"What was that about Paul?"
"Didn't you hear? He died last night."
Ben had tried to make sense of the words. Tried to change them in his head, because what he had heard was too fantastic to be believed. Paul. 'The' Paul. His Paul. No Paul. Because he died last night. He couldn't take Michael's comfort because it hurt. The touch of the warm hand, the pain in the deep brown eyes, the sorrow that radiated from every pore. It all hurt so much that he couldn't breathe. It was ironic that he wanted the comfort more than he wanted to inhale and exhale life-giving air. Save me. Didn't you hear? He died last night.
He paced and thought. He worried and meditated. Finally, he gave up and smoked. The sweet pot filled his lungs and offered the serenity his mind couldn't find for itself. Drag after drag filled him. Inch by agonizing inch, the memory of the careless words moved further away. How could he be gone? Didn't you hear? He died last night.
Then Michael had returned to his side, but this time the pain wasn't as sharp. He saw the beloved features through a haze of smoke and it amazed him that this much death and anger couldsurround him while leaving Michael pure, untouched, still shining with hope... and it killed him because for a moment he was jealous. In the next instant, the pang of jealousy was gone because to take that light from Michael was to invite darkness in himself. He didn't want to take it. He only wanted to share it, bask in it, warm himself in it. But the darkness would not be denied. It sucked at him, a cruel lover who gave no pleasure. It drew him in, and in forcing him to reach to save himself, it drew Michael in too. How can you possibly understand? Didn't you hear? He died last night.
They sat on the bench, looking away from each other until Michael tried again. He touched Ben's arm, he spoke, he loved, but it wasn't enough. For all that Ben needed Michael--needed him desperately to keep from flying apart like a pile of dry leaves on a windy day--for all that, it wasn't enough. Only absorbing every microgram of Michael--all the hope, all the love, all the joy--could possibly begin to be enough. And so he sat and he looked away, trying not to be the vampirish black hole that would suck the life out of Michael. I can't touch you. Didn't you hear? He died last night."
The night and the day brought more of the same. Drink coffee and remember. Go to class and remember. Break for lunch and remember. Go home and remember. Go the gym and remember and remember and remember. What else is there to think about? Didn't you hear? He died last night.
He tried to forget now. Every weight lifted was another molecule of the virus lifted from himself. Every drop of sweat removed more. Every grunting exhalation as he pushed himself further, released the poison from his body. But again, it wasn't enough. He needed to do more, to sweat,breathe, and push out every last particle of death until he was as clean and free as the time before him. Before Paul. He looked up and saw an answer. He watched himself as it happened. Watched as he surrendered to the fear... but only for a moment. After the exchange and the prick of a needle and the rush of relief came the feeling he had been seeking. I am invincible. Didn't you hear? He died last night, but, I didn't.
Like Michael said,Ben had done everything right, done all that he could do, including this. Including this? A few milliliters of clear fluid and all problems were solved. It wasn't possible, but he felt stronger already. Like he could take on the world, and its every evil, and every fucking molecule of virus. Where was Michael? He had to share this rush of newfound strength with Michael. He raced,with unprecedented speed to gather up his belongings and find Michael. How did he get there? By bus? By car? By plane? By train? Who knew? Who cared? He was there, and he saw the waves of dark hair, the pale skin glowing like a beacon in the crowd, and he had to have him... now. He rushed to his side, elated, floating, and he took him... that second. Didn't you hear? He died last night. I don't care.
He swept them out of the crowd, to a dark secluded corner. The lights of the carnival were still visible and the noise still reached them, but they were invisible--in their own secret world.
I thought you were going to stay home.
I changed my mind.
Why are you in such a good mood?
Because I'm with you?
It didn't matter before. What changed?
Nothing. I just needed to see you, make love to you.
Out here?
Why not?
Why not.
He didn't just kiss Michael's mouth; he ravished it, licking and tasting every succulent morsel of the lush lips and agile tongue, drawing the taste of Michael into him like a delectable feast. And he didn't merely caress Michael's body. He scoured every inch with the palm of his hot hand and the tips of his fingers, as if the rough touches made Michael more real, solidly anchored where he was wanted, needed. He didn't just undress his lover. He stripped him bare with unseemly haste; he laid waste to useless cotton and denim until Michael's tempting body was exposed to his greedy eyes. He barely took the time to protect himself and that was the only moment that made him lose step, made him forget why he had rushed down here--By bus? By car? By plane? By train? Who knew? Who cared? How didn't matter. Why was all there was. Why? To enter him, take him, shatter him. He didn't just fuck Michael. He possessed him with a fury that surprised them both. Not in anger. Never that. Never in anger. But with a desperation that didn't care if there was comfort or warmth, didn't care if there was privacy, but only cared that it was satisfied. And it was satisfied because the same fury that had driven him here, driven him to abduct his lover into this dark corner of the world, wouldn't let him stop until Michael was panting, moaning, clutching him, and begging for harder and faster, wilder and hotter, but always more. How can I stop now? Didn't you hear? He died last night.
And then they were both coming off that passionate high, damp cheeks pressed together, Michael wrapped around him, holding him, loving him again. No longerfurious as when it had begun, the thunderous craving and the desperation ebbed away, leaving Ben spent. Now he could feel the tremble in Michael's arms as they struggled to hold him and all his fear and all his anger. They had room, those arms, for all that and so much more. Ben fell into them, clinging, and trying to find the serenity that had stumbled with a few simple words.
"Didn't you hear? He died last night."