouth and took the full length of Stephen’s sex in. Stephen helplessly gave a groan.

Ayve held Stephen’s back with one arm, with the other hand he stroked his bottom and made his way down to stroke his testicles. It moved back up to touch Stephen at his most private place, increasing his lust, rubbing it in circles while Ayve’s tongue had its way with Stephen’s sex. Stephen’s hips moved automatically, soon pushing the product of his passion deep into Ayve’s throat. Ayve had a way of swallowing it all and licking off whatever was left on Stephen. He seemed to have a special liking for this.

They embraced, Stephen feeling Ayve’s small yet firm butt, and enjoying the safety in the arms of the slightly taller man, Ayve running his fingers through Stephen’s hair.

“Let’s get into the water,” Stephen suggested in a whisper close to Ayve’s ear. He went in first, watching Ayve ridding himself of the rest of his clothes and taking his watch and his jewellery off himself.

When Ayve had climbed into the bathtub, Stephen dragged him down, onto his body, gazing at him wickedly, feeling his sex press against him. “Ayve, fuck me,” he whispered. Ayve eyed him. “Such a naughty boy…” Stephen licked Ayve’s ear, before he breathed “Common, enter me. Make me yours!”

He felt Ayve’s fingers on his entrance again. Stephen closed his eyes and relaxed in the warm water, letting Ayve penetrate him.

Soon enough, he was ready (and aroused again). Ayve turned to sit. He signalled Stephen to come on his lap. “I want to try it this way. I’d like to see you move on me…” They kissed passionately. Then Ayve angled his legs so Stephen could lean on them, trying to feed Ayve’s hard sex into his body. It took a while but when he succeeded, the feeling was indescribably good.

He laid his arms on the sides of the bathtub, his back rested against Ayve’s legs. Ayve’s hips moved carefully, pushing into Stephen. Ayve enclosed Stephen’s penis in his fist, caressing it a second time, completely confusing Stephen’s mind, transferring him into a state of perfect lust, perfect ecstasy, and perfect safety.

If Stephen had had something to say in the matter, this would have gone on forever. Unfortunately, his body had a different opinion; it got rid of his lust in a sudden outburst, his lava slowly running down his penis, bathing Ayve’s hand.

They leaned back together, Stephen in Ayve’s arms, clinging close to him. He enjoyed the soft touch of Ayve’s fingertips on his arms.

When the water grew cool, they left the bathtub, drying each other with towels. Done with the process, Stephen suddenly found himself in Ayve’s arms, being carried to the bed. It was good to feel Ayve’s warm, clean skin against his. And still he couldn’t help but ask “What about the word man did you not understand?” indicating that he wasn't used to being treated like that. He smiled.

Ayve put him down on the bed and kissed his ear. “You’ve forgotten a small detail,” he whispered. “You’re my man.”

Warmth spread in Stephen’s body hearing these words. Every time Ayve spoke about their relationship like this, Stephen felt rewarded thrice for giving Ayve the space he needed.

His lover sank into his pillow, his black hair entwined around his body, his eyes closed and his left hand lay on Stephen’s thigh. He dozed off.

“Do you plan to spend the rest of your life playing snooker?” Ayve asked casually when they sat at the breakfast table the next morning. Stephen looked at him in surprise.

“What do you mean?”

Ayve swallowed his coffee. “Well, I thought after winning pretty much every title available, you might orientate towards a new goal… Sorry if that sounds pejorative now, but I don’t see an intelligent young man like you finding the sense of his life in hitting balls with a piece of wood.” He raised his hands in a defending gesture. “I know there is more to it, but…”

Stephen put his fork down, taken aback. “You mean I am wasting my time?” He did not know if he should be angry – his great admiration for Ayve held him back. Surely he meant not to attack him, why should he?

Ayve started explaining his purpose: “No, I would not necessarily say that your career was a waste of time… – you’ve earned a remarkable amount of money that you now can live on, you made friends, gained experience and established a healthy amount of self-confidence. You surely enjoyed yourself. I’d say this is a good way to start a life. But regarding the other talents and interests that you have, my question is whether Snooker is really the one thing you want to dedicate your life to.”

Stephen leaned back, trying to figure out what to think of this.

Ayve spooned his yoghurt. “I mean,” he added suddenly, “it’s not that you don’t look damned attractive when you’re all dressed up for a match…” he smiled meaningfully.

Stephen smiled back, flattered but still thinking.

He had never thought about doing anything else for a living really. Okay, he had with great efforts managed to pass the A-levels with quite respectable results (efforts because school and a snooker-career had not been easy to fit into one schedule). Most players did not have that advantage. So factually, there were many paths he could tread. However, being hyped so much by manager, trainer, sponsors and the media and overwhelmed by his success, Stephen had never ever considered taking another route. He crossed his arms.

Did he want that? His life seemed so safe… And he loved his sport. He had started playing Snooker at the age of eleven, which was pretty late for a pro in Great Britain, but ever since he had been training for hours each day. After all, his mother had taken him to his first match, telling stories about his grandfather who had already been a professional snooker player. After she had died, the whole matter of snooker had become even more important.

Now, Ayve said there was more in him, more to life than this… But what should that be? Would this not mean an extreme cut in his life? Snooker consumed 75% of his time, even now that he was a father and had his meetings with Ayve. It would leave an enormous gap if he dropped it.

Wow, that thought really had never occurred to him.

“Why do you say that now?” he asked.

Ayve shrugged. “There’s no special reason for my timing. I’ve always wondered what this Snooker-thing was about. I understand that in this society it’s not all about hunting and gathering, if you get my meaning, that there are things nowadays that although they aren’t vitally important do have a value. And notwithstanding that, it’s an absolute mystery to me how anyone can spend years doing what you did,” he raised his hands to signal that he did not mean to offend Stephen, “I accept that this is a part of you.”

Ayve helped himself to a portion of scrambled eggs.

“It might even add to your attraction.”

He took a bite and swallowed it.

“The only thing that ran through my mind lately is whether Snooker has to remain your main occupation forever or if there might not be something else in you waiting to be discovered? I mean, you don’t spend your life eating the same food just because you like it. You try new things – even if it’s just to be able to appreciate the old ones more. Wouldn’t life be boring otherwise?”

That gave Stephen something to think about… It was a big question. Snooker was nothing Stephen could put aside to try out new things and take up again any time he wanted. Not on his level. This was a question concerning the future of his life.

“I’m sorry to confound you, Stephen. Yet, isn’t it better to think about it now than to be doubting your lifestyle in ten years when your chances to change it have decreased?”

Stephen merely nodded. This would keep him musing for a while.

“Have you ‘tasted’ many things?” Stephen asked in return, curiosity leading his tongue, pushing his confusion to the back of his mind.

“Sure,” was Ayve’s short reply.

“But you’re keeping silent about past things once more?”

“I think the amount of languages I know and the remark that I have no home or, in other words, that I am constantly travelling is enough information.”

Ayve took another sip of his coffee.

“I have been the observer, usually, I have never been closely involved,” he added, as if in concession to Stephen’s demand for deeper knowledge.

“But, that’s not really tasting it, is it? You have never truly engaged in something…”

Ayve smiled. “You’re right. I have deprived myself of… certain features that for many people life is composed of… after my death.”

“Why?” Stephen dug deeper after recovering from hearing such grave words out of Ayve’s mouth.

Ayve smirked. “Because of the things that happened back then.”

He gave Stephen a look that said ‘Come on; pose the question I am not going to answer anyway’. Stephen did.

He lowered his voice. “What did happen?”

Ayve shook his head, smirk still fixed in his face.

Stephen went on, unshaken. “When did ‘the things back then’ happen?” That was a neutral question after all, right? It couldn’t mean much to Ayve to answer it.

And yet Ayve shook his head again. “We could talk about my life as far as it concerns the last ten centuries, everything before that will be left untouched. Is that a deal?” He raised an eyebrow enquiringly.

“Sure.” Stephen bathed in his victory. That was a clear sign of progress.

Still, his head swam, thinking ‘everything up to a thousand years ago will be left untouched? Ayve had already been alive long enough to have a history to hide at that time? How old was he?’

“What time span are we talking about when you say ‘everything before that’, Ayve? How old are you?”

Ayve took this question playfully, smiling once more, turning his view aside to consider the matter, licking his lips. “What’s so hard to understand when I say we’re not going to talk about this?”

“What’s the problem with giving a number? I accept your conditions; I just want to know how old the man I share my bed with is.”

He took Ayve’s hand. That had an immediate impact on Ayve. Stephen could literally see how Ayve’s attitude changed from being reserved to paying attention to Stephen.

“I’m just desperately trying to get to know you, Ayve. Don’t you think it is important to know each other to feel close?”

“And don’t you think an age difference of a few dozen centuries might create a distance between us?” Ayve responded.

“It won’t help us to hush up about it, it exists,” Stephen replied. “This time I’m acting more rational than you, I would say.”

Ayve smirked. He stood up, hands on his hips, not in a gesture of annoyance, more in an attempt to control his feelings, going to the window.

“This is preposterous,” he murmured with his back to Stephen and his right hand resting on the wall. “I feel like the alien in a third class sci-fi movie.”

He looked down, playing with the ring in his left hand.

“Like some preternatural being, a few thousand years old, that should be a few billion miles away on its own planet but can’t find the way back and is stuck in this world that is not his, always fearing to be detected and persecuted.”

Stephen stepped up to Ayve and caught him in a tight embrace from behind.

“Why would anybody do that, Ayve?” Stephen asked more as a means of saying ‘whatever you may fear, it is a pointless concern’.

Ayve gave no answer.

He rested a while in their strange embrace, and then he turned around and put his arms around Stephen. He drew him near, pressed his lips on Stephen’s cheek several times and kissed his forehead eventually, his left hand in Stephen’s hair. “I need to go now,” he whispered.

Ayve slowly went towards the door, taking his mantle.

Stephen frowned. “Didn’t we plan on spending the day together until my flight?” he enquired.

Ayve gave him a look that meant to say he was sorry. He approached Stephen and ran his finger over Stephen’s cheek, finally taking his hand.

“When are we going to meet again?” Stephen wanted to know.

Ayve hesitated. He searched for an answer. “I won’t be available for a while. I’ll call you.”

Stephen did not like this. Not at all. ‘I’ll call you’? That was the first time that Ayve said something like this. Moreover, in combination with ‘I won’t be available…’ Stephen’s stomach began to ache.

“We are going to meet again, right? Tell me you don’t plan to get rid of me,” Stephen demanded.

Ayve kissed Stephen’s palm. “I have no such intention.” They looked into each other’s eyes. Then Ayve turned and left the hotel room.


***